Who am I kidding?
IT ALL FUCKING SUCKS.
I’m having a nervous breakdown, I’m having a
mental breakdown, I’m having chest pains in the ER for the second time this month, I’m losing
my mind. The American life is a hollowed
out fart of shit, with my personal daily cycle exterminated
of all its passion and life saving antics. Barnes and Noble
over and over and over trying to write the fucking great
novel, trying to write a great script like the last
great script like the ones I’ve written since I was
18 in my childhood home.
I was stoned then, like many of my friends, close
to God and Satan, roaring electric life, passion and
enthusiasm for taking on the mysteries of life. I roared
I raged, I took on the east village and brooklyn riding
subways through the dawn until returning on the NJ 197
bus giving my youth to all my dreams, my dreams
of rapping, making movies, being the next Kerouac,
being the next Dylan, being the next Nicholson, Oldman
and Johnny Depp. I gave it all then and gave more in
my thirties and now arrive at 41 completely fucking
broken and burnt out.
I bike passed the jersey shore daily, embracing the
ocean’s view, thinking like in some fucking postcard
or album lyric it can save me, but it can’t. It’s just a
fucking goddamm ocean filled with fish and dying
algae choked by plastic, clouded on its horizon by
steamers and tankers doing secret nefarious things.
I bike over the bridge across the Strawberry River
watching the surveillance camera change direction
every few hours. I wonder day and night as my bike rides
fight off my demonic anxiety if the camera is taping me
biking across the bridge, something the sign explicitly
prohibits one from doing. I imagine the cops coming for
me, tackling and tasering me because I never walked
my bike across the bridge as I ride and ride and ride to keep myself barely sane.
So I bike and the chain jumps its chain rack and I scream
and they cancel my new york food stamps one month
earlier than the social services guy said and Monday
turns to fucking shit. Just as I’m slowly pulling myself
together I fall apart, wondering how to get the rest
of my rat shit apartment deposit back and how I’m
gonna keep afloat my bank account as work seems
next to nil.
I don’t know what to even think anymore, about how
my karma is supernaturally fucked when it comes to any
place I live. Its either some roommate from hell, my
own anxiety or a place unsafe for living infested with
bugs or rodents or killer gases and after escaping every goddamm
loathesome experience I now have nothing to
show for it after all these years.
And of course women are ghosts,
mannequins on social media, inspirations without
need for interaction on Instagram and twats with
Tinder dildos up there cyborg cooches. Single available women are
dead in my life, no matter how sweet I am to them, how many poems I write or pictures I draw, its like age time and women themselves have passed
me by, deemed me too mad or too ugly and my scars
add to my destruction in the face of mating. I see bent
over asses at the gym and hide my stares lovesick at
various females of different legal ages but barely speak
a word these days to any of them and when I do its
nervous, shaky and failing. I’ve become everything I
was as a child once again, the shy, scared kid in the
corner, too scared to talk to women because the wounds
of his mother beating the fuck out of him all night
have made him terror's hostage.
So there is nothing, just friends who text here and
there or call once awhile dealing with their own broken
challenging lives in between late night instant messaging
women I don’t know in efforts for some form of human
communication. I am a ghost,a stranger in my own country,
made forfeit of all happiness because of my morals, ethics
artistry and age. I’m not a fucking transgender whatever
the fuck and not a 14 year old snap chatting her snatch
and not a rape victim of Hollywood so nobody cares
about my story, my voice, the voice of the caucasian
american artist whose soul is too pure and voice too
loudly full of pain.
So I look to where I went last time this downfall
occurred, Europe. I look again half hearted and unsure
to other countries to receive me and revive me hoping
they befriend me for life because my American experience
has been destroyed. No one wants a 41 year old male
part time or full time and if they do their resume won’t
pass the electronic bin test sorting out the ones companies
don’t want, the over experienced, vocal, individuated
worker bee. The new age wants lazy fuck head kids
whose dicks and vaginas are programmed via an Apple
watch embedded up their asshole, kids who whine and
cry and have no sense of work ethic but will work for
shit and do shit. Even if I’m better faster and smarter
than them the companies of America don’t want me
because my experience and smarts will poke holes in
the dogma of their work model and the bullshit of
their idiot managers. Wether its because the managers
of America want hot barely legal teens to get head from
or want slaves and heels to carry out the wishes of
their corporate philosophy, the 41 year olds like me
are out to sea without a paddle.
5 months door to door in Albany, Troy, Rensellaer and Loudonville, bringing resumes to managers after jumping through hoops on
their company websites. 5 goddam fucking months of
unemployment interviews showing I’m doing more
work searching than standard in between also hustling
for film jobs. 5 fucking months of being interviewed by
men and women not interested in the kind, experienced
words coming out of my mouth trying to convince me
and themselves I’d be great line cook or CDL driver
after giving them thousands of dollars.
5 months and I have seen what it means to be
an American in Trump asshole America where
at the gym your choices for entertainment waver between
CNN spotlighting the investigations into our treasonous
twat of a President, FOX news farts color coding
all the corruption to be justified while blaming liberals,
and those jet setting twats of trash the Kardashians
playing with their liposuction and fake tits. This is
the new zombie stream, apart from whatever shit is
streaming on your Netflix, hacking you via third party
on Facebook or following you with idiotic pictures of
cake and yoga pussy stretching poses on Instagram.
This is the America I face every day and the
only way to deal with it, the only sane reaction, while
trying to keep your head above water, is to go postal,
go on Prozac or Luvox or become a pot smoking
alcoholic basket case. No matter what, some fuck
in the factories or on home grown farms will be
profiting off your depression and the logical response
to an age of robots, Republican psychopaths, school
shootings only investigated by the teens surviving
them and the slow baking death of our planet. ME TOO
might as well be FUCK YOU TOO MEN because
that’s how it breaks down on top of it all for us sad
assed sons of bitches. No matter what we did or didn’t
do twenty or thirty years ago now men in general are
fucking criminals, monsters, and cubicle conspirators
who wether proven guilty or simply accused along the same
lines of spectral evidence used during the Salem Witch
hysteria don’t have a chance of speaking their truth or
defending their lives. Social media has made us all judge
jury and executioner and no matter what that fuck
doucehbag Mark Zuckerberg says, they’re all stealing
our identities and souls while stealing whats left of
our humanity. Elon Musk is making his way to the stars
but we’re not going anywhere because we’re all too busy
Netflix and chilling “Black Mirror” too zombified too
realize we are living in “Black Mirror” already, lifeless,
enslaved and incapable of turning on the lights without
the help of Artoo De Too’s mongoloid midget brother.
This is America, this is my depression, this is my
reality and all I can do to fight it is bike, bike, bike
and keep up what little hope I have that somehow this
zombie meets madman circus of a country will find
me a place in all its madness or empower me to find
a new reason to dream here or in Europe.
HURT BATMAN by Elliot Passantino
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