The White House Bomb Bible
The WhiteHouseBomb Bible isn't written by Jesus.. it's written by me. It's mainly just thoughts.
MAYBE YOU SHOULD GO ON WITHOUT ME.. I'M RIGHT BEHIND YOU. I PROMISE
What if you found out your life doesn't matter? Not just your life, your whole existance. Your whole impact on other people's lives. What if you figured out that that doesn't matter either? I don't know to whom or to what it doesn't matter, but I know that it just doesn't. Sometimes I don't want it to either. Sometimes I don't care. Maybe it's better this way. Maybe it's good that it doesn't matter to anyone. If it doesn't matter then I can do whatever I want and noone will care. Maybe it's better to just not have any friends or to have your family not care about you. Better yet.. both. That way you have no emotional tie-down. No stupid fucking waste of time hang-ups. Damnit with no emotions at all you could be a god. Isn't that what a god is? Emotionless collection of hypocritical matter? God.. a god.. me a god? I don't know about god, but I sure would make one hell of a reality TV show. Survive this motherfucker. How long does it take to come to a conclusion such as this one? I don't know.. a minute? A hour? A day? Two months? Three years? It took me fourteen years to come to this. All this planning, hopeing, waiting, wasteing my life for this? Wow this is it huh? This must be the big, talked about, grand fucking prize. This is what we wait for? This is the best time of our lives? Fuck this! You can take this sick excuse for a life and shove it! Fuck this whole fucking thing! If this is the best it's ever going to get.. KILL-ME-NOW! Life is nothing but a cell on death row. You sit, miserably, in a pyle of your own filth, broken heart, blood, sweat, and tears, waiting for your time. Your death. Awaiting that arrogant motherfucking executioner to get around to you. I hope I have a hand free so I can rip his fucking throat out, eat it and hurl back into his lungs. But right now I'm going to finish out the rest of my sentence that is life. Avoid tie-downs and wastes of time. Find a way to pass the time and prepare for the big show. There's a lot of people out there. Blood thirsty. Ready to see you fry. Prepare yourself. Wouldn't want to let down the paying customers.
Written by: Blake Dearing
FREEDOM.. IS THAT STILL A WORD?
Voids. What can I do about it? Anyone, what can anyone do about it? I see people on TV, hear people on the radio, these fucking dicks have NEVER felt the vacuum
effect of a "void". "Void" is the only word I can think of now to describe the feeling. There really is no word for it, but once you're in, words don't seem to mean much anyway. These people, they try to help. They try to save. They try to battle the deep depression of someone's void. Hopeless cause. They'll say, "Hey, I'm your friend. I know what you are going through. It's tough, I know." It's not tough, it's life.. and no, you don't know. Noone can know what it's like for you. Everyone's blackhole is different, but equally lethal. Even this. Everything that I write is empty, hollow, lifeless. I can't wait until tommorow. Each night is a prison sentence of isolation. Daylight, voices help pass the time until I am finally awarded death. In the mean time, I'll sit alone, wait and wonder. Don't understand? Stay up all night sweating, check every lock, throw up everything you eat, grit your teeth and ride it out. Try to understand.
Written by: Blake Dearing
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