I guess I am here now, in The City where Scum meets S.C.U.M. Fully aware that indeed this city never sleeps, it's hard to imagine that New York has a worse case of insomnia than I do. The stench of sadness is everywhere around me, I walk around without really looking where I'm heading, kicking the dirt in the street aside, clicking my heels on the pavement, head up strong, I feel like I'm about to choke, I am running out of breath. This can also be a very logical after effect from all the late night frenzies we've been having since I got here. The awful sewer smell, that disgusting water stench filling up my East Village appartment, that horrible stench is everywhere; in the water, in the walls, on the street, on my dirty floor and in my head. That mal'odour must have rubbed of on the skin-deep rats that live here. I think the inhabitants of this city must have evolved or, let's say devolved into having a inferior sense of smell; A small olfactory modality defect to protect themselves from smelling others like them from a far, because us mammals are nothing without instinct, if we can't smell dirt or detect danger from a far with our senses, we'd land rock bottom on the food chain in no time - we would continuously surround ourselves with rotten fruit and shout "this is enticing, the taste of new exotic!" and "messy, but tasty", we would eventually end up miserable, feeling sick and food poisoned, with the inevitable outcome; Death.
Everyone who I've just met here seems dull, nit-witted and deeply Empty. I'm afraid if I would stay here longer their uselessness might rub of on me. I stop to think and realize I'm still here, in this French Cafe on Prince street, listening to this Blonde chick who I've never met, speak. She has been entertaining me to sleep for ten minutes now, her conversation is a non-stop gossip monologue about probably much more interesting people than herself. I interrupt her, force a smile on one corner of my mouth, and I walk home on Avenue A. Happy to be gone from that boring bitch, I am now left with my own thoughts instead of hers. It took me just five seconds to switch back, and think of you. I've been walking alone here all week, sometimes with my beautiful french friend, who's always telling me stories, getting my mind off of you and on to hers. But now I'm walking here alone, and I'm nervous. I'm almost twitching, and I can't seem to focus right. Frantically, I look around on the streets, slightly afraid that I might see you, secretly hoping to bump in to you. I jump up from this brown steel table I'm leaning on every time I hear an accent similar to yours. I think it's you who's talking, run to the window and search hopelessly for you. Shamefully I am always mistaken, you are not there. With only a few blocks between us, I have never felt so far away from you. Every day I wake up smiling at the sun and welcoming another come down in East 4th street. I look in to the mirror at the creature that I've become. I'm absolutely repulsed by the choices I have made that have led me to where I am right now. In this mind-fuck of a city, I live in a perpetual nightmare that goes something like this; I'm trapped in a Lunar Park without doors, surrounded by sharp objects, hysterically loud laughing midgets, happy children running around, eating cotton candy, clowns with sad faces behind their plastered smiles, an ice cream truck passing back and forth playing creepy music, the green neon lights are flashing and everything is bright - I'm stuck in a numb state, totally lost and I keep running circles. I realize I'm stuck in a maze, I'm doomed.
I refuse to enjoy anything or anyone, because my eyes are wildely opened to see the point of it at all, which is absolutely none, added with a side of no satisfaction to go. There is no happiness, there is only a dream state of happiness. A fantasy, or fable if you will. A little tale that people have told us over the years, and we believe the legend, we eat that shit right up because this gives us meaning; So we go and search for it, in every corner, to have some sort of goal in our lives. And if you are lucky, you will find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I have been one of those lucky ones already. It was only a brief moment <<Too Much, Too Soon >> Now it's all too little, too late. It was a buzz that I will now be stuck chasing for, for ever. A happiness so intense that it is indeed character defining, personality changing and most overwhelming. Life after pure bliss is just not the same. It's like there's an empty shell in your hand, but no bullet. A cigarette without a lighter. I'm contemplating if this is day or night? I'm still in Amsterdam mode, although I've been living during the night these last couple of months. Why can't I wake the fuck up from this dread? Worse became worst when I found out that I was dead to you, I would be one of them now, those zombies without morals, who live here who have nothing to contribute to this detested state of hate we live in. I think I might have caught this sickness too, this flesh eating disease that they all have here. You're the only real person that has affected me, or infected me. I feel a real sickness when I think about that I'm sitting here now, getting fucked up on chemicals, weed and empty purchases to feel better, and you - fucking up your liver to feel nothing - you . are . so . close. The fucking one who gave me this pain can take it away, you're the only one that has any meaning to me, even if I know you don't deserve a blink of the eye, or another word I will write, I know it's all a waste, but let me be that crazy, silly twelve year old right now and tell you that I'm still madly in love with you, sadly. It's not even lovely, to me it's a burden; A physical pain I carry with me every where like a hand bag. I have a hole in my body that is growing rapidly, expanding more every day. Soon that hole is going to grow so big that it will cover my whole body and consume me, I will disappear completely, to become as invisible as I already feel in this city; Let's try to live softly for a while.
