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if you were not taught how to hold your tongue before you were ever born, then evidently there is something wrong with you. you are a defect by default. have a happy life. learn how to hold your tongue—tongues are for sucking
sucking the honey out of every nickel every dime every coin but the ones you hand to the ferryman— if you still believe in death. tongues are not made for speaking, but for sucking and for kissing, for kissing the words of strangers and the bystanders that stand by and do nothing, be a good boy:

stand by
don’t think too much
don’t ask too much
don’t speak too much
don’t feel too much
don’t human too much.
good boys go to heaven and bad boys to hell and i can’t believe they still sell those advertisements; if God is really still judging, wouldn’t we have dragged him down from heaven itself to demand an explanation to his fucking mysterious ways? the only thing that really separates us is those that still believe and those that don’t, because ain’t nobody’s hands clean no more, we have all bloody busted fingers dipped in jars of honey— the honey of others, the honey of animals, the honey of slaves & all those generations we wiped out and their faces blurred into a thick fog, the honey of children raised on electronic devices and those are the future! the children of today are the ones that will give birth to the robots we are turning into.
sometimes i wonder
if God has a file with our name on it.
if God has a file with our name on it;
where would he put us?
if the human race is not by definition doomed to
annihilate/exterminate/obliterate
the human race, then what are we here for? what are we doing? why are we doing what we’re doing —
why are we alive and kicking, kicking the living and the life inside everything dead, burying dreams but not our dead, building boxes to go to in between work that knows no labour and the night, because both labour and the night are things to fear, staring at more boxes and building more boxes but not homes putting our loved ones in boxes and don’t you dare–
to have a home.
you have a country, you ungrateful child, you have a country, ungrateful child, fight for your country. fight for your country against the men that fight for a country we decided is not worth fighting for.
don’t do drugs, don’t drink too much, don’t text and drive, don’t put fists through walls; if you’re truly upset have a drink — water, milk, sickle — sit still enough the rest of the world will phase through you, go back to your ghost state, mistake hunger for the howls of wolves for the howls of trains, the life is not for feeling but for being; stop feeling and start being—
something worthy.
money makes worth. power makes worth. status makes worth. your genes make worth, your abs and your legs make worth make worth make worth, have no feelings. feelings do not make worth. production makes worth and saves the economy too! why save up for true desire, why save up for passion or love—have it cheaper and less for much less so there is more less to buy and you save the economy too! saving the economy might kill the planet but at least we’re saving something (for a change).
we have stopped being a human race the moment we decided we were better than the other, than the rest, than everything else; the moment we decided we could use other people to stand upon to get higher; the moment we decided to refuse to bury the dead of our enemies; the moment we decided we — tiny stupid little creatures — would be conquering mountains and pissing in rivers and taking taking taking everything to our delight, stealing riches of the earth and call it progression, stealing the lives of those the White considered different and therefore intolerable and call it evolution.
revolution: used by whites to describe the backwards progress of evolution by non-white people which is clearly ruffling their hair, dirtying their fancy shoes and murdering their unpolitical political agendas.
i have never seen two rats have a domestic dispute yet i cannot turn on the news to hear how grown men jump at each other’s throats when one looks at the other a little too funny. when one loves a little differently, but really just the same. when one looks a little differently, but really just the same. when one comes from a different country, but really just the same same same
same fucking world.
and what if—
and what if—
and what if—
God made us as an experiment.
and what if—
and what if—
and what if—
God has a file with our name on it and calls it:
classified.