Sam Daltry the Fish – “Never Assume”

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By Joe Miles


Never Assume.

Life is forced upon us; we’re in no way in control of its creation. Quite baffling that isn’t it? We’re thrown into a world of people, people who think things matter. People who think that all this stuff actually matters. Well it doesn’t. You will die. Maybe soon, maybe not so soon, but either way, no one cares about you, and no one cares about me.

My name is Sam Daltry – The Fish. 2-years-old in human years (26-years in Fish years), I’m male, I’m lonely, and I have various mental illnesses as a result of torture and malnourishment.

He put me in a bowl,

a bowl so dark and dull,

they look and they point,

the feces-licking pricks

When mountain comes home and opens the trench, looks me straight in the bloated throat and burps “udddderrrrrr!!!” I squelch. I trip back to the side of the remote path, the outer lining of the bowl. Food? Is she there? Sister Becky? No, not today. A dream happens.

I wake, where? Moving? We’re moving, I’m moving alone, through the air, hang on… no I’m not. I’m awake, I thought I was moving but I wasn’t, I was just still slightly half asleep and the mental illness was fibbing my detailed brain real hard.

It’s July 9th, for the listeners, the intelligent scum puddings that see life differently. They think they’re happy, idiots, imagine that, a happy life. Who’d want one of those? At least when I’m off it will be an anticipated joy of celebration.

A man has just come into the room and is looking at me with a wryly grin and a shiny blade in his hand. He’s doing the slit throat motion to me, looking at me through his reflective whites, shouting whilst holding a Beach Boys CD. He’s pointing at the album artwork, which is just a bunch of people hanging in a car with a surfboard leaning against the car. He’s screaming, “THIS IS YOU MAGGOT! THIS IS YOU! DEATH!” This is so confusing. I have no idea what he is on about.

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