Jason Rimbaud

Rainbow Warrior By: Jason R. Written May 27th, 2006 and on September 30th, 2007 You dropped the words on me today Duty it seems will soon take you away I think a part of me died tonight I feel nothing on my insides Fighting a war I can?t begin to understand Being Army strong won?t make you a man Can you hide who you?re fighting for Being on the front lines in the wrong fucking war We spoke until the words were yells I?ll never understand you I can tell Brandon, I really feel like hell But I?ll throw a few pennies in the wishing well You stood up and drew a line in the sand And you knew you could be excluded for loving a man If this secret was to escape and be found out by all Your disgrace would be terrific and down you?d fall I know it?s your belief and a desire to serve You love this country despite being labeled a perv Their policy is don?t ask and never say They?ll let you die but you can?t die gay I received the news from them today It seems duty finally did take you away I know a part of me died tonight And I feel nothing on my insides You fought a war I?ll never understand But being Army strong made you a man You no longer have to hide who you?re fighting for Dead on some front line in this wrong fucking war I cried until the screams turned to yells I?ll never understand your sacrifice I can tell Brandon, I really feel like hell A rose on your grave replaces pennies in the wishing well

Thanks Trab, I fixed the your/you're problem. I didn't really go over it after I wrote it last night. Goes to show you that writers should always go over their work before offering it to the world. This was exactly my point. I'm kind of seeing someone at the moment, someone I met through my job. And we were having a conversation about my writing and he asked if he could see some of it. This caused a panic, because most of my poetry isn't something I think a potential boyfriend should be reading. At least, not at the beginning stages of a relationship. If you've read any of my work, then you understand that it deals with addiction, slutty behavior, and general mayhem. He knows that I've been depressed lately, not the reason thank god, but as we start in this getting to know one another stage, I'd rather he see the good parts of me first. Which is why I wrote this piece, Why can't you only seeThe best things in meThat's my point, the dark places I sometimes go could ruin this before it even starts. Acceptance of who I am is what I want, but I don't want to throw it out all on the table all at once. I would rather he slowly get to know me, let the good, which is a lot sometimes, outweigh the bad, which is a lot sometimes. This piece is my way of coping with my fear. Just my way of dealing with a situation that is slowly taking over my life. I meant what I said when I wrote,Happiness isn't that farWherever you are.That's scary and yet I'm almost giddy at the prospect. Wish me luck.Jason R.

Aspirant By: Jason R. I must have died For now you're inside And I'm unprepared To bring in the light And admit that your right That I'm fucking scared To say all the words To show I'm disturbed Though in recovery So I embrace you with hope To cope With dope So you won't know And then let go Why can't you only see The best things in me And not these broken dreams All my broken dreams There is this darkness in me Broken bits that you'll see And you'll start to run I'll push you away While wanting to stay I'm the deranged one I can't fall in love Decreed from above At least thus far So I put these words to the page To cage My rage So you won't know And then let go Why can't you only see The best things in me And not these broken things All my broken things Late at night I'm all alone in the dark I look deep inside my heart And suddenly happiness isn't far It's wherever you...ARE

Camy, Wibby, Trab I don't know how to explain it, this thought process on writing the above entry. But I'll try, because I think there are those that do give a fuck.It was riddled with metaphors that only I understand. And reading it back, I understand why it came across so depressing.THE NAME THINGIt's never about telling the world my last name. No, it's more along the lines of telling the world my "real" name. Or me. The me inside that I hide from the world. The drug addict, the twisted little slut that doesn't know how to show love or give love. The boy who uses sex as a tool to further my own self destruction.For over a year I've tried, so desperately hard to mold myself into a person I know I should become. To become sober and something like a human. To push my real personality into a dark place inside my self. To hide behind indifference and humor so no one could get close enough to see the train wreck that steadily approaches.I work with twenty or so people now for over a year. And I can honestly say I don't have a single one of them as a friend. At work I see them laugh, I see them hang out after work, and I see myself going home, alone. I wonder why I can't give a fuck enough to even try and make friends. They seem so happy and filled with life. And then I look at myself and see a depressed boy existing life. Existing life in a quest to try and maintain my sobriety and my sanity. Because life is boring, life is tedious and unfulfilling without drugs.SOBRIETY SUCKSAddicts, even those that no longer use, think about getting high almost daily. It doesn't go away over time and the allure never lessens. Each night I come home to an empty apartment and clean it, just for something to do to keep me busy. I write, things I hope no one ever will see, just to take my mind off the "thing" I've become. And when it gets too bad, I go on the prowl and find something/anything to fuck. Just to take my mind off the sober mindless drone I've become.I'm not built to exist life in this fashion. I'm not programed to be a functioning human steadily marching to a death in my eighties. My nature is to experience the third eye, a state of mind that only altered living can provide. To live life for only this moment.Writing helps, but after awhile I want to experience what I'm writing. Love, relationships, someone to have. The only time I ever fell in love, the only time I allowed myself to fall in love, was when I was an addict. Sometimes I think LOVE=ADDICTION. And addicts need something to be addicted too.Jason R.PS: Des, my friend from down under. I read, I understand, and I thank you.

I wonder, at this moment in my life, if I should care about anything. I have this feeling, a feeling that rips me up inside, if I should even bother with trying to be a human. The only thing I can say, at this present moment, is I don't care about anything. Anyone? Life is too hard sometimes. Too the point where I wonder why I bother trying to make it fluffy white bunny clouds. Life sucks, existing sucks. I don't want to end it, but why should I bother to give a fuck? Pretending that it's okay is pointless. At the end of the day, there is only one being in bed with me. And right now, "ME" thinks life sucks. Fuck it, it's almost been a year, maybe it should all go away. Jason R. should go the way of the dodo. Maybe I should end it with a whimper? Or maybe I should grow a pair of balls and let everyone know my name. Admit the truth, let the world know the one behind it all. I hate feeling this way, I hate being ashamed. I hate everything. Fuck it. It's been a year, the charade should stop.

Okay, lets see. One hundred dollars a pop, carry the one, times the four. Damn, I'm no good at math. Seeing as your an Emu, I'll take a one dollar bill and photo copy it 40,000 times. And since your English, you'll never know the difference. Jason R. PS: If you can give me your address, I'll send it right out to you along with the bronze statue. Of course you might have a shipping fee to pay, just take it out of your winnings.

Wow, Camy, way too much free time on your hands. You actually went out and searched for pictures. This is probably the funniest thread I've ever read. So for the first time ever, I am handing you a Crazy-Ass Emu award. Not to be confused with a grammy or oscar, the Crazy-Ass Emu award is a step above. Seriously, you should be quite flattered and even go as far as writing a speech to accept such an award. And don't forget to tell your relatives and co-workers about said award. And because its you, I'll throw in twenty-thousand pounds of my own money to go along with the bronze statue. Jason R. PS: How much exactly is twenty-thousand pounds in American dollars? Should I start selling my body now to make up the difference?

Umm, Des, why would I want my new lover/boyfriend/sex slave/ one night stand, whatever you would like to call him, why the hell would I want a poet as a boyfriend?I'm a poet, a hack but a poet nevertheless, and I'm so fucked up in the head, why would I ever want a boyfriend of mine to be a poet? I'm not saying all poets are fucked in the head, but poets are fucked in the head. With all my emotional baggage, the last thing I need is a poet for a boyfriend. After all, the bed is only so big and between my demons and his, there would never be enough room to fuck.Jason R.PS: Poetry readings are pretty cool. Too bad I never read my own work, because maybe I could meet my next boyfriend at a poetry reading.

I've heard that you have taken offense by this blog and the entries it contains. Never think for one moment that just because I no longer live in Pennsylvania doesn't mean I still don't stay in touch with my friends. Unlike you, I don't forget about my friends. I don't walk away from my friends every time I get into a relationship. Did you think she wouldn't tell me about the conversation between the two of you? Did you forget that she was my friend first? Did you think I forget about her because I moved away over two years ago? My fragile friend, I talk to Ann every few days, which is more than I can say about you. Whenever you call her its for a favor or you need her help for something. You live twenty minutes away and I know I've seen her more recently than you. That's my Jason, always the leave me alone until I need you kind of friend. So your angry with me. And yet your anger is without logic or rational thought. Truly no reason you can imagine that could back up your claims of broken promises and rose colored lies. I didn't break my promise to you, I haven't told anyone about you or about us. I write under an assumed last name and never even mentioned yours. I did write all about Jason Squared but in all honesty, you can't think that your friends would ever read this blog on this site. Not your self-righteous little pew warmers that populate your life now, they would never be caught dead on a gay site. Though if you look at the statistics, one male in every ten is gay. Maybe one of your Republican friends is reading this blog, but on the bright side, they'd never have the balls to confront you about anything they'd read inside these pages. That would lead to way to many questions about why they were browsing on Awesome Dude. So you can't be angry with me for relaying stories about Jason Squared. So why are you angry? Your anger confuses me I must admit. After all you are the one who went searching online for ME. You are the one who found MY poem at Awesome Dude. You are the one who found MY blog. You are the one who started reading it. And your angry with me,WHY? You twisted little closet dweller, how dare you try and put this back on me. This blog has never been about you, you egocentric little fuck. I write this blog for me, to help me understand why I put up with your shit for as long as I did. I write to better understand myself. Your angry because you found yourself in these entries. And your angry because you didn't like what you read. Does it bring up too many memories? Does it force you to remember the time you spent with me? It's kind of hard to deny that part of yourself when you read it in black and white, isn't it? You claimed that I am telling lies about you, altering the events to make you look like the villain in this little play. Well, I read back all the entries that include you and I must say, I don't see any lies. But then I haven't been lying to myself for years either. So I say if I've been telling tales, why don't you log in and set the story straight. You should be good at "straight", you've been pretending to be it for years. Come on Jason, grow a pair of balls and reply to this post. I know you're reading it. I'll approve any comment you have the guts to make. I don't live in fear of what others say because unlike you, I actually know who the fuck I am. And before I wrote this to you, I called you. But like the scared little rabbit you always were, you didn't answer my call. So if you don't have the balls to talk to me over the phone, register here at Awesome Dude. I'm here, you could be here, lets talk. Jason R.

Firstly, let me say that it was never my intention to leave this tale unfinished for this long. When I first started writing this adventure, I could not complete it due to the fact I had to rush off to work. I swear I fully intended to finish it later that night once I left work. But due to some unforeseen circumstances, mainly a cracked tooth that needed some attention from my dentist, and then extra shifts at work due to some personal problems a co-worker experienced with the passing of his great aunt, time just seemed to slip away from me.Because now, it's some three days later and I have yet completed this tale. So I'll make a deal with all of you. If I can't find time between now, Friday afternoon, and my next day off, Monday, to finish this story, I promise it will be posted on Monday. This I swear by all things holy.Jason R.And to address those that might doubt the voracity of my words, I swear every thing I type is the complete truth as I see it. Of course that does not go as far as to say that I did not embellish the story to make it a more enjoyable read. Believe me, Wonder Boy is a real bartender that works at Applebee's, and all this happened about three weeks ago. Well, except the parts I made up.

I know I'm off topic and everything, but I remember a time when Writebymyself would never sign a post with the nickname of Wibby. And now, we must do as wibby says. Makes me wonder what is really going on in the world. Jason R.

Um Des, Every time Wibby finds an article about emus and such, Camy always tries to play it off, blaming it on this cousin or that younger brother. Methinks Camy is trying to confuse us, placing the blame on another Emu instead of admitting his own mistakes. I find this behavior quite suspicious and believe that each of us Awesome Dudes need to keep a closer eye on this damned crazy ass emu. Jason R.

So Camy is Mryon, and he likes to shop at Wal-Mart. For some reason, this doesn't fit with what I first pictured the emu to be like. Somehow I'm disappointed. Jason R.

Wonder Boy, Edward Forty-Hands, and a Perfect Penis By: Jason R. So let?s start at the beginning, mainly because I really don?t know the ending as of yet. Plus, the beginning is way more interesting to write about. Though I guess I could start at the end and work my way backwards, then all the drama would be pointless and I?d seem like a winey bitch. And honestly, who likes winey little bitches? Des, put your hand down. I wasn?t speaking to you as of yet. Now if your better half raises his hand, then that?s a different story all together. Now would be the time for all you to say, STOP DIGRESSING. Then I would deny it and move on. Shall we, I know you have to be a bit curious on where I?m going with this post, wonder who with how many hands and a perfect penis, what? Wonder Boy Okay, it started last Friday night when I stopped in at Applebee?s for a beer after work. Applebee?s is not a place I would normally frequent but it?s one of the only bars still open in Redwood City after I leave my wonderful hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto. And I know they have Fosters Beer on tap. Fosters is a beer that I would gladly punch a baby, several babies in a row, just for the possibility of maybe getting one to drink from a toothless hag with saggy tits and acne. And they serve them in a 23 ounce glass. Heaven on earth, I think so. So as I walk into Applebee?s I mentally check myself, how?s my hair, how?s my breath, how?s my ass look in these work pants, you know all the important questions. I?d been working all day so I know I must smell of food, alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat. I put some cologne on once in my car but not even my expensive designer cologne can truly hide the nasty smell I know I ooze from every pore. But that doesn?t stop me from sitting down next to one of the prettiest girls I?ve seen in?well?a long time. I derive great pleasure from hitting on girls, I can?t truly explain it, but there it is. I flirt, buy them drinks, dance my ass off with them, and then once I know they?re interested, I smile and say, ?Sorry, I?m gay.? Reading that back, I?m kind of a dick. Where was I? I sit down next to this chick, and look around the bar area of Applebee?s. At the moment, I don?t see the bartender, so I immediately strike up a conversation with the girl. After a few minutes, out of the corner of my eye, I see the bartender walking towards me. When he?s in front of me, I say without really looking, ?Can I have a Foster?s, tall please?? The answer caught my attention, well not the answer as much as the voice I heard that gave the very generic answer. Truthfully, I don?t know what he said, but I can still hear his voice. I know for a fact that I could never find the words in my limited vocabulary to accurately describe the tone, the richness of his voice, or the way it was so infectious I couldn?t help but smile. So I won?t, why embarrass myself anyway? He was slim, his build much like a swimmer?s tone body, pale skin that had hints of natural darkness, his hair was streaked with blonde highlights, shoulder length and pulled back into a loose ponytail. He had high cheekbones, classical features that spoke of Asian heritage with dark chocolate eyes that mirrored his every emotion plainly for the world to see. He was beautiful, and I don?t use that term lightly or frivolously. Later on that night I would come to understand his rather bizarre attire which comprised of skin tight black linen pants, a plain black T-shirt that hugged his lithe form in all the right places. What?s so bizarre about that? To top off the ensemble and to make it bizarre, he wore a bright red belt and matching suspenders. And on the right side of his chest he wore a nametag that read in plain white letters, Wonder Boy. I saw all this in a single glance because the moment our eyes met my heart started beating faster and for a long minute we stood there, gazing into one another?s eyes. Finally I spoke, ?Are you really a wonder boy?? He laughed and replied immediately with a mischievous grin, ?That?s what they say.? He turns around to walk over to the beer tap system. But over his shoulder he calls out, ?If you?re lucky you might found out someday.? After that I pretty much forgot about the hot chick sitting next to me. All my attention was focused on Wonder Boy. I ordered some food, had a few more beers, turned on the charm and tried anything I could think of to keep that seductive smile on his face. Wonder Boy and I chatted as much as we could in between the constant interruption the other patrons caused. I mean, what a bunch of assholes. If I saw one of them hitting it off with a chick I wouldn?t interrupt them, they should?ve had the same courtesy. And seriously, the way they were talking to the hot chick next to me, the last thing they needed was another drink. It seemed my time with Wonder Boy was destined to end all too soon, because a few minutes before twelve, he asked me if I wanted anything for last call. I?m not sure if he saw the disappointment on my face, or if he was as sad as I at the thought of the nights end, but once the rest of the patrons had left and the other employees were busy doing the closing jobs, he leans over and asks in a breathless voice, ?What are you doing later?? I shrug, trying my best to play it cool, and say, ?Going home to my empty apartment.? Just my way of letting Wonder Boy know I am single and that I also live alone. What, like you don?t do that? He smiles at my answer, and asks really fast, his words jumbled together in what I hoped was a mixture of excitement and desire, ?Do you want to go to a party with me?? I made sure my face remained neutral, though I was screaming the word yes inside. I asked, ?Where?? His face lights up with a smile, he replied in that voice that first caught my attention, my pulse quickened as he said, ?Here in Redwood City, a friend of mine is having a birthday party. She just turned twenty-one.? I immediately say, ?Sure. But?? ?What?? he asks, the smile slipping from his face. I grab the front of my work shirt, and say, ?I?m not dressed for a party.? ?You look fine to me.? I don?t know where it came from but I blushed, I guess hearing him say I looked fine did funny things to me. I shook off that feeling and said, ?Thanks, but I really stink from work. I need to change.? He asked, ?Where do you live?? I told him, and the smile returned to his face. He exclaimed, ?I know where that is, that?s like right down the street. I have a few things to do here still, why don?t you go and change and I can meet you at your apartment building in like twenty minutes.? That was the smartest thing I ever heard. I reach for my wallet and say, ?Brilliant.? You might not believe me, but I really did say brilliant. And no I?m not British, it?s just sometimes when I get excited I tend to lapse into this horrible English accent. I can?t explain it, it just happens okay. Get off my ass. I say, ?Brilliant.? And reach for my wallet. I add, ?Can I get the check?? Wonder Boy looks around, I guess to make sure his manager is no where to be found and says, ?Don?t worry about it.? I ask, frowning, ?Are you sure?? He laughs, raspy and low, and winks at me. I smile and hand him a twenty, ?Here?s the tip then.? He grabs my phone from the bar and dials a number, a few seconds later his phone starts ringing. ?When I?m out front of your building I?ll call you.? Before I can stop myself, I say, ?You better.? ?Promise.? I leave the restaurant with a big smile on my face and lyrics from the song by Tenacious D called Wonder Boy ringing in my head. ?Wonder Boy, what is the secret to your power? Wonder Boy won?t you take me far away from the mucky muck man? Yeah, I know a bit cheesy but what can I say, it?s the truth. Once I got home, I rushed into the elevator, unbuttoning my shirt and untying my shoes as the small box takes me to the third floor. Once inside my apartment, I quickly shed my clothes and jump in the shower. Not having much time, I hit all the important places quickly and wash my hair. With my hair still dripping wet, I throw on a pair of boxers followed by black jeans and a tight green shirt that has a single word printed on the front in white letters, GEEK. I slipped on a pair of trainers and was in the middle of taming my hair when my phone rang. I answered; somewhat breathlessly if you must know, and Wonder Boy?s euphoric voice once again filled my head. He says, ?Are you ready?? I look in the mirror and shake my head, ?No yet. Almost.? For a moment, there is silence, then he says, ?Why don?t you buzz me up?? Again, I?m amazed by the good ideas that seem to flow out of this boy; truly he might be a wonder after all. Jesus Christ, that sentence is beyond stupid, sorry. So I hit the number 9 on my cell phone, which sends a signal to the front door that unlocks it, and say, ?312, once out of the elevator, take a right.? ?See you soon.? Suddenly I panic, my bathroom floor is littered with my discarded clothing, dirty undies not withstanding, not a good first impression I would want to make. With my hands covered in product, I grab the clothes and rush into my bedroom closet and shove them inside the hamper. I was in such a great haste, I never bothered to separate the clothes, nor did I open the closet door all the way, so when I bent to put the clothes in the hamper, I smacked my head against the closet door. I don?t think you got the full impact of this action, so I will repeat it. I smacked my head against the closet door. Oh and incidentally, my closet door is one of those sliding mirrored doors, which I like, it opens up my bedroom while at the same time gives me a panoramic view during sex. At least I admit it, mirrors rock. Moving on, so when I say I smacked my head against the closet door, I hit the door so hard it actually broke the mirror. And it made me more than a bit dizzy so I fell down. I was there on the floor when I heard the doorbell ring. So I jumped up, and headed down the stairs. But I was still groggy from the blow to the head and lost my balance and fell about half-way down hurting my left ankle in the process. After a few moments, the doorbell rings again. ?Shit.? I scream out. I don?t want Wonder Boy to think I gave him the wrong apartment number or that I?m standing him up. So I get up and hobble over to the door as fast as I can. Once I arrive at the door, I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. But my head still hurts and my ankle keeps switching back and forth between fire and ice. I open the door, with what I?m sure is a look of pain on my face. Wonder Boy is standing there, that smile on his face, and again my heart starts to race. But as soon as Wonder Boy looks at me, his smile disappears and a look of concern settles on his face. Suddenly I feel something wet drip into my eye. I brush it away with the back of my hand and to my horror I see that its blood. End Part One

I subscribe to Yahoo Music, for those of you that don't know what this is, you pay a monthly fee and you get access to over two million songs without having to buy the album. And you can play them whenever you want with Yahoo Music Jukebox. And the best thing, since you are a subscriber, you don't have to stream them online but actually download the song to your computer. As long as you pay the monthly fee, you can play the songs whenever you want even if you aren't connected to the internet. So today, I was browsing the new music on Yahoo Music and saw the name Sixx AM. I've been hearing things that the bassist of Motley Crue, Nikki Sixx, was putting out an album to go along with his new book entitled The Heroin Diaries. This is a book taken directly from his journals from Christmas of 86 to Christmas of 87, and chronicles a year in the life of a heroin addict. I heard Nikki on Love Line last Sunday night and I can't wait to read this book. Now I'm not a fan of Motley Crue, I've always thought their music and lyrics were too juvenile for my tastes. I like my music to be a bit more in depth than sex drugs and rock and roll. So I was more than a bit hestitant when I saw a band called Sixx AM. But since the name of the album was the Heroin Diaries Soundtrack, and from listening to Nikki on Love Line, my curiosity was peaked so I checked out the album, expecting to hear some bad knock off of Motley Crue. And Holy Shit, this album blew me away and left me feeling violated. From the opening track, X-Mas In Hell, I knew this was no bad knock-off of a Motley Crue album. This was Nikki's soul laid bare, an honest look into the mind of junkie. And I wanted more. The music is heavy, loud and in your face on some songs, yet on other tracks, there are strings, piano, and soft acoustic guitars that enhance the listening experience without losing integrity or speed. And the lyrics, wow, Nikki takes you on a journey that is one part horror, one part depression, one part suicidal, and one part...HOPE. I've yet figured out who is the lead singer for Sixx AM, I do know it's not Nikki, but whoever is singing, his voice is filled with power and raw emotion when needed yet is soft and filled with passion on the darker, more introspective songs. And throughout the album and some of the songs, Nikki speaks, in what I'm assuming is excerpts from the Heroin Diaries themselves, in a matter of fact tone of voice that is quite haunting and unapologetic at the same time. This is by far, the best rock album I've heard in years. It's raw, powerful, and definitely in your face rock and roll that forces you along for the ride and makes you examine your life as if you were living these songs along with Nikki. I also know that most people won't find this album accessible, the themes and music will be enough to turn certain people away. But if you like your music with a little more depth than the average pop rock on the radio today, check out this album by Sixx AM called The Heroin Diaries Soundtrack, you won't be disappointed.

Hey Des,That was the sweetest, nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thanks.Jason R.PS: The checks in the mail Des, and I put a little bit extra just for you.

Thanks Trab and Camy, I hope this works, I'll let you know if I can figure it out. jason r.

Though I hate the fact that I"m shamelessly plugging my work on your blog here is the link since you asked.http://www.gayauthors.org/eficiton/viewstory.php?sid=375Jason R.

How can I post a picture in the main body of my blog entry? And if it makes a difference, it's a picture that I painted in the program, PAINT. Thanks Jason R.

And Des, And I actually used the title you gave me for one of them, Poetic Justice of a One Night Stand. And the other one is called Fractured, one I'm actually really proud about.I read the poem at the end of your post, and I understood that you were answering your own question, but damnit, I just wanted to disagree with you because you are never wrong and I hate that. Just kidding, I just wanted to add my one and half cents to your better two cents. Jason R.

Hey Des,I think I'd have to disagree with you. I don't think writing blog entries drains the creative impulses at all, matter of fact, I think they can only add to any author's creative juices. Whether you're writing a full blown novel, a short story, article, blog entry, or even a rather detailed shopping list, I believe that staying in the habit of actually putting words on the paper can only enhance your instinct as a writer. Blog entries are more than just words strung together to form sentences, you have to construct them, sometimes from the ground up as simple idea, IE: Like thinking and writing a blog entry on the validity of writing a blog entry, brilliant by the way.For me, when I decide to actually begin a story, I have already a clear idea and usually a complete plot line before I even sit down at the computer. All I have to do is fill in the gaps. But when I begin to write a blog entry, I usually sit down and just start typing, like a free form writing exercise, what comes out comes out. Sometimes I edit before I post the entry but sometimes I just post it and forget it. Either way, this keeps me in practice of forming a thought into something interesting for others to read. And, in writing my blog, I took two blog entries and turned them into two short stories. So writing in my blog didn't hinder my creative juices at all, it actually enhance my ability and gave me the courage to write a story about a subject matter that I never would have even consider had I set out to write a short story.

Oh my god Trab, what a brilliant observation. I've a fondness for A-holes myself Wow, I'm wondering what I'll do for my one year anniversary for my blog. ThanksJason R.And no Camy, I didn't forget about you either.

I didn't read the poem. I couldn't, I'm still trying to understand why that bad ole muse attacked you during work time. I hope you pulled it aside and had a stern heart to heart. Sometimes muses are like that, if you leave them alone too long, they like to pop up and remind you to pay attention.Jason R.I still didn't read your poem, for only one reason now, I don't think houses are all that safe. Nuff Said.

Happy One Year Anniversary to me to me Happy One Year Anniversary to me to me So what if I'm four days late, it's my anniversary and I'll be late if I want too. Thanks for having a place such as Awesome Dude where A-holes like myself can find a home. And thanks to all the folks who have been so nice to me over this year. Jason R.

Intrinsic By: Jason R. Though I am fascinated by your mouth I can live without your false words When your eyes are open I can see the fear Your breath comes in gasps as you struggle to exist There is a lack of understanding behind your gaze This is the cause and effect of your fading beliefs The lapses of judgment that evolve into anger The point of origin is lost in your brutal acceptance You attack and destroy all attempts of change While ignoring the reality of your own mistakes Letting others affect you until hatred consumes All the while claiming happiness is in the act of sex Indifference is the only weapon you possess And happiness is your only inner conflict Drama is your only ally And manipulation is your only friend That smile that you paint on your face Is nothing but Chameleon colors fabricated for the world And it is the answer to bury the emotion of your pain For restless dreams haunt you unless properly medicated You search for the sky in arms and beds of strangers Embracing the darkness and the shadows of the moon Even as you claim exuberance to search for the sun And yet you are sad and you are always alone This poem is probably the most honest thing I have ever written.