You say I'm insane.
You want to commit me.

I say: Commit fluorescent lights.
They hum chaotic streams, mind-numbing, nerve-killing.
They hang from ceilings and walls, buzzing, flickering,
shuddering warped ideologies into your brain waves.

I say: Jail all the clocks.
Ever feel rushed, hurried? A timepiece conspiracy--
they run slightly faster every day, pulling us along
in a frenzy of upward metabolism.

I say: Destroy all the radios.
It's not the commercials that are subliminal;
far too obvious. No, it's the static between stations.
Mind-infiltrating patterns are encoded in that modulatory whine.

I'm ordinary and normal; you're subordinate and subnormal.
I've chosen to rip myself open and scatter myself to the winds.
You've chosen to sit down, cross your legs, make small talk,
and slowly come apart at the seams.