An Odyssey

Coins in my pocket. Jingle jangle jingle. Stuff your opinion elsewhere. Pay heed. Swallow your pride. Face humiliation. Say thank you sir. Always say thank you sir. All for the jingly jangly jingly coins in the pocket of my old empty saddlebag.

But no, not empty. The music books, the quarterbits, the old baton. Protect yourself. And one and two and three and four. Ain’t no grave can hold my body down. But then again: the gods gonna cut you down. They don’t know; they believe in Her. I don’t. I don’t like her. The shiny regal blight on our land. She sees the injustice in Her land and does nothing. Why? Because democracy. Well, fuck democracy.

Albeit nurtured in democracy, and liking best that state republican, turn left, oh, that’s a stone, where every… He passed the corner, humming to himself. Ain’t no grave. They pray on Her, even. But not Her sister. Suddenly, the devil is turned into a goddess. How quaint!

Home! Go back! Stop, turn round, tell them. Tell them. It’s my house, it’s my tube, it’s my personal… The only home I can claim as my own will be my coffin. So unfortunate! Yet I see, spite of this modern fret for Liberty, cross the road, better the rule of One, whom all obey… I will. What else can I do? I cannot change the country, so I’ll have to change myself. It’s all about the point of view, they say. Well, it’s only a slave’s point of view that’s valid here, I guess. Why can’t I adopt it?

No adoption. Again with the gays. Don’t we have other problems to solve? Economy is collapsing and all they talk about is gays, migration, and press regulation. The press, pressing itself into submission. Submission complete. Every day, our fair and benevolent Ruler, every day, all the time. This fetish. I guess they all want to fuck the Princess. Yeah, fuck her royal butt. And they despise filly-foolers because they want a piece of it too, while their own wives wants to lick Luna’s flaring cunt.

Can’t they read minds?

Nah, they only do the sunmoonthing. Luna, though. Nothing too political. An idol? A token, maybe. At most. Than to let clamorous demagogues betray our freedom with the kiss of anarchy. Oh, anarchy! The mother of order! You would be welcome here. You would crush regulations, you would break down the lines marching west. You would kiss us with wit and lust. Kiss me, o anarchy! Become my beloved. I will always love you.

Don’t step on that pile of dung! Wherefore I love them not whose hooves profane… Shouldn’t it be “therefore”? Ack, why do they even shit on the roads? How fucked up is that? Griffins don’t shit on the roads, and zebras don’t shit on the roads, but the benevolent ponies shit on the roads! And I have to step in that with my profane hooves. Do faggots shit on the roads?

For no right cause, beneath whose ignorant reign… But She’s not ignorant. No. She knows it all. Like a wise autumn leaf, not falling, never falling down. Father! You knew. You fucking knew when you said tempora mutantis et nos mutamur in illis. You knew, Father, and you didn’t let me.

You didn’t let me. Know. Going to that cage from where there’s no return. Your coffin. Your castle. The only fortress that a free stallion may name his in this crazy country. You hated Her, too, didn’t you. You did. I know, Father. Talk to me. From the Underworld, where all the sinners go. Where I will go to. Non serviam! That’s what you said. That’s what I say, Father. Non serviam.

Ack, need to get cleaned of that shit. There’s the park. He followed the road leading up to the park and, discreetly, wiped his hoof on the grass. There. Done. Arts, reverence, honour, all things fade… Everything fades. Everything must cease. What a sombre thought!

Save treason and the dagger of her trade. Does that make me a traitor to this country? Why do we even think in such terms? Why should we pledge allegiance? Why should we have loyalties? I have my loyalty to my family. (You left them, you insufferable bastard.) Shut up. I have my loyalty towards my friends. (You don’t have any friends. Not any more.) Shut up! I have my loyalty towards music. (...) There! I do.

Or murder with his silent bloody hooves. Dubstep at three in the morning! In my outhouse. My house. Freddie the banker. Freddie the jock. Freddie the unbeliever. Past, past… The paper office. Wonder if that grey mare there is… No matter how she played. Was it her I heard this morning? No, not morning. Well past noon. Seems not only I wake up so late. Once woke at twenty-five past five. The countryhouse fast asleep. Harpo snoring. Friends. With such friends, who needs enemies?

Rejoice! Now! To the place of food and drink! Drink, I serve thee. Food, I don’t need. Haven’t eaten since Wednesday. Bah! Who needs food when alcohol contains enough sugar. I guess if I smoked, I would despise food even more. Would I?

Smoked salmon, delicious hayfries, tasty salad. We herbivores, and yet we eat fish all right. Meat is a no-no, but fish is fine. I wonder. Why don’t we? The regulations. Look at all my trials and regulations… No, tribulations. Ha. The gods, sure.

Nutritious nutrition. My food for thought. My father, who art not in Heaven. Father, father… I loved you, you old drunk. Tell the gods that I did. I don’t want to go to hell. Strange. Rules they make for us, to follow, to go to heaven. And those of us who break the rules? Knock knocking on heaven’s door. And, suddenly, there’s no one there. Ha! Isn’t that a joke.

Tell them, Father. But: Non serviam. I said it, and by this creed I’ll live. I will not serve Her, I will not serve their rules, I will not serve their regulations, I will not serve their right and wrong and their allies and enemies, I will not serve their doctrine, oh damn, that’s shit again! I will not serve their dirty streets, I will not serve the dirt they spill in the media, I will not serve their national idea, by the gods I will not serve their nation nor will I serve those gods I will not serve Harpo and his boozy deejay friend I will not serve they will make me but I won’t I will not serve the old conductor and I will not serve in their military when the time comes they will try to crush me break me they will come for me but I will run. I will be ready. I will not serve.

Non serviam!