So trying with Suli again. At first we did good but now? The same old shit again.
And I know I shouldn't be surprised and should have known better but
well what can I say? I was thinking about being with my son and
having my wife back, I couldn't have been right with myself if I
didn't try once more...
And so Suli
wants everything given to her immediately and I just want to be
loved. I can't give her a new house and she can't love me til I can.
I keep trying to remember - its just a place to eat sleep and see my
son. Everything has to be her way and its all I-my-me-mine. It hurts
to have trusted in her love again only to find I still don't have a
big enough pay check to be considered. If only she were with me
instead of against me.
It seems my
wanting to be loved in this lifetime is wanting the impossible. I
can't really paint here anymore, the atmosphere is too depressing. I
know we're just kicking around a dead horse of a marriage. Neither of
us can give what the other wants. It's hard to accept, I still feel
responsibility to the marriage, to my wife - I was so proud to have
her, she loved me and I knew it, we were special to each other -
then. But we change and it must be crazy to try and force another
person to want me. That's what I tried to do - I should have never
come back! Its a dead end here. I've tried my best and there is some
satisfaction. Even though it wasn't enough and I know I have to
leave soon this time for good... Still wishing, hoping, still wanting
my wife to love me - Fuck it! It's just a place to eat and sleep and
see my son. Expect nothing more, there is nothing. Got paid today,
going out, a few drinks to smooth myself over and I'll try to hustle
up some cash on the coke exchange while searching for love among the
ruins.
Bermuda Gold; a
bottle of liquor brought back to me from the island by my sister.
May is a wispy
and green. The month has treated me well. I’ve just been playing
with crayons and papers, drawing and writing in crayon.
No car and
bored. I want to break away. I'm not alive. Shit, I'm not ready to
write today, still too tight, trying too hard, trying to think of
something to write, too much like a job - fuck it. I want to write
about woman and lovers, about flea markets and Spanish bars, about
peeling off rain soaked clothes and the cool curve of your soaked
ass. I want to tease your nipples between the sunlight mirage of
passing clouds, tickled by your own long blonde hair, to touch, to
tell of you the girl, who swings me into dreams ... The guitar
player who makes his fingers bleed and this woman sitting out on her
third floor porch chain smoking Pall Malls lighting one off the other
all day long every day waits for something she doesn't even know,
interrupted only by his occasional returns...
But I'm too
tight, too stuck and the sun is dipping behind grey and the wind is
up and the curtains are falling off the widows and I'm gonna smoke
another cigarette have another shot of Bermuda hair tonic.... Now
lets see - Nope. Just can't seem to catch that line, guess I should
go back to crayons.
Too damn cold
and I'm stalling, still scribbling just hoping to latch onto
something. I mean so what about the weather? So what about anything?
I mean who gives a fuck about what I write? How about those books
they sell now, the ones with blank pages all fancy bound, should be a
best seller - It's perfect, all those people who don't give a fuck
about anything can just look at those pages and read about their
favourite subject....
I walk down
these city streets of this dead end town that sometimes I love,
sometimes I hate. A factory town losing it's factories. A town where
urban renewal is held up because somebody wants to make the public
piss hall a historical monument - like George Washington sat here.
But I like
the shabby brick works and the Diamond Ginger Ale sign painted full
length along the tenement house, this town like a private derelict
playground, half deserted, uptown junkies down-town dress shops,
Italian marble churches, the palace theatre once grand opera now Mr.
Atlantic States.... I'm heating up last night’s dinner - shrimp
Creole, for lunch. There's a healthy chill in the air and today is
Wednesday - the wife is always friendly on Wednesday - that's the day
I get paid. She wants to go out with me tonight, for drinking and
dancing she says but what she really wants is to make sure I don't
blow the cash on canvass, coke or horses. It's kinda funny. Just
tried to eat some toast but couldn't get past the margarine, nothing
worse than a cheap imitation of something one loves. It's hard
getting used to this place. It's weird coming back (again!) to live
in the house and with these people I grew up with and not feel at
home. Today is the first time I've been almost alone in three months.
That's one of the hard parts of coming back, the never getting to be
alone. It's difficult to work with people always running around. I
have no place of my own again, I sleep on the couch. (Yes again.)
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