Wish

I wish I could tell you all that I'm writing this from the ass-hole of the world. I wish I could tell you I was in a dangerous place where crime and drug addiction run like "Flock of Seagulls." I wish I could tell you my present location reaffirms my belief in the greatness of life and the joy of existence. I wish I could tell you that I was excited to be where I am and that my veins are filled to maximum occupancy with piss, vinegar and testosterone. But I can't.I'm in Lincoln, Nebraska.Day to Day life here is so boring I could slit my wrists out of shear unadulterated tedium.I really could.Lincoln isn't dark, scary or cool enough to be the ass-hole of the world. "Ass-hole of the world" entails feelings of pride, distinction or shame. Anything but boredom and loathing. That, my friends. Is a cocktail I hate drinking. Lincoln is, at best, an ingrown hair on the scrotum of America. Annoying, but hardly noticeable. Omaha is more entertaining than Lincoln, and Omaha sucks. Imagine, if you will, Omaha, without balls. That's exactly what Lincoln is. Omaha with its blood sucked out by the vampire of small population and republicans.Lincoln is merely Omaha Lite. In fact, in my day to day existence, that is what I shall be referring to it as, so just consider that a heads up.Omaha has the "Old Market", Lincoln has the (extremely anemic) "Haymarket." Which half the size and an eighth the fun. Omaha has the Henry Doorly Zoo, Lincoln has the Folsom Children's zoo. Which is home to such rare and exotic creatures as the "cow" and the "dog." Careful there Mr. Chapo, you don't wanna blow the budget, do you?A city isn't worth living in until it has a dark underbelly, its a fact. A festering cess pool of human corruption hiding just underneath all the fancy "tourist brochures" and "public knowledge" is what makes life worth living.You can't have good without evil, you can't have fun without Lincoln.AND I'M STUCK HERE!I recently was in contact with a city with an underbelly as black as Ernie Chambers, Portland, Oregon. I was talking to a guy who worked at Powell's, a book store so big, I get a hard-on just thinking about it, and he informed me of the dark-side of the jewel of the pacific northwest.Street kids. Orgy clubs. Massive unemployment.These things get drunk and Fuji each other. They give birth to a bastard child. His name is "Good Journalism."Good journalism is a reflection of life, and life is not pretty all the time, but Lincoln tries really hard to make it seem that way. This wouldn't bother me so much if it wasn't succeeding so fucking well.Life in Lincoln isn't really life at all.Portland is a place where you have to watch your back and you can learn not to take life for granted. There's always something going on and you can get lost amongst the thriving masses of humanity. These things are proof of life. Proof I need desperately. I think I'm dead. Or worse yet, a background character in my own life.A homeless guy could come up to you at any given time and slit your throat for some heroin. After he was done, he'd write a poem about it. Irony, if that's not living, I don't know what is.I'll tell you what it isn't living, a city with a population of 225,000. Where the most exciting thing is the football team. People out here have to play with themselves just to relieve the sexual tension caused by the lack of football. This city has got more problems then a teenage hooker, unfortunately, they aren't the good kind of problems seen in New York, Detroit, or Cleveland. The only consolation I can draw is that that population number is very swiftly dropping, and there are reasons for that.Lincoln is manufactured, dull, sterile. A eunuch of a city really. The only drug anybody does out here is weed. (Not that I do, mind you) but weed isn't even really a drug when you get down to it. Its an herb.Now cocaine, that's a drug with some hilarious repercussions. There's never a dull moment when there a crack head around.Ever wriggle your fingers in the face of someone on crack? They freak out, they scream, or on occasion, dance. Its funnier then the idea of J. Lo making a good movie. Do that to some stoned fucker and he just says, in a really winy voice, "Stop it."Stoners can't defend themselves. And neither can anyone who thinks this city is good.winy, is really the best term for Lincoln. Everyday here is a long drawn out battle to stay entertained. Classes can only kill so much time. With the rest of the day, I stare, and then I search for something to excite the ol' bacon battering ram. God forbid I get some. Since I lost my computer, that becomes an interesting challenge."Hey Bill, can I use your computer?""Sure""Okay, now, step outside for 2 minutes...Exactly."I bet your thinking I'm being ungrateful. That I'm being a snotty little brat who is biting the hand that feeds him. Well, in some respects, you are right.This may sound odd, but I know what I'm talking about. I've had it far to good for far to long. I'm soft, weak, and Lincoln only enforces these things.I NEED the corruption and the darkness (and not the band, though I do love the hell out of them) if I'm ever going to fix the afore mentioned problem.In other respects your wrong, and you suck!Oh God, now you've done it, I just depressed myself. I'm gonna go for a walk. Think about what I just wrote, if any of you sorry little shit lickers even have the cranial capacity to. Which I doubt.After all, if you were smart you wouldn't be reading this, now would you?