Sobriety City

Is a lonely place where I never interact with anyone except in the work field where those around me only hint and joke about getting fucked up on the job. At the end of the day it is back to solitary confinement, not the kind to escape getting ass raped by the lifer convicts but to escape the legion of lunatics who want to buy drugs from me, then offer those drugs to me while staying up for days at a time talking about how their life is in a constant state of disarray, yeah, well, of course, you have an extreme set of habits and no deisre to get out from under them. Las Vegas does not help, at any hour I can find a barstool to call my own with no pressure to ever rise up from it during the hours of 12am to 9am and there have been more days than I have toes and fingers to count in this past year, can't entirely blame the World Cup and the time difference between Las Vegas and England, many of the nights freewill took over an overwhelming need to spend the entire night wasted on a variety of substances, some legal, others not, the goal had never been too clear, no females around, no real comraderie, just a strong current toward self annihilation, near heart attacks, and week long hangovers meshed together with insomnia. Those days have ended for the moment as I sit in this comfortable cell, just like country club living as long as the drugs, dependency, and idle moments don't make the sirens call. So far so good, work camp has me distract for the time being, but there are days off inbetween where sitting at a barstool feels like the right thing to do, then calling up a few friends from the super fun time brigade, only to start the cycle over once more, a cycle that feels like will never be broken, some applaude my endeavors concerning this kind of activity and this only exists because they are behind iron bars trapped in their personal middle class hell. It is all hell, if you let it effect you, but for now the effect has subsided, how long it lasts is up to me.

The Neighbor Downstairs

Loves to sit at the entrance of her condo with the door open smoking cigarettes while breathing in fresh oxygen from a collection of tanks inside her living room. My neighbor also spends time letting the pet dog roam the parking lot, waiting for the animal to crap in the street something that is viciously frowned uponby the housing association. A few months ago she told me the housing association was attempting to have her thrown out for some mysteriously unknown reason. The dog crap had to be one of the violations, the housing association has no tolerance for such activity and has erected a series of pet poop plastic bag patrol kiosks for dog walkers to clean up and discard their beloved pet excrement. On any given day there are at least twenty residents sidling up alongside their canine counterparts, either just off of work or heading to it in the immidiate future. How anyone can stand to let a dog linger in condominum for 8 to 10 hours five days a week is beyond me? But by the looks of all the doggie owners no one here seems to have a problem with it. My other neighbor who lives here part time might have been the whistle blower, not sure who he knows, but after short discussion some time ago in regards to the dilapidated state of the brick retaining wall in front our condonminum block as well as a brief dialouge about all the dog crap in front the place, no sooner was the wall repainted and the old lady under siege from the invisible hands of the local association, which is not the regional association who oversees the entire property of condos, apparently some of the condos are not under the jurisdicition of the local association, it is very confusion but as long as they get their checks respectively, I get to live in relative peace and quiet.

The Wild Roses

The wild roses have shown me human emotion recently and reestablishing connectivity has regenerated feelings, emotions, and empathy that use to be closed off in the past twenty years. This rebirth does not settle all too well with my former robotic like observational directive to feel passion, desire, and personal selfish joy. Television shows, music, and the general public took on different meaning as if formerly unavailable layers of interpetation had just become acessible. These ideas only made me more crazy, sympathy washed over my brain, was this nothing more than the acknowledgement of failure, of death, of giving up on living outside narrow minds of American and global society, my final swan song toward down the eventual road of self delusional goodness, as well as socially accepted cultural traits like practicing religion, belief in family, and the righteousness of the government system alongside my fellow human being? A part of me wants to give up, not break away from the mistakes of the past, but keep on making them, growing older, becoming more and more irrelavant, paralyized, fragmented, numb, and uncaring about anything more than the new culturally hip idea found from the webpages of where such concepts of 21st century cool are currently being cultivated.

I had to turn my back on these rediscovered feeling, mental states, and memories because they hold nothing for me now, not in this cold digital metropolis.

Obscured by Thought

It has been a month since I have last written anything and in this time there has only been work alongside of leisure generating a wayward station of stagnation, doubt, and the reconition of how finite my future is in this world. None these thing typcally bring joy, they only tend to bring a negative malaise that fits me like a second skin. In the days of long hangovers, little productivity, and a tightrope of wondering when my heart will give out; I can only lay in bed like some terminal patient following the arch of the sun across the horizon, on the sunny days at least and for the clouded days, twenty four hours sports channels and streaming movie sights bide my time, to destroy thought, contemplaton, analysis, and a journey down a path that only seems to run into more and more forks, circular turns, and dead ends. Grey hair on my head marks the sands of time, running thin, forming a vaccum that only increases in speed, a credit junkie, bound in chains, the latest prison sentence, ten years, everyday marked on a calender, think I am up to 70 days since the door was closed for the first time. No one person or being is keeping me under control and am free to leave at anytime, back to the streets, to the bars, to the women and binge like behavior of consuming.

This city has control over everyone in it, locked down till death to their part in keeping this monolith alive, this ragged corpse whose bones we scavenge to barely keep us fed, in constant competition for a prize that is never awarded unless you consider suicide some sort of positive affirmation. The only thing left is to go the workout yard during exercise hours, then either back to the cell or hopefully off to some state sponsored work, such as pleasing tourists, assisting the empty minded or developing new material for people like myself to watch in their cells during time off. The cell is all I know now, there use to be the world, a form of escape, a channel of hope to turn off my well engrained western cultural tendencies to buy t-shirts, drink excessively, and sponser leeches who have no intentions of ever returning my gracious generiosity, which is more than naive for my part, why think in a land of sharks, inhuman beasts, and weasel like sneaks that there would be anyone that contained strength, determination, and virtue to stand up again the metallic towers of the strips though possibly in defeat, to stand up nonetheless with shaking fists yelling " You will suck me into your dark cloud of 21st century slavery." My new goal is to not die here, die here before my time, from the excessive drugs to the inadequate sleep, seeing the sunrise, whether off to work or off to bed has been the fast track to insanity and the lunacy has been winning out lately, no more though, this is a death march through blood, bones, and the corpses of the captured, gates lay ahead and even as they appear to move farther away by the looks of my eyes, my heart knows soon enough I will scale those heights and leave everything about this city behind.