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It is the birds right outside my window making their instinctual noises of mating, spring morning screeches all happy to be alive and fucking, eating, vomiting in the mouths of their flightless young that first wakes me up hours before I had hoped to actually rise and so I throw a pillow over my face, turn on my side and flop my arm up and over my head, press it into my ear to drown out as much noise as possible and begin to fall back asleep. Within minutes I hear similar noises of instinctual idiocy, stupid behavior, children on the other side of the fence, down below, running around and yapping like coked up miniature poodles, screaming at each other, screaming at their parents, screaming at nothing just because they can. "This is the best day of my life!" the little girl yells at the top of her lungs. I want to shoot an exploding rocket through the sky and make jagged pieces of beautiful bright blue fall down on them, crushing them, impaling them, silencing them. I want to set fire to all the houses on the block and hire busses to evacuate everyone away to a safer place, a place not so devoured by raging, angry flames. A place where they can yell as loud as they can, as early as they want, without bothering the unfixable, sterile, sleeping, borderline psychotics of the world. I want to dance naked in the deserted smoke filled streets, pray to the broken sky for them all to never return. I want the flood waters to rise higher and extinguish the flames, carry me away, down stream, forever.