Travels, a piece from close to the end, macular degeneration.

Macular degeneration becomes a way of life after awhile…the willing desolution of sense power…becomes a faith, a philosphy, a warm place in a cold storm of reality. Remaining ignorant and myopic in a world of sensual over indulgence keeps a soul feeling safe…keeps a person feeling at home in an ever changing and difficult world. I watched the moon light bend and slowly cover the clear clean windshields of the perfect clean beautiful cars all lined up in rows in the sweating cooling parking lot. I counted the streetlights reflecting. I followed the headlights rush by and warp in the curved glass. We stumbled upon this reality. This is all there is and there is more of everything here than anywhere else on Earth. My mind lying to eyes…telling me that what I see is not what I see…what I see is the end…all around me the end colliding with what little there is to do.
We stood around in the parking lot, our feet sore, drinking. Some of us sat, backs broken from the weight we hadn’t yet carried. The drinking was done because of absence of other intoxicants. A horrid wicked liquid…clear…hot like pure fire…vodka flavored cheap drunk…80 proof…guarnteed distilled yesterday. Awful stuff that numbed the inside of the mouth at first contact, and drowned every living cell still clinging to the sides of our rattled heads.
Looking up into the dark sky, the stars blinked, light pollution kept the sky’s beautiful canopy obscured…never a problem in our parent’s day…a central theme in the lives of us and others like us…a world filled with things lost and taken away and replaced with terrible scary things…unfixable…we were never given the tools to fix these kinds of problem. Most everyone simply gives up. Quite a few of us climbed inside a bottle or a pip and remain there to this day…or they are dead…tired of beating themselves to death trying to remain alive in all this twisting and turning. Looking up at the star starved sky, you can just barely make out where the fantasy of things stops and the calm evil of reality soaks in…leaving a stain. Up where science’s civil disobidence becomes apparent…where the moon light twists and turns and what ever hell, heave’s hands has built shines completely in the pale lights accidently left on by reckless selfish souls who came before…showing in the shadows the things never met to be obsevred. I see them. I watch the headlights buzz by and dance in the clear windshields of the cars waiting overnight for their owners.