Part of me feels like I’m more addicted to the lifestyle of being a criminal, then I am to anything the the lifestyle provides. A homie was like, “Remember that one time when you said that one shit?” And of course I didn’t but he told me I said, “I don’t do drugs, I am fucking drugs.” And that sounds about right, sounds like something I might say. Definitely sounds familiar but that’s probably cause I stole it from Salvador Dali. But it feels about right it definitely will fit. I like to joke that I do drugs, I don’t let them do me. Which is also legit. Chances are if you’ve ever met me I was wasted at least one of the times we were together with y’all none the wiser, more likely I was wasted everytime that we met. Functional and operating at full capacity, besides alcohol, alcohol is my kryptonite. I’m allergic to that shit, I break out in handcuffs and fresh charges. I’ve “come to” in a jail cell numerous times with no idea how I got there. I’d break into local establishments to get cigarettes, writing, signing and leaving a $10 bill. All the while the front window is trashed cause I used a trash can to gain entrance into the store and I’m not calculating that into the equation. Pack of cigarettes that should cost $7 ends up costing me close to a g cause of the fucking window. I’m lucky I knew the owner who watchd me do all of this on the security camera they have at the store, which I’m fully aware of them having. Had we not previously known each other he very likely would have call the pigs and let me take it which is prison time for sure. For a pack of smokes. So I don’t drink. I do do everything else though. I have been in active addiction for my entire life it feels like, with only a couple of stretches of sobriety thrown in there occasionally. Like when I had my kids. Or I was locked up. I don’t get high while incarcerated. I get high on life. The first time I went to prison I was like, “Well fuck. I guess this is happening now and since it is and since it’s my own damn fault for getting there, I feel that I owe it to myself to utilize the state paid vacation in a productive manner, exiting prisons a better version of myself then I went in there being. I work out and get big as fuck, at least for me, leaving prison averaging like 165 lbs but topping out over 180 lbs once. Bigger, healthier, more educated, more knowledgeable, with new connections and different ideas. It’s like bad guy college or maybe even bad guy summer camp. And so everytime that these motherfuckers decide that I’m not worth rehabilitating, that I can not even pass go or collect my $200, straight to jail I go. And so since this is their decision as to my options and avenues, my decision is to leave prison a more efficient and streamlined criminal then the one I went in there as. If you can’t be good then try to be good at it, and I’m not bad at it at all. I’ll be the first one to tell you that this all falls in my lap, regardless of actual fault it still boils down to me, so this right here, this that I am. It’s a collaboration. We have all worked towards the creation of Jason, some more then others, but I sure don’t remember a lot of people trying to talk me out of shit. Maybe they knew it would do no good? Maybe you wanted me to do it, whatever it was for your own personal reasons, motivated by self-serving reasons or hidden agendas. Not giving a single fuck what could and commonly did happen and quickly distancing themselves from it as quickly as they’d approached it. Acting surprised or disappointed when it’s discovered that I’m once again incarcerated for some drug related bullshit. Bullshit facilitated by the actions and suggestions of plenty of y’all. There’s a little dirt on all of us, drugs are kind of a dirty thing. Their consequences and the prices owed for them, often heavy with their ugliness and dirt, but I’m the one coming away stained, tarnished with them, from them. And everybody else just walks away, unnoticed in the implosion that is my life and my infamy. And so I take the hit and you move along, brushing everything under the rug, seemingly forgetting or just plain ignoring the moves I made for you, to help you. Partly because I care about you and partly because it’s mine to take but none the less goes unappreciated and overlooked. Leaving me feeling foolish and unimportant as I dwindle and fade in your thoughts and memories. But even with it being the way it is with everything that’s happened, given the chance, I’d do it exactly the same. Because, number 1, I’m fucking retarded. And number 2, I was kinda born for this outlaw shit.
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. View more posts