PART 23

“Mother dear, your boy is here from far across the sea. Lookin’ for that sacred chord that burns inside of me.”

Wake up and sing that to the closest wall. Thank you, Mr. Prine. It really is interesting where your mind goes in the morning. And afternoon. And night. It stretches across the spectrum enough to where I feel like we are all a little insane. We just can’t tell because we’re all in the same ship. We just have to pretend it’s a ship without leaks or without too many leaks. I wonder if in 1,000 years an evolved human species will look back on us now and see us as emotionally primitive. I bet they will. Those progressed, smug bastards. They’ll pity us because of our dependence on oil and they will cover up the fact that we had unrealistic shows that we deemed as reality. And they probably won’t have bodies or shelter. And they probably will all be a part of the same conscious thought. And they’ll have no need for art or war or sex or punishment. And they’ll probably wake me up from a frozen chamber. And they’ll ask me a book full of questions. And in response… I’ll pull out a guitar and sing them “Mexican Home” by John Prine. And if they have faces… they will melt. And civilization will end as they know it. Trees will grow taller and moss will cover monuments. Sandstorms will bury the faces of statues. Fields of grass will replace anything man has touched. Each unnatural entity will sink into caves or be swept by the wind to the other side of the moon. All will return to the Earth and we were never there. The End.