in the ancient and inglorious war against disease.
I want to leave a mark. But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars.
You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rock star and you think,
“They’ll remember me now,” but (a) they don’t remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars.
Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion.
(Okay, maybe I’m not such a shitty writer. But I can’t pull my ideas together, Van Houten.
My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations.)
We are like a bunch of dogs squirting on fire hydrants.
We poison the groundwater with our toxic piss,
marking everything MINE in a ridiculous attempt to survive our deaths.
I can’t stop pissing on fire hydrants. I know it’s silly and useless—
epically useless in my current state—but I am an animal like any other.
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