Chapter one: The hotel
Im in this mad state of constant mental and physical turmoil. Im walking back and forth between my bed and the hotel room tv with the bible in my hand,Ive urinated a little in my underware(not the bad kind fellas,the watergun squirt) Im reading something in the new testament,the tvs telling me to buy this titanium product,im thinking god said other wise,the beds cofused;the whole settings a joke. I sit down, rub my head,masturbate to the Spanish channel,and get back to reading the scripture. I walk now from the bed to the bathroom sink,where I had spit blood earlier;not to sure why,but the stained ceramic sink said a different story. I need a place to sit,this is what im thinking. I open the sewage dump,remove my pants sit down,and continue reading the bible,only this time on the toilet,and listening to the sound of the fan.I wouldent have turned on the god damn thing,because in actuality Im not shitting (though my pants are down for comfort,and for a force of some galactic habit) but the circuit is cross fuzed with the light,in other words im fucked beyond recognition by this infernal humming and this now boiling feeling that is arising from my stomach (my brain has been triggered to shit by the lowering of pants and the sitting of the toilet,but since there is nothing but drugs(pharmeducicals at first,possibly the some harder stuff) the acids are just boiling) creating a unique and terrifying situation that could’ve all been avoided if I had,when you break it all down,agreed to go to a movie about “love” with my soon to be ex-wife. Shes a stickler for stupid woman shit like that and Im a stickler for booze and watching events that are televised and more about competetion and a love for something so loveable as a game,where as a movie about a relationship is much like what I am having to deal with on a day to day,that is not 2 hours long,and does not envolve popcorn on a consistent basis. Now,however,Im sitting on a toilet reading a bible with a chorus of Spanish speaking,big breasted,dancing women while conjuring up the shit off all hells,but being the most pissed off over a fan noise.Fuck! why the hell wasn’t I the son of god. Why couldent I have died at 33 and had a friend with benefits and twelve bros who I could constantly get drunk with and travel the fertile crescent.Fuck,I say! I put on my pants(knowing this isn’t the last ive heard from my bowels) wash my hands,and head back towards the bed. The most disappointing thing about the week,now,is that theres no quarter slot to make the bed rumble. The Spanish channel is still yelling wildly at me,so I reach for the remote to turn it down.As I do the young couple next door ( I met them down in the lobby,Obviously high school students who needed a place to fuck;Strange enough their room was next to a man who obviously needed a place to masturbate,and not shit) are laughing,no doubt caressing each other. If hes a real man hes got sports center on in the back as he half ass looks at her while she talks about the future. And if hes a smart kid he will nod and forget about this girl when he wakes up,after he fucks her of course. And he wont end up the 39 year old man laying on the bed, hoping the young stud fucking the girl he just masturbated thinking about ,is watching espn in the room next door.
” This is the sad some of affairs when you play your life close to the chest” the man says as he lifts his arm and remains on the bed “you..” a knocking on the wall signals an end to the heart felt speech,Espn is tuned up,the humping commences. The man obvious feeling of akwardness leads him out the door,into the brisk san Francisco night,the moon warms up his legs as he stroles.Prawns approach him from shadows to see if he’d take a hit.He politetly waves “no,not tonight,old friend.” Smile perched smug as the light dim. He sees more lovers glide past,their strideslong and rewarded by a pot of gold.his steps trimid,his eyes forewarn.The boys and girls glitter shimmers less as he elipses,the air draws tighter,more tense;these moods give way,he crave for the hits. The hunger,now steadfast begs for attention,if not for love than replace with addiction;So it is,his money enlists him in satans army,a life of enrichment.He stares wildly down dark ally ways for fixes,his mood black his morals insensitive to the way his lover feels back home,awaiting his return,pissed off though,that she hasent seen that film about a man and his soon to be mrs.
“go with your girlfriends” he begged
She just turns her attention.he’ll never understand her addiction,her needs and convictions.He just stroles relentlessly,in that san Francisco mist,awaiting the arrival of a chemical mistress.
I’am approached by what seems to be a human.Toothless and a smell of wretched putrid toxic industrial waste;but a classic black flag tee on. His one dread lock is an obvious sign of poor hygenine;but brings the look all together with some classic converse weapons;the magic bird kind. He asks whats my prefrence:I question his on him.We chuckle and his intrest is peaked when I explain my virginity. He gets wild with excitement and leads me over to the docks,where Raisin and Spock are;they have the best dope in town,he explains,they can really fix me up. He rambles on the entire walk,as most homeless do,glowing warm off the company of a person whom they once were or wish to be. He leads me down some stairs,past the light of the outside,deep into the steam rooms where he explains: “it’s the safest to hide.” We meet his companions and take a few minutes to let the work be finished,and then we commence in this earth shaking ritual. The needle is not dirty,I saw it removed from its pack,the feeling is unworldly and I could compare it to the impact of a preacher when he feels god call him to work in holy disciple ship,in a covenanet of truth. I am god,watch me dance. Rasin gets a kick out of it. We blast threw as much as they think I can muster;for this moment they are my best friends,my ex-fiancee-the men who I covet more than life.
The meeting ends and out heros part ways into the moonlight,their eyes perched on a greater prize,an awakening of some third eye;the blast of holy water from the depth of the river of knowledge’s stream;and the feeling rides threw the night,alone,different than the other feelings felt before;his feet wander back to the hotel;back to the humping sophomores and espn. Back to the masturbation and cold heart of scorn,lovers blacked out by dawns morning,the sun wakes up the unloved and brings him back to the door of righteousness;self-worth.The army couldent hold back this space monkey,shaved for lack of a better purpose.Awoken.
I hit the market,early morning,the old women pass by,disheartened by the look of desperation in these eyes.slumped shoulders,hints of denial;high still from my conversations with rasin. The plums call my name as my strole draws me deeper to the fish markets across from the catholic steeple;brilliant how life moves,so effortlessly and without question;beautiful how the morning hums the wims of the good hearted. If I myself had a memoir,id name it “the question”;the passion for living has far passed my syntax,and all the while as my vessels open and close,I see the symphony of time as children flow past me;hands grasped tight,to one of the two humans who mean the most in their life. I forgot this along time ago,I miss my mother,father,my instant instinct is to call home,but ashamed I float, past mothers and fathers of old,ones whos children come visit every Sunday to become closer to the ones who breathed to them threw their lungs;and my thoughts are hung. Hung by the shoreline I know is inches away,ones where I could visit to see no other day;ones where I could rest,an intresting concept to the American male. I have nothing but volumes to speak,and I can never be heard. Listless emotions as the early morning crowd yields lovers as well,planning a romantic afternoon,3 home cooked meals,coffee,wine,cigarettes and weed.I need some more of those good feelings,the ones I can understand.
The market is a memory as our comrad makes his way to the docks,hunting for the shady lot who made his dreams a lockdown of the central nervous system,a simple syndrome,addiction,the light fades to grey.
Rasin ties me up,he says:
“I know its your second time,but man learn to do it your self…”,the day is more raw than when my journey first began. The characters seem more distant in the light. Rasin is a small man,black hair,deep eyes. His skin tormented by the sun,his smell fragrenced by the train tracks he sat upon to get back to “home”,or what he called it,the steam room on the lower east side. His hands shook when he mumbled the words that always seemed wrong. His manner was tough;his scentences were vicious,his mind wandered threw glorious trenches of health and well being that he paid no mind too,and boy did I envy him. His nickname,his scarfs,the way the cigarette dangled so gently.The bottle of scotch which lay next to him empty.Oh,if I had an x-ray I wonder what stories it’d hold. Spock on the other hand was more quiet than most. His long grey beard ,dark rimmed glasses,hair trimmed and combed to mask the burn marks on his left forehead,he never said what had happened. His army jacket was pale,it held metals and holes. Their conversations ran like bulls,stories a plenty,intresting fellows.We meditated for hours on soiled comforters,I listened,the bums howling about the dogs. This is no time for revolution,they barked,it’s the dawning of the end.And with all that, I felt the urge to call them kindred spirts,who like I,knew nothing of a real home.Not one with attentive parents always on call,I learned patience instead;insensitivitys,narccisim,and patriotisim;from which I still bleed constantly from.
Chapter two: triga-minority
My wifes marriage and I had begun in a flower shop down by the warfs,where the street performers were known to collect. We had been both reached for candy apples when a gentlemen in the back collapsed on the ground.Without hesitation each of us rushed to a bend to pick his useless body,panting frantic,idiotic questions: “ are you ok?” can you stand? His gargles,useless: I who held him in my arms let him down to my side,his hands twitching violently,as were his legs;the sounds echoing the early morning market. I turned my head as much as I could reciting gibrish I had seen on situations like this on television,hoping some one would take charge.She,fearfully,remained stunned with care painted all over her tortured face.that instance started a reaction,a love based nothing in truth. My programmed yells triggered some memory of,coinsidently,the same chanted scentence in a drama she had seen on CBS the previous week. For years she viewed me as a gladiator who had all the powers of ceaser;the mind of plato,the man of her daydreams.I worked as a marketing specialist,I explained cooley,for a major insurance company,and had coined a couple of smash commercials. I enjoyed her over bareing flattery and the force feeding of my ego,confidence,and business dick. From these aquesitions I received job promotions,with huge net salaries,and cds that could make an Exxon executive blush. I watched my wealth pile into mountains of invaluiable objects and personal whatevere-eres. My wife took the responsibility of spending my useless tender,I didn’t care what she gave me as long as the next day it made it hard to remember. We weren’t not in love,we just kinda lived together & fucked;not that it was bad or anything,it just was. The sun over head truly cut threw my skin to reveal the truth of my youth,the fact that I didn’t love her,and she didn’t love me,we were just apart of a great reinactment of everything we had ever heard or seen,a beautiful story,a beautiful wedding,and from the looks of it a quiet divorce. I sat with rasin in that old steam room and talked with him for hours about everything,sadly it was one of my first indications of what this drug could do to me.Regardless of ephianys I pushed out to theat lucid sea,every hour on the clock at the minute of three. “three” rasin chuckled “is the exact time to do it man…theres…” while speaking he had somehow managed to do all the things nessicary to fill his veins,and from this the drool came. He fell back wards,and in obvious pain,murmered something like this: “were you ever married man?” I shrugged and continued to tighten the band around my arm “once I half heartedly blurted out.” Rasin shuffles “I use to be married to the most beautiful asian woman you could ever meet.I took her for granted ,man. She used to clean up after me,and after work we’d drink cocktails and watch primetime tv.That was the 70s man, a better time.” I laughed and shook my head,filled & released the syringe. “You should find your lady or man because everyones got a true love.Mine use to be Nao,now it’s the junk,and I wish every fucking day I hadent have been so wrong.”
Euphoria ensues and I heed nothing.
“im about to die man,I feel that paralysis you know…that decay.” I shrugged and made up some excuse to go,all this talk was making me ancy,so I made up something about some fest down in lodo. He brushed me aside and turned to his,I took it as a cue to pick myself out of this skid,and get boiled alive by the sun outside when it hits.
The steam room is emptied when the men employed by the city find a deceased homeless man. New cameras and security features create it impossible to breach the walls,or the halls where rasin had been. The local junkies,whom of now have no place to commute,do only what is right and disperse. A memorial for rasin is held at golden gate park. The community of foul smelling vultures scrounged up enough scrill to buy his ashes.Nao was not in attendence.
I was very off put by rasisns death,and the flood of rats who left the city;my rats. I had asked a couple where they were headed. “Kansas” one said “Nebraska.” Another laughed. I had my eyes set on texas,if for nothing,just the sheer size and and the dress code of cowboy boots and thigh cannons had me so enticed that I bagged my pack and hoped the box train towards the south and then transferred east,smoking rolled cigarettes laced with embaulming fluid.
And start east.