Le Douche

Ballet! from Ryan Enn Hughes on Vimeo.

The winding blinding malaise of these, the salad days. Soon to be dog and later forgone in the pleasures of learned silence. Unending wants, unquenched. Banana tree writing. The plantation was based not on any realy fruit growing empire, nor in my opinion on the republic, which is an often invoked metaphor, but instead on the tumors that grow quickly on society. Tumors like money and tumors like processed and refined sugars. I would like to own a refinery. Any type of refinery would be fine with me. A sugar refinery, beet sugar that is, or perhaps a pencil refinery, or a nun refinery, or a finance refinery, or a real estate refinery. The only refinery I would never own would be a whale meat refinery. In my opinion it is self evident that whales should not be eaten by people. I believe sharks were created by the whale industry to serve as intermediarys and illustrate the order of eating to those humans who participate in the whaling industry. But of course mankind being the voracious on nonsensical set of individuals we are, came to eat sharks as well. This is disgusting. Not the eating, but the killing.
I am struggling to be productive. Loosely hanging onto my sanity. Wondering in my mind why it is I want to be 'banked up', 'papered out' or 'pocket fat'. Why does that matter to me, am I a Douche? Is this even possible? And if so, at what point will I become snide and arrogant? Already you say? Too late you say?! Oh my, then I suppose there is nothing to be done but over eat and bliss out in the never ending infinitely updated much of the internet universe. I suppose if I even attempted to break out of this cyclical time sump I would burn out in an instant at the horror of what I have become.
But what of my project? What of the me project and the you project? And Africa, I've never even been there! But if I am a douche, and I suppose you would like it if I went with that premise, would you not? If I am douche, and I am full of shit {this claim I wont begin to disclaim because even as I type the claim becomes mor valid} Then is it not only logical that I must be a douche bag, full of shit? And if indeed the perameters of my being are the walls of the douche and inner contents of my being are the shit that fills my bag, then isn't it necessarily true, to avoid the self fulfilling prophecy, that the shit that I am full of is not my own? Of course its not my own? How can one shit into ones own self? One cant! So it must be the shit of another, or rather was the shit of another until it came to constitute the essence of my inner being. Would I be remiss friends, in surmising that it is the shit of none other than one, Big J in the Sky, GOD? Well, regardles of the accuracy, you can see that the claim only furthers validates the hypothesis that I am indeed a douche bag that is full of shit. As for who's shit it was before it became me, I can only surmise, as I have no proper claim to search out the previous owner of a never ending cycle of eating, pooping and populating. Only god can judge me, only god.