HAPPY BIRTHDAY
MOMMA
DEAREST
Thursday, November 1, 2007
sensitivo
sometimes when you have an image of something in your brain, you dont want to ruin it with words. The image in your mind is too pure and when you try to express it in words, you can only ruin it. Its too perfect in your mind...why ruin it?
but i lied
lets ruin it...
you hold its
hand
tell
the gashed forehead
that it will
be ok
walk it home and throw
it
in
a drawer
forever
dont cry
baby
we
all cry
I will be here
for
you now
but i lied
lets ruin it...
you hold its
hand
tell
the gashed forehead
that it will
be ok
walk it home and throw
it
in
a drawer
forever
dont cry
baby
we
all cry
I will be here
for
you now
Friday, October 5, 2007
introducing my site to people that I dont know (A conversation)
"oh, burn me that cd."
"I like them."
"Oh, so do I."
"If you like them you will like..."
"yeah, cool."
"You should check out my BLOG."
"Oh, ok, give me the site."
I write the shit down.
'Well, if you read it you might think I'm crazy."
"I mean, what is it about?"
"Debauchery, at its finest."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, I am warning you, my friend. Be fore warned (what ever that means.)
"I think I will be ok."
"Well, fine. I'm just warning you. Its kinda raunchy. I talk about SEX, DRUGS, DRINKING, and believe it or not, SMOKING."
"It's ok...I can deal with that."
"Tell me what you think."
"I will."
"I dont want to see you the next day and you think that I'm coo-coo."
I swirl my finger around my temple indicating the "crazy" sign.
"Don't worry...I doubt that I will think you are crazy or offending."
"Good luck, there, buddy. I wish you the best."
"Thanks."
"I like them."
"Oh, so do I."
"If you like them you will like..."
"yeah, cool."
"You should check out my BLOG."
"Oh, ok, give me the site."
I write the shit down.
'Well, if you read it you might think I'm crazy."
"I mean, what is it about?"
"Debauchery, at its finest."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, I am warning you, my friend. Be fore warned (what ever that means.)
"I think I will be ok."
"Well, fine. I'm just warning you. Its kinda raunchy. I talk about SEX, DRUGS, DRINKING, and believe it or not, SMOKING."
"It's ok...I can deal with that."
"Tell me what you think."
"I will."
"I dont want to see you the next day and you think that I'm coo-coo."
I swirl my finger around my temple indicating the "crazy" sign.
"Don't worry...I doubt that I will think you are crazy or offending."
"Good luck, there, buddy. I wish you the best."
"Thanks."
4/5 time
yeah its quite
possible
that I may
drink too much
I know what
bottles
are twist offs
and which ones
need a beer opener.
i have mastered
the cigarette
lighter opener
for beer
People are wowed
when I do this
but its something
that I learned
when I was ninteen.
so it's nothing to me
when I use the lighter
it pops like chamapgne
or sparkling wine
People think
I'm good with my hands
or that maybe
I'm the one that invented
this way of opening things.
but I learned from the pros
and they are all dead
or possibly
drunk right now
possible
that I may
drink too much
I know what
bottles
are twist offs
and which ones
need a beer opener.
i have mastered
the cigarette
lighter opener
for beer
People are wowed
when I do this
but its something
that I learned
when I was ninteen.
so it's nothing to me
when I use the lighter
it pops like chamapgne
or sparkling wine
People think
I'm good with my hands
or that maybe
I'm the one that invented
this way of opening things.
but I learned from the pros
and they are all dead
or possibly
drunk right now
imagine the pointless signs
In the backyard
the trash cans are still
but the "Beware of The Dog"
sign rattles in the wind.
I need to replace that sign.
"Beware of the Cat"
or
"Beware of the moody
drunk."
would suit this household
better.
Or possibly,
a "Leave Me The Fuck Alone,"
sign would be even better.
Or maybe even a "Fuck Off"
sign might fit the picture.
Or maybe a "Can I borrow 5 bucks?"
sign
or "Yo, you gotta an extra cigarette?"
sign
or "Do you wanna clean my kitchen?"
sign,
maybe.
All the signs will rattle against the fence
in the wind and get hit by falling acorns
and nobody will notice
the signs as they walk down the alley
with thier heads down
So its pointless,
like all my requests
through the signs
that no one will see
and that will never
exist.
the trash cans are still
but the "Beware of The Dog"
sign rattles in the wind.
I need to replace that sign.
"Beware of the Cat"
or
"Beware of the moody
drunk."
would suit this household
better.
Or possibly,
a "Leave Me The Fuck Alone,"
sign would be even better.
Or maybe even a "Fuck Off"
sign might fit the picture.
Or maybe a "Can I borrow 5 bucks?"
sign
or "Yo, you gotta an extra cigarette?"
sign
or "Do you wanna clean my kitchen?"
sign,
maybe.
All the signs will rattle against the fence
in the wind and get hit by falling acorns
and nobody will notice
the signs as they walk down the alley
with thier heads down
So its pointless,
like all my requests
through the signs
that no one will see
and that will never
exist.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
The Luty's (A Denton Tall Tale)
The Luty's are a family that lived in Denton, and my parents forbade me to hang out with Luty's two crazy kids, George and Soliel. Soliel means sun, my friends.
George was a rambunctious son of a gun who was always in trouble.
The most memorable thing about him was that he stuck a firecracker up a kitty cat's butt and lit that shit. Oh, what a horrible site. That cat ran in circles with the firecracker sizzling and then it exploded. He then jumped up a tree and was up there until 2003. He built a nest and copulated with birds.
That made me want to join PETA but I havent got around to it yet.
Brain Bart's Mom forbade him to hang out over there as well. Brain Bart told me that he was afraid that George would put Marijuana in his tea. I ask you Brian, when did you go over there at the age of 12 to enjoy a nice cup of tea with good ole George Luty?
George also used to say that his penis, when it was hard, went up way past his belly button. I never saw this, so I dont know if this is true.
Soliel was the older sister and slightly attractive for Denton's standards. My stepmom used to call her so-lut. Soliel didn't mind if us youngsters would take a peek at her while she showered. She seemed to take three to four showers a day while we there so I'm sure she didn't mind.
When I was twelve a couple of us were hanging out there and they all decided to go somewhere on thier bikes. My bike was broken and I was left behind with so-lut. I started to walk home but Soliel said, "Wait, do you wanna see something?"
She then promptly lifted up her shirt and I saw my first titties.
MY eyes popped outta my head.
The only time I had ever glimpsed the sight of titties was when I would try to watch the scrambled channel of Showtime. If you watched long enough through the multi colored waves of scrambled lines you could catch some boobies bouncing around, if only for a second and if you had patience.
"Do you want to touch them?"
"Yes."
I walked over to them sixteen year old titties and touched them and got a hardon.
"Soliel, I gotta go, gotta do my chores."
I didnt know if she maybe wanted to have sex...and there was no way I was going to partake in that. I had no clue, of course, at the age of twelve, what to do. Pee comes outta there. Does Soliel want to be my girlfriend?
The other Soliel incident was when some older guys and I were over there one day. They kept on talking about quifes (pussy farts) and that Soliel could do it on command. "What the fuck is a quife," I thought. Let alone, "what the hell is a pussy and what do I need it for?"
George wasn't there and Soliel casually lied down on the couch and let 'em rip. We all laughed, I, out of nervousness. "Where is that sound coming from...it's not out of her butt, right?"
Then George walked in after missing cannon shot quifes and barrells of laughter from bored teenagers.
"All, shit, man. Soliel, what the fuck? Get out of here guys, go."
"Fuck you, George, we are having fun," she said.
"I'm calling mom."
And sure enough he called his mother.
"Mom, Soliel is doing that thing with her pussy again."
"Sorry, but its fucking gross and there are like six dudes over here...ok."
He hangs up.
"Soliel, mom says you can use the car tonite and she will buy you a six pack of beer if you stop and everyone leaves."
"Ok, boys time to go," she says.
I don't know where everyone else went, but I went home to play fucking Tecmo Bowl. Bo Jackson couldn't be stopped that day. After we won the SuperBowl, Bo Jackson and Soliel went to Disney World and had babies.
But I heard that Soliel complains about Bo's penis because it doesn't go way past his belly button when its hard.
George was a rambunctious son of a gun who was always in trouble.
The most memorable thing about him was that he stuck a firecracker up a kitty cat's butt and lit that shit. Oh, what a horrible site. That cat ran in circles with the firecracker sizzling and then it exploded. He then jumped up a tree and was up there until 2003. He built a nest and copulated with birds.
That made me want to join PETA but I havent got around to it yet.
Brain Bart's Mom forbade him to hang out over there as well. Brain Bart told me that he was afraid that George would put Marijuana in his tea. I ask you Brian, when did you go over there at the age of 12 to enjoy a nice cup of tea with good ole George Luty?
George also used to say that his penis, when it was hard, went up way past his belly button. I never saw this, so I dont know if this is true.
Soliel was the older sister and slightly attractive for Denton's standards. My stepmom used to call her so-lut. Soliel didn't mind if us youngsters would take a peek at her while she showered. She seemed to take three to four showers a day while we there so I'm sure she didn't mind.
When I was twelve a couple of us were hanging out there and they all decided to go somewhere on thier bikes. My bike was broken and I was left behind with so-lut. I started to walk home but Soliel said, "Wait, do you wanna see something?"
She then promptly lifted up her shirt and I saw my first titties.
MY eyes popped outta my head.
The only time I had ever glimpsed the sight of titties was when I would try to watch the scrambled channel of Showtime. If you watched long enough through the multi colored waves of scrambled lines you could catch some boobies bouncing around, if only for a second and if you had patience.
"Do you want to touch them?"
"Yes."
I walked over to them sixteen year old titties and touched them and got a hardon.
"Soliel, I gotta go, gotta do my chores."
I didnt know if she maybe wanted to have sex...and there was no way I was going to partake in that. I had no clue, of course, at the age of twelve, what to do. Pee comes outta there. Does Soliel want to be my girlfriend?
The other Soliel incident was when some older guys and I were over there one day. They kept on talking about quifes (pussy farts) and that Soliel could do it on command. "What the fuck is a quife," I thought. Let alone, "what the hell is a pussy and what do I need it for?"
George wasn't there and Soliel casually lied down on the couch and let 'em rip. We all laughed, I, out of nervousness. "Where is that sound coming from...it's not out of her butt, right?"
Then George walked in after missing cannon shot quifes and barrells of laughter from bored teenagers.
"All, shit, man. Soliel, what the fuck? Get out of here guys, go."
"Fuck you, George, we are having fun," she said.
"I'm calling mom."
And sure enough he called his mother.
"Mom, Soliel is doing that thing with her pussy again."
"Sorry, but its fucking gross and there are like six dudes over here...ok."
He hangs up.
"Soliel, mom says you can use the car tonite and she will buy you a six pack of beer if you stop and everyone leaves."
"Ok, boys time to go," she says.
I don't know where everyone else went, but I went home to play fucking Tecmo Bowl. Bo Jackson couldn't be stopped that day. After we won the SuperBowl, Bo Jackson and Soliel went to Disney World and had babies.
But I heard that Soliel complains about Bo's penis because it doesn't go way past his belly button when its hard.
Monday, October 1, 2007
A Baltimore night
just enjoying my beer
and then I hear
gun claps
in the air.
then I say,
"ouch"
to myself
then the sirens come
and they hurt my ears.
Then the choppers come
and they hurt my ears.
let's have another beer.
Is this town the
reason why I drink so hard?
Baltimore.
Lady day doesnt
sing sing
a violence song
in short gunshot
rythym bursts
all day
and all night
long.
and then I hear
gun claps
in the air.
then I say,
"ouch"
to myself
then the sirens come
and they hurt my ears.
Then the choppers come
and they hurt my ears.
let's have another beer.
Is this town the
reason why I drink so hard?
Baltimore.
Lady day doesnt
sing sing
a violence song
in short gunshot
rythym bursts
all day
and all night
long.
Did you ever fill your supersoakers with pee pee?
There are many reasons why I piss outside:
1) I am lazy, and i enjoy drinking and writing outside. Sometimes, I dont even leave my chair. I just unbotten my pants and just try to arch it from the porch into the sweet green grass.
2) the rats dont come into my yard anymore because i have marked my territory. Nor do unfamiliar cats or dogs.
3) my stairs that lead upstairs are really noisey and I dont want to wake my roomates...and there is no bathroom downstairs (except my back yard.)
4) I usually have the computer outside, late at nite, drinking, and I am afraid that If i go inside to pee pee that the computer wont be here when I return. not that my computer will walk away, but there is this notorious thief around who just got outta jail and I'm sure he stole my brandnew, never been used before, propane grill that took me two hours to put together. So I cant risk leaving the computer alone.
5) I drink too much beer and if my roomies hear me going up and down the steps late at night to piss every five minutes, they will either send me to rehab or tell me to get my prostate checked out. I dont want to bother them with any of that nonsense.
6) my wing wang doesnt get much fresh air and that is unfair to my little buddy.
There must be more reasons why I like pissing in the great outdoors, but I cant think of them now.
If anyone has any reasons why they like pissing in nature let me know. i would be glad to hear you suggestions.
Thanks,
a lot.
PS: friends, guess what I gotta do right now?
pps: i am done know and while I was pissing I rememberd a funny pissing story that only my Denton bunkies will remember. We were all going to Russ's house and we all bought a shit load of beer. Logan Haddock was carrying some in a brown paper bag and a few fell through the bag and smashed on the sidewalk (yes, we do have sidewalks in Denton.)
"Logan, what the fuck, c'mom, man."
"My bad, friend."
I asked Matt Porter, "Where is Bobby (Means)?"
He had disappeared.
Matt replied, "Somewhere pissin'."
We had no idea where he went and we didnt see him the rest of the nite. Musta been one helluva piss.
Bobby was a notorious pisser and a notorious drinker.
I wish him well, whatever he is up to these days.
god bless ya, Bobby.
1) I am lazy, and i enjoy drinking and writing outside. Sometimes, I dont even leave my chair. I just unbotten my pants and just try to arch it from the porch into the sweet green grass.
2) the rats dont come into my yard anymore because i have marked my territory. Nor do unfamiliar cats or dogs.
3) my stairs that lead upstairs are really noisey and I dont want to wake my roomates...and there is no bathroom downstairs (except my back yard.)
4) I usually have the computer outside, late at nite, drinking, and I am afraid that If i go inside to pee pee that the computer wont be here when I return. not that my computer will walk away, but there is this notorious thief around who just got outta jail and I'm sure he stole my brandnew, never been used before, propane grill that took me two hours to put together. So I cant risk leaving the computer alone.
5) I drink too much beer and if my roomies hear me going up and down the steps late at night to piss every five minutes, they will either send me to rehab or tell me to get my prostate checked out. I dont want to bother them with any of that nonsense.
6) my wing wang doesnt get much fresh air and that is unfair to my little buddy.
There must be more reasons why I like pissing in the great outdoors, but I cant think of them now.
If anyone has any reasons why they like pissing in nature let me know. i would be glad to hear you suggestions.
Thanks,
a lot.
PS: friends, guess what I gotta do right now?
pps: i am done know and while I was pissing I rememberd a funny pissing story that only my Denton bunkies will remember. We were all going to Russ's house and we all bought a shit load of beer. Logan Haddock was carrying some in a brown paper bag and a few fell through the bag and smashed on the sidewalk (yes, we do have sidewalks in Denton.)
"Logan, what the fuck, c'mom, man."
"My bad, friend."
I asked Matt Porter, "Where is Bobby (Means)?"
He had disappeared.
Matt replied, "Somewhere pissin'."
We had no idea where he went and we didnt see him the rest of the nite. Musta been one helluva piss.
Bobby was a notorious pisser and a notorious drinker.
I wish him well, whatever he is up to these days.
god bless ya, Bobby.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
inspired by a casual album that I have never heard before
I am hungrier
than the muslim
world on Rammadan
Im a phenomenom
In my mind
divine
ass rapper
dapper
ass dresser
edward the
confessor
confides in me
he got eyes
like bee bees
told me his wife
likes cocaine
likes to
stroll down dirt
lanes
Fame
by david bowie
is her favorite song
she listens to it
while smoking crack
outta a bong
I better stop write now
'fore Jay-z
hires me to write his rhymes
I like my fish with thyme
I used to play soccer with
balls called Brines
when you headed them
you got concusions
self combustion
will happen
when try to out rhyme me
he he
ha
I love my mom
and pa
and I'm out
aaaaaaaaaaaaa
peace out.
(someone write the next verse)
than the muslim
world on Rammadan
Im a phenomenom
In my mind
divine
ass rapper
dapper
ass dresser
edward the
confessor
confides in me
he got eyes
like bee bees
told me his wife
likes cocaine
likes to
stroll down dirt
lanes
Fame
by david bowie
is her favorite song
she listens to it
while smoking crack
outta a bong
I better stop write now
'fore Jay-z
hires me to write his rhymes
I like my fish with thyme
I used to play soccer with
balls called Brines
when you headed them
you got concusions
self combustion
will happen
when try to out rhyme me
he he
ha
I love my mom
and pa
and I'm out
aaaaaaaaaaaaa
peace out.
(someone write the next verse)
4 stars
wine service
at my new
job and
drinking too
much coffee
these days.
shaking
hands that
I hope is from the coffee
and not my
inhuman amount
of beer
I Intake on a nightly (sometimes daily)
basis.
the customers
watch my hand shake
as I hit the glass
with the wine bottle
spilling little
driblets
of wine that run down
the side of
thier glass.
I wonder if they think
that I am a drunk?
Or rather, know that I'm a
drunk.
I guess it is really
none of thier
business,
I suppose.
If they ask,
I will tell
them that it's the coffee,
which I think is true.
at my new
job and
drinking too
much coffee
these days.
shaking
hands that
I hope is from the coffee
and not my
inhuman amount
of beer
I Intake on a nightly (sometimes daily)
basis.
the customers
watch my hand shake
as I hit the glass
with the wine bottle
spilling little
driblets
of wine that run down
the side of
thier glass.
I wonder if they think
that I am a drunk?
Or rather, know that I'm a
drunk.
I guess it is really
none of thier
business,
I suppose.
If they ask,
I will tell
them that it's the coffee,
which I think is true.
Friday, September 28, 2007
I'm quite bored these days
blog names:
Kermit the blog
blog legs
LA has heavy blog this morning
London Blog
blog pound
Blog cabin syrup
jog blog (bad)
soggy bloggy
charles blogkowski
cooze el doodle blogmaster
chimapanzee shrimp
sea water slurpie
yo, what up, blog?
snoop bloggy blog
blog town and the B boys
hair of the blog
they call the french blogs
jack blogowack
allen blogsberg
wade blogs
blog saget
blog costas
blog james
blog evans
blog hoskins
blibbo bloggins (Snacks)
brian blogzworth (Snacks)
bloggy means
any suggestions?
Kermit the blog
blog legs
LA has heavy blog this morning
London Blog
blog pound
Blog cabin syrup
jog blog (bad)
soggy bloggy
charles blogkowski
cooze el doodle blogmaster
chimapanzee shrimp
sea water slurpie
yo, what up, blog?
snoop bloggy blog
blog town and the B boys
hair of the blog
they call the french blogs
jack blogowack
allen blogsberg
wade blogs
blog saget
blog costas
blog james
blog evans
blog hoskins
blibbo bloggins (Snacks)
brian blogzworth (Snacks)
bloggy means
any suggestions?
Humdinger
I walked in the motherfucking club the other night. I told my parrot, who was resting on my shoulder, "One sized dick fits all."
My parrot's name is Shinny. He sat at the bar while I danced with the honeys.
Later that night, at the motherfucking orgy, one dick size did fit all.
It was a real humdinger of a night, it was.
Shinny watched and said he masterbated while the girls and I got it on.
That secretive bird. He won't tell me how he masterbates. Wing masterbation? I wanna know
how he does it. But when I go to orgies, I really don't have much time to watch him and figure out how he does it.
They next day he complained, "Why can't I meet any other parrots?"
I told him to practice his English and then we will see what happens.
I feel uncomfortable around him now, 'cause he saw me do some wierd shite.
My parrot's name is Shinny. He sat at the bar while I danced with the honeys.
Later that night, at the motherfucking orgy, one dick size did fit all.
It was a real humdinger of a night, it was.
Shinny watched and said he masterbated while the girls and I got it on.
That secretive bird. He won't tell me how he masterbates. Wing masterbation? I wanna know
how he does it. But when I go to orgies, I really don't have much time to watch him and figure out how he does it.
They next day he complained, "Why can't I meet any other parrots?"
I told him to practice his English and then we will see what happens.
I feel uncomfortable around him now, 'cause he saw me do some wierd shite.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
a gay espierience
Hello folks. So, i got kicked out of "A" house again and i went to that motel on Howard Street. The one that says, "motel" on the side of the building. The hotel looks like one of those spots when you are down and out in Ocean City, MD. It's on the side of a major road, not nice, a dump, basically. All the tennatnts were walking around sipping Pepsi's and smoking Kools. I was reprimanded at least three times, walking around the balcony with a natty boh, smoking my goddamn cigarettes.
"I'm not gonna tell you again, get yer ass inside." the night watchman said.
"Oh, yes, you fucking will tell me, probably a few more times," I replied.
"Don't make me call the poolice."
"I'm sorry, please dont. I'll be good."
I went inside the room and stared at myself in the busted ass mirror. I thought I looked good with my shirt off and with a beer in my hand, smoking like a motherfucker.
After a while, talking to my self, I decided to risk it all and go back on the balcony and smoke my cigs and drink my fucking beers. I mean, I paid for the goddamn room, didnt I? (Don't kid yerself, you didnt pay fer shit! Those motherfuckers wanted you out and they footed the bill.)
I went outside and was smoking my cigarette, looking elegant, blowing smoke rings in the pre-fall air. I wasn't worrying about the night watchaman because I eventually paid his dumb ass off. While slouching against that rail on the balcony,I saw hookers and addicts finishing or begining thier nights. I ignored them and continued to worry about me: I NEED MY BEER AND MY CIGARETTES!
So I was looking like F. Scott Fitzgerald (I did happen to bring my smoking jacket) and then this little Volkswagon Gulf pulled into the lot. Some guys fell out of the car and they seemed cool, but I was drunk and gregarious, so of course they were.
They saw me.
"yo, dude!" they said
"hello, gentleman,"I said.
I slouched on the rail...looking like a model.
"Hello, sir. We are a band and we are new in town. Do you like to drink?"
They had a case of Corona and a carton of Marlborlo Reds.
It was like they were carrying gold outta that little Volkswagon.
"I suppose I can hang for a wee bit."
The dudes carried the beers up the steps like champs, they have carried cases of beer before. The nubie guy was careful with the cigs, he didnt bang them against the rails...the guys walked up the stairs like perfect drunk gentlemen.
so they went to thier room, and I just stared at the pepsi machine across the way. smoking and drinking...it's about time you mf's figured it out (readers, this is what I do.)
I went into my room...put some water on me face....frowned about how the beer was becoming warm....AND THEN I REMEMBERED about them damn yokels next door. I was in room 222 they were in room 219...maybe I will pay them a visit
SORRY IM DRUNK I WILL FINISH IT WHEN IM SOBER....when?
Now fo finish...It is Friday September something 541 am.
SO i did pay them a visit. I went and knocked on thier door with too warm Natty Bohs in my hand like that is some great offereing. Like I said, I was quite the drunkard at that point.
So I sit down and say, "What's up guys," and asked what kinda music they play.
The nubie guy responds, "The gay kinda music. The best kinda music. We are Morrisey."
I crack open a beer, and place the other warm one on a dresser.
Then two of the guys start to disrobe.
"You guys, c'mon, you lied ta me. You are not inna band. Morrisey my ass."
Then those nekid motherfuckers got on the bed and started jerking and sucking each other off. The guy sitting next to me pulled down his shorts and started jerking off.
I then thought, "Yeah, maybe I should be fixing ta split here," but I didnt. I was intrigued. Never experienced this shit before.
I wanted material.
"Are you guys filming this? I mean what's going on here? I mean dude, you are just going to sit there and jerk off? Did you pay for this? What's going on? And you, nubie dude, what is yer deal? Are you the camera man?"
"No, we don't film this. We have in the past, but not tonite," said nubie guy.
Jerking off guy with the shorts: "Just be quite, I need to concentrate."
"Sorry."
I let out real loud belch. Then I farted, loudly.
"Um, I cant do this while this fucking gas bag is sitting there. Tell him to leave or we will and I will give you yer money back," said the bed brothers.
Jerking off guy with the shorts: "Hey, friend...well, I think I'm going to have to ask you to go."
"Oh, really? No, c'mon."
I grabbed my warm beer and stood up.
"I know when I'm not wanted," I said.
jerking off guy with shorts: "I'm sorry, what's yer name again?"
"Fuck You."
"Really?"
"No."
I left that gay sex room. Went to good ole room 222...drank my warm beer. I stared at myself in the mirror again with my shirt off. God I'm pretty. I think gay guys like me, no I know they do. I tried to write down some facts about the aforementioned experience but my handwriting looked like fucking arabic because I was so drunk. I lied down on one of the beds but I was afraid of scabies or crabs so I didnt get under the covers.
Later, maybe like an hour later, I heard a knock on my door (I had placed a coffee table in front of my door because I wasn't sure if the door was locked properly.)
I thought it was the night watchman. But it wasn't. It was nubie and one of the guys from the bed. I let them in.
"Hello."
"Hi, fuck you. What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
I had my shirt off.
"Wow, you have a really nice body!"
"Oh, no I don't. You are just saying that."
Fat hanging off my belly.
"No, you really do."
Then the guy from the bed brothers came towards my face as if he wanted to kiss me.
"Allright, fellas time to go."
"Oh. but..."
I pushed them out of the door and put the coffee table against the door again. I also pulled the extra bed against the door as well, just to be safe.
Flipped on the TV. ashed on the floor, pissed in the trashcan and then called it a night.
"I'm not gonna tell you again, get yer ass inside." the night watchman said.
"Oh, yes, you fucking will tell me, probably a few more times," I replied.
"Don't make me call the poolice."
"I'm sorry, please dont. I'll be good."
I went inside the room and stared at myself in the busted ass mirror. I thought I looked good with my shirt off and with a beer in my hand, smoking like a motherfucker.
After a while, talking to my self, I decided to risk it all and go back on the balcony and smoke my cigs and drink my fucking beers. I mean, I paid for the goddamn room, didnt I? (Don't kid yerself, you didnt pay fer shit! Those motherfuckers wanted you out and they footed the bill.)
I went outside and was smoking my cigarette, looking elegant, blowing smoke rings in the pre-fall air. I wasn't worrying about the night watchaman because I eventually paid his dumb ass off. While slouching against that rail on the balcony,I saw hookers and addicts finishing or begining thier nights. I ignored them and continued to worry about me: I NEED MY BEER AND MY CIGARETTES!
So I was looking like F. Scott Fitzgerald (I did happen to bring my smoking jacket) and then this little Volkswagon Gulf pulled into the lot. Some guys fell out of the car and they seemed cool, but I was drunk and gregarious, so of course they were.
They saw me.
"yo, dude!" they said
"hello, gentleman,"I said.
I slouched on the rail...looking like a model.
"Hello, sir. We are a band and we are new in town. Do you like to drink?"
They had a case of Corona and a carton of Marlborlo Reds.
It was like they were carrying gold outta that little Volkswagon.
"I suppose I can hang for a wee bit."
The dudes carried the beers up the steps like champs, they have carried cases of beer before. The nubie guy was careful with the cigs, he didnt bang them against the rails...the guys walked up the stairs like perfect drunk gentlemen.
so they went to thier room, and I just stared at the pepsi machine across the way. smoking and drinking...it's about time you mf's figured it out (readers, this is what I do.)
I went into my room...put some water on me face....frowned about how the beer was becoming warm....AND THEN I REMEMBERED about them damn yokels next door. I was in room 222 they were in room 219...maybe I will pay them a visit
SORRY IM DRUNK I WILL FINISH IT WHEN IM SOBER....when?
Now fo finish...It is Friday September something 541 am.
SO i did pay them a visit. I went and knocked on thier door with too warm Natty Bohs in my hand like that is some great offereing. Like I said, I was quite the drunkard at that point.
So I sit down and say, "What's up guys," and asked what kinda music they play.
The nubie guy responds, "The gay kinda music. The best kinda music. We are Morrisey."
I crack open a beer, and place the other warm one on a dresser.
Then two of the guys start to disrobe.
"You guys, c'mon, you lied ta me. You are not inna band. Morrisey my ass."
Then those nekid motherfuckers got on the bed and started jerking and sucking each other off. The guy sitting next to me pulled down his shorts and started jerking off.
I then thought, "Yeah, maybe I should be fixing ta split here," but I didnt. I was intrigued. Never experienced this shit before.
I wanted material.
"Are you guys filming this? I mean what's going on here? I mean dude, you are just going to sit there and jerk off? Did you pay for this? What's going on? And you, nubie dude, what is yer deal? Are you the camera man?"
"No, we don't film this. We have in the past, but not tonite," said nubie guy.
Jerking off guy with the shorts: "Just be quite, I need to concentrate."
"Sorry."
I let out real loud belch. Then I farted, loudly.
"Um, I cant do this while this fucking gas bag is sitting there. Tell him to leave or we will and I will give you yer money back," said the bed brothers.
Jerking off guy with the shorts: "Hey, friend...well, I think I'm going to have to ask you to go."
"Oh, really? No, c'mon."
I grabbed my warm beer and stood up.
"I know when I'm not wanted," I said.
jerking off guy with shorts: "I'm sorry, what's yer name again?"
"Fuck You."
"Really?"
"No."
I left that gay sex room. Went to good ole room 222...drank my warm beer. I stared at myself in the mirror again with my shirt off. God I'm pretty. I think gay guys like me, no I know they do. I tried to write down some facts about the aforementioned experience but my handwriting looked like fucking arabic because I was so drunk. I lied down on one of the beds but I was afraid of scabies or crabs so I didnt get under the covers.
Later, maybe like an hour later, I heard a knock on my door (I had placed a coffee table in front of my door because I wasn't sure if the door was locked properly.)
I thought it was the night watchman. But it wasn't. It was nubie and one of the guys from the bed. I let them in.
"Hello."
"Hi, fuck you. What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
I had my shirt off.
"Wow, you have a really nice body!"
"Oh, no I don't. You are just saying that."
Fat hanging off my belly.
"No, you really do."
Then the guy from the bed brothers came towards my face as if he wanted to kiss me.
"Allright, fellas time to go."
"Oh. but..."
I pushed them out of the door and put the coffee table against the door again. I also pulled the extra bed against the door as well, just to be safe.
Flipped on the TV. ashed on the floor, pissed in the trashcan and then called it a night.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
final curtain call ...one last cig...you pussies are starting yer day
I cannot piss anymore outside. It's daylight. Its indoor pissing time. oh, my friends. Are we animals?
Lucifer is my neighbor in the morning, no mabel...I don't consider you lucifer. Its just for poetic reasons
My
neighbor
is blind.
She knew
I was out on my porch
drinking like
a
motherfucker.
She heard the cans crack.
So she knows.
She told me it
was eggs
and bacon
time
and
that
I should
go to bed.
dont forget to water
the mums, she
said.
i told her to shut
her blind
ass
eyes up
and that
she should
get some glasses,
(some high powered ones) and
to find me some goddamn beer.
(I'll pay you back later. And while you are at it,
gimmie some goddamn pills.)
I know that I'm going to hell.
But she doesnt know it.
But, hey, I do mow her lawn occasionally.
neighbor
is blind.
She knew
I was out on my porch
drinking like
a
motherfucker.
She heard the cans crack.
So she knows.
She told me it
was eggs
and bacon
time
and
that
I should
go to bed.
dont forget to water
the mums, she
said.
i told her to shut
her blind
ass
eyes up
and that
she should
get some glasses,
(some high powered ones) and
to find me some goddamn beer.
(I'll pay you back later. And while you are at it,
gimmie some goddamn pills.)
I know that I'm going to hell.
But she doesnt know it.
But, hey, I do mow her lawn occasionally.
add a title,or splinter, that goddamn drunk ass mentor publish that shit already
Pissing all
around.
Territorial.
The rats
wonts be around 'cause,
my piss said so.
I drink a beer,
line the yard,
as much as I can
and then sit down.
And drink again
and then get up
again and piss again.
All around the
goddamn yard.
i really line
the freaking yard
like a spray paint can,
cigarette
burning.
(flame reatardent suit)
Marking my spot.
Rat hunter,
strangling them
mother fuckers.
I use thier dead teeth
to pick my chompers.
If you really look at the rats
they flip like fish
and they could
land in yer beer
around.
Territorial.
The rats
wonts be around 'cause,
my piss said so.
I drink a beer,
line the yard,
as much as I can
and then sit down.
And drink again
and then get up
again and piss again.
All around the
goddamn yard.
i really line
the freaking yard
like a spray paint can,
cigarette
burning.
(flame reatardent suit)
Marking my spot.
Rat hunter,
strangling them
mother fuckers.
I use thier dead teeth
to pick my chompers.
If you really look at the rats
they flip like fish
and they could
land in yer beer
slacker ass slacker...(I'm not a voter, fucker) sorry to be angry
Yeah, I'm working with these youngsters (21-26)
and they all talk about
anarchy.
I tell
them the truth,
that the youngings
have the ideas,
but THEY
have the armies.
And I tell them
that I dont see
your hipster dumb
ass with an ak-47
holster
on your street
bike.
Revolution my ass.
We all know that
you don't
want yer
cous cous
rationed in cans.
"oh, the cigarettes
are not
organic."
Well...
We all
want something
better
but we will be damned
if we want to work for it.
Word
to yer
momma.
and they all talk about
anarchy.
I tell
them the truth,
that the youngings
have the ideas,
but THEY
have the armies.
And I tell them
that I dont see
your hipster dumb
ass with an ak-47
holster
on your street
bike.
Revolution my ass.
We all know that
you don't
want yer
cous cous
rationed in cans.
"oh, the cigarettes
are not
organic."
Well...
We all
want something
better
but we will be damned
if we want to work for it.
Word
to yer
momma.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
i should stop writing poetry
i look down
at me billybutton
and the gray hairs
on my belly
shine like vegas lite shows
and she makes me come on them
she thinks it is kinky when
I do this
pulling a
dick out
like so
at me billybutton
and the gray hairs
on my belly
shine like vegas lite shows
and she makes me come on them
she thinks it is kinky when
I do this
pulling a
dick out
like so
love
gotta go cook some eggs
she will shower and
she told me
that she expects
them cooked
when she is done
everyone loves the cook
with his cigarette
dangling
with a
scotch on the rocks
next to the
butter
he (or she, im sorry)
is about to use
fry em up honeybaby
dont spit in it
why would
i do
such a thing?
she will shower and
she told me
that she expects
them cooked
when she is done
everyone loves the cook
with his cigarette
dangling
with a
scotch on the rocks
next to the
butter
he (or she, im sorry)
is about to use
fry em up honeybaby
dont spit in it
why would
i do
such a thing?
I blame my mom for my hands
I have
this weird spot
on my hand
its kinda
purple
Is it some kinda
weird pimple?
Is it cancer?
I'm embaresed
to show anyone
beacuse i have
really
feminine hands.
I dont want anyone
to say, "You have hands
like a
fucking girl."
And that is the reason
I dont got to the
doctors
because
he will tell
me to get
a sex change
so my hands
will fit my
body
and my my pussy
mentality
this weird spot
on my hand
its kinda
purple
Is it some kinda
weird pimple?
Is it cancer?
I'm embaresed
to show anyone
beacuse i have
really
feminine hands.
I dont want anyone
to say, "You have hands
like a
fucking girl."
And that is the reason
I dont got to the
doctors
because
he will tell
me to get
a sex change
so my hands
will fit my
body
and my my pussy
mentality
I think Jimi hendrix might be gay
decision:
buy a case of beer
or get a fucking haircut
buy some razors
and shave that
beautiful face
what do you
mother
truckers
think I
will do?
I only have
22 dollars
in my
pocket and its
burning
buy a case of beer
or get a fucking haircut
buy some razors
and shave that
beautiful face
what do you
mother
truckers
think I
will do?
I only have
22 dollars
in my
pocket and its
burning
this time ( I need a blogger editor)
So here i am drinking at 702 in the morning. I was out earlier (way earlier) and picked up some money that was owed to me from the night before. got the money got drunk. sat at bars like some fat despot...viewing my constituants (speeling is not my thing) I watched them laugh and smoke, like some zoo observer. Got drunk like I said, and went to a little bar called the nutty pub. I told the people at the bar that I was running for mayor and that the next time I came there i would have flyers and petitions. They all agreed that they would sign them and not throw them away when i placed them between thier windshield wipers and windshield (bug protector).
But through all this bullshit I was spitting, I think I actually got a job at this liitle bar. small bar. Dead. I think that I WONT turn it into a little hipster bar (like its my decision)...though hipsters drink and I like little hipster girls even though I look like F scott fitzgerald due to my attire. (so i dont fit in)
So anyway, got drunk (how many times must I say this?) and networked. So basically, I got a job. (the reason why I got a job was because i asked . I told them that I needed money for the electric bill.)
The drinkers thought I was witty and they bought me drinks and told me to come by the next day to see the owner, to finalize the deal...the BT showed me her tits and said, "You know you wanna come by again for this!"
I had to leave this wondeful establishment to get some food, so I borrowed the Bt's phone and called my neighborhood bar to order some food. (this bar, the one I was at, had no food but bar peanuts)...so I placed my order on her phone.
"hello, yes, is this *******?"
"Yes, it sure as hell is."
"I need food."
"What the fuck do you want."
"this is ricardo...so..."
"allright, fucking Ricardo, I will have your food ready. Dont show up here and offend motherfuckers, please?"
"Man, do I ever do that?"
"yes, you do, goodbye."
I left (is that right, left?) and walked down the street like some drunken reatard...smoking like some kinda elegant penguin. I arrived at this fucking bar and she wouldnt serve me but she let me take a six pack of beer to go and pay for the food (to go) and the beer. I tipped like a beast outta guilt.
I went home and attempted to watch "ROME" and ate, sitting on the couch petting the cat. I disrobed sitting in my boxers with my pager attatched to them. Fell asleep. Woke up at 5. And here I am drinking, smoking and spitting into a Kingsford charcoal bag so it doesnt stain the concrete of my back yard.
But through all this bullshit I was spitting, I think I actually got a job at this liitle bar. small bar. Dead. I think that I WONT turn it into a little hipster bar (like its my decision)...though hipsters drink and I like little hipster girls even though I look like F scott fitzgerald due to my attire. (so i dont fit in)
So anyway, got drunk (how many times must I say this?) and networked. So basically, I got a job. (the reason why I got a job was because i asked . I told them that I needed money for the electric bill.)
The drinkers thought I was witty and they bought me drinks and told me to come by the next day to see the owner, to finalize the deal...the BT showed me her tits and said, "You know you wanna come by again for this!"
I had to leave this wondeful establishment to get some food, so I borrowed the Bt's phone and called my neighborhood bar to order some food. (this bar, the one I was at, had no food but bar peanuts)...so I placed my order on her phone.
"hello, yes, is this *******?"
"Yes, it sure as hell is."
"I need food."
"What the fuck do you want."
"this is ricardo...so..."
"allright, fucking Ricardo, I will have your food ready. Dont show up here and offend motherfuckers, please?"
"Man, do I ever do that?"
"yes, you do, goodbye."
I left (is that right, left?) and walked down the street like some drunken reatard...smoking like some kinda elegant penguin. I arrived at this fucking bar and she wouldnt serve me but she let me take a six pack of beer to go and pay for the food (to go) and the beer. I tipped like a beast outta guilt.
I went home and attempted to watch "ROME" and ate, sitting on the couch petting the cat. I disrobed sitting in my boxers with my pager attatched to them. Fell asleep. Woke up at 5. And here I am drinking, smoking and spitting into a Kingsford charcoal bag so it doesnt stain the concrete of my back yard.
Monday, September 10, 2007
contact the people that protect birds
Idea for a really short film:
shot 1: two hunters lying in the weeds, in the willows...guns cocked...lying next to each other...they are fine with this
shot 2: ducks and birds flying through a beautiful sky...slowly moving ,thier sounds are heard by no one but the hunters
Music: The Carpenters...(The great rock group) The song is called, "Close To You"
and the line goes:"why do birds, suddenly, appear..."
and the hunters pick off the birds one by one
editing must be done
shot 3: "close to you...." the song.... and the hunters remembered that they used to lie(?) so close to each other,
they are carrying the dead birds close to them (the hunters)
walking back to thier trucks
"thats why me (we?), they long to be, close to you"
They all think that song
is for fags
they
told me
shot 1: two hunters lying in the weeds, in the willows...guns cocked...lying next to each other...they are fine with this
shot 2: ducks and birds flying through a beautiful sky...slowly moving ,thier sounds are heard by no one but the hunters
Music: The Carpenters...(The great rock group) The song is called, "Close To You"
and the line goes:"why do birds, suddenly, appear..."
and the hunters pick off the birds one by one
editing must be done
shot 3: "close to you...." the song.... and the hunters remembered that they used to lie(?) so close to each other,
they are carrying the dead birds close to them (the hunters)
walking back to thier trucks
"thats why me (we?), they long to be, close to you"
They all think that song
is for fags
they
told me
Friday, September 7, 2007
accepting the cumputer era
Why does Larry always bother me? No wait, he comes by and asks me for a dollar, and I think the dollar is wanted to add to his treasure chest for bus fare. But later, he comes buy with a case of Natty Boh. When he returned, he told me he only had $9.56 in his pocket and that is why he asked for the dollar so he could bless me with the case that costs $10.56. Larry does not bother me when he does this. When he asks me for two or three dollars, it bothers me because it fucks up my cigarette fund for the day, and I tell Larry to take the bus to hell.
Larry likes to sit and smoke and drink and not say a word. The only sound is the broken neck of beer cans and greedy pulls from Basic cigarettes. He says that the weather is nice or bad, his cat has herpes, or he stole a gumball machine from Safeway and made a fortune. I like Larry this way. But when he drinks a little, and asks me for Glenfiddich on the rocks (which i give him), he starts to criticize me. I used to fight back first with words and then the fists, but we all know that that is pointless.
"Are you writing?" he asks me.
"Are you begging on the streets?" I ask him.
He asks for a light. I give him my grill lighter, that is all I have, because I keep forgetting to ask for matches at the seven eleven.
"What the fuck is this?" he asks.
I tell him that it is fire and there is no need to ask because it works. He can't figure out how to light it, so I grab it from him and turn the wheel and press the ignitor button. He looks like a caveman, or a deer caught in the headlights, as the fire spits out.
"Why are you so fucking fancy? You always have these new gadgets. IPOPS? What the hell is that shit?"
He lights his cigarette. He has dumb eyes in the July dark night. His eyes look like pissed on fireworks that are about to go out.
"I dont know...don't have one anymore."
"That's bullshit, because I was looking through your bag earlier and I saw that thing. That thing, on those commercials that they all dance like maniacs with. Did you dance like that when you used yours?"
"Yes."
"Hah, I know you are fucking with me."
"Why were you looking thru my bag?"
"I don't know, okay?"
We sat and drank in silence for a bit. I felt Larry's anger rising. He wasn't angry at me he was pissed because he wasn't modern. I empathized with him. But at least i knew how to say IPOD.
"I also heard you were mogging."
"Mogging...what the hell do you mean, Larry?"
"That 'puter shit. writing stuf on it."
"I feel that's the only way to go these days."
Larry jumped up and his eyes shone in the citronella night. He pulled out his Bowie knife, the one he said that his grandfather gave him in the 1970's.
"Don't make me use this on you. I like drinking with you. Don't make me, please!"
"Fuck you, Larry."
Larry brought the knife down with force aimed at my neck. It was dull and old. It didn't quite pierce my beautiful neck. Maybe a knick, maybe less. Didn't hurt, and I told him so. He jumped off me and took a drag.
"Larry, maybe you should go home. Do you need sixty cents?"
"Please, thanks."
I went inside to get the sixty cents. When i came back out I could see some of my potted plants underneath his button down white shirt. I didn't say anything about the plants because he would probably take just as good care of those plants as I would.
"Actually, do you have a dollar more?"
"Sure, Larry."
I pulled out my second to last dollar from my wallet and handed it to him.
"See you tomorrow, Ricardo?"
"Bring the beer, you know where I will be."
He left and i finally finished my mog. He didnt see the beers underneath my button down gray shirt.
Larry likes to sit and smoke and drink and not say a word. The only sound is the broken neck of beer cans and greedy pulls from Basic cigarettes. He says that the weather is nice or bad, his cat has herpes, or he stole a gumball machine from Safeway and made a fortune. I like Larry this way. But when he drinks a little, and asks me for Glenfiddich on the rocks (which i give him), he starts to criticize me. I used to fight back first with words and then the fists, but we all know that that is pointless.
"Are you writing?" he asks me.
"Are you begging on the streets?" I ask him.
He asks for a light. I give him my grill lighter, that is all I have, because I keep forgetting to ask for matches at the seven eleven.
"What the fuck is this?" he asks.
I tell him that it is fire and there is no need to ask because it works. He can't figure out how to light it, so I grab it from him and turn the wheel and press the ignitor button. He looks like a caveman, or a deer caught in the headlights, as the fire spits out.
"Why are you so fucking fancy? You always have these new gadgets. IPOPS? What the hell is that shit?"
He lights his cigarette. He has dumb eyes in the July dark night. His eyes look like pissed on fireworks that are about to go out.
"I dont know...don't have one anymore."
"That's bullshit, because I was looking through your bag earlier and I saw that thing. That thing, on those commercials that they all dance like maniacs with. Did you dance like that when you used yours?"
"Yes."
"Hah, I know you are fucking with me."
"Why were you looking thru my bag?"
"I don't know, okay?"
We sat and drank in silence for a bit. I felt Larry's anger rising. He wasn't angry at me he was pissed because he wasn't modern. I empathized with him. But at least i knew how to say IPOD.
"I also heard you were mogging."
"Mogging...what the hell do you mean, Larry?"
"That 'puter shit. writing stuf on it."
"I feel that's the only way to go these days."
Larry jumped up and his eyes shone in the citronella night. He pulled out his Bowie knife, the one he said that his grandfather gave him in the 1970's.
"Don't make me use this on you. I like drinking with you. Don't make me, please!"
"Fuck you, Larry."
Larry brought the knife down with force aimed at my neck. It was dull and old. It didn't quite pierce my beautiful neck. Maybe a knick, maybe less. Didn't hurt, and I told him so. He jumped off me and took a drag.
"Larry, maybe you should go home. Do you need sixty cents?"
"Please, thanks."
I went inside to get the sixty cents. When i came back out I could see some of my potted plants underneath his button down white shirt. I didn't say anything about the plants because he would probably take just as good care of those plants as I would.
"Actually, do you have a dollar more?"
"Sure, Larry."
I pulled out my second to last dollar from my wallet and handed it to him.
"See you tomorrow, Ricardo?"
"Bring the beer, you know where I will be."
He left and i finally finished my mog. He didnt see the beers underneath my button down gray shirt.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Literary Lubrication
I may be new in the blog world, but I have written a few things and they all have been on some kind of drug. Some drugs work for me and some do not. My bread and butter definately has to be beer and alcohol. Wait, alcohol cigarettes and beer. Yeah, yeah, its sounds like a cliche, but it works. Don't you tell your personal stories better to friends while you are sitting around drinking and smoking? You loosen up and you become unafraid of the truth and you spill it out accordingly. Alcohol cigarettes and beer are my muse and if it were not for them I would not have written a word, a letter.
Marijuana, on the other hand, does not work for me. I know they say that weed affects people in different ways, so I'm just stating my personal experience from writing "on weed." I take a hit and stare into space or maybe stare at the bowl thinking that i may have cancer...so my mind is unclear and the shit doesn't work. Sometimes, when I have had a lot to drink and smoke a little bit of weed, I recieve fleeting thoughts coming from all directions and my writing seems unbalanced, or basically stupid. Nothing coherent, nothing relevant. I like marijuana but it hasnt helped me one bit.
Cocaine. Cocaine is a stimulant and it helps me think but I usually combine it with alcohol and a dozen packs of cigarettes. I can be very concise and all, but I usually feel like doing more coke, drinking and smoking so I have no time to write. I'd rather get high and talk about all the 9/11 conspiracies that are known to man, or ones that just pop into my head. I have been known to offend people while on this drug, so I dont want to offend my fellow readers, so I dont write.
pain killers/opiates. Ahh, my favorite drug, though anyone that feels that they can do something productive while eating three Lorapans and drinking a twelve pack of beer must be kidding themselves. I usually put on a cd and smoke, stargazing, and end up getting blisters on my fingers while nodding off with a lit cigarette. But it feels so good...not the blistering of fingers, but the absolute numbness from life that it gives me. So fuck writing at that point. An examlpe of writing while in this state:
"BLLEEn to the sttttoere saw someone how wassssssssssss there."
Caffine?! Fug it...only use it when I gotta go to work...been off caffiene for about a year.
Psychedelics...i think I am a little to old for them. I am not Carl Sagan and I will never be able to understand the universe, no matter how many hallucinogenics i take.
So like I have said, beer alcohol and cigarettes are the best substances for me. I am addicted to all three of them, and maybe if I tried those aformentioned other substances, sans alcohol beer cigarettes, they might help, by thier lonesome, but I dont see that happening. Dont judge me, judge my sloppy writing.
Marijuana, on the other hand, does not work for me. I know they say that weed affects people in different ways, so I'm just stating my personal experience from writing "on weed." I take a hit and stare into space or maybe stare at the bowl thinking that i may have cancer...so my mind is unclear and the shit doesn't work. Sometimes, when I have had a lot to drink and smoke a little bit of weed, I recieve fleeting thoughts coming from all directions and my writing seems unbalanced, or basically stupid. Nothing coherent, nothing relevant. I like marijuana but it hasnt helped me one bit.
Cocaine. Cocaine is a stimulant and it helps me think but I usually combine it with alcohol and a dozen packs of cigarettes. I can be very concise and all, but I usually feel like doing more coke, drinking and smoking so I have no time to write. I'd rather get high and talk about all the 9/11 conspiracies that are known to man, or ones that just pop into my head. I have been known to offend people while on this drug, so I dont want to offend my fellow readers, so I dont write.
pain killers/opiates. Ahh, my favorite drug, though anyone that feels that they can do something productive while eating three Lorapans and drinking a twelve pack of beer must be kidding themselves. I usually put on a cd and smoke, stargazing, and end up getting blisters on my fingers while nodding off with a lit cigarette. But it feels so good...not the blistering of fingers, but the absolute numbness from life that it gives me. So fuck writing at that point. An examlpe of writing while in this state:
"BLLEEn to the sttttoere saw someone how wassssssssssss there."
Caffine?! Fug it...only use it when I gotta go to work...been off caffiene for about a year.
Psychedelics...i think I am a little to old for them. I am not Carl Sagan and I will never be able to understand the universe, no matter how many hallucinogenics i take.
So like I have said, beer alcohol and cigarettes are the best substances for me. I am addicted to all three of them, and maybe if I tried those aformentioned other substances, sans alcohol beer cigarettes, they might help, by thier lonesome, but I dont see that happening. Dont judge me, judge my sloppy writing.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Stuffless
My ex-girlfriend has thrown all my stuff out of her house. I think its about time because I was kicked out of her abode nearly a year ago. It was cheaper than a storage spot, I must admit, but now I don't have anything. No TV, stereo, all those important things in life. Books...gone, records...gone, iceskates...gone.
I am not mad whatsoever...who can blame her? Call me crazy, but why would you throw out a nice tv, $2500 speakers and an old mac that still served its purpose? The only way that I found out about the demise of my personal belongings that have taken my lifetime to accumalate, was to go pay her a visit at her little house. She changed her number blocked my emails and I even JOINED MY SPACE to attempt to contact her. But she wasn't having it. So the only way to find out was to say hello, in person.
So when I was at her house we sat on her front porch and smoked cigarettes and I popped the question, "Do you still have my stuff?"
"Are you fucking kidding me!? That shit is gone. Threw it out last week."
I sat on the chair that I helped picked out for her and covered my eyes...but I really didn't care.
I had been drinking all afternoon (Labor Day) and had to piss. She wouldn't even let me in her house to use the bathroom, so i pissed in her front yard while her neighbors looked on in disgust, and she was fine with it.
So I am thinking that she didn't want me to go inside and see that my expensive stuff was still being used by her. I mean who would get rid of that shit when you could just use it like you did every day (She had a TV from like 1989, didnt even have those multi colored plugs to plug in a dvd player.)
These days I feel as light as a feather...no possesions to way me down. They say that possesions own you but these things were paid in full or stolen (books, thanks Peter,) so we can dismiss that theory. I have decided that I will travel the US by bus and stop in cities and get odd jobs to pay my way. Sounds romantic, I know...but you got to be romantic about something...just dont do it with girls.
PS: whoever reads this, give me ADVICE on how to retrive my stuff, if it still exists.
I am not mad whatsoever...who can blame her? Call me crazy, but why would you throw out a nice tv, $2500 speakers and an old mac that still served its purpose? The only way that I found out about the demise of my personal belongings that have taken my lifetime to accumalate, was to go pay her a visit at her little house. She changed her number blocked my emails and I even JOINED MY SPACE to attempt to contact her. But she wasn't having it. So the only way to find out was to say hello, in person.
So when I was at her house we sat on her front porch and smoked cigarettes and I popped the question, "Do you still have my stuff?"
"Are you fucking kidding me!? That shit is gone. Threw it out last week."
I sat on the chair that I helped picked out for her and covered my eyes...but I really didn't care.
I had been drinking all afternoon (Labor Day) and had to piss. She wouldn't even let me in her house to use the bathroom, so i pissed in her front yard while her neighbors looked on in disgust, and she was fine with it.
So I am thinking that she didn't want me to go inside and see that my expensive stuff was still being used by her. I mean who would get rid of that shit when you could just use it like you did every day (She had a TV from like 1989, didnt even have those multi colored plugs to plug in a dvd player.)
These days I feel as light as a feather...no possesions to way me down. They say that possesions own you but these things were paid in full or stolen (books, thanks Peter,) so we can dismiss that theory. I have decided that I will travel the US by bus and stop in cities and get odd jobs to pay my way. Sounds romantic, I know...but you got to be romantic about something...just dont do it with girls.
PS: whoever reads this, give me ADVICE on how to retrive my stuff, if it still exists.
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