Tales Of Melancholy (The Flood: Part 3)
What do I have to worry about? Amoebas maybe? Who knows? The anxiety is heavy. We're all living in an Age of Fear. Not just me. I can't put up with this shit anymore. The suspense is driving me mad. Crazyness all around me. Have I finally snapped? Will I ever be able to figure out what is going on?
Probably not. And that is good. But who knows? You will never know. That I know. I'm deeply concerned. Really I am. Fucked up shit is going on. All the signs are there. I am not religious but I know. We're innocent bystanders. Are certain people chosen to be innocent bystanders if there is a God? Then what about randomness? What about the decisions everyone makes to seal their fate? I don't own a gun and I don't know anyone who does but why does it seem that everyone has one? Why should I be feel left out about that? If millions of people watched a show that I never even heard of should I feel isolated? Have I snapped? I walk on a glass minefield these days with people's emotions. It's fear and doom and gloom. Come on December. I can hardly wait for your chilling cold and dark dark days that bring on the most depressing and sinister times. End of the world mumbo jumbo
I find when I'm all alone that I feel so ashamed that all my pride is gone. That's a song. But when I'm alone I find that I do my best thinking. People become distractions especially when they talk. Now I can't get a fix on anything anymore. Food and alcohol, an occasional exercise session here and there just to keep up with modern times. To keep myself from enduring incredible amounts of pain and for that I thank the sacrificial scrutiny my poor back goes through on a hectic Tuesday afternoon. How many boxes will be before I hear a dreadful snap and then the laugher of my co-workers? I don't want to be a cripple? Does anyone? Of course not. That was a silly question.
How long will it be before the phone lines go back on? It stopped raining hours ago. I can't wait for that joyish feeling one gets when those long distance calls get through especially the ones to Santiago, Chile, or maybe Dublin. I've never been to either. But one of these days I will find myself in at least one place. Of course I hope to be heavily under the influence. In a pub in Dublin extremely pissed to a drunken heathen as they say. A thick glass of Guinness. Not dark enough I yell! What else do you have? How bout some more of that coconut drink or the pineapple with a straw in it? Now I cannot explain the few seconds of dread that came over me when Miguel and his unnamed partner walked over with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses which we never remembered ordering. But it was all good. My father's name is Jose and he was born on the Canary Islands. I'm not exactly sure where off the coast of Spain or Portugal that is. I'm not foreigner yet it's in my blood. No I don't speak any Spanish but I do know how to do the Salsa and I can't get enough of your fine cuisine and lemon tasting beer with the lime inside of it. Could I please get a second round of coronas for the fiesta and another drink for the iguana on my shoulder? I do miss that place.