Temptations: Standing Atop the Mountain of Drugs, Sex, and Greed.

    The phone rang then, I answered without checking the ID. Her voice was soft, and barely audible, she sounded muffled and the television was blaring in the background, it sounded like CNN. I hadn't heard from her since she moved away to Portland. We went through the formalities, and would I like to come see her? She was at the new Ritz Carlton at LA Live in downtown, she had a nice suite, and the bar was plenty. I was convinced then, maybe it was more so the plentiful bar than her, but I was sold to the idea, and I said yes.
    I went into the bathroom for a quick shave, as I was waiting for the lather to settle, the wedding ring on the counter was starring back at me. I thought to myself what was I expecting from her? Conversation? Good drink? a dip in the new hotel pool? I knew those were all just excuses, I could feel the ground rumbling, the headlights coming head on. Tossed the wedding ring in my coat pocket and threw on the hat halfway out the door. Started the car and 15mins later it was 3am, and the valet had my car keys. I watched the taillights disappear into the underground parking and felt a cold rush come on me. My hands began to sweat, but it was a cold sweat, my mouth went dry, my legs tensed up. I sat on the bench and lit a cigarette. Thinking about the wrongs and rights of the world. None of this really mattered anyway, it was all just a great big scheme, so what's the difference between doing the right thing and doing the wrong thing? The difference was that it was easy to do the wrong thing, but it took more courage and strength to know what was right, and if it was really right, or just what we tell ourselves is right to justify doing the wrong? I pulled the ring out of my coat pocket and put it on my finger. It fit loose, as if it didn't want to stick to me, but i flexed my hands a bit to get the blood going and it felt tight enough to stay on. I put my hands in my pockets and pushed the elevator button going up.
      Here I was, lightly rapping on her door, I put my ear up to the varnished wood and listened, there was some rustling, and then the television volume went down, and the door popped open. She stood there, in all of her glistening beauty. Her hair was loose and waving down to the middle of her back, that long flowing mass of blonde hair tracing down to her hips. I wanted to bury my head in there and take the full smell on, deep into my lungs, that smell of marshmallows. Slowly melting, as  those big doe eyes starring at me, that look she always gave, it ate at me all the way to the bone. As if she could see right through me, I felt myself shrinking then, down, down, lower and smaller and smaller. She felt this, and smiled at me, that million dollar smile.... I felt in love again.
      The room was this extravagant piece, lots of polished wood, tons of marble, the chairs were these modern things that looked like they came from an expensive Ikea. She was in the king suite, and i stood in the middle of the room a minute, taking it all in. She stood next to me in her small shorts and tight tank top, with her head on my shoulder. I nuzzled my nose into that hair and it took me right back to laying in her bed during those hot mornings, when she would go shower, and i'd have the room to myself, I'd stare out her window at the creepy trees that watched us sleep, fuck, talk, and spoon. After my initial shock, I took a better look at the room and noticed the empty bottles of wine. The bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, and next to the whiskey, the small mountain of cocaine. There were some lines set out, as if she expected me to go right back to our memories. My hands hung loosely at my side, and she took my sweaty palm in her hand, and giggled, I could feel her head rumbling on my shoulder. She had that healthy laugh, she laughed from deep inside of her gut, as other woman laughed out of their throats, that fake laugh, that laugh that they do to fit in, not really even understanding the context of the laugh, but laughing to laugh with other people. Not her, she laughed from deep inside, as if she understood what it was to laugh with your heart, and your mind.
      "It looks like you've been doing well..." Yes she said, I have. She took my coat and hat and poured me out a whiskey neat. The chairs looked as if they would be very comfortable, but when i sat down, they weren't. They were stiff and new. I like worn things, things with age, they seemed to fit better into my liking.
"Hows the writing?" she asked.
"It's going..."
"Still have that spot online?"
"no, I changed it."
"why?"
"I don't like people in my head. and i'd write about something, and people would misinterpret it and think i was writing about them, and then we'd have this tension between us, over something that originally had nothing to even do with them. People are so self important, they think everything is about them.."
"You're so full of shit."
"It's true!"
"How do you expect to get published? Who do you think you are? Fucking J.D. Salinger? Just 'cause someone thinks you're thinking about them doesn't mean you should change what you love. Fuck them. Just keep going. Damned if you don't and damned if you do."
"This is true"
      I sipped my whiskey, it was good whiskey. I ignored the coke on the table, I didn't want to go there now. She was right about the site. She uncrossed and then recrossed her legs. I thought about what a lucky bastard I was. Here I am, in this swank hotel, with this gorgeous broad, and some good drink and drugs. Was this it? i hopped not. She had the head tilt going, she was examining me, interrogating me with her eyes.
"You're going to write about this aren't you?"
"probably"
"You're nutty"
She got up and walked over to my chair and sat on my lap. She took my hand and put it down her shorts. She was wet alright. I ran my thumb over the ring on my left hand. My right hand was resting on her box. Shit, this was intense, wedding ring on one hand, and moist vagina on the other. What's a guy to do? She got up and took her shirt off. Her bra was this heavy padded thing in black lace. I always felt cheated with her, she had (what appeared to be) these huge breast pushing out of her shirt all the time. But once you got that shirt off, they were just decent tits in a padded bra. It was like watching those commercials for fast food. On television, the water droplets were hanging off the lettuce, the tomato was this bright red, and the meat was always glistening and moist. But when you unwrapped your burger, it was just this small piece of bread with meat slapped in the middle. I felt cheated then, and I felt cheated now.
      She took some of the coke and put it on her tit. She motioned for me to take the bump, to start what would end up being this mass of hysteria and sex in this cold hotel room. I was tempted to do it, to snort that goddamn cocaine up my nose and into my system, and pound this whiskey down, and pin her to the floor and fuck her as if this was our last night on earth. We'd sweat up a storm, and then fuck in the shower. When we were done, i'd run her a bath, and wash her. She just lay there glowing, and i'd soap her up and wash her down, treat her like a decent dame ought to be treated. When would I ever get this chance again in my life? She'd be here for at least a month, doing her work, selling those clothes she designed, running all around downtown setting up store deals. Every once in a while, i'd be walking down the street and see some of her stuff displayed in the boutique windows. I'd know it was her right off the cuff, but i'd walk into the store and ask who the designer was, and they'd always say her name. It made me smile, it was nostalgic.
      I stood up and asked if i could use the bathroom for a second. She motioned for me to take the bump off of her tit. So i did, i leaned over and snorted it way up into my nose. It was decent shit, she had done well. I kissed her forehead and walked into the bathroom. The bathroom was the size of my bedroom in my apartment. It was this fancy deal covered in marble with a tub and a stand up shower. I ran some water over my face and washed my hands. I took the ring off and put it on the counter. The mirror had a t.v. built into it, CNN was running on it. The top story was about the rise in the price of silver. We should be buying silver and gold. Those prices were never driven down because it was tangible material. If the world economy shut down, that would be the new money. I didn't really give a shit about gold or silver. Or gas or the dolphins or the stupid "Falling Whistles" in the congo. None of that shit mattered. True, it is a sad thing, but at the same time, what good do you do by wearing that whistle around your neck? Nothing... Nothing... You're just some fucker with a whistle around your neck preaching to other people about how great you are. You do not contribute to the true effort, but rather, you are only taking the value away from it... I didn't want to do this. This wasn't me. I had never been a cheater, and I was getting ready to be one.
     I unbolted the door and walked into the room. She was sitting in the chair naked, with her legs crossed. I melted then, in that second, my knees became weak, and I was molten, inside and out. I put my head down and looked at my shoes, I held my left hand into the air and muttered, "i'm married". She didn't hear me, asked me what I said, so I said it louder this time, and she stayed quiet. I started explaining about the girl, how we had been married only a short time, and that I was happy to see her, but i didn't want this to go somewhere that we couldn't come back from... I was still looking at my shoes, and suddenly, I was hit in the chest with a lamp. It took me off of my feet and I landed on my back. I was lost for a second, processing what just happened, did she really just throw a fucking lamp at me? Shit, she did.. Fucking a...  I got my grip again and started getting up. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a shoe flying towards me, a high heel i believe, and I put my arm up to deflect it. Once i was on my feet, I surveyed the room and realized she was between me and the door. This wouldn't be an easy stroll out of the door.
"You fucking asshole!"
"I didn't think IT would come to this woman!"
She reached for the wine bottle and cocked her arm back, I focused and as soon as the bottle left her hand, i dodged it. The wine bottle flew into the headboard of the bed and didn't crack, but ricocheted down onto the bed. She threw two more bottles, each landing softly in a well padded couch or chair. All those years of dodgeball really helped, and now i understood why there were so many damn chairs in this room. She reached for the half empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table.
"No. NO NO! Not the whiskey. Please!" i said.
     She let her grip go, and came rushing at me. I stood my ground and waited for her to be close, and then I busted the old football move and put my right hand on her right shoulder, pushing her aside, letting her weight carry her full on into the couch head first. I sprinted for the door and was halfway out when i realized the ring was still on the bathroom counter! Shit! I turned around and she was standing in the middle of the room, naked, with her hair strands coming down over her face. I slowly circled my way towards the bathroom, and she followed at a distance. I broke in and grabbed the ring, and came back out in a flash. She came at me with that wine bottle raised high over her head. I put my shoulders down and dug into her midsection, tossing her onto the floor, as the bottle came down on the middle of my back. I stood up and blitzed for the door, hearing another ruckus begin, I ditched the elevator and took the stairs all the way down into the lobby.
     I was sweating when I made it into the lobby. I gave the valet my ticket and hid in the shrubs off to the side just in case she came looking for me. He took so long to get my car. I felt like i was waiting a lifetime (it was probably 10mins). I was keeping an eye on the door hoping she wouldn't come out. I was nervous, damn nervous, my hands were drenched, and my back was hurting something mean. I waited, and waited, and waited, and then I heard someone screaming in the lobby. Screaming rape. It was her. She was telling the desk guy that I had tried to rape her! What the fuck?! Jesus Christ was nothing sacred? I saw the guy coming up the ramp with my car and i ran out of the shrubs with a $10 bill in my hand. I jumped in front of my beaten car and he came to a stop a few inches from me. I ran over to the door and popped it open, grabbed him by the vest jacket and pulled him out, the car kept slowly rolling, because the kid didn't have time to put it into park, i jumped into it as fast as i could, but bumped my head on the way in. I quickly surveyed the surroundings and punched it. Pedal to the metal. I stuck my hand out the window waving the $10 bill and threw it into the main drive. I saw the kid standing there, with her next to him. Luckily i was far enough that she couldn't catch my license.
      I laughed to myself, and it felt good then, i had made a close call and missed a felony. I felt around in my coat pocket for my ring and slipped it back on my finger. I realized then, that no matter what the hell went on in this place, this goddamn world, it was well worth it to push out a little far beyond the edge, to hang on by a goddamn limb to sanity. I smiled the whole drive home, because life was not without a sense of guilt, rage, anger, laughter, sex, trouble and happiness. i was happy then in that moment, because i had survived another incident, and i laughed loud and hard, straight from my gut, because i would write about this, and she would read it. And that, that in itself, wound this whole thing together, i had a feeling then, i had a feeling that everything would eventually be alright.

Sucking the Marrow from the Bone

      It's a difficult thing to write honestly without sounding like a pretentious prick. Over time and now, I can feel my knuckles cramping and fingers gnawing at themselves unless I sit down and write it all out. I used to write about women, but then i met one i held onto. I use to write about the shortcoming of humanity, but i realized that what i thought were shortcomings were only ignorance and deception. The person doing the wrong never saw their fault, and i deceived myself into thinking that it was up to me to change something. i too, was lost, in a world where change was something you could do all on your own, and i felt responsible to express my opinion, even though, most times, nobody ever was asking for it. i had stepped out of line, i had done what i could do, said what i said, and pissed off many on the way around the course, and now, i knew, that whatever kept this place spinning, kept me going, had me here for however longer, i was nothing more than a spec in the universe. My problems don't matter, my reactions and family and society were all built to suit me, to manage me, to train and keep me fatigued, to keep my eyes and mind busy, so i couldn't ask questions or be alert. i found out what they were trying to do, and by-god man, i wouldn't go down without leaving a small piece behind.
      i wonder why people insist on coming here to read my brain spawn? This is the garbage of my head pouring out onto some paper. i can't use the typewriter anymore, it makes this mad noise late at night and the neighbors and my roommate can't get a decent nights sleep. So now i'm back to this, back to this computer, back to this machine. I find it funny that I constantly push people out of my life, and they keep trying to wiggle their way back in. As if not answering my phone or your text messages was not enough. You don't understand that i just want you to leave me alone, and if you did care about my happiness, you would write me out of yours like i just wrote you out of mine. and yet, you still come here to read this and be continually hurt by my words that aren't even met for you in particular. you're searching for a meaning in a pile of fucking railroad spikes.. you'd have better luck starring at something your friend put together at ArtWalk than trying to find a meaning in all of these rambles... yet, you still continue to come here to be hurt. Where's the logic in that? When was the last time i reached out to any of you? Why do you reach out to me? i have to come home to find you sitting on the stairs to my apartment. i politely ask you to leave, and yet you remain, and you keep bothering me, annoying me, and i ask you, very nicely to please go away, until finally i have to tell you to "get the fuck out of my life"...
and then...
you cry. and you sob. and you say that you only want to help me, be my friend. i need your friendship like i need a hole in my head..

     maybe you don't get it. I don't want to clutter my life with any of these bullshit people problems. Because your problems don't mean anything here, and neither do mines. We create problems with no solution to keep us entertained. We create little projects, we try and live our lives on a grand scale, as if our meager efforts to move life along will mean anything.

     I'm very proud when i write, and i come off black or white.. there's never any grey area for me when it comes to putting it down on paper, it all seems so clear, so tangible, i can almost reach out and fuck it. Anyone who knows me well can always find me alone, usually reading, or smoking a cigarette outside. I know that my view of this place is so one sided, and i have no excuse for that. Maybe i'm not as intelligent as i believe myself to be. Perhaps if i was smart, i'd find a way to make myself stupid, to sit back and live the Walmart American Dream. To sit back and smile and be content with the system, the wife, the polar icecaps and the whiskey. To try and believe for a better tomorrow, to hope for change, to hope for fight, to hope for a sunny day.

      You know the thing about hope? It breeds disappointment. If you have a realistic enough view of the world, and you try to understand it's inner workings, try to find the system, try to find a way to manipulate the system, then at least you can say that you knew going in, you might not come back alive. But what the fuck does sitting around "hopping" do for you? Not a goddamn thing. I can sit here and hope all day. You know what that'll get me? A sore ass and a lost day. Hope is radioactive toilet water, you drink it down into your belly and eventually you die a slow blind death at the hands of faith and promise, and no one will ever remember you as what you really are, but as how they saw you through their own blurred, butchered, and vain vision. it's the same as you reading this, you draw your own conclusion as to what i may be, how i may treat others, but in fact, your judgement means nothing to me, you're just hits on the visitor counter.

have a nice day
i know i will.
:)

A New Order Inspiration

A New Order Inspiration

a thousand people into the sea

I see a thousand people a lot like me

a million souls who

get those words wrong...

but still I get those words wrong

I get those words wrong....

be it destiny fate or something abstract

we match like matches in a

strike anywhere pack

we still know our place

and we're deep in our place...

the woman speaks to me in phrases

and I decoded them to the best

of my ability

but shambles lay at the feet of

goddess and we both wonder

about these words

these words

so solitary and alone

we want to be cool and on our own

but we let these words down

and I wear the ring...

the ring that was made up on our places

made up on fake and pretentious phrases

but there was some truth there

some truth in the love

a lot like someone from the other

phrase

but still

we get those words wrong...

we try to be something we are not

and feels fake and something bought

but we still stagger along on our

own beat to our own drum

and it feels cheese-ball and fake

but

we drag ourselves along...

break in the silence like

the peace

I see a lot like you

like you see in me

and we were meant to be

from the start....

the distance makes us grow fonder

makes us appreciate where we fault

where we wonder like

two forbidden dreamers in the dream

like architects yet to be seen

like developers of a land proper

down and out like someone

stopped us

but we struggle on

we struggle on

it's all we know..

this may not be the dream you saw

this may not be the things you dream

but inside of us something invade our space

and now we must realize

it's not something wearing that

despising

disguise.

No matter how far we seem

the dream will be a lot like me

whether you like it or not

whether you like it or not
it'll be me

it'll be me
it'll be me..

whether you like it or not

it'll be me

and you'll be mine

in this mine

in this mine

in this mind....

You're Calling 2 Alabama's - the Rush is On

       i looked around and listened for a bit, this was where i didn't want to be. i heard people clinging to those long lost hopes and it pressed me further into depression. they all wanted to be something, to be someone, to save something, to save the whale, to save the dolphin, to save the planet, to save humanity, when in there innermost being, they couldn't even save themselves... i saw them all as hypocrites and mass hysteria. Everything was dying, there was no way around that one, and i didn't want to save anything. the best i know, it all has a playground full of hope, and the hope only lets you down, the strong feed off the weak and the weak inherit the burden of this foul stench. we were nothing but rodents and pawns in their labyrinth, and we confused this labyrinth for life.  who knows how real reality is? or who knows how fake this reality is? i did believe in some kind of moral value, i did believe in some kind of right doing. but in the end, the rights are done wrong and the wrong is forgiven for ignorance, so the the rights are never accounted for and the wrongs are just assumed for the proper pepper way of doing things. oh what sorrow to live in this fucked up planet, but alas we must try and make our peace...
      make our peace, which got me thinking, how does one, who is not easy impressed, how does one, who does not take things lightly, how does one who rarely laugh take these steps of life in lightheartedness? that's a hell of  question to question??? how do you cross the line between the evil doers of the other side and the evildoers of this side? what complicated lives we lead in this tangled web that we conspire to conceive.....
     when the alcohol rushes through your blood veins, do you have that same closer eye view that i have? do we share the same image of the world burning? perhaps???? i hope for an anarchy to overrule at least this fair nation, where the meek shall inherit the earth.. but many before me have hoped for the same and any result they received was disappointing... so do you just give up?
      no. i believe that the proper way of doing things is to night fight against the system, but yet, find a way to work the system to our advantage. you corrupt them from the inside out, because they'll never suspect you, and you can easily manipulate this place to work in your advantage. it is true, that many people now on top have manipulated the system to work for them, but these are people full of greed and hunger. they want everything and they want it now. what if? by proxy? we were handed someone to control everything without a certain sense of guilt? idealistic i know, but if sharing is caring.. than share and smoke 'em if you got 'em.
       my brain spirals, and these are all samples, all tidbits of a bigger picture. i got no choice but to be here, but to comprehend and live with this. this apartment. this furniture. this dog. this woman. this roommate. this job and this money. if it were up to me, i'd move into a cabin far off into the woods and write about solitary until i was blue in the face, but alas, i cannot. so i'm gonna live here, amongst the weasels, amongst the rats, amongst the rodents and living, crawling beings to try and make sense of this stupid time here that was meant only to disappoint, withdraw, and hide me. he who laughs last.....

laughs alone.

so deal with it.

looking left, the streets normal with traffic, normal with people, normal with normalcy, it seemed like the rag was blowing fate, but i didn't even see his face as he passed me by, like two strangers passing in a hallway, not even nodding...  the cloud drifted around and blocked out the sun a bit, shading his eyes, he took the pencil from his ear and sat on the curb, drawing out interlocking circles, time slipping from his bloody palms...

they eat my brain and gained my knowledge.