Off Target

I was sitting on a stool at the pub. She had just been at a party where she met up with a bunch of her mates, or so I thought. It turns out most of them did not show up because the guy who was supposed to drive them there checked himself into a mental institution that afternoon. He had the tickets to the festival the coming weekend as well. I guess he realized that his clock just was not ticking on time, I guess. Along with everybody else’s clocks. Like all the clocks have to tick together, but they don’t really have to tell the same time, I guess. I wonder who figured out time zones. That fucker must have thought he was nuckin futs for sure. What about the people he tried to convince the theory to? ‘You see, if you fly from Indonesia to Hawaii it takes 18 hours. So if you leave Jakarta at 4pm, you get to Honolulu at 10am... Yesterday!!! That’s right kids, we go back in time.’ I still don’t get how that shit works, its just one of the things I have come to accept, like the fact that Rihanna does not shit.

Tuning into the World Wide Web and surfing porn should be enough to comfort anyone that there are crazier people out there. Unless the person in question has a fetish for being handcuffed, tied up against the wall, being whipped with a leather belt, having a rugged hairbrush slowly shoved up their ass without the use of any lubrication, subjecting their nipples to the deprivation of blood circulation till their about to turn black and drop off, willingly submitting to mental torture and abuse, then finally paying some Japanese school girl to piss and shit on their face, I think they might have a good chance at being considered relatively normal by society as we know it. Not to say that society should regulate what we consider to be normal or not. I mean, if eating a kaka sandwich for breakfast is what floats your boat, do your thang dawg. I guess it is up to each individual to gauge for themselves what sanity is. But try as you might to stay distant from the reach of popular consensus, we are all subject to the influences of our surroundings. Even if you decide to be a hermit and stay at home sticking needles under your fingernails while watching The Bold and the Beautiful, you will sooner or later adhere to the principles of normality stipulated by the music you listen to, the books you read, or the experiences and acquaintances you reflect upon even during periodical visits to the grocery store (kids who were raised in cages or cellars by sadistic foster parents are exempt). Not to mention your loving family.

It is fun to be a little eccentric but what happens when you see that look in your friends’ eyes where they see you in true form. People who have known you for years but seem surprised by your colors. And not in a good way either. Soon enough you look in the mirror and wonder, ‘am I knitting with only one needle here? Am I missing that one crucial screw?’ And when reality kicks in you finally question your genetics. Is this madness hereditary…? Well chances are if you come from a tight tribal community like I do that you are already in a boat with only one paddle and safely 3 miles up shit creek. The kaka sandwich does not look so bad now. There has been so much inbreeding going on in the Sindhi society that I am actually surprised we are not spawning children with 4 legs and 3 eyes. So many societies pay so much concern to marrying their children of to people in their own social circles without any concern for genetics. But my grandfather did say that the mind would be the first to go. Right before he took flight from the 7th storey apartment window.

Maybe it was just time to find a new group of friends, people who lived closer to his red line. So close in fact that once he got there he would find out that what he thought was the edge was in actuality a tight row of beautiful red roses. That ultimately there is no red line, that life like the planet we live on is a sphere and he could not possibly step off the edge, it was all just a matter of perspective and the narrative position he adopted in his mind.

Words like pervert, alcoholic, dropout, druggy, rapist, dictator, whore, crack-head, pedophile, thief, rebel, murderer, faggot, convict, slut, thug, and bastard. These words are the strips of skin that bind together creating society’s whip to chastise humanity. How far do your thoughts really need to run away from the abuse before you hit the brakes and scream out for help? Where I come from just waking up one morning and checking into an institution is not an option. And what fucking escape could they offer anyways? More drugs? I learned to self medicate at a young age and I think I have gotten pretty damn good at it. Yes, occasionally I feel the sting of the whip on my ass as I creep back into my hole. But this is still my world and I will come out to play.