Well I'm tired of delusional ramblings about God. Hows about you? Good... then since were all in agreement we can move on to politics with no further adieu. Actually, you know what? Politics is gonna have to wait for a minute because I just remembered something.
Today, being the ninth day of june in the year twenty and ten, marks the third consecutive celebration of the thirty-ninth anniversary of my birth and the second and final commemoration of the day of sadness. I've not yet decided, in what way, I might best honor the treasured memory of my wife and girls while simultaneously desecrating the moment that I cracked from my chrysalis into this festering perdition. Usually I get drunk and cry.
Maybe the best thing for me to do would be to just forget about it all for a day. I think I'd drop in on a friend if I had one. Although I'm afraid I might melt in the sunlight. It just occurred to me that I haven't set foot outside or spoken a single word to anyone in three weeks. I have become "Gollum".
I wonder what would happen if I just walked down to the highway and started hitch-hiking aimlessly. I wonder if I'd get picked up by a serial killer... or, even worse, an aspiring actor or writer. My mom once got picked up, while hitch-hiking, by none other than "The Godfather of Soul," "James Brown". Don't suppose I'd be that lucky though.
After spending several hours trying to recall some happy times... any happy times... it occurs to me that the only pleasant things I can remember, at the moment, never really happened. They were all dreams of a better life. Fantasies of what would be if only I could find a way to finance them. I dream big!
Teresa and the girls and I reside on our modest coastal farm in central California. Having sunken down slowly into my great-great-grandfathers rocking chair. I contently gaze out from my gingerbread porch and crack open one of my home brewed oat-sodas. Ahhhh.
It looks like some giant space alien's been painting the sky again... crimson and saffron waltz their way gracefully across the graying blue canvas while magenta slowly takes her last desperate breath. The placid sea below glows dimly like the dying embers of a giant charcoal fire.
The sales of our artisanal cheeses are doing well but we need to hire two more people to help out in the brewery. The season's first harvest was a few days ago and I can smell the stuffed squash blossoms that Teresa's fixing in the granite wrapped kitchen behind me. No expense was spared for the accoutrements.
I can't help but smile as I think to myself what an artist she is with a frying pan. She's like Rembrandt. The way she shamelessly emblazons the air with the aromas of garlic, tomato, and cheese.
The girls are laughing about something or other as they saunter in from feeding the goats. I get three "hi Daddy's" and one kiss on the cheek before they head inside to wash up for supper. Teresa's angelic face presides immortal, like a great master's ode to perfection, in the stained glass kitchen window. It's been ten years now, but I swear to God, she's even more beautiful than when I first saw her.
Yah it would have been a great life. However the unfortunate reality is very different. I've got just a little less than three weeks left to enjoy sleeping indoors. Even if it is a garage it's better that nothing.
When I started writing this book it was really a pretty desperate last attempt to create something artistic that might make money for my family. I'd already tried working but that didn't work. Frankly I'm disappointed in myself once again.
In the past three months i've dragged any of you who've been bored enough to read along down a strange path. I had a tremendous pool of other worldly ideas to draw from but at the end of the day I'm still struggling with the shackles of mediocrity. Perhaps I should have tried science fiction instead.
I've run out of ideas for this particular project as well as time in which to write it. I have found myself at yet another fork in the road. I can go get a shitty job washing dishes for minimum wage while I wait for something miraculous to happen. Which I think is pretty unlikely.
Or I can try to give this book a sales worthy ending. Last night I was talking with my mom and she told me a story about two friends of hers who had lived together as a married couple for a number of years before, by some cruel twist of fate, they found out that they were in actuality brother and sister.
See now thats what I need right there. I need an ending for this story. I had hoped for the aforementioned picturesque perfection but perhaps my sights were set a bit high.
I came up with the idea a while back that since this has been my life's story why not decide for myself how it will end. It is already pretty well set in stone that, bar an extremely fortunate twist of fate, I will probably never see my daughters again. Neither will I be able to send them any money to help them... if I stay alive.
It might be possible that I could be worth more to my family dead than alive. This is not a new concept but I don't have any life insurance. If I killed myself in a public place with a homemade shotgun... but wrote it out first... maybe if I contacted a reporter and had the whole thing put on the news like some sick Orwellian soap opera. Maybe that might give this book a good enough story to make it massively consumable.
This sounds really bad... but if my family and I are never going to be able to see each other again anyway... then what difference does it make. I'm tired of hearing my girls cry on the other end of a telephone from three thousand miles away. I'm tired of going to sleep every night knowing that they live in squalor. I'm tired of feeling inadequate, impotent, and incapable of providing for my family.
I would rather have my girls think that I died trying desperately to establish a future for them than to have them know that I am living as a homeless guy in California somewhere.
Not gonna happen.
My life has been like a fire. I fizzled in school, I smoked on the guitar, my love has always been a burning flame, I have been getting burned my whole life, and now I'm going to go out with a BANG! I've been through hell and back and I've been to Hell and back... Hell in the Cayman's anyway.
I've lived and I've loved, I've lost and I've won, I've seen extreme luck both good and bad. Having spent most of my life dreaming about one thing or another I feel tired now. I feel like a battery whose charge has been expended. I don't know if I'm rechargeable or not.
Who knows man... maybe I'll pull my head out of my ass or maybe I won't. Maybe I'll start pooping out gold coins. I'd say that the greater likelihood is that when it gets down to the nitty gritty I wont have the guts to pull the trigger... but you never know.
Well however this story winds up playing itself out... whatever the outcome. I would like to thank anyone who actually read this all the way through... but I am out of words now... with the exception of these...
Teresa, Berenice, Isabel, and littlest but not least Lily... I love you guys all more than you could know. Live happily ever after for the rest of your days.