2. the day i set my couch on fire
THE DAY I SET MY COUCH ON FIRE
i am an electric porn star. i shun human interaction. i sit on my couch and smoke my cigar like a tough guy. the only thing that burns are theses letters on my monitor as i dream of the art. i spin the words so the burning reality seems fresh and new. i watch my video tape and do my laundry, but how do i keep you interested. you rent videos and you do laundry, but my laundry is symbolic. the grease and sweat on my tee shirts is the oppression of the working class. the stains on my drawers are our hidden sins. and the Tide you blasphemously assume to be a religious metaphor. well i’m sorry, but it is the same as your laundry and the hidden message is this: God will not get out tough, ground in dirt, and laundry detergent can’t save your soul, but this is why you read. because you want them to be that way. you want God to buy you a new car and you want a demographically oriented art film to grant you (you in this case being me too) salvation, but that is not how the universe works. there is only the truth. the truth is God will set you free, and a little bit of bleach will get your gutchies clean. there is a beauty in the simplicity of it all and if you need it to be complex from a certain perspective it can be. and as i reveal the truth of truth i am distracted from the spark that falls from my cigar and drifts in little circles to the polyester cover on my couch. and it burns in our imagination.