The Stomp of Death

I have a survival job that ceases to enrich my soul in the slightest. 

But that’s not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about how I get to that job:

  • I get on the train
  • I sit amongst people whom I am afraid might touch or talk to me
  • Occasionally I pretend a baby isn’t touching me…
  • Sidebar: I’m convinced that the kids selling fruit snacks for a dollar are DEMONIC. No changing my mind.

Provided that I’ve made it to my train stop without slipping in piss or getting kicked in the head by a subway performer: THEN, and only then, do I begin…


I zone in. I’m going into battle. 

I call this the The Stomp of Death because it is- A. entirely too dramatic a name and B. very empowering on the tongue.

But really it’s just a super kick ass walk!

Each step produces a single thought. Some steps are reminders of…


Other thoughts are:


And even though I’m headed to a job that robs me of my soul…



The steps are like the shudders of a camera. Opening. Closing. Capturing life as is stands.

I check in with the 5 senses:

  1. I look at all the different faces and seek out the smiling ones (which there are very few).
  2. I take note of what smells are floating around me (but quickly stop for my own well-being).
  3. I skip taste because, just no.
  4. I listen to the sounds of various languages and street sounds that fall in over the music I’m playing.
  5. For touch I just imagine that I’m naked instead of clothed. This brings tremendous comfort as a secret nudist.

Simultaneously I think about what it means to be walking where I am at that specific pin point of the world. I think about the social issues of race, gender, sexuality, and sometimes foreign policy which only leads to immense confusion.

This is called The Stomp of Death because if I were to be shot dead I would remember my last step. I would remember where I was in the world and the condition that the world was in at the time of my last breath. This would even bring me a little peace to die with. Hell, for a second I may even forget about how little is being done for gun violence! And that’s what has contributed to me being slain in the first place!

-Keep in mind this is all hypothetical and very dramatized-

But doing this stomp of death prepares me for my day. It opens up my senses and says,

“Hey, world! You’re a big bitch, but guess what? My balls are way bigger and I’m going to conquer the fuck out of you! You- you… big asshole!”

Step out. Try a Stomp of Death if you dare. You might find yourself more alive (see what I did there?) than ever before.

And you’re just walking!


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