Livin' like I kinda like

In today’s fine parlance, I am, as they say, broke off my ass.

Money? I ain’t got it. Hell, I’m five minutes away from running out of dope. Breaks my freakin’ heart, baby.

But it’s all right. I’m down with it all. Apart from the not-being-able-to-pay-bills thing, I don’t mind poverty.

Couple years ago I was buying 16-year old balsamic vinegars and 20-year-old tawny ports. Now? Lipton Sidekicks and if I’m lucky, maybe a six pack a month. And it goes slow.

But I’m having the most fun this summer since I was about 22, the year in the Yukon.

I don’t know, man.

got no credit and i got no fear
and I got about a buck so i can buy a beer

We get so fucking mired up in having all the hot shit, being the hot shit, and playing that role that we lose who we were.

Today, for the first time in years, I had a couple buck-a-slice pizzas and a cigarette on the Art Gallery steps, watching the passers-by with a couple cute boys from class. I couldn’t have spent a better 30 minutes anywhere.

I know I’m supposed to be a gold-digger and go after men with money, but man, from my experience, the guys with the mortgages have a little less fun. Give me a renter with a free spirit, and I’m over the moon.

I’d love to have money. Hell, it’d be great, but the reality is... this summer, being broke as hell, I feel better than I’ve felt in years. It’s simple, it’s a little stressful, but my god, is it ever fun.

Lose the complications, people. Simplify, simplify, simplify. Worked for Thoreau.

(And eventually I'll get back out for $20-a-plate meals. Sigh. Eventually.)

*From Butthole Surfers’ 'Dracula from Houston.'