Chapter 1:Holy flyin fuck.
A couple of beers later and I'm comepletely enlightened. I could make
the dalai llama look like a middle school counselor. Not that I know
anything about that sort of thing, coencidently enough I do. It's a
damn shame it takes the intrusion of alchohol into my system to see
clearly enough to be human. Or atleast the facsimile of one. When and
how did I become such a shy, insecure wreck. I can't approach a decent
looking female without getting sweaty palms. How about a few lessons
in social networking and dating. Or maybe a few improv classes. I
could write for months on my evermounting horniness. These are the
confessions of a man who peaked in middle school. Now an adult and my
sex life consists of memories of teenage sexual encounters, and mid
shower rub downs. Loneliness is only as far as my arm.
My bladder has shrunk to that of tom thumbs. My mouth is dry due to
the alchohol, and my pisspot is full as I lye here on the top bunk. Oh
whoa is me. Whoa is me. So now the time has come for me to conclude
this convulsion of converse and scream goodnight.
Chapter 2: southern states conjur a southern mentality.
It' has been well over a month since I've been home. Well atleast
what I consider home. A state on the eastern seaboard where all of my
belongings are scattered in dissaray. This is what i call HOME. A
place to keep my shit. A storage unit a P.O. Box, and a few unlucky
friends homes or garages. Somehow I know where all of it is. But there
lies the moral to my story. The goal I mean to reach. A stationary
place to keep all of my things. Anywhere I can call my own. I don't
care if it's a god damned cave, it's time I take care of myself the
way I should have before. This vagrant lifestyle I have been living
has to come to an end at some point. Time to put the brakes on I
suppose. Then again I will give myself a year perhaps and that old
nomad spirit will pull me onto the road again. Searching for purpose
and a good time.
Chapter 3: My friends are assholes, with heart.
Here's a good thing not to do to a friend you know is suffereing from
home sickness, DO NOT call your friend to tell him that your are going
to be on MTV. Of all the assanine, exciting things that I could be
missing, why must it be the first chance to make a complete dick of
myself on national telivision. Leave it to my so called friends to
wait till I am indisposed and unable to make a quick return to decide
that this was time to go to the casting call of the Silent Library.
Another one of those we will pay you to puke sort of shows. But that's
just our ticket to 15 minutes of fame. A few rotten tasks for a few
hundred dollars, and a half hour on television. Give me a bucket, a
spoon and I will eat my own shit like icecream for that kind of
exposure. But here I am riding in the back of a freightshaker,
somewhere in the depths of central Texas asking myself why. Your all
swine in my book.
Chapter 4: Its just for looks...
This chapter has been deleted due to cruel accusations, wrongful judgments on my character, and attacks on my libido. But for those who want to know a little about what this chapter was here is an exert for your amusement:
" when meeting a potential man for you, don't send him nude photos and dirty
texts inviting him to fornicate. For this will signal a pattern of
thought that will lead to this man thinking you are easy. Do not get
sad or angry over the fact that all He wants is sex when you made it
so apparently available for him. And it's a well known fact that most
men are assholes get over it."
I suppose this is just another one of those self fulfilling prophecies
I am always hearing about. Then again I just want to lay some pipe.
Chapter 5: master of your own domain.
I smoke a pack and a half of marlboro 100s a day. That's like 4 packs
any other brand. I have a habit of eating before bed and it's never a
small snack. More like a full coarse meal. these kind of habits make
me sick to my stomach. My mind is always churning on how much weight I
should lose and how healthy I could be. day after day I choose to
break the promises I make myself. I constantly imagine what I would be
like thin and fit. Yet I don't get out of the truck and run like my
life depended on it. I have always been cursed with an over abbundance
of laziness and procrastination. Although my mind is always going like
some speed freak in a drug den. My mind pushes my body to move, and my
body stays firmly rooted to whatever seat I have decided to put it in.
It's only a matter of time before my mind wins over body and the
initial burst will be like the gale of a Hurricane wind. Sending me
into some insane tantrum where I will push myself so hard that I break
like a vase. As I crumble to the floor I will curse myself for never
having dicsipline.
Chapter 6: THE BLACK HOLE
There is something sinister about truck stop, and rest area bathrooms.
I am not one of those people that can't use public toillets, infact
Its the only way I can handle my daily business. I am forced to push
myself through the gates of hell everytime I realize I have to take a
shit. A good example is right this moment, I am literally sitting on
half a toilet seat. Where the other half is I dare not think about. I
would have used the other stall but it was taped off like a csi murder
scene. And ofcoarse the third and final stall was vacant of T.P., the
toilet seat had some kind of satanic scripture written on it. It
looked like a page out of the necronomicon. I fear to sit there for my
ass may be possessed.
There are a few differences between truck stops and rest areas.
Here a few I've picked up along my travels. Truck stop bathrooms the
message boards for the biggutts, homosexuals, and Christian extremists
of America. Most ts bathrooms are cleaned on a regular basis but
somehow still look like the end of the movie dead alive. Always full
to capacity , and the sounds you may hear In the other stalls will
keep you up at night in terror. Rest areas on the other hand are
Almost always empty but you get the feeling your being watched by some
murderous freak like michael myers and I don't mean the Austin powers
shmuck There is never any toilet paper and the seats and doors are
only hanging on by one hinge. There is never paper towels and don't
expect to clean your hands cause there is no soap. Piss poor service
for a piss poor America.
Chapter 6: Your only hope
Worry worry worry. Always a problem to solve never any solutions. They
should start a college to teach you the basics in living day to day.
Perhaps I should have spent more time with the guidance counselor in
school. Or spent more time in school overall.
My whole life is like walking through a room of beartraps. One
false step and your caught in a world of shit.
Chapter 7: Deja Vu
It's a kick to think about how similar my life is to that of my
teenage years. Still taking walks alone, with a pack of cigarettes,
and some headphones. Dressing up for no one in particular. Hoping to
meet someone to explore the universe with. I never was afraid to make
small talk with strangers.
Chapter 8: good and toasty
You know that feeling you had when you were a child, the feeling on
Christmas eve. Right before you went off to bed and you were thinking
about all the presents you would get. That's how I feel when I'm good
and drunk!
