At the Love-In
So I seem to have fancied myself into some kind o’ pickle. Seems as though with me getting out of jail, and it being Mid July – my adrenochrome rush of fourteen dollars has burnt down to it’s last butt.
Cigarette, that is.
I feel Lost in Space and stuck on an oblivion Twilight Zone course. I keep spinning the 33 records round and round my turntable at a fiery pace as if Hunter S. Thompson was literally in the room with me. Then I crash, eat some potato chips and think to myself, “What am I doing this for?”
I keep chasing a “Heroin Hero” high, not that is a problem, but it’s a distraction for me to deal with my current situation. I’m stuck at my father’s place and assuming to go back to jail in a month. Now I’m expected to find a part time job in this economy with this background? I guess so. Have no other choice. And it’s also dwindling down to the time when I’m going to be moving out on my own. This will be as soon as possible.
Maybe I’m just bitching to an invisible typewriter because I’m out of money and feel knee deep in a mouse trap. Still with an uncontrollable urge to play the board game (if I could find it).
I think what I need to do is save up my dough and cents and get a real tasty chocolate cupcake or something. I mean, I can’t even afford cigarettes.
I am frustrated. And lookin’ for some action!
Times are tough, and I’m lookin’ to get busy.
I can’t be sitting on my ass anymore passively waiting for the next year when things will come my way. It was finally this year that I realize that I have to do it for myself. No one else is going to do it for me. Keith Morris comes to mind by the way (probably Punk Attitude), but I think I’m accidently quoting someone else from a movie or somethun’. Anyway.
I’ve got to hit it up and go! And get set. Finally start to do something with my life!
No more sitting around and letting a lot of people walk all over my blue suede shoes.
Finish up what I’ve said a’ many times before, Chapter 1 finished. This will be the start of a new year and a new, Real me.
I’ve compiled enough dungpile bullshit in my head up until now. I’ve got to party it out solo, unfortunately, and start fresh. Start ‘anew. I do wish there was plenty of ladies around. The door is open, but it looks like it’ll be me, Jim Morrison, Wayne, Garth, and Sammy Davis Jr. and some weird naked Indian rocking out on our bongos at the love-in tonight.
I’ll finally do about what Steppenwolf sang about, “It’s not too late to start all over again”.
Cause
Yes I Can!
