“I am nothing
I shall always be nothing
I cannot wish to be anything.
Aside from that, I have within me all the dreams of the world.”
Fernando Pessoa
“I am nothing
I shall always be nothing
I cannot wish to be anything.
Aside from that, I have within me all the dreams of the world.”
Fernando Pessoa
Let’s go USA! If this song doesn’t get you pumped for Team USA, lick my butt and suck on my balls!
What you gonna do when we come for you now (Beligium)!
Fuck Yeah!
Sometimes there’s times
I try to find a reason
and rhyme for whats behind
the decisions I make.
Revisions run through my head–
what could be different,
what I should have said. If I can change?
It’s strange to dwell on the past.
Mistakes, regrets, fast cars, slow rides,
love and lust, the good and the bad–
like a fad these thoughts linger
in my head for far too long. When the future seems bleak
I tend to seek pipe dreams
and self-destruction. We are all
responsible for our life’s direction.
I just wish I knew which way to go.
These are some videos of covers done by my good friend Mike Fajardo. They include Badfish by Sublime, Feeling Alright by Rebelution, and Tornado by Mike Pinto.
http://youtu.be/pJ_JZiXJKwI – Badfish
http://youtu.be/q5L-GJOpH28 – Feeling Alright
Video of the Newcastle, OK Tornado Forming
And then proceeding to destroy everything in its path. Wild video.
Mother Nature can be a real bitch sometimes.
Tobacco Kiosk by Fernando Pessoa
Probably my favorite poem of all time.
I need a vacation.
If only I could afford it. I’ve always
wanted to go to Europe or Australia
or Jamaica; somewhere away
form the elephant and donkey
show and the 99%. I want to walk
on the Dead Sea, run in the Sahara,
survive on an island. When I was
in high school, I used to think
I’d get so rich I could buy an island
and have my own private getaway.
Now I just hope
I can buy a house.
I would occupy Wall Street,
but I have so much work to do.
I need a vacation.
Chapter Three:
I woke up to banging at the door. There was a puddle of drool from where my face was rested and a slick coat that ran down my face. I reached for a cigarette and lit one up as the banging continued.
“Who is it?!” I finally blurted out.
“It’s Rocky, we’re gonna be late for work!” Shit. I forgot about work. Didn’t I have the day off? No, that was yesterday.
“Give me a couple minutes!”
Rocky and I were security guards at the local mall. I just walked around and pretended not to see anything. Rocky, on the other hand, took his job very seriously. He wanted to become a cop. I wanted to cruise the mall and meet chicks. There was no time to shower, so I brushed my teeth quickly, washed my face, and put on deodorant. I quickly got into uniform, popped a few Xanax, and headed out the door.
“You can’t keep doing this man. You need to be ready when I get here or I can’t take you anymore,” Rocky said as I locked up the apartment.
“I’m sorry, man, won’t do it again.”
“Been taking too many of those pills again, haven’t you?” He could always tell.
“They are my medicine man, I need them.”
“Is part of your treatment also drinking whole bottles of wine and six packs of beer with them?” I had nothing to say to this.
“Look can we just drop this right now. I’m up, I’m dressed, I’m ready to go.”
“You know I’m only looking out for you.”
“I know. Now drop it.”
“Whatever you say, man.”
Rocky was a long-time friend of mine and my only friend really at this point. I met him in high school, and even though he was a couple of grades above me, we became quick friends once we started working together at McDonald’s. About a year after I moved to Gainesville for school, his parents made a move to Trenton, a small town 45 minutes northwest. And so our friendship continued. He actually helped me get the job with the mall, as he was already well established. I was in need of work after graduating (thanks Obama), and he didn’t hesitate to help. No matter what anyone wants to say about that kid, no one can say that he doesn’t try to help his friends.
We arrived at the mall five minutes before our shift was supposed to start at 10:00am. After clocking in, our supervisor told us our detail for the day. I was to patrol the west end of the mall and Rocky the east. They liked to split us up, given our history of friendship. “Too much clowning around on the job,” they would say. “It’s better to keep you two separate.” But we’d find ways around it.
After my Xanax kicked in, I was feeling quite chipper. I walked the mall with a pep in my step, though it was quite dead. I went to the Starbucks and bought a coffee from the quiet barista who worked there. I always wanted to flirt with her, but could never find the nerve. I don’t have a very good way with women, which is why I like to watch from afar. She was short and curvy, with a sweet face. She looked Spanish. She had puffy lips and a nice ass that I would glance at when she turned around to make my order. I paid, thanked her, and put a dollar in the tip jar. After that, I took my coffee to the bathroom with me. In one of the stalls, I poured out some of the black coffee and replaced it with some Baileys I kept in a flask concealed in one of my pockets. Now I was ready to start the day.
The mall was dead today. Nobody comes to the mall on a Monday morning. But then there she was. Blondie. She was exiting Victoria’s Secret just as I was walking up to it. Maybe she earned some money the night before and decided to take herself shopping. She was wearing a skirt and tank top. Very casual. The bag draped across her shoulder is what really caught my curiosity. Some new sexy outfits for clients? New bras, panties? I was dying to know.
So I followed her. I watched her window shop at a jewelry store, stop at a kiosk selling the “perfect nail stylizing” kit. After the kiosk, I was still following, and she locked back at me and gave me a smile; so I followed her some more. She came up to a bathroom and appeared ready to go in, but before she did, she turned back and me again and winked. Standing there dumbfounded, I looked around to see if she was actually winking at me. Noticing my confusion, she stopped, gestured me forward with her index finger and went inside. So I followed.
She was waiting for me when I arrived in the bathroom and quickly locked the door.
“I love a man in uniform,” she said.
“Thanks…” was all I could manage in response. Was this really happening?
“Don’t be shy, it’s just you and me in here,” she continued.
“I could get fired for this.”
“Well that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” She pressed her body against mine. I was overcome with lust, nervousness, and guilt, all at once.
I kissed her and lifted her up onto a sink, my body between her legs. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. She pulled down my pants and boxers. I was already hard. I thrust into her. She moaned and bit my neck and I fucked her harder and harder. It didn’t last long. After three minutes I was done, my seed spilt inside her. She composed herself, cleaned her vagina, and left without a word. As she left, I was composing myself as well. I walked out of the bathroom and she was gone.
During our lunch break I told Rocky what happened. Well, I told him I had sex with a girl in the bathroom, not that I knew her from previously seeing her prostitution ad. He congratulated me and then went on to explain how what I did was a serious offense that could get me fired. I assured him that no one knows, except for me, the girl, and now him.
“So unless you wanna rat me out, I should be good.”
“Come on man, you know I would never do that,” he said.
And I knew he wouldn’t.
Isn’t it funny: that dreamy state of mind?
Nostalgia, regret, wandering
into the past. It doesn’t really exist,
you know? Outside of our minds,
of course. It comes and goes as ideas;
The way life might have been—
A year ago,
A month ago,
Yesterday?
I am stuck in a dream with experiences real
and unreal, woven together
in the illusionary web of time.
I have met Borges as Borges.
I met Zarathustra and scoffed at the Superman.
I stood at the edge of absurdity with Camus,
and anguished over Abraham with Kierkegaard.
I have done all
and none of these things.
I have lived, and dreamt, and slept
a thousand lifetimes. Words scribbled
on a piece of paper. Words that will mean
nothing. Words that mean everything
right now. All we have are moments.
The rest is a dream;
The rest is a lie.
Chapter Two:
Sometimes, I like to browse ads for escorts on the internet. I never meet with them though. I like to look at the pictures. Sometimes I even work up the nerve to call them. We talk for a little while and then I get nervous and hang up. This is how I met Blondie.
One night, after a few Xanax and a bottle of wine, I began to peruse as I am want to do. Then I saw her:
~~~~~ BuSty BLonDe WiTh BooTy ~~~~
Are you ready to meet your new addiction? Let me introduce myself, my name is Blondie. I am 100% the real deal. I stand at 5’2” and weighs 130lbs. I tan and work out often so I assure you that I’m just like my photos. Paired with my toned body is a stunning face! I come to you. Discreet, Respectful and Clean. Would like for you to be as well! Call me boys! 347-954-7588
She had two pictures: one of her plump ass in a green thong, and another of her full body, wearing laced black bra and panties. I got hard just looking at them. My heart began to pound and without thinking I was reaching towards my phone. I picked it up and dialed the numbers. It rang a couple times before she answered. When I heard her voice, my heart dropped.
“Hello?” she said, sweetly.
Silence.
“Hellooo? I can hear you breathing.”
I hung up the phone and closed out the browser. I spun in my chair and watched my small studio apartment whirl around me. The posters on my wall blurred as I passed my twin bed next to the desk, neatly made. Then there was the small kitchen in the corner, the door, My TV and stand across the wall from my bed, my bookshelf next to it, and the bathroom and closet in the corner next to that. When I came full circle I almost knocked off the lamp on my desk, but somehow I managed to snag it as it fell. This feat impressed me, as my facilities were quite impaired at this point. I had a good laugh at myself and put the lamp in its rightful spot. Then I fell off the chair and passed out on the floor.
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Posted in Uncategorized with tags comments, hate, like, love, poems, stories on May 16, 2013 by J.R.Comment on my shit. If you like something, tell me what works. If you don’t like something, tell me what doesn’t. I respect most of my followers as writers and am receptive to feedback good or bad.
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