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Life is like a cigarette and a cup of coffee; before you know it you're ashes, but it's good to the last drop...

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dare to love and hate
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A young man's journey. Not how your mother raised you. If life was a rollercoaster. Come hell or high water, Nate's getting to the bottom of it. A young man's journey into Adulthood and raising the roof as a father. An American Dream. His own inferno. This mother fuckers a little ate up, despicably lucky, and borderline Gonzo. The unquenchable thirst of this author, like his cup didn't have a bottom, Christ give this man a drink!!! So crazy it might just work. They'll try to lock him up for this one. Brutally honest with a refinery of that of a Southern gentleman who was born and raised in Indiana. A true Seymourian's legacy. If God's dog only had his voice. A tribute to the beatnic era. The aftermath of a broken system that this author has scaled a mountain to get his message to the masses. Don't shoot the messenger. He was never afraid to make an enemy, but he never knew a stranger. A man of the people, for the people, and by the people. If Fubu was a man. A marketing genius. A sick and depraved tale of innocence lost, mad professions, chocked full of charisma, vulnerability, and taste of the finer things in life. The perfect spice to life. A bunch of Bullshit mainly. An S.T.D. for the literary world. If the Catcher in the Rye was ever banned for being a bad influence, then 8+Up has it Trumped. Another one of Shady's hard truths. Proof that The Doors are still relevant. A wordsmith's Struggle. For most, fame finds them; but for Nate he "drugged it to himself", and forced his way in. I can't wait to see how the world reacts to this offspring.

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Ok, so maybe a little ate up...
…..The Bus Ride Home (Rough Draft) “Ok, so Maybe a Little Ate Up” I lived my life in a constantly curious and somewhat depressing manner; sorta withering away like the great shaman poet of the 60’s. I was testing my own boundaries in a slightly uncivilized way. {“He who makes a beast of himself, takes away the pain of being a man”(Dr. Johnston ‘Fear and Loathing Las Vegas)} I had recently been reading a lot of literature that would help push my mind to it’s very limits. I had hoped to talk to God. Books like “Dante’s Inferno”, A bio of Fredrick Nietzsche, and Timothy Leary; “High Priest”, also by Timothy Leary; “On the Road”; Bios on Jim Morrison, “No One Here Gets Out Alive”; as well as Morrison’s Poetry volumes; Eminem’s “Angry Blonde”; Almost everything on Michael Moore at the time; and finally books from the spiritually-wise Sylvia Brown. Material things didn’t matter. (due to a visiting a friend of mine at Marion College. [I also took upon the name Geronimo]) This would mark the start of our great embarkment. I was willing to give my life to society; living to write for those who would care to read. The bus ride home from this adventure is poorly lit. I am fighting to read the words I write while trying to focus my subconscious mind. Looking out the window, my mind begins to tremble with terror. I cant seem to shake the feeling of fear I get from the “Grid”. The streets are ran like patterns. Patterns that are taught amongst the designers in schools. Schools that are ran and funded by the government. Our own government; the same government that gave us A.I.D.S, the same government that knew about the planes; the same government that blew the levees. I suddenly come to the realization that a story in that direction could take months to decipher….. “They say the great spirit worships those whose fast.” (“Dead Man”) What about those who fast for weeks? …..Different day, still aren’t sure of the name or time of it, but another none the less, I could of died last night; still not sure of the matter. I guess I could of died anywhere from then and now; but I digress back to the embarkment. We started with a trip. (L.S.D.) A trip that lead to manifesting a destiny. We were “On the Road”. Needless to say we were on a pretty serious drug regiment. (In order to keep the mind limber) When I say we I mean…. ….Ali G, skate boarder; L Bow gypsy; Curry, stranger to civilization; SuzyQ, companion to the end; and yours truly. Our drugs of choice were as follows: L.S.D., CCC’s, Mushrooms, Alcohol, Air Duster, and of course our fair share of coke, and pills; some uppers, some downers, but who can keep tack of all of that. Let us not forget our passionate m*******a use. We were stoned, ripped, and twisted. First came the pique. The one I was referring to earlier. We had just taken the last of our acid and in the waking hours of the night, we somehow managed to escape the police chase of our lifetime. Our adrenaline was on all cylinders at this point. I think the police thought we were driving too recklessly during our 3:00 am stroll through downtown Seymour. Never the less we managed to escape incarceration by simple park duck and cover, in a nearby apartment complex. Thanks to God was in order here. “Alas!, a good omen worth traveling on.” We knew if we headed back to our own place the cops would nab us for sure. We then decided unanimously to head to the country roads. “To Skyline; We must!” After a lot of bad noise at the vista we decided to check into a motel. We then planned to sell all of our belongings, at least all that couldn’t fit into the car, in hopes of gas money to at least make it to the western coastline. We were afraid our pit bull Lillian would be unable to make the trip so we decided to sell her to a man at a nearby Circle-K. Although she is gone she will not be forgotten. We were off and running bright and early the next day. Third time would be the charm, or so Suz and I kept telling ourselves. I mean the psychic even said it would be...(ahem)..We managed to sell all of our belongings to a midget pawnbroker for a measly $350, and were pretty much running on hopes and dreams. We probably could of stuck around a little longer to find a buyer who would pay more, but we were kind of on a time schedule. My mom had a lease on us for the rental house and, unknowing to her we were planning on breaking it. We then skipped town and stocked up on as many pharmaceuticals as we could along the way. We drove straight onto Wakenny Kansas, to stay at the Bryant Motel. Our former home away from home. We had left a phone charger there; on mine and Suzy's second attempt at California; where the water pump on our car had gone out on us. I knew we’d at least make it this far. Maybe it was the electro-shock therapy we’d all partaken in during the arouse of our pique that jolted that bit of information into me. Who the f**k knows. So here we were half if not completely out of our minds, unable to tell the difference between conversational topics and the emotional roller coaster screaming in our heads. Concentration seemed impossible. We were nothing more then lost children itching for the pique of sensation. It was amazing. Simply Amazing. After a long over due, few hour nap, we were off again. Our goal was to be on to new and better things. Our dreams we had faith in. We fill’ied about the town playing hogs of the road, then settled down for a bit to eat. Tacos. With our bellies full, and minds near edge, we stocked up again on our friendly red devils. It was a glorious day filled with rhyme and philosophy. We took upon our own travel names. I was already Geronimo. Suzy became Zani Peotis, while Ali chose Aliestair, Curry decided on London, and L Bow…I forget. We managed to rubber tramp it to Colorado, where a friend of ours back home, MaxG, had sent word of our arrival, to his cousin and his room-mates. His cousin seemed like a nice guy, it was just way to obvious that he wanted to be a player. And what a game he played. Needless to say we learned a lot that night. Mainly we learned that our tribe despised cookies purchased by a female who enjoys an unfair game of foot f**k. We took the liberty of throwing them at his house till the package was no more. Now in hindsight had I known that Curry and L Bow were not a monogamous couple, I might not have felt the need to defend his honor...;but as it would turn out Curry, just really enjoyed throwing cookies at houses. And although it wasn’t entirely (his cousins’) fault, and he was a pretty good host, it still didn’t stop me from speaking my piece and apparently we left on bad terms and with L Bows money. We concluded it was time to head to the mountains. Curry would find another. Ahh! The mountains. We climbed a good 80-100 feet, on our hands and knees, following a path of broken glass through a tunneled rock formation; making camp near 50 feet from a trail, as deer trotted down it, grazing at first then scampering away at our laughter. I sat against a bolder and waited for the others to turn in. Then I took my own spiritual journey. I had apparently lost track of time and was regretting leaving my shoes in the car. I noticed a bottle of expired Grape Powerade, which was perfect for quenching my thirst for more. That night I had a vision; that sometime in the near future, two more of the tribe would split. Apparently I had been walking in a rather large circle and found my way back to camp as the early morning came upon us. I tried to collect my thoughts with the waking tribe, when we were interrupted by a D.N.R. official stating that he had seen our car parked below and advised us that we were not permitted to be there, claiming it wasn’t safe for us to be exposed like we were. “Wake Up! You can’t remember where it was had this dream stopped?”(Jim Morrison)

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