I haven't been on here in a while. But, I figured I'd share a non fiction short memoir I worked up of the past two years of my life. It's rough around the edges, I know. Tell me what you think anyhow, I'd be glad to return any critiques, or even people who just acknowledged that they read it.

Insanity Is:

A circle of men with nothing in common but the company of lawn mower they drove, and (more seriously) the nature of their woes are sitting in the dim lit basement of a catholic church named after some saint; sipping black coffee and gripping laminated sheets of numbered guidelines.

And then there is me, an eighteen year old high school drop out with african tribal art of regret sticking obnoxiously through my ears. There are no grey hairs on my head nor tannish stained overgrown facial hair from my neck, chin or cheeks. I don't own a tractor or a hat to prove it.

As the man with the gavel smiles proudly banging it against his leather bound book, envy is the emotion of the hour. For you to understand this, let me take you back...

I'm sixteen years old, full of angst and other misdirected emotions. I have no idea who I am. I do however have eight dollars. It's January, the middle of a blizzard, but whoever I'm in the car with has as little care as I do about the weather. I beg he or she to take me to the dollar store, where they sell the good cough medicine; the kind that costs a dollar. Also, the kind that makes most psychonauts vomit and dry heave.
Cut fifteen minutes later to my friends house, music about hating god, life and America(so loud that the president, the FBI and Jesus Christ himself could hear it) blaring in the background. Lines of opiates are being sniffed off of broken mirrors and blunts are being passed around to kids with a beer in their opposite hand.

I'm in the middle of it all, snorting, popping, breathing, drinking(not to mention blabbing on louder than any person or stereo). But, that's not enough for me, I need a spiritual connection. It wasn't too long later that I dug in my Dollar General bag and pulled out my "Tussin" bottles and chugged all eight consecutively, and sat stupidly awaiting my enlightenment. An hour later I'd be on the roof, naked, masturbating with shampoo as a lubricant while the party peered out the window and sprayed shaving cream on my ass. I never felt so enlightened as I did that night.

Eventually, situations like that would lead me to break commandments that God would have thought too obvious for Moses to scribe. Needless to say(but I will anyway), such situations have certain consequences. Four months of my "glory years" now belong to four cells in a county jail. A couple months also belong to other institutions, that I'll leave to implications rather than say so abruptly. I've seen a senile man's testicles dangle from his too tight underpants and clerical workers with vertical slash wounds down their wrists. Kids not old enough to vote taking methodone for withdrawal and the scars on their arms from clots they sliced to avoid amputation.

I guess that brings me back to the basement. Sitting, absorbing, envious. I want to tell them all that they are my heroes, that I hope one day I'll be able to say "I've got twenty years". Instead I say, "Hi, I'm Jacob, and I'm a .... "
Last edited by clichealias at Jun 23, 2007,
Before I read this, I always was against drugs, and...after reading this, it reinforced my way of thinking. before, i just knew drugs were gonna just end up screwing my life up, but after reading this, it really hit home exactly y i wanted to stay drug-free, I hope this thread stays up on the forum at all times, so everyone can read it. I hope u stay healthy and never have to take a trip down memory lane, and I have a feeling u have no plans to either. and even tho this was a memoir, it was really well written

crit 4 crit?
An American Problem
My guitars:

Ibanez RG5EX1
Eleca Dread Acoustic
Dean ML

My FX: Line 6 Floor POD Plus

In the end, fact means nothing,
its all about perspective
Pretty cool story. Unique thats for sure...

I kinda was confused by this sentence and it got me hung up.
And then there is me, an eighteen year old high school drop out with african tribal art of regret sticking obnoxiously through my ears

It might be a good idea to rewrite this part to prevent the reader from getting off-track, or maybe its just me.

That's some hardcore **** you got there dude. I'm kinda at a loss for words. Thanks for sharing.

If you could get at something in my sig (preferably the one at the bottom) I'd appreciate it.
this is great. there are some grammatical issues that could be repaired, but I neither have the time or desire to point them out right now. if you want me to you could PM me, but I don't think you're one to correct that stuff anyways.

anyways, like I said before, great. I don't really have anything else to say. it hits hard, and I can relate 'cause a certain brother of mine is sixteen years old and just like that. awesome work, you never seem to get the love you deserve on here.