SHARROW by Peter Breakfast


      "What's your name?"
      "You know my name."
      "Yeah, but what is it?"
      "Is this another dumb joke?"
      "Fuck you."

      And so they went through with the joke and he rolled on the ground in the mud and the flowers because he thought it was so very funny. The joke had something to do with finishing a sentence, and to be sure, I'd love to relay it here but I can't because it wasn't in English.

      They walked next to a fence. They were not going anywhere and the fence was blue. Toothpaste blue so he said, "I feel like I could brush my teeth with this fence," and no one cared what he said because they were used to him saying things that made no sense, and then when they asked it was totally not worth it.
      The sun was doing okay. Like it was there in the sky just spinning--constantly exploding, whatever it does. But it was getting later, and, as we all know, things get orange when the sun starts to go down. So again, he said, "Blue fence, orange sun, we can always have some fun." And that's what they did. They found a dirty spot--dirty because no one cared for it, because it was generally out of sight--and blasted sharrow down their throats. Feeling like they were part of the space around them now, they laughed and laughed about things--real things that were actually funny. And they never really talked out loud, except for the one kid, because they didn't need to. Same same.
      You know how it is: if they're hungry they eat and if they're thirsty they drink. But these kids, these 15 year old kids, didn't say anything. They didn't see the point, I guess. And they'd see people fighting outside of a bar, and people yelling at each other in the street and they looked in disgust. To bring that here, with everyone else too. How selfish and uncontrolled they were.
      Things went on for a while. They always do. The wheels spun around at the time of the year it needed and the men all left for work. And the women liked their fingers primmed and slept in if they wanted, although it's kind of a dumb idea. So people were always hearing stories and never seeing anything just because that's how it goes. And what can you do about it anyway? Why would you want to do anything about it? It's just there like an apple or a piece of poop.
      The boy, the one who told bad jokes, walked faster than the others. This is not a metaphor. They didn't dislike it because people who used sharrow don't give a fuck about anything. This is seen to them as freedom. That's why they do it. It's not addictive in any way. It does their bodies no harm. They think it makes them better people. Pretty much everyone else--everyone who's never tried it--thinks it makes you a no-name useless bum with no ambition. This is a grave misunderstanding.
      There are a lot of huge problems with people. One of them is that they all just fucking do the same fucking thing as everyone else even though they all think differently. It's pretty fucking gay.
      So, like I said before, the sun was going down and everything was orange. This happens every day. Oranges are a good food and there were people who painted them and thought it was really great. And it was great. And then a man painted people dying and called it Guernica. And then if you look through the murky water just right you'll see the otters, which are very rare here. No one else even saw them--that's how cool you are. How special you are. You saw the otters. Now go back to work and make more trash. The government realized, finally, that something had to be done about all the trash, so they stopped making stuff and everyone got really pissed. There were riots. Trash riots. People died in the trash riots. That's more trash right there!
      So basically everything now is a pile of shit and I won't even go into talking about the power structures and all that crap. For now, all I want is for these beautiful kids to be able to walk down the orange street next to a blue fence. There. They did it. They are past the fence, but oh, they're turning around. Why are they turning around?
      "I don't know" said the talker. I don't mean to imply he's the leader because he's not.
      "What do you mean?"
      "What do you mean 'what do you mean?'"
      And we could go on like this for a while, but the end result is that they just don't care. No one hated the fence, no one liked it either really. And this runs so goddamn deep that if you can get very many words out of any of them you'd understand that they know how they fit in the world and it is anyone's guess as to why anything at all happens. Or like yes, they are doing good just by being themselves, whatever that is, and they like each other so if one turns around for no reason why the hell not turn around with him? Well, that's kind of a good question isn't it?
      Something came across the universe and put itself right here on earth. It was lightning. The thunder is a side effect, but just as cool, really. If you like thunder, that is. I like thunder. I also like holding my hand in the daylight and looking up womens' skirts.
      Everyone is different. All people have found things they were looking for, mostly things like keys, remote controls, or keys. But when the name call roll call is calling and you do not go, everyone in the whole world will get a little mad at you. Except your girlfriend. Your girlfriend is very pretty. When she walks by the blue fence in the orange sun you get happy. But really she is just some thing in front of you and you don't need that shit coming into your eyes to make you happy.
      Women of all different looks look good. There is a place not far from here that has no lights, really, and it is very loud at night. It is one giant room with tents and people all around and they are ready to say hello if you say hello, but otherwise will not say anything. Really there was a story I heard of one man who frequented this place and never said hello, but just loved it--the atmosphere, the potential, the noises. People being like they are having fun and talking to each other made him happy. So every night he'd go there and some nights were okay and some were better, and he'd stand on something and look around. He liked to be where he wanted to be--just like you and me!

      The Sampliate Foundation needed some volunteers to experiment on. They were going to put staples in peoples' feet. Now the boss man said to other people that he paid, "I want all different kinds of people: moms, dads, kids... babies even! Get me the lot of them. Blacks too, I guess. Why not?" And so there was a huge line outside this big fucking building and everyone was lining up to get their feet stapled. But they didn't know it. They just knew that the Sampliate Foundation made the best fucking hamburgers you could buy. They didn't know, however, that this same foundation was not founded at all, but squeezed through a straw made of money, like cocaine. And that it owned your fucking life because at any time if they wanted all dogs' left forelegs cut off simultaneously they could do it.
      Rumors were spreading. They're going to give us free hamburgers! They want to try their new hamburgers out on the public! Yaddy yaddy yadah! Yay yay yay. What a glorious day. I'll go home and make a painting about what a glorious day this will be--I'm a landscape artist, you see. I feel the need to create in such a boring world. Why oh why was I selected, great God who lives on a cloud? Was it because I'm a woman? Or because my dad loved me or maybe because Karl Marx is dead... In any case, it is true what they say: "spread the love and hold on tight" And the staple went in her foot.

      "My carbinle is beeping, I have to go."
      "But your cousin will be here in five minutes."
      "I thought you said ten."
      "That was five minutes ago."
      "Well, which do I like more: My carbinle or my cousin?"
      "I don't think it's as cut and dry as all that..."
      "Yeah. I guess you're right. I'll just check the carbinle--it'll take maybe 3-4.5 minutes--and I'll be right back in time to see Jenny."
      "Her name's Darla."
      "Right" as he was walking to the carbinle. The carbinle said that he needed to go to the dock very soon. And he wondered... why would my boss alert me by carbinle to go to the dock at dinner time? How curious. Oh well, maybe I'll just excuse myself slightly early from the table this evening--after intercourse with Jenny, of course.
      Oh, he's got it. He's got the plan. What a man plan. You are the man with the plan, dude. Nameless dude who are you? Oh it doesn't matter right now I guess.
      And so the evening went great and this person went to the dock. At the dock he found his boss and went over to him. His boss was almost at the end of the dock, looking like he was going to jump in, although there was no danger as the water was not far from him and he could swim very well. And when the guy came up to his boss the boss disappeared because he was a hologram or something and some kids came out from under the front of the dock.
      "What? What do you want?"
      And the talker of the kids said, "to offer you drugs." And the dude was disgusted and turned to walk away, but he felt he should reprimand these kids.
      "You know I've heard about your kind..." he started. But then he stopped because he got curious. And he felt they were harmless really--because they looked and acted like it. "How did you get access to my carbinle security code?"
      "One of us is a hacker."
      "But I thought you didn't care about anything."
      Slowly one of the kids, a taller one, walked forward, stared the dude in the face, and shrugged. What a huge contradiction!
      "So you don't care about anything, but you can have the patience and discipline it takes to be a hacker?"
      And the shrugger shook his head "no".
      "A common misconception," said the one talker, "It's not that we stop caring about everything, we just don't care about anything that you care about."
      Too much. What the hell was he saying? This is dumb, he thought, so the dude left and no one stopped him. He sees them all over--in every city he's been to and what the fuck? They're all the same. No-name motherless loserz with a z.

      Holy goddamn hell were they laughing. Yeah, about something that was really funny, but a certain thing develops here--telepathy. They can communicate telepathically, and do, and so I cannot even write these excellent excellent jokes. They are conceptual masterpieces, and if you stopped thinking all the time you'd have it too. You could sit with them and their shirts so dirty they're all one color and piss yourself. Doesn't that sound fun? I love to piss myself.
      The weight of the thing brings you a memory like if you actually had this happen to you. And it did kind of, but it's more of a general thing like a birthday, only it was the same birthday for everyone. You think of yourself as a captain who doesn't know what he's doing or why or something and "Hey, here's a cake" "Oh, thanks. Where did you get this?" and you understand that it's kind of a dumb question. You know your feet are made of the ground. HAHAHA. But really to understand you have to just be yourself, which is really easy when you think about it--how could you not be yourself? The ego gets laughed at for being itself. (Wheels look like cakes)
      There is a joke to this, of course. There is a joke to everything if you look at it right. So these kids coaxed an equally young and impressionable girl to take their drug. And she had all the characteristics of someone who'd turn to a drug: dumb family, no friends. Looking for something like we all are I guess. So she sees this pill in a kid's hand (yeah, she's heard about it--heard it was awesome) and says fuck it. And the night goes so damn well. A seriously good time in which she laughs and laughs genuine laughter and sees people as bags of goo caught in games that no one would play if they took life seriously, and why would you take life seriously? It was like her skin and the people and the walls and ground were indistinguishable, and that was it. So simple. Funny profundity.
      The next morning she woke up and thought she was still high, but she wasn't. She was part of the sunrise with no weight or burdens or any of that kind of like... stuff you hate when you're trying to relax. There was nothing wrong. And after a day of walking with these kids--by a toothpaste blue fence maybe--she starts wondering when she can do it again, as they all do and did. But guess what, lady! There will be no "again". What you ate was a goddamn placebo. A cultural concept to extrapolate the useful in people. Gotcha, bitch. Now, go home to daddy or hang out here or both or whatever you want to do. Who gives a shit?