21 September 2006
VIP Only Insider's Update
I took a tumbler on the bike the other day. Drunk of course, I blame it on Jamison's. Now I sport an encapsulating yellow bruise on my left shoulder. I should get it sponsored by that fine Irish whisky. It was wet out when I spilled, so at least I got that going for me, excuse-wise.
Stress finally swamped me this week. To the point where I was bobbing in rage, could not help wading in it if I wanted. That is life for you on the dirty city streets whilst chasing after that paper. People be nickel and diming the crap out of you in the asphalt jungle. I wish I could stick a fork in this one client's head. Skinny little dickweed, possesses the power to nauseate. Alas, I heard an instructive song in my head, the gist of which - let it go.
I wander forlornly in search of eldorado. Or at least a moment of repose, even a lurching bemusement. Not finding it, I find a friend who takes me out and lets me babble. Misery is such a bore. A chore not worth accomplishing but of course there is no choice.
In my dreams enter frightening and ferocious characters, demanding and entrancing. I wake up gasping, elated or terrified. One dream in particular in which the original 'dream wanderer' appeared, or he advertised himself as such. He bent reality in the most unbelievable way; promised he would show me things.
I drive a lot lately. I went from "Let it be" to "Toss my salad bitch" in 5 days. Now I know how to intimidate. Because otherwise you get your ass run over on these streets. There is so much godawful traffic that not one smiling scrap of humanity remains. I mean, I still let people go in front of me occasionally. But only when they rush ahead to a traffic jam 100 feet in front of us.
Do I also mention the sex dream so consuming I woke up sweating? My dreams are knocking me silly lately.
I listen to Rhymefest's new CD and seethe. "Blue Collar" is the name. Quite good. I cannot read anymore so I watch bad network TV and rest because stress knocks my ass out. I watch old sitcoms, sports and the first Chucky movie in Espanol. I also watch a serial killer show, sadly because there should be better things to do with my life.
I walked around a nice park yesterday. A bright afternoon wind blew on moms, kids, high school soccer players, sexy Ukrainian nannies, loners on benches and overweight people waddling laps. There was no nostalgia, no enlightenment, no feelings really other than an immediate sensory perception. I was too tired for anything conceptual. I walked 4 times around, stiffly, because I still am injured from my drunken wipeout. And it was good still, life. Even beat up, burnt out, mumbling to myself - I was happy to be alive in the park
Magic and mundanity simultaneously torture me. I wander lonely as a cloud. Stars explode above me while hungry worms squiggle below. I create life with a ferocity I have not much control over and try to find places where life grows. Then spew love on it and hope for the best. Oddly it feels like a strange position to be in, but I suppose that feeling is natural.
Stress finally swamped me this week. To the point where I was bobbing in rage, could not help wading in it if I wanted. That is life for you on the dirty city streets whilst chasing after that paper. People be nickel and diming the crap out of you in the asphalt jungle. I wish I could stick a fork in this one client's head. Skinny little dickweed, possesses the power to nauseate. Alas, I heard an instructive song in my head, the gist of which - let it go.
I wander forlornly in search of eldorado. Or at least a moment of repose, even a lurching bemusement. Not finding it, I find a friend who takes me out and lets me babble. Misery is such a bore. A chore not worth accomplishing but of course there is no choice.
In my dreams enter frightening and ferocious characters, demanding and entrancing. I wake up gasping, elated or terrified. One dream in particular in which the original 'dream wanderer' appeared, or he advertised himself as such. He bent reality in the most unbelievable way; promised he would show me things.
I drive a lot lately. I went from "Let it be" to "Toss my salad bitch" in 5 days. Now I know how to intimidate. Because otherwise you get your ass run over on these streets. There is so much godawful traffic that not one smiling scrap of humanity remains. I mean, I still let people go in front of me occasionally. But only when they rush ahead to a traffic jam 100 feet in front of us.
Do I also mention the sex dream so consuming I woke up sweating? My dreams are knocking me silly lately.
I listen to Rhymefest's new CD and seethe. "Blue Collar" is the name. Quite good. I cannot read anymore so I watch bad network TV and rest because stress knocks my ass out. I watch old sitcoms, sports and the first Chucky movie in Espanol. I also watch a serial killer show, sadly because there should be better things to do with my life.
I walked around a nice park yesterday. A bright afternoon wind blew on moms, kids, high school soccer players, sexy Ukrainian nannies, loners on benches and overweight people waddling laps. There was no nostalgia, no enlightenment, no feelings really other than an immediate sensory perception. I was too tired for anything conceptual. I walked 4 times around, stiffly, because I still am injured from my drunken wipeout. And it was good still, life. Even beat up, burnt out, mumbling to myself - I was happy to be alive in the park
Magic and mundanity simultaneously torture me. I wander lonely as a cloud. Stars explode above me while hungry worms squiggle below. I create life with a ferocity I have not much control over and try to find places where life grows. Then spew love on it and hope for the best. Oddly it feels like a strange position to be in, but I suppose that feeling is natural.
