Sparse Collection Of Details From A Vapid Month Down South

Rants and raves from the outskirts of society... 

Inspiration to write in this odd blog has been hard to come by lately; I just haven't felt it in a while. And, in addition to my crippling lack of motivation, I, myself, had been a reclusive hermit for a good portion of February. The past month was lackluster to say the least—full of deadlines and self-loathing, which usually equates to a fat fucking zero in regards to the amount of creative, personal writing I manage to churn out.

It's obviously all in my head...

Or, maybe I caught a small sentiment of that languid New England winter attitude after perusing through the old Facebook feed—uninspired rants about cold-weather accompanied by crooked pictures of freshly laid snow and a litany of desperate attempts at self-affirmation; the New England chapter of Facebook during the freezing months in a blurb. But shit, at least it's consistent.

Don't get me wrong, there were a handful of crazy moments and adventures this month, each born from my insatiable appetite for all things wild and mad. But for the most part, I holed myself up in my flat, incessantly watching films and playing guitar, halting infrequently to venture out into the streets on the hunt for booze.

Despite the seemingly-dull theme of February, I found the loneliness refreshing; the isolation, combined with a dab of self-examination, actually acted like an emotional catalyst. My indifference towards life's more-passionate aspects has been growing slowly down beneath the depths of my character like a starved tapeworm, and although I'm still a jaded lunatic, certain things have begun to get their color back.

The social elements of my neighborhood still elude me from time to time. There are days filled with friendly smiles and wide-eyed, enthusiastic greetings—the kind that breeds a sense of belonging—
and yet, there are numerous times when I feel as if I'm being forced to tip-toe through a dilapidated den of bloodthirsty thieves. Stories move about through the air, inflicting their fearful messages of crime and misfortune upon all those with functioning ears—disconcerting tales about robberies at gunpoint, unlucky travelers being stabbed over a burner phone, and random victims of bizarre kidnappings spread from carrier to carrier like a flu in heat.

However, these horrific tales are part of the endeavor to live, no matter where you go. Despite what we believe, even the cushy bubble we call home has a myriad of these disturbing parables, including our thinly-veiled political tales of capitalist-socialism gone savage, which tend to multiply on a daily basis at this point. But it's our fundamental duty, as citizens of one world, to continue forward, regardless of destination or tribulation.

There are bonafide moments of fear down here—a hulking group of ragged street-vermin eyeing my cell-phone and wristwatch with savage desire—but, I always remind myself that it's part of the journey; a piece of that gorgeous struggle to exist. I'm taking the ride because I bought the ticket, and I wouldn't have it any other way.