Art by Emily Horn & Words by Andrew Worthington

How to Chill Out, or A Hitler and Stalin Sort of Pact

Over and over again, the same 

old argument where we disagree for the sake of argument and end 

up agreeing to disagree about our disagreements

for the sake of open-mindedness and keeping everything 

on the table until the table falls apart, making us 

cut down a tree to build another table.

I’m really hoping this isn’t actually the last tree on earth.

It sure seems that way, though.

If it is we will

cut it down for the sake of the advance of our higher 

knowledge to reach a higher peak to reach 

the top: Enlightenment.

We made it guys.

We reached the top


Alright so

We can definitely take over the world together

if we work together.

If we work together we can 

definitely do that shit. We can 

conquer the world. We just 

gotta work together. We 

can still kill lots of other people. Tear 

those cuties bodies to shame.

Don’t worry

Positive thinking is the answer.

Positivity and teamwork .

Positivity and teamwork and forgetting 

all the horrible shit and forgetting all the shit we will 

have to do to take over the world,

as history has proven that power usually comes 

with violence or at least being really

mean. We definitely gotta 

forget a lot of this shit. We 

gotta wipe it out.

So ok

So we need 



and selective memory,

although amnesia would work 

better, but you gotta work 

with what you 

have, and you gotta 

work together.

Otherwise this whole thing of ours falls apart.

It comes crumbling down like a McDonald’s play palace

that was poorly designed

or maybe a McDonald’s play palace 

that was perfectly designed—

perfectly designed to kill the maximum amount 

of young capitalists, or proleterians, or what’s the difference

these days.

I am the communist Joseph Stalin.

I am the communist Joseph Stalin .

The first time he walked into a communist party meeting

he must have had ideals. He must have 

really wanted to get involved and change 

things, unless he was there just 

to get girls, which is probably why I am the communist Joseph Stalin,

just writing hardcore political poetry to get the girls

I’m marching.

I’m finally a political leader and famous poet.

I’m marching.

I’m the most popular writer and public speaker in history.

I’m marching. On the internet 

I am known as The Guy. On the streets

I am known as 

The Guy. I am The Guy

My identity isn’t very particular or unique or original.

But I’m The Guy.

I’m pacing. I’m

pacing back and forth around the room I grew 

up in. It isn’t that big. 

I could throw a touchdown to myself 

in my room, but it was also only 

a two and a half yard touchdown, assuming 

that I was running the long way in my room to catch the pass.

If it was the wide way then it was just like a yard and a quarter 

touchdown or something.

To chill out I overdosed 

on weed I did 

almost 5000 pounds of weed using

a gas mask. So did you. It was our Peace 

Pipe, or actually I guess you should call it Peace Mask.

It turned us green. Neither of us liked 

it but we liked that we weren’t distinct even 

in superficial ways, at least not 

from each other.

I wrote the weed overdose into my poem,

because it is so lame to write poetry about weed

you wouldn’t even think I was being ironic

because, like, even ironically, weed is not funny in poems

and definitely not sincerely.

So you will take me seriously.

You will take me sincerely.

We will conquer the world together.

Lets do it baby.

Lets make a Hitler and Stalin sort of pact.

Lets sign something,

say we love each other,

and then hate each other,

know it won’t work,

kill each other later,

at least financially.

No, I wasn’t talking about the marriage culture in the United States.

I was talking about a Hitler and Stalin sort of pact.

You know that song “Bills Bills Bills” by Destiny’s Child

Where they talk about some guy being like “Can you pay my bills?”

Oh you don’t know it?

Anyways, can you buy that song on Spotify for me?

I want to listen to it on my phone even when I am underground.

I went underground about 11 years ago.

10 or 11 years ago.

I think probably at least 9 or 10 years ago.

I went underground

to do all the opposite shit from Henry David Thoreau.

Not that I could have anymore

The world was calling it a night:

extreme disparity in the division of resources,

ecological disaster,

people swarmed for buildings in cities,

or, if they could, closed 

roofed sports complexes on the outskirts of cities

but nothing was safe, so I started out 

underground in the subways. Now I am 

in different tunnels I don’t know. I know 

Spotify still exists, although I am fairly sure 

iTunes is gone, along with google. Yahoo 

survived somehow.

Any ways I am reptilian.

We are all reptilian.

We become reptiles when we are so dumb.

We need to be able 

to swim in the ocean. Cold blooded.

“Stay safe,” I say to you, as I thrust 

the knife in and out your lung, then send you on 

your way. 

Streets that we don’t need. We can live 

together. I need living space. I can’t 

sit here if you forced me

to know where I was you would force me 

to know you. That would be the main problem

I know where I 

am. I know the maggots you put in your underpants when 

you swim through lakes of fish suffering from obesity.

I wonder who they got it from?

You like when the fish 

eat your dick. I sure won’t.

One more step in the right direction

and you will fall off the cliff. I will fall off 

it too. If we’re lucky.

Emily Horn lives in Toronto, ON  Andrew Worthington lives in Brooklyn, NY

No comments:

Post a Comment