They had me on medicine when I was a kid, to help me sleep. Being the introspective type and all, I thought about my life a whole lot when the lights went out – especially it ending when I least expected it, dig?
Spent a lot of time kneeling beside my bed, praying like they taught me to in catechism class, begging Jesus himself to have my back in case my heart decided to call it a day after I closed my eyes.
Most people don’t want to die – but I really didn’t want to.
I mean, shit consumed me.
Then reality stuck its wet index finger right up my ass when I got into my car accident.
My little Eldorado flipped ’bout eight times – and caught fire while I was upside down, harnessed to my goddamn seatbelt.
The irony? I could see the eye of death winking at me and guess what?
I winked the fuck back.
For a long time I sat, with my life suspended on the side of an abandoned road, quite certain that I’d only be found after the impending explosion – completely unbothered.
Once the dust had settled, something had changed.
I didn’t need the medicine anymore, because I wasn’t afraid to die, Deathnote.
So much of my goddamn life was soaked up by the idea that my demise was already written in stone – tucked away in a book somewhere that I’d only see in those final moments. I let these walls turn me into a claustrophobic mess – where the gravity of my own neurosis towards mortality sat awkwardly on my shoulders.
And I let that weight mould me – making decisions entirely based upon the mood it put me in that day.
I let the likes of you, and your doomsday clock tactics, turn me into a pussy – where doctors analyzed me like a terrible disease – poked me, prodded me, left me under the microscope for further examination – and I allowed myself to succumb to the idea that this was just how it was.
Well, fuck all of that.
I caught a glimpse of the world you play host to, and it ain’t shit. Death took me for a ride, flipped me enough times to turn me into a vegetable and when it looked inside to see the damage, I was smiling back at that motherfucker.
Because you and I both know it ain’t my time, baby.
Take the focus off your book for just a second and recognize that I, along with my JSR boys, represent the future – and we got our own historical book to write –
One that tells the glorious tale of a few bad motherfuckers and an ex-con with red suspenders getting kicked out of town.
A book that tells the tale of three dirt daubers from the empty swimming pools of Highland Park becoming the here, the now, and the necessary.
So that thing you play host to?
Death?
It wasn’t part of my narrative on the night that it turned my car into an Olympian gymnast.
I winked back, bitch.
And it certainly ain’t a part of my narrative now, baby.
‘Cuz I’ll wink again.
All the waaaaaay to the stratosphere!