Sharp Knives Cut

Tired.

Sunday, I stayed in the room and wrote emails. That's all I did. Tonight, DJ was featuring at the Bengal Curry and we, meaning my brother and I, were talking about going. When we talk about something we usually do it. So the writing for this was already on the wall. My problem was that I had to get over this FUCKING FEELING OF DREAD. I feel like I'm facing the gallows. Life can tend to be a cruel and bitter taskmaster, and it gives me SEVEN days to fester like a wound over this stupid interview with this Social Worker. I know that she will be powerless to change the status of my case. It's going to go to FAIR HEARING, binding arbitration, where I will be judged guilty no matter what I say. Then I'll either be sanctioned or cut off.

Fuck all that, really. Being sanctioned or cut off that is. The problem is if this sanction or cut off affects my benefits that pay my rent here at this SRO. Yank that from under me and it's back onto the streets I merrily go. Not that that will happen, but there's a chance. We'll just have to play this one by ear.

But it's placed me in a bad mood. Further, my birthday is fast approa- ching. What a wonderful fucking treat. An all expense paid trip of the New York Underbelly. Everyone likes to do it, it's the new 'in' thing. Slumming, but a whole lot trendier. Shit, and I'm not getting any younger. I've got the neighbor from Hell chasing me around everywhere. Well, I shouldn't call him that, but goddamn, I'm not THAT sociable.

I want some space, I want some freedom. I feel like a strang- ulated Hobo, with the walls crowding in on me. I need escape. SHUT UP BITCH. Get your ass in gear. You just had the best SHOUT OUT on record and you're bitchin' and moanin'? I get my ass in gear, I have a lot to do tonight. I head down to Madison Starbucks to link up with OBSIDIAN and then from there we head down to the Bengal Curry, where DJ does a masterful job reading his pieces. I get up there too and read three to go. One was:

SHE'S A LITTLE WHORE

Oh how she tells me
faithful she is
when she's called to task
she comes though

But she doesn't do it for me

She works hard
and works hard for others
she believes in giving
she gives back as often as she can

But she doesn't do it to me

She is such a little trickster
She is such a little fraud
Oh she is so foolish
She can fool them all

She picks the pockets of others
borrows without repaying
whore in the street for pennies
you've long since sold your soul

But she wont do that to me

Do the things you continue to do
for the crowds that adore you
You love to be in their limelight
My little, beautiful tramp

But you can't do all these things to me

You've done them already


From there we go to an Irish bar, named Paddy O'Rreilly's. DJ, Adriana, Robert G, Robert H, OBSIDIAN and I. We go into the back and gush about the night, and we talk cash trash for the rest of the evening. It's getting late and so we all split up and head in our merry directions. OBSIDIAN and I head to the Way and part, once again, at the Time's Square station. I head home and without incident, if you know what I mean.

Smooth day.

Hobobob