Something for Me?

it was about 5pm

when the sun was preparing to creep behind 

those mountains

and

i was sprawled out on the bed hating

life

and

being sick.

when i catch the flu

i turn into the biggest sloppy baby and want

to be pampered.

we just need a little sympathy sometimes.

someone to rub our heads

hold our hand

and smile

to bring a little sunshine

into the shit-box.

i moved to the living room

laying on the carpet

as the sun warmed me through.

the simple pleasures

that are often overlooked.

i smiled up

as the dog came over to me

and licked the top of my head.

i smiled

because 

sometimes, you just don't die.

Answer Me.

if we can be
anything
we should be into
everything
involved
in that one
thing.
but if we are constantly
humbled
and filled with desperation
as
the
women smell it on you
and the ones you want
don't want you
as the ones who want you
you don't want.
but the best
is
to
keep
your faith
in yourself
and beat yourself
punish yourself
for all things
and something not in your power.
those things will make you strong
and burn
like smart bombs.
self hatred is the
first stop
to
love.
you are not good.
i am not good.
human behavior
is a misstep in logic
sucking on the tailpipe
behind a big diesel bus
filled with men
and
women
just like
you
and
me.

The Whine of the Dog

i sat in my chair
starring at the ceiling
with my feet on the desk
and a beer pinched between
my index
and
thumb.
waiting for
the air
to
thicken with thoughts
and put me into action.
the dog let out a low whimper
and i heard him
through both closed doors
clawing at the fence in the kitchen.
his whimpers grew to moans
and moans grew towards barks
and i finally got my feet on the ground.
i sat outside of the fence
and talked with him a bit
about his disturbing my writing.
"listen pal, quit the shit huh? i'm working over here,
later, later we'll go out and look for some bitches, but right now
just hang back for a second."
i reached over and rubbed the back of his small head.
back in the room
with the windows open
feeling cool dusk breeze
and feet up on desk.
i thought about her
and wondered how time can bring us
to our knees like small children
getting whipped.
our feet cut out from under us
as we hop along like frogs.
then,
i hear him whimpering again.
i realize
that his whimpers
make me want to go even further away from him
because he dislikes being alone
and constantly cries about it.
i look over myself in the mirror
the sad condition of my face
and make amends
with myself.

The Salt of the Earth

the day was not beautiful. clouds were blocking out the sun in certain spots, and the day took on a gloominess that made me feel less and less like driving. my ass was growing numb, the wind was blowing cigarette ash into my eyes and the car was vibrating like a world war II bomber plane getting ready for takeoff. i eased my mind away from all this by starring dumb faced into the open road ahead of me and imagining myself a world war II pilot, strapped into the captains seat, working knobs and switches, as the big bomber rumbled down the airstrip waiting to catch enough air to be lifted off into open sky. giving her full throttle i wanted to see just how far i could push this baby into the pavement. suddenly the car moaned a bit, and a giant crash followed thereafter. in my rear view mirror, i saw scraps of rubber flying up into the air behind me. i had lost a piece of my tire.

i knew i had to make it off the highway before i lost the rest of it, so i swerved across all four empty lanes and made for the first exit. the car limped the whole way into the tire shop. i was sweating now, the heat was getting to me, road tired, hungry and out of cigarettes, both the car and i creaked and moaned as i got out. a short kid walked up to me. the sweat had bleed through his hat and produced a dirty halo around his head. he was wearing a yellow shirt and dark dungarees, square jawed and with a punchy nose, he extended a hand and asked me what he could do. i showed him the tire and he went to work in no time.
i shuffled across the street and bought some cigarettes and a small bottle of whiskey. when i returned he was rolling the new tire towards the car. i lit up a cigarette and offered him one, i had to light it for him because the kids hands were so greasy he probably would of caught fire. he mumbled over his shoulder, without taking the cig out of his mouth,

"i'm not discounting this off the cost of the tire."

" i wasn't planning on it."

 we both laughed and shook our heads. i took a sip off the bottle and the whiskey ran warm down my throat. when he was finished with the tire i offered him a nip. he took it reluctantly just as a sheriff cruiser drove by.
"you better beat it"
i opened the car door and handed him the money. he gave me his card and waved goodbye as i turned on the road opposite the way of the cruiser. i was back on the road. cigarettes, whiskey, full tank of gas and a fresh tire. nothing could stop me now.

i drove the next 80 miles without incident. occasionally taking a nip from the bottle when the road was clear on all sides. i knew i was getting close when i saw several rows of date palms. i wondered what it must be like to climb up those trees and cut down  fruit in this blistering hot sun. i tried to look and see if anyone was out climbing with a machete between their teeth like a pirate. but it looked desolate and alone, not a soul around as the palm leaves continued blowing in the hot wind.

Hero on a Glacier

i had to wait in line for the bathroom
and i really
really
really had to go.
the line was very long,
and we all wore the same look
on our face,
that look of despair and fragility.
earlier the same day,
i wanted to sneak out of the restaurant,
to smoke a cigarette
early in the service,
but i couldn't
and we became very busy.
i had to wait,
a very long time,
and i could feel my system crying out
in restlessness.
i also forgot to eat this day,
and when i finally remembered
that i only had coffee all day
my stomach turned on me
and made me pay
for the disservice i had given him.
when i woke up this morning
i thought of the greatest moments
i had
when we both had sex in that
small
stuffy studio apartment
with the red bed spread.
and my cock whimpered like a small dog
wanting to go back inside
of you
but knowing i
couldn't.
finally
two men walked out of the restroom
and it was my turn.
the guy behind me followed me in,
and we both went to our respective urinals
and started to piss.
a wave of relief washed over me
and i sighed.
the guy next to me started laughing
and i turned to look at him
"feels good when you wait for it eh?"
"thats true."
i zipped up and went back to my stool.
the bartender poured me another 7&7
and i sat there starring at the glass.
when you make yourself suffer
and wait for everything
sex,
drinks,
cigarettes,
food,
anything,
it feels much more rewarding
when you can grasp onto it with both hands.
my moments of happiness
are seldom
but very very high
because i know they will pass quick.
is it wrong to challenge yourself?
to see how long you can go
and how far
you can push?
i waited for the ice to gradually melt
in my glass
as the cubes slid against each other
and i pictured myself
as Jack London
searching for Yukon Gold
in that glass
driving himself across the vast white wasteland
of ice,
as everything in the world changed
but his small patch of reality
stayed put and true.
suddenly,
the bartender,
snuck up behind me
and wrapped her arms around my neck.
she had this very sweet smell
and it made my nose want to sneeze.
she kissed me
and said,
"whatcha waiting for?"
i could of gone many ways on that one
but i thought of old Jack
on that iceberg
in my glass
and said,
"you kid, i'm waiting for you. lets scram."
and we left together.
i'm watching her stir now
out of the corner of my eye
as she lays there
with the teddy bear
rising
and lowering
on her chest.
i know
as soon as i lay down
and close my eyes
she will leave.
but thats just the way this all is
and
i'm okay with that.

untouchable is something to be.

People are wasteful, they waste all the food
People are hateful, and people are rude
But god I love some people sometimes
Because people are very, very special

And people are impatient, they don’t know how to wait
People are selfish, people are prone to hate
But god I love some people sometimes
Because people are the greatest thing to happen

People are people regardless of skin
People are people regardless of creed
People are people regardless of gender
People are people regardless of anything

People are my religion because I believe in them
People are my enemies and people are my friends
I have faith in my fellow man
And I only hope that he has faith in me

-People. AJ.J

i read this stuff when i wake up in the morning and goddamn, i've got to laugh at myself.. it's so overdramatic and cliche.. if you could see the smile on my face right now. i know there's guys out there who feel what i'm writing, and i'm doing it for you creepy dudes in your parents basement. the guys who write dracula opera and are weird oddballs. when the going gets tough, the weird turn pro. -hst

a Poem to Make you Feel Better

you're spent
i know it
you are everything that a lover should be.
one day,
you'll wake up and score
better than anyone
has ever
done before.
hope.
that's all you can
do.
is hope.
that one day,
you'll find the one
that fits.
it's a sad journey
for a kid
that has a heart
as the the others
only find ways
to step
manipulate
destroy
everything you
believe in.
don't let them get to you.
solitude is the key.
in here
no one hurts
no one pains
no one is down.
you can make yourself happy
and whatever you want.
people are out to hurt
and destroy you if they can.
so release anger
defeat
and love
it'll get you nowhere if you hold those
deep
down
in that chest.

If You Can be Anything.

a struggle
to be
great
and full of life.
everyday
is just another excuse
to put a bullet in your head.
but you don't
you hope
that something great,
pure
and full of definition
will come to you.
you're living a dream man,
it's a dream.
play the game and be that guy.
you know the guy.
you feel sparks
that should define you.
but those are hollow
because they've never gotten you anywhere.
if you were a jerk
a jock
a douche bag
you'd score so much.
this is why i drink
because i can never be one of those
bad guys.
i repress him as far as possible
and retreat into myself.
i can never be emotionally invested
in anyone
because so far
a quarter of the way through
you've all done bad shit
that caused major damage
but i can't show it.
you have destroyed the good
so only the evil
sayers
shine through
in this decapitated soul.
it's all of your faults
for being
doing
and
executing.
you don't know any better though.
this is the way it is.
so those good guys
don't score
shit.
they sleep
in shit
every night
and it doesn't matter to you.
because the douche bag
is next
to
you.

it's Much Easier to Be the Guy

i see you looking at those guys,
those smooth talking guys
who do some form of spiritual
mockery in their free time.
you'll never win,
good guy,
you'll never win.
you're too Goddamn nice and holy.
be an asshole
because that's what they like.
they want you to be mean
hateful
and disgraceful.
it's the world we live in
the world that was developed
or lack there of
for us.
the
jerk always wins
that's the way it's been since time began.
be attractive,
confident
and full of everything you hate
and although at night
you won't sleep well.
you'll toss and turn
because you've become the bad guy.
but every night
a different girl will rotate through that bed
and you'll know how to keep them
back at the homestead.
nice guys finish last.
its been this way forever
and it'll never change
you've got to hear the truth
hold on to it as much
as
you want to.
but in the end
you're too kind
too responsive.
be cold
dark
and humorous,
that's what they want now,
we're lost in the time.
maybe back then
it worked
but  now
you're just another schmuck they call
when they want to feel better about
themselves
and you'll answer the phone
and offer opinions,
because it's the right thing to do.
spiritually.
but metaphorically,
you just shot yourself
in the goddamn heart.
how sad
the truth is.

With This Fire, We Can Dance

the bar is a machine,
very slow to start up,
as the gears wind,
and the smell of molten metal fills the air.
we wait,
for the connection to show up
and provide us with
cocaine,
amphetamines,
opiates,
anything we want.
she makes the rounds
cute homely looking girl
with blond curly hair
and deep blue eyes.
i score and hold on to it,
i'm not in the mood for sharing tonight,
but the bald guy next to me,
in the track suit,
knows better.
so we meet in the bathroom
and do key lines of precious,
we are high
and looking for a lay,
i leave him,
to head outside
where the air is crisp and pure.
cocaine makes me want to write
to all those sorry fucks
who stayed at home.
i write for the lonely,
the deviants
the desolate pricks
who were left with nothing
but their own sorrow thoughts.
i pour my self a whiskey
and drink to the mighty
drink to the losers
drink to you.
listen
my men
who fight against everything
who think that their hearts are right
in every undesirable right.
be patient you assholes,
be calm,
the whole reason you suffer yourselves
is to score that one pure block of gold.
all these other slime
are a process
a test
to see how much you'll take it
how far you'll go.
nothing is easy for you
everything does not fall into place
but we've got to keep going.
even if the one right now,
throws dirt in your face.
be that guy
who changes everything.
you can do it.
we
have
to.

i love it when people confront me about writing. they tend to laugh, think i'm not good at it, cliche, overdramatic, blah blah blah.. that's fine with me. it's true, i do these things, but i know i'm doing them, and someone needs to write them down for all those creeps who are sitting in their basements scribbling in notebooks. maybe you were never one of those creeps, so you wouldn't understand. this is what i enjoy doing, and if you think it's god awful, well... i hope the novel your writing sells millions and you can laugh at me while you're on Charlie Rose. all i ask is for a little goddamn decency from you people. think i'm horrible? fine. go away and let me make an ass out of myself alone, at least then i won't have you pricks throwing rocks at me and calling me an idiot.

Rumblings

watching
them
build
their
card house
with
so
much
care and
love.
i
admire
their
patience
even
if the cards
are
warped
and
doused with
manipulation.

as

the

liars are plenty

and

the

men don't change

as the women

change constantly.

i stand
transfixed.
hypnotized
by
them.
then
remember
that
they
are
not
deserving
as
they
sneeze
and
blow their cards
away.
and i don't bend down to help.
as
they
weep
tears
of shame.

The Devil Between Us

when the doors are shut,
lines are drawn,
empty bottles rolling around,
behind drivers seat,
banging together,
and making the clinking sound of her.
as the people talk
and talk
and talk
talk
talk about nothing.
they are making me car sick,
but to be golden,
i say nothing,
inward cringe
seething.
i calm down.
the car rolls slowly to a stop.
i open the door
and run for my life
across two lanes of traffic
and into the night.
luckily,
they don't search for me
and i don't blame them,
for the phone not ringing
in my pocket.
finally
solitude.
my lungs burn
and i stop to light a cigarette.
i sit on the sidewalk for a bit
and watch as the car tires go back and forth
on the asphalt
making me sick
i think of her
and continue to get up and walk.
it's a good 3 miles home,
booting it all the way
will give me
plenty of time to think
and sort it all out.
by the time i get there
it'll disappear
as i leave all of them behind
on the dark asphalt
from where they came.

BusStop Diaries

Wednesday March 17 - 5th & Main


as i stepped out, into the bustling street, it was another beautiful day in Los Angeles. Downtown has no grass, anywhere, maybe except for the foliage growing in between the cracks of concrete, you can't hold nature back, in any form, she'll shine through even if you cover it in cinderblocks, cement and bird shit or artificial grass. don't fuck with mother nature. The pangs of anxiety were simmering, i needed a place to sit, away from the distractions and man eaters. the  bus stop looked comforting, just an empty bench amongst the ever swarming traffic that snaked it's way through the city like a long line of ants crawling to their hills, honking and braking, brakes screaming and cars roaring, exhaust fumes filled the air and reminded me of what it was like to be alive in a plastic era that could not hold itself when thrown into the fire. i am the fuel, so feed to me the fire.

this led me to thinking about the city as a beast, an animal with an insatiable appetite. i had seen many people enter Los Angeles and become just another snack for it's ever growing hunger, a cheap cheese spread on the cracker of life. I'm sure stepping off the greyhound, from where ever it was they were coming from, they thought themselves as individuals and people with a purpose, a plan, an idea so rich with passion that nothing would hold them back from happiness. they could not be any farther from the truth. Cocaine is easily accessible here, even more so now that the hipsters have taken over and slathered their fresh coats of paint on the crumbling brick walls. Lofts are going up faster than they can start tearing the guts out of the buildings, and everyone wants to be a writer, actor, fashion designer, earth savior and "hip". Give somebody enough cocaine and they can easily think themselves into a greater person than they are without it. This is the scene, this is the place where you fit, the little corner of heaven that you think in your mid-twenties makes you important to something. Surround yourself with enough of these type of people and sooner or later you'll stop thinking for yourself and agree with anything in order to get to the next "bump". Validity is abundant in a place where everyone is as fucked up as you are, truth is scarce in the same scene.

not to say that all the folks down here are bad, but it's definitely a find. We're all dung beetles, living in shit, but swarming together once we find one another. it's getting difficult to go anywhere without seeing a rope headband, ray ban glasses and a fedora. Wearing a fedora used to mean something, now it's just a fashion accessory, and it looks even better when it's covered in sparkly shiny things and made out of hemp so you can tell people you meet about your cause and how extremely awesome you are while you don't listen to a word about them and merely entertain the thought of yourself doing something of importance so you can sleep at night with a smile on your face. get over your shit and open those eyes, we're all just cockroaches waiting for the greater power to help us. it's feeble to pray to god, why bother him with your grievances?

not to say that in any right that i'm an exception. i'm just as bad as all of you, perhaps even worse. but i've never been one to strive to the scene, and maybe thats why happiness comes in waves for me. i too want to write. but like all the ones before me, i don't do the writing to become a cult icon. it's an incurable disease, and i've done it all my life, a free hobby that doesn't require me to pay any membership fees, doesn't ask anything from me more that what i can put in, and won't let me down when i need it. you can find a pen and paper anywhere and entrain yourself for hours on end. people on the other hand, oh, well..... don't get me started.

returning to my point before i went askew.

wait.
that's right.
Downtown Los Angeles.

i'd never live here, i've been a city guy my whole life, and for all the perks that it provides me, home is in a modest apartment out amongst a tree lined street, surrounded by the people who i despise the most, but  know better than to fuck with me. i smile and wave as i walk to my car, and they do the same, but i'm sure as i roll away, they turn to their significant other and say,

"something ain't right with that boy..."

fuck you... i'm probably the sanest one out of the lot. somethings not right with you people, who can't make choices for themselves and just as easily fall into the river rather than set up shop on the bank and watch as countless souls become one ever flowing mass of turds.

everyone is just a cunt hair away from slipping into the scene. some of us just know better and never let ourselves in, because it's gonna be a hard fight to get out.

One to Smile About

i was watching
smoking
on the bench.
her face
was soft
and nice looking.
very delicate,
like if god used a light hand.
a very genuine smile, and her teeth were a little crooked.
i liked that,
those crooked teeth,
it showed some flaw in the work,
made it seem perfect,
but askew,
in the most beautiful way.
her eyes were big and round,
grey was the color.
i was always a sucker for those wide eyed girls.
they seemed so amazed by even the smallest things.
she was small, with auburn hair,
and had on this very flowing dress
with small flowers on it
i wanted to get lost in those flowers
just lay in there and forget about time,
roll around in the warmth and get lost between her thighs.
she had small delicate hands, hands that had never
seen scalding hot water
or grabbed red hot handled pans
splashed with hot grease
or cut open with several different knives
or blisters.
i looked at my hands,
and i felt proud that they were so ugly.
so scarred and beat up.
nice small soft feet, with black sandals,
not those ugly cork sandals that looked so horrible on women.
but small simple things, that made the red polish on her toes
pop
in the morning sun.
she grew tired of standing so
came over and sat with me on the bench,
and i caught her scent on the wind.
it was very sweet.
i sat there transfixed.
a girl this soft shouldn't be allowed to ride the bus.
i felt like she caught me looking,
but lucky for me i had on my sunglasses,
so she couldn't catch my eyes,
i was jotting this all down in the pocketbook,
when she asked me what i was writing.
i thought about lying for a second,
and then decided i'd tell the truth.
"i was describing you."
i excused myself and got up
walked across the street
and disappeared into the alley.
it's better that way.

Be Motivated

we've got to fight now,
while we're still young and vulnerable.
later on,
we'll become frigid and shallow,
occupied by mortgage payments and hallow ambitions.
watching high school girls jog down suburbia
straight into the depths of Sorority Row.
Wishing we could be youthful and full of "zest"
we won't fuck like we used to
and won't talk like we could
we'll be useless to the cause
and forget what we stood for.
our identities will become badges worn on our sleeves
so any grocery clerk
bartender
or
whore
can identify me.
walking the streets because if we stay home
on the couch
we think we'll die
depression will eat us
because our significant other will die before us
and then we'll really be left
with
nothing.
but sentimental memories
of sometime.
boy,
can i just turn in my badge now?
i'm not even a quarter of the way through this
and from here
they all look like shit anyway.

shit.

She

she gave me a headache,
and made me cum.
hard.
she gave me some mac and cheese,
and i crumbled like stale chips.
she played her cards oh so well,
that inside i wept like a small child,
but outside i was a dirty bastard.
she can't look at me now
and
i can't look at her
because we've both got blurry eyes.
she wants to heal wounds
that will
not
heal themselves...
unless we make moves
to start fixing them...

over time
this will all just be a long laugh
as we laugh together
alone
on separate sides of the city
at the same time
about
how
goddamn
serious
we are.
as i choke myself

you've got to to this whether you like it or not old man. so quit being such a whiny little bitch and start getting your shit together. you're not helping anyone with your mopey sad sorrow filled bullshit. this is the way it's got to be, it won't be any better. so pick your head up and do something for yourself. you've been here before, in this exact same fucking spot, so don't give me any shit about being defeated, you're not even a quarter of the way through the extraction process and you already want to give up your stripes. wear them proud and hard, don't be such a stupid prick. you can do this. and you will do it. be better than that.

We Do It to Ourselves

for the guys who feel bad,

who feel ashamed

and tiny.

for the ones who never made it out

complete

and saved face.

for those bastards roaring in bars

somewhere in cold frosty nights.

for the guys who loved sometime

and

it was only passing

and now are feeling

like shit.

i hear you.

for the schmucks who believe they can make it 

out

of the tunnel alive

guess what?

there's a tunnel after that one on the other side.

overwhelming isn't it?

but you'll keep going

because you keep believing

and that's admirable.

i question it.

but know that there's no other way around it.

you've got to pass through that shit-box

with one hand in front of the other

ready to be pinned to the tile wall

by oncoming traffic.

for the guys who are weak,

like me.

i feel you.

it's a questionable way to exist

with this constant overbearing thought.

that honesty will get you somewhere.

the only spot it gets you is back into another tunnel.

for the guys who feel claustrophobic in here

with me

as we reach blindly in front of us

hoping that we don't  miss a step

lose our footing

and end up dead.

i understand it.

even if the light glimmering at the end

is the reflection of a beer can in the middle of the road

you've got to hope for something

or else you might as well lay down and die.

no one is going to save you.

you are all alone in this.

and even when you put your heart out

it'll get trampled on

so keep it in your jacket

so you can eat it 

when you starve.

i hear you guys.

i hear you screaming.

i'm screaming too.

can you hear me?

It's Better to be Alone

when you're alone and waiting for someone,

something

to happen.

you feel this longing deep inside of you thats 

unexplainable

no matter how many times you write about it.

it never goes away.

so you peak your head out

into the sun

and make amends with people

to move into different realms.

suddenly you're surrounded by what you've always wanted

and somewhat content.

then they start digging at you

wanting more

wanting your fire.

retreating back to your tomb,

you write about how much everyone disappoints you.

after fits of anger and rage

you feel alone again.

and wait for your soul to be jump started

by a wench with a wicked smile.

you bitch and whine

about love and happiness,

but are back to waiting.

waiting.

waiting.

nothing happens.

so you make things happen for you,

but even then,

it's a frail attempt.

the wench left you with nothing

and you're left with that longing feeling again.

after long periods of distress,

you reach out

only to find

that it's the same thing out there

as it is in here

only out there

you get hurt more.

so you decide

"shit. it's better to be alone"

We Want Out

you drink to forget,
then you drink to remember,
you drink to celebrate,
and drink to pass the time,
sometimes at night,
you drink
to
reignite dying embers
that were never dying to begin with
only smoldering
after someone tried to put them out.
drink for a headache,
and drink for a good fuck,
take a drink for your dying love
or lack there of.
drink to feel tough,
and full of shallow courage,
to deal with the bad hand life dealt you.
drink to let people know you drink,
and if they don't approve,
then they should not come near you.
a drink for when you're alone,
and feeling bad.
or a drink to numb your
feelings.
a drink for her, a drink for me,
we keep doing this
until one of us lets the other pass
out.
if you don't drink, then you can't sleep.
so we can drink for sleep too.
eventually you reek up a bad scent,
and you truly are all alone.
everyone loves the drunk
but doesn't really love
the drunk.
so you hop through life on one leg
hoping to find support.
wobble on my dear friend,
wobble on.
it's all you can do.

Leitmotif

This one is about you kid, and if you're not ready for it, you shouldn't read it.   


  anyone who's a drinker knows that when you cut back, when you stop drinking, you also stop sleeping. it was a late Thursday night in mid-March and i came home to lock myself in with the books. i was getting itchy, eyeballing that bottle of whiskey on my desk, thinking maybe i'd just have one, maybe i'd write something, maybe just a night cap. i decided to eat instead, and god knows, the only place available at a time like this is Denny's. i invited someone to come out with me, but i knew they wouldn't, but extended the invitation out of courtesy. this person had been a thorn in my side for a very long time since we stopped seeing each other. but i was forced to see them a couple days a week and for the sake of the workplace i had to make an effort to be "nice". i won't go into details about this person, but only say that she came the closest anyone has in a very long time. It's better i keep my silence about matters of the heart.
     But as soon as i got in the car, i didn't feel much like eating anymore. i turned the big beast around and started heading for the hills. The 2 north is a fantastic freeway to drive on at night. no cops, no cars, just wide open road and the wind blowing in through the cracks in my windows. Taking the 210 West towards Sylmar, i began shuffling through my cd's for some good music to make me feel better about everything that had been going down in the last couple of months. Finally i settled on Dredg - Leitmotif.
     I began thinking about the things that made me feel bad in life... people... mostly people are the cause for agony on my side. I could get a flat tire, total my car, cut my fingers at work and have pretty much anything happen to me and i usually go on with a sunny disposition. But when i put trust and become kind to people, they usually find a way to manipulate that and turn it into something that feeds their own personal agenda. (not all people are like this though, i have two good friends who feel the same way i do, maybe that's why we bond?)  little by little i feel my faith in humanity slipping away, and it's being replaced with solitude and lonely midnight adventures into unknown places for the sake of keeping my sanity. If no one is near me, then there's no way for them to cause any kind of harm. Maybe I'm destined to be alone? that's too much to think about at a time like this. i was gunning the gas and hearing the symphony play over distorted guitars. 
     There weren't many drivers out, only big trucks headed towards depots somewhere. i started thinking about the time i was driving down from San Francisco with my ex-girlfriend and it brought a smile to my face. it was early morning, and the sun was just beginning to come up. i felt myself getting horny and i didn't have the heart to wake her from slumber so i could get off. so i decided the best thing to do was to take her hand and wrap it around my cock and have her jack me off while i drove. all this while she was asleep. at first her hand was a bit cold, but i tightened the grip a bit and with just a little bit of spit on my part, i was well on my way to blowing my load. She didn't even stir a bit as i was doing this. passing large semi trucks, i wondered if those drivers were looking out the window and saw this girl, asleep, in a little red Toyota Corolla as her hand was wrapped around some guys junk?
     Before i knew it i was on the 5 North headed for Castaic lake. i began climbing that huge hill and then thoughts of camping came to mind. i felt myself getting too close to certain people, so leaving town for a week and heading for desolate grounds seemed like a good idea. i was out there a couple of days, and just beginning to feel comfortable with being alone when Shannon showed up. She got out of her car wearing only lingerie and it definitely brought a smile to my face. i was scared also. i thought to myself, "here we go again man, you're falling for this girl and you know she'll never take it anywhere with you."  But i said fuck it and went with it anyway. At first, i thought of Shannon as a great and exciting new person. something fresh from all the bad women i had in my life. relationships are easy at first, before the small faults and cracks start to shine through. she was the first one i accepted totally and completely. Sure there were things that annoyed me and sometimes i just wanted to walk away from her in the middle of a conversation, but there were other things there too. What those things were, i'm not sure. i don't know what they were, i felt it inside. i don't know if she did, and if she did feel it as well, she's a more brilliant liar than me and can hide emotions better than anyone i know. I dislike her now. The reasoning isn't because of the fact that we can't pursue something, although i have to admit for my part i gave her plenty of space to move around. The thing that bothers me most is that i would confront her about things that i knew were absolutely true and she would just lie to me. If there's one thing that really pisses me off is when someone thinks they can fool me. That's the main reason i feel so angry towards her. She deceived and lied about almost everything, and in the end, the truth came out and i was right about it. Shannon went so far as to copy one of my poems, not directly, but some of the lines i wrote were in her work, and when i asked her about it, yup, you guessed it, she lied about that too. So i feel justified in every right to be angry towards her. Eventually, that anger started eating away at me inside so i had to think long and hard about it. The truth of the matter is, she has no idea she's doing it half the time. Shannon doesn't realize that those small things she does, maybe done out of a good heart, hurt more than if she were just to be a bad person up front. That's what i always enjoyed about the girls at the bar, they didn't put on like they were nice girls looking for a husband. They starred at you, you starred at them, you both knew what you wanted and you went for it. The nice ones always scare me, because without knowing it, they are the baddest people around. They just don't see it. Ignorance is bliss. I wish i wasn't so judgmental of people, that  might make for a better quality of life on my part. Anyway, one day i woke  up and decided to just let it go, because if she very well doesn't know that her actions are causing harm, and my words are damaging to her ego, i might as well just keep my mouth shut and let her live life the way she sees fit. who am i to offer my insight? Not like anyone wants to listen to the asshole tell them about how bad of a person they are. Everything i say is just damaging to her anyway, so in an effort to prevent any more harm, i stopped being a dick. Now i just smile and wave, pretend that everything is okay.
     As i was reaching the top of the hill, near the old campsite exit, i sang the words to the song aloud.

questioning, and saying
our opinions, they're failing
they're constantly changing
our ignorance, remaining
we're hoping, and waiting
we're living, but dying
while trying to find out
my meaning isn't planned out
come to the conclusion
might as well be an illusion
while trying to find out
i did nothing, but shut out 

     Lietmotif is a reoccurring theme in music. I felt as though by letting people get to me, strike me down, make me feel bad, it was only damaging to myself. while others will always continue with their same behavior, i can't  expect people to be honest. They have their own reasons for what happens and i very well am no one to judge them. I wonder what happened to me? usually if i didn't feel right in a situation i would get up and leave. Suddenly the life was sucked out of me and i just sat there fuming instead of actually acting on what my gut was telling me to do. i was a much happier person then, because if the situation didn't feel right i would walk out the door and head straight for wherever was anywhere but the last place i was at. i began to fight more instead of fleeing and maybe fleeing in itself isn't a good thing either. People are fucking goofy man, they do some weird shit, sometimes i wish i could see the logic they use to figure situations out. i wonder if there's a monkey playing the harmonica on a unicycle floating around in their head? i feel as though what's happening is that i'm growing this thicker skin, and i'll be able to tolerate more people as time goes by, but inside i'll always be yelling at myself about most of it. For now, i'm forced to do the right things to make everything gel between me and Shannon. I've got no choice. And maybe one day she'll figure it out, see what's happened here, realize that my behavior towards her is only a reflection of her behavior towards me. but in the end, who really wins with all that bullshit? nobody. It's up to me to be the better man and burry the hatchet, and no matter what kind of small things she throws at me, i've got to let them bounce off into space. It's not worth the headache to be pissed at someone who has no idea what they're doing. wasted energy. She'll be fine. As will i. 

i have to.

Welcome to the Machine

okay. fine. i'm gonna not try to be a downer on this one. i'll aim for that high hill up there.. the top of that dirty bastard so i can stand up and scream about almost nothing. you ever notice how at the end of every game you watch on television, be it soccer, baseball or football, those last seconds are given away to nothing? it's as though both teams have lost hope and place themselves second in place?? what if.. hypothetically speaking, what if one of them were to reach up and kick some shit around? what if.. in those last minutes, they knew that the other team was dead ahead, lost their touch, celebrated too early? caught them with their defenses down and pulled together to complete something worth wild? it's true.. watch any game on tv.. i don't keep abreast with sports, but think of it? in the last final minutes, someone pulled through and made all those golden dreams in your head a reality? they did not give up.. i would admire that, and if anything that would benefit everyone else, it would make for a more exciting game at least???

as i was pondering these thoughts, i listened to Charlie Brown play the piano. it was a melancholy tune, played at least in a C# to ears that were available.. which were dwindling in the least. i tried hard not to get caught up in the despair of all of this. i was trying to be optimistic and hopeful, although secretly i knew none of that was available to me. some guys can bullshit, and they do it very well, but i don't understand how they sleep at night, i on the other palm cannot be at peace with all of it, so when a card is thrown my way that i would immediately discard i call "bullshit at the top of my lungs"..

hey folks, this is not a way to live. i have a strange feeling that if something good doesn't happen soon i will very well turn into what i have never wanted. it's a test sent down from that guy polishing his rifle up on that cloud. he wants to see how far i'll push this goddamn cart and haul everyone else's luggage before i draw my own conclusion and retreat into a far off place.. not like any of you fucks will miss me.. and if you do it'll only be because i'm gone. i believe in a instantaneous life... if what is in front of me is worth moving on i will push myself to believe in it including all faults..

that fact of the matter is that no one else holds that true, so they wait it out. i don't feel as though i can wait it out, if i was good enough to pick you than you are good enough to keep.. none feel this way so i am constantly letting go of everything in front of me.. it's a life of loss and it's pure misery in the truest form of the word. it's pushing in me though, and i can feel that other guy coming out and pushing just as hard.. i know exactly where he wants to go with it and i don't like it a bit. if something true, something pure, doesn't happen soon, one cannot suffer alone forever.. and one cannot depend on women to open their hearts wide and let the evil along with the pure in..

we are stuck between the conch and the rock.

meanwhile, everyone sleep walks and is okay with everything. i'll be okay with everything soon, not like any of you care now, so i might as well conform to the mass and pretend for a short time, but eventually i'll become one of you and we can all waste our lives together.

call me a downer, negative, call me what you like, at least i have the balls to write about it while the other guy is laying next to you right now, as i do this, he's got his tongue in your ear and he sleeps with you every night. fucking you and treating you like shit. and you like it! that's the worse part! is that you enjoy being abused!

i weep for the future.

but i'll be that guy soon.

unless one of you prove yourself.

somebody has got to do something before it all reaches critical mass. i understand though because we are all scared. i'm not scared, but beginning to feel fear take a hold of me.

i though about it tonight.. everyone gets 3 good ones in their life.. i racked up all my women and so far.. jesus.. i only had one that came somewhat close and she moved off to Washington DC to pursue a career in "i don't know what."
even then, i don't think she thinks of me in the same regard i do her.. i'm striving for it so far that it's not a reality.. it's purely optimistic to think that a woman would have the gumption to reach over and admit herself to me.. you hide yourselves so well that i wish i had that kind of power. you are a kid with a gun and don't know what's going on around you, but you'll just as easily pull the trigger to see what will happen.

i learned late and i learned lean. after everything is taken from you, you're free to build it all back up again.

all i ask,
is those who want,
come forth with passion and heart.
those who don't want
go the fuck away
and let me do this
on my own.
there's no in between.
grey area is for indecisive youngsters.
be a fucking adult and admit to either guilt,
love
or devotion.
either way,
i'll treat you right.
that's my fault.

a Novelty

i love you.
without judgement.
utterly, completely.
when we are adventuring together,
we gel.
like ice cubes floating across
linoleum floor.
sometime we drink together,
and we push each other
to very high limits.
we tease,
test,
pass back and forth,
this original feeling that we have together,
that no one else can come into.
i turn you on.
and you make me feel very good.
both, content in silence,
as you purr your way into oblivion.
when you feel ugly,
i make time and do what i can,
to make you feel pretty again.
when you are sick,
i drop what i'm doing,
and come help you out of it,
i put the time in for you.
i think,
as long as we treat each other right,
kind,
considerate,
and believe that we won't let each other down,
and if we do,
we'll find a way to redeem ourselves.
this could be the greatest love affair
of my life.
i'm talking about my car.
yeah.
my fucking car.

2nd Street Blues

i slipped out of her room quietly,
pushed the button on the elevator,
and as i made it outside,
into the hot sun and fresh breeze,
i puked on the sidewalk.
i was feeling bad.
real bad.
washing my face in the sprinklers,
i wiped my mouth and lit a cigarette.
as i walked through the tunnel,
i thought about how bad this all looked to me.
no matter how hard i fought to do things right,
they tended to not work out.
i was tired.
tired of trying,
and tired of doing,
tired of thinking of them
and tired of constantly being tired.
i was waiting for one of the bums in the tunnel,
to kick me into oncoming traffic.
i was being overdramatic
and i knew it.
but it was still a thought.
and that's got to be something.
suddenly, mid way through,
a wave of nausea came over me,
and i turned for the wall.
it hurt me inside this time.
i felt things burning and gears grinding.
insides shifting and bile filled my mouth.
i swayed and sat down against the wall.
the pissed soaked wall.
the peeling tile wall.
the water soaked mildewed wall.
i sat down and thought about not getting back up.
just staying there until i didn't feel tired anymore.
until i felt ready.
pulled out my little notebook
that i had hidden in my jacket
and wrote this:

it doesn't matter how good you are at it,
if you can do it deaf, mute or blind,
you'll still struggle.
it doesn't matter how well you treat them,
some will love back, while others
will look for a way to rob you of everything.
without knowing it, they take from you,
everything they could steal.
it doesn't matter how well you say it,
once somebody thinks of you as a certain person,
you're locked into that forever.
they won't break it.
even if it is them that brings out the worse in you.
they will never acknowledge it.
nothing was made to make sense.
that would be a violation of our coding.
so some of us continue on,
taking things as they come.
and some of us
are forced to make things happen
for
themselves.
all of this,
won't change a thing.

My Mice Are Calling for Me

the problem
with being content
is that it does not make
for great literature
unless you're writing teen novels,
which will sell by the boatloads.
what a shame,
all that paper that was wasted,
could of gone to Mexico,
for some poor kid
to wipe his ass with.
the dilemma
with being content
is that people constantly laugh at you
and not with you.
the real sadness there,
is that you don't even realize
that they are laughing at you.
constantly.
you mistake smiles and giggles,
for heart felt embraces.
the grief
with being content,
is that it makes for bad writing.
and right now,
at this instant.
i am content.
and this poem
this small collection of words.
is truly a sack of shit swarming with flies.
i feel as though the time wasted typing this out
could of been better spent flogging my dong.
or finding the right size baby bottle nipple to fit this bottle.
i want those minutes back from my life.
they are not justified.
oh,
well,
hey,
look at that.
yeah.
up there.. that right there
that little blurb
about the shitty poem,
i wasn't happy with it,
oh man,
i could feel just a little fire,
call them embers,
in me.
ahh,
back to normal.
yee god's man!
a small roller coaster
around my room
as three little mice
with engineer hats are at the helm
each with a little cigar clenched in their mouths.
i must go now.
my mice are calling for me.

Don't be Frightened, It's Only Reality

March 6th, late afternoon

it began to rain very heavily, and i could feel the water soaking through my flannel shirt into my back. i ducked into the nearest doorway to wait while the rain died down. leaning against the doorframe, i lit a cigarette and watched as the people scattered like ants into shops and their cars. it was early March and the rains always came at this time of year, it's a wonder how people seemed so surprised by it each time.
suddenly the door behind me opened and i stepped to the side to let whoever was coming out through. an older lady dressed mostly in black was standing at the door, neither coming or going, just waiting. her head was covered with a black shawl interlaced with beads. eyes were as black as olives and they peered at me serenely. finally she smiled a bit and spoke,
"would you like to come inside?"
"i'm just waiting for the rain to stop for a bit."
"ok, suite yourself." - slamming the door shut and locking it with the dead bolt. i stood there starring at my shoes for a minute and then admired the tile that was surrounding the door. it was very old and cracked, places where people might of dropped furniture during a move. i stepped out into the rain and looked at the sign hanging over the door. it was weather beaten and showed signs of decay. in red print was the name, "Zvala's"
i figured i should get out of this lady's doorway before she called the cops about a suspicious looking Mexican hanging around outside her place of business. suddenly the door opened again and there she stood, smiling this time.
"i give readings"
"i'm okay, thank you, i was just on my way."
"let me give you a reading, you shouldn't be caught in tis rain, you're liable to get sick."
i thought about it for a beat.
"how much?"
"if what i tell you is inaccurate, then you don't have to pay me. if i'm right, it's $5."
i was down to my last $5 in cash and figured why not? i didn't have anywhere to be and maybe it would be fun to play this game just for a bit.
"okay."
she opened the door wide and i stepped inside a small room. there was a fire burning in the corner and the smell of clove hung in the air. there were many what i believe were hand woven carpets all over the floor set out in no particular order, as if someone was covering up every inch of space, looked to be thrown about. she motioned towards the table in the middle of the room and told me to sit down.
"would you like some coffee?"
"i only have $5."
"no, no, it's part of the reading."
"sure"
she fiddled with a small coffee pot in the corner and i heard it spurting the first few "put puts" as the liquid filled the small glass pot. i observed the lady as she removed her shaw, her hair was grey at the temples and blond midway through. as if her hair changed it's mind one day and went from straight blond to grey overnight. her skin was tight around the eyes as if she spent her whole life smiling, she was short and thin, and looked to be a blend of several different races. every time i looked at her my attention immediately returned back to those pitch black eyes.
"cream? sugar?"
"black."
she laughed. i then laughed too. i laughed because as i said it i was thinking about her eyes, eyes that seemed to see right through me and to the other side of the room, as if i was transparent.
Finally she brought over the coffee and i took a couple sips. hints of cinnamon and it was very strong, almost pungent. she pulled two chairs over into the room near the fire and placed them facing each other.
"please sit here."
i took another sip of coffee and left it on the table. we both sat in the chairs near the fire and she pulled her chair close to mine. knees touching knees. grabbing ahold of my sweaty hands she closed her eyes.
"don't be so nervous"
"sorry."
"you were a nervous child weren't you? filled with anxiety?" - that was a given, anyone could of told me that, but i played along.
"yes."
she stayed silent for a minute. i noticed that her hands were warm, and soft. i began to get an erection. the warmth of her hands went through me and i felt it in my core. she made me feel very comfortable and my hands began to dry. i was filled with this great calming force that made me feel very at ease. she filled me with warmth, while others only made me feel cold and empty inside.
"ahhh... no bueno, mucho mucho malo..."
"what's not good?"
"shhh... listen:
there is a bad man with you. you fight him all of the time, since an early age you felt him wanting to get out, but you try not to let him. he comes out sometimes, when you are vulnerable, and you do very very bad things, but not to others, you punish yourself for having this bad person with you. you've taught yourself to be very good to people, kind, almost too kind. but in the process he likes to destroy you instead. you're repenting for him, and he does not like it. so he fights harder, and you fight harder to make him go away. on and on like this... he is a womanizer, constantly wanting you to go from bed to bed without any kind of remorse for your actions. he wants you to beat the women you are with, make them feel as if they don't deserve you..."
"i -"
"shhh..."
she adjusted herself in the chair, and held my hands a bit tighter.
"someone cursed you a very long time ago, an older man, he is jealous of you and does not want to see you fall in love. that is how the bad man inside of you came about. darkness hangs over you..."
-i thought for a minute about the stupid cartoon they draw where there's a guy with a look of despair on his face as the little grey rain cloud hovers above him where ever he goes. this sounded like bullshit to me, i was never one to believe in these kind of readings, but i let her go on.
"the saints are with you, and they help you even though you pay them no heed. you are very tired of this aren't you? it drags you down every day and you can't help but move forward with your head slightly off to one side.. you're very strong to not let any of that bad seep out of you and into other people. your heart is good, but others only see trouble when you come their way, so they shun you, and thats when you can hear him laughing inside of you, poking at you, and the saints come in your dreams to haul you away into the arms of someone."

i thought of my uncle who believed in the saints. in the corner of his room he had a small red cloth laid out on the floor with a candle and other small things. whenever he drank, he would fill a cup with tequila and place it on the cloth. he also put cigars, the skeleton of a turtle, and a small bowl filled with pistachios. what did my uncle gain from all of this foolishness? he died before he even reached the age of 28 from AIDS. i didn't believe in the saints.

"you don't believe do you?"
"no."
"what do you believe?"
"reality."
"who's?"
"what i see"
"and what do you see?"
"loss of humanity, technological overload, quantity and not quality. disillusion. lives filled with plastic emotions."
"you've never loved have you?"
"almost"
"what happened?"
"it always ends the same."
"they don't deserve you"
"that's what they all say."
-i was beginning to grow tired and claustrophobic. i wanted out. i wanted a beer. i wanted a cigarette and i wanted to go home to my books. that's all i got. me and the books. that's all i need. everything else will only hurt me. it's safe in there, in the room. the walls and the books. my face in the books. the books don't hurt back.
-i as well cannot hurt others if i am locked away in the room with only paper to fuel me. i'm no good, broken, angry and filled with fire. it's better if i'm left alone to my own devices. you can't hurt me, i can't hurt you. nobody hurts.
"it sounds as though the rain has stopped."
"yes.. it has."
i stood up and smiled gracefully. i reached for my wallet. i wanted to pay for taking up her time and the coffee.
"no.. no money."
"ummm..."
"you need to hold onto it. can i offer some advice before you go?"
"sure"
"it's not hopeless, and even if you don't believe in them, they will continue helping you, you are not alone in your fight. as for the hex on you, take those $5 and buy a couple of candles and burn them when you are alone. when you drink, offer some to the saints along with the candles and small bits of paper. they like it when you feed them paper."
"thank you."
i smiled and made for the door. as i was opening the door i saw her hand grab ahold of my forearm. i turned and starred into those piercing eyes.
"don't ever let him out, the harm you will inflict will overtake you with guilt."
"i won't"
she gave me a kiss on the cheek and i felt very warm inside again. i opened the door and walked back out into the cold concrete that was the world. vulnerable and open, like a fresh wound.

you
will
never
win.
no
matter
how
good
you
are
at
it.
she
doesn't
have
the guts
to stand
up
and
press
her
lips
against
yours
no
matter
how
loud
you
cry
out.
she
is
scared
to
feel
anything
but
happiness...

Hey, Fuck that, We're the Good Guys

hey,
good guys,
stop the shit,
really,
please stop the shit,
you're never gonna win,
just admit it.
actually you know it, deep in that spine.
You know your only way out of suffrage
is to turn into that guy.
oh yeah
we all know that guy.
that guy with the girlfriend
who HE is not obviously worthy of them.
but that's the thing dude,
you have to not give a flying fuck
you've got to be heartless and cold
to score that girl
to score ten points
on the 2 point board.
i know it sucks,
and it's bad,
for you to even consider that,
but look at the past
all the things behind us
it's been this way forever
so stop being such a schmuck
who lives by morals
it's all bullshit
throw it out the window
along with your typewriter
your poems
your guitar
and all that other feeling sentimental shit you have.
be tough and balls to the wall.
chicks dig that shit.
just be an asshole and not give a goddamn about anyone
except yourself.
you'll get laid every night and day.
it'll be a vagina parade
walking down your block
into your house.

shit.
that's sad.
it's sad how life really is.
if you've fought this long
and still feel a little beat of hope in your chest
keep going.
don't let
the inner bastard
take over that pure heart.
one day
my man
one day.

You Can't Feel Bad For Yourself

you can't feel bad for yourself.
no matter how things turn out.
you've got to fight with your head down,
because your brain is the strongest organism
you have.
your heart is just a muscle
that gets tense
and full of blood
just like your cock
and what does that say about love?
exactly.
i like it better when no one is here.
when the doors are all close
the windows all sealed
and the phone doesn't vibrate anymore.
it's a true leap to put faith
and
kindness
into someone else.
they can easily guide you to the depths of hell.
and you'll dwell there for a very long time.
loathing
sleeping
writing
and walking strange neighborhoods late
into the
A.M.
you can never let anyone
truly in
because
even you are faulty.
everyone is faulty
full of broken slabs of glass
that will eventually gouge your eyeballs out
until you are blind
with lust
and full of
all those things you never wanted.
the best you can hope for
is someone who constantly disappoints you
so that when they do something redeeming
at least it's a surprise
to
the
goddamn cynic
who rinses his eyes with clorox every night
and little
by little
pushes humanity
lower into
his core.
eventually they'll be no traces left
of that man you knew
because you all destroyed him
and now
he is famous
and women flock to him
to his cock
as if he were Zeus throwing lighting bolts
into your
vagina.
how sad life is.
how the good never win.
and the losers
the douche's
the bad people
who don't give a shit about nothing
except themselves
get the hot women
the money
the vacations
and those nice girls
who had strong ties to you
but somehow retreat
when life
turns
upside
down
down
down.

This is the Story of How We Survived

we were two odd ball kids standing at the end of this long bridge. i looked down, the drop was very far, so far, that i couldn't differentiate where the darkness began and the ground spotted with trees was near. i turned to her for a second thought.
"why?"
"we have to."
"but what dragged us here?"
"i Don't know about you, but i've had it with this shit..."
"me too"
i took her hand in mine and we were both sweating, our palms slick against one another and i knew it was right for us to be here, to be at this time, to stand on the end of these bricks with our toes hanging over ready to fall into oblivion grasping at each other.
"i'm scared," i said.
"me too."
we stood there awhile waiting for the other to make a move. for all the shit i talked about disliking the human race, i was still a bit frightened to end it all right there, then, as we looked out over the chilly Pasadena air.
suddenly a breeze blew through us and it was like a hundred vipers reaching straight for hell. feeling her heart pulse through the sweaty hands it was fate that brought us here, i was never one to believe in fate or anything like that, i thought it was a bunch of bullshit and an excuse to let the universe control our lives. she shivered and i took off my jacket, wrapping it around her she laid her head on my shoulder.
"what could change all this??"
"nothing for me, how about you?"
"i'm not sure, i know we're here, we're both drunk, ready to leap off this goddamn bridge, but we've left no tracks, we haven't made a ruckus, we're cut from the same cloth, we've got to fuck some shit up before we leave."
"all i am is a fuck up." she said.
"no, what you are is a great, extravagant fuck." i responded.
she peered out over the ledge and i caught a glimpse of a smile as the headlights from the cars passed over her face.
"let's go home."
"i'm not ready to go home."
"what do you need?"
"i'm not sure..." she said.
"what if, just for the sake of argument, i was to say that we would go home, polish off that bottle i have sitting on my desk, and lay next to each other until we both grew numb. numb enough to feel only each other and not all this bullshit around us?"
she paused for a beat and considered it. i was not ready to jump, i feared life and death, but was raised in a struggle, so the jump was not something for me, and i would not let her jump, how could i let something so beautiful leap off of this earth?
it would be an injustice to mankind.
"i dunno." she said.
"i know you're not into the whole girlfriend thing, you're a different being than me, i like solid dedication; i know better to ask that from you, but for tonight, just for tonight, and maybe any other night you feel like this, lets grasp onto one another in our beds until we feel like humans again and can enjoy life with all of it's faults."
she looked up at me with her big brown eyes and i saw the water film over her eyes. she was fucked up, broken, disoriented and drunk, but i couldn't very well let a human jump from the goddamn marble.
"you promise?"
i knew inside, that this would end in a very messy situation, she would eventually start feeling better and not remember this time on the bridge, but i would, and i'd hold it with me everyday as i walked around, as i worked, cooked, washed down the scotch and typed on the paper. she was beautiful enough that someone else would come swoop her and take her somewhere nice, better than what i could give her, and i couldn't hate her for that, i wasn't the guy, i knew it, no matter how much i gave to her it would never be enough, she was a fiend for my guts, my fire, my passion and my heart. i knew this. i accepted it. i let her do it. i should of let her jump off the bridge to save all those other men from her claws.
in the end, we are all animals, humans... we need company in any capacity and endeavor. we need reassurance and respect, warmth and kindness.. i was willing to give her a piece of my heart for nothing in return. i wanted to save. to fix the broken. to make things right.

there's a price for that.

she stepped away and i helped her into the car. the drive to my house was silent. gradually, we ignored each other and climbed the stairs to my apartment. i unlocked the door and we both took our shoes off and stumbled into the room.
"would you like some water?"
"yes"
i walked to the kitchen and grabbed some nice ice cold water for her. i knew that this was not the way to do things. i had to be strong, confident and tease her. but the life was sucked from every one of her pores and my better judgement took ahold of me and
said,:
"she won't be here tomorrow. and she'll never call again. we'll never hold each other like tonight. this is a one time thing. the best part of giving is not getting anything in return, so give it what you got."

i felt my heart skip.

we laid there entangled in each other's arms as we drifted off into sleep. in the morning she was gone. i awoke and stammered to the coffee machine. as i sat there waiting for my bread to toast i whispered to myself:

"just another night in life..."

Fuck You Dog.

i was there on the couch reading for
what must of been hours.
i read the line:
"i refuse to cohabit with stupidity"
and my laugh reverberated through the old house.
off the hardwood floors and spun through ceiling
fan.
suddenly i hear the dog barking and crying,
whimpering louder than the sirens
helicopters
and gun shots.
in the kitchen,
"what the hell is wrong with you!?"
as he tries desperately to jump over the barricade.
"what are you complaining about dog? i have your shit on my
shoes now, i should be scolding you!"
then i realize, that he is kept back here
all day
every day
and seldom sees people
or other dogs.
it hits me,
that he is lonely
and i pick him up
and make my way back to the room.
resting,
with my boots hanging off the end
of the small tight bamboo couch,
he is stretched out across my chest
listening to a different rhythm
than his own.
recognizing that his brain is almost
the size of my nut sack
but loneliness still grabs him.
we both lay there
in silence
content
with just having the other.
we're human
but still animals
and sometimes,
that simple act
of two people being near each other
without words
without drinks
without any kind of judgement
just pure
unmasked
warmth
can make all the difference
it's a simple thing
and we still can't do it.

there's no glory in writing. the writer cannot be comfortable in his own skin, so he lives other lives for them. he is the whore, the lover, the grocery clerk and the butcher. the liar and thief, gentlemen and romantic, the classy and modest, the jogger the drinker and the bartender. better he confess only to himself for fear of being found out. viewing the life plain and simple. observes all things, immerses himself in all things. through his eyes everything is constructed of the same matter. cannot say what he means so he uses literature as a cover up for his social anxieties. human contact is his enemy while solitude becomes his only way to keep the eyes open. drinks to escape the pain of being a man and loves in order to feel human. scared to let anyone inside, out of fear that they will confirm his worst thought. that he is normal and without any real purpose, that his fight is arbitrary and filled with nothingness. lack all ability to communicate effectively verbally, he talks to himself inside of his head as he wraps his arms around the pillow knowing.
that there is no glory in being a writer.

aw schucks,
life ain't that bad, but somebody has to write about all this crap right? so why not me? it takes less courage to smile than it does to speak up. despite all my qualms with humans (women especially) it's not ever really peoples fault for the way they treat people. you had shitty parents, and by proxy, you're a shitty person, and well hey, thats fine, seems to be working for you and i'd give you a high five if i didn't have my hands busy carrying your baggage for you. either way, there's something broken in all of us, but for some folks out there, it's like you're not firing on all cylinders, there's a burnt out bulb, the fuse blew, something is amiss in your head, and i'd love to see what it's like to be you.

i believe, standing over here, in just the right light.. well hot damn! if it isn't a monkey covered in his own feces playing the cymbals and wearing a tiny little hat INSIDE OF YOUR FUCKING HEAD!

whew.. .i feel great now.. let's go light some fireworks.

ThrowAway LLC.

thank you for expressing an interest in ThrowAway.

Ladies? Boyfriend just dump you? Cheat on you? Call you a lying malicious whore? well, our men here at ThrowAway are happy to assist you on the road to recovery and ego boost. We'll have you feeling good and ready to live a happy single life with no attachments in a short amount of time.

What exactly do we do?

we provide you with a service that no other can. ready? ok. Here's how it works:

-you break up with your boyfriend
-we send one of our men over (side note, all men are pre-screened and tested. smart, witty, and good natured. a fine lover and a hell of a considerate guy. guaranteed to sit there and listen to you ramble on about your self indulgent life that is without meaning.)
-they cook, pick you up from work, surprise visits, send flowers, write sappy love poems, will lick your vagina clean in 20 seconds or 20 minutes and can sexually service you in whatever way you see fit.
-call them night or day! they will stand by your side like a good man should, but without all that messy attachment that you ladies don't enjoy.
-once you're feeling better about yourself and can get up and move around, start hitting the clubs and feel your ego boost just a little bit higher on the chart. you are guaranteed to forget about our man.

keep them as long as you like! or until you work things out with your boyfriend. don't worry about lying to them ladies, our men all know it's not your fault that you lie, connive and deceive. so they won't ever be surprised when you no longer call them or just want to be their friend. all we ask is that during the duration of their stay, you dangle the carrot in front of their faces so they can feel a little tinge of passion in their hearts. once done with them, don't try to be their friends because they must move on and provide this service to other confused women just like you.

-thank you for business
sincerely
Jerome Dillinger Cervantes

p.s.- it looks as though the ladies have been abusing our men and upon returning to the office they seem very lifeless and genuinely hurt. we now ask that once done with your man, please walk him out your front door and give him a final kiss.

then shoot him in the chest and kick him to the curb.
-call our 1800 number, a tech will be buy to pick him up.


-----------------------------------------
you're fucking laughing aren't you? it's funny isn't it? oh no, people aren't really like that, we never meant to have that happen, it was just suppose to be... blah blah blah
listen:

we all secretly hate you.

Why Does Everyone Have Their Lights on?

It's early still and the bottle is half full. lets stay up late together and watch the snails crawl into the snake pit of hell across freeways, alleyways and under overpasses, over underpasses and into the shallow grave where the first clod of dirt has yet to hit your coffin as the eager cry out your name in vain.

and we dance like this back and forth, hurting each other for no apparent reason other than to feel better about our shortcomings as humans.
you made it through the last tough one and you can fight through this one.

all hope is lost.
but there's still you.

as the slow release and the flood gates open casually, as to not allow an overwhelming sense of good to overtake the displacement of morality and self loathing. long ago someone ejected the love, i was just the witness to the ejection.

the throw away guy.

fighting with self, to not allow the evil eddies of malicious intent to destroy all known sense of good. raking himself over the hot coals, waiting for savior, hope in wasteland.

the wicked and mischievous do not have idle time as the good has nothing but that.

don't sell yourself short kid, the worst is yet to come, expect the worse and hope for the best, new engine in same beaten car, removal of all chrome fixings, flat black and full of rust holes.

and we become human, more human than machine.

false love, but love nonetheless, closer to humanity and the scent of a woman drags smiles across my face.

ignorance is nothing but beautiful fields full of wildflowers while a deeper understanding is nothing but kicks in the throat.