I underperform.

If you’d like to do the same, let this note be my invitation to you. Enjoy the comforts grown in the absence of efficacy.

To the warmongerers among you - taste my favorite weapon: “I can’t.”

There were men before me - fathers, leaders, and liars alike - who strived beyond; each would be ruled gray, dead, or inane by a modern jury. I welcome judgement only from the moralities of daily nappers.

It takes a Sisyphean will to ignore the world; I say “roll me a rock.” If there was once care within me, I laud the sea foam for scrubbing me clean.

Cry your tunes and sway your ways - the administration will have you with or without a tongue.

Last week’s rebellion stands before us now, still stuck in their thirst.

They sought answers and found some, as designed. For their violent inquires, they will board a shuttle to the Department of Internal Interrogation. Within the facility, our momentary revolutionaries will nourish only dread and feed the hearts of dire men.

In a week’s time, maybe a day more, the Department will give them an end. At these ends will lie shaking grins and open eyes. They learned so that we didn’t have to.

Sit. Relax. Take this pen. I’d like you to underperform too.