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Jason Rimbaud

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  1. Jason Rimbaud

    Hey Jealousy

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Hey Jealousy!
    Do you think it might be all right, if I could just crash here tonight?
    The green monster...
    Crack doesn't kill...gun's doesn't kill...bullets doesn't even kill...it's jealousy
    Jason
    Oh nuts
  2. Jason Rimbaud
    This is my third day of being off, and I’m not feeling that good right now.  I think my liver is mad at me and/or dying.  Either way, I’m feeling poopy so I decided to sit down and type out a blog entry. 
    Let me start off by saying, my life is going pretty well for the last few years.  And since “N” came into my life back in January, I really have nothing to complain about.
    I have an amazing boyfriend who I love insanely, a job that doesn’t suck and pays a ridiculous amount of money even before I get my quarterly bonus.  And thus far, since January, I’ve hit my bonus every quarter.
    I bought an amazing condo this year, on a hill overlooking the ocean.  And on a clear day, I can just make out some of the taller buildings in downtown San Francisco.  And a month ago, I bought a brand new car, my first since 2005.
    Two months ago, on my way to work at 5:40am, heading northbound on 101 into San Francisco, my car engine blew up and I was stranded on the highway in line number one.  I’m not scared to admit that I was pretty scared as cars flew by me doing 70 plus miles an hour.  Seeing that tow truck pull up behind me was an amazing feeling let me tell you. 
    But let me again repeat, my life isn’t even remotely bad or stressful.
    So I can hear you asking, why am I typing this blog entry today?  What could have possibly happened in my almost perfect life that would get me off the couch and share something dark and twisted with all of you?  Maybe it as because Cole told me that he missed my writing.  Or maybe because I feel like things are going a bit too well and I’m waiting for the other boot to drop.  And trust me, that is a very real fear of mine, because lately it seems the only thing falling from the sky is fuzzy bunny slippers.
    Could it be that though “N” is almost a perfect boyfriend, maybe not everything is working out in the bedroom?  Is that what you are thinking?  Are you really wondering about my sex life with “N”?  All the dirty details of naked bodies under the sheets. Because I think that is asking way too much of me and I might stop typing this if you are going to be asking those kind of things.  My sex life with “N” is none of your business thank you very much.
    If I actually would take the time to research this, I’d know the exact date I am referring too but if you are that interested you can look it up yourself.  A few days/weeks/months ago, the crazy inhabitants of San Francisco suffered through a record breaking heat wave that rose to 106 on that Saturday. 
    And trust me, the normal weather conditions here have no call for air conditioning.  Just stop and think about that for a moment.  106 degrees without any air conditioning in city that is almost always covered in fog and mist.  Trust me, I have never had so many complaints ranging from this beer isn’t cold enough to my salad is hot.  After a few hours of dealing with bitchy guests due to the heat, I started saying at least your not back in that kitchen, where the temperature was soaring to 110 plus.  That shut up most of the guests.
    During the hottest part of the day, guests would come into our restaurant, feel the heat, and turn around and walk right back out.  It was so miserable, and I kept changing shirts as every few hours I would completely sweat through my shirt.  Nothing worse than having a person serving you food that is dripping sweat into your hot salad.  After it was all said and done, I had changed shirts three times. 
    On a separate note, I did write a thank you note to Old Spice deodorant, cause I still smelled fresh after that blistering day. (I actually don’t wear Old Spice deodorant but I can’t remember the brand I actually do wear and the bathroom is all the way across the house and I don’t want to get up and look)  Don’t judge me, I’m hung-over.   
    Have you ever been so miserably hot that you can barely think straight?  We all know, the heat does crazy things to our brains and after spending hours trying to calm down all the metaphorically fires that erupted due to the heat, that I was completely spent by the time I crawled inside my car and cranked the air conditioning to full blast. 
    People don’t realize how hard running a restaurant can be.  No matter what happens, I have to keep calm and always put the good of the restaurant above anything else.  So the amount of abuse I often take from rude guests leaves me somewhat silent when I’m not at work.  Being happy and cheery for eight hours a day, that usually by the time I’m finished with work, my give-a-shitter is completely empty.  Add all that usual bullshit but compound it by 11, and I was in a pretty foul mood.
    Those of you that are from our hotter states and who are accustom to those kind of temperature might not sympathize with me, so all I can say to you, fuck off, we all can’t be as tough as you. 
    It was so fucking hot outside, that my poor little car couldn’t keep up with the temperature I was demanding of it that my car started overheating.  So for parts of the commute home, I had to turn off the air so my car wouldn’t stop working.  So after giving all my kindness at work that day, I didn’t have much left for anyone, much less my boyfriend, by the time I made it back to my house.
    Now, before you ask, “N” and I have maintained separate apartments, mainly because I’m not happy about the neighborhood he lives in.  Seriously, my car has been broken into three times in two months in his place.  Plus, his place his pretty small, and as I have mentioned in the past, he is not the cleanest person I have met. 
    And he doesn’t like my place only because I live in Daly city, on a hill, overlooking the ocean, and it’s a bit far for him to commute to work.  He doesn’t drive and I’m not that close to our underground, and the nearest bus stop is half mile away, but on the way back, it’s a half mile up a hill, and I can’t blame him for not wanting to walk up that hill after working all day.
    And before you start yelling at me that I’m a bad boyfriend for not driving him around.  We work completely different schedules most of the time and its not that easy.  Jeesh, get off my back, I try to pick him up or drop him off at work as much as I can but sometimes I need to get my beauty sleep. 
    So needless to say, we spend most of our time at his place, and he rarely comes to my place unless we both have the day off.
    My condo has air conditioner, and “N’s” does not.  Matter of fact, he only has one window that opens so all of us can imagine how hot his apartment must have been that day.  So on that hot day a few days/weeks/months ago, I texted him while I was heading home and informed him in no uncertain terms that I would not be staying at his house like we had originally planned.  And again before you yell at me, of course I offered for him to come back to my place and enjoy the cold on that stupidly hot day.  Its not my fault he didn’t want to make that journey up that long hill after his shift ended.  I even offered to get a lyft for him but he refused.  So there.
    This is the part in this story when I tell you that both of us run highly successful restaurants so our schedules rarely match up and its something of a juggling act to coordinate time together that doesn’t involve us watching the other sleep.  I know its weird, but we actually like spending time together in or out of the sheets.  But relationships are better when both parties are awake at other times than just sex.
    And really, stop asking about our sex lives.  It doesn’t matter who tops or bottoms.  We are in a loving committed relationship and its not your concern. 
    Have I mentioned that “N” is an Indian that was born in Malaysia.  He has just a hint of an accent that makes my heart skip a beat each time he talks.  And he’s been here for years so he’s pretty much Americanized. 
    Let me set the stage for you, I’m at my house, taken a cold shower, and am now sitting in my living room naked, watching season five of 24.  Its been about three hours since I’ve gotten home and im finally starting to feel normal again.
    So he texts me and demands that I pick him up at work.  Now think about this, I get up usually around 4am and leave work around 2pm.  He goes to work at 4pm and gets home around midnight.  So when he demands that I come get him, it means that I would only get four hours of sleep.  And maybe I would have, if it wouldn’t have been Saturday night, and the next morning I would have to deal with Sunday brunch again, another heat wave, and more bitchy guests.  So I tell him that I can’t but that I would see him the next day.  I was planning on seeing him at work and having dinner.
    But he gets really mad and starts a barrage of angry texts.  I’ve had a few hours up to this point to cool off and get my head back on straight.  I know he’s still in the middle of the heat and his mind isn’t in the right frame to have a logical discussion about the merits of sleep or my lack of love for him.  And for a while, I keep that fact in my mind and ignore some of the more hurtful things he said/typed to me.
    You know those kind of comments that only someone who love you can make that send you right around the twist.  They know all your faults and fears, and can use them in the most horrible ways when they are mad at you. 
    After more than a few insults, I started firing back with both barrels blazing.  And for an hour or so, we go back and forth, calling each other horrible names, brining up old argurments, basically being awful to each other.
    What got my blood really boiling though, was he said I didn’t love him since I didn’t want to come pick him up and that I was selfish that I wanted to sleep instead of picking him up in my air conditioned car.
    I throw my phone across the room and storm around my apartment waiting for 11pm.  That’s the time when I am going to go to his work and tell him off face to face.  There was no way I was going to wait until I see him the next day.  And while I’m waiting, I’m rehearsing all the things I want to say to him, I’m not going to hold anything back.  I plan on bringing up past things that I let go but never really forgotten about.  It’s going to be epic, I’m actually looking forward to yelling at him, maybe because I’m so nice during my day job that I can get out all my aggression on him. Or maybe its because I’m a baby but I’m not going to tell him any of that.  Fuck no, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.
    It’s after 11 and I’m driving like a mad man all the way across San Francisco to his restaurant which has the most lovely view of the Bay Bridge.  I arrive right at 11:30 and just wait outside, seething the entire time I’m waiting. 
    About 11:45, he comes out of the restuarnt and locks the front door.  After he locks the door, he picks up a bag and looks around until he sees my car across the street.  The moment he sees me, he smiles and starts walking to the car unhurriedly.
    I’m not going to lie, when he smiled at me a bunch of my anger went away.  But I wasn’t going to let this go and he had no right to say/type some of those things to me.  I opened the car door and stood up, ready to give him a good tongue lashing. 
    The last four steps he runs and jumps into my arms and kisses me until I can’t think straight.  After a few minutes, he stops and hands me the bag, saying, “I got you your favorite.”
    “Why” I’m a bit shocked.
    “Because I knew you wouldn’t eat dinner because you were mad at me.”
    Fuck him, though he was right.  I hadn’t eaten dinner.
    “How’d you know I would even be here tonight?  This whole thing started because I refused to pick you up tonight.”
    He looks at me, smiles the biggest brightest smile I’ve even seen and says, “Babe, I know you better than anyone, why do you think I said all those thing to you, I had to make you come here somehow, dumbass.”
    It was late, around 2am, and we are in his bed, a hot sweaty mess on his bed with one fan blowing around hot stagnant air.  He’s snuggled up to me, gently snoring into my shoulder.  And I have to been at work in two hours to struggle through another hot day with bitchy guests.  Life could not be better and one day, I swear, we are going to be exchanging “I do’s” before our friends.
    After all, the sex is simply amazing.
  3. Jason Rimbaud
    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
  4. Jason Rimbaud
    So I've been drinking a bit tonight, a very good Merlot, okay, truth be told, I'm working on my third bottle of Merlot, but who's counting. Either way, while I'm drinking, I've been channel surfing. And I came across an eposide of Everyone Love's Raymond. And for the first time in my life, I actually watched the entire eposide. And I've come to the conclusion that I really don't Love Raymond. Matter of fact, I think I might despise Raymond, so much that if i saw him walking on the side of the street, I would swerve just to hit him with my car. I've not had this instant hatred for anyone since I first watched Tom Hanks in The Man with One Red Shoe. And I'm a bit perplexed, since I thought no one would ever come along that I would hate as much as I hate Tom Hanks. But Raymond is way up there. I think that naming a show, Everyone Loves Raymond is a bit arrogant on the part of the writers/creators. Because I don't love Raymond at all. Matter of fact, I think I hate Raymond with a passion that should only be reserved for the bedroom. Fuck Raymond and his stupid show. Fuck him all the way to hell.
    Jason R.
    PS: Even though I'm drunk, I'll still hate that fucking horrible actor in the morning. Fuck Raymond. And fuck Tom Hanks.
  5. Jason Rimbaud
    I can't sleep, or I'm afraid to sleep, to face the dreams that haunt me. It started last Friday night. My eyes are bloodshot, dark circles line my face, and I can't seem to find solace. Sunday morning I woke up, the light from my window burning my eyes and my head pounding. I don't work Sunday so I clean the house, I do laundry and veg out in front of the TV. Sunday night I wake up, my alarm clock is blinking, I had the same nightmare. I can't go back to sleep. I go through all day Monday feeling listless and tired. My boss tells me I look sick, I say I'm only tired.
    I go home, I have a beer. I pass out on the couch. Three hours later I wake up, the nightmare fresh in my mind. I can't go back to sleep, I can't seem to find solace. Not even in drugs, I bought Vicadin from a friend on Tuesday. I pop three pills, three thousand milligrams, I need to sleep. But now I'm trapped inside the nightmare, I couldn't wake up, and when I did, my sheets were soaked and I had claw marks on my face.
    I go to work Wednesday and drift around the restaurant, my mind unfocused. Customers complain that I forgot things, my boss calls me into the office to talk to me, I fell asleep. He sends me home after asking what's wrong with me. I can't tell him, I don't know. I manage to eat without throwing it up, I watch TV. I drink a pot of coffee, I don't want to sleep. I wake up on the couch, my pants are wet from the coffee I spilled. I go to the gym and climb on a treadmill, I start to run. Three hours later I pass out, I'm thirsty, I must've forgot to drink water.
    Thursday night after work, I buy an eightball of cocaine from a friend. I'm determined not to let this nightmare grip me again. I brew a pot of coffee, I do lines all night. I type feverishly at the computer, the words I write meaningless and intelligible. I do more lines, I drink another pot of coffee. I'm awake, but I feel like I've been kicked by a mule. I go to work Friday morning, my boss sends me home and suggests I seek help. He's worried about me, I understand but I still don't know why this nightmare is haunting me.
    I go and buy another eightball, I've been up for three days, I wonder if my mind is finally sick enough not to dream. My heart is sick, it's pounding so hard I feel like I have heartburn, my thoughts won't make sense anymore, words are mysteries that I can't comprehend. I smoke a cigarette but it made me sick to my stomach. I open a bottle of wine but it's tasteless, my throat is too numb. I try to lie down but the act of being prone causes my head to hurt again. I see dust on the TV and a sink full of dirty dishes. Someone must've thrown up in the sink, I see that too. Maybe I don't exist. Or maybe I'm in hell.
    I take a shower, but I can't recognize the figure staring back at me in the mirror. My ribs are sticking out, maybe I should eat. Though I'd probably throw it up anyway. I do a few more lines, the eightball is nearly gone. I cut my arm with the razor, I want to know if I can feel. I don't, but I am mesmerized by the blood streaming down and how it pools on the carpet. I laugh, I wonder just how big of a puddle I can make it. I reach for the razor again.
    And that's when I wake up screaming. I've had this dream three nights in a row. I usually don't analyze my dreams, but this one kind of frightened me. What is my mind trying to tell me? Is there a meaning or is this the product of my imagination? But what really worries me, like in the dream, tonight is the fourth night. If I dream it again, will I buy pills tomorrow? Did I just dream my own future, did I just witness my own...? Great, now I'm scared to fall asleep.
    Fuck, I miss Daniel right now.
    Jason R.
  6. Jason Rimbaud
    So I had a single GAY man and his mother come in to the restaurant today. When I saw him walk in the door, I actually paused in mid-step. He was gorgeous. One of the female servers was near me and she made the remark that he was dreamy. I smiled at her and replied, "Don't bother, he plays for my team."
    She asked, "How do you know?"
    I smiled mysteriously at her and said, "Trust me."
    As luck would have it, the man and his mother sat in my section and I ended up serving them. Throughout the dinner, the man and I would do some chit and some chat. Nothing really bad, just some harmless flirting, much to the amusement of the man's mother.
    Once dinner was over, they ordered a dessert and declared that they would share it.
    What I wanted to say was, "Aw, that's sweet."
    But what actually came out of my mouth was, "Aw, that's qweet."
    The man looked at me and flashed a smile, saying, "Did you just say that's qweet?"
    I blushed and nodded my head.
    His mother spoke up, "Qweet, that's sounds like a mix of queer and sweet. What exactly are you accusing my son of being, a sweet queer?"
    Needless to say, I blushed even more and they had a good laugh at my expense.
    I walked away and got the check ready. I placed it on the table after they paid and wished them a good night. I just happened to be standing at the door talking to my manager as they were leaving. My manager, as he inquires of every guest, asked, "How was everything this evening?"
    The mother looked at me and with a big grin, said, "The dinner was wonderful. And the service was lovely."
    My manager, completely unaware of the earlier conversation, looked at me and said, "Jason's one of our best servers."
    The mother replied without missing a beat, "He deserves a raise, not only did he take care of us but he invented a new word for my son."
    They walked out the door as my manager looked at me, a confused look on his face. I shook my head and just walked away.
    So today, I invented a new word. What did you do?
    Jason R.
  7. Jason Rimbaud
    I can't believe it's been so long since I last wrote something here....
    But then I don't care...I've grown to hate the sound of my voice/words...whatever...
    I've got nothing to say/write at the moment....
    Not to say that nothing interesting has happened to me lately...because let's face it...I attract drama like lightening to metal
    and Sunday night was pretty fucking huge...I mean here it is two days later...and I'm still at a loss of words.
    On top of that, it's around 9 am on Tuesday morning. I haven't been to sleep yet and I think I might be dreaming this Blog entry instead of typing it. Who knows...if no one replies then it was all a dream...and since it's all a dream...I might as well tell you all about Sunday night...but then I'm not sure if I'm ready to share this particular bit of information to my loyal READER...this might be something I want to keep to myself for a bit longer.
    Fuck that...I'm embarrassed to tell you...
    You'll make fun of me...I can hear you now...shaking your head as you softly say, "I knew it, that dumb boy couldn't keep from making a dumb decision like this...it was just a matter of time."
    Yeah, you say that behind my back, but do you have the courage to say it to my face!
    Then I'd get mad...we'd get in a fight...then I'd feel bad that I hurt your feelings...and then I would bake cookies...
    Well, I'm out of eggs and the flour isn't that self rising kind...so you can take that attitude of yours and beat it...cause I don't need no one making fun of me...I feel bad enough as it is...god I want to sleep!
    Jason
    PS: Mark is beautiful when he's asleep.
  8. Jason Rimbaud

    I'm Sorry...

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    So the restaurant has been crazy the last few weeks...of course when is it not crazy. In a way, I'm glad people still have disposable income in these tough times and that they still come to my restaurant to spend this disposable income.
    But why the fuck do these people with these disposable incomes think they are so much better than the rest of us and insist on treating us like donkey shit eaters. Fine, we don't make as much money as they do, and we don't drive the same kind of cars or walk in the same circles as these elitists. But that doesn't make us the shit that hangs out on the bottom of your shoes that gets casually wiped away by one of your peeps.
    We work just as hard as they do, sometimes for long periods and without the lavish vacations. We live on shoe-string budgets that wouldn't pay for their yearly car insurance bills.
    I'm sorry you drove all the way down from San Francisco in your gas guzzling SUV and got stuck in traffic for three hours due to a car accident. I'm sorry that when you walked in the door ten minutes before we close and demanded a table for three I told you that we would be needing your order in five minutes as the kitchen will promptly close at 9:30 and all orders must be in before that. I'm sorry we ran out of the halibut ten minutes before we close the restaurant. I'm sorry that at five minutes after ten that you decided to order another entree because you were still hungry. I"m sorry that the kitchen staff had left to go home after working 13 hours to see their already asleep families. I'm sorry that we were so inconsiderate as to close before you were completely finished. I'm sorry that we are nothing but assholes who had forgotten that we only live to serve you.
    And we still don't have kill an asshole day yet in America?
    Jason
  9. Jason Rimbaud

    IDTIWLPAM

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    IDTIWLPAM
    I was pretty much depressed about the events of my Sunday night dinner with Daniel. I don't want to get into it right now because that's not the reason I'm posting tonight. But I was pretty depressed and didn't want to spend all day Monday thinking about it so I figured I might catch a movie on Monday.
    So after looking up the Movies on Yahoo, I found three movies I really wanted to see. And since I couldn't decide between the three, and I don't know of a three sided coin to let fate decide, I choose to watch all three.
    I'd first catch the 11:30 AM showing of The Bourne Ultimatum, great movie by the way. What a way to end the trilogy, great job. Afterward, I would catch the 2:30 PM showing of the last Pirate of the Caribbean movie. Kind of boring about two hours too long, but it did have its moments. Like about half-way through the movie, this guy that was sitting a few seats over from me, suddenly let out a scream and a moment later his cell phone landed in my lap. The only thing I could think of, he must've been holding his cellphone against his face, and when he received a phone call, the vibration scared the hell out of him. I handed the cell phone back to him, and watched out of the corner of my eye as he searched the seats and floor on the other side. He kept this up for a good five minutes before he found what he was looking for, his glasses that were in the other hand and that he sent flying along with his cell phone.
    That event caused my depression to disappear so after Pirate Movie was over, I went home and had a relaxing day. I never did make it to the Simpson's Movie. But as funny as I know it's going to be, it might not be able to live up to that dumbass scaring himself so bad that he threw his glasses and cellphone in opposite directions in a dark theater.
  10. Jason Rimbaud
    In Absence of Reason
    Maybe
    Maybe we should get away
    Maybe we should cross these tracks
    Maybe we should leave and never look back
    There is a car we drive that?s stuck in second gear
    Despite ambitious plans we can never get away from here
    We waste our time and get no where
    We end up lost and we don?t really care
    There is a thought we have that?s never acted on
    We want to save the world and then the thought is gone
    We get so far but quit too soon
    We end up drunk howling at the moon
    We?re wasting our precious time and praying in vain
    And making the same mistakes again and again and again
    Maybe we should get away
    Maybe we should cross these tracks
    Maybe we should leave and never look back
    Satisfied
    Marcus doesn?t understand anything about this world
    He?s wasted most of childhood trying to be a man he lost to a boy
    He wanted to be all grown up in everything he did
    Now he waste?s his adulthood wishing he was still a kid
    Marcus likes to laugh a lot so everyone around him knows he?s having fun
    He?s fashionably late for dates and likes to keep his boyfriends on the run
    He likes to be the center of attention
    He loves it when you stop and stare
    He says he?s suffering from beauty and bad karma
    He loves to hate the fact that his life is just one long drama
    He?ll never be satisfied no matter how hard he tries
    He?ll never be satisfied till the day he dies
    M.L.G.
    Mother?s little genius is different from the other boys and girls
    She makes him stay home where he plays all alone in his closeted genius way
    And after so many years of seclusion being twisted and doted upon
    He started to feel like this world wasn?t real that he might be the chosen one
    Mother?s little genius is a self-serving son of a bitch
    Who?s emotionally bankrupt and addicted to Playboy
    And in love with himself and his satellite dish
    Mother?s little genius believed every word mother said
    A whole lot of praise through each genius phase has engraved itself inside his head
    And after so many years of umbilical chord he?s finally gonna be free
    But it looks like he?s losing because the worlds not the way mother promised it would be
    Shame
    My neighbor didn?t want to pay his taxes
    So he had to go away against his will
    Now he?s staying in the upstate penitentiary
    And a tax man sending you and I the bill
    Don?t you think it?s kind of crazy could someone possibly explain
    My cousin doesn?t vote because he doesn?t want to
    He says the world is too wicked and unfair
    So he sits at home conspiring against the government
    Embittered because they don?t know that he?s there
    He?s got paranoid delusions he thinks he?s under too much strain
    I believe that in the end
    It?s up to you and me my friend
    So we should all start thinking twice
    Why virtue never tempts us quite like vice
    The more we live the less we learn
    Don?t you think that it?s a shame
    It seems to me that throughout history
    The more we change the more we stay the same
    Everywhere
    I stood there in the open air at a quarter after three am
    Staring at the stars that chart the sky
    And right then it occurred to me beneath the deep blue canopy
    There?s more to all of this than meets the eye
    As I stood there in the night my eyes adjusted to the light
    I started seeing things a little clearer
    And while the silence sung to me in close nocturnal harmony
    The stars seemed to come a little nearer
    There are things we?ll never know there are answers all around us
    I can see it in the sun I can feel it in the earth
    And I can breathe it in the air
    I can sense it in the sky I can taste it when it rains
    I can feel it everywhere
    Breakaway
    Not that hard to understand the way that some things work
    We know that we can?t always have our way
    So I think I?m gonna stick around and see if anything turns up
    And I?ll pay the consequences come what may
    I guess the works okay at least it pays the bills
    But it?s not exactly what I had in mind
    I really like to make a move but I?m scared by the uncertainty
    Maybe I?m afraid of what I?ll find
    So I?ll make the most of what I?ve got the cards I have to play
    But I wish that I could find the nerve to somehow breakaway
    Am I ever gonna change should I leave or should I stay
    Am I making up my mind or just wasting away
    But how I?m gonna run if my legs won?t carry me
    And how I?m gonna fly if my wings won?t work
    And how I?m gonna find?how I?m gonna find
    Some kind of deliverance
    Crush
    And this time you?ve got me hook line and sinker
    You?ve got me real good and you?re really something
    I will work all day and then I?ll drive all night
    And give you everything I?ve got and make it all alright
    And up stands the reason that I come running
    Wide-eyed and reckless you?re my undoing
    I?ll tear open my shirt and hold your head against my chest
    And you can listen to my heart beating harder than the rest
    You can crush me if you wanted too
    You could wreck me and run me off the rails
    You can crush me if you wanted too
    But I?ll keep coming back when all light fades
    Riptide
    The big blue sky and the brand new day
    Has got me laughing out loud as the radio plays
    Coming to pick you up and I?m gonna take you away
    We?re gonna be two kings for just one day
    And I?m gonna love you like lighting
    And I?m gonna love you like thunder
    And I?m gonna love you like a riptide
    Pulling you under
    I?m gonna buy you new shoes with what?s left of my money
    And I?m gonna tell you bad jokes and I?m gonna call you honey
    I?m gonna bare my soul and I?m gonna make you laugh
    I?m gonna show you my scars and my passport photograph
    And when the day is over
    We?re gonna climb upon the hill
    We?re gonna try and spy Orion
    While the town below turns on its lights
    And our hearts stand still
    Yeah, Yeah, Yeah
    I guess its time to get away despite what friends and family say
    We can?t stay here another day my darling
    I?ve canceled the utilities the landlord says he?s not to please
    He?s coming ?round to collect the keys in the morning
    I forwarded the mail my motorcycles up for sale
    Its time for us to hit the trail and get away
    We?ve got the car all packed I can safely say we won?t be back
    I?m as serious as a heart attack this time around
    Because nothing ever changes here it stays the same from year to year
    Most folk live and die in fear of things that don?t exist
    It?s just the same old yeah yeah yeah
    The more we hang around the less we seem to care
    I?m sick of myself and I?m sick of this town
    And I?m sick of feeling like I?m on a ship that?s going down
    What?s the point of waiting if there?s nothing worth waiting for
    If you never push the boat out boy you?ll never leave the shore
    So Long Gone
    He sits back and puts his feet up on the dashboard
    And tries to get as comfy as he can
    And he writes our name on the condensated window
    Then quickly wipes it away with the back of his hand
    He sighs as if he?s gonna speak
    Like maybe something?s on his mind
    Maybe its what lies ahead
    Or maybe its what?s left behind
    So I wind down the window and let the air rush in
    It?s easy to be sleepy when you drive all night
    I rub my eyes and search for something on the radio
    And I realize we?re not moving out but letting go
    So as we slowly disappear into the distance
    Another day away from no-wheres-ville
    Anything is better than stranded here in no mans land
    Like a demon reaching down suck you in like sinking sand
    And we?re so long gone and we?re so glad
    That we?re so long gone and we can hardly wait
    Never coming back
    Never coming back
  11. Jason Rimbaud

    Isn't It Ironic

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    A New and Improved Blog Experience Brought to you by the one and only Jason Rimbaud
    The other day or maybe it was the other week, life has a habit of going by faster than the speed of light and sometimes I feel like I’m being left behind, I was at work and all I could think about was grubbing on some 4 Alarm Hot Wings from my favorite place in the world, SmokeEaters, in downtown San Jose.
    For those of you that watch the Food Network Channel, and more importantly, Man Vs Food Nation, you might have watched the episode where SmokeEaters was featured due to their “world” famous Hot Wing Challenge. If you did watch that episode, then you’ll also know that Man defeated Food in a big way. But that really has nothing to do with this new and improved Blog experience I’m bringing you on this day so I’ll continue on my fairy way.
    Well, I will say, briefly, that if you live in the San Francisco Bay Area and enjoy a good hot wing experience then I urge you to go to San Jose’s SmokeEaters and try them out. Tell them Jason sent you. Though to be truthful, that won’t really do you any good as I have absolutely no pull whatsoever there but maybe if enough people go there saying my name I’ll get a discount. Or better yet, maybe because I’m doing all this “free” advertising they’ll give me free wings for life or something like that.
    Two years ago when I first started my new job in San Francisco, the very first person I hired was a twenty-three year old kid fresh out of culinary school. He was from a wealthy family and much to their chagrin; he was dead set on becoming a Chef with a dream of one day having his own restaurant. He was fresh from school and had zero experience but I saw something in him I liked so I took a chance.
    Now before you say that I hired him based solely on his nerd star looks…I want to set the record straight right now and say that I hired him half on his looks and half on my gut feeling. And over the last two years, my gut proved me right once again and he’s turning into a talented line cook and a future that looks mighty promising.
    I’ll forgo the fact that a few months ago he quit to take a better job with a greater chance at advancement but that’s how life in the service industry goes, you stay only long enough to learn everything you can before moving on to bigger and better things.
    Six months into his tenure, he started dating one of my hostesses. I know it’s never a good idea to date someone where you work but I couldn’t tell him or her that and I knew they’d have to figure that out on their own. So I set back and waited for the inevitable clusterfuck that was sure to ensue.
    For more than a while things between the two of them were proceeding at somewhat of a boring pace and if I were to be truthful, they lasted way longer than I ever thought they would. But once he left our restaurant to pursue his new opportunity with one of his old teachers from culinary school, things started heading south quickly. And much to my dismay, she feels like I’m the one person at work she can trust enough to tell her relationship woes too. I know more about their relationship then I’d care to and some of it is quite disturbing in a dysfunctional kind of way.
    Oh really, what’s so disturbing about it, you might ask.
    For an instance, they had a three-some with one of the other line cooks after a hard nights drinking. Apparently one of her turn-ons is to watch two dudes getting it on. Though on the other side of that coin, one of her turn-off’s is coming home from work early and catching her boyfriend and this same line cook in bed without her. I guess it’s only sexy if she’s there to watch and I guess participate in some way. Though I must admit I’d be pretty pissed if I came home and saw my boyfriend on his back with his legs in the air screaming out, ‘fuck me, fuck me harder you son of a bitch’. But then I might join in, it all depends on my frame of mind on that day.
    So I’m busy at work, busy running around in my new shoes that aren’t quite broken in as of yet and starvin like a marvin. For ten hours straight all I can think or focus on is leaving my restaurant and rushing down to SmokeEaters in San Jose to purchase my favorite flavor 4 Alarm Hot Wings.
    Of course I pretend to pay attention to the eight hundred guests I saw that day. You bet your ass I pretend to care about my employee’s and their numerous personal problems that always seem to crop throughout any given day at our very busy eating establishment in downtown San Francisco. But it’s all a show, my mind is firmly fixated on that burning sensation that is the only thing that can calm the ache that I harbor deep down my insides.
    If the above paragraph seems like a cry for help for a very unhealthy addiction…it’s not. I am fully aware that 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters isn’t necessarily the healthiest of choices when it comes to nutrition but none of that matters. I fully realize that I have this addiction and I actually control it through moderation.
    This practice of moderation is why I am so fixated on 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters on this particular day. At the time of this writing, it had been over two weeks since I had last indulged my addiction and I was starting to get the itch. I’m not quite to the point where I’ll blow some random stranger to get the time to head towards San Jose but I am at the place where I’ll give a Handy J to some random stranger to get the time to go to San Jose.
    Don’t judge me until you ate a million 4 Alarm Hot Wings in my shoes!
    I have been working more than a few hours over the last few weeks, though to be truthful; it’s been over a month since I started writing this Blog Entry. And even now I’m sitting at a bar in the beautiful Luxor Casino in Vegas drinking Absinthe and wondering why I’m sitting alone typing on my laptop.
    It’s 11:00 pm on Thanksgiving Eve and I’m feeling particularly lonely. Maybe it’s because I found one of my ex-friends on FaceBook earlier today and I realized I missed him. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been connecting less and less with real people and withdrawing behind the walls I’ve created over the years. But enough of my pity party, let’s resume the Blog.
    Let’s go back a few weeks. A day that I had decided the time was right to drive the forty minutes to San Jose for several reasons.
    Reason One: we had no late reservations so I figured that I’d leave San Francisco around 10:30PM giving me over an hour and half before SmokeEaters closed. And that was more than enough time to get there and back to my apartment at a decant time before going to bed.
    Reason Two: we have a new Chef and he swears by all that is holy that if I get him some of the 4 Alarm sauce he’ll be able to reproduce it so I can it so I can make it myself alleviating the need to drive to San Jose twice a month.
    And Reason Three (and probably the most important): I’m a full blown junkie and I needed my fix.
    And this is where things get fucked…because I only wanted my 4 Alarm Hot Wings but from the very beginning anything that could go wrong started to go wrong. A couple who were on a first blind date just would not take the hint that we were closed and I had to practically pick them up by the scruff of their necks and throw them out into the street much like you would a cat. And my bartender, beautiful but not very bright, somehow entered the wrong amount for one of his transactions that took me almost an hour to find and correct. Small unrelated instances but I didn’t get to leave the restaurant until 11:25PM.
    By this time I’m frustrated at all straight people and yes, I was judging the whole based on a few, pissed off at my bartender for not taking the time to enter the numbers correctly and seriously thinking that I’d blow Satan himself if there was a way to go back in time so I could go to SmokeEaters in San Jose.
    I arrive at my car at 11:30PM and start the engine. I am at war with myself as I stare into the mirror. Should I point my car south and drive like a bat out of hell or should I admit defeat and make plans to go to SmokeEaters in San Jose another time?
    I know the next day’s reservations are such that leaving before midnight is a pipe dream that only a Republican could believe. So the question is; should I wait three more days to head out at a leisurely pace on my next day off and really take the time to enjoy my 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters?
    I pointed my car south and floored the fucking thing.
    Over the course of my life, I’ve had numerous liaisons with guys that their first names start with the letter J. I don’t know if there is significance or just un-luck. But remember that guy I hired right out of Culinary School, his name was James. And since his girlfriend, my hostess, caught him getting fucked in the ass he is now newly single. And a few weeks ago (as of right now it’s been six weeks) I met him out for a few drinks after work.
    It started out harmless enough, he was bitching about losing his girl and yet excited about the new possibilities of exploring his newfound “bisexualism”. Apparently, with the exception of some mutual wanking in his youth, that was his first time with a guy. And newsflash, he loved it.
    Normally I’m a very defensive driver; I give others the right of way, I use my blinkers, I never tailgate and I always drive the speed limit. So I figured I was due for some more aggressive style of driving than usual. And since I always respect the law of the road, what are the odds of me getting caught driving like some kind of lunatic on a werewolf bender?
    Anybody care to give me the odds on this thinking? Anyone, anyone, Bueller, Bueller?
    So a few other days ago, I’m at my local gas station and I see this large red machine with Coke plastered all over the side of it in the place where the usual fountain soda machine normally sits. I walked over and peered at the screen.
    You read right, I said peered at the screen.
    In the top portion of this Coke machine was a touch screen menu that gave you the options of what type of drink you’d like to purchase in a cup, Coke, Diet Coke, Cherry Coke, etc etc. It was the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
    Well, it was until I watched this twink getting fisted at a sex club in Vegas last night but that’s another story for another Blog.
    I actually bought a Dr Pepper just so I could play around with this amazing machine.
    But then it got me thinking, we can’t fix the budget, our homeless rate is growing faster than a Republican’s debt, our banking system is on the verge of collapse but hey everyone, we have a touch screen soda machine. I’m glad to see that we have our fucking priorities well in hand. I mean, really, do we have to have a touch screen soda machine?
    There is a restaurant in San Francisco that has an I-Pad on every table. The I-Pad is the menu and you scroll through the food, wine, and cocktail options. When you find what you want, you order it and then someone brings it to your table.
    What’s fucking next? We already have less and less human contact via the internet, now we don’t even have to talk to servers. In ten years, are we even going to remember how to communicate face to face anymore?
    And while I’m on the subject, doesn’t anyone use a fucking phone anymore? Think about it, when’s the last time you actually made a call on your smart device. We use texting (sexting) emails and FaceBook, Twitter, and all the other social media so we don’t have to actually speak to anyone.
    Have you ever felt that the world is just out to get you? That’s how I felt that lonely night driving ninety miles an hour down 101 Southbound. I think every stupid driver was on the freeway that night. From the grandma’s doing forty miles an hour in the fast lane, to drivers hitting their breaks and slowing down to a crawl to gaze at the accident on the other side of the freeway, to road construction that didn’t seem to be constructing anything other than traffic problems and didn’t seem to have a purpose except to narrow down four lanes into one. The traffic was so bad I actually contemplated believing in a god just so I could lament that he/she hates me.
    Even with these crazy road conditions, I was actually making really good time. I’ll admit that I had to drive on the shoulder for a few miles but that’s not really illegal…right?
    At one point in my hyper-motivated journey, I zoomed down an off ramp only to shoot through the intersection and back onto the entrance ramp to get around a large moving van and three buses who thought it was a good idea to drive so slow I could have sworn in open court that they were moving backwards.
    At 11:40PM I call SmokeEaters and place my food order. I promised that I would be there in twenty minutes and to please not close until I get arrive. The young girl said she’d do her best but they lock the doors promptly at midnight.
    My poor little car is purring/growling as I push it to speeds that it was never built to achieve. I’m nearing a hundred miles an hour and it’s starting to shake but I don’t care. Nothing is going to keep me from getting my 4 Alarm Hot Wings from SmokeEaters in San Jose. Nothing.
    Three days ago, I started a fourteen day in a row stretch. I get to the restaurant at 7AM (to get there that early I have to get up at 5AM) and I’ve been leaving the restaurant around 10:30PM while arriving home after midnight. I’m tired, my shoes are now broken in but I’m getting a little bit grumpy.
    The good news, we hired a new manager that starts on Monday (but by the time you actually read this Blog Entry it could be tomorrow or it could have been two weeks ago) and I couldn’t be happier. I think he’s going to be a great addition to our team but since he’s brand new, he can’t be left on his own which is way I have to work forever in a row.
    Now the reason I have to work these crazy hours is our General Manager has taken a much needed vacation for two weeks. And I don’t begrudge him the time off but I am however grumpy as a withdrawing Meth addict that I have to work a hundred hours a day so he can get his freak on with all those Spanish hotties.
    A few weeks ago, I’m pretty sure someone used one of my own poems to tell me to go fuck myself. And if they did, I think that’s pretty fucking cool.
    So you all remember “A”, my friend with benefits that wanted to take it to the next level. Notice I didn’t type that sentence as a question because I know that everyone is fascinated with my life and they hang on my every word.
    Apparently the new and improved Jason is an egomaniac and should be punished for his arrogance. Any takers?
    Anyway, “A” grew tired of my lack of commitment and my neurotic behavior or maybe it was my lack of making time for him and after the both of us were silent for a couple of days, he sends me a text message something to the affect, ‘your poem un-remembered is my favorite one you wrote’. Then he never texted me again.
    If my supposes are correct, he told me he would be better off when I become un-remembered. Can you believe that? He used my own words against me. A part of me wants to contact him again just to see if I’m right in my assumptions.
    Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
    Update: “A” and I are fucking again.
    I have enough shit going on in my life at the moment that doesn’t include my heavy work load or friends with benefits being mad at me due to my stupidity.
    What do you mean? Are you speaking of trying to get to San Jose? Or are you referring to your ex-employee that just found out the pleasures of being a big ole Mo?
    James and I are at the bar, doing shots and truly having a blast. I’ve gotten him to stop talking about his ex-girlfriend, not for any reason except that I had to hear about their breakup from her and I didn’t want to hear about it again from him. Plus the more I drank the hornier I was getting.
    James and his Ex had a common problem, they still lived together even though they broke up because neither one could afford to move out alone. I’m not sure if I could do that but they are pretty young and broke as a joke.
    Throughout the course of the night, James had made the statement it was hard to hook up with anyone because he didn’t have a place to go. And apparently, he was randy as a goat and looking to open up his experiences with guys.
    The bar closes, we’re drunk, and James starts complaining that he doesn’t want to go home to face her at this moment. So being the nice guy I am, I offer him my couch. And believe it or not, I typed that sentence without cracking a smile once.
    My car is whining and groaning but I’m not letting up as I fly off the San Jose Airport exit. My car’s up on two wheels as I careen down the exit ramp passing other vehicles as if they’re standing still. I’ve got Breaking Benjamin blasting in my ear buds and I’m chain smoking cigarettes like they are my lifeline to normalcy and I’m speeding like Charlie Sheen on a two week bender.
    Off in the distance I can see the St James exit looming ahead like a beacon in the wilderness. I glance at the dashboard clock and see I have about eight minutes to make it to SmokeEaters. I grin wildly and step on the accelerator trying to coax every last ounce of speed from my poor little four cylinder car. I’m so close I can taste the sweet taste of victory. Straight people who wouldn’t leave and stupid beautiful bartenders, zero, and Jason the crazy obsessive addict, one.
    And then I see it, or rather I see a blur…parked on the side of the road like some vengeful angel out of a Clint Eastwood movie. My dreaded nemesis, a CHP officer better known as a California Highway Patrol fuck face.
    I blow past him at 91 miles an hour in a 65 mile an hour zone. And for a moment I imagine that I’m driving so fast that he can’t see me. Or maybe he was looking down when I screeched by him driving like a man possessed. Or even better, maybe he was one of those lazy CHP officers and he was sleeping off a donut induced high.
    I mean, really, my exit is just right there, I think maybe if I can get off the exit before he starts chasing me I can lose him in the streets of downtown San Jose.
    Then I see the lights on top of his car light up and I imagine I can hear the powerful roar of his engine as he lurches forward after me. I know I’m busted. I’m such an addict there is no way that I’d risk going to jail for trying to evade a police officer…or maybe I’m such an addict that I won’t risk going to jail and not being able to have my 4 Alarm Hot Wings ever again.
    Even as I start slowing down, I refuse to admit defeat when I am this close to achieving my goal. I am forming a plan in my stupid head as I pull off the road and stare longingly at my exit which is only fifty yards away.
    Surely there is something I can say or do, to or for; this CHP officer that will get me out of what I am sure is a hefty fine and maybe even a loss of my driving privileges.
    I can hear some of you right now saying, ‘you’ll get what you deserve, driving like some insane person on the shoulder of the road, darting on and off exit ramps just to pass cars, speeding past police officers’.
    Don’t you worry, I hear you loud and clear, you think I deserve a ticket.
    Well, fuck you, I don’t. I’m a good person on the inside. It’s the fucking 4 Alarm Hot Wings I tell you.
    The CHP fuck face pulls up behind my stopped car and I’m frantically trying to come with something, anything to tell this guy when he asks why I was driving so recklessly.
    ‘Really officer, I didn’t know how fast I was going’, ‘I’m sorry I was speeding but I have to go to the bathroom so bad I’m afraid I’ll soil myself any moment,’ ‘I heading for the hospital, my uncle was in a bad accident and he wants to see me one last time before he passes,’ ‘I’ll do anything if you let me go…and I mean anything’.
    These are just a few of the better scenarios that flashed in y feeble head as fuck face slowly approaches the passenger side of my car (who by the way is quite happy that I finally stopped pushing it so hard I imagine I can hear my car breathing heavily).
    “Good evening sir, where are you headed tonight in such a hurry?”
    If I ever needed to be quick on my feet, now was that time. I look over at him, squinting because he’s shining a flashlight (that’s not fleshlight you pervs) on what could only be a dumbfounded look on my face. I open my mouth and this is what fell out…
    “I know I was speeding and believe me I’m really really sorry. I’ve never even had so much as a single speeding ticket in all my years driving but my wife is pregnant and she had this stupid late night craving for hot wings from SmokeEaters. I tried to tell her that they close at midnight and there was no way I could drive from San Francisco in thirty minutes.”
    Now as I’m blurting this out in short strangled gasping breaths, I am getting my registration and insurance card from my glove box to give to the fuck face. But I’m not done; I continue spewing forth this shit…
    “But then she started saying that I didn’t love her because I wouldn’t drive to San Jose and how bad of a husband I am because it was really all my fault that she is now fat and that her ankles have swollen up to the size of grapefruits and no one is going to find her attractive again. And that if I really loved her I would do whatever it took to get her hot wings from SmokeEaters. After all it was my sperms fault that she’s pregnant, right? Like I’m the one that forgot to take her birth control pills? Does this look like it’s my idea?”
    “Um…”
    “I know I was speeding but I only have four minutes to make it to SmokeEaters before they close and I’m afraid if I go home without these hot wings my wife is going to hate me for the rest of my life. Is there any way possible that you could follow me to SmokeEaters so I can get her hot wings? Afterwards you can take me to jail or give me a ticket? And believe me, right now I’m not sure which one of those options is more attractive at this moment but anything you could do would be amazing and I’m so sorry but she’s driving me fucking crazy.”
    I finally take a breath and stare at fuck face with what I hope is a broken face.
    No we all know the internet is no place for truth but I swear this CHP officer stare at me for a good minute before he asks this question, ‘how much of what you just told me is true?’
    I grin, “not very much.”
    James and I ended up back at my apartment watching American Dad on Adult Swim. And me being the good host, I offered him a beverage. We settled on cognac and cigars on the patio. I was regaling him with some of my funnier stories from my past exploits and he was filling me in on growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth. Who would’ve known he was so much more than a pretty face. Don’t get me wrong, his face is more than pretty enough but he was easy to talk too.
    I’m not sure when we decided to call it a night but I do know sometime before the sun came up we were standing in my living room staring at my couch. Apparently my leather couch would give him a rash if he slept on it, and there was no way in hell I was going to sleep on my couch when I have a comfy bed to sleep on/in. So I made him a deal…
    “You can sleep in my bed but you have to shower first, you stink like last year’s garbage and tonight’s kitchen grease.”
    Seriously, I didn’t have an ulterior motive for getting him all wet and naked in my room. There really was no freaking way in hell he was sleeping in my bed before scrubbing away the kitchen smell and ball sweat from his working ten hours in a hot kitchen.
    So we took turns showering and after we were fresh faced scrubbed I turned off the lights and crawled into bed next to him. I’m not sure why he asked for a pair of shorts to sleep in, the lights weren’t turned off for more than a minute before those shorts flew across the room and we got all sweaty again.
    But after hearing about the time she caught him in bed with another guy so many times, I thought it was pretty ironic that it wasn’t long before his legs were resting on my shoulders and he was screaming out, ‘fuck me, fuck me harder you son of a bitch’.
  12. Jason Rimbaud
    I've been thinking of deleting my Blog.
    I just don't feel like writing entries any more. It's like when you suddenly realize you don't need therapy anymore. It's just a waste of money and time if you continue seeing the therapist.
    Not that writing these little entries are therapeutic for anyone but myself, though I think I've kept a few of you entertained with my little stories, I think it might be time to retire.
    Much like my poetry, I'm just sick of always writing about myself. I want to focus on story telling, write some good fiction, dust off my imagination and follow wherever it goes.
    (I'll just ignore the fact that I'm writing this even while saying I'm sick of writing about myself)
    What is the purpose of a Blog? To give readers insight into other's lives? Is this somehow enabling the voyeur inside of us?
    Hell, my life isn't more interesting than anyone else's, we all have stories to tell. I don't know...I seem to be rambling about nothing.
    I do have a few things on my mind though. A few weeks ago, through my own stupidity, I think I hurt/pissed off someone I've really come to respect as a person and even considered a friend. This happened here, at Awesome Dude, and it's been weighing heavily on my mind ever since. We all make stupid comments at times, and we all look at the world differently. I never wanted to hurt this person, though I know I did and even apologized for my actions. But I don't know if my words were heard.
    This isn't why I'm thinking about deleting my Blog, just something kicking around my thoughts.
    There has been a few incidents over the last few months, here at Awesome Dude, that have left me rather confused. Mainly because I don't understand why people are getting upset because of someone else's opinions, thoughts, or naivet?. I've always believed that the only way I can be offended by someone else's words, is if I allow those words to offend me. If someone says something that I disagree with, I discount those words and move on. If those words are coming from someone a few years younger than myself, than I shrug and forget it, knowing that with time and experience, that person's views will change as he matures and grows.
    I think we have forgotten what it was like to be young and filled with an unshakable sense that we know everything. At least I felt that way when I was young. And with time, I now realize just how stupid I really was back in the day.
    I don't know, something seems to be missing lately. It's not the arguing on the forums, or the difference in opinion, those I find entertaining, this is something else. I feel like I've become disconnected with Awesome Dude. Much like I felt with Gay Authors, though to be truthful, I don't think I ever gave GA a real chance. Maybe it was being a small fish in a large pond, or maybe because GA is a bit clickish. Yet I could say the same thing here at Awesome Dude. But is it really being clickish if only a small group actually participate while the rest sits back and lurks?
    With every group of friends, over time they develop certain jokes, behaviors that a new person might not understand at first. This isn't being clickish, just familiarity. Being clickish is only if a group of people refuse to include others and I don't think Awesome Dude has that problem. Neither does GA in my opinion.
    What does this have to do with anything? I don't know.
    I still feel like deleting my Blog, I'm still a bit confused why I feel disconnected here at Awesome Dude, and I don't know what to do about Mark.
    Mark, the bane of my happiness it seems. How can a reasonably intelligent man, like myself, fail to disassociate himself from a bad relationship? It's not bad as in violent, it's just bad as in he can't figure out what the fuck he wants and i can't figure out why the fuck I allow him to remain in my life. Believe me, it's not just about the sex, it's great, and it's not because I don't want to be alone, I don't, there is something about this man that drives me completely and utterly insane. Is this what love feels like?
    If I do delete this Blog, I'll probably regret it. There are times I love rambling on about nonsense shit. I like the fact that people like to read my nonsense shit. What I don't like about it, it's all about me. Maybe if I could write about someone else, then it wouldn't seem like such a chore. But then I'd probably get jealous that someone else was getting all the attention.
    It's been a while since I had vacation, and I'm started to feel a bit thin. With my new promotion, my faltering relationship, and my several relapses, I feel a bit fragile. If I can't handle the stress now, how can I hope to maintain my sobriety after the new restaurant opens?
    It's Father's Day, and boy do I have a few things to say about that prick. I hope you're burning in hell you piece of shit rat bastard.
    Moving on...
    Mark left a few hours ago, we talked and had a bit of fun in the bed. I don't feel dirty though I do feel a bit used. I wonder how Mark feels right now? Sometimes I forget the twenty years of brainwashing he has to suffer through just being with me. I've forgotten the self loathing that must be battering his mind even as his lust burns in his veins. Maybe we both do deserve each other.
    Jason
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    Just returned from watching Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom.  Or should I say dragged to see the flick.  
    I should start by saying that I am a huge fan of Jurassic Park, a satisfied fan of Jurassic Park 2, a meh for Jurassic Park 3, and a very disappointed viewer for Jurassic World.  
     
    For all the amazing CGI of the first one, they did not skimp on the story and characters.  All I have to say is Alan Grant.  Jurassic Park 2, the sequence when T-Rex squared pushes the camper off the cliff is stunning, again they did not skimp on the story and characters.  I know they have plot holes and characters that were only half developed.  But the entertainment factor of Dr. Ian alone carries that film that is re-watchable each time I see it on cable.  Jurassic Park 3, sees the return of Alan Grant, one of my favorite actors from the 90's and eerily attracted to in a carnal way, returns to an okay horror film.  I love the moments with Eric Kirby, he has some of the best lines in the entire film.  Plus, you have the human eating birds attacking our steadfast heroes.  Lets not talk about the spinosaurus as a villain.   
     
    Then you have Jurassic World some 17 years later with the amazing B.D. Wong and the over-hyped Chris Pratt and his abs.  Great CGI and a pulse pounding action scenes but with under developed characters, kids in danger for no reason, and a deeply unsatisfying ending that is a bit too nostalgic for my taste.  I felt that Star Wars Force Awakens suffered from the same malady.  A fan that grew up and made a homage movie to their childhood fantasies.  In both films, each writer and director focused more on feelings that actual story, spectacle over substance, and nostalgia dripping from the screen that makes me wish instead of essentially re-making a classic, they would have been better served in just re-watching the originals.  
     
    So when "N" insisted on us going to the movie tonight on my one day off this week, I was prepared for another Jurassic World.  After all, Chris Pratt has already given me a sequel that was boring on the surface, sub-par in the meat of the story, and just plain awful by the discovery of the villain.  Of course i am speaking about Guardians of the Galaxy Chapter 2.  
     
    I offered other opportunities, even went as far as begging us to go to Las Vegas last minute just to avoid this movie.  And much to my chagrin, he wasn't having any part of that strategy.  And once the credits rolled, damn was I impressed.  For the first time in a long time, Chris Pratt was more grounded as an actor since I first saw him on Everwood.  The writers/directors kept him from his Prattness and he acted the shit out of a smart, believable script that didn't seem like over two hours that it ended being.  Bryce Dallas Howard stopped being the damsel in distress/high heels from the previous one and held her own against the new villain of the piece.  I will give zero spoilers but finally a sequel to Jurassic Park that was promised.  I didn't stay past the credits so I don't know if there is a post credit scene., but they set up the next installment perfectly that made sense in the framework of the story.  Completely understand why its making all the money.  
     
    I would say watch this movie, you won't be disappointed.  
     
    J
  14. Jason Rimbaud
    Little White Pill
    Life has been really good lately. The problems I've had with my eyes have healed up nicely. I've been eating healthier and not drinking so much. I've been getting seven to eight hours of sleep each night. And the dark circles under my eyes, which I thought would never go away, have cleared up as well.
    My job is moving along at the speed of light. Money is pouring in, enough to decorate my new apartment, I even have pictures hanging on the walls. And no, not a single one is a naked guy. It looks and feels like home. And believe me, it's been too many years since I have a place to call home. So life has been really good lately.
    Recently I had the opportunity to purchase a new computer, so for the last month or so I've been slowly going through all my old files, deciding which ones I want to continue working on, and those that should stay in computer purgatory. And a few days ago, I found this piece and it disturbed me on so many levels. So I figured I would post it on my blog.
    Little White Pill
    By: Jason R.
    Little white pills I wish I never found you
    Complete emptiness as the addiction grew
    No matter the cost I?d gladly pay
    It?s not up to you or what others say
    Consuming all of the trends
    Forcing me to pretend
    That I wasn?t in league
    Through lies and intrigue
    I pushed it down into places
    Only showing you painted faces
    And now the moment is here
    I?ll slide away all the fear
    I choose pills over the gun
    Maybe life isn?t for everyone
    Written Monday, July 24th, 2006
    7:25 PM
    I noticed that this piece was written almost a year ago, and for a moment I struggled to remember why I first wrote it. I mean, what could I have been feeling during this time? What broken emotion could I have been entertaining to have the "given up" attitude to write something like this? Upon first reading, I wondered, if at one time, Last year, could I have been suicidal? And if yes, Why?
    If you have ever read my blog, my poetry, then you might have an idea that drugs have always played a part in my life. There was a time when between the booze and the cocaine, I'd take ecstasy to level off. Believe me, there have been too many Sundays spent "rolling face" in bed with some random stranger after a weekend of vodka and coke. Sadly, this was my life for many years.
    And though I gave up the cocaine years ago, and my drinking is nothing like I once indulged, and though I only "roll" occasionally, I believed I was doing pretty good. After all, all the hard drugs were long forgotten. Yet I had another vice waiting in the wings. Vicadin. Wow, cocaine was nothing next to this pain killer.
    I guess I never really liked sobriety, and with Vicadin you get a feeling of numbness without the guilt you'd get from a drug like heroin or cocaine. Last year at this time, I was up to eating nine or ten Vicadin's a day. Sometimes more depending on my state of mind. And I had convinced myself that it was harmless, after all, it was only a pain killer. Right?
    So addicted I had become, that the days I ran out of pills, I would start shaking and vomiting. I won't even get into my mood swings. During this time, I dropped a lot of weight. (For all you chunky guys out there, want a sure fire way to lose weight, get yourself a drug habit. The pounds seem to melt off. Though the down side is you lose all your friends so no one is around to say how gaunt you look. Everything it seems has a trade off.)
    Believe it or not, Vicadin is not an easy drug to come by. And when my supply ran out, I slowly began looking around for other substances to achieve my altered state of reality, to stop feeling. This quest led me to Crystal Meth. And just like years ago, once again my life became ruled by rails of white. And somehow, this high wasn't enough, so when I could get Vicadin's, I would smashed them up, mix them with Crystal, and snorted the whole mess together. Quite surprisingly, this is the time I started cruising heavily in San Francisco. I mean, Meth kept me horny for days at a time. And when I went cruising, it was nothing for me to have fifteen or sixteen cocks in my mouth in a single night.
    And for a time, this behavior was standard operating procedure for me. The biggest problem with Meth, it makes you feel like you are in control. Take away the powder, and life seemed out of control. So when Daniel began cautioning me about this behavior, I denied it, I pushed him away and almost lost the best thing that ever happened to me.
    But even though my life was spiraling out of control, Meth made my creativity explode. And with drug induced clarity, I began writing poetry with a passion. Nothing was off limits, I delved into the darkest places in my soul, and wrote about it with an honesty that I never had before. And like a wounded soldier, I tore off the bandages and let the wounds bleed for the world to see. And if you go back, in the poetry section, you can see the mistakes of my past jump out in vivid script.
    In this out of control lifestyle, the drugs somehow caused me to examine my past through my poetry, and pushed me to realize what I was doing with my future. In the last great Vicadin/Meth binges, I wrote the above piece in complete despair. It wasn't long after this piece, that through Daniel I did achieve a measure of sobriety. He urged me to go to "Susan" and seek help. Shortly after that, I started writing this blog. I found sharing stories of my life with perfect strangers helped me close one chapter of my life while starting a new one.
    I really wanted to share this piece here, yet I wanted to make sure those of you who care, understand why i wrote this piece and know I do not feel this way anymore. So to those of you that read my blog, those of you that take the time to post a comment, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Until the next time.
    Jason R.
  15. Jason Rimbaud
    So earlier this year, I started a show called Watchmen on HBO. I was actually a huge fan of the movie when it came out in 2009, and was really excited to see what HBO was going to do with that property. And I was really excited to find out that it wasn’t going to be a remake of the movie but more of a continuation of that story in the same universe. From the opening scenes I was hooked and after I watched the last episode, I wanted to find out who created it.
    And that’s when I was introduced to Damon Lindelof. And as I have nothing else going on I did a deep dive back into his credits to see what else he has done.
    Tomorrowland, never saw it, The Leftovers, never heard of it. World War Z, didn’t like it. Star Trek, Into Darkness, loved it. Prometheus, never watched it. Cowboys and Aliens, didn’t like it. And then I saw Lost in his credits. And then I saw that along with J.J. Abrams, Damon co-created and wrote more episodes than anyone else and served as the show-runner because J.J. was busy doing other things.
    Full disclosure, I’m not a huge J.J. Abrams fan. I think he single-handedly destroyed what little bit of love I had for Star Wars left after The Rise Of Skywalker. And though the re-make of Star Trek was okay, I thought Into Darkness was by far the stronger movie. And like most people, I was first introduced to the highly over-rated Benedict Cumberbatch, in this Lindelof penned movie.
    After finding out that Lindelof was the co-creator and prolific writer of Lost, I was intrigued to see how Lost would hold up to Watchmen. Judging by his age, and when Lost came out, I figured the writer that wrote Watchmen would be more mature, more confident, then the writer who wrote Lost. But Lost was a cultural pheromone back in the late 00’s, and I only missed it mainly because I didn’t have TV back then and streaming shows weren’t invented yet.
    And again full disclosure, I have seen a few episodes of Lost way back in 2004 and have heard the debate about the last two seasons, but I hadn’t really ever watched the show from start to finish much to the chagrin of one of my closest friends who figuratively eats and breaths this show even after it’s been almost ten years since the finale episode was shown. (Side-note, IMDB TV started streaming Lost for free May 1st, 2020 to mark the ten year anniversary of the finale)
    And since I’ve been out of work since March 18th, 2020, and rarely leave my condo in the hills of Twin Peaks in San Francisco, and the fact that I am pretty much bored with everything else on Netflix, Hulu, and/or Amazon Prime, I contacted my friend and asked if I could borrow the first season of Lost to finally  see what the fuss is about.
    You would have thought I asked him to be god-parent to my non-existent kids he was so happy. He started rambling on how we can finally talk about Lost and how excited he was to go on this journey with me as someone who never watched the show.  Like he could finally see it for the first time again through my eyes.
    And since my husband and I are really taking the shelter in place seriously, it was decided that my friend, “O” and I would watch the show together via face-time every day. Because I wasn’t going to allow him to come to my condo, I’m not sure he even knows what Covid 19 is much less that he’s suppose to stay inside his house. But that’s another topic.
    So on an infrequent trip to Target, I bought the first season of Lost and we picked a date to start watching the show together. I’m not sure if you ever watched a show before with a super fan, but it wasn’t more than 15 minutes into the episode before “O” started spouting off things that were foreshadowing later episodes down the line. I quickly realized watching it with him was not going to work so we came up with a new system. I would watch the show, make a few notes, and then afterwards we would discuss the episode and talk about where I thought it might be heading and so on. But only if he would refrain from answering any of my questions I might have or guesses of the future.
    And that lasted about ten minutes after I was finished with the two part pilot episode. So now, I’m watching season one alone, but I continued to make notes of the show and what will be following, is my take of Lost Season One, episode by episode.
    I am trusting that anyone who is reading this, will refrain from making spoilers in the comments, or correcting any of my guesses on where I think the story is going.
    And when it was going to be “O” and I watching together, we came up with a few rules that I continue to follow. I won’t refer to any of the actors by their real names, only their character names. And anything I say about anyone on the show is directed to their characters and not the actor portraying said character. During the course of this first season, I went back to earlier episodes and either watched it again or added to my notes as certain things stood out to me in later shows that didn’t occur to me during my first watch along. Any added comments will be in bold so you know when they were written.
    For the first several episodes, many of the main characters were never mentioned by name so I made up names for them until they were formally introduced on the show.
    And though I probably shouldn’t have to say this, I will be spoiling each episode as I post these Blogs.
    Lost Season One: Pilot Part One: (Jack Centric)
    The show opens with a close up of someone’s very blue eye. Blue eyes is wearing a suit and tie and is in the jungle. A yellow dog runs past and Blue Eyes gets up and runs through the jungle until he comes out on a beach. The sound seems muffled until the camera pans to the left and we see completely chaos and the screaming and noise from one of the engines comes blasting into the scene. Littered down the beach is wreckage from a plane crash.
    Blue eyes frantically looks around until he hears someone yelling and sees a man trapped under a wheel strut. As he runs down the beach, the camera focuses in on several actors on screen who I assume will become the protagonists of the show. Black Man is screaming out for Walt several times,
    Blue Eyes calls for a few people to help him and together they lift the wheel strut and pull the man to safety. Blue Eyes sees a very pregnant lady and rushes to help her. Claire has the most annoying Australian accept I ever heard, and I’m assuming it’s not a real accent.
    Blue Eyes realizes that Claire is fine and instructs Big Dude to take her somewhere out of the way and if the contractions come faster than three minutes apart to come find me. That’s when we are first introduced to Jack.
    Jack sees Pretty Boy trying to give a black lady CPR and tells him he’s doing it wrong. Pretty Boy is clearly panicking so Jack sends him off to find a pen, more to get rid of him than for any reason.
    After he saves Black Lady, he sees the wing of the plane is starting to fall down, and wouldn’t you know it, its right over the very pregnant lady and Big Dude. He rushes over and saves them in the nick of time when the wing crashes down and explodes. (I’m assuming because of the gas?)
    Jack goes into the jungle and takes off his coat and shirt, he has a deep gash in his side. He has found a sewing kit, and from his coat pocket, he pulls out a small bottle of Vodka. Then a beautiful lady from the Hobbit movie comes out of the jungle and after a few words, sews up Jack’s side.
    Jack tells her a story when she asks why he isn’t afraid. He tells her a story of his first lead surgery where he cuts something near the spinal cord, and he knew that he had to do something. So he allowed the fear to flood him but only for five seconds. Then he would get back to work. Pretty interesting story and gives the viewer a lot of information about this doctor that is going around helping everyone so calm and focused.
    I loved how he helped everyone else before he took a moment to fix what I can only assume is a very painful cut on his back.
    Later that evening, the whole camp is suddenly aroused when something is heard crashing in the jungle. It looks massive as whole trees are knocked over and it seems to move very fast, and it has the most eerie sound. We don’t get a chance to see it but it’s big and menacing.
    Flashback, Jack is sitting in his seat and flirting with the flight attendant, he makes a joke about the weak drink and we see why he had vodka bottles in his suit pocket, pretty cool call back. Across the aisle from Jack is the Black Lady he saved on the beach by giving CPR. She mentions she doesn’t like to fly and that her husband is in the bathroom. Jack says he’ll keep her company until the husband returns. Right before the turbulence started, the one where I’m assuming was the reason they crashed, Merry from Lord of the Rings runs past being chased by the same flight attendant that gave Jack the Vodka. The turbulence became so violent the little masks fell down and someone behind Jack who didn’t have his seat belt on was thrown up into the air. Pretty cool.
    Jack, Kate, Merry decide to head off into the jungle looking for the nose of the airplane. Jack thinks that if they can find it, that all planes carry a transceiver that will allow them to contact any rescuers that will be looking for them.
    They see the nose of the plane resting against a tree so they go inside and climb up the aisle way. Its pretty gruesome, at one point Merry almost falls down and he grips the leg of one of the dead bodies.
    Once at the cockpit, Jack breaks open the door and one of the pilots falls out and down to the ground. Jack asks if Kate was okay, and Merry replies, “Charlie’s okay too.
    One of the pilots is alive, but pretty banged up in the crash. But he informs Jack and Kate, that a few hours out of Sydney, the radio went dead so they turned back around to head back. They are at least a thousand miles off course and no one will know where to look for them.
    He shows them the transceiver and Jack asks, where is Charlie? Kate goes looking for him and he comes out of the bathroom. Moments later, the unknown/unseen monster is back and after a moment, rips the pilot out of the plane. Jack, Kate and Charlie run out into the jungle, the monster seemingly right behind them. Its pouring rain and they get separated, with Kate hiding in the middle of a few trees. She is frantically looking around and thinking back to Jack’s earlier story, she starts counting to herself, one, two, three, four, and she says boone, which is weird.
    The rain stops and she finds Jack and Charlie who look up, and the body of the pilot is high in the trees and fade to black.
     
    Lost Season One: Pilot Part Two (Charlie and Kate Centric)
    Opens on Jack, Kate, and Charlie walking in the jungle trying to operate the transceiver. And for no real reason, except for plot, Kate asked Charlie why he went to the bathroom in the plane. Conversations like these usually have some significance later on in movies and TV shows. Charlie says that he was so scared he had to throw up, does a throw-away comment about being a coward.
    Flashback, Charlie is running past Jack and Black Lady but this times follows Charlie as he searches in vain for an open bathroom. Once he finds one, he locks the door behind him and pulls out some yellow looking powder from his shoes. He takes a bit of the powder and eats it and quickly relaxes a bit. So Charlie is an addict. Turbulence starts and he drops the bag of drugs into the toilet. He struggles for a moment before leaving the bathroom to find a seat and straps himself in just as  the plane lurches about violently.
    Blonde Chick is sun tanning herself on the beach while everyone else seems to be doing something. Pretty Boy asks her for some help and she implies that she’s going to wait until rescue. Pretty Boy is her brother and the two start arguing.
    Pretty Boy leaves and Claire, the pregnant chick, is talking to Blonde Chick and Claire confides that she hasn’t felt the baby move since the day before right after the crash.
    Black Man is once again yelling out for “Walt”.
    For those of you keeping track, mainly me, this is four times thus far Black Man screams out “Walt”.
    But Walt is out looking for his dog, which I’m assuming is the one Jack saw in the opening moments of the show. Walt is screaming out Vincent and finds a pair of handcuffs in the jungle. Black Man finds him right after and in a very angry tone says something like, I told you to stay on the beach. Walt replies back as only an adult writing for a child would, and we realize that Black Man is Walt’s dad. I kind of get the feeling that Black Man doesn’t really like his son much. I’m sure its suppose to come across as worried, but I feel like Black Man is not a good person.
    Middle Eastern and Blonde Southern Guy are rolling around the ground fighting. Southern Guy is accusing Middle Eastern man of being a terrorist and Middle Eastern is accusing Southern Blonde for being the prisoner that goes with the handcuffs. They are pulled apart by Big Dude and we find out Middle Eastern name is Sayid, a former Republican Guard during the Iraq War as a communications expert. Big Dude is named Hurley, and I really like both of these characters right off the bat. Something about Sayid tells me he is very confident and extremely intelligent. Plus he has cool hair.
    Sayid informs Hurly that the transceiver is working but they need to get to high ground to get a strong signal to be able to broadcast their position. He points to a high point in the distance.
    There is a man with a piece of metal sticking out of his stomach that will die if something isn’t done soon. Jack is trying to figure out what he should do and gives a rundown what will happen to the man if nothing is done.
    Lost now gives us a moment to focus on some of the other survivors, one couple is Asian, and from the looks of it, they are married, but the way Husband talks to Wife, they are extremely conservative and Wife looks about crestfallen while Husband tells her to button up her shirt. But the moment Husband's back is turned, Wife defiantly unbuttons it again.
    Husband is preparing what looks like sushi, and tries to go about getting people to eat it. Hurly makes a joke that as hungry as he is, he won’t be eating it.
    Lost again goes out of the way to imply that Black Man and Walt do not really get along at all. But Black Man speaks in clichés and comes across as angry all the time.
    We find out that Blonde Chick is named Shannon. Pretty Boy and Shannon are again arguing about who knows what, but that prompts Shannon to approach Sayid, Kate, Charlie, about going out with them to higher ground. Pretty Boy goes along as well, presumably to protect his bitchy sister.
    Southern Blonde Man is reading a letter with a look of concern on his face and smoking a cigarette. This is the first time I’ve wanted a cigarette since I stopped two months ago when I went into Shelter At Home. He sees the group heading out so he decides to come with them. We find out that Southern Blonde Man is named Sawyer.
    An Older Bald Man, who we’ve seen in the background until now, and really the only time we see him fully is when it was raining and he was sitting in the rain with a look of glee, is sitting on the beach playing with a game of Backgammon.
    Walt approaches Bald Man and without turning his head, Bald Man says, Backgammon is the oldest game in the world. Two players, two sides, one is light, one is dark. Then he looks at Walt and says cryptically, “Do you want to know a secret?”
    This struck me as important, because normal people wouldn’t say one side is light, one side is dark, they would say black or white. Something is being set up with this character and his mysterious declarations, so I know to pay attention with this guy.
    Sayid and company are walking in the middle of the jungle and Sawyer keeps pressing Sayid to try the transceiver but he doesn’t want to, to protect the batteries when all of a sudden a crashing sound is heard and what I know to be for a fact a bear due to hours of playing Red Dead Redemption 2, comes crashing out of the jungle at the company. Everyone runs away except Sawyer who stands his ground with a look of determination on his face. Once the bear is close enough, Sawyer raises a gun, where the hell did he get a gun, and shoots the bear several times before it drops down almost at his feet.
    It’s a polar bear, in the middle of this jungle…now that was badass.
    Jack has settled on a course of action for the man with the metal sticking out of his body, and has enlisted Hurly to help him find any antibiotics that will help with his infection.
    Flashback, we see the man before he got a piece of metal inside his stomach, sitting on the plane flirting with the flight attendant, and we see Kate sitting next to him. After a brief conversation between the two about juice, we see Kate is the one that was handcuffed and she is this man’s prisoner. Now we know where the handcuffs came from and who they belong too.
    Kate takes the gun from Sawyer and in a comical scene, asks how to take the gun apart. She takes out the clip and the bullet in the chamber, and then gives it to Sayid. Sawyer makes a crack about giving it to the terrorist so everyone decides that Kate should have it. She takes the gun but Sayid has the bullets. Kind of funny, that they trust her for some reason, not knowing that she is the prisoner. Though the way she was acting with the gun, maybe murder wasn’t her crime.
    Sayid figures they are high enough, so he turns on the transceiver and gets a few bars but can’t broadcast because there is a stronger signal somewhere on the island that is broadcasting already. He tunes into the signal and a French Lady’s voice who is on a looping broadcast. Pretty Boy says Shannon can speak French so she translates the message, Everyone is dead, I’m all alone now on the island.
    Sayid figures out that the message is on a loop, and has been broadcasting for 16 years and 5 months. The camera pans back and then for a close up of Charlie’s face who asks, “Where are we?” Fade to Lost Logo.
    Wow, some pretty cool characters, a few mysterious ones, a criminal, a polar bear, and some kind of pre-historic monster stalking around the jungle. I’m hooked for now, can’t wait for the next episode.
  16. Jason Rimbaud
    Maybe The Cause I Am A Bit Fucked-Up
    I am in the process of moving, and I found this piece I wrote when I was sixteen. To give a brief, like I could be brief, backstory,
    I come from a VERY religious background. In the News and Views this week, Dude posted an article that scared me, so much so
    I decided to post this piece here, on my blog. To show others how real the threat of the religious right truly is, and how the young are
    brainwashed on a daily basis. This piece was herald by the private school I attended, it scares me that they bought into this piece and
    made everyone in my class read it. Stating during chapel no less, that I might have been inspired by the divine one himself/herself to
    write such a cautionary tale.
    MY REWARD
    By: Jason R.
    One dark and stormy night, I died. It wasn't the first time I have died, but it would be the last. Some say that the best is always saved
    for last, as it was when Jesus turned the water into wine and the wedding guests claimed the host had saved the best for last, and it was
    true. I will never forget this time. NEVER.
    I was lying in my bed, touching myself, as I entertained thoughts about my best friend, when my heart suddenly stopped. Instantly, I
    was transported to an empty field. Each other time when I died, my earthly senses became void. Like I was so much wind floating
    through the earth. Yet this time, I could hear the wind gently blowing through the tree tops, I could see the grass slightly bending over
    by the subtle force of the wind, I could smell the night air, soft and rich with the promise of rain, I could feel chill in the air and I shivered.
    I made a small noise in the back of my throat that reminded me of a child whimpering. All around me was calm, much like the eye of a
    tornado. I could feel forces moving through the earth and I was scared out of my mind.
    Without warning, my eyesight focused so that I could see even the bugs crawling along the leaves in the trees several hundred yards away.
    I looked up, and much to my amazement, I actually saw the infinate of the universe as I stared into the night sky. I shook my head and
    took a deep breath, filling my nostrils with a moldy, dead smell that made me lightheaded and disorientated. Instinctively I knew something
    was wrong and I began running as fast as I could.
    I had not gone four steps when the ground started shaking violently, falling and rising much like a rushing river, I lost my balance and fell
    to the cold earth. To my horror, the trees started falling on the edge of the clearing, great massive trunks that threatened to end my life
    as they crashed around me, plummenting down on the grassy field showering me with dead leaves.
    In the center of the field, a chunk of earth shot up, flying through the air before landing fifty feet away. Smoke and fire exploded from the
    hole causing me to choke as the tonic fumes billowed out like sheet falling on an empty bed. Rising out of the hole, clothed in fiery tones
    of red and black, Satan ascended in all his horrible glory. As this supernatural being rose grandly from his earthly domain, I
    was forced to my knees by the power and hate that eminated from this devourer of souls. As the figure revolved around to face me, I
    shook and quivered as I hugged the charred earth. His powerful chest rose and he breathed out, a fetid smell that caused me to choke.
    This supreme master of evil watched me shaking, a look of contempt on his face as he surveyed the scene. Without speaking audibly, he commended me to rise to my knees and look upon his countence. I tried to resist but the force of his will overpowered my fragile human
    mind. As my eyes focused on the sight before me, I screamed out to God, because I had look upon Satan himself. Satan laughed, a sound
    so vile and twisted it caused me to heave, my stomach emptying on the ground.
    Again, I screamed out for God to save me. Satan stopped laughing and said with much glee in his voice that God had forsaken me. That
    I had commited the unspeakable sin in my heart and that there was no forgiveness for one such as I. That God had turned his back on me
    and that I would live the rest of my life serving a new master. I was informed that I would awake, and that I would live forever. Abruptly
    he disappeared and I awoke in my new body. I went insane as I realized I was a swine, my reward for being a faggot.
    Whether or not the writing is good, it scares me to remember how I felt back in my teens, trapped in a closet with hate surrounding me
    like so much sharks waiting to devour me. It scares me to think that others, young and impressionable teens are filled with such images
    every time they walk inside a church. I have not fought for gay rights, nor have I stood up for those doing so. I told myself that I did
    not care about marriage, so why fight for it, I told myself that I am tough enough to hear the word faggot and not become angered. I
    conditioned myself to use the word faggot, claiming humor as the reason I told "gay" jokes.
    For years I have fought being gay, for years I have acted straight, so much so that people wonder if I only say I'm gay for effect. I use
    to claim that I was helping the "straights" accept gays by acting like them, showing them I was "normal". Maybe in a way I was helping
    along the ideas that its a disease that can be cured. My god, what have I done?
    I think its time to be different, show them that I'm willing to fight for all basic rights. If we spend even a tenth of time on fighting for gay
    rights as we do fighting for the next piece of ass, what a difference we might be able to make. Chilling thoughts from me tonight.
    Jason R.
  18. Jason Rimbaud
    A Christmas Song from Third Eye Blind
    I'm gonna stuff my present up your chimney
    And the melted snow will make it all wet
    Cuz it's gonna be one of those Christmas days
    We spend in bed
    I will be your little drummer boy
    I'll beat it til you feel no pain
    Cuz baby you're my Christmas joy
    When you're sucking on my candy cane
    It's gonna be one of those Christmas days
    We spend in bed
    Merry Christmas
  19. Jason Rimbaud
    So a few days ago, I was on my way home from my hip up-scale restaurant, and I get this frantic call from my friend Daniel. Apparently he was trashed out of his mind and had reached the stage of hungry and didn?t want to drive anywhere. So after a few minutes of his begging and pleading, I agreed to stop at the Taco Bell drive-thru and pick him up some munchies.
    Yeah I know, I?m cool like this.
    Since he didn?t give me a wish list, I figured I would get him a few different things and let him choose his poison.
    I pulled up to the speaker and the order taking guy blurts out, ?Sooner or later they all make a run to the border.?
    This struck me as funny and I say with a hint of a giggle, ?It?s not for me.?
    Order taking guy replies, ?That?s what they all say.?
    ?But unlike those losers, I?m not lying,? I insist.
    Order taking guy says, ?Come on, tell me what you want for forth meal. You know you want it.?
    I give in and say, ?I?ll take a number one and a number two.?
    Order taking guys says, ?That?s one number one and one number two. Anything else??
    ?And two burritos to go.?
    Order taking guys says quickly, ?And two beaner?s to go.?
    For a split second I wondered if I heard him correctly, did he just say two beaner?s to go. And at a Mexican restaurant, and he had a Mexican accent as well.
    But I couldn?t let him have the last laugh, so I fired back, ?Only if they?re hard working beaner's.?
    Order taking guy starts laughing and tells me to pull up to the second window. And once there, he leans out?he?s a Mexican youth probably around twenty or so?and tells me I was the only person to not only catch on to his joke but fired back with a comeback. Apparently he had been working for twelve hours and was bored out of his mind. So for making him laugh, he threw in the ?beaner's? for free.
    But I might be an asshole, because I charged Daniel for the two value meals and the two free burritos. What? Don?t judge me.
    Jason
  20. Jason Rimbaud
    Mistaken Identity and Two Rolls of Toilet Paper
    Current Music Selection: Snow Patrol?Eyes Open
    Current State: Buzzed
    Current Mood: Fulfilled
    So I stabbed my co-worker in the back with a fork tonight at work. I don?t think you can appreciate this statement. So I?ll Chris Nolan it, Memento style. We?ll go back in time so you can get the full impact of this statement.
    As some of you know, I work in a hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto California. Most of my co-workers are between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one. Almost all of us are males, and for the most part, we get along rather well.
    No matter how professional we are in the front of the house, the main room of the restaurant for those un-familiar, the back of the house, the kitchen area, is one rowdy and fun loving place. Here is where we make fun of the guests, catch up on the gossip of our co-workers, and mainly play practical jokes on everyone. Usually the games we play are divided between the servers and the kitchen staff.
    Mostly our games are harmless, high school games. Like the circle game. For those of you that haven?t heard of this game, I?ll explain. You bring your forefinger and thumb together to make an ?O?, and making sure the ?O? is below your waist, you try and trick the rest of the co-workers to look at the ?O?. If they look, you get to hit them in the arm. But there is a way out, if the person who is shown the ?O?, can without looking, takes his forefinger and breaks the ?O?, and then he gets to hit the person who flashed the ?O?. Usually we all go home with black and blue arms.
    Lately our games have been escalating to hit and run attacks of the left nipple. And yes, only the left nipple is targeted. This gives everyone a fighting chance, as we all have pockets over our left nipples and we can stick things inside to protect the rather sensitive nipple area. So of course we have to be rather creative to get a direct hit, but then we all are pretty creative.
    But none of these games were the cause of the above statement. I?m getting there, just like Memento; good things come to those who wait. Now, we have individual candles at each table to give off good ambience. At the beginning of the shift, we all have to light the hundred or so candles that litter our restaurant. One of my co-workers, after lighting thirty or so candles, walks over to me and complains that his lighter is really hot. I call him a pussy and to prove how hot the lighter is, he places the metal part, where the flame comes out, against my left forearm. I must admit, he was right. The lighter was very hot and it burned me.
    For some of you here on this site, you might not know that straight guys love hurting one another. And since I?m pretty straight acting, I think it?s kind of fun to inflict good natured harm to guys I like. Like I tell them all the time, we?re two steps away from one big gay orgy. That would inflict lots of harm mixed with pleasure but I?m getting off topic again. I stabbed my co-worker with a fork.
    So I scream out, stating the obvious that he burned me. Now, his best friend walks over to see why I screamed out like a girl. After relaying the story, and showing him the spot on my arm that is now a deep red and beginning to blister, that fucker uses his lighter and burns me again, a few inches above the first burn. So in pain, and with a vengeful nature, I flick both of their nipples, hard. So hard that I actually hurt my fingers. They scream out, complaining that the right nipple is off limits and that I cheated.
    So we stood there, the two of them rubbing their sore nipples and me blowing on my burnt skin. So loudly were we screaming, our General Manager came out of his office to see what the commotion was about. After telling him that I cheated by targeting the right nipple, a game he plays as well (we have a great boss) he looks at me and shakes his head, but then I showed him my arm. In his great wisdom, he allows the flick to go un-punished as they did burn me. I stick my tongue out at them, gloating. I know, real mature. But serving in a restaurant is a really stressful job and we need all the distractions to help us get through the night.
    Now remember, we haven?t even opened for business yet and already I have two co-workers declaring they will get me back for my unlawful nipple attack. I walk away, confident that I?ll survive whatever the two come up with.
    Remember, I?m a man of routine. We open at 5:30, at 5:15 everyday I go outside to get one last cigarette down before the hell begins. After I finish smoking, I go to the bathroom, relieve myself and wash the cigarette smell from my hands.
    They see me go outside, ten minutes later, they watch me walk into the bathroom. I enter one of the stalls and proceed with my business. I hear the door open and someone walk into one of the stalls. I think nothing of this; it?s a public bathroom after all. About a minute later, I hear the door open again. I hear them speaking, it?s the two that have sworn to get me back. They walk into the two remaining stalls. I hear a banging noise, and a few seconds later, one calls out to the other, asking if he?s ready. The other replies yes, and then I hear two loud bangs and then a splash, then a muffled yell, followed immediately by a very deep voice saying this, and I quote, ?I?m not who you think I am.? They had decided to grab two rolls of toilet paper and chuck them over the stall walls. What they didn?t know, they had chosen the wrong stall. It seems our delivery driver had needed to take a shit after giving us our beer. One of the toilet paper rolls hit him in the head while the other fell right between his legs and into the bowl.
    Needless to say, both of them bolted out of the bathroom like two scared rabbits while I started laughing. What made it even more comical, was after they left, the driver continued to curse and yell about the incident. I calmly washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom to find both of them, hiding in the office with scared looks on their faces.
    I shake my head, and then tell every person working what had just happened. To say they were mad about the nipple flick was an understatement now. They both swore they would get me before the night was over. And for the rest of the night, periodically one of us would look at the two of them and say, "I'm not who you think I am."
    Shortly after that, we opened the door and had one of the busiest nights in our history. And through the night, though we help each other out, every free moment is spent flicking nipples, pushing, punching, and generally having one hell of a time trying to out do one another.
    Now, wait for it, here comes the reason I?m writing this entry. At the very end of the shift, the one that burned me first, comes at me with a pen in his hand and acts like he?s going to stab me in the nipple with it. My reflex is to stop this from happening so I stick out my right hand. At that moment, the second one that burned me chose this moment to push the other guy hard from behind, sending him crashing into me. Needless to say, I get stabbed in the hand with a pen, deep enough to draw blood. I react without thinking, I pick up the first thing I could, which happened to be a dirty fork from one of the plates. I looked at the one who stabbed me, he protests, saying he was pushed and that he really wasn?t going to stab me. I shake my head and he starts to run. I chase him out of the kitchen and down the hall to the back door, where I catch him and in a moment of stupidity, I stab him in the back with a fork. He screams out, I push him outside, and slammed the door. Everyone, including the General Manager is standing there laughing as he bangs on the door. Yelling that I tried to kill him with a dirty fork and that he?ll probably get some crazy disease.
    After work, I buy a six-pack of beer and in the parking lot, we all drink beer together and laugh over the days events. Speculating on what the next day we?ll bring and what kind of adventures we?ll have together in this hip upscale restaurant in Palo Alto.
  21. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Two
    By: Jason R.
    What is this forbidden fruit I discovered? I hear you ask with a hint of anger in your voice by my lack of explanation. So I?ll tell you. I discovered I had a free will. And I did the unthinkable in our religion, well any religion for that matter; I began to think for myself.
    And I decided to explore this newfound gift I discovered. I began exercising free will like a boy with a never-ending back account. I thought about whatever I wanted to think about, not the ?safe? subjects they outlined for me and drilled into my head. I thought outside of the box.
    I thought about all the hate that surrounded my life. The hatred that consumed my parents and I didn?t want to end up hating everything and everyone like they somehow managed to do. I thought about all the choices I could make, and all the different roads I could walk.
    Heavy thinking for a twelve-year-old you might say. But I was the only child of a father with an IQ of 174. Let?s just say I was taught from an early age the beauty of learning. This was a man who grew up during the sixties and all the paranoia that went with that decade. He taught me to think independently, and never to rely on what others taught. I was being taught by my father from the moment I awoke to the time I went to bed.
    It wasn?t just religious subjects he drilled into my head. Though I must admit that took a huge chunk of my day. But he taught me the classics. And I developed a love of reading and a thirst for knowledge at an early age.
    I know my father was trying to make sure I would not be swayed from my religious brainwashing by the ?worldly? teachings of public school. He knew that peer pressure overwhelms millions of students each year, and wanted to make sure I would never fall into that trap. (independent thinking, can you see how that might backfire with anyone with an IQ higher than 92)
    I was a good kid in my fathers eyes as long as I listened and followed whatever my parents or minister instructed for me to do. But when I began to question their words or deeds, I was branded a rebellious teen and punished accordingly.
    I ask you, how can you teach a child to be wary of what others teach and expect them to never question what they have been taught by you? I remember my father saying long ago, that he was a horrible father because he taught me independence. Thankfully, it was a lesson I learned well.
    But back to what I was trying to say earlier. I discovered my free will. And with that realization, I knew I could choose whichever path I wanted to take. I could choose what kind of person I would become. I could choose what religion I would practice. I could choose which sex I would sleep with.
    You had to know I was going to go there eventually, didn?t you? I have since found out that suppressing people?s mind is never the proper procedure for a well-adjusted adult. If you tell someone ?no? enough times, sooner or later they will do ?it? just to see what the fuss is all about. Well, at least that?s what I did.
    From the time I could understand English, I was told that sex before marriage was sinful. And if I ever dared attempt premarital sex, I would be hurting god. Do you have any idea what that does to your libido? Every single time I got an erection, I had this picture of god crying. It?s hard to have sex with god crying over your shoulder, believe me, I know.
    To this day, there are still times when in the middle of sex, I get a picture of an old wizened bearded god crying as he watches from on high. I missed out on so many years of intimate relations with my left hand because of the powerful fear of making god cry. All it took was a free will and suddenly my hand is one of my favorite partners. What? You know you do it to.
    I can remember so vividly, the first time I actually masturbated. It?s funny now, but at the time, I was so scared that god would send an angel down from heaven and punish me for wasting my seed.
    It was late at night, I?m guessing around four in the morning. It was summer, that nasty August humid summer night that makes sleep without air conditioning impossible. (we weren?t allowed to buy an air-conditioner for our house based on the belief that if god would have wanted us to be cooler than he wouldn?t have made the sun so hot)
    That?s right, I was speaking of masturbation. I was lying there in my small twin bed, naked, all the sheets thrown on the floor in my perpetual quest for coolness. My bed was so small; I didn?t have the small luxury of finding the cold spot on the bed. I had to lay there on my back, trying to fall asleep with that sickly sweaty feeling all over my body.
    I?m not sure what I was thinking about, but I started the innocent rubbing of my chest and stomach area. I found out quickly that if I lightly rubbed my body, using just my fingertips, I would receive a chill for a brief moment. To say my youthful curiosity was peaked would be pretty much redundant.
    I slowly ran my hand over my nipples, my body shivering at the feather like touch. With just one finger, I began to rub my left nipple ever so gently, alternating the direction every few seconds. As I now know, if I wanted to cool myself off, this wasn?t the best way to go about it. But back then, I was touching my body in a way I had never done before and I was enjoying the new sensations. As dirty as it might have been for me mentally.
    For the first time, I actually thought about my thirteen-year-old body. I was slim, even for a thirteen-year-old. I had been taught from birth that god hated obesity and was kept on a strict diet by my father. Which is the reason I was always the best-conditioned boy in my school. I exercised every day with my father for two hours. We would run two miles every day, then do sit-ups, push-ups, crunches, and all other sort of exercises that most adults, much less other thirteen-year-olds, didn?t even know existed. And of course, our daily workout offered my father the opportunity to continue his brainwashing.
    Where was I? Oh yeah, I was lying naked in bed, a big taboo in our house. You know, nakedness being a sign of the unclean as well as a sign of those that had unlawful carnal knowledge. (I wonder if my parents have seen one another naked even after so many years of marriage) Yet here I was, naked, and doing the unspeakable. I was touching myself and for the first time, I was lost in the euphoria of male sexuality.
    My flat stomach had sunk well below my ribs as I lay on my back. And each time I took a breath it sunk even lower. (to this day, I still lay on my back and stare at my stomach as I breathe. It never ceases to amaze me at the illusion of my stomach and guts disappearing into my body somehow) As I rubbed my chest and nipples with one hand, my other hand began stroking my upper, inner thigh.
    By this time, I had noticed my ?evil thing? between my legs was fully, painfully hard and sticking straight up in the air. And I swear, this isn?t just denial talking, up until this night I speak of, that very moment, I had barely touched my ?evil thing? unless I was washing it or putting it back inside my underwear after relieving myself. I had been told repeatedly that it was a sin to touch or play with it at anytime. I had been spanked because one day my mother saw me scratching myself in public.
    Quite accidentally, while I was rubbing my upper, inner thigh, my pinky finger brushed my ?evil thing? for one brief moment. This sensation shot through to the very core of my body, a torrent that washed over me, drowning all thoughts of a supposed crying god. Not only did I get the chills I was trying to create, but I also received pleasure that shot up from my toes and directly to the nipple I was massaging at the time. Needless to say, I brushed against my ?evil thing? again, quickly.
  22. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Conclusion
    By: Jason R.
    After the funeral was over, my Uncle told me how he had tried for years to contact me but my father had refused his inquiries. He told me I was welcome to stay in his house for as long as I wished to stay. And I have lived there ever since. I guess he became the dad I should?ve had in the first place.
    He taught me that hate, any kind of hate, was no way to live this beautiful life. He forced me to see that if I truly didn?t want to be like my parents, I couldn?t hate them for what they did to me. Or for what they believed. He taught me to love and to show compassion for all living things. And that loving a boy wasn?t sinful. He showed me that love in any form is pure and seldom achieved. Through his patience and constant guidance, I learned that love is a gift from God. He opened my eyes to the gift Greg had left me.
    From shortly after my sixteenth birthday till four days after my twenty-second birthday, I lived with my Uncle in bliss and contentment. He had never married and to my knowledge wasn?t gay either. He enjoyed hanging out with his many friends and of helping others out in thousands of different ways. For all I know, he never thought about sex unless I asked an absurd question about this or that. The time I spent in that house with him is some of the best years of my life thus far.
    For everything he taught me about life, about relationships, or just about giving of ones self to others, I am forever in his debt. Unfortunately, I will never be able to repay his kindness. You see, four days after my birthday, my Uncle passed away from lung cancer. It seems I?m destined to lose everything I love in my life.
    First, I lost my beloved, Greg. Just a few brief hours after that, I lost my family. The ones I have loved so deeply and to this day still miss like it was only yesterday. Then I lose my Uncle, my dad if I may be so bold.
    As I look back on the last ten years, I can see how I grew and how I changed due to my Uncles influences. He has helped me through some of life?s hardest lessons.
    But the most important lesson I ever learned, I learned from Greg. It wasn?t one thing he said or did but how he lived his life day in and day out. If anything, I learned by his example. I have to live everyday like it?s my last. We really never know when it?s time to go. I learned to follow my dream now, today, and not wait for that ?perfect moment?. I learned that it will never be perfect, sooner or later, if you wait, your dreams can pass you by.
    When I went to Greg?s funeral, I didn?t get it. I was so angry with the High School kids and their indifference. This attitude they had, thank god it wasn?t me. I hated each and every one because of this attitude. I didn?t know then what I know now.
    Last week at my Uncle?s wake, I didn?t get it at first either. All his friends were sitting around the table, laughing and joking like nothing happened. At first I was angry, but then I watched as they looked at old pictures of my Uncle and told stories about his life, and slowly I began to understand.
    Funeral?s aren?t about mourning the passing of a loved one. It?s not about groaning and moaning over death. A funeral is a celebration of life, my Uncles? life. His friends weren?t laughing because they didn?t care. They were laughing because they remembered my Uncle in the most precious of ways. They celebrated his life and what he did for them and everyone he came into contact with on a daily basis. It was a remembrance of all things good about a beautiful man.
    I wish I had known this for Greg?s funeral. I could?ve let everyone in that building know what a wonderful and kind person he was. And how much love he had inside his body and his passion for chasing his dreams. But I was still caught up in the trappings of death, I didn?t understand.
    I don?t mourn for Greg anymore. I miss him just as strong today as I did then. But when I think of him now, I remember the laughter we shared, the love that held us together, and I remember his life and what we all could learn from it. To live life with no regrets, to never pass over a dream due to fear and to always follow your heart. I believe with every breath in my body that Greg died content and happy with his place in the universe. A free spirit that never let circumstances dictate his happiness.
    The doctor said he had a heart attack, that he died peacefully in his sleep. He promised me it was painless and quick. I like to think sometimes as I gaze up at the moon, that the last thing he felt was my love and the last thing he thought was his love for me. I?ll never forget our walk in the moonlight nor will I forget he gave me the most precious gift of all, a will to embrace life and to always take a chance on love.
  23. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Eight
    By: Jason R.
    After I hit the water, my erection pretty much went south fast. I believe it would be safe to say that my genitals had retreated inside my body due to the chilly water. But as we touched and grappled in the water, my genitals decided to return with a vengeance, and from the look in Greg?s eyes, so did his.
    He had gotten behind me and was trying to force my head underwater when I realized I felt something poking me in the lower back. I can honestly tell you that sensation sent chills down my spine. The more I struggled, the harder he poked. It wasn?t long before all pretence of wrestling stopped and we just enjoyed this new experience.
    He grabbed hold of my shoulders and turned me around so we were facing one another. Our bodies smacked together as he pulled me closer to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pull him just as tightly into me. Staring into his eyes, I began to grind myself into him, time stood still in that moment. One of his hands reached behind me and started caressing my lower back, stopping just inches from my backside.
    As we touched each other, our eyes were locked in a frozen moment there in the moonlight. And I saw something in those beautiful eyes I?m still searching for to this day to duplicate. Unconditional love and an unwavering devotion backed by all the youthful lust he possessed.
    It was nothing short of magical. All my shyness and all my fear vanished in that single moment. I pressed my lips to his and we shared the first of many kisses. But none could ever compare to that first kiss in the moonlight. It wasn?t a shy kiss, a timid peck or a kiss fill with uncertainty. It was full of passion, a kiss loaded with certainty and the belief that this was right on every level despite what others might say. It was a kiss that transcended all barriers of religion, all thoughts of normal male behavior. All inhibitions of right or wrong were thrown to the wind and flew up to the moonlight that bathed us.
    Can a kiss mean so much? Maybe if you don?t believe you haven?t found the right person or maybe I?m a hopeless romantic that refuses to live in reality. I don?t know anything about that but I do know that I became complete in that one kiss. And if it doesn?t happen to everyone then I count myself lucky and fortunate to have it happen to me even if it was all in my head.
    The kiss could?ve lasted for years and we never would?ve known the difference. But we found ourselves kneeling down on the edge of that lake. Water dripped down our bodies, the shimmer of the droplets a plethora of moonbeams on our skin. Facing one another, we continued that magical kiss, our hands explored every inch of skin. And when his hand found me, I shuddered.
    From his continued touching, I started to convulse and one of the most powerful orgasms I?ve ever had exploded out of my body, leaving me breathless and filled with wonder. Once I regained some control and after my body slowed to only slight tremors, I returned the favor as best as I could. It wasn?t long before his eyes rolled back into his head and he thrust into my hand one final time. Groaning louder than I could ever imagine, he collapsed into my shoulder. And we knelt there, holding each other under the light of the moon.
    I?ll never forget that first time of exploration under the moonlight. I eventually lost my virginity a year after that first encounter. I was lucky my first time was with someone I truly loved. And when I took his virginity, we shared something special that so many people lose out on.
    Greg and I became so much more that night we went swimming in the moonlight. I guess I would define him as my soul mate, the other half of my incomplete soul. That day he came into my life, I found my way, my North star that always pointed me in the right direction. It was something we shared and enjoyed together until his untimely death at the age of seventeen.
  24. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Five
    By: Jason R.
    I had heard the word ?fuck? before at school, but had never heard that word uttered in my house much less inside the sanctity of my room. I was shocked at his blatant rebellion for everything ?our? religion stood for. And yet, at the same time, I was intrigued by his knowledge of all things carnal. Maybe this was my savior. Maybe he could show me all the things I wanted to know.
    Though I thought these things in my mind, I still looked around the room nervously, making sure no one had heard him swear. I was extremely scared that if my father had heard him utter that word, I would lose my new friend, my maybe savior, forever. When he saw me looking around the room, he began to laugh.
    I can remember that laugh so vividly. It was a laugh full of mischief, and very infectious. Not like the whole body laugh where the body shakes uncontrollably and it wasn?t a quiet laugh either. More like a laugh from the depths of the soul. Like he had found some kind of inner happiness and nothing could ever take it away.
    So I was nervous when he stopped laughing and asked me in a serious tone. Have you ever said that before?
    I replied, ?I could never say that word, I don?t want to make god mad at me.? (yes, I really was that innocent once upon a time) Do you know what he did, he laughed at me again, that bastard.
    I was more than a bit hurt by his laughter, and yet on the other hand, I wished I could be so reckless with my mortal soul. He teased me for awhile, calling me chicken. (one thing about me, and to this very day, I don?t like being called chicken) I told him I wasn?t scared but I wouldn?t say a word I didn?t know the meaning of.
    I had this smug look on my face, since I knew there was no way in the world this kid could know the definition to such an ?evil? word. I was sure he was only saying it because he knew it was a word kid?s shouldn?t say. Damn, was I wrong about that.
    I know my face turned every shade of red when he began describing in great detail, just what that word meant. I know I was squirming in my shoes, and that my soul was forever tainted at what I learned that day. But when he began to show me what it meant by using my bed as a prop, I lost it completely.
    I started yelling for him to stop desecrating my bed, and that he was the devil's child and that I never wanted to see him again. Do you know what he did as I was yelling at him, he laughed all the harder. I put my hands on my hips and demanded to know the reason he was laughing at me.
    Because you?re stupid and it feels good to laugh at you.
    He kept saying that word over and over again, FUCK. I put my hands over my ears to block out the sound of that dirty word. Now remember, I was still feeling guilty about my own brush with sin a few days earlier. And it?s easier to forget my mistakes if I can condemn him for his. I find this is a typical reaction of the religious zealots that populate our society.
    Then he asked me the one question that shut me up and caused my soul to freeze. Have you ever even jacked off?
    The look of confusion on my face must have been hilarious because it sent him into fits of laughter. And when he realized I had no idea what ?jacking off? was, caused him to laugh even harder if that was possible.
    After he regained control of himself, he began to describe what ?jacking off? meant, going as far as mimicking the motions right in front of me. I guess he could tell by the embarrassed look in my eyes that I knew exactly what he was talking about. You?ve done it. He accused, taunting me as he bounced up and down on my small bed. Then he looked at me, his eyes sparkling, and dropped the second bombshell on my life. Did you enjoy it?
    I think the hardest thing I ever did in my twenty-two years of living was to answer that question. My mind was telling me to deny it, but my recently awakened libido was screaming for me to admit that not only have I done it but had thought about nothing else since. Like a huge match of tug-o-war, my religious side was warring with my carnal side. Needless to say, my carnal side kicked the shit out of my religious side.
    I think in that one moment, with that one question, all hopes of me following in my father?s footsteps went out the proverbial window. That question started an adventure I?m still on to this day.
    Some would say I?m trying to justify my lust with logic. Others would say I?m blaming my promiscuity on a sense of adventure, and the admittance to a fourteen-year-old boy I enjoyed jacking off. Hell, both might be true. I do have an appetite for sex, and the pleasure of new experiences. Which is why I have tried sex with both males and females. Call it what you will, but I have to blame it on something, right?
    I remember hanging my head down in shame as the words came out of my mouth. ?Yes, I did it, and it was like nothing I ever felt before.?
    My head shot up as he said, You know it?s normal for teenagers to do it. My teacher said there?s nothing wrong by doing it. It?s actually healthy for boys to do it.
    He further admitted that he had been doing it at least twice a day for a few years now. I asked, ?Did it always feel the same way each time you do it?? How was I to know, it could have been a one-time thing?
    That night I learned about fantasies. I learned you could think about other people touching you while you pleasure yourself. I?ve always had an active imagination. So what if I put it to good use that night after Greg?s family left.
    This is the tricky part, up to then and for some time to come, I knew nothing about girls. So my fantasy that night used the only template I had at my disposal. That night I masturbated thinking about Greg.
    I?ve had lots of arguments with other gays about whether it?s a choice or if you?re born a certain way. Honestly, I don?t know the answer to that question. My thoughts marry the two ideas together. Some are just born that way while others have it thrust upon them by society. I don?t want to argue or start a discussion with anyone. Can?t we all just get along? See another choice.
    Up until that night, I was a complete sexual non-entity. I was attracted to neither sex, hence, I made a choice of what I was attracted too. And when I have felt that same attraction to a particular girl, I?ve had sex with her. I?m not bi-sexual, and I?m not heterosexual, nor would I call myself homosexual. I look at myself as a sexual being who enjoys the act of consenting sex between adults. Most of the time I?ve chosen males, kind of a remembrance of my first love so to speak.
    Where was I? Oh yeah, I started discovering my inner pleasures that night thinking about my new friend, Greg. As the weeks and months went by, Greg and I became close friends. Both of our families like the idea of us hanging out together. Because at that time, we both acted like good little Christian boys in public. But behind closed doors, that was another matter all together.
    Greg was my first in so many different ways. Not only my first sexual encounter but also my first time skinny-dipping. I remember choking my lungs out the first time we tried smoking a cigarette out behind the fence of my backyard. I was petrified my father would smell the smoke all the way inside the house or hear us coughing and come outside and catch us. I can still taste the puke I threw up the first time we got drunk on a bottle of Jack Daniels Greg stole from the local convenient store. It was horrible, and I vowed to never drink again. Though I broke the promise the very next weekend on a church camp out. This time it was a bottle of vodka, and I thought it might not make me sick like Jack Daniels. Again, I was wrong.
  25. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Four
    By: Jason R.
    From the moment I walked into the church, a feeling of dread came over me. How could I pray and worship god with this horrible secret hanging over my head? At that time, I wanted so desperately to be a good little Christian boy, and wished with every fiber of my soul that I could somehow take back that dreadful deed.
    But as the service progressed and still nothing happened to me, I began to look around at the other people in the congregation. Not a single person was looking at me funny. If they noticed me at all, they smiled and waved at me. I couldn?t believe it. They didn?t know. No one knew. And that revelation rocked my senses.
    As I looked at the other children I began to notice their faces, maybe for the first time. They looked how I must have looked just three days earlier. They were staring intently at the minister as he spoke of the evils of drinking and carousing, and they were eating it up.
    Have you ever seen an eight-year-old child completely enraptured by a message of sobriety? Believe me, it?s not a pretty sight.
    As I looked at them, a wave of confusion came over me. Were they somehow better than I was? Did my evil act segregate me from the other faithful? Was that the reason I couldn?t keep my attention on the sermon or the man speaking?
    I started squirming around in my seat. Which only caused my father to smack me and command me to pay attention.
    I tried to listen, I promise I did. But I noticed a boy on the opposite side of the church a few rows back from where I sat. I had never seen him at church before. I concluded this must have been their first visit.
    Later on I found out they had just moved into town and were happy to find a church that taught like they believed. And what a good influence the church and its members would have on their son. Boy, were they wrong about that.
    He was staring at the ceiling with this bored expression on his face. I wondered why he wasn?t behaving like the other children. Did he touch himself too? Was that the reason he wasn?t paying attention to the sermon? I didn?t know the answer but something inside of me told me I had?must find out.
    The service seemed to drag on for days but finally the minister dismissed us and I told my father I had to use the restroom. But that was a lie, my eyes were on the boy as he walked out of the church to stand on the sidewalk in front of the building.
    I followed him and watched as he leaned against one of the trees. He stood there, staring up at the star filled sky seemingly lost in his own little world. I studied him for a few moments. Was he as evil as I? Could this be the one person I could relate to after my brush with carnal knowledge? I hoped so, I felt like I needed some answers and needed them fast.
    He was this fascinating blonde that had the most unusual eyes I had ever seen or have seen since. They were blue like mine but his held a light?a fire that burned with such intensity that I felt immediately drawn like a moth to a flame. I remember thinking if I was going to burn, I was more than happy to be burned by him.
    He was shorter than I was but one year older. His body, though more muscular than my slimmer build, but he still had that layer of baby fat that anyone with half a brain could see he would grow out of it.
    He was dressed in a suit, just as I was, but the way he wore it suggested he would rather be in a pair of shorts and nothing else. His tie, which would always be this way for the rest of the time I knew him, was crooked. Like he was constantly trying to rid himself of it. And his short blonde hair looked like someone had tried to comb it, but had given up half way through. I couldn?t explain it or recognize it, but it was so intense my normally shy personality flew out the window and I walked over to him and asked him his name.
    I remember the way he looked at me after I asked my question. He took a long look, up and down my body for a few seconds, saying nothing. His gaze caused me to shift uncomfortably, like he was eyeing up a horse he was interested in purchasing. I was half surprised he didn?t make me open my mouth and show him my teeth. (though I would have just to have him near me) It was a judging gaze, gauging how to react to my forwardness or maybe to see what kind of miniature Christian I was. But after a few seconds, he spoke. My name's Greg.
    I could tell he really wasn?t interested in speaking to me but that didn?t stop me from firing questions at him in rapid succession. When I?m nervous, I tend to speak constantly. You can?t shut me up and I babble about anything and everything that pops into my mind. And boy was I babbling.
    To all my stupid questions, he would reply with the minimal amount of words required without ever asking a single question of his own. He never offered information about himself, seemingly content to half ignore me. I babbled on for a few minutes until his parents walked outside. I guess he didn?t have many friends or maybe never because they seemed to be deliriously happy that he and I were speaking. If you could call what Greg and I were doing speaking together.
    His parents asked all the questions Greg should have been asking. Like my name, where I lived, who my parents were, what school I attended, and if it was any good. They kept firing questions at me until my parents walked outside. My parents, in finding out I had made a friend of a boy that attended our church, which automatically labeled Greg as a ?good boy?, quickly invited this new family over to our house for dinner.
    That is how Greg and I found ourselves alone in my room the following Saturday night. He wasn?t the best talker at first. He was shy around those he didn?t know and wasn?t one to speak very often. Though later on I couldn?t shut him up when it was just the two of us. But I?m getting ahead of the story again aren?t I.
    Considering ?our? religion was more than strict, and there weren?t that many ?safe? toys to play with back then, we had nothing to do. So we sat there on my bed, staring at one another for the longest time.
    Even with someone as patient as Greg was, he finally got bored enough to ask me in a quiet voice what I did for fun. I had found out earlier that night that his parents had only recently found this religion. He had to give up all his toys, his friends, his video games, his TV, and other assorted activities that were so foreign to me. And he wasn?t taking the change well.
    My hopes of him being like me were dashed upon hearing this. Much like a small skiff dashed on the rocks in the middle of a storm. He wasn?t sinful like me, he didn?t touch himself in bad ways late at night. He didn?t have the answers I so desperately needed. Once again a feeling of panic washed over me.
    Most of the things he talked about, with regret in his voice, I only had small clues as to what they were but I knew I envied his experience. He had played sports, football, baseball, and soccer in his last school before the ?conversion?. I felt so sorry for him. The look on his face is one I will always remember, when he confided in me in a quiet voice. I?m not allowed to play sports anymore because of this fucking religion.

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