A Gentle Reminder

Who's the idiot now?

The doctor puts down his medicine and walks over to his cabinet.
What a cabinet! Filled with absolutely no more mystery.
I took the mystery away by learning about this and that.
Damn medical school.

So the doctor decides to swallow them all, just an invitation to
a new pharmaceutical mystery.

Invitation to mystery.
Sounds delightful!
I want some of it, now,
NOW!!

For gods sake, there is no mystery here. This is all NONSENSE.
I am the writer and I am telling you there is NO MYSTERY HERE.
Just boredom! Why if I had a story to tell, I think I could write it better
than this. I am just piecing something together to see if I can find a mystery.
But you see, that doesn't work, at least not this time.

Hell if I could, I would stop this nonsense now, but I am compelled to
try it anyway. Its a god damn mechanism I tell you, just helps you clear
the old neural passages. Or at least masquerades that way.
I honestly don't believe there is much mystery you can encounter
after you've travelled the words enough. The mystery that was ever there
was only there if you wanted it to be there. Otherwise its tomfoolery.

The more you do it, the more you don't! Just a serious of “witty” little exclamations.

Look at me, I know something, I can do this or that!
I am the best at this, at nothing at all! Its what I live for
you damn idiot!
I make the word shit sounds like souffle.

Keep reading me see what it gets you:

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! or maybe...
?????????????????????? or perhaps...
........................................ or I really like...
!!!???!?!?!?!???!?!??!??!?

Over and over and over and over and over and over?!!?!?!?? (there have to be 2 ?)
Nonsense! NONSENSE! (if there aren't two ?? then it just isn't the same)

The best of my words amount to “god”'s spit.
At best I can become “god”'s phlegm or a few
god damn euphemisms.

And what is that ?
Revolution ?
Brilliance ?

Realize that stumbling blunders are not unique
but simply a series of fortunate mistakes
that are given form by absurd human thoughts.
We are like festering sutures that need to be stitched up by a crazed,
shaky-handed surgeon with a cabinet full of drugs stretching
the insides of his skin to a thin veneer like dead skin
stretched over a vast ocean of dead, bobbing carcasses.

Facade, bullshit and mimicry.