Holy Crap!

I haven't done SHIT today at work. Literally almost nothing. So I was on Statcounter looking up my little anonymous friend when I noticed something, my ass got Fleshbotted.

Now, I had no idea what the hell that meant until I did some digging around (it is hard to look at that site at work) and realized that they posted something of mine.

COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT.

Kidding.

Thank you very much, I am flattered.

Cheese

Dear Mr. Anonymous Commenting Cocksucker

Ok, I have had about enough of it. Look I have absolutely no problem if you want to come here and comment anonymously, I leave that as an option for a reason. But SERIOUSLY, you wanna come here and talk shit to me, call me disgusting, tell me to fucking grow up? That what you want? That make you feel good? Righteous? HUH?

Well listen here you fucker, I already have that covered perfectly fine myself, so thanks for your effort but I have it taken care of.

I watched you since you first commented some “holier than thou” bullshit a few months ago. I know that you have read every single post I have written. I don’t track my readers, but you are a different story. For example I know you have read “The Virgin” more than 5 times. I know you’ve read the “Hotlanta” posts more than once. And I know that you have read my phone sex post numerous times. So you tell me, saint, what your fucking reasoning was? Why did you read some of my most sexual posts over and over again? HUH?

You fucking piss me off, not because of what you say (it is watered down anyways, try a little harder to insult me next time you pussy) but because you do it in such a fucking cowardly manner. Now you listen to me, you anonymous bastard, I don’t give a fuck what you think about me. In fact maybe tonight I’ll go fuck someone in a goddamn church and use the Bible to roll a joint, just for you. Would you like that? HUH?

So you want come here and try to make me feel bad, huh? Try harder you boner. You want to act all righteous and point out the obvious? Keep pointing bitch. You want to throw your religion in my face? Well toss it then cocksucker. You want to feel good about telling me I am a lowlife? Well I hope it helps. Is that what you want? HUH?

Well listen to me you fucking piece of shit, I know what you’re doing…I’m on to you. You sit in your room and jerk off to my posts and you feel bad about it. You then comment and tell me I’m scum (I FUCKING KNOW ALREADY ASSHOLE) so you can feel better about yourself. Then you repeat. I know my writing is good simply because you come home after church and log on to THIS BLOG and read, and don’t you fucking tell me otherwise you fucking bitch. So fucking pray about that.

So, in conclusion, you make ME sick you fucking asshole so fuck off go find someone else to fucking bitch at, you can jerk off to pictures of little boys, you don’t fucking need my blog to get you off. So fuck you fuck off go fuck yourself fucking shut up you fucking fuck I fucking despise you fucker.

FUCK YOU!

Sincerely,

Your unrepentant, asshole, vile, disgusting, sinning, jerking off, fucking, cum spurting, beer drinking, pot smoking, world hating dickhead author Cheese.

National "Make a Fucking Fool Out of Yourself" Day

Every year my friends are incredibly curious about my Halloween costumes, always pestering me but never getting a response.

The reason?

I happen to think of Halloween as national "Make a fucking fool out of myself" day. My costumes have not only increased in the stupidity and outrageousness but have decreased in the amount of clothing I wear. I'm not even going to go into examples.

So this year I intend on carrying on my tradition of making a fucking fool out of myself...by going as one of these fellers.

Only trouble is that I am not one of the chiseled, roid raging, dollar bill attracting men that you see above. I am closer to this dude below.

Should prove to be an interesting evening especially since it will be in the 40s tonight and I will be outside and half naked. Although I bet those cut off collars provide some much needed warmth, kind of a sexy scarf of sorts.

Have fun tonight.

Your esteemed colleague

Cheese

Silence

It goes without saying that certain aspects of a long distance relationship can drive you mad. It isn’t just the distance, but the impersonality of a phone, email or text message conversation. They betray sarcasm and wit, often causing confusing situations which require an obscene amount of time to clear up. I can only properly express myself with the aid hand gestures and my countless facial expressions; which electronic communication fucks me out of. I can actually feel my persona slipping away from me on the phone. I am reduced to a mere voice.

That being said, I still enjoy the conversations immensely and it doesn’t bother me to the point of not wanting them. There is one thing, however, that I can’t get over.

Silence…or the lack thereof.

On the phone one feels the need to fill every blank space with words, however meaningless they may be. There sometimes emerges a need for silent moments, which are simply not possible on the phone. The moments of nothing on the phone always seem so awkward and unnatural, yet in person they are everything. A look or a gesture can cover things that a million words could never express.

I remember how odd it was to hear her over the phone for the first time upon returning, so mechanical and lifeless. I was exhausted and lying on my couch about to (attempt to) fall asleep. We had nothing to talk about, yet I jabbered on and on.

All I wanted was the silence.

The Devolution of a Sinner

“Am I evil? Yes I am.” Diamond Head.

I grew up in a staunch Irish catholic family and was an altar boy for a long time. I volunteered and went on mission trips to the poorest counties in the US. I served communion and worked with kids on their way to be confirmed. I was a good boy, but I was hiding something.

I remember discovering masturbation. I would lock myself in my bathroom and touch myself until I was raw. I knew (or at least thought) that it was wrong, but I could not stop doing it. I remember getting hard and not wanting to, I thought I was evil. Seeing myself cum would provoke guilt until I became a teenager. I was slowly beginning to realize what I was becoming. I got into drugs with the same result, I knew it was wrong but it felt so very good. I could not stop.

I was torn.

I lost my virginity in my parent’s bed. I recall how guilty I felt afterward. I also recall how that guilt faded from a shout to a whisper as soon as my newly devirginized cock found its sloppy wet home again. I was slowly devolving. I was becoming something else, peeling back my skin to reveal something different. I was unwittingly digging through my insides extracting something new and vile. I struggled with those things for a long time until I came to a simple conclusion.

Fuck it.

If this is evil, well than I am evil and it feels fucking good. Years of heavy drinking, drug abuse and sleeping around destroyed my religion to a point that it is almost unrecognizable. I don’t care anymore about my moral compass. I know what is right and what is wrong. I know when I am willing to step into the realm of evil and when I am not. I know the consequences of my choices and I know how to throw caution into the wind.

But you…YOU, are pushing me. Pushing me where I shouldn’t be going. Pushing me where I don’t want to go. Pushing me into Sodom and Gomorrah. Pushing me to become evil.

Pushing me, shoving me.

How is it that you know my perversions better than I do myself? How is it that you know the fantasies that scare me? How did you know about knives? How do you know my sexual mind better than I do?

So you pulled it out of me today, something I did not know I wanted. Something that I don’t want at all. Something that scares me, that angers me, that makes me jealous, something that makes me want to scream. But, something that gets me hard...a video of you with another man.

It would make me wince and grit my teeth in seething anger. It would make me want to punch something. But it would make me want to touch myself, against my will. I would sit there and know it felt good for you, I would watch your face contort with pleasure and I would cringe. I would grow hard and wish I was not. I would not be able to turn away. I don’t want to watch it but I know I do. No, you know I do. You bring out the worst in my sex. You bring out the insults, slapping, choking, knives and vile behavior that I have tried so hard to resist.

But resist no more.

I remember how I wanted to tell everyone about how I had discovered masturbation; it was awesome so how could I not? Then my shame hit me and reminded me what I had been taught. It was wrong…no…it was evil. The same is true with you. I want to tell everyone about this vile little thing I have rotting inside of me, but I am ashamed. I am ashamed to admit all the horrible and demeaning things I want to do to you. I am ashamed to admit all the degrading things I want you to do to me.

I am ashamed and I am evil.

But that does not mean I’m going to stop.

Saw that gap again today.
While you were beggin' me to stay.
Take care not to make me enter.
If I do we both may disappear.

I will choke until I swallow.
Choke this infant here before me.
What is this but my reflection?
Who am I to judge and strike you down?

But you're pushing and shoving me.
You still love me and you pushit on me.
Rest your trigger on my finger.
Bang my head upon the fault line.

Take care not to make me enter.
Cause if I do we both may disappear.

But you're pushing me, shoving me.
Pushit on me.

Slipping back into the gap again.
I'm alive when you're touching me.
Alive when you're shoving me down.
But I'd trade it all for just a little bit of piece of mind.

Put me somewhere I don't wanna be.
Seeing someplace I don't wanna see.
Never wanna see that place again.

Saw that gap again today as you were begging me to stay.
Managed to push myself away, and you, as well.
If, when I say I may fade like a sigh if I stay.
You minimize my movement anyway.
I must persuade you another way.

There's no love in fear.

Staring down the hole again.
Hands upon my back again.
Survival is my only friend.
Terrified of what may come.
Just remember I will always love you.
Even as I tear your fucking throat away.

But it will end no other way.

It will end on other way.

"Pushit" Tool.

EDIT: My sincerest apologies to all fans of British heavy metal as my stupid ass misattributed the lyrics to "Am I Evil" to Metallica instead of Diamond Head. I will now flog myself to make this right.

Annually

It happens every year without fail. The leaves start to change and so does something inside of me. I start to feel it as the temperature drops. I have never been able to define what it is, but I know it is there. The trouble is that a gloomy fall usually leads to outright depression once the winter comes. I remember my college professors telling me that I performed in the spring and summer but skipped class and half-assed through the fall and especially the winter. Last year I rarely left my house, my friends worried about me, some thought I was back in the depths of heroin addiction. I remember a conversation I had with TBF last winter about my mood.

“What’s wrong, Cheese, I have lived with you for three years now and this happens every year.”

“It’s the end of football season, breaks my heart.”

“Seriously, dude.”

He is a strange kid, one reason we are such good friends, and can always tell when something is wrong with me. I didn’t really have an answer for him, I had never really thought about it until then, but he was right. I sink into horrible depression this time every year. Last year it was when I started drinking heavily and using cocaine again. I had lost my job (3 fucking days before Christmas) and was unemployed for almost two months. I had no savings, no ambition, no will, no care, no concern and no real desire to continue in the world of corporate bullshit. I ran up $2500 in credit card debt and managed to be drunk by three in the afternoon everyday. I drove smacked off my ass, fist fought, carried a pistol constantly, snorted and sold drugs, cheated on my (then) girlfriend and essentially swore off any help that anyone tried to provide.

I was a mess.

With the change in season comes an obvious drop in temperature which greatly affects my outlook, not while I am awake but while I am asleep. I dream constantly and have been blessed / cursed with a peculiar talent, lucid dreaming. It manifests itself differently for each individual it affects and for me it typically only happens during pleasant dreams. Being self-aware in a happy dream (ESPECIALLY sexually natured ones) is an amazing experience which helps to clarify the things that happen in waking life.

The opposite is true for nightmares.

They say that sleeping in a cold room will cause nightmares; I, for one, believe that whole heartedly. I also believe that ones dreams (or nightmares) seriously affect the day that follows. I had the worst nightmares of my life during those two jobless months. Meg would tell me that I woke up screaming at the top of my lungs. My roommates would find me asleep on the couch having horrifying conversations with my “executioner.” I would sit up with my eyes wide open and scream like I was being stabbed, typically jarring all of the eight guys that I lived with. Waking up from those dreams is a truly terrifying experience.

When I finally got a job things started to look up, but I still had a long way to go. My depression carried over into the spring again until I thought I was not going to be able to deal with it anymore. Everything kept going wrong, it seemed like my life was being attacked from all sides. It was at that point that I started writing this blog, I can’t even remember what I called it then or what the catalyst was that started it.

I have been going back and reading a lot lately and I have found that I don’t quite recognize the author of this blog anymore. Since I began writing here I have found it easier to deal with a lot of the fears I have and the trials I go…er put myself through. I started thinking about this on the way to work today, as this was the first truly cold morning we have had. I woke up and my sheets were soaking with my cold sweat, the window was cracked open. The nightmare was fading out of my mind quickly as I tried to grasp for a memory. I saw myself in a mangled car wreck with tears in my eyes, can’t remember if anyone was in the passenger seat. A terrifying dream which should have condemned this day, but for some reason has not affected it.

I digress.

So here I stand at the crossroads, as the autumn winds come in from the west. I have learned a lot, mostly about myself, in these past few months. Things I thought I would never talk about, I talked about. Things I would never admit, I have admitted. I am slowly sorting through the attic of insanity inside of my head. So, as I stand here with the changing seasons I wonder if I will fall into my winter hibernation yet again. I have a few things to help me keep myself in check including (but not limited to) fragile sobriety, a sexy ass woman, a FINALLY bug free apartment and a lack of toxic relationships. This time around I feel like I can beat the winter, I feel somewhat stronger since admitting to myself all of the horrible things I have seen and done in this blog. If it comes down to it and there really is no hope, well than I will always have at least one thing to keep me somewhat sane…

…this blog.

Danger and the Knife

Boring, ordinary and bland are simply not my style. I have always been attracted to excitement, risk and especially danger. My love of the dangerous has put me in numerous dubious situations over the years, but it has molded me into the person I am today. It has led me to make poor decisions and forced me to learn a great many things the (very) hard way. Be it the drinking and drugs, the fast driving, the people I have associated with, the fighting or the women I have been attracted to, all of them are out of an inherent love of danger. The trouble it has caused me is immense, but I would not take back a single choice.

There are too many people out there who have never seen the darker side of this world, I am happy not to be counted among them.

Your wrists and ankles are bound tightly, the rope leaving red marks on your tender flesh. Your eyes gaze at me from your vulnerable position on the bed. In them I see a mix of excitement and fear. The blade is freezing and reflects the sunlight like an icicle on a sunny winter day. I move it close and run it across your cheek, producing a shiver which runs up your spine.

“Don’t move.”

You can feel the blade’s cold kiss even after it has been removed from your flesh. You ask me if it is sharp. Running it across my chest produces a deep red line across my breast. The slow release of blood from the rift provides your answer. There is no pain, for it is sharp as a razor’s edge. I have a desire to fulfill, something which has been burning in me for a long time.

I need your flesh on mine.

The dull side of the knife on your stomach draws yet another shiver from your body. My eyes gaze their warning into your brain. I will not warn you again. I pull the knife upwards, slicing through the sheer top you are wearing, gradually revealing your milky skin to my stare. The blade travels up until it is free of the fabric, resting below the pool at the bottom of your neck. I flip it over and gently graze it downward across your breast. My body follows the path of my instrument as we continue our descent.

The delicate line the icy knife traces across your stomach is followed by the warmth of my lips. Polar opposites, one right after another, create a sensation in your burning pussy which compels you to fight against your bonds. I slide the knife into your panties as you hold totally still, waiting for the inevitable. It easily separates the lace from your body, revealing more to my eyes.

I allow the edge to take the place of my lips and follow the course my kisses normally would up and down your thighs. I can feel you struggling against your restraints, even though you know your efforts are futile. The knife slowly traces the curve of your leg as it inches toward your naked burning sex. It creeps closer and closer, I can see the fear in your eyes and feel your heart beating as the dull side makes contact with your lips.

“Trust me.”

Your compliance compels me to reward you. Your cunt is leaking all over my sheets, I can see it pouring out and running down your ass. I place the flat blade against your stomach as I begin to slowly lick up the mess I have created. I pull you into my mouth and suck the nectar out of your hole, savoring every drop I receive. The knife continues to trace from your breast to your stomach to its resting place just above your clit.

“Do you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“Do not move.”

My tongue floats back and forth across your clit as I slowly slip two fingers into you. You begin to lift your ass off the bed, but are pushed back down under the threatening touch of the knife. My delicate kiss on your pussy has melted away into urgency, my two fingers curl inside of you, extracting your juice for my pleasure. I can feel you starting to quiver; you release the warm flood into my mouth while letting out a cry. All the while your body remains completely still, paralyzed by the fear.

I lift myself off of you and slowly trace the blade back up your torso, coming to rest on your throat. You stare into my eyes as I hold the knife to your throat but you do not speak. I kiss you and tell you to be ready, the pressure of the weapon increasing slightly as I push my cock inside of you. Your mouth opens and your eyes roll back but you do not move and you do not speak. Your eyes give me the signal, tell me you are ready. I cross the threshold and am completely inside of you now; you stare directly into my eyes. I can see your fear, I can smell your fear and I can taste it.

“Trust me.”

Scents and Subtle Sounds

There are many subtle moments which occur in the world around us. Things that we miss and things we take for granted, small fragments of time which pass quickly if paid no mind. They are fleeting times when a look or sound can change everything. Much too difficult to explain, they exist out of sight and out of mind. Once noticed, however, they become moments of true beauty which never end. Catching these small glimpses of time will burn the image into your brain, leaving you forever changed. If you simply slow down, you can find them. Open your eyes and see for yourself.

If you would only start to live
One moment at a time
You would, I think, be startled
By the things that you would find

Like scents you never noticed
And many subtle sounds
Like colors in the landscape
And textures of the town

Then the winds would lift you up
Into the sky above
And you'd be treted to a view
Of everything you love

And if the moment passes
You should try it once again
For if you do it right
You'll find the moment never ends

If you would stop and notice that we number every day
But allow the many moments left uncounted slip away
You don't have count them, just enjoy them one by one
And things will take a different hue and sparkle in the sun

The winds will lift you into the sky

The winds will lift you into the sky above
Where you will see a trail of treasure, memories you love
A rainbow record of the thoughts, the moments you've enjoyed
Arcs behind the earth as spectral colors in the void
In the void

"Scents and Subtle Sounds" Phish

Catching a Cab (New York Part 6)

It was not the “last day” that I had expected, not bad, just not what I expected. She was ailing (as I had broken her) so we laid around all day watching football and sleeping. She wore her Brett Favre T-shirt that she had bought for the expressed purpose of irritating the shit out of me. She was quite successful. I apologized too many times that morning so she told me to shut the hell up and not to mention it again. There were only a few hours left, I knew it was wrong to waste them on apologies.

The last few hours were so very bittersweet. It was a mix between making fun of each other and lying in bed talking about how badly we did not this to end. I told her the truth about Cincinnati; I did not want to go back. As if I haven’t let it on nearly enough...

…I fucking hate it here.

I wanted to stay with her so badly it literally hurt, but there was something else as well. I did not want to return to the daily grind and have to fight the everyday urge to kill a 12 pack by 9:00 every night. I didn’t want to go back to my mounting credit card debt. I didn’t want to go back to my dwindling social life. There was a lot I did not want to return to. The little “vacation” had done wonders for my mindset, but it was speeding toward its end.

What to say….

The time was fast approaching and it was not getting any easier to say goodbye. I went to the store on the corner to get cab fare and $9 cigarettes. I stood outside down the street from her house, smoking and contemplating how badly the return flight was going to suck. I went into the store, paid and left. The walk back to her place was not more than two minutes but it took me ten. My head was a mess and I did not know what to make of the situation I had put myself in.

We stayed in her bed until it was time to go. She held me and reminded me that everything was ok, she wasn’t going anywhere and I had a real chance to change shit in my life. I did and still do believe her. She told me that I would be a good teacher, a dream I had long since given up on. She saw my desire to do good in this world that had been buried by years of abuse from others and myself. I had not idea what to think at that moment, I was so completely overwhelmed by the whole weekend that I couldn’t process what was happening.

I packed my bag and said goodbye to her roommate, before walking out the door. She sat close to me on the stoop while I smoked and tried not to blow it in her face. I was trying very hard to keep from breaking down and I could see in her eyes that she was trying to do the same. My heart held her so tightly while my head prepared for the inevitable.

It was time.

I held her hand as we walked down to the corner. She started to cry when we stopped walking. So did I. I didn’t know what to say but my mouth did not stop moving. She told me to be quiet and just stand there. I could feel my insides tearing themselves apart as I raised my hand to hail a cab. I kissed her and told her that I loved her, her warm tears coating my cheek.

The horns started to honk and the cabbie looked at me, he understood our predicament but it was time to go. I threw my bag in the van and kissed her one last time. She broke down as the cab pulled away; I had my hand out the window waving like a dumbass for the next 3 blocks. Watching her disappear in the back window of that cab broke my heart. To see her so sad killed me. Having to go home crushed me.

Going back to being alone…..destroyed me.

I put my head in my hands and tried to keep my tears from the cabbie.

What have I done?

I went there and I fell in love, in a weekend, but it felt more real than the three long and painful years I spent with Meg. Three days replaced three years and I lifted my head up to dry my eyes. I turned on Siamese Dream as we left Manhattan, letting Billy Corgan sing my pain for me.

We pulled up to JFK, I tipped the cabbie and left. I sat there on the sidewalk watching the people pass by, speeding off into the night.

I just sat there smoking and staring off into space, completely frozen in that moment.

No Rest For The Weary (New York Part 5)

I was up a good two hours before her; the sun was still hidden behind the buildings. I couldn’t sleep worth a shit; I just kept tossing and turning. There was no rest for the weary. I stayed in bed watching her sleep and occasionally getting up to go to the bathroom or smoke. She slept deeper than anyone I had ever stayed with before. I could have jumped on the bed and not woken her.

I went out on her balcony and lit a cigarette, thought about last night…and the terrible headache I had. The morning after a night like Saturday night is a very sobering event. Typically I go through a hangover curing regimen of throwing up, getting high, beating myself up and apologizing/making excuses for my stupid behavior. This morning was different.

The pavement was cold on my bare feet and the cigarette hurt my lungs. My head pounded and my stomach ached from my abuse. I looked in on her on the way to the bathroom, seeing she was still asleep, ever so peaceful. What had I done?

I got back into bed and realized that it was today or never.

Sunday.

I had never dreaded a Sunday so much in years. She rolled over and smiled at me a little after 8:00, I had twelve hours to fix this. No whining, crying (like a little bitch), excuse making or lying, just telling her that I am stupid as all hell and that I was sorry. What else could I do? Her eyes held a lot less hurt than last night, mine apparently had gotten worse.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Staring at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen.”

I slowly began to slide my fingers between her legs. Her hips thrust toward me, telling me that she needed it as much as I did. I climbed on top of her and made up for my failure last night. We stared at each other, unblinking. The intensity was incredible, I felt like it was much more than sex. We released all the tension of the night before under her duvet as she wrapped her legs around my hips. She would not let me pull out; her moans were half pleasure and half relief (mine were all relief) and her smile grew as I grinded against her. I held myself inside of her, feeling her twitch and quiver under me, kissing her forehead and whispering in her ear.

Our sweat mingled as I felt my redemption. I watched my fear slip away; she had fucked it out of me. I pulled out of her and came on her stomach and breasts before falling back down on her and rubbing my mess into us, she laughed. I’ll be perfectly honest in saying that hearing her laugh felt better than coming on her. Relief swelled through me. A got a towel and we cleaned up before laying back down to fuck again.

Maybe there is rest for the weary.

We walked to Soho and had brunch in the late morning. We sat outside and stared at each other, occasionally talking (mostly listening to the stupid women next to us talk about men and their uncircumcised penises) and eating our breakfast. She held my hand as we walked back to her apartment. I sat outside smoking while she went into the pharmacy. I thought about how hard it was going to be to leave in a few short hours. I thought about how everything I had in Cincinnati was nothing that I wanted. I thought about missing my flight. I thought about a lot of things that I should not have. I just thought.

She walked out and began telling me a story about a shitty waitress. Things seemed like they were ok again. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked at me for what seemed like an hour.

“I love you,” she finally said.

I will never forget hearing that.

Maybe there is rest for the weary.

Houston and Orchard (New York Part 4)

She looked good that night. She looked damn good. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her at dinner as we ate and drank our bottle of wine. It was chilly and I held her hand as we waited for a cab to the art show. They were serving absinthe, which was terrible. The show was amazing; I think half the fun was mocking the art snobs. We walked to the burlesque show where I proceeded to drink more and more. I realized it while I was fucking her in the seedy bathroom in the basement of the Slipper Room.

I was drunk.

I couldn’t concentrate on our sex. I made an excuse and we went back up to the show, she knew.

“No more Maker’s, ok?”

No problem, I just switched to beer instead. Oh and it was hot in there, I think I literally ripped off my undershirt five feet from the fucking stage. I could see myself doing it, but I had no idea what the fuck I was doing. Why in the hell am I drinking?

Memory goes shoddy from here.

Rosario’s Pizza was across the street, we stopped in for slices, I hadn’t had one yet and I was to leave tomorrow. We sat and ate, I have no idea what I was talking about but I had said something that pissed her off.

I looked up and she was gone.

I think I remember watching her walk away and thought she was joking. She called and said she was down the block and that I should come meet her and we would leave. I told her to come get me. She hung up.

At this point I still didn’t realize what the fuck was happening. Then she sent me a text.

“___________ is my address. Take a cab, your shit will be waiting outside.”

Oh.

Fuck.

Memory gets real fucking clear from here on out.

I sat down hard after she didn’t answer the phone. I clawed at my face and cursed myself, people laughing at me as they passed into the night. I was too shocked to form tears; I had thrown this entire thing away. Friday night was wiped clean. Apparently there was still plenty of growing up to do.

Now she knows. You are just a child.

Guilt, rage, terror, sorrow, fear and anger along with a healthy dose of not knowing how the fuck to get back to her house had me tearing myself up inside. I wanted to punch my hand through the brick and push my cigarette through my arm. What had I done, I already knew that I would never forgive myself for this. I wanted to punch and burn, but…well, I didn’t.

I sobered up. I felt it hit me. Friday night was not lost on me, I remembered what changed in me, and my new heart still beat in my chest. “If this is my punishment,” I thought, “well then so be it, at least I will learn.” I stood there, on the corner of Houston and Orchard with my back against the wall and a cigarette burning my lungs. She was gone and I knew that it was over, it was all my fault. At least I would learn.

Her name lit up on my cell phone. She was coming back.

I thought that it was kind of her to come back for me so I didn’t wander around all night, but I still knew that it was over. She was furious. There was no defense for her attacks, I had nothing to say. I didn’t blame it on my drinking or my past and I didn’t lie. I told her the truth.

“I am a fucking fool, I am so sorry.”

She walked a good five feet in front of me. I tried to catch up, but for every step I took she seemed to take ten. “Don’t fool yourself, you idiot, she is gone.” For once it was only P talking. The other voices in my head were dead silent, I was talking to myself. The sorrow was beginning to hit me as the chilly air sobered my step.

There were tears in her eyes as we got in the elevator; she really did care, didn’t she? I suddenly thought of something Benedict Smith always says. “This is what you are, this is….NO.” “This is not who I am, I am merely hiding the real me behind a haze of alcohol.”

“Open your fucking eyes and look at the woman standing right in front of you, you stupid fool.”

OPEN YOUR EYES.

I couldn’t lose her like that, not like that. I suddenly remembered how she looked at me, what she saw in me. I couldn’t say I was sorry enough, I never meant it like that before. Regret poured out of my mouth, I couldn’t apologize enough.

“You are just a kid, I am thirty years old. What am I doing with you?”

That hurt. That hurt a lot, took my breath away. I had never felt so small and pathetic in my life, she had hit me where it hurt the most, where my greatest fear was hiding. I knew all along that one day she would wake up and realize I was a child and then she would leave me. I sat down hard on the bed as tears welled up in my eyes. I could feel them run down my cheeks as I said it.

“You’re right, I’m sorry I ever did this to you.”

I hurt so badly to see her cry, so I told her that I would sleep on the couch, leave tomorrow and she would never have to hear from me again. She said no. She sat down next to me and I took her in my arms. It felt so right, a sigh of relief escaping from my lungs, but it also felt so wrong. Why was she holding me? Why wasn’t she slapping me? Was she actually forgiving me?

Let’s not be too hasty here, we all no you have no luck whatsoever.

I could feel my head starting to hurt as I tried to explain myself and my behavior to her. It was not going well. She said that she was drunk and that we should just go to bed and deal with it tomorrow. I would have stayed up all night to make it right.

I climbed on top of her slowly and gently pushed my way inside of her. I looked into her tear-filled eyes as I held myself inside of her and kissed her forehead. She started to cry. I could see in her eyes how much she loved me and just how badly I had hurt her. I felt my own tears starting to form and fall onto her breast. I had broken my only two promises.

1. Don’t get drunk.

2. Don’t make her cry.

I rolled off of her and took her into my arms; I could not fuck her. I just kept saying it in my head over and over again, “You have blown it, my friend, it is over.” I held her tightly but we did not speak. She fell asleep in my arms after about thirty minutes while I laid awake in my guilt-ridden agony.

I blew it. Tomorrow I would leave and this would be another painful memory. Tomorrow I would get on with my life and she would do the same. Tomorrow was the end of this beautiful thing we had together.

Tomorrow there would be no redemption.

I had blown it, that Saturday night, on the corner of Houston and Orchard.

The Phoenix on the Rooftop (New York Part 3)

How do I start this? Where do I begin?

We walked out of the Roseland after the Of Montreal show (which was pure unadulterated insanity) into the cool night air. It had been a perfect day; I couldn’t imagine it getting any better. We had fucked like rabbits, eaten well and walked around the city for the whole afternoon. All day she had been telling me she had a surprise for me, a date…so to speak.

You can drink there, but you can’t buy alcohol.

You can eat, but you have to bring food.

Better go to the bathroom now because there isn’t one.

She had never taken anyone here in her life.

What the fuck was she talking about? Needless to say when we walked into Duane Reade to buy a six-pack of Stella (nine dollars, can you believe that shit?) and some Cheez-Its, I was excited. I carried the bag and smoked a cigarette as we walked toward our destination.

She walked into a lobby and up to the man behind the desk. The place was nice, perhaps too nice for us to be there. She said that we were here to see someone and he said, “You must be N, the door has been left open for you.” We got in the elevator and she told me that this was her aunt’s apartment building; she was letting us have the roof for the evening.

The door opened and the scene floored me. We were in the middle of the city, Empire State Building on one side and the Chrysler on the other, I was breathless. We sat down. I used my Jets lighter (I hate you) to open the beers. I used the same one to light our cigarettes. It was chilly. I zipped up my jacket. I looked over. She was looking back at me.

I don’t know what happened up there. We talked for two or three hours, talked about everything. She kept looking at me; no one has ever looked at me like that. I told her about the unhappiness, the depression and the fear of the future. I told her everything, things I wanted to and some I didn’t.

Something happened on the rooftop on that Friday night.

I have always been fascinated by the secret lives people lead on their rooftops, the things they talk and think about when there is no one around. Looking down at the ants walking the streets makes you feel…something. There is no definitive or specific emotion, but as I stared up at that starless sky, I felt something.

I felt as if I had stepped over a line, as if that night I died and someone else was born in me. I floated in the sky and looked down at the two of us. I heard myself explaining my pain and failures, for some reason it was all starting to make sense. She did not cut me off, allowing me to expel my demons into the crisp air. I worked out my troubles simply by giving them words. Suddenly everything seemed so easy, like it made perfect sense. She just stared at me, her eyes piercing into me.

The phoenix burned that night and a man crawled from its ashes. He looked so vaguely familiar in the mirror. The face still bearing the same impression in my mind, but the eyes had something in them…a burning. The growing pains vanished, fear disappeared and the reservations and regrets were left by the wayside. The past is behind you, I finally saw it. It was time to grow up.

Enough, Patrick, it is time to become a man.

It looks so trivial written in this white space, but only you and I know what happened. No pictures were taken and no souvenirs were removed. Nothing was left behind but ashes; there was no evidence of our encounter. Nevertheless, you saw something in me that I have never seen before. That night, was the first time I caught a glimpse of who I was to become. I could still become the man I am supposed to be. It is not too late. I felt something new gaining strength inside of me…

Suddenly, for the first time, I was unafraid.

The Girl on the Phone (New York Part 2)

I don’t think it was possible to have been happier when I woke up on Friday morning. It was early as I got up to go to the bathroom. I stood there in the mirror again, shaking my head with a smile, “This is fucking crazy.” I couldn’t get over the fact that the words I had read in text were finally being spoken to me. I couldn’t believe that the Girl on the Phone was finally a real person.

I couldn’t help but wake her up when I got back into bed, sliding myself up behind her and wrapping my arms under her tits. I promised I wouldn’t act like a fool when she took her shirt off, but it turned out to be harder than originally anticipated. They are…well…yeah, they are awesome (I sound like a fucking teenager). I pushed my hard on into her back as she rolled over to kiss me, still half asleep. We started to play again, and before long I was back on top of her and back inside.

She held me close that morning, like I had not been held in a long time. I sank into her slowly, staring into her brown eyes. She did not blink, I can still remember how she looked at me, as if we had been lovers long ago and were reunited once again. It finally felt right, I thought for a second about the meaningless sex that I had had in the past months, but forgot as soon as she grabbed me.

I rolled onto my back and she lowered herself onto me. I stared. I could not stop staring. She ground her pussy against my pelvis and I felt her shake around me, I pulled her down and kissed her neck. I whispered the things into her ear that I had been telling her over the phone for months and they finally felt real. It didn’t feel like I was exaggerating or promising something I could never give. I was giving her everything I had, just as I said that I would.

I could see in her eyes that it was affecting her, her motions intensified and her moans deepened. Her fingers rubbed furiously back and forth on her clit as her other hand pressed against her hip.

“Tell me you need me to cum for you baby.”

It had been a long time in the making and I had waited so long to see what I had been hearing all this time. She was cumming on me. She let out a squeal as her hand slowed its friction on her clit. She shook for a second before I pulled her back down onto me. I had gotten what I wanted finally. I had made her cum.

I held her for a while before going back to sleep, the words hung on the tip of my tongue. They had been there since I stepped off the plane. Uttered so easily for so long, why was it so hard to say now? What was I afraid of?

“I…uh…don’t know if I should be saying this…but, uh um…I love you.”

She punched me in the chest and told me that she was about to say the same thing. Suddenly I didn’t feel quite so insane for saying so, the reciprocation made it ok.

We had said it many times before over the telephone and via Gmail, but I realized all at once that it had never really meant anything. We had been in like with each other but were calling it love, as we had no other name for it. But there was always the hidden fear lurking beneath the surface that when we met something would go wrong, something HAD to go wrong. It was just too good. BUT, nothing had gone wrong, in fact it went better than I had hoped…it was going perfectly.

Suddenly “I love you” meant something. Suddenly it wasn’t just something I muttered to Meg to get her off my back. Suddenly it wasn’t something I said to Maria to keep her from hating me. Suddenly it wasn’t something I told Jen to stop her from crying.

For once when I said, “I love you,” I was telling the truth.

I pulled her in close and laughed about the conversation we had about not wanting anyone touching us when we slept; I guess that went out the window. I laid there for a minute before going back to sleep and realized that I was actually…brace yourself here people…happy.

We woke up a few hours later, slightly irritated that we had slept so long. I was excited, today was the day that I would finally get to go out and walk around New York. I stood up with the intention of getting dressed and getting going, but seeing her lying naked and half covered by her sheet changed my mind. She looked exquisite as her back arched to stretch off the sleep; I placed my arm under her and climbed back into bed.

She gripped my wrist tightly to pull me away from her throat as we fucked. I thought I was killing her; honestly I had never choked anyone while fucking like that before. Each time I released I was greeted by the sound of a gasp for air mixed with a moan. I was afraid that I was hurting her or that she would slap me and get up, but neither happened. Every time she squeezed my wrist, I released and she smiled at me…a little shocked, but still smiling.

She got on her knees and I impaled her from behind, spewing insults out of my mouth as I fucked her.

“Whore”

“Slut”

“Bitch”

She would correct me each time.

“YOUR whore”

“YOUR slut”

“YOUR bitch”

I slapped her ass, but I was reserved and still slightly nervous about hurting her, that would have killed me. Each time, however, she let out a shriek that I had not heard from her before…she liked it. She loved it. I hit her harder and harder as I fucked her. I pushed her head down into the pillow and put one over her head, shoving it down, her muffled moans escaping into the air. I pulled her hair and sank my teeth into her, waiting for her to tell me to stop…but she did not, she loved it.

She pulled me down to her ear and said so very sweetly, “Baaaabbbbyyy. Let me ask you a question. Is that all you’ve got?”

WHAT?!?!?! I couldn’t fucking believe what I had just heard. I raised my hand and leveled into her ass, now I wanted her to hurt. Don’t you fucking open your mouth to me like that you dirty cunt. Fuck you, how dare you antagonize me and think I won’t make you pay. I slapped over and over again until I was satisfied that she understood. Then…well…then I speared her so hard I thought I was going to break.

I squeezed her hips until I was sure that it was painful and slammed my cock into her full force, listening to her squeal and watching her writhe around beneath me. She was begging again…good…for me to give her what she needed. Show her that I wanted her. Show her that she satisfied me. Show her.

I grabbed the towel and cleaned up her back then I grabbed the camera to show her what her ass looked like. Let me please tell you that the picture doesn't do it justice, especially since you can’t see the other one. We lay back down and talked about what had just happened. She told me that she literally could not breathe when I choked her but that she was not afraid…she trusted me.

“I love you, P.”

“I love you, N.”

We got up and showered together before going out into the East Village to get to know New York. We had a good amount of time before the concert and I was just happy to be seeing that gorgeous city holding the hand of someone who finally cared about me.

Finally (New York Part 1)

Before I get into telling this story, I would like to explain that it is going to be written in six parts, since so much happened between 5 pm on October 9th and 1 am on the 13th. These posts are going to be quite lengthy but I am writing this for her and I so if you don’t like it or what I have written feel free to fuck off. I have provided plenty of interesting blogs on the side for you to click on, go ahead and make use of them. I am going to try to put this into as much detail as I can possibly remember so that I have this to read for a long time to come. So without further adieu, New York Part 1.

The “family emergency” lie had gone over smoothly enough that I finally got my nerves in order by the time the clock struck five. With the worries of the boss off of my mind, I hit the road, my stomach upset from the stress. I had an ear to ear grin plastered on my face as I hit the freeway. I tried, in vain, to keep from speeding but my foot would not lay off the gas, traffic was bad and I needed to hurry. She called me as I was getting onto 71/75 and I could hear the excitement in her voice, I’m sure mine was apparent as well…

“Four and a half hours, baby.”

My nerves had subsided, finally it was here, and all I had to do was make it to the airport.

I sped into my parking lot and told Mike to hang out while I cleaned up; I had to hurry as I hadn’t seen the southbound traffic that backed up in years. We got in the truck and hit the road, Metallica blaring out the open windows, drawing the usual puzzled stares from my neighbors in the projects.

“Cheese, you haven’t sat still since we got in the truck.”

“Dude, just step on it, if I miss this flight I will shit a brick.”

With that he punched the accelerator and began weaving through what little traffic was moving. Just my luck that on the only day I need to be somewhere Sarah Palin and Barack Obama are both in town and both in my area. When we finally got there I had 45 minutes to get through security and to the gate, I flicked my cigarette and ran inside....this was it.

Finally.

The flight pulled away from the gate right on schedule, I sent her one last text before I shut off my phone, “Pulling out of the gate. Here we go.” I let out a sigh and prepared for the longest flight of my life.

The plane landed at about ten minutes after nine, she didn’t answer either time I called, must still be in the subway. She called as I was walking in to brush my teeth; she was on the air train and would be here in 20 minutes.

This is it.

I was not the least bit surprised when she was late, but when she called me to say that there was one stop left I felt my heart pounding in my chest and my mouth getting dry. I sat down and tried to catch my breath as the train pulled up. I saw her through the window.

She is beautiful. She is absolutely beautiful.

She stepped off the train with a gigantic smile and I took her in my arms and held her tightly, for the first time in months everything stopped. I was not in the past nor was I in the future. My feet were firmly planted in front of this remarkably gorgeous woman (much more so than her pictures let on) and firmly in the present.

We stood there for a second trying to figure out how to get back to Manhattan. I could not stop staring at her, I didn’t know what to say, I just kept staring at her. We sat down together on the air train and my left knee touched her right, I looked at her and she smiled…

“We are definitely fucking tonight,” she said with a devious grin.

I wasn’t nervous as I talked to her. I wasn’t nervous as I put my arm around her. I wasn’t nervous when I leaned in to kiss her. Everything felt so natural.

We rode around the wrong way on the train and had to transfer but I couldn’t care less, she couldn’t keep her hands off of me. I slid my hand further and further up her thigh until I felt her warmth; finally everything we talked about was here. Her lips parted slightly when I reached her sex.

After getting off the air train we walked through a mostly deserted platform across a moving walkway. She turned to me with a nasty smile and unbuttoned her jeans, exposing herself to me. I slid my hand in to feel what I had waited three long months to touch. She gasped.

Finally.

We stood there waiting for the subway back into Manhattan with my hand down the front of her panties, rubbing her clit. We leaned against a pillar with some guy not more than 3 feet behind us, I am positive he could see, but she didn’t allow me to remove my hand. I kissed her and felt her warmth on my face; she smiled at me and closed her eyes. I pulled my hand out and licked my fingers clean as the train pulled up.

Finally.

We sat on the subway talking and kissing, I was exhausted and laid my head on her shoulder, muttering to myself that this was pure insanity. The train ride took forever, about an hour, but we finally got out by St. Mark’s and headed back to her place in the East Village. Stepping out of the subway stop was like stepping into another world, there were fucking people everywhere as we walked back hand in hand. She stopped again next to the park down the street from her apartment and tried to get me into her pants.

“No, fucking come on we need to get back right now.”

Her roommate was asleep when we came in so we quietly put my stuff down in her room. I stood in her bathroom, my heart racing, staring in the mirror, “This is fucking insane,” I kept saying with a grin. I walked into her room and quietly closed the door as she dimmed the lights. I took her in my arms and kissed her.

Finally.

The clothes came off quickly, we were on her bed making out…I had to…I had wanted to for so long. I trailed my wet kisses across her chest and down her stomach, pulling down her panties as I reached my long awaited destination. I licked her thighs and breathed in the deep scent I had dreamed about. My tongue found its home and she gasped. The taste was new; I could not have enough of it. I looked up to see her looking down at me with the happiest expression on her face, doubling my efforts. Soon enough she had my cock in her mouth, making slurping noises as she sucked on it. I closed my eyes and lay back on her pillow, enjoying her mouth and hands exploring my body. It is still a blur.

Finally.

I stared into her eyes as I climbed on top of her, for the first time I knew that everything we talked about and hoped for was about to come true. I pushed into her gently and slowly, extracting a deep moan from between her full lips. I felt my eyes roll back into my skull as I lowered myself onto her, feeling her arms wrap around me. The event is a mix of feeling and emotion, as it was clear that our first time would be passionate and deep. I did not thrust, we grinded against each other, getting to know the lines of each other’s figures in the low light. I felt at home. I felt like all the bullshit from the summer was gone. I felt like all the haunting memories of the past were gone. The drugs were gone. The betrayals were gone. The insecurity and sorrow of loss were gone. Everything was washed away that evening.

In that moment there was nothing that mattered to me, except for her.

She asked me to show her that she satisfied me, she begged for my cum. I felt my legs shaking like they never had before as I let go on her, coating her stomach, chest, neck, face, hair and pillow with my cum. She laughed and said she had never seen that much before…I didn’t say it, but neither had I. I had never cum like that in my life before; it was three months of blue balls being released.

Never in my life have I cum that hard. Read that again. That is the truth.

I felt like an ass for going on her face and hair, but how the hell was I supposed to know it would be that forceful. I got her a towel and we cleaned up. I lay down and took her in my arms. I kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear. My fingertips lazily traced her curves as I kissed her. I let out a sigh of pure satisfaction; it worked…there were no more worries about what would happen.

“We are fucked, aren’t we?” She asked.

“Yeah, we’re fucked.”

I knew, at that moment, that the encounter would be so much more than simple fucking. It was just the beginning of something I don’t think I will ever fully understand.

The Trip

Where do I begin?

So much to think about. So many things happened this weekend, it will take me weeks to process it all; lord knows it will take a long time to write about. I could talk about how we fucked or about how we made love. I could talk about how big of a bitch she was or how completely sweet she was. I could talk about all the fun that we had or I could talk about how I embarrassed myself. There is so much on my mind.

Where do I begin?

I didn’t order a drink when I got to the bar at JFK last night. I wanted one, but I didn’t. She saw something in me, this weekend, that I did not see myself. She saw the good in me, the things that I have been trying to hide from myself so that I wouldn’t have to try. She saw a boy on the brink of becoming a man and gave me the shove that I needed.

“Lay off the drinking.”

“Go back to school.”

“You are too smart to be doing this.”

“You deserve better.”

I heard the things that I have been trying to tell myself for the past year, things I did not want to hear. It took her saying them one time for my eyes to be opened.

When I looked in her eyes I saw myself reflected in a light that I have never seen before. I don’t quite understand how this happened, but I couldn’t be happier about it...no matter what it means. In her arms yesterday evening and I felt, however foolishly, at home.

I don’t quite know what to say right now, I have so many thoughts flying around in my mind. Lying on my couch last night with my heart racing and my mind running circles around the whole weekend, I knew that making that trip was right.

I guess that I can only say thank you. Thank you for taking a chance on me and seeing something in me that I didn’t know existed.
Thank you for waking me up.

Stock Market

So here I am in New York City and I fucking love it. I have never seen so many (strange) people in my life.

So, in this troubled economic situation, allow Cheese Schwab to give you some financial advice.

Buy stock in Trojan.

Bye

Cheese

NYC

At this time tomorrow, I will be leaving this place of employment and I will be getting on an airplane.

New York City, I will see you tomorrow.

Swinging

It has been running through my mind a lot since I had that dream last week, not the thought of doing it, just the memory of what it was like to be swinging.

I don’t have a very good emotional inventory from that period of my life; I don’t remember what made it seem like a good idea. I do, however, very much remember the physical sensations. I remember exactly how my body felt and reacted.

No one was home. I was on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and the darkest depths of heroin withdrawal. The chills were frighteningly powerful, my teeth chattered like they did waiting for the bus to school in the cold Wisconsin winter as a child. Felt sick, threw in the garbage can next to the couch. I started to get hot again. Felt sweat beading on my forehead. Blanket cast on the floor, shirt removed, water ingested, puking again, coughing.

Enough.

The garage floor was cool on my bare feet. The cigarette was hand rolled, harsh, aromatic.

“Is this really the shortest extension cord?”

Garage door slammed, caught the cord in it.

“Not in the garage,” I thought, “that would be too much.”

My mother’s words played over and over in my mind; the echo still rang, hours later.

The ceiling fan didn’t have much give when I pulled on it. Plug smacked me in the face when I whipped the cord over the fan. It wound around slowly as I manually rotated the blades.

The note was already penned, I placed in on their bed, neatly written, sealed with wax.

Three times wrapped around should probably do it. Don’t want it to snap. Rotate blades some more, stand up on stool, rotate some more.

Stood there for an eternity. Cord was cold. Kicked stool.

Swinging.

It was an immediate feeling of regret, like jumping into a freezing pool. It hit me with the force of a freight train…regret. Hanging there by my neck from the ceiling fan in the living room, I spun slightly to the left. The pain was incredible, I felt it pull my jawbone upwards and my eyes bulge. I reached up grasping for the cord to pull myself up. Time was running out but it seemed to stand still all the same. Legs kicked violently. Lungs gasped for breath when there was none to be had.

“Help me.”

“Please.”

“I don’t want to die.”

I heard a crack. Then another. Dry wall hit me in he face as I fell to the floor, the fan coming down on top of me, hitting me square in the forehead.

Mom came home from work early to find me unconscious in the living room. I woke up to her crying. She knew I was still breathing…but she worried for how much longer.

To whoever caused that fan to break, I promise I will never go swinging again.

Frustration

If you take away my words I am nothing, I have no shield. Without my wit I am defenseless.

If you could somehow take away my speech, you would castrate me. I have lived by my words and I imagine someday I will die by them. My mouth has gotten me into more trouble than I care to recall, but in the same token it has kept me from having my brains blown out.

People say that I have no brain to mouth filter, I say whatever is on my mind. This is not a conscious decision, but it makes me who I am. Ok honestly, this is bothering me; I am going to take my own advice.

Let me stop for a second.

This has been bugging me for quite some time. I can’t fucking write without thinking about what you will think about it. This is literally driving me mad, nuts, up the wall batshit crazy. Ten fucking minutes ago I was sitting on my couch watching fucking Jeopardy and I had this idea…..this fucking idea of something that I was going to write about, something that was on MY mind. I go…take a piss…grab another High Life…wait for my computer to boot up…slow piece of shit…open Word…start writing…and think of YOU!

I am fucking sick of this. I am not going to be constrained by this or by what you people who come by here and read something about some fucked up fucker in some piece of shit city think. I wish I had a goddamned microphone so I could say this; I can’t type nearly fast enough.

Fuck you.

Seriously, sorry but I can’t fucking bear to sit here at MY computer writing MY thoughts and proofread MY fucking writing. Godamnit I know how to form a sentence and I know how many times I used “fuck” in the last paragraph. I honestly wish that I could go back to a time when the only person reading this was ME.

I should stop writing now. I can actually feel myself reading this thinking about what this or that reader will think when they are done. It is this sort of thing which causes me to lie, so I can appeal to people’s tastes. This is not the fucking place for that.

I don’t read or respect blogs that are written for their readers; therefore I will check myself right now. Ask yourself, seriously…do you consider what your readers think when you write?

Look, I need this space. I mean and meant every word in this, every feeling is completely real, but I fear it is in jeopardy. I will someday look back, if I make it that far, and think, “Writing really helped me through all that.” I have made friends here, but that is not why I came. I actually have no fucking idea what led me here…probably a hard on and a boring job.

I don’t even know what to write anymore. I feel like venting on someone for no reason. Maybe I should start a fight or take some drugs. Maybe I should go drive drunk. Where did the reckless asshole go to?

Maybe I should just sit on my couch and watch two fucking morons debate about bullshit all night while I pretend to care. Why do I even care anymore? I am on some weird ass trip tonight right now and I have my head so far up my ass I don’t know what state I’m in. This is seriously fucked. Now you people…you fucking strangers can know how frustrated I really am. I don’t even know what the fuck I am writing about anymore, seriously I am just pissed off and I really have no reason. I need a cigarette…

…oh wait, I’m fucking quitting.

A Question Of Balance

But in the grey of the morning

My mind becomes confused

Between the dead and the sleeping

And the road that I must choose

Sitting on a fencepost in the middle of a field, I stare off into the distance. The wind is calm right now, gently blowing the crops in long waves across the plains. It wasn’t long ago that these very fields blew furiously and the stinging rain beat down on my face. I was close to falling off the edge.

You can tell just by looking, there are two very different fields on either side of this fence. The three of us have occupied this space since birth and may do so until death. EZ stands on one side and Cheese stands on the other, they beckon me.

Cheese stands in a field of golden blissful wheat, shouting to me. Falling onto his side means fun and happiness, but also naivety. The problem with letting him take control is his suddenly one-track mind. He now only cares about excitement, going out, getting laid and making jokes, all of which is fine, but he has lost his edge. He used to be the one who kept EZ at bay, he was our defender. But, EZ has been silent for some time and therefore Cheese has become weak. If I let him have control he will piss it away…he will destroy us. The absence of constant adversity has caused his knife to dull.

He has become worthless.

EZ stands among the scorched and salted earth, silently staring at me. The fire burns behind him as well as in his eyes, rage consumes him. He knows how close he was, he was almost there…he could taste it. The stiff winds nearly knocked me into his eternal grasp, but then they subsided and I regained my balance. He has nothing to say, there is nothing he needs to say, we both know the truth…the time is close at hand. The recent lack of pain has only sharpened his hunger and his will.

He has become a monster in waiting.

P sits alone on the fence and for once he does not hear the cries of his adversaries. He is no longer weak, no longer at the mercy of the whims of his subconscious. There is an ally, a sworn defender of the real me. In the past he submitted to them out of weakness, fear and having nowhere to turn. The ally has given him an exit from his own insanity…given him a place to run to.

But they are still present.

As much as my new friend gives me strength, I can’t help but think that P…ME…is tottering back and forth on the fence. Guarded optimism and a hope that one day I can walk away from this field and down the road are keeping me sane. These small pieces keep me on the fence, this is a time of peace but, a prudent general spends peacetime preparing for wartime.

I shall do the same.

One day things will once again crumble, thus is the natural cycle of life (or mine anyway). Until that day I must gather my thoughts and sanity and I must hold them close. I will be prepared for battle with my own mind; P will not be a pawn…I will raise the sword, prepared to slaughter my own mind. The next time I will be ready and I will no longer be helpless. I will not sit on the fencepost…I will stand on it, in defiance. I will balance on the fence as I walk away from the enemies on either side.

For now I will bide my time and keep myself from falling off. When I am ready I will proceed, but for now it is merely a question of balance.

Hummer

Music changes its meaning as one's outlook on life changes. When moods turn for the worst, obviously, darker music gets a lot more play time, the same being true for the opposite. I am in a cautiously optimistic mood right now, on the edge of bliss as well as agony. It all depends on which direction this strange wind blows in.

I have been listening to a lot of stuff I haven't turned on in a long time, I have been hearing it in a different light. Maybe it is because I'm older or maybe more jaded, who knows.

Faith lies in
The ways of sin
I chased the charmed
But I don't want them anymore

And in their eyes I was alive
A fool's disguise
Take me away from you

Shame my tongue
Fat with promise all along
But when I woke up from that sleep
I was happier than I'd ever been

When you decide
That your life is a prize
Renew and rivive
It's alright honey
It's alright, yeah

Happiness will make you wonder
Will I feel OK?
It scares the disenchanted
Far away

Yeah I want something new
But what am I supposed to do about you
Yeah I love you, it's true

Life's a bummer
When you're a hummer
Life's a drag

Ask yourself a question
Anyone but me
I ain't free

Ask yourself a question
Anyone but me
I ain't free

Do you feel
Love is real?

"Hummer" The Smashing Pumpkins