It's a tired old path I have wrought for myself here in the late hours of this morning.
The knot in my stomach will not go away - but I can't tell if that is from my shere manic madness or the impending sickness that has been laid on hte head of my entire family.
My brohters fell to it first; vomitting every hour on the hour until they have expunged the terrorists from their souls. They were lucky, they had it first.
Now I sit and wait for it to infest my own body and ravage hte inner reaches of my digestive track.
God, 2007 sucks and we are only a week into this fucking year.
My problem has become the awful music I subject myself to. It's not that it is bad lyrically or musically. it is jsut a real mind fuck to sit in a dark room by your self and listen to someone wretch about their own horrible exsistance.
I do this to myself for two reasons: (1) at the end of hte day it is a nice depressant, like a stiff drink after these days that have followed the high intensity day we once lived. Alcohol has become a little scarse in my life for good reason. (2) the music tends to be a little softer by nature and I know it will not disturb my pedophile neighbor through these paper thin walls of my house.
But I have never cared what he thought. That is probably why I do not call the police or bring down the hammer everytime I see that weird kid hanging around outside his door.
Too old to be his son; to young to be a significant other.
I can't assume anything. I can only tell you what I see. and what I see makes me want to liquidate all my assests and leave this town for good.
An old english teacher stopped me one day and asked when I was moving back to Boston.
"I thought you were better than this town?" she implored.
"I thought so too. But I need some time to let the piss and vinigar make me a little more cynical."
Then when I tell someone to fuck off, it comes with a little experience.
The kind of experiences Joe cried about when I asked him why he stays in NEw Orleans. The kind of experience thrown down on me by some kid who was trying to rebuild his town.
I was there to drink and celebrate. He was there becasue it was his livelyhood. Me buying another drink meant he sent another kid to school. Build another home for someone whose home is now a pile of moist rubble sitting on a street corner.
There is no system to take care of these people and pure degredation that is happening in New Orleans in sickening.
The street are filthy, the people are poor and there is not one shred of a sign that hte public system set up to be a safety net is even present to catch these people as they fall further and further into dispair.
Joe, the talking bottle of liquor, had been in New Olreans his entire life - a brief 28 years. But he knew he did not want to be any where esle.
He could not fathom moving to some other town where he would be the outsider. As he stalked Burbon Street with several thousand revelers, he was jsut another face. but he was the only face who seemed tobe from the area. He was a local.
He was one of hte few who remain. But even he will admit that he is there to make a buck. A general contractor, he is one of hte handfull who has the ability to rebuild something and make a hefty load doing it.
People - politicians - say they want to rebuild, but what is there to rebuild?
"The french quarter shows we are rebuilding. look at how many people are here," he said.
But saying the french quarter is new orleans is like saying the Magic Kindom is Orlando. And that sure as fuck is not the case.
The prestine streets of Downtown Disney end at the gates.
From our hotel room on the Hotel La Salle - a grungy plce with character and a half crumbing theater around it - we could stare directly into the New Orleans projects. The water marks had not even been scrubbed off the sides of the walls from where it had risen
Its a sad state of affairs and one booze addled night there could not have given this reporter enough time to really grasp the complexities of the politics, moeny and peope who infest this town.
But eventually something will happen. SOmething will snap and the city will either vomit up the final remains of people who will give up in their futile attempt to rebuild the city - or it will finally expunge itself of the social ills and problems with poverty, race and crime that run rampet in the city. Six to one, half dozen to another.
Either way - it will be dramtic.
And while it might not hack up people every hour on the hour, like it did with my siblings, it will be gross to watch. But I dont think people will care enough to watch. The public has already lost interest with news from new orleans.
Jsut another bum dying in the streets.
Joe, I raised a glass to you at the stroke of midnight on 2006 and I will do it again here several thousand miles away. No one will care whether you win or lose, but Its good to know someone, somewhere is fighting the good fight - or atleast putting up a fight regardless of what side your on.
2007 might be your time to vomit.