Wow, it’s been 22 days since I last posted. So much has happened. I’m feeling drippy. Emotionally. For the past week it’s been mostly good, but every now and then the bad thoughts will puff past like a wet lungfull of cigarette smoke. I’m tired of feeling bad, and those moments are stranglers. For a while there, my life was a Richard Farina title: Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up To Me. Farina committed suicide shortly after that book was published. I managed to survive. Although, it’s not saying much to say you’re mentally more stable than your average writer.
But like any good story, troubling times end in epiphany. And that’s where I am now. I needed to change my life and the way I was looking at the world and my place in it. I’m better for it.
Now, in my brain I’m zen-like. I’m that bird who finds the “sweet spot” on a breezy day, and just hangs in the air in one place looking effortless, and motionless. My wings are spread, and I’ve caught the breeze. I’m hanging. It’s never effortless at first, but it will become so. It’s a feeling of clarity and singular focus, like speeding down a dark and lonely country road listening to AM static, knowing that your true love is at home waiting and yearning for you to take her in your arms.
On a night like that, the visitors could land at any second to sabotage their plans. And they would think, because I’m usually such a mild-mannered guy, that there would be no stopping them. But the bastards had better watch their back if they plan on landing their damned ships in my way. When you see your path and you know that it’s right, the answer is clear and you are sure of yourself.
I’m proud. I’m an alligator wearing a shark skin suit
I’m happy again. And I’m starting to find all the weird and remarkable shit that happens in my life amusing once more.
Homeless people. You gotta love ‘em.
Marquis was at the train station, and that’s where he came to me. He said he liked my suit and asked where I bought it. He had two yellow teeth that looked like corn. I told him where I got the suit and he said it was a good place to get one. But he hadn’t shopped there in a long time. He then explained that he couldn’t go many places any more because so many people wanted him dead. He said he went to Ozzfest, and that while some of the bands thought it was cool that he showed up, most of them thought he should have stayed away. You see, he used to run around with a bad crowd. Dope dealers. They had once given him a billion dollars to hold onto once, and now they are after him.
Downtown, a man with a Casio keyboard strapped around his neck played funk music as he chased after a retarded man with a severe limp. The retarded man looked like he was strutting to his own theme music.
An overweight Russian was screaming at a black boy about how he beats his wife daily and how niggers have no place in schools. He had pissed his pants. I get the feeling he doesn’t have a wife.
Popularity: 1% [?]