Jason Rimbaud

Hey Camy,Happy New Years to you as well. And even if I wanted to, I don't think I could ever label myself. With all my different personalities, that damn label would change from moment to moment. I'd spend my whole life using my handy dandy label making machine. And where I'm not opposed to labeling my CD collection or my five hundred pairs of underwear, labeling my life would just be too big of an undertaking.As for Trab's comments, I'd never want you to change. If it works for you, I say attack that syndrome with a passion. And even if you fail, you could always blame the failure on something. Just kidding, I'm not making fun of your condition, just teasing you because I like you.Happy New Year to everyone (except that crazy weird lady from the smoke shop) I really don't care if you burn in hell. And your little dog too. (first reference on my blog to the Wizard of Oz) Maybe I'm not really gay. Damn labels.Jason

One giant can of Red Bull, Spearmint Gum, and a pack of Marlboro Lights Current Music Selection: Snow Patrol?Breaking Benjamin?Ryan Star Current State: Slightly drunk Current Mood: Optimistic So on the way to work, I stop off at Max?s Smoke Shop to buy a giant can of Red Bull, Spearmint gum, and a pack of Marlboro Lights. This is something I?ve been doing every day for the four months I?ve worked in Palo Alto. I say hi to Max, light up a cigarette and shoot the shit with probably the coolest ?old guy? I?ve ever met. We talk about football and the chance of the 49?ers making the play-offs. I ask about his wife, he asks about my flavor of the week, we converse in friendly tones. Being slightly OCD, I really, really, really, like my routine. If something happens to alter this routine, I become?well lets say it how it really is shall we?an asshole. I?m sure you guessed it; this routine was altered today when I returned to work after having off for New Years. It?s another post, if I ever get the nerve to write about New Years, but I walked into Max?s Smoke Shop, a smile on my face, and a happy New Year greeting on the tip of my tongue for my favorite ?old guy?. But that damn greeting died on my lips when I saw the nightmare standing behind the counter. Have you ever seen that show on BBC, called Are You Being Served? If so, do you remember that old chick that always changed the color of her hair? This is exactly what the DUDE behind the counter looked like. Even down to the cheesy old skirt and stained white blouse. It was frightening. I know I live in the San Francisco Bay Area, probably one of the largest gay communities in the world, and I know it takes all kinds. If you have any doubts, take a walk in the Castro and you?ll see what I mean. But digressing again and I?m trying to stop this practice. Upon seeing this?thing behind the counter, I pause at the front door. I look around, making sure I walked into the right store. I?ve been known after a long three days of partying to wander into stores aimlessly. But I had walked into the right place. I swear I stood at the front door for a good minute. I get used to certain things and I wasn?t sure if I wanted to buy my giant can of Red Bull from this sitcom reject. While I stood in the doorway, I noticed this old lady with probably the ugliest dog I?ve ever seen. I immediately shudder; this lady was somehow odder looking than the ?thing? behind the counter. She was wearing this long black wig, it was dirty and ratted like she had never bothered to run a comb through it. But the thing that made my head turn to one side, much like a dog, was every few moments she would raise a wrinkled hand to her wig. Like she was making sure it was still atop her ?probably? bald head. And each time she checked her wig, she would move it slightly. So by the time I saw her inside Max?s Smoke Shop, it was beyond crooked. I think a slight breeze would send it careening to the floor, which would be cleaner than the mess resting on her head. But digressing yet again. She was wearing these shoes, I can?t even describe them. But I bet they were old during the fifties. I think at one time they were black, but now they looked more like?mud. Her skirt, bright red with yellow fringe, looked like it was two sizes too small and unfortunately left nothing to the imagination. I couldn?t see what shirt she chose to accompany this ensemble, because she was hiding it under a three-quarter length fur coat. Which I might add, was suffering from the same affliction as her head hair. I think its time to let you know that I?m not an animal lover. I?ve never understood the need for a pet. But hey, it takes all kinds, right? Whatever, but I do believe that since I can?t smoke inside public places, then I don?t think a flea infested dog should be allowed inside public places. Digress, no thanks, trying to quit. I reach into my pocket and pull out my trusty silver cigarette case. I check to see if I have enough to make it through the night. I shake my head, three cigarettes won?t cut it. So I make the decision to go the rest of the way inside and quickly grab my giant can of Red Bull, my Spearmint gum, and a pack of Marlboro Lights. After all, Susan said I should be more open to change. Stupid therapist, change sucks. So I walk quickly by the ?thing? behind the counter. I hug the gum shelf to get as far away from the smelly dog, and its ugly companion. I breathe deeply as I reach the cooler that is normally filled to the brim with giant cans of Red Bull. Again for a moment, I stand there, staring in disbelief at the empty cooler. I decide that Max must?ve changed the coolers around again without giving me the week?s notice we had agreed upon. You would think the ?old guy? would?ve learned his lesson the last time he moved the coolers around. Why would you put the Red Bull cooler all the way in the back? It was right next to the gum shelves, it was perfect. I?d walk into the store, I grab the gum, grab the giant Red Bull, turn, and walk to the counter where I would pay for everything. So I walk down the row of coolers, peering into each one carefully. Maybe the ?old guy? had finally taken my advice and moved them back to the front of the store. But once I reached the gum shelf, I had not seen any Red Bull. So I walk back down the row of coolers, peering carefully again. After doing this two more times, I look at the front of the store. The ?thing? behind the counter was now leaning over the counter petting the ugly dog while the weird old lady looked on with the biggest smile I had ever seen on a human. Crocodiles had nothing on this lady, except maybe a few more teeth, but that was it. Again I shudder; dogs shouldn?t be allowed inside public places. But I choke back that retort and instead ask where Max moved the Red Bulls. This is when the ?thing? behind the counter, looks over at me and replies, I swear this is his exacts words, ?That?s right, Max left a note telling me to make sure I fill up the Red Bulls.. Sorry, I forgot.? So I walk towards the front, I ask, ?How can you forget? He left you a note and everything.? ?Sorry, why don?t you try a Rock Star instead?? This is what he says, now fully focused on the dog. Seeing that he has gone to that place when adults see either children or animals, I give up. I can do this, change is good, remember. So I grab my Spearmint gum and walk to the counter. I notice, because I?m somewhat intelligent, that the weird lady is neither waiting to purchase anything nor has she purchased anything. As far as I can tell, she wandered in just so the ?thing? behind the counter could pet her ugly dog. I wait, longer than a minute, I know I looked at my watch, and this ?thing? behind the counter is going on and on about this dog. Talking to it like it?s a human, like he expects the ugly dog to answer his stupid questions. And when he asked the ugly dog if it got everything it wanted for Christmas, I finally lost it. I ask for a pack of Marlboro Lights and threw my pack of gum on the counter, still standing a good six feet away from weird lady and ugly dog. The moment I spoke, that damn dog turned and looked at me and before I could do anything, it had covered the distance and jumped up on my freshly pressed pants. I pushed the dog, cringing at touching such a dirty animal, and looked at the lady and say, very plainly, ?Please control your dog.? You would?ve thought I punched the dog, which was my first instinct but after four months talking to Susan, I had ignored this reaction. She called out for the dog and the ?thing? behind the counter gave me a funny look. So I repeat what I wanted. The ?thing? rolls his eyes and grabs a pack of Marlboro Lights. While I?m paying for my purchase, minus one giant can of Red Bull, that damn dog jumps up on me again. This is when all of Susan?s advice went out the window. I shoved the dog down, and looked at the lady saying, ?What don?t you control your flea ridden dog for fucks sake?? Granted, not very diplomatic, but after seeing what I did the first time, she should?ve expected something along those lines. The ?thing? behind the counter looked at me and said, ?Calm down, he?s just happy to see you.? So I say, ?I believe Palo Alto has a very strict leash law, shouldn?t that thing be leashed up out front or better yet inside the car?? The conversation pretty much went down hill from there. The lady went off on me, telling me where I could stick my leash law and the ?thing? behind the counter told me to get out. I was mad, but I knew in the back of my mind I needed that pack of Marlboro Lights, so I told him I wanted the cigarettes. He refused, so I threatened to call animal control and say that the dog attacked me and that it wasn?t on a leash, and I was inside a store. I admit I might have been just a bit irrational at this point. But change really isn?t good and sometimes I just can?t help my anti-social behavior. I really do try but I don?t have a lot of patience, or good judgment at times in crisis. Besides, I brought two people closer together today. I?m sure, long after I left with my cigarettes, they bitched about the asshole who doesn?t like dogs. So in a way, I did a good deed today. I wonder what Susan?s take on this will be next week. She probably won?t like it on one hand but on the other, she realize just how much money she?ll make trying to help me adapt to change. Wow, that?s two good deeds I did today. One more and I?ll make Eagle Scout. But I digress again.

Thanks, Jason R.

Great, now you're questioning my religious beliefs. Thanks. Just kidding, I never listen to rabbits anyway. Unless I'm personally involved with the person (definition for person=man) I'm not much on touching and/or hugging. I think its common for all molestation victims to stay at arms length. Besides, all that glitter and cover-up boys sometimes wear clashes with my natural complexion, WHITE. As long as you show interest in some kind of "sport", though calling ice skating a sport is stretching reality just a bit, I won't hold anything against you unless you ask me to first. PROMISE! Jason R.

Hey Tr, Great rebuttable! (probably mis-spelled, sorry) As usual, I reach for my dictionary to look up certain words but, I like learning new words. And I know I'm a bit slow, but I can't for the life of me figure out how to say La Cage, because the way I say it, it doesn't rhyme with camouflage. And the only definition I can find, La Cage is the partial title of a French film. I don't understand this reference, though I can assume the interpretation. Do you care to explain TR? Please As for this line This made me laugh. I like this one. Jason R.

Hey Gabe, Love the imagery, especially the part Does this mean you tend to like the "sissy men"? If so, I'm out of luck. Damn. In all serious, I totally understand what you're saying. Being pretty masculine, I'm often mistaken for one of those str8's. And once they find out I'm gay, I always get some kind of variation of this question, Are you sure you're gay, you look so...normal. And on the other side of the coin, "my kind" often say I act "too" straight. Though I'm not sure what they mean by that, I usually act like an asshole. Which last time I checked, is an affliction both gays and straights suffer from. I am always amazed by the lack of acceptance or tolerance inside the "gay community" itself. I don't like showtunes, I despise Barbara, I barely know who Judy is, and I don't use words like fabulous. I've been accused of hiding my gayness behind my love of football, my horrendous taste in clothes, and the fact that I don't like to hug the entire bar when I arrive and before I leave. At times, I've stopped going to gay bars all together because its just not worth the hassle. I mean, I'm gay, I like men, and if you don't like it, we can step outside and throw down. Anyway, I agree with WBMS, this is one of your best. Jason R.

You see Camy, this is what you start with all your damn cameras. If you sell any pictures,I want some of the profits. You...you...emu...you.Hey Graeme, whatever Camy charges, I'll give you half again better. Plus a live show. Go 49er's!!!!!! Jason R.

Camy---obnoxious emuThere was a very good reason I did not answer your questions, Camy. I was waiting until I heard back frommy lawyer. You remember why, right? Did you not think I'd find the cameras you peppered myhouse with? I understand the cameras in my room, who wouldn't want to see me dancing around the room in my lucky 49er's underwear. And I can see, if I squint hard enough, the cameras in the bathroom. Boy's and bubble baths go hand in hand. But the camera in my sock drawer, that's just going to fucking far. But for the sake of everyone else, I'll answer the questions you, no doubt, already know the answer too. Matching socks, unlike others I could name, all my socks match, and I have about.........a drawer full. As for the colour/color of my kitchen, I don't think that's any of your business. It's white and blue, 'cause I like emu's. And I do agree, about the frogs that is, and I'll tell you what it means. But not today, you've been a very bad emu and you need to be punished. Jason R.

Frequently Asked Questions Current Music Selection: Dashboard Confessional Current State: Five by Five Current Mood: Expended Frequently Asked Questions: In no particular order 1: How old are you? In gay terms, I?m over the hill and very much the stereotypical Aquarius. This means I?m somewhere between twenty-seven and ninety-nine. But if it counts, I still behave like I?m eighteen. 2: Why aren?t you ever signed on to Yahoo Messenger? I?ve never been one to go to chat rooms. And before I began posting on Awesome Dude, I never had a reason to sign on to Yahoo Messenger. But now I?ll automatically sign in so if you see me online, I promise I?ll answer all IM?s. Though I can?t promise to engage you in interesting conversation, I?m lacking most times in that department. 3: What do you look like? The same way you do I guess. I have two eyes, sometimes four depending if I?m wearing my glasses or contacts. My nose has been broken three times though I must admit plastic surgery has done wonders for me and I look decidedly average. I have blue eyes and have been told this is my greatest attribute. I have dark brown hair and much to my chagrin, my hair has been committing suicide lately. (for all of you with thick hair, that means I?m slowly going bald) I?m somewhere between 5?11 and 6? depending on the time of day I measure. My weight fluctuates between 170 and 160, depending on my depression and alcohol intake. 4: Why haven?t you recorded a promo for Awesome Dude Radio? I hate the way I sound on tape. Usually my mind is running so fast I have trouble articulating my words and typically end up stuttering or mumbling incoherently. And for the most part, my speaking voice resembles the sound a pregnant yak makes during a particular hard birth. The listeners would turn off the radio and never venture back. 5: Why is it, usually in your emails, that you seem to have trouble conveying your thoughts and ideas? Anti-depressants and alcohol are never a good mix. And according to Daniel, I tend to forget that I already took my pill for the day and end up taking another one, this fucks with me on several levels. Although I must admit, getting the dosage wrong is always an adventure. 6: Are you single? Yes. I have trouble with intimacy as you probably already surmised by reading my poetry and my blog. 7: Is So Called Chaos your first story? No, I have written three complete novels over the last five years though no one will ever read them. Believe me, they suck. 8: Why did you post a short story, Moonlight Will Prevail, in your blog? Is this a true to life story? I guess you could say this story is a ?true story?, it?s just not my true story. I had the pleasure of knowing the protagonist, Angel (though in the story I left out his name) and from the first moment he relayed this story, I knew I had to write it down. I broke it down in ten installments to make it easier to read and to give me the chance to do much needed re-writes. Other than that, I guess I just loved the piece. 9: Are you ever going to put up a picture either on your website or Awesome Dude? One day I?m sure I?ll finally get a camera and take the time to learn how to up-load pictures. Though I can?t see that happening anytime soon. I?m not fond of cameras, plus, I have this fear of the camera possibly stealing my soul. 10: Have you thought about ?reading/performing? one of your poems to include it on Awesome Dude? Forgetting about my ?I hate the way I sound on tape? thing, I?ve always considered myself a writer. And though I write about my personal life and allow the readers access into my most private thoughts, the idea of performing scares the hell out of me. And usually, once I write a piece, I?m done with it and off to the next one. I?ll leave that medium to those better suited to it. 11: I see that you mention ?John? frequently in your poems and throughout your blog, is this the same person each time, and, is he a real person or a composite of several past boyfriends? John is very much a real person. Without giving you the entire sordid history, John and I had a brief but passionate love affair some years ago. This was a period of rampant drug use on both our parts and being we both are highly emotional people, our relationship was quite volatile. I find it therapeutic to write about the experience. If I didn?t, I might just grab a gun and go searching for the little bastard. 12: Is Jason Rimbaud your real name? If not, what is and why did you pick that name to write under? I chose Jason Rimbaud for two reasons. Arthur Rimbaud, a French poet who?s most famous piece is called, A Season in Hell, had a great impact on my life during my teenage years. And the name Jason, is in reference to a good friend of mine who first encouraged me to find a home online. As for my real name, if you ask polite enough, I just might tell you. 13: I really liked So Called Chaos and A Moment of Clarity, but each time I try to contact you through Awesome Dude, my email is returned. How can I reach you? Somehow, someway, Awesome Dude and my email address don?t get along. As far as I know, there is no way to remedy this. If you need to contact me, try using Awesome Dude Private Message or send me an email at jasonrimbaud2006@yahoo.com from your personal email account, bypassing Awesome Dude all together. As far as I know, this is the only way. 14: If I send you an excerpt from my story, will you read it and give me your thoughts? Of course, though I think there are others better suited to this task. I found my current editor by posting a cry for help in the Editor section of Awesome Dude forums. Plus, don?t forget about The Bull Pen, a great place to get feedback from people more talented than I. 15: I?ve enjoyed reading the poems you?ve posted at Awesome Dude. My question is, how long does it take you to write each poem? Writing times varies but usually I never spend more than an hour actually sitting in front of the computer. Normally I start with a title, usually inspired by music. Once I have the title, I might think about what I want to say for days and in some cases weeks before I ever sit down at the computer. So when I sit down, the piece flows out of me and after tweaking it for a bit, I post it and move on. 16: I see from your blog entries, your almost constant poetry posts, and your running serial novel, that you spend a lot of time writing. Do you write each day or do you write in spurts when the creativity strikes you? I write each and every day. And usually I spend five or six hours each night in front of the computer writing something. This is a habit I do seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. I have to write, it?s something inside of me I can?t control. I?ve never understood those writers that only write once a week or when the ?muse? strikes. I never sit in front of the computer and stare at a blank screen. If I get stuck on a story I?m writing, I put that story away and move over to one of the other projects I have running. I found that if I take my mind of the story I?m having trouble with and go on to something else, my sub-conscious usually works out the problem for me. Sometimes it takes hours and sometimes it takes day, but during that time, I spend that time writing other things, usually poetry. 17: You?ve said on several occasions that you do not like stories written in the first person, why not? In my experience, stories that use the ?first? person narrative tend to repeat themselves. The author usually has pages of ?inner dialogue? that tells the action instead of showing the action through character interaction. Or, and this really annoys me, the protagonist, through ?inner dialogue? will explain a trait about a certain character, then in the following paragraph, the protagonist will say the same thing through ?real dialogue? with another character. This happens all the time and it drives me crazy. Though I?ve found exceptions to this rule, and I always give a story a chance even if it is written in the ?first person?. This is my opinion and my personal tastes, nothing more. 18: Who are some of your favorite online authors and what are some of your favorite stories? I?ve enjoyed stories by Dom Luka, Dan Kirk, Dio, and countless others. Though I must admit, I don?t spend much time reading online stories. I spend way too much time trying to construct my own stories. The above authors, all write in the ?first person? by the way. Laika by elecivil is definitely a favorite of mine and I never miss a post. Again, totally written in the first person. Always exceptions to the rule. 19: I?ve noticed your poetry is on the dark side, why didn?t you submit a story for Halloween? I never really liked ?horror? stories, or movies for that matter. Plus, I?ve never had an idea dealing with those themes. The closest I?ve ever got was A Moment of Clarity, which is by no means a horror story. 20: I live in the San Francisco area, I love reading your poetry, would it be possible to ever meet you in person? As flattering as that sounds, I?m afraid the answer is no. I?m really not that interesting to talk to and you never know, I might be some crazy killer just waiting to get you alone. I think it would be best if you?d stay away.

Mobile Deletion By: Jason R. I wrote all the lines in my heart There are chunks of my life dedicated to your memory Often I?d sit alone in the dark Analyzing my mistakes until I?m dead inside And yet, when Susan said it was time to let go I listened and wrote about ?Devising my own Demise? I embraced the fact that I was ?Nothing Like Human? I fantasized about ?Sliding the Pain? Had imaginary ?Conversations from the Edge of Heaven? Realized that I was a ?Pissed Off Mother Fucker? And mused about when ?I Was Twelve? And yet, you are still there I look at you every day and wonder why I just can?t do it It would be easy, I know Just hit delete and then you?d be gone forever But I can?t I?ve tried So I continue to write I have grandiose fights, ?Duel of Love? with you I admit to the world, ?That?s Me Trying? I write about ?Living (then to now)? In a moment of weakness, I write ?Something I Can?t Have? And I allow all to see the ?Pain Inside of Me? And I accept my ?Spiritual Crisis? While ?Severing Ties? with so called friends And there you are, still Your name above the number I know by heart I shouldn?t even hesitate to delete you Because I could always conjure up your number So why do I allow you this precious place? If I did it, just hit delete Then it would be an admission of moving on But I think that would be too difficult To ?grown? up To ?adjusted? for my lifestyle So I sit here Looking at you every morning Waiting for the time I can hit delete Hoping for the day I can purge my life Purge my mobile phone of your number

A Junkie?s Lament By: Jason R. In the town of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania A scared boy paced back and forth in a hallway This hallway was thirty feet long And this boy would walk until he?d hit a wall Turn And then walk the thirty feet to the next wall Over and over He did this for what seemed like an eternity His once long brown hair was cut short Shorter than he could ever remember it being It stuck out in every direction Un-combed Un washed Hell, everything about this boy was dirty And dark He rubbed his hands over his scalp As he stalked down the hallway Softly muttering to himself As he paced back and forth Each time he?d pass a certain door He?d stop And for a few seconds He would stare at that closed door Then he would mutter something And resume his pacing His gray eyes were red and glazed over Numerous drugs ran through his system Causing his hands to shake from the withdrawal So badly the boy shook He couldn?t open his pack of cigarettes To retrieve even that small source of comfort As he walked His mind raced Questions shooting through his tattered mind What the hell was he doing here? He didn?t need anyone?s help Did he? It wasn?t like he couldn?t control his urges And besides He couldn?t afford to take the time off work He was barely holding on to his job as it were Shaking his head He turned and walked back towards the elevator But in mid-step He paused Memories flooded through the drug-induced fog Causing him to cry out in pain He dropped to his knees and screamed In the middle of the hallway As the feelings washed over him Threatening to engulf him Drown him He realized he was tired of living like this Everything that had happened to him The sex for money The stolen stereo?s and pawned televisions Endless nights of living on his knees Or on his back It was like a fog was lifting And he could see the depths he had sunk ?I never meant to hurt anyone.? He tried to scream But his weakened condition Caused it to be nothing more than a growl Like he had devolved into something less than human ?How did I let this get so far?? ?When did I lose control of my life?? ?Who is this person I see staring back at me?? ?This can?t be me, can it?? He had lost weight His once fit body resembled a corpse His eyes, sunken in and lifeless His ribs showed through his skin He rubbed his hair It felt dry and dead Just as he felt ?When did it all go wrong?? ?Nooooooooo.? It was scream It lasted an eternity That door opened A tall man stepped out into the hall His blue eyes widened at the sight before him He saw a sick boy on his knees Crying the pain only a junkie knows He rushed to the boy?s side ?What?s wrong, son?? The boy looked up through his tears ?Everything is so fucked up. I need help.? The man smiled ?Then you?ve come to the right place.? The boy let the man haul him to his feet Allowed the man to usher him into a room And into a chair A few moments later A tall glass of water was shoved into his hand The boy drank The man had noticed the boy pacing in the hall For forty-five minutes he watched patiently Understanding the inner struggle inside the boy Knowing unless the boy decided to enter the office There was nothing he could do But wait And now Finally The wait was over He could see it in the boy?s eyes He was through fighting The man took the empty glass He asked ?How long have you been using?? ?Forever.? Looking into the man?s eyes The boy wiped his tears ?My name?s Jason. And I have a problem.?

Finding the How By: Jason R. This old man names Rogers Lived on the Penn State side of town Everyone felt he never had much to say But at night he scribbled amazing words down All the kids they?d all stop and stare When that old man passed their way And me I was just this face in the crowd Until I finally got the nerve to say Tell me what it takes to write with fire Tell me what it takes to keep it real He said there was no secret That I had to just convey what I feel So if I?d ever want to be good I?d have to write with no fear So I went back to my deepest fears And worked through storm and thunder And when I began pouring out the pain I understood this spell I was under And when that old man read my stuff He stared right into my expectant eyes Declaring I have what it takes to be a writer And that my words would one day light up the sky

Hey Des, After having one of the worst days I've had in a long while, last nights posts put a smile on my face. Thanks for putting up with my twisted sense of humor. It was appreciated and most helpful. Thanks again. Jason R.

Hey Des, I can tell you haven't been reading my blog. As you would have answered much differently. Oh damn, where is that bank manager? *goes off to help Camy get this thread under control* Jason R.

Living (then to now) By: Jason R. John ran with a dangerous crowd A cocaine abuser liked punk music too loud Said he didn?t give a shit about who he?s fucking Jason tried to be the all-American boy next door Did everything his father told him but he yearned for more He wasn?t satisfied because his life wasn?t living Then Jason looked to find a different thing He started searching for the one to make his heart sing He had this rebel heart looking for a restless soul And John was just the boy to make him lose control Jason and John made this dangerous pair Did lines upon lines and they did it on a dare Spent the time on their backs earning the pay Had it all figured it out despite what friends might say And if you asked them why, they just called it living Jason started dealing coke out of their sixth floor flat While John had a bed like a revolving welcome mat These two addicts clinging to long rails of white They were burning both ends sun and moon light And they couldn?t tell they were just existing A trick got rough and John did what he could Went out and stole a gun but it didn?t do any good After swearing to Jason he wouldn?t take any more He went and found that trick and raised his 44 Now ten years later Jason?s in the city by the bay Looking back on a life with nothing to say There are times he can?t feel truly alive And sometimes caresses his roommates 45 But in the end he knows he has to keep living

Hey Des, As a good banker, I'd have to tell you no. There will be no extensions. But as a corrupt poet, just beginning my conquest of the world, I can always be bribed. Let's say, you come over to my house late at night, with a leash, a bottle of peanut butter, and 13.57 in pennies, dimes, and quarters. I'm sure we can make some kind of arrangement. But we must keep it on the "down low". Oh yeah, I need a tube of super glue as well. Leaving the front door open, Jason R.

Hey Camy, I like Duel of Love. I think that fits better than Duel in Love. As for the rest, I've had a crappy day and thank you for making me laugh. Until I stop, Jason R.

Hey Des, Kind of like that, Duel in Love. Jason R.

I wrote this tonight and no matter how hard I tried, I could not come up with a title. So if anyone out there has a suggestion, I'd be happy to hear them. Jason R. Duel of Love By: Jason R. In the dark confines of a smokey bar Where gay boys gather from afar They have come together to this place To see who will rule forever in this space The symbol of this friendship war Between the one named, John And the broken hearted boy, to be broken no more Enveloped by a trillion black lights Bodies groping and touching through the night To find a one to complete the sum Looking for that perfect lover but finding none And the one to decide the fate and the death Of the one named, John And the boy who held his breath The audience had gathered close for this ?fight of the bars? Friends of the broken hearted boy had arrived, shining like stars And those that followed the one named John, squealed out Glaring and smoking in the semi-dark, curses they shout And for a moment, all who had gathered silence fell Those of the one named, John And the boy who had lived his hell Then a cheer erupted, shouts and screams were loud As an olive skinned boy stepped up, through the crowd Arrogantly he pranced, his small hands held high Trailed by his minions, more than a few queers sighed And with that grand entrance the outcome was bleak For the one named, John And the boy all remembered as weak Then John cringed, and all his minions shook in pain As a swell of goodness flowed down, like a cleansing rain Walking into that dark bar, there he stood awaiting this duel Neither blinking or cringing, refusing to add fire to this fuel And there on the finger, a silver band was a gifted ring To the one named, John From the boy who urged the night to sing Then a persona, known both far and wide, appeared in all black Brandon, the bartender, had been elected to oversee this attack Opening the book of rules, each side hushed in awe As the neutral one, cleared his throat, and read what he saw As he explained, in his soft golden voice The one named, John And the boy knew it was he who would make the choice ?Now here?s the rules, and each of you will abide Once you?re finished, it will be I who decide The side who is defending, will get the first chance to speak Then the one who feels wronged, will get the answers he seeks? Prancing there, a smug expression and glazed eyes Was the one named, John As the boy steeled himself for the up-coming lies John cried out, ?This is your last shot tonight.? The boy just smiled, he had come prepared for a fight ?You?re dead meat boy,? John yelled with glee Trying to mentally get the upper hand, to steal a victory Because jeers and threats had before worked on this one And the one named, John Stared at the boy, confident, believing he already won Then Brandon rang the bell, the crowd cheered, it was on And John leaped out, making sure his blows were strong He brought up nights of drugs and casual sex The boy countered back saying those were things he regret And the jabs of accusations of cheating and nights of lust The one named, John And the boy who still believed that life is a matter of trust For an hour and five minutes the two battled to a draw The boy?s hands came down, John was amazed at what he saw An opening in the boy?s defense, he struck without a sound The blow of indifference, sent the boy crashing to the ground Minions roared in victory, encouraging the one still on his feet While the one named, John Peered at the boy, while awaiting the ten count of defeat Brandon the bartender, turned his head Tears fell from his eyes, signified the boy was dead Brandon thought the boy would never bend Yet the ten count would proclaim the battle?s end But something caused him to tremble through his sweat This one named, John Knew in his heart the boy was not finished yet Before Brandon could begin by saying, ?10? The boy stirred and held up his bleeding chin Staring into the eyes of the one he once loved Somewhere in his heart, maybe from above He realized the pain he saw in those eyes Of the one named, John And the boy, for the first time, broke and cried ?I?m sorry,? the boy said in quiet but calm voice ?For all the times I lied and narrowed your choice. I know you were pushed and kept from my heart If it?s okay with you, I?d like a new start? And with forgiveness, and love in his stare The one named, John And the boy clasped hands, and left all the anger there

Hey Camy, Of course I was humming. I wonder if you know the tune? And Gabe, that's just funny man. The one thing that sticks out in my mind about Shatner, Kaaaaahn! Jason R.

Don't feel bad TR, the piece this is based on is so obscure I'm sure no one has read it. I changed the words to fit the mood I wanted to convey. Though I kept his chorus like chant between verses. Which is why I said I sort of wrote this piece. Jason R.

I get my inspiration from numerous sources. Much like Weird Al Yankovic gets his inspiration, for this piece, my inspiration is William Shatner. Go Captain Kirk. That's Me Trying By: Jason R. I got your address from the Internet at the library Wandered in, looked you up and you were there Weird how it?s been the best part of fifteen years You must be, what, in your late twenties now If I remember You were born in June or was it May As I waited for you to pick up, I wonder what you?d say Years of silence Not enough Who could blame us giving up Above the quiet there?s a buzz That?s me trying You still singing inside churches down in Texas? Have you told anyone?no, that?s not fair I know I haven?t been the best of friends I?ll hold my hand up there The reason that I?m calling, is I miss you a great deal Let's get a little nostalgia action going Put the past behind us Eat some food and drink some beer You still talk to our family? Catch me up on their lives Years of silence Not enough Who could blame us giving up Above the quiet there?s a buzz That?s me trying But I don?t want to bring up any of that bad stuff Why I left you in that hell hole two days before graduation I?d like to explain my actions But I can?t So let?s keep things easy Stick to topics that won?t freak us out How ?bout this Let?s choose a book and we?ll read it before we meet Then we can sit down at the restaurant Have a look at the menu and talk about it while we eat Pretend that we?ve never had a problem So our life can be like Easy Uncomplicated Cool Let?s pretend that the past never happened I don?t really like thriller?s anyhow I don?t want to know if you have a boyfriend No need to tell me where I went wrong I don?t want to know what happened in your twenties You wanna try ?Brokeback Mountain? Or is that too long? Years of silence Not enough Who could blame us giving up Above the quiet there?s a buzz That?s me trying

This was sent to me today by my very good friend. It moved me, so I figured I'd share it with everyone at Awesome Dude. Enjoy Jason R. A (short) Love Story I will seek and I shall find you... I shall take you to bed and have my way with you I will make you ache, shake & sweat until you moan and groan. I will make you beg for mercy, beg for me to stop. I will exhaust you to the point that you will be relieved when I'm finished with you. And, when I am finished, you will be weak for days. All my love, The Flu Now all you readers, get your mind out of the gutter, and go get your flu shot!

I read this story late last night after I got home from work and I read it again first thing this morning. Well, this afternoon when I got up, three pm. Anyway. Very well written, and very tense. The use of internal dialogue, one thing I dislike, is used so perfectly I forgot I was reading a story written in the first person. Very well done with a vision of a scary future I could almost see happening. Good thing I live in California. Great job Douglas. I hope to see more pieces from you. Jason R.

Hey Bart,With the help of, Susan, I'm beginning to come to grips with "all" my past. Though itsalways hard around the holiday season, I've spent too many Christmas's alone. Luckily, my roommate, Daniel, has adopted me so to speak and his family makes me welcome.Though I must admit, I save a ton of money. Buying presents for three is a tad bit cheaperthan buying for eight. Until next time,Jason R.