Hm. What?

Wrote this up randomly a day or two ago. No real purpose.

Oh yeah, found myself a toaster in my pocket two days ago and I never thought I'd contemplate the meaning of my mundane life as a man with a toaster in his pocket. You ever stop to think about these things? Ya know, the little things. How if you don't pay attention, you can be a theif, or, you can walk so far that you find yourself lost, and you never even knew you lost time? Its really easy, when you don't think about it. You could be doing it right now. Have you checked your pockets lately? Have you felt a paranoia?

Thats just one of the signs to come. But for now, just wake up.

Its not that hard, as I said, to find yourself far from home. I remeber doing it alot when I was a child. I'd step outside to play, and find myself halfway across town, and I'd not have the faintest idea how I got there. I just assumed it was the natural order of things. I was there, so thus, I was meant to be there. And they'd find me with things I didn't know I had. Bullets, necklaces, pens, underwear, hats, kitchen appliances. They called me a kleptomaniac, but I knew that wasn't true. I never even stepped foot near those places in all my life, so how could I have done it?

They claimed I did, so I had to deal. They argued over my medication which I never took anyway, so it was all pointless. They'd argue over my name, just to be stubborn. I eventually wrote down a calender of who I was each day when I was young. Mondays, I'd be Steve, Tuesdays, Joe, Wensdays, Mike, Thursdays, Cory, Fridays, Matt, Saturdays, Stephan, and on Sunday I was always Jesus. Or, thats what they'd tell me.

I remeber their resounding voices every sunday. They'd all shout out, "Jeee-sus, Halleluja!" Then they'd push me a bit. They'd shout Jesus again, then hit me. I was the bloody Jesus every sunday, and I was always a Martyr up until I was about seventeen. Then they'd call me god, and make me the bloody one. God wasn't supposed to be bloody, but I always was. I'd look at the worn bible, and I'd tell myself 'If God were a man unto this world, he would be birthed in blood, and die unto blood.' I never really believed that bible anyway. 'God' was never there, anyway, or, he was too busy sleeping to care about all the ants below his feet.

When you think about it, thats all we really are. Ants. We move about, we build, and then we move. Sometimes we fight with other ants, but what does it matter if a few ants die as long as the colony survived? I tested it out with ants at home once. I got two diffrent kinds, and slammed them into the same tank. They kept fighting. Thats humanity for you.

But anyway, I never understood why I always had diffrent names, and no one else did either. Someone told me that I had a witch for a mother. I told him he lied. Later he called the police, and they took me away. No one called me Jesus, or God there. They'd just sit me down and call me John. I didn't like the name, but I had to deal with that too.

I always had to deal with things, but I never liked it there. One of those times you just walked off happened to me, and I found myself outta town. Everyone always manages to find their way outta town somehow; and luckily, mine wasn't all that gruesome. I've heard stories of those shot as they ran, or had to shoot someone else with a gun they didn't know about. Reality always tended to bend around those who ran away from town, but it was diffrent every time. Some people got out all peaceable, some violent, some didn't even know they were gone until two years later and standing in a ditch eating a lizard.

Reality bends around you. Be careful, it'll pull the rug out from under your feet the minute you aren't looking. And it is a long fall down to the bottom.

You can't really say you've never felt a tug any which way, ya know? It just pounces on you like a wildcat, and tells you to move like the devil with Johnny on his heels. Johnny is a legend amounst us. Some are lucky enough to meet the guy, and shake his hand. Others will say he's nothin' more than a wandering ghost on the roads.

But if he's the wandering ghost on the road, what are we?

Johnny has a long tale tied to his feet, about how one day the devil came to challange him and play the fiddle. Thats how the song goes, and that song is true; the band who sings it are one of us too. But the real story about Johnny is much more deeper. Johnny never was from Georgia. He was from down near Arizona, possibly Lousiana.

It was a hot muggy day, and Johnny had just been lazing out in the grass, letting the wind run through his hair. He'd been content to do that for hours, having a breif spasm in the wanderlust, when he felt the air go up in heat, and some yellowed grass burn slightly. He lifted up his head to find a fellow strolling down the street, struming on a fiddle. Johnny was a proud old bastard, and he liked the look and sound of the fiddle the man had, and he wanted it for himself. So Johnny leapt out of the Devil himself, and challanged the man to a deul. The devil, being a sportsman like man, smiled and did a bow, before they both began playing at diffrent points and diffrent tunes.

It went all through the day with no sign of end, before Johnny smirked and grinned. He saw an old pal in the bushed beside, and winked at him to start a bit of trouble. Its true, Johnny was a cheater, his friend tossed a rock at the Devil, but its said Johnny is a legend for making the devil run.

But you don't want to hear that, do you?

You want an answer, a firm, solid answer?

You are gunna have to find that out for yourself. I can't tell you anymore right now, but we will speak again. As long as there are highways, you'll always find one of us. Its inevitable.