Hobo Confessions #20 - Thou shalt not drink and write

February 15th -

Wake up absolutely fucking furious. My chest hurts. How does she do this shit? How are you going to tell me you're moving on and moving out, and then just never follow through. Forsaken. Nauseous (sp). I wanna slash his tires, burn his house down, remove his limbs slowly while he begs for death. She can die too, while were at it. Lying cunt. Anger and pain unmatched. I will date others, and see how that goes. Fucking done. I was right so long ago. I wish to inflict this pain on others. How do I release this without destruction? Universe help me, I am nearly dead inside. Seriously. Mother Earth, Father Sun, hear my please. I am hurt and angry and can find no peace in this. Universe, I need your help. I want to release these feelings

in a positive way. My ind is slowly being consumed by darkness. I know now I cannot run, I cannot hide, I cannot ignore, I must face. I'm not afraid to face the darkness, but how do I face it? How do I confront the figure-less specter that is surrounding me? Please, I beseech thee, you who I trust, you who I follow across the Earth; please free me from these feelings. Please bask me in your light. I see peace in my heart and mind, and freedom from my sadness and hatred. I want to love, and be loved by you. Show me a sign, show me a way. I love you. Greyhound Pickup p/w: Juice

You ever eat fried chicken so good you just went to sleep after? Willie Mae's, holy shit. KFC can fuck off. A meal so satisfying that your day is over. Hunter S. Thompson quotes. They speak to my soul. His voice infects my thoughts, tells me I'm right for those foolish monologues coursing through. God help us, the man has many points. I have seen the eyes of God in New Orleans, and she's weary. Weary, and contemplative. She sees all, feels all, and she's disappointed. Hundreds of years of

dead Native Americans, voodoo curses, and rum, whiskey, vomit soaked earth. Urine swelled wood, keystone bricks that have seen the ocean ride around them. She will love you, or eat you, and there's a chance she will do both. Let us remember, we are only here because she allows it. For now. She's that burn at the end of a whiskey shot. The sizzle of a cigar drag, the jingle of beads bouncing between tits. She is fair, and rich. She loves you, but will swallow you in a sea of plastic cups if you do not heed her warnings.

You can't resist her, the muse is too sexy, the drink too stiff. She is a great equalizer. The lowliest busker will rise as a god, the finest dressed CEO will slump to the earth, where she will collect you, for better or worse. Respect her, and you will glimpse glory. No friends today, luckily the spirit has graced me. Jim Beam is a decent sidekick as well. Many wicca shops visited. Green beans from heaven, spiced with hell. Seek and destroy. Six more days here. I'm on a downslope right now but the road likes to balance.

Something interesting should happen soon. I've surrendered much to the Gods in searth of truth. What remains to be seen is if truth was worth seeking. Worth is a strange concept to Mother Earth. What I wish for and what I will receive are very different. I want love. Not that platonic, earthly, love-thy-neighbor love. Romantic love. But my eyes don't see it. My ears don't hear it. There is surely someone. But she's evasive. I seek truth, and I glimpsed it. But you

can't nail a thing like truth down. Do I seek, in a world where everything has been found? Some create, some destroy, I think I fall in the middle. Does seeking count as participation? Am I just watching the world go by? Is my soul on one last tourism vacation? If not, what is the purpose of this? The Universe has been showing, but not communicating. What is the point of this madness? Is that way of thinking like seeking spirits. I sought nothing, and found nothing. Perhaps we see exactly what we want.

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Giant cheeseburger with friends? Possible job in Cleveland already? Other job ideas? Fading fucks-given? Is it possible - its possible we're on the upswing. Talking all that jazz.

Oh, here we go. This is one of those embarrassing parts I mentioned when I started this nonsense. This is when I decided to be mad about my ex-girlfriend. I took a whole morning and hated everything I looked at on purpose, then drank a half-pint of Jim Beam on a city walk, and moved right along with my life. A lot of this entry speaks for itself. This is some of the most exposed of my inner churning. A raw edge on a sculpture in progress. Forgive me.

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Here are links to the confessions if you want to catch up! Follow along if you're enjoying, I would appreciate it greatly.

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freebornangel (73) · 8 years ago

Dude, you and Jack Keroac: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Kerouac

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aybee (42) · 8 years ago

"She will love you, or eat you, and there's a chance she will do both. Let us remember, we are only here because she allows it. For now. She's that burn at the end of a whiskey shot."

This is perhaps one of the most beautiful bits of the Confessions so far.

seekerjuice (55) · 8 years ago

"Thematically, his work covers topics such as Catholic spirituality, jazz, promiscuity, Buddhism, drugs, poverty, and travel."

This made me smile.

Oh, yeah, he was a hobo before the glory days had been forgotten.

I've read On the Road, and Dharma Bums, I'm looking at Mexico City Blues as being next.