Bowl Full of Something and It Keeps On Moving

Early, I’m always early. For what I don’t know. It’s not as though anyone is standing around ready to go. Waiting on me to show my ugly face. Always in a hurry to be done with whatever it is that I’m doing. Out of time, I’m always out of time I suppose.

I’ll be early for death and in a hurry to get it over with. Yet I suffer from extreme anxiety that I will die before I am able to accomplish anything. Whatever that might be. An enigma, I am an enigma. Andrew Jackson Jihad has a song called “This is Why I’m Hot.” In it the singer states that he only has two years left with no context to why he only has this much time. Since turning twenty-eight it is as though the song and the lyrics have become my mantra. How long do we chase the ghost? Until we die? I feel as though the longer I go the more the lyrics will depress me.

Who knows though maybe one day I will never feel like this anymore?

Maybe one day I’ll be dead. I fear that death is nothing more than one long therapy session. Constantly thinking, reflecting on a life time full of bull shit and regret. Worthless excuses to why I didn’t do this, but rather did that. I often wonder what it is that I will say if this is how death is. I suppose that is why I write. Get all of this off my chest before the big day. As I stated before always early and always in a hurry.

Failed TV Pilot….

It’s the day before Halloween rest up and go have some fun… Or read this… up to you…

Episode 1

Scene 1: Takes place in a restaurant. The finer the place looks the better. Two people sitting at the table or booth. One male and one female. There are drinks on the table, but they haven’t gotten their food yet.

Layne
“I guess if I took a long dark look at myself I would have to say it is nothing more than the abyss.”

Female

“So what happens when you don’t have anything to tear you down?”

Layne
In a solemn tone. “I’m never truly happy or content with anything to be honest. ”

Female

“Honesty is a good thing, but how can you say that you are never truly happy. There has to be something in your life that satisfies you in some way.

Layne

“Well of course I’m not a freak or something. I like things it’s just that focusing on them all the time doesn’t help me write when I need it to. I’m easily distracted when it comes to things like that. I mean the time that I was molested as a child is not something I like to talk about, but hey it happens.”

Female
“Okay this just got awkward especially for a first date.” Stress awkward

Layne

“Well I feel like I can be honest and open with you about anything. So sharing my inner secrets really can’t be that bad from the beginning. I realize we barely know each other, but at the same time I really feel like I know you on a deeper level.”

Female

Looks around as if she is lost. “Well that’s a lot to take in. All in one go I mean. It feels like we are moving a little fast or at least you are.” Spots Layne writing things down on his napkin. “Are you seriously writing things down on your napkin?”

Layne

“I’m feeling little taken back from your hint of rejection so when inspiration strikes.

Female

Creeped out. “That’s fine and all but the napkin is cloth. You don’t plan on keeping that do you? Because I’m pretty sure the restaurant wants those back at some point.”

Layne

“They won’t miss it trust me. I worked for a restaurant once. They factor in the cost of everything. Just like hotels and towels. Hey speaking of towels I know this guy who works at the hotel down the street. I’m pretty sure I can get him to lets us use a room for an hour or two. If I’m just being honest we should just finish our drinks and head over there now. We’ll save money in the end even if I tip big on the way out.”

Female

“He’s a bit off, a bit eccentric, but he is a good guy,” my sister said. “What the fuck was I even thinking?”

Layne

“She called me eccentric?”

Female

Gives him a weird look before packing up her stuff.

Layne

“Quick question were you going to go down on me tonight?”

Female

Makes a disgusted face.

Layne

“Got to know?” said with a smile

Female

“Oh my god are you fucking retarded?” Said at a near whisper so the other people can’t hear.

Layne

Wide eyed and waiting.

Female

“I was thinking about.” She grabs her stuff and storms out of the restaurant.

Layne

Sighs and finishes drink, “That was a yes.”

 

Title Sequence
Layne Ambrose in “I’m So Fucked.”

 

Scene 2

Layne and Gwen sitting in a darken theater with the only light lighting their faces coming off of the screen.

Gwen
“So how did that date with my little sis go the other day?”

Layne

Puzzled look. “It went well, but there wasn’t that connection.” Makes an awkward hand motion about connection.

Gwen

Nods her head as if she understands. “You are so full of shit. I still can’t believe you asked her if she was going to go down on you as she was walking out on you.

Layne

Trying to play if off like it was nothing. “She said something about that?”

Gwen

“Half the internet knows about it by now. Heard one kid was so impressed by the story that he is using it for a school project. Should be up by the end of the week.”

Layne

“Anyone we know?”

Gwen

“Sadly not, because I would have volunteered your time to be in it.”

Cuts to scene of two people at a make shift restaurant talking without words. The lady pours herself a drink before throwing it in the man’s face in disgust and walking out. All the same person. Silent Movie Style.

Layne

“You know we could go back to the restaurant and reenact it, but this time I think the girl should walk out with me in the end.”

Layne goes in for a hug and Gwen’s arms get pinned between them.

Layne

Whispers into her ear. “We could go out to the car and you could show me some of your oral skills.”

Gwen

“It’s just too bad your broke ass doesn’t have a car.” She pushes Layne off of her.

Layne

“Behind the building is fine with me.”

Gwen

“Fucking sick. Grow a Vag and then maybe I’ll lust after you enough to be your street whore.”

Layne

“Gross you are like a sister to me anyways. I couldn’t fuck my sister.”

Gwen

“Yet you tried to fuck mine.”

Gwen and Layne

“Aww”…. While pointing at one another

Stranger in the next row up

“Could you please keep it down? I paid good money to see this movie.”

Layne

“Dude relax it’s a Bendis flick everyone dies in the end so don’t even worry about it.”

Gwen

“You paid to see this piece of shit?

Layne

“Way to ruin the illusion of sneaking into a movie Sam.”

The stranger moves to get up.

Layne

“Time to bail.”

Layne and Gwen make towards the exit and run out of the theater.

 

Scene 3

Standing a block away from the theater both characters a breathing heavy while trying to stop laughing. They finally catch their breath and head towards the nearest diner. They walk in and take a seat in a far away booth.

Gwen

“Why do you always call me Sam when we get into those kinds of situations?”

Layne

“Works both ways.”

The waitress appears out of nowhere.

Waitress

“Well you two would make a cute couple. If you could try not to sweat all over the table that would be appreciated. “

Layne

Awkward. “We’ll take two waters to start with.”

Waitress

Under her breath but loud enough to hear. “Of course you will.” The waitress disappears into thin air.

Layne

“I like her already. To answer your question though, Gwen is to unique of a name. Sam however is plain and boring.”

Gwen

“And you questioned why I told my sister you were a little weird. I’m a girl Layne. Sam is a unique name for a girl.”

Layne

“You’re only a girl for one week out of the month. The other three you may as well adjust your nuts like the rest of us boys.”

Waitress

Says in a joking manner.“Having an interesting conversation over her?”

Layne and Gwen give off a slight shiver of awkwardness but both pretend to be amused with smiles.

Waitress

“We decide what we want besides water?”

Gwen and Layne

“Fries”…

Waitress

“Fries? Really, do you want me to buy you something to eat? Why not fuck it right we’re kids we have no money just waste time and sit for hours taking up space.”

Layne

“Whatever it is that you are doing is working right now. I want you to know that.”

Waitress

“Good, what will you be having then?”

Gwen and Layne

“Fries”..

Gwen

“But if you keep bring us water like wine I will make sure he tips you well.”

Layne

“Yeah our young metabolisms only keep working if we digest an emissive amount of shit with an ever flowing amount of water.  Strange I know but if there is one thing I know it is that you don’t fuck with science.”

The waitress huffs her way to the kitchen.

Gwen

In a serious tone.“So lets get down to business.”

Layne

“What do you mean?”

Gwen

“What have you been working on?”

Layne

Mouths the words as she says them.

Gwen

“Very cute, but really what have you been writing about?”

Layne

“Nothing.”

Gwen

“Nothing, you haven’t written anything at all?”

Layne

“Well no I have been writing about nothing.”

Gwen

“Yeah I’m sure you have. Don’t pull this shit on me Layne. Jerry got cancelled before it even got off the ground.”

Layne

Looking disappointed that she stopped his witty retort before he could even make it. “Okay gwen-gwen. What should I be writing about?”

Gwen

Annoyed. “I don’t know. You write and I draw that is how this relationship works.”

Layne

“Strange I always thought it was a P and a V that made this relationship work.”

Gwen

“How many movie and show references are you going to try and make this evening?”

Layne

Shifts in the booth trying to act cool but there is no real way to do that.

Gwen

“Hey, stop being so awkward just because you are being so lazy. Quit your pouting the waitress is coming with the food.”

Waitress

The waitress drops off the food. “You screw me over and I will eat you.”

Gwen and Layne

“Fair enough.”

The waitress stares us down before finally disappearing once again.

Layne

“Pretty sure she is a demon.”

Gwen

“Then it is best that we don’t fuck with her.”

Layne

“I agree. Hey, maybe we can write about her.

Gwen

“Well you better start writing about something before no one gives a shit about us again.”

Cut to shot of the two behind a signing table. Quick images of the stack of comics selling out really fast. Cut to scene of Layne sitting at his desk doing nothing but playing with a pen and note-book.

Narration
“A direct reference to their mildly successful indie comic finished up earlier this year. Layne hasn’t written a single word since that issue hit stands.

Finish up with scenes of them eating fries and laughing. A shot of them paying the bill and leaving a hundred-dollar tip. The waitress smiles and glows in the background as they stand outside discussing something. They hug and each go their own separate ways. We follow Layne as he walks home from the diner. (Layne voice over on the last shot) “The whole walk home all I could think about was how I am so fucked…..”

Yeah That Happened. It Started out as a comic. Might still be a comic. But some of the stuff I have for it is really dated now. Also I can’t draw so that’s a whole thing. I know I’m digging deep at this point. I’ll have better stuff next time. Maybe.. I don’t make promises… I promise….

The Death Bringer

I drag her body to the back forty of our property. It has rained hard for the last three days. Tonight though, the sky is clear as I drag her body. Her attempts at screaming fill the autumn air, and warn the neighbors that something is wrong. I brought a shovel and a pickaxe with us tonight. They will do most of the work tonight, but only with my help. I drop her leg and toss the shovel to my left make sure she can’t reach it. I take the pickaxe into both of my hand and raise it high above my head. She lets out a whimper afraid I will use it on her. Not yet sweetie. I bring the pickaxe down with everything I’ve got over and over, loosening the ground even more in to a sunken hole. That I will dig out soon with the shovel. She’s still breathing, but she is in no condition to get up and start running. Broken bones will do that. The ground makes a strange noise as I pull the pickaxe out of it. She begins to moan with every hammering thud of the pickaxe. I only imagine what it is she is thinking.

It should come as no surprise that I’m digging her grave tonight. She tries to roll over, but it’s hard with broken ribs. She grips the grass digging her nails into the dirt as she tries to pull away from her new home in the ground. Her attempts are useless she’s only hurting herself on her own now. She uses all her strength to scream again. With each one of her screams I can hear her pain and I like it. I take the shovel now and dig out the loosened ground piling it next to her. I throw chunks of earth on her face to give her a taste of her new home and to give her whining a rest even if it is only for a moment. She tries to spit the mud out of her mouth. She can’t get it all. The outline of the hole isn’t rather large, but I don’t need it to be I can fit her body anyway I need. After what seems like a life time of building up her final resting place it is big enough to fit her broken body. I pick her up and she tries to bite my neck and scratch my shirtless back. The mud on her nails doesn’t allow her the pleasure of hurting me. She slams on to her back as I throw her into her grave. “What do you know a perfect fit,” I spit into her face. She cries out, but it only hurts to cry at this point. She musters up the strength to say, “You’ll never get away with this you piece of shit.” I slam the pickaxe down one last time silencing her one last attempt to piss me off. “I know, but that’s all right,” I tell her dying body.

I leave the pickaxe sitting in her forehead and pick up the shovel. The removed earth splashes against her dead face. Falling into her open mouth and covering her opened eyes. It would look beautiful, but my mind is in another place. “Your world is dead to me. Your laws mean nothing,” I scream at her dead body as I fill her grave. The cops will arrive in the morning thanks to the concerned neighbors, but it’s too late and it doesn’t matter. No one will be a hero for taking me in. Someone will try to become one though. They will write a shitty book about their heroic actions at the scene, made up lies told in attempt to make a dollar off my actions tonight. They will give me some catchy name like Pickaxe Murderer or the Death Bringer or something fake and stupid. All the while I rotten in some jail cell waiting to die, but I’m already dead inside.

They will try to retire off my name and become a legend, but what they don’t realize is that they will only make my legend grow in the mindless sheep of the world. I finish burying her body and smooth over the dirt on top. The handle of the pickax is still sticking out of the dirt pointing to the house. I figure this is a good enough grave maker if any. Wonder how long it will take to “find” me I think as I walk back to the house. I open the side door and walk to the recliner next to the sofa. I pull the lever to release the leg rest and lean back. It’s going to be a long day, so I better rest up.

I don’t like to comment on stories and there is no reason for that, but… This one is actually part of a series of stories… The story actually doesn’t follow one character, but several in an attempt to explore the evolution of murder…. I think that this story and each part can hold up on its own, but if you’d like to read the others they are available in my book Drinking Bleach….

Wrap It Up

So many thoughts come to me but not a fucking one is worth mentioning at this point. Some days feel like a total waste of life and time before they even begin. Yet I still have the whole day to reflect on how shitty the day is. I’m sure I’ll come up with some epic idea by the end of day. Throw enough shit against the wall and you will have your masterpiece.

Only my mind seems to only want to cooperate right as I fall asleep because fuck you brain for always letting me down. Strike while the iron is hot. Too bad it is only at the worst times. Right before work, before I sleep, or any time I have to do some other shit. Dead ass tired again with no chance of sleep for three more days. How I can’t wait for Mondays. In this crisis for sleep everything feels as though it is coming down on me. Shit raining down on me, fighting me, against me while I’m curled up in a ball on the floor.

Who the fuck thought twitter was a good idea? An asshole with too many friend to care beyond 140 characters. I want to hear from you but keep it short and lose big words jerk off as no one has time to look that shit up. Next generation is so fucked and they are very welcome. Too bad we had to be the ones to bring it all down. Tear down society to leave our mark. At this rate the next generation will be running out of shit to burn down. The smile I have is so wide that it hurts. Fuck’em all.

Scrapping Together A Scrap Book Of Broken Thoughts

The surface is rippled by the stones
we throw at each other
They watch us from their glass homes
watching every movement with cheer
we are nothing more than jesters, a joke
the keys to the kingdom lie far from our hands
as they dangle just over head
we want a revolution, we want change
well good luck, you make a difference
if you just give up.

The people held at different standards
the masses are laughing as we destroy each other
Money moves the world into a tail spin of lost control
They will ride our backs until they can walk again
until they can stand up again and tell us
how proud we should be to be from America

Blood drains from the soul
body goes numb and the brain goes cold
separation between church and state
separation between body and soul
the world is ending and you were all told

At Least I’m dying
So I don’t have to listen
to you

I want to cut my throat
Bathe in my blood
Just to feel how it would be
To be me for once

Drag me through dirt
I drag my cross to my grave
Everywhere I go people throw stones
I am what I can be

I can feel myself as I bleed
I bleed for you and I bleed for me
The weeping angles can’t stop repeating
“God why are you doing this to me?”
It all started, the bleeding that is
When I asked the simple question
“Do you still really believe?”
Lies are truths and truths are lies
What if I told you that nothing was real
That real is only a state of mind

Honesty is the most sincere form of flattery
Honesty is why you’re an asshole

The Devil is an asshole but so are you
The witches were burned because they
Were feared, holy called unholy mistakes
That we teach, no one can tell you how
To live, no one can tell you what to do
But somehow they do

God choose this so you can suffer
A test unlike any other

Lies, lies we tell ourselves to get by
Everyone is standing in their windows
Hoping to get noticed, but every one is too busy
Ignoring the people in their shitty lives
A generation raised on hiding, despising
Falsified documents made to look like lives
Everyone’s opinion locked away in a data base
What did you do today?
Nothing, the same as always
Who wants to hear the truth, the infliction
What do you mean, the words get twisted
Infections, choose properly or be torn down
Shit upon, drugged around and forgotten
This is the world in which we live our lives
Video graphed disturbances bombarding our every move
Don’t worry someone is always watching
Smile and go about your life

A little bit of everything in this one… Yes… My brain doesn’t stop… Even when I ask it too.. Anxiety much?…. 

Living in a Caste-less System

He walks the street at night searching for half used or discarded cigarettes to smoke. Dirty, unkempt, he smells of a hundred days of sweat, but by what laws of man does it say he is doing it wrong? Those of us lucky enough to be awake right now cast our judgements. Make our off-handed comments as I stand amongst them silent and not caring. I do not fear or respect this man however I do understand. I understand his plight to do as he wishes. I understand why he makes his pilgrimage here every night looking for the things that others don’t want. If only we too could have his conviction, but he serves more as an example to why we can’t than why we should. We can’t all take our shitty useless jobs for granted. I finish my cigarette and leave the part left on the bench next to me among the other unfinished ones. In an act of charity I leave another brand new one with the others. Unlike most in his situation he won’t accept charity though I have tried once or twice. He however will take anything discarded by chance. Silently I walk back into the building. Go back to my shitty job that I could give a fuck about, but need more than I’m fully aware of. Trapped in this box within another, and yet another.

I’m tearing at my stitches and wondering if this is the right thing to do. Examples displayed to me by fate or God or what the fuck ever would tell me it’s not. Yet each stitch of my very existence begs to be popped. Dwelling on such thoughts and such actions is not healthy to the system in which I am confined too. I often wonder who it that is imprisoned in this world is it the free or the damned? I’m hanging on by very little these days. Becoming unhinged I would say. With death metal drums beats bouncing around in my skull I want to get violent. But why? What for? What I have to say is so far from violence and more to do with depression. On point with torture than violence. The feelings dig deep, stitched together by the reality that none of this really matters. How I feel has nothing to do with living life only a byproduct of how I choose to feel about all of this. Life is ever-changing. Constantly evolving and it is how we adapt to it that dictates the outcome of it all.

A Lie Preview

Part 2. Missed Part 1? It can be found somewhere within the bowels of this website.

The pharmacy is in the back and is the only real reason we exist. There are sixteen aisles in the store, only two of them matter. Aisles thirteen and fourteen, this is where we keep the over the counter medication. They are also the two numbers I have grown to hate because if the customers aren’t telling me their life story then they are asking me where something is. I say these two numbers so much that when thrown a curve ball of a question that has nothing to do with what is on those aisles I still say thirteen or fourteen and have to quickly change my answer. It is the little things that make you go insane.

The store has everything anyone could need in a live or die situation. Of course some things cost a lot more here than some other places, but the deals are fair and we get a lot of the locals coming in regularly. Every day is nearly the same as the day before it, but every now and then something changes. Like cigarette prices that have risen since New York State decided they needed more money to redecorate their offices or spend on hookers. In case you were wondering hookers are getting quite expensive it seems especially since the cost of their cigarettes went up. It’s a vicious cycle that every one of us has to pay. Because someone has to be making money off of something.

My break is almost up and I really don’t want to walk back in there and put on a fake smile, like I give a shit. I don’t know how I got myself into this situation, but yet in some twisted way I do. If it wasn’t for the drugs I don’t know what I would do with myself. I am rather confused about how everything really is and I often wonder if it is my brain that is lying to me. I throw my cigarette down on the ground, it makes a hissing noise as it penetrates the snow. I twist the cap off my shitty energy drink and swallow another pill that I most certainly need to get through the rest of my shift. It is another long day in hell and I welcome it with a smile.

The thing about it is. That it is really hard to chop up this book or burn it. I mean I guess you could, but who has that kind of money? If you do then you are in luck because…

 

Look I’m not very good at selling my soul which is why I have to do it and not someone I pay is doing it. Jesus that’s a bad sentence. I’m not sure what about it is bad. I just don’t like it.