Robfather
Active Member
The following is a factual account
So am I the be all end all of the universe? Fuck no! Am I smarter than the average stoner? Hard to say. I didn't grow up in the hood, my family didn't use food stamps. I went to a decent school, had a couple good friends. Then I gave up everything because I felt un-popular or not 'cool' or whatever. I idolized movies like Scarface and Goodfellas. I wanted to be them. I wanted the money and the friends and yes, the ladies too. So I became a drug dealer.
I started small, when I was 19. I moved away so any failures I might suffer, wouldn't likely be discovered by my family. On the streets selling dime bags to tourists, I felt cheap. At first.
As the months dragged on, standing in the rain day after day I came to notice the various runners and middlemen of my neighborhood. I made friends with a guy that seemed to be the one more in charge and after a short time, I took his position. That's when ego started to set in.
Suddenly I was making decent money. Not great, not even good. Just decent. I was able to buy some new clothes, I felt like I was walking taller, looking better. That in turn gave me more confidence which allowed me to meet more women. I was starting to feel important and that feeling can take you over and turn you into a monster in the blink of an eye. Addicted to feeling important
After a couple years I had made my way to the top of the charge. I controlled my neighborhood and I ran it with an iron fist. I had all the nice clothes, the beautiful women, everything that goes with being at the top of your game. Everything except Truth, and I underestimated just how important Truth can be. At the time, I thought that I had worked hard to get where I was but that it was only a 'job' and my 'job didn't define me. I thought I could turn it off whenever I wanted and that I wasn't this person that my reputation said I was. I truthfully believed in this reality I had created for myself. I believed I was tough. I believed that my friends were my friends and I believed my girlfriend loved me for me. I believed I was invincible. I had destroyed any attempts to remove me from my position and I felt confident in every aspect of my life. I felt popular and cool.
I was seriously mistaken.
One day I was leaving the grocery store when in my neighborhood when I saw a few of my friends gathered on the opposite side of the street. I'm not going to lie, I saw something wasn't quite right. They looked upset. So, I put my grocery bags down and jogged across the street to see what was happening. As I approached my friends, all over 6 feet tall, I didn't notice the smallish Honduran guy they were talking to until it was much too late.
I found out later my friends were removing him from our neighborhood for selling crack. One of the few rules we enforced with passion was a no crack policy.
To my dismay, the Honduran gentleman was able to stick his 18 inch machete directly into my chest passing behind my heart, nicking my inferior vena cava ( A vein attached to the heart) then glancing off my spine and out my back. Then, he pulled it out.
I'm not going into detail here but suffice it to say, that was a bad thing. I died 3 times on the way to the hospital. Each time my life flashing before my eyes. All the bad things I had done, the terrible decisions I made in the name of my 'Job'. The truth behind the lie I had been leading.
2 months to walk a block, another year to jog again. The first few months I tried to maintain my rep. I hired a bodyguard, I went out with a cane to show my presence. I didn't want to back down.
My 'friends' saw my weakness and seized their opportunity. They made a play for my role. My girlfriend must have sensed my imminent downfall. She quickly left me. I spent money trying to maintain my role by any means necessary.
It was a cloudy morning. I woke up, looked out the window on my 33rd floor apartment and realized I had lost myself. I had lost my way. I was not the person I had envisioned. I was tired. Tired of everything. I decided at that moment I wasn't going to fight it anymore so I called up a local gang member I knew, and offered to sell the rights to control my neighborhood. If I couldn't have it, I damn sure wasn't going to let it be taken from me by my so called 'friends'. I sold it and moved back home.
It took me years to realize the importance of that part of my life. I was so fortunate that no one back home really understood what happened. Maybe they suspected but they accepted me with open arms anyway. I learned to find myself again. Smoking weed on long canoe trips through the mountains. Watching the eagles fly overhead I realized what it means to be free. Freedom is the true power.
I'm telling this story because I know there are many of you who, like me, want to rule the world. I''m telling you the cost of that power. No real friends, no real love, no real power. Nothing is real. And at the end of the day, the only thing that awaits you in your last moments might just be all those bad things you've done, the people who suffered so you could have control the final feeling of loneliness.
I'm super lucky to have come out with a straight head. I'm ok now. Spend most of my time biking, canoeing, camping, living. Oh and of course smoking weed, and writing novels on forums apparently. I never put this down on paper before. It feels pretty good. Learn from my mistakes. Live life and be real!
So am I the be all end all of the universe? Fuck no! Am I smarter than the average stoner? Hard to say. I didn't grow up in the hood, my family didn't use food stamps. I went to a decent school, had a couple good friends. Then I gave up everything because I felt un-popular or not 'cool' or whatever. I idolized movies like Scarface and Goodfellas. I wanted to be them. I wanted the money and the friends and yes, the ladies too. So I became a drug dealer.
I started small, when I was 19. I moved away so any failures I might suffer, wouldn't likely be discovered by my family. On the streets selling dime bags to tourists, I felt cheap. At first.
As the months dragged on, standing in the rain day after day I came to notice the various runners and middlemen of my neighborhood. I made friends with a guy that seemed to be the one more in charge and after a short time, I took his position. That's when ego started to set in.
Suddenly I was making decent money. Not great, not even good. Just decent. I was able to buy some new clothes, I felt like I was walking taller, looking better. That in turn gave me more confidence which allowed me to meet more women. I was starting to feel important and that feeling can take you over and turn you into a monster in the blink of an eye. Addicted to feeling important
After a couple years I had made my way to the top of the charge. I controlled my neighborhood and I ran it with an iron fist. I had all the nice clothes, the beautiful women, everything that goes with being at the top of your game. Everything except Truth, and I underestimated just how important Truth can be. At the time, I thought that I had worked hard to get where I was but that it was only a 'job' and my 'job didn't define me. I thought I could turn it off whenever I wanted and that I wasn't this person that my reputation said I was. I truthfully believed in this reality I had created for myself. I believed I was tough. I believed that my friends were my friends and I believed my girlfriend loved me for me. I believed I was invincible. I had destroyed any attempts to remove me from my position and I felt confident in every aspect of my life. I felt popular and cool.
I was seriously mistaken.
One day I was leaving the grocery store when in my neighborhood when I saw a few of my friends gathered on the opposite side of the street. I'm not going to lie, I saw something wasn't quite right. They looked upset. So, I put my grocery bags down and jogged across the street to see what was happening. As I approached my friends, all over 6 feet tall, I didn't notice the smallish Honduran guy they were talking to until it was much too late.
I found out later my friends were removing him from our neighborhood for selling crack. One of the few rules we enforced with passion was a no crack policy.
To my dismay, the Honduran gentleman was able to stick his 18 inch machete directly into my chest passing behind my heart, nicking my inferior vena cava ( A vein attached to the heart) then glancing off my spine and out my back. Then, he pulled it out.
I'm not going into detail here but suffice it to say, that was a bad thing. I died 3 times on the way to the hospital. Each time my life flashing before my eyes. All the bad things I had done, the terrible decisions I made in the name of my 'Job'. The truth behind the lie I had been leading.
2 months to walk a block, another year to jog again. The first few months I tried to maintain my rep. I hired a bodyguard, I went out with a cane to show my presence. I didn't want to back down.
My 'friends' saw my weakness and seized their opportunity. They made a play for my role. My girlfriend must have sensed my imminent downfall. She quickly left me. I spent money trying to maintain my role by any means necessary.
It was a cloudy morning. I woke up, looked out the window on my 33rd floor apartment and realized I had lost myself. I had lost my way. I was not the person I had envisioned. I was tired. Tired of everything. I decided at that moment I wasn't going to fight it anymore so I called up a local gang member I knew, and offered to sell the rights to control my neighborhood. If I couldn't have it, I damn sure wasn't going to let it be taken from me by my so called 'friends'. I sold it and moved back home.
It took me years to realize the importance of that part of my life. I was so fortunate that no one back home really understood what happened. Maybe they suspected but they accepted me with open arms anyway. I learned to find myself again. Smoking weed on long canoe trips through the mountains. Watching the eagles fly overhead I realized what it means to be free. Freedom is the true power.
I'm telling this story because I know there are many of you who, like me, want to rule the world. I''m telling you the cost of that power. No real friends, no real love, no real power. Nothing is real. And at the end of the day, the only thing that awaits you in your last moments might just be all those bad things you've done, the people who suffered so you could have control the final feeling of loneliness.
I'm super lucky to have come out with a straight head. I'm ok now. Spend most of my time biking, canoeing, camping, living. Oh and of course smoking weed, and writing novels on forums apparently. I never put this down on paper before. It feels pretty good. Learn from my mistakes. Live life and be real!
One love brother