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8 September 2017

Background Noise

by Andrew

Mexico quakes. The air there is electric and crackles. The ground rumbles. The east coast and the gulf coast of the United States are under water, ravished by rain and wind, hurricanes. The west coast United States burns. In the middle of the country in the United States, wind rips through the plains. Portugal burns. Syria bleeds. Korea bombs the ocean. The sun scorches the atmosphere in all industrialized countries. A continent-sized chunk of ice snaps off of Antartica and goes bobbing along. "Calamity runs rampant where vice is prevalent." The entire Earth, then, is in danger, in that case, one big Sodom, Earth anymore. I open my Snapchat to a slimy, white cock, freshly shaved. Now send me yours, it says, honey.

Trump warns Korea. He pardons racists, rescues them from prison, puts them back on the streets to continue their hunt. Protests continue, clashes, white supremacy, liberals. Police brutality he recommends, the Trump. He loves those damn police. Those damn police shoot black kids in the face on sight. People applaud.

In the United Kingdom, the people are still listening to ideas, suggestions to break from the European Union. Germany houses the refugees. They build them little homes there, Germany, the refugees. They rape their women, the refugees, Germany's. Those refugees live by different codes. From war torn countries they've survived. The Pope and his gang molest kids. One half of the world is dark, a waning moon. The other half continues to bake in the sun.

The dog eats the baby rabbits. The nephew encourages. They sent him home from school to-day early, the nephew, for shoving another kid. Kindergarten, they sent him home. I couldn't believe. His grandma traps him in the corner and, boy, does she scream and scream and scream. The nephew screams back. I put the rabbit in a grocery bag and throw it into the trash. I'd have buried it, but the electrical lines are somewhere there in the yard not too deep.

There's murder in the air everywhere. Cars honk. They swerve to try to clip me purposely it seems like. The nephew watching excitedly the dog nibble at the baby rabbits haunts me. He breaks every toy he has, all 3,000 or so of them. My mother screams. She wanted to watch the damn dog get those rabbits too. She might have got down there and had a bite herself even, a little blood, a little violence herself, why not. Her feeble attempts to stop the mutt were pathetic. Other kids across the nation sit in dimly lit rooms by the TV, shadows of light blinking across their faces, a headset covering their ears, controller in hand, Mountain Dew, Xbox, and Playstation—1st-person-shooters. They masturbate furiously in corners at grocery stores.

Cops speed up the street, cherries to run the red light. Sirens blare. Cars smash into eachother on the highway again, every day this week another one dead there on the 80, there at the bend. Planes crash, disappear forever. In Boston, the poor are persecuting eachother. Everywhere it's the same. Corporations squeeze the last drops of blood from their employees, toss them a nickel, and kick them to the curb. The price of shelter jumps. The cost of food increases. The cost of gas soars. Semi-trucks litter the town. Piss-bottles line the sidewalks. And now, a Love's they'll open here on top of the 2 Pilots already and the TA. It was in the newspaper, excitedly announcing—more jobs!—what, all 7 of them or so? But all for the money, honey, attract those trucks. Let them spend their cash on anything we wave in front of them, the idiots—the whole lot of them, people. Parking lots smell of stale, sun-dried urine. A bum asks for help, jiggles his cup. He snaps off change for the twenty I give to him, more money in his pockets than I have myself.


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