All I want to do is write.  But then the block comes.  Why?  Why must you?  Automatic.  I stand in the wings and watch.  Watch because the intoxication is leaving.  And all I’m left with is reality.  Not cold and harsh.  Just unrelenting.  Unrelenting reality.  I enjoy watching.  Not watching but observing.  Observing the interaction.  Seeing this one.  Seeing that laugh.  Seeing the ploy, the bait, the sign, the scoff, all of it.  But I hate the scoff.  Hooking my friend in to the system.  Enjoying seeing the fruits.  Not of my own, but of the other.  Checking in now and then and feeling the satisfaction that one of us is making it in society’s eyes.  I’m beginning to sober and it’s just not the same anymore.  What was an easy stupid – hi – is now an indifference.  An indifference to the cheapness of it all.  Is this all we’re good for?  Really?  Why?  We’re capable of so much more.  Entertainment?  Pleasure?  Whatever – if you say so.  Don’t ask me how the next day is.  I want the higher.  I’m bored – time to leave.  I’ve set the boys up – they’re good for the night.  Jack and coke – america’s drink.  Maybe if you’re living in 1925 in Tennessee.  Makes me sick.  All I want to see is the streetwalkers.  Not to use.  Just to see their faces.  The faces in the night.  Coming on, yet sorrowful.  You can see it in the hollowness.  How can they be so pale?  Do they see no daylight whatsoever?  Last night in Hawaii and there I go – out the door – back to the mainland.  Work email – why am I a slave?  At what point did this become consuming?  Truth is it was always consuming.  Since forever.  Not this, but that.  not that, but the other.  Always something.  But now it’s this.  Where will it lead?  To a condo?  To a 3-month hiatus?  Truly no telling.  It all seems so worthless sometimes.  Seems that I could be replaced with a bumpkin.  But could I really?  I’m appreciated.  Now they want to ‘reward’ me with a boondoggle 2-week france trip.  How stupid.  99% complete.  Email is also relentless.  But then I answer – no, I’m not up early – I’m up late – just getting home – happy cinco de mayo.

 

Automatic writing – courtesy of andre Breton, surrealism and english 1002 – freshman year 1996