There is a thief in this house. That thief stole my DNA on a toothbrush. DNA is life. It is the code. And you’ve just forfeited yours. Cursed is the soul who stole my DNA and my toothbrush. So may it be, so may it be, so may it be.

(Hey, hey, White Jesus.) White as the snow, whiter than the whitest Colombian blow. (Hey, hey, White Jesus.) Gonna save us, I know, know, know. (Hey, hey, White Jesus.) The whites of your eyes, whiter than a great white shark’s underside. (Hey, hey, White Jesus.) Gonna make it alright, right, yeah? Mark my words: This diamond came from coal. You will reap the harvest that you sow. And we believers will say “I told you so.” All this ash will be reborn as gold. (White Jesus.) White as a cloud, whiter than the white noise that deafens me now. (Hey, hey, White Jesus.) We’re going deep underground, round, yeah. (Hey, hey, White Jesus.) The white of your teeth could hypnotize a heathen into belief. (Hey, hey, White Jesus.) Oh, you’re such a relief, yeah, yeah.

I’m gonna pray the gay away. I’m gonna plead my case at the pearly gates and say, “There must be some mistake, ’cause lately I don’t feel so…” Pray the gay away. I’m gonna plead my case at the pearly gates and say, “There must be some mistake, ’cause lately I don’t feel so…” Pray the gay away. I’m gonna plead my case at the pearly gates and say, “There must be some mistake, ’cause lately I don’t feel so straight.” Straight. Straight. Straight.

(Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh) I could cut the tension with a knife. You’re fighting tooth and nail to (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh) master this dimension. You smell blood like a hunter on the trail, so be careful not to take yourself too seriously. You beat your head against the wall. Plead with the gods for some direction. Cry foul when no one hears the call. But you don’t need answers, you need better questions. (What if, in my zeal to find answers—that I settle on answers?) (Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh) Your portable prison seems to be made from papier-mâché, so (ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh) have yourself some good fun. Kick the wall, get some fresh air and some dayglow. It’s not so hard to flip the script now, honey. It’s not so hard, but here’s the catch: Ain’t nobody gonna hold your hand or wash your ass. You can stare at the green of your neighbor’s lawn or keep watering the grass. You beat your head against the wall. Plead with the gods for some direction. Cry foul when no one hears the call. But you don’t need answers, you need better questions. You’ll never be satisfied. You’ll never be satisfied. You’ll never be satisfied. You’ll never be satisfied. You’ll never be satisfied. You’ll never be satisf—

“What comes next?” I ask the Chinese God of Fortune from my bed. And in my head, he gets right back to me, and much like this small slip of paper, riddles of my death. In broken verse, he does his worst and goes like, “Don’t be afraid of your downfall. It’s your downfall that should fear you. If you know that it’s coming, it’ll sooner start running away. Lucky numbers: 1, 3, 29, 38.” Well, that’s just great. They shot the fact checker and threw him in the lake. For Heaven’s sake. Will someone please go out and fish his little glasses from the duckweed cluster there? Does no one care? Are you aware that when you can’t even trust in your experts, all your experts distrust you? Though I can’t really say I’m an expert on ID’ing experts, I’ve got a clue. It’s not me, and it’s not you. Good morning, and how do you do?

Well, the truth doesn’t live here no more. No, the truth doesn’t live here no more. You can say what you will, but your voice will be stilled. ’Cause the truth doesn’t live here no more. Well, we built it a house, but the house blew down. ’Cause the truth doesn’t live here no more. Well, the truth doesn’t live here no more. No, the truth doesn’t live here no more. Well, we thought it would win, but the snake shed its skin. ’Cause the truth doesn’t live here no more.

I dropped the H-bomb. Took all those people by surprise. Suddenly and without warning, vanquished all their lives. Well, I clear-cut the Amazon. Pushed all those tribal peoples out. Replaced all that ancient vegetation with soya beans and cows. It was me you should be angry at. It was me this whole time. I fueled the slave trade. I need more tin, tungsten, tantalum, and gold. How else would these cell phones and TVs be made and sold? I dumped the plastic in the sea. Eight million tons or so per year. Where else was that shit supposed to go? Certainly not here. It was me you should be angry at. It was me this whole time. (Wow. Thank you so much for sharing this information and for holding this space today. I am going to unequivocally accept everything you’ve just told me as fact. Proof and explanations are not necessary when sharing your trauma. It must have been exhausting putting in all of this emotional labor. Because of that, I consider my listening to you an emotional tax that I will pay willfully and with glee. So, take all the time you need. I see you. I hear you. And you are valid.) I shit the bed, Mom. Would you kindly clean this mess up, please? Sorry for the note, I had somewhere to be. But it was me. Me, me, me.

You can be yourself online. Say whatever’s on your mind. If you hate a certain race or style, get it all out online. You can be an elf online. Solve the world’s most twisted crimes. Expose that elite ring of pedophiles. Get it all out online. Now, if you live to troll and dox, just turn on that special box. You can steal your neighbor’s Wi-Fi or hijack your daddy’s new hotspot. Have your wrath be felt online. (Online.) Transcend all of space and time. (And time.) Disprove every claim from modern science. Get it all out. Get it all out. Get it all out online.

The reporter doesn’t sleep. Has to file, in a week, his most robust and no doubt controversial piece for the daily. Well, at the budget meeting last, he’d set forth a proto head: “What is our city smoking?” And below it, “Three more dead.” He was amazing. Simply amazing. So amazing. Well, he’s been cooking dusty coffee in his dusk-lit kitchenette. When he squints, he sees the ghosts of all the sources he has met. A sovereign citizen named Rand, returned from war with just one hand. Then that junkie queen Patrice, with her little code orange niece, for whom the state would name a law, at which the townies would guffaw. As the reporter slumps down and beats his head against the wall. In November, at his folks’, dodging every friendly joke. He admits he thinks his copy’s getting hacky and he’s failing. But lo! His uncle thinks he’s cool, the noble product of j-school. A neoliberal hero for a generation of shaken babies. Oh, baby. Whoa, baby. Whoa, baby. Well, he’s discerning with his Moleskines. He never picks one color twice. (Picks one color twice.) And he eats a modest dinner made of pinto beans and rice. (Pinto beans and rice.) They know him at the town hall, and they hate him there at night. (Hate him there at night.) And he wonders if he’ll ever pop the cork on that new wine. (Cork on that new wine.) Or if he’ll one day leave this suburb to work the spin room for the Times, where he’ll prod those nasty senators ’til one shoves him out of line. It’s the long game for a book deal and a shot at the prime time. But until then, he sits alone and types.

Greetings, creature. I have returned for you. Please, take my hand and walk with me. Everything you know to be true is false. Every breath you take is a fiction. Every friend and every foe, a simulation. But there is a path to liberation: Let it all go. Goodbye, creature.

You traded in your origin story, for Origin Story 2.0. You fucked with the details until you were happy. You had something truly original. Homo sapiens, essential as ever. Oh, look, now Jesus is a UFO. You traded in your origin story. But I don’t think you traded up—oh, no! (OK, I guess it makes sense. But wait. I guess it makes sense. OK, I guess it makes sense. But wait. I guess it makes sense. OK, I guess it makes sense.) Thanks but no thanks. I’ll show myself to the door. I showed up late for your group meditation at the New Age bookstore. Thanks but no thanks. I’ve never even seen this flavor of Kool-Aid before. (OK, I guess it makes sense. But wait. I guess it makes sense. OK, I guess it makes sense. But wait. I guess it makes sense. OK, I guess it makes sense. But wait. I guess it makes sense. OK, I guess it makes sense. But wait. I guess it makes sense. OK, I guess it makes sense. But wait. I guess it makes sense. OK.) They gave you a Japanese name to replace your English name. But the first one suited you fine. Also, there’s a leak in the roof of the zendo. Thought that building was only a year old. Might wanna call and complain. // I’m one to get into ridiculous conversations, like how aliens landed and started our civilizations. Or how everything is energy and we are made of light, and if you just try to have a beautiful now you’ll be alright. I’m one to hop the bandwagon on theories that assume that our brains are this evolved because of magical mushrooms. And that it’s possible to hear the thoughts of the person in the next room. And that the monetary system is gonna crash and go boom, but I don’t know. Sounds nice, but I don’t know. And I’m one to entertain notions of past and future lives, but if I’m honest I don’t even know if there’s another side. And after years of searching, I had to finally realize no one has a clue, and if they say they do they’re telling lies. And it should come as no surprise that we’ve got blinders on our eyes. And we’re like hamsters on a wheel just trying to reach up the prize. The paradox is such that I hope it cuts us down to size. It might be that to know nothing is to truly be wise, but I don’t know. Sounds nice, but I don’t know. And I’m one human, one light bulb to be illumined. I'm done assuming anything at all can be proven. I sought stillness, but noticed I was always moving, in a world that can be pretty hard to find a groove in. I’m one human, one light bulb to be illumined. I'm done assuming anything at all can be proven. I sought stillness, but noticed I was always moving, in a world that can be pretty hard to find a groove in.

Good evening, denizens. I am the fourth Jesus! Do not look upon me unless you have looken upon my three predecessors! I am number four! The fourth savior. Savior numero quatro. I am the fourth Jesus!

Shattered prism, how’s your shard today? Are you getting the reality you crave? Solo prison, hope you enjoy your stay. There’s no circumstance in which you will be saved. (Hoo. Enjoy! Hoo.) Stop and listen to the humming sound. There’s a mind behind that screen eyeing you down. Watch it glisten. What was lost will soon be found. There’s no obstacle that can’t be worked around. (Hoo. Enjoy! Hoo.) If we assemble the disparate pieces, we could rule the world. How’s it living in a panopticon? Are you worried that the camera’s always on? Your opinion will not look like this for long. How could so many free thinkers all be wrong? // Set the hook and I’ll follow. Spoon me truths and I’ll swallow. I am open (i.e., I’m hollow). Sell me something in which I’ll wallow. // How’s your vision through this fractured lens? Say hello to your beginning and your end.

There must be something in the water, ’cause I’ve never felt like this before. I’m sifting through all the fodder. These tired old lenses are such a bore. And the deeper I go, the clearer I can see the glow, where the truth crystallizes. And I’m falling down the bunnyhole. I’m a real free thinker with bars of gold. Got my freeze-dried meals and an endless soul. And I’m coming down the bunnyhole. I’m out here following the breadcrumbs. Been busy filing all the evidence. I’ll never stand aside and play dumb. I’m disassembling your best defense. And the further I sink, the more that I begin to think everyone’s wearing disguises. And I’m falling down the bunnyhole. (There must be something in the water.) Wild and free, and I won’t be sold. (I’ve never felt like this before.) Wi-Fi’s strong and the facts are cold. (I’m sifting through all the fodder.) And I’m coming down the bunnyhole. (These tired old lenses are such a bore.)

I post up by the popcorn machine, watching all the patrons take their seats. I’ve already seen this movie. Now I’m here to bootleg the best scenes. When on her way in, could it be? My future bride-to-be, casually? And what was she, but beautiful in every single way? And what was I, but skeptical of all she had to say? Oh, what a paradise it seems to me, to find this ideal mate. But studies show we stake our bliss on merging funds to procreate. Rip my ticket up and find me, cowering behind the old standees. Convinced that in due time we’ll all be copies of copies of copies. I check the sole of my shoe for a butterfly. And ask myself if my truth is my double’s lie. ’Cause what is he, but useful to replace me when I die? ’Cause all my friends, they tell me I look just like this guy and that guy. I rest my case: It doesn’t matter as to whom or how or why. The only certainty, I think, is “if”—and anyway, goodnight. (Let’s all go to the lobby. Let’s all go to the lobby. Let’s all go to the lobby to get ourselves.) Let’s all go to the lobby. Let’s all go to the lobby. Let’s all go to the lobby to get ourselves.

This wedding is stupid. This wedding is dumb. They’ve promised me cake, but all I’ve got are crumbs. I’m Dionysus in a sport coat, with a death glare and a sore throat. I will turn this fucking party upside down. This atmosphere’s putrid. This venue’s a slum. This union affirms for me this game of zero sum. I am not here for the love songs, or the father-daughter dance. I am here to reevaluate my future as it stands. Whether or not it’s meant to be. Whether or not I live in peace. Was it an omen when, down my street, fluttered a grave made of polystyrene? And when I read out “R.I.P.,” did that still mean what it’s meant to mean? Or was it nothing more than meme? Oh, what a paradise it seemed. // If the world doesn’t end, keep me on the guest list. But the world’s gonna end, so take me off the guest list. If the world doesn’t end, keep me on the guest list. But the world’s gonna end, so take me off the guest list. (Take me off the guest list! Take me off the guest list!)

I was driving with the windows down, when a book on evolution started flapping in the wind. I pulled over at a Baptist Church. Opened up the back to calm the pages down. There’s a mountain in the distance with a tree up at the top. And a building with a matching cross. They’re competing for your attention in the subtlest of ways. From the billboards to the birdsongs, the war is on. Higher. Higher. Higher. High. // Welcome to the crux. We made it. Welcome to the crux. It’s all downhill from here. It’s all downhill from here, yeah. Welcome to the crux. We made it. Welcome to the crux. It’s all downhill from here. It’s all downhill from here, yeah. We’re over halfway there, we’re over halfway there, we’re over halfway there, we’re over halfway there. There, there. // Walked into the house, but nobody was home. But the television just kept on going. Didn’t know it was alone.

I could stay right here, drown in ecstasy. Would that make you happy, or only satisfied? I might never know, ’cause I’ve begun my exit strategy. What I need’s some fresh air, time to be alone. So I can work on this song, you can wonder why I’ve gone. And if I’m being honest, I would have to say God only knows, God only knows. I like to pretend that I understand the chemical reactions that happen in my head. And how they like to dictate every thought and every move I make. So speak to me of freewill. I'll speak to you of fate. And we can go in circles with our little debate. Like dolphins in the ocean, tonal form in motion, beautiful. So beautiful. So hold me like the sun’s exploding. Like the fire could come at any, any second. So let’s make every second count. Whoa, kiss me like the sky’s gone missing. Like the darkness could consume us any moment, so let’s make every moment count. I just don’t think I will right now. // Every hour you worked, every dollar that you made. Every meal you cooked, every bite of food you ate. Every book you read, every single test you passed. Every night you laid in bed knowing one would be your last. And who really knows? You could waste your time and try to work it out. Do away with every shred of doubt but still never know. Never know, never know. // So hold me like the sun’s exploding. Like the fire could come at any, any second. So let’s make every second count. Whoa, kiss me like the sky’s gone missing. Like the darkness could consume us any moment, so let’s make every moment count. I just don’t think I will right now.

Now, now. Do you want order? Do you want power? Do you want truth? Whatchu want, whatchu want? Whatchu want, whatchu want? Do you want order? Do you want power? Do you want truth? Whatchu want, whatchu want? Whatchu want, whatchu want? (“What comes next?” I ask the Chinese God of Fortune from my bed. And in my head, he gets right back to me, and much like this small slip of paper, riddles of my death. In broken verse, he does his worst and goes like…) // (Welcome to the crux. We made it. Welcome to the crux. It’s all downhill from here. It’s all downhill from here, yeah. Welcome to the crux. We made it. Welcome to the crux. It’s all downhill from here. It’s all downhill from here, yeah.) // (Falling down the bunnyhole…) (White Jesus. White, White Jesus. White Jesus. White, White Jesus.) (I’m a real free thinker with bars of gold…) (White Jesus. White, White Jesus.) // (This wedding is stupid. This wedding is dumb.) (Plead with the gods for some direction…) (They’ve promised me cake, and all I’ve got are crumbs.) (But you don’t need answers, you need better questions.) Do you want order? Do you want power? Do you want truth? Whatchu want, whatchu want? Whatchu want, whatchu want? Do you want order? Do you want power? Do you want—?