CONSEQUENCES

I Must Die

I am kneeling here…in my living room…preparing for my exit from mortality.

The sun’s rays… through the windows, making the dust particles dance appear ghostly…haunted.

It is quiet now. I have come to grips with the responsibility of dispensing this justice upon myself, that I have pronounced…nay…heaped upon others throughout my life.

I am not a hypocrite. I must be true to the laws of nature and man.

My rules…my guidelines

The ceremonial jagged piece of glass, the tack hammer, the boiling vat of oil and the fire ants are all here with me…in the dancing dusty light.

I am sorry to admit…that I have violated Pet Peeve rule # 6… I put the milk jug back into the fridge with ¼” of liquid splendor…still in the bottom.

I know…

I was obviously sleep-walking when it happened. I must have been…I never would have transgressed to such an extent against my laws of etiquette in an awakened state.

No excuses

A twisted, miss-guided sense of dequorum and years of self-imposed guidelines have attuned me against any possibility of violating these sacred mantra’s .

Note: Self Alarms. (hear 70’s version of Star Treks danger alert) *DUN NA DUN NA DUUN NAA DUNNA…*you know the one…

My sentences of death and other horrific tortures, that I have sentenced upon others, after 48 years “on the bench of my jurisdiction” holds me to this standard.

I must maintain the law. Without law…we are only animals.

I kneel here…looking at the aforementioned instruments of self-imposed justice…with a sense of…no…a sense of appreciation.

They will release me from this shame…they will cleanse my soul from guilt…through the agony of keeping my own rules, I reach nirvana.

I will become…an ancestor.

First…I will beat myself senseless with the tack hammer.

Second…I will lay amongst the fire-ants until I am no longer recognizable as a human

Third…I will stumble…crawl…weeping into the vat of boiling oil…grateful that it’s punishing anguish is purging the sin of this spiteful transgressor.

Fourth…Boiled…half-eaten…beaten senseless by a tack hammer, I come to my final release…

Ritual Seppuku with a jagged piece of glass.

The only way to enlightenment.

Equal payment for my violation…account squared.

Looking at my instrument of destruction…of transport to the nether-regions of this awake place…

To not be a hypocrite…to enforce my own rules…the privilege is glorious.

I have not wavered. I have shown no fear. I am the master of my soul.

I’m just really glad that I had re-filled the ice trays, washed all the dishes in the sink, and not stolen the batteries from the TV remote.

The punishments there…I can’t even imagine