How Low Can I Go?

Poverty has its perks. If one is diligent, one can scrounge enough tobacco from parking lots to have a good smoke. In fact, flavors blend together in fascinating ways. And pizza taken from garbage, in general, won't make you sick as long as there is no mold. That's about it. One sleeps on trains, buses, in bushes, and under trees, catching brief naps in shopping centers and restaurants after you eat. I still have an unempployment check coming in, though I don't know for how long. I'll probably retire and cash in Social Security, maybe get some food stamps...the more I write about it, the better it sounds. Writing that sentence, I can feel the synapses snapping that connect my dignity to my circumstances. One has to be sly whem scrounging, because there are others who are in worst shape who might take some of the action away. It is best to be alone when you have nothing and nowhere to go. Something I don't do is beg. I just sit there as strangers pass by, and find that they will offer goodies on their own. Some people are very kind. Still, I shouldn't be in this mess. If only I had pissed more people off, instead of drifting away under stress. If only...but I digress, in that maudlin, woe-is-me kind of way that is no damn fun at all, and if I am not having fun, I ask questions, which can be deadly, since there is that one question in which suicide is the only logical answer. I don't want to ask that question. Better to forage through trash than ask any questions at all. Luckily, my Tao gets in the way of words that could upset me, protecting me with the realization that words are worthless at grasping the greater truth of the world we live in. I like to think that God has kept me from finding success earlier because He wants me around in the next decade. God knew if I had tasted success earlier, I'd have fucked myself big time, to the point that Mister Death would have escorted me to the Void, and I would never had written the last few songs I wrote. I think they're good anyway, and maybe if I can look pathetic enough as I sing them, someone might say, "Hey, that's the kind of thoughtless bum I could exploit, and he would never know how bad I am going to rip him off.' Yes, exactly, that's all I ask, to be taken advantage of. I am here to be used. When I was younger I would have worried about some sharp manipulator stealing from me, but now I say 'As long as the pie is big enough, I could be content eating the crumbs and licking the pan clean.' Therefore, my purpose on life is to wander off into the sunset, far away from all the people too dumb to exploit me, and find someone who will squeeze every last cent out of me. I fully understand that I am submissive, and I need a person to say where to go and what to be. I almost get a hard-on thinking of all the possibilities, but that leads to one of my big hang-ups, which I shall delve into at some future date, when I have really lost it, and...oops, I almost whipped it out. I can't do that now, but I will rub it a little. In my next foray into my psyche, I will explain in further detail why I am in the mess I am in. It's all psychological, and spiritual, and could've been sexy. I'll rub my crotch again so I don't spoil the surprise.