Nightmares and Dreamscapes...

I was running as fast as I possibly could. Each stride burned more than the last, every breath seared pain into my failing lungs... If there was one thing I knew, I knew I wasn't going to make it.

The faster I ran the more narrow the gap between us became. I was beginning to realize that there was no way I could keep this pace up, and that even if I did, there was ABSOLUTELY no doubt I would soon be caught. And when that happened, well, I would definitely be too worn out from all the stupid running to do anything worth a damn.

So, that was it then... The decision was practically already made for me, I had to turn and fight.

I felt like I was ready, kinda. Once upon a time a very wise man said to me, "running from it will not save you." Why the fuck not? WHY?!! Jeez...

... Stupid wise man, stupid wisdom, stupid ellipses...

FUCK!

And so then, distracted by the wise man's ridiculous proverb and the world-deafening terror slowly closing in on me, I tripped. And not one of those... "Foot-gets-caught-while-walking-look-back-like-there-was-something-crazy-on-the-ground-and-find-out-your-clumsy-ass-tripped-over-nothing" kind of trips. I'm talking a "full-on-chin-and-right-arm-skin-peeling-home-plate-stealing-slide-across-bare-cold-flesh-ripping-concrete" kind of trip.

My exciting counter-attack strategy was crushed in a mere half-moment's clumsiness. I was doomed.

As I laid there, awaiting my tragic fate under the diminishing half-moon light, my executioner sauntered into view. The weapon in her left hand now seemed more like a jagged sword than the switchblade I thought I saw earlier. And, as I watched its reflection glimmer toward me through the darkness, with nothing left inside me but fear and bad judgement, I closed my eyes.

I felt her kneel down beside me, heard her hot misty breath tumbling toward me through the cold night air. I opened my eyes.

She was beautiful.

Her hair bounced around her head in wild coiling ebony ribbons. Her smooth bronze skin shimmered invincibly under the evening stars. And her eyes... her eyes were like two glistening pools of infinity, echoing her lusty intensity at me through the soul-consuming darkness. 

She leaned even closer. Then, looked deep into my eyes... and stabbed me. And stabbed me. And stabbed me.

I tried to move, but the stabbing... It’s just really hard to move when you’re getting stabbed, trust me on that. It's the worst.

My beautiful murderer looked down at me laying there, leaking vital life essence all over the disgusting city sidewalk, parted her lips coyly and said, “Stocking up and saving more on the things my family needs. That works for me!”

*sigh*

I hate falling asleep with the TV on.

How To Be A Better Friend: Vol. 1

There once was a boy. Your average boy, with dreams and aspirations and dirt under his finger nails. This boy had always been afraid of public speaking so he decides to try his hand at spoken word poetry to overcome his fear. He goes to his room, writes a couple of poems, picks his favorite one and begins to memorize it. And this little boy is going in, like Rabbit in 8 Mile. But, like Rabbit in 8 Mile, his first time in front of the crowd, he chokes.

The poets clap for him anyway because it took courage to do what he did. And so he goes back to his room and gets back to the pad. But this boy doesn’t get better. In fact, the next three times he goes back, he’s worse than the time before. It has become clear that not only does this boy lack the verbal skills to be a good spoken word poet; he also lacks the writing skills and the ability to do spoken word poetry. Yet, he still goes back every week and never fails to disappoint the entire crowd. Every time.

There once was a girl. All her life she was called pretty. Right up until her 12^th birthday. Puberty hit and just like Dakota Fanning, that awkward adolescent stage came sweeping in before she knew it. Her confidence was not shaken however and her dreams of becoming a model were still coursing through her veins. Years and years of pictures were taken. Some of them were ok, some were WTF, but something became very clear over the years; the awkward stage had never really ended and only got more awkward after the 140lb weight gain.

But to be a model, nothing would stop this young girl. Not even her stretch mark's stretch marks.

There were once these guys. They decided to write a blog because they figured, “why the hell not?” And like all good ideas, it started off well but it lost steam. But a year later, these guys come back and start writing again like it never happened. And they are so excited that they start writing every day. And they are posting it on every social network. They even join new social networks and post them there. But things became clear along the way; these guys can’t actually write.

In fact, no post relates to the name of the blog, whatsoever in any way shape or form save some random reference to illegal contraband.  A blog name they thought so clever, but in fact, it was lazy and sad. But does their lack of writing skills, fan base, content, charisma or over all personality stop them from writing? Nope, they are determined to force you to read whatever they come up with.

“And what do all these people have in common?” you may be wondering. Well I’ll tell you.

They all have your fucking support.

Yes, your support. You may not support all of them, but you have definitely supported one of these people. You were just trying to be a friend; I get it, but look what you did. You’ve spawned a group of people who despite realizing they suck at their life’s dream; continue to ruin the world with their lack of desired talent.

You may also be saying “Ricochet, you are fucked up. You should never put people down. Regardless of how you feel nigga, you shouldn’t put other people down. Who are you to judge other people?”

I’m just the nigga writing this blog.

In short people,

He couldn’t write yesterday, she won’t be pretty tomorrow and they damn sure won’t ever be dope.

So as you go on your way, let us remember the wise words of a lady who had no problem NOT supporting terrible movements.