Insatiable Urge.

I have a friend call me this week to tell me about his suicide plan. That day I'm thinking about how I'm going to buy food with my $20 and if that will last me till my next pay cheque.

I have another friend call me, breaking down because of the million things that are on her plate. And all I want to do is hug her and tell her it will be ok, because she is one of my best friends, but she is far away.

I have a friend call me to tell me about his drinking problem while I'm drinking coffee laced with hazelnut rum. I think the hypocrisy there is pretty obvious.

I'm not complaining.

Not by any stretch of the imagination. I'm flattered to know that people think that they can turn to me when they are having a rough time. And I think that I listen well. I love these people in the very depths of my heart and I want to help them. As a matter of fact I have this really intense fear that I'm going to fail at helping them. And honestly I probably will at some point in time. But I'm going to do my fucking best to be there for them until I'm not.

I see the pain that these people are in. These people that I love, and I see the pain that a lot of people are in. Walked over to a place that I know gives away free bred on Fridays right after work today. And as I was there this guy came in and said straight up to one of the staff, "I need a fucking job, is there anyone here that knows anyone that is hiring." No one did.

Found out one of my friends hasn't had work in 7 months.

Fuck I barely worked this week.

And yet I can walk down the street and watch some rich bastard throw away his money in the hopes of getting laid by some chick at the bar. And don't get me wrong when I'm flush I tend to find myself doing the same thing. But how is it that the split between the rich and the poor keeps getting worse. I remember my grandpa (and even my dad still) telling me that if I learned a trade I could always find a job in that field and that I would be able to work. So I learned a trade. I learned how to cook, and I'm good at it. So what do I do? I paint houses. Because I can't find work.

All of my music is about social revolution.

All of my books are too.

I hear people moaning and groaning. Playing woe is me. But there is no real fuel for change.

Our lives are still to easy.

Fuck I got free bread today, and it is good bread, and I could chose what kind I wanted.

No wonder we aren't throwing fire bombs yet.

We complain about how bad it is, and it just isn't. Sure it is for some, but to many of us are still skating by. Unfortunately I don't know what I would like to see. I would like it to get better but I know that it is going to be on the backs of the working class, and that is me. Or I would like to see it get worse so that there is change, real revolution, but I know that will be a revolution won with the blood of the working class, also me.

This time is a real catch 22. There is nowhere for someone like me to go and feel comfort anymore.

Even dive bars are to expensive.

And trendy.

This is just a rant at this point.

File under Vice.