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.  

Everyone Is A Character

11/29/09

The devil may have his due, but I will have my day. I will have my reign and oh how it will rain. My vengeance and justice will pour down on all the men and woman who disobeyed me. Those of you who would not follow my orders when I told you to lead. The whole world will be mine and only mine, and every man, woman, and child shall be my slave and I their master. I will pave the way with the bodies of those who dare to disobey me ever again. The weak will be hung from poles lighting my destruction across the world. This wave of violence will be my repayment for all that was done to me. This and only this could ever be seen as forgiveness in my eyes. Mark my words I will make you bleed. I will make you pay for every little thing that has been done. Now keep your fucking dog off my god damn lawn asshole.

Sincerely,

Your Neighbor.

 

This is a fun one because it is based on fact. Well kind of… It wasn’t all too bad though… Since the dog couldn’t read so she wasn’t offended by any of this… Though secretly I think she knew… She Knew What She Was Doing… 

Diary of a Broken Soul

I’m a miserable self-loathing piece of shit. I’m hidden, in hiding among the insects, between the cracks all around us, waiting it out, and then again I am nothing at all. Everyone always wants to know what I am doing. I lie and say nothing. When really I’m writing down every stupid thing they say, every unfortunate thing they do in my mind or right onto the paper. Profit off of their in securities and their secrets. Each one forming a character inside my head. An excuse to make sure in some way they are dead. I don’t know it’s a process of letting go.

A lady, a bitch, a person with a vagina and tits told me today. She told me the corn tortillas are too hard. Too hard compared to what? Flour, I’m unhappy. I’m not sure at all. Have something to say. It’s on the tip of my tongue. My mind clicks, gears churning trying to not get stuck, trying to not destroy myself from within, and no words come out. A simple smile and nod as visions of beating her to death with corn tortillas dance in my head. No one speaks to me here anymore so, I thought I’d share some words with myself. Madness, I live in a world of madness. It clogs up my brain. Full of nothings and repetitive bull shit. She was white in case that matters, but here in Texas we are all Mexican at heart. Denounce our true existence as if we could hide our bronzed over skin or retarded fucking accents if we get the chance. Ingrained and in breed the sun seeps through the cracks on the walls. It finds its way in for no reason at all. Taunting us to come outside and see the big ass Texas blue sky.

I fail to heed the call preferring to stay inside the majority of the year. Winter, spring, summer, fall doesn’t matter the season I hate every second here. Every moment that I have to deal with these people. These outsiders that come from all over the United States bringing with them their problems they thought they had left back home. Instead they only tow them right to our door step, right in our face, and all they do is complain about how this isn’t like this or that or who gives a fuck. Why does it always seem like the hardest thing is to let go even if you wanted it to go all along? Why move to a place only to change it to where you came from? Transplant city is confused. Segregated by not only directions but by the people themselves. Each with their own set of problems, concerns, and morality. Falling apart at the seams, it seems the stitching has come lose after so much wear and tear. Inspiration is lost on me as of late. With so much mediocrity shoved in my face day in and day out I’ve lost track of who I am. So lost in a sea of lost souls. Doesn’t matter anymore how I feel or what I have to say. As long as I shut up, do as I’m told, and get this fucking lady some soft corn tortillas.

So much of this is beyond my control. So much of this is beyond anything I could know. I can’t control how I feel. I like to think that I can or that I could, but how much can I really control? We don’t choose who we are born to or when we are born. Though they factor into our existence every day, but not by choice. The way we think is ingrained before we even have a chance to think about how we process information. Some say we are born this way. If that is the case then all of my outside influences don’t even matter. I would think this way and feel this way no matter who or what I have come across in my life time. A bunch of shit if you ask me. Born this way? Genetic hatred for everyday life? I don’t see it even if I feel it. A slow progression built up over time. The distance I’ve traveled. The assholes I’ve met in between made me who I am. Each and every knife dug in and drug out of me has molded me and shaped me into what I’ve become.

Yet I like myself. The perfectly cut scars, the misshapen features of a monster, and the overall decomposition of my soul. What’s not to like? It’s the people around me that I hate. With their Caesar like actions waiting to cut out what is left of me. But if I wasn’t in the shadows where is it that they lie? In the light or in the darkness with me? Do I ever really shed them off or are their knives and their influence truly part of me? I think about this as I pick the scabs. The never healing wounds of my past. If I hadn’t been beaten as a child would I be who I am? If my father had stayed by my side would it have made a difference? These questions have no answers. These questions therefore are not real questions at all. They are only lingering thoughts that haunt me in times of sadness and despair. Try to not focus on them, to dwell on them, but I always know they are still there.

My daughter has become a constant reminder of these topics. I look at her sometimes as she sleeps, as she plays, and all I can think is how could anyone walk away from her? Walk away from their child? Hurt their child or another person’s child? Yet I am proof that it can happen. Not only a witness but a victim and still I don’t understand. A real thought turns into so many real questions. Maybe it was meant to be this way. To feel this way. Maybe I just so happen to be a better person because of the knives. Again no real way of ever knowing. Eighteen years from now my daughter could be a drug addict, a murderer, or worst of all conservative because I stayed. Life proposes too many what if’s for one day of reflection.

Even More Broken Thoughts Over Time

I really like playing the asshole, the liar, the thief it’s so much easier than it is to be me.  I just can’t take the loneliness. I’m lonelier now than I was before I gave it all up. The voices in my head have taken over and there is no telling what they have or haven’t said at this point. The long conversations I once had have given into a world that I have created. My life has been a long spiral down to this point. I’m at the bottom and I really don’t feel any worse than when I was at the top. Gone are the days where anything makes sense, the days of innocence, and the days plagued by truth. Here and now is hell. No longer am I waiting to grow up. Now I’m just waiting to die. I’ve never felt any more at home than I do now.

 

The best known secrets are the ones everyone already knows, but are too afraid to admit. We all give up on our dreams or on ourselves at some point. Natural progression of life I assume. Best example crotch fat. Fucking kill me at that point. Why would we even store fat there? How the fuck is that even an option? Did the ass run out of room and the belly declare it is too full? I’d cut it off with a rusty knife. What exercise is there to even fight this? I guess at that point you are just fucked.

 

A customer just told me that the artificial sugars in gum are basically poison. So she buys a thirty pack and heads on home.

 

I got the best house on the block, the fear of admiration by my peers, and the whole world waiting at my feet. What more could I possibly want from this world? I’m no longer hungry and that scares me. Frightens me to the core of my very existence and yet I will do nothing about it. I can’t anymore. The times have come and gone. A new era of my life has begun. One where I am no longer poor. One where I have everything I could ever want. All I have to do is maintain and I’ll be fine. Throwing more cash in the fire I leave for France tomorrow. I don’t even like going there anymore. I’m going to go. My life is so sad it depresses me.

 

My mother got remarried. I don’t like to talk about it much, but it makes me feel like an outsider in a distant land. Family events have become horrible because of this. I feel out-of-place and disconnected from everyone else. So much so that I spend most of the evening hiding as if I’m not even there. My mother’s new family are all nice people, but they are strangers none the less. I think it is so hard for me to connect with them because there are so many. For most of my life it has been me and my mom. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and any other family gathering event. It was always just the two of us and now there is only a room full of people I don’t know. I’m not at a family event now but I am supposed to stop by after work. I won’t be going tonight though I lie and say I will. It is easier this way. Maybe too easy for me. I’m sure my mother will be heartbroken and she will wait patiently for me to walk through the door at any moment. This is probably an over dramatic realization. Too many movies have rotted my brain. I’m sure a room full of people will not miss one more. As I said the easy way out. Push everything a side and move on. The times have changed from what they used to be and I need to get used to the way things are.

Becoming Nothing More

We’ve all got our reasons to be here tonight. Every night. For some of us it is our crippling lack of wealth. For others it has evolved into the only way we know how to live. A violent transformation of shit. A hurricane with no eye. We spin and spin watching the world go by in a blur. We learn things too late or not at all. We are at war? We are on the verge of going bankrupt? We are to be fired? News of the world is nothing and means nothing. There is always a job to do. Most everything beyond that comes as a surprise though we could never really understand the word at this point.

Numb, depressed, destructive these are words we can understand. These are words we live and believe in at this moment and time. My fear however is that they will be replaced with home, suicidal, destroyed. Blending into the madness is hard at first. At first everything is difficult. Time has a way of breaking you in. Grinding you down into the monsters we have become. Humanity, justice, sleep are all lost on us. The very idea of those words disappear in the darkness of our minds. I’ve given up hope that they will return anytime soon. From what little I can recall of the words and their ideas, the thoughts they convey, only make you weak.

Weakness will kill you in this prison of freedom. We remind ourselves that there is always something worse, but is there? The day walkers ask us if we are able to balance life at work and at home. We lie something we all have become masters at. We lie and say we can. We hope this lie will free us, but it never does. How can we maintain lives with little to no sleep? Am I alive? Yes. Do I live a life? Can you repeat the question? Hobbies become sleep. Self-worth becomes units per hour. Desperation becomes an everyday occurrence. They push us harder into the madness. More cases, new product, revolving door of people, shorter deadlines, and on and on. “Never good enough. Should have been done already. Maybe if you were faster. Don’t worry we are getting some more new people in here.” The quotes and shit they say goes on and on. Hate the day walkers. Fear the day walkers. Wish you too could become a day walker.

Though after what we have been through how could we ever quit, walk away, do something else, and then what would have all this been for? Start at the bottom again. Start over with nothing. Start over damaged. The company is a good company to work for I’m told. They pay you well. How do you like it? What can I say? So I say nothing and harbor my pain and sorrow. Could always be worse. Worse than feeling not good enough each and every night. Worse than a nightly reassurance that my worthlessness has driven me beyond a point. A point I will never return from. Becoming nothing more than destroyed, suicidal, and at home.

And Other Things From This Time Preview

Not the Answer

Sex is an ugly thing
Do what you have to do
Then it’s all over
I write because I have to
Then it’s all over
I’d stay and talk
But I have to write
This all over
A process with meaning
Still no answers
Atheism is a question
Is there a God?
Or am I only alone
Sold a million books
Reprised the question
Why am I doing this?
If it’s not worth the effort
You think you know
And so do I
But I’m a liar
Do what I have to do
To get between your thighs
I am an animal
But then why do I feel so bad
Did what I had to do
This is no lie
This is no question
I am what I am
Is not the answer

Pizza and Beer

I am nothing anymore
My mind but a blender
I want to kill the world
But my reasons get returned to sender
I have a list of everything I need to do
I have a task at hand which I hand off to you
One step at a time
Seems more like a reason to die
I thought it would give me a cause
I thought it would make me noble after all
How wrong I was
How stupid I could be
If I put a gun in my mouth
The solution would seem so clear to me
My teeth are rotten
My body is broken
Everything is a mystery until you have no need for it
I feel like I feel, though I’m not sure

Are you paying attention? Does this all seem as though no one else knows? I’d give you a clue, but even they are lost on me. Driven to madness I had no choice. I hope you understand that my soul is now available on Kindle….Enjoy…

People With No Name

“Is there anything I can help you find?” The customer looks over from the entry way of the store at the short stubby clerk standing behind the counter. The customer only came in for one item and has no idea where in this store it could possibly be.
“Yes you can I’m looking for. Oh it’s right there. Right in front of me the whole time.” The customer smiles as she reaches for the simple item on the shelf in front of her.
“Glad we could be of some help,” the clerk smiles. The customer gives off a short laugh as she carries the item to the counter.

“Me too. Does that happen a lot?”
“What do you mean?” The clerk asks the customer.
“Someone asks you where something is and they find it right in front of them?”
“Yes it happens a lot. They say it’s my gift.”
“That’s funny. Who says that?” the customer asks.
“The people with no name.”
“Who?,” the customer asks puzzled.
“The people with no name,” the clerk says calmly.
“Is that other customers?”

“No, I’m sorry I’ve said too much. I didn’t realize you didn’t know, never mind.”
“Know what?” the customer asks taken back.
“I’ve said too much. Are you ready to check out?”
“Where are these people you speak of?”
“If you must know they’re all around us. Can’t you at least feel them?”

The customer shakes her head and starts to become even more confused.
“They control everything and everything controls them. How do you not know about the people with no name?”
“Is there a manager or someone I can talk to?” the customer asks politely.
“Of course there is but why would you need to speak to them?”
“Because I do. In private if that’s okay?”
“Of course, of course just a moment please.” The clerk turns his head and begins to whisper as if someone is there, but there is no one the customer can see.

“The manager will be here in a moment.”
“But you didn’t even page or call anyone.”
“Yes I did,” the clerk says sternly.
“No you didn’t. Can you please page the manager for me?”
“Ma’am I already did and she will be here in just a moment.”
“What the hell is going on here?”

“How may I help you today?” A female voice asks.
The customer turns around to face the woman. “Are you the manager?”
“Yes I am, how may I help you?” She asks again.
“I need to talk to you in private,” the customer says as if to test the manager’s sanity.
“We have a non-believer,” the clerk informs the manager.
“Just because I don’t hear voices that make me a non-believer in something?,” the customer asks irate.
“You don’t hear them?” The manager asks politely.
“Hear what?” The customer demands.
“The people who have no name,” the manager says.
“There are no people here. Have you two lost your minds?”
“Ma’am there is no reason to be rude,” the clerk says.
The manager turns her head and begins to whisper and again no one is there.

“They say you are just not ready.”
“Not ready for what? Are you saying I’m not ready to hear voices in my head?”
“We don’t hear voices in our head ma’am. The voices are all around us. I tried to explain that the people are all around us, but I don’t think she understands.”
“How can she understand anything we are talking about if she does not believe?” The manager asks as if the customer isn’t even there.
“This is all just madness. I am calling someone I hope you know that and I’m never shopping here again.”

The customer throws her item up on the counter and storms out of the store. The manager calmly walks over to the counter and picks up the item, “Some people just aren’t ready yet.”
“I know it saddens me, but maybe one day.”
A hand reaches out from behind the clerk and rests on his shoulder.
“One day they will all believe,” the owner of the hand reveals.