Monday, March 2, 2009

What the fuck?

After being obnoxiously awoken by the room mate that had only happened by my calculations a couple thousands times before. It hit me like a ton of douche that I fucking hate waking up with a passion to be rushed around because I have a knack for hanging out with even more impatient stoners then myself. Dude get up, get up you lazy prick was the seemingly permanent background noise every morning since I can remember when. After a couple of shady phone calls it was time to head off to a bodega, (Some people speak of great days that they never forget I on the other hand have had such a roller coaster that the days that are completely uneventful are the ones I regard highest.) Let me assure that for better or worse at this point in my life I've seen so much fucked up out of place shit that going into a strange bodega isn't weird, it's called Tuesday. But I digress. After arriving and stepping inside the dingy structure I was in the middle of ranting about "these neighborhoods" when an angry black fellow popped up and with shotgun raised accused me of being racist and after calmly explaining I hate people almost equally across the board with me realistically being most racist towards white people he understood, completely, without logic that I meant no harm that I was just another lost soul blindly bumping into things, grasping for something real and that my comments were not racist but rather me just being my uncouth asshole self. After being directed to go to the back and look for pickle milk me and John had an argument about why the fuck should I be the one to grab the fucking box, his money, his deal, yet I'm the whipping boy. After being told I'm an asshole for the milionth time in my existance I pulled the fucking pickle milk to reveal a set of rickity old steps leading into of all things a bar? After haggling with the low rent drug dealer John got his bag I was a bit on the annoyed side to realize I didn't have the time or money to sit and do a couple of shots and take in my favorite reality diversion, sitting in dive bars. After leaving the barrio it was at least time to get high and do what I do best, start rambling on about the human condition. Deep in thoughts swirling through my now stoned brain was that a fucking rabbit coming over talking to me? Did I finally accomplish smoking myself retarded?

Thursday, January 29, 2009

part one the awakening

After being confronted with the serious problem that I had just spoken to two bunny's about an imminent war between heaven and hell being played out and that I was supposed to be a major force in the coming fight, I was faced with a much more important issue. I was out of weed, those dirty fucking rabbits cleaned me out. How the fuck am I supposed to sleep without getting stoned after being told that I along with my best friend were heavens hope? Me? Fuck I can barely take care of myself what fucking asshole's would pick me? Who the fuck do these guys upstairs think I am? Where were these cocksuckers when I struggled through broken bones, broken dreams, and broken up vicoden? When I need help fuck him, when they need help they tell me by way of two fucking bunny's? I'm not one to get overly angry (blatent lie I like to tell myself and people around me, though it's become easier to manage) but what the fuck? I finally started to live a life I was proud to have as my own (on the big scale my life isn't shit but it was mine to do with it what I wanted, and thats more than 99% of the populations can say, how many people can honestly say they are living the life they want to? Ahh no hands?.) As I lit a cigarette and inhaled slowly, deeply, deliberately, letting the smoke surround me in small curling rings the cherry seemed to grow at a rate that meant that it was happening again, these fucking episodes. Soon i would be having a panic attack again unless i popped a couple of xanax and focused my breathing. What the fuck kind of player in a holy war has to worry about addiction and panic attacks were the last things that drifted through my mind as my body and mind slowly succumbed to the warm loving chemical embrace of xanax that had escaped my real life for far too long.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Not much to report here just a side project that I am starting. Please check back soon for updates.