I
I am listening to techno music
Eating cereal in bed
A ceramic bowl
Metal spoon
And cold soy milk
Straight from the fridge
Just the way nature intended
I think I am tired tonight
Tonight is for fun and games
It's for dillying and dallying
It's for goofing around
And nothing else
Maybe I'll listen to Afro
Maybe Latin
I mean, as long as I don't start eating Wheat Bix with Oat milk,
I think I'm doing alright
It's a Friday night,
And I think I'm doing alright.
It's a Friday night.
II
The bass in the music is outside the range of frequencies the human ear can pick up.
I used to produce dance music,
So I know this for a fact.
"There's just so much more to techno.
Even when there's no lyrics
No variations
It's always changing.
And your mind,
Always racing,
Trying to figure it out,
Trying to predict"
That's how someone that I'm missing tonight once described techno to me.
"The bass in the music is outside the range of frequencies the human ear can pick up.
I used to produce dance music,
So I know this fact."
I remember replying back to them.
III
I look to my right,
I see the books on my shelf,
I don't know how long I've been eating cereal for.
The bowls empty,
The spoon, both sticky and dry.
There's a certain emptiness in my heart.
Like an empty bowl,
An unread book.
Like some sadness only a metaphor can depict.
I look at the books and all their pretty colours, neatly stacked, as best as I could.
I am late to take my medication.
I take it, and wait for big pharma push her loving seductive fingernails down my throat.
I wait for the warm embrace of her loving strangle.
People tell me it's hatred but it feels like love.
Some cunt in a lab coat made this shit but it makes me think less of how we are all slowly dying everyday, and I think I like that right now. I think I need a bit of that in my bowl of cereal . Like techno. Bit of melody to my day. Fucking sue me if that's such a crime.
IV
At this point in my life
I can point at all my hurt
Each and every micro neuron that stings and burns
And describe them
Name them.
I can tell you who hurt me
And why did they hurt me
And what did that made me feel
And how far I've come at coping with it
Each and every little one of them
But, you see, my brain still clings on
Like the milk on the spoon
Like unread books to my shelf
Like dust on my window sill
And like dust on my heart
Like a grown man, eating cereal for dinner in bed,
My brain still clings on
To everything and everyone I've lost
And on those nights,
On those Friday nights,
I lick that bowl clean
And close my eyes to music
And I try not to think about anything
Or to feel
I just don't want to do anything tonight,
I think I am tired tonight
Tonight is for fun and games
It's for dillying and dallying
It's for goofing around
And nothing else
Maybe I'll listen to Afro next
Maybe Latin music
I mean, as long as I don't start eating Wheat Bix with Oat milk,
I think I'm doing alright
It's a Friday night,
And I think I'm doing alright.
It's a Friday night.
BS
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