Words by

Travis Bickle

Soon darkness will envelope all for months on end and snow will fall mingled with hail, sheeting the windshield in freezing cold white. Such is the time for the depressed to wallow, for the forlorn to simmer in deep funk. The inching lapse of time and creeping stretches of wait pile up infinitely as the mind softens and slowly turns to mush. I vowed once for an end to this but my means are meagre and the coins call for me to claim them, the bills beg to be bound in my billfold.
I long ever to be the drunken lout whom I serve, as alcohol keeps the wolves at bay. I know indeed that it is a fine custom for a man to lock tight his heart’s coffer, keep closed the hoard case of his mind, whatever his thoughts may be. Yet I bare these feelings freely without care of being judged. Only by distribution can sadness be cast away, or by infecting others, my state be made to seem less wretched. Bereft of joy, I, by sorrowful utterance, bereave others of theirs.
Finally I catch a fare. Why does this please me, I wonder. Once safely shipped to whatever destination only more futility awaits. Safely shipping briefly considers ceasing as carelessly crashing presents a final solution. Might it be I’m listening to too much Neurosis? Should I perhaps switch to FM 957 and for a while become a happy zombie with its gleeful head swimming in sickeningly sweet and frothy pop culture hell bent on ever discovering a lower common denominator on which to breed a bleached hair generation of functional retards? Should I rather be happily monosyllabic than sadly eloquent? I probably will never know.
Tonight I spark an incorrigible flame and toke a jay. I get high on hate and loaded with bile, contempt and loathing. I run lights and ignore stop signs. I heed no limits and strive to end this ruined life continuum. I’m playing a game you see. Whoever is the biggest dick fare tonight gets to join me in the great beyond with a high-speed crash gasoline fire as the expedient. You just try me you cunts!