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DeweyVonGumpsteinAndTheWiz

Sneak Peak of PopGunWar's Novel: "THE LIFE OF LEISURE.®"

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CHAPTER ONE:

 

 

 

THE LIFE OF LEISURE. ®

 

 

 

By: POPGUNWAR aka HIGHSOCIETY.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I drop money down. Now get that money girl." -Kool Keith.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I sat in my leather chair that became a possession of mine after simply "falling off a truck," I pondered the thought, "What makes us happy?" Indeed there was a simple answer to this mystery of mysteries and I knew the answer. I leaned forward to adjust the laces on my new Miu Miu loafers and was dumbfounded when a bag of pills fell out of the chest pocket on my newly acquired Thomas Pink button down shirt. Mogwai provided a symphonic soundtrack to this evening and the snow outside was falling slowly with the feel of a Charlie Brown cartoon. I inspected the bag of pills to find nine bar shaped xanax pills and 7 green OxyContin 80mg tablets. I took out one of the 80mg OxyContin pills and sucked off the time release, To my surprise, the taste was oddly familiar even though this all felt like a hazy dream. My Sidekick cell phone rang as I was crushing the pill into a fine powder on the corner of my medic cross table in my basement. I decided to let the answering machine get it, and lowered my head to the table to inhale the thrill through a freshly rolled $100 bill. My neck instantly had a warm tingling sensation that began behind my ears and shot down through my chest all the way into my feet. I relaxed and slumped back into the leather chair and felt very comfortable in my Fred Perry khakis and Hermes socks. Running a hand through my silky long hair, I decided on getting up and pouring myself a drink. After making my way upstairs, I walked down a long marble-floored hallway into my kitchen. I enjoyed the feeling of my new socks against the icy gold-flake embedded marble floor. I poured myself a mimosa using Cristal champagne and some fresh Odwalla orange juice. It looked beautiful in the crystal flute as I placed it under a light on the marble counter. I could see the snow coming down through the windows in the living room. The night sky was silent with falling diamonds and my breaths, although shallow due to the opiate coursing through my bloodstream, were very satisfying. I cracked the window above the computer table. The crisp Aspen air never smelled so good. I lowered myself into the leather executive chair in front of the computer monitor and opened the online game, Graff King. My good friend in Norway was obviously bored as I witnessed his sloppy handwriting fly across the screen on digital passenger trains. I began sketching and simply smiled as I sipped my mimosa and toyed with the still-rolled $100 bill in my pant pocket.

 

 

 

 

 

My eyelids felt like hundred pound weights as they fought to maintain vision. It must have been the lavender candles I lit in the room, because I found myself dreaming of running through a field in Switzerland Black orchid's were falling from the sky and then before it began it was over. As I focused my eyes and adjusted to reality I noticed a blinking unanswered instant message on my computer screen. "Hey, are you there? Dude I'm out front. I don't feel like getting out of my car," the note read. I reached in my pocket and realized that I dropped my cell phone. It must have been downstairs. I quickly stood up and slipped into a pair of black Fendi house slippers as I made my way to the front door. Sure enough, my best friend, Dustin was sitting in his 2004 Audi A-4 sending me instant messages from his Sidekick. I motioned to him that I'd be right out, and shut the front door narrowly escaping an incoming wind gust that sprayed powdered snow all over the front entrance. I made my way back down the basement to grab my cell phone, and also picked up a pair of brass knuckles and threw them into my back pocket of my favorite pair of stretch denim Jamie Thomas Circa C1 Denim jeans. I grabbed an olive green Morphine Generation Hoodie and my black North Face Fur Parka, and exchanged the Fendi house slippers for a pair of warm Nike Dunk high-tops. I grabbed my Cannon 9megapixel digital camera and put it in the front right pocket of my parka. As I was making my way back upstairs, I passed by a counter that had a pack of Yuxi cigarettes on it. I grabbed them, and after pulling one out and placing it between my lips ran out the front door lighting the cigarette as I leaned into the passenger side of his car.

 

 

 

"Hey asshole, I was calling you for like 15 minutes...then I figured you're high ass was probably passed out on the computer." He looked at me smirking as he grabbed a cigarette from my pack of Yuxi's. "Man, I dunno, I was out like a light until something made me wake up and I saw your instant message," I replied, inhaling smoke and exhaling into the crisp night air. We both laughed as he turned up the music in the car and pumped the heat up to 9 on the digital display. Massive Attack's 100th window was infiltrating the car with heavy bass that sent shivers down my spine as we sped towards town. "So whats the plan?" I asked, flicking the cigarette butt out the window. "Well, Luke is working at the St. Regis, and said to stop by for a couple of drinks before he heads over to the Caribou Club," Dustin reached behind his seat and pulled out a small Louis Vuitton attaché case. "I guess Louis the Thirteenth it is," I said as I peered out into the dark night sky watching the snow fall and pine trees fly by in an enchanting blur that caused me to feel euphoric again.

 

 

 

Driving down the winding mountain road, Massive Attack pumping through the speakers in the car made the surreal feeling of the night intensified. Dustin was telling me about how he was sick and tired of driving to my Aspen lodge from his apartment in Boulder, because after the 6 hour drive, he always felt worn thin. Dustin was 22, a tall kid, and had a crazy look about him. His eyes always looked mischievous, and he had a twitchy way of talking sort of like a record that had dust on it causing a mellow crackle in the audio. He always dressed good, and tonight was no exception. He was wearing a brand new Christian Dior suit that he stole from Kinsley and Company earlier in the week. I noticed his signature ratty British Knights high-tops, and realized he must be very comfortable in the Helmut Lang pea coat he was wearing. The kid knew what was going on when it came to his look. He told me once that the reason he stole his clothes was to simply change the order of things. He was independently wealthy and also had Doctors for parents. He never seemed to spend his money though. As far back as I could remember he was always a thief and hustler. And thats why he was my best friend. I didn't associate with rich kids who relied on trust funds to get them through their college years. I admired the average kid who was out there every day stealing and dealing just to wear those new Nikes he wanted.

 

 

 

"FUCK MAN, are you fucked up on OC's again?" Dustin yelled at me while hypocritically taking out a small glass bullet and loading a bump of cocaine. I laughed an intoxicated laugh, and lit up another Chinese cigarette. "Give me a break, you know I've cut back," I replied while fidgeting around in my pocket feeling the bag of pills to make sure I hadn't forgot them. I was 22 and already had a pretty nasty opiate addiction. Even though I liked to hide my use, there was no denying my constant mood swings and deteriorating appearance. I had dropped from 175 lbs to 160 in less than two months, and even though I could feel my jaw bones which freaked me out, I liked the attention it brought with it from the hipster girls that craved emaciated heroin chic boys. I had recently moved to my lodge in Aspen to get away from the Boulder scene, and the fact that the police were getting uncomfortably close to my movements carried an uneasy feeling that helped solidify my move north. I was an artist, and although I was doing rather well selling pieces to private collectors and landing solo gallery shows in hip neighborhoods and districts, my illegal endeavors somehow clouded all reason in my mind and seemed to control my life, which was heading in the wrong direction at a frightening pace. I knew what I was doing was stupid. I had personally seen two best friends land themselves in jail over drug and theft cases in the past year alone. But it didn't bother me. The addiction itself was romanticized in my mind by the adrenaline that came along with it. I knew I should slow down or maybe stop all together... but somehow, I just couldn't. I flicked the cigarette butt out the window and watched as the glowing cherry was immediately quenched in a blanket of snow.

 

 

 

As we rolled into town, it seemed awkwardly quiet for a Thursday night. Even though it was snowing hard out, it was still the busiest night for the Aspen nightlife crowd. I noticed Dustin was shivering, most likely from the cocaine he'd been doing, and it reminded me of how much I preferred the warm fuzz of an opiate to the cold shiver of coke. He reached down and turned the heat on full blast. I was sweating, and had to open my parka. We pulled up in front of the St. Regis hotel, and I held my pills tightly as I exited the car over to the valet's care. Dustin whistled the B-52's "Rock Lobster" as he tapped the hood and handed the valet the keys. We made our way to the front door, and as the doorman opened the solid oak doors, the fresh aroma of cinnamon and pine hit my nose. The instant warmth of the large fireplaces rushed over my body and made me realize how much I enjoyed coming to this hotel. The stuffed Polar bear and Grizzly bear in the main lobby looked like they would rip me to pieces. I remember being frightened by them when I was younger. I walked by the bears and Dustin and I made our way to the lobby bar.

 

 

 

The Lobby bar was situated to the back left of the main lobby. It was very dimly lit, and surrounded by large windows that showcased the immaculate landscape of the ski slopes and black night sky which was lined with pine trees as far as the eyes could see. There were three very large fireplaces inside the lobby bar. There were two on the walls and one in the center. The ground was solid hardwood adorned with bear furs and the most comfortable leather couches I have ever seen. As we seated ourselves at the bar, I noticed that the only person besides us at the bar was an old man, probably about 70 years old. He was drinking Johnny Walker on the rocks. Luke made his way over to us, and immediately smiled, quietly laughing to himself as he pulled down a bottle of Louis Tre Cognac and poured three shots. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a capsule of some sort and popped it into his mouth quickly as he downed his shot. "Drink up, sissies," he said as he wiped off the counter where his shot glass just sat. We both took our shots and I felt the warm cognac hit my stomach, its sweet taste still lingering on my lips. "Alright boys, what do you have for me tonight?" He placed the bottle of cognac back on the shelf and started to make two Jack and Cokes for Dustin and myself. "Cancer lollipops, bro. I told you we had the good stuff tonight," Dustin snickered as he reached in his coat pocket to retrieve the drugs. "Not here," Luke cautioned as he pushed Dustin's hand away from his jacket. "Give them to Josh, he's the restroom attendant. Here's the money." Luke palmed $80 and slapped it into Dustin's hand.

 

 

 

Dustin and I walked to the restroom after finishing our Jack and Cokes, and were greeted by Josh, Lukes friend, the restroom attendant. "Hey, you guys have em?" Dustin asked if it was cool, and with a nod of approval from Josh he pulled out four 800mcg Fentanyl Actiq suckers and slapped them into Josh's hand. "Word." Josh said, and smiled as he unwrapped one of the suckers and placed it inside his cheek. All this hype had made me antsy for another high. I slipped into one of the restroom stalls, and removed another OxyContin 80mg pill. I pulled out a silver Kershaw spring loaded knife that I had in my parka and cut the pill in half on top of the toilet paper dispenser. I carefully placed one half into the baggie with the rest of my pills and sucked the time release off the remaining half. I was already itching, and the anticipation of the high that I knew was coming was almost too much. My hand was shaking. I wiped my nose and realized that I was coming down with some kind of cold, or maybe it was just a reaction to the drug. Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed the $100 bill and rolled it tightly. I could hear Dustin and Josh talking about some girl that they both knew. Their voices echoed in the vaulted corridors of the lavish restroom. I put the pill on the top of the toilet paper dispenser and grabbed a credit card out of my wallet, using it to crush the pill into a fine powder. I lowered my head and inhaled the white powder with strong force through my right nostril. The initial impact of the high always made me dizzy. I slumped into the corner of the stall and barely leaning on the toilet, collected myself, wiping my nose and inhaling to absorb any extra residue that still might be remaining in my nose. I threw the credit card and $100 bill into my pants pocket and tossed the knife back into my parka. I could feel my fingers tingling, and my face felt numb. I flushed the toilet for no reason other than appearance, and out of habit, and exited the stall. Dustin shook his head, and I simply laughed as I made my way to the sink and tossed some water in my face. Josh threw me a warm hand towel, and I dried my hands, tossing it into the oak box in the corner of the restroom where the other used towels lay. "Thanks for the suckers guys, you coming out to the "Boo" tonight?" He was referring to the Caribou Club, Aspen's premier and definitely the most posh nightclub. "Yeah, I think we might make an appearance," I said, grabbing the door to leave the restroom. "Alright man, see you guys later," he said as he pocketed the remaining three suckers. Dustin and I walked back to the lobby bar only to find a sign on the counter that said "Will Return Shortly," I knocked on the counter as I passed it and we made our way back outside to the car.

 

 

 

As I slid back into the leather seats of Dustin's Audi, my Sidekick vibrated in my pocket and I reached for it with my left hand as simultaneously used my right hand to swipe a strand of hair out of my eyes. My hair was extremely mod looking with very long bangs in the front and Bruce Lee-Esque sideburns with a very cropped thin back. Reverse shag is what I called it. Who cares...? I looked good. And the drugs coursing through my bloodstream made me FEEL good too. As soon as I answered the phone I could sense her seductive voice. "Hey, are you going to stop by my room before you go out tonight?" It was Natasha, my friend from Boulder that I met in an art class a few years earlier. "Yeah I'll stop by," I said almost on command as if in a trance as I noticed Dustin rolling his eyes. I handed him two yellow Xanax bars, and noticed that the name brand alprazolam was all I needed to manipulate his decision. He was obviously jealous of my relationship with Natasha, and rightfully so. She was gorgeous. At 6 feet and only 125 lbs, she was a slice of heaven delicately wrapped in the body of a Christian Dior model. Her hair was strawberry blonde down to her shoulders, and with a perfect nose, the bone structure of perfection and lips that would make any gay man rethink his sexuality. Her eyes alone were grounds to make lust surge through every part of your being. They were bright green and matched the perfect breasts she had, the legs that never ended and an ass that resulted in stares and whistles from almost every guy she walked past. She was in town for some young writers weekend and I hadn't seen her in nearly three weeks. After the Xanax began to help wean Dustin off his cocaine come down, he eased up, gave me a handshake and told me to call him when I was done with Natasha as he dropped me off at her hotel. She was staying at a place called the Timber Lodge, and although it was not nearly as nice as the St. Regis, it was a quite proper and very quaint hotel. I inhaled the last lungful of smoke as I tossed my cigarette into the snow and misted myself with a light spray of Clinique Happy cologne that I had in my parka pocket. I made my way to Natasha's hotel room still high from the drugs that I had inhaled less than 15 minutes ago... the anticipation to see her was so great that I actually began to feel an uneasy feeling of anxiety come over me. I leaned into a corner of the hotel walkway watching Dustin speed off as I pulled the remaining half of the 80mg OxyContin tablet out of my pocket and threw it into my mouth. I didnt have time to insulfate this one, and as I passed a Coke machine, the dollar I inserted transformed into a Vanilla Coke which helped the chewed up pill rocket through my bloodstream all the while maintaining my innocent cover of actually needing to quench my thirst. I finally made my way to room 109 which was the room she was staying in, and knocked twice on the door. I could smell her sweet perfume before she even opened the door, but the moment the door opened and I actually smelled the DKNY Be Delicious, I knew that giving Dustin two of my last three Xanax pills was definitely a fair trade and that seeing Natasha answer the door in sweatpants and a tight white Rod Stewart t-shirt with her hair done up in a pony tail and her crisp white socks sliding against the hardwood floor was reason enough to not think about the drugs that I handed over in order to persuade him to play chauffeur. As I entered the hotel room, all I could think about (other than the fact that I felt like I was on planet zertron because of the amount of drugs that I was on,) was how amazing Natasha looked. I was infatuated with her nipples that were showing through her shirt. They were perfect dark round little hard nipples that I liked to call mini rolo's, because to me they looked like mini rolo's. "So, what have you and Dustin been up to tonight?" Natasha asked. "Who knows, fuck that kid, he's strung out on coke again... I had to bribe him with some fucking xanax just to get him to drop me off over here." "Well, I'm glad you did...don't you think a little xanax is worth the hours of fucking me that you're going to do?" My jaw almost dropped, but before I could react, she had me pinned against the hotel wall attacking me like a wild animal. She almost ripped my Thomas Pink button down shirt off, but at the same time I was pulling her Rod Stewart vintage t-shirt off over her head delicately enough to keep her in a sensual mood, but fast enough so that I could keep up the intensity and be fucking her within a few minutes. She pulled my jeans off without even unbuttoning them, while I kicked my Nike Dunks to who knows where in the room. I slid her grey Juicy Couture sweatpants off to reveal a pair of bright pink boy cut underwear that had nothing on them except for a pair of skull and crossbones with a heart above them. I'm pretty sure they were TokiDoki. But what the fuck did I care, she was wet I could tell, and the OxyContin shooting through my bloodstream was just as good as taking a handful of Viagra. Not that I needed it though, I have the stamina of a bull. But having an advantage never hurts. I told her to keep her socks on, and I kept mine on too, I don't know why... but I get my kicks from fucking while wearing socks. I had a pair of Burberry socks that were comfortable as hell, but what the fuck am I doing talking about socks?

 

 

 

So there we were, rolling around on her California king bed at the Timber lodge hotel in Aspen. And I was about to have sex with one of the most beautiful girls on the planet. We were kissing and at this point we were completely naked and I was going down on her because a woman of her caliber keeps her vagina cleaner than Donald Trumps penthouse suite in New York. And you know thats pretty damn clean. Plus, within no time, she was showing me what her mouth was capable of. And let me tell you this... I have never had a blowjob that good. I started to suck on her nipples and rub my dick against her clit just teasing her, feeling her pussy juices literally almost made me not want to tease her anymore. Finally she yelled, "FUCK THIS! FUCK ME AARON! FUCK ME NOW!" And the next thing I know she has crawled on top of me and is riding me, but I'm in the mood to party so I flip her over and start to fuck her from behind. I reach over to my parka which is lying next to the bed and pull out the bag of xanax and the still rolled up hundred dollar bill. "Hey baby, lemme sniff a line off your tits," I ask. "Only if you come on my back first," She replied in a very sly but sexy and sultry voice. "FUCK!" I thought. I'd been doing opiates all day long, and when you're on opiates it's nearly impossible to get off. Even though Natasha was gorgeous, I had to close my eyes and picture myself fucking a black girl. I don't know why, but it was the only way to get myself to ejaculate faster. I felt the cum building up and my balls getting closer to my body, her moans were getting louder and louder and finally I didn't even have to think about a black girl, I looked at myself pounding Natasha from the rear, and the view of my own penis going in and out of her juicy vagaina did the trick. I shot a load that was about 7" long and looked like someone squirted clearish yogurt on her back. It was warm and salty smelling. I reached over to the other side of the bed and grabbed one of her plain white Prada Sport t-shirts, and wiped the cum off her back. She kept her end of the bargain and flipped over, but instead of sniffing Xanax off her tits, I crushed up another OxyContin 80 on the nightstand next to her bed and threw that bad boy in a line between her perfect breasts. "Why aren't you sniffing Xanax like you said?" she asked as she laid there trying to catch her breath a smile still beaming on her face. Honestly, there are two reasons. The first is that when you have sex, you lose most of the opiate that is in your blood stream, which means those OC's I was sniffing earlier are now in a jizzed out mess crumpled up in that Prada shirt on your floor. The other reason is that Xanax is a benzodiazepam, and sniffing them is just plain retarded. Thats some frat boy or stoner raver shit. It hits you just as hard if you swallow it, but the best way to take Xanax, is to take a bar or two (or four if youre like me ha!) and put them underneath your tongue until they completely dissolve into mush. By the time they finish dissolving, you will start to feel like all your problems are vanishing. I look at it as a four hour vacation from the problems of everyday life. As I was lining up the OxyContin between her cleavage my SideKick started ringing and vibrating in my jeans. "FUCK!" I sniffed the OC and rolled out of bed and grabbed my phone out of my jeans.

 

 

 

"Yo man, its Dustin, sorry to bug you... I know that you're trying to get laid or whatever but I just wanted to tell you that I just found a pharmacy that's back door is completely unlocked, and I even opened it and waited across the street for five minutes to see if the cops would come and no one showed up. We gotta do this!" "This is on some Matt Dillon type shit! Drugstore Cowboy son!" I could tell by the tone of Dustin's voice that he wasn't bullshitting, and I lied to Natasha saying that Dustin was in Jail for fighting at Lava Lounge, and needed me to bail him out. "Aaron, you are such a good friend... here, take my car. (Which just happened to be a brand new 2006 Yukon Denali) She tossed me the keys as I finished getting dressed and as I was zipping up my parka and sliding into my Nikes. She added with a smile and a wink, "Not to mention the best lay ever. So, get him out of jail and hurry your ass back here for round two, three and nine. Haha." She smirked and blew me a kiss as I walked out the door. I hopped into her Denali, and slid the key into the ignition. The beast that was known as a Yukon Denali Purred like a cat as it started up, all the while reaching down and adjusting the temperature by simply pressing the dials and watching the red digital readout reach a comfortable 80 degrees. When its snowing outside and almost negative a million degrees, 80 degrees feels excellent. I hit the digital screen display she had installed in the dashboard of her car and started flipping through her musical collection, all the while stressing out and having my heart beat faster than a drum circle that some hippie peacenik party would be slammin' out at Berkley. Just as I was admiring her great collection of music and selected Alec Empire's "FIRE BOMBING," my cell phone rang again, making my North Face parka vibrate. I answered it, and Dustin's voice sounded more crazed than usual. "Dude, get the FUCK DOWN here! I'm telling you man, this shit is OPEN! We gotta get in there NOW!!!" -Click-, and just like that... before the conversation even started, it was over. But I looked down and noticed that I was already speeding. Going 70 in Aspen while on a plethora of drugs and snow on the ground isn't quite the smartest thing in the world to do, but neither is breaking into a pharmacy to steal all their shit. But, fuck it. You only live once, and this shit was how I lived. Completely out of control.

 

I rolled up into a very dark cutty alley and saw Dustin sitting in his Audi with the lights off but smoking a cigarette and could hear him listening to Wu-Tang Clan not being very discreet and because the cherry was the only thing visible besides plumes of smoke and falling snow that was starting to accumulate more and more on the ground, it was easy to see that Dustin was more than serious about this little very serious mission that he planned. All I could think about was ending up in prison or with a bullet in the back of my head from a cop or superhero citizen who would just by chance witness our criminal endeavor. The dumpster next to his car caught my attention because it had a drippy silver tag I did about three months earlier after a drunken night on the town. It read, "FUCK ASPENITES TIME TO GET CUTTY AND STAY ILL. *edited for 12oz*." I was obviously in a retarded mind state when I pulled that stunt off, but what was I thinking... I'm currently plotting to pull a Drug Store Cowboy and boost all the opiates and benzos that this little mom and pop pharmacy has. My cell phone rang and it was Dustin. "Yo, I got some latex gloves two ski masks and my Flare Gun." "What the fuck is a flare gun gonna do if someone really tries some shit and pulls a real piece on us?" I asked, while lighting up another Yuxi. "Bro, I stopped by Luke's house, and when I was getting the gloves and the masks, I spray painted the flare gun black and it looks real as hell. And anyway, if anything does happen and I need to blast it, what the fuck do you think someone is going to do when they see a fireball the size of a grapefruit zooming at their head at a thousand miles an hour?" There was a pause and all you could hear were the both of us inhaling and exhaling our cigarettes and the Wu-Tang he had playing in the background of his car. "36 Chambers?" I asked. "Gotta get hyped nigggggga! hahah" He laughed like a fucking lunatic and I could literally hear all the cocaine in his blood stream booming through his voice. I reached into my parka and put my cell-phone on vibrate mode. The last thing I need is to be lurking through a pharmacy trying to be cutty and have my phone start blasting Mr. Roboto, by Styx. I also grabbed another OxyContin 80mg pill and tossed it into my mouth. It took less than 10 seconds for me to suck the olive green time-release coating off. As I was preparing the medication to enter me through means of insulfation, I desperately fumbled around in Natashas Denali to find something to crush the tablet on and sniff it from. Finally I opened her console and found a hardcover edition of American Psycho, by Bret Easton Ellis, who happened to be one of my favorite writers. He wrote with such detail and always had stories that were enveloped in drugs sex and violence, three main factors in my every day life. I placed the book face-down on the console and dropped the now white tablet onto the back of the book and pulled my Kershaw spring-loaded switch blade out of my pocket and sliced the pill into fourths. I then took the still rolled up c-note out of my pants pocket and flattened it out, carefully laying it on top of the fragmented pill. I then proceeded to pull out my Burberry wallet (which was actually a pink womens Burberry wallet that I stole simply because I loved the color and the fact that it had a change pocket, because I hate having change loose in my pockets) and opened it taking out a Starbucks charge card that I carried in my wallet simply for the purpose of helping out in the process of getting high. Dont get me wrong here, I love Starbucks. But who cares right now? All I care about is crushing this fucker up right now and getting it in my bloodstream via my nostrils. I smashed the card with full pressure of my right arm onto the hundred dollar bill which blanketed the pill fragments. I could here the crunching sounds, and began to slide the card back and forth forcing the pills into an even finer powder, this way they would be able to enter my nose with ease. Finally I could tell that the pill was entirely powder, I lifted the currency and carefully lined the beautiful white powder into two almost perfectly even lines on the back of the book. With two quick movements, I lowered my head and sniffed both lines up my right nostril. I slumped back into my car and as I closed my knife and put it back into my pants pocket I licked the Starbucks card and back of the book clean, making sure that no residue was left behind. I carefully wiped the book off with my t-shirt and put it right back where it was in the console. As the opiate began to tingle through my neck and down my spine I started to gain codone courage, and lit another Yuxi cigarette and opened the door of the Denali, to inhale not only smoke but the crisp Aspen night air that was filled with cold excitement. I saw Dustin toss his cigarette into the snow and quietly close his door of his Audi. I closed the door to the Denali, and we almost simultaneously clicked the alarms on our cars. BEEP! BEEP! The doors were locked, the flare gun was loaded, I was loaded and we were both high as satellites. It was on.

 

 

 

 

Currently listening :

The Destroyer

By Alec Empire

Release date: By 04 July, 2000

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i write for myself and original popgunwar fans... everyone is entitled to their opinion, i just remember when i used to post on here way back when, people would ask to see samples of more of my writing. soooo... bam... like 4 years later, im back with some.

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Guest R@ndomH3ro

I thought this was going to be about me and my tours of duty

 

TODDVD1.jpg

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it's funny, i read that post and i thought...seriously, does dude think he's fucking bret easton ellis or some shit? nooooo onnnneeeee ccccaaaareeeeeeees.

 

then i scroll up and what catches my eye, popping out the left hand margin? 'easton ellis'. ha. so cliche it hurts.

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i just remember when i used to post on here way back when, people would ask to see samples of more of my writing.

 

no they didn't

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couldnt read more than a paragrah or so. seemed like a crappy kerouac ripoff. the only originality of it was that it was exxxxttttttrrrrrrra boring.

 

 

that was more like 'dear diary' all day.

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i didn't read much but you are a terrible writer. The underlying premise was how cool you think you are....

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no they didn't

 

 

HAHAHA, you used to clowned. And from what little I could read, your writing is corny too: "My eyelids felt like hundred pound weights as they fought to maintain vision."

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That was the most convoluted, self serving bullshit I've ever read. Regardless of the content matter, the style and flow sucked balls and narrative was non-existent. Thumbs down.

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i tried to read a little bit, but it seems like one big advertisement for a bunch of shit

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Text on the computer screen is hard to read not only because of the low resolution of computer screens but also because the layout of most Web pages violates a fundamental rule of book and magazine typography: the lines of text on most Web pages are far too long for easy reading. Magazine and book columns are narrow for physiological reasons: at normal reading distances the eye's span of acute focus is only about three inches wide, so designers try to keep dense passages of text in columns not much wider than that comfortable eye span. Wider lines of text require readers to move their heads slightly or strain their eye muscles to track over the long lines of text. Readability suffers because on the long trip back to the left margin the reader may lose track of the next line.

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and that brings me back to why i never liked you...

 

but, though i agree with everyone here saying that your style sucks, i won't say that the 2 paragraphs i read (random throughout) were trying to be what other writers have already done. it did however remind me of: a boring, illiterate, not sociopathic enough TUCKER MAX. a personal hero.

 

comparing (used loosely) him to burroughs, kerouac, thompson, etc i think is giving him too much credit. at this point in American literature narratives of a fairly free flowing nature are common enough and are not ALL inspired by the beatnicks and the like. even steinbeck, faulkner, hemingway, salinger all had pieces of work of a loose nature.

 

you're giving aaron too much credit by even mentioning respectable writers. what you have is a kid with some interesting stories to tell--thats why people may/may not have asked to "hear" them--but without a knowledge of literature or technique.

 

word? word

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i dont think i could get along with someone obsessed with pills, designer clothes, and blind self indulgence.

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