September 27, 2013
Yesterday morning I got a hair cut and dyed it blue again. I had to cut it shorter because it’s wavy and blue wavy hair would look stupid, so I cut the waves out. As I was walking to work I saw an aluminum baseball bat laying in someone’s yard and it gave me an idea. I took it with plans to return it later. After work, I stopped at home briefly just to drop off Gary Oldman (II) and then I headed straight for Dave’s.
When I buzzed, he actually let me up. Kind of surprising, but not really since he probably thought I did those drugs and was coming for more. I leaned the bat off to the side outside his door and left it there when he let me in. He shook my hand like everything was normal and ok. I took off my Eastwood and my hoodie, laid them on a chair, then I punched him in the face. He was like, “wtf!” I punched him again in the face and in the stomach and when he was down, I kicked him, just like he kicked me time and time again when I was down. He didn’t even try to fight back, he only tried to back away and ask what my problem was. I helped him up and pushed him to sit on the sofa. I said, “I am about to impose retribution upon you.”
I went out to retrieve the bat. Then I proceeded to smash his television and stupid technology. In my peripheral vision I saw him get up to come and stop me, so I swung the bat and hit him in the arm. I shoved him with the bat to sit back down. I finished smashing the shit and as I turned to face him, he had just pulled out his cell phone. I swung the bat, causing the phone to fly against the wall, and as a result I broke his fingers or his hand, but definitely his fingers. With the end of the bat, I smashed his phone on the floor.
I put the bat by my hoodie, and I took out my pocket knife and unfolded it. The blade is the size of my palm. I approached him, slammed the heel of my boot, my Stepping Wolf, in his balls and when he hollered, I grabbed him by the hair and put the knife in his mouth with the tip pressing into his palate.
I said, “Don’t you ever fuck with me again. And don’t you fucking even think about vengeance for this, because this is my vengeance against you. This is nothing compared to what you’ve done to me, but I’ll call it even just so I can move on with my life. If you come around or have anyone else come around to cause me or anyone else I know harm, I will fucking kill you. Then I’ll go straight to the police with your blood on my hands and brag about how I slaughtered you and the mangled state they’ll find your body in. And if you’re thinking of killing me first in order to save yourself, well I curse your fucking soul. You cause me or anyone I know harm, your life will bring you nothing but pain and suffering, and when you die, your soul will never be salvaged from the torture I curse you with. I curse you, you fucking cunt.” Then I spit on him, and cut the roof of his mouth when I pulled the knife out.
I wiped the blood on his shirt, folded up my knife and put it in my pocket. I put on my Eastwood and my hoodie. Then I took his smokes, stuck one in his mouth and lit it, lit one for myself, and pocketed the pack and lighter. After grabbing my bat, I walked out the door, spitting in the doorway before I closed the door and moved on.
It was evil but he deserved it. The curse is my guarantee that he will back off, because he’s superstitious about that stuff. And he knows what I’m capable of. I don’t like to be violent, but when it comes to self defense it’s sometimes necessary, sorry Thoreau and Gandhi. There’s no room for passive resistance in this scenario. If I were to practice that, then I’d eventually give in to his tactics, relapse, and probably die from a drug overdose at some point. Or I’d get so miserable I’d kill myself. Part of my trouble is I’m using a lot of energy just defending me from myself. With his manipulation, it makes that almost impossible. I knew I had to go there and put him off completely and permanently. My method of doing so is pretty much the only language Dave speaks because he’s a freakin’ pussy. Anyway, this should stop it. And smashing his expensive shit is meaningless. It is less important than the value of my life and well being. He destroyed me physically and mentally with more severity than I did by bashing some things he can replace with his blood money.
On the way home I tossed the bat back into that yard. Once home, I washed my hands and went to my room with Gary Oldman (II). I did it to protect her too. She’s the most pure and innocent thing I’ve ever known and she’s my responsibility. If I fuck up, it affects her. She laid on my chest and purred while I pet her and gave her kisses.
I’m hoping now that that part of my life is permanently behind me, and I can really move on now, go to school, accomplish things that I feel proud of. I don’t feel proud about being violent, but I believe it was the only choice I had, and I’m proud that I took action against my potential downfall.
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