Confidential

Upon the eve of my 37th birthday
I decided to become a deity.

What better way to absolve confusion
than to commune with the jesters
of chaos'
tribune.

I know, right?

So I printed out the form,
for deific application,
the statement of my testament
to personal salvation.

I checked boxes, answered questions,
laid bare the methodologies
of my inceptions, my perceptions
of my
con-
ception.

I answered to the best of my ability,
exposing truths of my reality,
of my banality,
my quietude
redacted.

And I took my application to the man
the man who would decide
my
future.

He said to me:
"Congratulations!  Your application is approved,
barring one
small
thing.

On a seperate sheet of paper,
labeled 'Confidential,'
list all major psychotic episodes which occured
in the last
24
hours."

I raged against this question.
This inhuman situation
Who the hell was he
Mere mortal man
To question my divinity?
Was this not formality?

Was I not
pre-
approved?

I thought,
I fought,
I wrestled with this quest.

And then it came to me,
momentous clarity
Of personal epiphany
And so I wrote
upon
that
paper:

Sunday, February 8th,
2009
11:45AM

I
woke.