Broken Kid dot com

This message is a long time in coming. Many of you out there have been eagerly checking BrokenKid.com every day, your hands clasped close to your chest, breath coming quick as you eagerly anticipate a new missive from your fearless leader, and you’ve left disappointed and distraught, drinking yourself to sleep in the hopes that tomorrow will bring more words of wisdom to shed light on your dismal day. Children, have hope, because the Kid is back.

‘Why?’ you are screaming as you tear your hair from your head in frustration. ‘Why did you go away, Broken Kid?’ Your plaintive cries can be heard all the way to the Kid’s secret Fortress of Solitude, as can your sobs of joy. Pay heed, good friends, because the Kid has missed you nearly as much as you have missed him.

Unfortunately, despite the proliferation of wireless technology and access to more advanced technology and cheaper prices, it’s still extremely difficult to access the Internet from a Guatemalan prison-camp. Even if it were possible to McGuyver some variety of device out of rocks, dirt, and human fecal matter, there’s no where to plug it in. And subsisting on a thin gruel consisting of as much hair and dirt as actual food makes it difficult for even a hearty soul such as yours truly to muster the motivation necessary for such a feat.

No, that’s not entirely true. The time spent in a backwards prison deep in the heart of the rainforest was only two weeks. The remainder of the time that Broken Kid has been missing from your collective consciousness has been spent on a good-will tour of Europe, spreading the gospel of wisdom and faith and spirit of man. Two assassination attempts and one instance of choking on a pretzel later, the Kid soars back to the States on his private jet and finds time in his busy schedule to enlighten the masses once again.

Ok, that’s not completely true either. Most of the time in Europe was spent in brothels and casinos wasting much of the Kid’s family fortune and suffering a bout of what could only be an extremely limited resurgence of the Bubonic Plague. In truth, the Kid didn’t stray far from his humble home in four months, spending much of that time curled up in a small ball on the floor and downing expensive vodka at remarkable rates until the day and night blended into one big ball of meaninglessness. It’s difficult to acknowledge the passing of time while in such a state, and when the Kid finally arose from his metaphysical death of denial to shower away the sludge of redemption, shave away the mask of deceit, and return to the world from his 40 days (or six months) of time spent in a desert of self-involvement, he was as shocked as you to discover it’s the middle of winter in a brand new year and not a single self-serving fan bothered to send him a Merry Christmas card. Fie on you, you ungrateful whelps. The Kid shall be stopping payment on the reimbursement of your college loans by the end of the day.

You may be wondering what put your stoic hero in such a state of despair and disrepair over the preceding months, to which the Kid firmly insists you mind your own damned business and get a job!

But seeing as how so much of your own minor existences are rolled up into that of Broken Kid’s, it’s possible you’re entitled to some semblance of explanation. See, Broken Kid is, for lack of a more suitable word, broken. Surely you’re aware, by now, of the extent to which today’s modern society sends the kid into a state of helpless depression. But not everything can fall on the feet of the huddled and hopeless masses, it’s true. Perhaps there’s faulty wiring within the miraculous mind of Broken Kid. Genius is often linked to depression and mental illness, after all. More likely all human beings are wired to sink into darkness when faced as clearly with the overwhelming desperation of civilization. It’s akin to reverting to an animalistic state, most likely, when even a mind as expansive and clear as the Kids can no longer face the empty mayhem of entropy that pervades society as a whole and, in particular, those few souls lucky enough to come into regular contact with the Kid.

It’s difficult to break this news to those who idolize the Kid so openly (and understandably so), but Broken Kid is a weak man. Now your cry out your disagreement and shout your exclamations of support, and while such blind encouragement is appreciated the way Broken Dog’s hand licking can be seen as an expression of adoration and appreciation, you should know that you, friends, are among those who make the Kid feel so sad for the state of man. You can’t help it… you’re subject to the same failings of society in general. The Kid is subject to those same elements, so do not despair; not everyone can be as enlightened to see the truth and change their very nature.

In short, it is the instinct of the animal in each of us to withdraw from extreme moments of fear, sorrow, and hopelessness and retreat into the dark and the warm and the safe. So that’s where the Kid found himself, day after night after day: curled up in a ball in the closet with his bottle of liquor and the repeated comfort of banging his head against the hard wooden floor until welcome sleep comes with its promises of dreams. Safe behind lead-lined walls and alarm systems that would make Fort Knox jealous, the Kid was impervious to your screams of desperation. It’s not that he didn’t care about you. He just didn’t care enough…

That being said, the Kid is back. For the time being, he’s shading his eyes against the uncomfortable light of day seeping through shaded windows and working his magic at the keyboard. He’s ready to share his wisdom and truth, if you’re ready to listen. But be warned: the world is a scary and disheartening place. It won’t take much to send the Kid into another spiral of despair. The Vodka is always close at hand. So, though, could be a glimmer of hope. He can see it beyond his shades. He’s just not sure he believes in it.