john rah essay

Not Inspired
Once upon a fish, I was swimming on a dish. And the sun cut through the sulfur clouds.

Upon the surface. Surrounded by thin air.

And hungry dinosaurs.

I don't like people when they are stupid. And carrying a gun.

The west wasn't won.

Nobody knows the troubles I've seen. In others. Fighting, like we do, against ourselves. To wallow in the comfort of despair. Knowing it must be someone else who must.

I didn't see the news today. I could have. But I walked away.

No one should be a saint. Nothing is holy. No right thing to do. Wave our arms and scream at the sky.

There's no need for violence but it's more fun than peace.

The insane asylum is run by the priests.

A plethora of screaming fish. Translated into the sound of words. Control of the huddled herd.

If could have had us a million times, over millions of generations. If we hadn't divided and diversified. To increase the chances that we'd survive.

Long enough to perceive that what we see.

Infinite in every direction that we look.

The priests of the warlord's tribe stole heaven and sealed it in a box. Hid it in the basement of the Vatican and covered it with rocks.

Gave us eternal sin in return. Doubt and a load of slate. To build a dark temple to hold out the sun. Nail us to the machine.

"Bunny. Bunny," said the fish. "How do we get back to the sea."

I'm not sad. Not really depressed. Still I'd like to lay my head on her breast.

Take me home, goddess of love.

Sometimes people don't seem real. Illusions poking in at my universe.

I know it's not true. Just wait for something to do. Something to push or pull.

Black hole of negativity. Friendly faces telling of their loss. The return to the gray skys of Germany.

Return of the sun.

Return of the rain.

Sometimes an empty vassal.

Sometimes manic insane.

I am always thinking of her like she was me wondering how she's out there too.

I could be wrong. I remember I once was.

But it was a mute point.

Hardly worth the sound backing it up.

They made a big lie and sold it for life.

I'm not depressed. A vacuum can't be depressed. A light feeble nothingness.

Most of the shit they give us is shit.

I'll hold on. Hoping she comes.

And brings me back to me and to her and we aren't consumed by the vacuum.

This isn't the prettiest love song.