the war machine...

he saw it years ago...unfolding in the 80's...the accumulation of cash...the top one percent of the nation controlling everything...the rise of reagan democrat....white's voting against their class interests..."you're a nigger, tyler, " the voice on the other end of the phone said....he pickedk up the phone, drunk on cheapies, slurring his speech, "no you're a nigger." the phone hung up. He laughed. "What a pussy," he said to himself and cracked open another beer...and lit another cigarette...the dead cranked out over his itunes but it was okay the old bitch next store wasn't home...it had been years since he had been laid...it almost seemed like it had never happened...long ago it had ceased to be what ideas you had...now it was status, symbol, power...he had tried to pick up the new ways of social media and he had a little bit of success but really it was a young person's game...on the tv lou dobbs rapped about the struggling middle class...at least they could identify with their pain...no one could feel his pain...there, alone in the night, anxiety exploding in his veins, bought on by acute insominia and years of alcoholism...he tried to stave off the effects of this lifestule with yoga and other healthy endeavors but it was of little use...his hair had turned whitefrom it...

information overload...he was one more voice in a cacaphony of noise...it had bothered him for a while but now he had got used to it...like the character in knud hamsum's "hunger." he accepted his fate while he wasted away.l...