Home Depot to the Rescue

Where is the great climax?

Where is the wild, shoot 'em up ending that punctuates a life here on Earth. When do I get my opportunity to go out in a blaze of glory? Or will I just fade away and become nothing from nothing? Is that the take? Is that what happens? I finished watching 'Carlilto's Way' with Al Pacino and even though I can't stand Brian DePalma movies, I loved this one. I remember when they were filming the ending of it in Grand Central Station. I was like 23 years old, working upstairs in the Pan Am building and coming to work, using those very same bank of escalators. They must have been filming all night because when I got there they were packing all of their camera shit up. I remember that. It's an old movie.

Well, truth be told, I loved it because Al Pacino gets the opportunity to square off with the fuckers who are making his life miserable. Fuckers who are in the way of him reaching the woman of his dreams and a beautiful future in Nassau, Paradise Island, that he fought so hard for. The entire movie is about this plan, his plan, Carlito's Way. And everything you can think of became an obstacle to that. Even close friends. Fucking life right?

WRONG! We don't get the satis- faction that Carlito does, in a frantic gunfight on an escalator with four Mafia hit men, using our wits just one more time to get to the women we love. We don't get that. We don't get the climactic ending. All we get is the same, boring hum of life. A droll crunching of dried leaves underfoot, the dull sound of your breathing, air rushing in and out of your lungs. We have an existence that drags us by the nose wherever it wants us to go.

Life lives us. We don't live life. Simple as that. We don't get to solve all of our problems, or have them overcome us in one, white hot minute. That's what I want. My White Hot Minute. Don't you? Don't you want a defining moment that will change everything for you? For better or for worse?  Don't you want that high speed car chase through the city that ends with either you or your pursuers going up in a ball of flame and auto parts? Don't you wish for that back-alley fight where your adversary produces a stilleto and the both of you  grapple with it, with only one walking out alive. Don't you want that White Hot gunfight on the escalators in Grand Central, using your wits to deal death and destruction to your enemies?

I would love it. My enemies are like smoke though. They are like spirits in the material world. I rarely see them, but they announce their presence to me always. Through the mail. With their threatening letters and demands that frankly, I am growing weary of. Case in fucking point. Just a few days ago I had to fill out a questionnaire to stay on public assistance. So I did. Two days later I get this letter. "In order to remain eligible for Cash Assistance (CA), you are being referred to the Disability Services Program (DSP). This is a mandatory eligibility appointment. You must report to and cooperate with this mandatory assessment appointment as a condition of eligibility for Cash Assistance. Failure to report for and comply with this appointment without good cause may result in the reduction or loss of your cash assistance benefits."

Okay, so you think I'm bitching about this meeting, huh? You think I bitching because I had JUST sent off a questionnaire for this very same thing. Huh? Nope, wrong on both counts. I'm bitching because my appointment was scheduled for 11:00am...YESTERDAY. Now I have no problem going to these things...I really don't. But I do find it hard to go back in time to make these fucking appointments. Do you think that such a reason is 'good cause' to them? I mean, if I had a time machine....hmmm, what would I do? Actually, if I had a time machine, I would go back to 1999 and go home, to my comfortable house, and find my wife cooking in the kitchen and take her by the hand and lead her to bed and screw her eyes into spinning marbles, and then tell her I'm sorry for the future. That I loved her, but I could not help myself.

Fuck going back in time for a meeting with public service. You have to think big in this world. You really do. So, now here is where I want My White Hot Minute. I would like these faceless fuckers to come to my door, armed with guns and knives, and me here with my sparse cutlery set, and let's make things happen. Hey, they can come twenty deep, I don't give a fuck! I'll make a break for it, use the stairwells, the elevator, the other apartments to fuck them all up, in My White Hot Minute of blood and gore. Who gives a fuck who survives or not. Not even if it's not me. It will settle scores and life will either be better or worse. Well, worse, meaning over.

But no. I'm denied My White Hot Minute. I'm left to squirm and struggle against the increasing pressure of the under shoe of New York Governance. I had a friend say to me, "You have it good, man. You don't work, you don't have to deal with anyone. You can do what you want. You're fucking semi-retired." Hey, let me give this to you clear and simple. YOU DON'T WANT MY LIFE. You want NOTHING to do with my life. You want to keep your job, you want to have money, and you want to hold a woman close to you in the dark. Dude. Don't begrudge me the fact that I'm surviving by the skin of my teeth. It may look like fun, but kid yourself not. Many people kill themselves before they fall to the level that I am at. Many do. Sometimes I don't believe it myself, but it's clear to me. This is my fucked up life.

And it's truly fucked up. So don't envy something that you would find to be your greatest horror later. Don't look down on me. Don't say that 'I have it made'. Because I don't. I really don't. I'll bet you right now, that you don't even think about Your White Hot Minute. That's no solution for you. None at all. Then you can't realize what it's like to live my life, wishing for it, hoping for it.

An end. One way or another. Just an end.

Hobobob