Thoughts

Feel as if I’ve adopted insomnia though it is more as if insomnia adopted me. Awake or asleep doesn’t matter my mind is running. A constant over saturation of ideas that are very much independent of one another. One after the other over and over with no resolve. Who have I become and what must I do to get rid of all these wasted thoughts?

Are these things really important to me anymore? Judge each other on the idea that we know anyone. Peace in the idea that we can understand something we have no idea about. Ignorance is tolerated because we are all ignorant. There is no solution to any of this. Constantly asking ourselves, myself what is it that I know to be true? We evolve in time within our minds. Not the same person I was before I died yet I feel the same as I ever have.

Chasing a shadow in the dark. Searching for whatever it is that I have become. Monster or man what is the difference this far along? At this point in time they have become one. Not sure I’m okay, but I’ll survive. Not sure I even have or had a choice. They say we do, but they also say there is a God that makes every decision for us. Conflicting conflictions right there if you ask me. The world is evolve or die. God or man the laws are the same. Simple and complex all at the same time.

Something Different

Before I’d Known
Suffering to suffer
Choking to drown
Breaking up the thoughts
A list of shit
Counting all the reasons to die
A method of self destruction
Repent for sins uncommitted
Struggling to struggle
Drowning to choke
Shattering the thoughts
A broken mind of shit
Listing out the reasons to live
A method of self deprecation
Forgiving sins uncommitted
Self reliance is masturbation
Playing God is fire
The devil had me before I’d known

 

Nightly Occurrence
My daughter hasn’t slept in years
A contiguous disease that we all fear
Nightly terror that doesn’t leave the mind
No matter how hard she tries she can’t hide
Demons in the dark, figures within the light
Flashes of evil coming for her life
Nightly occurrence with little words
“We are here for your soul my dear.”
A recurring chant faded into whispers
Silence only a child could hear

 

Don’t Say Anything Else
We break ourselves for no reason at all
Life a waiting game of death
Those on top will always be
Built in slavery system
Laughing though there is no air to carry the screams
Sixteen seconds and it’s already all wrecked
Smile for the cameras it will all be over soon
Breeding hatred with every breath
What the fuck did you expect
Your loving arms covered in poisoned thorns
How I missed the days when none of this mattered
How I miss the hope of living at all
Punched ticket to a solo grave
Soulmates or a slow wait

Knocking Another One Back

I read a lot. It helps recharge my writing battery? That and sucking dick. Nothing like a nice long cock going into your mouth every now and then to put some perspective in your life. Ground you back into the real world. I read a lot of comic books mostly because I like them, but also because most of the writing is in the art. I have a really hard time stealing the style of a book if it is in art form. As a writer it can be challenging because it is natural to pick up on the traits of the writer you are reading heavily. So when I am in writing mode, which seems to be always right now, I don’t read any actual books. I read comics. Problem is I am currently following way too many comics right now.

Lets count them out. I am currently reading in some form or another Black Monday Murders (Great Fucking Book), Motor Crush, Kill or Be Killed (GFB), Saga (GFB), Wicked + Divine, Deadman Dark Mansion of Forbidden Love, The Fade Out, Deadly Class, Monster Musume, Prison School, Deadpool vs Punisher, Daredevil, Bullseye, Kingpin, Punisher, Invincible, Wayward, C.O.W.L., Criminal, Redneck, Black Cloud, Horizon, The Few(GFB), Eclipse, Moon Knight, Venom, Plastic, Clean Room, Unholy, Grave Lilies, The Unbelievable Gwenpool, Spider Gwen (Side note. I’m really, like really into all this Gwen Stacy stuff and I have no reason why. I can’t recommend you read it but I know that I am not stopping anytime soon. If anything they need a whole Gwen line of comics or something. Back to the list.), El Diablo, Pretty Deadly, Love in Hell: Death Life, Rumble, Hack/Slash, Beauty, Trees, Paper Girls, and those are the ones I like.

Not going to shit on the ones I don’t like or at least not today Batman. What the fuck though with the Rebirth? Tell me DC should I trust you not to stick a rusted out pipe up my ass again like you did with the New 52? Because I don’t. With that said Red Hood for life. Oh and because I hate myself I started reading a book despite what I said about not reading a book.

My Return

In some ways it feels as if a part of me is missing and in other ways I feel exactly the same. I hate being apart from her for whatever the reason. The long nights traveling for my job is when I feel it the most. Being on the road is like going through hell and then some. The restless nights lying in a bed of someone else’s filth. They say the beds are clean or at least the card on the pillow states, but are they ever really clean? How does one actually clean up the semen and the sweat that soaks up into the mattress? Sure your nicer establishments have some sort of protection. A mattress condom if you will but the cheaper places? The places I have to stay because my boss cares more about the bottom line than the comfort of the poor bastard who makes that line exist, those places are brimming with semen, sweat, and who knows what else.

I find myself sleeping on the floor most nights on the road. Not that the floors in these skank motels are any cleaner, but I’m less likely to sleep in somebody’s fluids. As I lie on this particular floor on makeshift bed of motel linens I wonder what she is thinking about in our nice comfortable bed. I wonder if she thinks of me or quite simply nothing at all. Another conference in the morning. Another meet and greet with unknown clients. Does well for business though I can’t say the same for my soul. I could say it would be good for me if I was the boss. If I reaped anything from any of this outside of a check. I wonder if I leave tomorrow night or the following morning. Something I should check, but I’m too lazy to get up off the floor. Either way it is just one more shitty flight to an even shitter place. When you are young you want to travel, to see the world, but as you get older and then a little bit more that sense of adventure seems to slip right out of your mind. Now all I want is a chance to make up for all those lost years of traveling, of being apart. Those long night without me by her side. It pains me to think about it. It pains me every time that I see her she has changed a little bit more.

The longer I am gone the farther we grow apart. I miss her and I miss her more whenever we are together. Where did those years go? Did I not live them? Or have I been living in this traveling coma for so long that I simply don’t remember. One thing I do know is that she is still waiting for me. Back home she waits for my arrival and I’m sure my departure. To her I’m sure I am seen as never going or never there. To her I’m sure that when this trip is over it will all be too late. That is what she said I’m sure or at least of what I remember her saying. She doesn’t say much anymore. Lays in silence mostly. Silently waiting for my return.

Fact or Fiction

“I know your life is a never ending nightmare full of horror and deceit. I know you are often at odds with yourself and this horrid thing called life. Every morning is filled with contempt as you have this endless debate on whether or not you should kill yourself in your shower or while your K-cup brews or in your car that is neither new nor old but works just fine. These things I know because I’m sitting right next to you. These things I know because I’m looking at the same things you are. These things I know because we share the same eco-friendly renewable water source in the same god damn forsaken city on the banks of some form of water. I know all these things, I think all these things because I too live a life of perfect balanced, zero struggle life know as modern society. Chances are we think the same exact way but out of pure boredom let’s say I don’t. Because we have to be different in this world. We have to be special when it comes to things like this in life. Odds are against us though beyond our thoughts. We went to the same school, learned from the same books, ate the same shitty food, and lived near perfect replicas of the same life. Let me guess you played doctor? Let me guess you owned a copy of GTA 3? Let me guess you couldn’t catch’em all on paper or digitized? Let me guess you thought you were special? Well you’re not, you and I are more alike than you and I might think. We are so close you and I that we could be one in the same. Chances are we are in fact the same robotic, institutionalized, modern guilt individuals walking side by side right now. We could say hello to one another but we won’t. We could relate our dream suicide scenario but we won’t. We could discuss just how much we actually hate each other but we won’t. Because what’s the point? Why tell you everything you already know? Why bother letting you in on our little secrets? We all have secrets, guilty pleasures, they are all the same but we have them. We imagine that they are the little things that make us different. That the tidbits of information we hold dear separate us from fact and fiction. When really there is no such thing. We live a life of fact and fiction. We live a life of knowing we are the same, fact. We live a life thinking in some way we are different, fiction. We live lives that are exactly the same. We fuck women and men who are exactly the same. We blindly follow the dumbest of our kind because we know that they are the same. We read books and stories, watch movies and shows on people or about people who are exactly the same. And like you I will do nothing to change this. Like you I will ride this life into the ground hoping for something better but being served up the exact same. There is no difference between animal and man we were put here to do the exact same, suffer until our last dying breathe.”

“What an interesting report Timothy,” the teacher calls out. “Not quite A material but informative all the same in its own way. Go ahead and take your seat with the rest of the class.” She shuffles some papers, disheveled herself, “Umm if we could have Stephanie, Stephanie Keaton come up next.” Stephanie gets up from her seat and takes her place at the head of the class. “Now Stephanie why don’t you tell us what you did this summer.”

Keeping My Eyes Closed and My Mouth Wide Open

The twisted knife of the world is dug deep within my back. The world isn’t black or white but a giant fucking rainbow of gray. The issues we have to face go deeper than skin color, emotions, or common sense. Most if not all of the world’s problem is our very selves. Who is to blame, what is to blame? What does it matter? They don’t argue with me and? My mind hurts trying to see how any of this even matters.

I don’t understand all this hate coming from all these holier than thou ass hats. Why the fuck do you waste your time going to church every Sunday if you are going to shit on the bible every time you open your mouth? Not only that, but in what contexts does the bible or any book even mention you will get into heaven? I can not fathom for even a second that God is letting anyone into its kingdom. The promise of religion doesn’t even make any sense to me at all. Why the fuck would someone put us on a planet to fend for ourselves with guidelines that we must follow to the letter to just get into a place that they could have put us in, in the first place? Here and now. Your actions define here and now. Not to get preachy, but religion wasn’t made to destroy one another. It was developed to unite each other in a time before laws. In a time before society existed. The farther we get from religious inception the crazier we seem to get.

5,000 or however many years ago people knew and believed that we go into the ground. Today people hope and they pray that their action however intended will get them to the front of the line. Moses, Jesus, Mohamed, Buddha, and all the others weren’t preaching about a world outside of this one. They were all speaking of the world we live in. Follow their paths to make this life better for all. Did they ever say anything about perfect? No they weren’t dumb ignorant assholes looking to destroy the world in hopes that they could have a place at the throne. To them it wasn’t about the after but the now. How could anyone take the story of Jesus turning water into wine not believe he was about having a good time? What the fuck else could you believe from that? That he was worried about anti-oxidant levels of early man.

The lord giveth the lord can take a way. The lord is an asshole that doesn’t exist. Understand that for fucks sake. Sadly even with how I feel I get it why people need religion. People need faith and that’s great. I will never say having faith is a bad thing. I’m happy for them even, but stop fucking killing, torturing, putting down people in the name of who gives a fuck. For the love of God process your sacrifice, your shame, and your hate for yourself. Stop dragging religion through the mud because you need justification. That’s not what it is here for. That is not why it needs to stick around.

Even if you are right, there is a God in the sky that is deciding every single thing on this planet. You have to see that you are wrong in your actions. This age-old question of which religion is right or wrong is getting real fucking old. It is not the God that defines the religion it is the people. We can’t keep using religion as a weapon when we are the problem all along.

A Lie Preview

Classes Start

It’s ten a.m. and I’m nearly a hundred percent certain that I am in the wrong class room, but I have no plans of leaving. The teacher, a young woman who is probably a few years older than me with rather large breasts, passes out the syllabus to the class. A two to three page document detailing everything we are supposed to go over in the course of the semester. Fucking gag me, the syllabus is more or less an excuse to mow down a few more acres of trees in South America. Considering our teachers will flood our emails with the same shit anyway. I’m sitting in the far corner of the room, far away from everyone else. The teacher goes into a speech about showing up late, her breasts bouncing with each word. Is she even wearing a bra? I find myself more entertained with her bust line than trying to figure out where I even am. Her words bleed together and I can’t tell if it is me or her who is not making sense of the words. It takes a moment but I finally look down at the syllabus to figure where I am. The paper says that I am in public speaking and I can start to feel the blood drain from my face. Things only get worse when I start to realize that each student is standing up and telling everyone in the class their name and a little bit about themselves and why they are in college. Most of the students here are going for degrees in criminal justice or something as stupid as that. I can feel my heart rate go up and I begin to wonder if anyone else can hear the pounding of my heart like I can. It sounds like an Edgar Allen Poe story in here. Am I fucking dying or am I losing my mind? I hate speaking in front of a single person and speaking in front of all thirty people in the class is making me feel like I am having a heart attack. I can feel the sweat bead up at the top of my head and drip down my face. I was not prepared for this nor would I ever sign up for this. I calm my shaking hand long enough to grab my backpack and slowly make my way to the exit in a near crawl. How this isn’t any worse than just standing up and saying my name is beyond me. The latest victim stops speaking as the teacher asks me where I am going. I stand up from my crouched position and give her a blank stare before running out of the room. My heart is racing a mile a minute as I wander the halls for what seems like days. Everything feels as though it is in slow motion but I keep trekking on. Wandering the halls isn’t an unusual thing for me. I do it a lot. Despite the fact that I hate this school I just can’t seem to leave. I’m never in class, but I’m never not at the school on school days. As confusing as that sounds I think it is because I feel guilty for not attending classes and it also has to do with the fact that I can’t afford to put more gas in my car. So, I might as well stay here and make the best of it. It doesn’t hurt that my drug dealer takes a lot of classes here as well. He says it helps him expand his mind. “Always got to be smart for the streets man, always.” When really he is just going to the school to expand his business, which has worked out pretty well for him in my opinion. It is here in a class for retards that I first met him. The class in question was a basic English course that all students have to take if they didn’t score a certain amount of points on the assessment test to get into this prestigious college. It can’t be over stated that I never wanted to go here so the idea of even trying wasn’t an option when I took the test. I just breezed through the test selecting any answer without reading the question. I was hoping that maybe they would deny me, but nope they accepted me with cash symbols in their eyes since my whole first term wasn’t worth a single credit. I decided today that I will walk around the campus. No use going through another embarrassing first day. The first day doesn’t count anyway. I stop by the bathroom on the first floor before heading outside in the cold. The ground looks much more interesting when I’m high on drugs. The school uses a special kind of salt that is blue-green in color and it does a really good job of clearing off the sidewalks. In the center of campus there is a pond that has long been frozen over. I walk across the wooden bridge that goes across the narrow part of the pond connecting one side of the campus to the other side. In the summer this is where I like to stand, but in the winter the wind comes across the pond and hits me like a cold hard slap to the face. I’m starting to really feel the trip as I walk past the library and head for the main building. I’m making my way to the cafeteria to purchase the overly priced food I really can’t afford and steal one of the overly priced energy drinks. I usually don’t steal things, but I’m not paying three fucking dollars for something I could get for a lot less someplace else. Plus, what’s the worst they could do to me? Kick me out of school? I walk into the cafeteria from the side door of the building. This door is on the opposite side of the student union, a place I try to avoid at all costs. I can’t stand this school and I can’t stand the students that go here even more. Most of them are so pretentious it makes me sick. Half the time I get trapped in some stupid conversation with one of them, and all I want to do is scream, “Look the fuck around.” They all like to live in some fantasy world that they are learning or attending some place that is giving them a higher education and we are not. I get nauseous thinking of the conversations I could get trapped into, but it is probably only the food.  The cafeteria is nearly empty, there must still be classes going on. I walk up to the cooler and pretend to get a drink, but really I just slip one of the energy drinks on the lower shelf into my jacket pocket. No idea what I grabbed but it is that simple, and free and simple is the name of the game. Today’s menu is beef stroganoff prepared by the master chefs the school hires. The smell from the food is close to that of a bowel movement. I never get the prepared meal so I decided on a cheeseburger that I am pretty sure is made of ten percent rubber. This is more of an impulse buy than a decision after the glorified lunch lady asks me if I was going to get anything or just sit there staring at the food. Don’t get me wrong I like being high but it has its negative effects too, such as time and how much of it is not perceived by my mind. After dropping three dollars and fifty cents on a cheese burger even the shittiest fast food place wouldn’t sell, I head back outside and walk to the Art and Science building to eat. Once inside I pound the energy drink down as fast as I can, hoping that the shit tasting cocktail and the drugs will keep me awake long enough to get through the next class. If I decide to even go to that one. My eyes feel like anvils as I eat the only food I will probably have today. A nasty side effect of the drugs is that I don’t eat and in the last couple of months I have lost over twenty pounds. I have always been a little bit heavy set so losing twenty or more pounds really isn’t as drastic as it sounds. Since I can’t afford new clothes no one has really noticed either way, but for once in my life I’m starting to think that I look better than ever. Maybe I will get my own commercial on TV from all the weight I’m losing like that fat fuck did from that restaurant chain or those fat bitches from the eighties. Then again I will probably die and everyone will forget about me. Good lunch, now I’m all set for more drugs. It is best to not have a full stomach or an empty one, this rule stands more tested before bed as the odds of dying in your sleep on your own vomit increase with such activity. I randomly use nearly every bathroom on campus on any given day, I even use the women’s room in the main building once because the men’s was to full. I use the bathroom on the second floor before checking to see what my next class is. Despite my best efforts I am ten minutes late for class, but it is the first day so no one notices. I take my usual place in the back of the room. The teacher, this time a man, passes out the same piece of paper I’m pretty sure I already have detailing what we will be doing in class this semester. It takes me a minute to actually realize that I have in fact seen this paper because I have already taken this class. Maybe it will be easier the second time around, who gives a fuck. I’m starting to feel even more tired now that I know it doesn’t matter.

My drug abuse doesn’t allow me to sleep as often as I would like. My depression and my drugs have very different ideas on the topic, but when I do sleep I dream of many things. I dream that I am a woman in a minivan and I’m emptying a shopping bag onto the passenger seat so I can place it over the head of one of the crying children behind me. I scream things as I hold it there. The words don’t make sense but given the context what would it really matter any way. I dream that I am chasing a school bus in a place that I once lived. The sky is blood red and all I can hear, all I can see is the children laughing before vomiting gallons of blood out the window of the moving bus. The blood washes over me as I run with everything I have. I never reach the bus and it never stops. Wave after wave till finally I give up. I dream of her, touching her, feeling her, fucking her. I roll over after coming and fall off the bed into nothing. I can’t move as I fall and I try to reach for the bed that has long since disappeared in to the darkness. I just keep falling and falling with no end. Farther and farther, and I never stop falling, never stop feeling confused until I wake up. I dream in blood and I dream in liquids. I dream so many things that sometimes it is hard to figure out what has been a dream and what has been reality. I often wake up confused to where I am or if I am even alive anymore. I imagine myself standing in the middle of Times Square with a gun to my head screaming, begging for someone to help, but no one stops to help me. I imagine that I pull the trigger and I can feel the bullet digging into my skull in slow motion so, I can feel every bit of pain as it rips through my head and exits the other side. I snap out of my state and realize that I am now sitting in an empty class room. I wonder if I am awake or am I still dreaming. There is a note that sits in front of me. It is from my teacher, “Maybe next time you can try to make it more than ten minutes before falling asleep.”

I stop by the bathroom one more time before going outside to smoke. I decide to blow the rest of the day off and return to my tomb. I get into my car and I sit there. I can still feel the bullet hole in my head. It is twenty degrees outside, but I don’t turn on the car. I don’t do anything. I just sit there. I sit in my car until I can no longer feel my toes from the cold. I sit there and I feel nothing. I sit here and think of nothing. I take another hit and begin my trip back home.

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