Monday, February 10, 2014

Eating Out (No More)

Don't come here expecting good news. There's never any good news. Sometimes in the yin and yang there may be an occasional uptick but the overall direction is still down. Life, is just shit. When fear strikes you and in sheer desperation you start buying into the fallacy of a "fair deal" and that somehow hard work will pay off and the gods will have mercy on you, karmic retribution knocks you right on your ass for even thinking of social justice.

See above video of the humiliating ass kicking I got from a passing snow plow as I lumber my way to work in all my freezing misery. And these were my exact thoughts at the time as God unleashed Her fury upon me. Again, it's the yin/yang thing. In my yin phase, I'm suffering myself to be "mainstreamed" (maim-streamed) by working a crap job for a while until the living death of it drives me out. Sooner or later I always buy into false hope, praying this this time the job god won't be so cruel. It was that flickering illusion of hope that caused me to get literally knocked on my ass.

The surveillance camera got me thinking of another downward (frown-ward) trend: my petty theft days are gone now. I won't say I'm proud of them but I won't feel guilty either. Judge me as you please (and at your peril). Homeless people learn a territory like an Indian would his land. It's just part of survival and I found four restaurants (two close together, other two far apart) where I could pilfer a fine meal. One has to be discreet and not greedy but time spent in backdoor alleys can pay off if one is observant.

Don't forget the parsley.

I guess the drive for "normalization" is so strong one strives for it even in the most absurd and hopeless of conditions. Normal people eat out at nice places - I want to too! But I can't come in the front door and do it in open daylight, having to settle for sneaking my meals on the sly. That way I can still pretend I'm leading a normal life even if all around me is in ruins. Life is no better when you admit its shittiness, so why not have a little faux dignity?

A prisoner may sulk or cheer but the iron bars remain the same.

One restaurant was really old and burned down. Its replacement is impossible to breach. Two others went camera crazy (Did they notice my steady dribble? Is there a wanted poster of me somewhere?) The last one changed hands and, frankly, picky eater that I am there's really nothing on their menu I want anymore (at least not at the associated risk). So no more crumbs for Harry, no more vicarious living, just memories of meals had (and many more missed).

I guess it's better to have the illusion gone, to face up to the bottomless bleakness and harbor no fa├žade of normalcy thinking I'm on a path of life. The impulse is still there, though, much to my eternal shame. I've wondered what it would be like to eat at one of those places legitimately. Would I be able to look the waiter in the eye? Would I fear a "That's him!" cry coming from the kitchen at any moment? What if I were invited to go, could I say yes and how would I explain I'd rather not? How ridiculous can one man's life get?

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