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GOING GREAT GUNS
Its amazing what some people do to get their kicks... Pay for them with money at the counter of the store I assume. But why should I assume that I lied on my resume? Then for some strange reason soon after, I die while I meditate. And the general thesis is suicide. 'Addicted to medication,' they said. The media play it down, sweep it underneath the carpet and clean it down with Harpic. Hard Luck Nietzlawe, that's just, How It Goes. But someone tiptoed into my domain and strangled me with whipcord. What for? There were no motives? Don't ask me, I'm in the early stages of rigor mortis. I lay no claims to know, or support this prognosis. All I know is I've had my throat ripped raw with whipcord. Its, not ideal, but life has a way of stabbing you in the back like a woman's high heel. You just gotta learn to roll with the punches and not fall with the punches, or you'll be on the floor crawling for your crutches. You just gotta be tougher than that, struggle and suffer, lap it all up. Don't get down and dilapidated, get up and laugh yourself into a happy state of mind. Be elated, Be grateful for the plateful of food on your motherfuckin' fatherfuckin' table. Don't put yourself in a position where you're unable to stabilize, or save another person's life using a surgeon's knife. "That feeling of helping others, it feels real nice, better than choosing evil... right?" Helping other people gives me an ever-peaceful freedom from an evil state of mind. It's all about correcting those silly mistakes of mine. To do what's right, to choose what act of kindness I offer as my guidance. To meet the like-minded and fight mightily to open the eyes of the blinded. So that we can all be united, as one, instead of divided, into one.
But that still doesn't solve my so-called suicide. Maybe it was career suicide, but how would I know how to do it right? I haven't had suicidal training. No experience with guns, needles or nooses. I'm useless, I wouldn't know how to do this. Which makes this death all the more suspicious, and the cover up rumours more vicious. What did I do wrong? Displease the few? Make a Jew feel uneasy which made it really easy for him to shoot me? But I don't hate anyone. So why would anyone want me to be gone? It'd be wrong, on so many levels, like somebody who had just signed a pact with the devil, then got fat, while sat reminiscing his war medals. Remembering what he had done for his country. Got patriotic, lit up a narcotic to block out the neurotic. The deception, the Shellshock, the conscription, the prescription for forced antibiotics. Dying for nothing, told that he was fighting for good things. The good cause, gauze, the most noble of blood sports. Wow, you click your fingers, and I'm here, in Korea, you're safe, nowhere near. I'm your lemming, condemning war, what am I here for? In the battleground of this nuclear war. Caught in the middle of this enigmatic governmental riddle of injustice and corruption like a gullible little piggy. It just niggles me. I ask why me and not you? Why am I collateral? What makes me so dispensable? What makes you so inapprehensible? so irresponsible, so fucking horrible? Slaves to the one-eyed monocle. This diabolical leadership.