I wish there were like a manual or something on how to lead a happy, healthy, successful life. I wish I had drank the kool-aid all them years ago and had bought into that American dream bullshit. Life would probably be easier if I wasn’t such a non-conformists, if I gave a shit what people thought about me, if I was just trying to be a cookie cutter version of every other motherfucker out there like most of the population out there seems to be about. But I just never could conform, to anything. Now at 42, almost 43 years old, with no career, no mortgage, no family, no roots, and to be honest nothing that I am really trying to look at with pride, I’m feeling a certain kind of way. Partially it’s got to do with the game. The game is fucked off right now, the players have always been kinda scummy but they’ve changed and so has the game. Fentanyl is the motherfucking devil. I call them blue devils because they are controlling motherfuckers like the devil would. Eating people alive and leaving shells of the people that they used to be. I used to say that drugs couldn’t change a person but I was dead wrong. Certain drugs mixed with certain people can absolutely change a motherfucker. It’s like being personally responsible for creating the zombie apocalypse. People always tell me that if they weren’t getting it from me that they would just be getting it somewhere else, which is pretty true but they aren’t getting them from someone else, they are getting it from me. That leaves a shitty taste in my mouth and a constant weight on my conscience. Then to top it off, I’ve got everybody and their fucking mothers owing me money right now. By noon I’ll have 10 people hitting me up for drugs, of the 10, 2 have money, and usually not the full amount. So 8 of these motherfuckers are coming at me daily with zero money, their hands stretched out, and some bullshit lie or another, some sob story about how they are gonna pay me on Tuesday, they promise. Then Tuesday comes and goes and surprise surprise they don’t pay me my money and don’t even try to hit me up and give me an explanation. Instead I have to go looking for them. And when I find them and inquire about the debt, they get all indignant about me asking them about my fucking money. Telling me shit like come on man, you know I’m good for it. Or feeding me some shit about me getting my money real soon, not to worry. Then when I don’t get paid I get mad, being an asshole and threatening injury, but what is that gonna get me,? Surely not my money. So it leaves me with 2 shitty options, bitch up and wash my hands of it, or thug up and bash a motherfucker out, neither is gonna get you your money 9 times out of 10 and both have all kinds of consequences. So I’m probably gonna just bitch up and wash my hands of it. It’s only money, and it’s a good way to get your ass thrown in prison going and bashing someone out over $50 and I’m trying to stay out of prison. The plan used to be escape to Oregon. I had a homeboy there that would help me get on my feet. Somehow that shit got all fuck up and the day after I crashed my truck, rolling it 6 or 7 times before coming to a stop and getting arrested, him and his wife kicked me out of the house for having drugs in there. Drugs, I’ll have you know that everyone was aware I was still doing drugs the whole time I was there and never once did them inside the house. 2 days after my crash I not only lost my truck, I’d lost my place to stay and my job, being as how I worked for the homie and as it would turn out I lost the homie too. That was like having a safety net, but actually more like having a crutch. Now as the noose tightens and my days if Colorado gets shorter and shorter, I have no idea what the fuck I’m gonna do. No idea where I’m gonna go. Part of me is addicted to this outlaw lifestyle more then I’m addicted to the heroin so that part of me wants to just kick back in Colorado and wait for the hammer to fall. Just keep on keeping on. That part of me is very influential, very strong willed and he’s been running the show for a long time so he knows the ins and outs. Plus he’s fearless. But that’s not what’s gonna get me into trouble, I mean it might, but what’s really gonna get me wrapped up is that he’s hopeless. There is no light at the end of his tunnel, he doesn’t look forward to tomorrow, he dreads it. He is not looking for solutions, he knows he is part of the problem and he’s cool with that. But then there’s this other part of me that just won’t give up on the idea of greatness, on the dream of saving the world, or at least my soul. For 40 years that part of me has been has been disassociated from the reality that the other part of me created but over the last couple of years he’s been awoken. He’s no longer disassociated from our reality and he is no longer content with sitting back while skank tries to destroy the world.
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