Monday, February 28, 2011

The Fuck Buddies

She would call him; he would answer the phone.

He would call her; she would answer the phone.

He'd make arrangements, and she'd make time. They extended each other the same courtesy --time and time again.

He would know how to rub her clit; she would know how to fondle his balls, and when the nights ended they would kiss each other on the lips and say goodbye.

She would sleep on his lap. And he would stroke her hair. And he would call orgasms "crises" like in an old book he read. She would laugh. And they would have sex until their seratonin levels were so high it was as if they were travelling through time.

They got into a fight and then they made up and then they got into a fight about making up and now feelings came.

She would call him and he would not answer the phone and so she met a guy named Stan from Accounting. Stan from Accounting was very thoughtful and even knew her top 10 movies by heart. He would call and Stan was in her voice message machine. He would go out to try to pick up girls in public recreational parks and instead he would whittle tree branches into aliens.

She would break up with Stan from Accounting after he fucked her over. He would answer the phone and he would soon find out the life story of Stan from Accounting and eventually he would come and she would come and come and vice-versa and over and over and over again.

He would look at the ants circling the drain in his shower and it felt like a momentous occasion though if you asked him he wouldn't know why.

They moved to Ashland, Oregon and he was the lead in Death of A Salesman and won the respect of his peers but respect from your peers could not be converted to pay the rent. She was working at a laundromat. She would sleep with some other guy and when he found out he didn't give a fuck what his name was or what department he was from. And she said "you didn't return my calls, remember?  That's how I met Stan (from Accounting)" and it made no sense to him but so much sense to her.

A funny thing happened that night. He was able to describe why those ants meant so much to him at that time when he was looking at them (like a school of insect fish going into the great unknown).

And so he woke up and she was already awake, complaining about Ashland, Oregon. She tried to make him feel guilty for her own infidelity and he sat indian style and told her "I am walking forward with my eyes open until nothing can stop me and that is when I will stop."

And when he walked past her she looked at him and he understood that it was like walking past every summer of every important year of his life and that it was so easy to stop. It would be a natural instinctual reaction to stop. And vice versa for her and over and over and over again. So he forced his legs, no matter paralyzed he was, he forced his legs.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

to cook in the kitchen is to breathe life into a home by North W. South E.

to cook in the kitchen is to breathe life into a home
herbs plucked from window sill will heighten flavor of steamy bowl.
the sunken, the sound of transformation from raw to ready to eat
unbottled water fills pots will soon turn to stock simmered on stove for hours
recipes written from scraps wasted, now made super popular
mounds of the once rooted underground for garnish of green 
onions and cilantro, basil and sprouts, southern style

Monday, January 17, 2011

New Astrological Signs? New Horoscopes!

Capricorn: Jan. 20-Feb. 16: Granted, no one is denying that you are better at your job than your boss but let's be realistic here: there is no way you give better handjobs.


Aquarius: Feb. 16-March 11: Barring apocalypse, in the distant future your niece/nephew/kid/stepkid will watch a movie based on the 90s and buy its soundtrack. You wil feel a tinge of nostalgia you never thought you had over "Mambo No. 5"


Pisces: March 11-April 18: It's high time you stop planning on tossing those boxers/panties with the hole in em and just fucking throw it away.


Aries: April 18-May 13: You are still dying alone but so did Karl Marx and he is remembered for a socio-political ideology that has been bastardized and never truly implemented. It gets better, I promise


Taurus: May 13-June 21: It might be 1am and you might be drunk as hell but I promise you that the Taco Bell drive-thru is only good in theory


Gemini: June 21-July 20: If you finish that novel you've been thinking about working on, no one will have to hear about how you're "working on it".


Cancer: July 20-Aug. 10: If you really want that cupcake stop being a Cathy Guisewite and just take it or leave it.


Leo: Aug. 10-Sept. 16: No one can save you.


Virgo: Sept. 16-Oct. 30: It's probably time to retire that joke you make everytime that one subject comes up.


Libra: Oct. 30-Nov. 23: Your anecdote about meeting Scott Baio was interesting the first time. 


Scorpio: Nov. 23-29: If you finish cleaning your room, it will be one less thing to think about when you masturbate in it.


Ophiuchus: Nov. 29-Dec. 17: Stop Facebook-stalking your ex.


Sagittarius: Dec. 17-Jan. 20: The fact your clock is 15 minutes faster than the real time has not ONCE made you early for anything, ever.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Bundyism

"So you think I'm a loser? Just because I have a stinkin' job that I hate? A family that doesn't respect me? A whole city that curses the day I was born? Well, that may mean "loser" to you, but let me tell you something. Every morning when I wake up I know it's not going to be any better until I go back to sleep again. So I get up, have my watered down Tang and still-frozen pop tart, get in my car with no upholstery, no gas and six more payments, to fight traffic just for the privilege of putting cheap shoes on the cloven hooves of people like you. I'll never play football like I thought I would. I'll never know the touch of a beautiful woman. And I'll never again know the joy of driving without a bag on my head. But I'm not a loser. 'Cause despite it all, me and every other guy who will never be what he wanted to be, are still out there being what we don't wanna be, forty hours a week for life. And the fact that I haven't put a gun in my mouth, you pudding of a woman, makes me a winner!"

Thursday, October 14, 2010

the only way i can seemingly come to grips with life being awesome is accepting the fact that life sucks dick.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Love Silence Surrounds Love Sounds by G.P Abraham



Beyond love songs is a love silence and this is where all love songs arise from. A song not being silence is being something and in being something there is a proof to prove what it is not. In the proof from the nightingale call, the dark night still dominates the ground and that ground is the silence for all to arrive to the call. Love songs are a violation of silence and all violations of silence are nothing more than a longing, a lamenting, for that silence to return again. The Eden silence.
______________________________________________________________________________
Girl, don't you know you're so beautiful
I wanna give all my love to you, girl
______________________________________________________________________________
Words of “mine” and “my”—there is this preferred sense of belonging rather than longing… all “love songs” should be “longing songs”. If a “my love” is given and is accepted then the gift pervades both participants and it no longer is a “mine” or “yours” but a moment of silence, song ends, nothing left to call for, or long for. Nightingale becomes dark night.
______________________________________________________________________________
right here right now, I got somebody who loves me for me, got somebody who loves me for me,
The idea of “me” as “ME” and as if there is such a Other that knows “me” before I even know “me” is phenomenal to say the least. But, to say the least is a way of knowing beyond the “love song” or the “longing song”. To say the least is moving towards “love silence”.

In deciphering lyrics to form a ground for the “longing song” is tedious, because longing is deficient in syntactical words because it is saturated in feelings. And in that sense, silence is broken by a moan or a howl which lays the interruption for words to form. Hence, feeling brought forth a OM or a howl or a moan out of pure violation of silence.
I'll stay with you through the ups and the downs
Oh I'll stay with you when no one else is around
Love songs prove the impossibility of love. But, it is silence, that brings about the possibility. This idea of “staying power” is a “other form”. The satellite orbits of commitals and the reverse (permiscuity) are found with in the degrees of “staying power”. The commitals involved in love making for that singular “one night standing” is a commital of “standing power” or “staying power”. It is the same energy of the wedding anniverseries. The wager anniversery in which the bet of “staying power” was placed is of the same wager of “standing power”. Though “one night standing power” is a wager or wedding of possible venerial or a procreative venture, they have the same impetus “to-belong”. Both leave their birth mark against the already present something that broke the silence.
I wondered all this time 'bout how you been
and I hoped by chance, I'd see you once again
The fact that a song is there proves that love is not there. A song always announces a “not yet” and in that “not yet” the possibility for a “longing song”, “love song”, and “a grasping song” is fortified. A “grasping song” interrupts what is already “at hand”. So, BEYOND A LOVE SONG IS A LOVE SILENCE.

Proving the point “falling in love” is fallacious in its directional momentum. For if it is really love it would be a rebound out away from the earth. LEVITY.


The Hill by Alfonso Ferlenghetti

It is all moving. I highly recommend you find a hill, a mountain, a giant plain, desert, or anything of the sort; the moment the location is found, walk directly towards it. Get close. Real close. Look with the right kind of eyes. Look at it move. All of it in such grace and harmony. We are apart of this, not just observers. Look at the movement, the life. Get even closer. Listen to the sounds. Birds may be chirping, bugs may be chatting, or maybe just the wind, for it is alive too. Don’t believe me? Movement. Swirls, strokes, singularity. This is how the word truly appears. This is the journey…

One foot in front of the other
The sounds begins, which fades into another noise
One idea after another
White noise, then nothing but a hum. Repeat. Repetative.
Just the hum
One foot in front of the other
I’ll get there.