Where I'm Going

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You tell me
and don't say hell.
It makes me sick the way
people laugh and jokingly exclaim,
'I'm going to hell for that one!'
This idea of eternal punishment
or
somehow being ok with it is
nonsensical/depressing/retarded.

I'm going down Frost's fabled
road not taken, path least traveled,
street not yet pissed upon.
At the end, or perhaps in
the middle of the beginning
is death.
For in the end we regurgitate
the beginning and drown
in it.
Such is life, such is the path.
Insert generic uplifting words
about the exciting things ahead
in our short lives,
because I left my copy of Remember The Titans at home.

I'm going to propose a resistance to middle age
and also to old age.
It will fail, once again,
in favor of the rich man's golf swing.
Oh wealthy swine
I shall spit on you now and forever.
I'm going to eat less than
your teeth could scrape from the bottom of the trough.
I'm going to write and be
unheard like some sort of ghost
in the computer lab with a tape recorder, a bottle of liquor, and a typewriter.
I'm going to figure this
ALL OUT
and be a happy camper.

However, even happy campers run the risk of being brutally mauled and ripped apart by creatures of the forest.

I'm going, going, going, gone.





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