If you died tomorrow would you be proud of your life?

So many times, not only was I ashamed of my life but I actively tried to get myself killed. Any risk I took face first. I did this because of the short falls of my life. I wasn’t living up to the potential I knew I could achieve and that we all can achieve. I wanted to be the one to lean on. I wanted to be the honorable big brother to my fellow men and women who would was willing to sacrifice, protect, inspire and provide for them. For eight years I have tried to achieve this goal by showing all those around me how grateful I am to have them in my life and give something back. To lend support, to listen, to help build their dreams as they did for me.

 

Many years ago someone told me to focus on me. To look out and take care of me because I wasn’t in a good place. And that this person needed to do the same. But they were wrong. Looking out for yourself will only get you so far. That will make you average. Those who want to help everyone. Who are willing to shoulder the burden we change the world. We inspire. Because we do what is hard, what is illogical, what is painful. We run towards danger to help others. We don’t run away to protect ourselves. That is what I wanted to achieve and falling short was killing me. But I kept trying. I kept working on my dream. I knew that my invention wouldn’t only help the planet. It had the potential to change the way we think. Not only can we now remove microplastics from the water but that idea started with a half drunk dreamer at the country club of virginia. I walked out of there a failure. I looked my friends in the eyes and knew we were headed back to the same shit hole we lived in. We were headed back to our average lives of life, rent, and death. I walked back in and made a contact that started all of this for them. I’m not trying to change the physical world that is secondary. I want to change the hearts of the people in it. I want my story to be one of someone who came from the shitiest apartment in richmond. Someone who should have never been invited to the country club of virginia. Someone who had been abandoned, marginalized, and banished from his home by what was left of his family. Someone filled with shame, failure, pain and hate. If I could achieve this then all of you could see that I am not special. We all are special. We all dream and feel love in our hearts. All that is stopping us is that we are thinking about ourselves. We are consumed by the fear. We need to build a better world of the heart. Inspire the ones we love. We all need to love one another.

 

Tonight is the first night I go to sleep proud of my life because of a phone call I got today. My big sister. The successful responsible one of the family called me the black sheep today to thank me for inspiring her. She had a dream to change some hospital protocols that would protect patients and doctors. She had a dream to help others and asked for my help and inspiration. She said you have achieved so much and made so many positive changes in your life I wanted to better myself and the world around me too. She worked on her policy for a year. She was doubted, ignored, and marginalized just like I was in the beginning. I told her to stay with it. Fight. Keep hope alive. Fight for your dream. It is worth it. You can help these people if you don’t give up. You are right and it is a good idea. We need this and you are capable of shouldering the burden to get us there. You are strong enough to achieve this dream and win the hard fight ahead. You have the courage to have patience and the perseverance because this will be hard, this will take years. I have complete faith in my big sister as she did in her little brother.

Today she was nominated for a nightingale award because of her new policy. The head of her hospital was so proud of my big sister he nominated her because she fought to change the world for other people. My big sister was inspired to fight because of the little brother who fought for her. My big sister was recognize for her achievement, courage, and heart. And when the battle was won she called her little black sheep brother and said thanks for inspiring me.

 

My inventions are in major circles. You will see them soon. We can clean the water. We can reduce coal emissions by 93%. We can generate electricity in new ways. And I am just getting started. But what I am proud of most is the reinvention of myself. Taking the pieces of my shattered life and making a beautiful inspiring mosaic of love, dreams, invention and determination.

 

I got here because I fought for others. I got here because I dreamed. You can too. I know it.

42. ACCIDENTALLY ON PURPOSE

Well America book two is wrapping up. When I say that it’s 3/4 done which means 6 months-ish due to financial restraints. Tragically I’m still a carpenter and a poor one. But buy my book Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How To Live tell your friends and make me a writer. In honor of book two coming out I will be releasing some of the chapters from the first book. If your new to my blog you only get the unedited drunken free writes here. For the full on copy you have to pay the terrible price of 3 dollars for a kindle copy 9 for print. Available on Amazon.com link follows. http://www.amazon.com/Playing-Your-Hand-Right-Showing/dp/1484829794/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1385767769&sr=8-1&keywords=playing+your+hand+right. As I was saying book two is almost done so in honor of that here are the professionally edited fully revised chapters of book one. So sit back, make a drink, pack your bowls and enjoy the first of many more to come. This is the last chapter in my first book Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How To Live. Personally it is my favorite but I could probably say that about most of them. Leave me a comment below, I love feed back and if your feeling very adventurous try my first book.

42. ACCIDENTALLY ON PURPOSE

So one night, I invited a fuck buddy to come by for a night of kinky adulterism. I thought I was cool with all forms of sex till I met this chick. First she tried to finger my ass while blowing me. Not cool ladies. I felt a finger go from fondling balls to my no-no spot. After I removed my fingernails from the ceiling and climbed down, she explained to me that she had banged every guy she had been with. And I don’t mean bang in the good way. I told her not this horse. Line one found.

During another night of sexual shenanigans, she asked me to cut her with a dinner knife. Well, as well as she could ask through a ball gag while she was tied up in the entryway. I thought that would look great; the cops come in, see me with a dinner knife; woman tied up, death by thousand cuts, and boom: headshot. Thoughts of me being gunned down wearing nothing but a condom and holding a magic wand in one hand and a knife in the other was not exactly my kind of night. Also, the sight of blood makes me lightheaded and completely de-rected. Line two discovered.

During one night of sexcapades, I couldn’t recall which, we were having some drinks before the roll playing began. She would come in, bringing her bag of whatever hotness she would wear that night. We would catch up, have a few drinks, she would go change in the bedroom, I would set up that night’s fun, and it was on. Well, during one of these drinking and catching up chats we had a little bit more than usual to drink. I have a bar in my apartment, and I was behind it pouring champagne far too fast. We were talking, joking, having a good time; let’s face it ladies, I’m charming. I went to my fridge to get the third bottle of champagne, pull off the foil, wire, aim, fire.

Being the son of a chef and restaurant owner, I am normally one with the cork, but I try to refrain from firing one off in my apartment. You see, I’m a half-assed Buddhist and have a nice Buddha shrine in my living room. Buddha is cool with everything except being shot in the face with a cork and shattered on the floor. I call myself a half-assed Buddhist because I love Karma, but I treat my body like an amusement park, not a temple; hence half-assed.

So, there we are, hotness at the bar, me in the kitchen with a bottle in my hand and off goes the cork. Trying to impress her, I figure I will shoot the cork down my apartment and pour her a glass. In my haste, I didn’t aim properly, and the cork hit the wall across the room. I have both my hands on the bottle when I realize the cork has ricocheted off the wall and is coming straight at my eye at the speed of sound. I wondered what the trip to the hospital would be like. Yes, Doctor, I shot myself, but in my emotional throws, my suicide was foiled because instead of a gun I used a bottle of bubbly. How many times have I laughed at the warning labels on champagne bottles and the funny pictures of cartoons hitting themselves with a cork? Is it possible to have sex with a cork in my eye? I figured she would be a little turned off.

There I was, the “Master” trying to pour a glass of champagne for the “Slave” and the dipshit “Master” is going to blind himself with a cork. Premature corkulation. Why couldn’t my parents have said, “Be careful with the bottle of champagne; you’ll shoot your eye out?” I was great with the BB gun. The cork is getting closer to my face and now she realizes I’m about to be Kennedy-ed. Forget the magic bullet, look at this fucking cork. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her cover her mouth getting ready to laugh, scream, and sympathize. However, this turns out.

Suddenly, I realize time has stopped. I look at my dog, and a drop of drool is floating in the air below him frozen in time. A hummingbird is flying outside the window, and its wings are still.

All these thoughts and sights overwhelmed me, yet I couldn’t react to the damn cork about to headshot me. Frozen in time, unable to move, I awaited my inevitable corky fate. Time began again, and the cork closed in on its target. I braced for the impact of my masochistic bottle opening, when out of the corner of my eye I see a hand. Moving faster than a fat kid running down an ice cream truck, this hand rises to protect my face. I realize it’s my hand moving, and I’m drunker than I thought. I have somehow caught the cork.

Staring at my hand, like a kid who just caught his first fly ball, completely amazed by my subconscious drunken reflexes, I turn to her. She is sitting on the barstool staring at me as if I have just cured cancer while climbing Everest to save her from the abominable snowman. Wet as April. She couldn’t believe it. Had I done this on purpose or accident, she thought to herself. Is my “Master” really this good? Not sure what to do, I came to a sudden conclusion. I handed her the cork with all my misplaced bravado and simply said. “You like my new trick?” And it was on. 

I still try to catch the cork when no one is around…

I’m never even close.

As always long live the writers

Taylor Oceans

Link to Playing Your Hand Right: Showing America How To Live

http://www.amazon.com/Playing-Your-Hand-Right-Showing/dp/1484829794/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1385767769&sr=8-1&keywords=playing+your+hand+right

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Reflexes

Well America as you know I have gone legit.  Every dollar I have is legal. Whether this is good is still be determined but hey I figured I would give it a go. I will say Jesus you guys work a lot for very little money. Or at least the working class and that is where I find myself currently. Moving on.

Today me and my buddy were demoing a brick keystone arch. It was about 15 feet high so we had a basic ladder scaffold set up and are bashing the shit out of this wall drinking beer and having a normal day. It is a bud of mine and we combined our companies and can do just about any build you can think of. With epic lights should you choose that was my side of the biz. So brick wall, shaky scaffolding and terrible beer. Since masonry is my buds side of the biz and we both know carpentry he is point man on this job. We are trying to support some of this arch while we demo it in pieces so the entire thing does not fall and kill us. That is not the way I like to get stoned. So we have this crazy plan, or he did, and we went forward. For the record I said the entire thing would fall on us. I take out the support exactly as he said and Issac Newton covered his eyes with my Dad and everyone up in heaven watching the ridiculous life I lead. The support goes and my bud goes “O SHIT!!!!” The weight was to much and this idiot is trying to hold the entire thing himself.

This is when my reflexes take over. Before I know it instead of running for my life I’m under this fucking wall trying to hold it with my bud. So there we are 15 feet over cement on shitty scaffold with about 400 lbs of brick and mortar about to kill us. At least the shitty beer was safe in the cooler. (Side bar America. I don’t like to up products but the Yeti cooler will change your life.) My reflexes are running me and I still am not in control the Jedi in me is. Or Sith Lord Vader did a few good things. Just think a condom would have changed the entire movie.

Suddenly the arch gives. It is falling apart over us. Now since I was cutting the support I was not directly under this thing when the fun started. My bud is on my right, centered under this thing. My side caved first but he was under more of it so again reflexes take over. First they get me under this fucker instead of back at the beer cooler laughing saying I told you so as I call the ambulance. Now the arch is disintegrating around us and again I should have bailed off the ladder. A fifteen feet fall is much better then a fifteen feet fall with bricks coming down on top of you like the fucking Coyote. So the bricks are falling and my side caved and I dodged it. My bro is a bigger dude and not so fast. His side caves and his arms are still in the air holding two fucking bricks as this arch rains around him. Fucking Virginia Gentleman reflexes take over again and I shield his face from these big fucking bricks some still stuck together in big 8 brick 40 lbs fucking boulders with my left arm because my right is keeping me from falling.

So my left forearm fucking kills America and I typed this through the pain to tell you this before I drink to much and forget. Rum and coke now for the record. Fuck beer.

Our reflexes define us America. Fight or Flight mother fuckers. We are Americans bitch all of us should fight. In all walks of life. We should try new things and be afraid everyday. We should be more tolerant to each others ideas and beliefs. We should fight to preserve what freedoms we still have in this country because they are going fast America. We need to fight every day but not for ourselves we need to fight for each other. We need a weapon of mass construction. We need to fight to build a better America for us all. Also I wear condoms. Magnums for the record ladies. You dudes with kids should be the one telling me this message. Fight for those little bastards.

Long Live the Writers

Taylor Mother Fucking Oceans

Like what I wrote? Think I’m full of shit? Got a good story? Write in the comments below.

As always tell your friends about Taylor Oceans and should you want my book link below. Because I don’t edit this blog I write it. Surprisingly my book has a great rating on amazon but don’t listen to me read what America said about it link below.

http://www.amazon.com/Playing-Your-Hand-Right-Showing/dp/1484829794/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1385767769&sr=8-1&keywords=playing+your+hand+right

Buy a book I promise to spend it on women, drinks, and condoms. The rest I will spend irresponsibly.

Dealing with Fathers Death

Dealing with your fathers death

Now this one I could have done better, but hey I was 22. I started by drinking and when I say drinking I mean the fetal position cursing god as you poor liquor into your mouth until you pass out or die either is acceptable. It then goes to an attempted suicide by dealing cocaine in the murder capital of America. I figure if your going out go out like Scar Face, beats a letter by the bed. Tragically I found I was very good at what I did and no one wants to shoot their income. This then goes to pushing my dealers harder and harder by putting more of their money up my nose until one day he just never picked up. I slept with a gun under my pillow for a week not even sure if I would fire back or thank the hit squad. Every time I walked my dog I expected a drive by which never came. I started asking around about my partner and it turns out he was killed in a drive by. My street credit was still golden since he never told anyone about my resent addictions. On a regular day I’d blow six grams probably peeking out around 20 in one night. Twice I felt my heart stopping but I could fix that with two grams to the dome. DO NOT DO EVER! After avoiding everyone for three years I didn’t know what to do but was sure I was completely unprepared to rejoin society. You feel totally overwhelmed with everything and you believe it is all lost. You become consumed with rage and you lash out at anything that seems convenient. You blame society, family, and even your god should you have one. I found him again and kicked him out again. But one day you just let it go. You are just tired of all the hate, the pain, the loss and you just do something. In my case stop dealing, clean up my act and write this book.

Although my mourning wasted three years of my life and countless hundreds of thousands of dollars. Probably five to six, I spent everything I made since I expected to be killed any day. If you can’t make crime pay your dumb. I am out of it alive and a better man for the journey. You have to realize that shit just happens. No one knows how much time we have with each other and it’s never enough. But you have to eventually realize its not your fault or it is and you made a mistake. You have to forgive yourself before you can forgive others.

Life’s problems all can’t be solved by simple tricks , sometimes as my mother said, “You have to pull up your boots and wade through some shit.” I think of my Dad every day. Every time I cook he is with me, every time I hear Eric Clapton or Tom Petty he is jamming next to me. I don’t think you really ever get over something so painful. You just have to keep moving forward, Everyday. Be a Gentleman, accept your losses, and keep going.

Busted by SWAT

Busted by Swat in a college dorm room

So class one day I was in my dorm room with a very hot woman, my roommate and his date. We were sitting in the box, which is two bunk beds pushed together, lofted to the top and covered with blankets to keep the smoke from going into the hallway. Finished with a fan to help blow the smoke out the window. We also had a super spoof which I invented. Mount a normal desk fan into a trash can, blowing into the bottom. Cut some holes into the trash can bottom and fill the bottom with drier sheets and or cologne covered toilet paper. The smoke gets sucked into the fan, blown into the trashcan filters through the drier sheets and exits through the holes you cut in the bottom. Any way we are enjoying a nice double date with a hooka full of hash, and all sorts of liquor in the box. My roommate’s date who we will refer to as narky devil bitch leaves and goes to the bathroom down the hall. About ten minutes later, a knock at the door. I look through the peep hole to see a finger covering the hole. I shout “Who the fuck is it” thinking one of my friends were fucking with me because it’s a known rule to not cover my peep hole, I do drugs when I’m not in class. I got good grades. The reply was every town (I’m not telling you where I went to college) Swat and a chill crept up my back. Knowing I was cornered I opened the door to see six fully armed swat dudes. The commander asks if we are smoking something illegal in there.

At this point I don’t know that narky devil bitch had come out of my room, to be ambushed by this fat fuck RA who I lovingly refereed to as cankles to his face. I’m going to say it right now I really don’t like fat people. Yeah about 15 percent of you fatties have a thyroid problem and I pity you guys. I was born with a crooked spine, but you fat fucks who only say you have a thyroid problem get your ass on a treadmill you fat fucks or kill yourselves. I am so sick of babying fatties like they are addicts. You want an addiction try cocain. Addicted to eating or a complete lack of self control? I’ve quit coke and you bitches can’t quit potato chips.

So me and cankles did not get along to say the least and he was apparently listening to my room when this narky devil bitch came out higher then the international space station. She gave up all the goods and between the two of them someone told swat I had guns which never were there. So they ask what we are smoking. Now I’m as high as mars, drunk and staring down the first guns in my life. Sadly it was not the last. The first thing that comes to mind is menthol cigarettes. I told six armed cops we are smoking menthol cigarettes. They give me one more chance then they are coming in, I said, “Please wait here and went to the box.” I find my date and my roommate wishing they were invisible to no avail. I take my dates bag of weed and walk to the door. However I’m a cocky fuck and plan to short the cops by pinching out a bud and dropping it behind me on the floor, knowing I will eventually be searched. I give it to the swat commander as if I’m selling it to him and have half a mind to ask him to leave since he just got his sack which I shorted. Reading my mind the cops shove me aside and make themselves at home by putting me and my roommate on the couch saying get off that couch and we will gun you down. Finding that very fair I stayed on the fucking couch as if my ass was glued to it. Now try to imagine a room where every surface is covered in some type of weed or paraphernalia. It was so much I got distribution of paraphernalia. My roommate got one too for his pieces and I set a record at my college for most paraphernalia and first swat team. They had to get an extra car to hold all the pieces and my weed. I’m talking 40 to 50 bowls of just my own from gas masks bongs to hookas. Every type of pipe made out of just about anything. Did I mention I’m a Macgyver smoker. These cops are basically just walking around in circles trying to figure out where to begin on there paper work and how it all works.

Now I claimed everything because I’m a gentleman, it was my room, my party, and my weed or at least most of it. The girl I was with also had a bag, but she was older then me and about the graduate. I’ve always kind of figured I’d never finish, but I know damn well someone else will not be stopped by my actions, even though it could be argued she was liable for herself, but that is what gentleman do. I wasn’t even having sex with her at that point, but you bet your sweet ass I hit it after I threw myself under the bus for her. So the cops took her down the hall for some interrogation, and she held strong. All she had to do was say everything is mine. Now my roommate was a younger kid and I thought of him as my little brother. Now when I said everything was mine, my little bro from a different mo, jumped up and said no some of is mine and he claimed his bowls. It was foolish because I was already going down for distribution with just my stuff what is a little more, but now he is facing a paraphernalia distribution charge as well. Good kid and a hell of a gentleman, see you at the end of the bar bro. So we are sitting on the couch under guard when suddenly one of them grabs a home made vaporizer build by my roommate. It was made out of a sobering iron, a jar, block of wood, light switch and a piece of clear tubing. The cop turns and addresses us with “I know this is used for weed but how in the hell does it work.” We’ll bro jumps off the couch, rushes up to the cop, and before anyone knows what to do he has his vaporizer in his hand and is telling the swat team to gather around and begins to tell them how his creation works. All the cops say is he should be an engineer. We got good grades fuck you morally presumptuous marijuana laws.

But now the president has been made that I can get off the couch, so I decide to play a few shell games with the cops to try to save my pipe and bat box. They were in my dresser so I had to creep over there and when no one was looking I put them in my pocket walked across the room and hid them in my bed, figuring I’ll be search again. Also I located the bud on the floor and luckily no one had stepped on it. I also put it upon myself to start DJing my own bust starting with ludicrous blueberry yum yum. The cops liked it. Now I got six swat guys in my room, bagging and tagging all my pieces, bobbing there heads and singing “gets your lighters rolling sticky lets get high lets get high got that blueberry yum yum and its the fire.” My life is funny to watch.

I knew that with all the stuff lying around I would be facing five to fifteen. I also knew if they found the three pounds, in my laundry, I had grown myself I would be fucked because I had said I had given them all the weed. Buried in my laundry was a mason jar that could probably hold three boxes of cereal or three pounds of dense nuggets, but it looks like I’ll get away with it. They started searching my bed so I moved the bat box and pipe to my sock draw which they had already searched. At this point I started to wander around the room and peeked out the hall way. There were six campus security out there just chilling in the hall way with three more R. A’s. Again remember this is on the third floor of my dorm. I also see my girl coming back down the hallway with a cop after her saying “I just can’t believe you were in there and not smoking.” Your eyes are red as hell to which I chimed in she has pretty eyes. And walked back to my room. Now the cops were winding down and moving the stuff out to the cars. And I was wondering if I was going to jail. They got all the evidence and proceeded to thank us for being so cooperative and finished with they will not be holding me because we were so nice and informative about drugs. Later the SWAT commander was my character witness and helped me get off with just probation. Thanks man.

They never did find my pipe and bat box. Me and my dad had matching bat boxes, his with a gold line, mine with mother of pearl inlaid in the wood and I’ll be damned if the fuzz takes it. When they were finally gone I retrieved them packed the nug on the floor into the pipe and we got high thanking god we weren’t getting rapped in jail.

The lesson isn’t don’t smoke weed fuck you government. It is except responsibilities for yourself, your friends, and your hot date and things seem to work out. I got probation, the narky devil bitch got thrown out with me and my bro. HAHAHAHA YOU FUCKING RAT .  Hot older chick I protected.  We dated for years and she bought me rum till I was 21. Did I mention she graduated on time 😉  My bro… Took it badly and hung himself a few years later.  Fuck you morally presumptuous weed laws he got great grades.  Could have designed a way to go to mars.  See you at the end of the bar bro.  Sorry for letting you down.