One of the top 10 worst days... Ever

I hadn't screamed like that in my entire life. I couldn't figure out whether I was hurt or not but I knew I had to do something. Ears were going to be torn off. Eyes bitten out. I needed someone else with me. Fuck.

Maybe I should start from the beginning. I was running late to my dermatologist appointment. I think I should have been in the car about 15 minutes before hand, but I didn't get up soon enough. Oh well. I'll get there. Thats all that matters. I just needed to feed the dogs, grab a pb&j and leave. I'll only be a little late.

Hm... no, I think I need to rewind a little more. There's two dogs that stay at my house. Ones mine and the others my dads, Beau. Beau's been around for far too long. I've wrote about him a lot. He's annoying and pisses where he wants to and is sloppy and huge and can't really do much. As much as I despise him, he's been apart of a lot of my memories. Once, he ate a pill of ecstasy off the floor during a party. He ran away for 3 days in sub degree weather and was found shaking and frothing at the mouth in a fenced off area. Later that year, I fed him mushrooms. He had fun. I think. He sat on my bed with us as we made flowering fire balls with aerosol cans in my bed room. I didn't really think about the nature of what I gave him. A few weeks after, I realized I had given an animal who can't see colors a psychedelic drug.

Let me start over. I rescued my dog before she could be inevitably put down. She was a fighting dog. Left chained up behind houses and underfed. My ex and I decided it'd be a good idea to add more things to our relationship that would make breaking up even harder. Regardless, I ended up with Mercedes. My ex could keep her car and her new life but I was keeping this dog. Whether she liked it or not. I wasn't giving up on her like I was giving up on the relationship. I wasn't going to let her be taken house to house with my ex. She was going to grow old and grey and flawed with me.

She's had several slip ups where she regresses back to her fighting years. I've trained her pretty much everything; how to sit, shake, lay down, roll over, speak, stay- all the necessities and some of the fun stuff. But I've never figured out what her triggers are and how to stop them. How to understand what makes her shift from a lovey, cuddly bundle of cute into a ferocious stereotype. As long as I could catch her soon enough, right before she latches on, I can choke her out and get her away. That was always my thought. It was the only thing that worked. Even if she got ahold of the other dog, this method was the one that I could insure the least amount of damage with.

I was supposed to be at the dermatologists at 2:40. It was already 2:30 and I hadn't done anything but get my clothes on. As I was grabbing miscellaneous items- video games, work out clothes, checks to pay for the visit, my keys, my wallet, my pb&j- I let Mercedes out from the her eating spot to go outside. Beau was walking in. I grabbed a cup and started getting water. Everything went silent. No claws pattering across wood floors. No swaying of the dog door. Nothing. I walked around the counter and saw Mercedes standing over Beau underneath the table. I took a bite of my sandwich.

Everything happened so fast. It feels likes a movie thinking about it. But somewhere, some how, Mercedes grabbed a hold of Beau. Right on the top of his head. He didn't have much room to roll or fight back so he just laid there barking. I was wearing nice clothes. I thought maybe I could just use sentences she likes to get her off him. I asked her if she wanted a treat. That didn't work. So I knew I had to do something; she wasn't letting go this time.

I ran up behind her, threw my arm underneath her chin pressing against my other forearm, and to save her from ripping his head, I leaned over, pushing her head closer to his so if she didn't let go, I wasn't pulling her teeth through his skin.

She fell forward. So did I.

Beau rolled over and took this opportunity to bite back. He missed.

As my head hit the wood floor, I felt his teeth sink into my mouth and my face. I screamed. He let go.

Mercedes wasn't though. And I didn't know if I was hurt or not, but I had to get her away from him. I had to do something. Suddenly, my face felt hot. My saliva started tasting sweet and thick. I stood and backed up. There was blood all over my kakis. It was on my shirt. I reached up and ran my hand over my cheeks and my lips. It wasn't the dogs blood...

I grabbed a towel and screamed again. Mercedes wasn't letting go. Something bad had happened to my face. I couldn't look. The towel was already soaked through. I ran to the bathroom, put my face under the faucet and watched the sink turn red. I needed someone else there with me. I can't ruin my clothes. I can't have my face ripped off. Fuck.

I called my dad. I wasn't talking really, more so just frantically crying and holding a towel over my face screaming that Beau had just fucked me up. He said to drive to the hospital and he would meet me there.

My brother called right when I was leaving.

"Hey man I gotta call you back later. Beau just bit me in the face, I gotta get to the ER."

"Wait what?"

" I'm bleeding everywhere man, I gotta get to the hospital. I'll call you back later."

"Which one you going to? Borgess? Bronson?"

"Borgess."

"I'll meet you down there."

I took my clothes off. I couldn't ruin my nice clothes. Turned the washer on, put them in, grabbed some shorts and a towel and my keys and left. My face wasn't hurting yet but the blood was making me sick. It was hard to drive. There was music but I was crying too loud to hear what was playing. I had to keep my face close to the steering wheel so I could drive and put pressure on my wounds.

I parked and ran to the front desk, holding my face together.

"Yeah I just got bit real bad, I need a doctor," I mumbled through the towel.

After some ridiculous paper signings and processing, I got put in a bed. My brother showed up shortly after. I think he anticipated half my face to be gone. Missing lips or eye lids or something. I guess me holding gauze over the lower half of my face wasn't the most hopeful sight. My dad showed up. I gave him a high five.

He said Beaus gonna have to be put down. I didn't even want to think about the dogs or what was going to happen with them. I began to cry. I felt guilty. I dont want to lose those dogs. They're good dogs. Beau was just trying to defend himself... I can't have these scars. I'm already insecure about my looks. This is going to shatter me. I just ruined my dads work day. I just made my brother drive all the way out here. I just ruined my kakis...

My brother wiped the tears from my eye and told me to focus on my breathing.

"Take deep breaths brother. Deep breaths...At least your nurse is cute though right?"

I laughed.

"Yeah, fuck..."

Smiling hurt. I needed a god damn shot of morphine. My face was on fire and I still didn't know how bad it really was. Hurry the fuck up.

The nurse came back 20 minutes later with some pain medication. She told me it had to be shot into my ass. Thats the first time I've been more than happy to pull my pants down and moon a hot chick. Finally, I could breath.

I took the gauze off my face and my brother sighed in relief.

"Oh thank god thats all that happened. Thats fixable at least. I was expecting you to be missing most of your face."

That made me feel good. I'm repairable.

The doctor came in and assessed the situation. He asked "how we were doing?" and by that, he meant "are you fucked up yet from the morphine?". Which I was. I told him that I was ready to get patched up.

I've never had a more disgusting, nails on a chalk board type feeling than what happened next. The doctor proceeded to inject my face several times, in several different spots with lidocaine. I hate needles.

They didn't know I used to be an addict. Everything they had just given me felt like a regular day 6 months ago. I wasn't really numb, I was just high. I noticed how much this sucked as he started to poke at my wounds, drag flaps of skin out from underneath punctures and begin stitching me up.

I ended up with 5 stitches, from my nose to my lip. One stitch on the side of my left cheek. Two on the right side of my cheek above my lip, six more on my cheek itself, and one on the inside of my mouth. The wound on my cheek almost crushed my saliva duct. Not good news.

This all happened yesterday, and I'm still trying to develop a meaning out of all of this. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to learn. Its ironic that, the day I'm supposed to go to a place to perfect my skin, I end up getting my skin shredded apart but other than that... this lesson is just icing on the cake of unnecessary hard ships I've endured this past year and a half. I just started getting on my feet again. Pulling myself back together from the destruction I called my life. I just started gaining my confidence and self esteem back. I just got clean. I just began... to try to be happy again.

Now I'm forced to not be clean. I am prescribed my drug of choice. I am smoking to take my mind off my elephant man appearance and the looks I get when I walk past people. Its hard for me to look at any of this in a positive way. This is the last thing I needed.

I'll post pictures soon.

I'm Nothing

At the age of 4,
I learned that I could wear what ever the fuck I wanted and completely
get away with it.
Create abstract photographs with my dad laughing
in the background while I sport a classy
bucket on my head, grey snow boots,
short shorts and pose real hard

with every finger possible in my nostrils.
In the mind of a toddler,
this was my red carpet.
My designer labeled, diamonds and leather
mother fucking
Reading Rainbow t shirt.
I was brighter than most stars
with a high awareness of sexy and
a self esteem that had no dents
from magazines, mass media or
models endorsing anything that didn't involve
this god damn bucket,

I'm pretty sure no ones taken that one yet.

But when I woke up at the age of 9 and realized
my innocence had been stolen, buried weeks earlier
in a casket with my mother,
I learned that I can't get away with everything.
That not all of lifes events can be imaginative creations
to put up on the refrigerator and laugh about.
Sometimes the photographs are under developed, black and white
and have nothing but a little child at the foot of a hospital bed
watching the faces of family members wondering
how he should react to death.

So when I let you in and gave you a spot next to where
hers used to be,
I let you know that you could get away with anything.
That you could spit in my face, burn memories of ex girlfriends
and on most days,
I would break down in your arms.
I would apologize for not being strong enough
for not being tall enough
for not being the man I thought I was and for not
standing on my own two feet without you to make me feel whole.
I said sorry so much that the meaning became as distant as your feelings
and it took months before I found out that
you had already shoved me out of your heart.
Replaced me with drinks, cocaine and co workers
who you swore you weren't sleeping with
while I was in bed alone.
But I was wrong and you were right
and I loved you but I didn't love myself
and I let you know at every given moment
that you could get away with everything

as long as you didn't leave me.
That I would push all the hard fights
bruises and empty beds
to the back of my mind if you
could just put me before your partying.
Before a few of your Friday nights, which carried into Saturday nights,
which then left you missing on Sundays and unlike Rebecca Black,
I began to stop looking forward to the weekends.
I started to soak into the routines of driving us to school,
picking you up from work, and laying around getting stoned
like this was what love is.
Escaping the darkness into a coma realm where hearts hardly beat
and if they did,
it was softly and unspoken and so closed off from our emotions
that kissing felt like nothing.
Numb like the drugs we kept in our lungs and noses
to cover up that we weren't getting away with this relationship
and eventually

one of us was going to leave.
Strut our way down loveless red carpets,
heads hung from losing labels and diamond feelings
thinking that

I wasn't sexy enough
or I wasn't tall enough
or I wasn't the man she thought I was and
she would still be with me if
I didn't let her get away.

Now all I have are a few scars
and pictures of times when smiling actually felt wrong.
When forcing outfits over emotions that didn't match
was fashionable and fun and
of times when I thought

I knew what love is.

Electric Fence pt. 2: Unfriended

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Electric Fence

Over the course of the past 10 years of my life, I've had this fucking animal living inside my fathers place. Most would classify him as a dog, but I think he's some rare breed of palpable, tangible misery sent to reassure us that life outside of these walls is actually really awesome.

He's a terrorist. He has inherited a sort of intelligence that is only useful for destruction and ravaging and being utterly annoying. We've had to buy new refrigerators because the last ones, he figured out how to get into. Sprawled out hundreds of dollars of food across furniture and carpets and doesn't have the common decency to even eat it all. There are starving children mother fucker. That pound of butter you left to melt in front of the television could have fattened up an entire Asian country. Or at least been used for my toast... Shit.

We've constructed barricades to rooms, moved the garbage behind secret doors, even went as far as to put an ELECTRIC FENCE between the dining room and the kitchen... and the bathroom... and the front door- because yes, he figured out how to open the god damn doors too. And occasionally, he would extend his gracious hurricane of savagery on the innocent throughout the neighborhood.

He is the definition of every derogatory statement I can think of. Fuck him.

So this morning, as I woke up to the sound of tables being turned over and the entire middle floor being reconstructed, I took a deep breath, gave my self a pep talk to not choke him Homer Simpson style, and went down stairs to clean up the inevitable wreck he had left for me.

There he was, standing over shredded cardboard and toilet paper rolls, growling like a child who knew he had done something wrong.

I began to sing to him. I had just gotten done listening to some good old Miss Perri, so it was in tune with 'Jar of Hearts', except this version was just a tangent freestyle of how much I hate him. I suck at freestyling. I've just started to grasp the concept of putting words on beat with music though, so I started rambling off at him and somewhere along the lines I said

" You are too close but I like you to be too far,
I hate that you fuckin look exactly the way you are."

I like that last line. I truly do hate things that look the way they are on the inside. I want a surprise. I want a car that looks like 1980 but drives like it was made yesterday. I want a girl who looks more simple than she really is. Or a girl who looks more complex than she really is. Or just a girl in general would be rad... Anyway..

I expect surprises because I know that's what you'll get if you actually take the time to get close to me and see what I'm about.

I've struggled with image issues most of my adolescent and adult life. Thats right, a guy with image issues. Mine are different than you're probably envisioning though; mine aren't about the size of my thighs or my eye brows or my teeth not being straight enough. No, mine are issues with first impressions. I'll give you an example:

Thats me. Now, this isn't the most true picture I could find. Not one of the ones that I would say 'shows my personality'. But it is one that shows the image I give off. And the reaction I usually receive back when I meet someone, if its not with a smile, is that they're not sure if I'm going to rob them or not. To keep me at a distance because with a mug like this, who knows what I'm capable of.

However, as much as that picture is me, its not. This is not who I am. This is not the way I act or the way I want to be approached. I don't want to fight you. I dont want to steal your purse. I dont want to rape you when your drunk.

I like hugs. I cried when I watched the Notebook for the first time. Actually, I cry a lot. Period. I teach myself dance moves for fun. I listen to those who need the ears. I love MY dog (not the one I mentioned above, he can suck it). I am a sensitive, lovable gangster who just happens to look like someone I'm not.

I started running through my database of friends afterward, thinking about the outside reflecting the inside. It made me feel good that I'm not alone. So many of the people I know get the same reaction, the same judgment, the same 'damn, you look terrifying' when really, on the inside, they are cushiony stuffed animals. Or vice versa. Some of my friends get the 'damn, your sexy' when really, on the inside, they are far from it. On either end of the spectrum, this is what I appreciate.

What scares me are the animals and creatures that somehow manage to look exactly the way they are. I will always give you the benefit of the doubt, but if you are beautiful... and the inside you is beautiful, I will be endlessly confused by you. Or intrigued. Likewise, if you are nasty on the outside, and nasty on the inside... I will wonder why you haven't noticed this.

We like surprises. But not ones that involve garbage tossed around rooms that were meant to be left tidy and clean. Surprise me by being the opposite of what I would expect. Shatter my judgment. Make me question my intuition. Make the need for a electric fence around my heart unnecessary. And show me, and yourself, that you are capable of being more than the image you wear.

Reaping what I sow

The beneficial aspect to letting loose my insides on a public space is that I get responses. Most days, its hard to pull myself out of an idea. Or let go of my negative outlook on a situation. After I wrote about forgiveness yesterday, I received two emails that shook me. Both in two different ways. Mind you, one is from a talented artist/brother/ awesome person and the other is from someone who isn't any of the above. However, its the thought that these two put into their words that's allowing me to post their reactions... regardless of form or structure or meaning. Both have beauty to them.


Totally understand. Just read your blog. Sending some positive energy your way. I love you and I'm proud of you. You deserve so much more than just to be treated right... you deserve to find someone who can help you see past all the hate you have for yourself. Someone who can help you see that when your mother left it wasn't because she didn't want to stay there with you. Someone to show you that you can choose to be anything you want; beautiful monster, fallen angel or anything in between.

I can understand some of the pain you're going through (in my own experiences) but I'm sure it must feel like you're all alone sometimes. Like falling backwards might be the best choice for you. Please here me when I say it isn't. There is a reason for all this, and not in that Cindarella bullshit way most people try to sprinkle over wounds like it will help you ignore the pain. No I mean there is something we all must work through in this life and for whatever reason you asked for a whole truck load of shit to get through in one sitting. And I guess we each choose large plates to get through this lifetime and we each choose to take it on while we happened to cross paths with each other. You're strong enough to take this on but just remember there are people here who are waiting to assist you when you need help. I'm honored to be one of them.

Take your time with it brother. And when you're ready to get back to work and attack this shit, I've got my battle gear prepped and we can go fuck some shit up together.

Love you brother,
G

and this next one is a little confusing but it was wrote by a confusing, horrendous individual who is responsible for the majority of my hurt right now. Bare with her though. She meant well. She's just severely ill.


So I know that "the devil" isn't supposed to be reading your stuff, but after you messaged me I got curious.

No you don't deserve to be treated like you have in every relationship you've been in. Your just a romantic and the girls you tend to pick have a way of reasuring you with sweet words while they stab you in the back. As for me, I was just a fucked up teenager in a fucked up situation, and instead of dealing with it on my own I dragged down a lot of people who no where near deserved it. You can block me on facebook again and never talk to me again, but you got me out of my blackhole. I know you couldn't care less about if I'm okay after all of this and this sounds so third grade but you made me become a better person. If there's one thing I could change about this situation it'd be to straight up tell you the truth so maybe we could of been friends. Believe it or not the reason I couldn't stop was because of the conversations we had. You're one of the strongest people I know, you're sweet, and your driven as a motherfucker, so I truely do hope everything works out with you because you do deserve it. Karma has to work both ways eventually. I'd be cool if we could still be friends ocassionally but even if you wanted to it feels like a million knifes made of ice are stabbing me when someone even says the name Tim. I'm not a writer sorry if that's not interesting enough for you lol. Don't get me wrong this isn't a plea of trying to get back into your life because I know you hate me, and you have every right to...just thought you should know you completely fucked up my world so I realized how bad of a person I was. Thank you, seriously. Good luck with everything.

Keep touching that stove

I sent the devil an email last night. I told her that, even after all she's put me through, I feel like I owe her a thank you. Like I should show her some gratitude for introducing me to a realm of hurt I never could have imagined in my worst nightmare.

That level of pain was a great lesson. It fertilized a section of my experience that had never grown up and matured. I might have been better off without it. I'll never know. But I do know that sometimes, weeds grow in our garden. We usually choose to uproot them and discard them to insure the good grows and the bad doesn't. However, nature is nature. It wouldn't have sprouted if it wasn't meant to. Sometimes, perfect pictures can't be whole without the years of cover ups and mistakes and parasites and mold. There is a beauty to ugly. There is a peace to chaos. There is wrongs to rights and rights to wrongs and we just have to embrace it all as life's crazy, confusing art.

I told her, to show my appreciation, I plan on sending her a care package with a delicately wrapped dead animal in it in the near future. She responded:

"I dont want to be mean to you. I've moved on. I hope the best for you and your writing."

This kind of caught me off guard. Granted, she has less to be angry about than I do. Less to be perplexed and hateful about. She truly does deserve a dead animal, preferably her most favorite. But I took her response as a big slap to my sarcastic, vindictive, I'm-going-to-get-back-at-you-mother-fucker side by showing me... I am really not as good at forgiving people as I thought I was.

Forgiveness. This is one of those words I can say so many times that I forget what the meaning of it is. It starts to sound foreign and funny and I begin to question the origin. What the fuck is forgiveness? Can I just say 'I forgive you' and have all of that pain erase and have you lose importance and impact and everything becomes brighter? Is it an internal action? Is it just verbal? Or is it a really thoughtful concept that we just like because it implies that we have control?

I've started talking to my ex again. And not in a 'Yeah, we talk on the phone and sometimes we hang out' sort of way but in way that's leading back into a relationship. After we had sex a little while ago, my emotions got diluted and mixed up and I didn't know what exactly I was feeling. Until she text me the other day and said...

" What we did opened up some feelings I'm not sure what to do with. Can't you understand that? I adore you and I've always loved you but I think all of this might simply be giving me false hope. I told myself if I ever had chance to do everything over with you, I would pooh bear..."


Being called pooh bear again made me tear up. Its been years since I've heard that. Read it, for that matter. It felt good... but in a really bad way. It felt good to know that we are on the same page and that we both are pulling feelings again... but at the same time, I felt the entire break up. I felt the arguments where door handles were ripped out of cars and where words were said that never should have been. I felt my fists going through dry walls and cold, sharpened steal pressed with purpose against my neck. I felt the emails from other men, the empty bed nights, the arrests and disputes and deceit. I felt all of that then... and I still feel all of that now.

How can my heart be drawing to her if I'm not sure if I've even forgiven her for any of that? The devil took a year of my life from me... my ex consumed 3. And yes, there were plenty of fantastic, giggle worthy, pulse raising moments with her... but those seemed to written over by all the bad. Have I just accepted the picture as it is? Have I allowed the weeds to become a part of the whole and find beauty in it anyway? Or

do I just feel like I deserve what they put me through and that I dont deserve to be treated right?

A few bar tips

Alright, I'm hammered but I gotta lay down some ground rules on going out to bars. Drunk or not, right now I'm am very aware of what to do and what not to do.

A.) Go with girls. This gives you an automatic in and automatic upper hand to keeping yourself from being a side liner. They will also look to you for back up, which is a plus; you get to act silly and intrusive in order to shoo guys away

"Do I know you?" says creeper to girl/friend

Enter you

Start raging. In their face. Stare at them. Uncomfortably. End of conversation.


B.) Go with gays. I love me some gays. I used to hang out with more straight dudes who act gay and I got no love ( surprise). Now, I hang with more gay dudes who act straight and boi ... I'm telling you, they pull more girls than hair salon. No joke. Fuck homophobes. If you want girls to think your creepy, act really really masculine. And grab them aggressively towards your groin. If you want girls to feel comfortable, surround yourself with neutral dudes. Trust me.

C.) Wear a smile. If you are the type, like me, who finds bars annoying and claustrophobic, at least find something to laugh about. The obviously desperate dudes, the horrible dj's playing 90's chart toppers, the couple who just met 11 minutes ago making out vigorously. Go up to the couple making out. Act like you're just dancing and get really awkwardly close to them. Make eye contact with them and nod your head like your cool. Then make them feel weird by feeling one of them. This... will insure that you dont mean mug and don't look unfriendly.

D.) GIRLS KNOW WHEN YOU'RE SETTING UP A GAME PLAN. If you walk into a two set, and pull them apart, and start grinding on them, and you've never met them in your life.... bet five minutes later, they will be back by themselves, away from you, whispering about how lame your attempt was. Dont be that guy. Come up with a new trick. That one is like a pick a roll. The defense sees it coming. Period.

E.) Dont stand on the dance floor if you're just going to... stand. Fucking go sit down. Stop being weird. If you dont have the balls to get cool with some people, or you dont have a crew with you, just get the fuck outta there. There is nothing more strange than looking to your left and seeing someone by themselves...standing there... with their drink... doing nothing but anxiously waiting for a miracle. News flash: you're a fucking odd ball. Go some where else till you fit in. Sorry.

and last but not least

F.) If you dance like no ones watching, you better hope your not a goonish, gumpy mother fucker with no coordination. If so, you will be watched and yes, you will be mocked and I will jump into your circle and completely make everyone, including myself, look just as dumb as you. There is such a thing as dancing without spilling your drink. Its called steeze. Its also called game. Get in your groove without fucking up everyone elses. Being too drunk to notice you've just brought back a very serious, intense running man is not a good look. Its something to point at and say 'Holy shit, look at him'. Again, you dont want to be that person.


These are my tips for bars. In addition, use fake childish names when introducing yourself to people you dont give a shit about- like kyle, or tyler, or frank. This allows you to just be character and not your lame, boring, intellectual self. Tell them you live in Indiana. And you have a daughter named Moon. Or a business selling water color paintings of the 1956 St. Louis Cardinals.

Just tryin to help you out on your weekends.

When I see you, I want to skip all the small talk. I want to fast forward to a time when laughing replaces questions about your day and when walls break down. Until then, just show me that its okay to know you

My partner and I formulated this line during a conversation Monday night. We found a table at the back of the bar, sat down for some drinks and decided to dig into topics that might lead somewhere.

"Most of my friends just think I'm quiet"

"Mine too. I usually just lay in the cut and play the observer. People watching is entertaining, though, I do have my wit switch. Its random, sometimes I'll be completely reserved and others I'll just let my mind off the leash."

"Right. I feel you. I donno... I just always think about the quiet ones and whats going on inside their head."

" I know, those are the ones who are either extremely genius or extremely dangerous. It's hard to tell but I like the intrigue of it."

" Exactly. And then I wonder if thats how people perceive me. If they just think I'm being shy or that I'm being shady or that I'm just being me. I can't tell. But usually, its because I simply dont care about what they're talking about. Like when my friends ask me if I'm following basketball, and everyone in the room has some sort of really strong prediction- I just say 'nope'... and its cause I dont give a shit. But then you look around the room at the people talking about it, and you can tell they dont have a fucking clue what they're talking about. They're just talking."

" Thats all just forced small talk. Its just forcing a connection. Which I get- but its pretty desperate. I can't stand small talk in general. Its just meaningless, and I prefer to save my words for something I care about."

"Right, its like I want to talk about something real but first, I gotta know its okay to know you."

I went home with pages of illegible scribbles, half started sentences, arrows from one idea to the next like air traffic routes and polished all of them down into a few sturdy lines that I fell in love with. This one being one of my favorites.

Its so accurate. It's the rising action to every conversation, the barrier you fight with in your head when you meet someone; you just sit there and ask yourself " okay, is this person going to let me in? or are they just going to keep me at arms distance with scripted, thoughtless talking? Just give me a sign. Just one hint that theres someone behind those eyes that can think and speak openly about more than what they ate for breakfast or what they have to get up for tomorrow."

I always wonder what exactly the person I'm talking to is afraid of. What the purpose is of this buffer talk. Is it because its part of 'being an adult' to talk about obligations and jobs and meaningless, monotonous bullshit? Or is it because were simply programed to be disinterested and disconnected from sharing ourselves?

Repression and suppression are defense mechanisms. They guard us from being hurt. But I really want to know-

How much are you really risking by showing someone that you have emotions?

I'll confess

Hypocrisy is the embarrassing parent at the mall we act like we didn't see.

Its true. Not many people out there would sit down and have someone call them a hypocrite with out getting defensive. It's not an admirable quality. Its really not a quality. Its a vice. Its something that most would like to get rid of. Flush the entire idea of it being a part of them down through pipelines of denial and self worth. But all that garbage ends up somewhere. If we all try to get rid of the meaning, someone is going to notice your just full of shit.

Openly coming out and saying that I am a fucking hypocrite feels disgusting. I want to say it, sigh and put my head on the table. It makes me feel less credible. Less respectable. Less influential and just... less than.

I've said it before. I say it alot actually. But I always say it on a surface level. Like its something minimal and not important and just a part of my character. Which it is... but I've began to realize how destructive it is. How chopped and screwed it makes my narrative and my story. It makes me feel like anyone who reads my thoughts are going to say 'ya, he says that now but just wait...' and I dont like that. I dont want to be a time bomb of predictability. I want to be able to hold ground and hold meaning and hold to the things I say. But I am extremely flawed.

I always wonder how many people out there wear masks to cover up their secrets. How many people walk around with personas that dont meet eye level with who they really are. Or what they're really doing. I read peoples work and I hang out with people who I know dont show their true colors 100% of the time. I dont think many people do. And that kinda scares me for truths sake. How are we supposed to decipher fact from fiction if all of us are too afraid to admit that the facts aren't always picture perfect? Real... is becoming endangered.

I was discussing my recent ex girlfriend sexcapade the other day with my brother. The act, in itself, was hypocritical. I said I would never go back there again. Even in previous posts, I said I was 'proud of my self restraint' and whatever. But I did. I completely gave into temptation and sexual tension. So he asked me how I was feeling about the hole situation and I kinda gave him a round about answer at first. Tried acting macho and apathetic and said

" I told her I didn't do this to get into some emotional bullshit. It just kinda happened. And I donno where she's at in her head with this, but I know that I was just trying to get the tension off the table and get it in."

I took a drag off my cigarette and looked up at the sky. It was clear. No clouds. No trails from airplanes. Just a vast, open, honest sky. I looked over at him and confessed

" Actually, I'm not gonna lie. Thats all bullshit. Having sex with her brought back some feelings. It probably wasn't the smartest thing for me to do. Sex kind of pollutes the mind and right now, I feel drawn back to her."

He said he understood.

Being honest about my hypocrisy didn't feel good. It made me want to sigh and put my head on the table. I felt like I let myself down. Like I let my heart down. And I hope that someday, I'll be strong enough to not have to be honest about my short comings but instead... be honest about my strength and balance and self control.

However, I have taken my mask off. I can look myself in the mirror and admit that I am not doing things I should be. I am not afraid of the truth... I just dont necessarily like it...

My truth... is that I just dragged my broken heart into an arena filled with more nothings. With unanswered phone calls, rekindled lost feelings and hurting myself

more than I already was.

Things that are fucking awkward

Well, I have had an interesting past few days here in my world. I dont have any other way to really explain it. But I feel like I should make a list of really uncomfortable situations. Thats pretty much all I've encountered.

So to go along with the title, here are Things that are fucking awkward:

1.) Walking out of your room at 3 in the morning to your dad petting the dogs in the nude. I understand we are all animals and this is his home, but please... please... put some pants on.

2.)Seeing someone you know in the locker room at the gym. In any other scenario, going over to them and saying 'whats up' and giving them daps is acceptable but when I'm ass naked and bending over and trying to put my clothes on and you come over and say hey, could you at least wait till my junk is covered? Thank you.

3.) Going to a recruiting center wearing really flamboyant colors and a pink sweat band on your arm that says 'Boys make the best Pets'. I know D.A.D.T still exists but I totally didn't think about my choice of attire. Sincerely. And I'm not gay, I just wanna boogy to some Marvin.

4.) Becoming the third wheel in an argument. It doesn't take long before objectivity turns into being an object. I didn't sign up for this. I didn't wear my team colors for the occasion. I can't do much besides laugh at the intensity and the bold statements and hope for silence. Really. Ugh...

5.) Those first moments after having sex with your ex girlfriend. Yeah, it may have been great and fun and spontaneous and hot, but I'm pretty sure the last thing I should have said afterward was "That... was random. So now whats the rules?" Ahhhh... what did I do... I think I just gave my heart a one night stand. Er sigh...

6.) Asking an artist to tell you their insecurities to get a better feel of them, and then realizing that its not that simple and you will probably end up having to answer that question first. If you ever want to test your 'open book' policy, try this. If you like to have some sort of wall for protection and self, dont try this. I guess I'm a little more open than my dignity would like for me to be. However, I do have mad respect for the artist for listening and partaking in my exercise. It takes a lot to tell someone that you don't like yourself much. Or tell them you've tried to hang yourself from a pipe in the basement.

7.) Conveying to someone you've never met that you accidentally, sort of, kind of... fell in love with them... For a year. And they didn't know it. But you thought they did. But they had no clue you were breathing. And then you become addicted to their writing. And wake up every day hoping they posted a new blog for your emotions to dive into. And then you step back and put yourself in their shoes and think about how fucking creepy having a you out there would be. Ew... I hate that I'm one of those people. Lame. Shoot me.

8.) Discussing dick size with friends who thought you had a really small penis. Thats self explanatory... I lost my ability to have a good self image after having too many of those fights when things that shouldn't be said, are said. Hence, why I'm insecure. And why I dont like the way I look and dont go around saying I'm the shit and I'm awesome and I can conquer the world. However, if you were to take away all my scars... you'd probably ask me what the hell I'm bitching about.

9.) Walking in on someone in the bathroom. In general. Even if they're just brushing their teeth. You didn't open the door expecting for them to be in there. And they shut the door, expecting it to be a sign for weirdos, like myself, not to come in. But sometimes, when you're drunk and you forget other people slept over and you're not the only one in the apartment, you just gotta look at the person embarrassed, laugh and say 'Well, I guess that could have been a lot worse'. And then not make eye contact with them for a week.

and lastly

10.) Treadmills. Just treadmills. They're 6 by 3 personal bubbles stacked next to each other. And I always feel real paranoid when I'm on them. Maybe because I run barefoot and I crank up the speed to get my mile down to 6 minutes. But regardless, it just always seems the people next to me are trying to race me. And I constantly have this reoccurring feeling of 'Oh shit, I'm about to trip and hit my face on the electronics and fall and get launched backwards at 8 miles per hour at the poor people behind me who had to watch this happen'.

And this concludes my Things that are fucking awkward section. I think I covered everything.

Just an everyday thing

Born and raised in the zoo I grew up caged in an animal
the only language I speak
is between my family of cannibals.
Mechanical, tyrannical verses
spitting worse then camels
except mine look to hurt.
Coming out the gates now, move out of my way now,
I got coins in my pockets and I'll show
you how to make changes now
take some lessons and twist them into a message
dancing around minds like I'm one two
steppin and I'm not stopping
I'm just getting started
startin my lines off beat
d wade and king james,
i'm still bringing the heat.

and I'm speaking from a different place now,
much needed
lasso my mind back grab it back from outer space and
Spaceships cant find me, NASA gave up the search,
I took off from this planet after the last time I was hurt.
Blast me past drake and weezy, I'm in a different solar system.
I left some pieces of my self behind and I'm startin to miss em.
My pride, my ability to listen, the times I could come home
to a girl friend and a dog and kiss em.
Diss me if you want to, I got a tough shell.
Everyones walked over me
because I've living in hell.
Words are what I sell, but I dont get a profit
I smoke the rest of my shit
after I off it,
get off it,
this still isn't yours.
Swore to myself I'd never sleep with the lord
but I did lung fuck, a virgin to Mary,
lit her like a torch,
sat out side banging it out all night
just me and her on my porch
with a can of whip cream, some ballons and ghb
woke up the next day
and I couldn't even feel me.
Sick of feeling down, took 2 or 3 oxys
and let the trees look up at me.
I became a giant.
Full of silent manical viruses,
splitting time releases in half to get twice as nice
as I was yesterday,
and the day before that,
and last week.
Sometimes I couldn't even brush the crumbs of drugs outta my teeth.
I'm not flossing.
I'm not proud either.
It became a wound that I laughed at and picked at and watched it bleed
deeper and deeper,
put my mind in a sleeper
hold on the conscious,
I'll take a bit of this and some more of that till I get nauseous.
Its just
fuckin amazing.
But I had no clue what I was saying
or exactly what I was relaying through my actions,
the fuck is this? the attack of the addicts? already calling me back for his rations?
my rationale was in the gutter, along with my life
guarding my insides from admitting
this was simply just committing suicide.
Jokes, cliches. Dope and black out days.
Laying around lazy waiting for life to push me out of this maze,
unscathed, blind sighted and stumbling,
fumbling through insights and fighting through mumbles and
it didn't take long before people started to catch on.
Dude is a high on and his brains fucking gone,
speeding threw life, man, and he's barely hanging on
going along with the pace, the beginning has just began,
scraping bottomless dressers and basements trying to piece together bongs
trying to piece together highs
while escaping from my wrongs.
Mixing up my medicine, Grays Anatomy
I'm Dr. Haun but
I got my problems and I still live with my mom.
At least where she took her last breath,
told me she loved me
and went somewhere else in my arms.
I called it cancer from the don, the head master in disguise,
the universe threw curve balls at my life,
landing hurt in my understanding
of cost and
demand.
So I'm standing on my own,
lonesome and doing dope.
And every time I came down, I was putting knifes to my throat,
I'd be lying if I said I didn't know how that felt,
or how easy it is to tie your neck to a belt and jump off a chair,
dangle your feet in the air, gasping for air
giving me seconds to see if I still fuckin care.
I didn't.
I still dont.

And I'm still wondering when I will.

I miss that

Some days, I really wish I was capable of giving awesome, bone rattling advice. The type of stuff you read and feel like a door just opened into a part of your mind you never decided to walk into. Like a deep breath or a cold shower. Something refreshing and right out of the box.

Even with my 'life experience', my trials and tribulations, loss, addictions... even with all those things in my pocket, I have zero to teach you. I have nothing prolific or profound or enlightening to share. Nothing to shake loose what ever idea your stuck to right now. Really. I am fucking lost.

I constantly battle back and forth with... well, everything. I would love to know if there's going to be a point in my life where I'm just going wake up. Fully. Not just for a few weeks or months, but actually step up this ladder and not fall back down. I'm beginning to think life is just a bunch of circles. Sometimes they overlap and sometimes they don't complete the full 360 but mostly, they just repeat. Cycle after cycle. Year after year.

Yesterday was balls. Big ones. My brother told me about the Mercury Retrograde that just started on the 30th of last month, and being that I was trying to find any feasible way to rationalize my bad news and head ache, I just accepted the astrological theory. I'll blame everything bad and unfair on that until he tells me its over. Sounds like a holiday for my bad habits to come out and play.

So last night, I went out. And yes, I got silly. But I needed that. Yesterday was a total reason for me to go do some dirty nonsensical debauchery. Mass drinking, fist pumps, bad djs, ex girl friends, dancing on boxes, early morning Stake and Shake, friends puking out of my back window while ordering, pictures, and cocaine. Ugh. It was one of those nights.

I'm struggling with my demons again. On all levels. I've noticed my moderation has grounded itself quite significantly but my temptation impulse is soooo.... bad. I'll admit it. Regardless of if I can say no once or twice, that third time I usually say yes. And I justify it to myself. "Well, you passed earlier today, and while they were smoking a second ago, but NOW... now is now and I've already been a big boy and now I can reward myself for being such an 'adult'".... thats pretty much how I've began to think. Pretty dumb...

Running into my ex was surprisingly fun. But I'm pretty sure its just because I'm lonely and we were vibing. She was on e and I was just drunk tryin to teach her how to dougie. It was a good time. So she came back home with us and we broke out the blow and went skiing and... I donno... there was just this good tone we had going between us.

I'm a natural baby sitter for rollers and she knows this. This included me wrapping her up in the most comfortable, delicious blankets I could find, packing all of the bowls with beautiful different blends and hand smoking them for her, back massages, good talks, good music, etc. I just know x like its my sister. I know the emotional level to it. I know the weird brain stutters and miscommunications and how easy it can be to sink into a demonic space if your not in the right energy.

At one point she looked over, all bundled up laying on her stomach and said,

" God, I'm so glad I came over here. I knew when you left the bar that I should have just came with you guys. You're always so good to me".

Then, for the next 5 hours of the night, I pretty much sat in silence. I shut down. And it was totally because I got a good dose of self awareness.

-I'm hanging out with a girl who I've spent the past 6 years of my life developing a history with. Romantically, intoxicated, barbaric break up filled history. Rollercoastering to this space, to this vibe, to this night.

- I'm very physically comfortable with her. Likewise, I'm still sexually attracted to her. Both things = not a good sign for my lil heart.

and lastly, like I said

- I am a very lonely person when it comes down to it.

So at a certain point of the night, after the back massages and the flirting and the drugs had ceased, I had this undying urge to cuddle with her. Simply that. And I'm a really strong advocate of saying whatever I have cooking in this mind of mine. Rarely filtered. But I was knee deep in that awareness; flipping through all the asinine domestic disputes, the punching holes in walls and bath tubs, the cheating, the lies, the past. And I battled... for hours... fighting that temptation and the need for a body next to mine.

It got awkward. We were just tweaking and not talking and couldn't sleep and chain smoking and everything I just mentioned was lingering in the air with our smoke. I could feel it, I know she had to. Eventually, I just started messing around and got on the couch with her in a weird position and started rubbing her feet. I miss that... I miss a lot of things...

I guess that need for company and snuggling and cute stuff isn't bad or unreasonable. Its natural. Its just not okay with her. I can't go back to those feelings. I might be slipping in some areas of my life I told myself not to. And I will deal with those accordingly. But this is one I'm glad I delayed for as long as I did and fought off as well as I could.

However, I am currently accepting applications for a cuddle buddy. Starting asap.

technology: die you bastard

I'm going to shoot my computers.

I came home today after a few days away. Maybe 4, tops. And sure enough, all of my technological assets have become disabled, diaper wearing nothings.

First, I went to my laptop. That things old, but it has 30 billion ideas and pages of brainstorms and projects, including my current project I'm working on. And... sure enough, the damn thing wont boot up. It wont even boot up the installation disc for windows! Sweet...

So then I go to my desktop. That things even older but it has even MORE old essays, rants, pictures from vacations, etc- on it and sure enough... well, it works ( obviously, seeing how I'm writing right now). But, after scoping out my desktop, I realize... ALL OF MY FILES HAVE BEEN DELETED! Everything... I can't even find Firefox with out strip searching my hard drive. COME ON!!!

I'm trying to think of this in a positive way but I can't at all. I was thinking 'maybe this is just a sign I need to start over with a blank slate and that all my writing needed to be erased so I can begin new archives and evolve'. But really though... those were my memories. Those were the things I go back through and laugh at my stupidity or my careless emotions or my amazing ability to write 6 page essays on books I never read.

I did a lot of good this week. I helped my brother do a bunch of shit. I'm attempting to get back on the mentor wagon and start helping teach again. I went out with people and started doing again and started putting a little more effort externally instead of internally and what happens?... I lose more of myself.

I question karma constantly. What the hell did I do? I could go really deep with that one but I'm just gonna focus on this little chunk of life. What did I do this week that wasn't good? Yeah, I slipped a little on my addictions. Nothing major though. I didn't steal anything. I didn't hurt anyone's feelings. I didn't yell or project negative energy or anything NEGATIVE... everything was positive and yet I still get the good old finger from the universe. Well, right back at you mother fucker! I'm watching my own back from here on out.

Ugh... I'm going out tonight and getting sloppy. Fuck all this.

Spaghetti

I went over to my neighbs late the other night. My brother decided to wake her up by pounding on her bedroom window and scaring her out of her sheets. Probably terrifying, but funny at the same time. I walked in and asked her if she had anything for me to put in my stomach. She said Ms. Rowdy had made spaghetti that night and it was the worst thing she had ever tasted. In her words, it tasted 'like fart'. Out of curiuosity, I had to taste this recipe. I'm kind of a rat when it comes to food anyway; even if it literally tasted like fart, I would have still ate it because its free.

I laughed at her remark but had to ask her if she told Rowdy it was horrible.

"Oh, no. I just said I wasn't that hungry. I didn't want to hurt her feelings or nothing, I mean, everyone else said they liked it... "

In unison, my brother and I looked at each other, chuckled and said

" Or at least they said they liked it."

I tasted it. I ate a bunch of it actually. And I'll admit, it wasn't awesome or something I'd recommend to anyone else. But it wasn't gag worthy or disgusting necessarily, it just wasn't seasoned right. Regardless, Rowdy left that night thinking she made dinner for her friends and that they loved it. When really, the truth was hidden behind the rest of soon-to-be thrown out left overs in the fridge afterwards.

I have an honesty complex. I call it a complex because I've began to realize how rare brutal, blunt honesty is to come across. And for me, its a must in order get some sort of objectivity to grow from. But I've found it easier for people to blatantly lie to someones face- about their choice of hair color, wardrobe, music taste, etc- instead of telling them the truth and letting them know that "no, that shirt does not match those shoes" or "no, that color does not look good on you" or "no, that music makes me want to stab my ears." I understand being sensitive. I understand being considerate. I understand fear of conflict and whatever else but what I dont get is why its so hard for someone to just simply say how they feel and put it on the table. Lay it out, and dont make it insulting or hurtful but just... real.

I need that real. I need that level of criticism and nothing less. Fighting this good fight is... a fight. Its not easy. Its not a walk in the park. Its an obsticle course. You have to jump around cliches and avoid generic topics and continually pace yourself to keep your identity and a unique voice. And when I read my work to people, or recieve responses from people about my work... its becomes almost scripted; they are going to say "Man, that was awesome. Good stuff!" or "Yeah, that was really good" and that shit never propells my artistic development. It just makes my writing plateau. I feel like "Thank you" has about as much substance behind it as "hello" or "how are you" when I say it now; its lowered itself from a sincere level of humbling appreciation to boring, repetitive small talk.

Maybe its insecurity that drives this need. Maybe the truth is that some of what I write is actually 'good stuff' and I'm just really bad at taking compliments. But I can't help but think that sometimes, when I leave the room, that the people who read my work or hear me perform tell others it tasted like fart. And personally, I WANT TO HEAR THAT STUFF! I dont want these candy coated responses. Even if I do write or perform or say something awesome, I would almost prefer to recieve a " That was good but I think you should.... (blank)". Give me a building block. Give me an obsticle to maneuver around or something to push me higher.

I dont want to be intimidating. I dont want artists to approach me to do projects and accept every idea I spew out as being right or usable. I want to be rejected. I want to be told 'that just sucks'. I want you to break me down so I can grow and become a better me. Challenge me. Shove my face into my mistakes and my short comings. I am a flaw. Personified and breathing so

dont let me think I'm anything more than a work in progress.

Today I was a good friend. I was up and ready to go take that fucking military test this morning (again, for the 20th time) and my brother asked me beforehand if I would drive with him to Ohio to buy a car.

I thought about it for a little. On one hand, I know I gotta get my life moving in some direction and if I take the ASVAB, my score is good for 2 years. It'd just be a positive thing to have in my back pocket when I make up my mind. On the other hand, I can take that test any Monday. And this car, that my brother had searched and been patient for and looked at different models and prices, could potentially not be there tomorrow. Likewise, he and I might not have time to get it even if it was still available.

So I decided to help him out and tag along on the most boring, LAME 'road trip'. Ever. Cleveland is like soft core porn. Just a let down. Who ever wrote the song about it rocking needs to go back and change it to sucking. Fuck Ohio. That state shouldn't exist.

On to other news, I've noticed everyone and their grandmothers sincerely think they are Americas Next Top Model. They dont even need the show anymore; apparently, all it takes is a camera and some facebook publicity and you can get chicks to get naked and sit on chairs with their asses out. I've considered doing this. Really.

Earlier, I was skimming through the smut posted by old friends and people I forgot about, and I noticed both my ex's ( whore uno and dos) have both taken 'professional' photos. And now, think they are god damn models.

I think its this city that just makes people want to go...anywhere... by any means possible. I'm in that boat. Shit, I'm thinking about throwing myself into a war I dont even fucking believe in just to go anywhere but here, while not focusing on my skill bank and my potential to do what I love instead. So I guess I can't say too much... but I'm still going to.

I dont know if these chicks fully understand what all the begging for votes and views and attention is going to get them into. Its going to bring them into an environment that will destroy them. Specifically, the ghosts in my closet. These chicks are... well... damaged. And not broken like I am; they haven't had they're hearts stabbed by a million other mens cocks.

That sounded very homosexual... what I meant is they've seen some stuff, yeah. But the majority of what they've dealt with has been inflicted by their own actions and mistakes and destruction. Its not like they were dumpster babies or raped or anything; they... fucked their own lives up. And now, when life turns the corner and they realize they have nothing else going for them besides their looks... they jump on the model bus and hope to ride it to hell.

And to hell they will go. Porn stars and strippers in the making. They are so psychologically disturbed and ruined that being subjected to rejection after rejection after rejection isn't going to make these girls stronger...

Its going to take their lives in a really bad direction. They are getting the gratification for being pretty, and 'sexy' and all the stuff they've always wanted and received by 'modeling' but... whats thats going to perpetuate? Thats just going to make these egotistic heart monsters become even colder. And even less sensitive. And even less intelligent. I mean, at least bring some talent to the table. A nose job and getting your teeth fixed isn't fixing the real issue. Getting a job at a strip club isn't fixing the real issue. THOSE PROBLEMS ARE IN HERE! And no ammount of photoshop or make up or distracting body parts is going to fill that void.

I hate being a dick. Its not something I enjoy. I'm a nice dude and I mean well and even with everything I just said- its all coming from a place of concern more so than a place of hate (even though I still want karma to fist fuck them somewhere down the line, thats not in my control, nor do I fixate on that happening). However, maybe this is their karmic debt. Maybe posting these desperate, cliche pictures and entering these little modeling contests is going to teach them some very needed lessons.

Whatever happens happens. I just wish more people would start focusing on their talents/ acquiring a talent rather than coasting through life with their fucking looks. I saw through the pretty eyes and the bodies. I saw the real people. And they need work. Alot.

Dont we all.

Toy Stores

Heres the intro.

She wore his heart like an accessory.
Just another addition.
Not as fashionable or fancy but on rare days,
when her mood was right,
she put him on and wore him out.

Let the beat build.

Construction of destroyed hope into promises never fulfilled,
crumbling skyscrappers and towers to remake them with tooth picks
elmers glue
and it was only a matter of time before a simple gust of wind
could bring him down.
Unprotected and vulnerable
softer with every I Love You,
every 5 hours on the phone and 20000 texts
and when his foundation was shaking loose
she would tell him
that he was all she could have asked for.
Not to worry and to trust her because if he didn't,
they would fall apart.

Crescendo.

Marrionet feelings strung together by someone she wasn't.
Using personalities like a printing press
and everyday brought with it new headlines wrote by someone else,
lived in different shoes and only read about.
Hidding behind cover stories and poetry she didn't write
telling him
this is about you,
this is for you,
I wrote this because of you and
you
are all I could have asked for.

Heart puppetry. He moved when she let him.
When she told him to drive to different airports
and watch planes arrive for hours
questioning every face that came out of the terminal
looking at eta's on screens wondering if
maybe she just got on a later flight
or maybe she had luggage issues or
maybe
she was going to jump out from behind all the worry
put her hands over his eyes and
surprise him like he was a little child in toy store
where puppets dont exist.

But his strings had been cut.
Wrapped around someone else in a different life,
in a different city,
tangled with his hands dangling loose
one leg shaking
cracking foundation tied into a situation
he had only read in headlines across news stations
warning about
internet scams and how real they get
when you forget about protecting yourself.

And this isn't one of those songs the builds up to a positive
or explodes down to finished feelings and closure.
It brings this to wrist bands and earrings
to kids getting nothing christmas morning
and ends

with skyscrapers crashing.

Your title will be 'title' and you will deal with it.

Well theres fucking birds out, so I guess the standard for late has officially become extremely early Sunday. I told myself today was a sunrise day. That I would endure whatever last night held and just slam through the darkness.

I might. Its 6. It could take me a while to articulate all of this weird shit.

Not so much weird, I guess. Just... different. And detailed.

The past two nights I've got the opportunity to play camera man. Which is cool. Its nothing I've been taught/ familiar with, but with my overwhelming ability to watch endless hours of movies and tv series, I've began to pick up on shot selection and editing additions that matter. Not that I watch everything with a professional eye at all, just that I recognize quite a bit more than I used to.

I probably fucked a lot of shots up. Thank god there was 2 other cameras besides mine running. Its not like it would necessarily 'matter', but I would like to be able to do something foreign and be good at it. I dont know, we'll see if I shot anything credible.

Holding a camera, even less then 10 pounds, for an hour and 20 minutes... while keeping it as steady as comfortably possible.... while trying to be creative and get shots of guitar solos and close ups of musicians feet and facial reactions... is fucking hard. God damn. I was sweating and out of breath. Fuck p90x, go hold a camera, point it at a tree for an hour and tell me how your back feels.

Tonight was Rowdy Dowdy's birthday shabang. I wanted to volunteer my time for the camera shit, but also knew I wanted to go out and show some love for a good, delicious smelling, weird, laugh worthy, ocean eyed quirky kitten( I realize this is a dumbass description. Thats just what came out). But I pretty much just wanted to go out with the crew, be a good friend, and get stupid on the dance floor to songs about Girls liking money and Guys liking Pussy. Horrible song. Spilled my drink dancing to it though.Really though... Really though... Who... THE FUCK WRITES THAT SHIT! Its like saying dogs like food and cats like food; ya, no shit. Put a fist pumping beat behind it and I'll dance to a song about candles and flip flops. Anyway... I'm pretty hammered and breathing heavy and slipping my spelling on words terrifically. Bare with me.

The bar we went to has some hilarious irony behind it. It used to be called Firehouse. It was lame. They had some hot waitresses and the set up was a bit different, but it was like the half way bar between dancy/ collar popped/ short skirt bar and sit down and have a drink and play pool bar.

Firehouse... burned down last year. Completely. Just caught fire and evaporated. I thought it was destined.

Now its rebuilt and set up a little more eclectic and crammed and is brilliantly renamed... 'The Library'. Once again- I dont know what the fuck/ who the fuck would okay that name, but whatever. People are dumb.

I hadn't been to the bar since the inevitable burning of the structure and when I got in, I realized I pretty much just walked into a high school reunion. I had my folks there who I came to celebrate with, and had nearly every class from 04' to 08' from my school there. Fucking weird. However, it did give me a chance to catch up and tag along with a few old best friends of mine. A few didn't recognize me. I guess my hat and pink sweat band saying 'Boys make good Pets' through them off. It was a great homophobic prop though in conversations. I met alot of gays who loved me. Which is kinky and not what I care about as much as I care about the reaction I get out of the 'gay' 'faggot' word slingers. At one point, my buddy was describing how he met his friend he was introducing me to. He was describing how they convinced a group of dudes to go in on a bet and the winner got drinks. To which I added a tangent remark of ' Oh and then you guys got cool and got a drink and made out and fingered each other'. And because you cant here SHIT in bars, he leaned over and asked what I said and I rephrased what I said-

'You two became buds after getting some dudes to buy you shots and making out with them?'

He punched me in the chest and told me to go fuck myself. Leaned back on the bar and put his chin up and asked 'Psh, what what, I mean what the fuck have you been up to? Huh? Making boys your pets ?' ( Sorry if I made you sound really stupid but I dont think you'll read this. I dont think you read. But I love you if you do. In a very pet like way BUDDY. THATS RIGHT.)

Vegas was there. For a while, she existed in memories and random facebook chats, but shit... it's been almost exactly a year since I had seen her face to face. When I glanced behind me as I was getting my drink and noticed her, I got all giddy and loud and 'OH SHIT LOOK WHO IT IS' all in her face... and got one of those 'Ohhhh... heyyy... you. oh my god like... what are you doing here' responses. It was fucking awkward and not cool.

That encounter bothered me the rest of the time I was there. All I kept thinking about was how insincere and phony that 'hey' was. Was I the only one out of the two of us who saw our late night conversations and hockey game rituals and hanging out and sharing ourselves as something worth remembering?? Really?

All through the night I would make eye contact across the bar with her and pose some clearly unsexy look in her direction and point my finger at her and ask her to come talk. She just looked back at me like I was the weird kid picking his nose with head gear sitting behind you in elementary school. Felt cool. Real cool.

I finally ran into her on the dance floor. I felt like she was being a total bitch to me and I didn't understand it. So I confronted her.

"Why are you being so cold towards me?" I said, leaning in dangerously close to her ear drums.

She shook her head and looked away and said " Brandon saw me dancing with some other guy and got pissed."


.... Brandon... is a guy...she dated... and broke up with... and dated... and broke up with... who is currently NOT FUCKING DATING HER. He actually was accused of raping her. So I said,

" Let go of that shit. What the fuck does he matter?! Fuck him."

She leaned in to tell me something, and in the midst of dancing and trying to act smooth and suave and awesome like I had a point, I leaned in a little too fast... and a little too close... and head butted the shit out of her nose.

That was the end of that. I probably wont talk to her for a while. And if I do, I'll probably end up breaking her nose with my head again like a retard. Call me slick rick. Damn.

I went outside to smoke a cigarette. A few of my old boys joined me for a break. We got to talking, which in drunk terms means yelling over each other and laughing inauthentic and starting sentences half way through. Funny shit if you actually take a step back and listen and not get caught up in it.

Then these two chicks pop out of no where. We all went to school with them; one was a grade above me and one was two grades below me. Both pretty damn attractive. And both really fucking gone.

One of my boys has this awesome but really dickheadish quality of saying 'Hey- Hey- Hey, ya you- show us your tits.'- which became apparently really effective. The younger girl draped her arms around the older one, and passively, casually... let that chick suck on her titty. Right there. In the smoke area. No questions asked. It was beautiful.

I was kind of amazed. Not only at the inhibition, and sexiness of what I just saw, but that these chicks had NO CLUE that they just did that or that they were continuing to do that. Eventually, my boy asked the other girl to show us her boobs... and she pulled out a nipple. Just a slip. I made some comment about how her piercing was classy, mainly because it was the only thing I could think of to say about what just happened.

I lit up my cigarette, laughed with the bunch of them, and by the time I turned around - I had instantaneous boobage right in my face, tongue distance away. And to be real... like really real... I dont give a shit if your a man or a woman- if you have breasticles with sexy little freckles and perfect nipples in front of you, you WILL NOT just say " oh, well hey, those are cool. want a high five?"

I did what any human being would do and suck that nipple like it was the last nipple on earth. Kinky bar sesh. And 5 minutes later, when I reminded her that she just let me suck her titty... I'm pretty sure she had already forgot name. Oh, bars...

Thats pretty much it. Now I'm sitting her sipping on the last of my vodka watching this dull gray sunrise and thinking about how ridonculous last night was. I'm not sure I would really call it fun. I'm not sure I would say it was 'money well spent' or 'my ideal night out'. However, it was a good night for the memory books.

And I can check 'sucking boob in public' off the bucket list.

I wish we would could edit our memories.

In ways, we do. Our views and perceptions decipher what parts of the whole we actually take in. This ego lens can turn a break up into a mutual decision. A fight that can be won by both. A war started and perpetuated by identical ideals. But I'm not talking about the inability to see things universally with the rest of everyone else. More so, splice and erase and have multiple takes on experiences so they dont end up being so damn... irreversible. Wouldn't that be awesome?

For example, I wish I could go back to my first year anniversary ever. First major relationship. One whole year... I wish I could have woke up with her wrapped around me, breathing her speghettio breath in my face. I wish I could have smiled, ran my fingers through her hair, rubbed her ear lobe until she woke up and had her roll over and feel me embrace her, white knuckled, holding us together like a tourniquet and tell her how elated and lucky I am to have been able to spend a year of my life with the most amazing, radtastic, beauty on the face of this planet.


Ah. That would be a good remake. I'd pay for that scene to be re shot and copied over the original version.

But lets rewind it to reality: its my first year anniversary ever. We planned on sleeping in but always had trouble sleeping in the same bed. I'd end up with a corner and she'd have the rest. Gotta love bed hogs. But we wanted to snuggle and it was our big '1 year'- so I compromised.

I woke up to her pacing in and out of the room. Phone to head, arms crossed, panic in her eyes. I was confused. Today was our day. There's nothing that can ruin a year anniversary. Today is meant for being silly and making love and getting high and celebrating us.

She hung up the phone and sat down on the bed facing the window. I was still confused. What was going on?

" I dont know how to tell you this. This is so embarrassing... " she said," but... that was Planned Parenthood and... I guess... I have clamidia. I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry". She began sobbing, holding her legs up to her chin on the verge of a major break down. I could tell she felt guilty and ashamed and cursed and dirty. And every fiber in me was telling me to be supportive and console her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

But I didn't. FUCK THAT. Today was our day. OUR day. I'd excuse a slight misunderstanding, maybe a brief argument over where to go to dinner... but never did I think in my wildest nightmare that such a special day could turn into the most disgusting feeling ever.

I got up, put my shorts on, went to the bathroom and puked. I washed my mouth out with everything I could find. Bleach, soap, peroxide. I instantaneously felt worthless. I didn't want to believe that was even possible. Not just on our anniversary, but in general; I've been with 2 people... 2. Thats it. How does that happen? Did I really deserve that? And if we've been together for a year... does that mean we've had it for this long? Or did she get it else where in between or...

I think I briefly said " I can't believe this" or something minimal but the rest of the day was complete silence. My self esteem dissolved. My ambition for romance, in any way, disappeared. I felt like a toilet. So did our relationship. The big one year present was a doctors visit and a complete loss of trust.

(this sounds like the notebook huh? totally sexy)

It took months for us to gain any form of intimacy back. She became a taped off crime scene for a while. I wouldn't even make eye contact with her. But I knew I couldn't make her feel worse than she already did; I had to just get through my own shit and make sure not to add any more to hers. Difficult, stressful time period.


See, hence why I would LOVE to be able to edit the shit out of that memory. And many others. I like my remake. That story sucks. I dont know why I went there. But I guess the moral is... this lowered my bar for what to expect as an anniversary present?!

ew. ugh. going to bed.