Thursday, February 4, 2010
Home, Home in on the Pain
It was a stripped out kinship race that had brought him to this point. Of no return is where he stands. Off in the midst... lost to all that call society their home. As one once said, "I didn't move to the city. The city moved to me." Such blind egotism was a mantra for him and he wouldn't let nothin get in the way a that. He screams, "Oh brothers, how have you let me get out this way? Oh brothers, why hast thou given such unfriendly thoughts? Oh brothers, why must I lasso my own urges to keep from falling across the tracks?" These questions lay unanswered because he lacks internal dialogue. Thus, the kinship race. The strung out, fucked down, stupefied spectacle that slapped him across the face and slipped a cold hand down his trousers. He lost. He lost it all: his family, his lifestyle, his pure sexuality, his Turbo Charged Camaro IROC Z-4, his wood tip Back Woods Cigarillos, his "ethics of nothing." All was lost 'cept his Stetson "Totally Fucked" Hat with patented shit stains and sweat-strewn brim. The goofy grin only emphasizes the fact that he is, and has been for eons, a plaything of fate with broken dreams and fractured aspirations.