Random Thought of 2008

Found this while cleaning out folders… Yep. Still one of my faves.

Obviously, pulling a rabbit out of a hat is related to magic. So, when it became transformed into “pulling a rabbit out of my/his/her/their ass”, we come to understand it means that someone did the impossible when needed right that moment – Voila, MAGIC! However, my mind being the cesspool of ridiculosity that it is, I began to think of a completely different scenario.

One guy says to the other, “Hey, bet I can pull a rabbit out my ass.” The other guy thinking the first guy is either clowning, high or crazy, says “Sure you can.” So first guy (we’ll call him Bob) throws his arm to his back and it becomes very clear to second guy (eh… George) that Bob’s hand is, indeed, reaching up into his butt. After grimacing, grunting and some gathering of a minor amount of forehead sweat, Bob pulls his hand out and presents to George a hand full of feces and says, “Ta-daa!!!” George, quite disgusted yet somehow stuck on the fact that Bob just did what he did, says to him quietly and very matter-of-fact “That’s not a rabbit, Bob. That’s a handful of shit.” Bob looks down at his hand and then at George. He asks, “But it kinda looks like a rabbit, huh?”

And I wonder why I am still single. This is GOLD!!!!

Self-Delusion – A Short Essay

9/30/10

Starting again. There is never a brand new fresh start. Reincarnation may exist for a select population of the dead, but for the living we are all still the same leopards hoping that a few coats of dye will change the fact that we have spots. We train ourselves to walk on two legs instead of four, fooling ourselves into the thought that it might make us seem more civilized than our previous state of being. Alas, we are the same animals chained to our basic natures, our basic natures be damned.

I try every day to maintain self-honesty, but no one is perfect. Truth cannot be its abrasive thorny self when twisted into a pretty bow of a lie. And I’ve such a low threshold for pain, especially of the “harsh reality of it all” kind of anguish, so sometimes it’s nice to fool myself with logic because after all, logic has some sort of actual righteous standing, right?

So, knowing that a scorpion will sting the back of a frog even when it promises it won’t, I’ve thrown myself into the same situation thinking that perhaps the tail has run out of venom… maybe the scorpion finally got tired of drowning along with the frog – but unsurprisingly, no. Scorpions sting, the frog drowns. Leopards cannot help their blunt and bold spots wearing through the fade of cheap dye.

There is never really a Fresh Beginning. Not for those who have had the misfortune of having their hearts irrevocably broken. That kind of pain is carried for too long and it seeps in so deep it becomes a natural part of the System. Blood cells, check. Arteries, check. The emotional and psychological stain from the agony of betrayal and unrequited love, Check.

Self-truths… half-truths. They still love me. No… they love knowing that you’ll roll over in an instant just for the chance to spend a night in their arms, for any opportunity to feel their hands roaming across your body once more. They love that you refuse to pursue any other person because you are still under their spell and you just can’t seem to break free. They still want to be with me… They just need time. No, they want you when no one else is available or desiring them. They need time – time to find someone newer, younger, better, etc. You are a convenience, a rest stop, a layover until they reach their final destination.

It’s a horrible thing to be aware of your actual place and meaning in someone else’s life perspective. What is worse is to continue on with a blinding self-deluded belief that perhaps you and that person will start anew, all past altercations and dysfunctions magically erased, smiling faces, hands joined, Happily Ever After smeared across your consciousness.

Apologies to the hopelessly deluded. Reincarnation is for the dead. Repeat that daily and maybe you won’t be too blindsided when they finally find the better option that they had been holding out for.

The Russian

I woke up
after having seen you in my dream

I awoke
and
It was with such
longing
A desire to
really have been so close to you
sitting there
across from your open face
your crooked
happy smile
those eyes
so very nearly
gray

This wretched dream
I remembered
so much
You would leave a peck
on my cheek
while I slept
sprawled and tangled
in the sheets of your bed
Barely a stir
until
Consciousness piqued by the
smell of toast
and your favorite
ramen

I
stumbling out
into the shocking
brightness
one eye open

Your outline
fuzzy
but voice
clear
And I hear you
gentle and
sincere

“Sunshine”

*****

Those memories
brought to surface
by a ridiculous
dream

What I’d give to have kept
sleeping.

Crawlspace

with bated breath
i have waited
gave my mind to death
thoughts cremated

with eyes tight shut
i fell and fell
bruised, banged and cut
otherwise well

asleep with fists
fighting my thirsts
oh how i would miss
being this cursed

Natalie O. 2009

I will savor the taste of your lips
as though it were my last meal
I will breathe you in
as though you were my final breath
I will set aside my doubts
as though I were once again a child
I will take you completely
as though I were the only one who could have you

I will do these things
for the smallest of favors from you

Your embrace
Your stroke
Your presence
Your touch …
to have it linger from the gentle speech of your fingers
the softest echo on my skin

And when you leave

I will wait
ever patient

For the complex richness of the beautiful simplicity
that lies in the way
you make me yours.

Hello, Bukowski

There has always been something about Charles – something vulnerably depraved. An acknowledgement of one’s own vices without the saccharine syrup dripping lightly upon the tongue, prettily disguising the sour taste of truth. I can’t help but love a man who is honest to and about his self. *sigh*

Found this while reading. I usually stick with posting my own poetic musings, but how I wish, some time ago, someone would have written this for me. 🙂

when God created love He didn’t help most
when God created dogs He didn’t help dogs
when God created plants that was average
when God created hate we had a standard utility
when God created me He created me
when God created the monkey He was asleep
when God created the giraffe He was drunk
when He created narcotics He was high
and when He created suicide He was low

when He created you lying in bed
He knew what He was doing
He was drunk and He was high
and He created the mountains and the sea and fire
at the same time

He made some mistakes
but when He created you lying in bed
He came all over His Blessed Universe.

Bar America 2011

I wanted wisdom
but the filmy eyed bar woman – missing teeth… loosened flesh
gave me a beer

I tipped it back
expecting answers

none came.

Laughter
Cigarettes
Patsy Cline

huh… he likes Patsy Cline

Another bottle emptied
And Willie sings to me

from the jukebox

On the road again

It’s all so sad.
So heart-wrenchingly painful

Going places that I’ve never been

But I swig another
I dance a little
I glance at the tiny grandmother – smiling – calling me a taxi

random thought –

I was not meant for beauty

But I happened to get a taste
For a moment

Seeing things that I may never see again

And it was better than the bottle after bottle
I’ve held to my lips

A stranger pays for my cab
A friend calls me from home
A bed catches my stupor

And all I can think about
is the old woman who handed me a drink
and asked how I was doing

“I’m doing fine.”

as always.

…. And I can’t wait to get on the road again

Random Thoughts of An Insomniac

If I were a dog, I’d be a mutt. A medium sized, wiry haired canine who would constantly knock over the garbage can and sniff through the contents for food. Not all food, just the stuff I had a preference for. Also, I’d lay on the bed and lick my butt on the newly washed sheets. Then after the awesome butt cleaning, I’d jump on your chest to be affectionate and to show you how much I loved you, I’d give you sloppy doggy kisses all over your face. That’s right. Juicy, just licked my asshole clean, I love you so much smooches. By the way, the couch is mine and if you try to shoo me off, I’ll just bare my teeth and growl at you until you eventually get the hint that I’m not freaking moving. Once resigned to sharing your comfy sofa with me, I’ll curl up next to you and warm you with my doggy farts, which will smell especially noxious since I just ate the spoiled ham that I dug out from the kitchen trash.

The otters don’t like the dolphins. The dolphins don’t like the otters. It’s like the Greasers and the Soc’s, man! The dolphins are all arrogant, thinking they’re better than everyone else. The otters are just trying to kick back at the Ottery (not to be confused with the Otter House. The Ottery = a couple Oyster Shooters too many, headache in the morning. Otter House = possible need for antibiotics and a REALLY pissed off significant other), minding their own business when the dolphins (always three. Don’t know why, they just travel in trios.) come waltzing in, trying to jack shit up. However, dolphins should never mess with a group (ten or more) of intoxicated otters. Shit gets real.

And in other dolphin related news, the dolphins at the aquarium… hate you. They’re not catching semi-deflated soccer balls in their mouths as a trick taught to them to entertain you. No. They’re exercising their jaws so that they may crush your inferior skull when they finally rise up to take over the world. The cartoon, The Simpsons, covered this fact and actually, unbeknownst to the writers, delayed the Dolphin Apocalypse. Thinking the humans were wise to their plans, they decided to play stupid for another decade or two. You’ve been warned.

My spirit animal is a stray cat with a chewed up ear and a wonky eye that constantly gets into fights. It may or may not have fleas. But most definitely a wonky eye. And a hairless tail. That’s how my spirit animal rolls. And what.

(Time to stare at the bedroom ceiling and come up with more idiocy.)

A Lifetime Of Moments

Why do I relate to this… A wonderfully written piece.

Peter Wells aka Countingducks's avatarcountingducks

As a young man of twenty-three I was, like many people, an actor of sorts, who could fill any role, or in my case undemanding job, until the sterility and boredom of it all became suffocating and I engineered a way to terminate the post by means of getting sacked.

I was a junior in a sales office, marketing products of no interest to me to people I did not care to meet, but with a smile and urgency of manner which told everyone, “This boy has found his destiny,” but that was not the case. Truth was, I had not found my destiny, and that is why I took that or any job. To eat and shelter myself and then walk out in the streets of London at the weekend was all I had or wanted. I was adrift within myself yet had no knowledge of the fact.

Anne-Marie…

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Back in ’93 pt. 1

The girls around her seemed confused. Defiant, pre-pubescent, semi-women, almost always sure of themselves, now gazed upon her with direct indecisiveness. Sixteen year-old Ramos felt their eyes boring through. Looking down, she felt her heart fall and rise with each breath the dying animal took. A grey squirrel lie almost still, its bloody entrails scattered and staining the ground around it. Apparently, the girls had scared away its attacker, yet the damage was immense and irreversible. It heaved, trying its hardest to swallow the air which it thought would keep it alive. Ramos stared down at the poor animal, subconsciously aware of her peers.

“I think it’s dead.” said Ramos.
“Nah… it’s still breathing.” Said Jennie.
“Fuck. It’s almost dead.” Said the girl with the braids.

They were only going for a walk. The staff said it was okay. A beautiful day for the girls no one wanted to go for a walk in an out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere place designated by the state for the keeping of such misunderstood, delinquent pseudo-orphans. She had been in places like this before, but was new to this group. She had only been there a week and a half, was still feeling out most of the girls and had no idea what to say and/or do.
Ramos stood long and stared hard at the squirrel. Its innards were disgusting, yet sad. she didn’t know what to make of it… or the current situation surrounding the fragile little creature’s looming demise. All she knew was that she had to come up with an answer.

“Whatcha gonna do?”
The question came from outside. BB had walked up. No one ever talked to her – she, in turn, could care less. Ramos dared to speak.
“They let you out?”
BB snickered. “No. I do what the fuck I want. What, you gonna say something?”

Ramos made the conscious effort to keep her gaze blank as she eyed BB. For all the bouncing around she did, she had never been wary of any of her fellow peers, but this one – this one was different. BB had been in the system since before she could walk. Almost every section of her body had some visible remainder of past abuse from every foster home she had ever been in. Were it not for the scars, some might think she had the prettiest caramel skin they’d ever seen. But the beauty would stop there. One look into her eyes – she had eyes of the deepest darkest pitch and they never looked kind. The only time Ramos thought she ever saw any hint of joy or life in them was when she witnessed BB giving a fellow ward the beat down of her teenage life. With that memory in mind, Ramos didn’t feel the need to deliberate much longer. Her eyes fell back to the agonized animal and she made her decision.

“Does anyone have something heavy?” Ramos asked very quietly.
“What are ya’ gonna do? Smash its head in?” BB asked with a smirk, all the while staring Ramos down. Ramos had never before been in such a situation. The girl with braids, Baby Doll, looked upset to see that the animal might still be alive. But BB – fuck. BB seemed to be completely unaware of the animal. She just seemed to relish the testing of Ramos’ character.

“Yeah.” Her voice came out clear and calm, barely recognizable to herself.

Somewhere near an abandoned barn that happened to be part of the property, Jennie had found a heavy cement block and painstakingly brought it to Ramos. Taking it from the skinny thirteen year-old, she felt its weight, stood square above the animal gasping for breath, and realized she was holding the dying animal’s subconscious death wish. A dose of her Catholic upbringing nudged her into muttering a prayer beneath her breath. She raised it above her head – and ONE, TWO, THREE! She brought the block sharply down upon its head, the sound of a crunch beneath her blow. However, it wasn’t quite dead yet. Panic swelled and the horror of causing the already injured animal more anguish flooded her faltering resolve with all too dangerous emotions. Swallowing hard against the lump in her throat threatening tears, she braced herself. One more time. ONE, TWO, THREE! This time she made sure there was force behind the thrust of the cinder block. The sound of another crunch followed and for a moment, a brief split second of silence came with it.
Jennie was crying somewhere. Ramos heard her. Baby Doll was screaming obscenities. Ramos heard her. BB had already begun to walk away. Ramos heard that too, the soft padding of her feet upon the summer grass slowly fading away. She knew that now, she would have one less adversary to be concerned about. That’s just how things worked with girls in the system.

The one thing Ramos found strange was that her own thoughts were a ghost town, nary a cricket or tumbling ball of thistle. She couldn’t hear a thing. The only sound audible in her head was that of the wind against barren ground, quietly brushing over a lifeless squirrel.