Grasping at Shadows.

"First we fix the writing machine and then we fix the life."---Kiki. Woke up mouthing the word Navajo. Tried to piece together the last two days. All darkness and confusion. When Jose found me, I was crouched in an alleyway filled with shit and garbage clinging onto a bottle of Knob Hill. Filthy and a shaking wreck, can't remember the last time I bathed, pants stiff and shiny over the dirt. I recall: Jose stooped down next to me. He called my name several times. "What is the matter?" I wobbled up, leaning against the wall, a passing smile. "Oh, nothing. Slipped gears, crossed wires. Nothing out of the ordinary. And you?" He looked down at me with those big beautiful brown eyes, "Let's go. Let me get you home." Tears filled my eyes and I sank back down onto the stinking concrete. "Home? I have no home...I can never go home." I sobbed as that fact hit my heart like a gunshot. "Never go home...never..." Pulling me back up, Jose whispered, "Come on, mijo. First we fix your head and then we fix your life." White flash bulb of deja vu. As I said, woke up in the Detox Clinic in downtown San Diego amid the hacking and coughing of thirty or so junkies. Shiny white walls and guerrilla faced interns. Blank and slack stares from resident relics. Old man offered me a cigarette. Was a Lucky Strike. There is a God. "You're too young, kid." He wheezed. "Too young to be here." Spit protoplasm onto tiled floor. The rancid smell of hospital filled my nostrils. Wrapped in the flames of devils. Looking into cold dead fish eyes. I moaned and rolled over in my cot. My stomach felt like it was filled with red hot barbed wire and my head felt worse. And so, there you have it Dear Reader. I will be signing off for awhile until I get my head on straight. I guess you can't live in madness without going a little mad yourself. Goodbye and thanks for all the kind words. End Transmission.