sometimes i think i let things get a little out of control because i just like things that way. i remember the only time having ever liked Physical Education in the K-12 system was on rainy days in middle school and we would get to play an insane version of dodgeball with like 100 kids. it was like a simulated riot with nerf balls.

i suppose i've always liked chaos. the unknown in every direction, life and death at every situation, or maybe i am just being very much a dramatic fool.

the wallflowers

chris, dennis, and tommy didn't know each other until they went to art school. they were all painters out of the city's academy. sorry fucking loser crop they were. dropouts. kids who didn't make it into any university so mommy and daddy were footing the bill for the private institution downtown. no worries, it's hip to let chicks know that you're a painter, they dug it. so them three clowns, as hip as they could be just played it cool, skipped class, did drugs, and wafted through life. painters, pfft, what a fucking joke.

they posted up at parties and did their thing which was mostly kicking it in the corner. sorry fucking wallflowers. they were the kids that nobody wanted to talk to anyways. think about the kids the drama kids avoided in high school. i'm not saying the retards were cooler, but they weren't far behind.

chris wasn't too bad a painter, but he was too heavy into drugs. he let that shit get a hold of him and he could just never really shake them. once he broke his leg outside of taco bell and sat for 3 months straight on his sofa chewing on barbiturates and opiates of every imaginable manner. his family already has staged four interventions for him, two after they had deadbolted their medicine cabinets.

dennis wasn't too bad a painter, but he was too heavy into women. he let that shit get out of control and every now and again one would catch him in her snare and soon he would be too far gone and heavy into the mess. once he stayed with a girl just because she had threatened suicide and self mutilation, she never even picked up the knife.

tommy wasn't too bad a painter, but he was too heavy into gambling. he let that shit ride too far and he could never stop. it was just too much for a rush for him. one time he spent a week straight in the casino, cleaning himself with a rag and sleeping in the janitors closet.

fuck, everyone's got vices, but for these losers it was getting out of control. their skills diminished, their ambitions halted, their general lust for anything productive seemed to plummet down the drain. they embraced their self-destructive behavior like scavengers to a carcass.

and who the fuck knows what happened to them. they were just mediocre painters anyways, sorry fucking lot they were. it didn't really matter if they made it either way or not because they were all to be bound in obscurity, the thing that any ego centric painter would hate. to know that everything and all that he has done is absolutely and completely meaningless.

but they knew nothing of this while they posted up all cool at the party with their ray ban wayfarers on. not a care in the fucking world.