hi america

chris in front of the wacky packages

.. and canada. didnt mean to leave you hanging today. you know i like to write something first thing but i had to watch the sopranos before someone told me what happened and then i had to shit then i had to eat and then i had to shit again. see why i say dont apologize for not writing – you get tales that you dont want to hear.

anyways somethings wrong with me. i dont know what. i feel like im depressed but i havent been depressed in decades. centuries maybe. is it the pills im taking for the cold i caught? is it that im back at home and theres no hot babe waiting for me? no wild shit for me to do here? just back to the grind? is my grind really a grind?

in the last four weeks ive spent most of it on the road getting drunk getting lo toplesspartying and making out with beautiful women. ive been able to write and work and walk and talk

and last night and today i looked in the mirror and the devil whispered youre the ugliest man in the world, you have replaced bukowski and noone could figure out how he got his fingers stinky and noone can figure out how you do it either but your luck is gonna run out and its gonna run out soon. and depression is what happens when you look at that mirror and see things through satans cheap sunglasses.

i had a hard time falling asleep last night partially because i didnt need to wake up this morning and partially because i was thinking about what he was saying. then i watched the sopranos and that tony was asking himself the same questions that this tony was asking. who am i, where am i, what am i doing. the trilogy of fucked up questions that rarely lead to enlightenment as generally ive discovered that im at my most happy when im asking someone else those questions, and their answers are here with you, close to you, getting as naked as i can get.

life doesnt have to be very hard. and as tony soprano was on his oxygen and his wife was trying to figure out what music to play i was relieved when she slid in tom petty and smoke on the water. and if sonny ever shoots me in the gut and you want to calm me in my icu room please put on tsar the replacements ac/dc and as much old stones as you can find. i know its cliche but the stones are rock n roll. hell you could just put on midnight rambler on repeat if you get tired. its pretty much a song thats on repeat anyway. and if you want me to really be happy put on the blues brothers soundtrack.

last night the phone rang and usually when it would ring it would be my true love, but since shes in deepest darkest africa for two and a half years i knew it wasnt her, but i still had hope. thats the sort of thing that can lead to depression too. ridiculous hope. and calling girls your true love who get it on with fat white republicans instead of you.

the more i live in this hollywood apartment a mile away from where bukowski wrote pretty much all of his best works, i really understand how he was able to do it and not blow his brains out. he worked his 9-5, came home and then wrote. his job had no real dramatic ups or downs and he was able to drink and write each night until he passed out.

its the very high peaks that fuck us up when we get back to the petty pace of the day to day and make them seem like lows. what i have right now isnt a low, its a normal, and its a damn huge high compared to the dusty shit that my truest is up to her neck in right now in uganda.

i have no problems compared to that world. im hungry but all i have to do is walk out of this house and in fifteen minutes i could be eating japanese, chinese, armenian, soul food, fast food, mexican, cuban, russian, or korean. im depressed because i choose to be. im lonely because im lazy. im fat because im a sloth. im horny because i deserve to be. i suck because im alive.

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