living for the city

New Orleans. that bloody dark and charming back-water. oh la la. here i be. your charisma is your achilles heel. you know that, but if you don't say it, it doesn't exist. magic and vibe and luck. think that will get you through? for awhile. but that is all you really need. muck. really, just muck. this setting-sun view is your absolute wealth. you don't want to be like any one else... not really interested in the status-quo or measuring up through demographics or the census or other formal indicators. you like to kill yourself softly. not WAKE-EM UP! let's not have any of that. we can just chll. what's the big deal? you don't want to be a force, you want to be forgotten, so you can live your secret life. you don't want daylight. you want twilight forever.

i decided to volunteer with a very brilliant person and force him to adpot me since i have to substantial or fulfilling work at my bread and butter job. he has given me more work that i know what to do with. he wants me to deliver things on a deadline, for free. and i love it. i had to search out something. i have to do something with my lazy idealistic bag of bones. so i found it. now that my soul is rich, shouldn't i be making more money? the little benz broke down, so repairs are running at nearly 5 bills. ugh... and i realize i can't live without a car now. paralyzed. hopeless. depressed!! where are my four fucking wheels and a seat? i have given up on walking. being outside makes my skin fry (i am very fair). i sweat, it takes a long time.

basically, life is annoying. at the same time, it is rather interesting. perhaps that is the point.. that is how it works. i am living hardly enough for the city. fragile little existences all around me. my fragile existence.. what is the point? let new orleans drown, then. let it drown in its own muck, so that it can bloom again elsewhere in another life. let me go somewhere safe and structured and unimaginative. let me be sterile. let me be careful. let's not fight anymore.

sounds awful.