Jason Rimbaud

Hey Camy,It's been my experience that creative souls rarely cry. Maybe it's because we pour our heart and emotions into music, manuscripts, and so on. It's like we give so much emotion into our creative outlet, we have none left for our own use. Which is why we muscians, writers, and such are so difficult to live with. I know there are times when I would rather hang out with my characters than with real people. Jason R.PS: My boyfriend thinks I'm emotionally bankrupt because I don't cry at sad movies. Though I always make him feel better afterwards.

Des,I can honestly say I don't know what to say. Well except, maybe, Happy Birthday. Though I'm not sure if I should comment about the spanking, noodle tasting, and such. So I'll leave the comments to my betters. Best wishes in the upcoming year.Jason R.

Trab, Though it was not my intention to drag you down, it was my intention to invoke a strong emotional response. In that I might have exceeded my expectations. A Season in Hell, is basically a desent into madness. With IDMOD, I wanted to chronicle my own desent into relationship madness. This was a period of rapant drug use and lust filled encounters with a boy just as troubled as myself. Sometimes loved hurts, sometimes its co-dependant, sometimes its beautiful. But it's always an experience worth having. Jason R.PS: Sorry about depressing you. But don't worry about my mistakes. If love comes knocking at your door, grab hold. You know what they say, it's better to love and lose then to have never love at all. Though I've always thought who ever said that, was a happily married person.

You might not be aware, and more than likely you probably don't give a shit either way, but Rimbaud is not my real last name. When I was sixteen years old, I discovered a thirty page poem called A Season in Hell, written by a seventeen/eighteen year old poet by the name of Arthur Rimbaud. I had just discovered my love of writing/prose/poetry and I was amazed that such a brilliant thought provoking piece was written by a boy, and not just any boy but a gay boy like myself, from that moment, I have wanted to write my own Season in Hell. And though I have yet written a thirty page poem or written a masterpiece for that matter, I Devise my Own Demise is my own way of honoring a visionary poet that through heartache and loneliness lost the will to write at such an early age. He wrote from the ages of sixteen to nineteen, in that short span of time, he not only changed French poetry but the face of modern poetry as well. So without any more digressing, I give you my attempt, I Devise my own Demise By: Jason R. Meeting I remember that first day we met I was sitting on the porch A cigarette dangling from my lips A Molson in my hand You were there with your friend An attractive female I remember thinking to myself If you were with her, what a waste You were silent as she spoke to me She inquired about the room The room for rent in my building But I only had eyes for you You made my pulse quicken My thoughts scattered like the wind Your gaze, intense, emerald and bold An instant connection we shared I sent her inside to speak to the landlord You remained outside, with me You asked for a cigarette Though you claimed you were trying to quit A small white wicker bench You sat down beside me Our legs touched ELECTRIC As we talked and smoked in the shade I became fascinated by your lips Or perhaps your entire mouth It didn't matter what you said And each time you laughed, which was often A sound so infectious, it drew me in You drew me in with fits of giggles It was instant between us For over an hour we sat on that porch Comfortable Like two old friends chatting Yet all too soon, it was time for you to go You lived in Pittsburg I lived in Harrisburg So we said a sad goodbye And I watched you walk away Such sadness from a random encounter How pathetic I was sitting there Staring as you walked away Hoping to see you look back I watched this amazing guy walk away Never asked for a phone number An email address, something, anything I only knew your name, John At the time, I had thought I'd never see you again I was wrong For better or worse You returned the following weekend Your friend never moved into that empty room You did And just as before It was electric Falling It's a rainy evening and I feel so fine Because you're in my heart and inside my mind I think I'm falling into love with you Kiss and flirt a little I know you feel it too In the moonlight as the rain it falls We can last forever tear down these walls Do not question it just go with the flow In my electric garden reap the things we sow Heartbeats pounding faster as we embrace Our bodies shift in motion I like the way you taste I know the way you feel much like getting high Painted orange and red into an unknown sky I've got this burning feeling this is no false alarm I'm content beside you wrapped up in your arms And when the sun is shining there is no more rain I'm a brand new person happiness instead of pain In my bed of roses rest your head awhile I'll kiss you so sweetly get lost in your smile Every waking moment is like a dream come true I want to spend my life getting off with you Sinking It's like I temporarily lost my mind It's true what they say infatuation is blind Truth never entered into our conversation Sex was the prize and intended manipulation As we flirted and talked late into the night Vodka and cigarettes under moonlight You were the beginning of love I can't escape Your eyes the anchor the pathway to hate Drama surrounds us as we chase the extremes Loving you was like loving a dream Even though inside your embrace I felt warm It was the eye of a hurricane stillness before the storm Drowning Maybe it was the madness that I let reign Maybe it was the innocence I lost when I came Maybe it was the feelings sucked through the drain Maybe it was the heartache of love quite insane Maybe it was the ocean that gave me these tears Maybe it was the moonlight so far yet so near Maybe it was the sunshine that stripped all the gears Maybe it was the lust that banished all fears Maybe it was the highs that together we achieve Maybe it was the mountains resting on your sleeve Maybe it was the promise that you'd never leave Maybe it was the connection we had as we grieve Maybe it was the motion of standing in this place Maybe it was the refusal to grant emotional space Maybe it was the past neither of us could erase Maybe it was the searching to let love replace Maybe it was the fear of us saying goodbye Maybe it was the self-destructing gleam in your eye Maybe it was the sameness I heard in your lies Maybe it was the tears that fell as you cry Ending Violently he grabbed my arms And twisted them tightly behind my back With a hellish look in his emerald eyes He clenched up his fist and attacked Fingers laced with rings he beat me hard From my shoulders to my feet The metal sliced right through my olive skin Just like razors through a sheet Countless times my blood splattered As each inhuman blow was given From the memory of lies I told He smiled as my nose was torn to ribbons Much to his surprise I lifted my chin Though the words I used were few His face turned brighter shades of red When I shouted out, fuck you Uncaringly he tossed me against the wall And kicked my weakened form As my blood pressure fell deathly low I could hear the sirens swarm With determination and rage inside My face he punched and smacked Forcing me to my knees I fell when he kicked me in the back Through lack of sleep and inebriation My eyes began to swell And weakened by my loss of blood This liar...addict fell And when I fell my blood splattered On the boy and on his shoe And as he bent to wipe it off I spat out, fuck you In his rage he took a knife from the sink And jabbed it deeply into my arm He opened the door and threw me out I knew in my heart this boy will cause me harm Lying there in agony and torment My body convulsed with pain I tilted my face towards the stars Slipping towards the insane In a moment of clarity I finally knew The price for the hate before that time or since I made a statement that to this day Caused the boy I still loved to wince I lifted my head and looked him in the eye Struggling to maintain a calm so my words were true I wanted him to remember what I said When I whispered, John, fuck you

"I'll Never Wear Boxers Again" Wibby posted a rather funny story that prompted me to remember a similar incident involving one of my good friends. So I thought I?d share it with my loyal readers. (maybe I should?ve said loyal reader, I don?t want to become to ambitious) Anyway, during my late teens and early twenties, one of my best friends was also named Jason. We worked together and were known as the ?two Jason?s? or simply as ?Jason Squared?. After we both turned twenty-one, each Monday night we?d go out for our weekly pub crawl. This night was reserve for just the two of us, no friends, no girlfriends, and no problems. It was during these weekly binges that I first told him I was gay. True to his devil may care attitude and laid back demeanor, he took this declaration in stride. Though looking back, I kind of wished he would have been more upset. This would?ve saved me tons of heartache. But I digress?yet again. Jason and I were always comfortable around one another. It was common for us to sleep in the same bed, granted, we were passed out. But waking up snuggled together was something that happened often. Before I told him I was gay, we?d go double dating and the girls would often complain that we?d spend more time talking to each other than paying attention to them. Looking back, it was quite obvious that sooner or later we?d start fooling around. The first time something happened between was after one of these pub crawls. We had stopped at a gas station to get cigarettes and sodas on the way home from the bar. Jason had to go to the bathroom, so I paid for the grocery?s and waited for him in the truck. After he climbed inside the truck, I noticed he had this weird look on his face and for the rest of the way home; he acted strangely, nervous and giggly at the same time. I chalked it up to a long night of beer. Once back inside my apartment, he was flirtatious, in a way he had never been before. I was drunk and getting hornier the more he carried on. After about twenty minutes of this weird flirting, I informed him I was going to bed. It wasn?t that I was really that tired, but I really wanted to toss one off. He looked down at the floor and in this quiet voice, he asked if he could stay with me. He didn?t ask if he could crash, he didn?t ask if he could sleep over, he asked if he could stay with me. For a moment, because I really wanted to jack off, I almost said no. But I never could tell him no, even now, I can?t say no. Anyway, and no that was not a digress. So there. I took off my clothes, and slipped into a pair of shorts. He asked if he could borrow a pair of boxers to sleep in, something I thought was a really strange request. Jason did not then, nor does he now wear boxers, EVER. I gave him a pair and he went into the bathroom to change. Another thing that was strange. I climbed into bed and turned off the lights, and waited. After a few minutes, I heard the bathroom door open and heard footsteps down the hall. The door to my room opened and in walked this?glowing cock. While he was in the bathroom at the gas station, he had bought a glow in the dark condom from the machine on the wall. I was more than taken aback, yet intrigued at the same time. I said something along the line of ?nice cock?. To this, Jason laughed and flipped on the lights. It was not his cock that was in the condom, but three of his fingers. We laughed and once again he turned off the lights. I could see him slowly coming towards me, his pretend cock wagging before him leading the way to the bed. I admit I watched him walk towards me wishing that really was his cock. Once he reached the bed, he started giggling again, and I watched the hand that had the condom on it move to his side. I saw the condom disappear and realized his fingers were inside the boxers. I realized he was pulling down his boxers when another glow in the dark condom suddenly appeared. Being that he was two feet away from me, this time I could tell that this one really was his cock. He took another step, his crotch now inches from my face; I could smell him he was so close. The hand that hand the condom on it, moved from his side to grip his very hard cock. I heard him whisper, ?Do you like what you see?? I didn?t answer, I couldn?t. I didn?t want to risk destroying this moment. I reached out with my hand and touched his cock. He sighed loudly, my wish had come true. Needless to say, neither of us got much sleep that night. A few years later, in the after glow, he would admit that for months he was racking his brain, trying to conceive a plan of attack to seduce me. But he wanted to make sure I was interested in something sexual before trying anything. After his admission, it was clear how thought out and methodical he had been. From the constant touching, the sleeping together, suggesting naked hot tubing, everything had been done with the purpose to get me into bed. I asked, why didn?t you just ask me? He replied that I had said shortly after I met him, that I would never have sex with a friend. This caused me to laugh, because though he was in the room, it was the girl sitting next to him that I really wanted to hear me say that I would never have sex with my friends. She had been throwing herself at me and I had no desire to catch her. Lots of wasted time, I could?ve saved so much time if I would have just said, guys, I?m gay. Anyway, still not digressing. So Jason and I were friends with benefits. To be honest, I was completely head over heels in love with him. And no matter what he says, I know for a time, he loved me as well. Shortly after this incident, he moved in with me and for the next two years, we were almost inseparable. But being gay was/is something he denies being. He?s told me, and I believe him, that I was the only guy he was ever attracted too. I was the best man in his wedding, and the night before he promised to forsake all others, he asked me to fuck him one last time. Okay, this might be digressing. Jesus, be patient already. To get around to the point of this post, one night, during those two years that we lived together, we had gotten home after Monday?s pub crawl. Both of us were quite trashed. At the time, he was dating this chick that was away at college and I was trying really hard to catch this nerdy little boy I had been chatting up online. So once back from the bar, I immediately jumped on the computer to see if my boy was up for some dirty talk. He was, and for about an hour, I was content to do some chit and some chat. DIGRESSION ALERT! Ever since that first night, whenever I saw Jason in boxers, usually a pair of mine, I knew that he was looking to fool around. If he was wearing briefs, then I was going to be tossing one off alone. Like I said, I was chatting for about an hour, when I heard Jason open the door to his room. From where my desk was against the wall, I could turn my head and see Jason?s bed if the door was open. He walked out, wearing a pair of boxers, and headed into the kitchen where he got a drink. Walking back towards his room, he looked at me and smiled. I noticed right away he was rock hard. Yet on the computer, my nerdy boy was almost ready to finally meet me in person. We were so close, I could feel it. I looked at the screen, I looked back to Jason, he was now lying on his bed, naked, slowly stroking his cock. I didn?t know what to do, I was horny, ten feet away was a willing boy, yet I kind of liked this nerdy boy as well. But Jason, jacking off while saying my name only a few feet away, and honestly the love of my life, won. I walked into his room, he looked at me and smiled, his hand stopped. He pointed his cock in my direction, silently telling me to have my way with him. So I did. It was just starting to get fun when suddenly he begun puking his guts out. I was sober enough to get out of the way, but he puked all over his bed, all over himself. It was quite the mood wrecker. Once he finished, he headed into the bathroom and jumped into the shower. Being the neat freak that I am, I cleaned up the mess and threw the sheets in the washer. Figuring the night was over, I went back to the computer to see if nerdy boy was still online. He was, again we started chatting. A few minutes later, Jason comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered and still wet with a raging hard cock. He smiles at me, and heads into my room. Needless to say, I never did meet nerdy boy. Jason and I had this weird relationship for years. When we were alone, late at night, we would fuck for hours. But it was something we?d never talk about during the day. We had dozens of unspoken rules that we both followed, silently and in secret for years. Never speaking about or acknowledging our lust filled nights. Until the day I met his fianc? for the first time. We were talking over dinner, and Jason and I were reliving some of our wilder times. And he gets this smile on his face, and suddenly brings up the time he almost pukes on me. Of course she wants to know why we were in bed together in the first place. I was at a loss for words, but Jason smoothly told her a rated G version of the story. Later, when she had gone to the bathroom, he started laughing, saying something about the look on my face. I didn?t think it was funny, remember, I was still in love with him and more than a bit jealous. He leaned in close and whispered, ?You give the best head I?ve ever received. And I know I can?t love you the way you want me too, but sex with you is something I?ll never forget, no matter who I marry.? It was the first time he ever admitted to fucking me while sober. But it was the right thing to say, because that statement convinced me to agree to be his best man. Sadly, I?ve not seen him since the wedding. I hear he has a baby girl now, and I wish him the happiest of lives. And though our friendship has fallen away, I?ll always have the memories of that apartment and the time we spent together. Jason R. PS: During that night I met his fianc?, she brought up the fact that he refuses to wear boxers. Jason and I exchanged looks, and started laughing. He kissed her, then said, ?I love you, but I?ll never wear boxers. I used too for a time but I stopped.? The night before his wedding, he was wearing boxers.

Drop written by Justin F. I touch the tongue to see A devil's face in front of me You blow your nose and cry The clown demands a sad good-bye A sad good-bye Black below the tree White horses dead in front of me A scar below the cheek There's a sweaty man in a bloody sink It's just a trip not a way to ease your pain Self-help...Tell another shrink the same damn thing Stay cool, everything is going to be okay Until you decide to drop again A blue jean girl to be Sweaty man is behind the trees The flip side of sanity is the game Fourteen million miles away from sane A dark man in the restroom window pane Whose words just pour out human pain It's just a trip not away to ease your pain Self-help...Tell another shrink the same damn thing Stay cool, everything is going to be okay Until you decide to drop again Until you decide to drop again Now, I'm so high, so high

Hey Camy, You would be entertained watching me enter into a word battle with someone who could probably confuse and destroy me at will. I did not know that Emu's were so....devilish. As for relying on body langauge, tone of voice, I agree. I hate using emoticons but at times, it would clarify what I'm saying. Like the above sentence, in real life, I would have said that with a complete straight face. Trusting that if I had taken the time to actually speak with you, that you would be smart enough to get when I'm taking a piss at your expense. And if you didn't get the joke, then it would be even better. I have a dry sense of humor and not everyone gets me. Plus like you said, HUMOR, just like spelling changes depending where you're from. And I have it on good authority that I'm really not that funny to Emu's. But with real people, I kill 'em. Completely un-related, but my therepists thinks I'm nicer onlilne than I am in real life. If I would've been listening to the person I was refering to, I would not have hestitated in telling him to shut the fuck up. Maybe I should do all my speaking online from now on. It might get me a few friends. .....................................................................Fuck that. I've a hard enough time with dealing with just one friend. Couldn't possibly take on another friend until Daniel dies.Was that a joke?Jason R.

Hey Wibby,My thoughts exactly. I've been mis-understood several times, usually because I wrote in the moment. My fingers can't keep up with my mind and I leave words out or I think one word and type another. And though everyone tells me I should read back what I wrote, I normally shoot it off without ever re-reading it. So I get that I might have mis-understood or that person can't convey exactly what he means online no better than I. And I could go into detail about why this person makes me envision doing bodily harm against him, but there really isn't a need. I probably will always detest this person. Maybe in the real world I would like him...naw, if he's that arrogant online, he's that much of an asshole in real life. But again, I digress.As for naming names, it wouldn't serve a purpose. It would only cause problems that I really don't need in my life. My therepist thinks I'll calm down with age, I'm not sure but I can always hope. If I can continue to learn from these little lessons, then I'll be a much better person for it. As usual, you give sound advice. For a raccoon, sometimes rabid raccoon, you make a lot of "cents". Jason R.

OKay, my two cents.Several people have posted some valid cautions and sound advice. But reading this carefully, and with a sober mind I might add , your question has caused me some confusion. I know, you shouldn't be surprised that I am confused.Would you tell a stranger that you just met in a bar your personal information? Probably not, but you will introduce yourself by your name. If the two of you are involved in a friendly chat, like over a football game or maybe cricket. It is harmless, a name tells nothing about yourself.Why is it online, everyone has these fears about using their first names? It tells me nothing about you, other than a handle to call you. It has been brought up that you can't trust the things others say to you online. I agree, but it has been my experience you can't really trust someone in real life either. How do you know that person you've been talking to in your local bar for three years isn't waiting for the right moment to take you home and pull your insides out? You don't, just like online. And maybe, you've never told that bar friend anything about you except your name. No harm done. Just like using your first name online does no harm. Because face it, if someone really wants to find you, it doesn't matter how you've hidden your IP address, or how clever you are, there is always someone else just a bit "CLEVER'ER". Whether online or not, if they want to find you, they can.So the question shouldn't be can you trust someone with your real first name. The question is do you want the false sense of security your handle gives you, or do you want to roll the dice just as you do in life, and not live in fear of what could happen. Before you reply, let me say that I know some of us online are fearful of being "outed". Understandable. Some of us might be in jobs that would frown upon these websites. Understandable. Some of us "might" be known if we were to reveal our true names. Like maybe we are a "known" editor, producer, director, actor, the list is endless. If so, I can understand having a handle.But if you are out, in your life, your job, and so on, I can't see the harm in telling others at least your first names. After all, how many Jason's do you know? My fourteen cents, and I'm usually wrong.Jason R.

Something strange has been happening the last three days. Beginning on Saturday night, I have been trying to reply either in the forums or post a rather...err...hostile blog message. But somehow, for three days in a row sometihng has stopped me from posting. The first time, I was rather drunk Saturday night and fed up with a few things I have been reading in the forums. After writing a long rant, filled with anger and curse words, I closed the window without hitting the "add reply" button in my drunken state. Save number ONE. The second time, Sunday night, after trying to construct the same entry, I was unsure of my spelling so I hit the spell check. For some reason, the spell check button wasn't working. (though it worked before that time and ever since) So when I went to download a spell checker, I accidently closed the window again before hitting the proper button. Save number TWo. The last time, Monday night, I attempted to post it again. But this time, right in the middle, I recieved a phone call. It was a boy I have been trying to get to know better. While we were doing a bit of chit and chat, I was absently toying with my computer. Again, I closed the window and lost the entry again. In the time since that failed attempt and now, I began to realize that fate might have been on my side for once and maybe, just maybe, has a bit of compassion for this stupid fool. Saving me from looking the asshole that I no doubt would have looked if I managed to post what I wanted too. Now, a few days later, I realized that I shouldn't really care what someone has to say in a forum/topic that I'm not even directly involved with more than just a casual read. I"m not sure why I depise this "person" so much that I wouuld attack him for something he said to another. To my knowledge, this person and I haven't ever spoken/wrote. Maybe it's the arrogant way he writes in the forums, or maybe his opinion just gets my ass chapped. And for some reason, I figured I should tell him how stupid he appears in these forums. Yet, I've been pondering these feelings. I've come to the conclusion that what he says really doesn't affect me in any way UNLESS I allow them to affect my spirit. And ignoring this person actually saves me time, when I see his name, I'll just skip over whatever he wrote. Then I won't become angry, I won't spend two hours constructing a reply that would only make me look foolish. Because next time, fate could just decide to allow me to post my replies and then I'll have to wear the asshole crown. Jason R.

I won't always say this, only after a few bottles of wine, but I really love the way you speak, probably your accent, and in the morning, while staring into my lovers eyes, I'll deny that I ever wrote/said this, but right now, with wine on my breath and blood in my cock, Camy, you are sexy. Jason R. PS: Can someone fall in love with an accent? And if so, will it last?

I first thought hell would freeze over before that nasty EMU actually began a blog of its own. But alas, it seems that hell has not only froze over, but has decided that it really does rain frogs. Or is that rain pigs? I'm not sure, but Camy has begun a blog of his own. Which means, I, Jason R. should stop posting as of now. How can I, a mere human, ever compete with an EMU. The world is now doomed. And we are about to find out more details than anyone ever should find out about EMU's. God help us all. *makes the sign of the cross* Jason R.

Hey Camy:What exactly does Gobsmacked mean? I know what jealous means. I'm used to emu's being jealous of me. But I don't think I want an emu being Gobsmacked of me/by me/around me.As for finding a stud, I wish you luck with that. I seem to remember you mentioning three pairs of jeans, a few T-shirts, and one decent pair of trainers, but much to my surprise, and maybe why you're having trouble finding a stud, you failed to mentioned underwear. Might I suggest you look into purchasing some. And as for discussing wardrobe on a blog, nobody reads my blog so it's just like you're talking to yours self about your wardrobe. As for Desdownunder's comments:I've never heard that quote before, but I really like. "To be alive is to take off your pants and look for trouble."And for Trab:Maybe I can prove that I really don't have a problem, or a severe problem. I have nine wallets, different styles and colors to match what I'm wearing of course. A boy can't wear a nice suit and not have a wallet to match.Same goes for the Zippo lighters, different styles and colors to match what I'm wearing. Cigarette cases just because I LOVE to smoke. I'm smoking right now. and I love itThe four red bics, I can't think of a bad reason much less a good reason. I might have a problem.And that crazy racoon:How 'bout I keep all my clothes, and you come over and tell me all about those apartments. We can open a bottle of wine, maybe get into my fine cigars and do a little bit of chit and chat in the hottub. But lets leave out the skin crawling part. *shudders*

I know wishing everyone a Happy 4-20 day on 4-22 is a bit trite, but for some reason I totally forgot to post this on 4-20 day itself. I know there should be a reason for forgetting, but for the life of me I can't remember. HAPPY 4-20 Everyone Jason R.

Daniel and I Part Ways(Finally) After almost three years, Daniel and I have decided to part as roommates. Okay, the truth, Daniel decided, and since it was his house, I agreed. So for the last three weeks I have been busy moving into a nice two bedroom apartment in Redwood City. Please don't make any jokes about finding a "NICE" apartment in Redwood City, it can happen. I swear. It's okay, I love the new apartment. But there is a fear that I'll go back to my old ways now that I am once again living by myself. Anyone that knows me, knows that a bored Jason is a dangerous Jason. It's not that I love getting into trouble, but when I don't have a stabilizing force to keep me in line, I tend to do the first thing that pops into my head. I'm sure in the coming months you'll hear all about it. But for now, luckily, I've been too involved with work and moving to do anything stupid. But I know it's only a matter of time before the boredom sets in. But that's not the reason I'm posting today/tonight. During the course of my move, I've realized that I've become somewhat of a clothes whore. I have: Eleven jackets (three black leather) Thirty-two pairs of shoes (two pairs of dress shoes, one black, one burgundy) Seventeen towels Forty-five pairs of jeans Twenty-one pairs of slacks Thirty something Hoodies Fifty or so T-shirt's with assorted sayings on the front Seventeen casual pull over shirts Thirteen Sweaters (all from the Gap) Well over a hundred pairs of socks Seventy-five pairs of underwear (boxers/briefs/boxer briefs/thongs/ect) with twenty pairs of just blue Thirty-seven button-up shirts Four suits Three blazers Two ties (i need to work on this) Three large jewerly boxes with assorted rings, necklaces, braclets, ear rings Nine wallets Two identical cigarette cases Thirteen Zippo lighters Four red Bic lighters Nine sets of cuff links And thirty-seven watches, of which fifteen are silver And sadly, I couldn't bare to throw any of the cothes away as I began packing. Not even the clothes that are so old it's almost like wearing nothing the fabric is so thin and worn. Yes, I know I might have a problem. Believe I know. It's even worse that all the clothes are color coordinated by type, and in alphabetical order. Though, because I'm left handed, the A's are on the right and the Z's are on the left. And the color is mixed up as well, a dark color, then a light color, then a dark color, so on and so on. I just realized, as I type this, that I could be the saddest person alive. Let me explain, before you hastily agree with me. The above list is no joke, I actually counted and catologed my clothes as and before I packed. The list is sitting right here next to me. I guess Daniel was right, I do have OCD. But on the bright side, my apartment is clean, I go even as far as making sure the vacuum cleaner lines are perfectly straight in each room. I know I'm going to end up yelling at my guests for using wire hangers instead of the nice wooden ones sometime in my future but I'm okay with that. I swear Jason R. By the way, Daniel and I still remain friends. With his new boyfriend moving in, I was feeling like a third wheel. And besides, it took him so long to find someone, I didn't want to be in the way. Okay, that's all a lie, I didn't want to come home late from work only to find them fucking in the living room. Not a sight I want to see twice in my lifetime.

I have really enjoyed following this topic. And though it seems to have come down to personal preferences, this thread IS posted in the writers workshop. And by reading the different replies, I can readily see that many have definate opinions about 1st or 3rd person POV's. I would think any newer author would benefit from reading this thread. These posts are like having a direct link into one's intended audience. What better way for a writer to better his skills then by finding out what the majority wants. Not that I think you should write what others want you to write, but listen, or as in this case, read what others are saying about the POV's and learn from this advice. Personal preferences aside, The Pecman, Cole, and others are really saying, learn the rules so you can know when to break them. Don't sit down at the computer and just start typing willy nilly, take the time to learn from those that have probably made these same mistakes early on. The worst thing a writer can do is frustrate his audience. If more people shy away from mutiple POV's, find a way to tell your story either using a single POV or 3rd person. After all, wait until you have that best seller before you write your master piece epic novel using ten seperate POV's switching back and forth between them like you are some kind of queer Cybil Sheppard without meds. Then again, what the hell do I know. I read Arthur Rimbaud's A Season In Hell on a weekly basis, so I love being frustrated. Jason R.

And You Know By: Jason R. You called me up on the phone today It was a struggle to find the words to say They say time can heal all the wounds But I?ve been sick since before the womb And you know I?m not the one that you once knew That lonely kid all alone in school I?ve made a new life accepted it all I embraced the name you wrote on the wall And you know When my father died I stole his last breath I was addicted to lust and flirting with meth My first trick was a boy with your face A suicidal thing with a beautiful taste And you know Confronted my mother about the sins of the past Screamed at a tombstone about death too fast Wrote a thing or two about a boy named John Accepted the fact that most of me is wrong And you know The question I ask is why the years of lies I know you liked me in between your thighs Each night you might lie next to your wife But I bet you miss me and our secret life And you know In the end I guess I?m finally doing fine I?ve leveled out and reasoned the rhyme Next to me lies a boy I call best friend But if the time was right I?d fuck you again So now you know

More of A Few More Sentences It was a place like no other he had ever seen before. It was dark and light, seamless and joined all around him with no clear ending or beginning. Existing at the same time, hot and cold, black and white, a place where time didn't seem to hold stable, where time stopped or slowed depending on it's own whim. There was no sensation in this void, only a feeling of being. For the longest time, he didn't think or even seem to be aware of his surroundings. He couldn't remember coming to this place, only that he had been here forever. What he was before didn't matter now, only what he was. And he was alone for the first time, all alone in this void. His conscience mind drifted like the wind, going through his memories at a rapid rate. He was astonished at what his mind would linger on. Events that seemed small when they happened, his mind dwelled on them for the longest period of time. And yet, the events that were huge and self-changing, his mind briefly paused before continuing on it's journey. A journey that he wasn't in control of, but merely like a passenger on a cross-country train ride. A bystander of his memory's every whim. He wasn't aware of when it stopped, or when he awoke to an empty room. It was sudden, he was there and sitting alone in a chair. His eyes wandered around the room, taking in the strange sights and sounds. It looked to be a circular room about twenty feet across, and all around him was darkness. Not a darkness that he could see, no, not this darkness. It was more like a darkness he could feel in the depth of his soul. Suddenly, a loud noise began echoing around the room. A single beat that reminded him of a heartbeat, a wounded sound that seemed to be faltering with each passing moment. His nostrils filled with a smell, a smell that he could only associate with death. It filled his nostrils, causing him to gag with each ragged breath. Yet it was the sound of his own breathing that brought him to his senses. 'Where am I?' he thought. Standing up, he looked around, trying to find a door, something to tell him where he was being held. But the room was empty except for the chair he had awakened in. Standing up, he walked around the room, finally making his way back to the chair in the center and sat down. "Where am I? Is anyone there?" He shouted out. But there was no answer. He didn't know how long he sat there in that chair, but it seemed like days. He had all but given up hope that he would ever find out where he was. He had accepted the fact that he was going to die in this room...alone. Yet, finally, out of the darkness, a voice said, "I've been waiting for you, welcome, Scott Taylor." "Who are you?" Scott managed to stammer out. Looking around the room, he tried to find the speaker, but the room was empty save for that blasted chair. "Who I am is not the question." The voice countered. "But who are you?" Turning to face the direction of the voice, Scott saw a cloaked figure standing in the center of the room. He took a hesitant step towards the figure but stopped, and said, "What do you mean? You know me? You said my name." "Yes." "Who are you?" Scott asked. "What am I doing here? Am I dead?" "Questions that need answers, every one. Questions that I might answer, but for now, answer mine. Who are you?" "Stop it, what is this place?" Scott demanded, approaching the figure. But once he was two steps away from the figure, it vanished before his eyes. But he heard this statement as the figure disappeared, "When you are ready, you will know." Running to the center of the room, he called out, "Wait! Don't go. Where am I?" But before he finished, the room dissolved and became a narrow corridor that seemed to go on forever. Looking in both directions, he pondered what path to take. Suddenly, in front of his eyes, a sign appeared. Taking a deep breath, he studied the sign. It was an average ordinary sign, one arrow pointed one way, with a single word, 'Beginning'. And another arrow pointed the opposite direction and read, 'Confusion'. "My god, where am I?" Scott pleaded to the darkness, sinking to his knees, and hugging himself tightly. "Choose." The voice thundered inside his mind. Reeling back in fear, he backpedaled across the corridor, running into the wall. Even as the voice kept repeating its cryptic instructions. "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?" Scott screamed, pleading with the voice inside his head. "Choose." The voice repeated, this time harshly. Scott started running down the hall, in his haste forgetting which path he fled down. He ran for what seemed like days, his body racked with pain, his throat burning from lack of water, his body drenched in sweat. And finally, the end was in sight. A bright light, intense and burning, stopped his mindless run. Walking out of the tunnel, he entered a house. Suddenly and quite unexpectantly, his senses were overloaded. He knew this house, that smell of leather furniture mixed with cheap pipe tobacco. He had smelled that for over half his life. "Welcome home Scott, you chose wisely." Startled, Scott turned his head and saw the figure standing next to him. He tried to look beneath the hood that veiled the figures face, but failed. It was just too dark. "How's this possible?" He asked in wonder, staring at his parents as they sat in the den reading different parts of the evening news. "Everything is possible. I've been waiting for a long time to get you here. So, now, it begins." "Who are you?" Scott begged, reaching out in his desire to know the figure under the cloak. Turning to look directly at him, the figure replied, "Whom do you want me to be?" Scott stammered, disbelief on his face. He asked, "Roy?" The figure dissolved, and in its place, stood Scott's long lost cousin, Roy. Backing away from the figure that had stolen his cousin's face, he yelled out, "You can't be here, you're dead." "No." The figure/Roy said in a sad voice. "You keep me alive." Falling to the floor, Scott cried out in pain. His fragile mind couldn't comprehend these circumstances. Laying on the floor, he began murmuring to himself, rocking back and forth on his heels. "There is much work to be done." "No!" Scott screamed, clawing at his eyes. Trying anything to block the vision of his long lost cousin from his sight. His scream was still echoing in the void as his surrounding changed and once again, he was back in the circular room with that damned chair. For an eternity it seemed that he screamed. When he was out of breath, he slowly looked around. Standing off to one side, his cousin stood, staring at him with a burning intensity in his eyes. Again he heard that sound. It sounded like a heartbeat, but it was getting fainter with each passing second. He stammered, "How is this possible? Am I in hell?" His cousin, laughed out loudly for a few minutes before saying, "Hell? You've been in hell for seven years. Not only do you live in hell, but you put hell into your body on a daily basis." "What?" Gliding over to where he was hunched down on his knees, Roy grabbed his arm and showed him the track marks that covered his arm. "I never thought you would turn into a junkie. You were always better than that. Better than this." "How do you know about that? You're dead." "I know everything about you," Roy asked seriously. Adding, "And who says I'm dead." "I saw you die." Scott yelled out. "You died in my fucking arms." Roy laughed. "If I'm dead, how is it that I can do this?" Roy punched him in the face, causing the confused boy to fall backwards onto his back. "You hit me!" Scott screamed, a stunned look on his face. "Why?" Rushing over to where he lay, Roy sat on his chest, preventing the boy from getting up. Saying, "Yes I did. You know better than to do that. We made a pact, remember? No matter what happened, we'd never do that. You broke that promise." With each word Roy spoke, he punched Scott in the face. "You said we would be together forever. You lied to me." Scott screamed out, trying to block the blows raining down on his head and face. "I fucking died," Roy screamed. "And it was all my fault," Scott replied, breaking down in tears. Standing up, Roy reached down and hauled his bleeding cousin to his feet. "It was not your fault. It was no one's fault." "No!" Scott denied, blood pouring from his face and running into his eyes. The sound of the heartbeat growing fainter still. Roy's face saddened at the denial of his cousin. As he began saying something, his face dissolved again and the figure with the dark cloak returned. "Wait, come back." Scott pleaded. But it was too late, Roy was gone. THe figure spoke, "Who are you?" "Fuck you!" Scott screamed. "I'm sick of this, I want to go home." "Home." The figure said. "Do you remember home?" Scott stopped in mid-sentence. Did he remember home? It had been years since he had been back there. But the memories came flooding back. He said, "Yes, and I hated it. My parents treated me like shit." "Then why do you want to return there?" The figure asked. "I don't know..." "Yes, you do." The figure argued, approaching Scott. Reaching out a cloaked arm, he grabbed Scott's head and whispered, "Remember." Scott started to shake and convulse, his memories returning un-aided. Memories of his father, picking him up and carrying him to bed when he was just a little boy. He could see the love in his father's eyes as he tucked the half-asleep boy safely into his bed. He could feel his father's lips on his forehead and a deep voice whispering that he loved his only son. He remembered his mother singing him to sleep. He remembered the way she would wash away the blood from his scrapes and the way she would kiss away the pain. He remembered the way she would stop doing the dishes or whatever she was doing just to ask him how his day went. He remembered the times his mother would get up in the middle of the night to fetch a drink of water for her scared little boy. Memories upon memories of the selfless sacrifices that both his parents made for their only son. A son they loved so fiercely and unconditionally. He couldn't deny the love he saw in their eyes. Trying to fight the memories, he screamed out, "No! They hated me."' "They loved you," The figure countered, drawing out more memories. Trying to block out the images, Scott screamed, "Love is a lie. They never loved me, love doesn't exist. They hated me and they stopped talking to me because I killed Roy." The heartbeat grew fainter. "You stopped talking to them." The figure said, taking a step towards Scott. "You pulled back, it was you. Never them." "No! They blamed me for his death. You don't know, I was there. YOu're twisting it all around." Pulling Scott to his feet, the figure stood face to face and said, "So was I." Scott reached for the hood and threw it back. HIs eyes widened as he saw for the first time behind the mask. He screamed out in horror as he realized he was staring into his own face. The heartbeat grew slower, fainter, until finally there was silence. It had stopped beating entirely. Scott lay on the floor clutching his chest and gasping for air. He knew, he could feel it, that any breath could be his last. He tried to get to his knees but the pain became to intense. He stopped struggling and gave up as he collapsed on the floor, staring up into his own face. The figure in black, his other self, looked down in comtempt as he raised his hand in a silent plea for help. The figure said, "Oh, are you in pain? All ready to give up?" "Help me!" Scott pleaded, turning away from his other self. "There you go again, running away. Always afraid aren't you, never willling to face the truth." "Help me, I'm dying." Scott begged. "Help you? Why should I?" The figure stated, laughing loudly. "When you won't even help yourself." "I am you." Scott said, his voice a whisper. "You are me, if I die, you die." "Really," The figure said. "Maybe that's for the best. You don't even know who you are. You are pathetic, complaining about your problems, no one loves me, no one cares. Boo hoo, poor little Scott," The figure now mocking the dying boy. Grabbing the figures arm, Scott tried to pull himself upright. But his fingers slipped, he was too weak. He said, "Help me." Even as he argued with his mirror image, he could hear someone speaking to him, though it sounded far away. It sounded just like Garet's voice and he was...Scott couldn't make out what his friend was trying to say. "Do you hear that?" The figure said, cocking his head to one side. "Do you hear what you are doing to your friends back there?" "I can't understand you," Scott shouted out to Garet. "What are you saying?" "He's yelling at you because you gave up." The figure said, laughing. "Your body is dying in that bed, and all you can do is lay on the floor." "I don't want to die." Scott said, staring at his mirror self. "Why not? Love does not exist. Nothing is ever good enough. Why not just lay down and die." The figure countered. "Get it over with." "I don't want to die," Scott spat out. "I'm scared." "Finally." The figure said, taking a step back. "You admit it." "What?" Scott asked, trying again to sit up. "You admit it, you are scared. Do you know that out there," The figure said, waving his arm, "Garet is scared because he loves you." "No." Scott denied, shaking his head. "Yes, he does. Listen to him, he's telling you in so many different ways." The figure said, bringing his hand to his ear. "He's begging you not to die, he loves you, just like your parents do." "NO!" "Just like Shelia does." "NO!" "Just like I do." "How can you love yourself?" Scott demanded, clutching his chest in pain. "Because, that is the only way you can exist." The figure said, his voice filled with sadness. "You are me, and I am you. I am everything that you used to be, everything you wanted to be, and I am everything that you are running away from right now." "I'm not running away," Scott said in between gasps for breaths. "I"m right here along side you." "You left me a long time ago, but I never forgot what we used to have." His other self pleaded. "Just stop running." "What am I running from?" Scott begged, his breaths a bit stronger than before, the pain a bit softer. His cousin, Roy, appeared next to the two Scott's and whispered, "From me." "NO!" Scott yelled. "Never from you." "And from me," His other self stated in a gentle voice. For the first time, Scott really looked at the figure that had his face. It was his, but it wasn't. Even though the face had a sad look, the eyes were so bright, full of life. Not like the stormy eyes he normally saw in the mirror. His face wasn't the same either, it was more youthful. He realized he was seeing himself long ago. Long before the drugs, before the guilt, before the death of his cousin. His eyse shifted to his cousin's face. Roy looked the same as the day he died. Scott asked, "How can you be here?" "You won't let me go," Roy said sadly. "You cornered me off in your mind, you won't let me die. You can't find peace until you forgive yourself." "I can't, I love you," Scott cried, the tears streaming down his face. "It's all my fault." "No," his other self shouted. "It was not your fault, it was not God's fault, it was just bad luck." "It was my time," Roy said, reaching out to the tortured boy. "Let me go, I don't blame you. I forgive you." Scott broke down and cried. This was not sad tears but more tears of acceptance. His breaths became harder, crashing into him, threatening to swallow and consume him. He grabbed out to Roy, like he was the only thing that could save him. Roy looked down and said, "Let me go." Scott's mirror self said, "If you want to finally be free, just let go." Scott held onto his cousin, crying as the weight of guilt pressed him down. His heart felt like it would burst from the pain that he had put himself through. HIs mind ached from the emotional turmoil that had racked his spirit for so many years. The pain in his chest returned, and somehow, he knew that he was dying. And he was tired of feeling all this pain, all this guilt. He wanted to finally be free of it all. So he did something he had never done before. He squeezed Roy tightly one last time, and just let go. As Roy began to fade away, Scott heard him say, "I don't blame you, and I will always love." His other self grabbed him, hugging him close until they were touching every inch of their bodies. And yet his other self squeezed even tighter until Scott felt the two bodies begin to merge. At first he fought this sensation, but finally he surrendered to that part of him that was everything good and pure and right. His mind exploded with forgotten feelings of love that he had run so hard to escape. His heart stopped hurting and his breathing returned to normal as he embraced what he had fought so long to deny. And then there was only one Scott. As the darkness slowly dissolved into pure light, and as he passed the point of no return, Scott heard a voice whisper, "Finally, it's over."

The thing I love most about poetry: the meaning of any given piece varies on the reader and that readers experience throughout life. Which is why with this single piece, already three or four readers have gotten at least two different meanings. Though I tend to agree with the "straight one" of the mail crew version , I think Trab's interpretation is valid as well. In the end, whether you take the morning after pill or watch a close friend take an overdose to end the suffering, the meaning is the same. Regret, bitter sweet victory, and the always inevitable what-if scenario. Gabe, from your recent poetry posts, I have a feeling that life has been very interesting for you lately to say the least. But then that's what I've always loved about life, if you aren't learning anything, you aren't growing as a person, as a man, or a human being. Either way, I love your recent work and think, If I'm right, we have lots more of good stuff to come from you in the future. Jason R.

I like this as well. The last stanza speaks volumes. "It's you You're the only one I want Not a body Or an idea" Once, long ago, I fell in love with a girl. And though she returned that love, it was hard for her to wrap her mind around the idea of me sleeping with boys before her. I tried to explain that it didn't matter about which parts she had or didn't have, but in the end, we broke up. I tihink you captured what I tried to tell her all those years ago. I loved her, not her body or the idea of being straight. Very powerful piece that spoke directly to my emotions. Loved this, really did. Jason R.

A bit off topic, but I still can't wrap my small mind around that right now, you are moving into winter, where I am finally moving into spring and summer. This seems somehow backwards to me. Though you paint a pretty picture of fall in Adelaide and I wish I could see it. But I think its still weird. Jason R.

A Few More Sentences The house was dark and at first glance he didn't think Scott was there though his car was parked in the garage. But upon closer inspection, he saw the outline of the blond sitting out on the balcony staring up into the night sky. He didn't think he could cry anymore, but the sight of his boyfriend caused the tears to once again cascade down his cheeks. Willing the tears to stop, he wiped them away with the back of his hand and went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of vodka. Filling up a glass, he walked outside and leaned against the rail. He could feel Scott's eyes on him, boring a hole in his back. He lifted the glass to his lips and drank deeply, the clear liquid falling down the sides of his mouth. Scott spoke, "That isn't going to help you know." Spinning around, his blue eyes filled with anger, he said, "Fuck you." "It's your stomach," Scott said, shrugging leaning back further into the chair. The darkness hiding the pain in his eyes. Justin threw the glass out into the night, a few moments later he heard the sounds of the glass shattering somewhere below. He asked, "What did I do wrong?" "Nothing," Scott said in a quiet voice. Throwing his hands in the air, Justin asked, "Is there someone else?" "No," Scott answered immediately, surprised by the certainity of his voice. "There could never be anyone else but you." "Then why?" Justin asked, sinking to his knees in front of the chair, his hands clutching Scott's knees tightly. "Don't you love me?" Tucking his hair behind his ear, Scott caressed Justin's cheek, saying, "Of course I love you." "Then why did you say no?" Scott could not meet Justin's gaze, he looked so childlike, his eyes big and full of pain. Scott said, "It's hard to explain." His tears began falling down. "Tell me please," Justin begged. Searching for the right words, but knowing no matter which words he chose, Justin would never understand. Again he wondered if he should have just said yes. A part of him wanted to marry Justin, someday, but not like this. Not without something to offer in return. But that voice inside the back of his head urged him to tell the truth. Sighing, he stated, "Well, for one thing, I don't really believe in marriage." "What?" Justin asked, a confused look on his face. "What do you mean?" "Justin, even if I were straight, and you were a girl. I wouldn't marry you." Scott said in a soft voice. Though immediately he wished he hadn't said them like that. Justin's face darkened, his temper rising fast. Scott continued quickly, "That's not what I meant. I just don't see the point of going through a ceremony that wouldn't even be legal. I love you, you love me, can't we just leave it at that and spend the rest of our lives together? Why do people think they have to say an "I do"?" "It's about a commitment," Justin said, trying hard to force the anger from his voice. "It's about standing in front of a group of friends and acknowledging our love for each other." "Have you ever doubted my love?" Scott asked, slumping in the chair. "Not until tonight," Justin replied, standing up and walking back to the railing. "How can you say that?" Scott yelled out, standing up in his anger. "In front of everyone, I asked you to marry me, and you...you said no," Justin explained. "How the fuck did you think I was going to feel?" "Just because I don't want to marry you doesn't mean I don't love you." "I know, it just means you don't want any strings," Justin said, turning to face his lover. "You'll only love me on your terms, but not on mine." "That's bullshit, and you know it." "Is it?" Justin asked, his fists clenched tight. "After everything we've been through. All the bullshit that happened with Michael, all the shit that happened with your band, don't you think...you owe me...you owe me this little thing?" "Owe you?" Scott shouted out. "That' the problem, I feel like I owe you everything." That caught him by surprise and for a moment, Justin stared at him. "What?" "All this," Scott said, waving his arms around him. "This isn't my house, it's your house. The car I drive, even the fucking clothes I wear aren't mine. How could I marry you when I have nothing to offer?" Justin groaned and rolled his eyes. Everything came back to this tired argument. He said, "How many times have I told you, that what I have is yours?" "That's not me," Scott intoned. "I can't keep living my life on your good graces. It drives me crazy having you buy me stuff. I can't even buy a pair of shoes without first getting money from you." "You don't seem to have any problems getting money to go drinking," Justin spat. "Or using my money to make your fucking record." "That's beneath you." Scott said in a quiet voice, ignoring the tears falling down his cheeks. He turned away and headed inside. Justin followed him and grabbed his arm roughly. Scott spun around and pushed the man hard on the couch, his arm raised back, his fist closed tightly. Anger flashed in his eyes and Justin realized he had went to far. Closing his eyes, he waited for the blow to drop. "Damnit," Scott yelled, punching a pillow next to Justin's head. "I didn't want this to happen again." For a moment thinking back to the time he lost his temper in a herion induced rage and hit his best friend, Shelia. Justin stared at him, his eyes wide and filled with fear. And when Scott collapsed next to him on the couch, he breathed easy. Hearing Scott mumbling something, he reached out to touch him, yet was shocked when Scott whispered, "Don't." Scott stood up and headed for the front door, his shoulders slumped. Justin called out, "Where are you going?" "I don't know, but if I stay, I might do something neither one of us can forgive," Scott replied hoarsely. "Are you leaving me?" Justin asked, standing up clutching his stomach with his hands. Turning his head, Scott said over his shoulder, "Never you, Justin. I'm leaving me." Before the door shut, Justin fell back on the couch and curled up in ball. He cried for sometime until he couldn't cry anymore. After an hour, he went to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Vodka.

All about Eve or Stupid Words Strung Together to Form Sentences He left the two laughing, his blue eyes searching the crowd for Brandon, hoping he wouldn't run into anyone else he knew. After going to the bar, he ordered another beer and sipped it slowly. "Hi, how are you?" a deep voice called out from behind. Turning around, he looked into the smiling face of Justin, another one of Brandon's bandmates. "Hi. I'm fine, and you?" "Bored," Justin replied, shrugging. "But then I'm always bored at these kind of parties." Holding up a full martini, he laughed, saying, "But this always helps." "Yes, I agree. Insulation always helps." Gabriel said before draining his beer, ordering another. "Alcohol is good for many things," Justin continued, never taking his eyes off the longhaired man. "Such as?" Gabriel asked, returning the gaze intently. "Like forgetting, or maybe enhancing certain feelings we usually keep hidden." Justin stated. "Really," Gabriel said. "And here I was thinking it was only good for getting wasted." Laughing a deep rich laugh, Justin shook his head. "Oh no, my friend. You see, alcohol affects the brain, and when you've consumed too much, you do stupid things." "Really. I"ve never noticed." "Really." Justin said, pointing over towards Brandon, who was trapped between four older ladies. "Take him for instance. He gets that way after a few beers. One time, he told Robert DeNiro that he was one of the most overrated actors of all time." "Now that's funny." Gabriel said, chuckling at the thought of someone telling Robert DeNiro off. "I bet that was the first time anyone told that jackass the truth." Waving his hands, Justin said, "That's beside the point, we were talking about alcohol and it's effects. Take this other friend of mine." This time Justin pointed to a tall dark haired man talking to a pretty blond girl over in the corner across the room. "Alcohol makes him believe something he's not. When he's drinking, he can forget all about his true nature." Musing over Justin's statements, Gabriel still couldn't figure out what the blond man was talking about. He asked, "And what does alcohol do to, someone like you?" "Me? Nothing, I'm the same asshole drunk or sober," Justin stated, grinning broadly. "But what I'm worried about, is you." "What about me?" "What does alcohol make you do?" Justin asked, his face turning serious. "For one, it gives me the patience to answer stupid questions from people I don't know." Gabriel said. "And for two, it makes me realize that some people shouldn't drink martini's. Excuse me." Gabriel started walking away, but Justin grabbed his arm, saying, "Wait." Gabriel pulled his arm from Justin's grip, saying, "Yes?" A smile returned to Justin's face. Downing the rest of his martini, he said, "I like you. I do. But I don't want a certain friend of mine to get hurt." Feigning ignorance, Gabriel asked, "What do you mean?" Shaking his head, Justin said, "Absolutely nothing. I just wanted to tell you that you should be carefu what you drink. Other than that, have fun." Turning around, he ordered another martini. Looking over his shoulder, he said, "Besides, I haven't seen him smile in months."

Five Greatest Hitchcock Films of All Time Last Night my roommate, Daniel, and I, got into a loud fight about Hitchcock's greatest films. Three of the five we agreed upon but he feels like North by Northwest is Hitchcock's greatest. I'm not sure if anyone that reads this blog watches Hitchcock, but here is my top five. If you havent seen any of these films, you should do yourself a favor and rent them. Great flicks by a master storyteller with brilliant acting by both Cary Grant and James Stewart. Number One: Suspicion The best movie Hitchcock ever directed. The last scene with Cary Grant holding a glass of milk as he walks up that long circular staircase still sends chills up my spine. Brilliant. Number Two: Rear Window Jimmy Stewart's finest performance. Unleashing the voyeur in us all, Hitchcock shows us that nothing we do is really private. Number Three: Rope The first movie I ever watched with hints of gay love. Though the villains are the gay guys, brilliantly acted and shot beautifully in three continuous takes. Number Four: The Man who knew too Much Another Jimmy Stewart gem, playing a man who wants his son back no matter the cost. Love this movie. Number Five: To Catch a Thief Retired cat burgular Cary Grant, stops at nothing to prove his innocent with the beautiful Grace Kelly by his side. Very cool movie.

One question if I may: You mentioned only if "they" were cute would you purchase the ticket. My question, who decides who's cute and who's not. My mother once upon a time thought I was cute. Does that mean I might apply for cute if I would find an error? And if you are the deciding vote on who's cute and who's not, how do we know you have good taste in men? Maybe you actually like ugly men, then that wouldn't be fair as I am quite striking. I don't think you are being very fair at all. Not at all. Jason R.