Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Fantasy as reality

See, when you make your fantasies a reality, it purges the plastic from your system. I bring this up as by saying:

There are three grocery stores in town. The high-end union shop, the high-end non-union shop and the low-end non-union shop. The first two have a chicken roaster and counter and the low-end non-union shop doesn't.

Everybody buys roast chicken. Except for vegetarians but they're all queer, so who gives a fuck. So the low-enders like me need to go to either of the high-end shops both of which are clear across town.

There's a space in the mall of the low-end non-union shop. I want to put in a shop with roast chickens. That's all. A one man shop. A man and his roaster. Wally's Roast Chickens. Whole chickens, roasted by Wally. No need to complicate it.

When the plant closes, and it will close, I would open, coming out of it, getting the plastic
out of my veins, up for air, that shop. That reality, handing out the best roast chicken available in town - no small promise - with that, I will be cleansed.

Everyone is praying for the end. To the plant. Everyone has their fantasy. Of what they would do.

No matter what your fantasy, the plastic goes, must.

It rules your being. You much more than me. I'm immune, built up over time. Resistent.

As well, my wife and I are living out our fantasies to our mutual benifesscence.

Which begs the question. Can a rising internet personality still hawk chickens to the locals?

And why does this need to be predicated by our end of work at the plant.

Because we are slaves. Our liberation is never easy. They're not just going to let us go free.

Talk of the Chinese and the Albanians is just shit to keep you off balance and fearful.

We are the fucked over, the mass of humanity, fucked over and over throughout time. I cannot see the future but my guess is we got more coming. We got fucked going in. The New Fucked-Over. We will never take over. We just want out. Alive and fucking.