dear runaway god

okay. here's a blog post that might actually help. if it doesn't help other people understand me, at least maybe it will help me understand my situation a little better.

part one: my life in five minutes.

snot is running out of my nose. it's very impatient, it whines like a little baby, and this is constant, throughout my day. my neck is so stiff, it constantly needs to pop, so i'm looking like an idiot trying to pop my neck all the time. my skin itches because of the clothing. i have never found any clothing that ever fit me right and didn't itch like crazy. i loathe clothing on my skin, but you fearful fucks tell me i have to have it because you're scared of skin. not only do i have to wear clothing, but i have to wear it twentyfourseven now, thanks to your greed, selfishness, and apathy, and i have to wear lots of it to stay warm. thanks for that.

if i sit by a seven eleven and panhandle, this is what i go through within five minutes. i try to light a cigarette, but i can't enjoy it because i'm constantly having to spit every ten seconds or less, because my stupid mouth overproduces saliva unless i get major cottonmouth going. so i get my cigarette saver, put the cigarette out, spit a bunch, shoot snot out my nose (called snotrockets®), have to pop my knuckles every minute or less, cause they won't stop bitching either, and if i don't pop them, i'm just not able to do what needs to be done. eyelashes in my eyes, goopers (eye snot strings and crusties) in my eyes making me unable to see what i'm doing, eyes watering, oh, don't forget to pop my neck again, okay try to hit the pipe, no, have to spit again, more snot out the nose, spit again, inhale, pop my neck, pop my knuckles, spit again, try to finally take a hit. recover from that. more snot, more spit, more popping of neck and knuckles, inhale deeply, now i need to either burp or fart. my body can never decide, so i have to contort my body to decide for it, but that never works. if a burp actually comes all the way up, i'm surprised. if a fart comes all the way out, i'm more surprised. it's called gastroparesis, look it up before you sound stupid. oh, yeah, and keep 'complex ptsd' in mind this whole time, too. cause if people walk by me and piss me off, there's screaming stuffed into this menu somewhere, and that kills my throat more. i don't want to scream at people, i don't want to hate people, i don't want to be angry and hateful, i want to be away from people. people don't understand that, but it's not just ptsd, and that's not just an excuse. i'm antisocial. study that. oh, stay focused, i'm still spitting and snotrockets, and knuckle/neck popping between hits here, and we're only up to one hit. okay, try to take another hit. take a deep breath to calm and loosen the stomach, pop the neck, spit, snot, oh, no, got a fart coming, so i sit up and try to... nope, it's gonna be a pussy and retreat, causing more pain. okay, start over. breath, snot, spit, neck pop, take a hit, exhale. no coughing, no recovery required, praise jebus. pop neck, deep breath, snot, spit, try to take a hit, nope, i can't light the lighter until i pop the bitchy knuckle. okay, start over. snot, spit, neck, breath, take a hit. success. breathe, now you got a burp coming, pop the neck before and after, but that gets fucked up in the middle by having to look at someone walking up to me, or a hot girl walking past, which makes the burp retreat like a pussy, causing more pain. now i have this sharp, stabbing pain dig into my back. relax, breathe. snot, spit, burp, neck, breathe, knuckles, scratch face, scratch nose, scratch nose again, spit, dry off mouth, scratch nose again, finally a burp comes up, stomach pain, chest cramp, relax, breathe, try again. snot, spit, breath, neck, take a hit. okay, success. give it a bit to kick in, light the cigarette. this whole time, i'm trying to keep my headphones in, to drown the world out. i'm not allowed to have my headphones in. i'm too poor to ignore people. not like the rich who ignore me so well. the shinier the shoes, the stiffer the neck. i take a couple hits of the cigarette, someone walks up to me asking me for a cigarette. no, i don't give out my cigarettes, i panhandle for a pack of my own every day, there's nothing stopping you from doing the same, it's easy enough to make a sign and stand there for two hours. i hit the cigarette again, and just when i remember to put my metal back in my ears, i get maybe two seconds of raintime, and some other idiot walks up to me asking me for meth. what part of i'm homeless are you dumb fucks seriously not understanding here? i don't fucking have anything! headphones back in the ears. next time someone asks me for meth, i'm going to... not hold back the scream, and them i'm going to ask them this...

'maybe you can answer something for me... (screaming at them) what the fuck are my headphones doing out of my ears!'.

okay, after about five cigarette hits, put it out, grab the pipe again. wipe my stupid facial hair out of my way, how fucking constantly annoying that shit is. that's a whole category of annoyance all its own, so i won't go into that one. oh, have to pull a gooper out of my eye, cause i can't see shit. oh, now that i see something, there's a hot girl walking past, and my uncontrollable male bobblehead just can't miss it. girl seen, breath taken, neck popped, knuckles popped, spit, snot, spit, snot, spit, snot, breathe, pop neck again, try to burp, no, that one went rogue, we're gonna have to track him down later and execute him. more snot, more spit, breathe, take a hit. nope, have to pop my neck in twenty different directions first. breathe, swallow, spit, snot, back pain, breathe, take a hit. success. relax, breathe deep. god forbid the evil burp demon releases the hiccup monkeys, i start screaming. screaming is my way of holding back the bullets. when i smile at you, i'm holding back screams. don't act like you understand how much i'm holding back when i'm looking at you. i've already been through this too much more than you. and the fact that you haven't studied your history, cause you still say 'columbine' when you see me. don't debate me here. you always do, you're the most predictable phony, and there are seven billion clones of you, you plastic martyr. i never wanted this hell, this prison body in a prison world where nothing i see do i want to see, but that's my fault, blame that on my, i'm your scapegoat, too. yes, master, you're right, dominate me, your majesty. and you wonder why i envision slitting your throat every morning. oh, wait, i have to let some 'i hate' grunts out, cause that little thought just tore though my mind like a bullet from hell. okay, breathe, sit straight, burp, get the snot and spit brothers to shut up for a second. i don't know which one's whinier, the redheaded stepchild, or axl rose. i'll let you figure out which is which. who was worse when it comes to 'bitch, bitch, bitch', was it my family, or my own body. who was better at destroying my life, was it my family, or my own fucking body? who destroys more of my moment to moment enjoyment? well, now that i have my family out of the picture...

we're only up to the third minute. breathe, neck, snot, spit, burp, try to take a hit, no, i'm being asked for meth again by an incoherent fucking zombie, do i look like a fucking methhead to you! is there anything about me that says 'moron' to you? what is it about me that says 'scumbag'? do i look anything like you? does it look to you like i make the same horrible choices in life that you do? get the fuck away from me before i start stabbing methheads like some fuckin' superhero! you wanna debate how serious i am, which is my predicted reaction, or do you want to take the smart route and fuck off! nope, stand there and bitch at me some more, like i can hear you with machine head in my ears, you fucking moron! how many of you idiots do there have to be! cut off the internal screaming warfare, breathe, relax, focus, pop the neck, knuckles, release the snit spot brothers, burp, no, that one went awol, chest pain, back pain, stomach pain, knee pain, adjust the ankles, oh, shit, now my eye is filled with sidesluts, which fills my mind with hatred, my body cringes, internal screaming session for about three seconds, shut up, focus, breathe, relax, sit straight, burps, fragments, snot, spit, knuckles, neck, breathe, take another hit... success. spit is finally slowing down like wolverine in japan. send the assassin to track down that rogue burp. get his ass up here before i stupidly stab myself to tear him out. minute four. try to take three hits, hopefully that will be enough to finally turn off the spit and snot faucets. burp, cringe, pain, close deep inside this body, hide away for a second, wish to die, to not be here, shut the concrete out. look up, open your eyes, focus, breathe, neck pop, try to take a hit, nope, being asked for meth again. buddy, you don't even see my hand on my pocket pen right now, do you? are you not realizing that this can be used as a weapon? or that i know where your jugular is? you're assuming i'm stupid and dumb and uneducated like everyone else. and if i am educated, i'm only educated by too many movies like the rest of you. god you people are imaginative. have you forgotten what intuition is? or was? how about common sense? i wrote the eulogy for common sense on my blog, no one ever read it. it's still there, if you want to try and prove me wrong. yeah, i know common sense is dead, i know compassion is dead, i know sympathy is dead, but i'm hoping intuition is still finding its way through the fog from one monkey island to another. maybe it will find amelia earheart, and she can fly be back to timothy leary's bus, and i can drive the sixties back here. that fog is thick enough, the cops will never see me. trust me, i learned a lot from that show, mama told me to. i feel sick. full body pain, i cringe, sit up, focus, breathe, stop your mind from screaming, stare at the ground, headphones, fart, spit, wipe mouth, scratch face, deal with the uncooked muffin topping under this stupid hat that was designed by a squirrel claiming to be ceo of nutsocks, inc., but i think they just spelled crazy wrong. my head's getting pulled three different directions, left is a hot girl, right is a guy i could ask for change, but up is where my focus is being pulled by my stupid neck. fuck this, take another hit of the pipe, stop the internal ranting, breathe, sit straight, focus, no, i have to adjust my pants before my stomach kills me. that proves to be as difficult as subhumanly possible. getting close to minute five. bobblehead, burp, scratch, stomach pain, snot, spit, neck, knuckles, breath, sit straight, try to take the hit. nope, bus drives by, blowing wind and trash my way, i have to close my eyes and turn my head, because knowing my lack of luck, every piece of that dirt will avoid everyone else, and land right in my eyes. happens every fucking time, i don't see anyone else walking away digging in their faces like i have to.

if you think for even a second that i wanted this, or that i enjoy this, then i just gauged your sanity. don't believe me? fuckin' say something. some of you look at me, like 'how disgusting'. first of all, what, you're not human, too? just because you have a trash can in your home doesn't mean you're not disgusting, too. you call yourselves sophisticated, but in my eyes, if you were really sophisticated, you would have figured out a way to evolve to the point of not having to shit anymore, thus your sewers wouldn't stink up the streets when i walk through your neighborhoods. even in the nice neighborhoods, i can smell you. stop the rant, shut up, close your eyes, do not look at people, do not look at people, do not fucking look at anyone, control your fucking eyes! close them, keep them fucking closed! metal in the ears! breathe, relax, sit straight, burps, cough up a little toxic puke for satan's forehead, okay, the dragon is still inside me, i feel good, if only i could get my email program to shut the fuck up right now, i get nothing but automated messages, and they're popping up like every five minutes, you fucking annoying world, shut the fuck up, what part of leave me alone do you not understand. stop the rant. snot and spit are slowing down, take another hit. breathe, relax, sit straight, neck, knuckles, take a hit, fart, burp, don't let that one turn into hiccups, hold it, stop everything, close your eyes. relax, let it go. approaching the end of minute five. light the cigarette, see if i feel stoned enough yet. tongue is dry, breath has slowed, heart's still shaking, but numb, a pain from my shoulders all the way down through my wrists, makes me cringe, flesh feels less sensitive, thoughts are calming.

that's a good five minute glimpse into my day. that's if everything goes as best as possible.

part two: my daily prayer.

dear dead god. please shut this body up. get it to stop hurting, annoying me, killing me, get it to shut the fuck up, i've been begging you for thirty years now, i know you're not there, but if you're too much of a pussy to show your fucking face to me, then i'm destroying your entire manmade religion in your name. why can't you get this body to give me just five minutes of peace. why is that too much for me to ask. why can't you show your face to me? you show it to a billion delusional morons, but you can't show me a fuckin' thing. i've seen no burning bushes, i've heard no fucking voice. am i too much of a scientist, do you already hate me that much, do you know that i'm your enemy, is that why you won't show your face to me, because i'm here to destroy you? tell me, asshole! get this fucking body to stop hurting, god! your idiot followers tell me i don't pray well enough, i never put enough heart into it, or that i use unacceptable language, but i know that the real heaven doesn't have censorship laws, it's the fake heaven where all the plastic children go when they die, it basically looks like a toy store with clouds, i've seen it, you put your credit card in the door when you die, and however much money you died with, that's how luxurious you get to live up there. that heaven, the fake toy store heaven for christians is on the third floor of the target walmart mall building, and i told you from the beginning, i'm never going there, real flesh doesn't fit through the plastic slot. but your godbrain is made of legos, so you can't figure that out.

a poetic line from my twitter:

i wish i could carve this pathetic meat sack off my soul, so i could truly walk around naked.

no, the real heaven is where people with hearts go. i wouldn't expect that factoid to hurt you, is plastic flammable? oh, sorry, didn't read your label. who wrote your label, they misspelled your brainwashing instructions. hey, god, if you're really up there, or if you're at least claiming to be up there, or if it's just a few idiots claiming that you're up there, or if aliens or other gods or conscious creatures and beings of whatever sort are actually up there, if there's anything real out there that can hear me, please, i'm suffering in the hell of this body, and i just want to see something better than concrete, please, i'd give anything, i've already given everything, what more do i have to give to be free of this nightmare that everyone else seems to enjoy, and if i'm in misery, they tell me it's my fault, but they don't understand that credit cards are just slave chains, and if i don't want to be a part of it, i'm fucked, they don't understand that, god, how do i tell these people, how do i make them understand, and stop disagreeing out of ignorance and stubbornness. how, lord, how? aliens, gods, timothy leary, whatever the fuck is out there, please, does anyone hear me. can anyone hear me. i know i've never had anyone to pray to, but please.

i hear about these other metal bands getting started, and i always read that 'they had friends who all shared the same interests'. like in flames, and their buddy bands, at the gates, and dark tranquility... for example. they were all responsible for pioneering swedish melodic death metal, because they were all already friends who shared the same interests. says that right on wikipedia, on just about every fucking band's page. why was i never allowed to have anything like that? i've never had that! does anyone else realize or give a shit, i've never had that! how the fuck am i supposed to start a band with people i can trust, when i'm thirty seven years old with zero lifelong friends with any talent, let alone similar fucking tastes as me! i'm about as unique as a thumb on a hand, there's no one... why do i even ask. why do i ever open my fucking mouth. i know there's no ear, visible or not, listening to this. i know how bands are supposed to be started. i'm doing it the completely wrong way, and i'm hoping there's a reason for it. cause this path is lined with disaster. but it's my only choice, because i don't have a credit card, i can't just go to a metal show and pay and get in, i have to try and beg my way in, meeting all the wrong people standing outside, and getting led on wild goose chases of insanity with these seriously lunacious fucking people, yes, i just came up with a word, i couldn't think of anything crazy enough to describe you that hasn't been clichéd because of you and your overpopulated plastic playpen mall. god, i cringe. i hate. i hurt. is this making sense to anyone else yet, will anyone ever read this, god? will i ever be heard even by the right people. must i get swamped by morons outside a place, which pours blood all over my people issues, when i should be inside, not wasting one more moment, talking to the rockstars who know how to do this shit, the rockstars who already stand against a system like this, so hopefully, in theory, they'd have no problem with giving a fellow sprout a little boost. but no, the record exec has to come flying through the window like a supervillain, saying 'no, no, no', they love to say no a lot. way too much, i think. makes me wonder what their mother said. but anyway, they come flying through the window like they were watching the whole time through hidden cameras stashed there by little 'brother' slaves. boy, these terms. anyway. with the amount of farts that are not coming out of me, i could spontaneously combust, and i wish i could time it right, and take out a mall with me. at least they couldn't call me a suicide bomber, cause a: it wasn't suicide, and b: it wasn't a bomb. even if it was minimally intentional to die in a mall, but why would i want to die in a mall, i had a nice place in washington picked out to see my last sunset if this goes wrong. why do skinny guys have to wear shirts that say 'paris' on them? when it comes to attracting women, that's just cheating.

dear lord, please. some magical ear in the sky that's more evolved than i, please. whatever aliens are up there who aren't buttfucking the government puppets, anyone, please. this body causes me constant pain. it's driving me insane, i'm not able to think. i cannot get this body to shut up and leave me alone. the soul trapped inside this body, was built to stand on a stage and rock the shit out of that thing like an earthquake. like a lego boat in a bath tub.

speaking of, i'm gonna make my own 'proper' children's rhyme.

rub a dub dub, three ladies in a tub... may i get in?

that's the way it should have been written. can we travel back in time, shoot the author, and call it even? move on?

no one can hear me. i know for a fact that there's no god up there, but these idiots won't even let me finish that sentence alone, and they refuse to believe how serious i am, cause you know, scientific fact and evidence don't mean shit to them, but i know for a solid, concrete fact, that there absolutely is no god in the sky, oh, but yes, keep spitting your horse shit into my ear, i need to hear it again, cause i obviously didn't hear it well enough the first ten billion times, maybe you can do a better job than the last four billion retards to sell your same product, nope, still not buying it, sorry, i can't afford your god, he's too greedy for me, but oh, that's not good enough for you either, you have to interrupt and dominate this conversation even more, yes, cut off my speech, talk over me, stand over me, look down on me, yes, master, i hear you, yes, master, i didn't know that yet, wow, how fascinating...

this lady yesterday, standing there for about ten minutes, trying to convince me to go vegan because it's the source of all the mind control in this world, and all the problems and all the slavery, is because we're killing the animals and getting bad karma from it...

are you people really that fucking insane?

let me put it this way. when i design my utopia, there will be no bibles there, no beliefs, no control, no money, no need for it, and no people like you telling other people what to do based on opinion. you know what there's going to be a lot of? well, we're all gonna be sitting around with huge smiles on our faces, smoking a shitload of weed, cigarettes, and eating a bunch of meat. because meat is still healthy, and if you don't think so, you're more controlled by misinformation than you know. animals don't give off bad karma. if you end their lives correctly, you can eat worry free. you don't need to be so brutal and bloody. design a little natural serum that ends their bodily functions peacefully, quietly, wish them a safe journey, and then get the village idiot to carve that shit up, cook it up, and serve it. see, once the animal is dead, peacefully, he's not going to care what you do to his body. hell, my mother didn't, when she died, she donated four hundred pounds of mistakes to science, but don't worry, they aren't starving. anyway. if this was done with the slightest bit of logic, and not superstition and paranoia like you idiots... we'll kill our own animals peacefully. we'll farm our own shit without your chemicals. we'll do everything without your input. we'll still be eating a lot of meat, smoking a lot of weed, and there ain't shit you can say about it. we do not want your suggestions or opinions or beliefs, and the sign says, no solicitation for the long hair freaky people. the fine print just underneath it, says 'fuck off'. if you're not a long haired freaky people, you don't belong here. how's that feel? you gonna slaughter another indian tribe? what do you have to worry about, you've done it before, and not even the internet can stop you, right? god, you're stupid. and predictable. which makes you look even more stupid.

but thankfully, i'm not as stupid as i look, so we're functioning on a few more brain cells over here, but you can debate that if you want. we'll put it on youtube, on the 'who looks dumber' channel. we get some shiny ratings, and we don't even give a shit about ratings, go figure. so yeah, lots of meat being eaten the right way, instead of being paranoid and going the complete opposite direction, running from the problem, by saying 'just stop eating meat all together', rather than being logical and saying 'let's just fire all the butchers who can't do their job right'. or, ooh, even further, 'and if they try to find work as a butcher again, we make them walk into a volcano'. or, even better, 'instead of finding future work as butchers, maybe they should work in a lego factory, where there are no children or animals. maybe if you got them some girlfriends, some weed, and a few metal records, they wouldn't have the urge to bludgeon animals in horrid ways like unruly children in vacant back yards, god, this fucking stomach! god, get this fucking body to shut up and leave me alone, please! how many years do i have to ask and be told i'm not asking well enough before you fucking hear me, or before your followers give up and stop trying to convert me, like it's still a fucking requirement to live a good life! when are these people going to let god and the need for his crutch finally go, let it fucking go! it's been two thousand years, it's twenty fifteen, he hasn't shown his face, three armageddon deadlines have been missed, we found a fossil named lucy, how much more evidence do you fucking need, you stubborn fucking children! stop selling me your fucking lies, and making me scream at you with hatred! shut the fuck up! i got something to sell you! i can't wait to take this all the way. i want to have my minions go out into the streets, passing out flyers and pamphlets, and shouting 'save your soul from the lord!', god, i can't wait for that. the world's first televolutionist, cause it's about fucking time, i can't wait to offend you all as much as possible and see that look on your face that says 'priceless', cause when i do, i know that the word 'price' just became that much less relevant, and that's exactly what i'm shooting for. figure it out. i know your god doesn't exist, because i'm trapped in a turd, being forced to watch a bad movie that's way too long. i know that your money is just a very intricate series of slave chains, but you don't realize that i am unattached. i have let go. i no longer tolerate that shit. are you not hearing me, no, obviously you're not, because you're still fucking talking, and i'm having to sit there and nod my head like a good little slave while you rape my ear against my will, hello!!! i do not tolerate forced delusion, are you understanding me! i never once believed in your god, not for one day in my life, yet you still sell me that product, you try to make that choice for me, because you don't know any other way to communicate with me, and you don't think that's sad. fuck your god, fuck your dollars, fuck your beliefs, fuck your words, get the fuck away from me before i stab you in the fucking neck! did you hear that part at least! so this lady keeps interrupting me and talking over me and won't let me speak, and just keeps repeating herself, puking this horse shit into my fucking ear, and finally, to get her to finally walk away, after ten minutes of being forced to listen to something i clearly don't need to hear again, cause i tried telling her, i love eating meat, i've had vegan friends, i know all there is to know about it, i think it's lunacy derived from paranoia, but i can't tell this lady any of that, because she'll interrupt me every two fucking words, so i finally, to get her to go away, i sit there and just keep repeating the words 'i know', over and over and over again, louder and louder and louder, and louder, and more, and more, and repeating, and repeating, till she FUCKING HEARS ME!!! I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, TRUST ME, YOU DUMB FUCKING BITCH, I FUCKING KNOW THIS SHIT BETTER THAN YOU, YOU FUCKTARDED TOXIC GOATCOW!!! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!!! I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW, (getting even louder and louder and louder, and more aggressive, repeating) I KNOW. I KNOW! I KNOW!!! I KNOW!!! I KNOW THIS!!! I KNOW!!!

she finally says 'oh, you do, well, good', and finally walks away.

what the fuck makes you people think you can dominate me and try to change my mind to fit in your mold that fucking brutally! what makes you think you're going to get away with two thousand years of that karma, and you're worried about a few animals and how pissed they might be in the afterlife? why does there need to be an afterlife, are you that scared of not existing? what the fuck is wrong with you! if you're scared of shit, why do i have to be scared with you, does it comfort you to know that everyone's paranoid? in that case, are you more fearful now that people are waking up and realizing there's nothing to fear, and more of those people are coming out of the woodwork, and i know you try to ignore them like they're crazy, but we're ignoring you for the same reason, and you're not realizing that, which is of course our fault, what is it you want to hear i wonder???!!! what the fuck is wrong with you! we try to tell you simply, by saying 'neaderthal yearns to dominate everything out of ignorance and fear', but you're not seeing the connection, which really makes me wonder, cause i'm gauging the shit out of your iq right now, and i'm trying to defrost it to see if there's anything that shouldn't be thrown into the volcano, but all you're seeing is terminator movies and fantasy while i'm saying this, but then your cops tell me i watch too many movies when i try to say that i know the laws and i know my rights. wow.

i was proud of myself. i told yet another asshole cop where to stick it the other day, and i'm still free. wanna hear this bonus track story before i end my prayer, god? sorry, i know your answering machine doesn't drag on this long, even though your fucking preachers do, but sure, sever my tongue again, i love that, master.

i was laying on a sidewalk. since i've already been taken to jail for laying on a sidewalk, and had the charges dropped, i can basically tell this cop whatever the fuck i want, there's nothing he can do to me, because laying on a sidewalk is not a crime. oh, yeah, i know, watch how this one plays out, i had more control over this monkey than he even knew. he pulls up in his car once, and tells me to get up, i said okay, he pulled off. and of course, two minutes later, he comes back, pulls his car up, gets out, immediately starts being a prick and blaming it on me. i started trying to talk, but not even one syllable was heard, even by myself, cause he kept spitting these orders and commands out of his mouth, which i can't hear, because i'm trying to talk, asshole! does anyone realize that? it seems like the dumber they are, or the more authority they have, the more they talk and the less they listen, and i wonder if there's a connection. why do i see neanderthal fur sticking out of their uniforms? their breath smells like... clan of the cave bear, that's what that smells like. i smell daryl hannah. but he won't listen, so i have to shout over him, which he blames me for the 'hostility'. yeah, okay, mister guntoting lunatic, i'm the one who's hostile, sure. i'm the one who's carrying a gun because that's the job i decided to get, so i take out my self blame on anyone but myself... wow, okay, yeah. anyway, i was trying to say, officer assbag, if you'd care to shut your dominant authoritative mouth long enough. i can tell you everything you need to know...

he interrupts. you fucking moron. seriously? that needed to be said just then, that it's my fault? so within two seconds of pulling up, he's demanding that i 'turn around and face the wall'. so i finally just shouted out over him, 'no, i don't have to'. he looks at me, and says 'you don't have to?'. i tried answering him, but apparently he didn't want an answer, he says 'i can have thirty more people here right now' blah blah blah. i interrupted him. i know, my mama would be proud already. i interrupted him, defending myself, saying 'no, i don't have to, because i'm no fucking criminal!' i got to 'cri...' and he cuts me off, not hearing the 'minal' part. oh, i'm a good writer, you're not getting past me. all this 'hostility' could have been avoided, keep in mind, had this asshole just done his peacekeeping job and kept his hostile fucking mouth shut. but okay, i'm the slave in this situation. he starts 'calling for backup' (for one homeless dude, i know, what a puss, right?) on his shoulder talkie device, so i cut him off again, and this time, drowned out his interruptions, which is impossible for me to do unless a certain trigger is hit.

you still think i haven't figured out this ptsd crap yet. you still think i'm dumber than you. you still assume i'm just stupid, that i can't possible know all this shit, only fictional people in movies know this much shit, so i must watch too many movies, that's obviously the one and only possible answer ever, so put it on wikipedia and finalize it.

wrong.

i interrupted his little backup call, playdoh show. and just kept plowing through these words:

i can tell you everything you need to know in five seconds if you'd shut your fucking mouth! i'm ozzy draven, thirty seven, father of two, no warrants, no probation, no parole, because i'm not a fucking criminal, so stop treating me like one!

even though i finished what i was saying, do you want to know how far through that i got before he started talking?

i made it up to the word 'warrants', and he starts saying 'then get out of here and don't come back, stay away from this street'.

it's not a broken record that you guys sound like, cause i've heard broken records.

you guys sound like clones.

have a blessed day. praise jebus beiber. god's a vegan, yes, i know.

god, i can't wait for the day... it's coming soon, i can smell the pamphlets. i can see the sun shining off the streets as the people walk by. the most definitive feeling, the most informative visual, and you guys have no clue what i'm talking about because you don't know shit about synaesthesia, you just think i've seen too many xmen movies, but that tells me somethin'...

shows how much you know... i am a mutant. you try proving that to christians. google says mutant is a word, christians is underlined in red. hmm... oh, sorry, did i offend your sense of humour, did he run off? sorry. get a new one. maybe one that's not designed by the plastic god company.

falsify your existence on this planet. i see how people in starbucks strike up conversations, and i see them sitting there listening to everyone else's story. never mine. what happens to me, you would never believe, but for some reason, i still feel obligated to convince you. as if it serves as a reason to get me a place of my own to live.

there's a new lesson aching to be learned. go ahead, keep running and hiding from it.
there's a new idea yearning to be learned. and witches on stakes to be burned, oh my!

i've been evolving from you since you were burnin' witches.
you've been in denial and darkness the whole time. self inflicted delusion.
a creature of darkness in a mind of questions; that which does not question.

my head shakes in disappointment too many times each day, but it's all my fault.

oh, yeah, and one more thought for this blog post. another constant annoyance that i wish i had the right to separate myself from.

i'm sick of looking at people. i used to have my dual monitor computer in my room, and outside my window was a fucking brick wall, so i never had to see shit but daylight. i could focus on my computer, my thoughts, my movies, whatever i wanted to do. but sitting in a starbucks, i can't control my neck. it's turning left and right to see all of you, but i'm tired of looking. i wish to god i could control my neck, my eyes, and tell them, stop looking at people, stop talking to people, say only what's necessary and save everything personal for a book, not one detail revealed before necessary, don't look at these people, don't talk to these people, stare at the ground, find ways to feed yourself without having to say one word, keep your metal in your ears, do not take them out, eyes on the ground, shake your head no, get in that habit, instead of the instinct to be nice...

which is a revelation for me... being nice is an instinct for some. then what does that make 'being mean'. freud?

eyes to the ground. metal to the ears. block it all out. the sign speaks for you. don't look at them, don't talk to them, do not take your ears out, just disappear, be invisible, you know how better than anyone else, and you've proven it. trying to be seen is your mistake, you're inviting methheads and drug addict scumfucks and crackroaches, and that's all you invite, what is it about my energy that invites methheads, but not potheads?

i'm not a drug addict! i'm a pothead. can i not attract any other potheads? all i attract is drug addicts. why! that law of attraction horse shit, i can't buy it. none of this world's superstitions or beliefs that they have tried to put on me to define me... have never worked. i'm not just an unnecessary puzzle piece in their puzzle, i'm from a whole other puzzle, with completely different lines and curves, and they're still trying to define me as something like them and put me in their moldy little box, what do you think they would do to actual aliens?

you're purple and you can teleport? well, unless it's fictional, or out of a fictional bible, we can't believe that, so we're just gonna say that you somehow magically fit through the mcdonald's drive through speaker, and then the food gets here, and you also believe in our god.

i wouldn't expect the aliens to shake their heads in disappointment, cause they probly have evolved another physical reaction for disappointment, like pissing upward, or tapping their legs on the ground.

you know those radio djs, how they have little sound clips of things... i always wish i had a little sound clip of bill hicks' pompous laughter to play at any moment, like a little clicker in my hand, and whatever speakers are around me at the time, it would play bill's voice, like the voice of god, through these speakers, with his pompous laugh, 'eh-heh!'. like, 'you really expect me to believe that?'. he says so much in that tiny little nonverbal reaction. that's poetry to me. condensed meaning into minimal words. brings a whole new meaning to 'from concentrate'.

so... that's my story for the day. part one: pain. part two: god. part three: cops. part four: people. cringe.

now, i need to find a restroom that won't kick me out after two minutes. you humans are fucking retarded. these bodies are not designed to shit in two minutes. but everything is a portable single serving convenience to you. individually wrapped forks for your protection from retardation and brain cell warfare. intellectual terrorism. copcakes and starfucks microwaved rubbery plastic nuclear fuckin'... your food makes mcdonald's look real. compared to mcdonald's sausage and egg mcmuffin, yours looks like the playskool version my cousin used to have. you don't realize that, do you? and you call this health food. i bet you that tofu is just leftover eighty year old whale blubber, and you guys are eating it thinking it's healthy, and that you can believe and trust what the people who made it tell you, no, that looks like fuckin' expired whale blubber to me. either that, or fish from men in black iii. you should watch more movies, and be less useless. fuckin' tofu. tofurkey. tofuck you.

fuck vegans are just one more controlling religion that i'm against. don't think you can cram me into your mold either, if you haven't learned from the lack of christianity in me, i'm a customer you're never going to have. just mark it as a 'no sale', tell your boss you failed, and leave me the fuck alone. why do you HAVE to sell me? you've got seven billion other mindless clones, why do you need me? am i the only real soul in this world? is this the path of temptation? are all these little jungle delusions trying to hook me for a reason? for who? where is my prison in this world, and where is my heaven, and how do i define the two? i honestly feel like the devil himself is behind every single store window, pulling his finger in, that big smile, taunting me to buy any and every product, any and every belief, so long as he can snag a little chunk of my soul each time, so i'm easier to control, more submissive and docile, and willing to do what he tells me. but i feel like all these people are just fake plastic puppets, robots doing his dirty work, in a lost world, where i'm the last person, the last soul that's still real, and needs to be acquired by satan industries, just so evil can pour through this world... so it's one attraction after another. one conversion attempt after another. this chain of people, and i have to say no to each one of them, why? that's only the work of satan, cause on down that line of people, i can see clearly the setting we're in, the faces, and his face behind each one. i can see it. know he's behind all this. products. beliefs. control. why do i have to be sold? why? no one's ever answered that, they refuse. but why, why do you have to keep selling me your product to this day, when i have refused to buy it for thirty seven years straight now? do you think one of these times i'm going to give in and say okay, and you get to claim victory, that you just killed the last unicorn? what the fuck world are you living in? i see satan in every store window. you don't. you sell me his products like you're his employed salesman, but he's not paying you, you're paying him, and that screams 'perfect slave' to me. but not you. maybe you were sniffing glue and got some in your ears, need a qtip? wake the fuck up. i will never buy your product. i will never hold a bible in my hand. stop trying. you will never win. it's a fruitless endeavor. my soul cannot be acquired. because i'm honestly not the least bit interested in your products. all i'm interested in is getting the fuck away from you, as far as possible. you'll never understand that.

so, from now on, this is my vow to myself. whenever someone starts shoving their beliefs down my throat, trying to sell me their bible product, i'm just going to start selling mine. which means i should type up a funny little thing and memorize it, so i can just spit it out quick, without being interrupted. or, as i told my psychiatrist, being intentionally brutally verbally slaughtered. how many times do i have to say it. so, i'll type it up, perfect it, practice it, repeat it, and get it ready. get it stageworthy, practice it on people on the street, and if they still don't listen, i'll take it to the stage, record it, put it on youtube, and STILL NEVER BE FUCKING HEARD! AND I CAN PROVE THAT BECAUSE FIFTY PEOPLE A DAY WILL STILL COME UP TO ME EVERY DAY TRYING TO SELL ME THEIR SHIT EVERY FUCKING DAY!!! AND I WILL HAVE THAT FUCKING PROOF!!! BUT PROOF DOESN'T MEAN SHIT TO CHRISTIANS ANYWAY!!!

actually, that needs to be part of it, the fact that proof doesn't mean shit to them. anyway, i'm done, i'll work on that next, but yeah, i need something good to say, to sell them my religion, instead of... letting them speak.

have a wonderful day. kiss my multithumbed ass. and during the typing of this blog post, i got ten automated emails. count them, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine... fucking will you shut the fuck up!!! leave me alone, you fucking robots! ten automated emails popping up while i'm typing this. ten. i could show you a screenshot of my mail program. ten! and reverbnation should be ashamed of themselves. why are you the worst one?

dear god,

it's not my fault that you ran away.
abandoned your post.
left all your fans without a sequel.
but there's a new god coming out.
it promises to be a 'blockbuster'... pun intended.

sincerely,
evolution.