Misadventures of a Disillusioned Thief #001: A Churning Synaesthesia

An irregular gonzo series by Sam Haine (@S_Haine82)

Late night - After  an hour long shower I’m still dirty and feeling less human yet more  being; not quite present but neither vacant. I’m in the midst of another drunken afterglow and  another sleepless night shuffling words and dialogue around, spinning yarns and avoiding the  other distractions of the internet. Pixelated urns for the desiccated nobodies. They are filled with corrupted opinions from self-obsessed neophytes, pious losers and capitalist snake oil salesmen peddling flaccid smack in front of the theater of war. “Don’t spy on me Lou Minatti, you have no right to peek in windows; but oh, boy did you see what the hot girl up the street did on her honeymoon abroad?”

I remembered this bedtime story about a guy, nothing special, just a guy, who witnessed someone stealing artwork from the Metropolitan museum. You know the Metropolitan Museum where they keep all the fancy art and splatter paintings that rich squares like to look at? Well this other guy - let’s call him Maurice, he sees this thief running all ass and elbows down the street with this big freakin’ frame in his hands. And “Bang” the guy gets blindsided by a yellow cab. Maurice goes to check to see if the thief was dead; and he was dead, with all kinds of stuff leaking out of him. Maurice looks around and decides to take the painting for himself. He takes it home and gets a good look at it and the painting is gorgeous, I mean gorgeous, one of those Norman Rockwell paintings or something like that. Maurice hangs it on his mantle. He’s happy to have something so sophisticated in his possession but, after some time that isn’t enough for Maurice. He takes some pictures with it and texts them to his friends but, even that isn’t enough. Then he decides to flaunt it all over his social media and share it with his network. After some time the authorities start making public announcements asking for the return of said item, as it stolen property and belongs to the museum. Maurice doesn’t give a shit and keeps doing what he’s doing. “They’ll never look over here”, Maurice thought. Unfortunately for him, one person too many heard what was going on and notified the bulls and they put the pinch on him... Would you believe Maurice blames everyone else for his pinch? “I’m the victim. It’s not my fault. I wasn’t the one who stole it. Someone else stole it. I found it so it’s mine. It’s found property. The museum should’ve had better security. Why am I being punished?” There aren’t enough tomatoes in enough beers to numb the nerves to my ghost box. The future is right here and we are all walking backwards into tomorrow. Most of you are at least. There are no lines in the sand anymore. No allegiances to bind us. We are memories of our former selves and the accumulation of our personal experiences. We are just digital emotions and junk file outrages… well most of yous at least. Flesh huggers and ego-trippers.Something’s coming for sure. Something’s coming and it kisses like a felony and feels like skag. The rant takes form. (To be continued with a new refill)