What's the purpose of trying?

And as the road to riches slowly starts to become a never ending chase into the desert of shamelessness, I start to think that this might be a good time to pack my empty bags with litter and profanity and head back south to france again. I miss the neat pavement, expensive taxis and corner tourists eating their cheap croissants. A small funding problem won't hold this return to reason, but this dirty old town called Amsterdam is already getting on my weak nerves again, too much time on my hands is not the problem like before - as i keep getting booked for small jobs as well as the occassional bigger client - no, it's every little niche and streetlamp i come across, that take me right back to that fictional place i was almost able to erase completely. I guess it's true what they say that you can't run from certain facts or people from your life, they follow you around whether you want to or not, the only thing that restrains this frequent recollection, that in a masochistic manner i'm certain i recall upon self demand, is hard, cold liquor. It makes me flow, it takes me up in a whirlwind to another level of consciousness. awaiting the flow again, but this time i'm referring to money issues, I am thrilled like a child to be on the road again, exhaustion of carrying pounds of excess baggage around, another masochism, makes me feel like i'm doing something worthwhile, i'm addicted to this rush of moving around, literally replacing this scenery for a better one, another set that we can act, ofcourse without rehearsing, capturing the next dramatic scene to come.