By: Jehangir Saleh
Written: January 16, 2005

When I get up, I see the world as it should be. It is almost like a super power. I cannot bear to look out the window, even if there were windows. I cannot look at things that grow. Trees, flowers, grass, children. I am terrified.

I think that maybe there was once something to my madness.

I think maybe there was once something to everything. But now I am convinced there is nothing more to us than efficiency and decay. How efficiently we decay ourselves and those we claim to care about.

It is the great paradox of my existence. I write to you dear reader about wanting to end my life, to suck the back of a refrigerator, to have a giant farm animal crush my to death in a terrible and somewhat comedic spectacle that is broadcast on the national news leading to the ban of whatever terrible cow, or perhaps overweight pig was responsible for my death. The local farm where Billy shovels hay is now a death trap. And yet, here I am, writing to you about it. Why? Don’t you ask yourself, why am I wasting my time with this selfish idiot. He speaks about wanting to run away, and yet here he is, still. He is no better than a ideologue who cannot translate his language of ivory tower theory into something that effects peons of the real world. What good is an idea if it cannot bring about the revolution?
Why? You ask, and the truth is that I am selfish. I wish to belong somewhere, I wish to suffer with some amount of certainty, than run off a cliff and let the winds escort me to the ground where I cannot know what will happen after whatever my being is sucked from my lifeless body and carried to where I don’t know by a creator I cannot know exists. I’d rather take my chances while I can count the number of feet I have.