Why I Write What I Write

Time for a quick break from my usual crass antics.

Underneath all the boorish stories and in between all the crude jokes, I live with two constant struggles in my life.

The first is staying clean.

I have to turn my head anytime a scene involving drug use comes on during a movie or television show, because no matter how gruesome they may be trying to portray the act as - I can only see the romance in it.

That gentle dance between your mind and the drug.

It's like the most intimate, whirlwind relationship you've ever experienced. Love, hate - empowerment, failure. All wrapped into one.

There are nights I have trouble falling asleep because it's all I can think about.

But, I manage.

I know if I ever fall off the wagon it'll be the death of me. And I'm not quite ready to die yet.

The second, is my son.

I dream about him constantly.

Sometimes it's that he's sick, other times it's that his mother has given up on raising him and dropped him off at my doorstep, and sometimes it's her calling me to tell me he's dead.

Last night I dreamt he was sitting next to me on the bed while I slept.

Nothing more. Just him sitting next to me on the bed, playing and smiling in his blue jammies, as I quietly slept through the night.

I try to manage with this struggle as well, but I can't help but tear up a little whenever I see a beautiful baby with pudgy little legs run across the television.

So, maybe these are the reasons why I am the way I am. Why I write what I write.

I've seen enough serious times and dark alleys to last me a lifetime. I don't need to write about it too.

I'd rather use the time I have left to talk about things that are mundane and obscene.

Whip out your dicks, fellas. Fuck while you can.

Life's too short.