Thoughts (nh) I Felt to be Worthy of a Blog
Category: Blogging

It's because ours (men's, in case you were unaware) sticks out and theirs goes in, that's why there's the double standard. Because penetration is inherently more difficult than being penetrated. The pussy's always on the defensive. The sexes are at fucking war and the pussy is the castle, which is funny because the moat surrounding the castle is a far better analogy/metaphor (in general) than a castle itself. High fives for kissing and telling are tantamount to kills. Nobody ever invades moats, though.*

The other night I drank a malt liquor****(Steel Reserve, bitches) before bed (for alcoholism purposes) and I was sober enough to read the outside**...

"Extra
 Malted
 Barley
 & Select
 Hops for
 Extra
  Gravity."

I honestly don't know how you read that, but, to me, the semantics and diction of the malt liquor seem a bit pretentious for 24 oz of head bussa  (If you happen to be white, ask an urban friend*******) *****. Mind you, it was mostly the word gravity that irked me.















Addendum: How's y'all doin'?








*Except maybe the French (excluding Yasmine, because she would slap me).

..**Outside specified for articulation purposes*** only; I'm quite aware that most breweries don't bother to write on the inside of a of a can Steel Reserve.

***In case you were wondering, I just like the word purpose. Makes me feel less counter-culture.

**** Mind you, regardless of the impression that I convey on the innawebs (internet), I still live in the hood, and my beer selection is commensurate with my salary which is fairly, and severely(******,) limited.

*****Oh, I'm sorry. Premium malt liquor.

******Comma, comma, comma, comma, chameleon.

******* Notice how I said "urban" instead of black. I know Caucasian and Latino cats hip to the slang/dialect********.

******** And if you're still lost, ask them again.

10:31 PM - 6 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment

Rock the Vote?
Category: Blogging

Since I can’t have Dennis Kucinich or Ralph Nader as my next president, and the democratic party has whittled my choices (not options, mind you) down to two candidates. Not to mention that I normally wouldn’t even consider voting for a republican for anything, not even to clean my underwear, and even though John McCain doesn’t send the same chills down my spine as say, Rudy Guliani, he’s still not someone worth casting my vote for. My point is, I have to choose between a woman whose husband was my first man-crush (pause) and a yellow dude who is black, or at least that’s what they tell me. This is historic, but I wonder...


Why can’t I have both?

 

1:12 AM - 5 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

I Gotta Ask...
Current mood: blah
Category: Blogging

Why the fuck are you people still reading my blogs? It seems like a silly question, with a pretty simple answer, "because you fucking write them, stupid." And you'd be right to make that assumption about my I.Q. See, the thing is, I hadn't written a blog in quite a long time by the internet's standards, but I keep seeing that people are reading my blogs every week. Granted, not nearly as much as when I wrote them regularly, but still enough to catch my attention. I don't know, I just figured I'd ask, see if something popped up. Pause.

While we're here, I guess we could talk about a few things*. Actually, there is one thing that I want to talk about, and by talk, I mean, make callous but ultimately harmless and forgettable jokes about one man's impending doom...

Pancreatic cancer put baby in a corner, so to speak.

Patrick, Mr. Swayze, if you're out there tonight in a place that's cold, medicinal-looking, but deceptively unsanitary, with slightly corpulent and homely night nurses who've, "never even seen Roadhouse, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna give you your last handjob on the planet earth...and I don't give a damn if you were the hot ghost in that movie...,"if that place has internet access, and your laptop doesn't interfere with the heart thingamajig the guy in the room next yours is wearing, I hope you read this blog and know that I'm not usually into run-on sentences, and that you should go peacefully, man. Godspeed.


You've had the time of your liiiife, though you've never felt this waaay before...







*Mainly me talking at you, not a real conversation. 

2:16 AM - 9 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

R.I.P. Soulja Boy
Current mood: adored
Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities

AP Feb 2, 2008

DeAndre Ramon Way, better known by his stage name, Soulja Boy Tell 'Em, was fatally shot this early this morning in apparent retaliation for an earlier scuffle during a concert in Memphis, Tenn. Police described the main suspect as a black male, age 17-20, bearing a resemblance to YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
When asked for comment, cousin DeLuge Rain Way had this emotional response, "...I mean, before Soulja Boy took over the game, niggas didn't know how to superman a hoe. Shit, I still don't, and that's that nigga's legacy."

Tell em.

7:02 AM - 5 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

CSI:Hershey
Current mood: silly
Category: Blogging

I'm gonna pitch to some made-up executives from CBS( or is it NBC)this idea to expand the CSI franchise. Tell me what you think (and this is a joke, so I hope that none of you respond with the idea that I'm actually picthing this to a television producer, that would make me very, so very, very annoyed.)





The new season of CSI:Hershey starts with a body of a teen runaway Pinata discovered outside the chocolate factory where migrant Pinatas have recently become the victims of attacks by townies who believe that their jobs are being taken by the Pinatas (the Pinatas, by the way, are not alive by any stretch of the imagination -the exception being my imagination, of course- and therefore are not capable of working in a factory**) and an old guard mayor who secretly uses the Pinatas for work around his house (which never gets done because, again, they're fucking Pinatas) and for sexual fulfillment (we'll just assume that he likes the pain and keep it moving.)
Politics meets nougat, meets milk chocolate (they have no tolerance for dark chocolate in Hershey, their paper bag test used to be caramel, but everyone kind of got sick of it after a while, so they became a little more progressive and allowed milk chocolate, but with the condition that it sit at the back of the candy rack), meets peanuts, meets a joke running out of steam.
Rookie CSI Reese Hanson gets caught in a web of seduction, lies, betrayal, and bite-sized snickers bars (not the ones that are thumb-size, the other ones, you know, with the gold foil wrapping), while trying to juggle a marriage, an alcoholic eight-year old daughter, and sustaining this joke for as long as it can possibly go on.*

*This is assuming that he knows that he doesn't exist -or does, depending on your pov- or that he's basically being written for the sole purpose of me being ridiculous on the innawebs (on wax, baby) and that he likes me and wants to make the writing of this nonsense go smoothly for me. Or he could view me as God and get angry at me for writing the world he inhabits as I see fit. Pretty soon, he'll start saying that he doesn't believe in me, and from there he becomes a nihilist -I know the two aren't mutually exclusive, I just wanted to end the sentence with an infinitive, which I'm presently trying to get to...- (I know this to be true because I am God in his world, how awesome am I?)*****


"We believe in Nozing  "



**Which makes me wonder why the citizens of Hershey are seemingly incensed.***

***You might be saying to yourself right now, "John, if you explain the joke, it makes it less funny."
To which my response would be...


Shut your fucking face, uncle fucker.****



****Or, I might say that me explaining the joke in that way isn't really explaining anything, and that as far as I can tell, this is still pretty funny.
*****Not a humanist, and you'd think that would be the next step in his logical progression as a character/person (pov argument.).


But nooooo...


"Nozing  "

5:23 AM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

On Detachment
Current mood: adventurous
Category: Blogging

    I like to preface my personal blogs with loads of prefaces, so this is no different: this blog isn't funny (although at times it may be, this is unintentional, as you very well know, I'm a funny-assed nigga***




    This is not some masturbatory (I'm not even sure if that's a word, not to mention a blog is inherently masturbatory, but just follow me) blog where thoughts dribble fro my brain an on to word perfect (it came with my laptop, but seriously, all anti-establishment/corporate entity leanings aside, I prefer Microsoft word). This is what I feel*.

    Some of you know what happened to me a couple of years back (Mike D, Dave, and Mike S were in the state for it, this has no bearing on my relationships with the rest of my friends, online or off). Someone tried to rob me and in the process, kill me (via car). I lost a few teeth (via pistol whipping), gained a few stitches, gained a whole lot of fodder for the creative process (mostly taking the predisposition to dark humor and an overall annoyance with John Locke** to another level), and basically my personality changed in certain instances, but enough that I wasn't sure what part was the base of me.

    I tried a few things to make me feel a lil' better. Mind you, my life up to this point wasn't rosy, but still manageable. A conscious effort to push the terrible things to the back of my head, compartmentalize the things we shouldn't carry around with us in our daily interactions with other human beings (being a product of rape, etc)., and basically push people away from me who didn't deserve to be treated as disposable or irrelevant. I'm lucky to have been blessed with friends who have replaced my family as people who I can rely on for emotional support (knowing myself, that's basically all I need to survive and to a lesser extent, thrive in this fucked the fuck up world of ours), but I recently developed this aspect of my personality where I like to be alone for extended periods of time.

My most revealing conversations come from John Fowora.

I bounce ideas off of the head of John Fowora.

I make decisions based on what John Fowora thinks, and since we are all fallible (especially me), then my life choices are pure fucking idiocy. This is also partially the reason for my absence on myspace an other social networking sites (facebook -annoying, but great for actaul networking- and friendster -forgot about that one, didn't ya?).

    So I made another decision, which I think is the last stop on the midnight meat train (great reference if I do say so myself). I'm going to seek some professional help.

Mostly for my relationships with other people (the flaking, the lack of phonage, and whatevers).


Wish me luck, fuckers.


















*Pause. I just felt like throwing that in there. If you want to know what pause actually means, ask someone (co-workers, lovers, friends, etc) what it means. Also, I by no means condone homophobia (this is assuming that you don't know what pause means and that you took the time from your busy lives to ask the aforementioned people what pause means in the context that I used it. I just enjoy juvenile humor, really.

**If the reference annoys you, don't worry, it annoys me too. It makes sense though.

***If you don't like that word, replace it with dude, cat, or muhfucka. Meaning derived from language is perpetually in flux, so I doubt anyone thought I meant nigger (ignorant person -in some dictionaries the derogatory term for descendants of African slaves, which is true, but the base term is what I mean; argue that point with me some other time, until then, you still my nigga/as-) when I typed (or said for those of you acquainted with my awesomness****


****This is what I implied when I talked about me being funny. I seriously chuckled at that line, and it wasn't even all that clever. Feel free to disagree, though. Either way, I still win.*****

*****An addendum to my addendum, isn't this a fun and practical way to apply my education in the English language? The addendums, I mean (

******An extra addendum, I'm soooooooo drunk right now, it's not even funny. I realize I tend to blog while drunk, but I made a conscious effort not to write the stuff that keeps me sane while sober so I don't end up feeling like a walking cliche. You know what I'm saying? You know what I'm saying (I did that on purpose). Btw, I'm at chapter six of the novel and I hope that if I send you a rough, rough, rooooooughhh, draft, you will take the time out to rip it apart...okthxbye (this isn't manipulative by any means, just remember that I'm writing this drunk and the thoughts that come to mind are the thoughts you see as I think them -less calculated than sober writing- and I don't enjoy pity in the least bit, the human condition is interesting, if not enlightening to experience first hand, and I also realize that the sheer amount of commas in this sentence within the perenthesis is bordering on lazy, but bear with me). 

12:59 AM - 11 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

An Interview
Current mood: adored
Category: Blogging

John Fowora recently spent time at work where he sells entry doors, garage doors, windows and his lovely mane. H e also completed work on a blog last week and a revised short story a two months ago. After living in Brooklyn, New York; Brentwood, Long Island; and Freeport, Long Island; he decided to relocate to Jamaica, Queens for cheaper rent and a liquor store or Chinese take-out spot on every corner (not to mention nail salons, although you could make the case that it's the same thing as Chinese take-out).He studied Creative writing at the prestigious (I also laughed; Editor)English program at Hunter college in New York City. I caught up with John as he was writing this blog, which normally isn't that big of a deal (he's exceedingly hard to contact, but not hard to find), except that this is inherently fucking weird and I was afraid that he would be as difficult as it's been reported by the press.


Me: John, it's nice to meet you, man.

John Fowora: Don't give me that shit, you already met me. I hate that shit. I hate when niggas fake the funk.

M: John, dude. It's just formalities.

JF: Formalize deez nuts.

M:That's mature.

JF: Fuck you, asshole nigger bitch. You can't do any better.

M: Nor could I do any worse. About the same really. Exactly the same. And, "asshole nigger bitch," is that one word? Seriously...I feel like we've started off on the wrong foot-

John knocked a few books off of my desk and when he'd realized what he'd actually done, did it again and stormed out of his bedroom angry. He reentered the room several minutes later with a Newport 100 in hand and seemed calmer.

JF: Sorry about that outburst, me, you, me.

M: It's cool. Why do you smoke those things?

JF: What? This? This is just for show. Dames dig a dude with lung damage. That's how I bedded Rosario Dawson.

M: You slept with Rosario Dawson? That's pretty awesome. You think she'd mind seeing her business exposed like that in print?

JF: Mind? She doesn't even know I banged her. Shit was serious. I fucked like every hole she had. Ears and everything.

M: Right. You were recently quoted as saying that Barack Obama really didn't excite you as a presidential candidate in 08'.

JF: Well, see...shit, the thing is, it's like he's got on the same suit, just a different color.

M: Interesting. Care to elaborate.

JF: No. Not really.

This interview will be continued in next month's issue. 

2:09 AM - 8 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

On Masturbation

This blog is in honor of the nut I let off this morning before work. One of those all neurons-firing orgasms that you write home or the alumnni paper about.

I'll preface my point with this; a good masturbation induced nut normally doesn't even come close to the real thing...normally. But for whatever reason (I wasn't under the influence or anything of the sort), this one masturbation nut has been filed under...


OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD

OH SHIT

OH SHIT

OH SHIT.

FUCK

OHHHH.

I was raised Baptist (don't ask, that shit was annoying at twelve years old) so I don't really have those issues with peeling off a few million soon-to-be-napkin-fodder babies that say, a Catholic, might. That's a generalization and partially a stereotype, but you sorta get what I'm saying if you live with that kind of guilt.*


I've always been okay with sexuality; in high school I was one of the few dudes who openly admitted to peeling a few off. Wasn't much of a big deal. I also had sex before most of my peers.**Everyone feels some way or another about fucking.

Yourself.


Other people.


Why not admit it and more importantly, be comfortable with it?


My blog is a pseudo-rant because I didn't discover this in high school.


You know.


All that free time to experiment.


Testosterone flowing like a milk-globby Niagara.


Forty-five minute showers.


Pimples.


Anomie.


This...





Would've been life-changing.



*I boned this redheaded Puerto Rican chick (Rosie, for those of you who remember) and she broke up with me because she asked me if I thought she was a hypocrit for having sex before marriage because she was Catholic and all. That was one of the few times in my life that I wish that I'd kept my mouth shut.

The carpet matched the draping, I might add.

**Based on a lie, partially. I told the girl that I wasn't a virgin and she kind of thought I had experience and she wanted me to show her stuff, etc...

10:59 PM - 9 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

10,000 Profile Views/MTA Bus Drivers/Location and Directions to My Penis
Category: Blogging

In no particular order:

Here's the penis tip(pause)...




On the 10,000 views:

I'd like to thank the little people (see above) and the random myspace hacker dude who sends me ton's o' friend requests a week, which are promptly denied (I only accept real people with agendas). I'd also like to thank my momma and Jesus.

On the bus drivers:


SLOW THE FUCK DOWN!!

KTHXBYE

11:01 PM - 12 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

3500 Words of Pure, Unadulterated Gangsta
Category: Blogging

Charm School

I literally have a big head.

    You may have noticed it from the pictures I've posted online (there was a time where I didn't post any pictures of myself because I figured it was kind of unsettling to know what I looked like without meeting me in person, obviously I got over that hump). You may have thought that it was just my hair. I have locks and they're pretty well maintained so you may have the impression that all that head is hair.

It's not.

    It's ninety percent head. Simple as that. Those of you who know me offline...I'll preface my point with this; John Restrepo knows me since the fucking seventh grade, which is weird considering that I have a hard time reconnecting with him now ( I only make mention of this because he probably remembers me when I was too skinny for words to describe, although I always had huge shoulders for some reason...Mom with her broad ass self).* I also lost a gang of weight (seventy pounds) in the past year for reasons such as walking around Manhattan, not drinking soda unless it's diet (coca-Cola Zero tastes semi good, unlike that diet coke shit...diet soda generally taste like ass and I like that taste of soda for some reason), I don't eat anything four hours or so before I go to sleep, and push ups and sit ups at work and home (I learned that in the Army - which I sucked at, but you do what you gotta do to find out who you are as a person (but those of you who know me already know what I did there, or maybe not....just fucking ask if you're curious).

    My point is, I look a whole lot better than I have in a long time (I'm back to the weight I was at right after I left the Army..again, ask some other time and I'll tell you, in fact I will write a blog about some of the crazy shit I was involved in before I left) and I didn't like the opposite sex for the attention I got after I lost the weight (I did get over that because I realized that I was guilty of doing the same shit to women at work; giving them extra attention, etc). This is not to say that I didn't get play when I was bigger, because I did, but I felt that women were being extra aggressive and I didn't put my finger on the reasons why until I jumped on a scale (230 pounds down from 305 if you're curious).

    When you gain weight (I gained about 90 pounds from the age of 23-24), you never really know how much you're putting on until someone else points it out to you. It's gradual, which is obvious, but not when you're on the receiving end of the observation. It's usually someone you haven't seen in a while because most times (when you're in a semi-healthy relationship, anyway...I'll put it to you this way, your significant other may point out your chub, but they usually can't remember the other you unless it's that dramatic of a change in a relatively short period of time, like say, a year, and even then, they love you/ are in love with you) the people you see everyday -family and close friends- are seeing your life as you do, which is at a snail's crawl.

    At first, I thought the weight loss was my drug and alcohol use/abuse, but I had been doing that for so long that I had to rule that out. So I looked at my behavior or really the change in my eating habits. I used to love ice cream after a hard night of drinking and smoking the ganja. I ate nothing but Chinese food for like six months straight after I left the military. I stopped running (only when I had to, although now I can run circles around most, sprinting or long distance**). Stopped paying attention to fitness, and just relaxed.

Maybe a bit too much.

Actually, definitely too much.


    It did feel good though, to not pay attention to personal aesthetics. At least for a few years. I figured that people would like me for who I was. Who I am. And that gamble sort of paid off, because they did (circular, I know). People like/ed me. Specifically, women, who I always thought to be a mystery*****. I worked on myself. How to be a better a person, in part because of laziness (I hated working out, although now pushups and situps are kind of energizing, I think because I hadn't been active in so long and my body responded with an, "oooooooo, this is different, let's do more." I'm sure that there's some scientific explanation that I can probably research a bit more ( I know about endorphins and such, but nothing that I can point you to as a reference). I'm far too drunk right now to help you with that and if you're questioning the validity of what I'm saying, well, fuck you for asking (nothing personal, really), but I'm sure that the people subscribed to this blog have a modicum of intelligence and have already done the research or are aware of what the benefits of a healthy body are (strong mind, strong body, etc) for us human beings and stuff.


    All this leads up to me going to a bar last Friday after work that happens to be strategically placed a block away from my workplace (Freeport, Long Island; although I live an hour away by bus in Jamaica, Queens, the people there*********** let me get away with bloody murder for 28,000 yearly, which ain't much but it's great for a part/part/part time college student/writer/slow suicide test subject). I had six or seven Buds and a couple of shots of Jack Daniels (I may have mentioned this man before, but he really is next to godliness) and this blonde in her early forties or so walks in the bar ( this is after a few games of pool and flirting/meandering in the mating game with the very married bartender -not that this fact stopped me from getting the panties in my early twenties, but I'm a bit more mature now, I think- and Mrs. Pac Man) and sits next to me and my friend from work, Shawn (his real name, which I usually don't do unless it's one of the people who read this shit because I know for a fact that they don't mind me talking about them...actually, if I ever had a chance to write a memoir, they'd be insulted if I didn't include them, and by they, I mean, Mike, mostly). She looks at me and some corny-ass reggae song comes on and for whatever reason (I'm pretty sure that it was boredom, even drunk) I asked her to dance with me. She looks at me for a second and I smile at her in a crooked, silly way, and she gets up and moves to the empty space by the pool table.


Yes, we danced. Big whoop, you're probably thinking.



    Not much of a dancer, but she just wanted to grind on me, which is okay in my book. I like grinding, it's pretty close to having sex, without going over (with swishy track pants it's a guaranteed pervert nut, ask me about my eight grade school dance, I was a perv even then, and this was the only time I came before I even had sex and that actually happened the next month, before I knew that I was supposed to come during sex...I know, I never had the birds and bees talk, just trial and error). The song finished and she asked me for my phone number when we walked back to the bar. I saw a ring (but that wasn't what turned me off, just her, really) and she told me some bullshit story about separation. I told her that my phone was off at the time (lol) and gave her my work number.

I had to pee at that point.


    As I walked to the bathroom, some woman that I had met a few months earlier and chatted with briefly, saw me, exchanged pleasantries, and asked me what time I was leaving. She was visibly flirtatious, and I was definitely flattered that she even remembered my name. I peed and came back for the small talk and then chilled with Shawn for the last half hour that I was in the bar.
As we were leaving to go back to Shawn's car, he says to me, "them chicks were digging you."

"Thanks. I need to drink more, let's go to the liquor store in Jamaica (open till 1-130 am, which is fucking crazy)."

"Yeah. You know what it is? You're not Denzel or anything like that, and neither am I. You know, you're fucking charming. That's why chicks like you sometimes. I'm not saying you're ugly or nothin...but, you know what I mean."

"Vodka, now. Thanks."

    It's not that I think I'm hideous or unattractive by any means (I met a couple of women off of the internet and they all say that I don't really look like my picture -from my AOL chat room days, before I thought the lack of privacy was creepy), but I don't really deserve much attention just based off of what I look like.


I know this to be true.

Objectively speaking, or as much as one can be when it comes to a subject that is inherently sensitive.

The things is, the crux of this rant/ramble is, what he said is true.

    It may seem like a bit of conceit (and is to an extent, but I don't base my self-esteem on attention, I base it on what I've been through in my life and the fact that I'm still alive, still ticking, still feeling like there's so much more, in spite of the vicissitudes that human condition provides in abundance, and it's not enough there that would make me different than any other person, it's just my awareness of it that seems...I don't know, bad?), but that's not what I'm getting at. My point is that we have so much more to offer to each other than what we look like (remember my brief resentment of the opposite sex), that we can make each other feel better by proximity and just that. I think that's what Shawn was saying.


I think I agree with him.


    To love ourselves and our fellow man regardless of things that can't be helped.




That's fucking charming.



That's what we need to learn in school, how to live with each other. How to love one another. I can do that.


It's a simple concept to grasp (charm or as some call it, game), and I didn't know that until recently.

That's why I mentioned my big ol' head and my weight (and my teenage acne, which was unbelievably annoying as far a consistency goes; one week big ol' zits, the next, clear as the sky in June), because I know what my physical flaws are. I know I what other people see when they look at me but it doesn't stop me from feeling like I still have it and I know that most of you feel the same way...


Unless you're really that fucked up looking, then, I seriously can't help you. My superiority complex only goes so far. I'm talking to you, elephant man face. Rosascia nose.


Nah, I'm definitely not that superior in my thinking, and fuck you for not at the very least thinking that someone is unattractive.


Fucking hippies.












*John I'm sorry I don't show up to your shows most times (although I will at some point because you are a cool dude).

** My younger brother, admittedly is a pretty quick dude, challenged my mother to a race when he was around 14 or 15 and my Mother smoked him by at least ten paces while my 2nd stepfather, my stepsister and brother, and my cousin watched in awe. I thank her for the genetics that kept me from becoming a four-hundred pound wonder (I'm just about positive that my brain came from my father who, although he was a crack addict and just an all around bad human being, was pretty well read and book smart to the point of teaching other inmates in jail...that's on the hush, hush, qt, thought...lol, right) and kept me on the football team in high school even though I couldn't see two feet in front of me without my glasses or contact lenses (another couple of stories for another time, and I guarantee you that said stories are extremely funny if not entertaining), not to mention let me pass basic training even though I was hated by a more than a few drill sergeants and fellow soldiers for being...well, me ***(pithy, but you understand what kind of dude I am to a certain extent, and let's just say that if I feel that you're not on my level intellectually, then you can't tell me shit....also, enlisted as an intelligence analyst -96b- so the people I dealt with in basic and AIT -job training acronym for the military- were exactly dummies, just easily molded, which I despise in general).

***Interestingly enough, most of the people that hated me on first impression ended up being really cool with me after a punch in the face or telling off or two. Weird what people need from you to prove that you're worthy of their friendship. Also, this has -strangely enough- continued into adulthood, I was in a fistfight recently (June or July, but don't get it twisted, I hate violence, and I have never, ever, thrown the first punch in the twenty or so fist fights I've had in my life), and later that night the guy came back and apologized to me (he blamed it on us both being drunk, but at that point in the night, I was only drugged on vicodins), and we became somewhat cool. I think it's the concept that people dislike what they perceive to be the other, and the idea that what they despise might be closer to what they are than they'd like to think, me being the other as you well know****.


****I have this hyper-awareness of self that is pretty cool to have insofar as keeping certain emotions in check, or at the very least, knowing why it is you, yourself, intrinsically, do or think certain things, which is why I sometimes ask people not to psychoanalyze me, because I've already done it. We should do it more often because maybe then we wouldn't be so terribly nasty to the people we say we like/love (I mean, who else can you REALLY hurt).

 *oh, and you are, till this day, you so are, and I won't try and figure you out...even though I still love the lot of ya, and think you're the best thing on the planet...dudes, men, guys...we fuck shit up, this was part of the aforementioned epiphany before I realized that I wasn't a misogynist, just naive to the fact of how the world worked (I was raised by a strong woman, which may be why I view y'all as being my equal, if not my superior, because specifically, in the black experience at least as I know it -although only in general, not absolute- the woman carries everyone, her man, her children, and nine times out of ten, her career. And I'm not gay by any means (I talked to some dudes at work about my feelings on the opposite sex, and they chalked it up as me being a bit too feminine, but let me get into a fistfight with them, they'll know what emasculation is...I'm not a tough guy, but, I can handle mine******


******Another thing I can thank my mom for, the willingness to take -and dish out- an ass whoopin'- regardless of who you are (ask Erick, Mike, or Dave, and they'll tell you how I get down; I don't take shit from anyone unless I know someone in my company will get hurt in the process of me taking care of business...and I can't stress enough how much I hate violence, but that's only language that some people speak).

*******Okay, I can't keep my mouth (fingers, really) shut. I'm just at a point where I can't be with anyone in that way (although that may not be entirely true, I just haven't spent any time with and women worth a dam lately, for the most part they have daddy issues that they need to work on before they try to snag me, and I'm not being conceited, just aware of what I need from companionship), although I'm willing to try and at the very least, befriend a few women because, well, they're helping me understand them a bit better and


*Shrugs*]

********Emanuel Kant was basically the only philosopher who didn't annoy the shit out of me in the few philosophy classes that I took (although David did make an interesting argument for giving Francis Bacon a second chance as far as rereading the textbooks I didn't sell back to the campus bookstore is concerned*********

********* When I transferred to Hunter college after my associates degree (which is really worthless, as I was told even before I enrolled at Hunter as a transfer student...and I know it's what you do with it, but I know plenty of people who I consider to be my equals -at least intellectually************) I considered doing the whole law school route before I discovered that I could actually write. I also developed a distaste for attorneys as whole as I got older and realized that most of our government was filled with ex-lawyers. Needless to say, I have a problem with our justice system (I have done some really funked up shit in my life that I'm not proud of********** and I have no criminal record, but people I know that have done shit that is marginally illegal have arrests and so on have to live with that shit forever; while I understand that it's partially luck and partially street smarts, the system is worth looking at a bit more critically...everything can be improved upon).

**********Ask me about the robbery incident at Fort Lee that I did nothing to stop until my video game was being interrupted by physical violence (this doesn't make me a bad person, but when you can stop something bad from happening to someone else, and you don't, you should do a little soul-searching


***********I'm an atheist, but I do believe in a soul, not necessarily something that floats on up when you die, but more a long the lines of how you interact, treat (you could make an argument for the three being the same thing, but you won't win that argument with me, fucko), and view your fellow man.






PS: I just realized that I spent far too much time writing this instead of the novel (please, no Family guy references, I get enough of that from my ex-girlfriend-girlfriend and this cathartic little exercise is 3500 words, a whole fucking chapter wasted on you bastards, you'd better be grateful) it's weird, if you've ever broken up with some one for reasons that have nothing to do with how good they were to you, you'll understand, again, I may talk about this event some other time, but for now, I'm in a good place with it*******

PSS: Please excuse the run-on sentences, and/or typos. It's almost 6am and I'm still funked the fuck up. Mind you, I have to work in six hours. I do feel that writing this shit is a bit more important than showing up to work a hour and a half late, categorical imperative, people, categorical imperative********.

*********** A few times I've had arguments with customers and I've said things a bit off-color. And when your main responsibility is sell, sell, sell ( I have a sales quota of $5000 weekly, which I consistently reach and exceed....probably why I still have a job), that can be a bit of a problem. I also like tardiness. It's imbedded in my personality, I'd like to help it (and it's certainly not colored people time, you bastards), but I mostly don't give a shit what someone tells my managers because the numbers speak for themselves). This doesn't happen that often, but when it does, I'm not one for restraint

************ David, Erick, Des (iree, with potatoes), etc (if I forget to mention your name, well, I just fucking forgot or you could debate me on some subject or mention some obscure reference in your field of choice
-make sure it's filled with jargon so I don't even know where you're going with the reference, otherwise, I'll figure it out- so that you can feel that you've one-upped me...yeah, that'll teach me or I'll just laugh at you and continue feeling/being superior).

5:20 AM - 4 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Ode (odor)
Category: Writing and Poetry

When your shirts smell like your socks
when your socks smell like your underwear
and your underwear smell like...

bleach babies

week-old skid marks

an amalgam of the aforementioned smells

in the crotch of your underoos

and the ass...

Hanes Batman collection on your feet
$9.97 Old Navy polo on your junk
Tube socks wrapped around your arms
the same arms begging for
a case of ringworm in adulthood

when you can't tell the difference

it's time to do laundry, but who has the tide?

8:44 PM - 9 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

A Few More Things
Current mood: cold
Category: Blogging

So, they say that cockroaches are resilient little buggers. I know this to be true from living in Brooklyn for half of my life (specifically the PJ's). They say that they can go without water for seven days and that they can survive on eating soap alone. So, I pose this question: can a cockroach, if pushed, eat a load of semen?

It's an honest question.


I have a hatred for most things (read:movies) Adam Sandler. I just watched a half an hour of his masterpiece, Click. It reaffirmed my hatred and then some...

He cast Kate Beckinsale as his wife.


Yeah, that's believable, asshole.


Maybe not a few, just two.

1:22 PM - 6 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Nice to Know Me
Category: Blogging

    I apologize for not being very consistent with reading other folks blogs/pages, my internet connection that I was stealing from my laptop went all funny style on me about a month ago, so I usually have to go outside to do internetty things and I gotta tell you, it's motherfucking cold in New York City at night (I'm very much a night owl, even on the days that I have to fucking work or go to class


    With the exception of crack and heroin, I've tried every drug that I can think of (aka been offered to me, and don't try and psychoanalyze me because I've been there and done that and I know the reasons why I do what I do, I'm just more okay with said reasons than most**, although my vice of choice is alcohol (very apparent to those of you who know me personally, which is pretty fucking cool/impressive/endearing considering that a: I've known a lot of you for a lOoOoooOong time b: those of you who I don't know very long or outside of the internet are people that I actually like or could like, and I don't like people very much even though I'm good at pretending that I do), specifically Jack Daniels, on the rocks, straight or with some sort of cola/ginger ale (sprite or 7up is fucking gross with whiskey).

I had some of that after work. Good stuff.

    A friend of mine from work gave me a ride home today, but before he dropped me off (I didn't feel like taking public transportation) he decided he wanted to get a gram before he got home so he could party a bit (his girlfriend was out with some dude and he was suspicious or whatever) and I said I was cool with it, as long as I got home in time to take a leak and pop this pimple that was nagging me at work. So he's driving and he's already high from his lunch break which means that he's driving like an idiot. Darting in and out of traffic. Tailgating. Yeah, that guy. We park behind this check cashing place and wait for the guy. The guy pulls up and he gets in the guy's car and then quickly back into his. He then darts down a side street. And another. And a few more. I ask him why the fuck he's driving worse than before. He tells me that he shorted the guy 50 bucks.

I'm annoyed. So much so that I tell him to drop me off at the next bus stop he sees.

You just don't fucking do that.

The end.

 











*Damn English majors automatically failing after three absences; ask me about that shit some other time (luckily I've had profs who liked me or saw a modicum of talent). Grad school will suck if I decide to pursue my MFA, although I'd rather just finish this Goddamned novel (don't try this life route if you hate the idea of constantly doubting yourself when all evidence -empirical and other wise- points to the conclusion that you may be successful) and give a big ole' fuck you to academia.

**More or less reconciled with myself the fact that I like them. I do. Not more than I like (love, really... a few of you have been more family to me than my blood and you know who you are) my friends or living, which is why I don't let them get too much in the way of my real life (job/school/relationships) or my writing. I just enjoy them. See the Bill Hicks rant on why drugs have done some good for us for a funnier (but far less accurate because I refuse to romanticize drug use/abuse, mostly because of seeing the ) description.***
***
"Today, a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration. That we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There's no such thing as death, life is only a dream and we're the imagination of ourselves. Here's Tom with the weather."

10:44 PM - 7 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment