Every person in this world is a story unto themselves.
Blank pages with such captivating eye's I have seen.
And in the reflections of other's.
They always feel there alone amongst fellow freaks we hide are true voices washed clean by tides of bullshit and ego's set sail.
I'm a viewer to them all a invisible force given voice in moments forgotten in time.
Why linger in your thoughts my dear I have long since abandoned my own I need not share anything as long as were speaking honest tonight.
Maybe we will feed this urge maybe we will just part as strangers cast of stone set blurred in vision are course different yet oddly the same.
Can you feel it dying with the magic that is night lets feel are warmth together simply live for a moment for there is nothing more tonight.
I wont give you all but I will give you what you need .
I peddle the words simply as a drug and you my buyer are nothing more I loath the fantasy so let's enjoy a fuck in reality for a change.
The road the vice your flesh and my want is all that feeds this moment make it nothing else don't dabble in delusion for truth is always pain.
Kill the lights as music like a cigars smoke does add a essence of moment to this room.
Why beg for answers when we can write are own truths, Take what you will from this for I grasp emptiness and thrive from it's cold.
Lovers of nothing just two fools killing time .
I view it all a passenger charmed in the conversation that never will be.
I will never cater to the audience for the viewer that matters is only the stranger that has become me
I sat there before the man puzzled in a loss for words now I finally understood how most people dealing with me felt for a change.
So what do you think?
The man asked with a gleeful look in his eye minus the shitty gay ass musical covers of once kickass music .
Looking at the cover of what was supposed to be my master work A Cold Beer Beats A Warm Heart yes a shameless self plug really if that's the lowest you believe I have sunk in life I feel sorry for you.
I viewed the cover looking for a nice rational response to my publisher let's call him shit for brains bastard I wish would die!
And you thought I hated the like button.
It fucking suck's shit amigo.
What ? ,Are team spent hours designing this it's catchy and edgy
it screams you .
I knew this man without a doubt was on far better drugs than I had ever tried in my life once told me one thing.
I really needed to figure out where this guy hid his drug's.
Okay what don't you like about it?
Duh who wants a picture of Leonardo Dicaprio on there cover of there book.
What? The man looked at me stunned then looked at the cover again
that acid must really be kicking in for he kept doing this several times before finally breaking his odd silence.
It's a picture of a water bottle next to some swiss cheese .
Duh dumbass I said in a respectful manner like I said who wants a picture of that douche bag Leonardo Dacaprio on there cover .
What the hell are you talking about this cover is brilliant we have been working like almost one whole day to put this together now what's the fucking problem with it?
The publisher said this to me in his outside voice and being it was indoors it led me to believe the stuff he was on was wearing off .
I had to try another approach I had to get down to his level and this couldn't be achieved with any store bought whiskey so I broke out
my trusty mason jar and took a big hit of some good corn whiskey.
After finally catching my breath and when my vision slightly returned I broke my silence.
Look my friend it's simple when selling a book with my name on it
the reader expects a few simple thing's
One bad taste and bad spelling.
Two long writes of total perversion with lots of mentions of boobies .
And most important a cover with some hot half naked strippers duh
what doesn't say poetry like hookers ?
Okay and your point is this strange man who signed me to a contract
yet thought for some reason the crazy shit I spoke of was simply a act.
My point is you can't put a picture of Leonardo Dicaprio on my book.
It's not a picture of him it's a water bottle next to some swiss cheese .
Shh I told this delusional man, far worse than myself .
I motioned him to lean closer and in a whisper I said what about the curse?
What fucking curse he said once again in much to loud of a voice I swear this man was far harder to train then one of my barley legal girlfriends course I didn't have my whip or coyotes I'm kidding I don't have any coyotes what do I seem like Lily Mae ?
Look sir everyone knows about the Dicaprio .
The what ?, Are you fucking insane ?
Well yes but that's not the point here sir by the way what's that sent your wearing?
Oh it's axe do you like it's broke back swallow lighting.
No actually I was going to ask had you ran over a skunk or a French whore .
We rambled on a bit and after couple of hit's from Mr Gonzo's family recipe.
Then just to drag this fucker out we spoke about how axe body spray is great if you want to smell like a French whore not that I know any but hey message me I'm always here cause I have no life .
But enough with the foreplay children.
I told my ever so high and drunken pain in the arse friend the legend of the Dicaprio and how if you said his name four time's in the mirror after the fourth time he would appear and then take you hostage while torturing you with the cruelest act possible .
Making you watch all his boring ass movies while jerking him off on the couch till you were bored to death.
Oh my God ! ,The publisher responded in terror !
We have to stop this book from getting in the hands of young people everywhere !
The publisher knowing just how serious this matter was called the publishing house slash back room in a Atlanta porn theater .
But it was to late the books had already been sent out .
And soon something far worse than a zombie outbreak would take hold of the world one city at a time .
Dear Lord what had I created ?
It all started off so innocent just like a porn movie with script really does anyone care to have art direction in there smut?
Some little hamster would buy the book in some bargain rack thinking why is that douche bag Leonardo on the cover ?
Then they would show it to a friend the book I mean whatever they do in there private life is up to them I'm not judging but if there hot chicks send me a pic or two I'm just saying throw a dog a bone .
But then the two hamsters would always mention hey have you ever Dicaprioed?
And as always that heartless bastard would strike again dam you James Cameron what did you unleash upon this earth.
I would go in hiding in shame for my creation of course I still spent my royalty checks on hookers booze and cocaine but although I seemed happy inside I was hurting .
Duh I'm kidding hell anyone dumb enough to summon the dark lord of boring ass movies gets what they deserve.
My publisher would hang himself well I can always wish .
And as all ten of my devoted fans scratched there heads as to why is there a pic of a douche bag on the cover .
The answer was simple .
Cause publishers are stupid and more high than I could ever be so
don't sign shit kids or you to will be driven into the depths of further madness much like yours truly .
In shadows we speak lies all too soon forgotten.
Tragic flaws of a twisted gear the lost ending, old friend why do you appear so strange?
In the shadows I understand what the light could never allow us to view.
The ever self indulged junkie the broker down Wall Street.
Are they not but the same addicts of a different fix.
The street understands what the common man can never voice, the abstract ending is but a smokescreen of distraction I have little time for bullshit but I have all the time for you.
I see from ship to shore the ever-changing tide.
I can't give you advice for I can't even help myself, hold the answers so better yet you may understand the questions my friends.
In the shadows we hide speaking our riddles scribbling down lines.
Only to be left unheard cast aside in dark corners I know this company well.
Old friend why must you be so strange?
Once the poet now the mute your words still hold very much weight in empty lines and past thoughts the memories linger still.
In the shadows they did exist were still I remain.
Your mommy thinks it's great and rewards you with a bowl of ice cream and a sticker after she just gave you a bath once being your twenty two is a little strange I'm just saying.
When all your Facebook friends like it and yet you've never actually
met one of your two thousand Facebook friends.
I'm not saying your a loser cause you live your live online
well yes I am sorry I'm a dick.
When you write endless poems about how everyone in this world sucks look sure people are a pain in the ass .
But maybe instead of listening to hours of music about suicide and
other teenage horse shit maybe you should step out the door go into
that strange place called the outdoors get a drink get laid and try having a life instead of just bitching about everyone else.
When other people are brought to tears before you read the first line.
Yeah sure I want to listen to hours of spoken word poetry.
And maybe have a root canal as well.
Well at least with a root canal there's some free drugs.
Look get a keg maybe some other party favors and a wet T shirt
contest and that's a poetry reading you can count me in for.
When everyone on a website gives you a hundred likes and not a single comment yes the like button I hate it if you didn't know.
How do you know when your poetry sucks .
Well when it's used by the government to interrogate suspected terrorist at the airport and suspect screams out in agony .
Look whatever happened to good old fashioned water and car batteries and jumper cables ?
When your favorite subject is the girlfriend that ripped your heart out
and how your life isn't worth living since she left.
When if you had spent more time hitting the sack and less time working on her tenth sonnet.
Maybe she wouldn't be getting jack hammered by your best friend.
Hey write about that video they put out she's a total freak.
Sorry bout your loss now what was her number?
Yes bad poetry it's enough to drive a mental man sane trust me
that's why I drink so I can forget half the crap I've read .
Stay crazy kids .
Drinks on me Gonzo
I was half hung the fuck over and feeling like total shit left to die.
The booze was gone and the room looked like someone had set a bomb off in a whorehouse .
The phone rang out a fucking annoying ass banshee much like a Selena Gomez record sure everyone likes spoiled little whores just not with the sound on.
I answered the phone with all my southern charm.
What the fuck do you want ! ?
There was a dead silence when finally a voice spoke on the other end.
Um MR Robbins is this a bad time?
Well considering I haven't had a drink and my head feels like it was
hit by a plane nobody can find yeah sure it's a great fucking time.
Well MR Robbins the man continued on about shit I could care less about going through his whole pitch trying to sell me some over priced life insurance .
Yeah you got to love a paycheck you'll never see newsflash after I kick the bucket I don't give a fuck if you roll me up in a carpet and toss me in a landfill .
Well MR Robbins can we sign you up ?
I paused just to simply to hold up the works and make you the reader say where the fuck is he going with this shit.
My friend I get this is your job but the only thing certain in this existence is death and I have far better things and strippers to waste my money on than a fund for when I kick the bucket .
Sure I could put money aside for a time I wont enjoy it, yeah and I could settle down get married become a regular dude who works his ass off till I retire to sit in a recliner piss myself and watch commercials about pills that'll give you a stiff dick and so many fucking side effects you'll do everything but glow in the fucking dark.
There is no fucking promise of tomorrow kids so live your arse off today and fuck the future we can only know the present.
I slammed the phone down and poured what was left of a dead solider in a pint glass .
It was bitter and almost warm and as I chased it with a good cigarette
and thought to myself as the jukebox came to life .
Dam I sure hope that was a beer if not someone probably needs to go to the free clinic .
Stay crazy hamsters .
No drug on earth can match that which fuels the ego as fame.
As everyone wants to be someone and only some may be.
I spark my own urges and fueled my own flame far too long maybe this runs finally over, maybe I truly don't give a fuck anymore to begin with.
As for the dues I've paid you
simply couldn't understand.
Broken body parts burnout relationships sleeping in the streets the backdrop was always there I need only to open my eyes to find a source of inspiration.
My footsteps cast as my shadow does loom I would pity those who try to follow but remorse never suited me very well.
And to grasp that faint chance.
I've just a moment and sacrificed many.
If you believe I am a parody and I'm to believe your one to.
Quicksand logic will always be a bitter egos demise, and I've long since passed the mark of any to sort of return to normal .
I played the stage as I played the audience fine-tuned my craft using it only as a weapon it soon became far more than I bargained for.
I'm tired, I am broken I'm all that which you probably believe and far worse.
It isn't for the lack of imagination it simply I could give a fuck less.
Do not choose to be a chameleon to blend in simply to exist.
I stand out not to be fashionable but because it simply just who I am.
My road was carved through frustration and turmoil the homicidal chaos leaves little mystery care to challenge my point?
And though I certainly embrace my demise I certainly I'm not the fool who is imprisoned to a act.
We only know what others let us see, and the rest we simply fill in the blanks.
My dues have been paid in emptiness a skill forged in hell cast to leave the page to bleed.
The footsteps left behind are my own.
Make no mistake with anything in life somebody always has to get hurt.
I've seen it said before so many times yet like words spoken of a handed down nature the pompous always tend to ignore great truths of the past.
I've seen great writers turned absolute shit with the stroking of their own ego.
I'd seen critics forged their own wants in the weakness of others who listen to bull crap wanting simply to be accepted.
Some chase what they believe to be a set path, there is no roadmap to success simply an afterthought to the losers who chase dreams often not their own.
I never chased shit!
I was always me not some watered-down version of another character I thought I could be so that's what you assumed.
Well you can assume your ass right out the door and out of my fucking face!
I live with no purpose I simply exist I thrive in my own madness and care little for the opinions of others.
I never force the write I simply follow it to wherever it leads me a river has only one direction.
Never truly believe your own bullshit.
Never think you're better simply know who you are.
Don't toil over the works of others admire it for what it is but don't let it fuck with your head.
I never became a writer I just always was it wasn't the cool thing to be it's just ingrained in my DNA.
The drinking, the drugs, the fast life wasn't some stylized afterthought to seem hip it's just who I am.
You see my friends anyone can write but few can truly connect.
The page knows me better than I know myself it is here I'm vulnerable, it is here I am real for this is my existence.
It is my passion.
It is my life and ultimately it will be my death.
There is no gimmick and I never cater to a critic for one pompous asses opinion matters less to me than a man who sits beside me and shares a drink.
Honesty is a poison in a society loaded with bullshit!
Never fear rejection and always embrace defeat without thought of a backup plan.
My work is my soul dark as it may seem never hasn't been considered fake.
But then again what do I truly know?
For to many I'm just a joker the town drunkard who sees more through dark glasses than many see within the light of day.
Never believe your own bullshit because the moment you start to is the moment you begin to decay.