Diablero

 

Ain’t it hard just to live? There’s no accounting for people or what passes for right and wrong. I’d been shooting my mouth off. I was up to no good with nowhere to turn but bad.  I’d deviated from the norm. I’d been scaring the neighbours. Somebody called the cops. Yeah, somebody called the cops.  But I know my rights.

“You have the right to obey. Compliance is mandatory. There is only one rule: obey all the rules.”

They held me on trumped-up charges of lewd behaviour and vagrancy.  They confiscated my shoelaces. They confiscated my humanity. They took me to a doctor who said,

“What’s wrong with his head is anybody’s guess. He needs to be disinfected. He’s channelling subversive vibrations.  We’d better lock him up; I think that’s for the best.”

They put me in the quiet room, where I’d plan for my escape. I’d tiptoe right out of there. I’ve learned to play their game.

I level up heavy again and again. But I don’t complain. That’s just my lot; it’s always been this way.  Mania is a gift from the cosmos. The truth don’t stop. It’s rolling on hard, like the driven rain. I have a face for every season. They can’t take that from me.