Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Five Hundred Twenty Five Thousand Six Hundred Minutes

This will be the 23rd time I witness a new year’s birth.

This year has seen a friend and a brother die, a battle with drugs and drinking, a broken heart and some of the worst pain I have ever felt. I cried myself to sleep more times than one, almost drank myself to death more than once, lost a job and a few close friends. 2008 has proved to be the toughest year of my life.

One night in late April of this year I sat in my house, alone and drinking straight from the bottle. I remember putting a six inch line of cocaine up my nose and falling back on my couch. I couldn’t see any reason to keep breathing. I put the .45 to my temple and sat there thinking. I pulled the trigger back until I could feel the resistance, the line before the point of no return. I felt the tears running down my cheeks as I set the gun down on the table. What was I thinking?

I started writing this blog three days later. Three quarters of this year have been made public on this website. Over the past month I have read it from front to back and I have watched the author, who I no longer recognize, turn into a different person. Putting these moments into writing made them real, tangible, something I could touch.

So upon further consideration maybe 2008 wasn’t so bad after all. Sure I have seen pain, but so has everyone else. I have cried and clawed at my skin, but so has everyone else. I am no different, I’m just a whiner.

So tonight when I hear the multitude of celebratory gunshots as the clock passes midnight I am going to look at the past year differently than every other. Looking on the dark side has been my specialty, finding the negative is my game. But not this year.

I don’t really make resolutions, what’s the point? I think I have resolved to quit smoking for the past 9 years and every year it just gets worse. I’m therefore led to the conclusion that a few simple guidelines will do just fine.

Stop fucking whining. Stop fucking complaining. Stop fucking crying. Stop making excuses.

Just stop, slow down and let go of the constant worry that grips you.

Everything can change on a New Year’s Day.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Six Days

In about an hour and thirty minutes I will be picking up my favorite blogger from the airport.

Six days...six whole days. It is strange to think that this trip will effectively double the amount of time we have spent together in twelve days.


What have we gotten into here?

Monday, December 29, 2008

The Pink Triangle

I honestly can’t even remember what time it was when we finally got back to Cortez’s condo in the 5th Ward. It had been foggy for the past two days and I was way too drunk to drive to another bar. He lived in what used to be the gay district, but gentrification was having its way with the neighborhood, leaving it covered with cranes and For Sale signs. Apparently the decision to walk down to National Ave to hit up another bar was made without too much debate. We headed out into the fog to get another drink before going to sleep.

The bars on National are mostly old factory worker haunts from the days when the area was an industrial center of the city. Over the years the jobs were shipped overseas and the factories closed, leaving the area downtrodden. We turned off 1st St onto National, finding that it was more difficult than anticipated to find a bar that we wouldn’t be shot in. After another block or so we debated turning around and giving up when Cortez heard some strange music coming from what looked like a front door.

“It says ‘Must be 21 to Enter’ therefore it’s a bar dude, regardless of what it looks like.”

At this point I was ready to go back and pass out, but he was insistent, saying now he was curious what the deal with the bar was. The door opened and out came the trendy sounding techno music and thick smoke.

“This is a fucking strange bar,” I said.

“Oh it gets better,” Cortez said, staring up at the ceiling.

I looked up to find a gigantic fluorescent pink triangle lit by a black light and by the time my eyes reached bar level again it was apparent. The fact that there was no sign on the door and no women in the bar led me to the only logical conclusion. I was in the middle of a gay bar.

Now we didn’t turn and run out the door screaming only to return some minutes later with a crowd brandishing pitchforks and torches, we were just a bit surprised. So we walked up to the bar and sat down, figuring we came for a beer and we were getting one regardless of the sexual persuasion of the patrons. The bartender who walked up to us looked confused,

“You boys do know where you’re at…right?”

“We do now, that’s cool though we still want a High Life.”

We sat and talked to the bartender while we drank our beers, noticing that we were being stared at by every single person in the bar. He was quite nice to us, partly due to the fact we didn’t start running when we walked in. We finished our beers and were about to leave when he told us to wait.

“I’ll make you guys a drink on me for being cool, not many people stay when they come in by accident.”

He disappeared behind the bar for a second before spinning back around with two fruity looking drinks.

“A little gay humor for ya boys…Sex on the Beach, on me.”

Monday, December 22, 2008

No You Won't

Is it fucking January yet?

I'm dreamin' tonight of a place I love
Even more then I usually do
And although I know it's a long road back
I promise you

I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents under the tree
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light beams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light beams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams

If only in my dreams

I love my job!

Merry Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa or whatever the fuck you celebrate, to you and all yours.


Thursday, December 18, 2008

I Am The Sea

Everyday thousands of ships set sail on the seas that cover this world. Their destinations and their paths will forever be different, but their journeys are the same. These vessels have one common tie that binds them, whether or not they know it, for every ship is at the mercy of its mother…the sea.

With the greatest of ease the sea can swallow whole the ships we call “unsinkable.” It can toss tons of metal with a gust of wind and rip in half the strongest steel. Men have been lost at sea and never seen again and countless ships lie in ruin on its mysterious floor. Many have died exploring its vast expanse, but the ones who survive leave with something they did not possess when they left land.

Those who return unscathed are strong from the fight. They are iron willed and determined, but perhaps more important is the fact that they come back for more. There is a fraternity among those who battle the sea, a mutual recognition of the sheer will it takes to win the fight and to come back for more. You can see the fight in their eyes, the tenacity and the urgency, for they are never satisfied with a simple life.

There is one ship that has been at sea for years now. Its journey is long and it has seen the roughest seas imaginable. It has taken on water and its sails have ripped, but it does not return to port. The ship continues on despite its injuries, without a destination and without a star to guide it. Many times in the dead of night other vessels have passed in silence unbeknownst to it. Perhaps these ships carried salvation for our wayward traveler, perhaps not, one way or another…the wanderlust pushes it on.

In the distance black clouds cover the sky and churn the sea into a frothy fury. Behind is a similar storm, the lightning still touching the water as if crying out for the ship it let live. The captain steers his vessel through the calm seas in between, all the while knowing that the worst is still coming. He wonders how he will keep his beloved men alive and his ship afloat. For the first time on this journey fear grips him and chokes the breath from his lungs. He stands at the helm and clutches the wheel with whitening knuckles, determined to master his fear and to defeat the sea.

The captain stands tall, for he is strong and his gaze is icy. His eyes dart back and forth, scanning the sky, staring at the impending doom he will find in the next thunderhead. He knows his fate, but he sails on, unshaken. He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, lighting his tobacco as he leans over the ledge, gazing into the deep. How will he win this fight against this ancient enemy when his ship is battered and broken and his men are weary and frightened?

As night falls the captain remains standing on the deck, lost in contemplation as his men sleep in the quarters below. He looks to the sky and asks the gods of the sea forgiveness for his transgressions, the salty spray coating his face as he prays. He thinks of his men, of his ship and of their unknown destination and he cries out for something to save him. He looks off into the distance as the first rays of sun shoot off in arcs across the sky, when he sees something.

Over the next few days, the small twinkle on the horizon grows from a small light to a piercing beam in the night. Every hour it is closer and the men are ripe with anticipation and excitement. As the light draws closer it becomes apparent that it is another ship, locked in the same perilous battle with the sea. The captain paces, pondering the danger of a meeting on the high seas and its implications. Soon enough he can make out the faces of the opposite crew through the lenses of his monocular, they look different than his men…smiling, healthy and enthused. He decides it is time and boards his rowboat with his finest men and defenses at his side.

After a while the defenses are lowered and the captain allows the men to board his ship. As the two tether to one another, it becomes clear that the captain’s prayers to the emptiness of the sea had been answered. Perhaps she is not an unforgiving mother after all. With repairs underway the two captains forge a friendship which will not be divided when their binds are cut. The storm they saw in the distance gets closer everyday and they know the toughest test is still to come.

But the fear that once haunted our fair captain’s dreams is slowly subsiding, for he knows he is not alone. The storm continues to approach and the two commanders know it is time to raise sails and head into the fury together. They will support one another and if one takes on water the other will ensure it is not consumed. From now on they will sail and fight together; the bond forged will not be broken.

Our captains stand at the helms of their respective ships as the rain begins to intensify, stinging their faces. The waves churn below and the boom of thunder pierces the afternoon air. The sky grows darker by the minute, but there is no look of fear on the faces of their men. They stand fast, confident in their leaders and the desire to fight on which now burns fire in their eyes.

A wall of water builds strength in front of the two ships and the raindrops turn to missiles. The captains look across the abyss into each other’s eyes, knowing that it is time. Their arms rise, a silent gesture and acknowledgment of their bond, for they know they may be separated in the melee ahead, but will be reunited on the other side. The rescue ship climbs the wall and disappears over its crest. Our captain’s men glance back at him as they begin their ascent up the wall of furious sea in front of them.

Their gazes are met with a deafening cry from the captain’s lungs as the ship disappears into the maelstrom, pushing onward into the unknown sea. The men reply and their voices drown out the sea; unable to be defeated they push onward knowing that this time they are not alone.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Stay or Leave

Maybe different but remember
Winters warm where you and I
Kissing whiskey by the fire
With the snow outside
And when the summer comes
In the river
Swims at midnight
Shiver cold
Touch the bottom
You and I
With muddy toes

Stay or leave
I want you not to go
But you should
It was good as good goes
Stay or leave
I want you not to go
But you did

Wake up naked drinking coffee
Making plans to change the world
While the world is changing us
It was good good love
You used to laugh under the covers
Maybe not so often now
But the way I used to laugh with you
Was loud and hard

Stay or leave
I want you not to go
But you should
It was good as good goes
Stay or leave
I want you not to go
But you did

So what to do
With the rest of the day's afternoon hey
Isn't it strange how we change
Everything we did
Did I do all that i should

That I coulda done

Remember we used to dance
And everyone wanted to be
You and me
I want to be too
What day is this
Besides the day you left me
What day is this
Besides the day you went

So what to do
With the rest of the day's afternoon hey
Well isn't it strange how we change
Everything we did
Did I do all that I could

Remember we used to dance
And everyone wanted to be you and me
I want to be too
What day is this
Besides the day you went babe
What day is this

"Stay or Leave" Dave Matthews

Tuesday, December 16, 2008


I’ve known her since grade school; I think I actually used to make fun of her when we were young. I guess they say that’s how kids show they like one another. I should stop you here and say it was never like that, though. No, Red was more like the sister that I never had.

Well maybe that really isn’t the way to describe it. It’s complicated to explain a friendship that predates about 95% of my existing memories. It’s almost scary, really, to think that I have so few memories and that the ones I still do fade so quickly. In any case if I tried to tell you how we first became friends, I would be lying.

Someone once asked us if we had ever slept together, the answer was a mutual, “yuck.” We once sat in my car, tripping senselessly on mushrooms and admitting to each other that we thought the other was unattractive and could never fuck one another, but that we had a love that was too strong to deny. That moment put a final definition on our relationship that said we would always and only be friends. From that moment on a lifelong bond of support was forged that I thought could never be broken.

We had the best of times, the stories so faded I can’t tell them anymore. We introduced each other to some of the best friends we still have today; she actually got me laid the first time. We drove to school in the morning, smoking pot and listening to my music while freezing our asses off as we waited for the heat to start in my 95 Saturn. We got into petty crime together and then got out together. We grew up and experienced this world together for the first time. It is worthless to try and explain this friendship with words, these last few paragraphs are just thoughts about her I have in my head as I write this and they change every time I think about her.

She was the first one to tell me I was a liar. We were older then, the Saturn was long gone. We headed west on I-94 and she told me that I hurt her. She said that it was because I lied, not what I lied about.

“In fact,” she said, “It isn’t even the fact that you lied that hurts, it’s the fact that you thought you had to prove something to me that hurts the most.”

I always thought I was alone; it took her saying that to realize that I finally had someone that I could always count on. I wonder if she has a similar moment in her memory, when I said something to her that changed her entire perception of the world. I like to think that she does but who knows.

In any case, friendships like these tend to fall apart when one is an asshole like me. I moved out of Wisconsin, too much to get away from, but she stayed. I remember my first night alone in the dorms, I sat out on the front step smoking and talking to her on the phone when I met Nate Brown, my first friend. It is strange, when I think about it now, that moment was really the beginning of the end of our friendship.

As soon as boots hit soil in Ohio, I was changing into a different person, not better or worse…just not the same. We spoke less and less as the years went on, but we always managed to be there when the other was in need. I, however, had a girlfriend. She was a particularly jealous one and didn’t care for Red. I was a fool; I pushed her away because Meg wanted her out of my life. I didn’t visit every time I was home anymore, and I barely called. I remember sitting at the Scrub-a-Dub on 84th St when she finally went off on me.

She told me it wasn’t fair and a slew of other shit that I hadn’t seen up until she pointed it out in black and white. I hung up, stubborn cunt I am, and never called back. That was almost a year and a half ago. I got a Facebook message one day from her saying that I should try calling sometime. I deleted my account.

I have had a long time to contemplate that click of the mouse, but I still can’t come to a conclusion why. Maybe it was just my pride or maybe it was that I thought I didn’t need her anymore, either way I was wrong. Time passed, like it always does, and we grew further and further apart as the silence between us became deafening.

I lost a lot of sleep over Red those next couple months until I found myself back at the bottom again. I had that realization once again and understood that I did still need her. I picked up the phone and called, but it wasn’t Red who answered. The man told me that I had the wrong number

I texted one of those old friends she introduced me to so many years ago to ask what happened.

“She got a new phone number a month or so ago, she didn’t tell you?”

“No…I guess she didn’t.”

Monday, December 15, 2008


Now I don't normally post things like this, as this blog is solely a home for intelligent discussion on the finer things in life. Ok or maybe not, but still, normally I don't do this sort of thing.

But THIS is fucking absurd.

What the fuck is wrong with you people?

If you idiots ran the world not only would we be jacking off at an astronomical rate,


Now...go have it for me

Your friend,


Friday, December 12, 2008

An Old Flame

Have you ever stood on a stage and stared out into a crowd of people?

There was a party this summer at Ike’s parent’s house, kind of an annual thing, we call it Redneck Fest. I have been the only non-redneck in attendance for the past four years and this year was no change. What was different this time was the presence of a live band. They were easily twice my age, a cover band with little original material on the resume. I left my house for the thirty mile drive north, only this time I packed something.

It is coated in brass, over the years it has worn off to leave a rusty coat. It is bent in places and there are more than a few dents and scratches. The felt on the inside of the case is well worn from almost 16 years of use and it smells like a sock drawer. It wasn’t expensive and it wouldn’t sell these days, but I can still play it like you wouldn’t believe.

My trombone.

I remember walking into that classroom when I was just a kid. Oh did I ever want to play an instrument, I just didn’t know which one. The sax was too expensive, the drums too loud and the flute too gay…I was at a crossroads of indecision.

“Which one is the easiest to learn,” I asked in my high-pitched pre-adolescent voice.

“The trombone.”

A few years later I was in high school and I hadn’t given it up, besides the case made a good weapon against the kids calling me “band geek.” I spent more time in the band room than I did in the classroom and it was paying off. I was winning awards at competitions for the improvisational skills I showcased during our jazz concerts. I would play so long my mouth bled from my braces and my arm hurt from holding the fucker up.

By the time college came along I was playing in the jazz band and occupying the top seat in my section. My friends came to see us play in the campus bar and dropped their jaws when they saw me brandishing my rusted instrument. It was a thrill I could not get enough of.

I would pound glass after glass of bourbon before our shows and normally had a Solo cup full of it the whole time I was on stage. I can’t tell you how many times I stood in front of the mic counting the bars before my solo thinking that I was about to vomit. I wobbled back and forth drunkenly before brushing the twenty or so inches of hair that constantly covered my face out of the way. But, as soon as that metal touched my lips, something changed.

There was no alcohol in my system and no problems in my mind; it was just me and the mic. There was no drunken director and there was no crowd of people, it was just me and my horn. Everything faded away and it was just me.

When the solo ends my curly blond hair covers my face once again and my lungs gasp for air. I don’t look back as I head for the bandstand but I know what just happened. I have never slept as well as I have after a three set, four hour jazz concert. It might be the amount I drank before, during and after them, but it might be because I have never put my all into anything like I have that twisted piece of metal.

Well I walked across another stage and they gave me my diploma and it was the end of my music. There was no band to practice with, no director to push me and no crowd to stun. It took a long time for me to forget the thrill that I had lost on those stages. I lost a lot of sleep over it, even tried to change it…there was just no one to play with. From then on, the horn lay locked up in my closet.

I took exit 33 and headed through the country to Ike’s house. I was nervous, not a single one of them had seen the horn in my hands and I hadn’t asked the band if I could intrude. I sat and drank until the sun went down and the band came on, pondering if I should ask them or not. Finally I had enough (to drink) and approached them.

“Well, are you any good?”

"We'll have to see, won't we?"

I took my shirt off and raised the horn to my lips, a familiar sound coming from its bell. I heard the snare count off four and I came in, from there I ceased to be me. The music flowed out of me like a piss after a long night at the bar, but I didn’t know how it sounded. My hair was short now and I could feel the sweat running down my back and forehead as my body contorted to fit the solos I was playing. The instrument reached into my chest and extracted sounds I had not heard in more than a year.

It felt incredible.

After about three hours my lungs had given up on me…fucking RJ Reynolds…and I needed a drink. I wiped the sweat off my face as Ike slapped me on the back, a look of shock in his face. I cracked a High Life and sat down in the grass, completely spent, when I heard two of my friends talking.

“Holy shit, he can do more than drink.”

“I had no fucking idea.”

I grinned, and when I thought about this story tonight I thought about something else…my newest Craigslist post.

“Trombone player. Slightly out of practice. Jazz, funk, blues, rock and ska…maybe even hip hop. Remembering the passion I had for it and looking for a band to help me find it again.”

Thursday, December 11, 2008

The Creature Within

See my shadow changing, stretching up and over me.

Soften this old armor, hoping I can clear the way by,

Stepping through my shadow, coming out the other side.

Stepping through the shadow of Forty Six and Two just ahead of me.

There is a creature that was locked inside, far from inquisitive eyes, of whose existence we were not aware. Dormant yet so alive, he waited for the call of his name.

A mutation has been taking place under the skin that covers my flesh, I can feel it move. The sickness is spreading out of control and the creature is taking hold. You took your chance opening his cage, waking him and now he cannot be stopped.

There were things I was hiding that I did not know existed. I remember hearing it calling the first time I saw you bound to my bed frame. But this was not an accident, for you are simply pursuing a means to an end, drawing something from me in the process.

So I stare in the mirror and I see the animal hiding behind the blue in my eyes. A perfect monster awakened by your summons, I see my shadow changing. You will submit to my will, just as you desire, but I will show you no mercy. When you return, you will remember the animal you have created.

I will pull at your leash and yank on your hair, showing you that you are mine. I will fight you till the end and feel your flesh between my teeth. I will take what is mine. I will leave you bruised, battered and beaten, yet you will cry for more. I know what you are; there is no hiding from me. You and I, we are the same…monsters hiding beneath the surface. I will leave you broken but you will egg me on for more, knowing all the while I will never be defeated. You will push and pull until you are defeated, but it is as you planned. You want this because you know I will leave you broken.

Or is it because you know I will put you back together afterwards?

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Is It Just Me Or Is Everything Shit?

“Can’t we just take it home ourselves?”

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the way it worked. The brewery’s official corporate doctrine had to rule on its fate in their high courts of beer justice. I can see the horrible images formed in their brains when they learned the fate of the doomed truckload of beer.

The load was not totally destroyed, the truck rolled onto a grade so it was still relatively upright…we had high hopes it would be saved. We sent another truck over 300 miles and a rescue operation of epic proportions began. Our boys painstakingly loaded what could be saved of the 26 pallets of beer from the tipped truck onto the rescuer. Within a day, there was a half truckload of beer in our yard essentially in limbo.

The corporate folks couldn’t make a decision on what to do with it. The distributor wouldn’t take it and they couldn’t find anything else to do with it, so it sat. It sat and sat until it hit that certain date when a good beer is lost forever to skunk. We all knew it was a lost cause but we kept up hope until the day the call came and broke our hearts.

“What did they say?”

“They say we have to…to…..”

“Spit it out godamnit.”

“…..destroy it.”


The mood dropped like an anchor into a lake. The others looked like someone had just died as I sat in shock, muttering and dazed. A few hours later I watched out the window as they tossed the cases into the lot. Their expiration dates had passed and they were doomed, the brewery made us videotape them opening the trailer and destroying the beer so it was not resold or given away…to us…as hoped.

They ran the owner’s tractor over the cases for the better part of an hour; it was a horrible sight as well as sound. They were cleaning up the cases as I headed out to the parking lot, the air smelling like beer. I walked over to talk to one of the guys, lighting a cigarette before I headed home.

“Long day, huh?” I asked.

“Worst day of my life.”

Monday, December 08, 2008

Rush Hour Part 2

“Here we go again.”

First off, let’s just get one thing straight, I was not late…she was early.

I got on the freeway, hit the gas and lit another cigarette. I had easily gone through half pack in the four hours I had been awake and cleaning. I felt the butterflies starting as I crossed the river, knowing that next time I crossed it she would be in the passenger seat.

I hung up the phone and changed the music as I took exit 4B for the airport. I felt something stirring in my pants as I threw the last cigarette out, passing under the sign reading “Arrivals / Baggage Claim.”

“Holy shit,” I thought, “here we go again.”

There she was, she stood out in her big furry coat and yellow scarf. She looked like a New Yorker in a crowd of hillbillies, but just like I remembered…she looked good. I got out and she was instantly in my arms again, God how long I waited for that. Her lips were exactly like I remembered; she looked up slightly as I kissed her.

“Ok enough, we have to get going,” I said as I pushed her back, heading for the car door.

It was eternally hard to keep from speeding on the highway headed back into town. Although, I figured that if I scared the shit out of her there would be no chance of fucking the shit out of her…I figured I could wait a few. I glanced over to see the look of lust heavy in her eyes as her hand began creeping across the armrest and into my lap. I rose up to meet her touch and I pushed my cock over to her side, holding up my fingers for her to lick the precum off of.

Within seconds her head was in my lap bobbing up and down on me. It was right around noon, traffic was heavy and I’m sure the people behind me were wondering why her head kept disappearing and then reappearing. My hand was in her pants, spreading around the wetness along her lips. She lifted up and slid her jeans and panties down to her knees.

I had this moment in my head for two months, ever since this day and it was finally happening. The faint idea of revenge crossed my mind as I remembered her tormenting me as I jerked off in heavy traffic on a sunny day. We were in rush hour together, but this time I wasn’t bobbing and weaving through traffic. She put her seat back and started rubbing her clit as I kept pace in the left lane. Surprisingly it became increasingly difficult to keep my eyes on the road and not on my passenger seat.

North of downtown, five exits to go.

I had one hand on the wheel and one on my cock as we passed the Reading Rd exit. I saw a truck coming up in the center lane, no way to get around him now…but no way I was going to stop her. He was going to see. I pulled past the back half of the truck, thinking about passing him quickly, but I changed my mind at the last second. I paused by the tractor for a good five seconds, this time I was delivering the show he wanted to see.

“You fucker, you’re slowing down so they can see.”


She closed her eyes and went back to what she was doing, less than concerned about the show I was putting on. With one mile to the exit she put her seat back up and leaned over the arm rest again, sucking on me as we got off the freeway.

“You had better sit up now; we’re driving through the hood.”

I turned into the shortcut for my street as she took my cock back into her hand and squeezed. I had my right hand in her lap; she was getting wetter by the second. I showed her my alma mater as we passed by but she seemed fixated on something else. She leaned into my lap, licking the tip of my cock for a second when we stopped in my parking lot. I pushed her off and grabbed her bag out of the back seat.

“We need to get in my bed, now.”

Fumbling with the locks on both doors, I dropped her bag as soon as we walked in. She was in my arms the moment it closed; I started taking her shirt off as we walked down the hall. The fabric continued to fall and I told her I needed to go to the bathroom and to be waiting for me. I let the sink run for a second as I stood there catching my breath. I ran my hand through my hair, grinned and walked back into my bedroom. She was naked, spread and lying on my bed as I had imagined constantly since the moment I started talking to her.

I took off my boxers as she stared with lust in her eyes, I couldn’t have gotten into bed faster.

Friday, December 05, 2008

Learning to Fly




Nothing really changed, for better or worse, in the past few days. Following the massive…er…minor meltdown of Wednesday, I woke up yesterday with a realization that things were never going to be the same, in any aspect. Including how I deal with the things flying around in my head and burning in my chest.

Wednesday night I stopped at the Party Source after work. It was an in and out mission, not more than ten minutes later I was back in my car headed across the same bridge I crossed with her a few days ago. This time there was a bottle of bourbon sitting in the passenger’s seat.

“What am I doing?”

I heard the battle raging back and forth in my head. A howling addiction had been stirred up like a cloud of sand on the ocean floor. I pulled into the spot where the two of us had sat smoking cigarettes in the rain and thought over what I was about to go do. The ache in my chest was too great; I needed something to kill that pain for a while.

“Fuck it, I don’t have to tell her that I did this.”

I got out of the car, bottle in hand, and started walking to the front door but I stopped. A wave of guilt hit me. I turned around and hurled the bottle towards the dumpster, watching it shatter as it hit the concrete. I went inside and sat down, pissed off and shaken, still not believing what I had just done. I rolled a joint and sat there smoking in silence, watching the plumes billow and fade into the still air of my apartment. Ash fell onto my shirt as I felt my muscles relax and the haze cloud into my head.

After a few hours of shooting various races of gun-toting terrorists on my Xbox I got up to go smoke. I sat there on the stoop, looking to my right, remembering her standing out there wearing nothing but stockings, a bra, high heels and a coat. Head in my hands, I just need to get up and keep going. I felt it; there will be no quarter for me. No rest for the weary just like yesterday, just like today and just like tomorrow. No rest for the weary.

I flicked the cigarette and got up to walk in, seeing the shattered glass in the back of the lot.

“Well, at least I’m not drinking.”

I’m learning to fly …a little wobbly, but I’m catching on.

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

I'm Scared

I always knew I would hear this song the way it was meant to be heard. Now I finally get it.

I'll be fine, this isn't the first time I've been broken and it won't be the last. Laugh if you want, I don't care. I knew what I was getting myself into the whole time and I did it anyway. I'll be fine. I can deal with the worst, I have before. Dying friends, cheating women and calling addictions haven't killed me yet. I'll be fine. I really will.

I don't know anymore.

I just don't know.

I'll be fine.

I want to hit the road and just drive, I just want to be gone. Not here, no contact. Just me. All by myself, just like I've always been.

Alone. Again. Like before. Like always. By myself. The only one who understands. Alone.

I'll be fine, like always I'll find a way. I'll forget and laugh about this in the future. I'll be fine, I really will.

I'll be fine.

I just need a little time.

The blank pages of my diary
That I haven't touched since you left me
The closed blinds in my home
See no light of day.

Dust gathers on my stereo
Cos I can't bare to hear the radio
The piano sits in a shaded space
With a picture of your face.

I'm scared to face another day
Cos the fear in me just won't go away.
In an instant, you were gone and I'm scared.

Coffee stains on your favorite book
Remind me of you so I can't take a look.
The magazines you left on the floor
You won't need them anymore.

A towel left hangin on the wall
No sign of wet foosteps in the hall
There's no smell of your sweet cologne.
I'm lying here alone.

I'm scared to face another day
Cos the fear in me just won't go away.
In an instant, you were gone and now I'm scared.

I'm scared to face another day
Cos the fear in me just won't go away.
In an instant, you were gone, now I'm scared.

In an instant you were gone and I'm scared.

"I'm Scared" Duffy

Give Me

Give me a face to punch, a throat to choke or a skull to crush. Give me pushing, shoving, screaming, punching, kicking, clawing and biting. Give me a knife, gun, bat, bomb or club. Give me my two fists, give me violence. Give me clenched teeth, blood red eyes and strained foreheads. Give me a scapegoat, a pawn and a fall guy. Give me someone to stab or shoot, someone to crush or destroy. Give me something to kill.

Give me anger.

Give me seething, cursing, spewing, swearing and screaming. Give me a hoarse voice, sore throat and a bad attitude. Give me blinded eyes and closed ears. Give me bitterness, sarcasm and pain. Give me an outlet. Give me eyes to see and ears to hear it screaming. Give me someone to listen. Give me no one. Give me nothing. Give me a sentence and give me a cell to rot in. Give me four walls to shout at.

Give me rage.

Give me clawed out eyes, pulled out hair, burned arms and bruised fists. Give me empty bottles, sleepless nights and cigarette butts. Give me broken dishes, shattered glass and destroyed possessions. Give me an axe to chop, a match to burn and a hammer to smash. Give me tears, cries and questions of “why?” Give me no answer, no reprieve and no quarter. Give me nothing I ask and everything I despise. Give me something to make me peel off my skin and tear out my hair. Give me no rest, no sleep and no relief.

Give me frustration.

Give me something. Give me anything. Give me nothing.

Give me your anger, rage and frustration because mine aren’t nearly enough.


Tuesday, December 02, 2008

The Tie That Binds

Wal-Mart Clerk: Can I help you find something sir?

Me: Just looking for some rope actually.

Wal-Mart Clerk: Any kind in particular

Me: Something relatively strong but soft at the same time.

Wal-Mart Clerk: Hmmm, I’m not sure, maybe if you tell me what you’re using if for I could help more?

Me: It’s…uh…complicated.

Enter apartment #17. Two naked bodies lie on the bed of blankets on the living room floor, she is in his arms. He traces fingertips lazily across her body, changing her position every few minutes, exposing new skin to his touch. Her back arches, she purrs as his fingers graze her inner thighs, avoiding the growing warmth in the center. His dry humping against her leg has left it slick and glistening as she rubs back against him…his touch becoming more and more insistent. It soon became too much. They stand up, walking into the bedroom as he grabs the rope he had purchased earlier that week. Sprawled out on the bed she looks at him, eyes full of lust.

Each limb corresponds to a steel leg on the bed frame, left arm first. Rope winds tightly around her wrist connecting her to the frame: no give, no shelter and no control. She rubs away with the right hand as he secures the legs, rope wound tightly around her ankles. He takes her wrist into his mechanical grip and rips it away from her pussy, plunging it onto the bed, quickly strangling it with his restraints. He stops and looks at the sight before him.

Complete control.

He kisses and licks his way across the lines of her body, paying the utmost attention to her minute details. She arches up but is quickly pushed back down under his weight. His lips leave trails of wetness across her thighs as he draws nearer and nearer, only to pull away at the last moment. Hands trace her body; he grinds himself against her leg, staring at the look on her face. Mouth open. Eyes Closed. Head back. Wetness meets wetness…sound emits, pulse quickens, fingers curl, pupils dilate, toes spread, and nipples harden, dripping and slurping. Rising up her length slowly he takes time to drip his mess onto her before sliding inside. Her chest rises to meet him, but he pulls away as she struggles against the tension from her binds.

“I am in control now, do you trust me?”

Her eyes were the answer and her words torment him, egging him on. He leaves her, standing up and walking back into the kitchen. Eyes fix on the cutting block. “Too big, too small…uh that one’s dirty…ah…perfect.” Holding the metal firmly against his chest he checked the sharpness, again perfect. She stares at him as he walks back into the bedroom, the knife out of sight as he climbs on top of her. Their eyes are locked such that she does not notice the blade as it comes into view, her lips part when she finally does.

“I’ll ask you again, do you trust me?”

The blade meets her skin a few inches above her left breast, slowly making its way down her chest. She does not move, knowing the imminent danger and her inability to fight him off. The sight of the metal both frightens and excites her, his touch reassures but reasserts. The control is his. He moves his body lower, bringing the knife to rest just above her clit. The cold metal meets her outer lips, she gasps but does not budge, and he trails it out down her hip. The pattern repeats and mutates, each inch of skin covered producing new taboo sensations traveling in its wake.

He mounts her, placing the knife on the bed as he slides himself into her. He knows what she wants but is hesitant, wondering if she really understands what she is asking…the danger. He puts her trust to the test. The blade comes to rest on her throat as the pace of his thrusting increases. She does not breathe and he does not press down, it is there as a mere reminder. It is equilibrium between the two of them, an unspoken testament to his power over her. He lifts, she breathes. The excitement in her eyes is an echo of the animal in his; she sees what she has drawn out of him. He does not recognize himself in this moment, but he carries on. His full realization comes as he pulls the knife away for the final time, looking down at her face. He wakes up, realizing for the first time that he wants this just as much as she does. His eyes open, he draws a breath and grabs a handful of her hair.

I pulled back hard and saw the obvious pain on her face as her neck craned upwards. I thought about what I was doing, “Sick fuck,” but it only pressed me on further. I think she saw the conflict in my eyes because she began to curse me, I pulled her hair harder. She demeaned me; I bit down into her flesh. She spit, I pushed her head into the mattress. The insults flew back and forth; I fucked her harder with each word from her mouth. It turned to a struggle as she fought against her binds, I could see the rope sawing into her skin. Harder and harder, I pulled back on her hair and licked her neck, “I don’t want it,” she said. “Get off of me, you're pathetic.” Egging me on and on, I knew she liked it…I told her she did. Her flat refusal brought it on even more.

“I don’t care if it feels good for you, it does for me.”

I saw the fire in her eyes when I said that, she told me I was raping her, I told her she liked it. Two sick demented fucks picking at the back corners of two twisted brains, pulling it out of each other. The fight continued, she was successful in getting my cock out of her a few times, only to be beaten back under my weight to feel me in her once again. I fucked her mercilessly, ripping back on her hair and telling her it was for me. She began to break, slowly but surely.

“Baby, please make love to me.”

I pulled her hair back and growled my response in her ear, doubling my efforts. She begged and begged but I did not bend to her will. Every plea for mercy was greeted with a snarl and a yank of her hair. I was pounding into her relentlessly, the sweat coating our bodies, as she wailed a mix of pleasure and pain into the damp air. It pushed me over the edge; I felt it start growing in my legs. It pushed up to my ass as we slapped together, the bed banging against the wall. The sweat dripped down my forehead as I pulled out, releasing myself onto her arched body…begging for my cum. I took her head in my hands and kissed her, looking into her brown eyes.

“That was fucking unbelievable,” was all either could muster.

“I need a cigarette.”

We laughed and I climbed off of her, she begged me to cut her free. I grabbed a different knife and cut her arm free before handing it to her. "Do it yourself," I said. Instead she lustfully rubbed my cum into her chest and face before tending to her binds. There were deep red rope marks on her wrists and ankles, I took pictures and kissed her wounds. I held her for a few minutes before we got dressed and went outside to smoke.

“I didn’t realize how badly I wanted that,” I said.

“I do trust you with my life,” she responded.

“This I know. I would never hurt you.”

“I know that as well, I love you.”

“I love you…oh and just so you know…that knife was so dull it couldn’t cut butter.”