Daniel Hazelhoff : writer, poet, rapper

I smoke my cigarette, I gaze at the dead crimson flower lying lifelessly, limp upon the table, the smoke rises, my ring shines, I hear the freshly started conversations of those around me, they all seem so… well, into it, although I couldn't possibly care less what they are talking about, I hear them laugh. I laughed today, I laughed a good deal, and maybe made a bad one ‘hahaha’, I laugh in my head and press my numb hands to my forehead. ‘Damn, sometimes I make some fucking bad choices’, I cant help but giggle again in the back of my mind.
I take a drag, ‘this shit is disgusting, I fucking love it’ I think, to myself, My mind is blank for a while now, wisps of smoke aimlessly, amorphously, float around my head, adrift in the saturated emptiness which is my mind. On occasions I drift in and out of reality, ‘where is my mind’ plays on repeat, fuck you fight club, great movie though.
The conversations have now stopped, just as I had thought, fucking hilarious, they are all just as mundane as the next. The frivolous buzz of chatter is dead, ‘where are there minds?’ I notice a paper lotus flower, wish it would burn, not because I’m destructive, ‘hahaha’, well, maybe I am, but I want to see this paper lotus burn because, how will people react? Will they start to panic, the room is relatively empty, It might not cause much of a fuss, but what if the girl reading an essay, or drawing a picture, at the far side if the table sitting two tables left of me just so happened to jump up off her uncomfortable spot, screaming like a newborn, and leaped out of the window she was currently sitting under. That would be impressive, and would have made my day a whole lot more interesting, not that it wasn’t.
I have no electricity at home, this has lasted a week so far, I wonder how much longer it will last, I’ve simply been squatting at a number of friends houses, trying not to take advantage of their generosity, which, to be honest is pretty fucking hard, just because they're so goddamn generous. I love them, I love them.
I watch a man walk in through the door, I know him, I know him well. He’s tall, big, a nice guy, not the type of guy you would consider to be a hard core drug dealer. Here’s where I might have made that bad deal. A job is now what I have, I did not have one before this man walked into the door. I didn't know whether or not I would have one afterwards either. I wasn't nervous, I wasn't scared, I've done this before, I've lived this life, and I’m just repeating It again, I assume. There would be allot of money involved, but money comes with risks, I fucking hate money. ‘We pay to live’ I think to myself, ‘we fucking do’, why must this be so? Why cant we just all live in a fucking self sustainable society, constructed upon a basis of copious amounts of sex, food, and drugs, although I’m pretty sure most of us wouldn't eat most of that food due to a constant lack of appetite… which, unfortunately would make the sex all the more appealing to me. Vicious.