Saturday, June 23, 2007

The Lonely Wind Blows Cold

It’s time to face the reality I’ve made. I often think of the final scene of Shampoo when Warren Beatty is spinning around, looking for someone or something to latch onto…and finds nothing. I put up a brave front to my co-workers at whatever job site I’m on, pretending I have a future, a don’t-worry-about-me-attitude. But like that Beatty character, I’ve destroyed everything.

I have no true human contact. Any support I build up is based upon the fact they don't know me. So that’s no support at all. The perpetual con is killing me. I need rest. Rest from the street, rest from meaningless work, rest from me. I guess I have to do something to earn that rest. I don’t know what that something could be anymore.

You age quickly on the streets. I’m sick, twisted, alone and horny. If no man is an island, how come I can’t get off mine? The lies I’ve been feeding myself just don’t cut it anymore. I wanted to be today’s Tom Sawyer. I wanted to bring a message of love. I was going to show the power of life. But all that’s a joke. I’m a joke and my life’s a joke. I’ve got nothing. I’ve made my bed and now I can die in it.

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