What the f is wrong with me? Why can I fit in so well, but be so totally on the outside? Why is it that I can look at all of you wonderful people and see the beautiful auras connecting you all together, but mine simply leads off into the great nothing?
I think that the root of the many problems that I have is that I was born in the wrong era. I should have been around 20 back in the days when buddy holly was on the radio, when it was pretty much ok to go out and wipe the floor with the people causing drama in your life. Of course, there was a lot less drama. The expectations were a little less extreme than today. There wasnt as much to worry about. There wasnt as much to worry over your kids about. I would have fit right in. You know, white t shirt with the smokes rolled up in the sleeves, blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up, and an evil set of motor-huckle boots made simply for long wear, bad-assed looks, and doing a boot dance on someones head. Motorbike and some bee-bop song playing in the background, and plenty of room to live and breathe, not so many jerks inhabiting the same location. Girls with poodle skirts who have never heard some of today's pickup lines, the cute ones that would giggle at my wit, be happy just for being the object of my attention heh heh. An age where talking about the economy was something that your parents did, and the commies were the worst threat the nation had facing it. A time where you would play chicken with hot rods, make out in a car on some hill overlooking the nice, quiet, town that you cant wait to get out of. A place where you would tell your friends all about your wonderful life plans and those plans seemed so damned achievable. The tattoos I wear so proudly would have designated me an outcast, a bad-ass, a rebel. I would have fit right in and would have been expected to do or be no more than what the label said. Yeah, I missed out. Conceived in the spring preceding the Summer of Love, the spring of Hey lets mess around, freaking hippy mom and a militant dad.
Maybe the problem is simply that my past lives are shining thru to the present, that I am stuck in this horrid little life loop, that this isnt life for me, its simply a twisted limbo or purgatory at its sickest. Maybe I was alive then and thru it all away in some stupid prank gone awry and I died not fully appreciating the life I had, and for a higher type of humor punishment, I am stuck living a life where every day there is a lot less to appreciate. There is no world peace and the concept seems as ridiculous as finding a magic lamp. A world where more is spent on killing to ensure we have enough fossil fuel to run the atrocity of a world we have created until the oil wells run dry than is spent on making sure that there is actually a population to enjoy the hell they are making. A place where just about everything causes cancer, and if it doesnt the stuff they process it with or pack it in does.
Maybe i am just too hard to please and bitch too much.
Fuckitall, I am moving to some dime sized town off of route 66, one that is dying but living because the corporations and the tourist have packed up, moved on and forgotten about it. Get me a small shack with a windmill to power the radio and hot water heater, a pot-bellied stove to cook on. Grow a garden and swear on a stack of Good-Books that I am Amish so I dont have to worry about taxes and stuff. Eat armadillo sandwiches and sit out front of the country store, telling the local kids horror stories of big city life. Sierra will be right there with me, telling her friends of her wonderful plans, how she will achieve them, and looking over the horizon, waiting for the day that she can blow this 2-bit town.
I think that the root of the many problems that I have is that I was born in the wrong era. I should have been around 20 back in the days when buddy holly was on the radio, when it was pretty much ok to go out and wipe the floor with the people causing drama in your life. Of course, there was a lot less drama. The expectations were a little less extreme than today. There wasnt as much to worry about. There wasnt as much to worry over your kids about. I would have fit right in. You know, white t shirt with the smokes rolled up in the sleeves, blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up, and an evil set of motor-huckle boots made simply for long wear, bad-assed looks, and doing a boot dance on someones head. Motorbike and some bee-bop song playing in the background, and plenty of room to live and breathe, not so many jerks inhabiting the same location. Girls with poodle skirts who have never heard some of today's pickup lines, the cute ones that would giggle at my wit, be happy just for being the object of my attention heh heh. An age where talking about the economy was something that your parents did, and the commies were the worst threat the nation had facing it. A time where you would play chicken with hot rods, make out in a car on some hill overlooking the nice, quiet, town that you cant wait to get out of. A place where you would tell your friends all about your wonderful life plans and those plans seemed so damned achievable. The tattoos I wear so proudly would have designated me an outcast, a bad-ass, a rebel. I would have fit right in and would have been expected to do or be no more than what the label said. Yeah, I missed out. Conceived in the spring preceding the Summer of Love, the spring of Hey lets mess around, freaking hippy mom and a militant dad.
Maybe the problem is simply that my past lives are shining thru to the present, that I am stuck in this horrid little life loop, that this isnt life for me, its simply a twisted limbo or purgatory at its sickest. Maybe I was alive then and thru it all away in some stupid prank gone awry and I died not fully appreciating the life I had, and for a higher type of humor punishment, I am stuck living a life where every day there is a lot less to appreciate. There is no world peace and the concept seems as ridiculous as finding a magic lamp. A world where more is spent on killing to ensure we have enough fossil fuel to run the atrocity of a world we have created until the oil wells run dry than is spent on making sure that there is actually a population to enjoy the hell they are making. A place where just about everything causes cancer, and if it doesnt the stuff they process it with or pack it in does.
Maybe i am just too hard to please and bitch too much.
Fuckitall, I am moving to some dime sized town off of route 66, one that is dying but living because the corporations and the tourist have packed up, moved on and forgotten about it. Get me a small shack with a windmill to power the radio and hot water heater, a pot-bellied stove to cook on. Grow a garden and swear on a stack of Good-Books that I am Amish so I dont have to worry about taxes and stuff. Eat armadillo sandwiches and sit out front of the country store, telling the local kids horror stories of big city life. Sierra will be right there with me, telling her friends of her wonderful plans, how she will achieve them, and looking over the horizon, waiting for the day that she can blow this 2-bit town.
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
that said, a deviant little universe of pseudo-50s dress and sentiment would be a rather fun distraction. i used to have a real poodle skirt & crinolin (from the musical theatre days) and recommend them to anyone. of course, the bad girls always wore fitted skirts and those hot little scarves - woo. perhaps with this crowd this is a more appropriate choice.
As far as commune off in some distant dusty town sign me up I think I've about had it with all the crap going on around here. Hell I don't even mind pretending I am James Dean and putting a boot where the sun don't shine to a few folks around here before I go.
Hang in there big guy you got a lot going for you! I know sommetimes it just gets old!
ps I've always wanted to look up under one of them poodle skirts it's been a mystery to me!