Life is a strange set of ever changing circumstances. And one’s success is measured in how they are able to keep up with them. Fall behind far enough and you will be exiled into that unhallowed ground of inescapable failure. Existence can be handled by almost anyone.
Who could have ever imagined that I would still be alive in this backward age of all things future? Especially when the world that I know has failed to survive longer than me? Enfranchised examples of despair everywhere and no one to love you more than you must come to love them. Dangerous territory for those still possessing emotions. Criticism seems bound to fail beyond the animal need to share one’s angst. A growl or a hiss might do? Constant dull sensations of pain a ready alternative to emptiness. The absence of thought required in every daily task has one forgetting their age. Little trite role plays in approach of the proximity of strangers reminding one of older more portent inconsequential encounters. Some regaining their sense of self by a quiet pretense of perpetual indifference to every outside entreaty to act human. The low slung mish mash of bar conversations voiced in cases where more effort than is required to convince otherwise. Monkeys on a chain hitched up to another round of cheap sheep dip bought by the house.
A career of minding one’s own business to keep safe from further disappointments. There is a little bit of Raymond Chandler in all of us. Worthless women invading the regular ranks of cheerleaders. Nothing to offer but endless mediocrity as if that was some great gift to the world. That good time girl facade always ready to pull up stakes and head “Westward Ho!” after the first free drink from a stranger. No conveyance for dirty unfulfilled male dreams that have soiled the pillows. A big, “Who Cares!” to the ritual of daily reciting oaths and promises to support more arbitrary change that no one has any idea of the meaning of. Stick in the ear buds to clean the wax out of your ears. Women won’t betray the chaos of their inner selves that seems to be ever in search of another reliable dim witted anchor. Only more babies to drop in the ash can by the third trimester. That totally trivial but ever-fascinating female conversation that one comes to enjoy from the perspective of too many years piled on. There is no future in getting your head bitten off in offering an opinion lest you are into playing the part of a ‘Mr’ Preying Mantis.
A couple down the way disappearing giving new meaning to the “Mile High Club” some five thousand feet lower back down on earth. The ultimate aphrodisiac! Women might be great authors if they would let loose with novels that are not focused on potential “Sugar Daddies!” Don’t bother trying to save anyone in the water just beyond the wake of the disappearing Titanic! Who wants to demean their own role in life by becoming a salt water soaked meal ticket? Another “glug, glug, glug” down at the other end of perdition. The devil is counting match heads. Most of the guests burned out of their minds or soon to be. That is after all how the alcohol is supposed to work. Too bad they stopped allowing cigarettes to help speed up the process? Flea bag sensibilities in the next port ahead. Just make sure to bring your own storm instead of honing in on that of another! “Hey Tartuffe! “Bring me over another bucket of beers!”, the table by the window begins and ends.
Back from the bar, solitary existence paying off amidst the chaos of lumpen reality. Broke for much of the month and then nigger rich for the beginning of the next month. Working my way sown the ladder of success with much help from animal husbandry and the hegemony that controls such things. I could be mean and say a lot of things about a lot of people. Some of them true, no doubt. But the solitude is wrapped around my ears like two seat cushions. Blame the three-quarter six pack that I am not used to drinking. Blame the comely young female serving at the bar that I hardly pay attention to to lure her over to be straight with me. I am an old sot that scribbles. Upsetting the social order of career sports fan couch potatoes that make a reliable profit each game seasons for the owners. Tough shit if you can get it! And if you can get it don’t you lie! At least not the the IRS! That is if you know what is good for you!
Funny how alcohol rots the mind? Something you see in movies everywhere. From the legendary silents down through your grand pappy’s era to the present fantasy ridden hyperbole’s of space opera franchise comics. Who does it suit after all but the people that own your hide from cradles to grave! I think about how all women now are born to be bitches! They think it is not their fault. But the truth is that they are all too lazy! They eat as much of the pizza that they order two sizes too big and take the rest home too feed to the ‘dog‘. The truth being that they have run out of sugar daddy’s and don’t want anyone to know that they are the one’s pigging out. What do I know? I’m just another useless old fart at the bar! Someone too far past it to do more than goose for a free drink if I dare to look at them with the bedroom eyes that I once reserved for my long lost sweetheart. Try getting a drink or a crappy little piece of pizza from their discard pile! Their children will all grow up to be mongoloids or white knight suckers. This world has been converted to an open air prison. But it takes you at least five decades or more to realize it. The young would eat my liver if they thought it wouldn’t take a few years off their lives. But then, I am a rock and you can keep the island!