life is a fatal std

not an entirely new sentiment, but it's one I find myself returning to time from time. think of it a sign of good taste in this land gone lonesome. and it's been a strange day. there is a stillness this evening in the new orleans night air, conducive to thought and the quiet industrial turbulent drone of the mississippi. cigarette ash litters my open beer, but no matter ... it is the hook or by crook circumstance I have come to be, partially by force, by this wonderful fucking city.

as of another day I have begun eating anti-depressant m&m's and do so not having washed my hands after using the toilet. I also ate up all of evan's beef jerky, justified I suppose, by a temporary insanity, a necessary parasitic tantrum to exorcise any excuse but the truth. but I bring this thought to the foreground if only to make the point that I am no longer capable of interpretive perception ... the only truth I have left. the beef jerky, by the by, was a goodie gift sent to evan by his mother. as were the m&m's.

outside on my porch, I sit overindulged and fat on long solitude, old literature and beer and unfiltered cigarettes. inverted somewhat as time in this climate is terminally, thermally warped by the humidity and heat, I feel a bit compressed by my own attempts to deconstruct the common perception, to adapt. I may be overcompensating, but it's hard to say. I am not right in the head. imagine. as I relax on the draw, smoke that masks my features does little to hide the lunacy held in sheer static motion lying patiently through the open door. I wonder ... do the lone passers-by recognize the recorded voice on the stereo? do they match it and know it to be my own leaden vocals by my friendly toxically altered response to their goodnights and fare thee wells ... is there an explanation for this scene? do they comprehend the words, this exploration of my ancestors and the ether over-saturated by my own stench and madness? believe, every child of god, my curiosity is people, but my obsession lies only with myself. my thought at the moment, just now, is how amusing and unfortunate it is to know, as they walk by, how close they come to experiencing a near earth collision, to know just how cataclysmic and anti-climatic it could have been for them to finally lay exposed, drawn in by the sound, to find only me, sitting at a small wooden table upon which rests a short wave radio. my only company will be a drink and a cigarette, smoke and needed memory suspended in the stillness, a dark room lit by a solitary light that hangs overhead ... this is my debt to be paid as it is also my true faith. and I will sit here eternally as the best of my imagination, communicating, broadcasting, relaying Notes from the Dirt Universe to any audience who will themselves to listen. hesitate not to believe ...

sincerely yours,

mr. nathan murphy

ps. the origins ...