Monday, September 27, 2010
Knowledge is Power
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Teach me how to Dougie
How the fuck did I get here?
He asked as he resided, ass stapled to his couch, in his own living room. His hands jittered violently as he clutched his remote and flicked it at his television, mashing a button and causing the screen to flash to life. He attempted to focus on the staff at Sacred Heart Hospital as they resolved their conflicts in front of him, but there was no way. His head hung low; his thoughts were racing. His forehead was a salty riverbed, hair plastered down and dripping a stream of fluids onto his lap as his legs convulsed, causing his feet to tap out an arbitrary rhythm to diffuse his escalating tension.
How the fuck did I get here?
He cut the power to the television. He stood up and thrust his hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around that familiar stiff, coarse formation that was encased in a Ziploc sheath. He moved his fingers like spider legs, working to draw into his palm what seemed like miles upon miles of plastic. He slowly and shakily hauled his arm backwards. His heart jumped when his hand began to peek out from behind the denim curtain that surrounded his leg. Taking a deep breath, he whipped his wrist around and hurled the airy mass of plastic a short distance in front of him. It sailed along at the pace of a solid, but resisted air as it moved, like a bowling ball wrapped in a parachute. A click was audible as it struck his coffee table.
How the fuck did I get here?
He peered forward and his jaw dropped as plastic began to unfurl from around what appeared to be a shard. Its appearance was not unlike that of a broken piece of glass, but he knew far better. There seemed to be a powerful, yet beckoning energy radiating forth from this clear mass. It was almost too much; he felt as if the bag was not there as a barrier, he surely would have fainted.
How the fuck did I get here?
Earlier that evening, he had begun his trek home from the office. Nine months clean, he had everything going for him: a beautiful apartment, an amazing woman, and a gaudy Lexus that served as his means of transportation on that fateful afternoon. His Lexus idled at a traffic light on a deserted street. He nodded his head to the sweet tunes of MGMT until he spotted a boy to his right. This boy appeared to have recently graduated into adulthood, although his eyes said otherwise. Even from a distance, he could tell that there was a whole universe of sorrow and unfathomed experience just behind the looking glass. The boy approached his car. Turn green, he thought as the boy grew ever closer. Still stuck on red, he heard a tap on his window. Wiping his oh fuck scowl off of his visage, his head rotated to the right. He knew it would be a stupid decision, but for some reason, curiousity bloomed like a wildflower in his mind. With the depression of a button, the passenger window sunk down like a ship at sea. "I'll sell ya some glass, bruh." The light turned green, but his car did not move.
How the fuck did I get here?
Reluctantly and anxiously, he seized the two lips of the bag and pulled them apart. At that moment, the dark energy that was contained inside of that plastic prison burst out and rushed to fill the sterility of his familiar environment with an aura of ubiquitous malice that pressed his heart down into his stomach. He inserted his fingers into the bag and broke off a sizeable chunk of the crystal. He laid the tiny shardling on the smooth surface in front of him and, with his other hand, worked to retrieve a credit card from his wallet. Immediately, he went to work crushing it into a fine powder with the edge of the card; he knew its expenses would be depleted in weeks. He knew he'd be begging and manipulating for money. He knew he'd be getting fucked for it too. His hands shook as he scraped together a malformed set of lines of the transparent sandy material. He sat back in awe at the sight in front of him. It looked like a battlefield; one central supply, skirted by rows of forces, ready to go to war. In an effort to kill hesitation, he swung his head around in a gyrating motion, sweeping a wave of the good stuff into his nostril. He violently jerked backwards. His pupils contracted. He sprung a steel erection. His heart raced. Euphoria rushed from his toes to his dick to his head.
I don't give a fuck how I got here.
He asked as he resided, ass stapled to his couch, in his own living room. His hands jittered violently as he clutched his remote and flicked it at his television, mashing a button and causing the screen to flash to life. He attempted to focus on the staff at Sacred Heart Hospital as they resolved their conflicts in front of him, but there was no way. His head hung low; his thoughts were racing. His forehead was a salty riverbed, hair plastered down and dripping a stream of fluids onto his lap as his legs convulsed, causing his feet to tap out an arbitrary rhythm to diffuse his escalating tension.
How the fuck did I get here?
He cut the power to the television. He stood up and thrust his hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around that familiar stiff, coarse formation that was encased in a Ziploc sheath. He moved his fingers like spider legs, working to draw into his palm what seemed like miles upon miles of plastic. He slowly and shakily hauled his arm backwards. His heart jumped when his hand began to peek out from behind the denim curtain that surrounded his leg. Taking a deep breath, he whipped his wrist around and hurled the airy mass of plastic a short distance in front of him. It sailed along at the pace of a solid, but resisted air as it moved, like a bowling ball wrapped in a parachute. A click was audible as it struck his coffee table.
How the fuck did I get here?
He peered forward and his jaw dropped as plastic began to unfurl from around what appeared to be a shard. Its appearance was not unlike that of a broken piece of glass, but he knew far better. There seemed to be a powerful, yet beckoning energy radiating forth from this clear mass. It was almost too much; he felt as if the bag was not there as a barrier, he surely would have fainted.
How the fuck did I get here?
Earlier that evening, he had begun his trek home from the office. Nine months clean, he had everything going for him: a beautiful apartment, an amazing woman, and a gaudy Lexus that served as his means of transportation on that fateful afternoon. His Lexus idled at a traffic light on a deserted street. He nodded his head to the sweet tunes of MGMT until he spotted a boy to his right. This boy appeared to have recently graduated into adulthood, although his eyes said otherwise. Even from a distance, he could tell that there was a whole universe of sorrow and unfathomed experience just behind the looking glass. The boy approached his car. Turn green, he thought as the boy grew ever closer. Still stuck on red, he heard a tap on his window. Wiping his oh fuck scowl off of his visage, his head rotated to the right. He knew it would be a stupid decision, but for some reason, curiousity bloomed like a wildflower in his mind. With the depression of a button, the passenger window sunk down like a ship at sea. "I'll sell ya some glass, bruh." The light turned green, but his car did not move.
How the fuck did I get here?
Reluctantly and anxiously, he seized the two lips of the bag and pulled them apart. At that moment, the dark energy that was contained inside of that plastic prison burst out and rushed to fill the sterility of his familiar environment with an aura of ubiquitous malice that pressed his heart down into his stomach. He inserted his fingers into the bag and broke off a sizeable chunk of the crystal. He laid the tiny shardling on the smooth surface in front of him and, with his other hand, worked to retrieve a credit card from his wallet. Immediately, he went to work crushing it into a fine powder with the edge of the card; he knew its expenses would be depleted in weeks. He knew he'd be begging and manipulating for money. He knew he'd be getting fucked for it too. His hands shook as he scraped together a malformed set of lines of the transparent sandy material. He sat back in awe at the sight in front of him. It looked like a battlefield; one central supply, skirted by rows of forces, ready to go to war. In an effort to kill hesitation, he swung his head around in a gyrating motion, sweeping a wave of the good stuff into his nostril. He violently jerked backwards. His pupils contracted. He sprung a steel erection. His heart raced. Euphoria rushed from his toes to his dick to his head.
I don't give a fuck how I got here.
HAM
They call me young River
and they say that i deliver
Who's bitch be moaning when I send that shiver
Down 'er spine
Yeah, my niggas make a b-line
I melt a bitch's heart when I dine
On that pussy,
but nigga you a wussy
And ya dick be lookin kinda bushy
Damn boi wash that thing off
ya feelin kinda tough
but i know ya crew about to be scared off
When I whip out my nine
and yeah, it's fuckin time
Cuz ya be on my dick when I spit my rhyme
and they say that i deliver
Who's bitch be moaning when I send that shiver
Down 'er spine
Yeah, my niggas make a b-line
I melt a bitch's heart when I dine
On that pussy,
but nigga you a wussy
And ya dick be lookin kinda bushy
Damn boi wash that thing off
ya feelin kinda tough
but i know ya crew about to be scared off
When I whip out my nine
and yeah, it's fuckin time
Cuz ya be on my dick when I spit my rhyme
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