Me unfunded
Some of the crowd I used to run with call me "Howard Hughes" now. But they are gone for a reason, living only in the corner of my eye. Can a bum have real friends anyway?
I scrape by day after day, staying mentally intoxicated; living inside my head where I can make true things untrue - and untrue things true.
I've got nowhere to go, floating in the vacuum of space, grasping on emptiness. Any scrap of life I do find is immediately used as fuel for my lying mind. With a billion dollars (1.2) at my disposal I technically can do anything I want. So why do I feel so trapped?
I'm just like the wino who funnels every cent he finds to stay in his bottle. Put a wino in a penthouse and that's me.
I hide in esoteric mania on Mercury and Mars, where any truth I find remains unknown to this world. Do you know how disorienting it is to see the stars from a different planet? With all reference points lost, one is wholly at the mercy of one's thoughts.
An even bigger wino than me
Dying alone isn't much of a plan. I searched every goddam crook and crevice but cliche as it is, only love is real. Maybe it's only me but I can't find a way around it. There's no end game to anything else, only a series of dead ends.
I read where it would cost 250 million to air condition Texas prisons. Last summer here in Dallas was excruciating so that headline stuck out to me. I could write a check to cover that cost.
But it's not money that's holding them back as much as being possessed with crucifying Jesus. That's where the real battle would be, on the spiritual plane.
How's a wino going to win that fight? Especially when the truth does not suffice. I would need help.
What's to be done? (Probably what every wino says)
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