All these goddamn fortunes from various Chinese restaurants litter my desk, und mein Handy ist tot. Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to make some ends meet, or at least match one up with the beginning I already possess. But of no worries since we will get out of it all somehow. Some key elements always come back to me. Rooms reminiscent of a refrigerator's vegetable crisper drawer. Animals outside my windows and in my ceiling und Wand. I have forgotten how to spell, type, and exert the voice. I've been secretly searching for that promised lead paint in these walls. There are teeth marks next to jizz streaks worse than Naked Lunch.
Progress is progress, and postmodernist thinking threatens to take that from me in one final jab?! Now we must reconstruct some of the deconstructed material into some fashionable presentation(s), in whatever fashion we can contrive without a foundation to rest it on. Like a floating barge we build an entire city replete with skyscrapers and homeless men, women, and dogs. Recall that a demolished structure loses the essence of what it once was, but the rubble still maintains the character of being building material nonetheless.
I have no recollection of any of that and wonder if I had been drinking too much at the time. It sounds like my home on Fairview, my favorite place I've ever lived. Now I'm again part of the floating population. I'm not on a lease and still tend to travel and end on couches here and there but never to the extent I've always wished, as some sun-baked vagabond moving from town to town. It'd be great to build a tiny home or come upon some income source that is both "steady" and "mine". As luck would have it, however, I'm just like everyone else.