Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Well Fuck,

If Vircado could come back to life for one day I’ll bet he wouldn’t spend it inserting data into a computer for a company who doesn’t give a fuck about him.

Beautiful sun-baked day in San Francisco. I opted out of living in it for sixty dollars.

And what is life but a collection of days?

And so we put price tags on our freedom.

How much would you sell the entire thing for? How much have you sold it for?

Back to life now. Spending the stupid money on beers and a hamburger, listening to jazz in a bar.

We were in the Yolla Bolly Wilderness when Vircado announced his new name.

“Vircado, because I’m a virgin and I love avocados.”

We all laughed beneath the cottonwood fluff, and I admired this young, unabashed spark.

He got yanked from this world a year later, only twenty years old, for fuck’s sake.

The universe decided long ago that if two objects are moving fast enough they cannot collide without consequences.

And so we are reminded that we are fleshy and squishable, and so damn precious.

Even so, I punched data into a computer all day long. Hated every moment of it.

And what is life but a collection of moments?

I can’t help but wonder what the old man on my deathbed would want me to do.

I’m sure he’d offer some sage advice and then beg me to stop eating so many hamburgers and drinking so much beer so he could get off the wretched bed and go for one last walk on the coast with his grand-daughter.

Tough luck grandpa, I almost got the bacon cheeseburger and a whisky.

Well fuck,

October, 2007
San Francisco, CA

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