I may have enter a world of irrevocable pain last night. It depends which time I am in. But let's go back a little. Set the scene for this cosmic cowinkie dink. Walked across the city, had a nice day with Kim. Some realizations are starting to sink in. People wear way too much sports attire. And that I need to make a break. A dramatic break. I am thinking Eastern Oregon for some reason. Probably a bad one since it gets colder then a witch's tit out there. But then I realize I need to make some money, even a little so I can actually have a little egg to nurse myself through that frigid time. In some ways going to a really small town could be like a third world country, once you are defined as the artist, everyone knows. It becomes a neighborhood fact. And then you can work from there, or people end up coming to you for work as much if not more then you going to them.
Got to reach out through the shadows and take hold what i know is there for me.
My honest fear. So silly. I have done it before. Been alone. I am almost there now, except that I can escape to my friends. Got to cut the safety net. Dammit. cannot quiet decide. See, having a stable home and a place to plug in my internet is pretty essential. But then again parking some where with a wonderful backdrop I can paint whenever I see fit is very nice as well. So again my mind returns to the power of money. Which reminds me about the task at hand. I was stoned. Which is a thing about my friends here. They don't drink much which is great. And I am not complaining here. I partake as well, but they, and we, smoke copious amounts of weed. It is not bad, it is sort of like I am dreaming a bit while I am awake. I come up with convoluted cool ideas I have not thought through all the time. Maybe I catch myself staring of for a few minutes in a day that I suspect would not be happening if I never smoked. Who knows.
I left Kim's a few minutes before one and started walking home, it was to be long way across town. After only about fifteen blocks I came to the lone pine cemetery and decided I needed a brake. I sat under a tree, legs out head up and eyes closed. My left hand was cupped in my lap. It reminded me of a Buddhist statue, my hand position that is. I was trying to see into potential futures. To find my story. The story that is me and this world colliding into a collision of blood and spit and madness. Maybe not too much madness. I think I may have been a little more visible then I had intended. My sharp and paranoid senses thought they could decipher someone from a distant balcony asking another person what he was doing down there, and the other one saying the he was probably getting drunk. Foolish mortals hand they not heard of charging one's spiritual energy at midnight in a cemetery in order to look into the future. Did they not know I had a long walk ahead of me and needed to be in the proper mind set, energized in spirit to make it. I was done here. But wait. I had a conclusion. It does not have to do too excessively with money, but everyone will work for what they need, what ever that is. People will fight for it, wealth, power, love. Whatever they can go out and grab, they will go as far as they need to to get that assurance, that comfort of their needs, their wants. I left the cemetery and headed north.
I hit broadway and headed westwards. I was walking up on this guy coming towards me. He was short. His little cap did not cover his spiky naps. His left hand was buried in his baggy pocket while his right clutched a roll of money and held up his pants at the buckle. He was altogether gangster, with his whole body crunched over his crotch. I readied myself for conflict of the violent nature, spider sense tingling. I was holding a pencil point out, probably not that threatening unless someone had recently wanted casino. I felt a little like Joe Pesci. It had not been long since i had been jumped and i still had some anger burning in me. Mainly for those two kids who jumped me. But anger none the less. Right as I passed this guy my fold up chair sticking out of my bag hit the pole, made a thunk and spun me so that i stepped with my shoulder first. A few cars down there was some brute looking guy making out with a girl against a car. As I walked down the street I passed some closed shops and then there was this guy, his shoes off. Laying there on the ground. Looked like he could of peed himself. Didn't look like blood. I stopped and started to walk towards him while I glanced back. As I approached him, almost on cue, he started to moan. "Hey you, come back here". I heard from behind me. It could be the big bruiser or the little gangster. If the guy was beat up and robbed the same was about to happen to me. If he was shot, though I still did not think it was blood, I may be stepping in to that as well. I looked at him, twenty feet away, moaning, his shoes off and some sort of fluid running through the cracks between the bricks flowing down to the drain. "Hey, come here."I turned and let my legs swiftly bare me away from the perceived danger. The problem was I was walking down Broadway for another mile. A large bright street yes, but that obviously had not stopped them earlier. Fortunately I strutted my stoned brain home without further incident.
But it occurred to me that it was all building up. That whole notion that this is the first day of the rest of your life. That is me, I am living in that now. I say there is a dimensional rift. The real story and all the other stories i am telling are happening now. And I can't wait to introduce you to the characters.
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