I Am

I’m a 100 metres running, healthy eating, puzzle solving, cartoon watching, cereal eating, bedwetting, probable Olympian. I am 5 years old.
I’m a food hogging, note learning, couch hugging, human despising, hard working, teachers’-ass-licking book worm. I am 12 years old.

I’m a bong ripping, pot smoking, cigarette puffing, Monk guzzling, blunt blazing, Marshall listening, insensitive, selfish, asshole. I am 17 years old.

I’m a LSD popping, Xanax ingesting, coke snorting, methadone blowing, Hennessey sipping, paradise searching junkie. I am 25 years old.

I’m a needle injecting, ecstasy licking, valium crushing, ambien mixing, percocet ingesting, lean drinking corpse. I was 30.

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As We Proceed

Before you judge all the drug-addled, sorrow-driven, grief-stricken “junkies” out there, let us take a moment to analyze why they have reached the point where they are.
Some of you, most of you rather would say that they’re what society terms as “losers” because they can’t take what life throws at them and require assistance in handling themselves, leading to them experimenting with narcotics and finding a sickening solace in it, completely unjustified and horribly twisted in its conceptions.

You might attribute this to substance abuse considering the fact that they’re dependent on it to get them through the day. It’s either that, or they’re just party-ravers who’re looking for kicks.

But have you ever taken a moment to think why they do what they do? Have you ever taken a moment to think, as to what could have led to this scenery?

Society has pushed them to the limit that they can’t deal with things sober anymore. They’re so tired of being fucked over by whatever happens in their environment that all they seek is an escape from reality. Sobriety feels like a curse. Inebriation is comfort.

And as we proceed, to smoke weed, drink Henny, pop pills, snort lines, inject shit through our veins, we shall brush aside society’s expectations and its menacing presence from our daily lives.

Ignorance is bliss.

A Story From The Streets

He could hear the sirens wailing, the gunshots, the explosions, everything. He could hear the gangbangers screaming for blood, the ordinary populace crying for justice, little kids screaming for their mothers. And yet, there he lay, motionless, paralyzed, not being able to move worth a damn but sensing everything that was going on around him. He always knew that it was gonna come down to this, that the city was gonna melt down. He always knew that the people on the streets were gonna lose they minds and create riots that were gonna revolutionize the administrative and judicial system forever. He knew this because he was a part of the revolution- a soldier of the struggle. As he lay on the streets, gazing up at the sky, looking at the stars shining brighter than he had ever seen them before, he felt his pulse slow down. He knew he was nearing his end. He’d lost too much blood, but it wasn’t all for naught. The revolution had begun- the fight had been taken to the streets and the people on the streets were hungry for justice. They were fed up of the police brutality. They’d been pushed to the edge. Now, they were gonna strike back. He closed his eyes one last time amongst the noise of the glorious agitation and rewound to the moment where it all began.
He remembered being a young hustler, trying to make a living. He didn’t have no family- his parents died when he was 11 and he had no siblings. He grew up on the rough side of the grub, learning how to evade the authorities when they came looking for homeless children, stealing food to keep himself from starving to death, running from one back alley to the other, fighting to survive. When he was 15, he found some cats hanging in the back alley where he was taking refuge at one night, dope slanging. Curious, he walked up to the brothers and asked them what they was doing, because he could see that they had a huge bag full of something that smelled kinda funky and rolls on Benjamins stuffed in their pockets. Luckily for him, these cats were cool. They didn’t blow his brains out with the mac-11, they took a brother in. They taught him the rules of the streets, taught him how to hustle and make a living by slanging dope. After a solid 3 years with the gang, he was established. He had those rolls of Benjamins in his pockets and this time around, he was the one selling some of that funky stuff. The gang was family now. Everybody would put their lives on the line to save a brother’s neck. But then, he discovered the nasty side of the dope dealing business. His boy Jimmy got arrested one day on “probable cause”. They weren’t allowed to visit him in Juvie. Jimmy was sentenced to a 6 month term for finding marijuana on his person. When he got out though, the real story was revealed to us. Thing is, the police arrested Jimmy without any solid case. They planted the drugs and framed him and it was all because Jimmy was black. That’s when he realized that this type of police brutality needs to stop. The gang started mobilizing. They called in all the sets- friendly or unfriendly. The young hustler from the streets became the voice of these cats repping their sets. He was their speaker, telling the world about what goes down in the hood, giving them their side of the story. He came out as their leader, the voice on the street block. He heard about this one group who was repping the same story, but portraying it through music. Their art spread through the city like wildfire. Soon, all the sets were vibing to that record. This is where this movement turned into a revolution. This is where the beginning began.
Now, with his eyes closed and his heart full, his ears pricked up for amidst the gunshots and the ruckus, he could hear a car stereo playing some music. It was that very same song that had inspired the sets to come together in the first place. As his consciousness drowned out, the last words he heard, reaffirmed his faith in their struggle and made him crack a smile before his eyes went blank.

“Fuck Tha Police, coming straight from the underground. A young nigga got it bad ‘cause I’m brown…”

Finally finding peace.

The man was frustrated. This world was driving him insane. Seeing no way out, he decided to pay a visit to his friend. The one he would always go to, to share his thoughts and emotions with. To share his joys and sorrows with. He spoke to this friend and hoped that he would understand his problems one last time, as he always had. With a heavy and depressed sigh, he told him his problems in as brief a manner as possible. “Man, I can’t think anymore. It feels like my entire body is turning into lead. I have done nothing but work and solve other people’s problems for the past 5 months. I’m running on empty. I need to get away.” He was drained. Spiritually, emotionally, physically and mentally. The man was so taxed that nothing seemed bright anymore. Everything was monochromatic now. He couldn’t see things the way they were supposed to be. Everything was black and white to his eyes now. He couldn’t ‘see’ anymore. He needed out. He needed an escape, a plight from this world of mortal tortures and where everything was so corrupt it didn’t even make him flinch anymore. His perceptions had changed. He’d experienced everything that he could imagine. Drama, honesty, agony, laughter, bitterness, love, hate and the constant pain of being a disappointment in every aspect of life. His friend, being the last thing that the man had, finally caved in. He saw what this world had done to his friend. He couldn’t imagine anyone going through what he had. He gave it to him. For the sake of his betterment and relaxation. So that he could feel alive again. So that he could see the colors of the world gushing right back into it. He passed him the pouch. The man took the pouch and took out one piece. He placed it under his tongue and waited. He waited till his body was numb and his legs regained sensation. He saw colors. For the first time in 5 months, he saw colors. His mind was relaxed and happy now, his sorrows dissolving into happiness. He felt that bliss he was searching for. Finally, after such a long time, he was flying. He was flying towards the moon, which was painted in the colors of the rainbow. With a smile on his face and tears of joy in his eyes, he took the knife and stabbed his gut, watching his heart bleed and his brain connect to the flow of the universe one last time. He finally had the peace he was looking for. He had reached the moon. He was done with this planet. He had reached his destiny and he never planned on going back. He let out a final sigh and drifted off into a deep sleep which he never wished to wake up from. He was finally free. He had finally found peace.

From a Caterpillar to a Butterfly

He lay there, clutching his waist, crawling towards the watch tower. “Just another yard”, he said to himself. The nigga had been shot through his stomach four times. His homies had abandoned him. The enemy had won the war. His hood wasn’t his anymore. All his hood rats were either dead or had turned over to the enemy. He was the last one of his clan. The essence of life was draining out of him. He gave up trying to crawl to safety. He lay on the streets, unable to move another inch of his body. Eventually, he passed out. His mind drifted into flashback.

His life as a gangster started out with hustling. He started out as a small time pusher, selling Mary to white them kids up in the Projects. With time, he made a name for himself and moved on from selling small amounts of Mary to hustling kilos of all kinds of dope. Cocaine, heroin, LSD; you name it, he got it. The little nappy-headed nigga from the trailer park was on a rise. He blew from a small-time dope dealer to the go-to man for dope in his entire city. But then he got busted. He lost all dope. He lost his money. He was broke. Broke, and envious. Envious, of those gangsters who went about bribing cops like a parent would pay his child’s fees. Because hustling was a risky profession. But gang-banging? That’s the ultimate dream of a nigga. During his incarceration, he made an intricate plot to win back his former glory and extend it to new heights.

After getting out, he went back to hustling but this time, he kept his focus on the underbelly of his fair town. He kept his ears to the streets and found out its vulnerable spots. With time, he extended his influence to those gangbangers and those hood rats. He took those lost souls under his wing and gave their lives a new purpose.

They prospered under his leadership. The police didn’t dare cross them, their business was booming, money was raining down on them from the heavens.  Indeed, his life was that of a true Thug.  But then came his downfall, the betrayal.

He discovered that there was an occult group within his organization. The aim of this group was to overthrow him and take over the city. He was in a state of utter disbelief when he found out that the leader of this group none other than his most trusted homie. His protege. He confronted this occult group and drove them out of his town.

But they returned. They came back, with stronger allies from the south. Then came a time of utter catastrophe, of rage and destruction, of War. They went all out. Each side brought out the big guns. The entire city was rioting. The police lost control. His entire world was consumed in Drugs and War.

But he didn’t give up. He fought till his last clip was empty. He fought till his loyalists stood by him. Now, he was broken. He had been defeated. As he lay there, he heard a transistor come to life. He recollected hearing the words in some interview he was watching the other day. Lying there, he gave up all hopes of surviving. He just closed his eyes and listened to the words, for they best described his world:

“The Caterpillar is a prisoner to the streets. Its only job is to eat or consume everything around it, in order to protect itself from this m.A.A.d city. While consuming its environment, the Caterpillar begins to notice ways to survive. One thing it noticed is how much the world shuns him, but praises the Butterfly. The Butterfly represents the talent, the thoughtfulness and the beauty within the Caterpillar. But having a harsh outlook on life, the Caterpillar sees the Butterfly as weak and figures out a way to Pimp it to his own benefits. Already surrounded by this m.A.A.d city, the Caterpillar goes to work on the cocoon which institutionalizes him. He can no longer see past his thoughts. He’s trapped. When trapped inside these walls, certain ideas start taking root such as going home and bringing back new concepts to this m.A.A.d city. The result? Wings being to emerge, breaking the cycle of feeling stagnant. Finally free, the Butterfly sheds light on situations that the Caterpillar never considered, ending the eternal struggle. Although the Butterfly and Caterpillar are completely different, they are one and the same.”