Sheep-faced earthlings milling around in lines of futility under the iron fist of the Matrix; pacified from time to time by TV and fleeting gagging media diversions. The Brazilian poet Ze Ramalho said it years ago with his priceless phrase, Povo de Gado. The Human Herd. Slaves is all I can see, stumbling blindly through the cogs and gears of a big monstrous machine sucking the soul out of them like some seven-headed demon from hell. Sieg heil; big smile. It’s the only way to fight back anymore. And I’m having my fun with the people today on the streets of downtown Miami, everybody running like roaches on a grill that’s heating up… desperate, flying balls of tension in the muggy heat as the weekend comes running in like a hysterical faggot clown, shooting flames out his ass in this drunken theater of the absurd.
I shared a few ironic smiles with bank tellers and elevator operators, my fellow sufferers in this man-made purgatory, cell mates in a mass prison complex where the screws fly off the machinery, a prelude to complete breakdown and chaos…
It’s a humid afternoon, hostile vibes in the skies over Miami Beach as tourist vie for space with roving Overtown whores who sniff so much coke up in those overpriced hotel rooms that their faces seem to shape shift and morph into something resembling ant eaters. And the horror movie continues down here by the sand, dumb-faced tourists waddling around, old and spent, sporting their bulging overfed guts and pasty white-flesh. And I think, fuck, I don’t wanna get old. I don’t wanna
be an old codger like my father hanging on to an earthly identity as my corrupt old space-suit withers and rots around me. It’s the ultimate indignity.