I live in a basement. Lets not say it that way though. Drama and beauty applied: I live in societies basement. Third down on the left and rats are rotting in my walls. Sickly sweet stench that is surely filling my lungs with some fuzzy fungus that there is no cure for. Here I sit hammering away fingers bleed, blisters torn in this tangible struggle. Tangible for me because little black babies aren’t dying of hunger in my back yard, hippies aren’t camped on my front steps and it isn’t’ because I don’t have a back yard and front steps. My, fingers are bleeding and it fucking hurts.
I need rum and a round freckled ass to squeeze until I feel better about myself. An ego fluff is way past due. It’d be fun for her too. There’s a chilling thought that hides in the back of most peoples minds. We don’t address or acknowledge because then it could burst into a reality, and most people don’t realize they create their own. Little cold fingers wrap around your throat and cut off the air. No more breathe, no more you. You live in the past, dreaming of how great it was before you gave up on life. You buy shit so that job you work has some meaning. You pay rent because a house is easy for your friends who work jobs to buy shit can come see you. I’m in this basement for that reason. But I’m about to punch that little cold fingered fucker in the face. I’m done, and I’m coming out.
Fuck fashion, fuck your ideology, fuck your cell phone, fuck your religion, fuck your gym, and don’t fucking follow me.
Miami is one hell of a city. Whores and drugs bouncing off street corners flung at passer bys. Heat the snakes its way up you like the devils tongue then forces its way into you body. That city rapes you at every step. I came down to work for a paper. Which one doesn’t matter, lets call it the Star. I can’t write here. I’m too drunk, too much. Let’s also get niceties out of the way: lots of fucking, cussing, drinking and bad grammar will continue in this story. I’m not a detective so get that rhythm out of your head. In fact imagine my voice as that of a person unable to pronounce sibilants properly and of a gay persuasion, with a Spanish accent. Don’t try and define me before I’ve done so myself.
