Flesh And Bone And Silicone

Right. Every time I try to prepare to fight the war I will deploy to I am forced to fight the war in my head, which is too much to contemplate, accept and digest for a man of my physical stature, emotional state and intellectual ability. I know it is petty. I know it is surreal. I am aware it may be impossible. I still hate it. I still want it to die. I still hallucinate about gutting it and ripping out its intestines as I chew its jugular out, watching it die. It is comprised of the two, and the two will die by my hand and I will reward myself by setting it at adjacent chairs at my table and feasting on game hunted, killed, prepared and served by the forgotten children of the future unjustly confined.
It doesn't matter. You are invited to leave at any point you desire. I will tip my hat as you leave. You will try and take me with you, but what I want is here. What I want moves at speeds I cannot comprehend and stops for brief periods to cause enough strife in your imaginary life. Your imaginary life where things affect you and you are important and you have a celestial spark, which makes you better and different than everyone including Tom and me. But the two of us are aware of something you are ignorant of. You are pathetic, and you are the ones who march to the drum ushering in the new police and the old firemen. The Gods of old are back, and with them they bring the knowledge of the new Gods. The new Gods are here for you and you will embrace them and meet them for lunch and a cigar after they offer you a job with the paper.
But Tom and me, we will watch from across the river and laugh and tell stories with flutes we carved from giant redwoods. While you discover the secrets as to why no one in China-Town has grey hair, Tom and I will ignite a fire engulfing the mountains and melting the jewelry your ancestors forged to secretly pass down treasure clues. The frenzy of your jubilation will force your mind to freeze when the new Gods roll and turn your section of the world into a graveyard. Tom and I will send flowers that grow wild from the aftermath of the fires of your funeral pyre.
Before your death you will ask us for help. We will not and you will think Tom and me are the same. We are not. Tom loves you and wants to try to help; he is just not strong enough to die. I am strong enough to die; I just don't love you at all.
If you come here to read words you wish he'd say about you. If you come here to read thoughts you wish he'd think about you. If you come here hoping these words are about you. If you come here to read how detailed a man's mind can be in regards to women. Come here no more. She is dead. She died at the hand of the compassionate.