  I am paranoid, delusional and high. Not in a good way. I escaped from a mugging. Ok, how stupid can you get? Well, if it’s me we’re talking about then it takes only a little stupid to get me there. I was so pissed with my parents walked out of the house.
I was walking and I was going through how I hated them so much, how I hated my predicament, and how much I wished to be with Chat. So I walked on an on up to the “the Projects”. Eventually I found a nice place to sit down, rest my back and write all this crap I’m feeling down. That’s when a bunch of kids slammed me with coffee cups. I didn’t react to or mind. Which is to my mistake.
Over here it is true that you have to be a savage to survive. They got to talking to me, there was a girl, three black boys and a small white boy. The easily befriended me, that’s me, then of course they probed me for weakness, taunting and teasing. The way they did back in high school. If there is any they tried to strike. So they offered me a smoke and then when I was about to get high tried to make their move.
When I tried to leave, Marquesa (An African sounding version of it) was telling them “Don’t do that” or “Don’t go there”. So when the biggest one and the little white boy was pushing me and asking for money I drew my pencil (which was broken) and proceeded to walk away. I know its not threatening but I told them “Don’t let me regret this experience”. When they gave up. I ran like a sissy coward. Yes Justin Aquino Ran. But I knew that I would have to stand and fight cause I was high, out of breath, and to weak to run any farther. So I turned to find nothing but the mary jane running through my blood and making me hear and sense them. I really think they are out there when I should logically think they aren’t. Thanks Marquesa. This is a micro example of what a lot of people go through. I know these thin wrists and frame would deal so little damage, but it’s the tenacity, pride and dignity that I am part of a sparing club, that I dream to be a bagani, and the absolute belief in the Warrior’s fight to the death and honor.
I managed to turn around it from wimp to wimp passing of as a hero. If my name was to be defended I would die fighting. One of the few things I have left in my hollowed degree of honor. The high is coming down now. I believe that I should have stayed and fought. By my ancestors I will die by the choice of destiny. But I was not sure of defeat either. But isn’t that the true risk of fighting. Doing anything.
And one of the reasons I get angry at my parents… the freedome for me to screw up my own life (cause it is my life) if I fail I fail with the dignity of trying and looking out for the best for the world. Ok… the stigma of writing while being high. Slim is a small kid that I could lift with my one skinny arm, dees, Kevin and mark… or something.
Again the feeling that I dove into a cold pool hits me. Like what I did was eons ago. Like compressed time. Must be a hightened way to feel your brain compressing data and putting it far away. I should train harder. I hope to get as much training with jobert’s group. It was bothering me that DB was hitting on candy. Not that he is… wait… he is 6 years older than her. Anyway, I better train on my own then… muscle up. I wrote so much. I hate those who reinforced the stereo type. Me and jasper should go to the park and train our throws and pummels. I really have a good rear end kick to get my fighting up to gear. 
