Recorded Books Inc. - Solipsist

Table of Contents

Thanks: Selby, Bajema, Shields, Vega, Carol, Dave, Heidi, Mitch Bury of Adams Mass.

JOE COLE 4.10.6112.19.91

Note: This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Maybe all presidents should be semi-literate, overweight and out of shape then they could always be remembered as A true man of the people. If I was a woman these days, Id be killing motherfuckers. My handgun would never cool and my hands would be covered in testicular blood. I would have a horrible reputation with a lot of men because I would be calling them on their weak bullshit left and right. Back when I was alive, I would always hear about how some woman was a bitch and then when I met her, I found her to be strong and not taking shit from the corny men around her. If you grabbed my ass when I walked past your desk, Id make your brains come out of your nose. I hate seeing good guys having taking the rap for these weaklings. I hate the idea that any woman would fear me because she ran into the wrong guy a couple of times a day for a few years and thinks they must all be that way. What else is she to think? It is a failure. I know many men and women who had been married and had then gotten divorced. The levels of acrimony and ugliness at some of these proceedings alienated me from the idea of marriage. What a bad business deal. You get sued and all of a sudden youre paying money to someone you hate, who hates you right back. Maybe thats why men go to strip bars. Maybe women are safer when they are on display. Maybe thats why people like to watch pornography films. You dont get any on you, you dont get sued, you dont have to talk. Maybe most women should be either prostitutes, whores, strippers or publicists and most men should be criminals in cages, lawyers trying to get them out, pro golfers or politicians. Wouldnt that make for less paper work once the software was formatted? Everyone else could be employed to clean up after them. Maybe thats not such a hot idea, everywhere would be like Los Angeles. It was all a mystery while I was amongst you. I tried to love and failed. I tried to hate and got bored. Now I just drift through scenes and watch what you say and do. I write it down at night through a microscope. I turn specs of dust into planets, moments into eternities. I know that many married men have affairs. I know that from time to time women hate mens guts. I know the same goes for men. I know you think about sex all the time. I know you have killed people in your mind. I know that you say a lot of things to yourself that you would never say out loud. I know you say a lot of things you dont mean for fear of what the other chicken shit lying motherfuckers will say about you. I know you say one thing and do another. I know some of you hide behind the flimsy shield of political correctness. I know you, though. You want to fuck, own, and kill as much as anyone else. And all that, is what we have in common. One tragic laugh riot. No such thing as heroes, just crazy motherfuckers with good press relations. There was no golden era of anything, no such thing as the good old days because even then there was racism, rape and corruption everywhere. Maybe its time to rebel! Rebellion? You mean that neurotic posturing you do before apathy sets in and The Simpsons come on? Virtue is a marathon. Youre tired. Im dead.

Walking point for no one. When I walk the streets, I avoid eye contact with people. I look at the street. I look at storefronts. I look away from their faces. When they see me, they call out my name and embarrass me. They are loud and stupid. I pretend Im someone else. A guy named Ed. It works and I can feel myself relax a little and I can look up and out. Im Ed. I stop acting like myself and start acting like this other guy. I am divorced from myself. I cannot be myself amongst them. I must be someone else. I walk and slowly forget myself. A block or so later I hear one of them yell my name like hes made a discovery and has to bring me up on charges of being myself. Hey look its _______! I can see you! I know you can hear me! Hey look, hes not turning around! Have a nice night! I keep walking. I go into a store and buy a book. The lesbian is rude and goes out of her way to show me that she doesnt like me. Im Ed. She has a problem with Ed. What did Ed do to this woman? Why do some people allow their sexual orientation to define them? At an intersection I turn the whole thing around in my mind. I dont care. Im not Ed. Im me, and I dont care what the fuck these people say or do. Im so far from them. I wonder if the words that could come out of my mouth could leave lesions on their skin. I dont want to love anyone. I used to, but I dont anymore. For years I wanted to meet a woman who didnt make me want to be alone. I dont look anymore. I walk the streets, and I feel pretty good inside my distinct isolation. They know who I am. I only know myself. I hear them talk as I pass them. I listen to their words and try to imagine myself saying the same thing. I cannot. I have never felt farther away from humans than now. Every word that escapes my mouth is a solipsism. Every move I make is solipsistic. Solipsist. Look it up, insect.

Im a veteran from another world and youll never understand. The medals I was awarded are made from body parts of those who fell next to me. I threw them away as soon as they were given to me. Your words are useless to me, useless against me. Because the truth is that nothing matters. Nothing at all. From my window I watch a man sit in his backyard. Hes there every day. Hes barely visible because theres so much foliage surrounding the small cement clearing in which he sits. I dont know anyone whos ever spoken to him. Sometimes he reads, but most of the time he sits and looks at the ground for hours. It seems that either he knows hes being watched or hes used to being watched. He always holds the book hes reading in such a way that I can never tell what the title is. I never see anyone in the yard with him. Hes always alone. I dont know when he leaves his house to get food. The shades are always drawn. No deliveries are made.

Youll never have problems sleeping again. I dont hate any of em. Theyre going to do whatever they get in their minds to do. I dont care anymore. You can call me and tell me youre not going to make it, that all the things you wanted to do will never actualize. That your dreams and ambitions fell flat and you got sold out by the fakes who you thought were so sharp. When you tell me you cant move because they drained all your blood and youre living in a commercial and you need their drugs to live through the day, that you need their lies to make you feel like youre aliveI wont tell you that youre fucked up. Ill just wish you luck. What is there to say? Youre going to do what youre going to do. You know that laws have no meaning. They never stopped anyone from doing anything. Nothing can stop you from ending up the way youre going to end up. You look at all those people you said you would never end up like, and now you know them on a first name basis. Theyre not such bad people if you give them half a chance. In fact, you all have a lot in common. They make you feel good. Theyre not trail guides to the new nowhere, theyre your friends. I dont hate you. I dont know you. As youre falling off youll see that my arms were too short to catch you anyway. Youll end up right where youre supposed to be. Dont be surprised when you get there. Everything you did was a step in that direction. Theres no such thing as bad luck.