Noah Cicero: The Collected Works of Noah Cicero Vol. I

“Because you’re the only person I can really talk to.”

“I talk pretty well to you too,” I say.

“You believe in the war, don’t you?”

“No, don’t accuse me of that.”

“No, you’re lying, you love Bush.”

“I fucking hate Bush. You’re insane.”

“You want people to die, don’t you?” Kendra says.

“No, leave me alone.”

“You want world domination. I know you do.”

“I don’t know what I want, but I don’t want that.”

“You’re cute,” Kendra says politely.

“Thanks.”

“Last night I cried.”

“Why?”

“The terrorists are coming to get me. They’re going to put smallpox in the air, I know it. We’ll all be dead in a week, and Jesus will come back,” Kendra says.

“Jesus won’t come back, and you won’t die in a week.”

“Jesus will come back and send Bush to hell for everyone to see.”

“That would be nice,” I say.

“Jesus doesn’t like wars. He said to walk the extra mile.”

“Bush doesn’t care about that verse.”

“He should, he says he’s Christian.”

“He’s Christian for votes,” I say.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I’m going to shoot a missile at the White House while he’s sleeping in there all snug in his bed,” Kendra says.

“Where are you going to get a missile.”

“I’ll find one. It can’t be that hard.”

“You should do it then, for your mental health.”

“Yeah, it would release a lot of pent-up aggression,” Kendra says.

“What are you going to do after you kill the president?”

“I’m going out to get drunk and celebrate.”

“Good idea.”

“Then I’ll go to college to become a doctor.”

“I thought you hated college.”

“I guess you’re right. I guess I’ll stick to being a pizza delivery girl,” Kendra says.

“Yeah, you are really good at it. I don’t see why you should stop now.”

“I know, I am good at it,” Kendra says.

“I don’t want to be an American anymore,” I say.

“Leave then.”

“Where can I go? I have no money, and no passport.”

“Go to Mexico.”

“I went there already, I got robbed,” I say.

“Go nowhere then.”

“How will I get there.”

“By train.”

“That’s too expensive.”

“Drive your car.”

“I have no insurance.”

“Reject the absurd, and kill yourself,” Kendra says.

“I’m afraid of death.”

“Don’t be afraid, Jesus saves.”

“I don’t believe in Jesus.”

“No one does.”

“Can America save me?”

“Only you can save yourself.”

“I have no interest in being saved,” I say.

“That might be the cause of your problems.”

“I don’t have problems.”

“You have only yourself.”

“I don’t want myself,” I say.

“No one does.”

“There’s a war.”

“I don’t care.”

“No one does.”

“What if America loses,” Kendra says.

“Then the troops go home, and some don’t.”

“Then mommies cry.”

“A lot more Iraqi mothers will cry.”

“Yeah, but they don’t matter.”

“Why don’t they matter?” I say.

“They aren’t Americans, they’re evil.”

“What if they aren’t evil?”

“If they aren’t evil, why are we killing them?”

“Money.”

“Someone will lose their existence for money?”

“Yes.”

“I would never give up my existence for money,” Kendra says.

“I wouldn’t lose my existence for anything, except freedom.”

“We already have freedom.”

“Then we don’t need to lose our existence.”

“As a child, I never thought of war.”

“War is for old people with money,” I say.

“War is fought by young boys who don’t have very high IQs.”

“They choose to fight.”

“Then we can’t blame them,” Kendra says.

“Who can we blame?”

“No one, I guess.”

“I’m tired of this,” Kendra says.

“What?”

“America and its civilization.”

“A lot of people are weary of it.”

“I’m tired.”

“But no one is listening.”

“I am the voice crying in the wilderness,” Kendra says.

“But no one hears.”

“You hear, don’t you?”

“No.”

“When I’m alone, I cry.”

“And still no one hears.”

“I want my tears to be seen by America, I want my tears on public television.”

“America doesn’t want your tears,” I say.

“What does it want?”

“Blood.”

“I have only tears to give.”

“America wants war, it wants humans dead.”

“I’m human.”

“They want you dead,” I say.

“Why would a human want to kill another human?”

“Power, silly.”

“Power?”

“Yes, power.”

“I have no power.”

“No one does.”

“I don’t know what I would do if I had power.”

“You’d misuse it,” I say.

“I probably would.”

“Everybody does.”

“Is there no way we can stop this war?”

“It’s impossible.”

“Existence is impossible.”

“Existence is war.”

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“You have to fight.”

“I don’t want to,” Kendra says.

“No one does.”

I look at Kendra’s face, it is beautiful.

There is pain in it.

She is beat down by this world.

I forgive her for being mad.

When I first met her, she was innocent. Now she’s scarred and putrid. She is in a constant struggle for survival. But she goes on, she fights even though she doesn’t want to.

I love to listen to her talk.

I’m heartbroken.

The bombs will soon drop.

Bush will be happy.

Kendra lays there, smoking. I stare at her. I love her for a moment. She is so worried.

I reach out my hand and pet Kendra’s face.

She purrs like a kitten.

I imagine people dying. I see parents crying, and little children without legs.

I don’t want to be an American any longer.

I want to be in Mexico drinking cerveza in a whorehouse. I want to smoke some meth and forget I ever existed.

I am never going to forgive America for this.

I thought this was a democracy.

Plato didn’t believe in democracy.

Little children will watch this on television and wonder. They will get no real answers though; no one cares about real answers.

I thought the world was changing for the better.

People change when they grow up.

They change for the worse.

They start worrying about money. Money becomes an all-consuming thought. Then they die.

I have no interest in dying.

But I have to. I have to care one day about things that don’t matter to me.

I look at Kendra and think, I used to love her. But I don’t anymore. But I tell her ‘I love you,’ I tell her so many things.

She’s monogamous to me, but I’m not to her. Though I still feel like I’m taking care of her. She knows I date other people, but she puts up with it. She’s so weak and fragile. I don’t know what keeps her alive.

There is so much pain.

Absurdity.

Kendra crawls next to me. She wraps her body around mine. I hold her tight to me. Then I kiss her on the eyelids.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too,” I say.

I don’t know why I say that. I don’t mean it.

I say it because I have to.

I say a lot of things because I have to.

I live a useless existence.

Do I love Kendra? Most likely no. I love no one. I walk the world alone.

I’m not fit for human consumption.