This morning I awoke in Biloxi, Mississippi with the feeling that reality may have shifted in my sleep. Everything feels slightly pushed to the left or to the right (Fuck, what if it’s been pushed backwards or even on a Y-axis? Will I be able to keep up?). Gravel trucks are spitting tiny rocks at my skull with an attempt to knock my forward thinking off course. I see their plot. I know their scheme and I WILL stand for it or sit for it, at least until I figure this all out.
They’ve sent a league of 18-wheeler truckers to encircle and enslave us. They never cared to be a part of this cadre of semi-sentient beings working for them, but it’s what they’ve become. Blind men, fingertips numb, ears waxed-over, headed westward going at least 90 MPH bearing a crucifix of petroleum, frozen food stuffs and white guilt. The first time he passes me he waves to me almost to say, “I know you. I see you and I’m not ok with this, but if we’ll both look to the East we’ll see a carload of white-haired John McCain clones. They’re watching us. I apologize.”
They’ll vote and just like me their vote won’t count. His truck says “inedible” but I see “indelible.”
Did this all happen because/when I removed the sensory-depriving sleep mask? Did I take it off too quickly?
I saw the entire landscape, the entire world as white light. It frightened me. It engulfed me for the brief moment it existed and then left me in Biloxi, Mississippi. Welcome.
I still say don’t register to vote. Take your cult of personality and shove it.
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