El Borracho...

All bullshit aside, I am by far the worse drunkard that I know. I mean that with all sincerity. My eyes would open and I would start until they closed. That went on for many years. The word alcoholic is a fucking joke compared to what I am talking about. I've been an alcoholic for 20 years at least, The last 8 is when I became a full blown drunk. A straight up drunkard. Plain and simple. Never any hard drugs. Never even tried any. I wouldn't even know what any of that shit feels like. Never impressed me. Smoked weed, that's about it. I think weed is great for people who enjoy that stuff. Ain't my bag though. Hate it. I just like my liquor, not beer or wine, the real shit and straight. I live, breathe, collect change that I find on the ground just to make sure and have a back-up plan to buy little $2 nips (half pints) if that is all I can can get. I wake up periodically throughout the night just for a shot to shut off the nightmares and shakes. My loved ones know how bad it can be and are terrified by it to the the point that they will even buy me cheap vodka just so they don't have to see me die. I have had more seizures than I can count because of it. Absolutely no idea. I keep a handful of friends and immediate family very close. They have all seen the seizures first hand, hence the reason they give me booze. Again, they do it because they are fucking terrified. Let's see... I have had seizures in parking lots, bathtubs, airports, people's homes, restaurants, social events, jobs, probably in my sleep and don't even know it, you name it and I probably had one in that environment. I normally don't have a clock-in type of job, I fly under the radar mainly. In November of 2017 I got a "normal" job in as a line cook. That was the first time in years and I was proud of myself. The people I worked with with were really cool and the pay was good. I was making enough to get my shit together and still had plenty of time to drink. Of course not even two weeks into it I had a fucking seizure on the line. Got some pretty lovely grease burns up and down my right side ribs and my right arm. I don't know what degree the burns were, never asked, but they were bad. Got big brown, hard scars all over from that. Shit is still fucked up and that was 6/7 months ago.

After a few years of tolerating a very abusive and toxic relationship I found myself homeless. That was fall of 2016. It would be unfair to put all of the blame on her. I was crazy, but never violent towards her or cheating shit. She has a lot of hidden demons, I am not afraid to show mine. She is. Many secrets that hurt me came out after I was already neck deep and drowning. Never any of that on my end. I have nothing to hide. It really isn't worth talking about anymore as I am already over cooked on the subject as is. To put it in simplest form, it was like mixing oil and water, adding fuel to a fire. Two alcoholics don't work well together. Especially when the extremely bipolar one enjoys watching others suffer. I tried to pry the demons out of her, even brought up therapy upon admitting my demons on repeat. Fell to my knees. Nothing.  I wasn't even attracted to her at all. The whole thing was a disaster from the start. Like I mentioned it's not worth even thinking about anymore. Done.

So, back to being homeless. Literally. You learn who your real friends are fast. I would find places to crash out with some and family here and there as I traveled around the country, but many, many a night I spent sleeping in alleys or parks, wooded areas and shit like that. I lost everything, had nothing but a terrible addiction in tow. After roaming all over this great land in squalor, I wound up in Detroit with my friend. He has duplex of sorts which he is in the process of rebuilding and buying. From the outside it is one house but on the inside it is two separate, stacked apartments if that makes any sense. It looks like a 2 small two story house but in reality it is two completely different apartments I guess is a better way to describe it. One on top of the other. He has his own kitchen and bathroom, washer dryer set up and a all that like a single apartment. I live on the bottom floor with the same set up. There is a stairway in the house to get to each other's apartments as we please. Mine is on the bottom and his is upstairs. That's about the best I can explain it. He got fucked over pretty hard, well very hard by his ex and lives here alone now so he told to me nicely to quit being a fucking idiot and just come live here rather than die in the streets of Hollywood. Useless. We are both artists so that makes it fun. We get along really well too. He is like the Big Brother I never had. It's cool. Throw in a few bucks here and there for bills and such, do my chores ~ lawn keep and other things. Groceries. I like to cook. Poison for the weeds and insects. We live in a wooded area so to speak so we get a lot of ants (big, black ones) not the ones that are nasty, no roaches or anything but wasps, centipedes and shit like that.A wasp stung me the other day in the shed. Grabbed that fucker and threw his ass. Surprised he didn't sting my hand too.


Thinking about it, I don't know what I was looking for wandering them Hollywood streets. Happiness maybe? Filthy fucking city. It has a place in my dirty little heart though. It definitely wasn't love. The only love you'll get out there is herpes or the clap and that's if you're lucky. I know a lot of drug addicts and alcoholics and most of them are very sweet people. Most are my pals and somehow I weeded through the mess perfectly to the point where I don't associate myself with the junkie thieving types. I hate thieves and liars. Just tell the truth when you mess up. Own it. Everyone fucks up here and there. It's inevitable. That is one quality I have that I am very proud of. I can read a piece of shit human being in 2 seconds flat. Even before they open their mouths. Then I usually vanish. Ain't got no time for all that dumb bullshit. Probably from being raised by all of them perverted, fucking maggots. Pals and friends are totally different entities in my book. I keep them separate. I don't mix that shit at all but I also don't hang hang out with trouble makers either. That just makes you a fucking fool. What people do on their own time is their fucking business as far as I am concerned. My motto is "Just be fucking nice". It's easier that way but if you got to be mean then don't hold back at all. Rip it apart and burn it down. You have to to go to blows then don't stop until either you or it is broken. That is the fair way. Like I said though, just being nice is way easier. Usually.

Go figure, the Sun just came up again. Pulled another all nighter. Watched a lot of TV tonight but did get some painting done. My stuff takes a long time to dry and the other pieces were still a little wet so I let them rest to dry more then I will proceed. I like to layer my work so that you can actually feel it when you touch it. I ain't no fucking Bob Ross but you can feel my art. I like to touch it and feel the hardened paint. Substance.


Painted for a while tonight. Wasn't coming... It happens. Stained a couple things and called it a night down there. Can't force shit like that. Sucks because I like hanging out in the basement. Came back up to the kitchen and prepped some vegetables for a stir-fry tomorrow. That'll be my lunch. Gonna draw a diet and watch some TV. Mellow out and try to call it a night rather than a morning.

Shit, I ain't had a sip of booze in 11 days. No seizures either. Look at that. Well I'll be. Feels pretty good.