Gender: Male
Status: Single
Age: 29
Sign: Libra
State: New Jersey
Country: US
Signup Date:
07/15/07
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Saturday, October 11, 2008
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Another Wasted Night
Current mood:  hungover
Another Wasted Night
Never make up a title
Before the piece is done,
Whether it is a novel, poem,
Song or whatever.
It is bad luck.
That being said,
I called in sick to work
And had the whole day free
To read and write,
And write and read,
But instead began
Looking at porn on the internet
And the hours slipped away.
Then I had to feed my dogs,
And then I had to take them outside,
And then I had to order dinner,
Chinese, delivery,
And as I waited I lingered on
The internet,
Found a free online dating site,
Thought what the hell,
And signed up.
My dinner came,
Eggroll, dumplings, chicken with broccoli,
I ate,
And swore I'd spend the next
Two hours or so writing,
But I just kept surfing on the internet instead.
At 8:30, figuring the day was shot,
I made my first drink,
But instead of writing a poem,
Or reading a short story,
As usually was my want,
I stayed on the computer,
And logged into
That free online dating site.
And I drank and sent messages,
And soon women began messaging me back,
Many were older, some were fat,
But as I kept drinking,
They became better looking,
Just like when you're at the bar.
The night went on
And I kept
Messaging and drinking,
Drinking and messaging.
One woman I kept talking to,
She was impressed with what I read,
What films I saw,
And she was older,
Not too good looking,
With nice tits,
But also overweight.
And we kept talking
Until finally she signed off,
And drunk
I stumbled into bed,
And actually dreamed of this woman,
Imbuing her with beauty she did not have,
Until the next morning I woke,
If not happy to be alone,
Happy not to be with a woman
I'd never had talked to had I not been drinking,
And I said to myself
What I always knew
Would be the title of this poem,
It was just a matter of writing it,
Another wasted night.
3:14 PM
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Thursday, May 29, 2008
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Neighbor
Neighbor
My next door neighbor's strange,
And he's even stranger when he drinks,
And he drinks every night.
He's a small frail guy,
And he walks a large black dog,
And I'm waiting for the day
When he's drunk and his dog
Starts to drag him down the street.
One time I was on my front lawn with my own two dogs
Waiitng for one to piss so I could go back inside.
It was 8 o' clock and dark and raining lightly
And suddenly I noticed something
And turned and saw my neighbor,
Or his silhouette at least, on the street,
His big black dog standing next to him.
"Oh," I said.
"You scared me. I didn't see you."
He didn't say anything.
He continued standing there
And although it was dark and I couldn't see his face
I'm pretty sure he was looking at me.
I turned back to my dogs.
Finally the one pissed.
As we went inside I turned and looked at my neighbor.
He was still standing there, like a zombie,
The big black dog shitting on a pile of leaves,
His owner looking like he didn't notice.
Inside I gave my dogs each a biscuit
And then I looked out the window.
There was no one there.
I guess he'd gone inside.
8:06 AM
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Sunday, April 20, 2008
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novel excerpt
My sixth grade teacher was a small Jewish guy who wore thick glasses named Mr. Konski. On the first day of class he explained how he knew how nervous and anxious we all were and so related a story to us about his own first day of school when he was in the sixth grade.
"My teacher said to us, 'As of right now all of you have A's, and it's up to you to maintain them.'"
Mr. Konski frowned and scratched his chin and said, "And I remember getting really nervous, thinking, 'How am I going to keep up an A all the time? That's a lot to live up to.' And I left the class a nervous wreck, worrying about how much work I'd have to do."
He paused and looked at us, the light glinting off of his glasses, and then smiled generously. "Then when I became a teacher I thought back to that day and remembered how I felt. So, everyone, listen up, no one has an A right now- no one. In fact, everyone is failing, you all have F's. And we're all just going to have to work super hard to get those grades up."
He paused again and smiled at all of us, his eyes beneficent and lively.
The class was silent. Someone dropped a pencil. We could hear it roll across the floor.
"So now," Mr. Konski said, still smiling, "how about we go around the room and introduce ourselves? Everyone say his or her name, their interests, and what they think they want to be when they grow up."
When the class ended and we were led down the hallway by Mr. Konski to gym class I ended up walking next to Jim Keller, a rugged, athletic boy who had been on my baseball team the previous year.
"This guy's a fucking ass," he said, nodding toward Mr. Konski, who was at the head of the line.
"Yeah," I said, although toward the end of the class I didn't think he was that bad.
"And we've got a whole fucking year with him," Jim said, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ."
I didn't say anything. I didn't particularly like Jim Keller, though at times he could be okay. I didn't particularly like anyone.
Jim kept ragging on Mr. Konski, but then gym class started and we were playing kickball, and Jim and I were on the same team, and for the moment Mr. Konski, my dislike of Jim, and everything else was forgotten. There were two sixth grade classes- Mr. Konski's and another one taught by an old balding hunchbacked woman named Ms. Lake.
Ms. Lake walked with a cane and moved very slowly. She wore thick sweaters, gray hospital shoes, and long dresses. Both of her ankles were covered with ace bandages.
She taught social studies, and so I had her once a day for forty five minutes. Her classroom reminded me of a hospital. She didn't like anyone to sneeze around her, and it was rumored that she was very sick.
"Germs!" she'd say whenever this happened and she'd shake her head as if in pain. "Please, if you have to sneeze, leave the room."
And the person who sneezed would always look down, embarrassed, feeling singled out.
Ms. Lake had a bowl of Jolly Ranchers on her desk, and although bags of this type of candy could have been bought by any of us at any supermarket or CVS, there was something like an aura to the ones on her desk, as she only gave them out as special rewards, which she did very rarely. Sitting there in class, it was torture looking at that bowl, the class long, the minutes slowly passing by, the candy looking so enticing, but knowing we were not going to be given any of it.
Still, despite all of her eccentricities, in many ways Ms. Lake was a fantastic teacher. Her classes could often be riveting and entertaining.
"And don't think you have it so hard," she said to us once. "Just think about the children in Brazil."
The class was quiet, until one girl in the front row raised her hand and said, "What about them?"
"Well," Ms. Lake began, and then went into a lengthy description of how there were many homeless kids in Brazil, homeless because their parents had died of AIDS, and how they themselves were prostitutes and slept in porno theaters, and how local store keepers paid the crooked cops when they were off duty to kill the kids and hang their bodies on posts in front of stores as a warning to the other kids to get out of the neighborhood and not to come back.
"Ten, eleven, twelve years old," Ms. Lake said. "Many younger than you."
The class was dead silent, but I was enthralled, fascinated by this woman who knew so much about the world.
"And now," Ms. Lake said, "back to the Revolutionary War."
And she began talking again, but I was too distracted to listen. I kept thinking about the children of Brazil, the cops hunting them down, their carcasses hanging on the posts for the whole world, and especially other children, to see.
2:37 PM
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Wednesday, April 09, 2008
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Clements Hall
Clements Hall
I was walking from the library to my class,
About six thirty at night,
Dark and cold out,
When a man in front of me
Stopped a group of girls
And asked them something.
They all shook their heads
And walked on,
The man shaking his head
And looking frustrated.
Then as I got nearer
He came up to me.
"Excuse me?" he said.
"Do you know where Clements Hall is?"
The name sounded vaguely familiar,
But the campus had at least 30 buildings,
And in all the time I’d been going to school there
I’d had classes in no more than 4 of them.
So I shook my head and said,
"I don’t know. Sorry."
The man’s face became livid.
"I don’t know!" he mimicked.
"I’m not sure!
I only go to school here!"
He shook his head rolled his eyes and said,
"Jesus Christ!"
I kept walking
And he kept muttering
And I heard him behind me
Stop another group of students
Only to be met with the same answer.
As I continued walking
I went past the art building,
Which I must have passed
Hundreds of times before,
But had never noticed
The building’s name above the door-
Clements Hall.
I turned and saw the man
Walking further away
From the building,
Looking for someone else to ask.
I thought of going back and telling him,
Despite how he had mocked me,
But I looked at my watch
And I saw I was almost late for Ethics,
And I did not want to be
Late for Ethics.
10:36 PM
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The Fat Girls
The Fat Girls
There’s a group of fat girls where I work,
One is enormous, over 300 pounds,
Another is chubby,
And the other has a dumpy body,
And none of them do any work.
They bullshit with one another,
Talking in a group,
As the phone rings, unanswered,
The other employees hustling about,
Glowering at the fat girls when they walk by them.
The really fat one is obsequious and shy,
The chubby one is loud and crass,
The dumpy one inane and annoying,
And I hate them all,
Working very hard while they do nothing.
Management knows about it,
I mean, they have to know,
But nothing is done about the fat girls,
They talk and laugh and bullshit,
And nothing changes.
It is just one of those things,
They do nothing while the rest of us work.
Sometimes my skull and brain
Seem about to implode with rage,
But I have to remind myself to just do my job,
To forget about the fat girls;
To get on in this world
Sometimes one has to say
It’s just one of those things.
8:04 AM
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Monday, March 24, 2008
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Brothers
Brothers
In a Starbucks I sat
Drinking a cup of coffee
While outside a man in an expensive suit
Talking on his cell phone passed,
And a homeless man walked slowly by,
Holding a dirty paper cup out and asking for change.
And then a gorgeous blonde,
About 20 years old, tight white shirt, large breasts,
Shorts accentuating a perfect ass, walked by,
And both the man in the suit
And the homeless man
Stopped and watched her.
They looked at her with smiles on their faces,
Their eyes lit up,
Their expressions so similar
They could have been brothers.
And then the blonde was gone,
And the suit and the homeless man
Resumed walking,
And ended up bumping into each other.
"What the fuck?" I saw the suit’s lips say,
Looking in disgust
As the homeless man held his cup out.
The suit shook his head and walked away,
Talking on his cell phone again,
And then they were both gone,
And I sat waiting for another pretty girl to walk by.
1:53 PM
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Sunday, March 16, 2008
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Problem
Problem
At work I was standing at a computer terminal
When a woman came up to me and said,
"I need to see a manager."
"Okay," I said, and reached for the phone.
"We have a problem," the woman said.
"I’ll call a manager," I said.
I called Lester,
This guy in his sixties with bad breath and a beard,
And he came over and talked to the woman,
And I went back to shelving books.
A few minutes later Lester came up to me
And said, "Come here. Follow me."
I followed him down a few aisles
Until we stopped about twenty feet from a man
Who was wearing very short shorts
Showing very hairy legs,
A tank top and sneakers.
He was in his thirties
And had thick curly black hair.
Lester turned to me and said,
"That woman told me that man over there
Was exposing himself to her in the cafe.
Go over and ask him if he needs help."
"What?" I said.
"If he knows we’re on to him he’ll leave," Lester said.
"Oh, come on," I said. "I don’t want to talk to this guy."
"Go," Lester said. "Go."
Slowly I walked up to the guy,
But when I got about ten feet from him
He put the book he had been reading back onto the shelf
And walked down another aisle.
I walked back to Lester and said,
"He walked away."
Lester nodded and left.
Five minutes later it was time for my break,
And I got my jacket from the breakroom
And was walking toward the front of the store
When I saw the guy in the shorts and the tank top
Walking quickly,
Lester behind him.
"Are you sure, sir?" Lester said loudly, almost yelling.
"Did you hear me, sir?"
The guy looked absolutely petrified;
He was rubbing his hand nervously through his hair,
And beads of sweat dripped down his forehead.
Finally he reached the door,
Lester stopped chasing him,
And I went outside and lit a cigarette
And watched the guy get into a small white Toyota,
Start the car and drive away.
And as I watched his car get on the highway
I felt bad for him,
Wondering what his life was like,
It seemed so sad to me,
The whole ordeal,
And I smoked my cigarette and thought about it,
Wondering why I felt bad for a person like that,
But knowing also that if there weren’t
Always two sides to every story,
There were always two people involved,
And blood and nerves,
And ruined days and years.
5:17 PM
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16 Comments - 30 Kudos
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Sunday, March 02, 2008
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News
News
On the TV
The anchorman smiled triumphantly
And the screen cut to a video of
Border patrol cops
Taking half a dozen handcuffed Mexican men
To a van so they could be deported.
The men's clothes were
Ripped,
Tattered,
Dirty.
They stood there
As the border patrol cops spoke to them,
And whether they spoke English or not
Didn't matter;
They knew they were finished.
The segment ended,
And the anchorman came back on,
Smiling and happy and self righteous,
Praising the border patrol's wherewithal.
And I am for the border patrol also,
And for much of what they do,
But I am also for
Having that anchorman
Switch places with one of those men,
To be chased,
Fucked
And caught,
Only to be sent back
To try again.
4:06 PM
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9 Comments - 16 Kudos
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Friday, February 22, 2008
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King
King
It isn't the fucking
Or the blowjobs
That comes to mind
When I think back
To when I was 17.
Instead I think of an afternoon
When I was at my girlfriend's house,
Her parents away,
And we were fooling around
On the couch.
I had my hand down there,
And soon I had one,
Then two fingers inside her,
Her cunt warm
And beautiful
And wet.
But we kept kissing and making out,
As I gently fingered her,
Relaxed and patient,
Knowing we had time,
Knowing I was definitely
Getting laid.
Talk about moments passing by.
Talk about having the world in your hands.
Talk about thinking back,
Again and again.
3:30 PM
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12 Comments - 24 Kudos
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Sunday, February 10, 2008
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Beast
Beast
There were two registers open,
It was lunchtime,
And there was a crowd.
I was standing next to a guy wearing glasses
When a loud voice behind me said,
"Where's the line?"
I turned around and saw a large fat woman,
About 300 pounds,
Looking around, annoyed.
No one answered
Until an Asian guy said,
"I'm at the end."
The fat woman wrinkled her pug nose.
"We need a line. These places should have rails or something."
She walked to the front
And turned toward the guy with glasses.
"Why don't you move here?"
She turned to me.
"And you stand here."
Neither of us moved.
The man with the glasses looked at me and rolled his eyes.
The fat woman moved behind us.
"And you," I heard her say behind me.
"You go here."
The Mexican girl called next in line.
The man with the glasses walked over.
Behind me the fat woman would not stop.
"And you, you get over here.
Come on now, people.
Let's be civilized."
She began to laugh,
A loud,
Obnoxious,
Animalistic laugh.
A mexican guy with a goatee called next in line.
I walked to his register
And ordered the number 3,
A Big Mac
And fries.
As I stood there
I could still hear the fat woman,
Laughing,
Giving orders.
When my food was ready
I paid
And walked to the door.
It shut behind me
And cut off the noise of the fat woman,
But I walked to my car
Knowing
There were many more out there
Just like her.
11:36 AM
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