It’s easy to be negative, to beat yourself up and overthink all of the mistakes that you’ve made. Hindsight is 20/20 and with that it is easy to see what you did wrong and how you could have done better. I personally am my own worst critic and can be downright ruthless to myself when I fuck up. Having no problems recognizing my flaws or noticing my mistakes, overlooking anything positive about a situation and focusing only on the negatives. So before anyone else even knows about it I have already beaten myself up pretty good. Then the peanut gallery finds out and the beatings continue. People are quick to judge a person for their mistakes, acting like they themselves have never made mistakes and assuming that if they had been in that situation they would have handled it so much better. Nobody ever compliments someone for a mistake. In my opinion mistakes are only mistakes if you repeat them, otherwise they’re just lessons. Granted some of them are hard fucking lessons but if you learn and grow from them they are just footsteps on your path to glory. You’re gonna make mistakes, it’s part of life. It doesn’t matter how many times you get knocked down as long as you keep getting up. Pain goes away, dirt washes off, chicks dig scars and glory lives forever. Remember who you are and how far you’ve come, strength is forged in fire and you’re a strong motherfucker. Don’t let the opinions of sheep dictate the life of a wolf.
I’m not sure if they started with the head injury or if I had always had them but this when I started remembering them. Delusions of grandeur. Dreams of carnage and destruction. I feel like I’ve always had them but I can’t be for sure. Dreams of stolen national guard tanks, covered in graffiti and topped by a lone lawn chair. Rolling through a smoldering ravaged landscape. What if the reason that you have always known violence was because you were destined for violence. I mean not me, I’m destined for love and happily ever afters , but someone else. What if your destiny is chaos and destruction? What if you were made for that shit? And instead of just going with your primal instincts, and being you, instead you just lay down and take a sip of the glass of Kool aid as you buy into the dream. Always thinking about the what ifs. Wondering what things could have been like had you just went left instead of right. Never feeling quite satisfied, left always with a thirst for someone you’ll never get. Starting a career. Getting a mortgage. Putting into your 401k. Preparing for the future with investments and stocks, portfolios and financial advisors. Working your fingers to the bone for an ungrateful employer who would replace you without hesitation, all the while missing out on many chances to actually live. And at the end? Death. Old and used up, with everything hurting, can’t even get hard anymore. Missing all your friends because they are either dead or in some old people’s home down in Florida or Arizona. Impatiently waiting for the reaper who takes you with a heart attack or a stroke and a fully stocked bank account. Which gets fought over and the divided amongst your family who couldn’t give 2 fucks about you when you were still alive and kicking. That’s the American dream? Where is the cocaine and hookers? If that’s the American dream then Ill just have to pass. Besides I wasn’t made for all that shit. That’s not where my destiny lies. Plus the American dream is a lie. A joke. Or maybe it’s all y’all who have become the joke. Claiming uniqueness with your different political parties, your left and right. Conservative and liberal. One hating the other, considering themselves superior to each other and all the while just 2 hands from the same ugly, beast. What is the point of having all of those political parties when only 2 really ever stand a chance of winning and that’s only if you believe in the whole balloting system.
I love Colorado. And Silverthorne will always be my home, my stomping grounds. But you can take this cold shit and shove it up your ass. I left Portland wearing shorts and a tank top with the weather like 70°/75° and landed in Denver to a snow storm and 32°. I have no idea how I made it in this cold ass state for as long as I did but I can tell you this, I won’t be here that long this time. In and out. It is ridiculously beautiful here though, with the snow covered mountains looming on the horizon. And the summers, even though they are only 2 maybe 3 months long, are absolutely magnificent so you got your pros and cons just like anywhere else. The cons just seemed to start outweighing the pros lately and Colorado’s beauty had begun to lose its shine. I was worried at first that I wouldn’t be able to make it in Oregon, that I would get home sick or something would happen forcing me to come back. That I’d feel this need to come back and feed off the tit that Colorado has become for me and I’m sure that there are others that still feel like I’ll end up crawling back before it’s all said and done. There’s a lot to be said about familiarity and comfort. Lot to be said about history. The known misery is oftentimes preferable to the unknown uncertainty which causes plenty of people to remain in situations that are unhealthy and bleak. The unknown can be a scary motherfucker. Moving thousands of miles outside of your comfort zone, leaving everything you have ever known, everyone you’ve ever known, all by yourself, seems lonely. And it is. But not in the way I would have thought it would be. I thought I was gonna leave and that I would be filled with some kind of feeling about Colorado and being gone but when I got to Oregon I felt pretty much the same as I did when was here. In fact overall I feel better there then I do here. I don’t want to say that I feel more hopeful cause it’s not that, but I feel more opportunistic there if that makes sense. And while I do miss my mom and a few others I don’t actually feel homesick. This has ceased to be my home if it ever was in the first place and the ache I had expected is nowhere to be found.
Bout to get on a plane for only the second time in my life. Pretty stoked. 41 years old and I’ve only been on one plane, a one way trip to Boise Idaho. Until today. I hope I get a window seat. That would be legit. My ticket is for whatever seat is available so we’ll have to wait and see. Regardless I’m excited. I barely remember my last flight but I remember the take off being kinda cool. I’m going back to Colorado for a minute. Got something I need to take care of. Really hope I can just slide on through. I’m digging Oregon. It’s the place to be at least for me and I feel like I should have probably came here a lot sooner. But better late then never. Right? So anyways I’m sitting here about to figure out what it is I gotta do in order to get the rest of the way to the airport and I realized exactly what a sheltered life I’ve lead. I mean sure, I’ve been homeless and hungry. And I’ve been to prison a few things which was definitely not a walk in the park. But it’s been an easy go at it. It definitely got dark a few times and there’s been moments where I was just like, what the fuck? But I still haven’t got to that point where I was just like you know what? Fuck it. These motherfuckers can suffer through this shit on their own. I’m out. I got close. Shit I’m close right now. But here I still stand. Head up. Shoulders back. No fucks given. But I sure have missed out on a lot of normal people shit. Not sure how I feel about that. I’m not even really sure what a normal person is. I just know what they do cause I seen some tv. Mostly while locked up.
My addictions are a trip. It’s definitely not an easy life, the life of the addict. We sure the fuck ain’t lazy. At least not when it comes to our hook, be it booze or Coke. Or meth, heroin, food, sex, shopping, the casino. Whatever addiction you got, regardless, you ain’t lazy when it comes to that. Do you know how much effort I expend in the pursuit of all the monkeys I have on my back? Cause that list up there? I got all of those, and then some. I’m chasing all that shit. Except booze. Fuck booze. That’s the worst one on the list by a long fucking shot. I gave more to booze then I ever gave anything in my entire life and look where I sit. Fuck booze. But really fuck all of that shit. I’ve been chasing something as long as I can remember. Or maybe it’s running from something? Whichever I’ve been running for a long fucking time. I’m kinda tired. Kinda. And that’s the thing, I’m a highly intelligent person. I mean not to tute my own horn or anything but I’m borderline genius. Just saying. So I am well aware of what is going on around me, what’s going on with me, all of it. I may not seem like it but I’m paying attention to everything. My mind works at a thousand miles an hour, all over the place but it’s gathering information like a computer and analyzing everything and then it gives me the choices. All of them mapped out with what can and most likely will be the outcome of the situation, which have almost all been spot on. But it also shows me the what ifs as well and I love the what ifs. And those are the ones that usually cause the most damage. They leave the biggest marks. And so with those big chunks of me missing I feel the overwhelming urge to fill them. With something. Fuck, anything. So at 41 years old here I sit. This must be my midlife crisis. I was always cool with the way shit worked out, I mean I didn’t like it necessarily but what can you do? So I was cool with it. But I’m not feeling so cool with everything anymore. I feel like some shit just needs to change. But wanting something to happen ain’t gonna make it happen. And I don’t see nobody else trying to change it so I guess it’s up to me. Or I just sit here and take it. Shut the fuck up and take it.
I need to change up this website. I’m not sure what it is I’m gonna do to it or how I’m gonna change it I just know that I’m not a big fan of the way it is now. I started this thing because that is what “they” say you need to do if you want to try and become a writer and make a living at it. I need to create a website and start a blog. I’m still not even really sure what the fuck a blog is. I mean I know it’s like little articles. People’s thoughts and feelings and opinions. Reviews of things or descriptions/explanations for things. Right? Or no? Like what makes a blog a blog? And why exactly do I need this? They say I need to have examples of my writing, like a portfolio so that other people can see them and I can gain notoriety but I don’t think anyone even sees this shit. I feel like Facebook is gonna allow me to reach more people cause I already have notoriety there. But this shit just feels like I’m writing in a journal and then hiding it under the bed. What the fuck do I know about marketing or SEO campaigns? About calls to action and clicks and views? How the fuck is this gonna help me to make money with my writing? I’ve Google searched the fuck out of this, read all kinds of articles or content as these people want to call it. Subscribed to numerous newsletters, stumbled through a few different courses/lessons about how to becoming a freelance writer. Digested all kinds or different information and opinions and I’m still standing here like huh? Maybe all y’all were wrong. Maybe I’m not a writer at all. Maybe I am just good with words and lacking a certain amount of give a fucks. Maybe I should just go back to selling dope.
My lack of direction has always been an issue throughout my life. It’s not that I’m lazy, cause while I can be lazy given the right circumstances, I am by no means lazy. I work. Regardless of the job, be it hustling or a 9 to 5, I work. So lazy is not the problem. My problem is that I just never really cared enough about the future to ever plan for it, I would rather just live it. I hate plans. I don’t make plans cause plans get fucked up. I just have ideas. And sometimes my ideas are fucked up. And sometimes they get fucked up. But very rarely do they ever have any pattern and so I bounce like a superball with a chunk torn out, all over the place. This is actually the way I like it. It’s probably the only way I know but it’s still the way I like it. The idea of making a plan or heading in one direction makes my skin crawl. Conforming and buying into the whole American dream bullshit. Becoming a productive member of society and making everyone proud yet still being me is a large fucking jump. It’s a jump I’m probably not gonna be able to make regardless of the choices I make in the future because of the simple fact that I don’t give a fuck about whether or not your proud of me. That Kool aid taste like shit and I’m not drinking it. That and the fact that I’m still not sure what I want to be when I grow up. Shit, I’m still not sure if I want to grow up. And the beauty of it is you can’t make me. My mom is cool with it,(as long as I can stay out of prison) she’s proud of me. And so this is where the issue of having no direction can become a problem. For 41 years I’ve been cool with just letting the pieces lay where they fall. I haven’t ever wanted to build anything with them since I lost Brooklyn. In fact I didn’t just leave those pieces. I ran. I don’t know whether it’s cause I’m old or bored but I kinda want to do some shit. Not kinda, I really wanna do some shit. I just don’t know what shit it is I want to do.
So it’s no secret that I’m no fan of the police, in fact it’s fair to say that I pretty much hate those motherfuckers and everything that they’ve been built for. Now before I get all the dumb ass comments about how if I ever need the police I will be singing a different tune, let’s kill that right now, no I won’t. I won’t ever need them and even if I did “need” them, I sure the fuck ain’t calling them so leave that shit at the door. And before I get the other shit about us needing law enforcement of some sort, let’s smash that out by saying, unfortunately I couldn’t agree more. We live in a seriously fucked up day and age. Our humanity is dying. Everyday drifting farther and farther away. We grow colder and more aloof daily which at this point is being encouraged by the man with his social distancing and legally required masks. And so I believe that we do need some form of law enforcement. But not this kind. Not this policy enforcer bullshit. Socially acceptable gangbanging is what it really is. Lame ass motherfuckers just running around extorting people for any number of “laws” they personally have created for that exact purpose. Well maybe not them. It was their pimp Masters that created the laws, the pigs just enforce them. Swearing an oath to uphold unjust and unnecessary laws simply to fatten the already swollen coffers that their Masters have laid out for them. Violating people regularly and murdering them randomly, all with the insane authority y’all have bestowed upon them and the umbrella protection that the man provides for them. Walking away from killing children and school teachers all because they “feared for their lives” with nothing more then the inconvenience of a news camera and maybe a 2 week paid vacation. Justifying their ridiculous actions that cause the deaths of innocent people and more often then not rejoining the force without so much as a cut in pay. The department settling with the families for some pathetically small amounts of money and then trying to distance themselves from it as much as they can, as fast as they can. We have pigs out here that aren’t fit to be babysitting y’all’s fucking kids but we’re gonna give them some guns and tell them to go out and make sure people are doing what they’re supposed to be doing, in accordance with the law. Some of these motherfuckers couldn’t even begin to tell you about integrity and honor, about respect. They take the gay little badge you maniacs pinned on them and flex the muscles you gave them, making sure we act right instead of running around raping and stabbing each other like we almost definitely would be doing without them. Risking their lives to make sure we’re all safe. Wait what? How’s that? The job description itself says that everyday they are expected to just lay it down and do some hero shit. Risking their lives so we will be safe. Thats what they are signing up for. That’s the gig. So how the fuck you gonna murder a little retarded kid holding a Nintendo controller because you feared for your life? Maybe you signed up for the wrong gig. Maybe dollar general is a better fit? But we would never know. Not until he kills some poor motherfucker because of his inability to read a situation properly and his hair trigger. Because of his fear. Pigs shouldn’t be scared. They shouldn’t fear death. Fuck they should borderline want that shit. But instead we have former high school quarterbacks that couldn’t cut it on the college level and since they hadn’t had a plan b when the recruiters never showed up and they didn’t have the balls to join the military, being a pig was the best option left amongst Walmart cashier and elementary school janitor. The requirements to become a cop are ridiculously inadequate basically allowing anybody with a ged and a heartbeat to join up. Sending them to six weeks of training and them giving them a weapon and an entitlement issue and setting them free. They absolutely need to abolish the police. We do need some kind of law enforcement, I will not disagree with that but not this. Not these clowns. These thugs. The job description requires a hero type and I think that’s what they should be demanded. The job requirements should include a psychological exam and an integrity check. Empathy should be a class taught at their silly little academy and humility should be emphasized. In a perfect world we wouldn’t need the police but this is a far from perfect world, we deserve the police to be a lot closer to the heros we need and a lot farther from the bullies and thugs that they actually are.
Well who am I? That’s a legit question. A question that I’m not sure how to answer but it’s still a good question. I mean, I know who I’ve been, I know how I think, I know what I do, but who I am? Still working on it. I’m currently trying to figure out who I am, or at least who I want to be, and what I want to be when I grow up. Most of y’all worked on this a long ass time ago, like in grade school, but if you know me you know I’m not really like y’all and if you don’t know me you will soon learn and so while you guys were thinking about your future selves I was busy thinking about that day. I’ve never really looked for tomorrow because quite frankly tomorrow is just a dream. Who knows if tomorrow will even come? And so at 41 years old, having lived and died a thousand lifetimes in those 41 years, I sit here contemplating a future I never really wanted, and drawing blanks. In searching for a direction I’ve gotten plenty of feedback and people have been overwhelmingly pushing the whole writer thing. Firstly, I will not be writing my life story. That shit was hard enough to live, to think I’d want to go back and relive that shit as I write it? No fucking thanks. Plus, it’s really not a very interesting story. So I won’t be doing some autobiography. Which leaves me what? A novel? Ha. Short stories? About what? Children’s books? Self help? Hahahahahahahahahahahaha. I can’t even help myself how the fuck am I supposed to help you? So what does that leave? Freelance journalism. I Google searched how to become a freelance journalist and it basically says start a blog, write a bunch of shit on there and try to find a niche. A niche? What the fuck? That’s kinda always been my thing, I have no niche. But they said write what you know, write what you’re passionate about, that’s your niche. So drugs and addiction? Crime? Gangbanging and drug slanging? Anarchy? Are those niches? I have no idea. I mean who would want to read about my knowledge in drug addiction? Why? What good would my experiences with the system and my complete contempt for the government have to anyone else? Exactly.