Fed up to the pincers with an ever-crumbling empire,
One soldier evolves the capacity to question,
Some will claim he humanized that day,
But no,
Truth be that fate-less afternoon,
The soldier cracked open baggage of emotion more than three times his weight,
Needless to say,
Even an ant couldn’t carry it,
As time passes with silent creep of a juggernaut,
Nihilism begins to rule the soldier’s obedience to his empire,
The precedent of anything new is established,
Unable to empathize with evolution,
The massive queen decrees banishment,
And a lonely wander to strange off places delirifies introspection,
Why do I feel?
It’s much too real?
Nothing makes sense?
My six legs?
Too dense?
I’ve seen less on giants,
A dew drop mirrors his maiden self vista,
I’m hideous, ostracized and thinking,
The weight of meta-consciousness is like…
Volatile gas in a spontaneously combusting tank,
Not plumbed to cry,
The fallen soldier just hurts amidst new thoughts,
His downward spiral bloats a stupor of rainwater binge,
The fourth dimension illusions a retard,
The cat eats the mouse,
A bird is shot in broad daylight,
Beings choosing to destroy other beings all abound,
Swelling twice his size,
The stage of suicide is set on a puddle’s beach,
Where better to end this strife?
As blood spattered feathers float pink in the sunshine,
Gentle clouds puff yellow from smog,
Yes it’s the perfect trippy death,
To the surreal notion of thought,
With no-one around to say otherwise,
Non-sense always rings more harmoniously,
The soldier drunks an un-swivel of his acid-rain canteen,
Nothing of this world could revolutionize this mind,
Eyes shut and poison raises to pincers,
As the pre-emanating feeling of death settles upon the soldier,
He spots a child ant smiling from the high dive grass-blade,
With a swift jump and swan dive,
The child plummets toward the beach,
Surely wishing for mass-suicide,
I won’t be selfish,
Follow me into the black light little buddy,
Split seconds prior impact,
The child winks and doesn’t splat,
But the sand sound-effects a romp boink,
Boinky boink,
And then boinks again,
He eventually bounces safely to a laughing stop,
The soldier stupefies with pincers still clasping poison,
It’s impossible,
I heard that child boink,
I actually perceived boinkness,
Acid-rain drops and drains into the beach,
That was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever sensed,
I want to hear it again,
The child climbs the grass-blade and boinks once more,
Yes yes thank you John Doe,
I’m in love with the sound boink,
Its tone is so robustly playful,
Again please,
I’ve got something to live for right now,
And thus,
Suicidal death was staved off for another day,
As can happen if you believe,
If you free yourself to believe,
The power of imagination saved a fragmented existence,
Is it tangible?
Who am I to decide?
It’s a hero,
A savior,
An extraordinary ofcourse,
But just the one of many figmentals used in therapies at…
The Extra-Sensory Clinic,
Leading the world against battling abstraction with its own medicine.
Indulge in benevolent insanity,
It’s extremely healthy for your mind.

Written by the legendary Jack Firestone
Tiresaur Hunter
Founder of Delusion
The Extra-Sensory Clinic
Somewhere in Oaxaca, Mexico
Edited by B. Starks




Dave Vierling is a writer, world traveler, bass guitar player, and burgeoning producer. His work, both written and musical, will be appearing soon as part of JP Lime Magazine.