Jason Rimbaud

Current Music Selection: Breaking Benjamin?Phobia Current State: Hungry Current Mood: Exhausted So I?ve had a long week. After taking three months off, I?ve recently begun working at an up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto as a server. Not only has this new job interfered with my writing but has contributed to my depressed state as of late. Let me explain. Have you ever heard of the theory of doppelganger? Basically it?s the theory that everyone has a twin somewhere out there. Like maybe two people with the same soul separated somehow in the cosmos. The bad part, they say one is evil and one is good. If you?ve read my poetry then maybe you?ve read about a boy named John that dominates my thoughts. Well, I met his doppelganger. Not that Brandon is the evil one, far from it actually. If anything John was the evil one and Brandon is like this brilliant light shining in the darkness. But it still sucks, because now I have to see John on a daily basis. Like I need more reminders about that fucked up relationship and that olive skinned boy that mind fucked me. It?s really uncanny, their similarities don?t end at looks, though I swear they could be twins. Both are slight of build and short, same dark hair filled with product in a mess of spikes. Both have intense green eyes that are filled with mystery and hint at unknown passions. They speak alike; enunciating the same, drawing out the vowels in an accent that can only be Northern California?s mix of culture. They have the same tastes in music, movies and both have addictions. John fucked up my world and now, I have to work with his other self. The first time I saw Brandon, I actually said, ?John.? And even now, I still at times call him John, much to Brandon?s amusement. Though I?ve never told Brandon about his resemblance to John, I don?t think the twenty-year-old could handle it. In the last ten days, I?ve thought a lot about John and our summer of sex and drugs. And the reasons I seem to attract such disturbing relationships. I know my past haunts me and dictates my behavior. I know if I can?t find some way to lay these demons to rest, I?ll never find peace. So with advice from my roommate, Daniel, I?m going to voluntarily seek help. I?ve made an appointment with a therapist and Tuesday I?ll have my first session. I don?t know how much help she can offer but I don?t want to feel this way anymore. So one last time, I?ll let John dominate my thoughts. Below is a piece I wrote three years ago called Nothing Like Human. It shows my state of mind and despair. One last time I will share it before putting it away forever. Cheers until we meet again, Jason R. Nothing like Human By: Jason R. I?m afraid of my own mental state I believe you know it?s a tenuous grip on reality at best And I can not stand to face my fears The longer I wrap myself with lies The longer I can deny my fear I am nothing like human No?not I Humans have a desire to be happy To know love and to be loved At least I know where my fear began, do you I understand my webs of deceit even as I deny them My life has been one long secret Love hidden in shadows Scared to let the sun penetrate the darkness of my love Joy realized only in the embrace of the night Scattered illusions when the sun crested the dawn Pretty ironic for the boy who only wanted to find the sun I need some blue skies Maybe I am Hemmingway Tortured you once claimed Not quite right in the head Honesty is the enemy and I hated you for that I hated your clarity and intuition I hated your knife that cut through my delusion And forced me to reflect with the truth I hated your manipulations Your icy silences I hated your volume I hated the calm before the storm I hated your coercion And I hated your intimidation And I hated your complete disregard for me I hated your explosions and your casualness of coldness I hated your alcohol breath And I hated your seduction Even as I was consumed by your words And torn between fear and lust Even though I was uncomfortable I allowed it to happen Your manipulations were as deft as mine Neither were harmless yet maybe Both were unintentional I hated your temper The drama that surrounds you Pushes you to end things noisily But mainly I was afraid of rejection Nothing started on a fabricated destiny will last My own web of bullshit returns to haunt me again And there was fear I feared you And to a point?I still do But now for different reasons But only to a point Since I now understand you You were easy to understand When I took the time to look I no longer hate you Hate is an emotion I can no longer afford Could it be we two are alike Stolen innocence long before toys were put to rest Long before we should have ever had to choose like adults I was a child Innocence taken by a priest Forced to grow up With scratches on my back And bite marks on my ear I wonder what was your instrument of damnation An Uncle perhaps Or some other relative I had to be close to you For to this day prompts you to be wary even in slumber Shallow and scared you still run from the dark I know, I wake up in sweats still reliving those months of torture Sleep eludes me Even without stimulates I sleep in stolen moments between nightmares Maybe the drugs ingested are a substitute For the nightmares that haunt us Or you may be right That my own perverse mentality leads me Drives me?Controls me Until my jaded outlook on life destroys all things good and pure around me Until happiness eludes me Jaded Looking back on the mess of shit I spewed around you Can I blame you for the reception I received When all you have are the lies to piece together the puzzle Then the distorted picture that emerges could only frighten you Push you away Force you to make that decision Maybe not the decision you wished But the only decision I gave you Realistically a choice was never made One avenue of escape was presented You took that step I pushed you And it was easy You wanted that push I fulfilled it I can not be trusted Those words ring in my head like a mantra Repeating over and over until even I believe them But for every lie I entrusted to you I received two in return I lied to you And you lied to me About me Against me Hatred fueling your words till perceptions were skewed And for a time You won A brief season of celebration you enjoyed I know I heard the clapping I felt the jubilation in your words And I smiled My greatest strength is I truly don?t care what others think I always said the greatest joke in the world is the joke no knew you played For through this all You?ve amused me I sit back and wonder how badly I must have crept under your skin To cause those feelings inside you After all Hate without love is powerless And your hate was strong Again I laugh at the perfect hatred emanating from you My manipulation was deft My target destroyed For my life is a jumbled mess of misconceptions Interpreted by those that saw through my bullshit And called me on it I respect those that see me for the liar I am I respect you though I hate to be around you No one likes to be reminded of the failure they?ve become But respect is there An unspoken fondness for you Yet you seem to struggle with this fondness Unsure of how to proceed I like to believe you only wished to help me Change me somehow Or maybe you only wanted to understand Understanding is the key to change And can I change Not in your eyes And I really can?t blame you for that Nor will I try to make you understand For I have no cause to explain myself Right or wrong Past is past And I?ll live for today And sometimes Some people just aren?t worth the effort But how long can you try to understand Before the struggle becomes more than you can bear Will it drain you Change you Alter your meager threshold of pain Will it break you mentally Until there is no gesture of goodwill left in your already fragile mind You lasted longer than I thought possible Longer than anyone else The respect grows So does the un-comfortableness I sat there in the dark Plotting Night after night Wondering what it would take to finally push you to the limit What could I do to break whatever feeling you had left for me Hatred Now that?s something I understand all to well Seeing the avenue before us was life changing For it was wide and straight Opposite of the twisted subversive alley you accuse me of dwelling in Telling our friends I walk in shadow Jaded I saw my way out and made you make the decision For if anyone couldn?t handle us It was me You were right about a lot of things Your intuition astounds me Even when your motivation is in question After all Your motives were never clear I know Mine mirrored yours Manipulation is my weapon I?ll give you that one But sex is yours Your body the knife that cuts deeper than any sword Your smile that destroys Mirroring a hurricane ripping and tearing the shore But who is affected most The victim Or you When I couldn?t make myself over Into your distorted vision of what we should be I manipulated you into hating us It was easy One conversation One fight One word Goodbye Marionette on wires You danced to my tune The puppet master The piped piper And if I made you uncomfortable All the better Self-preservation is paramount A lesson you know well You perfected it even as I have But you have nothing to fear from me Only those I hate need fear me And I don?t hate you These words may not reach you I know you You?ll walk around them Ignore them Wishing them away will be your game And though on the outside you will discount them On the inside you?ll be grateful to have read them To understand the right side of my mind This part of me I hold close Close like a junkie holding his syringe For these words are alive Brought forth by my own desperate need to understand myself Given breath by every keystroke of my hand I will affect you Complicate And erect you with these words This spoken question in written form Will confuse you But also wrap you tightly in a kind of tangled hope That I am not the man I was Or the man you thought me to be just a few weeks ago In a fit of anger You once told me to write down what I wanted to say to you Accusing me of being unable to convey my emotions in spoken words I hope I made myself clear in these words Though I believe it will not matter Scar tissue erodes my soul and suffers me a fate of loneliness My life is one long scar I wear it proudly Invent reasons to stay hard Unfeeling And when I begin to feel I create situations to destroy that feeling Why A question that will never be answered For no one will try long enough to receive the answer I will not allow it anyway Just as you weren?t allowed inside Seeing anger Hate Indifference in your eyes Is easier than seeing any form of love Surrounded by my fantasy My delusions accept me like no human will Looking back on my life I can blame no one for the choices I?ve made I can hate no one for any reactions I receive Though maybe someday I?ll prove I?m something like human Until then Don?t think of me in anger Hate These emotions will ruin your life Instead Think of me in pity It?s more than I deserve And all I ever receive Wednesday, April 15th, 2003 7:08 PM

I need more time to fully let this piece sink in. But I like it, I just can't tell you why. Jason

Reason's I haven't read Laika before today #1: I couldn't pronounce the title But after I read James' post earlier today, the bit about Jesus coming back to save everyone like Robocop peeked my interest. And then after I read Blue's post, I figured this might be something I have to check out. In a way I was lucky, I had ten chapters to read all at once, unlike the rest of you that had to wait between posts. I've been a bit depressed lately but after reading Laika, I couldn't help but laugh. It's bloody brilliant. I don't see myself in the story though, I could never be that witty or funny. What an incredible story you have Elecivil, I don't care that I can't pronounce the title. From the opening paragraph you've balanced internal monologue with crisp, witty, entertaining narrative that flows from the page right into my brain. I haven't laughed this hard in weeks. The whole lion thing...damn. I guess like the rest of Awesome Dude, I am now a Ele'unatic. Jason R.

Hey Trab, Having a few things posted online. My feelings are as follows Number 1: Do not reproduce my work on any website without obtaining my permission. Number 2: Do not download with the intention of "pirating" my work and claiming it for your own. Number 3: Please do whatever it takes for you to enjoy reading my work. If that includes downloading and printing a copy for your own enjoyment, and to save your bum from hurting, I say go for it. Though I'm not sure I agree with the shredding part, I don't know about you but I re-read my favorite books several times. Save some trees and keep the copy, you never know when you might want to re-visit a particular story. Cheers, Jason R.

H.R.S.A. By: Jason R. Let me take you to this place inside my mind Broken feelings angry thoughts I?ve kept inside No sugar coating here just visions of denial Come to this place and let it go and stay awhile Come with me Ecstasy Stupidity Colors line the sky like red and darkest black Look deep inside and see the reasons I held back If all the hate I have are answers that I lack Know this pain is true I?m always on attack Come with me Ecstasy Stupidity See the mirror there covered with rails of white Like absinthe it?s the drug to achieve second sight Eyes of red mixed with blue haunting me each night Nothing here but this tattered boy pale in moonlight Come with me Ecstasy Stupidity Memories of twelve-year-olds are ones I never face Trace my scars drink the tears time can not erase I was put here by my father and left in this place Recalling bite marks with visions of a dick I still taste Come with me Ecstasy Stupidity On second thought stay away from my broken mind I don?t want you here any more why did I let you inside I think I?d rather stay alone and feed my life denial It might be cold and lonely but I know I?ll stay awhile Go away from me Ecstasy Stupidity

Current Music Selection: Five For Fighting?World from the album Two Lights Current State: Dis-jointed Current Mood: Depressed ?What kind of world do you want? Think Anything Let's start at the start Build a masterpiece Be careful what you wish for History starts now..? Five for Fighting If you?ve read any of my poetry hosted here at Awesome Dude or have ever been bored enough to visit my website, then you probably have an idea that my childhood was less than perfect. And before you ask, most of my poetry chronicles my life and the demons I face on every level of my existence. Add into the mix my BI-polar tendencies and dependence on altered states of reality, I wonder why I don?t let the pain slide. Maybe it?s a stubborn refusal to let ?him? win. He?s already taken my first from me and inadvertently gave me this sickness and fear of front seats and single beds. Squeezing the trigger now would be like saying the last ten years of struggling to find the sun was pointless. Maybe John was right, my life really was over at twelve. That I?m dead and just haven't fallen over yet. But giving up has never been part of my genetic make-up. I also got that from ?him? as well as his predatory nature and life denial. I?ve always been good at smiling at those who pretend to care about my well being. You know the types I mean, well-intentioned do-gooders who spit platitudes and rhetoric claiming truth from a book they use to bludgeon others into sameness. Or ?caring? therapists who attach blame but offer no solutions. Who takes poetry as absolute and recommends institutional care and gives you labels like, HRSA. I tend to roll my eyes and go off into my own world as they try to convert me, analyze me, or commit me, while alternately scratching my nuts and winking at the cute ones. Once, I even stripped off my clothes in the middle of her office and described in vivid detail that first time. That didn?t help me but it was the first time I was held overnight for observation. Have you ever wondered why christians are filled with such hatred for anyone who differs from their idyllic belief system? I was raised on the good book, I?ve read it ten or eleven times and for a brief period, I could quote dozens of scriptures and talk down to others with the best of them. But that was before front seats of cars and someone who used his position to further his own demons. Being taken advantage of puts you in a place, mentally and physically, that you never truly leave. Having one?s innocence taken by a man, who swore before god and the world that he would lead the faithful to the promised land, is something that can never be understood by someone who has never experienced such action. Molestation is an act of aggression against God. Christians hate others for one reason, stupidity. I?ve been there, I have the scoop and let me tell you, they begin brainwashing at the time of conception. Once a week, a man walks to the front of a building and for an hour, he pretends to speak the words of god. And the faithful sit there with raptured faces and rabid expressions as their own prejudice and fears are given validation. How can you fight christians? They tend to think in absolutes. There is no compromise with absolutes. Denial is the new black. My father had it, my mother has it, and my family embraces it. And I?m left alone. Can?t they see I?m hurting? It?s not about what I smoke, what I snort, what I inject, who I fuck. It?s not about whether or not I?ll go to hell. I?ve been in hell since cotton candy and broken heaters. It?s about this scared little boy who still sleeps in the closet at times clutching stuffed animals with ripped seams. It?s about a boy forever trapped inside a man?s body with no clear path on how to proceed. Just once, I wish they?d see me. Why can?t they see me? Mother (the reality) By: Jason R. Mother I can?t forgive you You were there all those times I know you know what he did You turned away Sheltered your eyes Belief in your god Could not save your boy What you couldn?t do Was protect me I?ve been dying Day by day Mother I tried to forgive you Because the bruises Speak of pain I heard the yelling I heard the praying But what good is god If a man can do that It?s your duty To your child Laid down in that book By your side Mother I won?t forgive you Because the laundry Was your domain You saw the blood there Where it never Should be From a boy of twelve You cleaned the sheets Saw the tear stains Mixed with fuck pains How could you let him touch me Mother I think I hate you Not as much As I hate that man Should I tell them All your good friends Just what kind of mother you are You hold your head straight During service They look to you For guidance now But if they only knew Mother I can?t forgive you I won?t forgive you I can?t? But I love you Help me Please Hold me Like a child Wipe the tears From my face Like I was twelve again

Interesting images you have painted TR. I think I like """where frightful fishes flee frantic from things that slither-slink those shadowed seas,""" the best. Though I'm partial to anything dealing with water. Must be the Aquarius in me. And I don't mean my boyfriend. Jason R.

Hey Camy, and just what is on your mind huh? Erotic thoughts from an EMU I think. Good poem, makes me what to touch my own situation. Jason R.

Current Music Selection: Awesome Dude Radio (make sure to check it out) Current State: Undressed Current Mood: Irritable (49?ers shut out by KC) So last night was exciting, Daniel and I met a few friends in the city. (San Francisco) The night started off shaky. We met at Estia, billed as the house of lamb, for some traditional Greek fare. Since moving to the City by the Bay, I?ve been attempting to expand my culinary experiences by trying different ethnic foods and the wine that goes with each culture. Whether it?s Italian, Mexican, Mediterranean, Turkish, Indian, French, German, or Greek fare, I?ve realized I don?t care for other races interpretation of food. Though I must admit I like all Asian prepared foods, especially Korean. But I digress from the topic at hand. A few weeks ago, I?m sure everyone remembers Fredricko, the boy with the extra skin attachment. If you remember him, then you?d probably remember my new nickname, dubbed by one Connie Chung. Get it out of your system, I know, it?s funny. I was in the mood for some drinkie poos to wash the taste of that awful Greek wine away, so we stopped at Twin Peaks for cocktails. I was gulping my third Bombay Sapphire Martini when over the noise of the bar, I hear in a loud campy voice, ?Look, everyone, its Hoody/Hoodie.? My nemesis, the Kryptonite to my superman, the very old and bitter queen, otherwise known as Connie Chung. It was to be expected really. I just had a horrible dinner; wine that I wouldn?t serve my worst enemy, and my hair was too busy doing whatever it is that unruly hair does. Can we say that my reaction was inevitable? I?m not a mean boy, I respect my elders, I open the door for cute guys, I give out pity fucks for christ sakes. But this has been going on for almost three weeks and I was ready to put a stop to this madness. Oh yeah, and I was bored and slightly drunk. Downing the rest of my Martini, I turned and faced Connie Chung. Much like two gunfighters from days of old, we stood there, silently measuring one another?s resolve. The DJ dove under his mixing table, the dancing boys stopped and huddled together in a mass of Lycra and smeared make-up, tears falling down their faces. A hush fell on the crowd as they instinctively backed away from the threat of violence that hung in the air, thick and euphoric. Like vultures they could sense someone was about to get schooled. They waited with baited breath. The bartender called out that he wanted a fair fight and made sure none of the other?s gang got involved. A bull dyke with arms bigger than mine, spat out encouragement to Connie Chung, calling me a twink. Oh, it was so on. Connie Chung drew first blood, his shot grazing my neck, regaling the tale of my nickname and the circumstances surrounding such a name. Ooo?s and Ah?s rumbled through crowd, supporters of keeping one?s junk natural screamed for my head. I was momentarily stunned; I fell back, swaying on my feet. I tried to counterattack but my shot went wide, saying I had never seen one before and it shocked me. But Connie Chung wasn't fazed by my attack and sent another shot my way. By now, my neck and left arm was bleeding, my vision was a blur and I wasn?t sure I could go on. Sensing victory, Connie Chung continued relentlessly, saying how beautiful an uncircumcised dick is in its natural environment and how petty and superficial I was not to appreciate such a sight. Through the jeers and screams, I saw my opponent; eyes shining brightly with a feral look on its old face. I fell to my knees, seconds away from going down for the count. But instinctively, I reached down into my reserves and mustered up strength enough for one last shot. I took aim and growled out that this twink wasn?t going down without a fight. I did the only thing I could think of? I jumped up on the bar and dropped my pants. I pulled out my cock for the whole bar to see and said, ?How can any one of you say an uncircumcised cock is prettier and more enjoyable to look at then this All-American dick.? My aim was true, the bullet found its mark and Connie Chung stared at me, shock on its wrinkled face. The patrons began screaming and clapping; a few shoved dollars in my direction and one went as far as to inspect my dick up close. And as I raised my hands in victory, I watched Connie Chung teetered back and forth for a moment before falling dead at my feet. In my mind, Queen?s ?We are the Champions? started playing and for a moment I was the victor. Then the bouncers came and hauled me from the bar and threw me out on my naked ass. Apparently, it?s illegal to expose one?s self in public, even in the middle of the Castro District. My friends joined me on the sidewalk as I pulled up my pants, making sure to gather the eleven dollars I made. As we walked down the street heading for the next bar, I felt confident that would be the last time I was ever called Hoody/Hoodie again. Several of the patrons from Twin Peaks followed us, or rather followed me, probably hoping for another glimpse at my All-American dick. I got three phone numbers and a blowjob last night. I guess what I?m trying to say, the next time someone calls you out, don?t hesitant to put it all on the line. You could make eleven dollars and even go as far as meeting Mr. Right. Okay, at least Mr. Right now. Until next time, cheers everyone. Jason R.

I think you pretty much summed up my life at fifteen. Great turn of phrase TR. They say age brings wisdom, I disagree, I say age only brings wrinkles. Mother keeps asking why I?m so clean Yet my showers take hours unseen, Fusses because of Kleenex I?ve used Whole boxes wadded leave her confused. My favorite stanza. Great imagery. Jason R.

I had to double check for a moment, I thought the guy in the middle was me for a moment. Thanks TR, great video clip. By the way, I love your voice on the radio promo's. From your picture on your site, you sound exactly like I imagined. Very sexy. What do you always say, oh yeah, kisses. Jason R.

Hey TR, Interesting video. Being a male who talks in bathrooms, I never knew the consequences of these actions. Plus I always check out the guy next to me. I've picked up a few guys in bathrooms as well. I just never knew how dangerous these actions were. But I've learned my lesson, from now on I will follow these guidlines and become just like all the homophobes that dominate our world. Cheers Jason R.

Probably the best advice I'll ever get, Writebymyself. I wish I could forget my family but sometimes I think I need to get to know this masochist thats stolen my first name. Then there are times my life is perfect. Being gay is difficult but being a liar is worse. So I'll stand up proudand tall. God is the ultimate judge and I have more than enough trouble taking care of myself to worry about those that hate me. Cheers you cuddly raccoon.Jason R.

So I was going through some of my stuff and found several old notebooks that were filled with my earliest writings. After laughing for over an hour, I realize that though I am no where near a great writer, I am a million miles away from the geeky four-eyed boy that filled those notebooks with high hopes of becoming the greatest writer the world has ever seen. While most of the things I hope will never be seen by anyone, but I have decided to post a piece that brings back great memories of my youth. So, here is something that might brighten up your day. That Smokey Bar By: Jason R. Standing all alone in that smokey bar The way you?re drinking you shouldn?t drive a car I asked where you lived and you said it wasn?t far So we left that smokey bar You and I in my car To your place that wasn?t far We got to your door You fell on the floor You asked for a drink and I asked, ?More?? So I shut the door Picked you up off the floor And tried to stop you from drinking more You walked upstairs with sex on your mind I didn?t really want you and I to grind You smiled and said I was in a bind So I went with your mind Decided to do the grind And I awoke in a bind You didn?t remember that smokey bar You wondered where you left your car I assured you it wasn?t far So we went back to that bar You and I in my car And I was lucky it wasn?t far Written April 5th, 1995 I hope you've enjoyed this horrible piece of poetry. Cheers until next we meet. Jason R.

Current Music Selection: DJ Sammy Current State: Flying the V Current Mood: Somewhat sad So I went to dinner with my older brother tonight. My first mistake was showing up sober. Why did I think it would be different this time? It?s been ten years since he found out I was gay. How much fucking time does he need to accept who I am? So I?m from a religious family. So my lifestyle is one long sin and I have an open reservation into the seventh layer of hell. Do I really need him to lecture me on morals and righteous living? He?s working on his third marriage and I?m morally deficient. While he?s telling me how promiscuous ?my kind? behaves, he?s flirting with the waitress. And she couldn?t have been more than eighteen. Maybe the left should re-evaluate their belief systems. And he says I broke our mother?s heart. I?m pretty sure her expectations and desires didn?t include having three daughter-in-laws or three grandchildren by two different mothers. Fuck, she should be happy she got grandkids at all after all the lectures she drilled into our heads about the dangers of sex. I remember the last time I was in the same room as my parents; I was surrounded by a group of ?concerned? family friends who decided I need a prayer circle to cleanse me of my sinful ways. Believe me when I say that no amount of chanting or yelling will ever cure my desire to suck cock. It?s bred into me on a very basic level. You know, genetically. My mother calls me periodically to guilt me into becoming straight. Or to read me passages of scripture that describes in disturbing detail what awaits in the afterlife for people like me. Thanks to her, I now know that people like me are a bunch of pedophiles, drug addicts, and sex offenders that only end up in jail or dead from sexually transmitted diseases. Looking on my life, I figure I?m doing all right. I only have two of those problems at the moment. But then I?m still young yet. I remember a few years ago, my mother drove from the Valley to San Francisco to see me. She called me at seven AM and wanted to go to breakfast. She kept saying how much she missed our relationship and wanted to mend the fences so to speak. After I kicked out the boy I picked up the night before and hid my drugs, I arranged for her to come pick me up at my apartment. Much to my surprise, she?s waiting for me in the lobby of my building. So I let her up and as I shower and get rid of the smell of sex, I hope that we can somehow achieve peace between us. As a child, my family was close. I lost my father shortly after I came out. Well, I never came out so to speak. It was more I got caught in the living room sucking off one of the boys from church. My brother stills claims the shock of finding out his youngest son was a faggot caused the stroke that slowly took his life. Maybe that?s the reason my mother hates me so, I killed her husband. During breakfast, my mother apologized for the way she had been behaving and asked my forgiveness. I was shocked. There was a god and he answered my prayers. We cried and for a moment, I felt like I was complete again. I might not have my mother?s approval or understanding but I knew I had her unconditional love and support. For those two hours, my life was perfect. Her words, I still remember so clearly. ?I want you to know everything I did, everything I?ll do, is always with your best interest. I love you Jason, don?t ever forget that.? Those words accompanied me back to my apartment. But the illusion of those words were shattered when I opened the door and saw my childhood minister and three imposing men waiting for me in my living room. Again, my mistake in trusting my mother. I escaped conditioning only because I was over eighteen and legally they could not take me against my will. That was the last time I saw my mother. But sadly, that was not the last I heard from my mother. While I was in the shower washing away the sex, my mother was busy putting little post-it-notes around my apartment. In my dresser, under my sheets, in the pockets of all my shirts, my desk, my kitchen cabinets, anywhere you could possibly think of posting a note, she posted. Each note with a different scripture verse and corresponding reason why I should stop being gay. Family. My brother and I really have nothing in common. He?s straight and like all straight people, he has an agenda. To alter anyone like me into his ?Normal? behavior. To keep people like me from ever marrying or enjoying the same freedoms. My first mistake was arriving sober. My last mistake was allowing him to make me feel bad about being gay. Sometimes I hate my life and wish I were never born this way. Sometimes I hate being gay. That sometime is today. I hate being gay. I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate the way I can?t have a relationship with my family. I hate the fact I can?t change it. I hate the fact that I?ve become everything I hate about gay people. I hate the fact that I?ve written these words. Today I hate everything. No wonder I think about letting the pain slide. No wonder I think about letting the pain slide. I wonder when I?ll let the pain slide. Dark thoughts from me tonight. I?m sorry but I?m a bit depressed and I don?t feel like typing anything else. Cheers and tears. Jason R.

Sliding the Pain By: Jason R. Little by little I?ll erode with disease I?m stuck in the middle down on my knees Though I try to be happy I?ll never achieve I?m all alone so I?ll die while you grieve Accepting the past like a map to begin I?ll assume the hatred with a bitter grin A matter of principle to enjoy this sin I?ll always fail so why try it again All of your intentions won?t stop how I?ll feel Taking never giving my love you will steal And if you deny it I?ll make it seem so real Tricking with smiles as my soul I will kill Did you think I would stop and make it all right? Did you believe all those lies I spat in the night? Did you know I would finally turn from the fight? Did you see it changing in the dawn?s early light? If I?m stuck in this pattern then I?ll fall down I?ll never stop being this painted clown Wearing smiles like make-up over the frown I?ll fall in the ocean and let the pain drown When the end is here I?ll feel no shame Open my mouth and let the madness reign Laughing in the water I?ll go slowly insane Embracing the darkness I?ll slide all the pain

Hey Tr, Very melodic and somewhat sad.

Bitch of the Day (and I don?t mean Howard) By: Jason R. As I write this, I can?t help but feel a bit cranky and pretty upset with one of my numerous roommates. Not to mention I might just be dying of hunger. Oh yeah, I almost forgot until I shifted positions, I have this blister on the bottom of my right foot that just might be the size of Texas. How did I get to be cranky, tired and ravenous you ask? *Insert question here* Fine, those of you not conditioned to the tragedy that is my mind; I?ll explain it to you. As you might guess, July Forth Weekend is usually a slow boring three days for us at Market Street Caf?. Normally the crazy denizens of Harrisburg enjoy the numerous outdoor activities Mayor Reed had planned during ?lets make all the fucking money we can before winter kicks our ass? three day festival we call Fourth of July weekend. With everyone hanging at the festival with the cool peeps and considering my staff had been working overtime with ?little? complaining, I decided to schedule a skeleton crew for the weekend. (Just because I would rather have my nuts torn from my body by a baby elephant than spend time with my parents, doesn?t mean I should make others suffer for my retarded home life, does it?) Let me tell you, I must have been out of what little mind I have left. Not only were we busy as rabbits in a storefront window, but we did record numbers for the weekend. Probably due to the horrendous downfall of rain we were ?lucky? enough to receive. (Like I watch the fucking weather channel) I have spent the last three days eating, breathing, and sleeping Market Street Caf?. Wearing the same stinky clothes, trying my best to remember why the hell I entered the service industry in the first place. By four PM on Monday, we were slammed back to the ding dong section. I, in all my wisdom, had only three servers and two cooks working that beautiful rainy day. To say we resembled a famous star losing his mind on a popular daytime show would have been an effort in futility. Being the great and talented manager I am, I used my talent for multi-tasking. I ran around serving tables, I made drinks at the bar for the other severs, I bussed tables so fast I reminded customers of police upon hearing Crispy Creme gave away donuts. So basically I was the resident insane person. Why didn?t I call in some of my fun loving, grateful I had given them the weekend off, employees you might ask? Let me say this, all efforts to reach them by train, plane, automobile, cell-phone, fax machine, email, text message and pony express proved in vain. Not a single one of those pricks answered my call. After finally arriving home around 1am Monday night. I poured myself into my soft comfortable bed fully intending on catching up some much-needed sleep. But I was so wired on Monster and nicotine I tossed and turned for about five hours before finally drifting off to a restless slumber. I had clocked just under forty hours in the last three days and Damnit; I deserved some fucking sleep. But alas dear reader, it was not to be. Fate had other plans for me. After drifting off to sleep around six am, I was awaken rudely at nine am by the doorbell. Ignoring the various doorbell sonatas and the very loud banging on the front door, I rolled over and buried my head in my pillow hoping whoever it was would grow tired of this quest to gain entry into a house filled with five other roommates. But not before I wished some fairly unpleasant things upon whoever this was and their entire family, second cousins and such included. But the incessant banging finally grew too annoying for me to ignore any longer. So I ran from my first floor bedroom to the front door and threw it open only to find a crazy meter reader person standing there. She informed me in a pleasant voice that she was there to read the meter. So after greeting her with some pretty horrendous morning breath and seventeen yawns, I showed her to the basement. Not more than thirty seconds later she walked back up the stairs and wished me a good day. I slammed the door shut behind her and crawled back into the safety of my bed. Hoping to quickly fall back asleep and resume the dream I had been having about four friends and I in the middle of a giant arcade surrounded by pink bubble gum. Right about the time I had convinced myself that it had all been a horrible nightmare and while teetering on the edge of oblivion, teetering mind you, the ringing of my front doorbell once again disturbed my slumber. Exactly twenty-three minutes after I had slammed the door behind the gas meter reader person, a way too cheerful UPS delivery guy began his tortuous attempts to gain entry into my house to deliver a pair of shoes my roommate (and employee that would not answer my desperate cry for help over the weekend) purchased online from this trendy store in New York City. Tearing myself from my nice warm bed for the second time in under thirty minutes (I must have missed the meeting where the other housemates voted on making me the designated door answerer person. If you think about it, you know logically and stuff, it makes all the sense in the world. I live on the first floor, the other roommates live either on floor two or floor three. I don?t have the pleasure of traversing narrow stairs each time the doorbell rings. It?s only fair that I should answer the door. Isn?t?) I opened the door. It wasn?t that I rude. Because I wasn?t. I swear. But something about way too cheerful UPS delivery guys makes my blood creep inside my already blocked veins. He had it coming, right? I mean, it was early in the day. And I had a blister. Anyway, after signing for the package and giving the finger to the way too cheerful UPS delivery guy, I slammed the door shut. Now there?s something about holding a person?s package in ones hand that does strange things to your mind. Like maybe deep down we all, everyone one of us, has this unfulfilled desire to deliver the mail. Because no matter whom the package is for, we feel like we must give it to the intended party. I hated climbing those narrow rickety stairs but I found myself carefully walking up those stairs heading for my roommate?s door. You know I lost my mind because I wasn?t wearing shoes, and in my house, that?s as good as inviting tetinas. Banding loudly on the door, I completed the two-day trip for the pair of shoes by personally handing them over to said purchaser. Knowing my good deed for the day had been accomplished, I walked backed down the stairs and climbed into my now cold bed with a promise to the gay god, you know the gym, that I would not rise again until at least one PM. Again, fate decided to royally fuck me. Spitting and laughing on my simple pursuit of a good days sleep. Before my head hit the pillow, my roommate, now fully awake and ready to face this beautiful sunny day, began blasting his music at what I can only assume is volume eleven. With what I can only describe is him dancing around the room in his newly purchased sneakers to the horrid sounds of the Broadway musical Urine Town, I stare at the ceiling and plot all the horrible ways I am going to kill him, slowly. Upstairs, oblivious of my murderous thoughts, he dances and sings not caring about my desire and need by this time, for sleep. Beautiful restful zombie like sleep. In my tired dementia, I envision him dancing and singing in his room, wearing his sponge bob square pants boxers, in some kind of bizarre ritual to the shoe god in the sky. No amount of burying my head with my pillow can block out the wailing from above. And much to my dismay, God did not strike him dead, unless the banging sound is him in the final throes of death; he is very much alive and happy with his new pair of shoes. So with a spirit of retaliation, rivaled only by America?s hunger for oil, I rise from my sleep like a vengeful vampire and approach my own stereo. I serenade him back with the thunderous sounds of Orgy?s Fiction (Screaming in Digital), the synthetic sounds blending with crunching guitar?s to battle the happy sounds of Broadway. Like a childish game of truth or dare, we battle back and forth for noise supremacy. The noise emanating from the house not only woke up the remaining roommates, but shattered several laws of the city of Harrisburg. What is the moral of this tirade you ask? *insert foolish question here* No matter what you plan for your life, no matter how hard you try to anticipant the extraordinary, fate, destiny or maybe even Loki (mischievous god of the Norse) takes an almost perverse pleasure in destroying those plans. If ever awaken by a crazed meter reader person, promptly make a pot of strong coffee and wait for the inevitable. Sleep is lost for the rest of the day and maybe for the rest of your life. Oh yeah, on the subject of my hunger. I have yet to buy food this week so I had nothing to eat. In a final attempt at retribution, I eat my roommate?s last donut. And when he inquired about the missing donut, I smiled and wipe the crumbs from my shirt and blamed it on the crazy meter reader person. I?m not surprised he didn?t believe me. I was chewing the last bite at the time. Hey Ann, this is for you. Now you can't talk shit.

Current Music Selection: Disturbed?Ten Thousand Fists Current state: Red eyed (allergies are killing me) Current mood: Not pissed but not happy either So I have a nickname now. And not even a name I?m proud of or even answer too. And thanks to my roommate, Daniel, upwards of thirty people now call me this each and every time they see me out and about. And since I venture into the clubs on a regular basis, this name I hear all too often. In a way it?s my fault but damn, I wasn?t the one that shouted out this stupid story for the entire gay community to hear. I was drunk, I?ll give you that, but Daniel had no right. I even looked it up on the Internet; there is no precedent for such behavior. Especially from a friend and dare I say, mentor. I know you?re asking, what is this nickname you speak of? It?s hoodie. Or for a different spelling, Hoody. It doesn?t matter which spelling you prefer, neither is acceptable and this is the basis of my argument with my roommate. To those that are in the loop that is my life, it started back in the day, which was a Tuesday. Remember Fredricko, the sexy but ?attached? boy I saw a tiny bit too much of one night after drinking a few Jager Bombs. Yeah, that?s the one. ?shudders? So Daniel and I went out for a few drinks tonight. Apparently, Fredricko and I made an impression on the patrons of our local gay bar that Tuesday night. Because the moment Daniel and I arrived, Steven, the bartender, began giving me verbal abuse about the cute little boy I was making out with the last time I shown up. I wasn?t the only boy interested in Fredricko. After all he was the perfect little twink and the locals decided he was ?four fingers? worthy. (It?s a sliding scale between one and five. Don?t ask.) I was in top form; I played it off and acted smooth and cool. Well, as smooth as I could manage considering I?m a horrible liar. But my roommate, the bastard spawn of Satan, decided it was the perfect time to expound on my liaison with Fredricko. In a loud voice, it was like he had a microphone and some twisted fairy turned off the music to give him the desired attention this seventh son craved, he re-told the story of my temporarily loss of sanity concerning Fredricko and his extra attachment. For more than a few minutes I became the butt of jokes. Fine, I?ll take my paces simply because I know I handled that situation poorly. I know, I don?t need a bar full of fags to drive home the fact I?m a shallow boy. I get it. Let?s move on to the next subject. Yeah, like that was going to happen. After Daniel finished regaling us about my misfortune, this bitch (I never knew his name. Everyone called him Connie Chung) Connie Chung began riding me about Fredricko. Even if I remembered everything he said, I would never take the time to type out. But the end result of this particular conversation, I somehow received the moniker of Hoody/Hoodie. And thanks to Connie Chung, every time I walked into the local gay bars, everyone shouts out Hoody?s/Hoodies here. Not only do I hate Connie Chungs of the world but also hate my bastard spawn of Satan roommate for allowing the world access to my pitiful existence. I have a reason to be upset. No fag likes to be shown in public how much of an ass he is or has been. What did I say about consequences earlier? If I?d only knew, boy, would I have handled that differently. Hindsight and all that, I?m screwed and only time will tell if I?m known forever as Hoody/Hoodie or Jason. Anyway, until next time, cheers and all that. Jason R.

Hey Camy, I got the humor, which made me giggle and I never giggle. Well, never when anyone can see me. Anyways, As Des pointed out, I had first written the piece in the past tense. and I did not think it was powerful enough so I changed it to the present tense. I missed a few changes which caused some confusion. I am correcting my copy now and plus I will add the new stanzas as well. Good eyes Des. Jason R. BTW: I like the change awaken from awoke. Thanks again Des and Camy.

Hey Camy, Which is why I said I was still working on this piece. Though I hoped the mention of the empty bottle of pills would have made clear that they had been partying a bit too much the night before. Anyway, I agree that the piece is still weak. Jason R.

Very interesting. And I thought the Dutch only made wooden shoes. Who would've known they could make this cynic tear up. Plus I love the shoes. Thanks for sharing this link. Jason R.

Current Music Selection: Robbie Williams--Intensive Care Current State: Sober (somewhat) Current Mood: Relaxed So now that its football season, every Sunday I hang out at the Old Pro. Its this really cool sports bar in Palo Alto. They have fifteen flat screens, high def of course, that you can see from every seat in the bar. Insert screaming like a little girl. And the best part, they have an outdoor patio with two flat screens and you can smoke, eat hot wings, drink beer and watch football all day. All this and heaven to. There just might be a god, and if there is, its okay if he/she hates me for sucking cock. I mean, football, cigarettes, beer, hot wngs. Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh Over the course of the day, Daniel and I are joined by various friends who come to the bar to watch me lose my mind. Though they leave after a while, I guess spending the entire day inside with screaming breeders is to much for them. Football season is something I take extremely serious. Not only do I wear my lucky 49'ers jersesy every Sunday but I have the cutest matching underwear with the team logo over the crotch. How butch is that? Over in the corner of the Old Pro, they have a bull riding machine thingy. But will get back to that later on. The day of football had its disappointments. The niners got spacked though they started coming together after the half. Anyway, being the loudest person in the bar and naturally fabulous, I began making friends with the hot college guys sitting at the next table. When I want to, I can turn off camp and butch it up with the best of the breeders. As long as they never see my underwear. I'm sure they figured out I was gay by the hugging and kissing I did to each of my friends as they arrived and as they left. (Even my straight friends much to their chagrin. If thats the only way I can touch then so be it) But they seemed cool with the chit and chat we were doing all day. I even bought them some drinkie poos. Okay, they called it beer but whatever. One of these hot college studs seemed to show me more attention then the others. Like maybe his closet door was opened a crack and he had convinced himself he was "bi" curious. Like they say, its still experimenting as long as you're in college. After college, you're a big ole' queer. Where was I? Hot college stud and I were doing a little chit and chat, discussing the niners chances at a winning season, musing over whether ketchup or musturd is the only condiment for a hotdog, which cheerleader was the hottest. Hey, whatever it takes. He even joined me a few times for a smoke on the patio. Okay, everytime he went for a smoke I followed. There, I admit it. Are you happy? After the niners had lost, I was feeling pretty buzzed. And bored. Which is never a good combination for people such as I. For weeks now, since the Old Pro re-opened, I have been staring at the bull riding machine thingy wanting to try it. But every time Daniel talked me out of it. So to get around the old queen, I waited until he went into the bathroom and made my move. By the time Daniel returned from the bathroom, I had already signed the waiver and paid my three dollars. Much to my happiness, the bull riding machine thingy operator informed him there were no refunds. And with his tight ass frugile saving money ways, he couldn't in good conscious let me waste three dollars. So with a smile, i jumped into the padded area and climbed atop this fake bull. Now the college guys were crowding around the bull riding machine thingy pen and joking around that I could never stay on. So I offered them a challenge. I threw the gauntlet down as it were, though I had to use my hat i had forgotten my gauntlet in my other underwear. My challenge came out sort of like this: "If I can stay on this bull riding machine thingy for longer than one minute then hot college stud had to give me his number." I pointed at the one I was smoking with all afternoon. Hot college stud immediately countered with, "Make it three minutes and you have a deal." So the bull riding machine thingy operator asked if I was ready. I waved and raised my hand. Using the same techniques I would on any other thing I ride, I gripped with my knees and held on tightly to the small handle right between my legs. I must admit, it was easier than it looked. Yeah, for the first thirty seconds until the bull riding machine thingy operator turned the knob to eleven (Spinal Tap reference number one) and that damn thing went one way and I went the other and I crushed my own nuts. But I was determined to last for the full three minutes. It would be nice to last for three minutes wouldn't it? I'd love to say I made it the full three minutes. I'd like to say after I won and the bull riding machine thingy stopped, I ripped off my niners jersey and I showed the bar the shirt I was wearing under my lucky jersey. Which is a pink shirt with big black letters stating this phrase "I Fucked Your Brother" And that hot college stud picked me up in his arms and we rode off into the sunset. As I read this paragraph back, I really wish I could say that. But that didn't happen. When that damn thing went one way and I went the other smashing my own nuts with my arm, I fell off and landed on my head. Once my vision cleared, I looked around at everyone laughing at me and my eyes rested on hot college stud. I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, your loss. After waving at my fans surrounding the pen area, I stumbled back to my table and nursed my bruised ego. It wasn't long after my bull riding machine thingy adventure that the college guys paid they're tab and left the bar. I watched my hot college stud leave and thought, win some lose some. Just when Daniel started consoling me, wouldn't you know it, hot college stud came back in the bar and shoved a piece of paper in my hand and said call me sometime. Yes, once again my charm and debonair attidtue worked on the breeders. Woo Hoo. I guess what I'm trying to say to everyone, sometimes acting like a fool gets you the guy at the end of the day. As long as that guy isn't some crazy homophobe that waits for you outside the bar and kicks the crap out of you. But hey, what the hell. Life isn't living if you live in fear, right. That and I have been known to outrun even the most determined homophobes. Cheers everyone. Jason R.

Hey Des, Thank you so much. Edge of Heaven has been giving me such trouble since I wrote it over a year ago. I am still not happy with the result and since I posted this I wrote about nine more stanzas. Oh well, I guess I'm my own worst critic. Jason R.