Just Give Me the Usual - Death at the Hands of Contemporary Society

      There was a time, at least, perhaps, I can remember a time, when we weren't all such little whining crybabies when we walked into a restaurant. Although, I'm sure that there's always been someone pouting far off in a corner somewhere about not having enough mustard on their sandwich, these times might of been rarer then than they are now. It was a simple time then, and it seems as though it might of been simple because of the trust we had in whatever it was we were putting in our mouths and who ever the person behind the counter was, we could feel good knowing that he was doing the best he could.
      Whatever happened to places where you walked in to the spot and could look over the menu, choose what you wanted and didn't ask for any substitutions? Having trust in knowing that if they got you in the door and you're sitting down, then just take it as it is. Allergies I can understand, but simply removing ingredients from a sandwich, or a composed plate, only because you don't like them boggles my mind. The ingredients are there for a reason, a flavor profile, picked for optimal flavor, you start pulling pieces out and you're fucking with the tower of taste. It may have something to do with the fact that people now have become more demanding than ever. Stand in a Starbucks for 5 minutes and you'll hear some of the stupidest request ever to leave someones mouth. And why do the people keep doing this? It's because we let them, because we allow it to happen, and in doing so, we allow our product to lose any integrity it ever had. If you're going to serve it that way, then you're serving shit food to shit people. It's true that money is green no matter where it comes from, but there's something out there more important than just a few dollars, there's a joy, a joy in food, that no amount of money can ever put down.
      I realize that this isn't the world we live in, it's reached critical mass, we can no longer stand away from the crowd and shout, but have to submit to the crowd and let them have our way with us. Give them what they want, however it is they want it, and bow down to the dollars that be. Personally, I can't do that, but i can understand it, and i know it's what makes this place exactly what it is. There was a time once, where we could just say, "i'll take the usual." But that time has ceased to be, and what are we left with now? We're left with bland, tasteless, poor quality food. But the people are happy, because they get what they want.
      I don't want to give you what you want, i want to give you something that will blow your fucking taste buds down your throat and have you sit there in a coma, in a euphoric state, that can come close to sexual and borderline on sleepyhead.
       This is all speculation. It's a thought on how things should be, but never will. This is not how things work now. The heart is in the right place, but the reality of the situation over rules that kind of love and leaves us with a small hole in our chest that can never be filled, no matter how much whiskey, cigarette smoke, or pills you shove down in there, there's always going to be that hole where the right kind of love should live, but the right kind of love does not exist, so we must cope with the society norms and stand quietly with our hands behind our back and submit. Submission to the dollar, submission to the request, submission to any kind of defensive move we can make to keep our product as pure as possible. I realize i am the only one who thinks along these lines, and in an idealistic fashion, they do sound correct, but realistically i'm just dying slowly.
      You can no longer take the usual. You must now take option 1 with no carrots, and sauce b instead of sauce a. In fact, I've changed my mind, could you please give me option 2 with a side of option 1 *sans carrots* and sauce a is okay, but if you could spoon a little of sauce b into sauce a and swirl them together, not mix, because if you mix them it gives a weird tint and taste, but swirl, yes i said swirl, please swirl them together, oh, and also, can you make sure you don't put any of that parsley on there, i hear that stuff gives you cancer and it's also very salty. 
      This is the world. I live here. This is the way it is now. Suicide is not an option. So now i must submit and keep this  idea out back, along with all the others that no longer apply to our dwindling society that has their heads wrapped around technology. There was a time when being smart, being quick, being intelligent was something to reach towards. Now it seems that nostalgia is passed it's time.. Stupidity is the new cool, and the smart kids are just pessimistic little bastards, with strong views, opinions, and thoughts. Embrace me technology and simple minded fashion. Love me, twitter me, facebook me, fuck me like on tv, blind me, blind me, white light, oh blind me. 
    

it was a strange town, with a strange, strange smell. a thick smell, that seemed to cover you like a film and filter into your lungs, clinging to your insides like a devil kicking your kidneys with golf shoes. my feet hurt. they hurt bad. i had double socked and still i could feel the bubbles forming on the souls. we had been down and out, out and about, down and around all over this damn island. all over this damn city. we were tired, they more than me, it was only my second day on the trip as mad delirium creeping up on me. they were already there, and wondering how they could keep sanity at times like this. they seemed reasonably put together enough, as i, well, now i felt myself coming apart slowly. i was weak, the good life and fine scotch had made me soft, the woman had made me comfortable. now my feet ached, i needed drink constantly or vicodin or ephedrine to keep me putting one foot in front of the other. the nights blending and days bleed into nights, the streets soon all looked the same and my feet were dragging behind me, and i was dragging long behind them, head bumping against cold asphalt. like driving down the street with a frozen turkey tied to your back bumper.
      the women here all looked the same. short and stocky. built strong. these women were of two types. the short, artistic, moccasin wearing type. or the tall, lanky, face covered in make-up type. it was caked on. i wondered where the variety here was with so many damn folks roaming around, and there wasn't any variety. you were either one or the either. and that's all i saw, duplicates of duplicates. a copy of a copy of a copy. each time, dwindling down more and more, become more and more diluted in their dreams, aspirations, and apologies.

This Side Up

      the morning was slow then, a slight haze was about everything and everyone. I sat on that bench and a small gust of wind blew through the tunnel and down over me. I felt empathy for everyone then. All of the men in suits walking down the street, and all the woman in skirts and tight dresses pulling the edge of their garments down so a sudden gust wouldn't blow it up and show some more leg unintentionally. I felt overwhelmed with sadness, but not for myself, but for all those people scurrying around like rats in a maze. After all, we were all just rats, and this city was one giant maze filled with so many distractions. These people weren't looking for a way out, they were looking for a way in further towards the center of this labyrinth. I wondered if they knew the truth, that there was no center to this place, that it was constantly changing, constantly being manipulated and formed to fit some unknown cause that we were all suppose to be loving for, fighting for, living for and dying for. 

     i started walking north down 2nd street towards the hub of downtown. There was action everywhere you could turn, the cars kept moving and they made me dizzy, i sat down on the edge of a staircase to get my nerve back, it had been a long and tedious road. I realize then that i wanted nothing for myself. i was not a handsome man, i was not well dressed and i didn't have much money. i wasn't a charmer, never had much luck with the ladies, it's not that i couldn't, i just didn't want to. i believed in a higher emotion than just passing through beds with strangers. the problem with getting that close to someone is that you eventually see them for who they really are, and then they repulse me. As i repulse myself at times. I did not want to be famous, i did not want attention, i didn't want anything other than to be left alone. Humans were a distraction. It was better to bury your head in a book and study, to free yourself from all those people roaming around trying to distort you, and once you were alone and your brain was firing on all those cylinders, you could really open up your life to new possibilities. New truths, new ideas, and most importantly, free from the chains that confined us as humans. 

       I truly do believe that the worth of a man isn't how much he needs to be happy, but how little. i lived my life as simple as i could get it. The less people in it, the better, and the happier i felt to be alive. People usually brought happiness and well being, and that was great and all, but with that came an even deeper running route of sorrow and heartbreak. Broken heart, and i want it back, broken heart, i got it back. I felt whole then. I felt complete. I felt at peace with the world and my surrounding knowing that i wasn't looking for a way out, or a way in, i was merely looking for a spot out on the edge of the cliff, to look out and over, out and down, and know how far i could go without falling off. The best thing to do was get up and go back to the job and do it right. That's all you can do. Be fair and understanding. I am not required to love, i am not required to be someone i am not, i am not required to be kind or forgiving. The only thing i have to do is be fair and understanding. and i do understand. i understand her and i understand him. and i could never tell them the truths, for fear that they would break down, and they were never ready to hear it, and they never would be. so instead of breaking it out, i kept my calm and walked away from the situation, because every word was a fight, every word was a disagreement, every word was used against me. i felt that they were against me then, and the best thing to do was ignore them until they went away. and eventually they would hate me, think bad of me, think that i was not a good person and only a dick headed snob. maybe in their eyes i am, but i know inside of me that i am a good person. and just because i'm not chasing after you, or giving you attention, that doesn't mean i hate you and want you dead. i just want to be left alone, to be happy alone, to be content with myself. if they thought i was wrong, then maybe i am wrong, and everything that proceeds that will be wrong because they have that thought in their head already. so let me be wrong. let me be wrong alone. i won't bother you, you won't bother me. I can live and breath free finally. Free of distortions.

Sex & Violence

     i thought to myself where do i go from here? what am i going to do in the mean time before i die? things can become mundane and repetitive, but you've got to focus on those higher points yes?
 yes.
     it was a chilly, foggy night up near the mountains of glendale, and for all of my fight, i didn't want to be in the middle of chaos because of the feeling it gave me in the morning. i had gone over the bars, i had been through the women, i had seen what needed to be seen and felt content in knowing that surprises no longer leap around that corner. although i was halfway wishing for one to come around and slap me in the face. i had a week left at work before the big vacation out to New York and then on to San Francisco. i thought about my girlfriend, and then i thought about life.
      what am i suppose to do now? the system had manipulated me into believing that the answers lied within becoming a father, growing  a family, building a house and home, but those things only bewildered and distracted me from those true answers i was looking for. i was as lost as when i was born, only now i had a brain to put the pieces together. who knew what the world held for me? or what i held for the world?
      the job was alright. although the customers were dim witts and completely moronic, my employees were lazy and somewhat distracted. i thought about what a blessing in disguise this was. if i worked an office job at some bullshit company doing bullshit things i would of probably hung myself from the rafters by now. either that or drank myself so far into a stooper that the way out was too far out into the horizon for me to see. i'd be unshaven and drink in the morning, then drink in the afternoon, then drink at night to go to bed. life would be one big hazy ball of joy. why would i want that? to only further my unrealistic notion of the future? fuck that noise.
      what am i suppose to do now? move out and have kids with this woman? we'd make some beautiful babies, that's for sure, but do i really rely and trust her farther than i can throw her? if life has taught me anything thing than it's to be one foot forward and one foot inside either ready to stay or ready to leave. hobson's choice on that one.
      i wanted the dream thought. i wanted it bad. i wanted to fall in love, to believe in love. to believe in unhabituated happiness and tenderness. but everything that led up to this point left me in demise. how can you change 20 some odd years of thought in just a few days? years? decades? i figured the point was in not thinking about it, in living in denial of truth. that seemed like a happy alternative, but i couldn't become apart of that nonsense. i wanted truth and murder. with truth comes great pain and agony. and i knew it but hurled myself towards it anyway.
      so here i was. at a crossroads, trying to figure out the impending doom and still trying to stay focused on the current task. i knew i had this system figured out, and there was no way to beat it, but to manipulate it to your own liking. i would use the system as best as i could to get what i wanted out of it. it made me sad to realize this so early in life. i wish this would of happened during the mid life crisis (one of which i will never have). but then again it seemed logical to figure this one out early on in life, and later on true discoveries will unravel themselves. i couldn't wait for the next question to be asked and presented with a rationale answer. my life would be saved, while others would be lost. to forever damn themselves to their own stupid human, repatative behavior expecting different results. this hamster found his way out of the cage. you can keep spinning that wheel until you die, you deserve it, and will forever be happy in your mundane existence. enjoy the ride, it may very well be all you have.

i think human behavior is funny when someone says they dislike you because you drink, or smoke, or drive too fast, and have a blatant disregard for your own life. it makes me think: "who are you to judge me and my lifestyle? it doesn't directly involve you, so step off."
but then i start thinking about this and realize that at that "Time" it did directly involve them, and they were only worried about me, so i can understand it.
       but then when someone does stop drinking, smoking, driving fast, and learns to live his life a little on the normal side, not every night is a blazing red coal in the fire, he calms down a bit. it seems like those same people who remarked on your previous destructive behavior are the same people that say, "fuck, you used to be so cool and so much fun, what happened?"

so if i 'm filled with madness, you want to be around me? mother nurturer.

but once i got my shit together, you don't want to be around me?

seems like it's better to keep my shit together, i don't like people like you around me anyway. people like  Henry, people like Stacey, you're all somewhere else,

and i'm still right here.

Greyhound Terminal Blues

     the door creaked shut and i watcher her brown hair with the long blonde stripe walk away. her backpack jingle jangled the whole way to the entrance. it was getting late, almost midnight, and i didn't trust any of those fucks hanging around outside, so i watched her walk her way into the building. i grabbed my cigarettes because my nerves were shot, my trembling hand reached up and placed it in my mouth, i fumbled around for my lighter, and as i was sparking it, i saw her turn and wave. she then disappeared into the building.
      each time i dropped her off at the Greyhound terminal down on 7th & Alameda it was always the same. we spent what last few hours we had in my bedroom having the most intense sex of my life, then we would talk for a bit, or just sit there quietly entangled in each other's arms starring up at the ceiling. i would try to talk, and she would just shush me and tell me to enjoy the silence. i did.
      i felt nervous for the both of us, the momentum rising with every tick of the clock. it was like being an inmate in prison ready to be transfered to death row. each second was a nervous wreck, but once you were transfered you calmed down and accepted your fate. the inmates had it worse than i, and i knew this, but still my body convulsed with anxiety. i let it do it's thing.
      i drove out of the terminal and onto 7th street up towards the freeway. the cigarettes weren't doing it for me, and i knew that the bars near my house were closed, so i went on a mission to find a place to drink downtown. i hung a left on Hill and then a right on 2nd. i stopped off at a small bar and walked inside. off the cuff i saw a woman dressed in red sitting at the bar, that looked like a good of place as any to settle down. i wasn't looking for a lay, but at least if anything she'd make some conversation to entertain me. the seats were real close together, and as i slid into the stool, i asked her if anyone was sitting there, she replied no with a surprise on her face, we couldn't of been more than six inches apart, the situation was awkward for me, but she handled it well. i dropped a twenty on the bar and ordered a scotch and a beer chaser. the bartender was this cute little Australian job with flowing blond locks. i settled in for the long haul and rested my elbows on the bar, starring off at the bottles and thinking about the woman i just left at the bus terminal. whenever she left i always got the same feeling. desertion laced with unabridged happiness. it was a shitty cocktail to drink, but finished well.
      the band was doing alright, a few guitars, a drummer, a wise cracking singer, and an upright bass player slapping it sometimes when the feeling was right. i gobbled down my first round and ordered a second while i still had a little left in my cups. the bartender eyed me suspiciously and then poured them out. this time the scotch was a heavy pour. it felt right. i grabbed a straw from the bar tools and worked at it with my teeth for a while, folding it over and chomping down to burn out he anxiety that the woman left me. the second round of drinks kicked in and i sat back to enjoy the music.
      i thought to myself for awhile about writing out the story. and i almost did, there, at the bar, on the cocktail napkins with my sharpie, but when i popped the top off and stared scribbling, the woman in red next to me was scribbling as well, into her own notebook. she caught my attention and i watched her causally going through the motions. i set my marker down to see the process happen, and i watched like a hawk. she would write, then look up and to the right side of the bar, roll her eyes, fuck the air, lick her lips, then go back to writing in her little notebook. i loved watching the process of her figuring out just where she wanted to go with whatever it was she had going on in those pages, so i settled in and watched her work. when she was done, i picked up my sharpie and wrote a message for her on one of the cocktail napkins.
"It's tough as nails,
but you've got to keep trying.
i understand."
     as she turned to put her notebook back in her purse, i floated the napkin near her beer without her noticing. she ignored it for a while, but when she finally reached out to take a drink, the black text caught her eye and she read it a couple times. She turned to me and i nodded and sipped on my scotch. she smiled and turned to me. i leaned in close enough to smell her hair, she smelled like apricots on a ripe summer day, and she yelled over the band into my face,
"the hardest thing to understand is clarity"
"Fucking A".
     then she downed her beer and patted my shoulder walking out of the bar into the foggy city. i sat there for a bit and thought some more about my woman on the Greyhound bus. i thought about her scent, her smile, the way the light came in through the blinds and reflected off her face as she was riding me. the way we both understood the world in the same context, how we understood each other, and how we could speak the same language with brutal honesty. that's the hardest thing to do, is be completely honest with somebody without having them become defensive and start crying. i hated that because it made me feel bad for expressing myself, so i thought it better to crawl inside and let it out some other place. but not this woman, i could easily tell her she was being a bitch and call her on it, the same way she called it on me when i was being a dick, and with that, i grew uttermost respect for her above the fucking, above the loving, above anything we had, it was truth and respect for our given space. that my dear friends, you cannot put on a anniversary card and you cannot make that kind of shit up, no matter how awesome you think you are. 
      i drove home and started putting the story together in my head, but i knew that if i started planning before i sat down that it would lose it's interest. i drove straight ahead and landed at the taco truck. i ordered a burrito of tripe and carnitas and sat on my hood eating it. i picked at the radishes i had in a bag drenched with lime and salt and kept thinking about whether or not i wanted to write this out. i cleared my mind and enjoyed the burrito. some people in the car next to me were getting into it, and i could see the steam collecting on the windows, through the back window i could see this girl's head bobbing up and down as the guy laid back with both his arms across the seats. i watched them out of the corner of my eye and wished him luck. i laughed inside at how it would seem normal for me to be watching this, this here, in my frame of mind, but for other people it may seem disgusting or unreal. i had that kind of luck, i got not the shit end of the stick, but more so the interesting end of the stick that was ignited. some people had all the luck, but no life, i had some luck, and some life, i was ahead of the curve.
      when i got home the streets were filled with cars, so i parked a few blocks down and walked. these nights always felt the same, when i left the woman at the terminal, i would feel anxiety, then relaxation and release, then clarity, and finally, when i got home and dropped my keys into their respective bin and bolted the door, i'd sit on the couch with the lights off. i felt empty inside. i felt drained. i felt as if a piece of me took off and i wasn't whole again. somebody hit reset on my controller and i was forced to start over. i would sit there and listen to the night for awhile, and then slowly put myself back together, and once i felt complete again, i would get up and go into the room to write. i'd sit in my chair by the window, with the blinds open, and the cool air coming in. i'd sit there under the lamp, in the silence surrounded by books and start over again. i'd sit there and know that whatever just happened was important, and if someone could get that far into the blockade, than i was still human. i still felt empathy, i still felt sympathy, i still felt courage and fight. i was still alive, and even if the night was cool and silent, the hills burned with fire and the ash collected in the air, at least in my eyes to go on.