TWENTY-ONE: A THESIS. New from MorbidbookS.
~ THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE IS A MORBIDBOOKS BLUNT. YOU DIG? ~ “The Routine has this inherent tendency to perpetuate lies, and I speak only in thinly veiled euphemisms — hanging out with friends means going to the bar; being tired means too many sleepless nights on amphetamine; going grocery shopping means robbing Price Chopper blind; filling a prescription means visiting my dealer; going to the bank means pawning my possessions — but refer to them not as “lies;” rather, label them as weak ex-cuses utilized to justify my erratic behaviors. Not that the distinction between lies and excuses even matters. My locations and actions mean little to the lives that I infect, for I manipulate my stories into such bizarre versions of actuality that no one seems to question their authenticity, thereby validating my words under the general principle that facts are stranger than fiction. Besides, the language of lies often involves a certain element of truth, mere embellishments of the life that I dream to live – all-night hotel parties, never-ending supplies of coke and meth, hundreds of dollars to spend frivolously, high-class bars at expensive ski resorts, private chemists and personal chauffeurs, fame and fortune, and immunity to the consequences of my behaviors.”