Peanut-Butter Death

This is a world where a huge asteroid made out of gold was found in outer space by the superb American astronauts a decade ago. This is a world where gold was hence devalued, for now it became commonspread and devoid of its essential worth. This is a world where the global free market was left bereft because of that and inflation led to the universal destruction of money – not the paper and metal thingies but the concept itself. This is a world where all this happened alongside the revolution in neuroscience and nanotechnology. This is a world where your market share is based on how smart you are – nanochips in the brain constantly monitor everyone’s IQ so instead of the slavery system of wage labour, people now spend their time reading, meditating, and paying attention to diet to keep their brain healthy, and listening to classical music to wake up that sleepy grey matter, and Coca-Cola and Snickers went bankrupt because sugar wasn’t a smart decision, and in this age of reason, intelligence is a commodity that the humans of Earth compete for.

This is a world where Corsel Rimselbad’s parents didn’t need to have sex for him to exist. This is a world where Corsel Rimselbad feeds his son only medium-rare antricot steaks, eggs in either scrambled or boiled form, and as snacks nuts of various kinds – walnuts, peanuts, cashew, pistachio, almond, macadamia – and dry fruit for dessert. This is a world where every Corsel Rimselbad’s day is the same. This is a world where he begins his day with his morning routine of yoga, cold shower, reading, learning French with a mobile app, and preparing food for him and his son – the routine itself takes one and a half hour, alarm clock set at 5.27 AM, he finishes it just before 7 o’clock, when his son gets up. Eating takes twenty minutes at most, during which Corsel and his son listen to Symphony No. 25 in G Minor by Mozart on loop, so two and a half times, for better focus. While Corsel’s son brushes his teeth and flosses and dresses up, Corsel packs his bags and prepares the automobile. The automobile is autonomous, it takes the kid to school on its own, tuned into the municipal traffic system, always on time, on its way turning up a podcast of choice, painstakingly chosen by Corsel Rimselbad, a fine blend of news on current affairs, history, and technology. Picking the podcast is a special time, because it’s the moment when Corsel stays at home to work on his head, while his son leaves. This is a world when the next time they meet is in the very evening, when they eat together and go to sleep. This is a world where they do a bunch of things in-between the breakfast medium-rare anticot steak and the supper one, but most of it is boring, because it entails lots of studying, reading, thinking, and reasoning. This is a world where they live, etc.

But who cares?

This is a world when the Sunday service was swapped for the cult of Anthropology. Reason. Albert Einstein with halo. Holy Communion of apples. Apples are good for you. Apples are good for the brain, ergo apples are good for humans. Routines are good for humans, habits. Books are good, prose. Poetry is dead, bad. Illegible, unintelligible, unreasonable, an unthing. This is a world where empathy is the only original sin. This is a world where everything makes sense. This is a world where all peanut butter manufacturers were publicly executed. This is a world where people read so many books that all personal conversations are only about recent reads, as all familial conflicts and relations; all political notions and ideologies; all heartaches and nostalgies where replaced by mathematical problems and crossword puzzles. This is a world where even writing “This is a world” doesn’t make any sense because why would anyone like to read about it. Or the other way round. This is a world with no birth control as people have sex only for procreation, a world with no drugs as people got addicted to apples and medium-rare antricot steaks, a world without tragedies and accidents as everyone is reasonable so why drive and not give control to impeccable software, why believe and risk being wrong, ipso facto hurting yourself and others, why have relationships at all if they all gonna die anyway and so will you.

Who cares?

This is a world where the length and girth of your penis is stated in your passport. This is a world where people don’t hate you for who you are because everybody’s the same. This is a world where you can repeat the same sentence over and over and over and over and over and over again again again and it doesn’t have to make sense because it is art. This is a world where the artist has to say what is art to justify his madness. This is a world where art is madness and madness is dysfunctional and dysfunctional means wrong and wrong means not rational or reasonable or logical or making sense, hence this is a world where there is no art.

This is a world where factories glow with pink neon.

Who cares?

This is a world where art is peanut butter which Corsel Rimselbad smuggled from his friend after the Sunday service of Anthropology and praising Einstein and eating the Holy Communion of apples. This is a world where Corsel Rimselbad rubs peanut butter into the skin between his anus and his scrotum where it melts throughout the day as he sits there reading and thinking and growing richer.

This is a world where just listening to people talk and complain and give advice and excuses and have problems with what you do or who are is enough to make you furious inside and make you wanna swear and punch walls and swear again and the idiotic soap opera television show is only making it all worse. This is a world where grandmothers are racist. This is a world where I feel like I’m failing as a brother and a son but can’t do anything about it like. This is a world whence you order a big coffee you get a small one with more water. This is a world where mothers read Catholic magazines. 

This is a world where the kisses on the neck in the back of her car are the most profound. This is a world where the kisses with him on the park grass are the most prohibited. This is a world where there’s something counteproductive about sexy trousers that immediately when you see them, you wanna tear them off. This is a world where you eat yesterday’s pizza for breakfast. 

This is a world where you slip on the ice and crash your head and this is it man your primary school classmates your high school competition diplomas your two-month work experiences abroad your love letters to that sweetheart your junkie nights like dark alley corners your university application you can’t afford your bimonthly bus pass areas A+B your glossy guitar strings rusting in peace your plans to book a hotel with a lover and have sex there your parents and their saving accounts your sister with her English classes problems your good night’s sleep after a little dope smoked among the cold streets in February your grandpa watching a Holy Mass on telly your one day at a time your you, you.

Who cares?

This is a world where Corsel Rimselbad’s son tries not to throw up after eating medium-rare antricot steak so as not to disappoint his father who secretly rubs peanut butter in his arse. This is a world where Corsel Rimselbad’s son’s gut can’t keep it any longer and he pukes in his 7-hour sleep and dies. This is a world where the next day his little feeble body is found and Corsel Rimselbad decides this is it and he’s done with this world, for this is a world where he can’t cry for his son who died like a junkie. This is a world where Corsel Rimselbad is a real person and now I will leave him in this pathetic dystopian caricature of a reasonable world that doesn’t make sense, but I won’t tell it to him. This is a world that will go on no matter what I or Corsel Rimselbad do. From now on, at least.

THE END

Published by Dawid Tysowski

[writer]

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