I’m not gonna get out before winter. It’s already snowed a handful of times and it’s regularly cold as fuck. I have lived in the mountains of Colorado for about 40 years, give or take. 40 years of winter with a few months of summer thrown in there so as not to be completely bleek and depressing, but for the most part it’s been winter. Cold, lonely, breathtakingly beautiful, depressing. Just as you’re really getting comfortable with warmth, bam. Cold as fuck. I’m a skinny motherfucker and so I have no blubber to keep me warm. Even with layers I sometimes am cold. I’m over all that winter shit, I have been for years. I could care less about riding or skiing anymore, I hold ski resorts like Breckenridge and Vail in contempt. I think that they are corporate scum and that they ruin small towns. The fact that it cost over $200 for a lift ticket for only one day is ridiculous, so I have no problem telling winter sports to fuck off. When I decided to come back to Colorado temporarily to get myself a new whip, my plan had been to be in and out. Gather up the funds as quickly as possible and be out of here before the first snow fell. That’s why I hate plans and try to avoid them at all costs, cause they always get fucked up. I’m not sure if I’ve ever had a plan go as I had hoped it would, usually going every way but. So months after I arrived here to gather funds, I sit here with empty pockets, nowhere closer to getting a whip then I was when I got here. I’ve pissed away enough money to buy 2 cars since I got here, allowing my priorities to get all fucked up and wasting my time and energy on dreams and memories. I’m hoping that I’ve got my priorities adjusted better now, or I at least feel like I’ve removed my head from my ass so I can attempt to adjust said priorities. Regardless, it would appear that I may be spending one last winter freezing my balls off in the cold ass snow covered mountains of Colorado.
This is the one year anniversary of the creation of my blog. It sure doesn’t seem like it’s been a year. I started this blog because I’ve grown tried of my life and I wanted and still want to do something else with it. Everyone is always telling me to write a book and I’ve come to think of myself as some kind of writer so I was hoping to figure out how to turn it into some kind of a job. I was wanting to turn it into something profitable, allowing me to stop what I am doing to make money and take off in a new direction. I had and still have no idea how to accomplish this so I Googled how someone becomes a writer and Google told me to write, write, write. Google says that I should start a blog and discover a niche to focus on. They said that having a blog will help me get my name out there and through it I should try and guest blog on other blogs, which will further grow my name. So I started the blog and I wrote, wrote, wrote. At least for a while I did. I wrote on this blog. I started a journal and wrote in it daily. I even started writing a book. And for a good hot minute I wrote, wrote, wrote, filling a notebook with journal entries, writing over 30,000 words on my book, and I don’t know how many blog post I wrote but there’s a grip. Then I crashed my truck and fucked myself up. Physically and mentally. And since then I haven’t wrote much of anything, at least not like I was or like Google says I should be. I lost the journal in the accident, along with everything else that I had. Getting kicked out of my place after I lost my truck made gathering my belongings pretty much impossible. What? Was I supposed to strap my shit to my back and lug it around with me? So I lost my laptop along with all my other possessions and I haven’t worked on my book but a handful of times since. My blog is the only thing that survived the crash and that’s just barely cause I’ve probably only wrote 6 maybe 7 posts since the wreck. Regardless, Google’s advice as to how I can become a professional writer didn’t work out for me anyways. I didn’t grow my audience any bigger then it was, I feel like I get more people to read my shit on Facebook then I do on here. I didn’t guest blog on anybody else’s blog. I don’t even know how to go about doing all that. I have no idea why anyone would even want me to guest blog, or even what guest blogging actually even means. I’m no closer to being a professional writer then I was a year ago and I’ve got just as much a chance at being a professional bull rider as I do a writer anymore. I guess I should take this one year anniversary and use it to look at the bigger picture. What is it that I actually want to do with all of this? Am I really a writer? Do I actually even have a chance to do something with all of this or should I just keep my day job and stop wasting my time daydreaming.
So after my car accident and the losing of my job and a place to stay, all within a 4 day period, I decided to tuck tail and bounce back to Colorado. My justification was that I would be able to get a new whip faster and have a place to stay and that I would return to Oregon after I get back on my feet. I think that was 2 months ago. Time has a way of getting confusing when you are pissing your life away, a month seems life a week and sometimes days last for weeks. Anyways, I’m a realist if nothing else and distance has a way of bringing things more into focus so I know now that my justification is just an excuse. Allowing me the ability to self destruct in a more comfortable environment, probably faster then I would have as a car-less, homeless street kid up in Oregon. Fact is I can’t stay here without being the Jason that I myself created in this beautiful, magical little area of the rockie mountains. Colorado helped me to build the Jason I choose to build. The environment, the people, the situations, they can only be had here, they can only be experienced in the time and place that they did. Had I gone right instead of left I would be nothing like the man I currently am. But I went the way I went and I am the man I am and it is well past time for me to be moving along. I could try and maintain here. Get a job. Get a little routine and try and keep my head down, out of the mix. Just tell anyone who asks me for drugs to fuck off and be an upstanding, law-abiding, productive member of this joke of a society. Ignore my natural inclinations and drink the kool-aid. Buckle down. Obey. Yeah fuck that. That’s just not my style. I’m not a conform kind of guy. I’m not a quitter. And so I have a very difficult time not doing exactly what I want to do. When I’m in Colorado I want to do bad guy stuff. That is a big reason that I’ve been to prison 3 times and county so many times that I couldn’t tell you the number anymore. And that is the reason I need to leave. While I can do time no problem, I don’t like being locked up. I don’t like being told what to do and when I’m on the streets, I do what I want, but in the joint I’ve got cops telling me what to do, or trying at least and as a gang member I got shot callers attempting to do the same. My ability to help my people is basically gone, reducing it to some lame emotional support that is weak and ineffective, leaving the people I care about most vulnerable to countless situations that I can’t do anything about. It’s gotten to where I’ll get sent to prison and since I’m institutionalized as fuck and don’t really mind being locked up, it’s not me who ends up doing time, it’s the people who love me who end up doing the time. People like my mom, my girl, my kids. That shit sucks and it fucks me up something fierce so I need to make a change. Since I can’t seem to figure out how to change who I am, I need to change where I am. I know that regardless of where I go, I am not going to be able to run away from myself, and that it’s me who is causing these problems in my life, I feel like being somewhere where nobody knows who I am allows me the possibility to be whoever I want to be. I won’t be boxed into any one thing like I feel like I am in Colorado and if nothing else that should help me to stay out from behind the walls. Colorado is a beautiful, magical, wonderful place, full of amazing people and awesome adventure. It is by far the best place a person could hope to grow up in, especially Summit County. It was like growing up inside of a postcard, like growing up in a dream. I will always love it here. But given enough time dreams, even the most beautiful, can turn into nightmares. Best not to overstay your welcome.
I don’t even know what to do with myself anymore. I’m super depressed on the inside and completely antisocial on the outside. I hold most people in contempt, only rarely finding someone that I actually like or want to have anything to do with. Even the people I like aren’t doing it for me anymore and I find myself avoiding interaction and choosing to be alone rather then waste the energy it takes to maintain a relationship. I have no dreams, zero goals. I don’t look forward to tomorrow. I have no light at the end of my tunnel. All my dreams are dead, my goals are those of someone else. I crave the flash, eagerly awaiting its arrival, growing more impatient daily. I fantasies about my death and were it not for my mom I would have killed myself years ago. But I’m a coward and I lack the balls to pull the trigger so I sit here, miserable, lonely, alone. I miss my children horribly, I miss the person that I was when I had them in my life. At least I think I do. I’m not even sure if that person was real anymore, he may have just been a dream. Possibly a nightmare. My children are both the best thing and the worst thing that have ever happened to me in my life. Had I never had kids I wouldn’t know what I was missing. Had my daughters never filled my heart with love, I wouldn’t feel it’s loss as strongly as I do. But I do.
It’s is amazing to me how many experts I have out there about my life, who I am and what I do. It would appear that there are at least 5 and maybe more people who know more about me then I do about myself. All the answers to all of my problems, advice on how to be successful and happy in my own skin. An elite group I’m sure, full of the very cream of the crop. Not one of them has a care in the world, they’ve mastered this game of life and are qualified to cast judgement on peons like me. Ha. Yeah right. Y’all feel an urge to save me but it’s not me that needs to be saved. Sitting there talking down to me about the drugs that I do, in between shots off the bottle, or followed up with a handful of prescription pills. Talking to me about how I should feel about not having my kids in my life, and what I need to do in order to change the fact, yet having absolutely zero real information about the situation and just making broad assumptions which are nowhere near the mark. First off, can I see your degree in psychology? Shouldn’t it be hanging from the wall? Or are you more like a life coach? Or maybe you’re just a prick. Some high and mighty asshole who has earned, through his/her very successful, almost spotless life, the right to talk about shit you know nothing about. Things that besides not being any of your business are sensitive in nature and can possibly hurt people’s feelings and destroy people’s relationships if not handled correctly. But by all means, telling me about what a fuck up I am. Please tell me how I’m feeling and what I’m thinking because I really don’t think I could figure it out on my own. Fabricate situations and events so that they fit your therory and boost your righteousness but first take another shot. Don’t read this wrong, I’m a wreck. I have no idea what I’m doing. I live inside my head 24/7 and I still have very little clue as to how and “fix” Jason, if there’s even anything to fix. I’m not happy, I suffer from depression and anxiety. I miss my kids and I am not doing everything I can to remedy that. I know that I could be/should be doing more, but I’m scared. If that makes sense. If it doesn’t fuck you cause I don’t care if I make sense to you at all. I don’t care if you’re proud of me or if what I’m doing disappoints you, in fact why does it matter so much to you anyways. I am the kind of guy who learns hands on, I need to live it to learn it. I know that most of you just love me and care about me and so your therapy comes from your heart regardless of whether or not it helps mine. Y’all live in a world set aside from my own and so what is important to you, the things that you require to be content, well they aren’t anything like those which I require. But you wouldn’t know that because you believe that yours is the only way, which it’s not. There is no end to the possibilities given the right environment and opportunity. Secondly, who says I need to be fixed? Who said I was broken? Maybe I was made like this. Maybe this isn’t how the pieces fell, maybe this is how they were stacked. And maybe in order for me to find my happy place I need to first experience my sad one. In 41 almost 42 years in this meat puppet, I am not any closer to figuring it out then I was when I was 8. I’m still not quite sure what I am. Who I am? I’ve got that one dialed in but what I am? I really don’t know. I have a couple ideas as to what I want to be, but they are always changing, shifting, sliding. As to who I am, well that’s pretty much an open book. I’ve never hid that, never hid from it. All my life I’ve been brutally, awkwardly, rawly Jason. Marching proudly to a song that only I can hear. I very rarely give advice, I don’t like telling people what to do. I try to mind my own business as much as possible and regardless of what I think or how I feel, your opinion is the only opinion that really matters when it comes to your life, your ride. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what it took to be you. I got no idea what you’ve been through or how those things affected you. I couldn’t imagine what life was like for anybody but me. And I don’t think you need to be fixed.
I’ve learned in my 42 years of chaos that you can’t expect people to be good to you just cause you’re good to them. You can’t count on much of anything anymore. It used to be, a person word meant something to them. I grew up with the delusion that a man was only as good as his word. That they could steal pretty much everything from you. Your health, your freedom, your statue, your family. They can even steal your life. But not your word. Your word was the only thing that you truly owned. Is the only thing that you truly own. But now days we don’t give a fuck about our word. Honor and integrity are a rare thing anymore, with people being much more concerned with themselves and their own security then with the death of our humanity and the decay of our goodness. People walk past people in need of help all the time, allowing innocent people to be robbed or beaten or killed, without even a glance. Justifying it to themselves with it not being their business yet arguing over whether or not a chick should get an abortion. Y’all are drunk as fuck and to be completely honest, y’all are soft as fuck. If I was a betting man, which I am, I’d be willing to bet that probably 60% maybe 70% of this younger generation, has never been in a fight. Never gotten their ass whooped. It is my opinion that the youth of our nation are soft as fuck. They are spoiled little entitled fucks with absolutely zero connection to the real world. They are lazy as fuck, never wanting to work and when they do work, giving a half assed effort while carrying a piss poor attitude. The are quick to point out the flaws and problems of ours yet never even looking at the mess of a fuck that they are themselves, instead seeing themselves as woke and enlightened. Declaring themselves savage because of some bullshit they did on social media, in their parents home from behind a computer screen to someone 1000’s of miles away. If these little shit are our future them we are in a world of hurt.
There’s gotta be a point where you’re just like you know what? Fuck it. I’m done. I’m out. And there has been many. But I quit hard as fuck. I do everything hard as fuck. Which includes among many, loving hard. I’m not very good at it but I go hard as fuck. If I love you, I love you. I won’t one day wake up and be like you know what? I don’t love so and so anymore. Yeah I’m just gonna erase the history we share. Probably not. I love every single person that I’ve ever told I loved still to this day. The fact that I also can’t stand many of these same people, that in fact I might kinda hate a few of them doesn’t erase the moments that we shared and I wouldn’t even if I could. Those moments are the treasures I’ve collected. The booty. That’s what makes all this other garbage that life dumps on you, kinda worth it. Or as close as you’re gonna get to “worth it” in this pointless, endless, senseless loop of a “life”. It’s a shame I can’t bring them with me when I flash. But I wander, aimlessly. But with every beginning there is always an end. One way or the other. And unless you’re planning on rotting away with this person, there has to be a moment where enough was enough. I’m sure you’ve probably known that that shit was done for a minute, you both probably do. But you stubbornly hang on, for what? I’m really not sure. History? Love? To prove something? For some selfish reason or with malicious intent? Whatever the reason it no longer is strong enough to hold you there and so you bounce, oftentimes ungracefully or biter. But like I said I quit hard which equates to I don’t quit. Anything. Not really. Very rarely. When I have it’s because enough was efuckingnough and I had to bounce before I did some dumb shit that I was gonna regret. But that’s usually what does it, homicidal intent. Once I feel like choking a bitch out, or throwing her off a deck, it’s time for me to leave. And I do. I’m not gonna put hands on no love that I love except my sister, that bitch has it coming from the beatings she gave me as a child. But I probably won’t. I can’t still hear my father over my shoulder telling me how he was gonna bash me out if I hit my sister. Fuckers been dead over 20 years but I still don’t want to get punched in the mouth by him. But not my girl. It’s my job to protect my girl not harm her. Life will do that enough. I just want to look out for and have someone look out for me. I lack a number of things in my life that I require or desire and ideally you’d want someone to cover you in the departments where you lack. And I find these kinds of girls and then somehow change them or break them and end up making them into female versions of myself. Hard where I need soft, cold where I need sweet, thuggish where I need then to be legit and level headed. I have finally, after all these years, decided that more then likely, I am the problem. I’m virtually unlovable due to the fact that I don’t love myself, can’t seem to find it in me to forgive myself for mistakes or poor choices and so in fact I hold myself in contempt. I probably hate me more then any of you fuckers ever could, which rubs off on these chick who eventually follow suit. So there I am, standing there looking like some asshole because I’m still in love and these bitches can’t wait to get out the door. That’s how it usually happens, me getting discarded with a quickness to be left wondering how that all went so bad so fast. It’s easier that way. It may hurt a little bit more, might leave a deeper cut, but like tearing off a bandaid it’s relatively quick and once done you can’t go back so it just is what it is. There’s no maybe I can do this or what if I do that. It’s just over. Done. Finished. And all that you can do is pick up the pieces and move along, you have no room to second guess anything, no time. Then we got situations where I feel obliged to do something, like I owe something to these girls for this or that and so even though I walked away, waving middle fingers as I walked out the door, 6 months later they are calling me with some sob story and I come running. Only to find myself once again miserable, used and underappreciated, asking myself why I thought it would be any other way. I’m not relationship material. I’m not the dude that you’re all eager to introduce to your folks. More likely I’ll be your secret. Someone you have to hide from everybody unless you don’t care about rumors or how people look at or think about you. According to society, there is only one reason why you might want to hang out with me. Not because I’m such a great dude or because I’m entertaining and fun to be around. Not because you actually like or love me. No, the only reason you might be hanging out with the likes of me is simply to get high or to acquire drugs. As far as society is concerned, I’m good for nothing and the people who associate with me must be up to no good as well. Just being seen talking to me has a chance to ruin your reputation, end relationships and change opinions of who you are or what you’re up to. That right there is reason to stay away from me, to not even give me a chance, to alter the way you interact with me. My relationships are doomed from get go and so that should be my enough is enough right there. What’s the point of even trying? Just to gather more baggage? To hurt my feelings? To farther damage to the tiny bit of hope I have left. Snuffing out the little candle burning at the end of the tunnel, throwing me completely into the darkness.
And it does. It’s like that movie Goodfellas in the beginning when the dude say, “As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster”. I am not sure if I was just born this way because both of my parents besides a little recreational drug use, were and are very law abiding citizens. In fact my father would beat my ass any time that I slipped and let him catch me doing some shit. That fool was 100%, do the right thing, follow the laws and rules type shit. He beat that whole, follow the rules, do what I say mentality right out of me. He was aiming for into me. Sometimes you don’t hit what your shooting at. Sometimes you miss. While that motherfucker never missed with his punches, he would ever once in a while miss with the messages he was throwing at me. I have a thick skin, a battered armored coating. It takes a lot to really get to me. I think it’s cause I don’t care. I’m lost. It feels like just waiting for the end. I have two beautiful daughters who I’m a deadbeat father to, not by choice. I want very much to have my children in my life. In fact I need it. Without it I’m this hopeless, fuck the world, burn that motherfucker to the ground and pave it, type Jason. He’s cool. He’s extremely dangerous and in my opinion a lot of fun to be. He loves for sure but he’d just as soon watch it burn. He’s the fast track. I love him but I hate him. He’ll be the one that sets it all off. The other Jason evolved from the scary ass arrival of my second daughter, Hayden. Hayden woke me up to a different kind of life. Like a build your credit, maintain regular, legal, employment, go through the channels and get your fucking daughter back type mentality. I’m not gonna throw much dirt here but the way that went down and continues to go down is crazy as fuck and low rent as a motherfucker. That last part was me but before I wander, part of me is tired and desperately needs a change. That part wants more then anything for a different kind of life, a different way of thinking. A Jason’s version of the American Dream. I have shared joint custody of my daughter, court ordered already so this bitch can’t just steal my child. There are avenue that can be explored but bottom line there are laws and rules that y’all and your crazy ass society created and agree to follow, that project me as a father and so the real bottom line is court. I need to locate her legitly and take her ass to court. Thing about that is if I want to do all that them I’m gonna have to be legit. I need to be healthy (which means regularly be able to pass a UA on random, and I need to be a positive addition to their lives, not some kind of trauma that they will have to deal with and which will scar them. The last thing I want is anything bad for my children, I just want them to be happy, healthy and loved. Period. Anything else is unacceptable. So for those of you out there that are saying, “Well that’s a no brainer.” Fuck you. You walk in my shoes before to tell me how it feels. I’m not telling you for to feel about the price of shit that you are am I? No I’m not. I’m talking about the price of shit that I am, one which I’ll have you know, I know very well. Better then any of you fucks I promise you that. So I’m torn. Which route do I take? Is there a route that I haven’t foreseen? Cause this is where I sit, in 41 almost 42 years of living, I’ve died probably 6 times. With each death a rebirth of forms. I’m still Jason but I’m not, sometimes not even close. But the one thing I’m pretty sure of is that each time I lose a part of me. Sure, it’s mostly filled with new things but it leaves me feeling hollow and used up. It’s probably slowly killing me but I’m 100% sure that it’s driving me insane. And I have less to give towards anything positive at all because the dark has become so oppressive at times that I’m fill with nothing but fuck it. Save the world or Destroy it? Choices, choices.
I haven’t wrote on here in a minute. I’m not sure why really. I mean I know but it’s retarded so whatever. I’m a pretty emotional guy even though I do a good job of bottling it up or pushing it under the rug so I just come off looking like an asshole instead of some pussy. Don’t get me wrong, real men cry, I’m not saying that. It’s just, well, I don’t trust you, not even a little. I know that people have hidden agendas and that most people don’t really give a shit about you, they are just interested in what you can do for them. I know very well that there is probably only one person you can count on and that’s you. Shit sometimes you can’t even count on them. Nothing is for certain. Nothing except this moment right now. Yesterday was a lie and tomorrow may never come so really all you got is this. This moment. This experience. So instead of tripping about some shit that happened or something that maybe never will, I need to start living in this moment like there won’t be another cause who fucking knows? Maybe there won’t. I need to learn to let go. I’m already pretty good at walking away but I suck at letting go which has me always coming back. I’m a smart dude, I know when things aren’t good for me, when people aren’t good for me. It’s just, I like broken things, not because I like or want to fix them or put them back together. No I just like them because they feel like home. I’m broken as fuck. I don’t know how to be in a healthy relationship. I don’t know how to be loved. I don’t love myself, I have a hard time even liking myself. Shit, I borderline hate myself. I feel like I’m decent at loving people. I mean, I try to be. I want to be. And I want to be loved. But I’m broken as fuck and I won’t allow it. I mean, if I can’t even love myself why the fuck should anybody else. I know I should take it easier on myself but I probably won’t. I’m not sure if I even know how. I’m so internally high strung that I gave myself ulcers at the age of 8. Stress is one thing I know really well. Worry has been my companion longer then any of my friends. As a child it was laced with fear but I’ve long since shed the fear aspect, or I’ve at least mutated it into something else, and now it’s more of a doom and gloom type of thing. Just waiting for the ax to fall, which inevitably makes the ax fall. I’d like to get a restart. Can I get a Mulligan? A do over? I may have taken a wrong turn somewhere back around 1980 maybe ’81 or maybe it’s all just been one big wrong turn. Unfortunately I’ve learned that you can’t go back. There is no restart button. This course doesn’t allow Mulligans, you just gotta play through. So I’m stuck. At least until the flash. It’s true that you reap what you sow. This is nobodies fault but my own so I can’t point fingers, I can’t escape the blame. I just gotta live with it, deal with it, because like I said you can’t go back. Live with it? Deal with it? I’m not sure if I’ve ever done either. I’m not sure if I’ve ever even lived or if I’ve just been waiting to die. How does one get amnesia? Is it something that can be induced? Is that a thing? I wish I had amnesia.
Write something. Anything. Get out of your head. Stop doing whatever it is that I’m doing. Change the frequency, shift the vibration. As my life spins faster and more out of control, I notice the little things more frequently and I think about the illusion of time. Sometimes it feels like its passing so fast, like I’m missing so much, other times it couldn’t go fast enough. Laughable really given the record player loop life truly is. All that’s happening matters nothing compared to what could be when its actually the what could be that has no meaning. Dwelling over lost time and missed opportunity while time and opportunities drift away with the wind. I have no idea what I’m talking about and even less idea what I’m doing. I am sure I’m not doing anything as well as I could be, that I am sure of. I’m suffering from a lack of hope currently and I’m overflowing with I dont give a fuck. A big part of me wants to floor it. Just gas into the wall, 120mph, all gas, no brakes. Inevitably, people will change. But as Jason slowly dies in front of the eyes of whatever I’m becoming, I can’t help but wonder. Will it actually be ok? Do I want it to be? Will I eventually figure it out? Is there actually anything one can truly find out that they dont already instinctively know? I am tripping about the whole thing with my mom. My life, soap opera that it is, while entertaining and exciting has become cumbersome and dreadful. I crave stability and structure for one of the first times, yet continue down a path that is wrought with chaos and destruction. I have all the answers yet no motivation to apply them. I’m unsteady as fuck, frantic and jerky. Full of confidence yet drowning in my self-doubt. I’m full of angst. Or maybe it’s just shit that I’m full of. Sometimes I fantasize about the flash, impatient for a restart.