Motivational Speaker (25 Fucks Anthology)

There was no telling how long this fucking thing would last. I have been sitting here for the last four hours and the only things I have managed to accumulate are a headache and a numb ass. We were all supposed to be learning something from this, this fucking disgrace of a show that had already been going on too long five minutes prior to its inception. Apparently, and this is what I had gleaned, it was all about Me and only I had the power to be the Change I wanted to see in my life. Well, I sure felt sorry for the rest of the sorry attendees at this sorry fucking show. I just wished the guy would get off the stage and somebody would shoot the projectionist so we could stare at that blank film screen behind him, then we might actually learn something. Staring at the images of picturesque freeze dried corpses dressed in fuck-me pumps grinning salaciously into the void that was our amassed consciousness and the never ending sea of gears that were our defeat, one imagines the perpetuity of our virtual salvation and the immensity of “Product.” The product that we were however were programmed differently, already sliding in and out of the lights outside where the neon spelled Fuck and the sky grinned down like some unattainable whore. Where broken teeth rattled down storm drains pushed on by a steady stream of blood and oil the origin of which was never fully known but guessed to originate in the diseased mind of some sick invalid somewhere lying dreaming in a dirty room in an unnamed city. He opened his eyes and the stars went out and all these things were somehow born out of nothingness by the perpetuity of his endless fucking dreams and the stars copulating all opulent and wrong, just wrong.

“Give me a gun and I’ll fucking end it,” some random voice said, “I’ll end the whole fucking thing.”

Well this amused me to no end as I craned my neck looking for the origin of the voice and finding nothing, this didn’t surprise me. I’d found nothing everywhere I had looked as had most of the people here; but this guy on stage, well he was a different fucking story wasn’t he? He had found something, and now he was here to tell us, all these poor fucking unfortunates whose teeth those were rattling down into those lightless depths, whose blood that was that that old invalid was dreaming about and bringing into the world with his psychopathic psychic convulsions, he was telling us that we could have something too. All experience, all wisdom gained from this fruitless life down in this fucking mess, this cacophonous abattoir of sorrow and light, that we too could be granted by the pure force of our untapped fucking wills entrance into this new realm of experience and dementia. He was like the pope up there, the pope of fucking money, and he was loving it, clearly. The adoration, the expectation, preying on us like a fucking leach, this mediocre exploiter of our mediocre sorrows.

Well I’m inspired, I thought to myself, inspired to get my numb ass up and get the fuck out of here before what happened to him happens to me, never mind this project Xanadu of lust and greed dreamt up by some cynical corporate think tank, I’m fucking leaving to go dance with my broken thoughts on the blood and semen soaked streets of Broadway, chew broken glass and steel wool then spell out the word fuck with my own feces on the walls of some luxuriant hotel. I stood up to go but faces turning towards me, disapproving and not more than a little upset, humiliated, and frightened cautioned me to retake my seat. So I sit here in this psychic torpor with images in my mind of some white house by a stream far away from here, a man riding a Penny-Farthing bike peddles by and waves to no one in particular, a greeting to the emptiness of that perfect house, that in your imagination you can dream of the perfect world but no one can ever live there. Fucking hell…Even my dreams were turning against me, and I knew that from my dreams it wasn’t more than a hop, skip and a jump to my ideals, only a matter of time before they went all sick with the worlds poison. But if I could drive a car like that…posses a concubine like that…it could all work out. I wouldn’t even mind that I had turned into some soulless droid whose inner life had long turned into the fucking toxic waste dump of an insane world.

I thought of the dinosaurs turned to oil and I shuddered. I strung Christmas lights along the inner contours of the emptiness of my head, I thought of fat belching congressmen groping the asses of young waitresses in fancy restaurants and the chefs spitting in their food. I thought of kids at spring break wearing Velcro suits throwing themselves against Velcro walls and laughing as they stuck there, stuck to the fucking wall. I want to run marathons, I thought, swim the fucking English channel, instead I’m stuck here in this fucking room listening to some coke fueled lunatic ramble on about the attainability of the third world nightmare, the immediacy of our spiritual annihilation. Then despite myself I began to revel in it, the sheer sweaty desperation of this fucking farce and I knew then that I was in some kind of asylum.

Four hours more and the thing went on, I was possessed by the feeling then that it would continue in perpetuity and I wondered why some sane soul hadn’t reacted to this with violent retching and ran out into the velvet walled hallways of this labyrinthine cathedral and pulled the emergency fucking exit, we were all yearning to exit, this much was clear, we wouldn’t be here otherwise, and for all intents and purposes this was indeed a fucking emergency. The street wept out there, empty and cold, begging for the soft slap of our footsteps on it’s hard, wet boulevards and avenues, that out there we would be another kind of prey and rejoin the atmosphere of emptiness that we had bred and nurtured that stalked the lonely alleys as the buses drove by packed and our little white houses stood empty in green fields indifferent to the shadows of men riding by on antique bikes. A flash and there’s a bird in one of the trees by the house, another and it is gone.