KRUNK TRAIN

I’m writing this from the back of the train, i’m trying to find the right moment to jump off, but i can’t, it may be the speed it’s going at or it may be my ever growing realisation that i need the train as much as the train needs me. I don’t like being on the train because it makes me do certain things that I don’t want to be doing, yet i feel compelled to jump on board as soon as i see it draw into the station. There are people who see the train arriving, whether it’s due to the smoke that is bellowing from this seemingly unstoppable machine, or because they have checked the time table and are arriving just at the right time to get on, or some crazed people will follow the damn train, actively look for the train, the train spotters, they chase it, as if it’s their dream, their reason for being on this planet — to board the train and ride it until either the train stops or the conductor kicks you off for unruly (or in the trains vernacular, too pussy) behaviour which I’ve seen happen very rarely because it is a common understanding that once on board you have to dice with your life to jump off, hence where I find myself at the moment, and there is also the reality that the train realises how precious it’s passengers are because of their uniqueness in having little to no hope in ridding themselves of the krunk inside. But i sit here, dangling my feet of the end of this train that is hurtling towards Goat City and I just want to jump, take the pain of the landing, get myself up, dust the dirt off, turn around and brain the fuck out of the passengers laughing at me from the back of the train, because i know, I KNOW, deep down they are all saying, ‘damn, that should be me, could it be me also? who you kidding, I am the train, without me the train doesn’t exist and with the train the world doesn’t exist, best go check on the conductor”. It is the conductor that keeps us on the train, without us really ever asking the question of why, i swear there is something in the air conditioning he pumps around the carriages, or maybe its the repetitive motion of the same movements that puts us all in a trance, a trance within which it is commonplace to feel untouchable by human norms, by morality, ethics or mature understanding, one which others, the infidels, are so taken aback that at first the charm of the train is wondrous, because it is, a force of nature which does not have many rivals, and yes it does, it does look wonderful from the outside, and even more beautiful from within, but the trance can be broken in a flash of light when property is seized or when vehicles are broken or when religions are destroyed or when animals are set loose or where innocent bystanders who have been oiling the tracks for the train to run on suddenly realise their mistake and try to re-direct the tracks, but ultimately fail and are at wits end to come up with any other alternative therefore decide to refuse the train it’s re-fuelling stop, which can be lethal, or when part of the train separates and is lost in the wasteland, but eventually the train is always asked to move on.