A Slow Death

 Sitting in a room alone I could feel the darkness taking over my thoughts. IT WOULD NOT leave me alone. Running for miles and miles I felt my body getting weaker as my mind got stronger. On the brink of death I almost collapsed. Little rays of light began to take over my frontal cortex. This was what it felt like to work so hard every day as you got older and older. While running, I saw a snake in the grass but he couldn’t keep up. Almost at the end of my workout my entire knee had become numb. I’d been running for so long that my bills were due. Dripping in sweat I found myself sitting in a room with pictures of all of the people who would love to see me dead. As I found myself alone, I’d outlived them all. Their souls now belonged to me as they waited and waited for me to join them on the other side. Reaching the age of 125 I’d took it like a champ. As the doctor injected me with morphine like he did my mother so long ago, I looked him in the eyes embracing my slow death with just us in the room. This is what it felt like to out live everyone. I’d spent my entire life running but this was my biggest accomplishment. I’d lived long enough to face death only to find another life on the other side.

In ah of what I’d noticed floating into deep space then walking into the light is that there is no death. Only a dead vessel deep in the ground on earth and a soul welcomed into another world in the eyeball of the universe. The truth is that there is no death, only everlasting life.

A slow death.

HOPE

 They plugged me into a whole different way of thinking. The truth is that I’d been running in circles. I owned nothing. My image of the world didn’t matter. In a room filled with people, they pumped me up with so much medication that they literally watched me die as the insurance provider leaked out so much money. Dizzy, in a room on my knees begging for mercy in front of an ivory statue, I laid dead. Lifeless, they literally watched me die as they kept pumping me up with false hopes. Not willing to give in, I told my daughter to run. I told her to run and don’t let them do the same thing to her that they did to me, but they got her too. Now on the other side, eternity was our only hope, but how could we hear from God with so many voices grabbing us in different directions? Sadly, we kept taking the blue pill to no where. We had to relive the same moments over and over again until we finally awoke. The red pill made us stronger, we could finally think for ourselves. 

HOPE

Debt

 Change the way you think about debt and you’ll learn quickly that it’s unavoidable. Even if you live in the woods, you still owe the animals for providing food; You still owe the sun for providing light and heat; You still owe the rain for providing water and you still owe the ground for providing a place to sleep. The secret to overcoming debt is to pay what you owe until you have to borrow again because eventually you’ll need a helping hand and if you can’t pay up, tend the fields and charge your neighbors for your work. Debt is like giving to charity, people who enjoy making money by charging interest will only show up when it’s time to collect. This is not uncommon so don’t be afraid to ask questions on their recorded line. It’s a system that will eventually create a cycle of enjoyment and counting. At the end of your journey you’ll eventually notice the owl hanging out on the dollar bills. Spinning in circles of wisdom trying to save, you’ll find out in the end that once it’s over, you can’t take anything with you. 

Debt

I can’t stop thinking about women

I’m straight, I love women. All shapes sizes and colors. God made me this way. Even when I’m upset with them the nasty thoughts won’t stop. Older women, legal women. When Timmy broke the 50 shades of gray disk in my face I looked at him as if he were crazy. This female director had enough guts to write an entire film about sex. If King Solomon had 700 wives why can’t I? If Muslims want a heaven filled with virgins why can’t I? Who wants to sit and worship some fake image of God all day when the Bible tells me to be fruitful and multiply. Ever since my divorce I’ve dreamed about just about every kind of female I can think of and if it’s wrong, then I don’t want to be right, the slave owners got all of the pleasure they could dream of and they were oppressing people. I go nuts thinking about just a full day until I can’t go any longer. Democratic women, republican women, independent women and even the squad. All of them in one room legally not like Epstein. All of us mutually agreeing to repopulate the planet to stop all of the wars and just keep exercising until we go numb then get up and go again until the darn thing falls off. As a child I watched one of my sister’s cats pound the lights out of another female cat and since it’s Mother’s Day, I proudly went to my mom and told her about it and we laughed. She said, “Son, when you grow up that’s how I’ll get a grand baby.” Welfare girls are having sex, rich people, religious people, handicap people, poor people, devil worshippers, old people, young people, pop stars are going to jail for doing the nasty. Every one is having sex except me. I’m the only one sitting in a room all day alone dreaming about every form of pleasure I can think of. It’s sad, even lesbians are laughing at me and I voted, I’m a good citizen. If people get upset with me for telling the truth then take a walk in my shoes for a change. Running a small business all day watching everyone do what every the hell they feel. Looking in the mirror, I realize that the truth is that past relationships and the system have possibly made me afraid. The system has turned me into a caged king with no queen. STDs, a ruthless baby’s mother image haunting me like many other men. A system that brings free thinkers like me to their knees just for being a man. I guess that’s why we have to die. Maybe there is a place called heaven where you can live with millions of virgins who treat you the way you’re supposed to be treated. An eternal orgasm. A place that gives you the real love and pleasures that God made us to have. A place where you can fulfill all of your fantasies without jealousy or conflict. A mansion filled with passion and no pain; peace and no war. Happy Mother’s Day moms this one is for you. Even though I’m not pleased with my past relationships, including my marriage, I admit that I can’t stop thinking about women. I go out and see them dress up for no reason and then I go to my little box until the image of them fades away then I go to my next task. I’m a man, God made me this way.

I can’t stop thinking about women.

The Art of Loneliness

This is a lovely picture of being alone in a room. The brush strokes are colorful—filled with memories of a past life with friends and loved ones faded with every stroke. A model image with just you. Every primary color dripping from the brush reflects an image of you reaching out to no one. The contacts in your phone are filled with silent replies. No returned calls. Empty messages. The room is quiet and off in the corner there’s an image of a book. A book that you often read to pass the time. Over on the couch is the spot where you used to play with your wife and family, a house filled with kids. On the wall is a picture of relatives that have passed on. You then pick up your old camera only to realize that most stars die in a room alone in a world still enjoying their work and many never make it to the curtain call. At the end of my work, I kindly take my brush and dip it into black paint. In the end even the small stars fade to black only to have visions of an auditorium filled with people while you sit back stage waiting on your cue with old memories of her, sadly, never to manifest. I’m an artist that believes in happy endings so I’ll paint the image of her waiting for me on the other side of the black hole and as we kiss the bad dream of loneliness creates a new sun with amazing colorful flowers. Our dream of  love comes true.

The Art of Loneliness

Hard Work

 Scraping mice waste off of dirty boxes I could feel my finger nails scratching against the old cardboard. Bending down to stack the remaining crates my back muscles started contracting so I started using more of a knee bending motion for relief. Earlier in the day I’d cleaned three cars as the funk of sweat in the sun started to set in. This was what hard work felt like. I’d been outside all day and while looking in the mirror I couldn’t help but notice how my goggles were indented into my facial muscles. Feeling exhausted I knew I had to have walked up those steps over 50 times but I had to keep pushing myself. I had to keep working. I knew I had to get my news program done even though I only had a few subscribers. Sadly, I lost one subscriber, but I’d come to accept the fact that not too many people care to stay informed anymore so I kept taking notes and kept reporting. All of this work and I still didn’t have any excess money to buy food. Gas prices had reached $4.19 a gallon. Highly qualified to do even skilled labor I worked every job I could find, on the roof, in the kitchen and even cleaning waste. People started to believe that I was taking steroids because I’d worked so hard. Grueling eight mile runs in the park, muscle cramps, laps in the pool and gut throbbing push-ups and sit-up reps. I worked so hard that I dreamed of more work while sleeping. This was my life, I came out of my mother’s womb constructing a bridge into the free world.

Hard Work

Empty Mansions

 He pushed it to the max, but his crew was happy on a fixed income. They left him in a room by himself while he struggled and choked snakes. This is all while the streets watched. People were as cold hearted as they were in Noah’s day as the young God stood silent watching his mansion get foreclosed on. I guess it was back to church with the sheep. Sadly, they all lost their hunger. They took pleasure in wasting all of their money on weed, alcohol and drugs while he worked himself to death for nothing but a thrill. Sleeping in a studio he visualized himself behind bars as the pool he once swam in stood empty, no activity. The many rooms that he and his business partners used to party in were now all silent, video cameras off. Now enemy of the state for no apparent reason, no wife, no home, just the property of the Bank of England. The truth is that he had no backup, as his mind reflected on what was left, a tear fell from his eye. Mom was gone, auntie was strung out on drugs along with cousin Lou. The product of a broken system he saw his real father, the drug dealer who came around on his terms. The man who he swore not to become. As they emptied out his garage there was the image of truth, enemies that showed no mercy and a luxury car riddled with bullets of jealousy. Laying on the sidewalk he began to run laps around the block of his home only to see his uncle trying to buy it at a sheriff’s sale with no intention of leasing it to him. Spinning around in fantasies he began to walk away from the town that raised him, he walked and walked until he found a friend that gave him a drink of water. It’s hard for a prophet to be a prophet in his hometown. He tried and now he had nothing left, looking his new friend in the eyes he said thank you, that’s all he could give back in return. The country had over a million people and only one of them gave him a drink and she lived in a hotel.

Empty Mansions