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| I'm writing this one impromptu, as is , even if my current mental state is one i'd never in my life want to recall. However, unluckily for me , I might not remember even a framgent this when I come to, so I must record this all now, afflicted, to ensure my memory of today's events. I am laying on my back in my room, sprawled out on the floor and drenched in cold water. I've managed to reach under my bed yto grab a pen and an old notebook. I feel as if the time of my death is but a few hours away. Even now, I struggle desperately to stay concious in spite of the agony caused by a certain person's weak will to survive. I've just gotten out of the shower to rinse a fair amount of vomit off my arm, and in a vein attempt to utilize the shock of frigid water to stay awake, and quelch my nausea. The events I am now attempting to recollect, sadly conldude only a few minutes before now. The time period of interest began this afternoon at two-thirtyish, p.m. I was up at school, having a cigarette in a small courtyard just outside of out theater department While i was contemplating whether or not this mediocre status of my attending a "junior college" should be counted as a failure or not, I was approached by a a boy. I had spoken to him only once before,and even then only to bum a cigarette from him. He began talking to me about the weather , and school,his "friends" and other unbearable mind numbing bullshit Rather quicly, by chance's hand alone, the subject of marijuana arose. We both exposed our status as current users. An invitation was then extended to me to smoke with hiim after he finished a service project for his theater class. He said his was only to dismiss people from a ten-minute play festival, that it would only take him about twenty minutes and that he would return afterwards. Since I was completely dry (as in without weed) , and was already stranded at school until four o'clock that afternoon. so I consented. The next order of business on my new agenda ;was to determine whether not it was neccessary to call off my transport home for the evening. His reply to my inquiry was that he was more than willing to take me home after getting high without trouble. So i then called off my ride, and spen the next fifteen minutes in the couryard smoking people watching, and quietly observing the various theater students workign on their lines. As all of these indulgences are common ones of mine, this seemingly mundane day, in actuality, housed those of a far graver sort. When he returned, he beckoned me to folllow him to his car, and I complied. En route , we discussed a CD I was currently carrying inside the novel. After hearing my description of the band, "Dir En Grey" , he agreed to listen to them in the car while we lit up. I asked him what grade of pot we would be smoking. He replied that he " had some funk", and that I was in for a heavy high. I replied with an "okay", somewhat skeptical of his claim. while muttering a whisperet as of this point in time, I was unaware of my newfound colleague'sd rant u stating how much of a shithead he was for deficating on the
english language in the sake of some moronic trendy slang. The thought
then occured to me, that I was still unaware of my companion's given name. He said he was called"Eric", and I accordingl replied that I was known by the name
handle "Dan." When we reached his car, he informed me that he did not have the neccessary means for the upcoming deed in his possesion , and that we would have to stop his home on the way to my house. I consented figuring a free ride home without having to endure the scathing rhetoric and scowling glare of my father for thirty minutes was worth the slight delay. We listened to Dir En Grey, and shot the shit, (meaning endured a plethora of stupid questions from my driver). It was downright excruciating to have my I.Q. suppressed like that. We arrived at his house. After pulling into his driveway, he began talking about his so called "love" for old automobiles, and simply cars in general. What a cool guy. Not. Jackass.
Well , if I was maybe even a fourth that cool, all the treasures of the world would be mine, wouldn't they!?!?!?!?!!?!?/I thought it a stupid and vain attempt to assert some s]ort of masculine competitive worthesss compensatitive nonsense. He was skinyy, and roughly six feet wall with spiked hair, wearing a white T-shirt, black sweatpants and " Etnies" brand skate shoes. The conclusions of my typical sight evualation of character concluded that he wass attempting to fit into casual dressing trend . Since I knew these particular type of shoes to actually be mediocre shoes that wore out rather quickly, that it was more likely than not that he didn't skate. The fact that he maninted his har with chemicals also alluded to some inherent self conciousness about him. After asking if he currently, or had ever skated, he replied with a "no", without asking my reason for my questions. "I fuckin' knew it, that poseur" I thought to myself. " Wait a minute, 'I fucking knew it'?? As opposed to my virgein and more chaste knowledge on the subject?" I quickly pulled myself out of my monolog and concluded my "companion" as just another stupid sack of shit who wanted to be one of the addle-brained conformist members of the mass of social " elite". Depressingly enough, i've noticed most of my peers either belong to, or strive to belong to this ignorant body of imbeciles that think they can trample the fruits of the world simply because they have the support of numbers on their to backs. He then suggested that he show me his fathers car that lay dormant in his garage. I laughed to myself silently in my head at how it was A"pedo'ish " thing to do and silently laughed it off. The only thing I remember about the vehicle itself is that it was of an older make, appearigly sixties or seventies, and i,t was red.He then lead me me outside again to his back porch, , and motion \ed for me to take a sseat in a patio chair, while he went inside get his paraphanalia. I sat down and lit another cigarette while I waited. I began to question my own ethics amd moral fiber, now in jeopardy from the crim of spending time with someone whom I thus far despised, just to extract the benefits of a free high out of the process.He returned brandishing a box of cigarellos, and two root beers, one open and one closed. He handed me the closed root beer, and said we could use either a bowl or a blunt to toke up with. I replied that a bowl would be much preffered in my case as blunts are wasteful, and gross. I made a quick mental note of his undue hospitality, in offering me a drin but wrote it off as insignificant assuming he got one and simply didn't want to be considered rude for drinking in front of an empty mouthed guest. After all, he was a member of the theater department, and they're somewhat renowned for their respect for manners and etiquette. I followed him back out to the car. When we sat down, he started the radio, and produced a bag of weed and a glass pipe from his left pants pocket. I began to deposit the root beer I had opened and drank from when he reached across, and placed his already open root beer into the cupholder nearest to me. I thought nothing of it, assuming it was a quirky personal preference for comfotr. I ignored it. I then requested to see his weed, to determine it was the so called "funk" he had previously claimed it to be. I held the bag up to my eyes as he started the car, and examined it closely. It was lighter green , whith a dense mass of longer reddish orange mossy hair, and a stubble of crystalline whie covering it's surface from steam to tip. It was all from the looks of it, fairly potent pot. When i opened the bag to smell it , to confirm this newly formed hypothesis of mine, I noticed the looks of a liquid residue of around the weed. I smelt it. It smelled like regular weed. Nothing special. When i asked about the reeason for the residue , he answer thathe wet his weed so as to inhale more hits out of the ganj then one could obtain with dry weed. this was a trick I had tried out before, and knew it to work pretty well so I pressed the matter no further. He then handed me his piece and instructed me to pack a bowl while he piloted his vehicle. I obeyed, anxious to smoke and relieve what i]i naiively thought to be my paranoia. He offered me the first hit. Again, I noted this as an unusually generous gesture. I accepted it however, giving him the benefit of the doubt while thanking him and inhaling a hit. As I was trapping the thc filled smoke in my lungs. I noticed that he had begun drinking out of the drink nearest to him in the console.
I thought it an honest mistake and made a mental note to stick out the rest of the car ride without drinking. I then more closely observed his smoking habits, to get a read on the nature of his drug use Again, as I had suspected , he took noticably smaller hits than most, and blew them out after containing them in his chest for only a few short moments. I thought this simply concurred with my previous hypothesis of my study being a class "A" poseur. After I had finished almost all of the bowl by myself, since he took little to none of it oddly enough. I wondered whether he would offer another. He did, when he clearly didn't want to smoke, seemingly so as to really convince me, for no one in this dimension knew what reason, that he was some big shot ' stoner" or "pothead." He did offer a second, without my even asking, as I thought he would. He again offered me the first hit of the bowl, which this time seemed quite suspicious to me. I shrugged it off as paranoia and began to smoke. It was after this hit that I began noticing a number of feelings different from a normal high produced by herb of this caliber. I felt extremely weak, light-headed, dizzy, faint, and nauseous. I could barely keep my eyes open, I felt suddenly ten times heavier, weary, and on the verge of passing out. I smoked another bowl out of simple habit still not suspecting any of the the depraved decadent deception that was underway. After polishing off another bowl, and combust ing another tobacco stick, I began to feel slightly better. Just when I thought things were looking up for me, we pulled out onto highway 270. I reached for my root beer, overwhelmed with a frothy cottonmouth, and took a relatively long drought from it to relieve the ailment I noticed a slightly altered taste, and assumed that the rootbeer was justwarm, or it was all in my crazy head again. I thought nothing of it until I realized that I had inadvertantly grabbed his root beer that was in the cupholder on myside. I drank from the wrong drink. I drank his drink on my side. Shit. Luckily i only took one swig. Maybe i'll last until i get ome. Fuck What's goingto happen to me now? Was my sickness to get worsxe? If it did it would=it would clearly not be good for me. Would I have to fight? Will my wrestling training and partial masochism be enough to save my human dignity and natural born rights? I calmed myself of these fears by reciting the mantra " there is no emotion , there is peace." I frequently use the repetition of this phrase to calm myself. I decided to conduct my research in a sound and impartial manner. I silently proposed while listning to thhe doors, to wait and guage the, if any , effects the root beer had on me outside the realm of weed's all too familiar effects. All of the above symptoms increased sevenfold. I was terrified. I knew then exactly what this meant.I was not simply being paranoid, I was being drugged. All of my clandestine fears had arisen to bear their hideous fangs in my face. I fought with every ounce of strengh, blood, breath and sweat in my body in my body to stay awake, alive, and concious. I took some deep breaths, and thougth of how little power i had in such a weak state. I continuted to expend myself wholeheaeredlt on the chore ofstaying awake long enough to direct him to my house and diffuse the situation without raising any alarm. I began to sway in and out of conciousness and a nightmarish dreamscape that grew more frightful the closer we reached my residency. I began to sweat profusely,and had to assign a constantly increasing amount of effort to prevent myself from vomiting. Even in a situation like this, with someone whom I then had every reason to despise, I still didn't wish to burden him by vomiting in his "mother's " car. I disgust myself sometimes. I really do. He, being apparently aware of my physical state asked "are you okay , man?" I replied that I wasn't , and that I felt quite sick. He then suggested without prompting, that he roll down the window so i could throw up. How the hell did he know I had to puke!?!? Was my agony that obvious? Am I really that transparent. What fait awaits me now? I then recalled what i had learned about GHB in my Junior year psychology class. It was said to make the victim very sick before inducing a slight coma. I mused on how conveniently this played into the hands of sick bastards like him. I stuck my head out the window and threw up almost unceasingly for the next five minutes, stopping only to continue guiding him to my house. He spent the remaining duration of the drive repeatedly urging me to take "have another drink", claiming the hydration would to ease my violent sickness. Yeah right, asshole. I continuously refused , and led him into my neighborhood. I decided to make a tool out of him, and requested he pack me a bowl in my homemade socket pipe for later, to help with my sickness. In guilt, he complied. I wanted a sample later to see if it hade me more tired than normal weed, in even a smaller dose. When we arrived at my house , I was on the brink of collapse. When I told him to stop he kept driving on, clear past my driveway. Up with the swell of the music went my rage, and I prepared to defend myself against my assailant. I had to escape. I had to find sanctuary. My only remaining hope was the unlikeliest of places, the place I called " home." I told him to turn around, and decided in my head to give him one more chance to let me go without resorting to force . I began running through sequences of Baji Quan strikes when he passed my house a second time and began apologizing like a madman. For some reason or another I just said "i'll just get out here, thanks" and opened the car door. He slammed on the brakes so as not to lose his passenger side door to an oncoming mailbox, and and I stood up to get out. I checked the seat to make sure i hadn't left anything behind and said my goodbye, and that I'd probably see him around. Yeah, Iknow, complete bullshit. If I ever saw that bastard again I woudln't be sure anyone would ever see, or want to see that creep again. Fat chance I muttered under my breath. I attempted to take the root beer closer to me with me , but he stopped me by silently laying his hand over the can. Still wishing to avoid incident, or alarm, I let it go and I walked hurried around my hosue to my back yard entered my hose and locked the door behind me. I went upstairs to the bathroom I use for showering, stripped and collapsed onto the floor. I managed to crawl over to the toilet and throw up a few more times without making too much of a mess. After wiping off the remaining contents of my stomach off the toilet seat, I rolled over the tub wall into the shower. I layed on my back, unable to stand while the water cleanses the vomit off m right arm. I then got up and walked to my room wrapped in nothing but a towel. I collapsed again a third time on my floor. I began to black out again, so I reached for a notebook and pen under my bed to jot this down while I still can.
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| My life hates me, i'm nearly certain
i suffer always, in undying pain
buti haven't the heart to hate it back when,
my agony comes as immense gain
with my progress halted , numbness set in
while i flailed to keep myself awake
rapturous struggle yielded gifts within
my wounds bled sleep for my sake
bringing nightmares to wash away my sins
a seperate peace my hell shall make
when i have conquered myself, and slain my enemy
i'll rise to so spill calming bleach on the mud
around every soul i can try to clean
a purification in holy blood
peace will reign in the end
no matter what impedes it's dawning
nothing can stop what is to happen
fate will run it's course, only peace remaining
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If you can iimagine for but a moment that you have committed
the most heinous, sick , depraved, and unspeakable crime that you can conceive.
In a stroke of madness you lost control and did a deed so loathsome that you
can scarcely admit the truth to yourself. Bruised, battered, broken,
traumatized, and lost you must flee your unintended victim’s corpse in order to
preserve the life that you aren’t sure you deserve anymore. The guilt burden
you carry is an awesome and crushing weight to behold, yet you trudge on
incessantly ,as human instinct leaves you little other choice. In but an
instant your live has been turned inside out, and scorched with a roaring
flame. Alone in the ashes of the flame you yourself ignited you are forced to
suffer the wounds you’ve inflicted on another sevenfold. All due to a slight
lapse in self control turned the light of life into a living death. Every
second of everyday you live is borrowed time. Every breath you breathe has
become stolen air. Rage has pulsed through your veins and left you shredded ,
weak and helpless. If you are to continue on the now gauntlet of a path of life
, every reality in existence must now become a lie. Should this be too great a
task, the only alternative known is self inflicted death. For every action there
is an opposite reaction. In order for the universe to reciprocate a murder, a
payment must be paid to equal the life has been taken. Knowing nothing but
labor , toil and agonized rapture awaits you in life is enough to make even the
strongest of us crumble and fall away. As you assume your throne of morbid
deceit, new responsibilities intrude to
offer new burdens and obstacles. Beset by the ironies of your life, you can do
little but laugh to yourself at the fact that now many lives have been put in your
hands as you have just made the blunder of smearing one violently across a
ship’s deck out of bloodlust. Engulfed with grief with the sudden realization
of the fact that with an act of murderous bloodshed you have destroyed and
exiled not one soul, but rather two. As a member of the undead you take the
helm , shaky, unsure, and failing miserably in command. You are expected to
ensure the safety of the one thing you have proven yourself to be most careless
with. Life. You decide it’s too much to endure as your body begins to fight
against it’s own health. You take the entire night’s watch for yourself, with a
chilling solitude swelling within you and your sanity waning, fast. Just as you
lose your grip on the world as you know it, your left hand comes to raise the
drowning right from the water.
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| Surely these are the end of days.
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| -Sink
I cannot find a way through the glass
of this aquarium, drowning with the fish
the school is so thick daylight cannot slip past
and I"ll wait till death to breathe my first breath
all you seek is death, you kill until no one's left
you can't see the risks of failing to coexist
you condone and conform to , ware , death , and theft
raise the rich on labor from the poor, and no one's pissed
you spemnd lifetimes fighting for other's scraps
when united you could wield the earth
you plot the world out with globes and maps
but a land without boundaries is what i thirst
for, it's us versus us not us versus them
we'll kill ourselves before they get the chance
you walk willingly down the road of the damned
letting untruth halt your every advance
you lie to yourself, saying it's okay to follow blindly
more comfortable being chained than roaming free
and i bleed for you yourself swallowed the key
the truth you fucks refuse to see
stands squarely in front of you screaming for peace
it falls on deaf ears, in logic you do not believe
of flaws in society we suffer eternally
because you dicided you were more important
than us being free
it's an eye for an eye
a capitalist conspiracy
possessions are worthless lies
and all because you wanted an easy ride out of here
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