Cupid's arrow.
Has struck a cruel and savage blow.
dammit!
Frederic Beigbeder.
And his novel.
Windows On The World.
Went and broke my heart.
Clean in two.
Snapped it.
Like a fucking twig!
Strange times.
These.
Iceberg's crashing.
Raising sea-levels.
Churning embryonic tsunamis into tomorrow's tragedy.
While Tower of Babel's destruction replays
Over and over
On 'mind-loop' Greatest Hits channel.
Sometimes it's easier not to care.
To turn your back on the horizon.
To the plotline where reality collides with fiction.
Infinite.
Unwritten.
But always sensationalist.
Democracy.
A stormy ocean.
Crashing against our shores.
Abuse.
More.
Military always in the frontline.
Afghanistan says, "Please explain?"
Sign O The Times.
Each day.
With its multiple sound-byte-orgasms.
damn.
Always makes us feel better though.
A friend, serving in the US Military.
In Iraq.
Dodging rockets and mortars.
Miltary Doc gives him a shot.
Ease the pain.
Fuck.
Makes him numb.
Soldier blues catch up with him occasionally.
He says: "Someone's gotta do this, why not me?"
"Stay safe, soldier," I say.
Beigbeder.
Snuggles in closer.
Some say he's "vain and shallow."
Others, a genius.
A Frenchman with an eye for tragedy.
Sculpting a vision so terrifying.
Yet so necessary.
Sweet dreams, world.
Safe from glass towers spurting fire and brimstone high into the heavens.
And burning bodies slowdiving into the history books.
We're Generation 'sidewalk-gazer'.
Too afraid to look up.
Too afraid to look down.
Event Horizon.
Buy your ticket!
Jump aboard, you won't be disappointed..."
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