Ground Hog Day- minus Bill Murray

I’ve lost 15 pounds. I stood on the scale and was shocked at the response. Then I think about the last few weeks: my girlfriend dumped me, I lost my job, as well as my major source of income. I shouldn’t be shocked at my change in weight considering my beer prohibition and my lack of appetite. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t stopped drinking, I put away a 5^th of vodka like people drink coffee. Wow, am I really writing a country western song right now? My life has become ground hog day. I wake up; grab a 16 ounce beer to chase the leftover vodka from the night before. Finish beer and vodka, go to store and buy another 16 ounce beer and 5^th of vodka. Return home put the beer in the fridge and proceed to put in work on the vodka. At this point it’s 10:30 am. When I drink vodka, I don’t sip it, mix it, or put it on the rocks… I shoot that shit like a freshman in high school, no chaser, except I don’t puke it up afterwards (that would be a waste of perfectly good vodka). I watch Californication and chain smoke and think about ending it all, then I look at Rufus. Rufus is my dog. It’s time to take him out so he can do his thing. We return, I feed him and then I get back to my path of destruction. At some point during my drinking and self-loathing I go to check the mail to see if the VA has finally delivered the check I so desperately need. When I discover it is not there I return to my brain numbing in hopes it will kill me sooner than later. Sometimes I remember to take my medication, I’m supposed to take my meds with food, but I don’t eat so I often forget to take them. At around 1 or 2 in the morning I start to fade out. I look at the bottle of vodka to make sure there is enough for the morning to accompany my 16 ouncer. I pass out…

Pieces and Creases

TBN

Words

Words words words, how they are absurd. Sometimes we use them and sometimes we are at a loss for them. They don’t always get us what we want and sometimes they get us out of trouble. Sometimes they create a shit storm that we can’t get out of. Sometimes we put them on a pretty platter and make someone’s day. There are so many uses for words that sometimes we forget how to use them, we falter. Yet we never stop using them for good or bad, we simply use them. 

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Get Over it Already, B You

Vices perplex me. You want to really know what a vice is? It’s a prohibitor, plain and simple. It’s a parent telling us we shouldn’t see a certain movie or listen to a certain album. Vices prohibit the things that make us happy, cope, release stress etc., I could easily go on and on about the pleasures we refuse ourselves. What is wrong in indulging in the things that make us happy? When I present that question to people their response is always something like: it’s bad for my health, it makes me fat, it’s immoral, blah fucking blah. If it makes you happy then by all means indulge. Fuck what society says; smoking is bad for you, drinking is bad for you, a big mac is bad for you, too much caffeine is bad for you. As Eminem once put it so eloquently, “fuck sluts, take drugs”. If those are the things you want to do, for fuck sake do them. I am sick and tired of hearing people tell me they want to quit this and that which ultimately leads them to disappointment. I see it again and again. Why lie to yourself? I’m going to lose 20 pounds, I’m going to quit smoking, stop eating fast food, stop snorting cocaine off of stripper’s breast, or what have you. Okay that last one was on me; however stop making yourself miserable by denying yourself the things that make you happy. Stop inundating yourself by what society tells you what is “bad”. Enjoy your life, you don’t know when it will end. So while you concern yourself with certain vices, the grim reaper does not, he is ready to take your life without discrimination, vices and all.

Pieces and Creases

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P.S.- I have never snorted cocaine off of a stripper’s breast, but I have a lot of vices and that could easily be one of them

Don't Skip

I hate you all. Yep, I'm talking to you. Don't take offense, some people hate broccoli. But if we all got down to the nidy gritty I wouldn't be alone in that statement. We just dont want to admit it or accept it. We all pretend. Why? When I meet you on the street 99 times out of 100 I want nothing to do with you, however society says I should engage in a conversation with you about something I could care less about only if I tried.... really hard, like put in work. It's like when you are looking at something on youtube and you have the option to skip the latest t-mobile commercial.

 "Who says something like that, they hate everyone"? I do. I don't have the time nor the inclination to waste my time talking about the insignificance of your life. And don't get me wrong, my life is no more significant than yours; I just really don't care, I just have the balls to say it. So the next time you are enjoying, whatever it is you enjoy on youtube, don't skip that state farm commercial and feel me.

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TBN

Which Way is North?

I am too old for this. I don’t need this nor do I want it. I feel ashamed of myself for getting attached. I don’t even know if I was that attached, which makes it even worse to feel the way I do. I have no idea where to go or what to do now. I have lost my true north. I don’t consider myself a stupid person but that is certainly how I feel at the moment. Perhaps it is all for the better, assuming there is such a thing as a better. I have a lot of endurance but I don’t know how much more I can endure. Where is the end and where is there a short cut?

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Days Past

We once thought the same. We liked the same books, movies, girls, and had the same perspective on life. We were all about fuck society and the status quo. We made fun of the people buying cookie cutter homes, having kids, working a 9 to 5 and conforming to societal norms. But things change, people change.  One minute I am sleeping on his floor discussing pussy and the American nightmare/dream and the next minute we are discussing his home loan he was just approved for and the quirks of his one year old daughter. Don’t get me wrong I am not a hater, I am genuinely happy for the dude and I only wish the best for him and his budding family. He has progressed and moved forward in his life and good for him. I guess he is fulfilling the American dream we so despised not so long ago. I guess I feel left behind, although I have no desire at this age for a house and kids. However, I feel I lost someone, a fellow soldier in the fuck the proverbial man campaign. But I digress; I am a man in the margin, and while it may be a lonely road, it is my road to travel. I will never be your beast of burden, life.

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I Once Killed a Man

I once killed a man. Didn't know I killed him until I saw his body. He wasn't moving as I stood over his body, but of course he wouldn't be moving, I shot him. He looked like he was asleep, which I would have assumed if there hadn't of been two entry wounds in his neck and abdomen. I often wonder what happened to his body, who he was, if he had a family and if he believed in what he was fighting for. I question what I was fighting for. I have dreams that that person I saw lying on the ground was me. Maybe I would have been better off being the corps lying on the ground rather than the person who has to live with the knowledge that he has taken another life. Better him than me right? I'm not so sure. When you are in combat you don't give any consideration to your enemy. You just do your job, which is all and good in the moment. What happens after the moment and the smoke has cleared is where humanity lies. He is dead and I am having dreams about it and currently writing about it. Why is he not writing about my death? Was my purpose more righteous than his? Should I assume that since my rounds found him before his found me that my life is worth more than his was? Maybe, or I was just a better shot.

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This is My Life- Chapter 1

Chapter 1

This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Some would say that I have problems, and they can go fuck themselves. Only kidding, say what you would like. However, when did the problems you accuse me of begin: Marine Corps, post Operation Iraqi Freedom, high school, or at toddler stage? I am going to throw a dart at my past life experiences and go from there. Dart in air… it landed on rock n roll, again only kidding. Let me take you back to 1997. Disclaimer: Any people I speak of are coincidental and purely fictional and were included in this book strictly for the purposes of me explaining my insanity. 
It’s a school day (I’m in high school for those who are poor at math and can’t connect the dots of me being 34 and it being 1997) and I awake in bed with hands around my throat. Now I have an alarm clock but it is from the mechanical variety that makes loud obnoxious noises that wake me from my slumber. So as I awake struggling for breath I figure ‘the machines’ have taken over. I am dragged from my bed, hit the floor, and realize it is not my alarm clock becoming self-aware; rather it is my stepfather strangling me. He lets me go while I still have oxygen in my lungs. So I stumble from my bedroom dazed and confused (say man you got a joint? Be a lot cooler if you did) in survival mode. He catches me at the top of the stairs as I am attempting to escape and throws me against the wall with his hands around my throat once again. Now I am quite certain this human is not my alarm clock. I don’t remember exactly what happened from there except we are both are crying and I can see my mother out of the corner of my eye watching.