I'm tired enough for sledding to Hell. The
now shortest day of the year in arrears behind
me, this grey, moist, wet fog is dripping with new
gloom. I bury my heart in the wand of my cloak
while, outside, some ass-jammed treecutters are
at it again. The world slumbers while Nature falls.
I can't get up to fight, my arms seem tethered in
a madness all my own. The twist of a mind's bad
scaffold is holding up but an illusionary world.
I live amidst Devils destroying, everywhere.
It's Christmas, you fuck. These same yokels with
power saws and chains will, in two days, toast the
goodness of the world to Heaven; and have their baby
Jesus set in their fiery manger and see their kids in
happiness stretch. While, undetected, their Dad the
Destroyer jerks off by the stove. I'd rather be the
Kinks in some English quayside pub.
'Paranoia, Big Destroyer.'