Thunk [Life]
I have a real problem.
These days living on the wild side for me is to have two coffees instead of one for breakfast, with TWO cigarettes instead of one, making it an official "hippie speed ball". I rise at the same time, take my lovely daughter to school and make my way with a lazy morning eye to the center of the school play area and gather to recite the "Pledge of Allegiance" at the speed of the kindergartner chosen to lead us on the microphone. If we are lucky, the final parts are so staggered among the hundreds of us, it's almost as if it was done as a round.
Then I happily watch my daughter ignore me completely as though I never existed and slump my way back to the car.
I consider my manhood on the way home, and find it is hanging left out and in need of adjustment. This leads my wife to remind me that there is no time for my career, I don't have a career, and that there will never be a time to regroup my prior efforts to ever take make any kind of mark on the industry, EVER.
At this point I wonder why the HELL my psyche med's aren't working and how the HELL I could be out of my anxiety/tranquilizer medicine already. I ponder how loud, or how crudely or arrogantly my neighbors will chastise me next weekend when they are being crazy, drunk, high, or any combination of the three. The level of my boredom with the alternative to this is that I will have no reminder of just how many locals thought I was a good nut, worthy of a shout out.
Have I passed the point of no return, am I just an old haunt to remind the young that dreams don't die, they just get old? Am I drowning my beliefs in sovereignty and the relative peace of not fighting the tormenting riots in my head? Am I really going to wind up not at all there before I am dead?
I guess the only thing left to do is to grab onto what is left of my decency, ignore the Neo-Nazi neighbors, the twisted vets, the cracked out Crips, the snobby sophomoric shitheads and all the colors in between and just get the fuck on with life. But what the HELL is getting the fuck on with it? It's gotten to where I don't even disappoint myself any more than them these days. I've had it with convention, but what is the opposite with the slanderous jowls of the frenetic phantoms snarling with such vicious intent not to hear but rather to smear? What about when they threaten to kill and have weapons and fire them into the night sky, nearing the frightening grim reaper telling me in my minds eye that death is real? Should I roll over and make myself blind to the nearest truth untold flying by the night I intone with my guitar and slightly off pitch voice, harsher with smoke than in the morn?
By the time my nightmares are over, and I have woken for the second time, it is time to return to pick up my daughter from school.
It's like the wolf is at the door, but there is no crying wolf for they all know, all around, that these are the packs that smoke us all at some point in time.
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