The Neighborhood
Go on, boy. Bang it out. Then drink it in–irony tastes refreshingly bitter on the leading edge of a fifth decade. So better to keep drinking while grinding through. Consuming the madness. Choking on the chemicalization. Calculating paths of least resistance across the face of an uncooperative schedule. Because what’s another day of mittened mania, here in the hostile land of QD Donut Munchers? Freaking out in the absence of never fitting in. Always the weird one. The one watching from the meadowed periphery of entanglement. Living out of bags and boxes. Running scared from a hunting Wolverine wolf pack of rabid mediocrity. The native predators pushing out the immigrant fox at the expense of his gentle collaboration. Pressing somehow past self-inflicted boundaries. Fingers ready on …
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