back of the train
September 1, 2025
I heard certain rumors about me a while ago, something about how I am still addicted to methamphetamine, perhaps even homeless–I really am uncertain as to what the fanfictions written about me are presently regarding. I am not a lurker… well… aside from on my favorite anonymous board, 4chan. Which… you’re supposed to lurk on. I appreciate my fans greatly, even if they choose to not educate themselves about much of anything due to lacking the graciousness to talk to others about their troubles. The passive aggression I have & continue to experience greatly amuses me, it enables the podcast streaming in my retarded brain to be quite epic, I have plenty to ponder upon… But I will accept the chat dialogues and respond appropriately (or… inappropriately…), as I really do appreciate the video game of real life, even with its broken game mechanics that are overdue for a quality of life update–it is still HYPE.
Anyhow, I thought it be appropriate that given the implications of the fiction my fans write about me, that I provide a piece that I composed during my one & only methamphetamine relapse. You will have to read it as it is, because I’m not going to read it over or even edit it, because… I don’t want to think about that shit! I already experienced that shit! At the very least, I believe it would be important to release what my writing actually looks like while under the influence of methamphetamine. While I do wish I could release more, unfortunately… my ex-boyfriend claims to have burnt the tomes of my feverish psychosis that I wrote down in Hellertown, PA.
Not much if anything came of what I claimed would bring me happiness. Being my forgiving self is what ultimately brought me happiness. Lucifer has provided me a path worth taking.
Thank you to those who have already read this in the past & managed to find inspiration for their own artistic endeavors within it. It has been nearly three years now & the shame I previously felt for my experience in Hellertown, San Francisco, & what I once believed to be a failure as a Mother1, has since dissipated.
It’s the trap for a reason.
1 My son is none of your fucking business & go fuck yourself if you think you’re entitled to anything about him. I’ve shared enough. You’re either my friend or friends with Antwan, or not–those who feel entitled to him often are nothing to either of us… BUT! I will say: dat boi da shit DOE. :’)