The Christmas Eve Liffe Sucks Post

I took the easy way out. My eleventh grade English teacher told us to live by carpe diem. Bukowski told me to roll the dice. I went along telling all the other lost souls I ran into the same thing. They found themselves and so did I except, I wasn’t able to live with mine. No matter who I am or how badly I try to show my true self, the Army will always come first.
Now don’t get me wrong, the Army has done a lot of good for me. I have been able to learn so much, meet many great people (and many that can burn in hell for all I care) and got to do a decent amount of travelling but enough is enough.
I don’t want security. I don’t want to play it safe anymore. All my risks in the past have been calculated, now it is time for me to get my shit together and be ready for 2012. Why 2012? Well, it is the year I break away from the Army. I will return from a tour in Afghanistan and finally dive head first into life. There will be no safety net, no parents to pull me up. Just myself and the few friends I have had along the way. Will I publish a novel? Graduate college? Hell, be able to pay for my apartment? I have no fucking clue and that excites me the most.
I don’t care what happens. Become a thirty year old bum, a bestselling novelist, the biggest manwhore on the Pitt campus, it doesn’t matter because I will be putting 100% of MYSELF into it all. If the military version of myself is outrageous well then what is to come will be a riot.

What is written above is a piece of shit. Seriously, that there is me trying to force my feelings out on paper. A list will suffice.

Goals: 2010-2012
-Submit and publish Soldier’s Sideline.
-Complete Whore of Alexandria and most of Heaven Ain’t Close.
-Learn to play guitar (and some damn good acoustic versions of songs).
-Learn to play piano (thanks to Ben Folds).
-Become a student of the art of the pickup.
NOTE: As I write this, my nephew has been passed off at me and my sister’s boyfriend thing’s son is harassing me to do “magic” tricks and show me his. He is in the fifth grade and annoys the hell out of me.
-Pay off all my debts, to include my car and possibly pick up a new Mini Cooper.
-Get accepted into Pitt’s writing program.
-Find a nice three to four bedroom apartment in Pittsburgh. Need room to party, be creative and get Clinten’s music career to pop off.
-Furnish the aforementioned apartment with some great shit and a fully stocked bar.
-Shop my first novel and see where it goes from there.


I have known these things for quite some time but it just took me over an hour to list all these goals. Kids played a part. My parents kept disrupting me. A few of the females that I have been talking to have been knocking at my walls and I find myself having to keep getting up to make myself another drink. Life gets in the way of these goals and I fear that they will never happen. I will be just like everyone else; trying to escape this town only to find myself living in my parent’s home, working some dead end job and telling everyone I am just waiting to get my life back on track and get back to school. I fear that the fact that nowhere in this dribble does it mention anything about a relationship, a steady girlfriend, marriage. No I only want to study pickup, write, drink and experience all those freshmen girls as a 26 year old freshmen myself. Yet, the thing I fear the most is waking up one morning in the reality I have been fleeing for years.

A Terrible Try At Poetry, and a Fuck It Attitude To Go With It

I’m not holding on to anything.

I am grabbing as many straws as I can and throwing them into my fire. I am running out of straws though.

They come from close by but I never remember where I got them from.

They all look the same so there is no reason to remember them.

I let them give me warmth then through more straw onto the dying flame.

Sometimes I use the embers to catch fire to the other, but they eventually both burn out.

Then I am left alone, in the darkness, in the cold.

Until I finally move on, hoping that the next fire I build will last longer, but it doesn’t.

The fires die and I eventually find some shelter in a tavern.

There are no women here, no one knows me and anyone that does, does not know I am here.

The bartender only serves whiskey.

We all drink it slowly, the rest of the cold, dead patrons and I, our glasses never empty.

We don’t talk just grunts and the occasional welcome to the newest member.

I stay for awhile until the whiskey does nothing for me, doesn’t even numb me.

I throw on my thin wool jacket and step outside into the harsh weather.

I find a clearing, sit down and start collecting my straws.

The Asshole

The Asshole. I branded myself this years ago and no one knew why. I was such a sweet kid back then. Filled with hopes and dreams, I grabbed life by the horns and got whatever I could out of it. If only I had known that all I was taking were the hopes and dreams of others, trying to mend my broken heart and shattered soul.

I always thought that the problem was that I couldn’t forget my love but the reality of it all was that all I remembered was how to love. I chased unsuccessfully for years the mirage in my mind; her and I with our two kids, the dog and the white picket fence. To ensure I never lost it, I continued to fuck whoever would have me. At first they were just women looking for only the physical but as that well dried up, I had to work a little harder, be a little sweeter.

Another year of breaking hearts finally came to a close when I found a woman that I could truly love. We connected on every level and it was bliss. For once I was happy. Then somewhere down the line we fell into a routine and I fell into the only thing I knew, being an asshole.

We were weeks from getting married when I told her I didn’t want to anymore. Marriage scared me, made me think it was the end of my days and I was only twenty two at the time. I thought I had a lot more life ahead of me. So I broke it off, broke her heart, broke her soul. I was the Asshole again.

It was back to fucking women over and over again. They were like all the easy ones I started with so I didn’t have to worry about breaking hearts and that made it a little easier on my conscience. Then my love returned. We talked about good days, but before I could ask her about our future my only means of communication died on me and I was left with months of silence, months of warming my bed with another woman or another drink.

Finally I arrived in Louisiana and was trying to get my life back on track, but decided it wasn’t the right time. Using my usual self-loathing and asshole nature I was able land what I needed but found that the bottle was so much easier than dealing with stupid women. I had no patience for them and decided I was better off helping those around me either fuck their way to the end of days or find their true love since I was qualified for both.

Winter came though and alcohol was not enough for me to stay warm and I sought shelter elsewhere. Meeting women with my charming self I was irresistible, and they ate it up. I eventually showed them that I was the Asshole I told them I was, the one they thought they could change. I never let them in, never gave them a chance.

So now here I sit. I have a few women that I care about back home, and I am not sure why. Yet, I also have a few women around that see me as the Prince Charming, they haven’t found out yet but they will soon enough, once I get what I need. I don’t want to hurt the ones I care about, they are special to me and I want them to know that, but I know we will find ourselves in one big stinking mess soon enough and that sucks. At first, it was this, knowing how everything was going to end, that made me realize that I am an Asshole, but then I looked a little more closely at myself. Yeah, I’m a dick for letting these women who care for me and that I care for get hurt, I stand behind that, but it is not what makes me an Asshole. No, I am an Asshole because I know all this, have the power to change, yet her I sit, drinking my beer and letting it all play out.