I’m bored. Blah blah healing, blah innovation blah… These problem-solving healing-helpers are clever, but missing the point. A cock of promised utopia in their mouth to distract them from the cock of reality in their ass. The “Great Minds of Our Time” still getting fucked. I smile and almost giggle as I stare at the ceiling. Must be where the term “dumb fuck” comes from.
The voices of the kids playing outside come through my window. They sound like my soup, but with a future for the moment. They’re playing in the rain and making teepee’s out of sticks that can’t even keep the rain out let alone the coming avalanche of corruption, illusion, and indentured servitude waiting around the next hedge. Waiting to simmer them with spinach and seasonings and just a dash of lemon juice. Waiting to take their smiles, then their dreams, and then their lives. And it won’t be waiting long. They’re coughing already. The rain isn’t helping. There’s medicine for that too. I’m sure I’ll kill a few of my own hopes to pay for that. Pay with a little shine. Pay with a little heart. The shirt off my back? Hell no. I love this shirt. My husband paid for it for me. A huge, bursting closet full of more too. And unlike their clothes, mine are dry and clean. And just seeing those kids shivering outside reminds me of something. I want another cup of soup.