Dear despot,
I tried to learn your language so that I could have you churn out lovey-dovey small talk all night long, but the language you speak is too outlandish for my brain to process properly. This pains me more than you’ll ever know.
In my dreams, you are forever shouting about The War To End All Wars. This pains me too.
I started by giving you crabs and a straightjacket so you couldn’t scratch. You didn’t even twitch.
I then removed your moustache and shaved your head. I shrank your uniform in the wash, clad you in grubby flannels dipped in stale Chanel, but still, the vile orders kept coming.
“Torture” this, “Decapitate” that.
I also cut off one of your legs, covered the wound with maggots and kept you from picking at them by screwing on tight an ugly old wooden leg. The pain must have been excruciating. You simply replaced the belligerent bellowing with a serene smile.
That day I wet myself.
I reprogrammed your voice so that it sounded soft and apologetic, like the dull customer service advisor you ought to be. But darn, you offered no discount after a full day of torture and the freebies you mentioned were only redeemable in hell.
Reasoning – I gave you the gift of reason, upon which you gave me an in-depth analysis of the many ways in which your foul, vulturine scheme would benefit the world.
That was the one time I contemplated signing up for your army.
This winter, with great difficulty, I stripped you of your vocal cords. It was the evening of my birthday, I was drunk, I’ll admit that. After one REM-sleep cycle, you had taught yourself sign language. What is more, you had taught the audience sign language.
I was in awe. You are a better student and a better teacher than I’ll ever be.
Despot, dear despot, this thing we have, it never stops, does it? It goes on night after night. You make me crazy, you really do.
Yesterday, in a last attempt to get the upper hand, I tied you to a telegraph pole and gnawed through your ankles and wrists. You stood straight, legs watering the thirsty earth, arms squirting a double helix up in the sky, and gave the most brilliant speech on suffering I had ever heard.
A few seconds of non-REM-sleep later, the crowd went ballistic when they learned I was to blame for your death. Evil, pure evil had fallen to the ground, and yet sorrow swept over the planet. Your words now came out of the mouths of hundreds, thousands, millions of people.
The dream became unstable. I became unstable.
When I woke up to the crack of life, I almost hanged myself. Almost. Striving for perfection is demoralizing, but I ain’t no chicken.
See you tonight.
“Crack of LIFE” – Click for larger image
PS The original drawing “Crack of LIFE” is for sale. Hop on over to my store, where you will find more original drawings and paintings, waiting to spice up your life, and perhaps your dreams.