More surprising than the amount of doe I’ve blown over the last week is the fact that I’ve made it through again to comment about proceedings here, at the sweet spot. This last bender was rough, aren’t they all, and I sit here teeming with disbelief regarding my own behaviour. Why doesn’t anything good happen when I’m sat at home? I received a financial package lifeline and spurned it in my dealer’s direction. It must have been the luckiest episode of his life. Thankfully I’ve just slept it off for over a whole day and manned up to face the public, perched here typing in the council lobby.
It’s nice to be away from whatever is lurking in my flat,
hissing away beneath the sink. I’ve considered torching the place and walking off
in to the sunset. With nothing but a sleeping bag, ciggies, and booze. How far
would I get?
My neighbours deserve bloodshed: Not for their opportune harassment, but for the terrible music they sometimes play.
With no wedge, I consider myself safe from myself for another couple of weeks. There’s no way I’m ingesting anything else cheap and nasty in the meantime. Hopefully I’ve ridden my system of recklessness for the time being. There’s also no way that state of living can be maintained without dollops of cash. It’s time to bite the bullet of sobriety, no matter how mundane it might be.
I’ve been away to guzzle a few pints
and take time to think about things. Hardly anything was forthcoming. I’ve
chosen to partially wipe my mind off, rather than strut around waffling to
myself and providing my mind-reading perps with free entertainment. My internal
monologue for the last few years has been off the hook, and all it merits is
them punctuating it with negativity. Now it’s the right time to remain silent
and listen. Only thing is, there’s nothing to listen to. Nothing but repetitive
hate spiel. Which I’ve heard all before, and gets no more less interesting.
I’ve said all I’ve ever wanted to say. I’m now thinking about coffee in the apology green room. It’s just across the road. I’m in the library now. It might be full of harassers who have been filling their boots over the last few days, outside my window at home. It’s a ball ache figuring out how to react to them. Should I wade in there screaming and shouting my wrath, or calmly greet them with fake warmth? Probably just ignore them and slurp coffee.
He’s on speed, and he stinks, so he can’t come out and get us, they were saying. Now I’ve come down with the grand illusion of a Radox bath, so whatever’s on their tongue now I have no idea. Nothing of any intellectuality, that much is for certain. Only inaccurate jibes and subjective false assertions. They’ll most likely revert to aged, and basic, terms of slander. Which is codswallop by the way, and they know it. If only I had a weapon and no concern for my future, I could storm in there and extinguish one or two of them. Go to a lifer’s jail with a smile on my face. Although the paying hierarchy would go on, and they’d delight in tormenting me locked up. Nothing would be accomplished, except I’d definitely be the bad guy with no reasonable doubt about it. In black and white to the public, on the front page news…another schizo loses his rag. Not a mention of their crimes against humanity.
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