Hearing noises coming from the
bathroom is a common misdemeanour for the allergic and afflicted train
attendants on their days-off. It's a felony but one that can be laughed off
with a simple HAHA or, for the more discerning thinker, HEHEH. The judges aren't
usually so harsh that they don't let you bring a book to the cell, they just
prefer that you read something a bit outside of contemporary literature,
something weird and offhand. They're reading it over your shoulder after all
and they pay their librarians to stack the funkiest shit on the sliding scene.
I'm
here to tell you what to do, to tell you what you want to hear about the
systematic depression of your people, the ones with the croupier hats and the
dancing monkeys. The judges may have nuked the Hades out of your territory but
they really just want to integrate you better into their cataclysmic ideology.
I'm actually paid to state that too, what are lark! The food is terrible here
with its poison all up in its mascarpone, created by granules of Neapolitan Trajectory
Spittle. They aim by the yard which is fine for us in the staff hut but not so
much for you and your new buddies out in the pleasure fields of opaque
retribution. You're picking up reasons to live, stuffing them into your gob at
every chance you get if you've got the right idea and don't want to die of
starvation out in this mess.
They
told me that you were a mother and a brother, that you went ahead with the
challenges of being both at the same time and let the world consider the
implications of your existence. Perhaps the fuzz on your lip threw them off a
bit but that's natural for an institution of induction, they're not really sure
what to do when the 'Both' box is ticked. They have to give your space back and
try not to make a fuss with the other dudes that work the otter park. Misery
isn't just found on the leaflets, it's a carefully-managed product which is fit
to specification for the likes of many likeminded bulldozers.
All
the green light hurts my eyes which I suppose are your eyes now that we're
headed for the Shadow Pots. You've brought a friend along and I'm afraid I'm
going to have to confiscate her before the warden hears and tries to hang me by
my dickie bow again. The warden thumps bibles not because he believes in them
but because he thinks that violence will draw out the good stuff and emphasise
his lilting speech. The blanks are not blanks here, they are finely attuned to
your neural capacitors and expect to be paid up front the next time you visit
the toilet and forget to wash your hands thoroughly.
These
blocks are for hustlers and their erstwhile grandparents who just want to exist
like ants which is fair enough. Keep them in certifiable chains though and
don't ask why.
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