Another day.
There has to be something said about watching the march of days go by. The days that make up my 47th year on this planet have been placid, still, lifeless. As if I'm just burning down a year just for the fuck of it. A year of my life, spent wasting away in a room, doing nothing but surf the web.
It's an investment year as I see it. It's an investment in myself. How many people get the opportunity to write their novel, to write period, with the free time that they can muster in their busy lives. And as for me, I didn't sit with all ten fingers poked up my asshole either during my 47th year. I was prolific. I got work done. I've finished a novel that I'm quite proud of. Hopefully I can parley this into a job, getting published and becoming self supporting. Leaving this SRO for an apartment, branching out, meeting new people, doing new things, and having the money to do them. That is the big thing, having money.
Without money, you are severely con- strained. There is very little that you can do. It's sad but it's true. You are locked in a financial prison, separated from the rest of the world. A pariah. What can I say? I'm not crying, I have to live with myself. It's not easy, but I do.
My guru doesn't think much of my SPAM diet, "[s]pam again? i hesitate to think what that s---t is doing to your body. whoops, i forget, it's YOUR body." I've got a refrigerator full of SPAM singles and bagels. I have enough SPAM sandwiches to last me for the end of the week. Which is why I shopped like that for. SPAM goes a long way, and it's easy on the wallet. Once again, financial prison. This is the food that you can afford to eat in financial prison. I've lived for 47 years to eat like this. To live like this. All of my life has been lived to reach this point. This time. This means. I am not saddened. I am not stumbled. I am strong and determined to free myself of this prison, of busting out through the use of words. Through writing. Through white hot determination. I refuse to be stopped, I refuse to give up. I'm climbing out of this hole, and just because this is a stretch of darkness before the dawn, I face it gladly.
I am not in fear of the future, just in fear of going backwards. Of falling backwards by some error on my part. That is my only fear, returning to the streets. I don't think I can fit there any longer. I don't think that my psyche can deal with another stint in the streets, in the men's shelter, in the system ever again. Now that I'm in the Transitional Housing system, I am glad. Next step...the fuck out of Dodge baby. Yeah, that's right, some form of self sufficiency. On my own and doing my own thing. I hope to be able to support myself.
Those are all of the dreams in my head on this post Thanks- giving day, where it finds me once again in my room. I had left late last night to go food shopping for condiments. Its funny how you can buy so much food, but it all isn't worth shit without condiments. Salt, pepper, hot sauce, Mayo, honey, salt free saltine crackers. The stuff of staple food. Oh...and SPAM.
What's the hang up about SPAM? Oh, I don't know, but many people just don't like the shit. Many just think that its so processed that its radioactive. That my dick will wither and fall off if I keep eating it. I don't know. I think that it could be considered just as healthy as mad cow burgers, e-coli chicken, mercury tainted fish. Everything today is dangerous. We fed it to our soldiers at WWII, and they were still jumping in front of bullets and throwing hand grenades, so I don't see it as harming me much. I have to slow down on it, maybe that's the case, because I do have some every single day, and I don't want to get sick of it, but it's a good, filling meal.
And, like I said, it's easy on the wallet. Now when I go to the grocery store, I feel so over- whelmed by the choices. Shelves and shelves of food of different types and brands. I feel like a Russian taken shopping for the first time. Completely stunned by the level of choices. There are just too many of them. I like having a simple diet. By tweaking it here and there I may be able to adjust the calories of my diet to lose weight. Maybe. Weight loss is a bitch.
I would like to have a dietitian, join a gym, swim laps, jog in the mornings (like I used to), fuck a model silly, and I do mean fucking silly, drive a nice car, live in a house with bay windows, have a cleaning lady that dresses like a Swedish Maid, have a series of novels, they don't have to be bestsellers, just novels that allow me to fuck models and have a Swedish Maid. Dreams, well yeah, dreams are supposed to be just that, outrageous and detached from real life. How would you like to fall asleep, waking up and doing the same thing you were doing before falling asleep and then waking up, only to be waking up doing the same thing you were doing before going to sleep. That shit would fuck with your mind after awhile.
Maybe my life now is just that, a dream and I'm actually living like the above. This is the dream-state, and my dreams in my real-state. Kinda like a reverse Matrix, where I'm plugged into the matrix while on the NEBUCHADNEZZAR, but when I'm unplugged, I have a good job as a programmer in a big time software agency. Or better, I have a pool where I can do laps, so on and so forth (and don't forget fucking the model, just in case there is a higher power reading this). I would like to live the life. Others do, why can't I?
I believe in paying your dues. I don't like lucky people who hit the lottery just picking a ticket from a corner store. That bothers me. That makes the game stilted. I like it when top forty singers began as back up singers for bullshit musicians; when academy award winners started off as walk on parts; when pornstars started as fluffers in gangbang movies. I think I'm doing just that. I'm paying my dues. I've had a hardscrabble life all the way up to here, and I've paid my dues, I believe that there's more up the hill, that there is a little further to go. Maybe just the modest house, a beautiful red headed significant other, a two car garage, a nice neighborhood and books that are selling on the market. Simple life. Simply done.
Well, I have a simple task ahead of me, the SHOUT OUT. Easily said than done. I have to gather up all of my resolve, wrap it in a tight package, shake it well, and then explode it out on the stage tomorrow or I'll have one vapid show. OBSIDIAN will not be there tomorrow so I have got to make it in. NO matter what. It'll prove to be a good show. I just have got to get there.
Or maybe I'll just stay home, stick my fingers up my ass and have a SPAM sandwich.Hobobob
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