Hatred on a Train
I don’t feel well. I feel sick indeed. Churning stomach, mixed with the burning disease of miscontent, and that lonely old emptiness. It’s that lust and envy and aloneness that cloaks me in this bitter bile tasting lathe. The pretty girls on the train squawk in excited conspiratory lunges. “She looked at his phone, and he was hiding something.” I want them, but I loathe them. I loathe their shallow stupidity, and gossipy self-righteousness. Yet I envy their ability to float through life on a narcissistic cloud of self-indulgence. Breathing in whatever they can take from their surrounding environs. What can be soaked up and used for free? Or what can I pay too much to consume. Consume, consume. And let the wave of waste eat you up in its own time. The tracks swim past in a dizzying twirl of aggressive speed. If that is how I see, then maybe I really am not well. There is this train load here of mediocrity. But what do you expect on a train? Brilliance? From those resigned to the pitfalls of public transport, of a system so ruined and corrupt, you arm yourself to step aboard, cloaking yourself in the necessary body armour and attitude it takes to survive the trip. Yea, there is mediocrity here. A train-full indeed. A sardine can, crammed full of lives left unlived. As the “pretty girls” talk about their purchases. “That’s from whogivesashit.com.” Please lord, let me bury them shallowly. In a grave, not smooth or well made, but heaped up with craterous boulders, and the stained dirt of other burial sites. Let them be forgotten in one quick shovel heap, one last handful of discarded red sand. And done….I will tell myself. Next. What next. Plenty of subjects on this train. But I let them escape my notice. I don’t want to notice. I want to wallow in my self-indulgent aloneness. By god, if they just stopped talking, that shallow grave could lay unlaid, and this train ride, could be just about bad smells, gritty seats, and the other unpleasantness that usually consumes me. By god, there are more of them getting on. I thought the drunks and the white scum made for an uncomfortable train ride. The urine soaked old bums usually do enough. But the incessant prattling of a privileged only child. The periphery comes to mind. Do I judge too harshly? Maybe I never stop judging. Well. You get that. Maybe I need to stop. Fuck, she is talking about “A clockwork Orange”. That bitch. She is not allowed to read and misinterpret such brilliance. What the fuck is that smell? This never fucking stops does it. An hour at least to go. Is that what I must submit myself to. Fuck fuck fuck. And I have work today. 12 hours of endurance. But maybe I get paid for today? I hope so. Just need to get there, start chipping away. Give me the patience to survive the rest of this trip, without resorting to that waistband revolver, ripping out, and letting it buck in the general direction of humanity. No man. Not today. Calm, patience. This is your test. View it that way. You get paid for this shit, just in a different way. Let it go man. Indulge in your nausea and loneliness again. Fuck-it. This is life I guess. Incessant ramblings, on a packed train, with wrong smells, and that alone feeling, like being in this world, but not of it. Well don’t worry my man. You can always just feel like you are special and better than everyone else, and just judge them all for fun. That is what you have become. Awesome.