People like me help kill rappers. No, I didn’t take out 2pac in the lobby of a casino, or shoot up B.IG. In his car. I do know someone like me got someone else to do it. It’s people like me who got the pyromaniac shit faced off tequila shots in a Silver Lake bar who then set flame to Griffith Park in 2007. People like me gave the doctor the proper dose of Propofol to kill Michael Jackson. He wasn’t happy anyway, don’t let any of his family members tell you other wise. I lived in the nucleus of a cesspool filled with middle class couch potatoes, hipsters, dreamers, gangsters, young eyes obsessed with glamour, young adults burdened by debt, everyone simultaneously chasing wealth with their heads cut off never truly reaching what they wish to attain. And I can never go back.
It was all supposed to be under the radar. A secret that would make me rich beyond anything my wife and I ever imagined. A simple plan I could get out of once I had made enough money to get my family started with a solid foundation. No one was supposed to know about any of this and for a long time I was able to keep everything under the radar. My excuses are just as valid as anyone else trying to make it in his or hers twenties with nothing really pulling through. In the middle of a bank owned recession where we all felt like sub prime suckers I was naturally supposed to be the man of the house. It all lead to dire frustrations and over draft fees. There was never a feeling of completion to scratch the egotistical itch. I was only left with a raw taste of resentment for those who may have it easier while I used every resource to its very last drop. I needed to make something happen in my life. I needed a change of pace and a proper income.
My generation has watched its parents reach amazing heights of prosperity.
We’ve lived through an age where you can get famous over night if America thinks you are talented enough. We live in an age where Youtube makes a fat kid lip singing Hungarian pop songs well known and even admired. No matter how silly this all sounds most of us are willing to expose ourselves for a few bucks.
Nothing I did would I consider more evil than say fathers who kill their
families due to their selfish financial stresses. What I did was fully for profit. It was not to become famous, but to live comfortably. Other leeches conjure up techniques and spells to make a circus out of their own lives for an undisclosed fee. They exploit everything and everyone in their inner circles. For example, take Nadia Suleman. Even before the cameras were on she was exploiting the system. Getting checks for all of her six children. Finding a sick doctor who could induce her with eight more babies to profit off of.
The only reason I did this was so my family could be happy, be comfortable, to live with no worries. My job was not paying enough for us to live the life we desired. I was searching for direction but any route that felt good wasn’t paying.
There was really no sense of purpose. I really didn’t know what I was doing and what I would amount to. When I was younger I believed that writing could be my way out of this hellish cycle to a level of wealth that could bring me the finest possessions with out a care in the world. That somehow, at the point of attaining greatness, it would fill me with joy and satisfaction. The media tricked me by making it look easy. Internet ads, entertainment shows, newspapers, all with stories of success. Yet for every one success story there are a million failed attempts. They don’t tell you that.