It’s in our nature to rebel
And no cross can hold us down
In the empty church, the pastor screams
We all think it’s quite obscene
Then we tear the place down
Burn every last fucking piece to the ground
My mother told me Jesus would save me
And I thought of this as I put the needle
Deep in my skin and felt utter bliss
Who needs Jesus when you have
Drug heaven that turns into hell?
In the previous installment, we learn a bit more about The Monk and his background. He’s a legendary figure in the city and, despite his best attempts, he’s been struggling to get Louie and Tammy sober. Though he’s an odd character, people love him.
Let’s jump into Part 3, where we meet Tammy and learn of her struggles and the odds against her.
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“Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family: Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.” – Jane Howard
Continue readingIn the previous installment, we meet the Monk and Louie, and Louie is withdrawing and desperate for his fix. The Monk caves in and gives Louie money to get heroin, not knowing what else to do.
Let’s jump into Part 2, where we learn about more about the Monk, a legendary figure in the city.
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I. Alienation
I’ve lost track of time too many times
What am I doing here?
No one was there to answer
The streets were so empty
And there I was again, lost
Lost and not found – the story of our lives
Trying to find purpose amid the ruins
Of late-stage American capitalism
And cycles of market collapses
So, I kept wandering
The sky was charcoal but, despite that,
It was so hot the concrete sizzled
Is this what they predicted?
There’s nowhere left to turn
Everyone else has burned
And here I am, lost again
As promised, here’s Part 1 of my new novella project. In this brief part, we get introduced to The Monk and Louie, as Louie panics and begs for money to help him with his withdrawal. Thus, the journey begins to get Louie sober, and The Monk hopes his friend can hang onto life as each fix could be his last.
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We had blue thoughts back in those days
When it seemed, the skies were always gray
What were we thinking in those days?
Only to get away from that place
Youth is carefree, except when it’s not
When the troubles of blackened days
Cloud a mind that eventually strays
And wants to cut the cord of thought
I’ve got another idea for a longer story I want to share here on WordPress – The Monk and the City that Loves Him: A Modern Spiritual. Like what I did with Mother Portia, I plan to share this as a “work-in-progress” and post segments of the story over the course of the next few months.
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What is this beast that rises from the sludge?
My friend thinks it’s quite amazing
It’s obvious that I have misjudged
The beast’s insatiable cravings
It has swallowed my family whole
In one terrifying gulp
Now it will not let up control
Our insanity is the result
Chance at redemption
Every day, new journeys
But desire is gone
Replaced by resignation
Life as drab with no color
