| SENTIMENTAL GUY |
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| 04:49pm 13/09/2008 |
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SENTIMENTAL GUY By Robert Jaffe
Samantha lay in a hospital bed, a room bare of personal details, cold and disconnected from the world she’d grown to know. Lexington was far behind, and a new life was going strong in Cleveland. Ohio would be a stepping stone for the world that Sam wanted to be in, New York, past the sweeping conservative rhetoric that had consumed a childhood stilted by the world around. Sam digs into a wallet left behind by Grandpa Silvan, shaky fingers pull out a photograph of a man and a daughter. The man the girls’ father, Sam gazes with a mixture of bitter sweet longing and profound regret. Choking back emotions deliberately pulled forward, the photo goes back into the leather envelope of memories and commerce.
Sam remembers growing up with Reagan and Bush banners displayed proudly on a meticulously maintained front lawn. Mama Alicia leaned left on some issues, but the predominant feeling in the house hold was held by Papa Daniel. In front of an old color television, the kind you had to get up to turn on, Daniel would drink Pabst and talk about the need to keep America grounded in its roots. Often, Daniel would talk of the deteriorating values that had infused itself into his great country, spoken with a sense of longing for a world that should still be. The love Sam felt for Daniel was strong, but was overtaken with the fundamental knowledge that he could not understand who he really was and what she had to do.
The doctor entered the hospital room and went over the details of the procedure that would follow. He took pains to elucidate the difficulty that could arise from such an operation, but Sam made it clear that the risks were known, and that it was necessary for life to carry on the way it was supposed to be. The doctor then asked if there was any family who would be there afterwards, and Sam sadly replied, “No.” Sam was then put under the gas, and fell into a deep sleep. In dreams, Alicia came down like an angel and kissed Sam on the forehead.
Time has stopped the clock keeps going.
When Sam awoke, the pain from the surgery was the first thing that entered into their mind. A shaky hand reached below the sheets to caress the work that had been done, and Sam’s eyes went misty at the discovery of a new feeling. When Sam’s eyes cleared, the image of Daniel became clear, sitting anxious in a chair bedside.
“When,” Daniel began, “when your mother passed, it was the hardest time in my life. Losing that woman was something I never imagined I’d have to deal with. I mean, Sam, I mean I knew I was going to lose her, or she’d lose me but I never thought I’d lose her so Goddamn soon. And I look at you. Sam, you’ve been the greatest daughter a man could have. You took care of me when I was sick with depression, when I crawled into the bottle, you were there for me. I love you so much, Sam, and it kills me to think you didn’t think I should be here for this. That I could be here for you.” Sam was really crying now, ashamed of the shame. Daniel shuddered a moment, collecting his thoughts, wiping his hand frantically over his mouth. He took a deep breath, and with eyes deep with time, looked at Sam.
“Sam, you are who you are and I need you to know now I respect your choices and I want you to. I want you to be the person, who you are. I loved you for the woman that you grew to be, and. And now I love you for the man you are, Samuel. I’m proud to call you my son.” And through a cloud of tears, the two men hugged each other in that hospital room in Cleveland.
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| "The Dark Knight" and duality. Spoilers. |
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| 11:59pm 23/07/2008 |
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The months leading up to the release of the film, “The Dark Knight”, behind the scenes the marketing teams ran a viral campaign, for both the Joker, Harvey Dent, and eventually Batman himself. The initial advertisement for the film was a banner with the slogan, “I believe in Harvey Dent,” and the image of Aaron Eckhart in character. As the online shenanigans continued with Joker doctored Gotham Time Newspapers, cakes with cell phones baked into them, and good old fashioned scavenger hunts that often ended with a small army of Jokers decked out to the fullest, Heath Ledger passed away. A month or so after that, the blitz continued, this time, focusing on Harvey Dent, and his bid for District Attorney of Gotham. A Dent Mobile came through major cities and people adorned themselves with pins throwing their support behind the candidate, demanding that we take back the City. The Joker continued calling people, trailers and videos were released, even Gordon got in on it, pulling a sting and catching us on the phone. The Batman stuff was quieter. A small website here and there leading to citizens who follow the lead of the man in the mask. And at the end of it, Harvey Dent won by a landslide, the Joker gave a word of prophecy, and the movie finally came out.
It was everything I hoped it would be. Spoilers, seriously, spoilers.
If you made it out to an Imax theater to see “I Am Legend,” (or just snuck in on your way to see “No Country For Old Men) you got to see the first six minutes of the flick. Gotham City in the day time is something to be seen, in fact, it is remarkably similar to downtown Chicago. Which is neat. The bank robbery where each goon in a clown mask kills each subsequent goon in a clown mask, until the one with the sad face is held at gun point. “No, I kill the busdriver,” and then we have one more dead clown and the beginning of a pretty spectacular character. Another goon gone and a moment with a bank teller and grenade, awe get the Joker off riding amongst the school buses. Creepy.
For the next ten, fifteen minutes, we meet a protagonist or four. Gordon first, standing by the Bat Signal with his cup of coffee. The Batman, stopping a minor inconvenience, taking a dog bite and his back smashed against a wall for his efforts. There’s a scene between the two crime fighters, a mention of the new district attorney wanting in on the action. Soon enough, film creation Rachel Dawes, sitting anxious in court, waiting for Dent to prosecute at Maroni’s trial, and then here comes Harvey strolling in. Rachel looks tired, but Dent, he looks energized, like he was born for this. He even offers her a flip of a coin to see who leads. He questions a witness with vigor and when they pull a gun on him, he doesn’t flinch, just takes the thing out of the thugs’ hands and tries to go on with the testimony.
That Harvey wants to work with Batman is very telling of his character. This is a man of the law, and by all accounts the Batman is an outlaw and a vigilante. Harvey should want Batman in prison, not asking for his help in snatching up shifty accountants. It could be seen as him whale hunting, hoping to snag bigger prizes, but it seems more likely he wants to see Gotham City whole again. If not free of the crime that’s plagued it, on her way to taking back control from those who sought to exploit the good people. The good people. Harvey’s an idealist, as well as a realist. He knows corruption when he sees it, finding it in Gordon’s people (though a little hesitant to take on his own staff). It’s this utter lack of corruption in Batman that allows Harvey to trust him. Harvey is proud to see a citizen taking responsibility for their city, and that Batman handles it with such skill and honor is surely a sign of someone to be taken seriously. This is brave, still, for Harvey to do this. Like Jim Gordon before him, Dent risks everything on believing in an idea. Despite his faults, like being a bit of a liar, and quite a drinker (everyone else at the dinner had a glass of wine, or in the case of Wayne, maybe ginger ale? Harvey was rocking a wine glass and shot of scotch), we learn pretty quickly Harvey Dent is a bit of a hero, ever ready to self sacrifice.
Then he falls. Pushed. His duplicity tears him apart and a monster is made.
So the thing about Obama is, wait, uhm. What I mean is nobody wants to see it, this White Knight showing cracks in the armor, and crossing lines that no man should. That he goes so far to actually kidnap his friend’s family and threaten their lives shows how thin a line it is to chaos, or as the Joker put it, “Madness is like gravity. All it takes is a little push.” In the end, the Batman sees to it Harvey finishes his descent to rock bottom. In death, Batman assures the legend ascends and lets Gordon bury a man.
That’s my favorite thing about the Dark Knight. Heath Ledger gave a phenomenal performance, and while everyone stepped up to the plate, he around the bases a few dozen times wearing a nurse’s skirt and practically skipping with glee. It was scary and funny, like Alex from “Clockwork Orange,” or Bugs Bunny torturing Elmer Fudd. So when people leave that movie, that’s the character they think about. Loud wins again. Still, when they reveal the damage done to Dent, Aaron Eckhart and Christopher Nolan were practically screaming at the viewer to check this guy out. This is the heart of the movie, the guy who’s supposed to fix everything but can’t because he can’t get beyond himself or his own selfish needs like righteous revenge. This politician is bogus, but his ideals were always in the right place. To see a man scarred the way Harvey was is to see a man lose bearing on his soul. His descent into Hell is tragic and this film gave it a sense of inevitability.
The most compelling thing about Harvey Dent is that in death, he becomes a hero again. Fearing all the work Dent had done while working as DA would be undone by his later choices of kidnap and murder, Batman offered himself up as the killer so that Harvey could be buried as a hero. Maintaining this mask, to both Batman and Gordon, is essential. The truth of what Harvey would become should not affect the good that work that he had done. This is not to say that the work Batman had done was not good too, not effective. The fact is, its Batman’s success that helped give rise to Harvey Dent’s crusade against crime. Harvey was a citizen working within the system to effect change, particularly against corruption. He put his heart into keeping the citizens of Gotham safe, and he did that putting himself behind. To see the man corrupted is to know the face of hypocrisy. To still believe in Harvey Dent, knowing he is Two-Face, is to feel the power of symbol. |
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| Old Friends |
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| 12:14pm 18/06/2008 |
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after the Tempest
we followed the flow
of awkward actors
to the bridge that goes to
that flag
that icon
that flapping patriotic cheese
memories on an Indian river
island mosquitoes flitter on bare legs
strolling in step
with teenage heart palpitations
finding each others hand
and you say
“So, what, do we just start making out now?”
and because we’re awkward actors
it’s blushing cheeks
sweaty palms
on the way to fellow friends
past stones marking dead soldiers
eyes turned down
to count each step
these are rocks of age
lighter with rains erosion
heavier for bumps on the road
assimilation
finding a balance between
a hurricane ravaged beach town
and a city that moves like a hurricane
we are an accident
however delightful
and I find myself in familiar sandaled steps
and your stride too
it rings familiar
ten years has only made our foundation
look more like us
our years are on our faces
and it’s like we never left
caught in old show tunes
stuck with recurring characters
my friend, your plight
heart beats
jealous and defensive
when it is about me
check my posture
I’m restless
you’re searching
we’re living for feelings
reaching for antacid
painkilling narratives
Icelandic soundtracks
alcohol and thc
sex with strangers
writing movies in our heads
for the theatrical production
of ‘this is your life’
and damn it, no, I did not write this plot twist
shit and fuck this
scrapes and bruises
blemishes and alopecia
eyes that go to wide
and songs about suicide
here’s your story in a nut shell
time to shit or get off the pot
here’s my story in a shell
I’m a nut, shit
here’s a chick with Van Gogh on her arm
here’s a guy who swears his friend won’t care
here’s dominance and cat piss
here’s to the wrong question
here’s a divorce and some discretion
here’s shower play and too much feeling
here’s a mistake that deserved an apology
here’s that same mistake again expecting a different result
here’s a line that means too many things to really process proper
and here’s a line that means just one;
you know that I love you
even if it’s not in
complications
you are too good for this
throw off the shackle of desire
like it’s not a steel trap
like it’s not weighing you down
like you could take it off but you just don’t want to
throw off the need
to be told those three Goddamn words
to connect to relate
to create the goal
push passion from pen tips
fuck petty pervert power plays
you’re cool man
respect the flow
live life to the fullest cause it’s the only way you know
that you are living your life to the fullest
and still
let that shit go
create
fuck escape
fuck dates
(or don’t, wait)
fuck your heart
fuck mine seriously
fuck confusion
fuck fusion
fuck people who can’t take the hint
fuck people who can’t give hints for shit
fuck the voice that calls to analyze
fuck burning yearn for anal
fuck despair
fuck destruction
fuck delirium and the rest of the family
fuck exes and never beens
fuck this intensity
fuck me immensely
fuck the lies and the liars that tell them
fuck the truth and the asshole who thinks he’s doing you a favor
fuck polite debate
fuck ruthless politics
fuck my face fuck my name
fuck Connor Oberst
fuck every memory that keeps hope alive
fuck hope
fuck the point
fuck tangential obscene stanzas
ah
fuck
and fuck
fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
fuckity
fuck fuck
darn
it’s bad luck, love
your plight my heart these guys those girls
its like we never got off the island
never grew up
just kids holding hands
watching the wind work it’s way
through every fiber of the line
that holds a memory like a belief |
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| The Guru Reviewew |
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| 12:02pm 17/06/2008 |
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For movies like Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and Batman Begins, I deliberately lower my expectations. My heart of hearts wants these movies to achieve a level of perfection that is, well, perfectly impossible. So I go to these movies with my doubt and sometimes I’m satisfied that I wasn’t utterly ashamed to be in the theater (Indie) and sometimes I get overwhelmed with joy that I just go to witness that movie (Batman). Then there are movies where my expectations are lowered because the celebrity behind that movie has more than worn out there welcome. In this case, The Love Guru. While my lowered expectations resulted in an Indie scenario, that I enjoyed the film at all almost raises it to Batman levels. Oh, if I hadn’t mentioned it before, I am gigantic nerd.
What The Love Guru gets right is its sense of self deprecation. Mike Myers is well aware of what everyone has to say about him and he has no problem sticking his head right up his own ass for a good sight gag. Success screamed in his ear in the nineties to the bodacious sound of Bohemian Rhapsody. Perhaps all that air inflated his bouncing head to the point of popping with a barrage of poop jokes, with that last embarrassing Austin Powers flick, Goldmember. I left that particular film with a salty taste in mouth as though Myers had just hosed me, with not one, not two, NOT THREE, BUT FOUR DIFFERENT CHARACTERS OH MAN AM I STICKY NOW. He seems a little past that. The Guru Pitka reflects in Mike Myers a desire to grow, mature, blossom, evolve, adapt, enlarge, engorge, engage, endorse, edify, Edison, electric kool-aid test, eyah, err. Well, Myers wants to grow up, at any rate.
Still, maturity does not a good movie make, so how was The Love Guru really then? Not bad. Pretty hilarious at parts. Pretty dumb in others. It’s hard to not laugh at Ben Kingsley’s horrifically cross eyed Guru Tugginmypudha, almost as hard as it is to laugh every time Myers decides it’s time for a song. Comedies have a tendency to be scattershot, where the story serves as joke dispenser. The Love Guru attempts to string a narrative, not necessarily a plausible one, but definitely a string of scenes together to form a story, I just don’t think it was a particularly engaging. For those who care about the plot, Pitka is the worlds #2 guru, wants to be #1, Conroy from Weeds is an insecure hockey player with penis envy, Pitka comes in to help him regain his sense of self and win the Stanley Cup. Oh, and Pitka would like to have sex with Alba, but he keeps hitting a wall. That’s… That’s about it. Unless you count Colberts narrative as an announcer with a slight drug problem, which I don’t. Anyway, so so. Not for any lack of talent on the actors parts (Jessica Alba is a SAINT SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH) but more along the lines Myers and co-writer Graham Gordy knew they were just fashioning a story to tell a long string of jokes.
Like I said, I hated Goldmember. I don’t remember laughing once in that movie, especially the jokes they’d played out in the first two Austin Powers. I did not count on The Love Guru being enjoyable, at all, and I was delighted to be wrong. Would I recommend this movie to you? Sure. When it’s on TBS, grab a beer and watch it. Pay money to see it? I dunno, when does The Dark Knight come out? I’m having a little trouble lowering my expectations on that one. Just do what you feel like, if you liked any of the Austin Powers or anything with Myers, you’ll probably like The Love Guru too. If you never liked anything with Myers or have grown to hate him… Well, this might not be the flick for you, unless you can see yourself laughing at the asshole with the head up it.
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| Some notes on an idea for Superman. |
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| 11:51pm 14/06/2008 |
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In response to the Ang Lee’s Hulk, they released The Incredible Hulk as a re-launch as opposed to a sequel. Having not seen the film yet, I still cannot imagine this was a bad idea. After the success of Batman Begins, the idea shopped around the block that you could take a superhero character and tell the story as though it had never been told before. As I understand it, The Incredible Hulk is far from an origin story, filling in the blanks in the opening credits. I think this is OK too, but one must be cautious to assume an audience understands of what your hero is actually about. What makes superhero films, along with all character driven stories thrive is the struggle of the main character to accept and change as the film or novel unfolds. A good example of a character driven piece is Superman Returns. Like the Hulk, Superman’s re-launch suffered for its darkness and lack of a solid super villain. The films strong points were the growth of Superman’s character, his interaction with Lois Lane, and Kevin Spacey’s performance as Lex Luthor, though the character was unfortunately underwritten. Not only did the film give Superman a chance to question his relevancy in this dangerous new world, it posed the entirely valid point of man becoming too reliant on a God. While Luthor’s scheme was beyond tame, in fact a virtual reproduction of his evil scheme from the first film, the film found strength in growth, with Lois giving birth to Superman’s child, her new relationship with the nephew of Perry White, and her apparent long standing feelings for the Man of Steel. The question becomes, when writing a sequel to Superman Returns, do you continue this story or simply start again? I feel the position to take is that good ground work was set in Superman Returns and the thing to do is simply expand the universe to include a different kind of threat.
While most super hero films introduce character first and foremost, I think we can all safely assume that the image of Superman is well read into our collective mind. So, instead of opening with the film with Clark, Lois or any pretense of character development, it should open with Bizzaro flying across the screen, a twisted version of a beloved character. Soon after the real Superman would fly in and do battle with his doppelganger. By placing an exciting sequence at the very beginning of the film, audiences would be prepared for the roller coaster ride of incredible power they were about to see. It is only after the opening battle, and setting up Lex Luthor as the brains behind this deformed clone, that any kind of character development begins. We find out Luthor once again devised a way to get away and reestablish himself as a legitimate business man. Lois is still in a relationship, unaware of her young sons developments. Clark is still very much in love with Lois, and playing something of a parental figure to his child (played by Shia LaBeuff. Just kidding, an unknown.) By the end of the first act we have Brainiac, who landed from as a space craft at the beginning of the film, beginning his plot for world domination by way of assimilating all of earth’s technological resources onto itself and acquiring all intelligence. The idea is to conquer earth before his programmer even arrives.
The second act would see Luthor try to harness the Brainiac program for his own sinisters purposes and fail miserably at that. Superman could face Toy Man (I’d love Steve Buscemi for this role) in the first act, and the Brainiac would get a hold of his technology in act ii and use it to battle Superman. Superman would defeat this one particular incarnation of Brainiac not realizing that the program assumes many different embodiments. Brainiac noting his failure communicates briefly with his main computer and is given the prompt to assimilate Superman. Brainiac first assumes Lex Luthor, and then using Luthors technology coupled with Toy Man’s, ensnares Superman in something of an apocalypse device. Superman does all he can to free Luthor of the Brainiac program, but not before he himself is infected and becomes Brainiac himself.
The final act would feature Superman battling a combined team of Lois, Luthor, Olsen and his son, who’s powers manifest themselves even more powerful than Superman himself. He frees Superman of the program by understanding the technology of Brainiac. Too late. Brainiac has already replicated the Superman organic system and fashioned a marvel of robotics. Superman and son battle together to defeat Brainiac and succeed (somehow, they always do). Before Brainiac goes off line he informs Superman and all to hear he is just a seed of darkness planted on earth for the coming Armageddon. Luthor steals a bit of the Brainiac technology for himself, and Superman begins his sons training.
Could work. |
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| ... and your point is? |
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| 11:19am 13/06/2008 |
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Kurt Vonnegut said in a speech, if your writing doesn’t make much sense you probably don’t think right. I’m paraphrasing here, but the sentiment rings true. I find this terribly off-putting. Sure, this comes from a guy who’d re-write paragraph after page after crumpled dead tree after what the fuck ever, but what he ended up with were books of mad brilliance that defied you to not think for yourself, go on being a little robot seeking power in perpetuity. I look at that cynical man and I get optimistic for planet earth, cause if there can be one guy like him out there, maybe there’s hope for the other 6.5 bil. And I think, well then maybe I can do this. And then I look at my words and think, no I can’t.
It’s easy to prattle on about some floating thoughts in your head. Real easy, too easy. And boring. Philosophy is only awesome in practice, like in bible stories or epic poems. Try loving on Nietzsche beyond a quote or twelve. You can sludge your way through the bits about man’s right to kill other men or the lack of right in Crime and Punishment, but you know the best illustration of that is in the story itself, not the pretentious prattling of a depressed Russian. So what’s the point here? The point is there is no narrative to my own works, children, do try to keep up.
Am I being harsh on myself? Sure. I’ve written screenplays that slag around with dialog just self righteously mind numbing as Dostoyevsky up there. I go back and check out the best bits and it’s just when two people are talking about their heart felt emotions, not expounding on something like the meaning of the stars or some flowery bullshit like that. The worst of it is I haven’t done anything near yet what I’d like to do in terms of narrative ‘umph’. My favorite works are always designed with the utmost care. Comparatively, I designed story outlines and then get bored after a while because I’ve stopped surprising myself.
Yesterday, or two days ago, I dunno, I was writing and I wanted to do a compare contrast of Monday and Tuesday. This was to be my big brilliant new attempt and instead I just went on about Jacqueline and how I missed her and blah blah blah. Here, check it out (it must have been Wednesday)…
“Every morning is the same wake up from five to six throw the clothes on rush the brush await the trolley hustle to the train and then chill. Straight nothing from seven ‘til half past two. I make do with tunes and downloaded tv. Surf the net read a book write a sonnet these are just a few ways to wear time down to an ineffective nub. When the travelers come in, that’s something else to do. Love you or ignore you. Lighten your load or throw on a pound or twenty. They click about the mini-offices while I stand here obliquely turning the volume down. Or up. I stand around or I sit; there are chairs here that invite you to slip away with one eye half open. When my co-worker Jaeson shows, it’s time to go be free and all that means.
Before; there was Jacqueline. I’d get home at three thirty, and she’d have work for another few hours, so I’d make my time busy in my box. Catch up on some school, stumble from cnn to bbc to daily rotten. Soon enough, I’d be rolling down my block to her place, stopping at Boston Market for creamed spinach and gravy soaked stuffing. We’d drink coca colas and watch something craptacular then something else and then make love and sleep. So what if I was doing that five to six wake up nonsense, she was warm and lovely beside me and all I need. When the fighting started getting harder to bear, these were the thoughts I’d turn to. Not the great times, like Ricketts Glenn or Las Vegas , long walks and deep swims. The bad times were pushed to dark cobwebbed corners. I’d focus on the good, the content, the luke warm water that was her living room where my futon resides, just floating on a gray carpet, petting a black cat from time to time to time.
Now apart, it’s as though I’ve jumped from the kiddie pool and now fight the tide of the inevitable ocean. INEVITABLE OCEAN. I fight the tide. The ocean can be repetitive.”
Man, I got bored writing that. I was going to tell you all about how awesome it was to hang out with my old friend Marissa, how we went bowling and ate burritos. And then I’d contrast that with how Tuesday I watched Lost and jerked off and not much fucking else. Thinking about writing about either of those things made my brain hurt in banality. Honestly. It was a great experience, bowling with Marissa. Totally stellar, and yeah, being alone on Tuesday was every bit as demoralizing as Monday was energizing. SO THE FUCK WHAT.
So in conclusion, this entry was acceptable because there was a narrative; that being, how I need to develop a more interesting narrative. If not in life, in words. Also, eat more fruit. That is all. |
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| 03:35pm 29/07/2006 |
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music: "World of Vibrations," Blackalicious
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When you're in love
you don't want to share it
with the world
how could you?
these feelings are for two
me and you
and in telling the world
could make them untrue
So you shelter your love as though
in a cage
and while inside
comes confusion
and rage
you turn to God
through the mouths of the sage
who will tell you to set yourself free
BE! commands the holy
there is no garauntee
no promise of eternity
only here and now can we
exist simultaneously
The here and now goes soft
my love and i go lost
and when i turn to friends
they too lament an end
fortune favors the bold
and if love has gone
i will not grow old
regretting a past cold
My love, you are free now
fly above this world
see the sights of the land
from the distance of freedom
but know should you return
my hand may not be open |
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| Sometimes I think I'm crazy, I'm crazy oh so crazy... |
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| 12:31pm 14/06/2006 |
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My body has gone tired. Forty hour work weeks filled with dancing singing running catches up added to late nights filled with drinking walking thrusting. Exhausted love. I could lay in bed all day today.
The option doesn't come up, cause the office is calling, I've got tricks to do and people to fool. Time waits for no man and my friend sleeps over my head. To hold her was a gift to taste her forever but time tells the bodies gone out of practice and my hips and my thighs and my heart go to my head and I slump in this sitting position. Who knows tomorrow or tonight or today before one lives the future is unwritten.
Exhausted love for old shared spaces, men who cannot be my friends any longer duplicitous numbers leaving compensation sought compromised and aggravated. I must step up and be a man. I must be stronger than ever I've been but today I am fucking beat and if the battle were waged today I'd return home empty handed. Fortunate friday approaches and resolution with it.
Legs get crossed and air is taken in through the nostrils thin and filling. My mind goes soft and 'om' and I will work for the end of the day. |
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| I'll have two packed fudges and a cum slurpee, fried on the side- |
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| 12:13pm 08/06/2006 |
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Arrived at work wearing a tee-shirt featuring the art of Robert Crumb, the morning shift awaiting my arrival. Hey guys, bad news. They smile expecting and I tell them about the article I read. The Pennsylvania house of representatives had set out to make it unacceptable for not only gay marriage but civil unions as well, denying them any rights as a unit, and thank goodness, for those queers would rip the moral fabric of America in two if they were allowed to publicly love each other. Unfortunately, the U.S. senate shot down the constitutional amendment which would make this position secure, so it looks like fudge packers and carpet munchers still have a chance yet to enjoy their lives. What a defeat!, I cried. They laughed and wished me good luck on my day.
I began an impromptu poll. Would it affect your life in any negative way if gay people were allowed to get married. Nobody told me yes, but I did have a couple people tell me that didn't matter. Interestingly, they were both black, and they were both fully opposed to gay people being allowed the rights of real married people. Their contention was pretty simple- the bible says no. I did mention that perhaps the gay people did not share their religious views, and also, Jesus is known to be pretty open minded about how people live their lives so long as they love him, but for some reason they remained unswayed. Still, both parties seemed to respect the choice I made, not to be gay, but to battle for their rights in C terminal of the airport.
That's when the singing began. I made up the words as they went along; All I want to do is marry a dude, what the heck does that even matter to you?! I just want to feel love just like you do, c'mon America why yah gotta be so rude? People seemed to be pretty accepting of the idea, except for a few people here and there who thought I was straight. I tried to explain that doesn't matter, but once someone gets a thought in their head, there is little to do to sway opinion. Regardless, my self flagellation did nothing to impede my sales. This gives me hope. It's more important to the Americans walking through Philadelphia International Airport to know the secret behind a magic trick than it is that I enjoy cum slurpees. There's hope for the world yet. |
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| jERK oFF |
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| 09:26pm 06/06/2006 |
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music: The Mars Volta, "Bach Song"
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I woke up hard from a dream, today. This girl who's worked her way into my head, sticking around, flirting with me again in the shadows, making me hard without touching a cell. She's there and she's turned on and I hate it because I can't control but there it is and here I am in bed alone in my apartment with a massive erection that could choke a horse. And I knew just the mare to give it to. In my head. Alone in bed. The pornography goes on and my hand goes furious.
Freed by the admission, the confession unsurprising, I too stroke off. Alot. Masturbation is a fantastic sensation and there's nothing in it to be ashamed of. My dirty thoughts are my own and they can be as depraved as I like, girls in varsity letters bent over crying anal intrustions without lubrication biting and scratching and what the fuck, throw another cock in the room to double the fun. Or I can be tender. Soft. Loving in my own mind. My stomach as flat my cock as black my speed and strength harder faster my God your ass my cum pooling over your heaving chest dripping from red lips fucking on the walls to the cieling to the stars everywhere impossible mine.
Still, I find myself now itching for touch yet finding no one in mind. No burning desire to touch yet boredom forever the aphrodisiac for lack of choice. That sad vicious jerk off I dread, wasted cells and flacid sweat. To cum simply to come the release a waste a quick shot of heroin before work. With my hand I prepare the syringe anxious but in time the routine leaves the eagerness for, fuck, I don't even know the word; lets say 'meaning', knowing the word is larger than it's letters.
So I wash my face now, listen to the Misfits, smoke a final cigarette and crawl under my sheets. And as I lay my fingers will surely find purchase beneath the comforter, a reaction a rise and a conclusion inevitable. In my own mind, may I find some comfort, for when I masturbate, I'd like to think it's worth it. If only in the abstract, there is the thought her hands searching for release while my hands do the same. |
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| SOMEWHERE EAST |
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| 09:25pm 06/06/2006 |
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the sun settles cold
in the desert
vast plains of emptiness
ancient winds blowing about
and i
i sit silent setting up camp alone
by my horse and my rifle
though wary from the scorching heat
my eyes awakened to find
two new travelers setting camp
not far from where i lay
and in the darkness
i saw them
man and woman
the girl
her face
someone i had known before?
the moon rested and the sun rose
and silent i watched them unseen
the man kissed the woman
and went off to bring her sustinence
carrying a colt by his side
I mounted my steed
and put myself in her site
where i hunted too to survive
and in the light of day she saw me
killing the prarie dogs and rabbits
my eye sharp and deadly
my fire echoing across the fields
and on this day she came to me
and to me she spoke
you kill very well
she smiled
all eyes and lips
my husband perhaps cannot
kill like you
but he is a good husband
and he will protect me from the night
i returned no word
keeping sight on my prey
but perhaps
she continued
we could use you
your skills as a hunter great
and in return
i will give you
what you will
again i returned no word
instead offereing my sacrifice freely
the man returning empty handed
accepted wary my gift
and the man said to me
you have killed well
but in this good
there is much evil
for a man who can kill
such small creatures
could surely do worse to larger
this is why we came to the desert
to free our lives from men of death
i ate the flesh of varmint
and nodded
but still
the man went on
you have brought us food
and this is good
we would be hungry tonight
were it not for your bounty
if there were something
i could offer in return
i would gladly give it
but alas
i have nothing
but my bride
and he held her tight in his grasps
his prize
his sole possession
her eyes glittering in the flames
that night i let them be at their own camp
hiding in the shadows
they made love while i watched
perverse with greasy finger tips
the sun rose again
but this time i did not let myself
be seen
i watched the man hunt instead
a wild shot
unable to kill for himself
hands on his face
then i came upon the woman
alone and idle
bored awaiting her man to return
and still i hid
when the man arrived home without a kill
haggared and beaten by the sun
only to be whipped and scorned
by the womans dissatisfaction
they screamed and cursed each other alone
until their screaming depressed
to kissing
i watched them hold each other
for they had nothing else
when they made love on this night
i came to them silent
and stole their clothes from their side
and still they made love
unaware of the sin i had done
in their minds alone in the desert
there i left them
their garments on my horse
riding towards new plains
the desert cold and endless |
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| Have yourself a merry six six six.... |
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| 09:22pm 06/06/2006 |
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Sitting at home alone my own clicking for the meaning of the day. Sitting patient for the icon to pop out of the tray - WIRELESS NETWORK CONNECTION - default. SPEED - low. And so, I wait, surfing the net slowly, one page at a time. I'm not gonna stress it; I am happy to be here at all.
Life is strange here on Lancaster Ave. Two weeks now, and I feel OK about all this. All of it. It's a little lonely but somehow that feels good, right, like I don't deserve others around to keep me company or like I don't even want 'em. Paintings come slowly and filled with meaning to me and me, words come intense sporadic feelings. I'm over feeling sorry for myself, except when I do.
Now, another season of Sopranos has past, addictions have been put aside, and time just clicks one minute at a time away. Got myself an external hard drive, 300 gb, $150, worth every penny for the biggest music folder I can imagine. Food is prepared at home instead of by Asians in dirty kitchens. Smoke too much, still, I think this may stay with me forever.
This world this life these days have a way of reminding you, of repeating over and over, this life may not be very fair but it's the only one we've got. So we plan for tomorrow but we live for today. I will never be a happy man, but now, I am free. |
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| 11:07pm 17/05/2006 |
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music: the polyphonic spree's 2000 places
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when i wake up
around noon
smoke that first
cigarette of the day
stare blankly at this monitor
accept the first few conscious moments
of aching
of longing
of inevitability
when i wake up
i step up
and start the day
when i think of you
as the virgin
you are just out of reach
smiling violet
forever flirting
all eyes and finger tips
not lips
or elastic slips
but eager and wanting
the same
you pure and perched
beyond my sight
silently seeking sustinence
when i think of you
as the whore
forever in my space
but never in my grasps
loving the diseased and broken
indiscriminate masks
beast of desire
begging daring
for my passion
for my blood
within your temple
when i dream of you
at the airport
you are many
know that you are one
and beautiful
intangible vision
walking before me
tall or humbled
wasteful or possessive
smiling
or shy
angered
sexualized
sensual foot steps
when i turn to you of before
you are missed moments
dancing to dylan
ecstacy erections
hands on your belly
wanting more
you are forced monologues
on lined paper
electronic letters
better left unsent
four am phone calls
you are so much like me
you make me want
to be
when i look at myself
as a man
i am rough cheeks and receding hair
soft bellied and brittle boned
strong in desire
and ethic
steeped in flashbacks
and hypocrisy
i am standing before an audience
of travelers
knowing i stand best alone
but loving the man by my side
longing the woman in my sight
floating dollar bills in jars
i have paint on my pants
and words in my mind
i look at myself
as a man
of passion and creation
when i read you now
you are more mystery
shadowed features
creating outlines
of the subject at hand
you are calling me
to love
o' muse
if you could take
of me |
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| 11:02pm 09/05/2006 |
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FUCKING SPOILER ALERT! DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WANNA KNOW!!! me, i like to know. i read the ending of six feet under before i saw it and it didn't hurt the show one bit. in fact, going into with some preconceptions helped me contextualize what i was seeing much faster. i just think of it like a book, adding layers of character upon layered chapter after chapter until the glorious final sequence of each and every characters death not only makes sense but also gives hope. take from that what you will, and feel free to stop reading now.
( Read more... ) |
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| 04:30pm 07/05/2006 |
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wrote out the first half of the check for the place at 38th and lancaster. in two weeks time i'll be sleeping in a different bed. things feel different here at 46th and walnut. you can feel time in every crack on the floor sofa cushions crushed to pancakes the lingerings of tobacco. it has been a year and often it has been very good to me. i doubt only my ability to give back.
where i'm moving is a studio with furnishings set in advance. a desk a futon a table and a fridge. the coffee pot the vaccum cleaner the pots and pans and spatulas to flip. there's a wooden door that deadbolts shut. when it's open a huge window will let in the light of the city to shine where i lay. there's not alot of room for my own stuff. i will leave much of my things behind when i depart.
i care but no longer wonder if you love me. the sense of stress for lack of sex lingers but the tides of time will wash away the stains on my boxers. i still don't eat right, but hey, why start now. i got a goal to balance an elephant on a tight rope now i'm sitting back watching the line shake. |
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| pure gangster |
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| 10:57pm 06/05/2006 |
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this is a rare occasion
gonna let the blaze set in
put the rhythm
to the style
cause i'm giving what i'm getting
i see people come to test me
like a daddy cum molest me
let it go and best me
until i always felt depressed
see
it's a waste a space
to be searchin' from within
you're every day battles
help the rest of us go win
this is the motivation
gotta tighten calibration
don't be preachin just elation
just another temp sensation
i got more to see
i got more to feel
i got an infinite canvas
i gotta be for real
and it's a hard path
and it's a cheap lie
and it's a false attack
and it's a bitter cry
and it's a shame to say it
cause there's better ways to play it
but this is my chosen path
and i'm gonna sieze the day it
i've got a goal in mind
and it's still to be an artist
and when i die clutching a brush
you're gonna know where my heart is
i've got reasons to live
hope i've got something to give
and if i'm pulling your card
i'm gonna expect a shiv
feel like a run away crack addict
hell i'm practically shaking
feel like i'm ruling the planet
heaven right there for the taking
i'm contradictive as fuck
and it's my perogative
just gonna say what i want
cause it's just so positive |
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| i'm a reasonable man... |
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| 07:16am 06/05/2006 |
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i woke up at 10:05 am. that was five minutes too late for radiohead apparently. damn. goddamn. fuck. oh well. |
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| ramblin' late night |
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| 12:18am 06/05/2006 |
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i've turned the floor light off so only the cool glow of the monitor and the twin blue l.e.ds of the speaker illuminate the scene. i am alone in my room sitting slightly slumped mostly naked and hairy. itchy and bumpy stoned tired. it has been a good day and like most good ones the aches after are happy painful reminders. something to steal the mind as eyes shutter to sleep.
my fear is being nothing more than an artist offering nothing to the world save self pity and loneliness. my dream is to be nothing more than a great artist seeing your reflection in my own design. but this is pretension. it's easier than writing what i feel. self pity loneliness. yearning. aching to be touched. i feel diseased. i am. what kind of a life am i supposed to live?
i went down to the old city to sell paintings and magic tricks. i sold a handful of dvds and one painting, the first painting i ever did on a large canvas. tonight i sold dvds in painted pants and a pastel woman's shirt. first friday became a consumerists dream. i signed up to support the green party and flatly rejected the feminist democrat even thought she was hot and the green party dude had dark facial markings. i'm weird like that.
my music played my entire shift in old city but something felt lacking. last time my friend adam had been there with me and that was good to have a friend to be there. it would make it harder to sell the float trick if he were beside me the whole time but it would make it worth it to have a partner... and this is where i reiterate that i really want a girlfriend.
which i suppose is why i don't have one. yearning for simple animal lust still feeling unable to seperate passion from emotional attachment. strength in a man is the most undeniable attractive feature he can possess. strength in body - strength in mind. in speech. in touch. in sentence structure and abstraction of the line. strength is what carries a man through life. it's what is important. feelings of loneliness and despair are, to put it bluntly, not.
so i'm gonna keep working for you. i'm gonna continue on with the click clack and paint splat and you just keep doing what you do. and maybe when it's june and radiohead's in town, you'll come down and see me float in old city. |
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| moving |
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| 09:26am 04/05/2006 |
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about a month ago my roommates informed in a half assed sort of drunken way that i would have to move out so they can live 'rob free'. i didn't want to hear it then but time passes and the truth of my much needed departure has been made clear. my hopes of setting myself up in my current living situation gone my new sites were set on finding a new residence to share. what i found instead was a place for myself.
i walked in yesterday and i saw the bed and the desk the bolts and the carpet and i flipped. the idea of this place being my own overwhelmed me and in a rash moment i decided that i wanted it for my own. the price steep, significantly moreso than what i pay now, i recognized that the water in which this place rested rose slightly above my head. i could not care. i fell in love.
now my roommates aren't exactly being supportive which is no surprise since they're the cocksuckers who sent me on my own to drown. my mother has offered to pay the deposit just over fifteen hundred. so i'm gonna go for it, at five fifty a month not including all sorts of monthly expenses. i know that surviving is about to get much more difficult but nobody has ever said that life is easy. except sage francis. but he said alot of things, now didn't he. |
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boblordofevil's journal