I can't make it over tonight, Big K says on my birthday. OBSIDIAN and I are crestfallen. Shit, no fun, no party. Well, those are the breaks. We stay home and sober up more. We don't even smoke dope. We just pine away that there isn't any hooch to hit up. Nothing to send us into orbit. We work on skits and poems and I watch a lot of Hulu.com.
On Wednesday, money falls into my account and the first thing that I run out to buy is a quart of vodka. OBSIDIAN and I put it down in no time, so I go out and get another. We are running headlong into the Brown World, Two days drying out is enough for any man. More than enough. We STAY drunk. On Wednesday night, it's time for OBSIDIAN to leave. At 11:00pm the security guards downstairs buzz the intercom. I'm totally wasted and head down, for some reason. Instead of just sending OBSIDIAN on his way, I confront the security officer and ask for another night not on the pass. "I'll have to report you," he says sternly. No problem. Why did I say that? That IS a problem if he does do something detrimental to my stay here.
I go back upstairs and fall asleep. OBSIDIAN makes himself comfortable on the floor. In the morning we get a final quart of vodka, drink up and by that evening, he heads out. He tries to tell me that he is leaving at 11:00pm when the guards call up, but I'm unconscious on the bed. I awake the next morning not even knowing that he had left. Wow, I LIKE nights like that!
The rest of the week is just a slow motion slide. I dry out once more. I can't eat on Friday. I have no appetite. My stomach just will NOT function. I sleep mostly. I'm not creative. I haven't been really creative for months. I've lost my muse. I've lost my creative source. I can think of nothing, while my brother comes up with idea after idea. It's just not fair. It makes me want to scream sometimes, yell out how unfair everything is. Yet, with all things in life, shit only gets worse and worse, so what's the point of crying?
Saturday rolls around and I get up early and shower for the SHOUT OUT. I am dreading going in and seeing Cyndi Lauper. I made a real ass out of myself last week, misbehaving. Frankly, I told her that I wanted to stick my dick in her. Kinda rude. How do I take that back? You can't. You can only apologize....profusely. Hopefully, I won't get crowned by a bottle of something. I head out with my same poems that I have been reading for some time now and make it to the SHOUT OUT without eating anything for the second day in a row. I sweat profusely, even though the day is cold, with piles of snow lining the sidewalks.
I am there early in front of OTTO's and a small smattering of poets are forming just outside the front door. As I stand there, Cyndi Lauper walks up, looking at me sideways with a smile. "Are you feeling better today, Hobobob?" I smile back. Much better. She unlocks the club and lets everyone in. I set up the stage and have to go to the bar to get the microphones and the cables from Cyndi. As she hands them over, I apologize to her for my behavior last week. She waves at me carelessly: "Don't worry about it, Hobobob. I knew you weren't yourself. You never act like that. Besides, your brother told me what was going on with you." Oh he did, did he? Hmmm. We'll have to look more into this at another time.
Also, what does this make me? The 'good guy'? Am I the normally quiet type that NEVER says things to women that can be taken as sexually provocative? What is that about? I would like to be thought of as having a dirty mind and mouth too. I am a fucking HOBO! Shit. Get a few drinks in me and the real man will come out. Stand back, jack. I'll fight or fuck. Just push me. Just listen to my poetry. I'll tell you something, I can turn on you like a Killer Whale if I'm drunk enough. I'm hungry on all fronts. All fronts. You cannot expect predictability from me right now. Once in the Brown World, all bets are off and the rules change. That's just the way that it is.
We collect little in the donation bucket after the show. It's pretty sad that more and more people are coming to the SHOUT OUT to perform, but fewer and fewer are putting donations in the donation bucket. A group of comedians showed up, signed in early and ran out before the collection bucket could go around. Another group, who didn't perform didn't donate either. I'm having mixed feelings about that. What is the deal with $3.00? I know there is a recession, but will $3.00 really break people? Is it being frugal or stingy? I don't know. It's just depressing when my brother and I can't even raise enough money to get some fried chicken, a beer and train fare home after a show.
But we do a little of everything, scraping our money together to buy a little hooch, and some food. We head upstairs and get online, working into the wee hours of the night, but I do fall asleep around 1:00am. I get up pretty early in the morning and get online. My brother gets up and on later, and around noon, while we are computing happily, the Internet dies out. Kaput. I look at the router. There is still a connection, just no Internet. I check the unopened mail in my room and find one from the cable company. I have to come up with cash by yesterday or they will disconnect my Internet service. Nice. As broke as I am, there will be no coming up with anything anytime soon. Ha ha ha.
My brother and I look at each other. Lets get the fuck out of here and head down to Starbucks. We pack up our gear and head down to the Starbucks on the corner. A message is taped to the door of the establishment. This is the last day that this Starbucks will be open. They are closing their doors for good after today. Nice. Very nice. It's nice to be fucked over and over again. It makes you feel wanted by life when it grows to enjoy giving you the cock in the ass.
We get in and imme- diately find seats next to a power plug. Very good news. We get online...for today. Don't have any clue about tomorrow. Tomorrow. What good can come out of tomorrows? More and more of absolutely nothing. Nothing but problems. To survive on the streets, you have to completely numb yourself to your problems. Make yourself impervious to them. Make it so nothing stops you, and that you don't feel any pain.
Getting drunk is good for that.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2010/02/when-life-loves-fucking-you.html
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