Random As Random Can Be

Notes from History Class (This is the class I liked.)

Now I really don’t understand how this really works but I know that I need to be doing something since I am just sitting in class not saying anything or doing anything. I really don’t know why I continue to come to this class but I know I can’t miss another day because I have already hit my limit of miss days. I should be wasting my time typing up my next paper but instead I am talking to myself.

The big picture, we the people only voted for representatives

Basically says all governments all exist at the same time. Checks and balances. Everyone wants to rule the world. Tears for fears mother fucker. Oh yeah weak 80’s references.  Back to solitaire.

He believed that he was there for the good of the people.

This is going to be a long class filled with labor and death thou shall not consume water ever again. The nation was built on the idea of for the people by the people. All comes back to the declaration of independence. Most kings were there because of the divine right of kings.  Its thirteen little babies of death sucking at the tit of mother Russia. Kill kill, kill crew we strive to labor over the death of salvation but we bleed the history we choose to forget. Life can roll, roll right on down the hill, smashing the homes and our own people. Like a revolving wheel that has no purpose or no will.

A diamond ring made of your bone and flesh, pressed down hard beyond the limits of crushing. Hardened into a stone for my bony finger, your luxury is only pain for me, bleeding you, bleeding you dry, bleeding you, bleeding you dry.  Stock market crashes and so does your head, body out of window thrown into the wind, dropping, dropping to the ground, black market fall out, fall out, destruction in your mind, bleeding you, bleeding you, dry, bleeding you, bleeding you dry. I don’t want much just the soul you hold dear and love, I don’t want much just the soul you hold dear and love, there is no need to fear me, I’m the government you did not elect, there is no need to fear me, I’m the government put in place to protect, our own interest, our own interest, bleeding you, bleeding you dry, bleeding you, bleeding you dry. Bottom feeders, it is time to rise, rise, rise, and clam your own lives, rise, rise, bleeding you dry, rise, rise, bleeding you dry, rise, rise

A government that governs less governs best. A government left burning is the one still left turning, the increasing debt, rises at the cost of our own expense, what have you done? Now is your time to speak up, what have you done? Now is your time to speak up, what have you done? National health care is at an all time low, the money lining your pockets is at an all time high, people live in fear, of seeking care, people live in pain, to scared to receive care, what have you done? Now is your time to speak up, what have you done, now is the time to speak up, what have you done? The increasing debt, is being paid for by our blood, the increasing national debt, is being paid for by threat, forced to live in fear, forced to die in tears, what have you done? Now is the time to speak up, what have you done? Now is the time to speak up, what have you done?

Is the law that makes the bank constitutional Maryland or the law of genius falls hard onto the swords of death and frustration yet we bleed only to mop up the floor with our blood.  Southerners are going to follow Jefferson because he is from the south and the south follows anyone like sheep to a heard. Anything in the state of Maryland is going to bank in the state power of vaginal glory. All hail the wicked.

Where does the power lie when it comes to state power and federal power? He says it is in fact conditionals. There is a list in the constitution that gives congress the powers to pay for things. If marshal does not make that design we are back to the article of confederation type of government. Man is going crazy because the class will not speak up.  Will be the supreme law of the land, anytime federal laws conflicted with state laws, federal always wins. John Marshal strengths the federal government.

Each of the four men helped to define the federal government. A puppet government made up of Bert and Ernie dancing around sucking each other off like fascist at a dinner party. Why is the case important then?

We sold our souls for the great American dollar

“Wal-Mart doesn’t care about you”
the government doesn’t care about you
who does care about you?

We are a nation made of bastards and liars
from the time of our origin to now

If you made it this far. This is from my time in college about eight years ago… See health care has been a problem for a while… I’m not going to get all political… Well I might, but the thing that I like about America, among other things,  is this idea that we can say what we want… So I try not to judge when other people or I say stupid shit… We all do even after eight years and a filter… It happens.. Words are words.. It is by our actions that we should be judged… Of course this never happens… 

Drinking Bleach Preview

Drinking Bleach is my first collection of short stories from my earlier days. It is a mixed genre book filled with short stories, poems, micro stories, and more. From the early days of Chewing On Glass to the first story I ever wrote. This book covers a lot of ground. As always available on Kindle. Don’t have a Kindle? That’s okay. Enjoy thousands of books right from your desktop, smart phone, or tablet with the Kindle app.

Adult language and ideas through out.

Purgatory Part 1

“The blood leaks from the holes in my chest. My white shirt fills with red, a stain I will never forget, as the bloody shirt clings to my chest. I can remember trying to raise my head up. I can remember trying to understand what is happening to me, but it is as though my body can’t function. Trapped, I feel trapped, and I feel cold. I feel so many things at once. Yet all I can do is watch as even more blood comes from my chest. Then everything goes blank. The thinking stops. The trying stops. Everything stops and the next thing I know I’m sitting in a room full of strangers to be what I guess is sorted. I’m confused and now I am here where ever here is, is where I am. I don’t understand why I am here. Why am I here?”

“Let me just start by saying that was some really good sharing James, and to answer your question. We are all here to work out our issues so we can pass to the other side.” The hooded figure continue to tell me something about this place and why I am here, but it is all too much. This is all too confusing to process in one go. Am I alive or am I dead? Is there anything such as death if I am here? I interrupt the figure, “Pass on where? Where am I passing onto? So I am dead?” The voice continues to talk from under the hood never showing its face or any emotion, “Yes James you are dead. We all are in this room and I can understand that, that may be hard for you to take in all at once, but I encourage you to ask any questions you might have. As far as passing on I really have no defiant answer to that question. I don’t have a say on whether you go to heaven or hell. I am only here to help you move on to either one.” The woman to my left who is probably more in line with being a girl interrupts the figure, “There’s no such thing as passing on to either one. We already died. This is all there is left. You just make us come here to this room and talk out our feelings so we can’t revolt and take over or some shit.” She gets absurdly angry and throws the chair she was sitting on at the wall behind her. “This is all just bull shit. Either that or you suck at your job. Which one is it?” She continues to rave at the figure without a face. The hooded figure never shows any sign of emotion as he talks to her, “Sylvia please calm down, you of all people should know that this is not helping you to pass on.” “Pass on? How the fuck long have I been here? Years, months, forever and I have never seen anyone pass on once. We just keep coming here and coming here.” “Sylvia there is no such thing as time. We have been over this before. It takes as long as it will take,” the figure says calmly. “Because there is no passing on you faceless fucking asshole. This is hell. This is fucking purgatory,” she screams at the figure. “That’s right,” a man sitting to the left on the figure says. “You are right this is purgatory, but this is not hell,” he nods his head in a matter of fact kind of way. “This is purgatory? I’m in purgatory. What the hell is going on? I’m supposed to be in class tomorrow. At least I think I am,” I interject. “Oh my god, yes you dumb ass. I already hate the new guy. What have you been here for like ten minutes and you haven’t realized you’re dead? You have three holes in your chest Brian. What did you pull the trunk and nothing happened?” Sylvia screams at me. “That is enough Sylvia. James has recently died and this is all new to him. In fact this is enough for now. Let’s all go to the waiting room and meet back here later,” the hooded figure doesn’t wait for a response as he opens the door. “Fine with me,” Sylvia is the first one to storm out of the room. She doesn’t look like she could be more than nineteen or could have been nineteen seems to be more appropriate. The next one to leave the room is a slightly overweight man dressed in a business suit. He tries to shake the hand of the hooded figure, but he politely declines. The man smiles none the less and wish the figure a good day as he exits the room. I still haven’t left my seat as the rest of them shuffle out of the room without a fuss. I can’t stop staring at my chest. My blood is still there on my shirt a stain that seems like it will never come off. “James you have to leave now. I know that this must be hard to take in, but it will get better the more you come here.” I stare at the hooded figure for a few seconds before nodding my head. I still have one more question as I walk out of the room. “How will I know to come back?” “I will page you,” the hooded figure closes the door without another word.

What is time when you are dead? There is no sense of it in this place. There is only waiting and it feels like forever. There’s no place to go, nothing to see, nothing at all. All there is, is a waiting room filled with chairs not the kind of chairs that are soft, warm, and inviting. More like those hard plastic my ass is going to hurt for days on end kind of chairs. The ones with the four bolts on the back and four bolts on the seat that are always dark blue. Even though I don’t feel pain I feel as if I do. Besides these shitty chairs there are the other people. No one is really talking to one another though. The ones that are talking seem less scared than the rest of us. We were all either taught that this place is for sinners or that to end up here was a bad thing. Some of us might not even have a clue as to what this place is. But here we all are good or bad we are all trapped in the middle, waiting. Every minute? Every now and then I guess there always seems to be someone new in the room. The room, Christ this room is larger than any waiting area I have ever been. It could hardly be called a room more like a lobby. Though there has to be more than one of these down here? Because there is no way that this is all the dead people. The size and scope of this place only adds to the crazy fact that it is nearly silent. I start tapping my foot which only seems to upset those around me. Scanning the room once again for anyone I might recognize I spot Sylvia. She sits on the opposite side of the room from me all alone. She is rubbing her wrist staring at the gashes. Her writs are stained with blood and each gash looks fresh. I didn’t notice them before probably because the cuts and the blood stains almost look like makeup more than flesh wounds. This all becomes more and more real. This isn’t a dream and not a nightmare this is my life now. The figure said it wasn’t permanent, but it feels more and more so the longer I stare at her. How long has she been here? How long will I have to be here? Even from this distance I can see the insides of her arms as she displays them out in front of her. She looks up and we lock eyes. Only for a second too scared she will go off again I stare at the floor. BY the time that I look up again she has moved out of my view. I search the room for her from my seat. I guess we all are having a hard time with this. I know I am having a hard time with all of this. It is like being in the most boring place in the world or being drunk with nothing to do. My mind tries to process new things or new thoughts but it can’t because I can’t stop thinking about my death. If I don’t try really hard to focus or think about something else my mind automatically goes back to thinking about the holes in my chest. I don’t want to think about that anymore. I want to understand where I am. All of this is very frustrating and makes being here even more horrible than it already is. I don’t see her so I stop looking.

Every now and then someone new comes in and it makes me feel that much more alone. Sometimes the new people are really messed up. Earlier a guy came in with a piece of glass stuck through his skull. His face was covered in blood. He looked like he could have been the singer for a death metal band or the winner for best costume at a Halloween party. Another guy was dressed in a uniform and I couldn’t tell which one because of all the burn damage to his body. If I could cry I would have for cried for him. His body looked like it had been hit by an explosive at close range. Part of his face was completely ripped back away from his skull. A flap of skin bouncing as he walked, as he turned his head, as he moved. His left arm was completely gone. Nothing left but a bloody stump made up of bone and burnt flesh. Most of his uniform was charred black like most of the still attached skin. We are all dead but most of us don’t look like a walking corpse. I felt bad for him. Even more so as I watched him try to cry but we can’t. We don’t cry and we don’t bleed. He didn’t deserve whatever it is that happened to him no matter what side of the fight he was on. No one deserves to die that way. No one should have to sit here with the rest of us looking like that, feeling like that. The more grotesque your death means no one wants to sit next to you in this room. Somethings never change even in death. The solider sits alone in the far corner of the room. There are a lot of empty chairs for the size of the room. Reserved for in case of a catastrophe maybe. Despite all the horror that covers most of us the room is extremely clean like in a hospital. This room is empty besides us and the chairs there is nothing in this room. No windows, no one to ask how much longer, no one to ask if we can leave, no doors to leave from, and nothing on the walls. I mean how many great artist have died since the dawn of time? They couldn’t get one to draw something on the walls? The room is next to silent unless a voice calls out names and what room to report to. The voice sounds very much if not exactly like the hooded figures voice, very calm and airy. I don’t believe it is the same hooded figure as the one I have met because there is more than one room being called out, but after what I have seen in my time of waiting anything is possible. I hear my name in the familiar voice and it tells me to report to room forty-six. I don’t get up right away, but when I hear Sylvia’s name get called I stand up and search for her. Turns out she had been sitting a few rows back behind me. I quickly shuffle off to meet her at the hallway entrance. I follow right behind her down the long and only hall way here. The hall way seems like it goes on forever. It is nothing more than a long tunnel with rooms on either side. Despite the fact the hall way is very well lit I can’t see the end. The end is filled with darkness and as we keep moving down the hall the darkness stays the same. It doesn’t take long until we arrive to our assigned room. The door is already open when we get there. The hooded figure is waiting by the door identical to how it was when we left. Its voice is the same as it welcomes us back as we enter the room and take our seats.

I pay more attention to the room this time around, but it is just as blank and bare as the waiting room. There are no windows in here as well only more of those damn chairs. There are only ten chairs in this room but I heard six names called along with mine. I am in the same seat that I was in last time I came here and so has Sylvia. The business man has taken a seat two chairs to my right and a thin woman who looks like she was in her forties takes the seat next to me. The thin lady is wearing a flower house dress with a massive blood stain in the back. It looks as though a knife was dug into her back. It is hard to make out all the cuts because of how much the dress sticks to her back from the blood. She sees me staring at her wounds and sits so her back is completely against the seat of the chair. Embarrassed I look away. A man in his twenty’s occupies a seat across from me closer to Sylvia. He looks to have died in a similar fashion as me. The front of his body is littered with bullet holes only unlike me he was wearing black on the day that he died. Had I known maybe I would have too. But what would I really wear on the day that I knew I was going to die? What would I have even done? Clothing is so strange here it is almost like it is part of us. We can’t take it them off or clean them or even move them. Though I did see someone who was wearing a jacket and they were able to take their arms out of the sleeves, but that was about it. Otherwise we have to sit in what we wore on the day we died and it makes me wonder if the bullets are still in me? Did someone take them out? Then I remember the man with the piece of glass stuck in his head. I looked to my chest and get lost once again in the reality of it all. “We are waiting for one more,” the voice informs us from the door. Out of the darkness of the hall a young woman walks into the room. The door like a granite slab slams closed behind her. At first she doesn’t know where to sit, but she take a seat next to me on my right. Despite the large gashes on her throat she is very beautiful and looks as though she could have been an actress or a model, and maybe she was. I never paid that much attention to things like that. Never really paid attention to anyone really. “Hello everyone, how are we feeling?” The figure asks us as it takes a seat at the head of the circle. Everyone lets out a strange noise in replace of a greeting before the figure starts to talk again, “As always I would like to start the meeting off with any questions any of you might have?” “Yeah when the fuck am I getting out of this shit hole?” Sylvia asks. “Language Sylvia, I see you are going to start up early with questions you already know the answers to, and you know when you are ready you can pass over.” “How will we know when we are ready?” I ask. “That’s difficult to say James. The goal here is to answer any questions, concerns, or conflicts you still have inside of you. In order to pass over any of those issues need to be resolved, so that you can enter with a clean conscious.” “How are we supposed to do that? I don’t get it,” I tell the figure. “I’m glad you asked. You and everyone here can achieve this goal by sharing with us your thoughts and feelings.” “That simple?” I ask. “That simple,” the figure answers back. “Okay, why am I here? That’s the only question I have.” “No it’s not James and you know that even if you don’t think you do. The idea is to look deep inside yourself. The process is never easy and it can take many visits,” the figure explains. “So you mean I could be here forever in a sense?” I ask scared and even more confused. “This is all bullshit that is all you need to know,” Sylvia blurt out. “Sylvia please some of us are actually trying to move on here,” the older woman in the flowery dress finally speaks up. “Very positive,” the figure reassures her. “Oh my god, Elizabeth you need to shut up. You don’t even think you are dead for fucks sake.” “That’s because I’m not dear and how many more times do I have to tell you to call me Beth?” “I don’t know maybe a couple more times Elizabeth.” “You know what you are young lady?” Elizabeth raises her voice in anger. “You are a snot nose little brat. That is what you are.” “Ladies please this is not helping,” the figure attempts to interject. “Well you’re a bitch Elizabeth and that’s probably why your husband stabbed you as many times as he did,” Sylvia fires right back. “Yeah well at least I didn’t have to kill myself to get some attention. How does it make you feel knowing it was all for nothing?” The beautiful girl begins to weep without tears. “That’s not why I killed myself you old whore. I killed myself because I was done with life and I was ready to move on.” “Oh whatever, you are such a little drama queen Sylvia. I am truly amazed that you were starved for attention.” “Ladies please stop this now, you are upsetting Karen.” “Karen is always upset,” they say in unison. Holy shit welcome to meeting number two it is no wonder that it takes so long to pass over. After that final outburst both Sylvia and Elizabeth refrain from saying or even looking at one another. The figure however continued, “Are you okay Karen?” “I’m fine,” is all she is able to whimper out after a moment of silence. Her voice is amazingly soft and quiet and I wonder if this is from her death or if that is her natural voice. “Do you feel like sharing today?” She shakes her head no and the voice moves on. The hooded figure never pushes any of us into talking. It simply asks a question and we have to decide how or if we answer. Sometimes the figure feels almost human with its soft calming voice. I wonder if it once was or is something else entirely.

Thank you for reading. Full story available now.

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Layne+ambrose

 

Getting Harder to Breathe

I spent a life time not on social media. Recently I joined up and now I am behind once again. The world keeps spinning, dredging up old wounds. Starting over can be the hardest part. A lot of us get lost in the darkness forgetting who we are or what we stand for. Mass media has long been the standard for the writer. The credible source. I used to joke, play around, and dream of a world of miss information. Then I grew up, then it actually happened. It wasn’t what I had hoped for. It wasn’t what it seemed like it would be.

The fake news, the real news they try to replace each other. Switch their roles. This isn’t the first time in our history or any body’s history. We went to war over miss information. Sadly it won’t be the last except this time could very well be the last time. Things have changed since the USS Maine wasn’t attacked by Spain. Information is power and without it we are all weak. Without reliable information and a wave of mass information I find myself being turned off by it all. Isolating myself as everyone else is or is slowly doing. Wait for the history books to be written just so I can know what I lived through. Has it always been like this?

I like to think that it hasn’t until I read old books from the past discussing topics of today. I don’t mean science fiction or future utopias with flying cars. What I mean is topics about abortion, immigration, security, and others. Topics that have never changed or even given a chance to change. Stuck in the same place for over a hundred or more years. Some of these problems have been problems so long it is amazing they are still problems. Example? Imagine you never learned to use a toilet. Imagine you have been shitting and pissing on yourself since the moment you were born. Do you believe that doing it at eighty is really a problem? No, it is normal. Imagine how much better your life could have been if you had tried to learn. Even after you moved out of the comfort of your parents’ home. Maybe they had different views or concerns about shitting your pants. That’s okay every parents different, but there comes a time you must decide for yourself what you believe. A time when you enter society and realize we don’t all piss right then and there. We follow order and rule. For better or worse we make rules to avoid the chaos of it all. They don’t always work. Sometimes things have to be changed or given a chance. No one society is perfect or believes the same exact things. We hold many similar views, but many of those have evolved over time. The issues of the past need to stop bleeding out our future.

A hundred years ago they didn’t have to worry about global warming. It wasn’t a thing. Well it was maybe depending on what you believed caused it, but the point is now we do have to worry about it. Life evolves is what I am getting at and living with your head in the ground isn’t going to help any. We need to stop avoiding the problem and move on from them. You may not believe global warming exist. Okay fine by me no judgement here, but when you get a moment go into your garage. Don’t bother opening the door, and turn your car on.

Whether you believe global warming exist or doesn’t you wouldn’t do what I just said to do. No one is that stupid. Same concept but on a global scale. Maybe if we all cut back on emissions the world will still get hotter. Who the fuck knows, but at the very least the air gets cleaner, the trees come back stronger, and best of all we leave a world for our asshole children to destroy isn’t that the real goal in life? We fight things that don’t need to be fought only to let the things that should be fought for pass us by. I’m not saying you are stupid or wrong all I am saying is let’s move past these trivial things.

Tune in next week when I discuss abortion in a series I like to call Alienating Myself From Myself. If you get offended very easily you are going to love this shit.

So It Begins

My mind is a steel trap that holds everything and nothing at the same time. I can’t remember your name, but I can recall every dumb ass thing you did up until this point. A gift or a curse, it is all that I have. A memory for stupid shit that no one seems to care about. Like the time in fifth grade when the kid shit his pants in the back of the class or the time in gym class when the girl got the shuttle cock stuck down her shirt during badminton. Stupidly pulling her tits out to retrieve it as well all stared, or maybe it was genius. Either way she was legend after that. She was noticed and someone, if not everyone, cared. Always remember never forget. Tiny moments that make up a life time. The tiny moments come back to haunt you, but the big ones are always there. Chewing On Glass is about the little ones. When they come back to haunt me that is.

One eyeing it on the way to work sober, sad this is the norm. The emotional drain of doing the same thing every night is called life. Told we could do anything. The lie keeps us from killing ourselves, but don’t be fooled we kill ourselves every day. Risking our lives for a dollar and a day that most of us, the ones that truly need it, will never know called financial independence. But at least on holidays we get time and a half, so that’s something Of course not everyone is so lucky to even receive that. We all belong to a collective noise all saying the same thing, “Follow your dreams.” The dreams keep us going even if they will never come true. What if my dreams are to watch the world burn?

Figuratively of course the smell of burning bodies would get pretty nauseating very quickly and the screams. I don’t even like to hear my neighbors beating the shit out of one another, so I couldn’t even imagine how annoying a thousand plus screaming people would even sound like. All seriousness aside though. I’m not a terrorist, a loose term thrown around for shock value, or a bad person. I just see all this kindling sitting there in our society and I think all it needs is a spark. One tiny flash of light to set the whole thing into an uncontrollable inferno, and I wonder why can’t that be me?

But could one tiny spark really set this all into total chaos? Can words really change everything? Am I prepared for a world left in ashes from the comfort of my office chair? Defiantly wouldn’t be anything to bitch about, and that would suck. I mean could you imagine coming home and having nothing to say? What a waste of a day. Maybe there is a reason that not all dreams come true. There I go again talking myself back into my chains, back into slavery.

Honesty will only get you hated. The world doesn’t want freedom or change they just believe that they do. What they really want is more of the same. More shows about people like them, more stories about people who go through the same shit as them. What they want is to feel as though someone understands what they are going through. When we are all going through the same shit. Over and over and fucking over again. They say that they want one thing, but in truth they want the exact opposite of that because the human race is too stupid to realize what they want. I don’t even know what I want.

I fit right into the puzzle and it makes me sick. I hate myself for it. like a good whore it is only after I’m done that it dawns on me. That I am as much of the problem as everyone around me. Mob mentality doesn’t leave room for dreams. Only hands to keep you tethered to the ground.