Price reduced, contents damaged!

Eight years ago today I jettisoned from the Mother Ship and landed at Lunar Base 7. I walked away from the varieties of rocket fuel and cascaded from the sky hitting the alien surface with in an array of unsightly carts wheels and ending in a pathetic slap. Then I was just there.

The wiring in my main frame irreversibly damaged from the heat and toxins culminated from years at light speed, never able to shake the razor wire from my circuitry…my head still bobs in a slightly demented fashion. The days still teeter, always on the brink of collapse, unfortunatly my footing isn’t much surer on the dusty slick surface of the place I remain. Gravity, oxygen and food, these are provided with a large payment of humility with a side of graitude.
The stratosphere was a kick in the britches that ended in a slow burn. Now it’s over, I don’t miss it. My head is-a-foggy but my back ain’t got no yellow stripe on it and on those occasions when my head ain’t twichin’ I can hold it up high. It’s all Huston’s problem now…fuck you and I walked away. Stumbling and loosin’ my direction…I just walked, been walkin’ ever since.
Eight years ago I lived in a van by the river, now I live in a trailer in the desert. It would seem that only the climate has changed but then again you didn’t live it. The Danger Hut is a castle on a mountain and I am the king. The van was just parked by a river, other things ruled me. Long Live the King!
Fuck the “long hard road” metaphors, the trip fuckin’ sucked but the memories still make me chuckle now that I can see their stupidity. It was one big fusion fueled high speed sticky mess and I was in the thick of the smear. The highs were grand but the lows were rock bottom. Now, on my lunar home, I can see the horizon, only trippin’ when surface seems smooth.
I miss the drinks, the drugs and the pussy ,but it was hard to get to your feet when you couldn’t feel your toes. Lines of blow snorted off a twenty-two year olds tight little ass is a memory that will never fade but waking in my own piss is one that I’m letting go.
Lookin’ back I sometimes feel myself wretch, remembering not to venture down that corridor again. That door and the others that lead to my own self loathing are to remain locked; I’ll hang onto the key that opens the memory of that twenty-two year old with her ass in the air. Not all the doors are bad.
The ceremonious pomp and circumstance that should surround an occasion such as this is only the realization that I may never get it right. I’m goin’ to make bad decitions, step in some shit and just generally fuck up my life but that’s what we are here for, that and to leave something behind. All we can hope for is to not be misunderstood, let our intentions be pure and may the end come swiftly…it’s enough of an anchor to keep me from floatin’ again.
What is left is what I am… the discharge of a spectacular chain of events. Skin and bones with the uncanny ability to make any pair of sunglasses look good. That’s enough it seems. Happy Trails!...”GTP”