There Really Is None...

Night filled with anxiety and fear like out of shadowy Kafka novel - that wacky bitch ain't got shit on my mental state. Whisperings down deep in the dark, phantasmagorical silhouettes out of eyes reach - and that train blasts by every fifteen minutes with a roaring like a steel Titan onto distant remote horizons.

Pull myself up at the crack of fucking dawn to the inane chatter and squeals of one hundred hobos - the stench alone is enough to make an coroner puke. Shuffle to the bathroom that had deteriorated over years into a biohazard and shower in tepid water under the darting eyes of the local pervert.

Eat breakfast. Oatmeal. Warm mug of Victory Coffee. Burps and farts and slurps around me from diseased rotted mouths. I sink deeper down, wishing I was anywhere else. The cobbler was good, though.

Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait for a caseworker - or whatever his position is - from PATH, the rival to the nuthouse that I used to attend. Just past lunch, the agent makes his grend entrance and after flexing he gives me a lowdown that not only can I recall; but much less care about. Something along the lines during my last whirl with them, I didn't keep my appointments with the shrink and other two year old discrepancies. All the while I am thinking, 'Well, gee -if that is part of my mental sickness, shouldn't there be a concern instead of reprimanding me like a kid caught skipping school?' These fools just don't get it. They hear me - they just don't listen.

After that, (Oh gee wilickers, I hope the caseworker's manager accepts my case so I can praise and adore them for saving me!!) ran into an old acquaintance of mine by the name of Mike McCabe -still hot as shit and still hooked on coke. But, I guess you can't have it all. We chatted a bit - he talked of his wife and fucked up junky life, (We skirted around the sexual tryst a few years back) afterwards he bid adios and got up and git.

So. What to do? I have three major choices and at this writing I cannot decide, so I will let time judge for me. One: At the first of the month, I can continue on my trek to Puerto Rico and whoop it up there. Fear is, I will be going in blind. Can't find a decent online site describing apartment prices. Two: Stay in El Paso; (Ugh. You can not comprehend the society here - slack jawed, arrogant, morons that hate anything they can't understand. Typical backwater mentality.) receive and continue my mental treatment and in a few years, be a fat hipped sedated old queer tending his garden outback of his small yet comfortable apartment, attending small social parties with other bitter old failures, or Three: I could just die. I mean, really, what is the point of all this? I have bleated on and on how nothing not only interests me and generally I find loathing and fear in all things I come in contact with. Death really does sound yummy.

I don't know - I really don't. So, I will wait and see the outcome - if it outcome. However, my main concern is - why are we always so programed to be cautious, to play it safe? I have no family, no siblings, no children, no wife - why is everyone always telling me to settle down, become stable? Why? From my point of view is "What's the point?" There really is none...