Spider Jerusalem- Im a freakin journalist

Damn, damn this city. A city in name only, really a conglomerating sack of life that tears at the lining of my sanity. How long have I been here? Too damn long says the buzzing noise inside my head. Peace and silence have long passed beyond my reach, a commodity sold to the rich civs living up on Capitol Hill. Want out? says the cash in my hand; want to run to the country and escape this hell hole of humanity? says the delightful new light rail running so god-forsakenly quiet that they had to play noises of animals to warn the pedestrians. But the ache in my heart and simmering anger in my head says I can`t leave the center where it all happens, can`t turn my back on the whirling birthplace of both our cancer and cure. But I`m a journalist dammit, shooting truth and justice into places others slink past. Watch out Seattle! I`m out there in the slime and muck, your slime and muck and I see everything. Hide your eyes from the temperamental tantrums of a city heaving with unrest and unlife but I don`t and that`s why I carry backup. Because, as the heavy weight at my hip attests: the Word according to your own garbage digging messiah, myself, is born from the flames of the people of the city and burns with the bullets of Spider Jerusalem aimed at its temple.

But goddamit Seattle, why can`t I get a cup of coffee without being assaulted by ethical or moral bastards? You see readers, the jizzed and jazzed populace, we are all fueled by the caffeine monster and we all just want a little hole of peace with that cup of joe. So why the hell am I assaulted and mentally striped naked by either the sterility and freakin boredom of Starbucks Clones or weirded out by extreme quaintness and mis-construed bohemianism. I don`t want bland and vague paintings that make me realize just how smart I am for interpreting it any old way. I don`t want cheery music about empowerment or conversation about the rain. Its water, not some spasiastic visitation by a religious leader. It happens, often and dependably. And yes this is my six cup and no I don`t drink too much, I`m still alive. But anyway Im here at the starbucks on 1st avenue, both incredibally wacked out by what I see and the totally gut-wrenching taste of music they dare play. I consider briefly screaming for a minute straight to improve the general ambience. But, my loyal readers, it is what I see that you tune in to read every week. And what I see is indifference. Indifference birthed from this goddamn city like a wellspring of KFC chicken, all the chicken lovers rushing over and eating that crap straight up.

You see there is a dividing line separating reality from the nice, creme-filled donut of imagination. The primmly dressed and stoical faced customers file in to get their mixture of sugars and caffeine, spending the dollar earned in white-collar jobs. Their eyes tell a different story, their bored to death looks in their face briefly surmounted by a glimmer of hope that sometime today they will find a sudden freakin quest of mighty entertainment. Detachment written in the eyeballs, zombie-food to the American way of life. They don`t notice the world around them; the homeless sitting outside hoping for some change; the kids huddled in groups around the corner with hate in their faces but a fading hope in their eyes; the young students of the city universities that are slowly being bulldozed over by the inferiority of cynical professors and mid-lifers that lost their dreams in a gamble over fulfilling their queer pleasures. But nobody sees these signs of the city; only the bits and pieces of a single individual.

Well, you know what? Look at this card I carry. You know what it gives me? Power. You know what it says? That I am a journalist and, in bold, a bona-freakin-fide carrier of the truth, yes THE TRUTH. It says I can yell and curse and drink myself into a coma on the side of the street, but it also says I must see the true scum and skanky mess that coats this fair city. I still hate all these claustrophobic walls and tearing of the brain that accompansy everyday but I still gotta live here. So wake up Seattle and open your eyes. Think about what you`re doing, why you`re doing it and maybe that you don`t need that triple fat-injected galaxial coffee when we could go running through the streets and parks in the sunshine and say hello to someone and take in some freakin human interactions. Lets see each other in all our freaky gore and scurvy, but at least we`ll be alive and out there on the edge, the clean and pure edges of our psyche exposed ready to tingle with electricity at the touch of another human being.

This is Spider Jerusalem signing off. I`m going to bed and let the devilish beast that is the city run out from my brain, hopefully. Damn this city.