If I can’t seem to do What I know to be best for me, Then I have no choice— I must barrage myself with the truth. I must attack my own senses With the same tenacity that the advertisers do— Those hidden hands that incessantly bombard our minds With an endless procession of trite and glamorous trappings To incite and prey upon our inflamed desire. If I can’t silence their ceaseless assault, Then I have no other choice. I must fight fire with fire. Every morning that I wake up on the lawn Of the casino, brothel, or pub drenched in my shame, I will again make the long, hazy walk home, But each time I will also drive a sign in the ground. Some of these signs will read, “Remember child-like beauty,” And others, “You are a cherished son and friend,” “Wait and listen for the still small voice,” and, “Your heart was made to leap and ache the same as anyone’s.” Each and every time I walk that dingy road home— Each and every time, I will drive sign after sign in the ground And, eventually, I will get the message. I will get the message. I will get the message. As long as I’m stuck sleepwalking With my will commandeered by stupidity I have no other option, but to ruthlessly Condition myself to continually face the truth. And if the signs don’t work, I’ll setup billboards Along the highway to foolishness that say, “You know damn right that there’s no joy over here,” And, “You’re only fooling yourself…” And I’ll pay a hundred pilots— All the money I’ve saved up if that’s what it takes— To fly their airplanes over the temples of vanity, The brothels of loneliness, And the pits of forgetfulness, Pulling banners behind their planes that read, “Joy, run back to joy!” And if that still isn’t enough I’ll tattoo crosses All over my face and below my navel, Along with pictures of my Mom and Dad On the palms of my hands. If I can’t seem to willingly do What I know to be best for me, Then I have no other choice. I must barrage myself with the truth The same way the advertisers And stokers of inflamed desire do, But I will disrupt their noxious signal— I will override their dissonance With a loudspeaker blasting the sweet Harmonious music of the truth, Crescendoing and crescendoing, Until it is heard By these deaf ears Loud and clear. And I will get the message. I will get the message. God, what else can I possibly do to get the message?!
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