Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York
I go to see an accupuncturist in Chinatown under the cover of gray and rain. Been feelin' down, beat. Look ashen.
My pulse and spirit are weak he says. "Something's draining you" - work, the City, the girl? Says my heart is undernourished. I think about the piercing pain in my heart that I often feel when staring off into space past the drunken crowds in the dim cavernous space at work. I find that place isolating.
Accupuncturist breaks my thoughts, saying I need to take care of myself. Says I'm not being fed spiritually or physically.
I'm goin' hungry. Eight million people in this City and I don't have a single friend, like Gil Scott Heron said.
The other day my therapist said I need a friend. I said I needa get outta this fuckin' rat race of chasin' a paycheck for bread and a roof over my head. I'm happy to have the job, don't get me wrong. But I need the money... Yet I need the relief from the strain that having an empty bank account puts on everything... But I need meaningful change. I've been running myself into the ground trying to make this writing thing happen when I'm off. Ironic though, isn't it, that when I'm off I need to be resting and taking care myself in order to do something that I don't really want to be doing - work - at the expense of something I'd really like to be doing... A snake eating its own tale. Life, juggling demands, necessities, obligations with desires, hopes and needs. I need to change. My life is stuck in a rut of unsatisfying work. My spirit is stagnant in a well despair. I cry out but no one seems to hear. And the needles pierce my skin as I lay on the table, my muscles twitching and spasming as I wonder if it's worth it, this life? Either way... I'll keep on going until my heart gives out or I find the change that I'm looking for... Either way... I've got more to say...
Life, I think it's fucking trying to fuckin' kill me, man...