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Download Bad People Were Babies To free today on Amazon … a tale of drugs, love, abuse and the cracking

Excerpt

My eyes set upon an ashtray growing its own mountain of cigarette butts, from my horizontal position on the couch I could stick out my tongue and lick one of the butts if I was so inclined. Why I would be inclined to lick said butts is a thought to mull over for another day

I heard a sound; my stomach churned. He was in the bathroom, surprisingly up early for someone who had spent the better part of the night fashioning a can-crack pipe, smoking crack, losing can crack pipe, searching apartment dumpster for cans to fashion new crack pipe, smoking crack, losing pipe – you get the picture.

Bad People Were Babies Too by Joti Heir

 

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Free on Amazon Today Bad People Were Babies Too

The story is free on February 23, 24, 2018 on Amazon. Below is an excerpt

If you are in the mood for a tale of what some would call abuse and justice, others would call hate and hate just click here Bad People Were Babies Too

Part 1: The Love

My eyes set upon an ashtray growing its own mountain of cigarette butts, from my horizontal position on the couch I could stick out my tongue and lick one of the butts if I was so inclined. Why I would be inclined to lick said butts is a thought to mull over for another day

I turned over on the couch and stuck my nose into the dusty seat cushions to try and avoid the shining sun. The silly, stupid shining sun, as if there was something to shine about. Interesting fact: the scent of dusty seat cushion is infinitely better than that of cigarette butts and a wasted life.

I tossed and turned in the dust for another few hours, but the sun was shooting its rays directly at the back of my head and the heat was seeping through my cranium out of my forehead and making the couch cushion awfully hot. I suppose the sun had made its mind up to destroy my plans to marinate in cool, dark, depressing peace. Damn you sun, damn you I say.

I heard a sound; my stomach churned. He was in the bathroom, surprisingly up early for someone who had spent the better part of the night fashioning a can-crack pipe, smoking crack, losing can crack pipe, searching apartment dumpster for cans to fashion new crack pipe, smoking crack, losing pipe – you get the picture.

I heard the bathroom door open.

“Hey shithead, get up, I need $20.”

My beloved was awake. I tried to ostrich my head into the couch, but what is one to do when the sun and one’s beloved join to suck your soul out of your brain. .

He threw one of the couch cushions at me, then a second, then a third.

“I don’t have any money,” I muttered.

“What?”

I knew he heard me.  God, I want to kill myself sometimes. Or kill him. Just leave me alone, why can I just not be left alone. I rolled off the couch, one of the cushions that had been sitting on my back rolled off of me and into the ashtray, providing us with ashy fireworks.

“Do you want coffee?”

I found avoidance at times is the best route, if I pretended everything was normal we could ignore the stupidity of the situation.

“Ok.”

OK? Oh my helluva saints what the heck.

I saved the old coffee grinds to use as a scrub for my dry skin and got a new pot of coffee a-brewing.

A buzz flick said the TV was on and the booming voice of a man feeling really excited about some other man having thrown a ball really far entered the apartment.

“Hey, what’s for breakfast,” he yelled from the living room.

I leapt to where he was and said I would whip up some lovely eggs and toast, he gave me a thumbs up. We only had three slices of bread left – two whole ones and the loaf butt, but it would do. I kind of like the end of the loaf anyways – when toasted they morph themselves into the perfect balance of crunchy outside and chewy inside.

I buttered the slices of bread and placed them in the toaster oven. Toast smells delicious, like home. The bell pepper, tomato, onion oblate turned out beautifully. I carefully divided the omelets into two and plated them onto two plates along with tomatoes, potatoes and toast. This wasn’t going to be a bad day after all.

“Hurry there’s a good movie about to start,” he shouted.

The table had been cleared off although little ash particles managed to cling to the edges, I set down our plates and went to grab the coffee. Half of a cup ended up on my arm and floor as I tripped over a slipper left in the hallway. I set his cup on the side table beside the couch.

“Go sit over there,” he told me.

I kind of wanted to say fuck off. I also kind of wanted to have one normal people’s Saturday morning, so I picked up the chair and moved it to the other side of the couch.

 

 

The Human Creation of Timmy

He wasn’t quite sure what to do next. His little sister was crying, his mother was lying on the floor with her eyes rolling in and out of her sockets. And there was a man at the door yelling,

“Open up you dirty bimbo,” the voice said.

Timmy didn’t know what a bimbo was but he knew if he opened the door the man would come in and try to shake his mother. It was not possible to shake her out, but he would yell and shake and it would make his little sister cry. The haze of whatever she syringed herself with usually lasted several hours. You had to catch her in between the end of one haze and the start of the next one if you wanted to talk to her.

He had determined in his 11 years of life that during the first week of a new month the minutes between the end of one haze and the start of the next haze were limited to just a few. The end parts of the month were different. During those days his mom would sometimes get up at the end of a haze and buy food, maybe even make dinner, maybe even talk about things. The end parts of the month were Timmy’s favorite.

But if you tried to bother her in the haze she would throw things and the man would definitely be angry if she threw things. Timmy placed the glass of water he had been holding down on the ground and picked his frame up off the floor. He felt his knee crack a little he must have been huddling over his mom a long time. He slowly walked over to the front door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Open the door you little shit.”

To read the rest just click HERE it is free today February 10, 2019 on Amazon.

 

There is no black and white and there is no pure evil or good, this is the story of Timmy and his grey. The story about a little boy and the math that added up to the after man sitting in the aftermath of a chair.

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Thank you and take care,

Swipe

Hello readers and writers and poets and magicians.

This is a poem found in my collection of poetry entitled The Human Condition – available free for download this weekend …. nothing like fall weather and a hot beverage and some poetry and some rain and a blanket and a fire ….

 

Swipe

by Joti Heir

How about this

You crazy beautiful bastard

You are sublime

I love you all kinds

I kiss your lips

Your soul

Your love

Your bliss

Love you all kinds

Even though you do not exist

 

You can click here for the link to the book’s Amazon page where you can load for free …if you would like. 

The broken

It is simple to call a person who shoots at innocent individuals a crazy case. The uncomplicated truth is there are thousands of individuals harboring the same desires because their life is hard.

Perhaps no one should be legally allowed to purchae a weapon before they are 30 = it is silly to equal gun-carrying age to drinking beer age. Utopian – ly – there shouldn’t be weapons but we can start somewhere at least.

And really – you can never tell when someone is going to blow – it is impossible to tell so you can’t blame anyone. But what you can do is ensure they don’t have the weapons to do it.

Broken people are capable of everything