(snarls in wait)

My brain is a balm for the sense of self satisfaction that sometimes drives me over to the dark ends of reason where i sit for hours in the half-light of another a.m. wondering just what the hell it is i've done with my life and why.

Why i shout. why i smoke. why i drink. why i fight. why i play the same words over and over again. why i stretch out my regrets. why i can't let go of certain kisses. why i came here in the first place when i could have just as easily disappeared into the catterwaul of los angeles.

I knew the right miscreants. they had the better drugs. the faster cars. the connections and the women to make me a man in a matter of years...or dead as marcos turned up one day before he found his cat legs and came east twelve years later.

But then, as reason might intercede, i wouldn't fucking be me.

Would that really be so bad though? not the death, of course (we passed that option over a long fucking time ago as a coward's route we weren't so fucking ready to ascribe to) but just...i don't know...a difference.

Not that i find my life a barely functional exercise in futility. i kind of like me (at least, i'm used to the skin most days). but after three days drink to drink with my contemporaries from that haven for raging masculinity (change over now to a veritable country club with endowments for the arts of all fucking things leaving me with a bitterness that doesn't bear repeating until morning) i have to wonder if i'm doing the right thing.

Those fuckers are married, home-owning, six-figure-pulling (several times over, some) sunmabitches and i wouldn't hasten to say any of them had a goddamn thing going for them beyond fiscal opportunity (read, privilege).

They seem happy. they have money. their wives are pretty and their homes are clean. they have futures as bright as these cinders.

I sleep in chaos in queens next to a stuffed racoon.

Right now, though, to be honest, there isn't another place i'd rather be.

Maybe i just wish i had another place to go in the morning.

Which, i guess, makes this weekend's perspective shit.

Goddamn sra. leis.