Drinking Bleach Preview

Looking for something different? 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 through out.

Something Sinister

This story started a long time ago before now and before your greedy fucking eyes ever got a hold of it. Like the great tumbling ball of shit that is my life it is all the same ball of shit. People will lie, change the truth, anything to making a fucking dollar so, here is the truth so you too can change it later to fit into your own tale of how fucked up I really am. Are you listening to what I am saying? Are you paying attention? Good, I just want to say one thing to you before we start. I am legend and you’re just jealous. Fuck off. Oh and I didn’t bother thinking any of this over so deal with it. God you are such an asshole.

It all start, this all started when I fell down the stairs. I think it was maybe five years ago, but I can’t really be held accountable for minute details. We have a lot to cover so a detailed timeline is really just a waste of time so stick with me and put your fucking hand down. Time isn’t everything people. Back to my God damn story, I fell down the stairs and of course it wasn’t a simple fall down the fucking stairs. I couldn’t just break my arm or a fucking leg, no I had to break both of my useless good for nothing shitty appendages, an arm, and worse of all my fat ass fell so quickly and with all the laws of gravity not on my fucking side I had to crash through the door at the bottom of the stairs. The same damn door my wife told me to change out years ago. The same fucking door she continues to bitch about despite the fact that it’s long since been replaced. Well that shitty door had to break my fall and shatter into a million pieces, all except one piece mind you. That one was nice enough to stay fucking put. That one piece stayed real fucking strong as it went through my back bringing my wild ride to a quick stop. Ever have to spit blood out of your mouth to stop from drowning in it? Well that’s too damn bad. Tastes like shit, actually it tastes like I had a wild idea to drag my tongue across a rusty pipe just for the fuck of it. The damage was done from that point on I was fucked, but of course I had to push my luck. Hold on this is a great fucking song. “You’re so scared and so alone.” I had to keep going on and keep on living because God knows that’s what I wanted at that fucking second with the EMT’s standing over debating what would be the best way to move me. My spine was damaged this was true. IT is also true that if my spine wasn’t damaged I might have died from the pure shock of having both of my legs broken in multiple places. Couldn’t feel the fuckers. I could barely feel anything. My spine was damaged but for some God damn reason my spine wasn’t severed. For some God damn forsaken reason there was still hope for me yet. There was a special surgery the doctors said that I might be able to have that could reverse the damage and give me one more chance to land the dismount. Too bad it cost an arm and a leg, and I was fresh out of legs. This magical surgery was all thanks to those demigods up on the hill. You know those ones that want to advance stem cell research so they can help turn some unwanted child into a new limb or body part for some sad sack of shit solider no one gave a fuck about in the first place. Fuck did I miss that up? Fuck it, fix it later. What I am saying is that congress recently passed a bill or a law or whatever that allowed the use of stem cells for those who could afford it. All I needed was half a million dollar or find someone to pay for it. So I did what anyone in my financial standing would do. I went to the bank and pulled five hundred thousand dollars out of my personal just encase life fucked you in the ass account. All in ones of course and made it rain all over his office like he was Candy from Sweet Charles Strip Club and BBQ lucky day. So began my next chapter in life strapped into a wheel chair shitting on myself. The fun chapter really. Half price dances is nothing to shake a stick at. Funny how the health bill fell flat on its fucking face, but stem cell use got the ok. Small victory for ignorance and one giant leap for the future. Yeah I’m that bitter.

Thanks to the wheel chair I know found my fat ass sitting in I lost my job. It is a little hard to lift fifty pound boxes of produce from the safety and comfort of a chair with wheels. I needed to find a new career path, a new way so to speak not that my last one was really anything worth losing to begin with, but there comes a time in a man’s life, maybe a woman’s too though I was beginning to understand what life meant without a penis, that he has to make a decision. Sometimes though that decision isn’t made by one’s own hand. It was at this time that I had to look deep within myself to figure out what it was that I wanted to do with my new found sense of existence. I knew I needed money so I could shut my wife up about the fucking surgery. I knew I didn’t want to go to work at any place with human beings. I knew a lot of things I didn’t want to do basically, but what I found in my hours of cheap whiskey and a crotch full of Candy was the inspiration to write. Something I hadn’t done since I dropped out of college all those years ago. It wasn’t like I was hiding some deep unearned skill deep within myself, but who has the fucking time when they are knee deep in the bullshit called life? Whatever, thanks to my horrible accident I was able to find my voice once again. All good artist must suffer and I had plenty of it thanks to my impending position. So that is what I did day in and day out I wrote. Drank a little bit too much and then wrote some more. Paid Candy to play with my flaccid dick and I wrote some more. Every second of every day I used putting pen to paper, paper into computer, and back and forth until I had something, until I had a story worth writing about. My story, well a version of my story I’m sure you have all read my book by now If I Could Only Get It Up. No? Then why the fuck are you here right now. Go buy a fucking copy, pop your pants off, and come back to me when you have finished. Why the fuck are you even reading this? Because you like reading stories about human suffering? You’re a fucking selfish prick aren’t you? Good than you and I have something in common at least on a surface co-hatred and contempt for anyone that isn’t us. Though I have to say it is a lot like preaching to the stupid. Still with me? Fan-fucking-tastic let’s move on. It took two years of fighting, clawing and scratching, sucking and fucking to get that piece of shit book printed and pressed and in the hands of you dick lickers, and it would take another two before I could even make enough money to put a down payment on the surgery. Yeah they have those. I was as surprised as you to say the least, but it makes sense if you can walk again you can make money. Oh yeah the health industry will suck the life right out of you just like any other. The way it is when everything is for profit. Honestly though if you are figuring that out right now as I tell you please don’t forget to visit my website where you can buy some more bullshit to complete your empty life.

Even after all the record breaking sales of my book by a first time writer. America really loves a tragedy. Hey kids want to get famous saw your legs off and see what happens. Okay don’t do that find your own God damn way to milk the tit that is the American conscious. Run for president or something the point is that I still didn’t have enough money to pay for my operation out right, but I did have enough credit with the publishing company to barter my soul for the money I still needed. They were just thrilled to hand over several hundred thousand dollars to me so I could fucking walk again because apparently it is really expensive to send a cripple on a book tour. Heartless fucking ass clowns that they are. Oh and plus America likes a redemption story so, they had me sign a paper that said they could release my next three books. Lucky me. I know what you are thinking holy shit he gets to write three more books. He is so blessed, yeah well fuck you because now I had to produce three more fucking books without a single fucking idea. Do you know what kind of pressure that has on a fragile mind? Yeah you don’t, what it is like is telling the bank you can pay them back the whole loan in than five years without a fucking job. Good luck, hope everything works out for you because it’s not. So here I am recovering from my operation and trying to come up with something to get those fucking heathens off my back. They are blood thirsty, it may not seem that way, but they really are some blood thirsty no talent fucking cunts. They’re like vampires in the night. Constantly calling, “How’s the book going? How’s this going? Are you feeling better?” Assholes, they can’t even come up with their own God damn idea so, they suck the ideas out of writers as quickly as they can, and when they are done with us we are just cast aside like a dry husk of what was once a human. Vampires of ideas are what this whole industry is like. It torments me every second of every day and with all this stress and rehab my head is like a tornado of shit smashing from one side of my skull to the other. My head feels like a pinball machine that has been well used. A bit dated of a reference but needless to say the stress is getting to me at this point. But I’m not even sure if it is the stress of everything lately or the God damn operation. I’m on a strict regimen of headache medicine, pain killers, and a great amount of alcohol but I still can’t get rid of this pain in my head. The only thing that I have found that actually gets rid of the pain in my head is not really accepted by society as a whole. Maybe a few societies out there but not many. I’m getting a head of myself hold on let me get back on track.

Okay so I told you ass stains about my problem with the books I have to write for the vampires that’s the climax. So all we really need is some falling action to really get your panties soaking wet. I bet you wear lacy ones that you think are so sexy as they stretch around your curves, but you never show anyone because you are a highly regarded person in your community and if you’re a lady I’m confused as to why you’d bother wearing nay at all. If my mind wasn’t a blender on puree I’d probably have this story written out already and you could move on to more pressing matters of life. Months went by as I tried to decide what to write next. I had already used up my asshole card so I couldn’t write another book about telling the world to fuck off or a book literally about assholes. I had no ideas and the longer that I had no ideas the worse the pain in my head got. It got so bad I had to start taking more drugs and mix in other ones to try and numb the pain for a little. This time period should have been the best time of my life and it was quickly growing worse and worse. I could walk again, I had an extremely successful first novel, and yet I was too busy trying to drown out my pain. I started to take walks around this time mostly to get away from the bitching at home and because for the first time in a long time I could. It was during one of these walks that something extraordinary happened. I got the pain to finally go away. Not permanently but long enough so I could think. It wasn’t runners high or something stupid like that it was survivors high. Is that even thing? I don’t know, but while I was walking one night down in the shitty part of town some asshole came up to me waving a gun in my face. Telling me to give him all my money or he would waste me right there like I was a piece of trash someone didn’t want anymore. I don’t know if it was the third of bourbon I had in me or the fact that I was only carrying enough cash to get me more, but something rose up in me. A sense of calm I had never experienced before. I calmly looked the young man in the eyes and I told him to stop waving that gun in my face before I take it way and shove it up his ass. He wasn’t too thrilled by that scenario and as he placed the cold barrel right up against my forehead and demanded his demands all over again I thought maybe I wouldn’t either. I waited for the loud bang to echo through my skull as I somehow survived the odds for the second fucking time.

I’m just fucking with you. Why the fuck would I be walking around the shitty part of town like some commoner? Seriously though I’ve butchered like six women in the last year. It was actually easier than you might think and it really did make the headaches go away, but they only go away for a little while. I have found that the only way to make my headaches go away long enough is to skin a woman alive and listen to her scream. Slowly of course because there is something about hearing their screams of pain as I torment them piece by piece that just melts my own pain away like butter on a hot knife. Oh stop your, “That’s so wrong fucking judgements,” you’re passing through your head fucked up head right now. Who the fuck are you to even judge me in the first place? You bought the fucking book about how I committed each crime in full detail. I mean this is only the fucking forward, the preface of a book called How I Committed Each Crime and You Paid Me to Do It. I know, I know it is a really long fucking title, but the vampires didn’t really get my original title, Knife in your Vagina. I thought it was catchy, but nope you the readers just get a slap in the face. They also didn’t get the concept of each page being made from human skin or at the very least the cover. Gave them a prototype and everything. You didn’t think that I would let anything go to waste did you? Oh well go ahead and get on with it. Go ahead and read the rest of the God damn book. Long story short the critics will just laugh it off as a fictional tale of my deeply deprived mind raised on junk food and twisted tales of horror and rape, but know this dear reader I am really something sinister.

Something Different

Survival Instinct

I can smell the new smell of death
Disgusting, digesting, fermenting
Or is it the smell of day old oil
I’m unsure as unclassified as one can be
I break into the vault only to find that it’s all gone
Nothing is ever what it seems
Yet I sit and sit waiting for something new
Each day a tiny, little bit of a disappointment
I forgot what it means to say
I forgot what it’s called
But I’m sick of waiting

I can hear a voice calling my name
Obnoxious, horrid, abstentious
Or is it someone screaming for help
I’m unsure as uncommunicable as one can be
I walked into the wrong area only to find that they had all moved on
Everything is always what it seems
Each minute a tiny, little bit of disappointment
I forgot what it means to see
I forgot what it was that I saw
But I’m sick of always wondering

I can see a figure in the distance
Disfigured, distracting, dismembered
Or is it only me from the shadows
I’m unsure as unbelievable as that could be
I destroyed every mirror only to learn there was never an image
Nothing is ever what it seems
Each second a tiny, little bit of a disappointment
I forgot what it means to be
I forgot what it was that I heard
But I’m sick of never knowing

You Get One, Maybe Fourteen Chances

I’m writing a book, shut up isn’t everyone?
At this point, you have to realize we each have a story
Some boring, some slow, but God and the Devil aren’t the only characters in the world
You are not as important as you think you are
The preacher likes to preach, but isn’t the bible really about me?
Choke on that and realize nor is anyone
But yet, but still you fantasize without real lies
We’d be nothing at all
Vicious cycle of hanging out at the mall
Nothing matters but were all the same
Can I have a dollar?
You can go fuck off
If I told you once, I know I’ll have to tell you again
I don’t care and nor does your mom
So write your journals, write your blogs
Print the shit off and we’ll talk
Long, long after you are gone and I’m
Still left standing here with a thumb up my ass
Without an asset to my name
When exactly does it mean to be someone?
Why am I asking you like we’re familiar
Like we are family and not my boss

A Lie (Novel) Preview

Welcome, Take a Seat. The Truth Can Be Hard to Swallow.

I’m sitting in a room bathed in black light. You know that not quite purple but not at all black color that washes over everything. Random objects are glowing with a strange hue all around me. This seems important but really it isn’t. The intense colors are more for effect than anything else. If I was tripping like every other asshole in the room I would be having a good time, but I’m not. I am sitting on the end of a glowing couch with two women who are probably more like girls than women, but I don’t really know because I haven’t really taken the time to notice. I haven’t taken my eyes off the glass coffee table in front of me to really notice anything. I don’t really notice the topless girl making out with some random guy as he feels her up in the corner or the passed out and probably dead man in front of the table. All of these facts I am very unsure of, again these are all things that I think are happening around me. The past year all comes down to what is on the table. The last trip I will ever take. My freedom lies at the end of each line. My life will forever change with each line because after they are done, I am done. I will disappear, like a ghost, never to be heard or seen again in this town. The last year has been a downward spiral of lies and deceit. It has left my mind like an open sore that has been open to infection by everything around me. My freedom and my mind is all that I want back. I just need this last pick me up, this last time to remind me just how much I truly hate this. I have the rolled up dollar in my hand and I am ready whenever I am ready. I have a sick feeling in my stomach that this will somehow end badly, but I need to do this. I need to end this forever and walk away. I lean towards the coffee table and line my makeshift straw up to the drugs. I snort each line as rapidly as I can there’s no use drawing this out any longer than I have to. The drugs take only seconds to enter my system, they feel like home but the feeling doesn’t last. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. My body falls forward and no one reaches out for me. A room full of people and no one reaches for me. My face smashes against the table, I can feel the cartilage and little bones of my nose give way. I can feel the warm blood leave my face and spread across the table. But this is not where it all started. It all started a long time before this.

 

 

Days, Weeks, Months, a Year Before

It is hard to say when this truly began. Some could say it started when I moved here from across the country. Maybe when I started attending this school, but really it started when she left. When she decided she didn’t like it here anymore and she was going back with or without me.  She ultimately chose without me despite all my begging. She said she was going back to school and she couldn’t take it here with me. She promised she still loved me and that we would be together as soon as school was done. She said all of this while packing up everything she owned or claimed was hers from the three years prior as if this was in some way normal. She said a lot of things that over time proved she was nothing more than a liar. Of course at the time, on the surface everything was too out of focus to really notice she was lying. This is where I think it started. This is where the hurt feelings began. This is where the never ending spiral seemed to take off. Like a downward rollercoaster with no brakes I quickly found myself with cracks in my heart that only grew wider as each day went. I have never been a strong person, but I have become even weaker without her. My life has been a test of strengths that I never could understand, this situation is no different. Now I am stuck here in a hell that I have created for myself with everyone around me playing the roles I have created for them. “Life is never easy but it is in pain that we find out just who we truly are,” Abigail Clayton wrote that in her suicide note to her parents. Great words to live by if you ask me.

 

Hope you enjoyed the first two pages of A Lie. Now available on Kindle. Don’t have a Kindle? That’s okay. You can enjoy thousands of books right from your smart phone, desktop, or tablet with the Kindle app. Best of all it is free.

Working On a Revolution, Revelation

Where is our Martin Luther King Jr.? All we have are our heroes that are worth millions. Rock stars, actors, and athletes to look up to. We worship people who have already won and not those making a stand. They have tattoos, they have this they have that, they are so counter-culture when in reality they are culture, our culture. They are all bullshit. These people are as bad if not worse than our enemies. Corporate sponsored and packaged to sell. We buy it up like pigs feeding on gruel ready for the slaughter. We look to them, we look to dollars for a change. Have you seen our money? It hasn’t changed in so long, and yet when it tries what do we do? Bitch because they want to take a genocide inducing asshole off the twenty-dollar bill and replace it with dear God a black women. Could you imagine? Honoring someone who risked their life for a chance at freedom for others. A hero by any other name is worthless. We should keep the monster on the twenty dollar bill, it’s more American that way. I’m getting off point here.

We spend so much time latching on to this trivial pop culture bull shit that we fall right inline. Hash tagging stupid shit to let them know that we like their product and spread their word for them. Fucking seriously? Your dumb ass product splashed on to every available space wasn’t enough? Now we have to talk about it for you? Drop your pants and put your genitals in my fucking mouth. No it’s okay I don’t mind the fucking taste, tastes like Coke or Pepsi or whatever other bullshit you are trying to peddle today. Can you imagine the days of the snake oil salesmen? The days where they had to come to your town and trick you into buying their bullshit. Those must have been the days. Now there is so many snake oil salesmen attacking you from all sides that it is hard to even see them for what they are. Coke not only sells carbonated sugar-water, but they have their hands in milk, juice, and water. Soon I imagine they will have all this rolled into one super drink. Looking forward to it because really all the tastes are getting well, a little bland.

Ideas are weapons and don’t be swayed into thinking that they aren’t. Told to fear the man in the dark, but they have all been out of the shadows for decades. Manipulating our every move out in the open. I’m not going to go name everything because honestly who has the fucking time and because it is too late. We don’t waste time crying over spilt milk because it’s already spilt, but we do make sure not to repeat the same mistake again. Or so we say. But really we line them right up to do it again. I want to bash my head into a wall. We need to fear the ones that tell us how to think. The people who say you must not think this way or that. You need to think for yourself. Take in the information and make a decision on whatever the fuck. I know that could take a lot of time, but if we stop hash tagging how much we like a fucking drink we might find some lost time there. Same as if we stop bombing the living hell out of other countries we might have some money for you know education, the elderly, or the starving people in our streets.

Books have no true face, they can’t cast judgement on those who read them though they may try. It is the people at the top locally and globally that cast the first stones. If you need something to fear I am more than happy to be that for you. If you need a devil in your life, I’m not afraid to be that for you. But we need to turn this all around somehow or some way. I know that we can never stop the hate, but maybe if we give up hating each other long enough than we might be able to get somewhere. #gofuckyourself

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.