The Good Son

I swear to god, I’m at least 2 different people. Probably a lot more. Everything about me is a contradiction. The nicest asshole. Smartest retard. Everything has to sides and I understand balance but I don’t think this is what they were talking about. I love and hate at the same time. I vibrate from positive to negative regularly, unable to hold on to either one. Part of me wants to go straight. To retire from a life of crime and do something more acceptable in societies eye. I’m tired of putting my mom through every time I go to prison before it’s not me being punished (I mean besides the vagina) it my mom who is suffering, she’s the one doing my time. So I’m pretty over that. Then there’s the babies. Regardless of their age they will always be the babies. The babies deserve better then I’ve ever given them. Don’t read me wrong, I am personally a fantastic father. I love my children more then I love life itself. More then I love anything. I’d kill my mom for them and y’all know how much I love my mom. I would, given the chance, always protect them as well as provide for them. I believe that I have an enormous amount of knowledge I could distill on them, giving them an alternative channel by which to learn. I would never do anything to hurt my kids and anyone who believes differently shouldn’t hesitate to come find me and discuss this. Or if you’re to busy and can’t find the time, give me your address and I’ll come to you. Anyways, I can’t be the father that my daughter’s deserve if I’m always in prison. So I have strong reasons to take the right path and putting in some work. But the bad son, my evil twin, skank as James likes to call him, he’s not so sure. He wakes up every morning with the taste of soot and ash, having dreamt all night of chaos and destruction, dreamt of breathing fire. 41 years is a long time and it can change many people but I’m still that angry little boy from back in the day. I’m still an angry violent person and I crave disorder and anarchy. I have been trying to work on humility, honestly, but so far it won’t take. I’m opinionated and judgemental just like the rest of you, my acceptances are just more broad and forgiving then most of yours. My evil twin would just as soon see you suffer, his apathy runs deep. He could care less rather or not you’re ok and he gives zero fucks about your feelings, considering them weak and unattractive. Skank wants to go to Portland and form an army. Or a street gang. Maybe a cult. Whatever it ends up being called skank wants to go up and down the I-5 recruiting all of the displaced, unwanted, angst-filled riffraff that litters the area. Gathering them together to form a fist. The Northwest is ripe for revolution. Filled with diehard Democrats and Republicans alike. Then throw in the independents who range from tree hugging hippies to machinegun toting militia types and the political stew pot is boiling. Then throw in the anarchists, which although I have no proof, I believe run deep as fuck up in those parts. And last but definitely not least, the homeless. Drug addicted outcasts, dirty as fuck, covered in tattoos, born with an unfulfilled entitlement issue and absolutely no direction. I’m aware that lots of them are “crazy” but I bet if you asked them what they thought of you they would think your ass was crazy as well. I’m mind runs rampant with thoughts and ideas. Saving to memory places and people and things. Analyzing everything that I encounter and categorizing it for later use. I’m not actively seeking to start a revolution but I’m not completely against it either. I’m just playing shit by ear. If I had more work I think I would be a lot better off being busy and lacking the time or energy required for such pursuits. But I’m not. I’ve had minimal work since I got here and instead have just been mobbing around Oregon, taking in the site. Secretly plotting and planing and daydreaming.

Published by devilmonkey666

I'm a hot mess. A 41 year old child who still doesn't know what he wants to be when he grows up. Or even if he wants to grow up for that matter. People say I'm a writer. I'm not so sure. But it is therapeutic and helps me from going all the way left sometimes.

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