Wednesday, September 29, 2010

a night of many sorrows

put a cap on the roof vent for the shop, relocated the license plate on the van, the chicken man figured out how I could move the spare tire physically as I tightened the bolt so it wouldn't hit the other door. Those two things bring me a small measure of peace. traded war wounds and didn't sleep until 3 which is two hours before Oggy has to get his ass up to work 11 hours crimping his soul into harnesses bound for ion implanters. The grind and sleeplessness have broken almost all shred of spirit. His coworkers drag their numb limbs, groaning. It is like rush hour at a burger grill for 11 straight hours and if you leave a burger on the grill for ten seconds too long then you have to scrap it all and eat crow. I wanted to be humbled and though I cling to a failed mexican love affair in my vaporous cavity of a brain, clinging like a falling man grasps at rope, I see myself assimilated into the grind. Smoking pot like everyone else at break and droning out to the sound of morning talk shows bragging about kissing a porn star. This is life off the map, blending in and bowing out. I remember the feeling in L.A. when I realized if I lived or died it made no difference because my life was merely a small cog in a big wheel crushing the resources of the earth. If I surrender my last thread of spirit then I enter a long sleep. The santa cruz book becomes eclipsed by the insanity of my current situation, but maybe it will enhance the parts about those living in vans.

No comments:

Creative Commons License
Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.