My collar is dark blue and I got the problems to prove it. Tomorrow is stretching further than forever, man. And it’s dark and black and cold and bitter. There are clouds above those long avenues, which seem to go to the edge of the earth. Especially when you’re looking up from downtown, and you only have enough on your metro card to take you one way. They are crowding in the sky, shading the streets, about to dump freezing rain into the gutters. The city is squeezing me in its fist, and I’m being bled out. Wasted. Fuck, it’s enough to scrape up the loot for a beer and some rolling papers, just so I can sit down and write this.
Here’s the score: I’m poor. Poor as a shit. I’ve got barely any money coming in, and what I do is about to dry up. That comfort zone I’m in, the one that stalls my nerves and eases my panic, the one that lets me sleep, the one that allows me to wake up, its about to vanish. Its about to be gone, another stupid story of the city. It’s gonna end its run. Its gonna be forgotten soon. And I’m still gonna be here, without it, for whatever it is anyway.
See, I have a job. Well, I have a business. But my business has no money. No money at all. Oh sure, we have money coming in. From Japan in yen. From London in Pounds. From Germany in Euros. From America in cents. But it’s not here. It’s not in my pocket. It’s not opening a tab at a bar. It’s not doing my laundry. It’s taking its time, pacing itself. Making me wait. Being coy. But it’ll arrive, I just hope its not too late.
And when is too late? Is it when I start selling rare, precious records on eBay? Is it when I start turning tricks on casual encounters? Is it when I pass out from not eating, or when my lights go off? Fucking hell, what am I supposed to do? I can hustle up some djing gigs, but that shit doesn’t pay. Id make a couple hundred bucks a month at most, and that aint even gonna settle my malt liquor bill. I cant get a full time job because I technically already have a full time job and I cant take time away from that, plus I have school to start at the end of the month, so even a part time job seems an uneven reach. I got slim options and time and space don’t give a shit about my problems. I gotta make something happen though, and I gotta make it happen soon.
And that’s how it goes, right? You get pushed in a corner and you fight your way out. You grow. You evolve. Things happen.
I'm going to be on a diving board someday, with my feet hanging over the edge and my toes touching the water. I'm going to be sick of champagne, and leave my plate untouched. I'm going to lend people money, and I'm not going to ask for it back.
But I’m in a room and it has four walls. [They all have pretty paintings hanging on them. They aren’t the same size though, so it’s not uniform. They each have their own class. Their own definition. Four walls and four pretty paintings. I gotta go and take one of those paintings. And if I cant talk the wall out of giving it to me, I’m gonna steal it.] And I’m in the corner, and I have to find my way out. There has to be a door here somewhere, right?
Holy shit that was a tangent! In any case, something has to give. The city. The world, or me. And I have too many bills to pay to give in now, so I have to make some moves.
If you have any suggestions, holla.
This is the funniest thing i've seen in a while bro, you should check it out. oh, and i like this band. they are my friends brothers band. i kinda know them so you know... i can get you into their gigs for free. wanna cyber?