Seclusion: The Solution
I am officially unemployed. The previous references to unemployment were half-truths, but I am now fulfilling the promise. If I think further than 20 minutes into the future, panic and desperation set in. Please keep in mind, dear reader, (1) this state is undesired, temporary and I am speaking with administration to resolve the matter and (2) any employment opportunities vaguely encompassing music, radio, or editorial are welcome.
As is such, to counterbalance the zero intake, I have reduced consumption to a minimum, eaten every flavor packet in my apartment, and secluded myself to my bedroom. Save for the occasional outing to the local forgetting hole. San Guadalupe of No Tengo Dinero heard my pleas and has mercifully stricken me with a bacterial infection that requires medication that will cause an immediate emetic exorcism if any alcohol enters my body. Further ensuring that I follow my choosen chaste path.
Initially I was hesitant to sign up for this savings plan of the broke. Seclusion can often lead to seeing of imaginary flies, speaking to every egg before he is cooked and sitting on your roommate's lap when she arrives home. Instead it has made for an urban monastery where I can read and reflect again and again.
Five days into the path I finally stepped from my apartment around 7PM and was surounded by the police. The SWAT Team was parked on the sidewalk five steps down, men with guns were using the fire escapes and the local news were interviewing idiots. What fanfare my emergence was greeted with! They know I have found the way! In reality the Hell's Angels had decided to exert there leathery status by beating up someone's face. San Guadalupe whispered in my ear "Go back inside. You're broke." I heeded the warning.
The next day I left my apartment once again and was greeted by a little Walden Pond flowing down from up the block, out of a Con Ed hole and flooding a two-foot width of the street. Once again the hand of San Guadalupe was preventing me from doing something unwise such as buying food. I went back inside and Santa Sangre was flowing from our tap. The destruction of the 3rd St. well had caused our water to turn a beautiful sooty amber. I decided to have a huge helping of the poor man's dinner by going straight to bed.
As always I have found the perfect song for the ocassion.
Additionally A (and I) still can be seen every Wednesday at a little place in the East Village. Please stop by. I will be holding a blog signing there next week.
As is such, to counterbalance the zero intake, I have reduced consumption to a minimum, eaten every flavor packet in my apartment, and secluded myself to my bedroom. Save for the occasional outing to the local forgetting hole. San Guadalupe of No Tengo Dinero heard my pleas and has mercifully stricken me with a bacterial infection that requires medication that will cause an immediate emetic exorcism if any alcohol enters my body. Further ensuring that I follow my choosen chaste path.
Initially I was hesitant to sign up for this savings plan of the broke. Seclusion can often lead to seeing of imaginary flies, speaking to every egg before he is cooked and sitting on your roommate's lap when she arrives home. Instead it has made for an urban monastery where I can read and reflect again and again.
Five days into the path I finally stepped from my apartment around 7PM and was surounded by the police. The SWAT Team was parked on the sidewalk five steps down, men with guns were using the fire escapes and the local news were interviewing idiots. What fanfare my emergence was greeted with! They know I have found the way! In reality the Hell's Angels had decided to exert there leathery status by beating up someone's face. San Guadalupe whispered in my ear "Go back inside. You're broke." I heeded the warning.
The next day I left my apartment once again and was greeted by a little Walden Pond flowing down from up the block, out of a Con Ed hole and flooding a two-foot width of the street. Once again the hand of San Guadalupe was preventing me from doing something unwise such as buying food. I went back inside and Santa Sangre was flowing from our tap. The destruction of the 3rd St. well had caused our water to turn a beautiful sooty amber. I decided to have a huge helping of the poor man's dinner by going straight to bed.
As always I have found the perfect song for the ocassion.
Additionally A (and I) still can be seen every Wednesday at a little place in the East Village. Please stop by. I will be holding a blog signing there next week.
posted by lex @ 12:47 AM
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