Institutionalized (Order Pizza With My Mind)

from by Noah Wareness



This is from the part of the book where Meatheads accidentally tripshift into Dimension X and meet slightly shittier versions of themselves, like an alternate reality where the band's broken up. So Mikey and the slightly shittier alterna Mikey end up in a grudgematch to the death, and then they all do a seance and bring the loser back as a brief ghost because they thought his last words weren't gnarly enough. And the ghost comes out with this really emotive a capella Suicidal Tendencies cover.


Sometimes I try to think stuff and it doesn’t come out the way I think it should, and then I get confused. And I try to track back on my thoughts, I focus real hard, but I still get confused. Because focusing still means thinking, and I try to go back to old thoughts and look, but that’s thinking too. And I’m getting caught up in where my thoughts come from, cause they just come from other thoughts, thoughts diying and going round the blue circle and getting carnated as thoughts again, and there’s nothing underneath. And I get caught up in getting caught up in it, and then the circle brakes, cause there’s no me to get caught up, just an ego trip of thoughts hanging onto thoughts. And then when I’m at max confusion some punk’s always in my ear going, “Way to go Mikey, you’re really getting over the band breakup, man, you’re so strong.” And I’m like, “I’m confused, let me alone, I’m trying to order pizza with my mind.” And they’re like, “No, your new band with Darby’s gnarly, man, and you’re not confused, this is the substance of the way of the sammrye. Let me just get you some pizza.” But that’s not the way I want pizza. That’s not how I want pizza, and then I wish it could of came back and tooken me with it, like, the fuckedest thing in the world.

And there’s no shame in diying like a dog, right, if it doesn’t work out the way you wanted it to. And it’s not even sposed to work out the way you want. And I’m sitting in our living room and it’s not our room, it’s just my room, I’m just like staring at the taped up door, thinking bout thinking and pizza and how nothing’s sposed to be anything and how my hardcore finally broke off and went without me, and pizza, thin crust pep and ched, and like how pizza’s a circle too. And kids bring me beer and they’ve got millionth generation Germs burns and they’re like shorter than my fucking nipples, and they’re all like, “It’s working out so good, you’re awesome in Darby Crash Band,” and I just sit there getting more and more confused, like, “How’d I join Darby’s band? The fuck was I thinking?” And I would of been all hardcore bout Meatheads breaking up if Meatheads were still together, cause I could handle anything when we were one thing, and now my hardcore’s missing and I don’t know how I would of wanted shit to work out, cause that’s what’s missing. And they’re all like, “No, man, it’s the substance of the way of the sammrye.” And I’m like, “Then the way of the sammrye must be without substance,” and then they go, “Man, Mikey, you’re deep, let me get you some pizza.” But I don’t want that kind of pizza, that’s not how I want it to come. That’s not how I want pizza to come, and I’m like, “Just let me chill! I’m gonna work on it myself, I’m gonna get my own pizza, I’m gonna concentrate so hard they know what my order is! Just let me chill!” And they won’t let me chill, they come in all like, “Hey Mikey, I brought you some pizza.”

And there’s still no shame, there’s no shame ever, just being a sammrye sucks sometimes. And I start thinking how maybe the substance of the way of the sammrye is subject to change without notice, and then memories of Darby Crash start irradiating my mind like Lord Buddha. “Hey, Mikey, too bad bout your band breaking up, but at least you’re drunk. You guys must need a singer. And I got a vision, I got tons of creative differences, and you always played guitar like Pat Smear anyway, just join up. It’ll work out.” And how can you say it’s working out? When I’m mainlining your liquid LSD, I’m feeling your creative differences, I’m going off for your no reason, how can I be the one who’s thinking? How can I know my ego’s a trip, and still be this confused?

Doesn’t matter. It’s probly the substance of the way of the sammrye anyways.





Noah Wareness Toronto, Ontario

I write weird stories, sometimes poems. Mostly I read at punk shows.

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