Uneven Mod

Uneven Mod

My ode to the part of my life I can now move on from. Regardless of what brought you here I hope you leave with something to help you on you path.

How does it work?
  • Uneven Mod
    Published 7 days ago
    Purple Leaves

    Purple Leaves

    I remember a girl who used to take a jar of water with her to bed every night.
  • Uneven Mod
    Published 2 months ago
    Call it what you'd like

    Call it what you'd like

    It goes down like a pill. Stubborn and reluctant. But it’s my spinach, my pride that is. It never gets any easier to stomach but you have to do something with it. I cherish the moments I’m not mentally eviscerating myself but… That’s impossible here. I don’t know why I keep coming back. I guess without pride being my vice gluttony would have to do me in. Ugh why is nobody ever here? There’s not even a crowd to blend in with. I don’t really care though, the problem is she’s in there… with him. It would take some crowd to distract me from that though, from her I mean. I could stare through a parade’s worth of bodies without a problem and be able to somehow still notice her every move… She’d still have my undivided attention. I'm not here for that though. I could waste an entire day listing and contemplating everything I love about her. I’m here something a little more selfless, and a shit load more consistent. I’m here for the double choco-chubasaur. Goddamn this diner for naming that masterpiece something so juvenile. It should be recreated in acrylic paint blessing a canvas, carved in marble, and only then offered a name reverent and beautiful. Something to speak to its unmistakably gourmet quality. To order it you should have to make an offering, a sonnet… something. I’m not sure most people share my enthusiasm for it though, So I’ll just continue to ask my ex or one of her lucky colleagues for a fucking “Chubusaur”
  • Uneven Mod
    Published 3 months ago
    Overnight

    Overnight

    Overnight
  • Uneven Mod
    Published 3 months ago
    The Year of the White Rabbit (7th Entry)

    The Year of the White Rabbit (7th Entry)

    The moon had taken on a sickly orange color. Static and bathed in the Moon’s pale light the Scotch seemed to match its pallor. It wasn't as if I needed anything else to entice me but the liquor seemed to beckon me. I threw back a healthy gulp and proceeded to make the trip back to my place. Speeding had my head spinning, but I had finally arrived a couple of streets away, taking a moment to just breathe. The drive ended a bit too quickly for my liking so I sat in my car parked a few blocks away. I leaned back and listened to some music allowing myself to relax. Feeling satisfied with myself I began to fidget a touch too desperately with my phone. No one seems to have reached out. I didn’t want to stay long because being idled in my car for too long always brought the wrong attention. I really didn't want another headache. I walked over everything that had just happened, going back and feeling the same mix of emotions I felt the night before. Shame, embarrassment, anger. I rattled the pills around trying to remind myself that once I chewed one of those blessed blue gems I wouldn't give a fuck about anything. The wait would kill me though. I decided to split a pill and snort it to make the remainder of the trip home more tolerable. Within minutes I was flying high... not a care in the goddamn world. Free of pain, free of doubt, free of inhibitions… free. Why couldn't I always feel this way? Everything was in its right place. My pedal to the floor, the moon hanging high above, my arm hanging outside the window. I completely forgot every bit of nonsense that was stressing me out. Forgetting what “sad” was in its entirety. I got home and chewed the other half of my pill, knowing I was about to kill half a gram of blow and for the life of me could not stop grinning. I had been parked for a while outside my apartment when I noticed another tenant exiting his doorway heading towards me. This self-enlisted meter maid always gave me shit for parking here. It wasn't that I couldn't park there he just decided he would claim it as his own. I constantly found notes written on napkins, torn paper plates, and paper towels crudely placed on my car claiming “This is not your spot.” Indeed, but it wasn't his either. He would just incessantly bitch about headlights flooding into his apartment disturbing him at night. Parking was limited though so nobody, including myself, took him seriously. Confrontation never came easily to me, but I wasn’t necessarily “me” when I used. I would in most cases put up with anything other than having to confront someone on any matter. I figured It’d be over with sooner or later so what was the point of risking my well-being? Maybe it was that. It could've been more symptomatic of cowardice I guess. Self deprecation had become second nature to me so I wasn’t doing myself any favors. Each thought and action was subject to scrutiny by none other than myself. “You're stupid” “Worthless” “Pathetic” “Lazy” “Good for nothing!” With so much hatred and disdain for myself how could I blame anyone else for sharing the opinion. How could I argue against something I appeared to whole-heatedly agree with. I'm ashamed of myself, I bite my tongue everyday, stifling my opinion, and my feelings. I blame it on my job. I blame it on society's norms. I pass the buck so that none of the responsibility falls on me. Why do I put up with it? What makes them better than me? Why do I take it upon myself to diffuse the situation? To keep things on an even keel? Aren't I owed the same privilege? Everyone else seems to walk around with value and respect for themselves. These people aren't social pariahs or denigrated in any respect. In most cases people who stood up for themselves were praised for it. People made me feel so dirty. I suppose their presence was just validation of the fact that I haven't anything to be proud of, and their kind words and reassurance seemed to be nauseating servings of pity... pity for someone they believed couldn't do any better if they tried. I want to acquire something I can call my own and feel like a man. I want to be secure and proud of who I am, but with them around I just can't. I am so ashamed of myself with them around, I literally have to change everything, I am not myself near them and its not healthy to deny one's identity for the sake of someone else. It isn't healthy to deny one's identity at all. If I'm not me how can I pursue a fulfilling life? I'll always be miserable if I am forever given the burden of upholding a facade, a facade that isn't even noticed or appreciated. In essence it feels as though I am suppressing and killing myself. My train of thought was broken when something seemed to dart in the corner of my eye. Then I started to realize the asshole started knocking on my window.
  • Uneven Mod
    Published 4 months ago
    The Year of the White Rabbit (6th  Entry)

    The Year of the White Rabbit (6th Entry)

    My days have taken on an eerie repetition. First days, then weeks, and now even months are predicted with an accuracy that is unsettling. My soul aches, its cramped, even my dreams are poisoned with the monotony of this brutal cycle of repression and servitude. Coping with this was getting expensive, draining my pocket, and weakening my resolve. My freedom is an illusion, a quick and abrupt shift in psycho-chemistry to fortify my denial, to sedate the itch for liberation. It feels as though I have forgotten how to want, the very essence of desire siphoned from my heart. In an effort to avoid accepting my hopelessness I inundate myself with drugs. I feel a change within me, something violent trying like hell to alter my path. Any transformation would be welcome at this point as long as it shed my regret in the process. Regret and shame are terrible things to leave alone, they assimilate and cannibalize their host in a war for control. In its wake leaving something confused, twisted, and unmistakably insatiable. Eh.
  • Uneven Mod
    Published 4 months ago
    The Year of the White Rabbit (5th Entry)

    The Year of the White Rabbit (5th Entry)

    'My heart was racing and it was taking a while for the car to heat up. Panting, I could see my breath hang frozen in the air just before me. I really should get a jacket but that would take away from what I could spend on booze, pills, and smokes. I hadn't had a drink in a while and I noticed although the car was now warm my hands were still shaking. I felt a bit sick. I decided to visit the nearest liquor store when my phone began buzzing, it was on the passenger seat where I had left it. I never got any messages from people I actually wanted to hear from, those days were long gone. Instead I would have dozens of missed calls from bill collectors, and a few voicemails politley asking I return the call to discuss an “Important matter” It was my dealer though. He was the only person I willingly spoke to. I hated how I sounded on the phone sober so I decided to hold off on calling him back until I could secure a bottle. I always went to the same liquor store, it was convieniently located near my job, so I was able to be in and out, still making it back from my break on time. The cashier used to smile everytime I came in, jeering, and making obnoxious comments about various booze induced exploits of his. Lately he just seemed concerned. It was a pretty seamless transaction now. I placed the booze on the counter, paid, and then left. Next stop was a burger joint, I loved it. There was no free food at work so I was starving. The needy bastard probably caught on to the fact I was pilfering his stupid donuts. I hope he has a coronary. I got a large soda and a burger, medium-fucking rare. This spot wasn't all that great, but it was always empty, so I could get my order while having enough time to sit down and actually enjoy it. While they were preparing my burger I took my soda to the car, poured some out, then made up the difference in scotch. Black label. It was an insult to the scotch, but I wanted to eat inside. The place was right next to a strip club so on ocassion I could ogle a dancer and enjoy a burger. That coupled with the buzz from my soda is what got me through most days. Today I was the only one there. My order was done so I took it over to my favorite booth and started unwrapping the burger eagerly. It was like unwrapping the gift you knew you were getting. Just counting down the moments until you were able to tear its cover, and reveal the object you obsessed over countless times in your head. I slid the unraveled burger to the side, brought my soda just before me, stabbed the top with a straw, and slurpped it with all the energy I had left. I gulped it until it was about half way down and just leaned back. Light as a feather. My head tilted forward and a smile crossed my face. Calmly yet aimlessly I brought my burger up to my mouth and savored my first bite. I dont think it would have tasted as good if I didnt have some Scotch to wash it down with. I mechanically repeated lifting and biting the thing until it was finished, only taking breaks to slurp the remainder of my soda. Unfortunately a wave of lonliness washed over me. Looking down I saw the empty wrapper, the empty cup, and just stared. Beautiful moments are so short lived when you have no one to share them with. The rapture of the moment is almost like a snapshot of everything you dont have. Serentity and peace for a few seconds to show you how foul and broken you walk around at any given time. It wasnt the first time this happened. I doubt it would be the last. Never in my life had I dealt with these feelings healthily. So I did what usually worked. I slammed my head into the counter with terminal velocity. Smashing my head out of the sludge of empty feelings, and lonely thoughts. I was startled for a moment, a bit dazed, and in more pain than I had anticipated. I think I saw the cashier take a break from reading his book to see where the noise came from, but I left before being able to really be sure of anything. I walked slowly to my car and closed my eyes. For a while I found I was enjoying the cold air, my lack of layers wasnt such a problem anymore. As I continued to walk towards my car I began to wonder why it was so easy to ignore people. I dont think I ever really felt like a part of something, or accepted by anyone. The only thing that ever had me questioning my feelings or place in life was the come up or hangover of a lovely drug. I made my way to my car, opened it, started the engine, and just sat there. I still had enough time before the end of my break so I drank a bit more and scaveneged my car for some chewing gum, luckily I found enough to justify another few swigs. I would usually do that, just have a bite, and drink enough so that the rest of my shift went by like nothing. I found it was something like a fast forward button for my life. Getting back to work was always so depressing. What brought me back? I never found a good reason, but I had a place to live and food to eat so I guess thats as good a reason as any. I sat staring through the windshield. People started showing up in droves, I thought to myself and wondered if this always happened. I wondered if they were only empty when I was there, and if maybe they were a better establishment than I had ever given them credit for. There was a quick movement in my periphery snapping me out of the thought. I reversed and started the trek back to work. I call it a trek but I always found myself getting back to work noticablely faster than I had left it. I made my way to the office parking lot and still had some time before I needed to clock in. I looked at my phone and opened the list of alerts, just the same bill collectors. I checked through all my voicemail, yup just bill collectors. Time to give my dealer a call.