Bored as Fuck, Fuckin Bored. Pills

the title pretty much says it all, but if you are also bored as fuck, perhaps this will entertain you.

its just a stream of consciousness, but i enjoy writing them so fuck you if it doesnt entertain you.

‘Recovery’ pretty much explains my life right now, the song, by frank turner i believe. its the shit, but its depressing cuz its so true. 

im feelin good now tho, took my meds, perscribed and self prescribed. 

I need to get my tattoo finished asap, but i can only sleep on my stomach and the left side of my face because of all the new shit i got. Redid the back tat, new right shoulder tat, and right side industrial. limits my sleeping options. 

It really is ‘a long road to recovery from here, a long way back to the life’. maybe ill make it, maybe i wont. im not to concerned about it to  be honest. If i do thats great, if i dont thats great to. thats what i feel good about. 

my consciousness is pretty dead today. 

nothing

nothing

nothing

nothing

nothing

nothing

nothing

Still reading?

nothing

nothing

nothing

nothing

nothing

im going to a birthday party tonight, a little apprehensive. not to sure what to expect. Im not good in those situations. im good one on one. maybe one on two. not one on like 25. but whatever, take my meds and find out 🙂 

ive been much more open to new experiences lately.

and i dont give a fuck about anything, or much at least. 

I fucking love music, thats one thing I know for a fact.

I rarely miss weed.

I like my pills.

I like bitches, hoes, and tricks, girls too. women are a bit out of my league at the moment, but in 6 days they wont be. 

im sure no ones gonna make it this far if they read it at all, so if you do make it this far please like it, even if u actually dont. Im just curious. 

I dont spell check and i dont give a fuck about grammar. this is WordPress so chill the fuck out. 

My novel will have impeccable grammar, so you can all suck it. and yes I have a novel in the works. Hopefully will be finished by the end of summer. Except this stream of consciousness is very distracting. 

I need my boy Phil to kick me into gear, cant wait to chill with him. He’s the man. Check out his wordpress. its like Jack of the Union or something. im to lazy to go check. sorry phil. But he’s a far better writer than myself. so try to find him and look at his shit. His way with words is my way with my dick. we get along very well. 

borrrrrreeeeed as FUCK

Fuckin BORED

PILLS

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10 Days til Nirvana (short story draft part I)

10 Days til Nirvana (Draft; part I)

Day 10

“That’s it man, 10 days,”

“This is really fucked that your telling me dude. You shouldnt’ve told me. This is gonna fuck with my head man. Don’t do it.”

“10 days, and I’m at peace. How is that a bad thing?”said Zach into the phone.

“Really? youre really gonna ask me that?” said the orange haired James.

“I’m just sayin man, from my perspective it’s not bad at all, its glorious.”

James puffed  distraught,“You’re using my one phone call a month to tell me this?” he paused and swiped his forehead slowly. “Shit, I would’ve called someone else.”

Zach was cool in his response, “The only reason I’m telling you is cuz you can’t tell anyone else. Im sure you’ve figured that out by now.” The smug grin crept its way up his slender face. “Its the perfect set up.” It reached its peak, “Gorgeous.”

“Fuck you,” James said defeated.

“If you tell anybody, who the fucks gonna believe you? you’re in the Federal Pen,” laughed Zach.

“Fuck you twice,” said the 21-year-old in the jumpsuit.

“Its gonna be a great 10 days tho, I’ll tell you that much. Like the Bucket List on crack.”

“This is so fucked, I’m gonna figure out a way to stop you man. Dont do this shit,” James pleaded.

“10 days and I’m gone brotha. I gotta go though. This shit ain’t worth a buck a minute,” Zach laughed, “You know I love ya though man. For real. There is nothing you can do. No guilt.”

“Don’t do it man, your only 20.”

“Not for long. 10 days mothafucka. Peace out.”

“ill talk to you in a month,” was James last resort.

“No you won’t,”

All that was left for James heard was a dial tone.

Zach leaned back in his porch chair and breathed a long sigh of relief. He had to tell someone his plan. James was not only his best friend, but the only person who couldn’t do a thing to stop him. He lit a Newport and breathed a second, deeper sigh. It felt so good. This feeling of calmness melted with elation and resolve had eluded him for months, could have been years for all he knew. He didn’t know. He stepped from the sunporch barefoot in to the grass. He never liked the feeling of grass on his feet until now.

“I’d like anything right about now,” Zach said to the fresh air taking in the calm Michigan night. “Now to plan the next 9 days.”

He flicked the butt and made his way down to his basement, the plan formulating in his mind

Day 9

The decision had been made the previous night to ease into his 9 day spree. For Zach it wasn’t so much a spree, as 9 days of pure and simple freedom. Today would be simple, get a nice car.

He was deciding between Beamer and Porshe.

Shit! he thought, realizing the answer to his dilemma was right behind him: Tony’s Baby; his neighbor’s amazing specimen of an automobile.

He wasn’t even his neighbor, so there was no chance of amiss scruples for Zach. He was simply the guy who owned the two lots behind his house, and the mansion behind those two lots. He did happen to grow up in the same area as Zach’s father, but that was no matter either. The mansion filled with nothing but Tony, the rich asshole who couldn’t even bother to take care of his property, save once a month on his 3000 dollar riding lawnmower, The Lazer.

Tony’s was the one.

 It was a Monday, so he knew Tony would be at work. Zach figured Tony was to cocky for a security system, and he didn’t care if one happened to be armed. He would go in and come out again.

Zach hopped the rotting fence separating their yards, and smoked a Newp as he walked across the field. He didn’t even try the door,instead punching through the window with his bare fist with only the smallest grimace. He finished the cig inside and put it out on his arm, as he would with every cig for the remaining 9, soon to be 8, days.

Zach slowly walked about the house knocking down pictures, punching wholes in walls, destroying anything he felt like. The 80 inch tv he took special pleasure in kicking down cop style. Zach had always wanted to try that.

We should probably find the keys shit head, he thought to himself.

He soon located them next to the keys to the Porsche, the Shelby Mustang GT 500, the Benz, and his the one he would take. Zachary Bradley had never smiled bigger than he did at this moment, right now. This was his first real step on the path to freedom.

Talk about stickin it to the man.

He grabbed the keys and made his way destructively to the garage. Tearing down this and that, kicking wholes in walls, giving up his arm-ashtray to put his Newport out on Tony’s graduation picture, the face of course. The only pictures in his house were of Tony.

And I thought my life was depressing.

The garage, finally. He once again utilized his cop kick and busted through the side  door. There was the Porsche, the Mustang, the Benz, and his new ride. Zach felt like he was in a movie, brushing his hand gently down the side of the hood to the door.

“Oh, the things im gonna do to you baby,” he said as his depression lifted a little more, and he smiled a real smile, not the fake cynical smile he was so used to.

He put the key in the ignition and revved the engine in neutral yelling, “God damn,” competing with the engine noise, and failing.

He threw the shifter into first, and without bothering to open the garage door, blasted through it into the driveway, across the front yard and finally skidded into the conveniently open street.

Never thought I’d be driving a Ford GT, he thought, then added, At all, let alone before my 21st birthday. This is going to be fun. 

He blew through the red light and headed to the highway, hitting 120 mph before the next mile road came up.

Just gotta hit the freeway…

Day 7

Seven days until Zach turned 21. And then his plan could reach fulfillment. He had his usual breakfast of cigarettes and toothpaste and prepared himself for the day. Day Seven required a bit more planning than the previous day. He grabbed the necessary supplies from his house and loaded them into his ’93 Lumina.

“Fuckin A/C,” Swore Zach, wishing it worked on days like this, 80 degrees and muggy, thunderstorm watch until 8pm.

Perfect for me he thought. A thunderstorm would not only match his mood, but would be good cover for the days events. Day seven equaled seven liquor stores. He knew robbing a liquor store was a bit cliché, but seven in one day seemed original enough, and Zach liked to be original.

Maybe I shoulda been nicer to the GT. Looting seven liquor stores would’ve been way cooler in a GT. And people would’ve been like ‘What the fuck is going on,’ he laughed to himself at the thought, as well as at the previous days events. It had been everything he dreamed. That car was truly a beautiful creation.

Now that’s something to live for, if only it was mine, and not buried in the side of a building in the D.

The Lumina would have to do for today. The plan was never to keep the GT. Each day was a seperate activity, a step closer to ultimate freedom.

Where was the one place one could rob seven liquor stores and get away scott free, in Michigan at least? The D. Detroit was the closest thing to the wild west these days. Zach had thought all this through and was heading down I-96 to set things in motion. He ditched his car in Redford and caught a bus, backpack loaded for the rest of the day. It was noon.

Day 6

“Call from Arizona Federal Penitentary, do you accept?” droned the robotic voice on the other side of the call.

“Uh yeah sure,” said Zach.

“Yo, you’re still alive at least,” James said after a few seconds of silence.

“How the fuck are you calling me?”

“I thought you’d be a little happier to hear from me.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You dont want to fucking know. I’m giving you one last chance man. I’ll figure out a way to get another call and I’m gonna call your Dad.”

“Fuck you. You’re right, I don’t wanna know. I don’t give a shit. But if you fuck this up for me I swear to god or Buddha or who-the-fuck-ever that I will kill you, if it’s the last thing I do. I’m not fucking joking with you,” Zach spat into the phone furious, his mind racing.

“I dont give a shit bro, you could kill me, but whatever. I have to stop you.”

“You can’t stop me,” Zach said suddenly calm, cold, and ended the call.

He took a deep breath and thought again, You can’t stop me James, no one can. I will do this until the end, no matter what it takes. I know the cost. I am the cost. 

This hiccup could be overcome, even played into. Zach knew he could out think James, and his Dad, and whoever else he had too. He would be victorious. The plan would have to be altered of course, but his mind was already turning. His cruel smile crept up to his cheeks as an idea blossomed, and it was quickly blooming into a much more diabolical one than the one already in motion.

Well I suppose I owe James a thank you, this will be much more fun. I shoulda thought of this from the start. Fuckin dumbass.

Unfortunately, today’s events would have to be cancelled Zach decided. This would require much more planning than the last few days, which still seemed like a dream.

I thought lucid dreaming was cool, life is fucking cool. But only when you’re free. And I am free.

Zach added the cherry of his cigarette to his arm, which was already full of the little circle scabs from the pack or pack and a half a day he smoked. He went to his cave in the basement, and plotted.

5 days, and I am truly free. 

To be continued…

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Shut the fuck up (Short Story Intro)

“you need to relax.”

“You need to shut the fuck up.”

The two men, if a man is an 17 year old (which its not), had been bickering like this seemingly for hours.

Then a man stepped in.

“Here’s what your going to do,” he interjected. “you’re going to do something, or your both going to shut up. You have five seconds to decide.”

The two boys looked at him, and then at each other.

Just as the one began to say his “sorry”, the other’s fist cut him off at the “sor-“.

And then another strike to the face followed by one in the stomach. The boy crumpled to the ground.

“well,” said the man, “Now your relaxed, and he shut the fuck up. So we all can be happy.”

He slammed his beer and walked out.

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Absolute Nothingness

I am oblivious.

Yet somehow, the vast majority of people are far more oblivious than me. 

The one who wasn’t is now oblivious to me.

I dislike that. 

Freshly tatted, I feel high.

Must be some special ink The Gallery uses.

I like.

My green shorts work for me. Fuck what you think.

Fuck what I think.

Nobody thinks.

We all just do, and attempt to think later.

That is not thinking.

I am multitasking at the moment.

Yet I am not thinking.

I will think about this later though.

But by then its to late to be thinking.

Its reflecting.

Slash. 

Scar.

Blood.

Knife.

Words.

Meaningless.

Fresh.

And not clean.

So.

My consciousness is dimmed this fine night.

Restless and bored, Im struggling to find substance.

I know right where it is though.

But not tonight.

Boring.

I am.

Perhaps a story next.

Perhaps sleep.

Perhaps lucid dreams.

Perhaps not.

Rubbing alcohol.

Writer’s block.

Can suck my little white cock.

If only it could.

I might actually like it then.

If you’ve made it this far, you must be more bored than me.

Peace war and death

 

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The Way (poem)

I can see no way

but one

the way is before me

and clear

the way is extremely difficult

but simple

the way is uncommon

and mine

the way is the only way

but varies

the way is something I’ve never known

and I know

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I am (poem)

The writer who doesn’t write

the lover who has no love

the killer who hasn’t killed

the baller who can’t ball

the player who’s never played

the lover who has no love

The thief who doesn’t steal

I am

You are

Write to me and ill love you

Ball on me and ill kill you

Steal from me and ill respect you

read my shit and ill shed a tear for you

Im not a poet and i know it

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Ive Decided to Consciously Stream for a Minute

Cigarettes.

Admiral Nelson.

Bud Light.

Coke Zero? Wtf. I must be a little bitch.

And a Knife.

My ashtray is a mug dedicated to retarded women, no joke. 

If someone invents an everlasting cigeratte, ill throw you 5 bones.

I love that all my fagget roommates moved out. 

PEACE and quiet 

no more war

More Admiral Nelson, more Light Buds, And a fuckton more Reds.

I love streaming my consciousness. Can this be a career? please tell me yes someone. 

Ill stream like a pornstar on another pornstars face. 

I don’t watch porn, unless its my secret homemade shit. or my mental spank bank,

If a reader has a Brazzers, Bangbros, or Reality Kings, hook your boy up. Thats the only shit I’m down to watch.

I suppose Redtube if I’m desperate, or Youjizz, or Porntube. 

But not lately, as in the last 7 months lately. 

My spank bank is loaded the fuck up.

I enjoy Macbooking. 

I tatted myself with a knife today.

And tomorrow Spiz is tatting me with a tat gun.

Who knows who’s is better?

Oh wait, I do. SPIZ.

I salute you Admiral Nelson.

I salute you Morphine.

I salute you Xanax.

I salute you Marlboro Reds.

I sometimes salute your Newps.

There’s a blank wall in front of me. Meditate?

Nah, Ill Stream for ya’ll.

Steraming Streaming streaming streaming.

Writers block, Writers block, Writers block..

Block the writer.

Just not me.

I like music.

I like Pussy.

Sup bitches, get at me. NOW.

Just playin.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm What to say.

To say what?

Maybe this is it for the night.

Or maybe the night is it for this.

I feel like Ive never wasted so much time, but never had such a great time wasting it.

I hate time.

If you tell me how to freeze time, I promise to throw you a pack of your favorite smokes.

and if you don’t smoke ill throw you $6.50.

So lemme know. 

I think ill write a poem next.

Peace and War and Conflict and Resolution and Confusion

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