"Fuck, I don't know. I can't rest, I got stress pains in my stomach and at times I feel like I'm going right out of my mind. Pretty fucking frustrating."
"Dude, you can't keep this up. You gotta get some rest. Just look at you!"
"Where? I can't find a safe place anywhere. Goddam Debby took out my last remaining defenses. Being out on the streets was my fortress against her. How she made it through I'll never know. It just doesn't make sense and I've been racking my brain trying to figure this all out. She never steps outside of her own little world. She can't risk it."
"So there's no way out?"
"Perhaps so. I'm afraid maybe I've just done too much damage to my life and now the game is up. I just hate seeing freaking Debby outplay me."
"Wish I had some answers for you."
"Me too. I can't hardly maintain my facade any more. All my energy is used for running. This thing is wrecking my whole life."
"I never thought any facade was maintainable."
"Yeah well, you know, I gotta keep up the happy-shiny-homeless act. Otherwise they can't deal with the guilt of seeing you here. Christ, it's like I'm always a little kid trying to make up for my parents' failings."
"Oh - yeah - there's that little game. Can't show all your anger. But if you've been doing that since you were a little kid, that's fucked up. As for those assassins, I don't know how you can avoid them."
"To tell the truth, it may not matter. The running alone is going to kill me. Ironic, huh? But I'm going to tell you a secret I'll take to my grave: when I die on the street and I take my last breath exhausted from the running, there will definitely be a karmic justice to that."
Friday was hell on Earth. Even now, two days later I'm edgy and shaken. I still can't take full breaths - there isn't time. Two assassins have been sent to terminate me. Apparently, I have been found out. Somehow Debby the Huntress learned I still exist and it won't be so easy escaping her a second time. My field of operations is much smaller now, the terrain much more open here in this urban landscape. As I continue to disintegrate, I've lost my ability to adapt to new environments. Where will I go?
Assassins are easy to spot. The more they try to blend in, the more they stick out. I still have that in my favor. But it's hiding places I've run out of. My first encounter was in the morning. I was in a coffee shop eating a donut and feeling very guilty, like I was living a moment not meant for me - a genteel Mr. Hyde for all the world to see. Damn guilt ruined what should have been a glorious celebration of eating indoors but I couldn't resist the idea of taking a minute out for my own pleasure. Always on the lookout, I spotted two assassins far away, heads turning discretely, scouring the landscape with dead eyes. Normally, I would have instantly fled but instead I fed into the false hope of having a home and told myself they weren't looking for me.
But, like an arrow through my heart I was spotted, locked in and targeted for termination. Dear Lord, does it ever end?
I immediately started evasive maneuvers and headed out the back but I knew the pair would split up to cover both exits. So I had very little time to decide what to do once outside. An ancient feeling of dread returned to me yet again. Innocent shops and streets for others morph into a war zone of tactical hiding spots and escape routes for me. Always, always on the outside am I. Pausing in a peaceful world never meant to be, the morning sun shone sweetly on gentle leaves of greenery and my soul cried out to give up and join them. But will listening to my soul keep me alive?
The expected thing to do when chased is to run. I dearly wanted to do so but I could see that no place would offer me cover for long. I did however see rows of columns across the street. If I timed it right I could reposition myself as the killer passed by to always keep the column between me and him. It would take exact timing but the columns were out in the open - a psychological deterrent for escaping detection. A clever man would know that and dismiss this area but a thorough man would search here regardless. I prayed he was clever.
Steeling my nerves mercilessly, I kept my eyes from even peering back to the corner where I knew the assailant would first start his hunt. I was going to have to feel him pass first, then gently edge around the backside of the column and peer at him from behind to surmise his position. But my stomach wasn't cooperating. Not now, dammit! Cramping under the pressure, I nearly doubled over in pain. Not only that, it prevented me from moving until the terror released its grip on my muscles. Jesus, if I don't move soon enough he'll pass completely down the street and I'll lose all track of him. Some girls passed by noisily in the morning light and I wondered what they would think if they knew a hiding man's ordeal was just a few feet away.
Turns out the stomach cramps saved me. That wily bastard assassin stayed planted behind the coffee shop as if he were waiting for me to pop out any minute. He too must have surmised there was no place to run and simply decided to wait me out. So although it was several minutes before I could move and finally peer around, the assassin had only just then started to move down the street. Motherfucker, that was close! Eventually he met up with his partner coming from the other direction. He must have run as hard as he could down a parallel street in order to try and get ahead of me. One flushes me out and the other waits. These guys are good.
Only by being worthless can I be good. Say hello to the good guy. As long as I'm no good, my absence from Debby's life is a blessing. It's the only thing I have to offer her. And since I see no chance of my becoming a functional human being - and wasted many opportunities to do so - I'm assured I'm doing the right thing by cowardly cutting her off from me. But every fiber of my being yearns to join with her. When I think of living, I think of Debby. So I don't think of living. Such is my convoluted reasoning.
I cut her off and she thought me dead. I should have been safe. Why now after all this time?? How could she know I'm still alive?? How?? It doesn't make any sense! Where was the flaw in my plan? Too late now. It's not like I can ask one of the assassins. It's been several days since they first started trailing me. I had three narrow escapes on that Black Friday they first spotted me. I cannot tell you how disheartening it was to be hiding in bushes again after all these years. I remain a creature too despicable to be revealed. Sitting in that coffee shop seems a hundred years ago.
Society has its own assassins certainly. I read about them in the paper taking families' homes so other poor souls can join me in the horror of the streets. Sniper fire is increasing everywhere you look with layoffs, slave wages and other corporate cruelty. Being on the outside is a good thing then. But the two assassins sent after me are different - and therefore much harder to evade. Corporate assassins target those with assets and the assassinations are impersonal. My hunters have been informed who I am and know each of my crimes. This is a guy, they say, who has to be taken out at any cost and for whom no redemption is possible. It's more than business, it's personal.
The funny thing about being homeless is you still try to make your life into a real life with a home and a purpose and a direction - only in reality it's merely an absurd mockery. I should be able to detach myself from this area and go anywhere I want. But so ingrained is the sense for the need of having a real life, I cling to what little I know. Over time, the assassins will learn my terrain as well as I do. Like an onion, my defenses are slowly being peeled back. Time is ticking against me. But I just can't run anymore.
Sleep is no longer a place of refuge. I must be awake to rest. Nothing gives my hunters more power over me than closing my eyes. And when I do, dreams of doom are released and I wake with the same tight, cramped stomach I had that first day behind the column. Dear God, am I tired. But what can I do? The dream is always the same. The hunters corner me at last and they ask, "Do you have feelings for Debby Hanssen?" "Yes," I explain, knowing the hour of truth has arrived. Their reply is 200 rounds at close range from a pair of remorseless Uzis.
God, I hate this world. What's taking us so long to blow it up?
"He was like, "Who the fuck are you to tell me anything? Huh, fuckwad? What makes you so goddam smart you can tell me what to do in my life? Just what exactly is it that makes you so f'ing qualified? I'm sick of you goddam people and your goddam insecurity sticking your stupid ass noses into my business when you can't even run your own damn life! Who the fuck are you people? Just do the world a favor and go off and fucking die! You are a plague upon this planet!""
"Wow, he said all that!?"
"Yup, guess he had it all bottled up inside him. It's like this guy I heard say: Nobody talks about what they really want to talk about. They just let all this stuff happening eat at them then Boom! they explode."
"So what happened with the piano and everything?"
"Fell right on him and killed his ass. Guess he didn't like me telling him to move."
It took a good 400 fucking years for the Roman empire to completely fall apart. It was a period of great politics - or rather, of the greatly political. People know when doom is coming but the art is in the denial. During such a time, self-deception is considered the one vital key to survival. But of course, it's actually the one vital key that ensures destruction.
"Rome is mighty! Rome is great!" Thus declared the self-proclaimed defenders of Rome. Maniacal in their knowledge of a short-lived prosperity, any contrary opinions were viciously shouted down. Keeping denial alive, they believed, was keeping the empire alive (in their own heads anyway). At least, that's what they said until the empire was no more. In reality, Rome's "defenders" were Rome's destroyers. Clinging to the sinking ship of corruption until the bitter end, they purged themselves out of existence. That's some plan!
We too are in a time of the greatly political. Can you imagine the debates in ancient Rome on discussing the absolutely imperative need of having the "right" Caesar sit upon the throne? "We need someone who will right this ship!" Sound familiar here in 2008? But did it really matter who they picked? Only to the short-sighted or the self-deceived. The true problem was a populace that wanted a Ceasar - and did not want responsibility.
We are in a freefall from reality. "Why honor the truth?" is the mantra of the times (both then and now). We see no penalty for not doing so and no reward if we do. In fact, it's considered kind of sissy - naive even - and impractical and the devotion of losers. Say anything. Believe anything. That's what winners do! And yet deep inside we still know what matters because everyone is still vying for the mantle of He Who Speaks the Truth.
In the time of decline, people on the whole want to be lied to. Good luck wit dat. I hate your fucking society (ye who know all) and I hope you (continue to) tear it to pieces. And I laugh at your red-faced political debates meaning nothing to no one. I laugh at so-called pundits marveling at the cleverness of the liars while at the same time exalting "the people" as the salt of the earth. But don't let me spoil your fun. Because just like the ancient Romans, you too will purge yourself from the face of the earth. Morons.
"Why is it I get my best ideas in the morning while I'm shaving?" -Albert Einstein
There's a scene in American Gigolo where the Richard Gere character has lost everything. His true love is out of reach, his lifestyle destroyed and he's been framed for murder. There's nothing left of his support structure and he's completely alone in the world. Renting a car because his own is hunted by the police, we focus on a scene of a soulless, spinning Hertz sign with a backdrop of melancholy music. To me it's one of the most surreal moments in movie history. I don't know if some special cinematography was used or not but something made that scene seem completely unreal. The plasticity and the impermanence and the coldness of the world laid bare by a literal sign of the times.
Boy, do I know that feeling. I've talked about this before, this feeling of sitting on the edge of the universe. The times when I'm riding along in a work truck or sitting at a Sonic or taking a break in the middle of a day labor job. My mind loses its ability to stay convinced I need to play the games of the world in order to get by. I have to admit, in those moments it's an exalted and infinite feeling of life to think that possible. It must have been a feeling John Lennon carried around with him throughout his life. But as I'm wiping the sweat off my forehead and resting my chin on the end of my shovel's handle, to think I do this all for nothing - that it never had to happen - is devastating to the point of madness.
The sunset tonight reminded me of the American Gigolo scene. God used the same cinematography to outline the skyline. Skyscrapers morphed into watchtowers for unwanted night crawlers like me. Friendly trees during the day receded into distrusting strangers in the dark. The more time passes the more isolated I feel. I wanted to hop aboard my private jet and chase the sun across the curve of the earth. But such a jet belongs to another life, another path.
Yet had I taken that path I wouldn't feel the need to extend this dying day anyway.
