Lost my innocence to arrogance

I strike deep.

Part 1:
So we met. Finally. That clock had been ticking for a while now. Has she been burning up for me? What has she been up to? She wore no perfume.

So she does not want to play? Is she wearing cologne? Do I need to get closer to discover? So I did. She smells stupid. Girl, you like a whore straight off a manga illustration. What are you wearing? Million dollar girl in a cheap dress, girl, you need a makeover, a serious one. You need an intervention. You need intense gym sessions. Personal coach??! Yeah, right!. What the fuck have you been up to? You have lost your smile, lost your fragrance, lost your freshness, lost the sun in your head. You bore me to death. Why did we meet? I could have been chilling at my crib, smoking, puffing, getting faded.

Get your dirty hands off me, I have a ride to catch.

Part 2:
1.2.3. Wake and bake.
So my arms feel tingly. I need to find solace in this chaos. I have been in love with my imagination this whole time. I had a blurred memory of her, because I was faded the whole time I was with her. So the vehemence of my imagination, an imagination augmented by the smoke in my lungs, had blurred her flaws, intensified her qualities, nullified the most flagrant of her issues. Let’s hit, then fuck, then hit again and get the fuck out of this room.

Waves. I am at R.N faded as fuck. I cannot get over my consternation. I loathe the mundane aspects of being next to her. She is stupid. She has no qualms about lying and feigning. I should drop her in a gutter somewhere, for her to spend the rest of her days among rodents and the intimidating shadows and shades that the night invokes. I fancy the idea of bumping into her in an alley somewhere, in the near future, dressed in rags, pervading the air with her nauseating stench, parched lips, breath stinking of bins, bits of her flesh eaten by rats, waiting for her death oblivious of how excruciating things get when what lurches in the same alleys claim your soul theirs, and apologising to me. For once, I fucking want an apology.

(Mt.Eden Beautiful Lies)
Now I seriously need to drop her somewhere and ask her to never come back. You betrayed me you whore. ;) Give me this necklace back. Your neck does it no justice.

Done.

Part 3:
I need something new. Something of a higher social stratum.
She was cheap in emotion and even more so in the expression of it.  It all started out as a frivolous obsession but it ended on a bitter note. I don’t want to write about her no more. I am over you. Yes, just like that.  Her friends all looked stupid, the kind of stupid that would fail a blood test. I am stoical about what waits around the corner.

Part 4:
I am liar who can speak the truth only.
“Even when I am lying, one hand on the bible.”

Let the ambiguity pervade. Your menially furnished brain will do this ink no justice, of that, I am absolutely certain. This will not be the first time however, that I will let go of something that already had, of me. This sublimation of utter distinctiveness leads to a state where all predicaments are rendered translucent. In the euphoria it engenders, I feel like a progeny of elite blood lining. What others call eclectic, I call erratic. Who needs euphemism? Can’t we all be fucking honest for a fucking change?

All the pithy insights into the mechanics of conscience, all the beats, all the fermata crowning all the notes of this instrument of life help me attain satori. I lay ponderous over what is in store for me. What do I want next? I have seen it all. I have been it all. I have hunted. I have been hunted. I have played. I have been played. I have conquered. I have lost.  What do I want next?

Windows rolled down.
Speakers so loud.
Speed like a freak.
Speed does not thrill me no more.
I need something else.
What do I need next?

Part 5:
Plebeians must not grasp the depth of my new hobby, I tell myself. It will only serve to debase the righteousness and the vim of the ink if they did, I convince myself.  Fuck bigoted entities, I am not selling sapphire to mud thieves.

I need something that is intriguing. I need something that propels me to the zenith of this motherfucking earth. I want people to tell me how much they fail to relate to it. I don’t want their charming demeanour, I would rather cherish their hatred. The only common thing between love and hatred is that they both don’t last very long. I do not want an epitaph when they gather around my tomb. I want the truth. Those who invade this utopia-to-be must be slaughtered mercilessly, I tell myself.

Shooting stars. Brother, I have stopped counting them.

Part 6:
Dad, I need money. I need it now.

So today, for some reason, I hate feminists. My personal message to feminists:

Adding Marylyn Monroe’s quotations to your status updates does not in any way elevate yourself beyond common man. Haha, bitch! Same applies to quotations from Maya Angelou. Fucking Kate Upton- wannabes.

You are the inferior race. Full stop. You are the lesser gender.  Even equality is too much to ask for.  If you know anything of history, anything of the future, anything of science and its inventions, then you would not bother to argue any further. If you women want more respect from us men, then claim it first from the chicks who go naked on photo sessions for their portfolio in exchange for a thin bundle of notes, claim it first from women who would stoop to our belts for a promotion. I could go on with this stuff and never stop. Briefly, dear women, you are only as strong as your weakest link. Get rid of that, and perhaps, then, and only then will we men respect you the way you want us to.
Part 7:
I have always had a passion for guns. I have never talked about to it to anyone though because I fear what people will make of it. But hey, fuck it!

I love everything from the classics like Type 99, the Kark98k, the Remington Model 1100 to state-of-the-arts like the DPMS Panther Oracle .223 or the FNH Scar 17s.

I get this call from a friend. He bought a Desert Eagle pistol online using bitcoins and he wants me to drop by his place in Phoenix to shoot mannequins he stole from his father’s cloth retail outlet. I can’t believe my ears. Finallyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

What happens next is