8 left.

Well I haven't been inspired lately so I'll just share this blog I wrote for myspace a few months ago under the same title.


It was a drinking session not unlike any other. Ordinary even. Just sitting around drinking and talking. What we were talking about didn't matter. It could have been anything from the Bush Administration to the new bearings that lined the hubs of a bmx. It didn't matter. It was beer talk anyway. There was a radio on somewhere barely audible over the loud talk of drunken homies. I didn't need to hear the words. I knew the tune well. Secret Service was making a miracle promise to bring heaven down. One of the homie at the spades table asked me to sit in because he needed to go to the bathroom. Hearing this made me want to go myself. Not the waiting kind, I got up to go outside. On my way out I see and nod at all the familiar faces. All familiar faces. So why was I feeling so uneasy? It was as if I was watching a homemade video and the camera mounted tripod tipped over. I was looking straight up and I felt the back of my head going numb. Everything was dark and I couldn't move but instinctively tried to grab my assailant. It was useless. I could only move one arm that was already weak, and getting weaker by the seconds. All I was really doing was convulsing on the ground. I heard more rounds and closed my eyes. I don't know how much time had passed but I could sense somebody standing over me plugging the hole in my neck, with their finger in a fruitless effort to stop the bleeding.

I had heard it said once, that if you die in your dream, you die in your sleep. Eight left.