This morning, I dropped my cell phone into a toilet full of my 8th day detox shit.
First I tried to fish it out with a random toothbrush & failed.
I tossed the toothbrush into the trash and rolled my sleeve up to the elbow.
I went all in and came out dirty.
Time magazine has declared a prophecy: Donald Trump has won presidency. He bought it.
On the counter-prophecy, Huffington Post (an equally reliable news source) declared Bernie the Victor. He earned it.
It has been a rough start to the year for the real underdogs.
As my phone soaks in a Tupperware of hot water & bleach, I debate whether I’ll throw it out or get a new one. Either way, I need to turn it on once more to copy the contacts over to the sim card.
I really don’t like the idea of remembering last year’s colon buildup every time I catch up with an old friend or relative.
I drank a tall glass of salt water at 6:30 to cleanse my colon. That’s what started this shit.
I got off of solid food for a week. It felt needed. I was full of my own shit: social shit, physical shit, philosophical shit, psychological shit, religious shit, family shit, friend shit, drug shit, booze shit, love shit, hate shit, healing shit, destruction shit.
So I do what I used to do from dope withdrawal: curl up in a ball, shit a lot and cry a little. It seems to help. Call it seasonal affective disorder, or sad bitch syndrome. I can’t call it; I just ride the waves. Surf’s up on the shit pipeline, brah.
Don’t worry mom, I’m not shooting up. I’m using herbal medicine to get this depression thing over with. It’s deeply embedded within me. I am facing it and getting it all out. Give thanks; your son is a survivor despite even himself.
As per usual, I went too far: my cheek bones are jutting from my face, my ribs protruding from my chest, my body is slowly consuming its muscles; some may say I was too skinny to start.
All the hidden aches in my body are highlighted: hips, knees, sciatica, gallbladder, shoulders. The parts that hurt the worst are my filthy mind, and my beautifully abused heart. Me, me, me, it’s all about me. Fuck me. I love I. Me sucks. I broke the fast and am slowing out.
I drove into town yesterday, had some errands to run. Fully hydrated, I went to the DMV. I waited for my number to come up while sipping on a lemon juice & cayenne pepper brew. Yeah, my detox game is so hip. So hip. *pukes all over self*
Since my license was about to expire, I needed to apply for a new one. In the state of Oregon, all new drivers are required to take a computer administered multiple-choice test. I was already feeling lightheaded and dizzy, but the cayenne-lemon juice seemed to give me enough of a pep to stay upright.
After trying this DMV process (to no avail) on several other occasions, I finally had all the proper documents ready (so I thought). I had no choice but to be patient throughout all of this. I can be angry at nobody but myself.
First off, the guy behind the desk tells me the copy of my lease needs to be back-signed, but he can get me started on my test. Great. I sit down in front of the computer and start pressing buttons. The words seem to be floating a few millimeters off of the screen and are rearranging themselves in nonsensical patterns. I try my best to comprehend the questions & answers.
If I get 8 wrong, I’ll fail. There are 35 questions to answer. The first one is about right turns in one-way intersections; I get it right. The next one asks the speed limit in unmarked business sections. I get it wrong. Too fast.
Over the course of the next questions I manage to get more wrong than right. I can’t seem to discern the terminology. The screen is bothering my eyes and I am in a trance gateway headed to the heavens. I pray to the Lord Almighty, asking for the proper intuition to help me pass this test. Even that doesn’t help at the DMV. The Lord is clever, staying away from that place. I don’t disagree with the choice.
I finish my test rather quickly and go to the counter.
“How’d ya do?” the lady behind the counter asks me.
“Not good.” I reply.
I am pale and sickly, so she takes pity on me. I don’t want pity. I just want my fucking driver’s license, but clearly I am not road-worthy at the present moment. I need to go curl up in a cave next to a fire somewhere far away from all of this bullshit. Rejection has such a nice touch; it breeds the acceptance of my inevitable caveman solitude. She tells me I can come back the following day to try again. I grab a book to actually study this time.
Outside the DMV, a lady with a clipboard asks me if I want to sign a petition to stop voter information from being sold. I tell her I’m not registered in the state (yet), but she lets me sign on anyway. We talk for awhile about how corrupt this world is, and she spins her yarn,
“It’s a bunch of crooks & con-men, you know, the guys they tell you to look out for on the internet and in the cities, they’re all running the state and federal government,” I nod my head as she goes on, “I shouldn’t be running my mouth like this but I’m old and I have a mouth so I’m gonna use it!”
I give her thumbs-up and a smile, silently thinking “breath is precious”.
I hop into the car and make my way down the street to the Federal Credit Union to set up a new bank account. I step into the bank and am greeted by three tellers at once. This is a different style of bank. There is no line. It’s chaos. I am immediately confused and after fumbling with my feet for an indistinct amount of time, I instinctively walk toward to the teller whom I find the most attractive. I scramble for my ID and she gets me set up with a sit-down banker.
We go over my needs.
“Do you need direct deposit? Do you need financial planning? Have you thought about retirement?”
“How about credit, do you want to build that?”
“I try not to spend money that I don’t already have.” I say, thinking I’d rather have street credit than banking credit.
Call me foolish but I think the whole game is fucked & I don’t wanna play, even if it means sacrificing my own comfort. Even if it means facing piles of hospital bills I can’t possibly pay. If that happens I’ll file for bankruptcy or I’ll file for SSI (yes I can get it, I’m a homeless addict. In America I am rewarded for bad decisions. Does that upset you? It should.)
We do a credit check and I’m at a solid 0. Last year I was -1, perfect.
She then goes on to ask me,
“What happened with so-and-so bank and so-and-so bank in 2011?”
The needle skips off the record.
“How much do I owe?” I ask
“You owe $100 to these guys and $500 to these guys. They shut you down for account abuse and sent it to collections.” She gives me a wary look.
“Ah shoot, I totally forgot about that. Hadn’t heard from them and thought it went away. I made some foolish mistakes a few years ago.” I shyly disclose.
“Well the collections agencies give up after 7 years and it was 5 years ago.” She informs me of an option to wait it out.
I truly want to resolve it. This year has been a year of me squashing debts. Resolving bad credit I created years ago, I’ve paid out a few grand. I have a few grand left. At the time of the offense, I remember putting it onto my future self. I acknowledged that if I survived my dope habit at the time, I would inevitably have to redeem myself in the future.
Here it is. Here is my chance to pay the banks back. Will I do it? I’m not sure. Is it the right thing to do? I don’t know. I’d rather give it to charity. Are the banks worthy of redemption? Probably not. I don’t have the cash on hand but I can go work for it.
I thank the teller and walk out the door. My head is cold. I realize I lost my hat. I go back into the bank and walk around aimlessly searching the floor. I pay mind to no one while the room is silent. I can feel them all observing my strange behavior. I inevitably stand out; I am not able to fully gauge the gaps in conversation. I space out randomly, as if my body is processing remnants of leftover psychedelic experiences.
In one moment, I am in the room, in the next moment I am flying through the stratosphere perceiving the nature of existence through omniscient observation.
I see it all go down.
I see the piss, the shit, the junkies & the derelicts, nodding out in alleys, shooting up in groups, taking care of each other while simultaneously robbing each other of property, the small reflects the large,
I see the faces of tortured victims, beheaded journalists, religious radicals, political refugees, war torn nations, no water and no food, no shelter from the storm,
I see fat fucks stuffing their faces with McDonalds rallying for Donald Trump,
the so-called silent majority working themselves to the bone in a battery factory, high on meth made by their hillbilly Uncle who’s now doing ten years of fed-time,
I see the corporate prison owners driving the nails into the coffins of rehabilitation,
I see the priests spewing ignorance & intolerance while teaching a sermon of tolerance & acceptance,
I see gun enthusiasts acting like they’re the biggest gang around, ha ha what a laugh,
I see independent militias with plans of revolution, like replacing the government is as easy as putting on a new suit & tie?! If you replace shit with more shit, you’ll have a bigger pile of shit you fucking clowns,
I see movements that go nowhere, devoid of leadership & direction, lost in the sea of misdirection, scared to take a stand for fear of some hail of bullets, drones, nanobots, realizing their own ineptness through misacting and miscommunication,
I see a tired old generation still stuck in the habit of destroying everything around them and condemning their sons & daughters for being lazy, because our rejection of their industrial continuum means it is invalid, it means their whole lives have been a waste and they are far too selfish to ever release us of their own expectations,
I see pain in the eyes of our fathers as they’ve inherited a barrel of pain & misunderstanding, as their wives leave them, their family falls apart in anger and destruction, the bank claims homes and businesses, a glass of scotch and the barrel of the handgun tastes like freedom from this,
I see the tears in our mothers eyes because they’ve always been so much more than stay-at-home moms, been more than chefs, more than day-care, more than secretaries and substitute teachers, they’ve been the backbone of all this misfortune and they never got to find out who they really are, so xanax and sleeping pills tastes like freedom from this,
I see suffering in the eyes of our grandparents as they give up, this world is out of their realm of understanding, they give up their bodies, they give up their minds as they softly fade into chemical comas in nursing home beds,
I see pain in the eyes of our sons & daughters, we never wanted this, no, we didn’t want the mansion, the gifts, the false prosperity, the sense of well-being devoid of fulfillment, all we ever wanted was your love & acceptance while you were too busy working to buy us things & then tell us we’re all spoiled,
I see a bunch of millennials praying to the gods in their phones, oblivious to the world outside, concerned only with the next distraction, never fully able to appreciate the one in hand,
I see recent college graduates, too scared to be themselves so they mimic their parents, working jobs that fulfill the same misery their parents raised them with, drinking every day to numb their confusion & lack of internal fulfillment,
I see jaded city-folk born & raised to worship the man-made, disconnected from nature, warped on pharmaceuticals,
I see lost country-folk, raised on nature & warped on mushrooms & molly, playing into consumerist demands which create the exploitation of organic food & organic cannabis which is largely becoming sold to further selfish ends, marketing products under the guise of enlightened consumerism with sacred geometry logos and mercaba patterns, starting to look a lot like Pepsi and Coco-Cola,
I see counter-culture turned culture, a generation of robotic dancers flowing to electronically contrived beats, shelling out their parents’ trust fund to rebel against conventional living through supporting conventional partying, following festivals and shows with a false idea of revolution as they mimic the same shameless capitalism as Wall Street in their drug-made cottage-industry,
I see fake yogis and phony sadhus with pasty complexion, covered in phony ashes & fake dust as they wander aimlessly digging through trash cans and dumpsters in search of the next piece of new-age tail to chase down,
I see new-age philosophers, selling ideas piled upon ideas; nothing makes sense because the words are sold for cents,
I see the hip-hop and the hip-not, the real recognizes the real, and there’s only a few keeping it real,
I see hackers sticking it where it hurts, reminding the powers that be of the raw force of evolution & nature in technological form,
I see sustainable majors, gaining a grasp on what is needed to be done, and finding the good word in the air, water, & sun,
I see old farmers educating new farmers; I see nature supporting itself through the fruits of old growth feeding new growth,
I see bright lights among dark shadows, I see mothers raising new babies with old values, water-born babies-in-arms, no drugs and no hospitals,
I see children with illuminated & untainted minds, I see teachers with jaded inspiration, and I see substitutes with optimism & hope & love,
I see our fathers and mothers recovering from their maladies; after everything has been lost they can begin anew. I see realization in their eyes & minds, we share the burdens together and overcome them through strength and love and community, building ourselves alongside a better day,
I see wise old grandparents who have met the Almighty, have no fear and realize the cycle of life, hold no grudge and no regret and remain an endless source of inspiration and wisdom,
I see the habits breaking after we survive them, after we survive ourselves, we decide we cannot kill ourselves because we don’t have it in us, we lack the strength to do so, so we turn to constructive & selfless means because it’s the only thing that releases us from the prisons of our twisted bodies & warped minds,
I see senators & congressmen growing old & dying, I see the new replacing the old,
I see the new getting sick and tired of the world our grandparents & parents left us, I breathe the chemicals, the pollutants, the harmful technologies of HAARP, the radiation from the pacific ocean: it’s in the clams, the crabs, the tuna, the squid, the seaweed, the pacific ocean is dying, the world is slowly dying again,
And it’s all a cycle, it comes and goes, ebbs and flows, nature takes care of itself but is that any reason to continue neglecting it? Decay feeds growth only while the environment is supportive of healthy growth.
I see a lonely writer, broken heart healing, hating himself and loving himself, stuck outside & forced to live inside, outdated & outnumbered, raging in darkness with a candle burning his fingertips and eyelids, ranting silently to himself with aches all over and a headache: no sugar no smoke no smack no dope no hope, he realizes immanence, no use for hope anymore. The show always goes on. There is no need for pessimism or optimism; they are a waste of energy. Just be and die.
And then I leave the bank, hopefully for the last time. I make it home alive, find the hat in my pocket, and resolve not to go out again like that. It was a careless move on my part, but I trust in the good will of the Universe to guide me home without injury to others.
Myself can wait. I sit and contemplate the material of existence silently.
“If we don’t discipline ourselves, the world will do it for us.” -William Feather
Consider this a peace offering.
I love you all,
January 13, 2016