Every Town Is A Small Town Somehow

Trying to gain my bearings in my silly little world, I decided to go and buy some lightbulbs to feel useful again, and yes, in some way even productive. My productions have been half-hearted and lacking these days. If you really want to feel productive go to the grocery store; its amazing how much satifaction you can get out of buying yourself some cereal and milk, some meat and a nice batch of apples; even the bread for the morning with the coffee. Grocery stores are the key to sanity. I guess I'm just chock full of miserable straights in the streets that are my home. When here, I am a mess and that is that. Needs and wants, I guess. What do I need? What do I want? Peace, quiet, and some small way to expel this energy built up inside of me. Its kicking and screaming like a newborn babe whose milk is satisfaction not obtained and I am looking for that satisfying state the permeate this suffered brain. I want a range life, if I could settle down. I want to read and write all of my days, and play music I create, and only me, unless I find three or four other folks who see the way I see. I want to run from the cops and chase shooting stars for money and for happiness. I want to be bold and unhindered by silly sophmoric, romantic girls who take my time and snap it against my skin like a large rubberband that only stings and lingers for days. No more women even though I've not had so many. No more charlatans and no more pretencious drunks who know whats what and I don't know shit even though the shit I DO know I never offer them anyways. No more of that. Just whisky and some words and a little moonlight and a little holiday on the Mississippi River just like Samuel Clemens and I love how he admired that river so much. I guess its my drive, or something. Maybe I create this separation and this killing of the attachments in people that I surround and that surround me. I think perhaps I am too kind to say, "fuck off" defiantly enough for them to get the picture. Who knows. Maybe I just need good drugs and alot of sleep away from my father and my life for a few weeks. Maybe I need to be a criminal or eat more bananas or go to the picture show with a hand to hold. Maybe I need to operate machinery or take deep breaths in the checkout line or emancipate and proclamate the immediate state of my affairs. My I need a better lifestyle, some new shoes and whiter teeth in one month. Maybe I should read the Times or The Wall Street Journal and look into high yield investments and take my cash money to the carribean for a nice rum drink and a little ocean breeze to calm me into comatose comfort. Whatever it is, its just a big mish-mash of misconception. I'm going to go buy some lightbulbs and even a coffee or a cigarette and some more dull and meaningless conversation. Cynicism didn't consume me until I came here; now you know how I must leave.

Copyright ©2006 Charles Anthony Dominick