It's been how long since the good cop/bad cop routine of Mike and Dave came calling?
Despite various electronic flares launched over too long a time.
Still no business cards left by the doorbell seeking a reply.
In the midst of what some call the 'Plan-demic' I launch another electronic flare.
I'm not expecting the fake named Mike or Dave to answer the call.
Any more than perhaps someone who came after them will as it were but won't.
If there is no answer - it's just going to get chalked up to mental instability.
As it already has.
Lovely thought as that may be it's just lacking.
I have done everything to comply, co-operate, to remain true to some idea.
An idea that was nothing more than something determined to be false at that.
The increasingly bad memory like a stale taste left in the mouth after a cheap cigarette.
The past failed. The present never existed, the future was a disappointment.
Time spent to waste time.
When you fall in Love for a spook who is nothing more than a ghost of a memory.
Not the physical love addiction kind of Love - but something less than a statistic of sex.
A love for what one could have been under different direction but not so claimed by Eros himself.
Or the Agency of Spooks from the shadows of economic civilization.
Memories of a light beard and wild eyes focused on something at hand I have yet to comprehend.
The condescension of what went with being on the receiving end of that.
To be turned - on - discarded - abandoned - left.
The absolute to surrender to something incapable of understanding to show willing compliance.
Only to face wanton and decadent corporate disregard.
The empty house, the empty mind, the empty life. Waiting for the pulse to fade and stop.
Steeped in Gin and a certain regret.
When everything else has stopped instead.
How many more words of confession must be lived at the level of a desperate isolated and lonesome Soul unwilling to be forgotten.
How much disregard can one man accept in this bitter hateful equation of Governmental Industrial Espionage?
Living alone with no one to care - no one to leave anything to - No one who would notice a sudden and catastrophic demise when I could give you everything I have left in exchange for a confirmation of memory.
The arrogance of this hateful equation condemns you to a miserable Hell that you cannot dare to speak from and drink to avoid as the layers of time continue the uncertain distance of memory.
