last of the last

a drunk standing on a box, outside the train station:

"i am fucked. i am fucked beyond repair. i am damaged and fucked and no one can save me now.

adam. what a fucker. what a fucking fucker. he had it all. fucked it up. fucked it all away. all for knowledge. the knowledge of dying isn't what fucks us over. it's knowledge of happiness. the firm and unbending knowledge that joy is fleeting. we might want to hold on. we might want to keep it and grab on with our fleshy fists until our knuckles become red. but you know, and i know, that it will go. it will evaporate into the fucking air. that euphoria will dissipate and leave you empty palmed.

that fact hangs. it hangs like hooks on every inch of skin and bone and hair on us. we are slaves to the fact and we are so smug that we don't even remember that it fucks us and fucks us every fucking time.

why fight it? we are fucking lost. the battle has been lost and you didn't fire a single shot. you were too busy with your face in the mud. you dived onto the ground and you crush that patch of grass and fucked it all away as you put your hands over your tin head and prayed that it wouldn't be you this time. and by the time you got your wits together and loaded your gun it was all over and you had lost. and the field around you rolled in blood and bodies.

fucked man, we are fucked i tell you. call off the search because you will never find it and if you did it would only escape you and make a new life for itself in the bosom of you best friend. you would be fucked anyway. even if you found it or even if you missed it. fucked man. you better believe it.

ignore the trees. ignore the flowers and clouds and ducks. they are all fucked. we have poisoned the whole fucking world and we won't stop unless people start dying. and when people start dying we will know that it has started and we will be truly fucked and it will be the end at last."

they are funny, aren't they?