Starving Immigrant -Give Up?
At what point should I give up? The only thing I have to eat is a half a loaf of bread, some peanut butter and some commercial brand of olive oil manufactured, processed in a light glass bottle by Great Value foods. Anyone on a budget knows that Great Value does not have good quality anything, just affordable semi-nutritious filler products.
The olive oil was a gift from a friend, who is herself going through a lifetime of issues and is never imbued with great joy. She weeps often and easily but is very kind. In fact, the more conscious I become of all the people around me the more I realize that nobody seems terribly happy, nor passionate, nor much alive. What the hell happened?
Cursed and blessed by a sense of idealism and imbued with a predisposition to passion, I am finally realizing that I as a ten year veteran of the war of immigrant survival in the United States of America I too, have been leached of deep and vibrant color and I am a staggering old soldier jostled and toppled by the endless stomping of marching boots. The now dull medals on my life uniform meaning nothing now and none to give them respect. It is a fate worse than death – this numbness, this screaming in silence, this stopped up volcano of unheard creativity.
The fight here is worse than the jungle. Here the monsters wear suits, shotgun blast your heads with meaningless buy this and buy that, fear this fear that.
Look out onto the freeway, the highways, the main roads where people lurch in cars of various newness or held together radiator hissing oldness and sibilant, simmering rage and acres and acres of treeless parking lots and fake buildings and ever un-picky consumers and see small animals littering the roads where they died.
I had such big dreams, such wonderful ideas born of life, of love, of deep magnificent nature – I could find no ear to hear, no next link in the chain. My comet has no sky across which to fly and thus it is I ask again: At what point should I give up?
posted by Unknown @ 2:29 AM
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