Friday, August 15, 2008

Angry Old Men...and of course, Rythm...

How many days will I have to spend in this fucking hotel? I guess inevitably, I make that decision - for some, it is easy to just fall off the face of the earth and say there are no more than a few miles, another airport, and some warm free cookies to make it all better - for me, maybe I am too smart to realize that this is not what any human being should be subjected to forever, a nomadic traveler, holding back anger, smiling to sell, and giving away the best years of his life for a few dollars, a platinum Hilton Card and a few free upgrades on airline fares...

Angry is an understatement. Sell out - sure, I sold my soul to the devil for a few sheckles, went to the school I was supposed to attend, did what I was supposed to do...what do I get in return, but several other folks who did the same thing, competing for the same spot in hell that we all run around in.

I figured out what and who betrayed me - Angry old men betrayed me - they were bitter, devious, cunning, and smart about it - me, in my youthful exuberance, trusted and gave, and in return, was made a laughing stock. For me, maybe the last straw. No, I am too good of a camel for that - hell, let's bring another round of beer, and have another song. How much can that camel carry...

I miss things. I miss the life of secrecy and hidden vibrance that we have. I hate phone calls and distance and not being the one to say that things are okay when I grasp shoulders and feel tears. I don't like having friends three thousand five hundred miles away - they might as well be a million miles away on some star - especially when you wake up, and don't feel or hear anything. People wonder why I go to sleep with the television on its highest volume setting - because empty sound and the hum of another hotel room air conditioner is just not quite the same as a laugh or a snore, or even a push. Pillows make great bedfellows, but not good companions - they don't talk to you or read, or wear thick glasses and want to share your late night Chinese food with you - pillows just get smushed and when you wake up next to one, there are no kisses or hellos or sets of big beautiful eyes staring back at you letting you know that it was just a nightmare, and that they are here, and that you can breathe again...breathe again, slowly drifting off to sleep.

I miss things more than I ever expected to. Giving that much in so short period is not fun nor fair - but it was given, sort of like those overpriced tickets you give to the carnie at the fair - the ride was the best creaky, scary, risky thing you have ever done - but you can't afford to do it again, and the weakness in your knees and the sickness that comes and goes probably is a good sign that you should not....but you do.

Giving things away, particularly when you give away a piece of yourself, and you don't do it to sell your soul, you don't do it to get something in return, you do it because that was what the right thing to do was - and then paying the price of having to lose the ability to give - well, that is what is making me more bitter than anything. My decisions are making me angry, and sit here in this hotel, this shoebox for smelly business men, this trap, and think.

I miss things. I want to walk into and see rythm and ride elevators all day long, and walk to the coffee shop, and tell people to fuck off, that I did not sell out for less, I gave in to my Rythm.

Good night mon ami


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