Does This Make Sense?

The spiritual journey does not consist in arriving at a new destination where a person gains what he did not have, or becomes what he is not. It consists in the dissipation of one’s own ignorance concerning one’s self and life, and the gradual growth of that understanding which begins the spiritual awakening. The finding of God is a coming to one’s self.
-Aldous Huxley

Just got home from work, fired up the old (seriously, if you saw it you’d laugh) ‘puter, opened up iTunes to listen to some incredibly talented/incredibly fucked up Amy Winehouse. With a name like that she probably is legally barred from getting sober. I had the JayZ remix of Rehab I wanted to hear. So I’m listening to that, right? And I’m checking in at the station to see if there are any new comments. And the ‘mix’ part of the remix hadn’t come in yet and I forgot that I had enabled autoplay on finetunes and I’m listening and listening and listening for something to make sense because it isn’t making sense. But what I’m listening to is Amy Winehouse and Maureen McGovern singing They Tried to Make Me Go to Rehab/We May Never Love Like This Again. They Tried to Make Me Love Again? We May Never Go to Rehab? Something. It didn’t make so much sense it made sense. Or at least there was a beautiful kind of absurdity to it; a perfectly absurd song for a perfectly absurd afternoon in a perfectly absurd life. CBS Mona Lisa Atari.

It was the perfect bit of accompaniment to this afternoons discovery that there is another warrant for my arrest. This time it is just a requirement that I go check myself in at the jail and go home. I knew this was a possibility. It had been my understanding, of course, that the prosecutor was going to serve the warrant to my attorney so that I could go take care of it. Seems it was issued on the 16th. He didn’t know about it, and I was just sitting around paranoid so I checked. Puma saxophone saxophone. I have to exercise great open-mindedness to be able to see any point of view but my own about certain things, and even then I sometimes have difficulty not selling myself into my own idea. You know what I mean? In this case I have a hard time separating my desire to be left the fuck alone, so I can continue uninterrupted the more or less decent life I have been given since I got sober, from the idea that prosecuting a single violation on three separate cases will net anyone any benefit. I feel it is an egregious waste of money, mine, of course -or rather my father’s- and the public’s. It appears to me that the public can have my amends at a third the price. But what do I know? Absurd. Vaio Mickey Mouse trumpet trumpet trumpet, you know? It’s not my call. It’s not my place to judge.

Internet Explorer Nike Oscar and I hate my job. I need my job at the moment. I’m still catching up from a terrible December. The only paycheck I’ve had in a month paid my rent and left me with $2.00 Missing 2 weeks of work while I was in jail and while I was waiting for the next schedule after I got out combined with having my hours cut as a result of that adventure put me drastically farther behind where I had tried to plan to be when I addressed the legal issue. You do the best you can to live life on  life’s terms and Jaguar NBC Eiffel Tower. You know what I mean?

It’s just always some dude I don’t know and Apple Apple Apple Texaco television. Again.

Reading Culture, originally uploaded by eworm.