Woman On A String

What I want for Christmas:

A naked red head, or at least one in a bikini.

If anyone has one, please contact me, a hobo living in New York City. A man of very little means but can love immensely. That's for me, that's what I want, and if I can't get one, then I ask my tired, alcohol abused brain to at least dream of her. Can it do that for me? I guess not. No matter how hard I dwell on her.

No, instead I dream about giving people directions. That's right, I'm lost and at the same time, giving out directions to people...well at least I was in this crazy dream. I wake having to piss like a racehorse. I hop up and grab a piss bottle, relieving myself. Hey...this is not embarrassing or strange to me. When I lived in The Entrance many years ago, I used to keep empty plastic bottles on me for when I slept at night and had to go. I didn't have to get up and walk to a nearby bush. While lying across a group of benches I would relieve myself in the bottles.

I wash my hands and jump behind my laptop, another day. Much like the close of yesterday after I got home from moving the doctor. I printed out more photos and carefully cut them up and put them inside of the frames. Now they looked professional. I was very pleased with myself. I don't put any on my walls. I like them pristine white. Instead, I cover my desk with them. So, there you go. I get on mIRC and putter around with friends. I have started to grow used to them all. They are a tightly knit group. I don't know how I got into them, but they've let me in as if I was one of their own.

A series of emails and blog posts have finally moved my lazy ass to write my memoir. I was cranking and complaining that I had nothing to really write about. I didn't have anything IN me to write. However, last night I put my nose to the grindstone and said that the most I'll do is try a chapter. It came out about twenty pages and two chapters later. It was a smooth recounting of my life. I realize that IF I don't fret, and IF I take my time, this can be done and in a reasonable amount of time. I will not pressure myself to write. I will instead wait until I remember something and then go to it. I want to leave nothing out. It's like my blog. I love to write it while it's fresh in my mind, but sometimes it grows cold and you forget things. So then it's time to wait until it heats up again. Nothing is worse than cold thoughts.

I'm sleeping more than usual today. You know what I'm thinking about dreaming about, but still, over the three naps that I DO take, it's about nothing. I only remember one, about IRCing. What the fuck? Three naps...most unusual. I need to talk about that to my head shrink. She increased the dosage on my LYRICA. It's supposed to take the edge off of life, keep me from catastrophizing, give me more social behavior, make me more outgoing, like XTC mixed with SCOPOLAMINE. I'm thinking that the increased dosage is making me sleepy. I'll just have to get used to it in the long run.

As I sit completely naked in front of my computer a paper slides under my door. "NOTICE OF STAFF VISIT, To: Hobobob. I, Snow White, stopped by your apartment on 5/15/09 at 10:00am. Please contact me as soon as possible. Comments: Please come and see me regarding an apartment inspection. Thanks, Snow White."

Another one?? Hmmm... It's been awhile. Almost two months by my reckoning. I look around my room. There's some work to be done. Just wash today's dishes, prep the garbage for tomorrow's pick up, pour out the piss bottles and set them out also. Stack paperwork on the floor neatly, make the bed and fold clothes. Not much. I'll do my clock thing again and go around the room. It really works.

I sit down and work on both novels that I'm writing until I'm tired. I'm not going to go anywhere tonight. I call my mother and order my pre- scriptions over the phone. I'm tired, but I go on IRC for a few minutes. I'm not on for long. I sit alone in the dark of the room. I let the shadows move, the walls turn into smoke as my imagination takes over completely. What do I day/evening dream of? Not being lonely. Not being alone. I dream of being less counterproductive by canceling everything and eschewing everyone. I dream most of all of a red head, with pearl white skin, naked as the day she was born, drifting, drifting, floating.

And I dream of you
Drifting like a kite
on the springtime winds
you float, held up by nothing

I see you clearly now
your form coming into focus
pearly white skin, rust colored hair
body in a T like a savior

I see you clearly now
for you haunt my waking dreams
My desire for you is strong
I reach out for your string

I take a hold of it's end
and draw you down to the clay Earth
But the wind causes you to struggle
and in the fight, the string breaks

And you hover for a moment
before rising swiftly into the clouds
as if to say goodbye
as you ascend to Heaven

Where you belong

Hobobob