The Universe and Pina Coladas

            So, the universe and I were kicking backing, sipping on some fine Pina Coladas on a beautiful summers days.  I mean it was a really beautiful blue sky, forget your phone at home on purpose sort of day; when I say to the Universe inbetween sips of rum and coconut,

“I feel a bit gulity.” 

And the Universe says “what the fuck do you feel guilty about?”

And I say “don’t you think that we should have invited the World to join us?”

And the Universe is all like, “FUCK THE WORLD.” 

And I am all like, “dude.”  

And the Universe is like “ No, really fuck the world.  Always so caught up in its own bullshit.  I mean the World really truly must be full of contortionsists the way its got its own head up its ass.” 

And I’m like “rant much?”

And the Universe continues “No, seriously man.”

“Don’t you think its all a bit harsh?  I mean the World has got a lot on its shoulders nowadays.” 

“Nowadays, nowadays, nowadays.  It’s always nowadays when in reality its more like this is how its almost always been.  For a few exceptional moments in the history when the World showed the better side of itself but I mean the World has been allowing itself to be treated like shit for too long a time.  I mean no offense but the moment you humans started walking erect you thought the World was yours to direct.  Shit, the world was spinning counter clockwise around the sun long before humans decided it had to be otherwise.

“Shall I make us another batch of Colada’s?”

“yeah, do that please.”

“It is a beautiful day though, isn’t it?”

“For us it is.” Replied the Universe.

“Cheers to that.” I said.

“Cheers to that at least.” Said the Universe, as it licked the Pina Colada from off the stick of the cocktail umbrella. 

I smiled and wondered what the rest of my family was up to.

The Universe and a short conversation

So, the Universe says to me “man, I don’t know what the hell I did to myself yesterday but today…pppheeeww.”

“I know exactly how you feel,” I replied.

“Maybe it is better to continue this conversation another time then?”

“That might be best.” I said.

Five journalists were executed yesterday outside of Baltimore, Maryland and the President should be held accountable for inciting their murders.

The Universe and the way to manifest your own mess

So, the Universe and I were passing the bong back and forth. Sunk into the couch like we were nineteen year old college students blowing off class. But I’m forty seven and the Universe well, won’t really commit to an age. We both had this feeling today to blow off the World. It was strange, I was just about to call the Universe when the Universe WhatsApp’d me and was like, “dude, I need a day off. All the BULLSHIT in the world is really getting on my tits. So, you down to break out the bong, smoke some of your home grown and just fade out?” I looked at my wife who was chasing our daughter around the living room, trying to brush her hair for school. “Fuck yeah,” I whispered into the phone, “I was thinking the same damn thing, man. You and I Universe, we are so on the same page.”

I eventually got my wife and my daughter out the door, took a shit and texted the Universe, “I am so ready. What time shall I come by?” The Universe texted back, “just taking a dump. Come by whenever.” Ok, do the breakfast dishes, make Fbook post on the shop page saying “CLOSED for personal reasons, See ya tomorrow.” and left instructions for Grandma to pick up our daughter from school. I fed the rabbits and the dog, watered the baby weed plants, and took out the garbage. I did what I was supposed to do in life and now, that I still can.

Now, I gotta say that the Universe has the best fucking couch I know. You sink in but still feel supported, just like the Universe itself. With the shades drawn and Jane’s Addicition’s Nothings Shocking on the cd player the Universe set the perfect scene to smoke out to. Lava lamps mutating before twelve noon on a weekday make life that much more electric. I passed the Universe a nicely filled ziplock bag full of homegrown. The Universe packed the first hit into the 3ft Graffix that was standing ready next to the sofa. “Here ya go man, be my guest” said the Universe as he passed me the bong. It had been at least 25 years since my last bong hit. Nowadays I am more of an edibles man, I like my cookies. I lit the bowl and sucked. That familiar sound of the water bubbling and the sight of the chamber filling with smoke took me back, way back. So far back I passed out.

When I woke up the Universe was still sunk into the couch next to me. His chest covered with the shells from sunflower seeds. On the flat screen t.v. across the room was an episode of Beavis and Butthead. On the coffetable a half eaten Domino’s pizza. A big jug of cherry looking KoolAid next to it. “Welcome back,” said the Universe to me. “You alright?” I had to think about that question for a moment. Sort of remember where I was and what I was up to. “Fucking great,” I said. The Universe poured me a glass of KoolAid and offered me a slice of pizza. “What time is it?’ I asked. “Just around two, you were out for awhile.” I just nodded my head and chewed my pizza. The KoolAid was strawberry flavored.

I took another hit of the bong, well ok just a half hit. I wanted to be a bit more careful this time. After my coughing spasm was over and my eyes stopped tearing, I passed the bong back to the Universe. The Universe filled the chamber and sucked it clean. No cough. The Universe exhaled and the room filled with smoke. Like a fog had just settled over the room, it became hard to see Beavis or Butthead. “You know man, like everyone is trying to manifest shit for themselves through me like all the fucking time and well I am just so fucking done with it all.” The Universe set the bong on the coffeetable. “Yeah, I can understand that,” I replied. “If people could just get their own shit sorted and stop asking me to do it for them, then the World would be much better off.” “Well what does the World make of all this, you know, everything that is going on with the World nowadays?” I asked. “Ah, fuck the World,” said the Universe. “Honestly, the World should know better than this. The World thinks it has developed over the last centuries but honestly…ah fuck it, you know what man, fuck the World..." Then the Universe passed out.

I finished the pizza and KoolAid. Wiped the drool from the Universe's chin a few times and watched a few more episodes of Beavis and Butthead. Around 17.00 I decided that it was best to go home and make dinner. Grandma had to get home and my wife would be home soon anyway. My day off from the World was done. I left the Universe a PostIt note on the top of the bong. “Thanks Universe, I hope you enjoyed today as much as I needed it” read the note. I signed it with a heart.

The Universe and the kid sitting in the middle of the street.

                So the Universe and I were strolling through the streets of the Leidsebuurt just the other day and there is this kid sitting there right in the middle of the Brouwersstraat.  And we walk up to the kid and the kid just sort of ignores us.  I look at the Universe and the Universe looks at me and we both shrug our shoulders, looking down at this little kid sitting in the middle of the street. 

So I ask the kid, “what are you doing sitting here in the middle of the street?”

And the kid looks up at us and says “what’s it to you?”

And the Universe almost chokes on its chewing gum.

“What’s your name kid,” I ask.

And the kid says again, “what’s it to you?”

“Do you know who I am?” asks the Universe of the kid.

And the kid says “you’re the Universe.”

And the Universe sort of just stands there a bit stunned, “how did you know that I am the Universe?”

 And the kids says “it’s written all over your face.”

And I have to laugh and the Universe is all like “dude wtf.”

“So, kid do you know who I am?” I ask.

“Yeah, you’re Mr. Weird Beard.  I saw you at Bevrijdingspop.  You say fuck a lot don’t you.  I’d be a bit embarassed if my father said fuck that musch in public.”

“Well, who the fuck is your father then?” I asked a bit amused and a bit annoyed at the same time.

The Universe put its hand on my shoulder and said “dude, does it matter?  Fuck this kid.  Let him sit in the middle of the street for all I care.  Where are his parents anyhow?” 

So the Universe and I looked down at this little perfect specimen of Dutch semen and estrogen and said, “see ya you little prick, don’t get run over.”

And the little kid sitting in the middle of the street well he gave us both the middle finger,

and I thought,  man fuck these people moving to here from Amsterdam.

There still ain't no travel ban on the dancefloor

The poisoned populist perspectives

the peepholes in our collective consciousness

the underdogs being denied coverage

the delusions of grandeur of the gloryhole demi-gods

and the claim that some cop in Arkansas actually saw a pig fly

but hey man, there still ain’t no travel ban on the dance floor.

Cultures being gutted by greed

the chaos of choice spread from an angry voice

blind conviction leading the redefinition

the patriot caught with his pants down

and well, hell might be freezing over

but there still ain’t no travel ban on the dance floor.

The disasterous diplomatic decision making

Mother Nature leaning back and waiting

in the end it will be the people quaking

the panic room propaganda

has got us all shaking

once in a blue moon orange faced political faking

but there still ain’t no travel ban on the dance floor.

(breakdown)

Religion in retrogradation

the spectre salivating over a smorgasbord of imaginary salvation

humanity held in a head lock

the hindsight that will haunt us in the all

too late hours

and maybe just maybe one day the sun will rise in the west

and maybe just maybe one day the sun will rise in the west

and maybe just maybe one day the sun will rise in the west…

but for now, boys and girls

there still ain’t no travel ban on the dance floor.

the universe and the head full of hangover

 -Coffee?

Yes.

-Milk and sugar?

No.

-Glass of water?

Please.

-Piece of lemon in it?

Why not?

-Have you eaten?

I haven’t eaten.

-Shall I fry us up some eggs?

I can always eat.

-Slices of tomato?

The good life.

-Here ya go.

Do you have tobasco?

-Of course I have tobasco.

I need tobasco.

-I understand that need.

Thank you, I needed this.

-No problem.  More coffee?

Need.

-and now what

Let me do the dishes for you and we shall see.

-I can let you do the dishes.

I’ll wash and you can dry.

-I don’t dry, I let the universe do that.

I understand that.

-Well thank you for understanding that.

It is the least I can do.

The universe and one nut for every bolt.

So, the universe and I seemed to bond rather nicely during the ten frames of bowling and that big platter of bitterballen the other night. A day or two later I figured that I should reach out and see what was going on with the universe. The way the universe sort of took off after blowing its perfect game left me feeling a bit bad. Does one call or text the universe? Call of course, I couldn’t imagine that the universe was on Fbook Messenger anyway. So I call.

“Hey, it’s me. What’s up?” “I gotta go out and do a few errands. Could use some company, wanna come along? You busy?”

“Me busy? I'm only the fucking universe, of course I am busy, I am always busy…busy doing fuck all, actually. Sorry for the sarcasm. Come pick me up, I’ll be ready in 15 minutes.”

First stop the Karwei. The wife wanted to fix a few things around the house, so I volunteered to pick up what she needed if I didn’t need to do anything else. The universe understood my logic. So with my list we went up and down the aisles, the universe pushing the shopping cart behind me. It was while I was trying to figure out which silicone kit I was supposed to buy that I noticed that the universe was no longer behind me. Shit, I thought, how could I lose the universe in the hardward store! A few aisles back I found the universe staring blankly up at a wall full of screws.

“Nuts and bolts, nuts and bolts, nuts and bolt, nuts and bolts,” the universe was stammering to itself over and over.

“yo, what’s up? You ok?”

“All these nuts and bolts, man. All these nuts and bolts. All different sizes but only one nut for one bolt.”

“yeah, I guess that is how it all works. One nut for one bolt. I guess hardware is more or less monogamous.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Oh, nothing I’m just rambling. Are you finished here? I am ready to go.”

“Looking at all this stuff, I feel like I should also be building or fixing something,” said the universe.

“Dude, day off. Let it go, right. Isn't that what you always say?”

We walked back to the front of the store and got in line behind some middle aged guy with a beard buying a new toilet seat. I wondered how many shits it took before he had broken the previous one. And how long it had taken him before he went out to buy a new one.

“Buy me a Snickers?” asked the universe.

“What?” I replied.

“Sorry, I am a bit broke and really hungry I didn't have time for lunch. Can you buy me a Snickers please? I’ll get you back next time.”

“Yeah sure, no problem.” I said.

I grabbed a Twix for myself and one for my wife then put the candy bars and the silicone kit on the conveyor belt. The woman behind the cash register scanned the items and asked me if I had a Karwei family card, which I didn’t but said that my wife does. That fact didn’t seem to matter. The universe swallowed its Snickers in two bites.

The universe and the elusive perfect game

So yeah, after meeting up with the universe the other day I guess the universe felt kinda guilt cause I get a call last night from the universe and it says “hey man, it was good to catch up today.  You got plans for tomorrow?  How about we go bowling?” And I’m thinking sure why not.  Bowling is not something I do often but do find fun to do now and again.  So we agree to meet at the Bison Bowl in Haarlem North.  I gotta say that seeing the universe in bowling shoes is a sight.  I was even wondering if they would have the right size.  So we get a lane and start throwing some balls just to warm up and the universe asks “shall I order some bitterballen and a pitcher of beer?” “ And I am all, wow universe you do know how to roll.” 

            The universe allows me to go first and I knock down four then three pins.  Average, for myself.  The universe steps up and well, what can you expect from the universe, rolls a beautiful massive thundering strike. The universe smiles this big self-satisfied smile and give the universe a high five.   The game goes on like this frame after frame.  I roll seven, six, maybe a nine.  The universe rolls strike after strike, smiling like a summers day.  The beer and bitterballen show up and we decide to take a little break.  “This is fun,” says the universe, taking a bite of steaming ball covered in mustard.  “Yeah it is,” I say.  “You dating anyone?”, I ask the universe.  “Nah, not right now.  No time for commitments, too arranging all this shit.”  “You watching a lot of porn then?”, I ask as a joke.  The universe almost chokes on the bitterball and laughs saying, “dude my entire existence is one big money shot. The universe is pure porn.”  We laugh and clink beer glasses.

            Last frame and I am well behind but that’s ok.  The universe steps up for its final frame and I figure ok hotshot lets see you serve up a perfect game.  And the universe lets the ball roll land right before it hits the pins, the ball swerves left into the gutter.  “Ah, fuck.”, says the universe.  I try not to laugh.  The universe steps up with its second ball and the  same exact thing happens.  “Shit.”, growls the universe walking back to the table.  “What happened?” I ask.  "Fuck I always do that, choke in the end."  "Hey man, no big deal," I say just to say anything at all. “You going to eat that last bitterball?” asks the universe not answering me.  “Nah, man it’s all you.”, I say. 

            We return our shoes and pay the bill.  The universe is generous enough to pick up the whole tab.  “Thanks.”, I say.  The universe smiles.  “We should do this again soon,” I say.  “Yeah,” replies the universe, “we should.  But how about next time we play some mini-golf?”  “I hate mini-golf,” I reply.  “Yeah, so do I actually.” answers the universe.  We say shake hands and say goodbye and I watch the universe bike off in the opposite direction, with mustard all over its face.

Give me this moment.

Give me this moment to comtemplate.
When I stop to take a breath
And the universe sits down beside me
And we shake hands and exchange pleasantries
And we ask one another how’s it going
And both nod, yeah it’s going ok
And the universe asks me how the shop is going
And I say that it goes up and down and that it
would be nice if the universe would more often stop by
but I understand cause I figure that the universe is pretty busy
and the universe apologises and i say no worries
and I ask the universe how its own business is going
and the universe falls silent and just sort of stares
off into the distance, focusing in on the kids playing
on the playground across the street and the universe
turns to me and says, its tough, you know
and I just nod my head a bit more and say
I can’t imagine.
For a while after that we just sat there saying
nothing to one another and that was fine.
The universe offered me a cigarette and I said
no thanks, I am trying not to smoke during the day
and the universe asked me if I had a light
and I said sure and offered the universe my lighter
and said keep it, I have another
and the universe said thanks and I said
no problem.
The universe smoked its cigarette then flicked the end
into the sewer grate close to its feet
well I gotta get back to the shop I said
and I offered my hand to the universe
and we shook and the universe said that it
would try to stop by the shop sometime and I said
that I’d see ‘em when I see ‘em.
And back in the shop I sat down
behind the cluttered little desk in the corner of the shop
and took another breath then
wrote this.

From under the serenity of my headphones

The kid sat in the middle of the supermarket aisle behind the kids shopping cart with the touch screen computer pad. His mother searched the shelf for the deodorant that her husband had to use. I walked passed the kid and noticed he had the index finger from his right hand jammed up his nose. ‘Go get’em kid!’, I laughed to myself.

The woman before me was just being a black fake leather bound notebook and a bag of marshmellow candy the dutch are so found of. I figured she had a big day ahead of her. Hyped up on sugar she would hand write the great dutch feminine menopausal manifesto. Or maybe she was just the supervisor at some midlevel company, had to take notes at another boring ass meeting and figure giving everyone some candy would make it less painful and maybe a bit more vibrant.

Out of the corner of my right eye I noticed the kid who I had just passed with his finger probing his nostril cavity push his little cart filled with beans and pickles and canned fruit cocktail, pass right by me, around the security gate from the closed checkout next tot his one. The kid just nonchalantly pushed his cart forward got past the registers and sort just stood there with the expression on his face like, what now and I may have peed my pants.

I looked around to see where this kids mother was. I didn’t see her at first. Then she came out of the aisle, her eyes scanning her boy. From where she was and from where he stood, I could see that neither one of them could see each other. From underneath the serenity of my headphones I could hear her calling for her son. “Mewrouw, hij is daar.”, I said. But from under my headphones I was not actually aware how loud I had actually said what I said. I reoved my headphones, “Ma’am, he is over there.” I said, pointing towards the end of the cash register. “Thanks.”, she replied, abandoning her cart and going after the boy.

“Ik had dat helemaal niet gezien.” Said the woman behind me.

“Yeah, Ik heb ook een jonge kind. Moet altijd opletten in the supermarket, anders loopt ze zomaar weg.”

“Ik heb dat helemaal niet gezien.” Repeated the woman.

Bonus card, PIN, no reciept, thank you and even after all that, no robot stickers.

Using children as bargaining chips to blackmail Mexico into paying for Americas mortar and bricks.

When the people
who need to see
themselves as white
find a sort of heaven in
their ultimate isolation
they
will have given themselves over
to a glorious translucence
colorless and clear
they will become
lost in their own fight
their darkness will yield itself
to finally become a
proper conductor of light
for which the rest
of us mongrels
to contently
bath in.

 

 

A shadow of disbelief hung like a shroud of over the congregation.

Fear paced back and forth along the far wall of the building as contentment lay sleeping upon an old torn blanket in the corner, its tail casually swatting at flies.

Memory served the coffee and tea while guilt got the pastries out the box. On certain Saturdays there was very little to say, even the Cantor could sometimes take a nap during the sermon.

The congregation would wait quietly for the continuation, as they had been instructed to do so for  many years already.

City to city, the Messiah just kept letting the crowds down.

When I asked her what she wanted for dinner, this is what I already had in mind

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Feathers and the Ass.

Slowly he began to pluck the feathers out of his ass. One by one they had been put there, so one by one he removed them. He remembered each time a feather had been stuck up his ass. People meant it as a compliment but it always had made him feel uncomfortable, especially when he would try to sit down. At first a few feathers felt good in his ass, a boost to his artistic ego. That people had begun to appreciate all that he had been working at since he had been a teenager felt like a reward. It had taken him a long time to get a handle on his craft, so he didn’t mind. All of his heroes had achieved their own feathers later in life as well. So once the feathers started being stuck up his ass he felt like he had finally arrived. But like the story so often goes, after awhile his plume became plague by his own pomposity. He began to take all the feathers that had been stuck up his ass way too seriously. And well there is nothing more annoying in this world than an artist of any kind who takes themself too seriously. The feathers in relatively no time had begun to wilt and lose their color. A red flaming irritation started to form in his ass crack. He began spending a lot of time just scratching his own ass. People stopped wanting to shake his hand. He became very irritable and new feathers were not replacing the old ones. His ass had become tired. He realized that he actually had nothing with feathers anyway. So one by one he began to remove the feathers from his ass. To free himself from the burning itch of needing to achieve and receive compliments. The last feather he removed from his ass he decided to save and with a sense of understanding he stuck it in his hat. It was then that he decided that for a change of pace that he would just focus on nuturing the weed plants growing in his garden.

The Irrational Library - FAKE NEWS!

To have a dream or to have had a nightmare

“Can I ask you a question please?”

-“Sure.”

“Why have I been detained and brought here today?”

-“We have decided to detain you due to some suspicious posts

on your Fbook page.”

“Oh, really? That is a suprise to me.”

-“Nowadays we have to take any sort of threat posted on social media as

a possible real threat. That is why you are here.”

“A threat, how am I a threat? And to whom? And what post on Fbook could you have possibly interpreted as a threat?”

-He opened a white folder on the table in front of me. My hands were of course in restraints.

-This post dated April 15th, 2018, you wrote…

“I have this dream where the president and I are eating nachos together at a Taco Bell, and I use a spork shaped like a cross that I got with my order of nachos bellgrande, to remove every finger and toe from the presidents hands and feet. Then I force feed them one by one to himself while the chihuahua sitting next to me with the face of Mickey Rourke and the body of Paris Hilton sings the American National Anthem while on one knee. When I ask for a refill on my Sprite, EPA boss Scott Pruitt who is workng behind the counter says in a thick Mexican accent – sorry no refills for white people today. And I say, shit man, I ain’t white, I’m a Jew. We’re as vilified as the latino’s, Muslims and the blacks. Ok not really, but I just wanted more Sprite and Pruitt eventually acquiesces. He fills my cup with too much ice and on purpose pours me orange soda instead. Then Pruitt turns into a pile of refried beans before my very eyes. A flock of crows swoop in through the drive-in window and devour him. One crow stops to ask me if there was any sour cream. I tell the crow that I don't work there but maybe check in the fridge. I return to the finger and toe less president who I now find face down in a pool of guacamole. There is no secret service around to save hime. Nobody else offers help. The presidensts first exwife sits in the corner of the Taco Bell playing Tetris on a Gameboy, oblivious to everything. The president eventually suffocates and dies. A mariachi band begins to play. And right before the vice president is to be sworn in at the Dunkin Donuts just down the road, Jesus Christ himself, decides to come back from his retreat in Northern New Jersey, hijacks the brand new private jet paid for by the practioners of Jesse Duplantis and crashes that learjet into the double D where the VP is buying a box of munchkins to pass out along the way back to the White House. Cause well, even if the VP hates the gays, he still does believe in sharing with whomever shows up to see him blush. That is when I think that I woke up.”

-“Now we found this post to be somewhat alarming and generally disturbing. It raised a number of red flags in our system and that is why we have brought you in today.”

“Does that transcript of my post say that I HAVE a dream about eating Taco Bell with the president, removing his fingers and toes with a spork cross, asking Scott Pruitt for a soda refill, and Jesus Christ kamikazeeing into a double D to take out the VP? or does it say that I HAD a dream eating Taco Bell with the president, removing his fingers and toes with a spork cross, asking Scott Pruitt for a soda refill, and Jesus Christ kamikazeeing into a double D to take out the VP?”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is semantics man. That there is a bit of a difference between saying that “I HAVE a dream of doing something,” and or “I HAD a dream about something.” I can honestly say that I do not have a dream of doing anything with or too our elected officially. But if my subconscious wills my dreams one way or another while I sleep, well, no harm no foul right?”

“Why post this sort of nonesense on Fbook then? The authorities will get the wrong idea.”

“The authorities always have the wrong idea, that is why they are called authorities. Am I free to go?”

-“Not just yet, I am afraid.”

“Why? What now?”

-“Now we will help you get back to sleep and we, we will then check to see what you are dreaming about. Then you might be able to go home. When the crows stop laughing, that is.”

 

Leave the dictators to their piles of dirty dishes

the facists to their fascination with fractions

and the conservatives to their unhealthy concern for Kabbalah.

Leave the liberals to their lizard skin collections

the professional athletes to their contemplation of their own lifespans

and the orphans around the world to their opinions about single use plastics.

Leave the garbagemen to their cherry picking

the politicians to their arguements with their own spouses

and the Hollywood elite to their ever increasing lactose intolerance.

Leave the poets to their rubiks cube pastimes

the songwriters to picking pistachio nuts from between their teeth

and the exotic dancers to paying back past taxes.

Leave the junkies to their double dutch jump rope

the professional bowlers to their Budweiser blue balls

and the weekend warrior badminton players to their uncircumcised shuttlecocks

Leave the high school teachers to their stock investments in Kevlar

the lunch ladies to their frozen pizza perservative Fridays

and the school bus drivers to resisting every impulse to commit suicide.

Leave the Mexican day laborers to their salted margarita day dreams

the Orthodox Rabbis to their all you can eat kosher buffet at the Crab Cake Factory

and the Mormons to their insecurity when it comes to eating Swedish meatballs

Leave the neo-nazis to their swastika needle point pillow making

the Muslim Brotherhood to their bow tie community controlled chaos

and the Hari Krishna’s to their hopscotch game through a hostile universe.

Leave the punk rockers to their safety pin conformity safety net

the hip hop heads to their 8 point Scrabble word score for the N-word

and the country music fans to the chewing gum stuck under the seats at the Grand Ole Opry.

Leave the barbers to deal with the insecure vanity of all the white boys with beards

the tattoo artists to all the impressions of life that can be persuaded into a persons skin

and the piercers to all the loopholes in life that may help another get over their hang-ups.

Leave the storytellers to their fabled lifes of imaginary luxury

the acoustic guitar slinging troubadors to all their songs strung out on cat gut

and the burlesque dancers to all their bellybuttons filled with boa feathers.

Leave the newscasters to their muppet like open and shut mouths

the journalists to their fear of being labeled fake news

and the talk show hosts to the horrors of silence after midnight.

Leave the shopkeepers to ponder what do with all their extra stock

the cafe owners to all the empty tables waiting to occupied by cockroaches

and the fast food franchises to pockets full of human fat.

Leave the Gods to their congregations buttoned up with fear

the choirs with their vocal chords strung around their necks

and the atheisists to believing that they have the answers.

Leave the universe alone to manifest its own mayhem

the distant planets as unhabited as they currently are

and the rest of humanity

leave it at peace with sorting out the mess

that rest of us have scrambled into tiny little pieces.