i had noticed that the last previous post were all a little on the negative/i hate humans and see no use in emotional response side, i found it only proper to speak on something that really made me happy. a little joy in the life of an individual with burning eyes and a foggy vision. although, what i write is 999.9% bullshit, and i know as it comes out of my mouth it loses all credibility, i find it necessary to at least believe in somethings that are pure, and by far, this, by all means, may be something that i find halfway decent, halfway pure, and most part bullshit.
Anthony Bourdain, once upon a time, was a leader of some sort. Even though he tried his hardest to play low key, cool, pirate like and outcast, i fear that the time has come that enough producers, publishers, and bullshit people have gotten into his ear. His book Kitchen Confidential inspired me to cook. I felt that through a life of constant questions, constant denial, and constant self hatred, that a profession in the cooking industry would do me some right. and i did have some of that. I stayed after work to play poker and snort coke with the boys. i banged the waitress and the bartender. i got the blowjob in the back room as i sat on top of a bag of panko. i was living the dream i felt, but my vision was one sided, it was all about he pussy and party but none of it was about the passion for food, it was left out and out-shined by the 24 year old blonde bartender that i got to watch undress daily in the upstairs employee bathroom. But for a young buck, coming out of a serious relationship, i felt that this was the lifestyle that i would find happiness with. Drugs, sex and rock and roll, without all the bullshit glitter and having to speak no more than 100 words a day, it was heaven for me.
the Chef i worked for was 27, and his coke connection was pure and secure. I'd show up for dinner service, straight out of culinary school and do a line before i even put on the oversize chef coat that belonged to some poor schmuck before me. high and full of pride, i'd chop the case of mushrooms, i'd peel the case of prawns, and i'd prep out his station for him. then i'd watch him cook all night, and in order to not get bored, i'd try and guess his next move before he even went there. i had my chance one night when he burnt the top of his left hand, the grease splashed up and i watched his skin begin to bubble. he handed me $10 and i ran down to the liquor store to grab him a six pack. i finished out the night for him, as he sat behind me and dictated my every move. i felt grown up, i felt like i knew a thing or two about a thing or two, and holy goddamn shit i made it out alive. after that, the crew gave me a new nickname, instead of being called "shit stain" i was given the name "Jeremy Junior" (chef's name was jeremy). i spun like him, i dropped like him, i plated like him, and while perhaps we weren't making the greatest food in the world, i felt content in belonging to a greater cause than me. i was young, ignorant, stupid, and full of cocaine, and all at the age of 21. the world was mine, all i needed was a bag of coke and a saute' pan. full in, full out, full of it at the gills.
this is what i felt cooking was all about. going to bed late and waking up early, only to go out and do it again day after day. this is what Bourdain wrote about, the passion to be in the dirtiest, darkest corner of the world and do something holy. to give yourself completely to a vegetable, a fish, a meat or a sauce. to be immersed so deep that the outside world didn't matter. eventually i learned that the realm of food went way beyond what i could ever comprehend, i wanted to explore, but still grasp that pirate like feeling, that comradely that happens in a kitchen.
eventually i grew up and realized that this wasn't the life for me, so i moved on. i watched Bourdain grab his own show and lift off. it was great watching someone who i admired from a young age actually make it. i read his novels, i kept track of his shows, and as i grew i knew that eventually he would give in to the bullshit and join the ranks of top chef, join the ranks of Andrew Zimmerman, and become a well thoughtful great man thrown into the snake pit.
i wonder now if the man even writes his own blog? or does he just dictate to some poor schmuck who writes in the "style" of him? either way, i do believe that he man has paved the way for many souls similar to him. his cynical, humorous, jaded way of being only further makes me believe that the dirt corporation hasn't gotten a hold of him.
i take great joy in knowing this: Anthony Bourdain, and "No Reservations" is the closest we'll ever get to pureness on the food level (on network TV). Although he may have people in his ear, and maybe he's gotten somewhat lazy, there's still a small joy i get in watching him fear for his life at times. This may be in part that he's gotten older, wiser, and all that old school bullshit that the spew at you when someone who had their shit together loses their shit. but i do think that Bourdain is the closest you'll ever get to watching a real cook, a real man, a real person with real thoughts on TV. If a man wants to be on TV to spread the word, than he cannot be totally underground, and to this day, whenever i come across some poor schmuck who shows up to work hungover and bangs out his job better than anyone on my crew, i go out and buy a copy of Kitchen Confidential. Because any man, who will willingly go out and get drunk, high, operate on 4 hours of sleep and still show up to work on time to do his fucking job, and do it right, and do it with pride, whether you're making a sandwich or plating with tweezers, deserves to know that he is not on this mission alone, and self hatred, suffering, and love, can all marinate in the same fucking pot together to conjure something great.
that's what it's about.
Not being the best, but being able to do it day after day, no matter how shitty you feel on the inside.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Ice in the Urinal: Getting Pissed by the American Dream
Oh, the glory of it all.
I set out to write something that was truthful and honest. The thoughts came very easily and the words seemed to flow. i was about mid-way through the thing, but suddenly, when i went back to read it, i didn't dig what i had wrote. it sounded very cynical, jaded, negative, and the points were all there, but none of them seemed to really give that resonant tone that i was looking for. luckily i don't really give a shit and erasing a hour and a half of work in order to go back and re-write it didn't sound like a bad idea. Two glasses of scotch and a beer later here i am. back at the beginning, and this time around, hot damn, i think i might nail this fucker.
I hate life coaches. i hate people who complain about meaningless task. i hate people who feel they are destined to change the world or leave a mark. i hate people who are in love. i hate people who are boring and people who get bored. i hate people who are stupid and make the same stupid mistakes repeatedly. i hate people who feel that their opinion means something and i also hate people who seek validation. You are not awesome because you're married and have kids. your kids are not awesome. Your car is not awesome, and everything you do is an insecurity to validate your selfish desire in another validation to make you feel like you matter in this giant marble that keeps endlessly turning. how's that for cynical and jaded? You should of read what i had before, it was a lot worse.
Concentrate you asshole. You can do this. The thoughts are there, all you have to do is line them up so the inchworms can understand. wrap your head around this:
You'll never be happy, 'cause you're always gonna be stuck with yourself! Unless somehow you can get away from you, you're always gonna be miserable...
Truer words were never spoken. You're angry because you're not happy. You're not happy because the situation is fucked. The situation is fucked because whatever happened was not a result of life, but a result of your wrong doing. No one takes personal responsibility for their actions, but feel as though the world should congregate to them. I got news for you kiddo, if you believe that god had a plan for you, hey, guess what, god doesn't exist, and that's a fact, not some made up bullshit that was written x amount of years ago. For those of you who believe in astrology, well, shit, you're telling me that those planets and stars out there are deciding and guiding my life choices for me? um, yeah, i'll group that in with the "god" believers. for those of you who think i'm just being a dick: i was raised catholic, i did the holy communion, i did the confession, i sat through all the classes, and in the end, it was an awesome teacher who told me (in communion class) that i should develop my own mind and opinion and believe in facts and not fiction... a goddamn rooster in the hen house. so i covered my bases, eat a dick.
back to basics, the theory of this piece involves personal happiness. You cannot be happy, because you are a bad person, and if somehow you could take a step back and see just how shitty of a person you are, you just might change, but you won't and you never will, because there's enough people out there, just like you, looking for a little validation, that they'll make you feel special, and then you'll love them, because your bullshit will be justified, and you'll get married and have lots of bullshit babies who will crawl around in bullshit that's been handed down to them by you, and they will grow up to be bullshit people, who in turn will spawn more bullshit people and in the end, the world will be covered with shitty people who are selfish, greedy, money grubbing monkeys at the last supper taking the drumstick out of jesus's reincarnations' mouth. And you'll feel good about your life choices, because you've never had, and here's the kicker, the piece that holds up the halo folks, the end piece that holds the meat slab... you've always found the people to validate your bullshit.. and the ones that challenged you were tossed away because you never had enough honesty to deal with it.
in the end, the bad guy (or girl) always wins. it's the american dream. to grow up and be rich, have lots of babies, and spawn a generation of hate. These are the people who will inherit the earth? really? people who save children in africa because they'll have something to discuss over tea in their summer home? people who have a non profit organization (getting paid) that claims to be eco friendly when their checks are fat bulging out of pockets? people who think that their efforts actually matter? Hey, blockhead, nobody cares about how many lives you saved on facebook and nobody cares about how hard you work at your stupid bullshit business while you sit on your ass and cram about brochures about "eco-friendly" ways to save the world. Do you really think that your protest matters? when companies like BP dump x amount of oil into the ocean and pollute the earth. when large corporations rape the country? When my cousin in Juarez, Mexico, who works for "Fruit of the Loom" (and this is a fact) get's paid $8 a day has to go into the market and buy a chicken to feed the family for $6.50?
no, fuck that, this situation is fucked, capitalism is bullshit. and no matter how holy you think you are, no matter how great you think you are, no matter how many souls you think you've touched or changed, your love in the end is selfish, because i see you.. oh how i see you sitting at that place. that place telling people how great you are, advertising shamelessly about how saving the world is important to you, when in fact, saving the world just gives you something to talk about, because by doing the outside action, you never have to acknowledge what's inside, and you don't want to, because what's inside of you is bad. you are a bad person, you know it, but you don't want to confront it. and somehow, through my fucked up logic this all makes sense. are you ready to do math? a little logic? i know i am...
shitty person+shitty person=shitty baby.
shitty baby wants to save the world (because they were handed everything)
shitty baby+other shitty babies= shitty company full of stupid goddamn bullshit
stupid goddamn bullshit company advertises about how great they are (on somebody else's dollar)
and turns into,
a corporation.
board members take over,
original thought is thrown out he window
wash
don't rinse
and repeat.
i feel as though i may have gone on a rant here. i went off my main points, but it made for some pretty good writing, and if you've gotten this far, your dedication is this great, then i'll give you the essence.
people are shit. this is the world we live in. it's all selfishly driven, and if you can actually realize that you are a horrible human being, full of hate, than that's the first step in humanity. If you know that everyone else is an asshole and horrible (most importantly yourself) than you may have a chance. It starts with you. Break yourself down, find those bad points, the most horrible, wretched, deviating points and you'll know what people are great to surround yourself with and what people are horrible. If you can't climb that latter to self actualization than you deserve to be dragged out to the desert and shot. not enough people realize that once popped out of your mothers vagina anything you do after that is your responsibility, and you do not have to beg the world to love you, you do not have to beg your parents to love you, you do not have to beg yourself to love you, what you have to do is realize that you are human, which then makes you a piece of shit, and know that the only way to true humanity is saving one person at a time (most of which can not be saved) and knowing just exactly where you are.
i am a kind person. i don't like to make people feel bad. i love woman and every fucking inch of their bodies. i'm loving and complete. happiness in knowing that i am destined to fail, but won't go down without giving some noise. that's what personal happiness is.. knowing that you're fucked in no matter what situation you find yourself in, but fighting your way out of of it and never giving up. if the chips our down, ride on the red and bet all your jacks on black.
i end on a hold thought:
roll the dice
if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.
if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.
go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.
if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.
do it, do it, do it.
do it.
all the way
all the way.
you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.
-charles buwkowski
I set out to write something that was truthful and honest. The thoughts came very easily and the words seemed to flow. i was about mid-way through the thing, but suddenly, when i went back to read it, i didn't dig what i had wrote. it sounded very cynical, jaded, negative, and the points were all there, but none of them seemed to really give that resonant tone that i was looking for. luckily i don't really give a shit and erasing a hour and a half of work in order to go back and re-write it didn't sound like a bad idea. Two glasses of scotch and a beer later here i am. back at the beginning, and this time around, hot damn, i think i might nail this fucker.
I hate life coaches. i hate people who complain about meaningless task. i hate people who feel they are destined to change the world or leave a mark. i hate people who are in love. i hate people who are boring and people who get bored. i hate people who are stupid and make the same stupid mistakes repeatedly. i hate people who feel that their opinion means something and i also hate people who seek validation. You are not awesome because you're married and have kids. your kids are not awesome. Your car is not awesome, and everything you do is an insecurity to validate your selfish desire in another validation to make you feel like you matter in this giant marble that keeps endlessly turning. how's that for cynical and jaded? You should of read what i had before, it was a lot worse.
Concentrate you asshole. You can do this. The thoughts are there, all you have to do is line them up so the inchworms can understand. wrap your head around this:
You'll never be happy, 'cause you're always gonna be stuck with yourself! Unless somehow you can get away from you, you're always gonna be miserable...
Truer words were never spoken. You're angry because you're not happy. You're not happy because the situation is fucked. The situation is fucked because whatever happened was not a result of life, but a result of your wrong doing. No one takes personal responsibility for their actions, but feel as though the world should congregate to them. I got news for you kiddo, if you believe that god had a plan for you, hey, guess what, god doesn't exist, and that's a fact, not some made up bullshit that was written x amount of years ago. For those of you who believe in astrology, well, shit, you're telling me that those planets and stars out there are deciding and guiding my life choices for me? um, yeah, i'll group that in with the "god" believers. for those of you who think i'm just being a dick: i was raised catholic, i did the holy communion, i did the confession, i sat through all the classes, and in the end, it was an awesome teacher who told me (in communion class) that i should develop my own mind and opinion and believe in facts and not fiction... a goddamn rooster in the hen house. so i covered my bases, eat a dick.
back to basics, the theory of this piece involves personal happiness. You cannot be happy, because you are a bad person, and if somehow you could take a step back and see just how shitty of a person you are, you just might change, but you won't and you never will, because there's enough people out there, just like you, looking for a little validation, that they'll make you feel special, and then you'll love them, because your bullshit will be justified, and you'll get married and have lots of bullshit babies who will crawl around in bullshit that's been handed down to them by you, and they will grow up to be bullshit people, who in turn will spawn more bullshit people and in the end, the world will be covered with shitty people who are selfish, greedy, money grubbing monkeys at the last supper taking the drumstick out of jesus's reincarnations' mouth. And you'll feel good about your life choices, because you've never had, and here's the kicker, the piece that holds up the halo folks, the end piece that holds the meat slab... you've always found the people to validate your bullshit.. and the ones that challenged you were tossed away because you never had enough honesty to deal with it.
in the end, the bad guy (or girl) always wins. it's the american dream. to grow up and be rich, have lots of babies, and spawn a generation of hate. These are the people who will inherit the earth? really? people who save children in africa because they'll have something to discuss over tea in their summer home? people who have a non profit organization (getting paid) that claims to be eco friendly when their checks are fat bulging out of pockets? people who think that their efforts actually matter? Hey, blockhead, nobody cares about how many lives you saved on facebook and nobody cares about how hard you work at your stupid bullshit business while you sit on your ass and cram about brochures about "eco-friendly" ways to save the world. Do you really think that your protest matters? when companies like BP dump x amount of oil into the ocean and pollute the earth. when large corporations rape the country? When my cousin in Juarez, Mexico, who works for "Fruit of the Loom" (and this is a fact) get's paid $8 a day has to go into the market and buy a chicken to feed the family for $6.50?
no, fuck that, this situation is fucked, capitalism is bullshit. and no matter how holy you think you are, no matter how great you think you are, no matter how many souls you think you've touched or changed, your love in the end is selfish, because i see you.. oh how i see you sitting at that place. that place telling people how great you are, advertising shamelessly about how saving the world is important to you, when in fact, saving the world just gives you something to talk about, because by doing the outside action, you never have to acknowledge what's inside, and you don't want to, because what's inside of you is bad. you are a bad person, you know it, but you don't want to confront it. and somehow, through my fucked up logic this all makes sense. are you ready to do math? a little logic? i know i am...
shitty person+shitty person=shitty baby.
shitty baby wants to save the world (because they were handed everything)
shitty baby+other shitty babies= shitty company full of stupid goddamn bullshit
stupid goddamn bullshit company advertises about how great they are (on somebody else's dollar)
and turns into,
a corporation.
board members take over,
original thought is thrown out he window
wash
don't rinse
and repeat.
i feel as though i may have gone on a rant here. i went off my main points, but it made for some pretty good writing, and if you've gotten this far, your dedication is this great, then i'll give you the essence.
people are shit. this is the world we live in. it's all selfishly driven, and if you can actually realize that you are a horrible human being, full of hate, than that's the first step in humanity. If you know that everyone else is an asshole and horrible (most importantly yourself) than you may have a chance. It starts with you. Break yourself down, find those bad points, the most horrible, wretched, deviating points and you'll know what people are great to surround yourself with and what people are horrible. If you can't climb that latter to self actualization than you deserve to be dragged out to the desert and shot. not enough people realize that once popped out of your mothers vagina anything you do after that is your responsibility, and you do not have to beg the world to love you, you do not have to beg your parents to love you, you do not have to beg yourself to love you, what you have to do is realize that you are human, which then makes you a piece of shit, and know that the only way to true humanity is saving one person at a time (most of which can not be saved) and knowing just exactly where you are.
i am a kind person. i don't like to make people feel bad. i love woman and every fucking inch of their bodies. i'm loving and complete. happiness in knowing that i am destined to fail, but won't go down without giving some noise. that's what personal happiness is.. knowing that you're fucked in no matter what situation you find yourself in, but fighting your way out of of it and never giving up. if the chips our down, ride on the red and bet all your jacks on black.
i end on a hold thought:
roll the dice
if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.
if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.
go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.
if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.
do it, do it, do it.
do it.
all the way
all the way.
you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.
-charles buwkowski
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Modern Romance: Licking Peanut Butter off a Floozie at 3am.
i had never really thought about it too much, it always seemed like that beast that no man ever wanted to face, the creature in your closet or the two headed bastard with sharp teeth under your bed as you slept when you were but a wee lad.. a scary, crazy, terrible dream of some sort. anyone who's ever been there, is damn well weary to ever go back, it's filled with a crazy lust and innumerable amounts of happiness. but along with that fast paced draw, comes a slowing decline of oneself and an ever gut wrenching feeling of despair and agony, the feeling of loneliness, sorrow, resentment, and never ending self loathing no matter the outcome. i poured myself a tall glass of scotch in a coffee mug and dedicated it to the writing of this piece. here now, for the first time, i'll speak on my thoughts of love (or lack there of).
i was laying next to her, both of us sticky, the sheets drenched with sweat and body fluids, basking in that after hard-core, passionate love making. the sex scent hung heavy in the air, and she rolled on her side, i slid my cock between her ass cheeks and nuzzled it up close to her vagina, wrapped my arms around her and clung my hand onto her firm but gentle tit. like i had done to many broads before here, but for the first time it felt like home, and i knew i should be thinking of "love" and such, but all i could think about was how much i wanted to buy a fucking fan for this room. which then lead me to the thought of "do i really love this girl?" the answer was clear and profound, i felt all the right emotions for love, and i knew that deep down, inside, under all my bullshit, i really did love her. but that thought led me to another thought... and as the thoughts kept going and adding up (she was drifting to sleep at this time) i realized that love is nothing more than our selfishness at it's full throttle. Wide open heart pumping blood at the maximum and our brains releasing all those right chemicals. Euphoria. Nirvana. Good Scotch and Fat Pussy. i had been tricked.
At this point, my rambling may sound like some arrogant, smart-ass, dumb prick trying to justify his lack of love for other humans, or his lack of love for himself. it is true that i do hate myself, but i think everyone should hate themselves only in an effort to strive to be better people. if i ever become satisfied with my current personality, then i hope i step out of my apartment and get hit by an armenian doing 85mph in a residential area by his Mercedes and bleed to death on the hot asphalt. i hope that my epitaph would read: "i can't get no.. da na na na.. Satisfaction." i mean only the best, and while it may seem harsh to many of you, it works for me (at least in my fucked up rationalizing head).
so love for me seems like a very selfish thing. why do we love in the first place? you love somebody because they're willing to go all out for you? you love somebody because the both of you have similar thoughts and interest, and you both challenge each other? you love somebody because the sex is fucking amazing to the point where you feel close to death? you love somebody because they are beautiful inside and out? you love somebody because they are there when you need them and are willing to go the extra mile to make you happy? you love somebody because they are just as fucked up as you and that makes you feel better? why do people even really love? i don't understand it. i see it as just a way to validate your own bullshit feelings and the comfort they bring is only a way for you to live with yourself and your shitty choices? who really knows? and what the fuck does this word love really mean? fuck websters dictionary definition. i want some real gritty down to earth definitions, not something that some asshole sitting in front of a desk that hasn't had a good woman in who knows how long came up with. it's all bridge under the water. or water under the bridge. same difference.
slowly but surely we all mature, in some mad way or another. we mature and buy new furniture and throw out the old (or put it on the sidewalk for some other wandering young rapscallion to find and enjoy). we grow out of our old clothes and buy new "hipper" clothes. our taste change. maybe when you were 18 you enjoyed getting fucked slow and nice. but at 28 you really wish someone would just thrash you around and fuck you doggy-style as the reached over and choked you slowly? i know when i was younger all i cared about was licking a girls vagina. that was my thing. vagina's are such a beautiful creature. I want to lick you. i want to chew you. i want to finger you. i want to lick you. and i also want to fuck you early into the dawn and have a severe rash on the head of my penis from the constant back and forth motion that sends messages from the nerves in the head of my penis to my brain and make me feel like conquering california, the united states, the world, the galaxy, and most importantly....... YOU.
it's simply ridiculous to think that we can somehow dedicate ourselves to another person for our whole lives. our taste change over time and what we dig today, we sure as hell won't dig tomorrow. unless you're one of those people who are constantly happy with their situation and never want to step up to the line and spit in the face of fear. if you are one of those people, than i despise you, and if you're the kind of self-loathing, self-defecating, thoughtful people, than i pity you, because happiness and personal well being will never be yours, and while you may excel at an art and be greater than any human before you, you'll always suffer... and suffrage makes for great art (van gogh, jackson pollock, charles bukowski, johnny cash, elliot smith, bob dylan, the list goes on)
i wanted to really get down to the grits of it. i looked at my parents. i looked at my past lovers. i looked at everything i could and in the end i came up with the same results. it was all selfish bullshit. i loved those people because they did things for me. they prolonged my life. they made me feel great. they gave me things i had never experienced before. they pushed me to be a better person and learn new things. it was all ME in the end and that, oh my dear friends, that is the worst possible thing a person can dedicate themselves to. the thought of feeling happiness at another persons service makes me fucking gag. i don't want a girl to serve me, i don't want my family to help me. i want to endure the shit on my own, and bask in the ever beautiful glory of life on my own. i want to be fucking alone to deal with the good end of life and the extremely shitty end of life.i don't want to put anybody out, and i sure as fuck don't want to rely on anyone. people change their minds every second. maybe in the next 30 frames my girlfriend will call me and tell me she's met a young handsome intellectual type and leave me, or maybe she'll call me and tell me she's pregnant (i don't trust her in terms of birth control. but i'll leave that for another time.)
in the end, love is like a shit stain on the mattress after being black out drunk and fucking someone who you will never fuck when sober, and sure as a bat in hell won't call when you're feeling lonely. it's great in the moment, but when given much thought, it smells like bullshit a mile away. i really wish i could just sit back and enjoy the ride, but my brain is working too goddamn fast and somehow my mouth can't keep up with the shit. the head is running a mile a minute but at times i can't seem to get it out. Stephen "Fucking" Hawking over here.
As a closer, the shot in the heart, love seems selfish.this may be just a case in point, but i also think the word love has been abused. the ultimate love, the ultimate giving of oneself to another person involves giving your life for that other person to live. and frankly, at this point in humanity, i am damn well not ready to do so. so while i may whisper into whoevers' ear that i love them dearly, i do mean it. but at the same time, i can't believe it because i can't fully give myself to you. i do though, i do want to love you. i want to love you in the sentimental way. i want to love you fully. i want to give my heart, my lung, my liver, my fucking brain in order for you to keep living. i would give it all. a finger? no problem! a hand? no sweat! any body part you need is yours. i'd give it up in a heart beat. but the ultimate question in the end, that never really has a definitive answer is this:
"Would you be willing to do the same?"
if not.. then you don't love me and i don't love you. What we have is just a chemical reaction to each others comfort and validty, and that's a sad thing to base the next 70 years of your life on.
so breath strong and breath hard little one.. because the breath you take into yourself, may fucking well not be the breath you take back... you can't trust any of these dirty bastards.. but you have to.. it's slippery slope and a mountain of shit.... but someone has got to do something. if not me... than i hope it's you.
i was laying next to her, both of us sticky, the sheets drenched with sweat and body fluids, basking in that after hard-core, passionate love making. the sex scent hung heavy in the air, and she rolled on her side, i slid my cock between her ass cheeks and nuzzled it up close to her vagina, wrapped my arms around her and clung my hand onto her firm but gentle tit. like i had done to many broads before here, but for the first time it felt like home, and i knew i should be thinking of "love" and such, but all i could think about was how much i wanted to buy a fucking fan for this room. which then lead me to the thought of "do i really love this girl?" the answer was clear and profound, i felt all the right emotions for love, and i knew that deep down, inside, under all my bullshit, i really did love her. but that thought led me to another thought... and as the thoughts kept going and adding up (she was drifting to sleep at this time) i realized that love is nothing more than our selfishness at it's full throttle. Wide open heart pumping blood at the maximum and our brains releasing all those right chemicals. Euphoria. Nirvana. Good Scotch and Fat Pussy. i had been tricked.
At this point, my rambling may sound like some arrogant, smart-ass, dumb prick trying to justify his lack of love for other humans, or his lack of love for himself. it is true that i do hate myself, but i think everyone should hate themselves only in an effort to strive to be better people. if i ever become satisfied with my current personality, then i hope i step out of my apartment and get hit by an armenian doing 85mph in a residential area by his Mercedes and bleed to death on the hot asphalt. i hope that my epitaph would read: "i can't get no.. da na na na.. Satisfaction." i mean only the best, and while it may seem harsh to many of you, it works for me (at least in my fucked up rationalizing head).
so love for me seems like a very selfish thing. why do we love in the first place? you love somebody because they're willing to go all out for you? you love somebody because the both of you have similar thoughts and interest, and you both challenge each other? you love somebody because the sex is fucking amazing to the point where you feel close to death? you love somebody because they are beautiful inside and out? you love somebody because they are there when you need them and are willing to go the extra mile to make you happy? you love somebody because they are just as fucked up as you and that makes you feel better? why do people even really love? i don't understand it. i see it as just a way to validate your own bullshit feelings and the comfort they bring is only a way for you to live with yourself and your shitty choices? who really knows? and what the fuck does this word love really mean? fuck websters dictionary definition. i want some real gritty down to earth definitions, not something that some asshole sitting in front of a desk that hasn't had a good woman in who knows how long came up with. it's all bridge under the water. or water under the bridge. same difference.
slowly but surely we all mature, in some mad way or another. we mature and buy new furniture and throw out the old (or put it on the sidewalk for some other wandering young rapscallion to find and enjoy). we grow out of our old clothes and buy new "hipper" clothes. our taste change. maybe when you were 18 you enjoyed getting fucked slow and nice. but at 28 you really wish someone would just thrash you around and fuck you doggy-style as the reached over and choked you slowly? i know when i was younger all i cared about was licking a girls vagina. that was my thing. vagina's are such a beautiful creature. I want to lick you. i want to chew you. i want to finger you. i want to lick you. and i also want to fuck you early into the dawn and have a severe rash on the head of my penis from the constant back and forth motion that sends messages from the nerves in the head of my penis to my brain and make me feel like conquering california, the united states, the world, the galaxy, and most importantly....... YOU.
it's simply ridiculous to think that we can somehow dedicate ourselves to another person for our whole lives. our taste change over time and what we dig today, we sure as hell won't dig tomorrow. unless you're one of those people who are constantly happy with their situation and never want to step up to the line and spit in the face of fear. if you are one of those people, than i despise you, and if you're the kind of self-loathing, self-defecating, thoughtful people, than i pity you, because happiness and personal well being will never be yours, and while you may excel at an art and be greater than any human before you, you'll always suffer... and suffrage makes for great art (van gogh, jackson pollock, charles bukowski, johnny cash, elliot smith, bob dylan, the list goes on)
i wanted to really get down to the grits of it. i looked at my parents. i looked at my past lovers. i looked at everything i could and in the end i came up with the same results. it was all selfish bullshit. i loved those people because they did things for me. they prolonged my life. they made me feel great. they gave me things i had never experienced before. they pushed me to be a better person and learn new things. it was all ME in the end and that, oh my dear friends, that is the worst possible thing a person can dedicate themselves to. the thought of feeling happiness at another persons service makes me fucking gag. i don't want a girl to serve me, i don't want my family to help me. i want to endure the shit on my own, and bask in the ever beautiful glory of life on my own. i want to be fucking alone to deal with the good end of life and the extremely shitty end of life.i don't want to put anybody out, and i sure as fuck don't want to rely on anyone. people change their minds every second. maybe in the next 30 frames my girlfriend will call me and tell me she's met a young handsome intellectual type and leave me, or maybe she'll call me and tell me she's pregnant (i don't trust her in terms of birth control. but i'll leave that for another time.)
in the end, love is like a shit stain on the mattress after being black out drunk and fucking someone who you will never fuck when sober, and sure as a bat in hell won't call when you're feeling lonely. it's great in the moment, but when given much thought, it smells like bullshit a mile away. i really wish i could just sit back and enjoy the ride, but my brain is working too goddamn fast and somehow my mouth can't keep up with the shit. the head is running a mile a minute but at times i can't seem to get it out. Stephen "Fucking" Hawking over here.
As a closer, the shot in the heart, love seems selfish.this may be just a case in point, but i also think the word love has been abused. the ultimate love, the ultimate giving of oneself to another person involves giving your life for that other person to live. and frankly, at this point in humanity, i am damn well not ready to do so. so while i may whisper into whoevers' ear that i love them dearly, i do mean it. but at the same time, i can't believe it because i can't fully give myself to you. i do though, i do want to love you. i want to love you in the sentimental way. i want to love you fully. i want to give my heart, my lung, my liver, my fucking brain in order for you to keep living. i would give it all. a finger? no problem! a hand? no sweat! any body part you need is yours. i'd give it up in a heart beat. but the ultimate question in the end, that never really has a definitive answer is this:
"Would you be willing to do the same?"
if not.. then you don't love me and i don't love you. What we have is just a chemical reaction to each others comfort and validty, and that's a sad thing to base the next 70 years of your life on.
so breath strong and breath hard little one.. because the breath you take into yourself, may fucking well not be the breath you take back... you can't trust any of these dirty bastards.. but you have to.. it's slippery slope and a mountain of shit.... but someone has got to do something. if not me... than i hope it's you.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Kimono Dame II
it had been a rushed couple of days. i hadn't showered, shaved, the hair on my no longer bald head was starting to grow into waves, which made my head itchy, which always made me look dumbfounded because i was constantly scratching my head and looking at the floor in frustration. Finally, i made some time and came home, kicked my shoes off and munched down a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios topping it with a large scoop of peanut butter. I was ready for my shower. i felt like i was 9 years old again.
Refreshed from my spa and haircut, the top of my head felt like the bottom of a young teenage girls bum, it was such a nice feeling i sat reading and rubbing the top of my head. i though of Kurtz in Apocalypse Now, rubbing the top of his head as he read from his notes on the horror, not knowing just how far he'd gone. the room was stuffy, and even with all the windows open, it still felt like i couldn't breath properly, a cigarette was due. so i did.
The pile of furniture was still out on the sidewalk, i wasn't sure if anyone would pick it up, but it made for a nice place to sit and relax. i stretched out on the coffee table and lit up my smoke. my mind wandered, i wanted to build a fort with this furniture and pretend it was the central hub of the Allied Forces, all communication would be passed through our fortress, a distinct code, better than Morse Code, more complex than computer codes, but simpler than Java Code, i would be the only kid available to decipher them, and as i was shot and lay dying, i'd teach my apprentice how the code was based on shoe sizes.
"Hey."
i pulled my forearm away from my eyes and looked up, it was her, the Kimono Dame.
"oh shit, hey... Are you stalking me woman? or am i just timing my smoke right?"
"weird huh, i know!... i'm gonna have a smoke with you." - she sat down on the other end of the coffee table with her back slightly towards me, my palms began sweating instantly. her fingers were long and limber, like her body, her skin was pale but not too far powdery white, i watched her pull a Malboro 100 out and eye me for a lite. i flicked the zippo once, no lite, i flicked it again and again, and it didn't seem to be working, finally when it did light up, it flickered high and the flame almost burnt her bangs off. She giggled then, and i smiled softly.
"almost caught your bangs there."
"close call!" *giggle* - She reminded me of the mom in The Shining... What was her name again? Shelly Duvall, yeah... Her hair was very black and very thin, her bangs hanging over her pale forehead. i always had the hotts for Shelly Duvall, maybe thats why i eyed the Kimono Girl?
We had brief small talk. i asked her how her day went and where she was from. As she rambled on about something that i was halfway listening to, i deduced that she was halfway crazy. i had met dames like her before, we connect, our opinions and judgments run inline, it seems like it would end up being a night of great talk over a bottle of wine and maybe some nice making out. but it never reaches that point with these kind of women. there's a reason why they are alone, why they are single, and it's because they are indecisive and petty. She had her gym clothes on but no sweat stains, which meant it was a recreational activity. her back was turned to me but her pupils were dilated, which is what happens when you're attracted to someone and you're talking about things that make you feel mushy inside. These dames were all the same, they wanted you to validate them but still let them feel independent and girlie. Their mistakes were not mistakes, but "accidents" and she was not held accountable for any of it.
She could not stand being alone.
She was scared of her own thoughts. what a pity.
Eventually her brother in law (sisters' husband) came by on his hipster bike and they both took off for a ride. she tried to talk me into going out with her, but i declined nicely and headed upstairs. she waved bye and flashed me a goofy kool-aide smile. she made me feel warm inside, but i also felt very defensive, the vibes coming off of her gave me the feeling of someone giving me a blowjob but sticking their finger in my ass. the blowjob felt great, and i dug it, but the finger up my ass made me feel uncomfortable and very tense, my palms were still sweaty as i walked over to the bar in my living room and poured a Whiskey and Ginger-Ale, my feet went up on the coffee table and i thought about her for a second, and then, i opened my laptop and wrote it all down.
Refreshed from my spa and haircut, the top of my head felt like the bottom of a young teenage girls bum, it was such a nice feeling i sat reading and rubbing the top of my head. i though of Kurtz in Apocalypse Now, rubbing the top of his head as he read from his notes on the horror, not knowing just how far he'd gone. the room was stuffy, and even with all the windows open, it still felt like i couldn't breath properly, a cigarette was due. so i did.
The pile of furniture was still out on the sidewalk, i wasn't sure if anyone would pick it up, but it made for a nice place to sit and relax. i stretched out on the coffee table and lit up my smoke. my mind wandered, i wanted to build a fort with this furniture and pretend it was the central hub of the Allied Forces, all communication would be passed through our fortress, a distinct code, better than Morse Code, more complex than computer codes, but simpler than Java Code, i would be the only kid available to decipher them, and as i was shot and lay dying, i'd teach my apprentice how the code was based on shoe sizes.
"Hey."
i pulled my forearm away from my eyes and looked up, it was her, the Kimono Dame.
"oh shit, hey... Are you stalking me woman? or am i just timing my smoke right?"
"weird huh, i know!... i'm gonna have a smoke with you." - she sat down on the other end of the coffee table with her back slightly towards me, my palms began sweating instantly. her fingers were long and limber, like her body, her skin was pale but not too far powdery white, i watched her pull a Malboro 100 out and eye me for a lite. i flicked the zippo once, no lite, i flicked it again and again, and it didn't seem to be working, finally when it did light up, it flickered high and the flame almost burnt her bangs off. She giggled then, and i smiled softly.
"almost caught your bangs there."
"close call!" *giggle* - She reminded me of the mom in The Shining... What was her name again? Shelly Duvall, yeah... Her hair was very black and very thin, her bangs hanging over her pale forehead. i always had the hotts for Shelly Duvall, maybe thats why i eyed the Kimono Girl?
We had brief small talk. i asked her how her day went and where she was from. As she rambled on about something that i was halfway listening to, i deduced that she was halfway crazy. i had met dames like her before, we connect, our opinions and judgments run inline, it seems like it would end up being a night of great talk over a bottle of wine and maybe some nice making out. but it never reaches that point with these kind of women. there's a reason why they are alone, why they are single, and it's because they are indecisive and petty. She had her gym clothes on but no sweat stains, which meant it was a recreational activity. her back was turned to me but her pupils were dilated, which is what happens when you're attracted to someone and you're talking about things that make you feel mushy inside. These dames were all the same, they wanted you to validate them but still let them feel independent and girlie. Their mistakes were not mistakes, but "accidents" and she was not held accountable for any of it.
She could not stand being alone.
She was scared of her own thoughts. what a pity.
Eventually her brother in law (sisters' husband) came by on his hipster bike and they both took off for a ride. she tried to talk me into going out with her, but i declined nicely and headed upstairs. she waved bye and flashed me a goofy kool-aide smile. she made me feel warm inside, but i also felt very defensive, the vibes coming off of her gave me the feeling of someone giving me a blowjob but sticking their finger in my ass. the blowjob felt great, and i dug it, but the finger up my ass made me feel uncomfortable and very tense, my palms were still sweaty as i walked over to the bar in my living room and poured a Whiskey and Ginger-Ale, my feet went up on the coffee table and i thought about her for a second, and then, i opened my laptop and wrote it all down.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Kimono Dame
i sat in the chair reading, the vinyl diamond backs criss crossing every which way. feet propped up on the desk, sucking at a warm beer. it would be my only beer of the night, i was cutting back, it had been a fast weekend and sunday rolled around, i wasn't feeling squirrelly today. i read on, it was a good book, i felt sucked in, i could almost place myself there. the book was that good. i decided to break, grab an unfiltered pall mall and shuffled down the stairs.
it was a system, life was a system, a machine, one fed into the other and that fed into another. conveyor belts carrying you around the factory in circles, bright lights flickered, the tv's and women flickered, everything was suppose to be a distraction, so that when you finally broke off of the circles, you were taken down that long hallway leading to an inhumane slaughter. killed like chickens, cows, and rhinos. this is how it went, for weeks you'd be on that one belt, leading you somewhere, and just like that, someone would throw a switch or push a button, and suddenly you were back on that last belt, the lights blindly you dumbly, and some never noticed, but i noticed, and i learned how to manipulate the belts, not follow along with them.
this is what i was thinking about as i sat out on our sidewalk, littered with furniture. living in Glendale, the armenians ran this joint. they spent their earnings on fancy cars and expensive furniture, all the while holed up 10 of them in a one bedroom apartment paying $1200 rent. they would buy the furniture, and then, buy more furniture, and toss the good stuff out into the street. it was a cool night, the clouds covered half the sky, and the other half remained desolate and black, not a star in sight, the moon was taking a break, like it always did every few weeks, pitch dark out, street lamps giving off that strange yellow glow.
i watched a woman come out of the apartment complex across the street and i turned my body towards her. she walked gracefully and softly, little feet pitter patting across the asphalt and concrete. she was taller than me, and slender, but she didn't walk dumbly or clumsy, she had a motion as if she were gliding. her hair was pulled up in a bun and her gray sweater gave off some decent outlines. i pictured her naked and wondered what she was doing coming out of that apartment complex. she saw me eying her and flashed a smile, my palms started getting sweaty, as they always do when people come near me. she was on me now, closer and closer, her walk became slower.
"they kick you out?" - she gave off a little giggle.
"just giving them time to play with themselves."
i caught her sideways i knew, and she giggled again and kept walking to wherever it was she thought she was going. a few seconds to late i realized why she said they kicked me out, i was sitting on top of a pile of furniture, i had misunderstood her.
"fuck it"
and i went back inside my hole to finish reading my book.
Friday, July 2, 2010
a Love Poem
i burn deep into the night like honey bees
killers at the swarming honey sloppily dripping
from lovers lips
onto to the velvet pillow covers
and crust formation of those times
won't wash out
no matter how fucking hard we scrub
them out
we can love each other
without having to say we love each other
like keeping it inside.
is holding your shit in day
after day
week after
week
until it hardens
and you can feel your intestines collapse
and form to the waste
in your veins
in your esophagus
and in your brain.
they recite night after night each time in bed
after they fuck and suck each other dry until their
crusted lips flake away
and saliva runs dry
wet hair pasted to forehead strands flowing down
lustful back
drinking late into the night, closing down the bars
and passing it back and forth on the bed
sloppily walking
sloppily kicking moaning and talking
being completely
and utterly
sloppy.
but our brains are twisted every which way
that somehow seeing ourselves at our worse
is the most beautiful thing
and over those glasses and bottles
he rants about nothing
and she vacates her mind
and he drowns
willingly
in her eyes.
leaning over as his breath carries her across
and says,
"you have the sexiest fucking spleen. i want to fuck your spleen."
and she laughs
cause she gets it.
at the end of it, you've got
to laugh
laugh at being serious
laugh at trying
laugh at this writting
and
laugh at putting meaning
into any of this
killers at the swarming honey sloppily dripping
from lovers lips
onto to the velvet pillow covers
and crust formation of those times
won't wash out
no matter how fucking hard we scrub
them out
we can love each other
without having to say we love each other
like keeping it inside.
is holding your shit in day
after day
week after
week
until it hardens
and you can feel your intestines collapse
and form to the waste
in your veins
in your esophagus
and in your brain.
they recite night after night each time in bed
after they fuck and suck each other dry until their
crusted lips flake away
and saliva runs dry
wet hair pasted to forehead strands flowing down
lustful back
drinking late into the night, closing down the bars
and passing it back and forth on the bed
sloppily walking
sloppily kicking moaning and talking
being completely
and utterly
sloppy.
but our brains are twisted every which way
that somehow seeing ourselves at our worse
is the most beautiful thing
and over those glasses and bottles
he rants about nothing
and she vacates her mind
and he drowns
willingly
in her eyes.
leaning over as his breath carries her across
and says,
"you have the sexiest fucking spleen. i want to fuck your spleen."
and she laughs
cause she gets it.
at the end of it, you've got
to laugh
laugh at being serious
laugh at trying
laugh at this writting
and
laugh at putting meaning
into any of this
This is Your Job
this is your job they say,
arthritic finger pointed bony and obsolete
lingering in the general air
and you think to yourself
"do i really have a choice?"
the sad truth is
you don't.
this is your job they say,
as the man wraps his fingers around suspenders
chomping endlessly on cigar
nicotine stained teeth and fine whiskey breath
it's all too sad
to bear.
some don't.
this is your job they say,
to grow up and make money
get a house
pop out some kids
marry a no good woman
a dead woman
and be a necrophiliac
to sustain yourself with drinks
to block out the fact that they've got you.
pay your taxes
buy it all on credit
eat the manufactured food
fuck the manufactured woman
wear the manufactured clothes
sewn by some poor fuck
who makes less than $8 a day
in some country south of here
snort the coke
sorted by the children
and smuggled here in someones ass
is this sad for you?
is this too much truth for you?
yes.
but truth nonetheless
i don't want to fill my house with new furniture
gourmet food
fine art
electronics
candy bars
or whores
distractions
it's all distractions to keep you
from realizing
that they are fucking you in the ass
every seconds hour and minute
you're alive
they're fucking you now
fucking me now
i just want to know
who's behind me
with the cock
wrapped in dollar bills.
arthritic finger pointed bony and obsolete
lingering in the general air
and you think to yourself
"do i really have a choice?"
the sad truth is
you don't.
this is your job they say,
as the man wraps his fingers around suspenders
chomping endlessly on cigar
nicotine stained teeth and fine whiskey breath
it's all too sad
to bear.
some don't.
this is your job they say,
to grow up and make money
get a house
pop out some kids
marry a no good woman
a dead woman
and be a necrophiliac
to sustain yourself with drinks
to block out the fact that they've got you.
pay your taxes
buy it all on credit
eat the manufactured food
fuck the manufactured woman
wear the manufactured clothes
sewn by some poor fuck
who makes less than $8 a day
in some country south of here
snort the coke
sorted by the children
and smuggled here in someones ass
is this sad for you?
is this too much truth for you?
yes.
but truth nonetheless
i don't want to fill my house with new furniture
gourmet food
fine art
electronics
candy bars
or whores
distractions
it's all distractions to keep you
from realizing
that they are fucking you in the ass
every seconds hour and minute
you're alive
they're fucking you now
fucking me now
i just want to know
who's behind me
with the cock
wrapped in dollar bills.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
