Everyone at the Bar is Dead(a novella)

(Editor's note: haha i thought that would be funny.editor...i never edit shit. this is all to be read as one piece. but every chapter was written apart from each other. i dont care if anyone likes this. i want people to, but i would also be really happy if people hated it as well. it is a bit of a comeback for me, and i have to give props to one *********** for inspiring me to get out of my writers block. when i finish a chapter i will add it this post right here, so i guess i will jus keep this on top for a while. most of the things written have some basic truths in them, but not all of what is written is true. the thing about the dead ducks and the almost maybe killed cat and the baby in filth is true. everything else, i dont know. maybe. most of it. none of it. )


CHAPTER ONE: Everyone at The Bar is Dead

there are ghosts that stand in booze halls and their spirits bounce off of pictures of dead soldiers and dead presidents. in between these ghosts there are people but they are all dead. they are not ghosts but just dead people and the ghosts get confused and the dead people and ghosts are both tortured by each other. so they keep drinking and drinking trying to figure out who is dead and who is a ghost. ghosts have a purpose. they haunt and roam. dead people do not. they stand there and take up space, not knowing how to do anything besides be dead assholes. the fight for all the anti cerebral things. the fight for what to do next. drink drink drink drink they all drink. sometimes the ghosts buy dead people drinks but dead people never buy ghosts drinks. why should they? ghosts have already been there. mix and drink and mix and fuck and drink and fuck and mix and drink. the only common thing between all of these energies is death. some know it already and some dont. some see it and drink and some can only see what is in front of them and drink. and fuck. have to fuck. what are we if not fucking and death? fuck death in the ass. fuck god in the mouth. anything else anyone says is not truth.

i have nothing more i want to do than fuck something.i bet fucking god's mouth wouldnt be as good as pussy. no way. every action that every friend or foe has ever done to harm you or hurt you or betray you as had something to do with the loss of pussy, the want of a particular pussy, or just the fact that they are pussy-less in their lives. its sad. but that is the way the pussy cookie crumbles. i have had and lost and seen more wonderful shit that most. and still i am sick and lonely when i dont have it. i have done enough shit to coast me on to the rest of my days. heroin naked run from the devil sex pussy death and death.

i have diseases that walk around and tip their hat to me and drink to me.

he killed everyone at the bar and now everyone at the bar is dead. they dance and judge and talk but they are dead because he killed them.

you ever think that you are alone because you are wiser and smarter than you are wrong and sad. you will always need someone. across the waves there has to be a body otherwise you are just floating waiting to drown. skirt less dances of want and impurity raise stakes on deathly pacings of having. no. one. there. if everything is meant to happen for a reason that you are a fucking mistake and an idiot.

there are no mistakes and there are all mistakes.

satan was driving down a narrow and crowded road down the street from wendys and across from the amelia baptist church and saw a man running across 3 lanes of traffic and he was tall and he was bald and he had tattoos of things like prison art and names of children and lovers and dead friends and dead things and he is running faster than the speed of god and he is naked nude nothing and he runs in front of me and looks me in the eyes fear fear fear of something someone found him someone found him maybe he was raping a child or maybe he was assfucking some guy and the wife came home maybe he was ass fucking some whore and the husband came home but here there in front of traffic in front of jesus in front of wendy he runs escaping getting away. across the church parking lot he goes. i say to myself no one will ever believe me. but i believe him. i believe what he is running from. he will get away but one day i wont and i will be running naked down something avenue with all the judgement on my back. and as i run to the church i know i can not go inside.

three weeks later a local asshole dies with a needle in his arm face down. the people on the interweb mourn him and give him gangster ass RIPS. he was a complete and total scum bag loser cocksucker with no moral value to anybody. the fact he is not here is progress to everyone except his mother. but in his death he is a walking tall hero of time and space. death will be good to us all. you will always die a hero. you will always die remembered well. what the fuck else do you have to worry about? if this fuck can die like a junkie after years of treating everyone who loved him and people he met like garbage, man, i should have a fucking parade. see you in hell you fuck. we need to start treating people in death as they were in life. this guy would rob your grandma at knife point for 20 bucks. sure he may have had a shit path getting there, but fuck em, this guy would hold a knife to someone you care abouts throat. there are real tragedies, people who want to live and cant and want to walk and cant, fuck you. come back and stick another needle up your ass and die again cocksucker.

the last great blank slate.

and really, since there is no afterlife or god or anything, what does that say about morality? it does not matter what you do, what you steal, who you kill, who you rape, what you destroy, just die and you will be remembered as an all right guy. that is all that matters, right? legacy. your legacy will always end with something good. you will never die as a junkie rapist asshole illiterate small town inbred fuck face. you will die as a troubled sexually confused difficult learning impaired river side town fuck face.

all hail the bar queens and dancers.

i have diseases that walk around and talk and relate but they never relate. they just do what diseases do. kill and eat. i cant kill them without killing myself. and i can never die.

there is a peak on the hill where people watch the lights down in the town. they scoff. i scoff too. and than i go and roll around in shit for three hours with coffee and whiskey.

home sweet home kids.

you dont leave your father until you kill your father. you dont get away from god until you kill god. you dont get away from home until you burn it down. your town is a heart. you dont get away from it. you kill it or burn it than you learn nothing and kill yourself or burn your face so bad no love or truth will come from it.

home sweet home kids.

the saddest thing about this pie shaped cut of earth and stone is that the people living here are too self involved and ugly to realize how doomed they really are. and even the ones that do dont realize it. who does? i still go out and get lap dances on a tombstone with all my money. i come home with nothing. broke and dirt. dirt and i breathe dirt.

he never hears you. and neither does she. the great death dance of all time. love your time. love the fuck our of it. and than fuck the love out of it. and than post it somewhere. you will find a place. we all know its a dud. but standing up and saying you are breathing it all in does not make it any less of a failure.

read victims and never trust the writer. there is no wisdom in bitterness and words. there is no truth in anything until you strip and rape it and shove it out of your car door naked in the rain while it is crying and you hit the gas and laugh and laugh at your own raping and pillaging and you look in your rear view mirror and for that one fucking second there she stands, the truth, the heart of the situation. you see it now. but you had to lose so much.

everyone at the bar is dead. and at the bar is where i will be. all hail the bar queens and dancers. all hail the ghosts and their battle with the dead.



CHAPTER TWO: Empty Condoms Empty House Eat Coon Eat

in a bed made out of other women and other lust and many a night made out of soulful love and truth and in a bed passed down from a negative space father and passed down from something some other couch or some other sofa in a bed in a bed and i had her and it was good and new for once in a long time. we fucked and than me made love and than we fucked and everything felt better than anything else. sleep didnt happen and it had to happen and the next day i was off marching in the slow motion ghost museum of memories of victories of art and remember whens and tourism and all things ghostly but ah what the fuck else are you going to do ill take two to the believe it or not and fuck i do i believe it. i believe in it motherfucker sign me up.

anyway, i came back and moved back into a mobile home. it smelled and looked like some kind of rodents, maybe raccoons, had made themselves at home, and ate my raw noodles, so i didnt know what the fuck to do. the last time i was here before my descent into the hills i was making love to a wonderful full woman, whose tongue and breasts the size of meaning and body that moved anyway that would have me, the last time i was in this home there was love and now fucking godamn fucking cocksucking raccoons had made themselves at home.

not on this day, motherfuckers.

yeah, i would never go out and shoot a deer or drown a cat out of boredom, but your morals and thinking changes when you are under attack in your own home. its not about anything besides protecting your territory. your bed. your food. your noodles. sometimes you have to do some nasty shit to survive. and the shit was on.

i had few supplies. an ax. a long metal pole. goggles. a chainsaw, but no gas. a shit load of chemicals.

ok. outside of my mansion. i only did a brief recon before i went out and got my tools. i have an ax and a bottle of raid, a flannel on, and googles over my eyes. im ready to go. i kick in the door to my trailer

and OH FUCK there is something there and it about the size of a ten year old but i didnt think long enough to contemplate if it was a ten year old, because it screamed at me a hungry not human scream so slam motherfucker got an ax across the face, no time to think, i see them, i see one eating my noodles or expired pop tarts or something, i dont know, i run after it, the rodent fucking thing, and swing down with all might and force but miss. the theiving bastard makes a run for the door. i could of killed it, i had the time, but you know what, i am not on a mission of death and justice here, i am on a mission of protecting. what. is. mine. so i let the sinner go.

who else? i am only in the kitchen. i see they made quite a party out of my hard earned supplements. is there still cum on the bed? did i even get off? i never get off. condom on the floor. still there. empty. no finality in the condom and no love in my bed. all things good leave here.

let the rats and raccoons and ten year olds eat whatever they want. a peice of my ceiling hangs down. that was where entrance. i dont blame them. they were just trying to eat. and no one was home.

how great is that though? i couldnt make anything up anything better if i tried. i took a wonderful thing home, and real wonderful things happened and when we were in that house, it was together, somewhat, not completely but it was good enough, and we leave and i dont come back for 5 days, and after the wonderful thing is gone, the house is invaded, raped, torn down, rats and amoral thieves everywhere.

i came back and did all the wrong things and with all the wrong people. hatred is real. it is healthy to hate something that is evil. i hate this place. and i hate these people. that is not soul sucking. that is healthy. that is good. it makes my evil good. it makes my murder and my liar and my evil everything good. how can i be evil in a place more evil than i am? the ones less covered in shit are clean. and clean is holy. i am a man of a godless god.

come on down rats. eat up. bathe and eat and shit with me. come on down coons. come on the fuck down.



CHAPTER THREE: The Little Duck That Could and The Clermont County Cat Killer

there once was a duck that lived on the river, in a sleepy quiet river town. the duck loved his life. people came down and fed him all kinds of bread and shit. he chilled out on the river, didnt worry about jack shit.

that duck is still fucking down there, still getting fed everyday, still relaxing, and up until the day that he or she is sucked into a boat propeller or stomped on by the neighborhood 12 year old sociopath in training, he is going to have it great. sometimes, and mostly with animals, and mostly with people, you never really grow or learn shit. you just keep doing the same thing until you are stomped on by forces stronger and more mechanical(propellers) or more evil or more powerful (sociopathic teenagers, government). either way, you know?

but on a serious note, it was an odd and weird and odd (those three words are all different asshole) growing up around so many psycho fucking people my age.

chad was the one stomping on ducks and killing cats. chad was the one beating the shit out of anybody and everybody since he was five. chad was/is a total abyss of the soul, a creature born out of other abysses and just got by doing what he had to do. i watched this kid kill, well, maybe not kill, but at least fuck up for life a cat, by smashing a brick against its head as it was running away, and i saw him shoot four or five baby ducks with a b.b. gun. now, the parts about me killing a ten year old earlier and other things i have written and the whole part about me loving woman and respecting them was all fiction, but fuck if i didnt see that shit. sometimes i lay awake and just think about it...but for some reason this kid liked me. my town was about who liked you. if the consensus around the area was that you were a whiney little faggot than stay inside, for the love of christ, do not come out, you will be beat and shot at and drowned and lord knows what else. i came here and they liked me and the most and worst accepted me and i was so young and dumb enough not to know any better so i went along with most things and never judged or argued.

but on the inside, HOLY SHIT THIS GUY IS KILLING LITTLE KITTIES FOR NO REASON, you know? what the fuck was i going to do? and what the fuck else was he going to do?

i will never forget the one time i went into his house. i have drank so much of my memory and done enough drugs to float downstream on stupid for the rest of my days, but i will never, ever forget the nightmare tour i took. just once. upstairs of a two story apartment.

walk up these stairs, made of old and dusty wood. every step was a ceeeeeeeeeeeeekkkk

why was i there i dont know. to get a football or something i dont know. one open living room. a couch with a tiny fuzzy tv on a nightstand right in front of it. three or four filthy kids on it, eating something, all looking like third world country little fuckers. they all had to be under the age of ten. they did not even notice me.

chad walks into the kitchen, and this whale, this nasty whale of a black frizzy haired mother starts screaming and screaming at him screaming for no reason. this duck and cat killing i see now, he has to control something because as the oldest in this nightmare he gets beat and hurt more than anyone.

but what makes this a horror show is the tiny room that you go through to kitchen to see. nothing shit everywhere. a baby, well, maybe, two or three, sits there, crying, black fine hair, with some kind of trash or filth or something around him, a baby carriage right next to him. no toys. sitting there crying, in the corner. chad didnt notice. no one noticed. did the mom have it and forget about it? take a snap shot of trash and doom and put a baby in the middle crying and then stupid skinny ugly me(this was before the handsome set in) slack jawed and horrified. it was all i could do to run out

now my brain has never seen anything like this before so how do you judge it. how do you chad says lets go and i want to run and jump out...

that baby. who is he now? in jail. raped someone. stole something. maybe he is the dumb fuck that overdosed on heroin from the genius chapter one...maybe he is allright and got out.

who cares really. the only reason it is important is because that image is stained in my head forever. because of people living in trash like that i havent been innocent since i was fucking 9. fuck them. its not ok. its not ok to do that.

how much pity do you really give people like that? how much compassion does trash get? if i went in there with an AK-47 and mowed down the whole family would that cause much damage?

fuck that baby. for ruining me. where it is at i am sure it is just as filthy and still screaming into the abyss for someone or something to save it or at least notice it. keep screaming buddy. keep on keeping it. when you are the bringer and carrier of all things misery and you walk around with it you can be amazed at the slowly descending gauge of compassion you have for other miseries in the universe. you can not carry and shoulder others when you have to sit through what i have had to sit through. so fuck it.

anyway the duck went on to live happily ever after.



CHAPTER FOUR: Nigger

what do you call a nigger in college? yeah right nigger!

what do you call a nigger with a white woman? rape

what do you call a good nigger? dead ha

what do you call a nigger who can read? rape!

what do you call a nigger who just smoked weed? prolly wants some chicken!

where is the best place for a nigger? a tree...dead...kill them!

what do we hate? niggers

nigger

whats the best thing about being white? not being a nigger

whats worse than a nigger? nothing

whats worse than a nigger? two niggers

whats worse than a nigger? a woman bitch nigger

whats worse than a nigger? three niggers

whats worse than a nigger? the devil

whats more ugly than a nigger? a nigger baby

whats the best thing to do with a nigger baby? drown it

nigger is the john lennon of the world

what do you call anne frank? dead jew nigger

what do you call helen keller? nigger

how many dead babies does it take to equal a nigger? no white ones

what do you call the president? a nigger

all work and no play makes what? no a nigger, because that implies that a nigger works

what do you get when you get 5 white guys drinking at a party in a white suburban town who know that no black person is within 50 miles so they all start sharing their clever nigger jokes loud and proud like their fake racism is the funniest shit ever heard and the shock the shock well i guess anything to feel something i am not judging but oh man its never going to get better?........niggers



CHAPTER FIVE: The Sea of Love/Blood

he loved. he loved her. two people in the same rhythmic machete cuts across veins and muscles. blood love. every bite taking another bite of her and every bite taking another bite of him. bathing in bodily things loving all that was shared. when you cum it is blankness. it is nothing but angelic whiteness and a numbness and nothingness that feels like the best because it is a void.

an orgasm is the closest thing we have to death. its the closest we can get to it. that momentary delete button.

she bit and swallowed and clawed and went places no one else would and no one else would again. every thrust and every expression from that point would be a ear mark, a memory to something else someone else did better.

weddings. cakes. babies in the upstairs room. she is drunk and drunk and she sees the baby and starts to cry. she says it is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. weddings fake stupid weddings but we werent fake and we would never need an empty celebration such as that. save those for the drones. save those for the ones who wanted to be a princess. not mine. she wanted to be marlon fucking brando when she was a girl.

we go home and i am naive and i am pouring some cheap fruit drink and i turn around and she is naked coming towards me and she wants me and i want her. i kiss her and she takes her hands and undressed me and reaches into my chest and she doesnt tear our my heart but she stretches the tissues around it. it makes the noise of a soft crunch as these tiny little vessels are pulled and than released. i kiss her neck. she takes her nail and cuts open my jugular slowly. my baby knows what to tear open.

i put my mouth around her nipples. they were never too sensitive, so you could suck on them until your mouth was sore. her body is perfect, smooth and curvy and the best thing i have ever seen or will see. my blood all over her only makes it better. i look down at the hole in my chest. my throat feels wet. i know i am dieing and i put her on the kitchen table and we make love for hours and hours all over the house blood everywhere her screaming me screaming me dieing weddings cakes blood babies cum blood.

machete cuts on muscles tearing the veins out of my arms wrapping them around my neck she loved me more than anyone else ever will she loved me and she took it anyway i wanted it and she took from me anything she wanted i had her body and she wanted mine so i let her have it neck bleeds out i feel it i feel it coming she left my heart beating it is always going to even after i die she says cum wherever you want and she means it she loves it wherever and i cant think about it because the sea is red and i am swimming in it, i am swimming upstream in a river of blood and chunks of meat and limbs and screaming faces and up ahead she stands, on a rock amongst the storm in a white dress with ridges at the bottom and black straps with just enough cleavage to make me swim harder and blood everywhere and i cant swim but i am finding a way and back on the earth she is saying cum in my mouth and still i swim she stands on a rock and she is so calm so pretty so comforting and gore and death and blood in my mouth and in my pores and my neck is like a can of tuna and my heart is tore and she says cum on my face and i cant swim but i am closer and i find her and i get her and she takes me all in dominance no compassion she takes it and doesnt stop and as she swallows me she touches her breast as if my cum has made her body feel good as it goes down down crazy bloody aimless amoral sex the best kind the only kind you can have with someone who loves you that much.

and than i die. i die and float away on the stream. she is not sad because she knows that i have her forever in my memory and that i will wait for her. the body stays. the mind has died.

the body stays. but she is gone. and no one knows but me. no one saw no one swam down that river like i did. the orgasm was death and it still is. every time i am swimming but she is not there anymore. she went away. the body stayed. bodies bone and blood. of blood and bone. empty vessels. like empty weddings. like empty people. emptiness. never understand what the good shit was. keep on keepin on. ill go to your weddings. i will swim nowhere anymore and neither will you.

pick up the pieces. of a broken heart. and i have lost everything.