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guacomole, baby!

Instead of deleting my account, he gave me the option to clear out my account posts. Feels good man.

It's been 5 years, and it seems like all good things must... close to an end?

So. I'm writing a book; and it's called The Wasteland. I have about 5 or so chapter in this bad motherfucker. It's a slow project in writer's block/hell. For now, here's Chapter one.

The fog was thick around this house. I could taste the air in my mouth and it emitted a sweet dew smell. I was not one for countries or wooden houses, especially ones I wake up in with no memory of how I ended up in them. All I could see inside was my belongings, clothing, and a knife with a dull blade in it. I wanted to get out of here as soon as I can, so I opened the door and went in. The house smelled of sweet wood and copper. I hated the smell of copper, it leaves a metallic taste in my throat which I hate even more. I found my items and clothing stuffed in a bag and my passport on the kitchen counter. I went to grab the passport in hopes that it hadn't been tampered with. That passport was my only form of I.D. Luckily, it was just fine so I pocketed it. I grabbed my bag and left the house, I really did not want to wake up whoever brought me here. I saw a vast countryside ahead of me; the only road was a half covered dirt trail and it was soaked in mud. Regardless, the area around it was wet as well and I was somewhat nervous being here, but more importantly, I was determined to leave this place.

I walked near the edge of the road, thinking to myself- how did I end up in this house and why am I out here in the countryside?I sighed and continued to walk. Eventually, as dawn broke, I came upon a broken down diner. Perhaps I could finally get some information around here. I opened the door, and was greeted by the sight of an inch-thick layer of dust and a few empty bottles of alcohol. Regardless, I walked in. I knew it was wrong to rifle around the store in search for money or anything of particular value. I opened the old-timey cash register only to see a dead mouse and a wad of single dollar bills. I carefully counted the wad of singles, about 26 dollars carefully lined up in a cheap rubber money clip. My family told me it was wrong to steal or take things without permission, however, the will to survive currently silenced my conscience. I noticed the manager's office, or whatever was left of it as the door was already kicked down. I stepped into the office and saw scratches carved into the wall, a shattered mirror, and some blood droplets on the ground. I could only conclude that something unsavoury had happened here, and I warily left the area. Still, I saw not a single soul. I was expecting something, maybe a person, anything really. I felt alone walking on this dirt road.

Eventually, I saw a city some ways ahead and thought I could perhaps find someone to explain to me what had happened. As I got closer, I started to panic. This city was walled in with razor wire and there was dried blood everywhere. I was too afraid to shout for help, so as I walked to the front of the city, I couldn't rid myself of the feeling that something about this place was malevolent, as if many had died at its hands. The sky was now tinged with dusk, and I knew I should find a way into shelter before night settled. To my great surprise, I did find people. They all were dressed in usual coast guard uniforms and gas masks, and frankly, they were not friendly. They all pointed their rifles, mounted machine guns and whatever weapons they had on them right at me. They yelled at me and asked if I was one of them as if I was a wolf that preyed upon their herds. I nervously replied no. One of them said I was lying and tightened his aim, looking down the sight right at my forehead, and walked towards me. He was merely a foot away and he wanted some proof if I wasn't one of them. I stuck my hands in my pocket frantically, fumbling around for my passport. This man was only seconds away to blasting my head off as I found my passport and slowly handed it to him. He snatched it out of my hand and scrutinised it. I could hear his laboured breathing in his mask, and the thought crossed my mind that he probably hadn't changed the filter in a while. Sweat beaded on my forehead as the seconds drew on, until finally the man proclaimed: welcome home, comrade. He sounded relieved that I wasn't one of them I was shortly given access to the city after a cursory physical evaluation.

I saw a multitude of people huddled around broken, burnt, and shambling buildings, all armed with rifles and whatever materials they had. I had my 26 dollars, and I thought to myself, I should buy a better knife or at the least, something better than a dull Swiss army knife. To my surprise, everything was surprisingly cheap, considering these people had so little to spare. I bought, according to the vendor, a pre-war rifle and a box of hollow points. Examining at it, I jokingly asked him what war was it around before? And he gave out the most sickening laugh I had ever heard. It was a strange half-chuckle that, for some reason, reminded of Grandmother. He then stuck his nose into my face and said this one, son. I asked and who exactly are we fighting? A look of apprehension crossed his visage, and he fell silent. The entire camp went dead quiet, and, gripped by a strange sensation, I did as well. I saw a red alarm flash on the fences, and a chorus of people loading their weapons. Still a stranger to rifles, I loaded mine up, and before I could leave the vendor, he gave me some tips on what I should I do if I was surrounded by them. He said aim your rifle at the middle of your chin and pull the trigger, less messy that way, comrade. Mildly disturbed, I watched him close up his shop, only to be interrupted by a man in a vest shoving me in the direction of the supplies centre. He harshly said pick up a gas mask and a coat. Don't ever take off your coat and only take off your mask when things are all clear. I picked up a rubber mask patched with duct tape attached to the nozzle and a coat. It was like a weird leather hoodie I had when I was in middle school. I dumped the bullets in my right pocket and zipped it up and walked to the fence. What I saw was a wasteland. Its tenants were I and my new neighbours, and the rest, why I think they wanted to evict us.

I call it politics. everything is ended with a freud quote.

Politics.

In a democratic rally, a young woman delivers her speech to a large crowd of people. Young, inexperienced people who are unaware of their futures. "I never knew that if you looked on the back of a stop sign, you could see a sticker or no sticker. And I certainly never knew you could drive away and ignore the ones without the stickers. It's amazing how society herded us into believing that we should 'STOP'. Why? Civilization began the first time an angry person cast a word instead of a rock. Is it because we follow bright red signs that tell us to do everything? One day we'll have bright red signs that scream "SUICIDE" or "BUY". Don't you wish to be free? Then look for those stickers. "

In a republican rally, a older man stands on stage, clears his throat, and starts to give his speech to a large crowd of people. Older, jaded people who are unsure of their futures. "Will you please... stop for a moment. Think about this. How many people died today? Not that it matters. How many people die from ignoring stop signs? They speed away into the sunset, like a large bullet into the sunset. You know what happens to bullets? They stop. They either crash or land hard. I can see this one day. 'Family dies from ignoring stop-sign. No survivors.' They won't be sinners, because they'll be dead. Please, watch your health by following rules. There's no such thing as accidents."
At both of those conventions, a small child has been paying attention. Maybe a son or daughter of a democrat or republican who brought them along. Paying attention to the sounds. No child can understand the gravity of the words, but they do know the words "Die, death, freedom, herd, and sticker."
One will be a republican, one a democrat. Two more votes. For the rest of their lives they will be shaped by these. They will go to pre-school and start reciting it; not word by word, but phrase by phrase. "We cannot be herded." or "Follow rules." They'll meet each other; probably passing by in a store. One dressed freely, and the other dressed properly. Analogies, it is true, decide nothing, but they can make one feel more at home.

As they get older, they will start to be more active in their political hemispheres. All that time wasted. A dumped date or a little hostility will just be time wasted. Only "Hey do you remember..." will bring them back. However, as they get older, one face full of acne, another full of braces, they look at their lives. They are uncertain about their futures. Just like the people at the rallies. Will he fix this or that, or will she fix this or that. Of course not, that's not the real question is it? Is that person a Nazi? A Mason? A Communist? Those are the questions asked. Does it matter? No, just time wasted. A car could have been fixed, a heart could have been mended, they could have made up with their parents. If you can't do it, give up!

Now, no longer a face full of youthful mistakes, braces removed, acnes scrubbed out, they have a future ahead of them. One a law student, another a philosophy student. What matters the most is who is correct.: an underpaid liar or a ridiculed bluffer? As they work on graduation, they can only count every four years. The year of the elephant or the donkey only exists every four years, there is no year of the eagle at this time. Patriotism only cries in one place away from each other. Again, more time wasted. An essay could have been filled, a party experienced, life thought out, perhaps an apartment bought. If youth knew; if age could.

So, a job haunts them, a wife or a husbands wears on them, and a mortgage beats them. They do this every single day, hoping for a peace of mind. One or the other can find it in a bottle, a joint, a needle, or a line, however they like it. They spend their days in hot suits or scraggy beards yelling "objection!" or teaching Plato's lights in the caves only to be yelled at or ridiculed. They look at the barrel of a gun, one says it is right, keep this as a tool, while the other throws it away. Back to the radio, TV, or the internet. Conspiracy theories, lies, smear campaigns, and hate fill up the time that could have been used. A convict can be shown as guilty, a man can be called innocent, maybe there's more to Plato's theories of light, Is politics the same as the shadows of the caves? The liberty of the individual is no gift of civilization. It is stifled by civilization, ground out.

One day, they get in their cars. They drive fast, they have nice cars, one a Lincoln, and another, a Cayman S. They look at their speedometers; look at the empty roads. Time to say; "no" to the rules. Faster, faster, like a bullet. They wanted freedom; they deserve it. Eyes closed with joy. They see a red blur. A stop sign. Boom. A bullet hits another. There's no such thing as an accident.

.....

CUNNNNNNTS

Sup guys, that communist brai- i mean dating was a sure a short experience. I don't have a gun pointed to the back of my head...

This is awesome, i always wanted a account, but wanted to have a good start instead of the usual "lvl 1 stuff!"

Edit; his reaction to this.