thoughtlessness
                            and the claustrophic
presence of a heart...

            well...
if that could ever be a
concern for ms norman...

     that solve anything?
how about being
                          pushed big pharma
"medication"...

   i'm waiting,
expecting to be prescribed
high-blood pressure
tablets...
        but that still doesn't
address the, "problem"...

then again,
                                         **** it...
   people remember more
the **** of helen
by the trojans,
   we're involved
in a journalistic insomnia
whereby
being pulverized
   by last, and lost worth
of a tuesday...
  
   there's "toxic masculinity"
ascribed to
book critique narratives
surrounding nirvana
and kurt cobain...

                 i want a circumstance
of beyond the ultimatum
of mortality...
   i want...
     the perpetuated sense
of sleep,
   without any chance
of dreams,
   to smother me,
               of a predictable
currency of emotions,
being repeated
over and over again...

                    i want the sense
of death,
   with which,
i have fallen asleep so many
coutless times...
without a cul de sac
   for an ability to dream...

i wouldn't want an afterlife...
with the current sort
of *******...
                      oh if the current *******
want an afterlife,
and are happy with an a.i. version
of me...
          more unpredictable,
more unreasoning as to the standard
of "rules"?
        
    funny question...
why didn't i,
just, ******-out
   ex_machina with cutting
song soundtrack, in the background?

             nothing "in" question of being
human,
   is left to the alienation category...
             there's only a delay
of manifestation...
          nonetheless...
the fame currency?
                what, it takes?
          no...
                          i'm out...
         you know the "funny" part of
walking into an unemployment center?

mortician...
     garbage collector,
post man,
                 butcher...
    slaughterhouse helper...
           sewege worker...
        
ah... working in a supermarket...
i've been educated in chemistry,
i can't work as a mortician,
or a garbage collector,
i have to work... the supermarket...

you know what?
   it's nice and all...
being complimented on how you
can cook a decent curry...
but you know?
    you know how a dog sniffs
out ******* before it bites?

              the jobs that are on offer...
the sort of capitalism,
that sells off jobs,
where...
        where you don't get to play
hands-on,
  but rather: pretend,
the lowest form
of thespian,
    "actor" / customer service?

  this double-standard
acting expression...
   guess what...
                i'd sooner ****...
and feel no remorse...
than settle
for this 2nd class thespian citizenship
of a customer service
busy body...
    no stage, no theatre,
no script...
   just: pretend, be nice...

     that's me...
tuning into
                       blackened eyes...
sclera vision...
         a pair of deaf ears...
and a...
                  huh?!