Paint It Black

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I’ll be back in New York soon.

I’ve been spending the last two weeks in Ahoskie. Taking time to be with my mother. She is terribly lonely and there is nothing anyone can do about it. I think now of the demise of individuals in the waning years of life, and is this all that we have to look forward to? Loneliness, old age and death?

What makes a life worth living? Have you ever asked yourself that question? What makes your life worth getting up in the morning or at least not offing yourself over breakfast? I look around me and listen and I wonder. Take rich people for instance. Is life more rewarding for people who have a lot of money? Maybe it is. I can’t tell. I know that there are so many people who want to be rich just to lead the good life. But I’m sure they have worries and heartaches too. I’m sure that their wives and husbands are pains in the ass. I’m sure they have health problems, erectile problems, dental problems. And in the long run, they get old and die just like everyone else. So they go with a champagne glass in their hands. Is it all that rewarding?

How about fame? Would fame make life worth living? I don’t know just how enjoyable living life under a microscope is. You have to constantly worry about what people are thinking about you and how you appear to the masses. You can’t have odd habits or perverse sexual proclivities. I would be terrible as the latter, being such the homeless pervert poet, my life would be condemned the instant I became a celebrity. Shit, like Pee Wee Herman I would be caught on a street corner with my dick hanging out of my pants; or in a car, like Hugh Grant, having my balls inflated by some hooker. And I wouldn’t apologize for it either. What is the value of giving up so much of your life because you have to be concerned about the public eye. I don’t think I would appreciate or like the scrutiny.

How about great achievements? Like in the sciences, or business? Well who cares if you find the cure for cancer or walk on the moon. There’s still no free anal sex for you. You’re known for fifteen minutes and then off to the history books your smart ass goes. You are remembered as a footnote, or not at all. Kids have to memorize your name to pass an exam and then they’ll forget about you too. And you’ve devoted your life towards this achievement and what have you got to show for giving it your focus and attention for so long. A shitty marriage, wayward children, vacant home, health and a drinking problem. Well, the drinking problem should go on the plus side of living

How about living for the family? That too seems to be a tired life. You raise your children and they grow up to hate your ass, be rebellious or at best, love you, marry, and move off to start their own families. When your ass grows too decrepit they will pack you up and send you to a retirement home because they don’t want to be bothered with you in their busy lives. You will grow old, much alone, although surrounded by dying others like yourself, with nothing to show for it other than photographs of family outings from times long gone. Sorry about that.

Then I think of my lost and confused life. With no future, no prospects, nothing but the streets and the city and the broke nature of my existence. Not a penny in my pocket and not a love in my life. I wonder if I should stop taking this Naltrexone and get back to drinking. I’m standing in the bottom of a well, with no light reaching me. Life is a little blue/white circle high overhead and all around my feet are bottles of hooch. Why shouldn’t I start picking them up and drinking them down. When did I graduate from drunk and slob and pervert? Did years of homelessness and the streets cure me of this? Was my stint in the belly of the beast enough to jar me back to reality. Was it enough to erase all of the hurt and the pain? Does time stop the fear and the trepidation? I think it might. I think therapy might do the rest. I’m just waiting for my day, when things change suddenly. That’s why I continue to write my stories and scripts, because they are my exit to a better life. A life closer to yours.

I think I’ve found the secret to a good life. Living it without harming others. An altruistic existence with as little material wealth as possible. The simple life, a simple home, a simple love, a simple family. A quiet and mild existence. Be peaceable with your neighbor, and keep tidy and clean. That is a good life.

Then, when the sun goes down, get your woman, your cat, your dog, break out the sex toys, and the alcohol, tear each others clothes off, tie each other in leather and chains and lace and silk and spank, suck, fuck, bite, and cum all night long until the two of you perverted fucks pass out.

Keep that shit up for the rest of your life. And you will live happy, until you grow old and one of you die, and the other lives a naked and lonely existence until they join the other. And the good thing, they have all of those fucked up sexual memories.

Oh, and the alcohol.

Hobobob