Purgatory State of Mind

I never thought at thirty one I would feel the same as I did when I was thirteen. Suicide wasn't always on my brain back then, just half the time. Being a white-boy in a Mexican town has the right variables for a tough equation. 

Now I'm here in San Francisco, "the city;" they call it. Now a day's it seems more like a convenient mall. At one time a rugged, sprawling land of outlaws, queers and no give-a-fuckers; who sold their soul for fun and paid the ultimate price...Introverted, techie nerds with more money, nicer cars, hotter Asian girlfriends, and a vast under appreciation for scent's of human waste that open the eyes to the could-of-beens and never-would-be's that roam the streets for reasons more complex then the menu items of a now-a-days Haight street coffee spot. 

No one, not even me could predict their later transformation into the introverted, techie bro; who looked down on any non programming prick who refused to wear a blazer and disgrace this once fine cities dive bar establishments. Oh the cloth's, oh the whiteness, oh the influence.

Their not as bad as most think, most are nice and just trying to live a more exciting existence then they did as a virgin in high school. It makes me hate them all the more. Where is the a*****e-ness, the flying fist, the tears? This is a concrete-beautiful s**t-hole isn't it? 

I don't even know anymore, and tired trying to convince myself I love this place like I use to. Maybe,I ought a sale out and move to that b***h of a city LA and find that God awful sunshine and happiness that no human life form should deserve. By the time I put my deposit down I would probably look and see the same garbage I see here. 

Wait, can it be? Am I longing for that hole in California? That dry, dirty, hometown Lindsay? Oh God shall I say it? It's true, I miss my central valley in the sunshine state. I miss the simple, less in tune folk who's life choices could be compared to every bad decision anyone ever made, ever and repeat. Repeat, over and over, generation after generation. The no-ambition, can't wait to get fucked up on weekend's because I hate my job, I hate my boss. I hate my ex-wife and kid's and I hate all of you, thank God for two dollar Tuesdays, roach-mobile tacos and s****y single mothers kind of souls.

Nah, just a bad day, no thanks. 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I understand the story written. Life can feel like purgatory. Just using our time, waiting for nothing. You told the story with skill. Make places and thoughts come alive. Thank you for sharing the amazing tale.
Coyote

[Fugazzi]

Thank you sir

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome.