the thread about nothing...

indifferent.gif
 
Untitled

Even weeds won’t grow when they’re forced to stay in the darkness of the shade; good luck finding that flower.

I usually catch myself gazing into the flames of the burning forest just outside my window. I can’t avoid it, it’s followed me my entire life. The fire’s consumed all those who dared avoid those burning evergreens; the bittersweet aroma hypnotized even the strongest of minds. It only took me a decade to discover those lost woods; I often ventured there to discover many of the world’s ills. The ghosts, I thought were only hallucinations, perceived by the loss of oxygen to the brain, as the smoke strangled me until I was choked unconscious.

This black hole we call home only sucks us back into the ******** it feeds upon. So many have lost their way striving for that light at the end of the tunnel. The ghetto was a harsh reality I had to face on my own; we put in our own work around here. The brave, young men on the corner kept the grass growing, janitors in the alleys made the world a cleaner place, and only the prettiest girls got pennies for their thoughts. A fitting place for us all; the dirt we came from at least matched our skin. Wipe your feet before entering my home sweet home.

We lived in a kingdom where fire-breathing dragons protected us. Life gave us rocks, so we threw ‘em at the throne; we were all dying to be kings in our own right. Free Atlas, but without help, the load only became harder to bear. Of course it was because there was no king of kings to blind us with the light. The smoke from the dragon’s fire made it hard to see through the haziness of our world; it even made your eyes water at times. Still, there were many gay moments, thanks to there always being a respectful drum roll or wailing trumpet blaring.

Mom and pops played drums for different bands, but not every family was the Jacksons. In actuality, I never seen my momma play a single lick, but she could easily be mistaken for Gordon Ramsey with her taste for music. My dad had plenty of fans begging for him to play them his greatest hits; even momma could never get enough. At times even other bands would attend his gigs, dying for him to bless them with a tune; or they would have the fortune of him making an appearance at their shows playing a couple tributes in their honor. This was the norm for those in my family, and for many I knew. Inspiration could strike at any time, leaving you singing another sad song. They say the music business is a cold *****; heard today, gone tomorrow.

Life is a ***** too. Much like the womb of a dead mother, this home was a cold place for 80’s babies. Those brave, young men keeping the grass green were nothing but the countless gangsters dying for their neighborhoods. The red juice in the streets kept a Kool-aid smile on the police, but left grieving mothers with only the saltiness of their tears to quench their thirst for justice. Alleys were littered with high school dropouts, scavenging for cans and bottles to recycle for enough cash to provide them their next high. Prom queens turned prostitutes gave blowjobs for a chump’s change, and only those most beautiful could fry bacon. Oh, how these harsh realities instill confidence into our youth hoping to make it out.

I wasn’t supposed to be **** either. My parents were gang bangers. But to be honest, I had only ever seen my momma throw her life down the drain stuck on that pipe; she was washed the **** up at that point. My dad sold dope to all the fiends around the way. Rival gang members would light up the house he would kick it at like they were decorating for Christmas. Every time it happened though, Father Noel would have to present some bad, little boys metallically gift-wrapped charcoal; ironic how this brought joy in the thought it would put out the flames of revenge of those burning in this hell. This is how I grew up. I knew bullets didn’t have names on them. If I got hit, then a funeral would be arranged and my mother’s tears would have to quench my dad’s thirst for vengeance. Life is a ***** around here. This game has no heroes; no Super Mario Bros. They’ll hunt you and if you hear those shots, duck or you just might quack.

It took me some years to understand exactly what dangers my neighborhood had in store for my friends and me. We knew that those gunshots meant danger, but to see the constant sparks of those inevitable gunshots triggers something in you. We were born with nothing, so we had to take what we wanted in order to become successful men; many took that long nap chasing the dream. Even the stresses of life sometimes cracked those who couldn’t bear the yoke cast upon them; it was worse for those egg-heads coming home from county, state, and fed-sponsored educations. Those crazed streets filled with numerous knuckleheads null-and-voiding reality checks by checking the reality of others off their hit list was enough to make any man cry. I found humor in the fact that in the City of Angels there was no god to be found. A man’s life in those streets is constantly ****d with by another man’s hard-on for respect or, even worse, those boys in blue’s desire to strip you naked of your manhood.

Police swore to protect and serve in those days, funny how I’ve only experienced their service. To this day I spit at cops and chant “***** the police!” I observe the laws, where’s my respect? Just throw us a ****n bone! I swear me and my dogs are like Dalmatians, as soon as we’re spotted, they just fire man. The racism is real and **** anyone who tries to tell me otherwise. Too many times were my friends and I subjected to claims of fitting the description and all the other ******** they shovel. But we knew what it was; the good guys wore blue and the bad guys looked like me and you. We have to run, because if you stumble you fall on hard times.

It’s a trip how the toxicity of the city we lived in ate away at our souls like acid. I found that the only poem ever recited by the city misspelled my future; I would eventually become a product of my environment and every poet passed on evil traditions. The search for a moral often led to the loss of morale. Vampira, that bloodthirsty *****, made sure she took someone from everyone; if you believed in that voodoo, then those she took lived eternally. The bloodshed was on an eternal cycle, because bloodstains never come clean when you try to wash them away. It’s a sad fate and misfortune is the whirlpool pulling us down. Hope was like a drug in the way that it was taboo to think of any positive outcomes. Still, we had to get high in order to drown out the lows.

Sometimes I burn my weed and stare out my window thinking back on how the chaos and mayhem of the city I grew up in shaped my life. I couldn’t escape it then, and even now I find myself drawn to those streets painted red. My city claimed many that found themselves lost in the allure of the mirage of money, power, and, respect. No one was immune to the nightmare; honor students and prom queens freely became slaves to those that mastered the art of selling dreams. It’s a jungle out there and those dying for a meal hunt the game.

To think, at ten I awoke to this realization and found that the only way to escape this joint was to smoke it.
 
Sooooo that broad I lied to earlier, I guess I might be leading this girl on too much :frown:


But I don't wanna give up the yambs :wow:

Quite the carborundum
 
Marco23 said:
whatever happened to OneSickRetro? i never see him post anymore :frown:
Click to expand...
I was thinking the same too. I couldn't remember his sn.
Just a random thought about TAN-TAN it's like a revolving door, people come and go but there's a
couple of mainstay in here.
 
Moe Fab said:
Untitled

Even weeds won’t grow when they’re forced to stay in the darkness of the shade; good luck finding that flower.

I usually catch myself gazing into the flames of the burning forest just outside my window. I can’t avoid it, it’s followed me my entire life. The fire’s consumed all those who dared avoid those burning evergreens; the bittersweet aroma hypnotized even the strongest of minds. It only took me a decade to discover those lost woods; I often ventured there to discover many of the world’s ills. The ghosts, I thought were only hallucinations, perceived by the loss of oxygen to the brain, as the smoke strangled me until I was choked unconscious.

This black hole we call home only sucks us back into the ******** it feeds upon. So many have lost their way striving for that light at the end of the tunnel. The ghetto was a harsh reality I had to face on my own; we put in our own work around here. The brave, young men on the corner kept the grass growing, janitors in the alleys made the world a cleaner place, and only the prettiest girls got pennies for their thoughts. A fitting place for us all; the dirt we came from at least matched our skin. Wipe your feet before entering my home sweet home.

We lived in a kingdom where fire-breathing dragons protected us. Life gave us rocks, so we threw ‘em at the throne; we were all dying to be kings in our own right. Free Atlas, but without help, the load only became harder to bear. Of course it was because there was no king of kings to blind us with the light. The smoke from the dragon’s fire made it hard to see through the haziness of our world; it even made your eyes water at times. Still, there were many gay moments, thanks to there always being a respectful drum roll or wailing trumpet blaring.

Mom and pops played drums for different bands, but not every family was the Jacksons. In actuality, I never seen my momma play a single lick, but she could easily be mistaken for Gordon Ramsey with her taste for music. My dad had plenty of fans begging for him to play them his greatest hits; even momma could never get enough. At times even other bands would attend his gigs, dying for him to bless them with a tune; or they would have the fortune of him making an appearance at their shows playing a couple tributes in their honor. This was the norm for those in my family, and for many I knew. Inspiration could strike at any time, leaving you singing another sad song. They say the music business is a cold *****; heard today, gone tomorrow.

Life is a ***** too. Much like the womb of a dead mother, this home was a cold place for 80’s babies. Those brave, young men keeping the grass green were nothing but the countless gangsters dying for their neighborhoods. The red juice in the streets kept a Kool-aid smile on the police, but left grieving mothers with only the saltiness of their tears to quench their thirst for justice. Alleys were littered with high school dropouts, scavenging for cans and bottles to recycle for enough cash to provide them their next high. Prom queens turned prostitutes gave blowjobs for a chump’s change, and only those most beautiful could fry bacon. Oh, how these harsh realities instill confidence into our youth hoping to make it out.

I wasn’t supposed to be **** either. My parents were gang bangers. But to be honest, I had only ever seen my momma throw her life down the drain stuck on that pipe; she was washed the **** up at that point. My dad sold dope to all the fiends around the way. Rival gang members would light up the house he would kick it at like they were decorating for Christmas. Every time it happened though, Father Noel would have to present some bad, little boys metallically gift-wrapped charcoal; ironic how this brought joy in the thought it would put out the flames of revenge of those burning in this hell. This is how I grew up. I knew bullets didn’t have names on them. If I got hit, then a funeral would be arranged and my mother’s tears would have to quench my dad’s thirst for vengeance. Life is a ***** around here. This game has no heroes; no Super Mario Bros. They’ll hunt you and if you hear those shots, duck or you just might quack.

It took me some years to understand exactly what dangers my neighborhood had in store for my friends and me. We knew that those gunshots meant danger, but to see the constant sparks of those inevitable gunshots triggers something in you. We were born with nothing, so we had to take what we wanted in order to become successful men; many took that long nap chasing the dream. Even the stresses of life sometimes cracked those who couldn’t bear the yoke cast upon them; it was worse for those egg-heads coming home from county, state, and fed-sponsored educations. Those crazed streets filled with numerous knuckleheads null-and-voiding reality checks by checking the reality of others off their hit list was enough to make any man cry. I found humor in the fact that in the City of Angels there was no god to be found. A man’s life in those streets is constantly ****d with by another man’s hard-on for respect or, even worse, those boys in blue’s desire to strip you naked of your manhood.

Police swore to protect and serve in those days, funny how I’ve only experienced their service. To this day I spit at cops and chant “***** the police!” I observe the laws, where’s my respect? Just throw us a ****n bone! I swear me and my dogs are like Dalmatians, as soon as we’re spotted, they just fire man. The racism is real and **** anyone who tries to tell me otherwise. Too many times were my friends and I subjected to claims of fitting the description and all the other ******** they shovel. But we knew what it was; the good guys wore blue and the bad guys looked like me and you. We have to run, because if you stumble you fall on hard times.

It’s a trip how the toxicity of the city we lived in ate away at our souls like acid. I found that the only poem ever recited by the city misspelled my future; I would eventually become a product of my environment and every poet passed on evil traditions. The search for a moral often led to the loss of morale. Vampira, that bloodthirsty *****, made sure she took someone from everyone; if you believed in that voodoo, then those she took lived eternally. The bloodshed was on an eternal cycle, because bloodstains never come clean when you try to wash them away. It’s a sad fate and misfortune is the whirlpool pulling us down. Hope was like a drug in the way that it was taboo to think of any positive outcomes. Still, we had to get high in order to drown out the lows.

Sometimes I burn my weed and stare out my window thinking back on how the chaos and mayhem of the city I grew up in shaped my life. I couldn’t escape it then, and even now I find myself drawn to those streets painted red. My city claimed many that found themselves lost in the allure of the mirage of money, power, and, respect. No one was immune to the nightmare; honor students and prom queens freely became slaves to those that mastered the art of selling dreams. It’s a jungle out there and those dying for a meal hunt the game.

To think, at ten I awoke to this realization and found that the only way to escape this joint was to smoke it.
Click to expand...
I didn't finish reading this I'll do it later but it seems pretty cool. Did you write this yourself?



I've been at my current job for a little over a year but I'm thinking about leaving. It all comes down to money which is funny because I'm risking stability over a quick pay increase into a company with a high turnover rate. I

I was made an offer to leave literally 2 weeks after I started for 10k more than they were offering. I didn't leave. Honestly only a small fraction of my reasoning was loyalty. It was more about learning, growing, and building my portfolio, something I couldn't do at the other company. I also have a great mentor that I'm going to be pretty sad to leave, and I'm sure he'll hate that I'm leaving.
 
Last edited:
Morning tan

Don't want the day to begin...not feeling it today at all. Just been in a bad mood since i woke up don't know why. Hoping to snap out of it soon enough.
 
My latest copypasta message for POF (dating website for those of you who arent aware)


- Your profile has cured my erectile dysfunction. Thank you from the bottom of my heart :') x


Use sparringly brahs.
 
Jking0821 said:
Morning tan

Don't want the day to begin...not feeling it today at all. Just been in a bad mood since i woke up don't know why. Hoping to snap out of it soon enough.
Click to expand...

Lay down and get out the other side of the bed.
 
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