Classified

I guess I have developed a kind of mastery of being fucking miserable.

I do not understand how I can feel so happy with such a slobbish setup.

I fucking love it.

I love writing at this moment with a dirty house, being single, having my credit cards maxed out, not having hobbies, and chewing tobacco.

In this moment I am a blazing saint.

They will give me a public hanging if I don’t go to AA and do my probational assignments but fuck them.

Fuck everybody.

I don’t know.

I am bone tired.

Into the blades!

^^^^^^^

That is poetry.

BUT NOBODY KNOWS!

NOBODY KNOWS THAT IS POETRY BUT ME!

Fucking shoot me.

What else do I have?
I could go skiing next month if I don’t spend it all on porn.

Ho-ho-ho such an easy decision if the desire for digital ass didn’t attack me at random like gunfire in the jungle.

Then there is BASKETBALL.

I am going to pop with jubilee.

There is no problem with not wanting more.

However more is coming.

So much more is coming.

To the point where I am in dire straits to make it stop compounding but the wealth is compounding.

How do I make the wealth stop?

Turn the wealth off.

Turn the wealth off!

It is not about wanting more or achieving more or getting more, anymore —

Ye Gods I have to accept more.

Boo - Yakkah, boo - yakkah.

How do I cut up the cocaine?

Hey, hey, what can I do?

^^^^^^^

That is clean copy.

Clean copy is literary jargon for perfect prose.

Nobody knows it.

I am a fucking writer.

God damn.

I never even tried to be one.

I just fucking wrote to make sense of the world around me and within me and goddamn it I am a really good writer. 

Fuck, I just wrote about a day in my life and it reads like F Scott fucking Fitzgerald not being able to get a date during the holidays.

Son of a fucking bitch.

Lets be honest.

I don’t want to be.

Its more than a will not to win.

Its more than a desire to not do anything.

Its more than a desire for oblivion.

Its more than suicidal.

I don’t want to exist in any form on any dimension ever again.

I don’t want to be reincarnated.

I don’t want to go to hell.

I don’t want to be alone in space.

I don’t want the warm embrace of the father.

All because I cannot have a whiskey?

All because I cannot fuck baby doll in the back of a trailer?

All because I cannot fuck babydoll in the back of a trailer with whiskey?

No.

I don’t want any of that either.

Oh, boy.

It is more than likely that I have overcome the survival paradigm and poverty mindset so that with resources I feel as though everything is a scam.

What ever happened to having to accomplish each and every thing perfectly or the world went away?

I don’t know but since it has not gone away I feel very cheated.

I thought the whole damned thing was over so many fucking times.

All the Jeffrey Epstein files that were released are only bringing sexy back and this is really upsetting me.

I have been the worst version of myself and I am still needed at work and I have money in my bank account and my family loves me and friends respect me and my social media accounts get attention and I am so over all of the wonderful goodness.

Goodness gracious.

Make it stop.

Obliterate it all forever.

Good God almighty.

The Horror.

The Horror.

Complete devastation NOW.

Well Buddy, move my big toe.

Waking up at BBar ranch.

Oof.

Going for a midday walk on the ranch.

Oof.

Being outside at night at the ranch.

Oof.

Going to Gardener on a night off.

Oof.

Going into Yellowstone national park on a day off.

Oof.

Going to Livingston on a day off.

Oof.

Drinking in Bozeman on top of the deck at Diamond Bar.

Oof.

Being at the Old Saloon with the BBar boys, Cowboy Mike and Blake.

Oof.

Frolfing and rolling on the floor of the midnight stars until the sun came up laughing with Jeff.

Oof.

Going to the hot tub in a blizzard.

Oof.

Watching the NBA or Yellowstone in the basement on the big screen.

Oof.

Watching Pretty Little Liars alone in my room.

Oof.

Soaking in Pray, Montana.

Oof.

Live bands at the Old Saloon.

Oof.

Climbing the mountain outside my cabin and sleeping next to the moon.

Double oof.

But the work, the reason I was there—

FUCKKKKKKKK.

No way.

Cleaning cabins, food prep, pulling weeds, trash runs, serving guests.

The most difficult part really was the contrast.

Knowing that I had not even scratched the surface of what there was to be gained or lost.

I folded.

Went back home.

Not a single good thing has happened in my life since I folded except I am still alive.

Emigrant was the mountain top and Omaha is the valley.

I went back to the rockies and climbed in the Tetons with Ryan.

That was a good thing.

We went back to Paradise Valley.

That was a good thing.

I went to Tanners wedding.

This was a good thing.

I went to Colorado and climbed two fourteeners.

Everything else has been absolute garbage.

To be real it has given me an understanding of the bare necessities.

The absolute bare necessities of life are not a trifling matter after all.

This is what I am learning in the valley.

Repeatedly and in repetition—bare necessities. 

Oh, how I hate them.

This must be because I am a whore.

AND—

I don’t even want to go back to the mountain top.

Gasp, why.

Full stop.

Because I will then have to come back down and everything will once again be even that much more unbearable.

Hall yourself up young man.

Its either lower my dopamine intake or go die in the mountains.

Suicides!

Nope, no dying just climbing.

How will I stay away from gooning?

It is my grand central funk railroad station pick me up refuel zone.

What even will happen if I shirk the goon scene?

There it is.

The fap material.

However, I am not touching it.

Maybe—I actually view them as sisters.

Boom, squabble wop.

Then pay them.

But I am not a feminist.

So I sit around.

Without gooning—what is there?

I can sit and live in terror for a good cause but when it comes to filling a fathomless void that is when it has been anything goes.

Ok Bud. 

What the fuck else is going on??

PFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT.

It is already time to go make more money daddy warbucks.

We bombed Nigeria?

Oh, brother.

War with Venezuela?

Ok.

More money.

I have overcome gooning?

Aint no way.

Outgooned the goon?

Findom scammed the findom scam.

Please.

Money.

I have finally been corrupted by money.

Money.

Money.

Money.

Money.

Mmmmk.

Sure.

Okay so there is no overweening and submerged goal here.

There is no undertow that is making me go a specific direction for life or death.

Just little thoughts that have yet to form.

Just because there is no complete thought at the moment does not mean there will not be one eventually.

Work which is the way one accumulates money and wealth is the death of the spirit.

I had a moment to breathe where I got on the ball of making as big of a change to the problems of my life as I could and now my spirit knows it is time to return to death. 

UPS.

HyVee.

Care4U.

This will stamp out my soul, spirit and flesh quicker than any porn, alcohol or bad people ever could.

I will come to see that any vice was actually giving me life if I keep this up.

I will keep it up.

I do see that vice gives me life.

Yet the accumulation of wealth takes life away.

Just look at my father who created two wonderful men with two amazing women — so much wealth — and his life is stomped underfoot by an elephant — honey badger that he is.

A big fat boner to rub up and down while I look at a greased womans legs, thighs, feet, abs, breast, face and hands.

Oh boy!

How do I compensate for years of doing that?

Slavery to the system!

Brilliant.

When does it end?

…

Scattered thoughts is the new biscuits and gravy.

It means I am coming out of a trance and am not controlled by a two dimensional thought bubble.

New life requires new thoughts.

I have a new life but I do not have the thoughts to accompany it yet.

Good for me.

I don’t know when my brain will catch up to my life.

Knock, knock brain.

Nobody is home and that is okay.

It does not feel okay.

Chalupa, gordita.

How much trouble am I in with God?

What does Satan have in store for me next?

Who are these people?

What have I become?

Chalupa, Gordita.

What is the bill for services rendered?

Chalupa, Gordita.

Grace caught up with me.

Faith derivative.

2026 is payday.

Its a bird, its a plane—

Its EL STUPIDO!!!!!

Its all shell fish from here on out.

We Want STUPID

When do we want it?

NOW!

Stupid is as stupid does.

I just fucked only fans.

Mmm-k.

I am crazy but I am not corrupt.

-Theodore Roosevelt

Nailed it, school’s out—what did I expect?

A range life if I could settle down.

If I could settle down, 

Then I would settle down.

HYPERDRIVE_________

ALONE—————————

I am completely crazy and not corrupt AT ALL!

I guess we are now in the PACIFIC THEN!!!!!

PACIFIC THEATRE!!

I hate music.

I hate porn.

I hate everything.

Write it down, such a beautiful poem.