Novel Excerpt: Weirdo



    I don’t remember how it happened or why it happened it just happened.  I guess I remembered, if I think really hard about it. It prolly had something to do with work.  O that’s why I began drinking. See I started off late. Real late. Most people start off drinking as teenagers.  They get it from their parents or paid an older person to buy it for them. I guess I should started drinking then,  but I was under some kinda righteous spell. I wanted to please my mother, or some other kinda dumb shit. Dumb shit why would I say that the reader might ask?  Well whenever you are not being who or whatever you are. You are being fake or unauthentic. I hate that. Yet I do it. All the time.


Its like how mom says. “Drinkin and drugs are for weak people. I guess I didn’t want to be weak.  I am now though. Very weak. I guessed I missed out on all the fun, and that’s all. Once you missed out you really do miss out.  There is no way to recover loss time. That don’t stop many fools from trying though.


   I don’t think I ever really felt comfortable in my own skin.  And that’s a terrible thing. A truly tragic thing. its like not wanting to brought out of your mother’s womb. So tragic. So silly.


   Getting back to the school part though.  I hated it. I disliked: the students, the teachers, I hated lunch and recess and gym.  All that shit. I’m a free spirit I guess. Always thinking to myself: dreams, goals, desires.  That kinda shit. I don’t have time for anybody else. I guess that’s why I’m alone.


   Well somehow. I ended up working in a book warehouse.  Can you believe that? I guess it beats folding up boxes in a box warehouse.  I stayed there many years and it never really seemed like a real job to me. It’s a warehouse with books.  Not a library like many people would like to think when I tell them. I tell them that and they think that shit is some kinda cush job or something.  But its not. The shit is very hardcore. Most people. Couldn’t do it. I’ve see people quit the very first day. I had this one girl asked me, “how can I do this all day?”  I couldn’t really answer her accept to say that I needed to. I’ve had other jobs before and they all sucked: working at a convenient store, groundskeeping, grocery store, loading trucks.  It’s hard to believe that anything gets done at all.


Well the first thing I want to do after I leave the book warehouse is get my buzz on.  I’ve smoked weed, popped pills, drank. Cough syrup, sniffed VCR cleaning fluid. Anything to get a fucking buzz.  Anything to distort my so called reality. Anything to numb me and make me feel like I didn’t do eight hours. All day of being bored to death!   I know there are people who liked what they do for a paycheck; but I could never relate to that fucking shit.


  In my twenties I guessed I had a romantic view of the fucking world.  I related to guys like Arthur Rimbaud and Charles Bukowski. They were fuckin poets and writers and I related to their madness, and being unable to relate to the world.


I found a nice quiet place to drink after work.  Then I proceeded to numb myself. It was only way to adjust to a world that didn’t want me in it, or was indifferent to my suffering.


I usually sat in some hooptie and zoned out, even feeling sorry for myself.  Maybe I felt sorry for the world in general.


I don’t think any young person in their right mind truly wants to work.  You just want to hang out drink eat and fuck. That’s it. And if you couldn’t do that then the world truly had you by the balls.  You were fucked.


My nerves are bad, that what my mama all says to me.  Her nerves and my father had bad nerves, which didn’t give me a chance to survive this world.


Well when you are chemically dependent the world becomes softer. It doesn’t overwhelm you, and you feel all the shit.  All the shit that you hate. I’m a functioning alcoholic . I rarely get stupid from drinking. I just function.


I have known some people who couldn’t handle there drinking.  I remembered a dude I work with when I got my first job at a convenient store. He was a hardcore alkie.  He just couldn’t stay sober even to work. He musta been forty or something. And his mother was a lead cashier and manager. She got him the job, in spite of a bad reputation. Everyone who was in employed there would watched him come in and mooch his mom. For cash.  This guy lasted like a couple days before he got shit canned for showing up late or some shit. When he came in his eyes were already bloodshot red. I got nothing against the guy. Except the fact that some people can not handle drink at all.


I know this kid for instance, early twenties and he’s pretty hardcore to be so young.  He slurs his words and talks loudly. But he’s a warm kid. People at the bar stay away from him. He’s a sloppy drunk, yet he’s nice.  I guess people feel bad for him, I guess. I don’t get that? There’s no use feeling bad for anyone. That’s just the way it is.


I wrote stories, poems and plays. I figured that was a way out. Being some kinda rich writer like Stephen King.   That woulda been the life. I didn’t find that kinda life. All I found was the subway, which became a powerful metaphor for some of shit that I was writing.


The metro link.  All those people coming and going.  Living their lives. I think of people being born and people dying.  That constant cycle that the world can not break.


I caught trains into the city alone.  Mostly buzzed on something. Sober I could not take it.   I prolly would have jumped off an overpass from the despair.


And I was always alone.  It didn’t bother me mostly.  I wanted to know what made people tick.  You can only begin to understand people from a distance. You’ll miss things if you are too close. The question I still haven’t found the answer to.  And will never find the answer.


The Clerk Is An Angel

I got to the grocery store and was impatient,

line building behind me, Sunday night  and cart full of groceries,

no bagger, he went home, meaning the cashier would have to bag the groceries

too, which will slow up the line.

the line didn’t have any movement, as still as the sky

this made me uncomfortable as it made others uncomfortable,

but people started chatting with each other, and I just picked up

a can of beans in my grocery cart and read the ingredients

I felt as uncomfortable as a traffic jam, almost unbearable to me

and the clerk’s voice was so calm, with no hint of frustration, or anger, or impatience,

and I haven’t seen anything like that in while, as he asked, “how I was feeling?”

I kinda snapped when i said, “just wish you had a bagger.”

with impatience and anger i was trying to temper, yet couldn’t quite do this.

I put the card in the machine, it holds and releases,

he gives me a receipt of the stuff I had bought,

his face is still so calm, I admire that

“have a good night I say.”

realizing my foolishness


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Are strange

worrying about such small things

holding on to such small things

shit, they worry about a car wash

a mowed lawn, a tidy room

and somehow miss to think about the really

important things, the important thing

the arguments are usually small arguments,

gossiping behind each others’ backs over goofy shit

not BIG arguments

the important shit seems to miss most of them,

I think about the important, the BIG THING

and all the small shit disappears

it’s like the hurricane is coming

and you’re worried about the missed space

on the lawn in which the mower missed

so unimportant in the grand scheme of things

and this is how the strange human mind works


“why did the lawn mower man miss that patch of grass,  why did he missed that patch of grass!!!”


they scream ridiculously.

Sitting like A Buddha


I wanna sit down

and be quiet and get to know myself

in silence,

it’s hard to do that

i’ve sat on park benches and tried to understand others, by observing them,

movements, strides, clothing, shapes, skin color and all

but not myself, that’s a lot easier to do, and still impossible



to know myself, that takes time and silence

and I’m addicted to alllll this stuff,

sights, sound and noise coming at me

and work… those 40 hours…that paycheck

if I was brave I would quit it alllll

and go towards the isolation road

but I don’t

the world has me in her clutches

and rides me as she pleases

and I forget it all, like a lap dance






The mind searches for little things on breaks at work

it cant be too serious

cute, semi nude picture of a girl on Instagram

crazy funny, texts with a friend about a girlfriend on messenger

I know, I should be more serious

but the mind doesn’t want that

it wants to laugh and smile,

need a break while your feet and back hurt

nothing serious please

no concentration

you don’t want that

some body troll me!!!

call me stupid, an idiot or ugly

in the Instragram comments

lets laugh at the ridiculous news of the day

a small respite from the workday world

squezzing its small noose on your neck

nothing serious please, we are immortal


A Glance From A Woman

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Can invigorate me

when I am down

a glance from a woman

can lift my downcast eyes

the glance from a woman

can send a volt of electricity through

my body

the glance from a woman can heal a downcast


which indicates a lil hope for the downtrodden

and a slice of cake to the idea of beauty to a man

the glance from a woman without even sex

can be all you need

and this rarely happens;  for the fear of the longing

of sex in a man,

BUT it is always pleasant when it does.


What Is Within

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Everything that you repress

that is with in,

all your anger, jealousy

hatred lust is buried with in

all the times someone hurt you

all the times some one wounded

you, that is with in

when rejected  you repressed it  when they

repressed you all that is within

and your body does not forget it

it can repress the thing, but never forget it

when, you see a person

in that way,  you start to understand them

and that is okay

The Mountain

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i guess most of us dream of the mountain

that perfect mountain we can go to

to get away from the madness of life

the society

the job  the traffic  the roads

the cars

the noise,

and all that anxiety

and most of us do not have ourselves

for some their is a need to get that

their center, their soul

and all that which is not me

can all fall away


Brain like Peebles

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The many thoughts on them

How many things can you Google?

the myriad of things that you can and will forget?

I feel as if there’s more energy in my brain than others

I could be wrong:  it all goes towards me…careers,  money,

education, meditation, yoga, Osho, massage, women, the strangeness,

of energy, the bar, what will i do after work? what about this weekend?

all the people i have as friends on my Facebook page, hypnosis, what

do I really what do with my life?, changing the routine, potential mates,

artificial intelligence, how would you find meaning, moving the body, digestion

it all rains on the mind at once.  You become addicted to your thoughts

one after another, this moment



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I follow more than they follow me

I’m not bothered by it, I try to drop this ego

which is a difficult thing to do, its easy to think

that world is Maya, because of the clever

injustice of the whole thing, games and

forever seeking out purity, and authenticity

but that is rarely in sight

I would rather follow others, other people

can be so interesting, if you let them of course

more interesting than yourself,

if you could drop your fucking EGO