My Omen; A Broken Picasso

It was Picasso’s famous masterpiece of his wife (you know, the one with her sitting crossing her legs and knees with her back against the audience; similar to a sketched picture) paid $20 for a copy, bought a frame for it. “This will look great in my new place!” I thought out loud…the lady helping me gave me a half-ass smile; almost a smirk…”Cabrona!” I said, but kept it to myself. I left Aaron Brother’s art store with the feeling that I had just spend thousands of dollars buying a whole new living room and bedroom set, but all I was leaving with is a $20 copy of a Picasso’s art work. Still no car, so I walked over to the apartment complex where my new whole in the wall awaited. One bedroom apartment; “home sweet home,” a red light the hallway made the nights just right! I was given the keys on a Friday moved in by Saturday. Sunday morning I hung Picasso’s artwork in the hallway, secured it with four nails, I made sure that frame would not come down! I was on one for the last week or so; when wasn’t I. So I arranged all my furniture in the living room, dishware in the kitchen (they were hardly used) collect more dust that food on them. In one hour I set up my bedroom and computer desk…shit!!! Working on overdrive, that evening the warming party began; my dope friends came through, their addict acquaintances came with them (usually this would be the cats with no dope, but sure like to smoke yours) girls were not a problem to get; I had the dope, and they love a bowl of ice! The fridge was full of beer, cheap wine boxes, and nothing else, maybe a box of Arm and Hammer. The activities began early and ended, well, I don’t think they ended the next morning either.

When bitches smoke from the glass pipe, they get in heat, and like orgies; rowdy parties, being boisterous. What a fucken night we had! Woke up around 9am with two naked girls in my bed; I remember one of them, “When did the other one join in? Hmm,” I thought, “Oh, shit, I’m fucken late to work already,” I yelled. Slapped both girls in their ass and told them to harry up and get ready, because no one was going to stay at my place while I was gone. I stepped into the living room, what do you know more naked bitches on the floor and couch with a few homeboys next to them…”Fucken rowdy motherfuckers,” I said out loud. “How am I going to get home,” some girl asked. “I don’t know girl, call a cab, but all I know is everyone has to get the fuck out of here.” I said. It took an hour to clear my place, I got to work two hours late, but that was the least of my worries that day…Monday night when I got home, that is when the adventures truly began. First thing I notice as I step in my place is the smell of raw sex and drugs, that’s usual. As I continue my way into the hallway to my room I notice broken glass in the hallway’s entry, when I enter the hallway I see Picasso’s painting on the floor with the frame cracked in the middle. I was bewildered, because I made sure to secure the frame very tight the night before; from the way I was raised, it has always been said, that a broken glass in a new home or place of living is a bad Omen, but I felt no fear. With the thought of a bad Omen in mind, I pick up the glass, set the frame back in its place; I grab a beer, roll and joint and get high. By nightfall, the demons come out, and the evil spirits linger…I felt that more than ever now. After this day, the devil tried everything in its hands to take over my mind, but frankly God did not let him. This was the first time that I was living alone, with no parents or roommates, I did drugs everyday with no delay…going to work was a relief, coming home was fighting evil in every way.

One of the first Omen experiences I witness in my place was the lights of my place going on and off, sporadically. Every night I would witness this; I would laugh out loud, and continue smoking dope. I was not the only person to witness these events either; a lucky woman of the night was able to witness the door to my room and bathroom open and close as we were fucking in my living room, she panicked, but quickly return to her state of horniness, telling me, “I think, I think, aawwmm, Oh, don’t stop, I think your place is haunted.” I knew that was the truth. I will admit that these were my dark days and evil nights, in the state of mind I was in; the devil was easier to meet. I recall one evening I was sitting by myself writing and smoking dope of course, no music or television, just me, my paper and pen, with a glass pipe…life was wired. All of sudden the television turned on, but it was not on any particular channel, only a blurred screen with white noise coming from it. I click the remote off. Ten minutes later, it turns back on again…this time I unplug the screen, to the wickedness the fucken television turns on again with no fucken power to it, this was a paranormal activity if I ever had witness one. However, none of this nonsense scared me; I was raised on scary stories and a few supernatural experiences under my belt already. Nevertheless, the worst was yet to come!

There was this one morning I was so strung out from a week of no sleep, I couldn’t go to work, so I stayed on my couch and fell asleep…I woke up two days later, with a couch on my living room moved and my television set on the floor, and the water in the kitchen was running. When I woke up it was close to midnight two days later, well rested, I melted the ice and got wired again…hours passed, as I laid on my couch close to the witching hour, listening to Led Zeppelin, my couch began to move and the sheet I had over me was suddenly picked up in the air and thrown on the floor, as I went to pick it up, I grabbed the sheet, I couldn’t pick it up from the floor, an evil spirit was tugging at it, I was literally having a tug-o-war with a ghost with my sheet. That shit was fucken crazy!! All I did was laugh as I was tugging back and forth, after a few minutes the sheets where let go of, and I landed on my ass on the couch…I kept smoking, like always. The final incident was when I saw a black mist come from my room one night, a friend of mine happened to be there that day to witness the evil inside. I was sitting on the living room floor, writing some crazy ass poems. My friend was in the kitchen burning some dope, as I sat on the floor, this black mist came out from my room very low to the ground. I can see two red dots floating in the air; they looked like the eyes of the mist. As it approaches me, I remember the mist coming towards my face, I felt no fear. With every breathe I took in, the mist will enter my body through my nose…it is at this point when my friend was coming out of the kitchen into the living room when he witness me breathing in the last of the black mist. He stood there in shock, but also not scared, and said, “What the fuck was that Sergio, dude did you see what you were doing just now.” He told me later that I said something to him in another dialect, I believe now it wasn’t me speaking but the devil in me. To this day, I feel my whole experience at this new place was to face the evil I smoked, up close and personal. The devil was tempting me to fear him, run, and cry. That Bad Omen does exist when glass breaks in your new home. I fucken love Pablo Picasso!!!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I beat the curse of the broken glass...

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