The machine is failing, spewing blood and oil and the collected essence of millions -if not untold billions- of human sacrifices out into the aether; this moribund amalgamation of flesh and steel and piss within which our lives all become entangled like the intestines of a medieval man nailed to a breaking wheel, and the wheel keeps turning and our innards keep spewing out like so many first prize ribbons at a county fair. We are livestock trotting along toward an abattoir, only dimly aware of the captive bolts waiting around the corner. Our captors dance in our blood, feast upon the stew of our collected gray matter as it is scraped from the slaughterhouse walls. What isn’t immediately eaten is processed and fed to our offspring; we are cannibals, all.
It’s October now. Fall is here, and with is comes nostalgia and bittersweet memories wrapped in melancholy. I’m getting older, life seems so much different than it once was. Things aren’t as simple anymore and this isn’t the world I grew up in. That world is buried under so many spent aspirations and failures, but that’s the thing about life: like it or not, with or without us, it simply grinds onward. I see terrible ugliness in this place that wasn’t as prominent in decades past, demons marauding openly among us with relative impunity as our corrupt moral codes wither into excess and filth. We’ve built quite a nasty, stinking cage for ourselves and called it a castle, which, the way I see it, we’ll all be conveniently crammed into under lock and key before our wardens douse the whole edifice in pitch and set it ablaze.
I don’t know why I still do this. It’s a strange compulsion that overwhelms my nerves every once in a while, that I must write something, so I come here to vomit out my paltry musings and reflect upon my own failures. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, but I’m still alive for now.
God help me.
Towers of Rust 