brandon

I've never made much of a human being and my existence is basically forfeited. My magnanimous presentation is nothing but a mask for my wretched insecurity. Oh yeah, and I worked at a rehab for adolescents (for close to three years, but damn I am glad that I quit that job--not b/c of the kids, just b/c of those spineless, as Penn called them on my favorite episode of bullshit, AA/NA assholes). The poor little adolescents relied on me to give them a proper perspective of the world, well I am more like Sonny in 'A Bronx Tale' then I guess. The other thing is that I find myself having a destitution of conviction and fall prey to doing a highwire act between stances. Meaning=I can't make up my fucking mind. Anybody have that problem? I mean look at this 'three ring side show world' we live in, if I condemn myself to anything that has already been structured, what do I do when I realize that it needs to be rebuilt? That's right, not a goddamn thing I am stuck inside. So, I'm an outsider, I just hang around on the sidewalk and watch what Rice refers to as growing pains (only she was talking about Iraq, but I think we of the new western world are growing up as well, I mean America is barely out of diapers when placed on the scale of empires---and shit, even if we fall in the age-range of adolescent empire we can't get over the movement in our groin). Wow, I just went from joking to taking myself too seriously, I went through puberty and earned a hair piece all in one piece of prose, so get off the lawn you fucking tourists! On June 29, 1966 Bobby Zimmerman was anointed by his Triumph motorcycle when flung into the gloaming…this ended a period of drug-binged, manic creativity that patched up the 60’s counter-culture with a hint of magnitude, his self-guillotined mind was a sparkle in the eye for all the sordid hipsters. His genesis however gave way to a life-altering crash that left his flesh spread on pavement, a manumit from his humanity had transpired…On June 29, 1983 I was born an obscure birth in a Hospital room tucked far away from the world. I noosed myself with the umbilical chord and positioned myself to drop feet first out of the womb. So, already I had turned my world into the gallows. The doctors though took on the role of gods and rescued me from my own device, this somehow became the fucking theme for the plot that made up the reels that were to play out my life…Something is always there to rescue me…I keep getting closer to the edge of that abyss that nihilists salivate over, but I never fall, I just stare into the vortex…and isn’t that what life is about? The redirectional force of the something unknown…My Triumph was my birth, and my pavement is this world, my creativity is limitless, and the gods are burning Neolithic tribal fires at my doorstep…My birth was a ritual performed with modern medical instruments like a witching. In any other prior time period of history, I would have been stillborn…I am the product of man, as were the butterfly smoke of Zimmerman’s dead thoughts forced to evacuate by a man-made device.And I am back about me, a new about me...well, I said the classic words of "fucka bitch" and drove from Virginia to California. I did this while still enrolled in school and with loan money. On my trip, echoes of Native Son rang in my ear and Richard Wright smoked wubobs in my passenger seat telling me about the communist party's active participation in the US class struggle. Richard left me in Memphis, and from Memphis to Vegas I sung the blues with Buddy Bolden who escaped from Slaughter, we fucked hookers and sang church hymns until he too left me in Vegas (yeah, I took that detour). Now, I am in LA, on my own, remembering the words of Richard and singing the songs of Bolden, and let me make this clear--I won't fail here, my high water mark will be obnoxious like a Thailand tidle wave or Katrina's angry thigh juice. And if I become a bum, I will be a great one (unlike the stupid ass bum that allowed me to get a parking ticket in Georgetown---damn bum, do your damn job). I will be that bum that takes a dollar to watch a car or takes money to piss on the metro rail. I will be that bum that wins every bum fight and makes out with garbage cans. That bum that you dream about, if you ever happen to dream of bums. "After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say "I want to see the manager"." ---William S. Burroughs Layouts Graphics Quizzes Polls Surveys And 15000 dollars later: I am back in VA!