RATED R ~FIND YOUR WAY HOME written by SCOTT UTLEY ~ DOG DAYS ARE OVER performed by FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE ~ LOU REED ~ WALK ON THE WILD SIDE

RATED R

FIND YOUR WAY HOME written by SCOTT UTLEY 

 DOG DAYS ARE OVER performed by FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE 

LOU REED ~ TAKE A WALK ON THE WILD SIDE

You see them strolling after the midnight hour through a hazy, excremental maze called Vaseline alley. Squint your eyes, look under the Jacaranda. You’ll see me too, or what I have become. My heart feels older than Methuselah’s, yet not nearly as beautiful. I think I look ravishing, rather than ravished. What do I know? I need glasses and truth serum. Yet I discard any reservations about ending up behind The Gold Coast, a cruise bar almost as old as I am. The old alleyway in West Hollywood has its own micro-climates. Its colder than a witches’ tit in one urine fumed corner, just a few steps to either side of the trash bin, it’s hotter than Palm Springs in August after a seven-day binge. What starts in Palm Springs, dies in Palm Springs.

 
Sometimes I can’t feel the bite of the wind nor the clenched claws of hell. I am consumed by combustion. I’m broke and disgusted. I wish it would rain, yet it rarely does. When it does I wish it would stop. I’m never satisfied with just being alive. I’m an ungrateful thug. I’m an asshole, by any other name I would still be an asshole. I am a tiger on the prowl shut in a locked cage. I’ve nowhere to go but in circles. I am not an animal. I feel like one.
 
There is nothing special about me. I’m a textbook example of the underlying doubt and fear we all face every day. We are desperately searching to find meaning to our miserable lives. Sometimes I don’t remember being alive at all. I can’t recall ever being born. Am I alive? Does it matter? Either way, I can’t help but suffer the heat. I fear the aroused cops that pepper this beat. You know you’re in trouble when the police know your first name.
 
Mine is a futile search for any new piece of meat. That bodes very well if it’s lonely I seek. The shape of a heart is where I should start. I know that I know that, but I don’t remember to remember once I prance out of my cage. It’s the thrill of the chase, laying me down to the horror of waste. I want to, I intend to, but I am a tired, whiny son of a bitch. No offense. You understand duplicity and disingenuous behavior and thought. They say insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result. That’s bullshit! AA is bullshit. But that is what they say. They have 250 mantra cliches they repeat like Manson followers with condescension. That is pure wicked, fucked-up mindless fearing human waste. It does make sense even if it does nothing to help unravel the truth woven with stunning deception. There is nothing insane or diseased about addiction. Adults are children and you don’t teach children with threats or fear.
 
After so much hurt and drug-dazed nights which rapidly became one night no different from the last one, you may forget where you live. You may misplace the house and the car. If you have dogs or cats, my wager is, they’re most likely starved. You’ve lost your soul at such a brutal cost. That’s pretty low, that’s pretty damn far. Where you once had a face, you have festering scars. You’re a neurotic psychotic running in a futile circle remarkably hysterical lacking any rhyme or reason.
 
You haven’t a clue you’ve committed a crime. Because you haven’t done so, That’s another one of their bullshit lines. You don’t know the day, you don’t know the time, I’m telling you now, that’s not a great sign. Far be it for me to judge, but you’re pathetic. Tragically, those scars on your soul are avoidable. Ironically, that is good news. There is always good news for survivors. That’s how we survive. We take lemons and make apple juice. We make it in our fantasy mind with a belief in the secret we keep, the secret we call the divine:
 
It doesn’t have to be or stay this way. There is a solution to every problem under the sun. Crawling out of a gutter of filth and rising to touch the sky once again, makes the journey well worth the pain. That rationale is a fucked-up train. You have something to gain, something to give. There is something grand to achieve if you just believe. For one moment, bow your head and pray to a God you believe in or not, one who may not believe in you, one who may think you are a jerk. But don’t ponder the obvious. For just one moment in time, pray as if your life depends on it. No rules about how to do it. No reasons not to give it a try. There is no reason why you must deny yourself what is yours.
 
In silence, close your eyes, in a brief moment of suspension of belief if you must, pray for light and guidance. Make deals if you wish. Your loving creator never created you just to torture the hell out of you like some scriptures lead some people to believe. He didn’t create you just to punish you. Squash that myth right now. Listen to if what I say resonates with the piercing sound of truth. If it does, fantastic, if not, you are not anymore fucked then you already were. It worked for me. I’m passing along what I know to be true. I’ve no responsibility if it works or not for you. I hope it does. Left up to your own devices you are a menace.
 
Instantaneous shifts in consciousness are instantaneous. Those bad days are over. Those sad days are but a dream we once had. For Christ’s sake, taking a chance on Jesus. He isn’t going to kill you. So, run, baby, run. You need to think deeply but once to heal yourself through that which dwells within you because *’that which is divine cannot be separated from its source.“
 
Use the hands God gave you. He didn’t create them for his health. He has his reasons but forget about hacking his code. “Why” is not relevant, “how”’ is. Reach out and touch. They say, ‘two or more gathered in his name, there is love.“
 
I say you are the universe, and silently solemn in the cathedral of your own personal God there is more than enough light to heal the most fractured soul on Earth. His hands will heal you. Your hands were created in His image. Lay hands upon your soul. Feel the coming of the light. Now slowly open your eyes. Bless it all. Forgive yourself and all, and then, let it go. Let everything go. It’s your freedom time. Be happy. Know joy. Take it, it is yours. And so it is. Amen!
 
PHOTO: SCOTT UTLEY
 

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