40 seconds of pain

Once your spinal cord is cut and your head is severed you will continue to experience the full spectrum of pain, without the heavenly numb of shock-absorbing chemicals, which are back there with your body. You can’t talk, of course, but you can move your lips and appear to scream, and you can focus and blink your eyes, as proved by dozens of deathhouse deals.

A severed head is conscious, and in some ways hyperconscious. The head knows it’s been picked up by the hair and shown to the crowd. The head sees the crowd, hears the crowd, smells the breath of the executioner, thinks happy thoughts, cannot believe how long 40 seconds is, because 40 seconds is how long the average head remains fully aware, if not alive. Forty seconds of indescribable pain and horror.

Get dirty. Get fucking filthy. Get poor. Get off your ass. Get desperate. Get dangerous. Get vilified. Get vile. Get romantic. Get fucked. Get pro-active. Get started. Get your own life. Get going something. Anything. 
Because before you know it you’re forty with kids, a mortgage, and responsibilities that cause your fun to come second.
So before cancer, before children, before fifty hour work weeks, before back and knee problems, before school loans, before you lose your sense of humour…
Fight.
Fight and fuck and run and smile. Smile because the older you get, the less you will. So yes, “quit being such a goddamn pussy,” because bitching and whining and worry never made anything better.

Parking Lot

I get in my car. I turn the key for my stereo to play and to power my windows to roll them down. I ignite the engine. I sit in the 98% weather struggling with the turmoil on my mind. The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult is playing and I get lost in it. I take the e-brake down and place the shifter in reverse. I look forward to see all three mirrors. I accelerate heavily because I’m sloped downward. This guy appears on my right side and looks at me with my right door mirror. I continue to reverse because I really could care less. The Reaper playing loud enough that I can’t hear what he’s got to say through my right window. I sit and stare at him for a few moments. In my moments I was just waiting for him to touch my car or provoke so I could hurt him passionately. I saw a coward not doing anything about the fact that I almost ran him over and stared at his face with no fear or an apology for him. I have never felt this way before. Even when it was my fault I was wanted to destroy him with my hands and leave him laying on the parking lot alone. Somethings happening in me that I’m not sure about anymore.