What's the Point, Charlie?

Dawn.

A new day, which finds me sitting in the single chair in my room, my feet cocked up on my bed, a cup of coffee in hand, and Death Cab For Cutie playing on the Internet Radio. Now if you haven't heard of Death Cab before, it's music that will pretty much lead you to take a razor to tender skin, and pare it open bloodily to repay penance. Not that I have any intention of bumping myself off in the near future. I've kinda grown accustomed to this life, no matter how shitty it becomes.

I just have vivid memories of times past, when things seemed so easy, and escape was as simple as going home and locking the door. However, in all reality, was it?? I was, as someone called it: "A Wage Slave" too. What I thought was freedom was not really so, and this 'freedom' that we speak of so highly is not freedom at all. We are slaves to jobs, to bosses, to wives and husbands, to children, to the streets to friends and family, to any outside forces that we allow to control us. Even the game schedule to our favorite team, if we allow it. Who has real freedom then may I ask you? Do you have an answer? Is there an answer? Yes there is. Bedouins. No, don't laugh. These motherfuckers drink camel blood and milk. You try that shit. They don't have to do anything in the morning. They can even get up and shit themselves. You'd never know it. You'd probably blame it on the camel. They don't have to deal with a boss, or organization that tells them what to do, or where to report. They don't have to do shit. They don't have to make concerts or sporting events and if their high Sufi, or leader, or whatever the fuck they call him, gets on their nerves, freedom is as far as their camel and the sands. Same with their wives. Get on their nerves and their gone with the dawn. You try that shit. You're a poor, borrowing friend? He'll find more in a nearby caravan. He owes you money, or rocks, or polished stones, or whatever they use for currency? He'll find more and pay you back. Fuck with one, they'll all come and fuck you up.

These motherfuckers live off the land, eating scorpions and snakes and beetles and all kinds of unhealthy things and it doesn't kill them You try that. Well, if you eat at your neighborhood McDonald's you probably have already. But that's definitely the good life. If I could have anything in the whole world, any wish come true, I would like to live in the desert as a Bedouin with a hot bedouin wife.

I wonder what life would be like if I was in fact someone else. How would I look upon my life now? I remember when I used to live like many I used to look down on those who compose the lower rung of society. A necessary evil without any direction or morals. Without goals, or dreams, just leeches on the face of society. But I've had the best role reversal of my life. I've been made one of the last people on Earth that I ever thought I'd be. Dependent on others, alone, destitute, on a massive amount of drugs for my health, remote, anti-social, AND a high tech curmudgeon with a blog.

Feel sorry for me? I wouldn't. I'm reasonably happy here. I write my poetry, as weak as it is; my stories, as lame as they are; live life vicariously, as sorry as that sounds. I find myself at a strange peace with my life. Not that I spent the entire week ardent over what would happen this Thursday. The good/bad thing is that I can't or don't or won't even get high any more. Something that used to help me cope amazingly well, is foreign to me now. Now, I'm on dope that 'knocks the edge off life. Makes it more palatable, but it doesn't get you HIGH. I don't see what all of the draw is anyway. Even when I was a recreational user, I never really got off on it like I did Jack Daniels.

But I don't even want a hit of the 'ol Union Jack any more. That's a sensation that dead in me, along with the ol' tired need for sex. Yeah, that's right, that's gone too. Not really much there. Nope. I believe that it's a side effect to the drugs. I thought that I was charged up and ready to go, but...nope. I'd rather play cards. Do you think that this revelation makes me feel bad?? Fuck no. Although I still like to look at semi-and completely naked women, I wouldn't really know what to do with one now. Yeah, you can line 'em up and I'll stop to watch, but after a few minutes I'll just about move on. Well, for the most part.

I'm not knocking my life. Shit, it's mine to make of what I want to. I've lived a nice portion in excess, so there's no regret there. I have done everything that I set out to do save raise a child, and I never wanted to do that even. So, with my lack of desire for sex, that's about a done deal too. Although I know that there is no time limit for semen, as their are for eggs, and that men can have children in their sixties. For women, it's just about packing it all up in their fifties. So, I don't want to be the one that says never, because as you know, never does not always mean never. Unless that's unless you take steps nonetheless. Nope, no vasectomy for me either, just keep up with these fucking drugs. It's great, no missee, no fuckee.

So lets give three cheers for a long and meaningful life. Lets be careful, and don't weigh too much on our current circum- stances because in another five years, much of the shit around us will change, and our current problems will be meaningless. So before you worry about me using my head as a chock for an oncoming train, take a self-pressure reading. Take care of yourselves for god's sake.

And if you have any inclination of wacking yourselves, think about me and my situation, and no matter how bad it gets, I'm not intending on going anywhere. It can't be any worse for all of you. Unless you're sitting around in the gloom of the morning, with a cup of coffee in your hands, listening to Death Cab for Cutie.

Put all of the sharp instruments and projectile firing devices away, and enjoy your morning.

Shit, it's a brand new one, baby.

Hobobob