Having Written Two Books Prior, Both I Threw In The Trash ( One Was Well Over 200 Pages ) I Started One

“The Quiet Vessel” by Bryan Olson

The previous night brodie dreams hes in a jail the size of a continent, rolling hills of barbed wire, he dreams that the inmates sleep stacked like firewood wrapped in shroud, on different levels of raised platforms in one open room, he dreams of a rec time only held on the roof, men marching in circles, he can see the snow laden fields housing a grizzly sea of endless rooftops.  He watches the smoke roll out of the chimneys and crash to the ground as he feels the cold play xylephone with his bones.  The smoke below joins and dances in a wispy procession of some grotesque marching orgy, it smells of salt and rust.  He dreams of scaling down the wall  and sneaking off, dreams of draining small amounts of his blood into stolen jars, he buries each only elbow deep in the frozen ground with a stone hes named pell mell.  he dreams he cuts off a finger here, and a toe there, with a single stolen knife from the kitchen and hides them in various locations, so that when he dies his spirit can recall his steps and rebuild his mortal coil.  He dreams of a great tube fluttering down from the sky, driven into the ground on one end with force, he sucks on the other end and siphons the sickly pink hued souls of unrest through the tube into a coffee can.  The coffee can fills too full and the slime spurts out with such force it flings him high into the air, as the land comes crashing forward, he wakes.

Heroin, Good for Colds!

Some of my Junkie friends have melted their minds so badly I don’t even know what the fuck they’re saying half the time, especially when typed.  I don’t mean spelling mistakes, i mean its like they have their own weird version of brain damaged english, they all seem to understand eachother, the rest of us are pretty much in the dark though. Here’s a real example:

“ docking it all day we gettin it in.... cant let them bring u down or they will alway feel important....im scared to run with this chick the past got me in totally diffrent mindset “ Sure those are all, words, they umm, sort of convey, something or rather.

And in typical histrionic needy junky fashion, they usually post about chicks/dudes not loving em, or how no one wants to hang out with them, woe is them, no one wants to hang out with you because you cant form a coherant sentence, you’re always stealing something or trying to borrow money, you turn every conversation into an excuse to cry about yourself, and you are literally walking hepatitis.  We’re SO gonna miss you guys when you OD, good thing you all manage to have like 3 kids you dont teach shit to before you kick the bucket, pass it forward...

current status: avoiding drunk friends on facebook who wanna talk about the good times, like they were really good.  I’m also fighting with someone about suicide and how we all need to give a fuck the sad assholes gone, so, facebooks pretty much out tonight

Clay, did you ever love me?" I'm studying a billboard and say that I didn't hear what she said. "I asked if you ever loved me?" On the terrace the sun bursts into my eyes and for one blinding moment I see myself clearly. I remember the first time we made love, in the house in Palm Springs, her body tan and wet, lying against cool, white sheets. "Don't do this, Blair," I tell her. "Just tell me." I don't say anything. "Is it such a hard question to answer?" I look at her straight on. "Yes or no?" "Why?" "Damnit, Clay," she sighs. "Yeah, sure, I guess." "Don't lie to me." "What in the fuck do you want to hear?" "Just tell me," she says, her voice rising. "No," I almost shout. "I never did." I almost start to laugh. She draws in a breath and says, "Thank you. That's all I wanted to know." She sips her wine. "Did you ever love me?" I ask her back, though by now I can't even care. She pauses. "I thought about it and yeah, I did once. I mean I really did. Everything was all right for a while. You were kind." She looks down and then goes on. "But it was like you weren't there. Oh shit, this isn't going to make any sense." She stops. I look at her, waiting for her to go on, looking up at the billboard. Disappear Here. "I don't know if any other person I've been with has been really there, either ... but at least they tried." I finger the menu; put the cigarette out. "You never did. Other people made an effort and you just ... It was just beyond you." She takes another sip of her wine. "You were never there. I felt sorry for you for a little while, but then I found it hard to. You're a beautiful boy, Clay, but that's about it." I watch the cars pass by on Sunset. "It's hard to feel sorry for someone who doesn't care." "Yeah?" I ask. "What do you care about? What makes you happy?" "Nothing. Nothing makes me happy. I like nothing," I tell her. "Did you ever care about me, Clay?" I don't say anything, look back at the menu. "Did you ever care about me?" she asks again. "I don't want to care. If I care about things, it'll just be worse, it'll just be another thing to worry about. It's less painful if I don't care." "I cared about you for a little while." I don't say anything. She takes off her sunglasses and finally says, "I'll see you later, Clay." She gets up. "Where are you going?" I suddenly don't want to leave Blair here. I almost want to take her back with me. "Have to meet someone for lunch." "But what about us?" "What about us?" She stands there for a moment, waiting. I keep staring at the billboard until it begins to blur and when my vision becomes clearer I watch as Blair's car glides out of the parking lot and becomes lost in the haze of traffic on Sunset. The waiter comes over and asks, "Is everything okay, sir?" I look up and put my sunglasses on and try to smile. "Yeah.

Bret Easton Ellis, Less Than Zero

Here’s me drunkenly playing” Cheap Day Return “ by Jethro Tull, I have terrible audio equipment and suggest headphones to even hear me....

https://www.youtube.com/embed/OnOWE47ew4I