Sunday, September 19, 2010

60 hours

It's a double edged sword. I save some money for the Labrador/Guatemala fund but breathing fiber optic dust and fiberglass renovation debris has my health declining faster than the Freak Out at the Roachester Fair. Which will die first; me or the van?

I worked 20 hours overtime this week which might pay for the drag link on my van or a facial peel for the fiberglass rash that keeps me up at night rubbing my skin raw. At night I see blurs of fiber optics and 22 AWG winchester pins. This is a pace at which the only time people don't show up are when they never show up again. Vietnamese slaves are pushed to their limit and then cast out with the dirty diapers from the day care for the future electronics assemblers. That is a reality. Ants in a dark cave feverishly assembling their ingenious appliances so they may better watch their lives digitally succumb to Steve Jobs's Utopian illusion. Maybe I'll get on a second life game and allow myself to run on auto pilot with the simple directive to get to Labrador. At least I can have a digital avatar make it to the Arctic wolf lair because the gout in my neck is spreading to my cancerous lungs and the chances of getting to the arctic circle fade with each piece of cracker crisp fried dough I ingest.

Does the Indonesian karaoke singer I work with complain? I don't know since I can't understand him. He suffers and limps after only one week and he is a young child with a face like a baby's. The last lady they hired ruptured her appendix and never came back. We plod on and the bags under our eyes can store our cold lunches. I bought two pounds of frozen ham and eat it with my mercury covered fingers at the table, fat dripping from my mustache. I have no excuse to quit but I'd like them to fire me. When I master this job I will immediately apply for an entry level line cook position at the 99 restaurant. The Quebec copper mine has not returned my calls but the Now or Never media on court street has expressed interest in the wolf documentary so I go in next week. I'll video record the whole thing to demonstrate my level of commitment and to impress them with my camera presence.

This trip will start one day and will obliterate all the past craziness. The zoo at the fair today made me realize the futility of influencing the world. I couldn't get the kids to wear their hats straight or to stop smoking cancer sticks let alone to recycle or fuck with a rubber on their herpie sore cocks. So, forget it. I want to see Labrador for myself. And that's it. Let the chips fall where they may. I was crippled in Alaska and veered from my chosen fate of being a Park Ranger, I read Hermann HEsse and Kerouac and fell in love with story telling and philosophy. I am content seeking contentment and when I am least content is when the rut finally covers me up and disguises my individuality into a blank slate no one recognizes including myself. There will be no wolf or guitar shows or books to tell the tale. There is only another crimp and the deadly prostate finger rooting in my ass for the disease that will kill me. The bulls at the fair await death with a nylon rope attached to their nose. The alpaca are skinny but their fur grows only when they are alive so they are kept living with hay to make hats and socks. I'd like to weave an alpaca hat to wear in Labrador.

It's past my bedtime and my feet are swollen like a roast pig. Another chapter begins tomorrow. A week ago this year I was in Colorado trying to drive to Labrador via St. Louis. Review last year's posts if you missed it. I guess I've got time if I wasn't in NH until October.
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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.