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First Few Chapters. I am sure that posting to this website is completely irrelevant and a waste of time. It feels good to me to post and submit anything to be what is called "published". I know this site is dead, Lit.org has gave me the courage to at least write anything even how terrible and absolutely horrible it may read to the fucks who read these or even actually read anything from this site. I do feel a sense of comfort knowing this site is dead and i can express myself. When i originally became a member of this site over ten years ago, it has and became my reason.

Anyway, like anyone gives a fuck. Below is a obviously a work in progress first part of a "Fuck IDK" writing I call a "chaotic mind of a outsider" Really no introduction needed, its fucking garbage writing and not a harry potter post novel or a story of tied up BF with a large soiled panties to a bed post.





A Chaotic World to a Outsider


By Christopher Reynolds













































Ideas and Conversation Prevail.


The world has me disgusted again, you would think after NY or Detroit would have changed. Grown my life and evolved, educated my life after so many years? Put my ill writings in on a hidden hard drive, If you know where I came from gentlemen, you better run away, I am coming for you and will not let up. History will be present, insult you, I wanted nothing but you to read a simple book. Gain understanding to our human history. Its not just myself who feels this way. I have to save my life. I have to save my life. From keeping you around. Keeping the uneducated. The philistines are kept away. Feeling alone and the only one around, the only one around.

100 hundred years from now or possibly now, you by now gentlemen, will understand that it has in fact went all wrong. A celebrity puppet has been elected and appointed a administration of uneducated Christians to run our country. The loss of history, books, documents, science has been loss. Humans took a incredible step backwards in mankind. The earth cannot handle the disease of humans, a virus or infection to the globe. We move from one place to another, depleting all resources, stepping on the weaker strands or humans to advance our movement to more untapped resources. We have no regard for our fellow living orgasms, this is why we are a virus. When will earth create a cure? To become immune to our existence and create antibodies. Antibodies that will have a defense system to teach the the masses a lesson? Question my very existence or human kind in entirety.

Loneliness and self defeated thoughts of hatred rips apart my eyelids. People only served themselves and for the advancement of ones ego. The average asshole Philistine really only cares about one selves. When they can step on poor folk or people who once insulted or made them feel inferior to them selves, will now rule the mass scenes with money, class, opinions, and personal agendas. Cock Roaches go about their days rummaging for food, water and space. A uneducated miss informed populaces is not far off from a Roach, they scurry around rummaging up pieces of drama, looking for attention and self interest or appraise. When will the exterminators feast upon these creatures with ideas, thoughts and arguments? We shall never know, this current state of humanity has no end.

The distant hole I exist in will and always exist, furthering into the hole makes more sense to me now. The more I try and care, or go out of my way to help strangers only returns in disappointment. Maybe the roaches like the simple life and I care to much to change them, teach and or educate. I should let these people exist among the humans with disregard for the advancement of humans. This brings me to the next points that continue.

A new Chapter, a new life as they, I feel like i am in a cycle of 5 years. 32 year is a a stature that one hold have established ones self or at least figured shit out. Very successful people have already made their way or made a career. They are not reverting back to the early twenties on distaste or confessions I am feeling. This uncertainty pains me so much that it almost cripples my every moves
`
I recently broke up with someone I thought I loved, With this sad, I have hanot a fucking clue what love is, I truly have never been in Love. A concept where people say when you know, you just know. I had reliance with someone but, was it love? I question this all the time. Being comfortable is not the same as true love from what I read Gentlemen. We were mere best friends and had a strong connection, so I thought. After the years of being together and for what I thought was a relationship, mutually together. I used the lack of financial commitment as a scape for breaking up with her, I was tired of the status qou, the mundane, the every bland being of humans interacting with one another on daily basis and to never give two shits about changing a fucking thing. The continual disease, we like the influence, the comfort, the familiarity. In the end not a fucking thing is changed.

We existed, we laugh, I taught her some key life lessons as she did as well to myself. We grew as a couple and as couples should, learn and grow. The only problem is that I am on a multilevel of unhappiness, I have everything, I hate people and I hate humans I tell myself. The very acts of idiocy disappoint me so much that I completely shut down from all communications, even then they are called a so called“Best friend”, who are these said best friends? Comfort? Familiarity? Living and learning is the key to old age as the gray fucks know, the more we grow old, we do not ultimately understand how things work. We only learn the hard way and we try to be better humans. A human who is respectful, obedient. Fucking Sheep.

I use to think it was anger, fear or disgust. Tried to blame one another on to itself. Spent years dealing with anger, hiding the red and black so deep where I created a mask to confront any outburst. Learned to pressure this anger in my unconscious, slowly the building and boiling became the lava under the great tectonic plate over the californian fault line. Only small amounts of fits like a minor eruption in the depths of a geyser only to be sealed again. A mask was my only way to hide, adjust and never let this said magma erupt, overtake and run this mind. This is the first mask you see?

Fear is the second mask to come about during my early to mid twenties. Fear of failure, if I failed then I would be like my parents or more importantly my father. This vile of a human, coward and failure to humankind is who I feared I would become. When family comments at our annual gatherings about how much I look like him. I cringe in disgust, I bite my teeth, twirl my hair and find any excuse no matter how bullshit that excuse was to leave the family function. I did this to just get some peace and avoid this fear. Slowly over the years of this fear I created another mask that I wear on my shoulders becoming a heavy weight.

Disgust is a building emotion that has been around lingering like a strange foot ailment you deal with over a very long period of time. Example of your large in grown tow nail you have been trying to self heal. Im disgusted in my life, im disgusted in the mask I have made to deal with my thoughts. Thoughts are running a million times a second, firing synopsis after synopsis of old dirt, emotions, pain and anger. Fuck you synopsis and electrodes connecting in my brain. Alcohol delays these firings, alcohol is no longer working nor do I even want to have it work. Now I embrace the electrodes, bring them the fuck on, HEY I have my other mask to deal with you fuck of Gentlemen. Thus, this viscous cycle I only deal with alone. Im alone and my loneliness is the only way I can cope with myself or my thoughts. We fit together like a puzzle as Conor Oberst says. This is the third mask to be developed. Winning and Winning. I want to Win.

Defeat is a strange word. I defeated all these memories, pain, anger, disgust and self loathing by the very three mask that were developed. Pushing away the very people who care or want to care. Caring is also a strange concept. People only want to care only to benefit their own self ego as I stated before if you were not listening. End of the day, they are accomplished and full knowing that they cared. You see folks. This is the trap of every day human struggle. All worms upon worms being ripped in half only to build a band and keep on wiggling onto this wet pavement. In the end a Eagle will feed us to their freshly hatched babies.

My mind wonders and random thoughts just erupt, the third mask is pushed beyond its limits. This is the results of my every changing thoughts.

Beauty of my home.


Home, I do not know if I want to believe you.
Fade out and this is where the truth beholds.
So many souls, hiding among the gray.
Powerful minds exist close and when will one discover.
Your mother is a fake, the smile on your face is not what seems.

Return to me, the innocents. Wont you return to me.
Child like dreams, read your love, I know them so well
what a tragedy, not your fault, I love you anyway.
I love you anyway. Meant a lot that you always cared.
No matter if you were able to control... this environment.

Now your gone, I'm lost but understood when you sailed back to me.
The ships set sail, baggage packed, and I will be sailing among this blue life
sail among this expedition, oh I will be sailing!

The gray sails are always casted, a reminder of strength I overcame.
A place to let the wind blow my mind, over across
swallow it whole like a happy thought I once became.
Oooooooo ooooooo oooooooooooooo the sails
are still blowing, down a river, a sail of the grays.

Taken only to exist, move on from my sorrow.
Only to make me strong. Steal my weak side and create this..concrete.
Creation can only be renewed when old bricks of the old, become healed or repaired.
This sinking ship is only where I strengthen the self I know is truth.

Back to Reality or at least what I thought was reality, snapped from one thought cycle to wonnn.... I passed out and woke up with a vivid dream....

The smell of old oak with 40 year old beer spills, comes beneath my senses. Another Labatt blue ordered from the bartender, while staring at the one of twenty televisions playing todays baseball games. Distracted and hating baseball, I daydream and stare at the taps in the middle of the bar wondering what to drink next with a continual observant of my surroundings.
A loud clapping rang in my ear, a player made a catch; my vision is blurred as I look up and sip my beer. Suddenly the absolute annoying chuckle stringed my ears like a teen screaming for Brittany in the joe lewis arena. “What the fuck I wonder”. Time to find a new barstool I mutter. Distastefully I turn to the right with a stare of hatred. “Could it be?”
No. I tell myself. Kelly? She was my long time sexual encounter in college. Maybe it’s the beer talking Chris I whisper in my head.
Bartender order up another blue, please.
“Chris! Chris! Is that you?”
I ignore her remarks and turn the left and sip my beer.
“You have not changed.”
My god, is she talking to me? is it really her. My face turns pale and I realize she looks similar but, I never met her in my life and apparently she knows my name.
She grabs my shoulder, spins me around and gives me a huge bear hug.
“Shit, Fuck this is awkward”
“Kelly? Uh um, it has been a long time hasn’t it?” I said.

“It has been since, I worked as a mortgage broker. In those days we were smoking pot on telegraph near taco bell.” - Kelly
“Yeah, it has been a while” I remember those days I ponder, living at my uncles house in Dearborn Heights. This relationship goes back a year where I met her at a friend’s but, the real Kelly and I am certain this is a posture. We were two horny individuals who had sex for fun or to say “fuck buddies”. The days were intense. I remember calling her on a random Tuesday and simply saying “I have to see you”, she would come by in an hour and we would drink a few beers, smoke a pipe, the next two hours would be the most experimental experiences of my life. The intensity of the sex was animal, primitive in nature, like eating a chicken wing ripping the flesh from the bones drenched in a array of sauces. She would always light a cigarette and hit the bong as we cooled down in the basement after a long heated session. Off we go till the next time! She would call out in a cheerleader distant action of sarcasm.
“I miss you boo”.....her puffy lips were intimidating as I wonder.
I asked the worst question a man could ask with our human history.” How have you been?”
I do not recognize her but, she sounds like Kelly? I convince myself, she is either drunk and thinks her name is Kelly or it actually is Kelly. Fuck, she is attractive and hell she started the conversation. I convince myself to run with the wolves as they say.
“Chris! You know what I remember?”
“No!” It’s strange to think she knows my name, lucky guess perhaps...
“A few weeks ago in Pontiac at Clutch Cargos watching Oh Boy Oh Boy Commander. I remember seeing you.”
“Me? I live in NY now that is impossible.”
“No No you were there with another whore from the city club.” She said.
“Another whore, are you jealous?” I sadly feed into the conversation as if I remember that moment hoping for more information to materialize from the initial thoughts.
“All jokes aside I believe you are mistaken in identity, I lived in NY for over a year and you honestly do not look familiar” I said.
“No, are you sure you do not remember me because I know a face like yours and more importantly..”
She grabbed my crotch and squeezed my package with a wink in her eye. “These long.... lost friends”
“Ok. Ok I honestly thought you guessed my name on a lucky guess, I thought I knew you but that was the beer talking” I said.
Where do I take the conversation now, I first thought she was Kelly and she happened to be Kelly, strike one, she knows my streets and my taco bell, strike two, now she told my favorite band from Michigan.
“What night was it?” I repeated
“November 1st a few weeks ago, what’s wrong with you? Did you smoke the peyote?”
“Peyote, Fuck nah it’s been years I sigh and mutter under my voice.” I cannot believe this random Kelly; damn she is crazy but incredibly gorgeous. Black boots with a short red dress.
“Well Chris, I never told you but after the club I found your city club whore and invited her out to an after party in Cork Town that same night.”
“Interesting” I said in a sarcastic under tone.
“Yea I gave her mushrooms and we… well you know how I am.”
“No. I do no..T, ahh it doesn’t matter. Continue” I said with much attention to her lips.
“Well and you cannot tell anyone but, I was fucked up and pissed off. She was with you and I accidentally strangled that little whore.”
… *I fell silent*
“It doesn’t matter she was a lightweight anyway.”
“I do not know what to say and like I told you, you are mistaken identity.” I repeat to her.
“You keep saying that, you were always hard to get.” She said in a manipulative tone.” Next drink is on me for old time’s Chris”
“Ok…I have to use the restroom, Order me up. That sounds good, Blue please.” I walked off to the back restroom shaking my head, this woman is crazy and I have to get out here before I think too much of this. Pissing in the urinal troughs and reading the writing scratched on the wall like a cave man, I realize I must finish this one drink and get the fuck out of here.
Walking back I notice her skirt was hiked up and she was applying lipstick.
“Hey, well that was an interesting story and shocking none the less.” I said in a distant way.
“Let’s toast and drink to interesting stories” she happily yelled over the terrible Kid Rock playing. Fucking hate Kid Rock I repeat to myself.
Clink.
“Tasty Eh? You should lighten up a little” She said
I suddenly started feeling light headed after the first few sips; maybe it was the eight beers or fuck….
I woke up; I am lying in a bed. I look to my right and to my left; I am in a hotel room. My clothing is off and porn is playing on the television. What the Fuck just happened and who the hell was she. I thought for a minute and stood up and went to the restroom. Condom wrappers everywhere in the restroom, I pissed and pissed in four streams.
A note was lying near the mirror.
“Chris, I realized the story I told you would scare you and you would have left the bar. I would have never had a chance to do what I did to you last night if I have not… well you get the idea. Till next time. Kelly.”
I left the hotel in a trance and drove off trying to forget this ever happened but, what did happen? This thought alone is going to drive me into psychosis.


The dreams in this state are incredibly visual, past experiences or past relationships wonder in my dreams. Sometimes they are good and most are terrible. This dream above is for you my fellow reader, that is if I still have you attention. The randomness distracts myself very quickly.

Wondering among this planet, one can only take so much in and or when we do absorb these sparks of thought, I sit back and remember all the classic authors who were pondering the very existence. Fyoder had to be this shambled to write all his great novels. He obviously was incredibly better and was able to channel the characters in his mind, focus and write beautiful pieces of writing. When you read his first series of stories, more importantly Poor Folk or Notes from the Underground you wonder if he was the same fucked up mind that I exist in but he had a large advantage of less data and technology corrupting his thoughts. He had no idea the contant struggle of outside influences that constantly distract his focus. I call this a new era of humans. Humans whi exist in a constant stream of emotion and outside stigma that changes our thoughts, emotions or doubts. I wish sometimes that I was born in the time without technoligaly and constant acceptance. Those were the days, the days where you really could change society. No one cares about a asshole like myself these days, do you Gentlemen? Glad you are still reading and wondering where all this rambling will conclude, make a point or make some sort of key emotional life changing lesson. I have sad news for you readers. This book will only get weirder, odd and painful to read every word. This is the idea. To teach you that humans are fucked going further into civilization. The masses have some many influences believes, religions, opinions and mindless sheep wondering around the planet. We are now taught not to think, grown to learn fucked up beliefs. This is why you are reading this, your children, your future grandchildren will become more and controlled. When they lash out and write, do art, or want to gather thoughts to teach humans out of spite. This my Gentlemen is what you are going to receive and be delivered.

With those thoughts written, I woke up this morning from this to be thought was a dream but the smells, touch and vivid sharp memories make me wonder if it is or not a dream.

I Awake covered in a glossy film. My arm is firm to the steel table, you know the feeling of the hair pulling off your skin from duct tape or a adhesive bandaid. I am having a tunnel of thoughts racing as I panic inside my own head. The temperature of my body and my face thicken with blood rushing through my veins, as I panic and over heat, the lack of control overwhelms my emotions. Screaming my thoughts aloud and creating wavelengths inside deeply throughout every synopsis of connections happening. Open my mouth to scream, only a whisper. I suddenly with all my strength break the film from holding me on the metal examination table. Ripping the needle from my wrist, my chest and my right leg, I sit up inhale deeply to smell formaldehyde. My thoughts race thousands a second. What is happening? How did I get here? Seconds pass and novels have processed. On my right is a man with a ink pen stuck in both his wrist, scissors in his chest, pumping blood slowly with every slow pump of his faint heart beat. On my left is a half naked female lying on the ground blue as if she suffocated. I am slowly removing the strapped restraints from my ankles and tearing the film from my legs as I attempt to stand from the examination table. I felt the blood rush to my toes and my body turned what we call “Asleep” as kids. Three minutes pass as I massage the tingles away. The smell worsens. I need oxygen, I tell myself over and over panting with slow deep breathes. My toes touch the floor, the floor is cold like walking on pavement in mid january in Michigan. I walk to find a exit full of a head now in a cloudy confused state in a glass enclosed room. A man with his neck slit and a pool of blood lies on a computer desk in front of me. What massacre has happened? Who and how did this happen? An older gentleman against the wall appears to be breathing with needles stuck in his back. I turn him over and asked, who did this and what had happened? In a confused weak voice with full sincerity. He stared at me for felt like eternity and said with his watery eyes and suddenly his pupils enlarge; He flew backwards against the wall screaming. Screaming loudly and incredibly louder to where his voice turned mono static. When he pushed backwards to the wall the needles thrusted deeper into his back. Blood was drooling from his mouth and he whispered “you did” gagging and choking..... My heart dropped and I saddened, my head started pounding, heart racing and racing, what happppp... I fainted. Awoken to a loud banging on the main metal door to the room. This is the Police, Open the Door!! We know you’re in there. Next to me was a scalpel lying on the ground with blood all around and what looked like a episode of Dexter, but with out the plastic kill room. Suddenly a impulse that is unexplainable drew the scalpel to my throat and in one clean sweep, I slid the sharp blade across my throat with no doubt, questions or hesitation. Flashing before my eyes was my childhood, my life, traveling backwards from only the happy memories and not one negative memory. The air thickens and my breathing began to be heavy. Blood was everywhere and slowly I fell to the floor. Five seconds later my heart seized and silence grew thicker. For the first time in my life I have never felt anything, emotions, feelings, pain, sorrow or anything. I felt complete darkness. When my heart stopped beating, I for what felt like minutes, watched my blood pool and and slowly run like a river to a center drain. My eyes drew very tired and then complete Darkness.

This memory shook my bones and ached my heart, where is my unconsciuse? I was not raised this dark, where would I gather these inspirations. I spent the better part of my morning shaking, barely moving. Forcing myself to get in the shower. The water ran across my head and trickled down onto my feet. My awareness of each drop running down my neck and onto my back felt as if someone was behid me running a finger along my contours and shoulder blades.

Managing to get to my therapist while in a deep disappointment, guilt, and a strong aching thought that this was real. Perhaps I mixed up my medication, missed a dose or.... fuck I am lost and not sure what is real or tangible. The short therapy session went as usual, usual as to they repeat everything back as a third person to create thought and understanding. Typical psycho babel from a young therapist.

Walking home from therapy, I remembered I was invited over to a friends house to discuss a new art project and get the ideas started over some wine. A Young Dog that was half German Sheppard and half lab, about six months old is the ideal loyal pet for a family of three. What could go wrong? Or temperament issues one could have. He is not a aggressive dog, treats the cats with respect. Is polite and a recent winner of the dog kennel beauty ward. You see I must first say that I was never a dog person nor pretend to be one. I merely am a cat person, cats are clean, respectful to our time, the demand little or no attention most of time. Hell if you keep them indoors/outdoors the litter box isn't even a problem. They exist in your shadows, come out when feeling playful, and are there for mere companionship.

Shit. I had jumped topics and into my feline tangents. The day started out cold and gloomy on my way to the therapist. The weather is changing to full steam ahead autumn, cold mornings and damp conditions. The resitence to move from your bed and come out of the icredibly warm blankets. Moving the slight of hand from under these warm layers only results to a runny nose and cold, ice cold limb. You retract and curl up with your pillows and let hours pass where all motivation is loss.

About two hours till I must be at my friends house to which I was invited. I throw myself onto the floor in fiery. Ripping the blankets off and yelling, fall onto the floor with my ass cracking the wooden floor. FUCK, I scream. I knew this was the only way I can get myself motivated and alert, out of this womb of comfort.

Now, a coffee pot later, cooking substance with dull shitty kitchen knives. This fucking dog is barking at the back door to go outside. I set my knife down and open the door. He runs as fast as he can to the back of the fenced in yard like a fucking reindeer on a roof christmas eve. Back to cooking when I hear a loud slam of a door. I walk back and find my cat covering and in a corner covering her eyes with her paws. She started speaking to me in a horrid voice that the dog is eating a squirrel on the deck and she found a headless corpse lying on the deck with a pool of blood surrounding dripping through the cracks. The tail was also ripped off and used for doggy tribal sacrifices in honor to the kibble and bits God. He ate the fucking head she yelled, the dog is in the meantime prancing around in satisfaction, guilt free. He did what he does in nature, kill his prey and eat the heads off to his God. I call him and he comes immediately, he has blood and hair coming from his teeth, visible blood splatter is all over his fur coat. He is the happiest animal alive, a true murdered of small animals. There will be atrial by nature with this particular dog.

Shock, Horror and Disgust with this young pup. What to do next, well I suppose I should buy a shotgun and train a hunting dog, go qual hunting on my nights off. Will he rip the heads of my cats, is this why the cat was talking to me.... the cat was talking to me and I listened? Im confused and now shaking. Everything that happened is true, I feel it but now question.


I awake in cold sweats with pill bottles around the bedside.

The morning of December 15th, the weather is unusually warm and the smell of spring is haunting. Walking to the subway I realize a sudden deepening withing my chest. Work has been rough. This Damp an Cold Feeling. In the past my body reacts in this way when I feel life is about to change. One foot in front of the other I imagine myself, I watch my legs move quickly. The time is almost nine. My heart is hurting now. What will my boss say or do? He is always very unpleasant to me when I am more than a minute late. I hope the trains run quick I suggest to myself. Will I have enough money on my metro card this morning or will I purchase yet more costly train rides. The anxiety builds beyond my control, distraction is needed and I use my music player. Close my eyes and wait for the train. My mind is working against me as I stare down the distant track lighted with blue and yellow lights. So far the distraction is working well for the moment. A man brushes my shoulder and yells “ White cracker ass mutha fucker” and I react, put my head down without saying a word. What is a white man to say to a black man who disrespects me? I mutter to myself? Just shut the fuck up Chris and your own life, he is just a angry human. Heart beats faster and is almost uncontrollable at this moment. Deep breathes and breath.. I repeat. Lack of the oxygen in a polluted C train, cough, my God. I am having a attack. An immediate change of scenery as I walk to stop the spinning inside my head. A short time the anxiety subsides.

The first train arriving on the express track is full and the gentlemen are blocking the door to where I cannot get onto the train. I scurry to the next door, full, the last door and the door shut with the chiming. I decide to take the next local train downtown, I actually get to sit down and thats a pleasant surprise. Minding my own and keeping to yourselves with wondering eyes is the hardest subway task. Especially when people are clipping their nails and applying make up while the train is rocking back and forth. They manage to apply the mask with little error. They must have years of experience I thought. The smell of a morning train is one of a kind; the enclosed place with 25 people who never brush their teeth and hung over from a drunken yagermeister night before. They read their morning trash papers and laugh at celebrities and people fucking each other from the cast of full house with the cast of Prince of Bell Aire. Exciting news that is necessary in order to gossip around the water cooler and the local star bucks while on lunch. They have to choose their of pre determined opinions to impress the emotionally hollow co- workers.

42nd street port authority station, walking out onto 40th street is a task within a task. The same bum that pissed himself and smells of human feces is laying in my exit. Today he is Gandhi with his half empty bottles of vodka and a hole is his sweatpants near is crouch. This is a man who loves his cockroach friends and puke ridden bed, an american hero this man is. The best part of the hallway is the porn video store thats actually in the exit of the exit on 40th street. You see reader, NY is a kid and family friendly town where the city welcomes tourist to visit its subways and see the sights. The true human interaction and human achievements not spoken is out of recent history text books. There is no place where you feel you are in roman times and smell the air pollution mixed with vomit and hot dog stands.

An elder lady stands on 39th and eight holding a catholic rosemary. As she eats and drinks her coffee and donuts every thursday. I look forward to her, she makes me happy seeing her in the routine. I know she is laughing and observing the same that my eyes are witnessing. She is so happy leaning against the wall. No cares in the world could interrupt her in this particular time and place. She dresses like a colorful nun, wears bright blue and green with matching 70's shoes. I wonder why she is so independent and in which my grandma sits at 65 in Her own self pity and loathing.


“How do you Feel?”

“What are taking from this story, true or not” - Therapist.

I stare in a deep obscure look, they always ask this. I could tell her that I killed people in a small room and tried killing myself. They still will not believe me or acknowledge that maybe I actually did do this terrible act.

“are you taking your meds” - Therapist

I continue to tell her my stories and the in and out of reality or thoughts and or dreams. At this point I have no idea what is real or not. I may actually be a murderer, I am not sure what day it is? Somehow, maintaining a job is second nature but these snaps of multiple lives have me.... Swallow the Mondays.

Count the cracks of the brick paved walkway
one foot in front of the other
thoughts of worry

Smell the mans's cigarette in front
inhale the smoke, look down on my feet
so fast, we walk fast
pain is coming from my leg and feet

We walk faster to keep pace
Hit with a bag and caughed on by a man
stepped on from an over crowded subway
disrespected form all points

grown men reading fashion mags
men threading their eyebrows
society demanding the from our men

judge me, oh man, judge me
grow my natural beard
judge me men, my pathetic self is not

trim my hair in a square
spin my music device with white cords
find the song to loud treble

time is faster and you keep looking at your watch
seconds later a glance
later a glance and nod
my god men I am late
spinning thoughts of lateness

open doors
push and hit me without respect
shove me of the train
I am late
at my own expense

Awake and find myself in central park sitting on a bench, confused, cold and this song is in my head or at least the whistling. Where did I go? My thoughts are racing. Losing control is what I fear, are these real? Am I just blacking out from the meds? My therapist is no help. To her my auto pilot I shall name Theodore. I chose Theodore, its longs and distinct. A memorable least common denominator.

Bass is shaking my walls, deep and distracting.... thoughts go hazy as I look upon my day, week and next week. Drive and drive, focus and soul is bass bass bass bass ooooommmmmmm

Well I declare a war!!!! A Fucking War!
Hiding at the borders skies, laid down ditched at the side of the road. Lazy haired soldiers at the door.

The entire situation happened, I want to say I was wondering this time when and how will she find out. First I denied everything and found the fastest fallacy I can use and dismiss this problem. Jennifer in this case went through my newly stacked bookshelf while I was sleeping. I thought she was only awake for ten or so minutes. A quick reading lady she was in fact. Only thirty seconds is all she needs to speed read my journal and gain the information. She ignored the issue and acted very upbeat and happy from her satisfaction of winning her game. Jenny knew nothing until about 20 minutes until we arrived home.
She started crying and feeling distant, she broke and said I couldn't believe I did this to her. I very calmly said and simply I fucked up and we were breaking up. I continued to ask her about she found about Stacy. She stated she was looking into my bookshelf and thought my journal was a shared space and opened, read entries.

She currently was not living with me for a near three months, frankly with my condition who would be around this human. I always kept a thoughts journal hidden from everyone and since I could bury it into a shelf of boring classics, I assumed no one would think twice. I admit now and with deep feelings for that the issue would have come up in conversation within a week. If I was still to the journal from her, she would use the memorization of my passwords and cyber stalk. Perhaps I should follow Nietzsche philosophy “When people become self aware of their fears, they usually project them onto others”. Nietzsche called such people “tarantulas” because they fear others down to increase their own status. “Jennifer is a tarantula and will never stop in invading my privacy from her own fears.

I am unsure where time passed, a year has passed. The drugs the therapist must have kept me piloted... looking back I only remember the above situation. I hope I was more than a better person to what was remembered. Walking of the W4 station I discovered a..... nostalgic, I well where am I?

The Metro Card Art Project
Limited amount of cards but, some basic layouts are underway.
Have to find a way to glue the metro cards on a painting.

Woken up with my hands strapped to a bed and inside a room, Im not understanding why I am here?
Four hours passes, I know.. the clock on the wall has a very loud clicking while onto the next minute. The doctor eventually greets a helpless fuck, he explains I went into a psychosis fit and collected metro cards that were on the ground, created a giant mural on the wall using glue. According to other homeless and officers, I created this in a two week time period. The art piece was a raptor posed as jesus, the obsession ended when I “apparently” proceeded to steeling peoples metro cards as they swiped though the gate and argued that sacrifices to the raptor gods were in the best interest. In NYC, this is a crime to steal others metro cards. I have no memory of any actions.

Is sit in disbelief as the doctor exited, next my therapist and small acknowledgment of Jennifer enter the room or cell as I remember. She was able to get me out of the situation as a chemical imbalance due to poor diet and stress reacting with my psychotropic medication. A win for this human my dear readers.


The newly public love for another Jennifer in my worldly view. She moved me to a small town called Bay City. Bay city is located in the middle of Michigan with a population of about 32,000 people. Word and gossip in a small town catch up quick among the locals. When we moved she had a idea to be a new consumer of fake breast. A size A to a size D on a small lady such as herself was incredible. My sexual intrique I have to say was very obvious. The medication made me tunnel visioned in a way. She has three children, I never knew, nor did I remember if she did. She is classy, elegant and an educated women. Very cute and not desperate. Just knowing what she wanted, good sex, my attention, a hard fucking like we just met. Shit, in my head we did just meet. Im not sure how my world is going to adapt to this small town life. She quickly became a socialite and enemies piled on quickly. A stray New Yorker, eccentric, socially awkward individual like myself can create situations.

Awakening in another city, awoken from a self destructive rampage or binge. This is what I now have become, so destroyed and broken down into my own turmoil or self destruction. I can now or the fact that I am now recognizing that I now Know my inability to recognize my lack of memory. In a out of random life, dreams, creations or actual reality in which I needed therapy and my phsychologist had to create a reason or train and or make me believe I had a act of humanity and a realization. I am fucked up. The in and out or the abiltiy to interact with humans. This existential life and point of being is close to the “id” -Freud top of the ice and water on a cold titanic evening. The very realization that the captain, musicians and men knew the foreshadowing future of their fate is the most beautiful act of humanity in history. The Band played the absolute most soulful, heartfelt, music they have ever played. Life was now meaningful, bringing pleasure to the dying or the lost. At the time of great esteem, they played the soul of themselves. I find this historical moment in history extremly deep and moving to my own self. Who are we if we do not learn from our past? Can we not watch a film and learn a deep heart or idea we never knew before. Can me not cry from film? I cry from film?

Just a few days ago I recently watched a David Bowie Documentary on HBO about his last 5 years and his last two albums and musical before he submitted to cancer. October of 2016 is when he stopped treatment. When a human is faced with death and is all knowing of what will happen but force himself to distract into art is the most beautiful and humansist act of humankind and self awareness one can only exist. The high, energy, self loneliness is fascinating. My time is not acheieved to the state of awareness but I do envy and study this idea. One day when I can establish this point of reality and historical references and feel I became the best human.... this is the single fascinating moment of my life. Where everything will make sense... ive always been a opportunist piece of shit, not knowing where I belong...

The opportunist self awareness I believe evolves from my childhood. Growing up with nothing and relying on help, empathy, guilt and distant charity to appease a court hearing. These people do exist, I cannot hate them, they are forced socially to learn human kind and honor, dignity... He picked me up in a BMW, chatted in Condescending tones the entire Big Brother Big Sister program to honor his court agreement. He was distant, show boating and invited women he was interested in his Court ordered excursion. He was the Hero that evening, he took a kid to a hockey game who was disadvantaged, from a selected by a social worker, I was a poor family child or “Statistic”, He even picked me up in a trailer park which I presume made him feel more charitable. His ego was, I imagine huge like Jupiter or of Saturn's rings. He drove fast and bloated about his money, smell and how much pussy he was getting. He kept telling me, if I worked hard and understood a allusion of how to treat women with persuasion and a confidence. The asshole approach.

Another lonely night with attempted conversation. They are all meaningless. Lack of interest. Conversations where they are interested just to poke and seek information in my state of openness. One of my favorite chefs and explorers that I was jeleous and looked up to died recently. He traveled many countries, documented new cuisines and explored bars by himself. Always glamorized his career and he wanted to show the world his interest and love for food and drinks. I fucking wanted to be him.

He committed Suicide and now I realize his career is my own but in different context. I travel for beer, my brewery and give my entire life to this life of being a Beer rep. Sit in hotels weeks at a time, traveling from city to city, car to car, rep to rep. Living everyday out of bas, restaurants, hotels, trunks of cars and gas station snacks. Meaningless conversations to pass the time. Spend my days in my head, nights in my head and daily task dedicated to a company all the while not giving a fucking shit about myself. Gave up my relationship, house, passions, art, and.... fucking do not even know who I am anymore. A product of bullshit. In the end of the day, im bleadding depressed and lonely. You reach out to express your inner loneliness, only to be greeted with a mere shun of “shut up, you must be blessed and people would be lucky to have your job. Quit bitching and you live the dream job”..... fuck yourselves.

In reality, you have the perfect life. Work 8am-4pm, look forward to being home to kiss your lover, family etc. grill and or build a swing set for your child. Go to bed feeling loved, wanted and needed. I envy this with so much love. Pains me everyday sitting alone at a bar eating food, drinking alcohol all alone, then wonder alone back to a dark, empty, bleached ridden hotel room where your life is small bottles, packaged products and disposable. Disposable is the word. Disposable is the word that really reigns in like a poet who is disrespected on the daily. Throw yourself into the opposite. They wil say quite your bitching, people in Africa or the ghetto have it worse. Suck it up you fucking sensitive fuck. Who really wanted to listen to a whiny emotional alone person who is distant, secluded and depressed. You make good money, you have a career, you have life perfectly.... they say.

I tell everyone I am fine, doing good. Put a smile on my face, laugh, engage and welcome conversation where its one sided and solely about them. You are important and I should be blessed my life is so great alone and distant. Thank You for being self centered and being about you. I know someday, I will or in this moment I may feel horrible, lonely and empty. You are in the need and I, am the lucky one. Great for you, you will read the headlines of a suicide victim that has a great life (in your eyes) and say to your (listeners). He had the best life and its selfish for that person to be a coward, give up. Shame on him. If I had that job or his life.... fuck yourself.

Authors who you idealize or who I idealized over time. I never really worshipped or engulfed into any authors bullshit. Im not a Vonnegut person, or a person who likes such writings. Humans label everything. I am not a fucking left over broccoli salad in a fridge you sharpie dates and a label upon. Fuck You. The life everyday is not in a pre determined program. Simply put a general hatred for humanity. The very social acts and normal human task to be apart of this world, simply bother me. Bothers me in a way that is not depressing or a hatred like a insane catholic believer. I just want to avoid the simple acts of humanity. I do love when a human I interact with can be a true existential self. Be weird, inappropriate in subtle aspects of conversation and social mannerisms. The very no judgment from one another and this sickens me to have to state the fact that we as two humans had no judgmental transactions. All of humanity should not even judge, understand or relate to this word or meaning. The word or meaning is a power chess piece to control another human. At some point some asshole created this word and definition with a pure idealogical motive to control and gain authority. The coffee shop vente drinking skinny latte drinkers soaked up this bullshit. If real change, change to advance humans somewhere exist. Would be a world where we can manipulate history and our education system. Already is happening. This disgust myself. Fuck Tesla.

Humans will honor and worship, learn, discuss, envy, learn values from other humans. Only when they fucking stopped breathing. Humans noticed this person out of pure vanity. The for once in their simple mental capacities felt loneliness and existential thoughts. Do they learn or understand evolution of humans? NO, they divert this feeling into creating this artist (or a fucking human) into a celebrity and status person. Meanwhile when they needed simple love, they were ignored like a disease of society. The diseased human is only worth anything if humans can profit, expose, control and create propaganda for ones own agenda. Congratulations you fucks of humans. We are all the problem to our disease.

Where does this leave the erratic, artistic, free thinking assholes?

We are stuck in the very hated ideals, judgments, creations and existence. We live a alone life in hopes to pass down future generations of failure and beauty. Opportunist we are and it pains us daily. Even typing this what ever the fuck this is I have spent drunk idiotic time of my piece of shit life hating to write these words or gather thoughts knowing... knowing this is all worthless and will never inspire. Humans do not read a depressed, alone, stream of consciousness writing out of enjoyment. The only humans that will read this fuck, will be diseased humans who lost and given up on humans as a species.

Am I a sick man?

Ask your self this question. What the fuck is the point. You can be driving to your enslaved work cubicle and get hit by a moose crossing the road. The moose does not know any better. Centuries this moose's genes walk freely upon this forest. We as fucks of humans, decide to bull doze and cement miles and miles, acres and acres of land, habit to only create a high speed driving range to the un suspecting creature. You will die instantly. Does your fucks you gave matter when your black?

Alert to empty. Empty is achievable in a second. We only have alert. Why do fucks warrant and created to the wrong reasons? Scared of the empty? Running psychologically being a shitty human to avoid the idea of empty?

Emptiness and hatred for humanity cripples my soul. Have so much beauty and voice to share. The ending knowledge is what cripples my very soul. My fingers start a story and after a short few sentences, the distraction of what the fuck is the point. Energy feeds from the thoughts and memories, so much inspiration and self love. Then the locking Flint reality of humanity sets in and nobody gives a fuck until I am dead and irrelevant, then a trendy culture will create a movement. The movement will last a short sin of time and the true readers will submit to judgment. Art will then inspire to be used as a popular justification of self vanity.

This does not make any sense. I am a a fucking hack, fake, fucking poser, and a person who writes short stuff for attention. I can claim, I am a writer. I can claim I am a artist with my shitty art work. 9 year olds can recreate these works and workshops for adult education facilities. Fucking a complete hack and fraud. My entire life and existence is a fraud. I ran from everything. Ignored and pretended and acted like I knew what I was. Kill myself and this fraud persona. Alone and existing in a life of frozen. Frozen, you are already writing terrible reviews of this writing. You judgmental fucks. He says frozen to express a human inability to move, express, will of living, will of caring or giving the slightest thought of interest. I am uneducated in your eyes. The years of schooling did teach myself that the more you learn in judgmental words and people telling you to use a different word that has the same meaning to only give a image that you are intelligent. I find this a big FUBAR. Fuck you. Lets be real and be angry or opinionated.i read some books, I find myself being completely fake and dropping names of authors and expressing a ideal the author is discussing. Why, to fit in to a very conversation I truly give no fucks about and or understand why I am being fake to portray myself in a certain social class. Im a piece of shit. A long night of social interaction and “peopling” furthers my depression and emptiness to a point of darkness. I catch myself of being a piece of shit to other humans. Later I am alone and become embarrassed. One day I was my complete self with no walls or borders. Completely existed. My world did not go very good, I have to keep my job.


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The following comments are for "Chaotic World to a Outsider"
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