JOHN-PAUL ROBERTSON - OBSCURE SHORT STORIES AND COUNTING by John-Paul Robertson (ebook reader for comics TXT) 📕

CHARLIE COAX - Short Story

BY JOHN PAUL ROBERTSON

DENIAL OF LOVE, CHARLIE COAX WAS A LOST BOY, AN ADVENT, HE DESPISED WOMEN HE HAD PREVIOUS RELATIONS WITH. THEY WERE ALL CUNTS IN HIS EYES, THEY ALL TRIED TO FUCK HIM OUT OF HIS DREAMS. IN CONJUNCTION TO HIS LOVE PROBLEMS, CHARLIE WAS ALWAYS BASTARDIZED BY PARENTS, SIBLINGS, BULLIES, FRIENDS TO NON-FRIENDS, TEACHERS, MANAGERS, AND OF COURSE, BITCHY KNOW-IT-ALLS, ALL TELLING HIM HE WOULD NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING, SO HE COUNTER-ACTED THIS DEATH SENTENCE BY PRAYING ON THEIR MISERY. HE WOULD IMAGINE THEM ALL SUFFERING CONTINUOUS CASTRATIONS IN AND OUT OF HELL AND REINCARNATION. CHARLIE COAX WAS NEVER ONE TO TALK, HE JUST THOUGHT HIMSELF INTO OBLIVION. HE WAS TIRED OF THE OPINIONS OF OTHERS, HE WAS DISGUSTED BY THE MEDIAS PORTRAYAL OF HOW THEY BELIEVE LIFE SHOULD BE VIEWED, SO HE SMASHED HIS TELEVISION WITH A BASEBALL BAT, BURNED HIS MAGAZINE SUBSCRIPTIONS - THEN PROCEEDING TO THROW HIMSELF OUT OF HIS WINDOW - THE FUNNY THING WAS THAT CHARLIE DIDN'T DIE, HE SIMPLY TRANSFERRED HIS SOUL TO A SERIAL KILLER BORN 'APE SHIT' THOMAS, GROWING UP IN A FARM TOWN DEPRAVED OF COMMON SENSE AND SUSTENANCE, CHARLIE BECAME APE SHIT'S SPLIT PERSONALITY, AGREEING WITH HIS EVERY SLAUGHTERING MOTIVE, THOMAS NEVER REALLY UNDERSTOOD WHY HE KILLED PEOPLE UNTIL HE REACHED AGE 25, ALL HE KNEW BEFOREHAND WAS THAT IT CONJURED A FEELING OF EXCITEMENT WITHIN HIS BELLY. HE NEVER TIRED OF TRADING WEAPONRY EITHER, HE LIKED THE DIVERSITY. CHARLIE OFTEN COMMENTED THAT THOMAS WAS THE MAN HE WISH HE COULD'VE BEEN IN HIS PAST LIFE.

SLUT/THE END

OBNOXIOUS FEELINGS

SHORT STORY BY JOHN-PAUL ROBERTSON

'THE ONLY REASON YOU BELIEVE THAT IS BECAUSE YOU EXPECT IT TO BE TRUE'. THIS PHRASE KEPT RUNNING THROUGH MY MIND. ATTENDING A HARE KRISHNA TEMPLE IN LONDON LAST YEAR, I WAS ASKED BY ONE OF THE STAFF TO SERVE THE FOOD AFTER CEREMONY, DURING AT WHICH TIME, THAT SAME PERSON TOLD ME TO HURRY UP WITH THE SERVING. I HAD A JOLT OF COMICAL ANGER WELL UP INSIDE OF ME, FOR A COMMUNITY WHO ENCOURAGES PATIENCE, THEY CERTAINLY KNOW HOW TO BULLSHIT. PEOPLE ARE ACTING EVERYDAY WHETHER THEY ARE AWARE OF IT OR NOT, MARLON BRANDO SAID THIS IN MANY INTERVIEWS. ADULTS ARE STILL KIDS, THE ONLY DIFFERENCE IS THAT THEY CHOOSE TO FUSS MORE ABOUT WHAT THEY DON'T LIKE IN EVERYDAY LIFE EXPERIENCE. IT'S EASY TO HATE SOMEONE WITH AN HONEST AND OPEN MOUTH, BECAUSE THEY ARE JUST BEING THE GOD THEY DECIDED TO BE. I DON'T GET WHY PEOPLE SABOTAGE THEIR OWN WELL-BEING FOR THE SAKE OF AUTHORITY. I DON'T GET WHY I DID THAT TOO. THEN YOU REALIZE THAT EVERYONE IS FULL OF SHIT AND MOSTLY LIVING A FEAR-BASED EXISTENCE. BEING AWARE OF THAT IS QUITE LIBERATING I MUST SAY.

Talking Moon and Eximus

By John-Paul Robertson

Part 1. Introductory Phase, The Talking Moon Birth Supplementary

Course

Above the wasteland of the anagram galaxy, several thousand years have contoured the landscape of our ever expanding universe, masses of consciousness have divided our planets into sectors of digested black holes along with humanity feeding its own wisdom into the bowels of the hybrid animal expansion, our eyes become the mirrors of our reality-based consciousness, and at the same time, our brethren that inhabit the outer regions of Gaia, the womb of torment and birth, succeeds in divising a life expansion program of technicolor domination of the individual soul.

Album synopsis part 2…..

The cap liter end used by coagulation folds is engulfed by his tenance and ego, washing the shores as they start to dry his mind of the complexities, his drug is awareness, his drug is illusion, he loves the outposts, his extremities omitted higher and higher, his blood sugar increases, his state is module….

Album Synopsis Part 3. Finalization

As we drift into the time capsule of daigon and eximus void 019, millions of lightwaves embrace the Earth like a spiritual hydra consuming its egotistical self desire with bloodshed rewarding love ,

when the potions we drink bind us into comas, despite the mass genocide of our fluctuated consciousness, we continue to open the doors to unforeseen time and space continuums.

O. P.

Short Monologue

By John Paul Robertson​

The optimist wrote the sentence. The pessimist reads the sentence and tries to justify why it won't work. The optimist already knows his worth. The pessimist needs to prove his worth by pointing out what's wrong with the optimist. The optimist knows he creates his own life. The pessimist lets others create his life because he believes life is happening to him by default.

Oranges

By JOHNpaul John Paul Robertson

SOME PEOPLE WERE JUST NEVER MEANT TO UNDERSTAND YOUR SENSE OF FUN, ALL THEY WANT TO DO IS CONTROL your habits SO THAT THEY CAN FEEL BETTER ABOUT THEIR SHITTY LIFE.

Drowning In Columbo

JOHN-PAUL ROBERTSON

Crossing an open tundra, my head was about to fucking explode. Markmen - they called them in those days, they dragged me arm for arm through the vomiting dirt. I strained my eyes because of the bloody sun. There were sharks everywhere, I mean, they were spread all around the ground suffocated to death by the western heat. I wasn't thinking, for the man beside me was gifted with bloodshot eye and an alcoholic temper beyond measure. He proceeded to beat me senseless to the ground. The next moment, I woke up beside a dead shark with my pants down. My left leg was cross midway of another dead sharks nose. Ironically, I couldn't smell anything around me because I was beyond stoned at this point in time. There were no answers to my questions? Why was I still alive? How many are still here? How many sharks would it take to make a fish salad?

LIFE

John-Paul Robertson

As human creatures, it is natural to seek out extremities, for this in term, proves that at the basic universal level, we know we are a peaceful people. We are so far out that we often forget this. I don't really think women show their true colors, men are just as worse. Both sexes create this fasaud, weary of the other but content to love the other without understanding why. Nothing is more destructive than false love. Do people even exist?

 OX
John-Paul Robertson
I consume two peroni beers at the sight of a fade to black computer screen. The world sees my eyes like a painted glass shattered in disbelief. I love the feel of the tobacco as it caresses my poisoned tongue. All that's left is my sanity, and a greaser looking haircut made for extortion. It must be beyond irritating to receive a compliment from your worst enemy. Taddle tales, bigotry, like a poem that never existed. This is real pen to paper massacre, juxtaposed. Someone said once that I only found myself to be funny and that's the point folks, the goal isn't to be accepted, fuck bigotry, fuck realism, imagination is everything.
People often forget that if you are a senator, a governor, or are in any position of power, you're always going to slip up word mistakes here and there because of all the mass attention. People often forget that they are human like us except they're tangled in hierarchical puppet strings. Shit! If I was the puppet, at least they would be flexing my joints and be giving me non-sweaty workouts all the time.

DAYLIGHT SHADOWS
By Absent Monk
I am a perspective in the bowl of the universe.The other day, I took a trip down to the pier for a late night strolling. Without a soul in sight, it was quite cool and relaxing. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a little section of desolate street mixed with industrial complexities. Shuffling to the middle of the road, I heard a clashing sound through one of the gates. It felt like someone was watching me. Growing increasingly anxious, I stay in the center of the road, As I walk past the gate, the streets become darker and darker, I hear talking, I couldn't tell if it was exterior, or just increasing with volume inside my head. I turn around to go back as the shrouding shadows and sudden car motor sound jolted me to attention. Glancing to my right, I noticed a fencing smothered in razorblade wire and overgrown shrubs. In the distant way, a castle-like building was present in more shadow. It was an abandoned prison facility - how the fuck did I not see it? The wind coarsed through the area and I was already gone running sometimes, your eyes just love to play tricks on your senses.

Text: John-Paul Robertson
Images: John-Paul Robertson
Editing: John-Paul Robertson
Translation: John-Paul Robertson
Publication Date: 09-20-2015

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
POSTEROUS