Excerpt from an untitled novel

You know, it’s amazing what a man can do after he realizes that all of the hard work he did in order to get to where he is at was all in vain, because eventually were going to die anyway. Sure, it’s a darkening philosophy, if it could be called that, however the means to which a person goes to find something that they seek is their desire for that something. When you realize that everything ends as it begins, swiftly, you gain an appreciation for what you have and even for what were once and are no more. Many times I sat and wondered how a person could let their life slip away from them; let their inner dream and desire for what they truly want flee from them as a playful toddler does her mother. It must be a pain in the ass to have to go through life with a bunch of woulda’s and coulda’s, especially as an old man with nothing else to live for other than what they are sitting in front of at that very moment. Old men become content with what they have because they have spent much of their time rejecting what their soul has told them to do.  They were fine with living in a world that someone else created, this someone not having the man’s best interest at heart, because it isn’t their heart that they are leading. I have come to learn that people will accept you and love you for you, as long as you that they love are what they want you to be. They become a part of you, and you of them, yet they want to change you. Sure, they may say that they love you, but if you do not change in the way that they feel you should then they become upset with who they have chosen to love. This type of possession is deadly because it kills the spirit of the one who is to be changed. Love, as it lies in the depths of everything and every person is not a possessive emotion. In fact, it is not an emotion at all. Love is energy. It cannot be created or destroyed. It can only be transferred from one thing to the next. I often wonder about love and what it actually is made of. It must be pure matter because the truth of love is one that never spoils and will never go away. Love is perfect, however often times I think of love as an imperfection. This imperfection, like a mole on your face or a scar below your eye, is something that you must grow to love and appreciate through time. You learn its behaviors and what is inside of it to make it what it is. You embrace it, but not before you learn to cover it and how to stand as to not draw attention to it. Initially, it is something that is deplorable to you. You hate it and want so badly to do away with it. Is this feeling love? Maybe in the grand scheme of things as time has run its course, you have grown to appreciate and love an imperfection as what it truly is; perfect. Maybe it is the case that time is what makes a bond stronger. Yet, I am becoming against this notion and everything that I thought I knew more and more each day. Love cannot be a possession. It must not. You shouldn’t have to grow into love.  One should love what they are and who they are and everything about themselves, in order to love everything else. This is why I believe that the true love, one that is of the highest energy and frequency, is from the soul. And from the soul one can reach into the universe and the power of God. When you love a person, you obsess over being separated. Our attention is submersed in the substance of what isn’t there. You obsess over a void. Once you are with them again, you wish that their face would stop looking at you. If that is love then that is a load of shit as well, so I understand why people are heartless. The best part about being heartless is that you don’t have to worry about coronary disease. This may be dandy to you pricks, but I am far too fascinated by what manages to bind all of us completely different people together. That force that binds us is love. I am not searching for it, yet I am fascinated by it, because it is all around. It is the force that allows people to touch even when they are not anywhere near each other. When lovers are oceans apart, one may blow a kiss in the wind and it may reach his woman, or an ocean breeze may carry her perfume into his nose from miles away. That knowing that each person has gone after their destinies, yet is together, is a remarkable feeling. Even more so when one has never known love and meets it for the first time. Love at first sight? Sure. But love at first smile or first smell or first touch is much more intuitive and connective, because that feeling is one that fills that void. When you meet them you know you loved them before you met them. When you met them you knew you loved them before you knew they existed.  I believe wholeheartedly that we often times force ourselves into becoming parts of people because we don’t listen to ourselves. So, our souls, hearts, self’s; they become more quiet as time goes on. Everything is one and when we learn the unwritten language of the universe, one that words cannot understand, we find our own path. There has to be a duality to everything; a life and a death, a design and a purpose, a use and a destiny.  Our souls don’t respond to us anymore because it doesn’t want to get hurt. It knows you won’t do what you’re supposed, so it doesn’t tell you.  And that is why our souls stop talking to us, because it knows that our words will defeat it. When I came to recognize that love is what binds us all together, I stopped wanting a need for validation from others because everyone else’s need is just as transparent. There is no better feeling than having to go through something that had to happen in order to reach a point that was once thought unattainable, which is why I find myself where I am today. I got tired of living in you all’s world and I decided to create my own. If I never would have entered into the bottom of your world then I would not cherish the top of my own. I feel the wonder in my world and I hold on to it tightly. There is nothing that cannot be done and nothing that is limited, because it is my world and I have an abundance of everything. The universe and the unseen are at my disposal and through rampant drug use and meditation I have learned to harness this power. In a society where nothing is new under the sun and drugs once thought as relics are coming back, where uppers and downers are a way of life, one must contend with his own vices while demonstrating care over others. It is quite a dual experience. Finally, in 2013, many people understand drugs and the powers that they hold, both positive and negative. Excess is the determining factor in drug usage having a profound effect on a person’s life, but in this day and age, what is excess? Is it all a personal experience or is there a threshold that no one should cross? Why are the people who cross this threshold the only ones who know where it is? People have billions upon billions of dollars and have never-ending sex. People indulge in the most delectable foods and merchandise that life can offer. Is their excess any more different than mine? Why is it looked down upon to smoke an immense amount of marijuana and not looked down upon to buy an immense amount of cars? Just like there are different cars, there are different strains of marijuana. I understand the wife of the city Mayor that began her journey as a high school cheerleader who enjoyed Loritabs and Xanax and turned into a 40-year old addicted to first oxy-contin, and then Opanas. I understand her husband’s strife in having to deal with the wife who ventured into heroin use when Opana’s became hard to come by. Just as well, I understand the wealthy man who has divorced 4 wives in his lifetime due to “irreconcilable differences”. He sought love and they sought his wealth. I understand why he now only deals with high-priced escorts and engages in extravagant weekends with enough MDMA and cocaine to keep a Rhinoceros awake for a month. I understand the high school kid who experimented with promethazine-codeine syrup so much that he became addicted and, wanting a relief from the pain of going through opiate withdrawal, became consumed with ecstasy usage. From ecstasy in high-school to acid and DMT in college, the excess of his usage brought him an excess in power of the mind. So much so that he went on to harness the power of the God particle and transformed his life into an experiment with alchemy.

The only issue I have is time and I realize that patience is the pinnacle of my success, for the things I visualize are already done, I must only wait for them to materialize on this plane. The only problem I foresee for myself is that many artists and philosophers have had idealistic and spiritual breakthroughs only to end up sizzling away into reclusiveness, dying at a young age, or driven to utter insanity. The latter aren’t my cups of tea therefore I have gone into reclusiveness at the dying age of 26 in order to master the workings of sorcery in my laboratory. I am one who has learned, even though I was born gifted. I am not one who is only after the value of gold but also every property that it possesses. Fore I want to be gold. I shall evolve. Just as with alchemy, as he perceives God within himself, everything he touches shall be gold as well. This state of enlightenment is not a premature pinnacle, yet it will be hard for me to return to reality and successfully adapt into your world again. So, I invite you into mine.  God granted the universe the power to pluck me from being driven to insanity and/or dying and placed me into reclusiveness so that my withering body could be of more use to his cause.

I remember when I lost it all. There was something so beautiful about that place.  Staring into the moonlight at 4:30 a.m. drunk off of Gin and buzzed to Pluto with cocaine and marijuana, you begin to wonder where your life took a turn for the worse. Sitting on a curb near an I 65-South expressway on-ramp in Downtown Louisville, Kentucky eating White Castle cheese burgers may also have something to do with it, but that scenario can all be attributed to the booze. “Where the fuck is my car again?” I slur while miniature onions come out of my mouth. Those damned onion-flavored cabbage shavings, I hate them. I had forgotten to tell them not to put them on my burger.

 “Shit over at the gas station parking lot. Remember you parked to get some gas and we ended up walking to white castles.” Rob says as he stuff’s a double cheeseburger into his mouth.

“You know bro, them ain’t real onions. That’s cabbage in onion juice” I told Rob. I had no idea where I had heard it, nor even if it was true, but I certainly kept telling it to people. Your mind kind of gets like that when you’re intoxicated.

“Nuh, uh nah you lying. I don’t even like cabbage. But they good on this burger, so fuck it” Rob replied back. He then gets on his cell phone and calls someone to pick us up and take us to my car. We could easily have walked to the car seeing that it was 500 feet away, but we figured it would be more fun to fuck with somebody at 5 in the morning. 

Once you finally give in to the weirdness and idiocy of what in the hell you’re doing and ride the wave into oblivion, it can go one of two ways. The first way is into a maniacal stupor, equipped with harsh words and even harsher tactics of destroying yourself or the poor sap who decided to be your damned baby sitter for the night while you tripped out on LSD and cocaine with a fifth of Bombay Sapphire causing you to forget everything in the world that you once knew about life. This could lead to prison or death depending on how crazed the lunatic in your subconscious that’s been lying in wait, ready to destroy you. The other way is much more pleasant but frightening as well. By the way, I’ve never tried LSD, although I read an AP story in the Courier-Journal about a man who bugged out on acid and ate his girlfriend’s heart. Deep. All the better I suppose, in the grand scheme of things. She may have been a mass murderer, or even worse…a double agent sent from the rival university. The poor guy was a football player, a humongous care bear that didn’t want anything more than to love and cherish small wildlife. He even taught kids how to play the cello at the local orphanage. And this rat, the spy from the school from across the state, some four hundred miles away. A decrepit mess of a school, the rival university was. Faggots in sweater vests and oxford button down tee-shirts, with their Dockers khaki slacks. Everyone knows the school song and on Wednesdays the debate team does a chili give away during the cold months. Real classy….She got with the nincompoop simply to steal the playbook. It was the rival coach’s daughter. If I weren’t Christian, I’d curse the ground. On second thought, the guy was kind of sinister. He’s the first outcome. The second is to allow the fucking wave of incredible uncertainty to force the expansion of your consciousness. Forced consciousness expansion can be had in a multitude of ways and its name is all the description of it that a mildly intelligent person would be able to conceptualize. But for you dopes, it is when you force your conscious to expand. When you take that ride into the unknown, knowing that a line must be crossed but being uncertain as to how it is going to end. As a child is on Christmas, you’ll go to sleep with the uncertainty of what you will receive and once you awaken you will be happy or disappointed. Don’t be disappointed. Buy the ticket and ride the fucking wave into a place that you did not know existed, much less that you could ever get there even if you knew. Understanding that one is a limitless machine, all you need to do is figure out the level of risk involved. There is no better feeling that running through a wall to the other side of something. It had to happen. It was challenging but the rewards were profound. On this night, there is quite a level of risk for the average law abiding citizen, but nothing that anyone present isn’t prepared to handle. 5 in the morning with two career criminals in a car, a Chrome .380, a marijuana baggie, and quite a bit of cocaine equals a wack ass night in the holding cells of the jail, but blah blah we’ll bitch about it in the morning. But since jail is wack as fuck…we always take provisions to ensure that we are on our best act.

Dumb Ass African

Cocaine is always the plan B of getting shit-faced. So, after a night of drinking Bombay Sapphire, I leave the Outpost Inn on Baxter Avenue. I have to travel roughly 17 miles to get to my destination, however I have to go through enemy territory. ‘The land of the terminators’ aka Louisville Metro Police. Their Crown Victoria police cars roar up on your bumper with reckless abandon for so much as a missed turning signal. The bastards! Instead of catching violent heart eating nudists they harass poor old white men in large white utility vans. What is the world coming to, where a white man in a bucket hat can’t solicit sex in the form of payment in private from unsuspecting teens. That is why before I exited the building, and having two more Sapphire and orange juice cocktails with Robert, we went into the restroom and did more cocaine. One bump, two bump, three bumps…five. It may have been odd to other patrons of the bar to see two men in the lone bathroom stall with only the sounds of a small plastic bag ruffling and loose inhalations from nostrils – the loose sniffs to conceal the sound. It wasn’t working. Oh well who cares? I thought. No one could care that much, hell the owner of the bar gets his nose dirty. That’s it! If the cops run in I’ll say the bar owner sent me in here. Sure, that’ll work. But damn it to hell! Then I’d be implicating the wretched bar owner, and I enjoy his cheap drinks and hospitality for letting us use his restroom to powder our noses. I figure I will just take my lump. My heart is pounding and my senses are super keen. I feel like a ninja, or even better…I feel like beyonce. Shit, what have I become on this drug?

 “a fucking cancer to all of mankind,” I say to myself, leaning up against the stall.

 “What!” Rob exclaims. “Where’d that come from? Here, take this. You need another drink.”

 I knew I didn’t need another. I had had enough alcohol for the night. I kindly disregarded what the fuck he was saying and exited the restroom but Nnt before using a shit load of toilet paper to clean my nose. I despise the cocaine residue left inside of my nostrils.

Leaving the bar, I hop into my vehicle. It’s a decent car, a black 2011 ford fusion. I still feel the need to sue the car lot that I purchased it from due to the motherfuckers telling me it was a 2012. Being a young kid and pressured by my dad to get the car because he didn’t want to co-sign…he was being a bit irritable…I made the brash decision to go with it after the test drive.

 “Is it a 2012?” I asked.

 “Yeah, yeah 2012. That’s it right there” said the damned salesman.

I didn’t mind checking it, I trusted the man. I was a dumb ass 24 year old kid. A dumbass whom had already had 3 cars financed in his name before this. I just slipped up that time I suppose…players fuck up.

I begin driving north on Baxter Avenue and then hang a left heading west on Broadway. I look right and see a terminator car dipping across the alley. “Fuck they doing?” I said to myself. As I casually drove west up Broadway, I see the fucker easing out of the alley. And then he flicked me. Do I have any weed? What the hell is he pulling me over for? Glad I took those bumps…and that ladies and gentlemen, is the key. When you are getting shit-faced, cocaine is always plan B. It balances out the ills of the world when you’ve placed one too many bottles of Sapphire in your basket. Welp, fuck em. I stop in the street and park. Two cops walk up to my car. The one on my passenger is a skinny white guy in his 40’s. He’s riding with a fucking rookie, the cop on my driver’s side.

Ok, now here is the thing, I don’t have a problem with cops when they are doing their job. They get paid to do stuff or something like that. I have no clue what they do because I was probably put here for the sole purpose of doing shit solely to defy them, which is why when the dick head on my left said “Mey Iye Surch Yowuh Cah Pleeez”,

I replied “For fucking what?”

I had done nothing wrong, no probable cause either because I answered that question that I asked myself when I first saw the lights. He repeated the question and I looked at the white cop with a face that wildly resembled what one would look like tasting bitter beer. I looked back at the cop on my left only to hear him say those words. His African accent was killing me. Just like the movies. Every time I hear one, I chuckle. I don’t know what it is about them, but that west African accent is incredibly hilarious to me. I kindly say to the man “No, but here’s my license and registration, yes I do have a gun in the car and here is my gun license as well.” He goes back to his car leaving the white cop back with me. My ass is about to say something rather rude to the white guy when the black guy comes back up to the car and repeats himself yet a third time. He wasn’t gone but 10 seconds, the bastard couldn’t have run my shit that fast. I can see that the fucker wants to search my car and he is going to keep asking until I concede…that or him and his good old boy partner would pleasantly beat the shit out of me for saying I refused to cooperate on and threatened them with my pistol. Liars! Damned liars, I’ve seen it happen all before. Sitting in a court room while a stinking mass of a detective jiggles his dumb self on the witness stand, the beagle looking motherfucker lying to the judge about how much a damned eight-ball of crack goes for on the street…The bastard said a thousand damned to hell dollars. My heart fluttered when I heard him say that. To make matters worse, it wasn’t mine! Wrong place, wrong time…but that’s another story for another time. The moral is that cops will lie their ass off for no apparent reason.

Gathering myself, I say “I’m going to let you search my shit, but what did you pull me over for?”

 “Headlights out,” whitey replies. 

My headlight? What? I just changed that bulb…and why am I changing bulbs of head lights? Well, one night I was drunk and hit a damned mail box and cracked my damn headlight. Again, another story for another time.

 I reluctantly step out of my vehicle for the sole fact that it is 3 a.m. and I do not wish to wait for a search warrant. My damned head is ringing and I’m high as a fucking blimp. I feel like I am on Pluto. Unbeknownst to me there are 5 police vehicles and 7 cops standing behind me. Why the fuck hadn’t he ran my shit? He’s got to be a rookie.

 “So what the fuck am I getting searched for again? There is no fucking way you have probable cause!”

No one seems to understand the words coming out of my mouth and I’m surprised that these fucks haven’t smelled the alcohol on me or noticed that my pupils are the size of dinner plates. HA! Stupid ass police. Whitey walks me to my trunk and asks me to please rest there. Rest? Motherfucker I can rest at home.

 “Go ahead man, I’m not here,” says whitey. Hold the fuck up? You’re not here yet you are here and all these other fucking cops see you too. Nah player, not gonna happen. “Bullshit!” I exclaim. ‘”I don’t like that shit,  I see you with my two eyes just like all these other cops do. You’re here damn it.”

Whitey looks at me like a deer in head lights. So I keep jawing. None of the other cops are stopping me, they know it’s bullshit and also that I’m no harm. Hell, I’m a law abiding citizen to them at this particular moment.

“I know a few of cops, this ain’t the way to do shit. There’s proper protocol, yall are lucky I’m being nice or I’d have us sitting out here all night.”

Out of nowhere this blonde haired hag of a woman pig comes out of nowhere with “Dude there is no protocol we can do what we please.”

I had a good mind to call her a bitch but that damned Taser would probably hurt like hell.

“Naw lady you as an officer aint supposed to walk up to my car and say ‘Can I search’.” She asked me what cops I knew and I name dropped those guys. Those are probably the only two officers that are actually cool to me. One works outside of a night club that we frequent and the other frequents the same night club. 4 years and 12 years is the length that I have known each of them, respectively.  When I was landscaping large amounts of marijuana, I’d call the latter and ask him “I hear there is a sting operation going on, am I safe?” and he’d always reply “yep.” I know I know, you’re not supposed to trust a cop. But, if you can’t trust a childhood friend with your safety then I don’t know what the fuck to do.

The damned lady cop says “Oh well shit, they don’t follow any rules; fucking renegades.”

“I know, which is why I understand what the fuck a law abiding cop can and can’t do.” The other police are so enamored with their boring ass conversations that they really don’t care what I’m saying. Eventually, whitey comes over to me and hands me my both of my licenses back and gives me a nice handshake with a “Sorry Mr. Sherman.” I shake the damned rookie African cops hand and say “Next time ask for my license and registration first.” He smiles and shakes his head and I get in my car and drive off. Fucking headlight!

5:15 A.M. and we pull up to Big Ted’s after hours spot. It’s a decent spot located above a restaurant that is members only, although now a days it’s a fucking free-for-all. Still, there are rarely new faces. Rob presses a button that activates a camera that slowly turns towards us standing at the front door.  “Who the fuck is it?” a voice looms from a loud speaker.

 “Motherfucker you see us, it’s me and Sherm.”

The door clicks and voila, we are up the stairs in a flash. Upon entering you must purchase a beverage, preferably alcoholic. They have a pool table, a flat screen television and enough leather seating to be in a Prince video. The poker tables in the back room were used for poker matches years ago but now they are mostly used to break down cocaine.

“What up big dog!” I bellow as I enter the door.

“Not shit man, where ya coming from?”  Ted replies.

“The other side of the moon my good man, I made my own world and I’m living It up in this motherfucker.”

 “Well, that’s good, precious wants to know what you’re drinking.”

“Pass the Bombay! Add some OJ too” Rob interjects

“Alright boys, 8 dollars apiece”

“Say Ted, fucks gonna happen if I don’t tip?” Berto says. “I mean, you can’t whoop me.”

“You stupid motherfucker I’ll shoot your fucking head off.”

“Aw fuck you fat boy. Here you go Precious, you know I was gonna tip you.”

“Yeah, you’d better or else your black ass was gonna be eating .357 slugs for a late snack!” roared Ted, as he pulled a chrome Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum from under his big ass belly.

You see, Big Ted was a cool guy. He had long hair and a horse shoe hairline. A really smooth white guy. He resembled a hippopotamus. And by damn, he is one of those people that has absolutely no idea how to make a person feel safe, comfortable, or valuable. You cannot take the things he may say or do personal, it’s just what it is. Luckily, we didn’t give a fuck about anything with all the cocaine coursing through our bodies.

“Oh, you finally found a use for all them rolls huh muh’fucker” Rob said with a grin

“Yeah bitch. Let’s do some coke.”

Ted was a motherfucker when it came to cocaine. He would set out line after line and with the sole window in the place covered by black out curtain, before you know it its 1 p.m. and you’ve drank a pint of booze and snorted 12 scarface lines of yayo off of a dirty wooden bar.

Ted reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small baggie of a white rock’s. “This shit is the truth,” his voice booming, making every one in the spot look towards the bar.

 “What! Go back to playing pool. Get your eyes the fuck on.” Rob yells at the patrons. “Hey asshole,” Ted retorts, not bothering to look up. The bastard is too busy shaving the quarter sized rock into powder.  “This is my spot, I do the yelling.”

“Fuck you Ted. Precious, I need another drink. Makers and Sprite, please.”

I don’t know, but on cocaine, every person resembles some type of crazy animal to me. Not in the hallucinogenic way, but in a, damn you resemble a pug kind of way. And Precious really does resembles a pug! Man, it’s quite comical when you think about it. This old mushroom top haircut and face like a pug. Ha!

“Ok coming right up. Sherm, you want anything?”

“No, I’m still working on this one I got. I’ll take a bud light though”

“Quit baby-sitting nigga! Yeah, give em another drink too!”

“Fuck. See, this bastard. You’re a horrible influence nigga.”

“Fuck you. Stop being a pussy, drink the fuck up.”

By this time the bar has filled up with people hoping to get in on the snow flake festivities.  I tap a random guy standing next to me and begin talking loudly with him about my situation with Rob.

“Can you believe this fucker? I just got back from Atlanta on an interview with CBS radio and this asshole has me loaded off of booze and powder. Shit!”

“Well shit, that’s kind of journalistic man. Hunter S. Thompson would probably enjoy the fuck outta one of these nights man.”

That’s when it hit me. Wow. Maybe this whole journalism - let’s get loaded and experience some shit and then write about it- shit may get me somewhere after all. Dr. Thompson was an extraordinary person with impeccable morals. And I would have loved to do a blotter with the old kook.

“What are you going to do down at CBS?”

“Well shit, if I get the job I’ll be writing new-stories and interviewing people….a ton of investigative stories.”

“Well shit good luck man. Car bomb on me. Precious, two car bombs!”

Just then, Ted scoots two humongous lines apiece to Robert and I.

“Here we go motherfucker!” Rob’s eyes gleam and glisten. Then suddenly he brightens even more and a smile the size of the St. Louis arch comes across his face.

“What in the fuck are you so happy about muh’fucker? Act like you never seen any dope before” says Ted. Rob looks at Ted and gives a Grinch-like grin and pulls out the eight-ball of powder from earlier. I had no idea what the fuck he was so happy for, it wasn’t like we had forgotten about it. Maybe he had however, but shit then again maybe not. When you’re in a good mood and around good people, even a pit-bull will be relaxed and whimsical.
“We going haaaard tonight!” Rob yelled. He rips open the bag of already broken down powder and it flings all over the bar counter. “No worries,” Rob says as he takes his finger and wipes it into a small mountain. “Alright, who’s first up?...Sherm! Let’s go nigga, it’s Monday but you’re leaving on Thursday for Vegas so you gotta prepare your body.”

“Dude. I’m not going to cooperate with your evil.” I say as I toot the last of my two lines into my nose.

Robert’s high ass has scooped his lines from Ted into the large pile.

“Look what you did ass hole, you scooped the lines in. Give me a couple of those while you’re over there messing in shit.”

Rob pulls out his driver’s license and begins separating the pile of snow into inch lines. We all sit tooting on Ted’s powder while Rob creates 40 inch long lines of coke all over the damned bar.

“Man I’m gonna have residue on my shit for days. Sherm, you say you interviewed in Atlanta. What you gonna be doing again?”

Precious passes this random guy and I our car bombs. We drop our shot in our glasses at the same time and shoot that trifling ass Guinness back so fast it makes my head spin. I slam my glass down and look at Ted with a deathly stare on a face that has ‘I am dying slowly’ on it.

“Writing the local news, mane.” I slur. Shit, my mouth is so fucking numb it’s hard to speak.

By this time I am hit over my head drunk and high, but the more alcohol I drink the more coke I am going to have to inhale. I’ve got to stay balanced. It’s a fucking Monday for Christ-sake. And with me being a future Doctor of Communication, this may or may not be such a good way to handle myself.

 I always find myself shifting between internal thought and reality, drifting between absent-mindedness and awareness. The alcohol brings about retardation while the cocaine clarifies everything I thought I knew as nothing more than conceited retardation. So, when I get in one of those introspective “Oh my fucking God I am so fucking high and I am ruining my fucking life” moments, I simply reiterate to myself that every hour is happy hour if you drown out the other emotions. Bad decisions make the most wonderful stories.

“Do women know they fucked up the world or nah?” I ask the room. No one answers, they look at me with coaxing eyes as if to say, “carry on.”

“I mean shit, Eve, the mother of the earth was a damn hoe. The world’s first. She did it in such great hoe-fashion too.”

“Bitches are fucked up out here dog. That’s why I do what I do” Rob says as he chuckles and slaps fives with me.

“Yeah nigga, that’s why your ass is in a fucking love rectangle now. Ted, did this fool tell you what the fuck he did?”

“Nah, what did the motherfucker do?” Ted asks

“Damn Sherm shit! Well look Ted, basically I got three bitches and they all know about each other and they are all crazy as fucking bats. Bitches are off!”

“Well ass hole, that’s what you get.”

We all pause and take a few lines each from the table.

I’m the first one up, so I continue my story. “Anyway, Eve goes and gets married. Then she gets seduced. And then she fucks the devil. Then she goes home like “honey, looked what I learned”. Fucking slut,” I bring my nose down to the table and sniff another line, “but that’s not the worst thing. The devil is just laughing like ‘haha I fucked his wife.’ Yeah he was laughing all right, ‘til he got chopped down. Dumb ass devil, shouldn’t have been bragging.”

Everyone is listening intently to my story now, I suppose the whole Eve is a hoe thing got them reeled in. Or maybe the fact that they are all coked the fuck out of their minds along with Myself.

“Eve done gave Adam an STD so he’s trying to find something to cover the discharge with and God comes along like ‘bruh what the fuck is this shit?’. Eve’s hoe ass tries to explain and shit…Bitch, shut your hoe ass up and go bleed eve. U ruined it. Then God is like, ‘Adam bruh, I told you don’t trust that hoe but what did you do? You went and trusted that hoe. Bruh, you crazy.’ And by that time the devil is just slithering around saying ‘God bro! Look what I did bro. Dope, right?’ Nigga God was livid”.

I finish my story and scoot two lines over to me and proceed to put them together.

“Sherm, what the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Precious asks me, a bewildered look on her face. I suppose being the only person not higher than giraffe pussy would make you wonder what the fuck is going through my mind. Everyone else seemed to secretly understand.
“What I’m saying Precious is this,” I say, right before taking a deep breath and sniffing a 12 inch line of coke. What the fuck am I thinking? “Holy fucking shit!” I scream as I raise my head.

 Around this time my vision became very cloudy and I felt as if my body was going to throw itself off of the bar stool.

“Got damn man, what happened to today is Monday?” says Rob. I give him an exasperated glance.

“The moral is this…I’ll never be able to marry a chick because I’m going to assume that she got half nude pictures on the internet and somebody is gonna tweet me like ‘this yo wife or nah?’”

Ted, Rob and the random guy burst into laughter.

“Where in the fuck do you get this shit from?” Rob laughs, “You can’t make this shit up. Who hurt you?”

“Fuck you.” I reply

“Bro you got bitches.”

He already knew what I was thinking about. Or rather, who I was thinking about. There are always times in a man’s life when he reverts back to the primitive thinking of “worry” and there is no greater time for those thoughts to occur than when one has gotten out of a five year relationship at the ripe old age of 25.

“You sound bitter.”

“I am bitter.”

Rob’s eyebrows rise. He didn’t expect me to say that.

In fact I was bitter, because I was still in love.

I burst into uncontrollable laughter for what seemed like 30 seconds, but could have been much longer. Oh, the things which humor you when you are in an altered state of mind….What the hell was I talking about? You can’t judge every book by its cover, but are women even books? Probably so, only because books and women require you to open and read them.

Once I finally stopped laughing I blurted “Don’t judge a book by its cover. Unless that book is a fucking annoying bitch who needs to be high-fived in the face with a chair.”

“Holy fuck Sherman, you’re going mad,” says Rob. He had a very serious look on his face. I turn to Ted and he also seems to be in a state of concern.

What did they know that I didn’t? Sure cocaine might make you a little hyper, but what had I done in my fit of laughter? I was sure of myself that I wasn’t getting the crazies. The crazies or more aptly titled ‘the fits’, is a condition that many people who venture towards the outskirts of their minds come into contact with. It’s that point in your drug-induced state when you are so gone out of your mind that you have relinquished all control of you consciousness to your sub-conscious mind. You begin to ride the wave and let it fling you off. It’s quite disturbing to some people who know what ‘the fits’ are when they encounter it; a person’s sub-conscious can be a cavern of vile and demented things. It’s nothing to be afraid of however. Getting to know your sub-conscious is an enlightening and fulfilling experience. The powers of the mind are infinite and when you create a loving relationship with your Self, life becomes even that more grand. It is simple. Hunter S. Thompson once wrote in his incredible Gonzo work, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”, “No sympathy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride…and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well…maybe chalk it off to forced consciousness expansion.” Forced Consciousness Expansion is simply what it is, forcing your conscious to expand. Once you have gone over the line, there is no coming back. Enjoy the experience and let your perception grow larger than you ever imagined.

“Yeah man, I think you’ve had enough. You just can’t go around hitting girls with chairs man.” Ted says roughly, as if I had just hit a woman with a chair. “You’re way over the edge now man. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Look, how about you motherfuckers stop your bitching and lets all have a beer and a line. That’s no way to treat a future Doctor of Communication you know.” I say wildly. Who in the hell do they think they are? Fuck them and their motherly love. I’m going for the gold on this warm Monday night in August. Or is it morning? Oh well, it is of no importance.

Thursday I will be in Las Vegas, Lord bless my soul. I wonder what the outcome is going to be of this spectacular weekend. See, my younger brother is getting married soon. Therefore it is imperative that we go to Las Vegas for his bachelor party. If Las Vegas weren’t enough, it is known to everyone involved that intentions are set for a singular energy of evil and destruction. This will be mine and my brothers third time venturing to Nevada’s oasis of sin, but we have never had this level of chaos intended.

“Precious, beer please,” I ask “just trying to prepare for Vegas.”

“Bro” Rob says, elongating the word. “That shit is about to be stupid. Dog, I wish I was going. I know y’all are gonna have a ball.”

“Hell yeah man. Niggas is gonna die.”

“You stupid dog. Man, act a fool for me dog.” Rob pauses and that grin slides across his face. “You should’ve invited shorty.” He bursts into laughter.

“Fuck you!”

In fact, I had invited ‘shorty’, Alexia. That’s the name of my ex. She had recently broken up with me and moved to LA to pursue a career in porn. I’m sure you’re wondering how in the hell did I not see that coming. Hell, you’ve got to see that type of shit coming, right? Wrong. Long story short…her best friend moved to LA and pursued a career in porn, made $450,000 in a year, and quit. She moved to Houston, Texas and is currently pursuing a degree in chemical engineering at the University of Houston. She also moonlights as a stripper…Cold world. I should’ve saw that coming; Birds of a feather. These are now Alexia’s ambitions, except she wishes to be a Lawyer. I called her four days ago and said that I would like for her to come into Vegas and for at least one of the days I was there. She agreed that Vegas would be an appropriate place to meet after not seeing each other for 5 months. As hell bent on destruction as I am, it’s not going to hurt to have her along for the ride. Plus if all else fails I’ll have sex in the palm of my hand. I’ll just play it off to the guys…”She hit me on twitter and said she was out here too. Plus fuck it, use her as a scout for the hoes. She’ll look out... and if all else fails we can pimp her out! Make a shit load of money.” Alexia has her own hotel at the Cosmopolitan anyway. All is good for a weekend of terror.

“Call a cab,” I exclaim...”I need to get my car. They might tow me.”

I can’t believe it…a connection to pimps…the cliff is narrow and the canyon is deep

8 A.M. Thursday

Where in the fuck is Corey? He was right behind us at the check-in line. Fuck it, the plane leaves in an hour and I certainly will not be late. I haven’t been to sleep yet and I am anticipating the nap I am going to get on this four hour plane ride. My brother and I began walking towards the screening and baggage check. 

“You don’t have anything on you do you?” I ask my brother. “I just had to toss a sack of weed into the trash can.”

My brother shakes his head no and we continue on.

Ever since the September 11 attacks in 2001, Airports have underwent stupendous security upgrades. In Louisville International they have the x-ray machines that passengers must stand in. Isn’t this an invasion of privacy? A random person is able to see things that are invisible to the naked eye? What’s worse is the fact that people cannot complain about this type of thing. At the George Bush International Airport in Houston, Texas, there have been reports of people not being able to complain about the groping and other excessive pat down tactics that TSA agents use on customers when their x-ray scanners misidentify a metal button on a pair of pants as a weapon of mass destruction. ‘Not being able to complain’ meaning a voice over the loud-speaker stating that you will be detained if you are heard making negative statements about the level of invasion to your person during their carry-on baggage screenings. I suppose that they are making strides in progression. In Atlanta, Georgia, at the Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, due to a large number of arrests being made for high-profile business travelers in possession of unchecked licensed handguns, a judge has issued the decree that people will only be given citations instead of being arrested, in order to save money to the court system. This will also enable travelers to not miss their flights. The week after this judgment was made, Bill Russell, the great Boston Celtic was arrested at Seattle-Tacoma International in Washington State after TSA agents notices a .38 Smith & Wesson in his carry-on bag.

We make it through the screening without the TSA catching on to our scent of misery and loathing, and while I am putting on my shoes I look back to see Corey making his way through the security screening.  He makes it through the x-ray scan, and then it happens. Murphy’s Law came into full effect and no amount of positivity that I could muster was going to get us out of this pickle. A TSA lady asked to see the palms of his hands. She brushes his hands with a powder and instantly motions to several other agents. They shut down their lines and swarm Corey like bee’s to honey. “Ayo, what the hell!” Corey cries out, and four agents whisk him into an opaque glass room. My brother and I stand there astonished. It seems like our trip to give hell all it bargained was going to end up as two brothers sulking over their friend being a terrorist. While we’re in Vegas, he’ll be getting shipped to Guantanamo Bay on charges of espionage. I knew the bastard was a secret agent. His Acapulco shirts and Italian loafers, he was too Johnny Depp in a society full of Justin Beiber’s, but he kept his act up for a long time. As we stood in a stupefied trance for what seemed like an eternity, I attempted to muster up a small bit of positivity, but it didn’t seem to be working.

“Whatever happens is the best thing to happen. I don’t know what in the fuck this is for but it’s gotta end up nicely. The devil wants us to prosper.” I was trying to be as proactive about the situation as possible, but the look on my brother’s face quickly brought what goodness I was feeling  down to the size of a flea.  Meditating has become one of my favorite activities and I found it imperative that I sit down and gather my Self by finding that space of peace, but god damn it this is my brother’s last chance at being the greatest bachelor that the world has ever seen and our cohort has been detained by the pigs!

“It just had to be Corey. Flight leaves in and 45 minutes and this is the shit that my bachelor’s party has come to.” My brother was beyond annoyed and decided to take a seat. I joined him.

“Don’t trip man, let’s just breathe easy. I’m sure there is a great explanation for all of this nonsense. There’s power in positive thought mane. Plus, Corey is a big boy and he’s white so I’m sure they aren’t handling him too rough.” I tried to console my brother but he was very disturbed by the situation. The odd thing was that none of the other TSA agents paid us any attention. They simply let us sit on the outside of the security check point. Something good had to be brewing.

“I’m surprised they didn’t take your Arab looking ass in that little room. You might’ve had a bomb stuck up your ass.” I said to my brother, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Fuck you Mexican. You hid those bricks pretty well huh? Wet-back fucker. I like Cubans better anyway.” He fired back. My joke seemed to be working.

Just then we see Corey waltz out of the room with opaque glass and the motherfucker has the biggest grin I have ever seen humanly possible on his flush red face as he walks towards us.

My brother attempts to ask what the hell was going on but Corey shushed him.

“Let’s move swiftly, they think I’m Brad Pitt’s brother.”

My brother and I shook our heads and kept moving at a reasonable pace. We had to make a swift get away from these TSA queers and find the nearest bar, after we located our gate of course.

“What will you gentlemen be having today?” the waitress asked. She was a homely woman. I suppose that the attractive bartenders did not enjoy waiting tables at the airport much. It was pretty early in the morning though. Maybe the airport in Vegas would have better looking women

“Drugs” says Corey as nonchalantly pages through an automotive magazine. “And Shelby is going to have some hooker pussy. How bout that lady? Can you handle that?”

Shelby, My brother whose name I hadn’t given you all yet could do nothing but shake his head and smile. You see, Corey and I are the epitome of ignorant. When immense idiocy meets supreme stupidity is when demonic dunces such as me and Corey are born. Somewhere beneath the total mockery, the insignificance, the dishonesty, the innuendo and the exaggeration between each sarcastic statement lies a significant truth…we truly give zero fucks. Add drugs, alcohol, and bad intention into the mixture and even Charles Manson would be squeamish. I don’t think Shelby knew exactly what he was getting into with this excursion to Sin City.

“What in the hell Corey, that’s no way to talk to this beautiful waitress of ours” I snap back.

The waitress gave Corey a stone cold stare.

“What, she asked what we’ll be having TODAY…not right now. Sheesh. Go hit the pack man.”

“What pack?” my brother interjects.

“Well guys, through all of that commotion back at security checkpoint  they neglected to find the one thing that got me put into that little room.”

This sly fucking devil of a white guy has just done something remarkable. He has turned this monotonous plane ride into a Ferris wheel for the high life.

“He’s an asshole so he needs toilet paper,” my brother tells the waitress. “And we’ll all take Sapphire and Orange Juice. Lot of liquor, lot less juice.”

My brother’s presence is a calming one. He is the only sane person out of the three of us. Let’s see how long that lasts.

We sit and enjoy our drinks while Corey tells of us his encounter with TSA.

“Dude she rubbed my hands and then looked at me funny. And then all of those motherfuckers surrounded me…I was for sure they were gonna make me strip. But I don’t know if it was God or the devil, but the bitch looked up at me and said ‘I know you.” Corey’s eyes became wide with excitement.

“That’s when I knew I had her. The other three fucks were just looking at me so I said ‘yeah well you probably know my brother. Johnny Depp. Yeah, I’m Ronnie. Ronnie Depp. I fly using an alias. It’s not easy having an internationally famous brother.’  The bitch wanted a fucking hug and autograph,” Corey says as he shakes his head. “With that type of shit happening, this trip is gonna be fucking memorable.”

About an hour into the flight, I am dosing off and Shelby is becoming visibly frustrated due to a crying child and a drunken man making obnoxious comments and gestures. Corey seems to be in a state of peace and he should be rightfully so. Between the Xanax and Jack Daniels, I’d say he is having a wonderful time. We’re flying on a 747 jet, commercial passengers of course. Due to Corey’s anxiety he was adamant that he needed the seat nearest the walk way and I despise anything but window seats, so Shelby was forced to sit in the middle. Poor Kid.

“Aye man where in the hell is the dope at, pass it here.”

Whose voice was that? What in the hell? I open my eyes to see my brother opening up a gram of coke that Corey had snuck onto the plane.

“Bro, what in the hell are you doing?” I ask.

“Man, fuck yall. Ima see what this shit is about.”

I lean forward and look at Corey. He has that same grin he had on his face when he was walking away from the security checkpoint. I am surprised by my brothers’ actions, but I don’t dare stop him. Fuck that, turn up!

“Well shit, since you wanna be a grown up…dump the shit out”

“Right here? On the plane?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Corey interjects. “You don’t take something like you’re gonna do it and then question the professionals. Do as you’re told queer bait.”

Shelby laughs deeply, looks around for would-be spies, and dumps the small bag of cocaine onto his tray table.

“This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.” Shelby says

“Welcome to the club” I reply.

“Man fuck the sentiments let’s get high.” Corey retorts.

Shelby reaches into his pocket, pulls his driver’s license from it and proceeds to break down the small rock into powder. Corey lowers his tray table and places his carry-on bag on top of it.

“You know that’s illegal right?” I say to Corey.

“And you know tooting powder on a commercial airline is illegal,” Corey pauses and looks at me. “and stupid as hell.”

“Tooting powder isn’t stupid!”

“Yeah, but that yell was. You’re insane” Corey chides.

“Coming from the guy that told TSA he was Ronnie Depp, I’d say that was pretty normal….you ass.”

“Fuck off” Corey laughs.

“Shut the fuck up and toot this powder kids. It’s a long ass plane ride and a lot of cocaine sitting here.”

 I look at Shelby’s tray table and see 15 lines of coke and my eyes get large. “I’m going to need a drink after this to calm my nerves. Shit. I can feel the adrenaline already.”

I pull a $100 bill out of my pocket and roll it into a straw. Shelby does the same, while Corey already has one pre-rolled ready to go in his pocket. My brother and I both look at Corey with a disgusted look on our faces.

“What the fuck are yall looking at me like that for? Never seen a guy with a pre-rolled booger sugar bill before?”

We both shake our heads and Shelby leans down and sniff’s his first line. He takes his index finger and wipes up the excess, rubbing it across his teeth.

“Who taught you,” I ask.  It wasn’t Yeezy.”

“Nah,” Shelby responds. “Carlito’s lawyer did though.”

“Oh. Well, great teacher.”

Airplane rides to Las Vegas can be quite the circus. I wasn’t expecting to have a quiet journey to Sin City, however I didn’t expect the ride to be this ridiculous. Sure, here we are snorting lines of cocaine on a commercial airline, and one could call this activity incredibly stupid or incredibly genius, but to me this was no more crass than the middle aged white man wearing Oakley sunglasses, a floral print shirt and khaki shorts screaming “sweet home Alabama” at the top of his lungs, all the whilst guzzling Jack Daniels shooters with no remorse. And our actions weren’t anywhere near as creepy as the old geezer seated across the aisle from us tonguing down his 23 year bimbo of a girlfriend. It’s quite pitiful to see this type of act came in the form of a disgusting disparity, because you don’t know who is using who and what for. Not to mention the voices of every fucking body on this damned plane, gyrating the airwaves with despicable speech of the tourist bullshit that they plan to participate in. Fuck them. I hope that they run into our crazed lunatic asses on Las Vegas Boulevard.

“Oh, You’re tourists?” I’d ask, holding a bottle of Makers Mark Bourbon while wearing an over-sized sombrero and a costume Nazi mustache. “Well, today is your lucky day. See, we’re tourist too and we’re here for just a little fun. Oh, what do we do for a living? Why are we here? Well, we’re here to sacrifice small children and animals. May we borrow your son?”

Being so close to creepy and ignorant behavior doesn’t sit well with me due to the explicit fact that I am totally incapable of group behavior.  If I see people doing something, I have to do the opposite.

“Too bad I’m all jacked up on Cocaine! Waitress, bring me some liquor!” I yell to towards the front of the airplane.

“Asshole, press the fucking button,” Corey blares back at me. “Plus were not even done with the candy, Fucks your problem?”

And then she walks over; a gorgeous woman of 5’7 height with flowing hair and not a hint cocaine residue in her nose.

“May I help you gentlem…” She tries to get the words out but they get caught in her throat.

What is she thinking? Does she notice? Of course she notices. But does she care?

“May I ask what you gentlemen are doing back here?”

Oh no, it’s too late. The flight attendant has caught on to our shenanigans.

“Well, we had ordered some powdered donuts and we wanted to know if you wanted any” Shelby says, trying to make light of the situation. It’s not every day that a stewardess would see a tray table full of cocaine being lackadaisically used by two black guys and Ronnie Depp.

“No, I’m on a diet. You do know that I could get you all into major trouble right? It’s 9 a.m. for crying out loud.”

“Oh, that late? Oh. But, yeah we do and see that’s why we need your help. We’re small town boys on our way to Las Vegas in order to chase the American Dream and seeing as all we learned from is television and movies, we thought this would be appropriate. You see, this man right here,” Shelby says while nudging my shoulder “Is a future Doctor of Communication that must write a dissertation about the illegal slave trade that is prostitution and why it is so wildly popular.”

“The American Dream, huh? Sounds like you’re searching for Hell in Vegas. That’s easy, try searching for heaven.” She gave us a skeptical look.

“But of course,” Corey chimed in as he squinted at her name tag. “Rachel.”

“Well, look here boys. Getting that shit on a plane is a commendable feat, so fuck it.  I’m not going to ask any questions but you motherfuckers owe me a tip and some of that shit. I’ll be back with some alcohol and my phone number. I’ll be stuck in Vegas for 2 days. I’m with you all.”

And she turned around and walked off.

“What the fuck just happened?” I asked. “We just made a fucking friend for Vegas? Fuck yeah! Now if we get low on money we can pimp her out! As candid as she is, I’m sure she’d be down to make us a couple thousand extra bucks. The broad talks like a fucking navy seal.”

“Why you always gotta think that women are hoes and will be down for that type shit?” Shelby questioned me as if he didn’t already know what my answer would be.

“My ex, prick.” I said without paying him much attention.

“Dude you’ve been fondling her for an hour, just suck her titties why don’t you? Give us a little peep too.” Corey was visibly upset when I looked at his face after raising my nose from the tray table.

“Do y’all see this bullshit? Old fucking man playing with titties and doesn’t want to give the other passengers a peep show. This is a shame! Show us her fucking titties or fuck off!”

And then it happened. The woman hopped up and took of her blouse as well as slid her panties down, flinging both garments at Corey, unzipped the old man’s pants and sat down. Wow. This trip to Vegas is definitely being controlled by Satan.

“There we go! That’s what I’m talking about!”

The waitress comes back with our drinks and upon seeing the sexual act going on across from us and hearing Corey cheering them on, grabbed a dollar bill sitting on the tray table and leans over, snorting two long lines of cocaine. “You motherfuckers are some funny ass people. This is going to be a good weekend.”

It’s 9 A.M. on a Thursday and I’ve seen drugs, liquor and sex. None of which belong to me. Such is life in Las Vegas, or Heaven.

Off the plane; Already don’t feel the same. They say this place never sleeps, it’s all sex, fun and games. That’s alright with me, we’re just out doing our things…weed out here is kind of cheap, but they’re taxing cigarillo’s mane. – S.G. Smitty

Those lyrics are from a song that Shelby wrote in 2008, during Him and I’s second trip to Las Vegas. I was 22 and he was 20 and we were still very much wide eyed heathens in search of something more than what the despicably dead city of Louisville, Kentucky could afford us. A chance encounter with a two murderous marijuana dealers and a one-legged pit bull began that journey and through it we gained an awareness of just how insane life in Las Vegas could really be.

Excerpt from a novel of epic proportions "Fear and Loathing 2: The American Dream; Heaven or Las Vegas" - Sherman H. Smith Jr AKA Lars Randolph

Love's Nuances

"Of all the nuances of human love, adoration and appreciation keep it intact while a stubborn identity of this same love selfishly manipulates and destroys it, often times unknowingly." - Sherman H. Smith Jr.

these are thoughts written between the years 2009, 2010, and 2011 regarding something so fleeting yet so thorough that is was of utmost importance to the most perfect Prophet, Jesus Christ.


(1) Emotionally driven people rarely capitalize on opportunities. they let feelings cloud the minds judgment, causing them to act in emotional ways. often times this never solves the problem; it allows it to grow. awry feelings due to random and non-thoughtful emotion will cause chaos and irreparable damage.

(2) The spirit of growth naturally displaces the human attraction to negative and unworthy beings of energy by which a soul must banish all attraction to these negative energies, in order to illuminate. the pain of confronting ones demons will enable a strength and one shall be blessed with positive light. with this light, growth is possible. with growth, all can be achieved. the light of God is one without negative connotation, leading a soul to dictate the positivity in their being. one in the same, distinctively opposite. both needed for advancement physically, mentally, and spiritually.

(3) You know how you can get so close to something that you cannot step up onto it? take a step back and then step up.

(4) Knowledge is power, and it is the spark for life, that & love. secrets of the world are not secret or unattainable, but intrinsically hardwired into many. exposure, through an awareness bolstered by a conscious view of objectivity, enables these things to be 'remembered', applied, and utilized.

(5) Anger of a negative attitude, such as jealousy, will cause you to take action in inappropriate ways. without reaction to these emotions, you will not undergo stresses unbecoming of a God like creature. In reaction with anger or negative attitude, words can be spoken for, yet actions taken negatively will bring you to realize that you have deviated from the two rules that ultimately bring you closer to God; Loving God, and Loving your neighbor as yourself.

(6) How can one make others happy? Self love. make yourself happy. then, you may be able to whole-heartedly make others happy as well. creating happiness is the key to reaching inner peace.

(7) As human beings, God blessed us with the unique ability above anything else, to be able to harness energy, regardless of the anatomy of it, and use it as we please. negative energies emitted by others can be absorbed and harnessed by one to be used in a overwhelmingly positive capacity.

(8) Love is the light in this world of darkness. with it one is great. through it, everything is made greater. hope; the faith that love will prevail

(9) Love is a universal connection intended to correct, prevail, and preside over the ways of the world and society. to live is to have life. to love is to love life. however, the reaching of the depths of love is an anomaly that only God has the power over.

sorry.

killin me softly

Date Written: January 2013
Date Published: June 2013

"as a child I always I had outlandish wishes. in my heart they were not outlandish but to everyone else they were as palpable as jumping from the ground to the moon.  the problem with the person of today is that that everyone tells you what you cant do. so you don't believe. me, I had this inner voice, drowning out these people. I could see their lips moving, but their words were a far cry to my ears. I wanted to be where no one else I knew could go"

circumstance and superficial joy

Date written: January 2013
Date published: June 2013

placing yourself into the foreground of your own life is the first step to living as you always picture. sacrifice, discipline, and self love.

no matter what happens, understand that there is no bad. many times we look for joy in superficial and outward ways, failing to appreciate true joy which is inner comfort that can only come from an intimate relationship with God or the Universe. whichever works for you. we often let things that are not forever provide us with circumstantial and superficial joy. we allow material and people to provide us with happiness but what happens when these things that provided all of this happiness, are gone? what happens when they fail to provide the happiness they once did? do we give this material that used to cause so much happiness away, or let the person provide happiness for someone who will more appreciate it. however, as humans, we tend to hoard. some hoard outwardly, such as trashy homes and things of that nature. others hoard inwardly, such as emotions and feelings that we once had that we don't want to let go; memory. we put that old sweater that we loved 20 years ago into storage, forgetting about it. or we hold onto a person through a situation that we know should be thrown away, regardless of perceived love for said person.  what happens when you lose your dream job or the home you just purchased or the girl that you thought would always love you? where has your joy went?

God, the universe, you inner Self...whatever you believe is the existent connector to infinite...is the inly entity, thing, person that can provide true joy. don't let outward circumstance provide inner joy, because when it flees, you will be left empty.

What?

How in the fuck did Iron Man, Tony fucking Stark,  get through the worm hole?

Alright now, I have not written anything on this blog in a while. so bear with with. I'm just going to type some thoughts I have been having, regarding some weird shit thats really not weird at all.

As you can tell, I recently watched Iron Man 3, and it sparked me to write some stuff up. This write up does not have anything to do with God, and everything to do with the Universe, which in essence is the Web of God, so God has everything to do with this write up. or not. but anyway, I digress.

As I have gotten older, I have become enamored with the subtle teachings that movies provide in regards to the universe, and the truthfulness of some of these teachings. Many of our favorite comic books turned movies involve a lot of fantasy, and even more of universal knowledge than we may expect. these god-like being, can people really become that? In Iron Man 3, there is a hypothesis displayed that reasons the powers held by humans when we are able to utilize the full capacity of our brains. to date, it is known that the average American human being uses between 8-10% of their brains 'power', and up to only 5% at time. kind of wack really. If humans were able to use their brains full potential energy, coupled with altering DNA...craziness would ensue. use your own imagination, as I'm not going to go deeper into that shit.  just think, altering weather & kinetics, reading minds...

I'm high so I'm going to end this. bye.

Fucks Yer Problem?

To know life is to understand death. Without the recreative and removing process' of death, we would not know what life truly is. Answer this, what is the point in a murdered child's life? read the question over again. What is the point in a murdered child's LIFE? I am not asking about the reason of the  murdered child's being, only the point of the life. 

Over time, we have forgotten this ideal. No longer is death looked at as a chance to assemble one's spirit to God, but an abomination of man. Death is looked down upon, as dirty. Naturally however, it is a cleansing process. Death is the only constant in this plane that we utilize. The material world that we have placed ourselves into and become, has entrapped the core of our true nature. We revel in the light that life brings, not realizing that life is what brings darkness. Our world has become a place where darkness perpetuates darkness, and our Lives is the energy source for the darkness. The self-righteous man has become an evolutionary entity, forever distanced from the created original. The evils that us men do have betrayed us, for even when we have pursued happiness for the good of ourselves or another, others have been oppressed due to it. Man fails to realize that by doing anything other than what God has dictated, destruction in one form will occur, even if construction may take place. 

Answer this: What is the point in a murdered child's life? I will tell you

Many men throughout history have been brave enough to valiantly fight for their country or cause, to the death. One such soldier, in an unknown time period, became enticed by an unknown force to do unspeakable horrors to innocent, yet enemy individuals. No mercy was shown; even a little girl no more than 7 years old was raped and beaten, along with other members of her family. This soldier goes on to receive medals of honor from his government. Innocence was destroyed. 

Many spirits of children are taken away from this earth due to detestable acts committed against them. 

One day, one such child, in an unknown time period, was brutally raped and murdered. Innocence was destroyed.

What if, that soldier who killed a girl and her family in an unknown time period died an old and wise, widely praised man, and his spirit so happened to be birthed a couple hundred years later into a beautiful little girls body. What if this little girl grows up to be the little girl in the unknown time period that was brutally raped and murdered?

Maybe this spirit was taught a lesson that many of us have not opened our minds enough to comprehend. Even if you are praised on earth, God will Judge you in death.

Random. I know. 

A letter to my Son; an Epistolary Essay

Epistolary Essay

 

Dear Sherman,

 

In the race of life, there is no finish line, other than death. I've been a sprinter in this race since entering college, living fast and hard. Early on in my life, I was the complete opposite. A long distance runner, I let things come to me and learned from other's mistakes. Before beginning or becoming involved in anything, I always investigated the people who attempted something before me. I always analyzed the situation, never making pre-judgments to whether it would be a detriment or beneficial to me. What made this person screw up? What led this group to succeed? I didn't have a problem being behind at the beginning of the race, because through my search and inquiry for truth, I knew that I would catch up with and pass the others. Being a very patient and virtuous child, I didn't let many things hinder me from gaining knowledge. In my childhood I was extremely reserved, compared to all of my peers. Sure, I did some ignorant things, but not without calculation. I wasn't the kid who didn't care about being caught. Hell, my only fear of doing something WAS getting caught.

I clearly remember being a bright-eyed child in kindergarten. One day, I felt the need to kill the classroom goldfish. Unknowingly letting someone in on my plan to destroy those funny looking fish, it was almost foiled by the teacher. Nevertheless, I waited and waited, and as soon as the teacher lost her attention on me…CRASH. A note was sent home to my mother shortly after, stating that my mother should watch what she was teaching her child because I was 'too calculated' to be so young. It wasn't my mother's doing however; I felt the need to do something destructive. My mother never punished me, citing that in order to be prosperous in the world one must be able to calculate their steps. I did get scolded for using one of my strengths for negative, but hey, I was 5.

Growing up Christian, I learned and understood at an early age that God laughed at the plans of man, yet he would still bless the footsteps of those who walked with him. With maturity, I formulated new ideas and thought processes on things, becoming quite the rebel. As I grew older and encountered new things, the knowledge that I had acquired through the study of history and people's actions, both past and present, guided me. I didn't understand why I was going through certain things or how I was even getting through these things in one piece. Confidence growing with each passing test, the world became a playground. I was growing out of my 'conditioning' as a long distance runner, and transforming in to a sprinter. Maybe this is a natural process with every human being. Learning and amassing knowledge as a youth, only to form your own opinions and ideas on what it is to be wise could be seen as an innate human characteristic. Gaining knowledge at such a young age, where rebellion is the sole thought on an impressionable teens head, led me to think that without making personal mistakes I would never grow. "Fuck it and fuck you" became my motto because even though it is an extremely vile way to think, in my heart, I felt that I had the wherewithal to do what I wanted and that it would be beneficial to me and others. Studying the teachings of One God led me to dictate to others that what I was doing was for the betterment of everyone, regardless if you liked it or not. This backfired on me however. Due to having fun and 'living,' whatever that is, my life became encompassed with late nights, early days, lots of drugs and girls. My life was becoming nuts and filled with the ignorance that I shunned as a child. But I wanted to live. In my youth, I understood living to mean doing what you wanted, when you wanted.

Around the time that my world turned into a playground, total independence loomed in front of my face in the form of car payments and apartment bills. Seeing that I was now a grown ass man with grown ass responsibility, I gained fast twitch muscle and my sprint began. With this sprint, and seeing how fast life was declining, God brought me back to his feet. I started reading everything again, as I did at six and seven years old. The only difference in my readings of the past and the present, at the time, was the interpretations that came into my mind from them. It seemed that God wanted me to speak for him, and I did not understand how. I still don't to this day. I honestly feel like Mohammad, Moses, Noah, and even Jesus. A reluctant spiritualist, I am not one to push myself or my thoughts and beliefs onto anyone. I am for the world and every enticement and blessing that can come with it, like Mohammad, yet I yearn for learning and understanding of the science of God, as Jesus did. As I immersed myself in the teachings of God, I soon realized that I had been mistaken in my transition from running cross country and sprinting. Life was not about doing what you will, even though it is best to live and let live. I found that to live meant to not be hindered, not be biased, not be inclined to operate your mind in ways that would lead you to negativity, no matter how fun.

In my sprint, I have passed many people, yet I still feel as if I am behind. This sprinting has helped me tremendously, as I have seen and done things that most 23-year-olds can only imagine. I have met people and traveled thoroughly. Experience trumps argument, and I have a shit load of experiences that I could share with anyone. These experiences have come at a cost however. I sometimes wish that I would have slowed myself, not become so immersed in the thoughts of One Self, One God, and One Man. As aforementioned, through my sprinting I have amassed a great amount of knowledge, yet it has always been in hindsight: living and learning. The old saying goes, hindsight is 20/20, and I am a living testament of this.

In the footsteps of characters such as the mystical Yeshuoa Ben Pandira, found in the Hebrew tale The Talmud, I am often in opposition of elders, from their views on subjects to their philosophies on life, love and religion. The story of Pandira is a trying one. He is the bastard child of a mother who marries a man that can trace his lineage back to King David. Soon after marriage, however, she is raped by a neighbor, begetting Pandira. Her husband leaves her at this time as well. Pandira is a virtuous child, blessed with extreme wit and intelligence. He often times is scolded, and is known for being a crude and mean child, especially to adults and elders who view his thoughts as ignorant and premature. He views their ways as old, minuscule, and irrelevant to the day's age and is hence deemed a heretic. Pandira performed miracles and resurrected the dead in these stories and spread a mass of knowledge, yet he was never accepted by his people. His idolatrous teachings led to his demise, due to him being shunned away by his Jewish mentor. Starting his own sect of Jewish belief, he was viewed as pagan. Death came to him early in life. Some say he was murdered by his own people while others say he died alone. This story is awfully similar to the story of Jesus Christ, who was a child born to a distinct and removed sect of Jews called the Essenes. He too was a bastard child, born to an unmarried virgin mother whom later married a man named Joseph that ironically traced his lineage back to King David, as did Pandira's father in the Talmud. Jesus Christ also was a child prodigy, as he was able to teach priests' and sages more about their belief in a higher power than they could imagine. Framed and murdered due to his supposed idolatrous teachings and claim that he was the manifest flesh of God, Christianity is now the most practiced organized religion in the world. In this realm, you must know, that the good of God cannot be hid; only covered. You will find truths; I advise the Book of Barnabus. Born a Christian, I studied the laws of Jesus first. In his life, Love and Truth were the inspiration for his lessons.

Love. Live. Learn. It took me 22 years to realize that these three words, which in my opinion are more like concepts, make life what it is. In all reality, life is what you make it, but without love, living, and learning, you will never appreciate or grasp life. When you were born, I saw God in you and I was in awe. I want to teach you that no matter if you sprint or run a long race, you have the ability to dictate what you will and won't do, as long as God is on your side. There are a lot of things that you will encounter in life, some for the betterment of you, and some for the demise. In the grand scheme of things, everyone will end up loving you, regardless of what you do.