Tag Archives: rent

The Frozen Man

There’s only one problem with man: the fact that he keeps going on.

Dennis Leroy Kangalee frozen head
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Somehow I am not sure if it will matter. In fact it won’t. Because I’ll still have to pay rent tomorrow, right? Whether it’s a republican or democrat, whether it’s Sunday or Monday — whether I’m what you’d call dark or light — I’ll still have to pay rent? So that says it all right there. And if it doesn’t matter, why play the game?

I’ve been a frozen man a long time, at least since my last suicide attempt.

I changed when I got out of the coma, somehow I felt the things around me differently…like a strip of flesh with the flu. Some call it a religious experience-peak flow-runner’s high. I don’t know. I don’t care anymore. But I do know that all my collected dreams, all my wishes, all the bets I placed — did not come through. I never played with my money, the gamble was with my life. And I enticed others to invest in me. And when I let them down, I couldn’t get back up. Only I wasn’t lame so I couldn’t be shot. I was frozen. Stuck inside myself. I had reached the end of imagination and there was nothing left for me to see or say. I was like a dangling spoon.

I knew a record collector who hooked heroin and every time he’d cook up, he’d bend his spoon into a question mark. When I asked him why, he said exactly. He was shooting the answer into his veins.

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At Least One of Us is Crazy

One of us is beginning to rapid cycle, one of us going down or up or in between some metal bench that presses against your sternum where the humiliation of diarrhea at 2AM and not being able to shit in your own toilet emerges as you can explain why you can’t afford to pay an increase in rent, having to defend your dignity while being poor (yes, say it, “poor”) and trying your best not to feel ashamed as you try to remember if you took your medication or if you have medication or if you even believe in medication…The landlady caught me creeping up the stairs to the apartment we share with two guys named Jeff. She asked me about rent, I told her I’d pay it by end of the week.  In cash.  Then I asked her, even though I wasn’t sure why I did, about the other two apartments she had in the building.  “No, forget those”, she quipped. “Aren’t they available?” “You don’t make enough money,” she said.  “Well, yes, I know,” I said. “That’s cause I’m paying for a war I can’t afford.  Do you know how much it’s costing us?”  She looked at us, not getting the gist, not accepting my simple indignation.  “And,” I whispered, “we don’t even believe in it.

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