paranoid insouciance

I probably won't know
when I die

it will be instantaneous
of the moment,
so sweet, the perfect crime
or, I guess, "op"

the perfect "op"

some kind of
insidious, hidden interest

within the government, making a partnership
of necessity with gang-criminals and intergalactic

space aliens to take me out

because of what I know, about:

microwaves,
the flicker pattern
of the street light
and the clicking sounds
the bus makes, and

strange coincidences of literally
every single random thing that happened

that day, coming together
unmistakably

in a message: How

could they think I wouldn't
Notice? How could they think I
wouldn't figure it out?

They couldn't.

They knew I would.

They allowed me to live,
because they figured

"Who'll believe him?"

They've discredited me, first
through remote monitoring
by controlling my thoughts, and

I thwarted their plans.

Because instead of freaking out,
calling legal aid, pestering
conspiracy messageboards,

complaining to strangers on the street, I've just

been like "Cool! Kinda inter-sting. I've been

controlled!" The last thing they expect!

It's actually fine, I know

who's doing it, more or less

(I know the kind of person, anyway)

(POWER-GRUBBING)

and why? Who knows, but I don't care. It's just

kind of a novel sensation, far as I'm concerned. Are they
controlling me or am I just enjoying their illusion

of control?

Si, yes, oui, I expect
their patience will soon be run out. Meanwhile
here I am, thumbing their nose
or is it mine, and

that won't do. They don't tolerate
insouciance!

And insouciance is all I have.

So I probably won't know when I die,
but

at least my life has had this rather riveting
narrative lately,

to explain things!