chicken farm 

(Ep. Existentialism Episode 2-edit 6-17-16)


     Give the people love: love is what 

they want. Distraction. Their major malfunction. 

And I think 

I want you for myself. But really, just

want myself, alone. She wants herself,

by herself. We want our merciless selves 

alone. Which translates to ‘not wanting

you at all.’ She wanted to be you.

Now, wherever she loves from is

crumbs and rubble. Failure of mixture

between body and brain. 

     They’re trying

to connect their souls to their bodies,

emotions to senses through preoccupation.

Compulsion toward this thing labeled

‘love,’ because it is the physical sensation

of a thought. Manifestation of mentality, from

inward to out. Takes it from inside, outside.

Wrap your tentacles around me and

suck me in. Let’s invest it all in this

projected thought, until it crashes into some

oncoming projection. Collide in their

mess of bounciness: these balls of bigger 

things, condensed, misdirected to each-

other, blindly.

     This is it, child. The way it is

and will be. We take this misdirection,

overwhelming aimlessness, 

redirecting it. We simply pull it 

back, and reapply it. Try to

leave the surface smooth, not to

scuff you up too bloody.

    Fleeing chunk 

of growing flame, feeding off of


    This is a crossfire, and no one

is safe. Not until the last

chicken is hatched, and the atom 

bombs detonate our minds. The

world of matter is every man’s

cathexis, every dream’s desire. 

Kiss the ground and feel it. Touch it

and mean what it says.


copyright: C. Ward 2016


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