The sky is blood. I know you probably don’t see it that way. Most people probably don’t see it that way. But I see it clear for what it is. That’s how I see things; clear for what they are, and that’s how I know what the sky is, ’cause I ain’t afraid to look at it and see it for what it is. Things have a way of showing you their true selves when they’re transitioning. Their true selves is there in the moment between, when they go into the space between, like how the moment between calm and anger, you see what a person really is; if they are a scared person, or a sad person, or just a hard motherfucker. In that moment between things it’s all, we’re all just changing clothes, putting on a new cloak, a new mask to play out the next part. And if you look close, and if you train yourself to look most close at those moments, you get to see the bare body under it all while it’s changing. You see what it really is underneath that’s wearing that mask. I only look at the sky during the time between day and night, when the sun’s going down and it’s spilling red, that’s the bare body of it, the truth of it all, pink and red and spreading open. The sky is blood. We’re just wading around under a big pulsing ball of blood. I know that. I looked at it clear. The sky is blood. But the hell of it is, it’s our blood up there.
I know other things about the world I seen from looking at it clearly too, ain’t many others seen. For instance, I know the sea is the night. I known that blackbirds are bruises given by loved ones. Grass is fire. Snakes are your innocence daring you to kill it. Paintings are tombstones, and tombstones don’t even exist, except for trees, which are the real tombstones. Stars are old men. The only thing I found that is what it is is guilt. Guilt is guilt. Romantic love is never love, but it can be just about anything else. Children are funhouse mirrors that ain’t no fun really. Mountains are turmoil. Cornfields are the vulgarity of lust spread thin and hiding. Peace is everywhere that we aren’t. Fish are God in little pieces. God is a bunch of little fish looking like a big whale. Teeth are the same as toenails. Sex is rest. Pain is pi. Strength is falling. And freedom is not being in fucking jail.
They put me in here this afternoon. I still ain’t got to talk to a fucking lawyer even though they told me they appointed me one. I ain’t seen no lawyer. Where the hell is he? I’d like to know. I’ve been in here for three goddamned days. They told me I have the right to speak to an attorney. Well, how’s about it? I’m ready. I got time! God knows I got time. Those state-appointed lawyers don’t give a shit about you anyway. I think half the time they want me to go to jail just as much as the prosecutors, really. Damn.
Sometimes I feel like a big red bird on fire, like an American flag on fire, like a big red bird tearing out from the red stripes of the flag on fire.
The feeling of guilt is one thing, but the state of being guilty is a whole ’nother. I feel guilty about a lot of things, but I ain’t guilty of nothing. What do they got on me? An empty baggie that could’ve been full of anything. Bath salts? What do they know? They don’t know nothing. Said I was acting weird in the Walmart parking lot. Well, is that a crime? Is acting weird a crime? Last time I checked, that weren’t fucking illegal. They want me to say some shit, I know, want me to say some shit so they can put me away for god knows what. Probably want me to say something that they can call me a terrorist for. The FBI got my number. They call me and pretend to have the wrong number, asking for people with made-up names: Angelina Georgina, Tammy Hall, Candy Hill. Those sound like real names to you? Fuck no. They just want to hear my voice. Catch me saying something I shouldn’t. They’re recording everything. People laughed at me for years when I told them, but it came out, it’s true. I was right about it all and they ain’t laughing no more. I don’t know why more people don’t care about that.
They been testing bombs on the moon, and no one cares, though we didn’t get a chance to vote on it. Democracy, my ass. I know about it. They’re mining up there; Obama and Putin and the pope, they’re mining up there, even though they told us the moon don’t have no resources. I know what things are. I read about it.
The world is full of evil men. Evil people are blending in with the good ones, pretending to be good. I read some people think there are lizard aliens taking human form and running our government. But they ain’t just in the government. They’re everywhere. When I was little, I saw them. They showed me what they were. My dad’s friends when I was little, took me out, hunting they said, and took me instead into an old shack in the woods and showed me what they were. Shape-shifting demons, and the blood sky and the blood dirt; it ain’t what they’re from.
I know what things are. I look at them the moment between, when they’re thinking, finishing or starting and I see what they are. They got jagged teeth and they look like a horned scaly creature. That’s what Dahmer’s victims said he did. Shifted shape. They’re around.
There are lots of things. I know when it’s coming. I know when it’s gonna happen: 12/21/2121. We don’t got much time left. You ever hear that old song that was written about what Nostradamus predicted? It goes, “Blackbird singing in the dead of night.”
I just want my family with me when it happens. What if it’s really in 2021? If it happens sooner, when we’re still alive, we’ll just tuck our heads in tight and think about the wormhole so we go with the light, together. I’ll pray to Jesus to take us through that wormhole, into the light.
I’ve seen the rainbows on things dancing and singing. It’s a sign from God, like He sent before the Great Flood, but tiny ones, instead of one big one. I got my shit ready to go. They better let me out of here. They ain’t got nothing to hold me on.
Free country, my ass. My fucking ass it is.