Where, who, what, or why to begin? So let’s start at this very moment in time. I’m high on a cocktail of uncut cocaine, booze, the kindest of the kind, and some new molecular alteration of MDMA, sitting in front of fifty-two inches of high definition subliminal corporate media greed machine. I’m busy letting my fingers dance across the keys in some un-Godly rhythms, allowing my subconscious to poor out across the page. My mind is dumbfounded as I realize I have been given the task of telling this story. I find it a blessing and a curse all wrapped into one. The past, the present, and what some hope to be the future are about to become intertwined in the following lines. All that is asked is that the following acts are not judged, but rather just seen for what they are. Nothing more, nothing less.

Stale cigarette smoke fills my lungs as I type this manifesto of bull shit. Delete, delete, delete, all of this garbage!  These are the words fear screams in my ears. But I cannot awake from my coma. Society should fear anyone who claims to understand this. These are the very people who will turn it on its ears. “Wake up! Wake up you fool! Wake up from this horrible dream!” But I can’t, because this sadly is no dream.

2:49 PM Tuesday, August 18, 2009. Columbus, Ohio- I find myself sitting at Bodega eating a chicken sandwich and occasionally dipping chips into a cup of lukewarm soup.  Trying to get my mind to focus on the job at hand, but I’m distracted by the parade of half naked female flesh dancing past the doorway of doom.  It’s early yet so it’s peaceful, but soon the masses will ascend upon this urban oasis. In order to fill their gullets with half priced pints and the bitter sweet taste of liquors. As wanna be models with barmaid hands and rug burned knees try to act chic and score free drinks from pseudo intellectual hipsters.

I watch this same tired scene play out day after day.  In a way it’s my job to do so.  I mean what else am I to do? Buckle down get a nine to five? Tried that, I was shall we say too much of a free thinker for that route. I seem to have a total lack of respect for authority. At least that’s what some head shrinker told me.

14 months later…………………………..

I’m sitting in the kitchen of a home located in a small New England town, sipping on a cup of coffee, listening to music, and typing.  Still typing, that’s the only thing that’s the same. The drugs, the bars, my old life, are all skeletons in my closet, I take out and polish every now and then, when I’m feeling nostalgic.  Now my days are filled with caring for a 90 year old man in the winter of his existence.  My mind is clear; my body is healthy as it can be, for a guy who inhales 40 tasty tobacco treats a day. Even I’m unclear on how it all came to be. I guess, 14 months ago, I was standing at one of the many crossroads a person encounters on their voyage through life.  Luckily, I chose the better path to follow. Who knows if I’d even be writing this right now, had I wandered further down the path I was following.

I just became sick of the sheep,

who tried to hide in a wolves clothing,

sick of the smiling eyes that greeted my face,

but twisted daggers in my spine,

before I could even walk out the door,

sick of the best buds,

until that last bump in the corner of the bag is gone,

then it’s all who the fuck are you?

Perhaps, I just finally got a clue.

I like to think I finally grew up.

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Comments
  1. Darcy says:

    “If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.” -George Bernard Shaw Your skeletons dance, my friend. My life is richer from your written word…

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