High School.
We smoked dope into the hallways, fell down the stairways, passed out in the
bathrooms, and didn't feel the fall and no one in charge really knew what the deal was. Like we were on the first wave of: drugs are coming to your school and it was fucking fun! We weren't just kids we were down freaks, acid heads, pot heads, geniuses, painters, poets, musicians, potential addicts, winos, garbage picker divinities. We were reckless with abandon squanderers, fearless too alive to ever die. We were the Class of the whole country it was our magic summers, our hanging out, our exploration and the realisation that we were going to make it any way we could, the hope the dream, the spit, piss, tits, ass, prick, cunt jocks, heads, of a generation. The nobodies who would make more money in 1 year than I would in three, the high class chicks that were turned out to be nothing more than scared shitless of living, the whole fucking thing so typical yet so unique because me and my best friend Dave drink wine in the alley, hang out on the green or Uncle Sam's head shop, write poetry talk about California taking off hitching across the country “hitching a ride to the end of the highway” (Joni Mitchell) ending up going no where married in the same town as our fathers having kid’s bills and work and the whole thing so fucking typical except me and Dave were friends and now we don't see each other very much and we struggle alone with the fact that it’s all irrelevant and can any one really beat the system, the system that just swallows up individualities and makes all things common. Except me and Dave are at heart one with the winos the dope fiends the poets and romantics we are at heart with them, he still plays that guitar an me I still bang away on this typewriter ... and we're still winos at heart and the city now is dead all the winos busted killed rolled in asylums or dried out and living with their son in New Haven. The freaks pretty much the same busted dead or in California or jail there are no head shops pool halls, congregations of stoned undesirables. Instead when I walk through the streets now I feel violence, tension - empty store fronts, gangs, Uzis, sawn off shotgun hard edge of new drugs, designed as if to meet all the scare tactics that we knew was only propaganda in our day. Now they have drugs that do destroy your brain, make you instantly addicted, make you kill.
The school is moved out to the suburbs where maybe it’s not such a bad environment. I walk these streets that were once my own not seeing a familiar face never an invite to get high or share a bottle in fact not even a wino in sight. Dave is working for the phone company but I guess he still plays, I think I saw him once playing at a bar down the street it was too loud, not the music but the people, too loud and crowded no way to talk so I left.
Baby Seals
The baby seals are clubbed to death in front of their mothers skinned the carcass left to rot. It is common for the mother to stay by the carcass for days trying to rouse it, perhaps trying to make sense of the motionless blob that her offspring has become or maybe she is herself in some state of shock. Now life and death is a common thing, so too is killing but the question is who really needs a fur coat that bad? Even if there is no danger of extinction it still sucks but there is a reasonable doubt as to the survival of the species so what the fuck buddy make a living out of selling dope or refrigerators or something.
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