He put up one hell of a fight, he was an individual. He laughed and laughed in self defence. He wasn’t to be beaten down by the kind of feral urchins you read about in the yellow press. He wasn’t one for packing up his stall and heading home – cancer ate his guts, but he was still a man at 83 years young. He’d learned a few tricks – he knew what it was to kill and he had a few scars from the battles he’d won.
It’s the terrible sun that wears us down – we decay from cosmic radiation, best to stay indoors – or wear a hat – whichever is more convenient. Get reflective – that’s my advice, and don’t stand too close to the sun. Back in the shadows a rotten film of garbage coats everything like cockroach slime. If you’re going to hide from the sun you better get thick skinned and learn to converse with radiation proof roaches and fat rats who quote Shakespeare and Marx. The shadows conceal terrors that might make you wish you’d shriveled in the sun. Old men have stared death in the sphincter and they ain’t about to run and hide from the hard light of day – once an individual you are always an individual and you’d have it no other way.
Life came to this planet on comets. I read that somewhere. I wonder how it will leave. They say that when we have finally fucked this planet up all that will be left are cockroaches. Cockroaches riding comets – that’s an image. We evolved from bacteria and we haven’t come that far; we still like to swim in shit. Maybe that’s all we do that’s of any significance – feed the cockroaches; the masters of planet earth.
You can’t kill them with pesticides or atom bombs. That’s evolutionary excellence for you – to eat shit and never die, unless someone flips you on your back. I saw this movie once where cockroaches learned to impersonate people. It turned out to be true – I’ve seen them lurking in the shadows. Now they don’t just eat shit, they talk it too.
For William Lee