Remix, Remake, Remodel

Dead Meat

There's something quaint about that phrase. Have you ever thought about it. Dead Meat. That's meat that is no longer living, like hamburger, or steak. Or maybe you if you fuck up bad enough. Well, I'm probably dead meat. I know that I'm going to have my ass handed to me when I go to my fair hearing because I will probably NOT have my medical records ready, neither will I be prepared to give my dissertation. I'm prepping my points now, but I'm reaching a state of nervous failure. A state where your own nerves block you from doing more. I think there is no more that I can do until I get my damn medical records.

There is little more that I can do.

So I'm not going to go off fretting. Thinking about it. Obsessing over it. I'm just going to go with the motherfucking flow. I'm learning how to disconnect, to unhook the heart and soul and get other work done. There is nothing good being locked in a small room, thinking about things that you have no control over. Karma. Karma is a wonderful thing. It allows you to move on and accept the consequences no matter how bad they turn out...or how good. Just do the best that you can and hope karma does not invite something else, a third element, to fuck all of your shit up.

That's what can happen to you if you lose your job. Other shit comes to fuck your shit up. It's like one of those race car crashes. First you're traveling at speeds that only the insane would drive at. You're moving about a ton and a half of reinforced fiberglass and steel through the air and there is nothing between you and an early demise but a leather suit and a plastic helmet. When you climb into one of these cocksuckers, your brain should ring a fucking bell in your boatcaptain head that you're about to meet heaven. But think about it? Are you? If you do...it's Karma, and if you don't...well, that's Karma too.

So, going on with my story about discon- necting and shit fucking up your shit, and how this all ties into Karma. So, you climb your dumb ass into this racecar and put on your plastic...plastic mind you..helmet and pull this little road rocket out on a curved track in the shape of an oval, with the sole purpose of pushing the engine, the frame, the axles to their mechanical limit. THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT TO DO! You want to irritate this fucking machine until you piss it off, and if you do...well that's karma

So you pull into high speed traffic, your tire inches away from the tire of your competitor. You are literally standing on the accelerator and weaving through the haze of other racecars, until you break the fuck out ahead. Your fucking fat head swells. You feel pride in your machine and yourself. That's karma. They say that there is no better joy on Earth than this moment, not even fucking. When your car and it's engines and parts outperform all the rest.

But some linkage throws a bolt, and a nut. The linkage goes to the chassis suspension arms, throwing them. The front right tire, without the arms allow the tire to work independent of the left, and it turns hard to the right. The car dynamics, being front preferred, lurches awkwardly to the right. Karma.

Now here's where the third element comes in. The invitation of something else to fuck all of your shit up. Karma could bring another race car up behind you, slamming into the rear of your vehicle with such force that it leaps onto your car. It's spinning, red hot axle landing in your lap, crushing you while par-boiling your balls in your pants. What a fucking nice death. Karma, dropped in the third element to fuck ALL OF YOUR shit up.

Third elements are a bitch, because you don't see them, they come at you sideways. All of your plans go straight to Hell. Who cares if you were going to uses that cock and those balls to fuck that hot blonde that keeps blowing you kisses when you come out and walk the grounds to your race car. You're not going to get a chance to do that shit now.

Oh lets say that Karma is having a rough assed week, and just wants to take that shit out on you. Take it out on your ASS! So let's go back, your steering gives, your car goes right and slams into the wall, crumpling metal and fiberglass like a kids toy. Here comes the third element. The car decides to roll, and like a beer can rolling downhill, it does the same, fragmenting and throwing shit from your car in small pieces....oh yeah, I forgot, your ass too! Yahoo! And you wanted to use your head to think about fucking that blonde when you got off the track. That ain't happening today.

Karma throwing in a third element. The rest is the shit that rushes in on you the minute you encounter that third element. Karma may have thrown the linkage, the other racecar colliding into yours, the third element, and the making of your balls into warm applesauce was just another shit rushing in. The wall may have been the third element, but all the rolls that your car takes going down the racetrack...well that's just more shit rushing in.

Losing your job...that's karma. Not getting or running out of unemploy- ment, that's the third element being introduced, the loss of all your shit, your friends, your home, well that's just all the other shit rushing in. Karma is a wonderful thing, just hope it doesn't come with an invitation to bring friends. An like my fair hearing, with my records looming as my Third Element, all I can do is wait on Karma, and stop obsessing. Disconnect from the entire thing and enjoy myself while the time lasts on this Earth, because it's the brief moments that we have that we always remember, and the pain, if we survive it, we will soon forget.

Yeah, there's something quaint about that phrase, Dead Meat. Do you ever wonder if you can fuck up enough to become dead meat? Well, take a look at me and decide for yourself. Do yourself a favor, don't worry about it though. Disconnect, don't obsess.

Because it's all karma.

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