im posting this because i know most of you wont care to read it, which makes posting it valid because its content this site didnt have before.


... if that didnt make sense, see all of *your previous articles* because thats exactly what they are - something no one will ever read again and end up just being null content. denial of fate is not an option.


A Day in the Life of The Antichrist – A Short

 

We begin this miniscule existence in the p.m. of the day before the day in examination. Bed time is between 8 and 1 a.m. Bed… bed is a venus flytrap of grid iron that misshapes spines and causes pressure points that hurt without even being touched. The only thing that separates this grid iron from contact is two, filthy, sex ridden, flat, hard pillow-like mattresses. Upon which rest two rather comfortable pillows, and two large blankets that are used for extra padding. They dont help much.

 

My cell phones alarm goes off at 4 a.m. Now is the time to decide whether to get up and play world of warcraft for two hours, or to try and sleep more. More often than not its warcraft… or some other macabre internet driven addiction that ive come across over the years. I indulge.

 

6 a.m. comes around and if ive managed to sleep then its time to get up and clean myself. Shower, shave, brush teeth, and nurture my addictions. Usually by about 6:45 I put my boots on, tie my ever-thinning hair back and put on my hat. Its time for work…. 2 hours early…

 

I get to work between 7 and 7:15 depending on how many idiots that think they know how to drive decide to take my neck of the woods to work. I know some shortcuts, whatever. Work is a place where I am required to be creative and inspirational to anyone who might need some coaxing to accomplish their tasks. I secretly ran out of creativity about 10 years ago. No matter, my work entails giving people what they want, not what I think is best for them. Creativity is… non-existent… admitting this portion of my day would probably get me fired. I do my best though, given the circumstance of either a long night of drinking before, or the sheer lack of any credible sleep I somehow manage to get close to what is expected of me. Somewhere along the lines I lost the ability to take pride in anything I do, or otherwise have any faith in my own work because I generally think sub-human of myself in any sort of skill anyone would normally function haphazardly in. I still try though. I make myself laugh sometimes.

 

Work ends, im awake now though because theres never a dull day at work. I see my car, im filled with disappointments because it doesn’t represent a mode of transportation to me anymore. Somewhere between alcohol and trips to the gas station for cigarettes I forgot it was a car and replaced it with a beaten dog. Low tires that for some reason wont stay filled, or refuse to take any air at all, broken headlight, f***ed up right side from where some nigger kike in mesa that drives a red car hit it, and the fact that the gas gauge has never worked, just makes me feel like im punishing this piece of mechanical perfection because I don’t have anything else to take any neglect out on. Or I just have a depression complex in which I have no drive to salvage anything that has any real meaning to my existence because I cant decide if I should be a live or not, and if I should be what my purpose is.


After im done laughing at myself I usually feel disgusted with myself for my lack of care for things, but when I try to care I usually end up looking superficial or feel akward inside because I have a dire fear of people in general, and walking into a place like auto zone by myself or failing at putting air into tires that might as well not exist makes me feel out of place and like a circus freak because people stare. Am I that interesting to look at that you have to f***ing stop and stare?

 

Anyway I get in my car, I drive home. The entire time wondering when im going to hear a pop followed by a metronome of slapping noises and suddenly veering into the median or the lane next to me. I get home, and I ponder “should I check the mail?” I usually only check on Mondays, Wednesdays, or Fridays its always just stupid s*** or bills anyway, whats the point? I get in my apartment, empty my pockets and fight that little feeling that tells me ive forgotten something. Nothing alcohol wont fix! Ah the warm charismatic embrace of intoxication. Fears melt away, pain takes a rain check, and i can finally think without the obtrusive "YOURE A f*** UP!" billboard dashing around my mind.

 

I sit at my computer and somehow manage to think about what I did the entire day and wonder if I should drink myself to death or keep at it. I game, and read, and post, and whatever else people with no lives do on the internet, until its time to sleep. Wonderful sleep, filled with vivid visions of walking dead trying to eat my face, and giants ripping apart my shelter from the zombies just to watch me scurry to a new hiding place. If its not that then im rampaging through the city massacring anyone and everyone with a sword and my bare hands. Those are good dreams, the first kind are the kind I wake up to and think “s*** now I have to kill some zombie that snuck up on me while I was asleep” mainly because I cant distinguish when im dreaming or awake anymore anyway.

 

Welcome to the world of the antichrist. Pain, psychological torment, addiction, rebirth, addiction, mixed anxiety/daily loss of self worth, disappointment, confusion, addiction/reflection, and reset.


Now you may say "dude get your s*** together" and i will say "'dude' its in the toilet, if you want proof that its together, go look" because quite frankly I couldnt be living a more complete life at the moment.