Which Is To Say, I'll Be Real Have

08/29/2006 6:25 AM – 6:46 AM

Maybe I’ll set myself up in some out-of-the-way where the rent is cheap and the food is cheaper, just me and my laptop and a coffee maker and an ashtray. Yeah, that’d be sweet. It’s fun to play with the imaginings. The problem comes when you start to base your happiness on reaching the imaginings. Any success will always have that tinge of not-quite-enough. Any living, though, will always have that sense of it’ll-do.

The aloneness of the Spike is directly proportional to his ability to spend his time as he wishes, limited by the constraints of eating, smoking, paying the rent and toiletries. What a rat bastard. It’s good to be hermetically inclined. Except for the part where you never get any. Ha. We travel on. Better to be alone and somewhat free than tied up in satin sheets. Three doors down, they gave up on it. They compromised intent for convenience. If one falls, who will pick him up? Hunger. Fear. Anger. They’ll get you back on your feet. So be it. And, laughing at your lies is better than being constrained without warrant. In the knowing sense.

Pick it up. Put it down. Rummage through the piles for stuff to build an areoplane out of. In the cold light of the bright summer sun, you do stupid things. The yellow street lights look right on the wet asphalt. On days when your strength runs over the top, you become cocky. Better to be cocky than compliant. After they’ve beaten you down, you still know that you can rise up to a certain height. But it must always be Them that beats you down. If it’s life or yourself, you’re fucked. Them can’t beat you down. Them don’t give a damn about you. If you fly by night in a single engine plane, there’s only enough room for a few personal belongings and a parachute. And why fear death-in-life? Because death-in-death is more than enough to grind you down to a cheap suburban life. Perhaps that’s where I connect to my narrator. In the inability to conform to the cheaper way. But more than likely, that’s another justification. No. Like the pirate said, a merry life, if a short one. He sat at the keyboard, typing his memoirs in no discernable order. Occasionally, light dawned and he remembered the ineffable presence of the sublime realization. Like the Get Out Jail Free Card, it can only be used once. But, you know, in the end, it’ll do. Rain-wet streets have always been my glee’s calling card. Strap on yer guns. Slap in yer flask. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.