30 Doodle Street...



"Evita" by CDM.MMXII

 This is one of those posts that has nothing to do with anything, and everything.  A ramble.  The picture just sort of happened because a random grab into the music library brought up the soundtrack, the story, of Evita Peron and somehow that's what the story put into an image.  Sort of a surrealistic running out into psychedelic commentary and condemnation of materialism and ambition.   The panel is all colors, the figure more black than white and devoid of detail, just like the hearts of those for whom materialism has displaced humanity.  Boy howdy, like I'm the first to make that observation.

When I was young I was poor, much like Evita.  I always felt myself an outcast, lower class, isolated and alienated.  But I chose a different path than she,  I'm a lot closer to Che than Evita.  I survived, grew up, freed myself from the cult that had inflicted the misery, freed myself from the chains and contradictions, found my way back to a God of my own understanding, built my life literally from the shirt on my back and very little else.  I didn't do badly by myself, not really. 

But now none of that matters.  I'm drowning in crap, things, posssesions, and I feel more destitute than I did when I literally stole my dinner at times.  Things have never really held that much power in my soul, not really.  I'm fond of my stereo, but that's for the sake of the music and the emotions stored therein.  I like a good sipping whiskey at times, I can delight in a beautiful woman without her ever knowing I even noticed her.  The fact of the matter is I feel homeless these days, more homeless than the year I lived out of my field jacket.  The material never held much sway in me, any one place just a different place than the last one, no real biggy.  Home has always been a place in someone's heart, and I feel homeless.  It totally sucks.  Poor Evita.  I wonder if she felt like she had a home.