Me

There I was, happily

SHOUTING obscenities

at the benighted television,

in between mouthfuls of popcorn

and fistfuls of thoughtlessness,

when the television

retaliated by SHOUTING

at the benighted viewer.

We cannot calm our thoughts

with diesel generators,

I though, all faux profound,

when the sofa ordered me

to stop fidgeting like a squirrel.

‘Why squirrel?’ I asked

as the curtains exploded with a raucous,

‘This is my favourite bit!’

which only showed a lunatic on the screen –

a man with an Adam’s apple

bigger than my fist,

which, according to

comparethefist.com,

everyone’s favourite fist comparison website,

is small by fist standards,

but mahoosive for an Adam’s apple

(according to comparetheAdamsapple.com).

In the midst of all this,

I half expected

the fireplace, hearth rug,

and lighting dimmer switch

to join in.

But, I thought,

now you’re just being,

you’re just being too…

you.

Letting

Let misery be your guide.

Let happiness be only something

which happens to other people.

Let suffering be welcomed

like a wayward son

who finally got his shit together

and now wears a suit.

Let mental anguish thrive

in ways even your mother would approve of.

Herald unfairness, injustice,

and a run of bad luck so improbable

and implausible

that it reads like a bad plot-hole

in a Hollywood film;

herald all that with trumpets,

fife, and drum machines.

You can’t put any of these

things back in their box.

Maybe have your wallet stolen.

Let insincerity flourish and thrive

like an unnecessary pop star.

Let people push in front of you

to the head of the queue.

Let the pull of nihilism

steer you towards despair.

Let headaches be the norm,

except for weekends, when you can’t

even get out of bed.

Only when you’ve done all that

can you appreciate peace of mind.