Man, I love me some beets, cooked from raw beets, not in the can. Steamed, or better yet slow roasted in the oven with some turnips as well, sitting in a nice vinegar in the Pyrex tray, smelling up the house with goodness because there's five cloves of garlic scattered in there as well, that is the fuel for my ass to keep moving along my lifeline. Kids running around the kitchen, wanting to play checkers, dancing wacky space dances because some electrofunk instrumental jam that I was into for like three weeks four years ago pops up on the iPod's shuffle madness, that's the shit. My family - the immediate one of my wife and kids, not the one we grew from that we all blame all our insufficiencies on - my family is strange and oddball and probably technically a good long rut below the poverty level, but we are blessed like a hundred Emmitt Otters, no doubt about it.
As for hate, man, I'm full of a thousand hates. Being broke, plus being self-unemployed (and looking at my schedule, most likely self-unemployed in nine days), and not really feeling positive about my ability to ever stop being a broke ass underclass fucker, I have lots of hate, most of it misdirected at people who have what I have not. I hate the players, hate the game, hate the whole fucking thing. Some days I wish for religion-crazed terrorists who somehow never learned compassion for human life in their spiritual studies to blow the whole fucking planet up into little lava rocks floating through space. It is during those times I try to reflect on my home family and the good scenes like described above. But then I stop at a light and only have 39 cents in the truck and the person next to me, big redneck diesel truck with small fu manchu Stone Cold Steve Austin fan sitting behind the wheel with his small penis, sucking on a Pepsi, and I think, "Man, I want a Pepsi. Why can't I have a Pepsi?" And I get all pissed off and full of hate again, overwhelmed by stupid material emotions of entitlement.
No comments:
Post a Comment