Too much of nothing makes a fellow mean in Spanish Harlem.

                What it was , and what will never become of a thrill - seeker such as many other people including myself. It is true that I have been prone to waking up some mornings, nothing unusual. Although It is also true that I do my best to filter out the sordid ideas that rest  upon their laurels of my sub-conscious.                          The biggest regrets of my past would have to be regretful assumptions I have made ending in the cowardly result of not doing certain things, ( involving hallucinagenic mushrooms, misdemeanors, and high school proms.          However getting down to the thick of it, amidst the brutal truth, I resign myself to the primitive urban odor of the city streets. No matter how attractive the perfume, I am still momentarily forced to imagine the sweaty butt- cracks of the obese as they piss and shit all over fast food rest-rooms. Very similar to the stench that rises from the homeless in the Winter as they attempt to keep warm above the metal heat drains.
                   Oh the female deer, the subtly sweet deer. Did she brush her teeth this morning? Does she take too much sugar with her tea?  Does she exhibit her road rage in her '04 station wagon after she drops her grade - school kids off at soccer practice?, and what does she look like naked? This world tends to be an over- bearingly distractive vice on the road to progessive sprituality.
                        The humidity plays a part in my lifestyle. I shall Idle lazily in front of the T.V. on afternoons such as these. Why press the time? Do not force anything is my motto, let them come to you. Give the vegetation time to build a solid foundation upon the shitty fertalizer of it's choice. 
                     Let it also be known that I am a very compassionate, sympathetic man filled with bottomless empathy. Do not be mislead, this allows the pedestrians no lee- way. Since I have been there, you may not fool me with your juvenile excuses. It is true , let my track record show that in the past I have been sexually abused by only the best undertakers, priests, drill sergeants, and taxidermists. And please do not misplace my comments by putting them into your, " bragging pretentious", category. I am only stating simple facts about truthful incidents that can allow you, "The reader", to know exactly where I am coming from.                 I was born in the pungent summer of '56, in a slum widely known as " Spanish Harlem ", I developed a raw fetish for poka- dots at a rather ripe age said the older girls at school. In the evening, after completing my homework, I would climb on to the roof of my family's apartment building. I would lie on my back staring up at  factory smoke as it ascended into the dimming horizon. "Dusk", was my alias during that time, Because I was so emotional and poetic I couldn't even formulate a sentence. The Dean, the principal and all my teachers held me back several years because I was so deep they said I was a retard.