- It’s unexplainable. That warm feeling that starts in your heart and explodes, filling every pore in your body. Sometimes I wonder if it’s the music, the drugs, or if I’m really as crazy as I think. I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s there, and it will always be.
- Except when it isn’t.
- Sometimes I’ll sit there and search for it. Blast some Rush, snort another line, hit some E. Sometimes it works, other times I just remain a stagnant pile of desire. And you’d think that’d start meanin’ something, at some point. It never does, though. The goal is always too obscure, too unrefined. Sometimes, I wonder if the very thing I desire is a more rational want. To seek something tangible. That way I could break free. Out of this shell, and take off. Freedom. What an obscure concept.
- My heart was beginning to burn. “Looking for Today,” Black Sabbath. Sometimes I listen to a song and wonder if it was written about me. If maybe God or some alien creature beamed the “inspiration” into the head of the artistic genius. Hell of a thought: to think that all art was just some elaborate joke, to think that all coincidence was fabricated. Not all of it, of course, but most of it. Then again, who is to say “not all of it?”
- I parked my car and climbed out. The air was dry and unforgiving. It seemed to stifle the voice. It quieted the mind. Such a drab blanket of heat upon humanity.
- The crime scene was taped off. I ignored the tape and entered. I was greeted by my partner and my friend, Pert. Certainly an odd guy. He was like me, actually. He liked to party, but he also knew how to get serious. He knew how to find the bad guys. But most importantly, he liked to party.
- We examined the body. Girl, twenties, shot. She lied in a pool of her own dried blood. She had been killed not even twenty four hours ago. Apparently, she was a prostitute. Had some baddy in bed, and he didn’t feel like coughing up the dough. This sorta thing really irks me, despite how often I see it. I’m always polite enough to pay; and if they do a really good job, I throw in a tip.
- I gotta hand it to her, though, hell of a body. Large, plump breasts, and lips to match. Hmm, how I’d like to slip her into bed and-
- “Neil, why does it always have to be the pretty ones?”
- “I don’t know. Ya ever think it might be in the bullets?”
- “Ya know, maybe the bullets like a pretty chest. Maybe a pretty face.”
- “Nah, it aint in the bullets.”
- “Then what is it then?”
- “It’s in their look. They pull everything in. Baddies, bullets, sex, drugs… you name it.”
- “Yeah, man. ‘Suppose you’re right.”
- I don’t know what time it is. My clock broke. I’m sitting there. Looking down the cross of cocaine on my table. Nothing on hell or earth shall stand in my way. You feel that? That feeling in the heart when you know somethin’ manic is comin’ over ya? Yeah, that sweet sensation of liberation as it captures the soul and takes it to a new level of love and horizon.
- One big snort and I feel it! Burning through my blood. Filling my veins with the power of objective. I see it, on the horizon. So close to me. I reach out, but it evades my grasp. If only I could get a little closer, feel its touch on my palm; and then clasp!
- The sun pouring in my window wakes me up. I feel dead, and the horizon is gone. I look at my palms and find them once again empty. The cross is gone, too. Shit.
- I get out of bed – which is my couch – and shut off the stereo. “Lonely is the Word.” Good song, not in the mood.
- I make some breakfast. I get out an unwashed coffee mug and fill it with Bourbon. Bon appétit.
- I get in my car and I drive to Pert’s. He should have some of that good stuff. Some of that real good stuff. And we can spend all day getting nice and high. I can spend all night in the ether, looking for that freedom.
- Pulling up to his house now. Walking up to the door. He lets me in. I take a seat. He puts on some tunes. “Lonely is the Word.” I guess I’m just destined to hear it.
- I woke in a daze. I looked around and saw the clock.
- We were late.
- We sped off to the office. We had evidence that needed looking over, and we had Bourbon that needed drinking.
- That bitch was looking at me. What does she want? Does she know what kind of power I have? She doesn’t know what I could fucking do to her. They would never catch her fallin’, never catch me running. Like a doctor operating on himself, it don’t work.
- “Pert, why do you think God put us here?”
- “Who said God did shit?”
- “Whatta mean?”
- “Who is God, anyway?”
- “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
- “Open your eyes, man. We’re God.”
- I’m taking another hit. I feel it in my body, in my blood. I know it is coming. Another chance to get what I want. One day I’ll see you sweet sun on the horizon of my dreams. I know with each snort I burn one more candle, and my chandelier grows old, but I still run for that escape. I run from this Orwellian nightmare known as life, where we’re dominated by nature.
- Wake up. Drink. Work.
- “Whattup, Neil.”
- “What did you mean?”
- “When you said we were Gods.”
- “Oh.” He paused. “Who can give life?”
- “I guess we can.”
- “Who can take life?”
- “Who has the power?”
- “Who killed that prostitute?”
- “Who’s ever gonna know?”
- “Neil,” He stopped for a moment and smiled. “Who can do whatever they damn well please?”
- “There ya go, Neil. We’re Gods.”
- “And what happens when they get sick of our shit?”
- “The man.”
- “What happens when you kill a fire?”
- “… It dies.”
- “And it is forever reborn in the spirit of rebellion. The spirit of destruction. Too destroy, Neil. It is one our rights as a God. We live forever in this world.”
- “…Do you know your purpose in life?”
- “Bitch, I am my purpose.”
Looking for Today
Meowth Mar 30th, 2012 67 Never
Not a member of Pastebin yet? Sign Up, it unlocks many cool features!
RAW Paste Data
Pastebin PRO Summer Special!
Get 60% OFF on Pastebin PRO accounts!
Get 60% OFF on Pastebin PRO accounts!