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...
Love
Showing posts with label Livin'. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Livin'. Show all posts
Wednesday, 9 June 2010
Friday, 4 June 2010
Livin'... L.I.V.I.N. Man....
Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York
I wake. It's early afternoon. It's sticky hot. I take off my eye mask and squint in the bright light. I take out my ear plugs. I hear the construction outside. My head aches from an uncertain origin. 'I should pay the rent' I think 'No. I don't feel like doing that today. I need to do the laundry today. That's enough.' I lay in the bright light as the fan ripples the sheets. I think about an email that I sent out yesterday feeling slightly nervous, thinking 'Maybe I shouldn't have sent that. No. It's cool. It's okay. It's the truth. Maybe it's too much though? It's weird. Whatever.' I get up and go into the other room. I open my underwear drawer pulling out my last pair of clean underwear, thinking, 'I need more underwear. I need to do laundry.' I go into the kitchen, put some coffee on, put the dishes away and do the ones I left in the sink from last night. I go into the other room to look for a new book to start reading on the subway to and from work. I choose NOTES FROM THE UNDERGROUND by Dostoevsky thinking 'Maybe I shouldn't pick something so literary. Every time I read something literary my writing becomes over literary and sounds corny. I have a corny literary style sometimes. Maybe I should read something "new". Oh well. I wanna read that.' I set the book next to the computer. I go into the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee, feeling anxious about checking my email thinking 'I wonder if that guy'll respond to my email? No. Maybe? He won't. Marie was right. I shouldn't have sent it. It was one too many. Oh well.' I pour my coffee with sugar and milk, pour a cup of orange juice. I drink the orange juice down in two gulps thinking 'Eating takes too much time.' The fan in the kitchen blows warm dead air. I look at it thinking 'We need to buy an A/C unit when Marie gets back next week. I miss Marie. No. It's nice to have my space today. No. It feels empty without her here. What do I do with my "space" anyway? Nothing. I love Marie.' I look at a checklist she made for herself before she left. I see the word tobacco. I take my coffee into the other room and check my email. There's five new messages. I think 'Maybe he did respond?' I check my messages as I sip my coffee thinking 'No. He didn't respond. Maybe he thinks I'm weird. I shouldn't have mentioned my drug use. Maybe he thinks I still use drugs. I don't. That's okay.' I delete three of the messages. I look at the other two. I think 'I'm weird. I've done some weird things in my life. Some weird things have happened to me. Yeah.' The construction blares outside. I turn up the music thinking 'I have to go to work tonight. I love this fucking album. My friend was right about this album. I miss having him in my life. I wish he were still alive.' I turn up the song louder as tears fill my eyes thinking 'I don't know why I'm crying, but this music makes me sad.' I frown then smile thinking 'It'll be alright' as I turn the music up a little louder.
Love
Addicted to this fucking album:
I wake. It's early afternoon. It's sticky hot. I take off my eye mask and squint in the bright light. I take out my ear plugs. I hear the construction outside. My head aches from an uncertain origin. 'I should pay the rent' I think 'No. I don't feel like doing that today. I need to do the laundry today. That's enough.' I lay in the bright light as the fan ripples the sheets. I think about an email that I sent out yesterday feeling slightly nervous, thinking 'Maybe I shouldn't have sent that. No. It's cool. It's okay. It's the truth. Maybe it's too much though? It's weird. Whatever.' I get up and go into the other room. I open my underwear drawer pulling out my last pair of clean underwear, thinking, 'I need more underwear. I need to do laundry.' I go into the kitchen, put some coffee on, put the dishes away and do the ones I left in the sink from last night. I go into the other room to look for a new book to start reading on the subway to and from work. I choose NOTES FROM THE UNDERGROUND by Dostoevsky thinking 'Maybe I shouldn't pick something so literary. Every time I read something literary my writing becomes over literary and sounds corny. I have a corny literary style sometimes. Maybe I should read something "new". Oh well. I wanna read that.' I set the book next to the computer. I go into the kitchen and pour a cup of coffee, feeling anxious about checking my email thinking 'I wonder if that guy'll respond to my email? No. Maybe? He won't. Marie was right. I shouldn't have sent it. It was one too many. Oh well.' I pour my coffee with sugar and milk, pour a cup of orange juice. I drink the orange juice down in two gulps thinking 'Eating takes too much time.' The fan in the kitchen blows warm dead air. I look at it thinking 'We need to buy an A/C unit when Marie gets back next week. I miss Marie. No. It's nice to have my space today. No. It feels empty without her here. What do I do with my "space" anyway? Nothing. I love Marie.' I look at a checklist she made for herself before she left. I see the word tobacco. I take my coffee into the other room and check my email. There's five new messages. I think 'Maybe he did respond?' I check my messages as I sip my coffee thinking 'No. He didn't respond. Maybe he thinks I'm weird. I shouldn't have mentioned my drug use. Maybe he thinks I still use drugs. I don't. That's okay.' I delete three of the messages. I look at the other two. I think 'I'm weird. I've done some weird things in my life. Some weird things have happened to me. Yeah.' The construction blares outside. I turn up the music thinking 'I have to go to work tonight. I love this fucking album. My friend was right about this album. I miss having him in my life. I wish he were still alive.' I turn up the song louder as tears fill my eyes thinking 'I don't know why I'm crying, but this music makes me sad.' I frown then smile thinking 'It'll be alright' as I turn the music up a little louder.
Love
Addicted to this fucking album:
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