Dear Mr. Turner
It's been sometime since last we spoke. (In fact, It's been a lifetime to be exact, but who's keeping track?) I filled my head with a million things to say to you if ever we met. I practiced them in front my bathroom mirror, to be sure I wouldn't stumble over my sentences. I carefully constructed a conversation in which you spoke and I responded with a whity retort or a hurtful remark. I've never seen your face, or heard your voice, and I can't imagine what you may think of me, or if you think of me at all. Often times I found myself lying in bed, asking myself questions that only you could answer. I'd have a drink, or seven and be asleep by eleven. Only to wake on cue, at two, to thoughts of you, and a headache. I used to anxiously await the day that you would knock on my door, simply so I could open it and reduce you to nothing. I waited for 20 years. But, Alas the day never came.
Sometimes I feel high like I've never been down.
Sometimes I feel lost like I'll never be found.
Some days run long like they're never gonna end.
Some days I feel alone like I never had a friend.
Never had a friend...
Sometimes I just dream like I'll never loose faith.
Sometimes I let a good thing go to waste.
Sometimes I feel powerful like I'd never been small.
Sometimes I feel like I'm nothing at all.
Nothing at all...
Sometimes I'm like a bird that never could sing.
Sometimes I'd just fly if I ever had wings.
Sometimes I feel sad and I never know why.
Sometimes I live like I'm ready to die.
Ready to die...
Sometimes I breathe slow like the air won't last.
Sometimes I step lightly like I'm walking on glass.
Sometimes I think the stars will collide and crash.
The future is bleak so I dwell on the past.
Sometimes I think the world has gotten so strange.
Sometimes I feel deranged like I've never been sane.
Sometimes I draw blank like I got nothing to say.
Sometimes I feel like I'm living at the end of days.
Sometimes I hang my head like the stars will fall down.
I wonder when the ends gonna come around...
It's not all bad.
Don't let me make you sad.
I'm just glad
For the good times we've had.
If I live to see the disaster I'll thank god for the scenery.
And I'll thank you for the memories.
I'm in an empty white space. There is no time. No shadows. There's a black ocean below me. I can't f-ing swim. The only thing suspending me above the black ocean, are 3,214 lines of dental floss tied in little knots around my skinny arms, and connected to 3,214 balloons in various colors. Only there aren't any purple ones. This makes me sad. There are never any purple ones. I'd just feel safer if there were purple ones. The balloons start carrying me forward. I look around at all of the whiteness. There's a faint humming sound. It's grows into a whistle. The whistle grows into a low screech. It keeps getting louder and louder, until the empty space is full of this deafening high-pitched noise. I cover my ears. I look up. Emerging from the left are 2,000 doves and from the right 5,000 crows. They are flying toward each other, and I'm dead in the middle of their war. As they near each other, there is a moment of silence. Then they collide into a furious mass of black and white dots. They peck at each other like cannibals, and from the sky black and white feathers rain down, collecting at the surface of the deep. Blood begins to rain down in heavy drops. Without warning the birds attack the balloons. Pop. Pop. POP! POP! POP! POP! With every pop, I feel myself sinking. Shit. My feet graze the water. I sink deeper and deeper, and before long my entire body is submerged in the black ocean, and the birds fade from my sight, until all I see is black. I'm dry. I'm not surrounded by water, I'm surrounded by...clouds. Clouds made of cotton candy. I'm in a night sky. The moon is a flashlight being held by a gloved hand. Stars aren't made of gas. They are just lightbulbs. I've been lied to. Dead birds are falling. They become white gloves. The Gloves grab my arms and spout purple balloons. Finally. I can see land. Tiny little cars, and people who look like ants. The mountains are cardboard cut-outs. I kick them over. People stop and wave at me. There is a large arena in the middle of the town. The roof opens up like a book. The purple balloons guide me in, and a white glove hands me a microphone. My feet touch the stage. Thunderous Applause. Solid ground.
This one is called After Midnight, because I took while going for a walk After Midnight. Plus I've been Reading Gotham After Midnight lately. Tell what you think.
I love you, but I hate your belief.
I appreciate your thoughts only if you think like me.
I am an ambassador for the most high.
Jesus was a radical and so shall I be.
Violence and hatred are excusable in god's name.
Murder is okay so long as it is the unholy that die.
Hell awaits you, heaven awaits me.
God has chosen not to act for himself.
I shall act for him.
I will purge this world of non-believers.
I will scrounge them up and burn them.
I will give them away to the hands of Satan...
...and he shall do with them what he will.
He will devour them all.
They will call out to my God.
I shall say, "No! NO you blasphemers and fornicators and lovers of Satan!"
They have chosen to deny God's word.
They shall die by the word.
They will feel the wrath of God.
They will feel it through me.
They will fall at my hands.
God will act through me.
I am his holy vessel.
Perfect and saved.
My salvation is secured.
But the sinners of the world shall burn.
God bless you.
Jesus loves you.