first deal.

unable to decide what i hated more, hipster summer fashion or hipster winter fashion, i began to bang my head against a computer hoping i would die of severe head trauma before i came up with an answer. all the inexplicable insanities dancing around in my head and on the pavement outside and i'm alone getting bummed out on ironic cut-offs vs. tundra caps. jesus fucking christ, i said. it all dawned on me by afternoon's end. i stopped trying to kill myself. i printed out some stories i had written. a small but relatively substantial stockpile, considering the factory job kept me occupied and too tired to write more than a sentence for two years. and i decided that while reading and finetuning and possibly burning to death these minor tales, i would post some of them as blogs, alongside useless vomit from my angry mind. such as this.
then, i took five hits of acid, found jesus, bet all i had on a cockfight in barstow, lost all i had, came back home. and wrote a story for nobody and everyone at the same fucking time.
that's what happened. no more. and no less.