Here's a little excerpt from my new book available for sale on Amazon Books under the same title as this post:

So where does this story begin? Years ago, but I'll have to write about the past when I'm not chilling at the spot. Or I could write about it right now. It started in college, well, I guess it really started way before I was even born. I made a promise to my wife that I would either fix her planet or destroy every human-possessing demon in the process. She’s your G-d. Yes, I know, I still get to wear the balls, just not the pants.
Right now, I'm sitting alone rolling on the cleanest floor in Queens while all my friends think I'm bugging out. I am, I am bugging out; it’s fucken fun, and it’s funny to see someone bugging out on a clean floor; makes you wonder what they would be like on a dirty floor. I promise, that will definitely be funny later. On second thought, I was terrible with comedy, so that might never be funny.
So what prompted me to start writing today? I needed to know who I could trust. How do you ever know who you can trust? My brother has known these people he surrounds himself with his whole life. One dude is secretly gay and an informant. One girl is fat and also robbing him on a daily basis because her “daughter needs diapers.” In her defense, her daughter is very cute, makes you wonder who the hell would have had sex with her in the first place and if that baby is really hers or adopted.
If there's such a thing as a winner in a fight, then maybe I won, but that's the past, and it involves way too many negative events after a night of raising hell, ending with one of my limbs being permanently disfigured and my brother killing me. I'm gonna ask my brother to read this, and I'll say, “yo check out these rhymes” and he’ll respond with “you’re not a fucken rapper white boy.” Eventually, though he’ll read it, and I’ll get his usual response: “Crap!”
However, as I learned recently, when I say "I'm an award winning writer, and I can write anything," I'm actually wrong about that, but only because earlier this year, I met a man I now call my brother. Truth is, I can write anything, it’s just a question of how much of my heart I put into my work, and when it comes to writing gangsta rap, I can spit pearls on your wife’s neck quicker than she can fire bullets at my head.
For now though, I'm never wrong. Ever. Just plain old conditioning has forced me to see reality as a child defending himself in an alien planet of walking, talking alligators. Doesn’t matter what I say, or how outlandish it might seem, G-d will make it true, and y’all will cower as reality shifts in my favor. That’s just the way it is. I have a promise to keep, and She made me a promise that no devil can break.
We still don’t know how this story ends, probably because I’m still alive. I just have to hurry up and get all this past stuff out of the way, so we can finally get some closure. It’s interesting how important closure is to some people. Personally, I think closure is overrated. I’m alive, and I intend to stay that away at least until this book is published, so that’s really all the closure you’re going to get out of me.
Too bad he fell asleep. He’s really fat, so fat people need to sleep a lot. That right there is a proven fact in some deranged mythology that scientists will soon prove true with their nonsensical science. That would have been an interesting conversation I suspect. And then maybe the events of this Saturday wouldn't have led me to quit my overpaying job on Wall Street with no income, no savings, and nobody but my dog to wonder about me. Truth is, my parents did their best to make sure I would be a failure. They’re idea of success is patronizing a bunch of yuppy scum who happened upon the executive position in a company they know nothing about until being fired and left penniless only to replaced by that yuppy’s cousin’s boyfriend who failed out of college and now needs a job doing some remedial task that if completed incorrectly will sour the company’s financials and send their stock soaring south for the summer.
Before I end this chapter and never speak of it again, let me say two things: first this book is for my boys, who blindly accepted me even if they still hate me, gave me the benefit of the doubt even if they still doubt me to this day, believed in me even though they still think I’m lying about some of the stuff I’m going to tell you about them, and showed me what was up even though they could have done the world a favor and just put me out of my misery (I may never understand that, but I guess they saw something in me even I didn’t know was there, and 2nd, damn it feels good to be a gangsta.), and finally, they did try to kill me, and I did die, so you guys are fucken assholes, and I hate you. Alright, I’ll be over in a little bit.
One last thing, before we delve into the mind of the blessed one (that's me! I’m the blessed one. Oh, and also, I paid a little extra to have a higher rank in hell, so there’s that). When you finish reading this book, and you say to yourself "hey, there's just no fucking way any of that could have possibly happened," then let me just ask you this: “How am I still alive? And if that doesn’t do it for you, then I can always supplement that with this additional question: “What’s crackin nigaa!”
When you read this book or whatever media outlet delivers this story to you, remember this: it's just a story, and maybe one day I'll write another one, but that's all it is, a story, the reality I experienced through my own perception. There may be some references to truth, but only in so much as the fictional aspect is intended to be perceived as slightly askew from the perceived fantasy of my reality.
So sit back, enjoy the ride, bring some weed, I got a story to tell. And don’t try to make sense of it, it doesn’t make sense to me, and I lived it.
Also, just remember, if you don’t like it, you can always beg the devil to change our history, but he answers to me now, so do us both a favor, and stop your whining and give me that damned soul!

My Book on Amazon

Here's some more from a different chapter. If you haven't bought the book, then I hate you, and we're not friends anymore. Just sayin, you had your window, but you chose to play me, so now it's war! to the bitter death! or I guess until someone taps out, or possibly gets a scratch on their face or starts bleeding, or I mean, do we really have to fight? why can't we be friends? this is all your fault! I hate you! Okay, now read this:

Be kind to every stranger. You never know when that someone you’re talking to is me, and even if it isn’t me, why wouldn’t you be kind anyway? Sex, death, violence, disease, and all those so called “horrible” acts claimed by man’s laws are actually impossible. You cannot be hurt in this realm. There is no pain, only suffering. You are here to breath and only to breath.
Plus, doesn’t it feel better to treat each other with dignity and respect? We are all newborns, still covered by the slime of the cosmic chaos echoing negativity and darkness into the lifeless vacuum that surrounds us.
Holy shit people!
Of course there is more to existence than this stupid dead planet and the drugs it produces from the ground. Come on! You don’t know, so you ask the guy to your left? Did you think She told him something She didn’t tell you?
Moses? Who? Who the fuck is Moses? What the fuck are talking about? Not one form of life has ever truly died in this realm and I’m not letting it happen now. Even the evil, Satan worshipping, Hitler loving, retarded child raping savage will at worst return as a newborn baby on this planet to do it again and hopefully figure it out.
Here’s something to look forward to in the higher realms: you will witness upon elevation how knowledge and intelligence are quite different, but both are spiritual pillars of other, less complicated and more peace-emitting realms. Upon your elevation, you will surpass both knowledge and intelligence and even love to find yourself enveloped in layers of peace so wonderful and euphoric the strongest drug on this planet would be like a candle compared to the moon.
We are made in Her image only in that we have the ability to harness and foster positive internal energy by breathing properly. When you sleep, your stomach pulls the air down passed your ribs and it expands outward, so you naturally harness energy every night. Then you wake up and drain it all away with your disdain and malicious self-contempt, or in other words: the ego.
As you exhale, your stomach deflates, and you will feel a tingle at the crown of your head. This is a proper single breath, and the tingle is an indicator that you have successfully performed one correct cycle of breath. Try it now until you feel a tingle. It takes a few tries, but after a few years of breathing properly, that’s it, you got enough and then you’re done here.
The “high” of the next realm, as some bodhi’s have witnessed, far surpasses the euphoria created by drugs available here. It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe; that’s the problem with truth, it’s always true, even when you lie.
And where the fuck are all trees and birds? You literally would have had to chop down two-thirds of the first trees planted millions of years ago to have this few now. And the birds? When I was a child, you couldn’t get away from them. Every night I would pray they would shut the fuck up so I could get some sleep. I guess I got my wish.
You cannot experience nirvana if you do not stay on the path. This is all that every human should know, need to know, or want to know. Start planting seeds, stop poisoning the food, stop cutting down trees. You do not need anything but the ability to breath in and out through your stomach, expanding as air enters, and retracting (pulling your stomach in) as air is drawn out naturally. When you inhale and when you exhale, only the stomach muscles should be activated—shoulders and chest motionless. That’s it! Big fucken secret.
Learn to foster your own local repository of love by breathing right. That’s the sole purpose of this existence. I literally don’t have the time or patience to explain any further, because it’s just gotten silly at this point. I mean, can everyone admit that they don’t know? Your listening to a paraplegic explain to you the science in the sky? How the hell does he know? There is no heaven versus hell rugby match going on here, and people bound to wheelchairs with too much time on their hands do not have any answers on what lies beyond the darkness in the sky.
Everybody’s a winner the instant they are born, and a loser the second they stop focusing on their breathing.