I’m going to try and actually stay consistent about something for the first time in, well, probably ever. I’m making it a personal challenge to write 30 pieces, one a day, for the next month to practice, and to see if I can actually do it. Sure much of it is going to be slop….but here we go. -S
Another mental crunch as the pieces fall into place. Patience is watching without virtue the calamities of yourself as they leave ricochet pockmarks into the surrounding population. What a shame that it all came circling back around this direction, to the twitchy fingers and uneasy guts. The lackluster moans and the desire for release in some way from the grip and tight tenor of the fingers laced around your brain stem.
Just another day in paradise it seems. Drooling into a cacophony of disinterested moments where the past is relieved in modern terms and the future slips by as identical discord. Yeah, here it goes again with the “will I nevers” and “if only I had the”–this time will be different, sure of it. Always remember that slip comes before the fall and that landing on your hands is a great way to break something. Take the bumps and bruises, roll yourself up and get a grip.
Next hour is a doozy, but the one after that brings us closer to setting off on a worldwide trip. Settle down now young buck, rest your weary head, we’re in this for the long hall, and some might question why it is you aren’t just dead.
Dystopian cartwheels in the caterwauling life we lead staring constantly at the satisfaction all around. Bitching occasionally to satisfy unmet desires that we struggle to attain even at unreasonable cost. The hunt for happiness overwhelms the basics and sometimes its worth it whatever the price. Disciples of a daily rut where we stay stuck and mired deeply in the mud of a situation not planned for. In the moments of joy where our desire for completion coincides with our faithful love and devotion, we find a peace despite the discord that is without compare. In the moments where we falter under the weight surviving as only survivors can and are willing to do, we have to remember the strength we share to stumble on. Nothing becomes the norm and requests for aid cut as a degrading act that dehumanizes us further. Outlasting the shame of each failure and the disgust it brings resolutely waking each morning to the grim gray of sameness. As upper class homeless we are on the outskirts, enjoying luxuries like cold running water and a toilet, that the rest of goddamn society imagines are god given. Fear that the envy of our possessions will lead to thievery leads us to close the door and have knives on hand. Eating another can of soup in mid-summer heat because the soup kitchens provide cans and bread regularly and its too goddamn expensive to purchase a real meal. Endlessly pretending that things will just fix themselves because the reality of work necessary to get out of this situation is beyond daunting, it’s easier to capitulate and get high. Holding tight to special items because they are memories encapsulated in the fur of a stuffed animal or favorite shirt. When you’ve lost it all so many times before the littlest things can have such an enormous significance you might even indulge in a treasure box for safe keeping. Solid week long stretches without bathing because the $7 per person to shower at the truck stop can’t be found. People look at you with mixed contempt and confusion because if you dress nicely and present well it defies logic that you should be in such a predicament. Putting on makeup diligently just to feel pretty for a moment scrape the grunge of sweat stained skin stickily from your body. Oh yes, there is freedom to be found if you chose to indulge and let the wash of illicit and irregular activities become your home. A beer and some vodka to wash down the weather and heat along with the anxious discord of stress over the unknown of tomorrow. A shot or a bowl of glass to provide focused determination the confidence to strive for success into the oncoming crush or an opportunity to zone out and lose days at a time without emotion. Some black tar to sleep peacefully and stay dazed no thought and no fear, no nothing at all because you’ve gone dead inside. Its a slide down into a pit of needles and loss where the bottom can always fall out and take you lower, lower than you ever imagined possible in such insidious ways. Bravo to those that soldier their way out of the muck find themselves a spot of sanity and personal identity allow themselves the grace of overcoming through grit. Fucking monsters of life having been torn through the gutter when they stand proud and defiant despite their obstacles applaud those hard mother fuckers that didn’t give in, defied all the odds and managed to rejoin the world on their own terms.