It was a clear day in Montana... Maybe it was Louisiana... I don't quite remember. My head had been pounding all morning. The tequila is reminding me of the awful mistakes I've made. The skies that pass are quite blue for such a cold day. The American life. Any type of weather passes these parts. Most Americans don't feel the need to go anywhere else and why not? We have it all here in The United States of America.

   Coffee... The only way I'll be able to keep a pulse today. Lots to do. Lying in bed the phone rings. It's the front desk. Some nice lady seems to have had not liked how I was consuming my alcohol last night. Maybe I was too loud. I do have to admit, I am a loud drinker. After hanging up the phone my eyes settle nervously on the coffee maker. The thing about that coffee maker is that it makes a very loud and irritating sound while it runs. My innards could not sustain such a fright at this point. I was falling apart but I needed to make that coffee.

   I got up and began to make the froth smell of coffee. I stare across the living room floor at the maker and focus on it's curves and small nooks. What could possibly be making that noise? Maybe I needed to get a new one but my finances aren't looking too good at the moment. The phone rings again and it's my brother Wake. Wake is a solid man. As a kid he liked to fish and camp. Anyway, Wake was looking for a pick me up and I didn't know what to tell him... I was all out.

   "Man, all I need is a bump. Can you help me out?" I listened to the scare in his voice. He was truly sick.

   "I thought you were over this Wake." I heard Wake take a deep breath. He's trying to think of something to say in order to solidify his need. "I'm trying." was all I got from him. He had me worried. As a brother I should be right? Who else does he have? I told him I'd pick him up in an hour. After hanging up the phone I realized I needed to pick up Sheryl... My beautiful but pissed wife. I always seem to find a way to make her day more tough. What's my agenda? It'd be nice to know so I could prepare myself for whatever beating or hell I'd be walking into come 2pm: Pick Up Sheryl Time.

   Riiiiiing dong boooon errr. Jesus. There goes that darn coffee maker. Always catches me mid thought. I step out onto the patio after giving the coffee maker a good mean muggin' and lit a cigarette. The morning smoke really cures the blues somehow. I'll still feel like crap after but the demons will rest for a while. A bird flies by. I always wondered if the freedom of flight was as good as it sounded. Having the ability to go anywhere is nice but maybe it makes it easier to just fly away from something you probably should stick around for. A turtle has a rough slow going time when he decides to scoot away from his problems. 

   Back inside the room I get dressed and hair combed. On my way out I run into Shelly. She lives across the hall. Wanted to know if I saw a package earlier. It's her way of asking me, "Can you do this for me?" I usually say I'll keep an eye out for it but today was different. I was gonna give it to her man... I was in no mood to be dealing with her lazy around the ugly bush stupid questions. 

   I was done. It stops now... And, no. That didn't happen. I didn't tell her how sick I was of her. I just kept on walking past her. Such an anger built up in such a short amount of time. My mind was running too fast for the morning. I needed to calm myself. I have to get my mail to see if the insurance policy that my father had will cover my surgery. I'm getting a hernia taken care of. More on that later. Must keep moving forward.

   Down in the lobby I hear some kind of commotion happening but it barely catches my attention. I need to get to my mailbox.

   "What the fuck do you mean the room's not there?" Someone was experiencing anger.

   "Sir, like I've repeatedly stated. The room has a problem with the pluming and the hotel is at capacity. You can stay at our sister hotel during the renovation." Professionalism can be mundane if you ask me.

   "All my stuff is in there. You can't do that!"

   "Sir!" 

   I turn the corner of the lobby hall and rush out of the spinning doors. Out on the street the traffic has climaxed to a rage. The energy of my surroundings is not improving. Horns blaring. Pedestrians maneuvering for their lives. I try and jump the street but a cab nearly takes my legs out from under me. I back up in shock. The driver has stopped right where I was standing. I look up towards him expecting a fight that I am not prepared for but the driver just angrily waves me away like an annoying fly. His car screams away down the street for his next costumer. I fear I won't have the will power to go through two surgeries at this point in my life. A precautious one never fly but it's the only agenda I can afford. Stick to the sidewalks.

   My pants begin to vibrate. Oh, man. The tequila is collecting it's debt in an evil way this time. Have mercy on my nervous system Sir. Drink. I promise to only abuse you in the classiest of ways from now on... My pants still vibrate. What is this madness? CRAP. Sheryl. I dig into my pocket and grab my vibrating phone. As I take it out a small piece of paper falls to the ground. I answer the phone and pick up the paper from the ground.

   

   "Hello?"

   "Where on earth are you Jacob?"

   The piece of paper has a number on it. A six digit number: 308297. The hell is that?

    "What?" Sheryl's attitude was not going to improve.

   "Oh, sorry. Um, I'm on fifth and Grand. Where are you?"

   "Jacob. I'm at the doctors. You were suppose to be here an hour ago. I've been calling you ever since."

   Three zero eight two nine seven... Birthday's? A date? Could be a cellmates number. Doesn't Alfred work in corrections? Maybe he could help me out. I'll give him a call.

   "Who the hell is Alfred? Jacob. I need you to focus. The doctor wants to know what blood type you are. Do you have any clue?"

  A ratched side effect of large amounts of alcohol and bendomazine. The ware and tare on the mind creates the illusion that one is speaking inward but in reality is speaking to all who can hear. I need to check the dosage on the bottle of pills and tequila.  No use explaining this to Sheryl. She needs answers and so do I.

     "Uh, yeah. Try B." A slight pause on the line.

     "...That sounds like a guess. Are you positive it's B?"

     "Ah, no. Try B positive. Yeah that's it. Hey, does the number 308297 ring any bells?"

     Another lengthy pause on the lone. I wasn't sure if I was giving something away like some special code or something but I had a feeling this number meant something. My stomach makes a begging scream for food.
     "Jacob..." A sigh of defeat comes through my phone. "Just make sure to be at Rachels tonight at 8pm. Okay?"
     "Alright but if anything comes up with those numbers let me ---..."
     The line ends. She must be having a bad day. I tell her to lighten up but she asks how could she with a maniac in her life. I didn't catch her drift but I still wonder to this day who that maniac is.

     I stuff the paper in my back pocket and walk into SAL's. The best damn sandwhiches in East Davenhill. Always been a favorite. Coming in I see three men seated next to each other by the bar front. Hardworking men I can see. I decide to join them but leave a space between them and I in fear they might not want such a close encounter.
     I take my seat and forward a good morning to my pending buddies. The one closest to me turns his head slightly and nods. He has a roast beef sandwich in front of him that has been halved by his mouth.
     "Roast beef huh? The best in town if you ask me." The nearest again lets out a nod in agreement. A couple odd seconds pass. I guess my opening line was too open. No response. I look over towards the other two gentlemen and notice the one furthest from me has on scrubs under his fall jacket. I see this as a possible in to some delighted conversation. I study my future words in my head. First lesson in precausiosness...: THINK BEFORE THY SPEAKTH.

     "Hey Doc, I was wondering about something lately." The three of them look up from their plates wondering what I talk about. Ok, must make myself clear and to the point. 

Summer Heat

      The feat of another summer troubles me deeply now that I've been faced with the first week back to a college I have yet to share a memory worth remembering. The searing walks along the blacktop layered parking lots spare me no chance to let my mind wonder like a child, take in the views watch the trees sway, wonder what it would look like if you were on top of that tree... Simple thoughts. Not today though. Not in this heat. I find myself breathing in crap and spitting out nothing more. Why do I always leave for class so early? To get ahead of everyone else? In a sense, I'm already behind going to a community college where all it takes is a pulse to pass. Money well spent. 

      As I crawl through the secondary parking lots filled with cars, who will most definitely cease to exist in a week or two, a small taste of frustrated anger crawls up my spine: the site of eager students walking to class... who, for some damned reason, don't have the same disgusted look on their face as me. Why don't they? Jesus, I don't know. Why is it so hot? The heat that pours down on my neck doesn't seem fair to such a fragile specimen as myself. The town should implement shade wherever a human might venture out for a walk. Those brave enough not to cower from the rays should do so knowing that whatever they do after this aggressive exposure, 'I will do in utter pain.' 20 minutes before class and I'm already entering the building. I sit in a car not 50 yards from my destination, why should I leave 25 minutes early? Ah, maybe I'll run into someone I haven't seen in months. I'll be very shady and act as if they were one of my imaginations that I can no longer see. I'm sure they'll appreciate that. 

Quick Stop On Duckner Street

          I hadn't seen him sitting there before when I came in for my morning coffee. He sat there, legs crossed, reading some polish novel. His shoes were colored an odd red, his tie an even grey. I locked sight on him as I walked passed him towards the Quick Stop on Duckner St. As I reached the door, he evenly tilted his head up from his book and nodded to me. I thought he was lost at first. Why would such an odd character be seated in front of a normal store such as the Quick Stop on Duckner.  I wondered if anybody inside knew who he was. I doubted it. So I stood there with my hand of the handle of the door pausing for a second, snarling at what I saw. I saw that his fingernails were cleanly cut. His hair had been freshly cut which pleasantly laid to rest on the collar of his black coat. His shoe laces were evenly tied. He dabbed his lit cigarette with care. Something was wrong here. Not long before my surveying of this unlikely customer of the Quick Stop of Duckner Street, Evan, owner of the Quick Stop, yelled to me from inside. "Hey boy, it's says PULL, not PUSH.' I slipped out of my concentration. I swung the door open to hear a piecing ring above the door. 'Ah jeez, whats with that crap Ev?' I tilt in pain gripping my ringing ears. Evan chuckles 'I kinda like it.' I shake it off and walk into the Quick Stop.

          The Quick Stop doesn't have much, but the people inside it serve as the reason I keep coming back. Its been here for 6 years now and has been on a steady decline ever since its doors opened. The smell of the place is quite comforting. It was once explained by a disturbed first time customer as smelling like a dead cow wrapped in a burning rug. I didn't understand it but it sounded right. It's a homey store. Right where we belong. I start to my left where the front windows are, when I see a good friend scurry across the floor. 'Hey Rattus!' He looked well groomed today, something was different in his stride. 'Aye pal! Nice to smell ya! Samantha's doin her thing again' Samantha, another regular, comes to the Quick Stop to play the jukebox and memorize the info on the albums. I chuckle as I glance at Samantha across the store then back to Rattus. 'Has she... You better stay out of it this time Rus.' Samantha has always had an odd talent. She described it vaguely one morning, saying she can feel and alter power sources. We all shrugged it off as some experience she once had in the 60's... She's a solid chick though. 

          I passed the magazine shelf that lay across the front wall. I usually take a look at whats new but today I had a different item in mind. Bullets. Thankfully Evan was able to pick them up from a local supplier. I couldn't find any decent stores on Duckner St that could supply me with my need. Many letdowns when living in such a small town. I neared the end of the isle when I notice the back of the freezer doors resemble a red tint. I saw her precious feet sit snug into bright red high heels through the glass. She wears them well. Her milk white colored legs travel far and dense up into a burgundy skirt that rests calmly against her upturned hip. 'Hey Gabby.' She smiles at my request for her attention. 'Hiya doll, how are you?' I look up and down once more to collect the moment. 'Im alright, bit hungry. But puttin' along. How's the freeze treating you?' The freezer, her favorite spot, is lined with sale slogans for drinks all over the glass. Her upper half is covered by a bud light stamp that she placed there for a mysterious effect,my favorite freezer girl. 'The Boondocks of this spot always keep my calm inatct.' She lands a wink and slowly closes her eyes to her default pose. 

          The sight is inspiring but I'm quickly pulled from my concentration by Willy, he's been her since the opening as well. Every day I find him in front of the muffin tray seeking the perfect one to eat yet never finds it. He screams 'I've found it! My thoughts can finally rest!' He startles Evan who looks up then shakes it off. I had forgotten it was Wednesday, the day Willy usually comes close to finding the one. Such an intimate seeker of the perfect muffin. I've learned much from him. I learned how to pick the perfect car. A 1998 red Chevrolet Minivan-Pickup with the speakers blown out, hub caps tossed, steering wheel torn to bits with one side mirror. A perfect fit for the Duckner St asylum. I turn down  isle 4 toward the middle of the store and find what I've been looking for. What I came here in the first place for. Sweet British Mark Sevens. They roast the best, slide down the pipe the best and release the best. I spot a big 7 on a white box on the middle shelf, just about to tip over the lip. I grabbed a full case of British Mark 7 .303, Full Metal Jacket. They are the ones that go down easier. 

          As I hold them in my hand the lights in the store growl a quick dim. Then again. They start to return with a pace that suceeds the normal brightness. They start to squeal with electricty. 'Damnit Samantha! I told you, stop screwing around with my lights!' With my reward right in front of me, my attention squints towards the front of the store. Evan has Samantha suspended in the air by her throat with his hand. She's hysterically laughing. Tears run down her cheeks. The lights dim again. I see Rus run through the isle towards the front where they are. Willy, gripping tight his muffin, never loses concentration of his catch. Rus gains the center of the floor. He gazes up at Evans strength, Samantha's shaking body in Evan's grip, 'That damn fool, she's gotten better ya know.' Rattus seemed scared at what he knew could happen yet contempt with what he saw, what he had been waiting for. Both Evan's physical strength and Samantha's mental strength can give quite a show when challenged. Nobody knows why she does it but she loves to press Evan on his poor wiring throughout the store. 

          Chuckling, Samantha struggles but whispers 'I can't change your strength darling.' Evan smiles with pride. His arm, popping with bloody veins, slowly lowers Samantha towards the ground. Her feet catch the tiled floor yet Evan's grip holds tight. 'My lights dim again without me touching a switch, you'll need Ruttas here to change your diapers hourly. Understand?' Samantha's grin slowly changes from a giggle to a thwarting stare. The lights in their sockets above us all being to vibrate in a impressive fashion. The light above the bathroom towards the back suddenly breaks from the ceiling, crashing to the floor. Two placed over the magazine windows crash to the tiles underneath, turning the whole isle dark. Evan growls, Samantha's throat still in the spectacular grasp of Evan's hand , 'I will devour every bone.' The light above me explodes with such force it blasts me to the floor. Bullets everywhere. I can't hear anything. I can see Rus still gazing up, his fearless gaze has gotten him into trouble before but this time, he doesn't have a choice, he must see. I scramble back to my knees from my back and start to crawl towards the front. My knees press hard into bullets lying on the ground, my hands show blood streaming down from my arm from somewhere I cannot identify. The lights that  follow me down the isle continue to vibrate and explode one by one. I am yelling at full force. I drop to the front of the isle. My forgotten senses from the explosions rush to me in an instant. Loud forceful screeches of electricity blind my sight with bursts of sparks flowing from the ceiling. Samantha's body has risen several feet over us. Evan has unhinged his jaw in preparation. His neck has grown two feet in diameter. The complexion of his skin is unrecognizable. Samantha lets out a demonic howl that turns her eyes blood shot red. Her hair has frozen in sight, stretched out towards the heavens. I can no longer hear, see or feel. The sounds and sights coming from the front of the store has truly crippled me. All reality is lost. 

          Only my mind is compatible with this mess. I remind myself of Gabby. She must be dumbfounded with terror; in total anguish of this happening, trying to contemplate everything with no comprehension of what is going on through the glass. I turn around and crawl down the isle. I search my front, waiting for the numb touch of the freezer doors. I can feel the ground thundering through my knees and the palms of my hands. Gabby must be close. I reach an opening and gather the freezer doors are close. I turn to the left and reach far out in front of me. I feel soft skin, rich silky, soft skin. It is Gabby. She's crawled out of her door and fell to the ambush of events. I push myself towards her to shield her from the hot searing sparks coming from the ceiling. I can feel her racing heart pounding against my chest as I hold her. Everything happening around me settles into madness. Vision lost. Hearing Lost. Everything is lost. I can no longer provide meaning nor reasoning from what's happening. Samantha and Evan have lost their bearings. They have finally met their ends. It has always come close but never this close.

          I suddenly hear the ring for the front door. Silence. It stops all action within the store. I open my eyes to a tiled floor littered by bags of chips, vitamin bottles, soda bottles and bullets. I feel Gabby holding me tight. Who is it? I find my knees and start to gather Gabby to hers. I pull her up and she's heard it too. We both look down the isle, afraid to look further. We both find our feet and slowly peer over the shelf of cookies towards the front door. The man in the black coat has entered. The man takes a few steps into the store and softly asks, 'Sorry to disturb you but, would you happen to know the time?' . I see the man has an average height, slim, medium build. He has an average chin, neck line, ear shape and eye shape. Willy looks up from his muffin towards the far wall which holds a clock. Blinking tenderly '3:45P.M. Sir.' The odd man surveys the store which has surrendered all normalcy, groceries scatters every inch of the tile, some isle separations have fallen over, an angered man with his large arm and jaw controlling the body of a girl who's fiery red hair sways in the breeze coming in from the opened door. His scan of the store stops at the front, down towards the floor. A rat scurries towards him a few steps. 'Is that all?' The man smirks at the greased rat and evenly nods. 'That'll be all, Good day.' The man turns and leaves the store continuing his stride down Duckner Street. Rus turns to Evan and Samantha who haven't moved an inch in shock, Willy and his muffin, Me and Gabby and shrugs, 'What a creep huh?'  

Soundless

           I hear something. It's close I can tell. It's sound is faint but loud in its proximity. Each day I wake up and it greets me with a blast. My room is dead silent; a silence that would cripple the agile mind. It makes me crazy; crazy to think I hear something that isn't there. My fan stands still with nothing to do. It should be on, but I've shut it off ever since this sound has crept upon my mornings. An unknown green light splatters the darkened room with such gravity, my head boils inside. Still, the sound continues. It has kept me awake all night, without awaking me. I know it'll come soon as I sleep. It slithers through my dreams, always a deafening obedience in it's presence. I sit here in complaint of the so called unknown.

          I sweep the blankets off my body in one swift movement. It continues. I swing my legs over and lift my head to a leveled position with the green light. I walk to and open the door for the release of my bowels when it suddenly stops... I pause in observation. The grip I hold against the door drops. My heartbeat strengthens. I hear the attic creek. No reason to double think that. I give my room total concentration.

          I turn around and enter the center of my room. Shades drawn, sheets spread a mess. My clock slowly clicks to 6:32 AM. I hold my breath to silent my innards. I close my eyes and search for total solitude. The sound starts again. It begins to thump. Louder and louder. My arms reach for something to catch, only nothing. I give my thoughts a rest. I complete total silence. I am naked of all inner distractions. I am outside my own body. I swim around the room with reliance on the dream I had earlier that night. I can see what I saw. A ravage sight.

          Gauntlets of sludge filled with mud and grime surrounding my bed, only the impression of my body lay clean. The sludge builds and builds with a furious skill. All is silent. I see a fine stray of light piercing through the shade. It's the rising sun. I walk through the sludge, towards the window. I open the shades and find the light ending at my chest. A loud crashing sound. My shirt burns through, opening my bare chest to the sunlight. I rip the burnt pieces off my body and stare at my chest. My hairs seize up in flame. The sun still spearing my chest. I try and look the sun in the eye. I become dizzy and look down to see a shape flaming through my chest. It burns in the shape of my heart. The sound becomes brilliantly loud. It seems to be coming from my mind, from my torso, inside my chest. The shape protrudes through my chest. It violently morphs into my heart, bleeding. It falls on the floor. I pick it up to find the sound severely loud, coming from my pumping heart. I stare at my bloody organ. I search for a reason why. How am I alive? I crave an end to this.

          I pick at my heart to find the source of this piercing sound. I find a pen on my desk and rip my heart in half finding a golden shine bursting through the middle of my chambered heart. I grab it in my hands and squeeze til my fingers bleed with pressure. My eyesight begins to wither, my arms seem weak, but my hands still tightly gripping the mass. I feel my body heating up, my veins expanding, the roundness of my skull imploding, my chest bleeding with fire. The sound screams through my entire body without remorse. I squeeze one more time and collapse to the ground.

          From the ground I crawl to my bed. All of my bones seem to have left me. All strength gone. The sound so strong my ears begin to bleed. I reach my bed, hold myself upwards in a slop of skin, blood and rotten tissue. I gather the strength to spread myself among the sludge that's engulfed my bed. It's covering me quickly, with an evil revenge of darkness. I look over to the green flickering light which spreads a bright shine of light throughout my room. I slap it hard. 5 more minutes until the next snooze.

My Place In Time

          I'm pretty bored nowadays so this is where the last string is. To write bullshit that wraps around the epicenter of, whatever. Great start. I'm not going to delete anything I write from now on because what I usually write first is what I really mean and want to say. It'll be weird and not constructed well but who cares? Maybe you, maybe me, but definitely not 'them'.

          I'm in Miami and a hurricane is approaching. That's fantastic because yesterday, Friday, August 24th 2012 was the 20th anniversary of the lovely Hurricane Andrew that I was also in Miami for. I was a grand total of 3 years old. I don't remember anything until I was 5, but I remember when I was 3 on August 24th 1992. I was locked in a closet with my brother, my cousin, probably my mother, and my dad. Sorry Mom. I should have remembered you but the memory is faint. Your heavenly comfort as a mother has always been a given so it sometimes blurs. But my father, I saw. I remember seeing him at such a young age because he was, literally, holding up the wall. It was jumping up and down while the roof was separating from the top of the wall which seemed to be laughing without rhythm.  The only words I remember speaking was to my brother which was: 'Hey, my ass is wet.' Yea, it was that intense.

         Hopefully Mr. Isaac will be just as entertaining without the bs. I want a real show. You can't expect me to be satisfied by showing yourself when I was 3, the cartoons I was watching were just as fascinating. What the heck happened to Barney? Drug trafficking?

         As I look around my room I notice the outside shutters I closed an hour ago. It's a sealant. An enclosed prison shielding me from God knows what. Maybe if I do enough push-ups, strap myself to a tree, I'll be able to show who's really the boss; Mr. Rick Ross. Why does my 60 lb less brother wonder how many push-ups I can do? I think it's an ailment to decide whether he's fit or not. I've shown him a great example of the failure he's running from. God bless his skinny soul.

         What an optical allowance beer labels are. Anyway. Given my state, I believe writing this should give you a glimpse of where I'm at in my life. BLAHBLAHBLAH Today I saw a dinosaur, a tyrannosaurus rex to be exact, throw a first pitch at a baseball game on tv. Before that I was nonchalantly enjoying some bogus highlight reel of first pitches. I saw famous people throw 30 feet to the left of the plate, I saw the Kardasians throw hard sliders, I saw Keith Stone throw the perfect pitch with the perfect release, I saw George Bush, Bill Clinton, Barak Obama throw perfect strikes... I SAW A TYRANNOSURUS REX THROW A BASEBALL OFF THE MOUND TO A CATCHER. PERIOD! I was amazed! How?! WHY? WHAT?! How did they, wait a minute. Why did they have a Tyrannosur.. WHAT THE HELL? It came and went so fast my only reaction was to consider I had mistakenly taken acid with my coffee this morning.. The cup was abnormally small. NO! I saw what I saw!

         And that was your first lesson on babble writting. It doesn't matter what you write or how you write it. As long as it makes completely no sense, you're golden. HENSE the reason for this Blog. For all of you (singular) who read this blog, I hope you take a ugly angry dump tomorrow. PCE.

LB

Jesus Christ: We Should Let This Dead Man Sleep

          23. A lucky number some people say. An age that is expected to be lived without doubt. A meager age to all the elders. "You've only started living." I am 23. I hit that age when my Aunt showed me the cake she bought for me which had the number 23 on it. It was frightening to see a number so high placed on a flamboyant birthday cake. From my childhood, I can only remember numbers like, 9, 12 or 13 on cakes. Not 23. It seems irrelevant on a cake. What am I celebrating? Celebrations occur for those on-lookers to applaud the growing. But I have grown... I am grown. This cake in front of me symbolizes the death of youth. Embrace this year? Why? 

          23. I have grown to this number. I don't know if this number has grown on me, such like the other numbers. 20 felt like a tickle to the year of boozed crazed nights in bars. 21 felt like a blur that actually occurred in those bars. 22 felt like retired youth going to that same pond his dad took him for the first time to fish.... I had already been to that pond plenty. 

          23 feels like the unknown...  I'll just live my life as the numbers pile up. I'll have my 24th birthday which will come to a short lived surprise like 23 but work will still start on Mondays and end on Fridays. And 25 will come. Some things will change, I might have a car. My apartment might actually be acceptable to visitors. I'll own a dog, who cherishes my arrival no matter how grey or blue the day is. My visions might alter a bit. I might own a lawnmower. The cubs might win a world series. But that age will keep on crawlin' towards me, always on the lookout, always searching for me... Making sure I don't slip and let me know to always act my age.

          35 will come. Damnit I best have a wife and a kid on the way. No kid wants an old man as a father. 'How could such an old man teach me anything?' My American life will be on the way towards 40; where the middle aged man is crippled beyond recognition...  My dog will have long past. He was the reminisce of true love. I will always miss him. Without my dog, friendship dies. What am I worth? What is anything worth? I have given so much to society while giving nothing at all. Shouldn't I be rewarded? Or even Noticed? I wont die like this.

          55 will come with a crush. My life better be around perfect with plenty of relaxation. With no temptation of suicide or killing of my family for whatever they have caused me through the years. My house has been fixed multiple times with all of my friends' dramatically wrong inputs thrown to the side. I know wrong from right. It'll my Goddamn American right. 

          I'm on my death bed and the light never seemed so close. A time for reflection never seemed so irrelevant. I reflected all my life. Must I explain why it's OK for me to die? I don't need my families OK to. I just need a comfortable bed and a fan to dry the sweat accumulating around my brow... It's been there quite some time now. My wife folds over me in doubt of living on her own... She doesn't know it, but she has all this time. The garden will continue to grow. Our grandchildren will always need to be tendered to. Her book club needs her insightful input. And someone will learn to love her cooking. But I must go now. I lived on Earth and the Earth helped me follow my true intuition of free will. Free will to do whatever I please. Like the song that will be played as I fall into my endless nap; the nap I have been waiting for my whole life. No appointments. No phone calls. Nothing to clean. Nothing to do. That's how I liked it and I will forever now, embrace that.

Jesus Christ, we should let this dead guy sleep.

Tame The Beast: A Saga Without Remorse

          A savage beast stopped me in my tracks as I waddled towards my car at a deadly hour of the morning... At this hour, my brain had not yet regathered itself from its melted state a half hour ago, so visions were twisted. Sounds we're amplified. Feel was numb. My tongue was a mechanism gone unacknowledged throughout me... All was lost until this beast came upon me. 

          Fear shook through my heels. Instinct told me not to but I moved towards this animal not knowing what my body was doing... Yet, I saw myself grip the ego of this beast with my own eyes. 

          It's eyes saw through the degenerate in me. I felt it's solid statue crawl through my veins like an epidemic. Such a being thought never to exist on a Saturday morning! It has turned the fear in me, lose.

          It stood with a vengeance. Vengeance on my own LAWN? Christ! This is my land, creature. Only I, have the power to frighten, when on mine own land. The Nazi's didn't feel the power I feel for my own surroundings. But wait... It's moving. My thoughts - firing through my brain like a cowering school girl - may have tamed the beast. 

          Have I doubt? No. I am seeing what I sought... Total control without ever imagining it. It is vanishing from my grounds. You Savage Beast! Be gone! Oh, how I've conquered this animal, I shall conquer today with whatever it brings forth. I gave the morning a kick in the nut sack. Let's see what else this dreadful Saturday has in store... 

          Only time will tell whether this beast will morph into a slow driver in the left lane, or an invalid credit card keeping me from my addiction to tobacco. I know now, that whatever it is, I will overcome it. I have the power! No sympathy for the weak my friends... Only the afraid will fall and the fierce shall prevail. I know, now, that I am it! 

          I know now that nothing is unbeatable. This dreadful morning has turned into a delighted righteousness. Run away beast. This is ME, and I am here to stay!

          I unlock the door of my righteous vehicle and ignite it's power which surges from my foot to the top of my stimulated brain... ah HA! If only I could sell this power in a can... I grab the steering wheel and feel the rumble of the engine. This beast knows exactly how to tame it's competitors - with a blinker and an open passing lane, yes... I check my mirrors. Vroom! Vroom! 8AM has never felt so better...

          I pop that shifter into reverse and back out of that slightly titled driveway which is only meant for the best of drivers. No break, just gravity shall carefully handle this beast onto it's beaten path. Ah yes, a definite stop from backing out. I have the road in full view now. Today! will be the start, of the beginning, of the rest of my life... Shove that sucker into drive and... Stall. Fuel Gauge: Empty. 

          I know now, that I know nothing.