the moonlight slides down my arm, drips out of my sleeve and puddles on the carpet by my bare feet. i am standing naked in my living room, lit only by the flickering television, the volume muted as always. the images of horror with product placement wash my body clean of all real and imagined sins. i see earthquake ruins, amid the rubble are signs advertising coca cola and intel.
and from the dining room i hear the package whisper, "non compos mentis". latin for "not of sound mind". i dont remember this from the latin i learned for mass when i was an altar boy, but who knows, it was all so long ago. i am outside the outside. insular and isolated. insecure and self medicated. self induced and masturbated.
the moonlight seeps into the carpet and i smell ozone. the sweet soft static song of circuitry overheating. plastic and wire meeting. these are my new friends. tonight the party begins and ends.