Ed was at the end of his rope, an expression he detested
"There is no rope!" he would scream at the laughing walls
"There is only the end
"No hope, no rope
Ending is better than mending
Doors of perception, windows of opportunity
These are illusions, like the k**ing floor."
Ed spoke in a squeaky whiny voice
With perhaps a slight tinge of glee
But this was only because
He couldn't be bothered to try to develop
A manner of speaking that truly reflected his mood
"This is a vacuum. There is no air in this room
Despair is no fun anymore
Nihilism knocked three times on the ceiling
But the rosy fingers of dawn always inserted themselves
In the nose of unfulfilled promises
"Angels sang Heysanna Hosanna
Paralyzed prima-donnas danced in the streets all day
But when darkness came, everybody went home
"I was ready - everyone else was asleep
And while it may have been a relief
To see that I was right all along
Here I am still: alone and trapped
Awaiting the endless end
"And I can turn it all around
And laugh at it and laugh at myself;
I can laugh louder than the walls
The halls, the waterfalls
Louder than Charles de Gaul or Fulton Mall
But I don't know what I'm laughing at
I don't know just what I think is so goddamn funny
"I don't know why I don't just shut up
And give up and lay down and die
What do I have to complain about anyway,"
Ed asked his Pica**o, "I'm a millionaire!"
This wasn't exactly true
Ed's Pica**o was an obvious forgery
His three Rothkos had just been singled out
In an article in Artforum entitled
"The three most insignificant paintings of Mark Rothko,"
And his Barbara Kruegers had been irreparably damaged
By Rein Sanction and a few other bands from Gainesville
That refused to recognize the value of art
"Come to think of it," Ed mused to the laminated roadk** coffee table
That he had purchased when times had seemed slightly less bleak
"Come to think of it, not only does art have no intrinsic value
But my collection has no extrinsic value either
I know I'm not a millionaire, but that's no reason to complain
"There is no reason to complain
There is no reason to do anything
I don't believe in reason
Objective reality, or collective farming
"I don't believe in public speaking
Which is another reason why I'm here alone
I don't believe in life or d**h, I would k** myself
But I don't believe in suicide."
Ed put on a red shirt and took a quick walk around the block
While whistling softly to himself
He reentered his apartment screaming
"There is no life on this planet!
Jehovah-One replaced all life with machinery five centuries ago
The so-called industrial revolution was just another hoax
And we all fell for it, 'cause we were all programmed to
Even I fell for it. I believe in the steam engine
Even though I don't believe in anything
"Logical inconsistency is the Mr. Bubble I bathe in
Each and every evening, except for yesterday evening
When I rollerbladed over to the Masonic temple
To play pinochle with Pope John Paul the First
"I really had no choice in the matter."
"Ed certainly could go on and on, and he did
And he would, and he will
Until you or I or somebody does something about it,"
Senator Sterno of Louisiana announced
Over closed circuit television
"And as long as he continues to pontificate pointlessly
I will do nothing."
Ed walked away from the program feeling fortified and stapled
His brain was buzzing, the way it always did just after Jeopardy
He loaded up the microbus with atlases and poseidons
And headed for Pope county
"I've had it."
He sang, "I've had it with puns, alliteration
Russian literature, Italian neorealism
Meaningless cross references and laundry lists of nonsense
I shall dive without a license, without clothing
Without direction and if I make it to Arkansas, fine
And if I'm running late, if I'm running a numbers game
It doesn't matter, I shall keep on running
"Yes, this is the answer. This is the ending
I shall keep on running, because a body in motion
Tends to stay emotional, and it's better to feel
Pain is better than emptiness
Emptiness is better than nothing
And nothing is better than this."