Men’s Rights

Lady has a gun
Lady has a gun
Sometimes there is just a swear. The rain did not speak. The clouds have no thoughts on the matter. Even the zen master was silent, though of course she always is. Just that unsteady feeling like I am bad, wrong, just for existing. Yes, I am that fucking cunt, the one you blame for everything that is wrong in your life. You tell me “shut up bitch, you fucking whore.” You grab a gun from the stack in your basement. You make no idle threats. You grab my pussy even when I say no. It is my fault. Your rights as a man can never be overridden. This is the law of your god. The god of men and their unsatisfied manhoods. It’s the bitches, it’s the lesbos, it’s the feminazis that make your fucking dick limp. Never your fault, never you, always the bitch cunt whore of your dreams.

Revelation in 1 Minute



The tubeway was not in its usual configuration. As usual, I had walked down from the F train platform through the vaulted enclosure of the spaceport trains to the lowest level express platform leading to the city. Something had been moved. The stretch of old slightly oily maglev had been twisted perhaps two degrees counterclockwise looking down from above. Yes, who would notice such a minor detail? Unfortunately, I would. Unfortunate since it would be yet one more thing only I would notice. I could tell no one. I wasn’t afraid of being labeled crazy or eccentric; people already thought I was. I just could not break someone else by telling them the truth. The constantly shifting geometries and realities of the city could only be mine to know. That was until the approaching train arrived. Or more specifically what (or who?) was on the train.

For maybe one or two days a year the advertisements covering everything in the station would be taken down. I am not sure why. Did advertisers just run out of money? Removing the ads revealed something we rarely speak of these days. Yes, we have the most perfect society ever to exist. No superlative can ever enhance our state of perfection, but there was a day that others walked among us. Now why did the authorities allow the past to interject in the present so jarringly? Memories have faded, or simply have been removed, but just like the slight turn of the maglev tracks I remember.

“Excuse me, sir?” I could hear the voice. It could not be for me. “Sir? Did you drop this?” Drop what? What did I have? Not much. And there it was.

Like the maglev tunnels of the city, my mind is like an endless digression. I travel one line, and it connects into another. What train is this? I am so lost some days I am suddenly above ground, the end of the line, the ocean, the city’s bridges barely visible in the fog.