Saturday, July 07, 2018

no sé esta vida



I can't do it. I simply can't. As Bukowski once stated concerning the extravagant apartment he was awarded by a friend to write his first book, "It's a gilded cage. A locale where I simply stare at the walls and rot as the world passionately lives around me. It's nothing but a fancy mausoleum."
I feel the same way.
I was so headstrong on relocating to South East Asia and then touring the world, writing about it, experiencing life no matter how good or exceptionally bad, I wanted it all with a mad passion. And now, I am holed up in a fancy uber-modern apartment with all the trimmings, been there less than a week, and I am already bored and mired in loathing. I took a walk along the main strip last night along Congress Avenue and down 4th - Tucson's hub of night activity, neon splashed bars and clean cafés occupied by bearded, man-bun sporting hipsters and their summer skirt wearing female dates. I felt so severed from them…like the proverbial fish out of water. Definitely a college town of mostly contented, privileged white kids. Not my cup of tea, really. They come across as so…phony. I can’t really blame them, they know of no other way of life.
Perhaps I have been living as I do for so long, I am the one who knows no other way of life. I suppose I should give Tucson a chance…stay long enough to make friends and perhaps grow roots. I mean, it is what I had secretly wanted. Right? Right? Ugh…the notion fills me with depressed horror. To become a lonely, pot-bellied gay American who wiles his middle-aged time away watching reality television and arrogantly brags to other deaf ears about his attempts to bag the homeless guy down at the Greyhound station. A life of advent paranoia and condescending abhorrence.
Speaking of paranoia, the foremost reason I do not wish to remain in the states is the current political climate. How dire it has become. A functioning police state on the verge of totalitarian control. I simply do not wish to remain on this soil when the trap finally snaps shut.
So, here we go again. I will assemble plans to leave the turn of the year. As I previously mentioned, I have begun to pen another novel, so that will occupy my time. Also, I have some personal matters to tie up and quite frankly, I don’t want to be in a rush and botch this up unlike last time…and the time before that…and the time...oh, you get the picture.

1 comment:

Gustavo said...

Yes. Sometimes writing is like a therapy. Help. Bah depends on who likes to do it. In my case I can be months without I can think of anything. And there in a week. I see something, I listen and a lot of ideas, images, meanings come to my mind. Although it is not good to live alone isolated from the rest. Bah is what I think of me. It is also good to go out, be with people, do social activities. If you do not end up depressing yourself, locking yourself in your world, etc.
Hugs