
The road to enlightenment begins here, he said. It’s not your typical idea of a road but what occurs on roads. The purpose is to traverse, to move across or through. Without the ability to stall or stop, without the possibility of breaking down. Breaking is for cowards. Losers take breaks. Idiots break bones. There are no breaks for us any more than there are confinements. At the very least you’re going to learn a lot about yourself. At the most you’ll become something extraordinary. What have you got to lose but time and pain? The answer is nothing. Nothing. You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to absorb. Embracing this next choice is a momentous step in your progression. Breaking is not an option for people like me, for people like you. Roads don’t often break—they connect. Minds don’t often break—minds break molds. Minds create breaks in the space time continuum.
About the breaks, sir, she said. How many—
Breaking is for dancers, he said, not for folks like us. If we break anything, it’s the traditions that got us into this broken state. We don’t break circuits, we don’t break character. We are here to smash into fragments the clumsy efforts of previous generations. We’ll accelerate their dismantling but we will not rebuild, we won’t rebuild, breaking and pulverizing again and again until there is absolutely nothing, not even the salt we walk on, not even humanity’s ashen remains hanging toxic and airborne about us. We inhale the ruin and exhale tapestries in neon, colliding neon nuclei, with the force of two human groins impacting violently, rapidly and repeatedly, as if humanity was angry but sexualized its anger, brutalized it into the amorphous faux-shape we call love.
But sir, she said. What does this have to do with—
Retreat into our collective sanatorium, he said, we will not. Let us stand hurling rocks and bone fragments like David at his giant attacker. Don’t join me at your peril. But know this—there are a few boxes of girl scout cookies in the break room if you want some.
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