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Jason Rimbaud

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Blog Entries posted by Jason Rimbaud

  1. Jason Rimbaud
    I'm not usually one to listen to country music. But earlier today I was surfing through the channels and happen to land on CMT right when the new Garth Brooks video started to play.
    And WOW, it blew me away. The video is absolutely amazing. And might I even go as far as saying that Garth is a bit sexy as well. The name of the song is "More than a Memory". If you get a chance to listen to the song or even better yet to watch the video, you'll see what I mean. Very good.
    Jason R.
  2. Jason Rimbaud

    Bitter Remains

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Bitter Remains
    Written July 30th, 2001
    By: Jason R.
    ?Dammit,? Justin cursed, slamming the phone down even before he heard the first ring. He rubbed his hands over his freshly shaven scalp and shut his eyes. There were times he thought everything might disappear if he could only shut his eyes tightly enough. Hating the feeling of his shaved scalp, he mentally kicked himself for his drunken impulsiveness: shaving his beautiful curls only to spite ?him? was pure stupidity.
    He looked around the shabby, one-bedroom apartment with blurry eyes and frowned. There was a time not long ago that his surroundings would have been quite different. But he was far away from the grand house on the hill, and the stained carpet and worn furniture only served to remind him of his loss.
    Scowling, he turned his head and looked towards the kitchen. His eyes found a bottle of cheap vodka, mostly empty, on the counter. He stumbled towards it, and not bothering with ice or a mixer, he dumped the remainder into a glass, and walked outside to the small patio, the apartment?s one and only luxury.
    It was a rare summer night in San Francisco; it was raining. Leaning against the railing, he tilted his head back and emptied the contents of the glass. By this time in the night, the bitterness of the alcohol had no effect on him. The rain fell down on his half-naked body and mingled with the tears that fell from his eyes, blurring together his confusion and pain.
    ?Why me?? he screamed into the night sky, hoping, demanding an answer from some kind of higher power. ?Why did he leave me??
    He had asked that question hundreds of times and never had gotten the right answer. No solace or forgiveness would come to him, no matter how many times he cried out. In his heart he knew the answer, yet he still cried out.
    He was alone and broken, because his boyfriend was tired of dealing with the lies, fed up with the cheating, and sick of waiting for love that was never given. This was why Justin drank himself into a stupor night after night?searching to find peace that always eluded him.
    He squeezed his eyes shut, so tightly that the tears could no longer fall, and gripped the railing. His mouth opened in a silent scream; he tried desperately to stop the memories, the raw emotion that careened through his drunken mind.
    But nothing could stop the memory of the night it all fell apart, the night ?he? left.
    ?I can?t take any more of this shit, Justin. It?s killing me,? Daniel screamed, pushing Justin away. ?Can?t you see that? You?re killing me.?
    That night went all wrong when Daniel arrived back at the house and found Justin in bed with another boy, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
    ?Wait,? Justin stammered, trying with one hand to cover his naked body with the sheet while reaching for his discarded boxers with the other. ?I can explain.?
    The invisible stranger, the boy who didn?t matter, had a look of confusion and embarrassment on his face as he tried to hide under the sheet, but he was having a hard time as Justin kept ripping it out of his grasp.
    ?No,? Daniel stated in a tired voice, his tone icy and barely controlled. ?No more explanations, no more lies. No more, Justin.?
    Hopping on one foot, Justin tried to pull his boxers on while saying, ?Wait! It?s not what you think. I didn?t want this to happen. He was a mistake.?
    ?Really,? Daniel said, spinning around towards the two boys. His eyes filled with rage. ?Did he force you at gunpoint??
    ?Daniel.?
    ?Did he have a cardiac arrest and the only way you could think of to give him CPR was to pound him up the ass??
    ?I??
    ?No,? Daniel cut him off, pointing a finger at the boy. ?I?m sick of you fucking every little twink you meet the moment my back is turned.?
    The invisible boy spoke up, ?Wait, I?m not just??
    Justin and Daniel both turned and yelled, ?Shut up.?
    The invisible boy ducked under the sheet again as Justin fell to his knees and begged, ?It won?t happen again, I swear. Just give me one more chance.?
    Tears fell down Daniel?s cheek, but he shook his head sadly and said, ?I can?t. Not again, Justin. You don?t get any more chances.?
    Justin stayed on his knees as the door slammed shut. He stayed on the floor, his arms wrapped around his body, crying. He didn?t notice the invisible boy leave the room, nor did he care. The man he loved just walked out of his life.
    Shaking from the power of the memories, Justin cried as he tilted his head back and let the rain wash over him. But the memories that crashed into his fragile mind would not let go until he looked at each and every one. Gripping the edge of the railing, he screamed again. But the scream couldn?t prevent the images from smashing through his defenses, shattering the last of his control, forcing him to remember.
    ?You?re so peaceful when you sleep,? Justin whispered into his boyfriend?s hair, causing the sleeping boy to stir. He leaned forward and kissed Daniel?s forehead, all the while fighting the passion that threatened to consume him. He moved down and gently kissed Daniel?s lips, tenderly and filled with love.
    ?Mm, I love you,? Daniel mumbled, still in that semi-lucid state somewhere between reality and dreams. ?How was the club??
    ?It was fun,? Justin replied, kissing Daniel again. ?But Sheila was really wasted.?
    ?Tell me about it later,? Daniel said, then yawned as he settled back onto his pillow.
    Snuggling up behind his boyfriend, Justin lay there in the manner of all lovers?gently connected with legs and arms intertwined, making it hard to distinguish one from the other. And when Daniel pushed back into his embrace, Justin felt the warmth of his lover gently caressing his whole body. Daniel moved his head back until he could feel Justin?s shallow breath on his neck. He sighed.
    Justin?s lips found the back of Daniel?s neck and softly kissed him, completing the nightly ritual they shared before falling asleep. They drifted off, both feeling the comfort of the intimate experience they shared.
    ?I had it all,? Justin mused aloud. ?Why did I ruin it??
    And as always, when he reached this point of inebriation, reality and fantasy blurred together. Not that he would listen to the truth if he heard it, but he always asked.
    He tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, but the pouring rain replaced them. His bare chest was slick from the rain, and his pants were soaked through. He shivered, the cold drops feeling like punishment from the heavens. He stood there shaking, crying from the pain in his heart so long that he turned numb?which is what he longed to truly feel.
    His ravaged mind tried to sort out this reality, to comprehend this behavior, but the pain and disillusionment kept him from seeing the destructive nature of this nightly ritual. So he kept playing this scene out in his mind, night after night, drinking until he couldn?t feel the pain any more, drinking until he passed out for a few fitful hours of sleep, before the agony set in again with the dawn, wracking his body with nausea.
    ?I love you, Daniel, he stated simply, staring up to the dark sky. But it was too late for any kind of admission. Daniel was gone, and nothing would bring him back.
    Stumbling inside, he headed for the bedroom, not bothering to remove his wet pants. He fell on the unmade bed and curled up in a fetal position, continuing to sob. A note lay next to him on the nightstand; he reached out for it and clutched it to his face until the tears made it a blurry mess.
    But it didn?t matter; he knew the words by heart. He had read it over and over again until the words were etched in his mind, burned there for all eternity. The letter was from Sheila, written two weeks earlier. The last line of the note read, ?I?m sorry, Justin, but he?s married now.?
    His world exploded around him and his mind finally had enough for one night, and he drifted away to the nightmares that haunted his dreams. His last moment of clarity was a longing look towards the phone sitting on the bed beside him. But he didn?t call Daniel. He never did.
  3. Jason Rimbaud
    So I'm off on a romantic weekend getaway. Three days and two nights of pure bliss. I rented a beach house in Santa Cruz, and I'm bringing my laptop, a few bottles of wine, and a cooler filled with food. I plan on doing nothing for three days, and hopefully, I won't even see another living human.
    For some of you, this might sound very un-romantic. But for me, being completely alone for a few days is my little slice of heaven. I always seem to be able to recharge myself after taking a few days off. So, maybe this will give me the chance to finish a new short story I've been working on the last few months. After all, it's about a beach, a boy....well, you'll have to wait and read all about it later.
    Hope everyone has a good weekend, I'm off.
    Jason R.
  4. 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.
  5. Jason Rimbaud
    Somewhere in Between
    As many of you know, life has been more than a bit chaotic for me lately. And where I appreciate all the advice and private messages I received from those of you that care about me, even the someone, that will remain nameless, that persuaded someone else to check up on me, which I thought went so far beyond simple moderator duties and into the realm of a truly caring person. This site is not named Awesome Dude for nothing and I don't think I could ever find a better on line home anywhere. Enuff said about that.
    When I first decided to begin this blog, I named it My Chaotic Life, my life in narrative. The purpose of this blog was twofold.
    First, I had written many things that really had no place on Awesome Dude (they weren't stories per say and I never thought they fit in Awesome Dudes drawn from life category) and I thought they would make for interesting reading. When you can't find a place to post your work, you create a place. So My Chaotic Life was born, after all, just because something I posted happened several years ago, doesn't make it any less important or funny. So the first few entries were pieces I had written over the years about some of the juicier bits of my life. I didn't find this wrong nor did I think I was deceiving anyone. Truly, I never imagined that people would read it anyway, and never in a million years did I think for one moment that these entries would be something others found interesting. This blog WAS and still IS a place for me to vent my frustrations, share some of my funnier experiences, and come to terms with the darker parts of my personality with no apologies and no censorship.
    I guess you could say that I imagined this blog as a safe zone. A place where I could write about my depression, analyze my addictions, and try and comprehend why I fuck my life up over and over again, and NEVER be judged for the things I say. I know its a bit naive to think I won't be judged, this is a public forum after all, but...that's how I view it.
    And my second reason....
    I didn't fully understand this at the beginning, but over a year and some fifty-eight entries later, I started this blog because I hated being sober. I had just begun seeing my therapist and we were really getting into my past and my addictions. Re-living some of those experiences helped me to cope with the sudden intimacy I had with a perfect stranger. I've never let a lover inside my head and here I was telling a therapist that I once tried to drink myself to death by chugging two bottles of Vodka one night because someone said I didn't have the guts to kill myself. Of course he ruined it by taking me to the emergency room.
    But as I began talking to Susan, I started looking back fondly on my life. It's funny how an addict can look back at the train wreck of his past and only remember the good times. I chose to ignore the bits when I was strung out and sucking dick in alleys hoping I'd get AIDS so I could die. Letting anyone fuck me bareback because sex is always better when there is a bit of danger involved. How I made it through without so much as a harmless case of crabs I'll never know. I've watched too many people die for lesser offenses.
    I had been sober for three months, and in a matter of a few weeks talking to Susan, I was back to popping pills and snorting lines. What a pathetic liar I had become, for an hour a week, I was a normal human while in her office. But I didn't even wait to leave the building before getting a bump or swallowing a few pills. This went on for a few weeks until she asked why I was losing weight.
    And that's the other thing I hate about sobriety, without pills and lines, you gain weight.
    I freaked out in her office, she wasn't stupid, and she had called me on my bullshit. Like an addict, I ran. I couldn't face her, not fucked up. So I stopped, and quickly fell back into my normal patterns. I started drinking again, partying, and fucking anything.
    But as all addicts do, they hit a place, a few miles down from bottom, and they realize their faced with a crossroads. Down one path, parties and living stupid, and down the other path, sobriety. Every addict knows this crossroads. And usually the addict figures out a way to bypass this crossroads a few times, but sooner or later, the addict must decide which path he will walk down.
    My crossroad came a few weeks ago. I'd been up for three or four days, doing coke and drifting in and out of bars looking for sex. It was late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, I sat down at my computer and wrote ??????. For the first time, in quite a while, I was honest and wrote the words as they poured from my sick mind. I knew that the right person would read those words, the right person that wouldn't let me go this way, the right person that would fight the hordes of hell over my addict soul.
    Two days later, the right person did read it. And the duality of myself wouldn't let it end like this. I am an addict, have always been and will always be. But I can't let addiction keep dragging me down, pulling me away from the only thing I truly love doing. I called Susan and begged her to see me.
    It seems that I'll only ever measure my sobriety by days instead of how it should be....by years. But I'm working on it, I truly am. Friday I spoke the words I never thought I'd have the balls to say out loud. I told Susan that I would never do coke again. When she asked about pills, I shrugged. After all, it's not healthy to quit everything at once. But I'm working on it.
    So over the last few weeks, I've come to realize just how negative this blog has become for me. I trapped myself right from the beginning, I named it My Chaotic Life. I talked it over with Susan and she, amazingly agrees with me, that I should stop writing My Chaotic Life. Focusing on those parts of my life are self-destructing and really have no positive affect for anyone, myself included.
    I've always been a creature of extremes. I didn't just want to be happy, I had to be euphoric. If I was sad, then I was one step away from killing myself. But I'm sick of living like this. It's okay to just be happy, it's okay to be a bit sad, maybe living in the middle isn't that bad. A bit boring perhaps, a bit fat perhaps, but the alternative is something I'm not prepared to face just yet.
    Friday, during our session, I was silent and drawing in my diary. Susan asked what I was writing. I'll share it with all of you just as I shared it with her.

    So from here on out, my blog will be re-named, Somewhere in Between. I'm sure my more chaotic parts will show up here and there, but now I'll have something else to focus on. Life doesn't have to be chaotic, not even for me.
    Jason R.
  6. Jason Rimbaud

    Aspirant

    By Jason Rimbaud,

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

    ?????

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    I wonder, at this moment in my life, if I should care about anything.
    I have this feeling, a feeling that rips me up inside, if I should even bother with trying to be a human.
    The only thing I can say, at this present moment, is I don't care about anything. Anyone?
    Life is too hard sometimes. Too the point where I wonder why I bother trying to make it fluffy white bunny clouds. Life sucks, existing sucks. I don't want to end it, but why should I bother to give a fuck? Pretending that it's okay is pointless. At the end of the day, there is only one being in bed with me. And right now, "ME" thinks life sucks. Fuck it, it's almost been a year, maybe it should all go away.
    Jason R. should go the way of the dodo. Maybe I should end it with a whimper? Or maybe I should grow a pair of balls and let everyone know my name. Admit the truth, let the world know the one behind it all.
    I hate feeling this way, I hate being ashamed. I hate everything.
    Fuck it. It's been a year, the charade should stop.
  8. Jason Rimbaud
    Wonder Boy, Edward Forty-Hands, and a Perfect Penis
    By: Jason R.
    So let?s start at the beginning, mainly because I really don?t know the ending as of yet. Plus, the beginning is way more interesting to write about. Though I guess I could start at the end and work my way backwards, then all the drama would be pointless and I?d seem like a winey bitch. And honestly, who likes winey little bitches?
    Des, put your hand down. I wasn?t speaking to you as of yet. Now if your better half raises his hand, then that?s a different story all together.
    Now would be the time for all you to say, STOP DIGRESSING. Then I would deny it and move on. Shall we, I know you have to be a bit curious on where I?m going with this post, wonder who with how many hands and a perfect penis, what?
    Wonder Boy
    Okay, it started last Friday night when I stopped in at Applebee?s for a beer after work. Applebee?s is not a place I would normally frequent but it?s one of the only bars still open in Redwood City after I leave my wonderful hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto. And I know they have Fosters Beer on tap. Fosters is a beer that I would gladly punch a baby, several babies in a row, just for the possibility of maybe getting one to drink from a toothless hag with saggy tits and acne. And they serve them in a 23 ounce glass. Heaven on earth, I think so.
    So as I walk into Applebee?s I mentally check myself, how?s my hair, how?s my breath, how?s my ass look in these work pants, you know all the important questions.
    I?d been working all day so I know I must smell of food, alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat. I put some cologne on once in my car but not even my expensive designer cologne can truly hide the nasty smell I know I ooze from every pore. But that doesn?t stop me from sitting down next to one of the prettiest girls I?ve seen in?well?a long time.
    I derive great pleasure from hitting on girls, I can?t truly explain it, but there it is. I flirt, buy them drinks, dance my ass off with them, and then once I know they?re interested, I smile and say, ?Sorry, I?m gay.? Reading that back, I?m kind of a dick. Where was I?
    I sit down next to this chick, and look around the bar area of Applebee?s. At the moment, I don?t see the bartender, so I immediately strike up a conversation with the girl. After a few minutes, out of the corner of my eye, I see the bartender walking towards me. When he?s in front of me, I say without really looking, ?Can I have a Foster?s, tall please??
    The answer caught my attention, well not the answer as much as the voice I heard that gave the very generic answer. Truthfully, I don?t know what he said, but I can still hear his voice.
    I know for a fact that I could never find the words in my limited vocabulary to accurately describe the tone, the richness of his voice, or the way it was so infectious I couldn?t help but smile. So I won?t, why embarrass myself anyway?
    He was slim, his build much like a swimmer?s tone body, pale skin that had hints of natural darkness, his hair was streaked with blonde highlights, shoulder length and pulled back into a loose ponytail. He had high cheekbones, classical features that spoke of Asian heritage with dark chocolate eyes that mirrored his every emotion plainly for the world to see. He was beautiful, and I don?t use that term lightly or frivolously.
    Later on that night I would come to understand his rather bizarre attire which comprised of skin tight black linen pants, a plain black T-shirt that hugged his lithe form in all the right places. What?s so bizarre about that? To top off the ensemble and to make it bizarre, he wore a bright red belt and matching suspenders. And on the right side of his chest he wore a nametag that read in plain white letters, Wonder Boy.
    I saw all this in a single glance because the moment our eyes met my heart started beating faster and for a long minute we stood there, gazing into one another?s eyes.
    Finally I spoke, ?Are you really a wonder boy??
    He laughed and replied immediately with a mischievous grin, ?That?s what they say.? He turns around to walk over to the beer tap system. But over his shoulder he calls out, ?If you?re lucky you might found out someday.?
    After that I pretty much forgot about the hot chick sitting next to me. All my attention was focused on Wonder Boy. I ordered some food, had a few more beers, turned on the charm and tried anything I could think of to keep that seductive smile on his face.
    Wonder Boy and I chatted as much as we could in between the constant interruption the other patrons caused. I mean, what a bunch of assholes. If I saw one of them hitting it off with a chick I wouldn?t interrupt them, they should?ve had the same courtesy. And seriously, the way they were talking to the hot chick next to me, the last thing they needed was another drink.
    It seemed my time with Wonder Boy was destined to end all too soon, because a few minutes before twelve, he asked me if I wanted anything for last call. I?m not sure if he saw the disappointment on my face, or if he was as sad as I at the thought of the nights end, but once the rest of the patrons had left and the other employees were busy doing the closing jobs, he leans over and asks in a breathless voice, ?What are you doing later??
    I shrug, trying my best to play it cool, and say, ?Going home to my empty apartment.? Just my way of letting Wonder Boy know I am single and that I also live alone.
    What, like you don?t do that?
    He smiles at my answer, and asks really fast, his words jumbled together in what I hoped was a mixture of excitement and desire, ?Do you want to go to a party with me??
    I made sure my face remained neutral, though I was screaming the word yes inside. I asked, ?Where??
    His face lights up with a smile, he replied in that voice that first caught my attention, my pulse quickened as he said, ?Here in Redwood City, a friend of mine is having a birthday party. She just turned twenty-one.?
    I immediately say, ?Sure. But??
    ?What?? he asks, the smile slipping from his face.
    I grab the front of my work shirt, and say, ?I?m not dressed for a party.?
    ?You look fine to me.?
    I don?t know where it came from but I blushed, I guess hearing him say I looked fine did funny things to me. I shook off that feeling and said, ?Thanks, but I really stink from work. I need to change.?
    He asked, ?Where do you live??
    I told him, and the smile returned to his face. He exclaimed, ?I know where that is, that?s like right down the street. I have a few things to do here still, why don?t you go and change and I can meet you at your apartment building in like twenty minutes.?
    That was the smartest thing I ever heard. I reach for my wallet and say, ?Brilliant.?
    You might not believe me, but I really did say brilliant. And no I?m not British, it?s just sometimes when I get excited I tend to lapse into this horrible English accent. I can?t explain it, it just happens okay. Get off my ass.
    I say, ?Brilliant.? And reach for my wallet. I add, ?Can I get the check??
    Wonder Boy looks around, I guess to make sure his manager is no where to be found and says, ?Don?t worry about it.?
    I ask, frowning, ?Are you sure??
    He laughs, raspy and low, and winks at me. I smile and hand him a twenty, ?Here?s the tip then.?
    He grabs my phone from the bar and dials a number, a few seconds later his phone starts ringing. ?When I?m out front of your building I?ll call you.?
    Before I can stop myself, I say, ?You better.?
    ?Promise.?
    I leave the restaurant with a big smile on my face and lyrics from the song by Tenacious D called Wonder Boy ringing in my head.
    ?Wonder Boy, what is the secret to your power?
    Wonder Boy won?t you take me far away from the mucky muck man?
    Yeah, I know a bit cheesy but what can I say, it?s the truth.
    Once I got home, I rushed into the elevator, unbuttoning my shirt and untying my shoes as the small box takes me to the third floor. Once inside my apartment, I quickly shed my clothes and jump in the shower. Not having much time, I hit all the important places quickly and wash my hair.
    With my hair still dripping wet, I throw on a pair of boxers followed by black jeans and a tight green shirt that has a single word printed on the front in white letters, GEEK. I slipped on a pair of trainers and was in the middle of taming my hair when my phone rang.
    I answered; somewhat breathlessly if you must know, and Wonder Boy?s euphoric voice once again filled my head.
    He says, ?Are you ready??
    I look in the mirror and shake my head, ?No yet. Almost.?
    For a moment, there is silence, then he says, ?Why don?t you buzz me up??
    Again, I?m amazed by the good ideas that seem to flow out of this boy; truly he might be a wonder after all. Jesus Christ, that sentence is beyond stupid, sorry.
    So I hit the number 9 on my cell phone, which sends a signal to the front door that unlocks it, and say, ?312, once out of the elevator, take a right.?
    ?See you soon.?
    Suddenly I panic, my bathroom floor is littered with my discarded clothing, dirty undies not withstanding, not a good first impression I would want to make. With my hands covered in product, I grab the clothes and rush into my bedroom closet and shove them inside the hamper. I was in such a great haste, I never bothered to separate the clothes, nor did I open the closet door all the way, so when I bent to put the clothes in the hamper, I smacked my head against the closet door.
    I don?t think you got the full impact of this action, so I will repeat it. I smacked my head against the closet door. Oh and incidentally, my closet door is one of those sliding mirrored doors, which I like, it opens up my bedroom while at the same time gives me a panoramic view during sex. At least I admit it, mirrors rock.
    Moving on, so when I say I smacked my head against the closet door, I hit the door so hard it actually broke the mirror. And it made me more than a bit dizzy so I fell down. I was there on the floor when I heard the doorbell ring.
    So I jumped up, and headed down the stairs. But I was still groggy from the blow to the head and lost my balance and fell about half-way down hurting my left ankle in the process. After a few moments, the doorbell rings again.
    ?Shit.? I scream out. I don?t want Wonder Boy to think I gave him the wrong apartment number or that I?m standing him up. So I get up and hobble over to the door as fast as I can. Once I arrive at the door, I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. But my head still hurts and my ankle keeps switching back and forth between fire and ice. I open the door, with what I?m sure is a look of pain on my face.
    Wonder Boy is standing there, that smile on his face, and again my heart starts to race. But as soon as Wonder Boy looks at me, his smile disappears and a look of concern settles on his face. Suddenly I feel something wet drip into my eye. I brush it away with the back of my hand and to my horror I see that its blood.
    End Part One
  9. Jason Rimbaud
    Happy One Year Anniversary
    to me
    to me
    Happy One Year Anniversary
    to me
    to me
    So what if I'm four days late, it's my anniversary and I'll be late if I want too.
    Thanks for having a place such as Awesome Dude where A-holes like myself can find a home.
    And thanks to all the folks who have been so nice to me over this year.
    Jason R.
  10. 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.
  11. Jason Rimbaud
    My Fiftieth Blog Entry
    So I realized a few days ago, that this would be my fiftieth blog entry here on Awesome Dude. Of course this was after I wrote one of my typical blog entries. And much to my surprise, I was petrified to post this average run-of-the-mill post. Let's face it, my fiftieth blog entry warranted something special.
    So for days I struggled with finding the right topic. I thought I'd come up with something witty, maybe a bit smart, and really funny. But as I stared at the blank screen, I discovered I didn't feel very witty, smart, or funny. So then I thought I might offer up some advice, something so deep that it would change the life of anyone who might read it. But I don't have any advice other than to advise to never wear pink out in public, and that's really not that life-changing for everyone. So I called my friends, polling them for any glimmer of insight they might have to offer. But sadly, I found out they are pretty much as pointless as my left over toenail clippings. Then I danced around with the idea of relaying some past emotional trauma for you but I don't feel like being all deep and vulnerable right now.
    So here I am, my fiftieth blog entry and I've got nothing to say.
    But...I can offer this one admission, an admission so terrifying and so embarrassing just the thought of it causes me to run and hide in the closet and never come out again unless I first change my identity.
    I am really looking forward to the new Harry Potter movie.
    You average Awesome Dude readers might not think this is a very scary admission at all. Truly not scary enough to warrant posting it as my fiftieth. But let me explain this first, so it becomes crystal clear why this admission frightens me so.
    First off, let me say that I've never read a single Harry Potter book. Mostly because I'm not a fan of books starring children, for some reason I can't seem to identify with twelve-year-olds, no matter if I act the part most of the time.
    Nor have I watched a single Harry Potter movie. When asked about Harry Potter, I would roll my eyes and say something along the lines, "How good can it be, it's a childrens book." To be honest, I've been known to vehemently say I would never read, watch, or pursue any avenue that would lead me to Harry Potter or that freaky witch that writes the stories. In my opinion, J.K. Rowling is one step below Satan. I don't care how much money the whore has made.
    So how could I go from hating all these Harry Potter to looking forward to this new Harry Potter movie?
    Let's go back to last week. I had the good fortune of having Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday off, Wednesday being the fourth of July. And while Monday and Tuesday were quite eventful and I'm pretty sure I'll be posting those events in blog entries very soon, Wednesday I had absolutely nothing to do.
    Hanging out with Daniel's family is okay, most of the time, but there are times when I just want to hang out alone and veg. Unfortantly, sometimes Jason alone is not a good thing. Idle hands and such, so when I begin feeling a bit bored, I do what I normally do...I clean my apartment. But that only killed about four hours and two bottles of wine. So I decided to order food from my favorite Chinese Restaurant, in reality I ordered enough food for three people. Once the food was delivered, I settled in front of the TV to eat WAY TO MUCH food and watch some mind-numbing programs on my 60 inch screen.
    Okay, I know the fourth of July is a holiday about the celebration of the independence for our nation. I love America, I really do, but fuck me running backwards, why the hell do they have to play those crappy war movies all day long. I've seen them all, a billion times and I wasn't in the mood for blind patriotism. I wanted a different flavor, so channel surfing became my way of doing something different. And since I have every channel available, going through them is a chore in and of itself.
    Two hundred channels and nothing on right. It's how it always goes. The only movie I was even considering watching was on TCM at two o-clock, Mel Gibson's The Patriot. Looking at my watch, I had about twenty minutes to kill. In my channel surfing, I saw that Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone had just started a few minutes earlier. So on a whim, I switched over, after all, I was all alone in my apartment and I would allow my balls to be ripped from my body by a herd of wild baby elephants before I would ever admit to what I had just done. I had planned on watching it for a few minutes before The Patriot started, no harm, no foul. Right? Okay, yeah, I'll tell myself that.
    Holy Shit! Before I knew it the ending credits were rolling and I was in shock. Not only was it a good movie, but I really, really, really, liked it. So much so, that I got dressed and raced to the local Blockbuster to rent the other three movies. I won't mention that I made a big show of saying to the pimply faced nerd behind the counter that I was renting these stupid movies for my little cousin, so loudly that everyone in line heard me.
    I watched all three movies back to back. And I was sitting on the edge of my seat the whole time. I couldn't believe it, the story drew me and kept me waiting to see how this all played out.
    So my friend, Ann, is a Harry Potter junkie. I mean junkie, she has all the books, signed probably from E-Bay, she owns all the movies and has watched them over and over again. And for years, I gave her a ton of shit about this unhealthy addiction. But once the fourth film finished, I was so excited, I called her up.
    Did you know that Pennsylvania is three hours ahead of California? I did, but for some reason in my excitment I forgot that important piece of information. It was a few minutes after midnight in California, for me, yet for her, it was just after three AM. After she yelled at me for about five minutes, something about waking her up in the middle of the night on a work day, I finally got the chance to tell her about the Harry Potter marathon I had in my apartment.
    Three hours later, we finally hung up. She had twenty minutes to shower and get dressed for work. We talked about the story development, the movie version as opposed to the books, it was a fucking amazing conversation. In those three hours, I learned so much about the world of Harry Potter. I hung up the phone in a daze, and a bit confused why I had for so many years dismissed Harry Potter as mere children's drivel. And I realized that I was a fan.
    At least when it comes to the movies. I still won't buy a single J.K. Rowling book, mostly because of the things I've heard her say in the press and the way she goes after those who writes fanfics about her characters. Fanfics are the truest form of flattery, why the hell she gives a flying nun's fuck is beyond my understanding. Anyway, J.K. Rowling sucks, no matter if they can make good movies from her crappy books. About enough about that crazy whore.
    So now I'm waiting for the new movie. I'll even go see it with all the other wacko's and won't be embarrassed to be seen in the theatre. Mainly because I know I won't be the only fag in the theater who is watching because of Daniel Radcliff. My oh my how he's grown up. And I've been fortunate in that regard, I've watched him grow up in a single afternoon instead of waiting for each new movie like the rest of you.
    So I'll admit it, I'm a fan of Harry Potter. And I should never have said never. Oh well, life goes on.
    Jason R.
    Now if I could only persuade Ann to keep her big fat mouth shut, and not tell all our friends. Like that's going to happen, she probably already sent out a mass email to everyone. Tragic I say, fucking tragic.
  12. Jason Rimbaud
    The One Where I Throw Up on the Screen
    I feel sick, diseased and lifeless. I saw the darkest parts of myself today, struggled long after the hope of changing had faded. I'm dirty and need a shower. Have you fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I washed the sheets today, they were stained and filled with memories I'd rather forget. His name was Alex. I met him at Nola's last night after work. He was a tall skinny brunet with a lopsided grin. In a bar filled with two-baggers, he was the only one I'd fuck with the lights on. It was pathetic, awkward, and un-fulfilling. A coupling where you really want to cum as fast as possible just so it would be over. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    His breath smelled of un-washed ass, even after I made him rinse out with Mouthwash. A putrid smell I swear I can still smell on my dick, hours after I bid him adieu. But I needed a dumpster, a stranger, someone I would never have to see again. Release is primal, and jerking off only takes you so far. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I saw stains on my carpet, I wonder if Resolve will truly resolve them? Alex was cute, tall and gangly but with way to much body hair. I've seen less hair in 70's porno movies. What kind of homo lets his situation roam free and out of control? It's 2007 for christ sakes, trim up that bush people. Alex couldn't have weighed more than 140 pounds, and stood at least six foot three. I had fears of breaking him in half, though they faded as primal urge took over. When he stripped off his clothes, I admit I was a bit surprised. A monster cock fell out of his boxers, and though I know cocks look bigger on skinny guys, his dick was HUGE. I must admit I found his monster cock quite amusing, as he was a total bottom. This makes me kind of believe in god. Only the twisted god of the christians would have the sense of humor to give a total bottom like Alex such a monster cock. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    Fucking Alex was like fucking a box of ice, cold and slightly numbing. The noises he made were all wrong, and in the wrong places and time. I thought at first he was going through the motions, but his cock was hard the entire time. I don't think he came, though sex was never about him in the first place. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I washed my sheets today, three times. I think they might still be dirty, or maybe it's just the grime I sense in my self. His name was Alex, and he told me he was just out of two month long relationship with his straight best friend. Why is it gay boys always crush on their straight best friends? Again my belief in god doubles. At Nola's, he told me he was tired of jerking off and sleeping alone. All he wanted was some human contact. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I scrubbed my carpets this morning, early, right after I told him to leave my apartment. I can still see the look on his face, a sad look of quiet acceptance. It was heartbreaking, to see someone so broken, hints of tears in his blue eyes as he quickly got dressed. He is still young, young enough to have delusions about true love and lasting commitments. In his time spent in my bed, I think I might have jaded him, tarnished his golden armour. Set him on the path to be another jaded fag, just like me. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    His name was Alex and he was beautiful. His hair smelled of honey and mixed berries, I can still smell his Tommy cologne. And his breath didn't smell like un-washed ass, more of beer and cigarettes. A mixture that usually drives me wild. Young and filled with life, Alex was a tiger in the bed. The sex was primal and filled with passion and sweat. Innocence smells sweeter before you fuck, afterwards it smells of guilt and self-loathing. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I washed myself four times today, I still feel dirty though. Scrubbing the stains away in my carpet was something I could control. Elbow grease works, my carpet is now again spotless. Just like my shower, the fourth time I showered I spent most of the time cleaning it. My skin smells of 409 Bathroom and Tile Cleaner. My toes and hands are wrinkled, I don't think I'll ever get clean again.
    Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    Have you ever just fucked someone over?
    Have you...
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    It's strange how a voice from your past, a voice that only lives in your memories, can affect you like a disease, leaving you feeling sick and weak.
    The voice I'm speaking about, Jason. The boy from I'll Never Wear Boxers Again. He calls me out of the blue today, under the guise of telling me about the birth of a child, our mutual friend Dave had his first baby boy.
    This disturbs me, we haven't spoken in almost two years. The last time we spoke was at his fucking wedding for Christ sakes. The day after we fucked for the last time. Talk about dysfunctional friends.
    The whole thing creeped me out. When my phone rang, I got a funny feeling, like someone had walked on my grave, stopped, then took a piss, before continuing on. Usually, if I don't recognize the number, I let the voice mail kick in, but for some really weird reason, I picked up and said hello. The silence was deafening when I heard his voice. It brought back so many memories, memories I wished I had lost.
    And this pisses me off, because the moment we started talking, it felt just like...well...just like old friends. There was no awkward chit nor was there awkward chat. We started laughing, joking, reminiscing about the good old days. Time spent apart didn't seem to tarnish the connection we had since the first moment we met. And I fucking hate that. He doesn't deserve a place of honor here, not when I can't have him.
    We spoke for over an hour, remembering times when we were alone. He's married and has a little girl, and though he went on and on about his baby, he never mentioned her, not once. And I fucking hate that as well. Who the fuck does he think he is? Acting like the divide between us didn't exist. Acting like he didn't choose a life that didn't have a place for me.
    Towards the end, I finally asked the question, why did you call me? Why didn't Dave call me to tell me the news? He answered, but it was so weak neither one of us wanted to acknowledge it. If for only an hour, we were together again. He kept saying that he had to get a new cell number, that his old company was overcharging him. Which was why I didn't recognize the number. I wonder, if he called me, just to make sure I had his new number.
    Did he want me to have his number? Did he want me to stay in touch? Did he remember that in three days it will be eleven years since we first met? Does he even care?
    A part of me hopes he does care, but another part, the biggest part, knows he can't. Regrets are something everyone can afford, but changing a mistake isn't that easy. You can't change who you are, you can only hide. Hiding destroys the best part of you, hiding destroys your ability to tell the truth. I wonder if I ever got the truth, I wonder if he could even tell the truth.
    After we hung up, I re-wrote this piece, something I had written a few months ago but felt something was missing. Oh Jason, how you stir my creativity. My fragile friend, my elusive muse.
    And Now You Know
    By: Jason R.
    You called me up on the phone today
    It was a struggle to find the words to say
    They say time can heal all the wounds
    But I?ve been sick since before the womb
    Just so you know
    I?m not the one that you once knew
    That lonely kid all alone in school
    I?ve made a new life accepted it all
    I embraced the name you wrote on the wall
    And you know
    When I needed you most you weren?t there
    More than alone and broke beyond repair
    I lost more of life reaping what you sow
    I don?t hate you but now you know
    When my father died I stole his last breath
    I was addicted to lust and flirting with meth
    My first trick was a boy with your face
    A suicidal thing with a beautiful taste
    And did you know
    Confronted my mother about the sins of the past
    Screamed at a tombstone about death too fast
    Wrote a thing or two about a boy named John
    Accepted the fact that most of me is wrong
    Just so you know
    When I needed you most you turned away
    You were afraid of what others might say
    So you stayed safe and I went to skid row
    I don?t hate you but now you know
    The question I ask is why the years of lies
    I know you liked me in between your thighs
    Each night you might lie next to your wife
    But I know you miss me and our secret life
    Yes I know
    In the end I guess I?m finally doing fine
    I?ve leveled out and reasoned the rhyme
    Next to me lies a boy I call best friend
    And yet if I had to I?d do it all over again
    And now you know
  14. Jason Rimbaud
    Questions We Don?t Ask but Should
    Question One: Ever wonder about those people who spend $6.00 apiece on those tiny bottles of Evian water? Try spelling Evian backwards.
    Question Two: If 4 out of 5 people suffer from diarrhea?does that mean that one actually enjoys it?
    Question Three: If people from Poland are called Poles, then why aren?t people from Holland called Holes?
    Question Four: Do infants enjoy infancy as much as adults enjoy adultery?
    Question Five: If a pig loses its voice, is it disgruntled?
    Question Six: Why do croutons come in airtight packages, aren?t they just stale bread to begin with?
    Question Seven: Why is a person who plays the piano called a pianist, but a person who drives a racecar is not called a racist?
    Question Eight: Why isn?t the number 11 pronounced onety-one?
    Question Nine: If lawyers are disbarred, clergymen defrocked, then what would an electrician, musician, cowboys, models, tree surgeons, and dry cleaners be if they were thrown out of their profession?
    Question Ten: If Fed Ex and UPS were to merge, what would they call it?
    Question Onety-One: Do Lipton Tea employees take coffee breaks?
    Question Twelve: What hair color do they put on the driver?s licenses of bald men?
    Question Thirteen: People tend to read the Bible more often the older they get, are they cramming for their final?
    Question Fourteen: I thought about how mothers feed their babies with tiny little spoons and forks, so I wonder, do Chinese mothers use toothpicks?
    Question Fifteen: Why do they put pictures of criminals up in the Post Office? What are we supposed to do, write them? Why don?t they just put their pictures on the postage stamps, so that the mailmen can look for them while they are delivering the mail?
    Question Sixteen: If it?s true that we are here to help others, then what exactly are the others here for?
    Question Seventeen: Why is it that you never really learn to swear until you learn to drive?
    Question Eighteen: If lightening wouldn?t zigzag, what would the speed be?
    Question Nineteen: Whatever happened to Preparations A through G?
    Question Twenty: Did you ever notice that when you put the two words ?the? and ?IRS? together, it spells ?theirs??
  15. Jason Rimbaud
    TV Commercial?s Might be the Reason why I?m Alone
    I?m sure you?re wondering how I could possibly make this statement with a straight face. Or even how I could offer evidence to prove this bizarre statement. Well mister, you just read along before you reach a decision.
    There are times, not always, but certain times I flip a coin to make simple decisions for me. Like maybe, I can?t decide on which pair of pants to wear, I flip a coin. Or whether or not to call the boy I hooked up with the previous night for round two. Simple things like that.
    And when I do flip a coin, I always do whichever action fate has decreed, fate chooses a path and I walk it.
    So yesterday, Saturday, I was undecided on what I wanted to eat for lunch. I was torn between eating at my favorite Chinese Food restaurant, and ordering a thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. So torn between these two choices was I, I called up my ex-roommate, Daniel, and asked his opinion.
    He told me to go fuck myself. I hung up the phone and sat on my bed. After realizing that I could not possibly fuck myself, I called up my friend from Pennsylvania, and asked her advice. Ann only laughed in my ear and told me to grow a pair of balls and make a fucking decision; after all it was my stomach. I accused her of being biased; she is the one on a diet and is not allowed to eat either food.
    For a while, maybe an hour, I walked around my house, trying to reason out what I wished for lunch. I went on line, browsing the different sites, hoping something would reach out and grab my stomach. But alas, dear readers, it was to no avail. I was still deadlocked between Chinese Food restaurant and thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut.
    Looking at the clock, I realized I had to make my mind up soon or it would be me deciding on dinner. And I really didn?t have the energy to try and tackle that decision whilst sober. Let?s face it; I?m just not that good.
    So I thought to myself, ?Fuck it, I?ll flip a coin and let fate decide.?
    I went to my closet, and grabbed out my box of change that I keep there on the shelf. Some of you might be wondering if I have a lucky quarter that I use, but I don?t. Matter of fact, I never use the same quarter more than once. The reason, I don?t want to blend the two different decisions together. Especially if I?m using the same quarter to make the same decision. How do I know the decision from the previous flip won?t interfere with the current flip? I don?t, and neither do you.
    Finding a quarter that?s worthy of making this decision is a task in and of itself. It must be shiny and new, no dull quarters are allowed. The edges must be as close to round as possible, no scratches or dents are allowed. Rhode Island quarters, as well as Florida quarters are strictly forbidden, the reason should be fairly obvious to those that follow elections that are held on a national level.
    Finding the right quarter took a better part of half an hour, but I finally decided on a new shiny California quarter, minted in 2005. Very pretty if I say so myself.
    I hold the quarter, balanced on my left thumb, and say to myself while looking in the mirror, ?I designate thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut heads, and Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant tails.? I find that if I say this aloud, then it binds me to the final decision of the coin.
    So I take a deep breath and toss the coin in the air. At that moment, a commercial for Pizza Hut appears on my TV, reminding me of a lighthouse beacon cutting through the darkness. (Or in my case, a lighthouse beacon cutting through the indecision of my low blood sugar) I think, ?Pizza would be good.?
    I almost miss catching the coin, this would be bad as it renders the coin toss useless and you must find another shiny perfect quarter. It lands in my left hand and I cover it with my right. Much like a child would peek from his bed in the darkness, I look at the coin in my hand. It was tails, Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant. But I?m saddened now.
    Because that damn commercial on TV, I now have this craving for thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. Yet I had long ago made the rule that I always follow the result of the coin toss. Fuck, what do I do?
    I look at the coin in my hand, I look at the TV, back to my hand, to the TV. How can I work this out and still follow my predetermined rules?
    I have it. ?Best two out of three.? I say triumphantly to myself in the mirror.
    This time, I say to myself in the mirror, ?I designate Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant heads, and thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut tails.? Fuck, its heads.
    If I were to follow the rules I agreed to, then Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant would be my lunch. But that damn commercial had me craving thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. It?s not fair; I finally made my mind up, but just a bit too late.
    I look at the coin, I look at the TV, I look at the coin, and I look at myself in the mirror. ?You promised?, a little voice in the back of my head says. ?Remember the rules? another chimes in. ?Just this once, it?s all right. No one?s going to know, its okay? my low blood sugar says seductively. I cave, ?Fuck it.? That damn pizza on TV looked to good to pass up. ?Just this once?I promise? I say to my frowning face in the mirror.
    I throw the coin on my bed and grab the phone. I called 411 for the number to Pizza Hut (And no, I don?t have the number in my phone. You want reasons, I?ll give you reasons. First, I?m really lazy and have never bothered to look up the number. Second, if I know it will cost me money each time I order thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut then I won?t order it as much. See, two reasons right off the bat.) and eagerly await the Pizza Hut person to pick up and take my order.
    While I wait, my mouth begins watering, I can almost taste the decedent carbs, the high sodium pepperoni, and the artery clogging cheese, I just might be in heaven at this moment. But the phone is ringing, six or seven times, what the f?oh, the Pizza Hut person answers the phone and asks if I would hold the line. I agree and she hangs up on me.
    Before you go and tell, I?m not saying the Pizza Hut person hung up on me on purpose. It happens, right?
    So I call 411 again and wait for the 411 computer to re-connect me. This time, after eight or nine rings, the Pizza Hut person answers the phone and asks if I could hold the line. Again I agree, I really want this thin-crust pepperoni from Pizza Hut. Pizza Hut person doesn?t hang up on me this time, but I?m waiting for over ten minutes. What the fuck?
    I hang up, and call 411 yet again. After the computer connects me, who knows how much this is going to cost me but I don?t think about that, the phone rings. Five times, no answer, ten times, no answer, fifteen times, still no answer. I hang up the phone and throw it on my bed next to the forgotten quarter, which seems to be staring at me with teary eyes.
    I glance at my watch, it?s now almost thirty minutes since I decided to defy the power of the coin toss and call Pizza Hut. Suddenly this stupid song from T.A.T.U, Thirty Minutes, starts running through my guilt ridden mind. Especially the part in the song that goes like:
    In the moment it takes
    To make plans or mistakes
    Thirty minutes, a blink of an eye
    Thirty minutes, to alter our lives
    Thirty minutes, to make up our mind
    Thirty minutes, to finally decide
    I shudder and look at the coin lying next to my phone. I nod, silently admitting defeat. I shove my feet into a pair of sandals and head out the door, resigned that I will be consuming Chinese Food from my favorite restaurant for lunch.
    As I?m driving the two or so miles to my favorite restaurant, that damn song keeps playing in my head, like it?s now become my theme song. (I don?t even like the song, but while surfing around Utube earlier that day, I heard it and now it?s stuck in my head, playing over and over again.)
    Lunch for normal people is long over by the time I arrive at my favorite restaurant, and for a moment, I resent the fact that I can no longer order the lunch special combo deal thingy they offer. But I shake that feeling off; it?s my favorite place after all. I?ll just order the entr?e size and pig out.
    While parking, I can?t decide what delicious food substance I wanted to shovel into my body.
    Thirty minutes, a blink of an eye
    Thirty minutes, to alter our lives
    ?Shut up!? I scream in the confines of my crowded mind before walking into my favorite restaurant. The last thing I want inside my head is two Russian lesbians singing emotional drivel as I eat.
    As I feared, the restaurant is empty?well?almost empty. The moment I opened the door, I saw the hottest guy I?ve seen in months, with or without clothes. Oh my pancreas, if Bill Gates and Cindy Crawford would ever procreate, they could never produce a hotter nerd then I saw standing before me waiting on a To Go order. Damn, his ass was so hot it was a shame he had to sit on it.
    He was tall, just a few inches taller than me. Slim, border lined skinny with untamed dark hair and glasses. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of black rimmed glasses. Can I say yum? Fucking right I can say yum.
    He was wearing a Face Book T-shirt, faded blue jeans that hung a bit low on his narrow hips, sandals, and the best part, a rainbow bracelet adorned his right wrist. A fucking hot nerd, great taste in Chinese Food, and gay. Heaven!
    I quickly checked myself, mentally of course, making sure my shirt was stain free, (not that kind of stains you pervert) and that my hair was perfect, carefully arranged to resemble a tumbled mess. Don?t worry, it was, I was out in public for Christ?s sake.
    That?s when I realized what T-shirt I was wearing. For those of you that are curious, it?s a green T-shirt with rainbow lettering that reads, I like Geeks. ?At least he would know I was available.? I thought.
    Daniel and I frequent this restaurant, so the guy behind the counter gave me a big smile and immediately asks about the whereabouts of Daniel. I reply that he?s hanging out at home, (I don?t think I could explain the concept of Daniel and I to this guy, he barely speaks English as it is and has always believed Daniel and I were a couple.) and that it was just me today.
    This hot nerd, like anyone would do, looks over at me while the guy and I exchange brief pleasantries. I see him read my shirt, then I see him give me the once over. I smile, and check him out too. I look back up to his face roughly around the same time his eyes reaches my face, our eyes meet, we both smile.
    Long forgotten is the guy behind the counter, the hot nerd takes a half-step towards me and says, ?Hi.?
    ?Hello.?
    ?Nice shirt.? He says, a smile on the edge of his mouth.
    ?Thanks.?
    I won?t bore you (anymore) with the rest of the conversation; needless to say I now have a date with him Monday night. We?re going out for Sushi and Sake in the city. And I can?t wait, his name is Konstantin (probably spelled wrong) and he?s twenty-six. He works as a troubleshooter for Face Book. Yummy, think I will.
    Without digressing further, I?ll sum up this post.
    All day, I couldn?t decide what to eat for lunch. I waited, thought, sought advice, and ended up giving the decision over to fate IE: the coin toss. But because of a TV commercial, I almost missed out on this most fortuitous encounter with hot nerd guy. This is the proof that I promised to offer that commercials might be the reason I?m alone. Thus the founding of my new movement aimed at the destruction of all commercials on TV.
    Though I?m sure some of you might argue that if I didn?t see that commercial on TV, then I would have went to my favorite restaurant thirty minutes earlier, thus missing the fortuitous encounter with hot nerd guy.
    But we all know that?s bullshit. Don?t we?
    Jason R.
  16. Jason Rimbaud
    Unsent Letter to Jessica
    If I could, I would gladly heal your pain
    If I could, I would lay your head on my shoulder
    If I could, I would love you more than I love myself
    If I could, but we both know I can't
    If I could, I would paint the sky blue for you
    If I could, I would write a sonnet with you in mind
    If I could, I would scream my love from the rooftops
    If I could, but we both know I won't
    If I could, I would have told you I was gay
    If I could, I would act like an adult and admit my mistakes
    If I could, I would take back the way you found out
    If I could, but we both know I can't
    If I could, I would never return to Nola's
    If I could, I would tell everyone that you broke my heart
    If I could, I would lie and say I'm sorry
    If I could, but we both know I won't
    If I could, I would never have fucked you...twice
    If I could, I would take it all back
    If I could, I would make you forget me
    If I could, but we both know I can't
  17. 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.
  18. Jason Rimbaud
    A Good Reason To Spend 765 Dollars
    I wrote this as a comment in (Ele)Civil's Blog a few weeks ago. I really liked it, and while discussing it with my friends back in Pennsylvania, they wondered why I did not have it posted here. So to oblige them, I reposted it here. I changed a few things around and add a few things, so maybe, even if you've already read this, give it another shot. Pretty please, just for me.
    I know how scary purchasing a new suit can be to the first time buyer. Not only do you have to decide which color of suit you should buy, but then there's the shoes, the shirt, etc. etc. I wanted to create a "How to Guide" for all of you that have a desire to dress in a more mature or adult manner. To lay out the proper steps, one by one to help you achieve the satisfaction buying that first suit will bring.
    Number One: Upon first entering the store, preferably a men's clothing store, of course you may choose whichever one best fits your own personal tastes. But for this "How to Guide", let's pretend you picked a men's clothing store. Once inside the clothing store, find the cutest male employee.
    (DO NOT, and let me repeat, DO NOT, pick the employee that has the best taste in clothes. This will only lead to feelings of inadequacy and frustration of never living up to an impossible standard.)
    Once you find the cutest male employee, wait as long as necessary for that particular employee to "free up" from his other customers. If he is taking a long time, peruse the rack that is advertising a 50% off going out of style sale. This will ensure no other employee will approach you as they'll believe you have no money to spend and they will avoid you like the plague.
    Once the cutest employee is free, approach him and remember to smile a lot while repeating money is no object. This will cause the cute employee to see dollar signs and he will do almost anything to complete the sell. (while the above is not mandatory, it does help ensure the cute employee will go above and beyond the call of duty, even going as far as entering the dressing room with you to make sure the pants fit just right in all the right places.)
    Number Two: Make sure, while selecting which color of suit to purchase, that not only does it match the color of your eyes, but it will also look great crumpled on the floor of the cute employee's apartment in the morning. This is a must, do not cheap out.
    Number Three: You'll know when you've found the perfect suit when, all the gay men in the store stop shopping to watch you with one hand in their pants. Stop right there, buy that suit, no matter how much it costs. Believe when I say it will be worth the money in the long run. (at least I tell myself this to justify the purchase of a five hundred dollar suit I made recently.)
    Number Four: Now that you've picked out the suit, the real fun begins. The cute employee will take you to a stage, surrounded by mirrors on three sides with powerful spot lights shining directly on you. This is to lull you into believing that you really are the star of the store.
    (side note: If the cute employee entered the dressing room with you, wait at least ten minutes before stepping on the stage to allow certain things to shrink back to normal. A lesson I learned quite by accident the day I purchased my five hundred dollar suit.)
    The cute employee will now start to grope you as he draws on your new suit with white chalk. And though it's not necessary, he will measure your inseam, sometimes three or four times, just to make sure there is ample room in the front of your trousers for certain situations should they ever arise.
    Number Five: Once the fitting is over, he will strip you of your now chalked suit and begin showing you different shirt and tie combinations. This is very important, DO NOT settle for the first combination he shows you. Even if it is the one you end up buying. The object of this game is to spend as much time with the cute employee as possible. Choosing the first combination only brings the ending that much closer.
    Number Six: After deciding on the shirt and tie combination, it is now time for the belt. While I urge you to pick a belt that matches your shoes, it is not necessary as usually your jacket will be closed at all times. This makes the belt the least important item on the list. Though buying the belt gives the cute employee another reason to stick his fingers in the waist of your pants to make sure the fit is proper.
    Number Seven: Next is the socks and shoes. Socks should match the suit, while the shoes should accent the suit without overstating it. Always allow the cute employee to slip the shoes on your feet. (For those of you with a foot fetish, this is an easy and cheap thrill that will be shared, if your lucky, by the cute employee and yourself.
    (Side note: It has been my experience with these humans that sell men's clothing, they either secretly or openly enjoy the male figure. Fitting men into suits gives them the excuse to touch males without having to resort to the pretense of "sport allowed" situations. IE: smacking your teammate on the ass after a great touchdown, etc etc. Clothes fitting has replaced this "sport allowed contact" under the guise of concern that the wearer of the suit is happy and comfortable with his purchase.)
    And lastly,
    Number Eight: No matter how cute the employee is, no matter how excited you are to leave that suit in a crumpled mess on his floor, DO Not, again, Do Not purchase the shoe trees.
    For those of you who don't understand that phrase, I'll explain. Shoe tress are devices that fit into your shoe when you are not wearing them to maintain its shape.
    The reason behind me instructing you to NOT purchase the shoe trees is this, we can't all buy five hundred dollar suits every month. Yet shoes are way more affordable. This gives you the excuse to return to the clothing store each month to see the cute employee under the "guise" of maintaining nice shoes for your five hundred dollar suit. And though the cute employee knows the real reason you return each month, he'll pretend right along with you. It's a win win situation.
    I know some of you might be college students, so I'll breakdown the price list, item by item. This will give you an idea how long you might have to drink really cheap beer to afford this rather expensive flirting method.
    Suit that makes guys get hardon's: Five hundred dollars
    Shirt that matches your socks: Fifty-five dollars
    Tie to state just how powerful and sexy you really are: Thirty dollars
    Belt just to give the cute employee a reason to stick his hands in your pants: Fifty dollars
    Socks that will be hidden at all times until the cute employee checks your shoes: Twenty dollars(three pack)
    Shoes that accent the suit without overstating: One hundred and ten dollars
    Getting felt up in the dressing room by cute employee: Seven hundred and sixty-five dollars
    I hope this "How To Guide" has been some help to you. Good luck in your own purchasing adventures
    Jason R.
    PRICES MIGHT VARY STATE TO STATE: COUPONS AND EX-BOYFRIENDS NOT ACCEPTED AS PAYMENT
  19. 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.
  20. 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
  21. Jason Rimbaud
    "I'll Never Wear Boxers Again"
    Wibby posted a rather funny story that prompted me to remember a similar incident involving one of my good friends. So I thought I?d share it with my loyal readers. (maybe I should?ve said loyal reader, I don?t want to become to ambitious)
    Anyway, during my late teens and early twenties, one of my best friends was also named Jason. We worked together and were known as the ?two Jason?s? or simply as ?Jason Squared?. After we both turned twenty-one, each Monday night we?d go out for our weekly pub crawl. This night was reserve for just the two of us, no friends, no girlfriends, and no problems.
    It was during these weekly binges that I first told him I was gay. True to his devil may care attitude and laid back demeanor, he took this declaration in stride. Though looking back, I kind of wished he would have been more upset. This would?ve saved me tons of heartache. But I digress?yet again.
    Jason and I were always comfortable around one another. It was common for us to sleep in the same bed, granted, we were passed out. But waking up snuggled together was something that happened often. Before I told him I was gay, we?d go double dating and the girls would often complain that we?d spend more time talking to each other than paying attention to them. Looking back, it was quite obvious that sooner or later we?d start fooling around.
    The first time something happened between was after one of these pub crawls. We had stopped at a gas station to get cigarettes and sodas on the way home from the bar. Jason had to go to the bathroom, so I paid for the grocery?s and waited for him in the truck. After he climbed inside the truck, I noticed he had this weird look on his face and for the rest of the way home; he acted strangely, nervous and giggly at the same time. I chalked it up to a long night of beer.
    Once back inside my apartment, he was flirtatious, in a way he had never been before. I was drunk and getting hornier the more he carried on. After about twenty minutes of this weird flirting, I informed him I was going to bed. It wasn?t that I was really that tired, but I really wanted to toss one off. He looked down at the floor and in this quiet voice, he asked if he could stay with me. He didn?t ask if he could crash, he didn?t ask if he could sleep over, he asked if he could stay with me. For a moment, because I really wanted to jack off, I almost said no. But I never could tell him no, even now, I can?t say no.
    Anyway, and no that was not a digress. So there.
    I took off my clothes, and slipped into a pair of shorts. He asked if he could borrow a pair of boxers to sleep in, something I thought was a really strange request. Jason did not then, nor does he now wear boxers, EVER. I gave him a pair and he went into the bathroom to change. Another thing that was strange.
    I climbed into bed and turned off the lights, and waited. After a few minutes, I heard the bathroom door open and heard footsteps down the hall. The door to my room opened and in walked this?glowing cock. While he was in the bathroom at the gas station, he had bought a glow in the dark condom from the machine on the wall.
    I was more than taken aback, yet intrigued at the same time. I said something along the line of ?nice cock?. To this, Jason laughed and flipped on the lights. It was not his cock that was in the condom, but three of his fingers. We laughed and once again he turned off the lights. I could see him slowly coming towards me, his pretend cock wagging before him leading the way to the bed. I admit I watched him walk towards me wishing that really was his cock.
    Once he reached the bed, he started giggling again, and I watched the hand that had the condom on it move to his side. I saw the condom disappear and realized his fingers were inside the boxers. I realized he was pulling down his boxers when another glow in the dark condom suddenly appeared. Being that he was two feet away from me, this time I could tell that this one really was his cock.
    He took another step, his crotch now inches from my face; I could smell him he was so close. The hand that hand the condom on it, moved from his side to grip his very hard cock. I heard him whisper, ?Do you like what you see?? I didn?t answer, I couldn?t. I didn?t want to risk destroying this moment. I reached out with my hand and touched his cock. He sighed loudly, my wish had come true. Needless to say, neither of us got much sleep that night.
    A few years later, in the after glow, he would admit that for months he was racking his brain, trying to conceive a plan of attack to seduce me. But he wanted to make sure I was interested in something sexual before trying anything. After his admission, it was clear how thought out and methodical he had been. From the constant touching, the sleeping together, suggesting naked hot tubing, everything had been done with the purpose to get me into bed. I asked, why didn?t you just ask me? He replied that I had said shortly after I met him, that I would never have sex with a friend.
    This caused me to laugh, because though he was in the room, it was the girl sitting next to him that I really wanted to hear me say that I would never have sex with my friends. She had been throwing herself at me and I had no desire to catch her. Lots of wasted time, I could?ve saved so much time if I would have just said, guys, I?m gay. Anyway, still not digressing.
    So Jason and I were friends with benefits. To be honest, I was completely head over heels in love with him. And no matter what he says, I know for a time, he loved me as well. Shortly after this incident, he moved in with me and for the next two years, we were almost inseparable. But being gay was/is something he denies being. He?s told me, and I believe him, that I was the only guy he was ever attracted too. I was the best man in his wedding, and the night before he promised to forsake all others, he asked me to fuck him one last time. Okay, this might be digressing. Jesus, be patient already.
    To get around to the point of this post, one night, during those two years that we lived together, we had gotten home after Monday?s pub crawl. Both of us were quite trashed. At the time, he was dating this chick that was away at college and I was trying really hard to catch this nerdy little boy I had been chatting up online. So once back from the bar, I immediately jumped on the computer to see if my boy was up for some dirty talk. He was, and for about an hour, I was content to do some chit and some chat.
    DIGRESSION ALERT! Ever since that first night, whenever I saw Jason in boxers, usually a pair of mine, I knew that he was looking to fool around. If he was wearing briefs, then I was going to be tossing one off alone.
    Like I said, I was chatting for about an hour, when I heard Jason open the door to his room. From where my desk was against the wall, I could turn my head and see Jason?s bed if the door was open. He walked out, wearing a pair of boxers, and headed into the kitchen where he got a drink. Walking back towards his room, he looked at me and smiled. I noticed right away he was rock hard.
    Yet on the computer, my nerdy boy was almost ready to finally meet me in person. We were so close, I could feel it. I looked at the screen, I looked back to Jason, he was now lying on his bed, naked, slowly stroking his cock. I didn?t know what to do, I was horny, ten feet away was a willing boy, yet I kind of liked this nerdy boy as well. But Jason, jacking off while saying my name only a few feet away, and honestly the love of my life, won.
    I walked into his room, he looked at me and smiled, his hand stopped. He pointed his cock in my direction, silently telling me to have my way with him. So I did.
    It was just starting to get fun when suddenly he begun puking his guts out. I was sober enough to get out of the way, but he puked all over his bed, all over himself. It was quite the mood wrecker. Once he finished, he headed into the bathroom and jumped into the shower. Being the neat freak that I am, I cleaned up the mess and threw the sheets in the washer.
    Figuring the night was over, I went back to the computer to see if nerdy boy was still online. He was, again we started chatting. A few minutes later, Jason comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered and still wet with a raging hard cock. He smiles at me, and heads into my room. Needless to say, I never did meet nerdy boy.
    Jason and I had this weird relationship for years. When we were alone, late at night, we would fuck for hours. But it was something we?d never talk about during the day. We had dozens of unspoken rules that we both followed, silently and in secret for years. Never speaking about or acknowledging our lust filled nights.
    Until the day I met his fianc? for the first time. We were talking over dinner, and Jason and I were reliving some of our wilder times. And he gets this smile on his face, and suddenly brings up the time he almost pukes on me. Of course she wants to know why we were in bed together in the first place. I was at a loss for words, but Jason smoothly told her a rated G version of the story.
    Later, when she had gone to the bathroom, he started laughing, saying something about the look on my face. I didn?t think it was funny, remember, I was still in love with him and more than a bit jealous. He leaned in close and whispered, ?You give the best head I?ve ever received. And I know I can?t love you the way you want me too, but sex with you is something I?ll never forget, no matter who I marry.?
    It was the first time he ever admitted to fucking me while sober. But it was the right thing to say, because that statement convinced me to agree to be his best man. Sadly, I?ve not seen him since the wedding. I hear he has a baby girl now, and I wish him the happiest of lives. And though our friendship has fallen away, I?ll always have the memories of that apartment and the time we spent together.
    Jason R.
    PS: During that night I met his fianc?, she brought up the fact that he refuses to wear boxers. Jason and I exchanged looks, and started laughing. He kissed her, then said, ?I love you, but I?ll never wear boxers. I used too for a time but I stopped.? The night before his wedding, he was wearing boxers.
  22. Jason Rimbaud
    Something strange has been happening the last three days. Beginning on Saturday night, I have been trying to reply either in the forums or post a rather...err...hostile blog message. But somehow, for three days in a row sometihng has stopped me from posting.
    The first time, I was rather drunk Saturday night and fed up with a few things I have been reading in the forums. After writing a long rant, filled with anger and curse words, I closed the window without hitting the "add reply" button in my drunken state. Save number ONE.
    The second time, Sunday night, after trying to construct the same entry, I was unsure of my spelling so I hit the spell check. For some reason, the spell check button wasn't working. (though it worked before that time and ever since) So when I went to download a spell checker, I accidently closed the window again before hitting the proper button. Save number TWo.
    The last time, Monday night, I attempted to post it again. But this time, right in the middle, I recieved a phone call. It was a boy I have been trying to get to know better. While we were doing a bit of chit and chat, I was absently toying with my computer. Again, I closed the window and lost the entry again.
    In the time since that failed attempt and now, I began to realize that fate might have been on my side for once and maybe, just maybe, has a bit of compassion for this stupid fool. Saving me from looking the asshole that I no doubt would have looked if I managed to post what I wanted too. Now, a few days later, I realized that I shouldn't really care what someone has to say in a forum/topic that I'm not even directly involved with more than just a casual read.
    I"m not sure why I depise this "person" so much that I wouuld attack him for something he said to another. To my knowledge, this person and I haven't ever spoken/wrote. Maybe it's the arrogant way he writes in the forums, or maybe his opinion just gets my ass chapped. And for some reason, I figured I should tell him how stupid he appears in these forums.
    Yet, I've been pondering these feelings. I've come to the conclusion that what he says really doesn't affect me in any way UNLESS I allow them to affect my spirit. And ignoring this person actually saves me time, when I see his name, I'll just skip over whatever he wrote. Then I won't become angry, I won't spend two hours constructing a reply that would only make me look foolish.
    Because next time, fate could just decide to allow me to post my replies and then I'll have to wear the asshole crown.
    Jason R.
  23. Jason Rimbaud
    Daniel and I Part Ways(Finally)
    After almost three years, Daniel and I have decided to part as roommates. Okay, the truth, Daniel decided, and since it was his house, I agreed. So for the last three weeks I have been busy moving into a nice two bedroom apartment in Redwood City. Please don't make any jokes about finding a "NICE" apartment in Redwood City, it can happen. I swear.
    It's okay, I love the new apartment. But there is a fear that I'll go back to my old ways now that I am once again living by myself. Anyone that knows me, knows that a bored Jason is a dangerous Jason. It's not that I love getting into trouble, but when I don't have a stabilizing force to keep me in line, I tend to do the first thing that pops into my head. I'm sure in the coming months you'll hear all about it. But for now, luckily, I've been too involved with work and moving to do anything stupid. But I know it's only a matter of time before the boredom sets in.
    But that's not the reason I'm posting today/tonight. During the course of my move, I've realized that I've become somewhat of a clothes whore.
    I have:
    Eleven jackets (three black leather)
    Thirty-two pairs of shoes (two pairs of dress shoes, one black, one burgundy)
    Seventeen towels
    Forty-five pairs of jeans
    Twenty-one pairs of slacks
    Thirty something Hoodies
    Fifty or so T-shirt's with assorted sayings on the front
    Seventeen casual pull over shirts
    Thirteen Sweaters (all from the Gap)
    Well over a hundred pairs of socks
    Seventy-five pairs of underwear (boxers/briefs/boxer briefs/thongs/ect) with twenty pairs of just blue
    Thirty-seven button-up shirts
    Four suits
    Three blazers
    Two ties (i need to work on this)
    Three large jewerly boxes with assorted rings, necklaces, braclets, ear rings
    Nine wallets
    Two identical cigarette cases
    Thirteen Zippo lighters
    Four red Bic lighters
    Nine sets of cuff links
    And thirty-seven watches, of which fifteen are silver
    And sadly, I couldn't bare to throw any of the cothes away as I began packing. Not even the clothes that are so old it's almost like wearing nothing the fabric is so thin and worn. Yes, I know I might have a problem. Believe I know.
    It's even worse that all the clothes are color coordinated by type, and in alphabetical order. Though, because I'm left handed, the A's are on the right and the Z's are on the left. And the color is mixed up as well, a dark color, then a light color, then a dark color, so on and so on.
    I just realized, as I type this, that I could be the saddest person alive. Let me explain, before you hastily agree with me. The above list is no joke, I actually counted and catologed my clothes as and before I packed. The list is sitting right here next to me. I guess Daniel was right, I do have OCD.
    But on the bright side, my apartment is clean, I go even as far as making sure the vacuum cleaner lines are perfectly straight in each room. I know I'm going to end up yelling at my guests for using wire hangers instead of the nice wooden ones sometime in my future but I'm okay with that. I swear
    Jason R.
    By the way, Daniel and I still remain friends. With his new boyfriend moving in, I was feeling like a third wheel. And besides, it took him so long to find someone, I didn't want to be in the way. Okay, that's all a lie, I didn't want to come home late from work only to find them fucking in the living room. Not a sight I want to see twice in my lifetime.
  24. Jason Rimbaud
    More of A Few More Sentences
    It was a place like no other he had ever seen before. It was dark and light, seamless and joined all around him with no clear ending or beginning. Existing at the same time, hot and cold, black and white, a place where time didn't seem to hold stable, where time stopped or slowed depending on it's own whim. There was no sensation in this void, only a feeling of being. For the longest time, he didn't think or even seem to be aware of his surroundings. He couldn't remember coming to this place, only that he had been here forever. What he was before didn't matter now, only what he was. And he was alone for the first time, all alone in this void.
    His conscience mind drifted like the wind, going through his memories at a rapid rate. He was astonished at what his mind would linger on. Events that seemed small when they happened, his mind dwelled on them for the longest period of time. And yet, the events that were huge and self-changing, his mind briefly paused before continuing on it's journey. A journey that he wasn't in control of, but merely like a passenger on a cross-country train ride. A bystander of his memory's every whim.
    He wasn't aware of when it stopped, or when he awoke to an empty room. It was sudden, he was there and sitting alone in a chair. His eyes wandered around the room, taking in the strange sights and sounds. It looked to be a circular room about twenty feet across, and all around him was darkness. Not a darkness that he could see, no, not this darkness. It was more like a darkness he could feel in the depth of his soul.
    Suddenly, a loud noise began echoing around the room. A single beat that reminded him of a heartbeat, a wounded sound that seemed to be faltering with each passing moment. His nostrils filled with a smell, a smell that he could only associate with death. It filled his nostrils, causing him to gag with each ragged breath.
    Yet it was the sound of his own breathing that brought him to his senses.
    'Where am I?' he thought.
    Standing up, he looked around, trying to find a door, something to tell him where he was being held. But the room was empty except for the chair he had awakened in. Standing up, he walked around the room, finally making his way back to the chair in the center and sat down.
    "Where am I? Is anyone there?" He shouted out.
    But there was no answer. He didn't know how long he sat there in that chair, but it seemed like days. He had all but given up hope that he would ever find out where he was. He had accepted the fact that he was going to die in this room...alone.
    Yet, finally, out of the darkness, a voice said, "I've been waiting for you, welcome, Scott Taylor."
    "Who are you?" Scott managed to stammer out.
    Looking around the room, he tried to find the speaker, but the room was empty save for that blasted chair.
    "Who I am is not the question." The voice countered. "But who are you?"
    Turning to face the direction of the voice, Scott saw a cloaked figure standing in the center of the room. He took a hesitant step towards the figure but stopped, and said, "What do you mean? You know me? You said my name."
    "Yes."
    "Who are you?" Scott asked. "What am I doing here? Am I dead?"
    "Questions that need answers, every one. Questions that I might answer, but for now, answer mine. Who are you?"
    "Stop it, what is this place?" Scott demanded, approaching the figure.
    But once he was two steps away from the figure, it vanished before his eyes. But he heard this statement as the figure disappeared, "When you are ready, you will know."
    Running to the center of the room, he called out, "Wait! Don't go. Where am I?"
    But before he finished, the room dissolved and became a narrow corridor that seemed to go on forever. Looking in both directions, he pondered what path to take. Suddenly, in front of his eyes, a sign appeared. Taking a deep breath, he studied the sign. It was an average ordinary sign, one arrow pointed one way, with a single word, 'Beginning'. And another arrow pointed the opposite direction and read, 'Confusion'.
    "My god, where am I?" Scott pleaded to the darkness, sinking to his knees, and hugging himself tightly.
    "Choose." The voice thundered inside his mind.
    Reeling back in fear, he backpedaled across the corridor, running into the wall. Even as the voice kept repeating its cryptic instructions.
    "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?" Scott screamed, pleading with the voice inside his head.
    "Choose." The voice repeated, this time harshly.
    Scott started running down the hall, in his haste forgetting which path he fled down. He ran for what seemed like days, his body racked with pain, his throat burning from lack of water, his body drenched in sweat. And finally, the end was in sight. A bright light, intense and burning, stopped his mindless run.
    Walking out of the tunnel, he entered a house. Suddenly and quite unexpectantly, his senses were overloaded. He knew this house, that smell of leather furniture mixed with cheap pipe tobacco. He had smelled that for over half his life.
    "Welcome home Scott, you chose wisely."
    Startled, Scott turned his head and saw the figure standing next to him. He tried to look beneath the hood that veiled the figures face, but failed. It was just too dark. "How's this possible?" He asked in wonder, staring at his parents as they sat in the den reading different parts of the evening news.
    "Everything is possible. I've been waiting for a long time to get you here. So, now, it begins."
    "Who are you?" Scott begged, reaching out in his desire to know the figure under the cloak.
    Turning to look directly at him, the figure replied, "Whom do you want me to be?"
    Scott stammered, disbelief on his face. He asked, "Roy?"
    The figure dissolved, and in its place, stood Scott's long lost cousin, Roy.
    Backing away from the figure that had stolen his cousin's face, he yelled out, "You can't be here, you're dead."
    "No." The figure/Roy said in a sad voice. "You keep me alive."
    Falling to the floor, Scott cried out in pain. His fragile mind couldn't comprehend these circumstances. Laying on the floor, he began murmuring to himself, rocking back and forth on his heels.
    "There is much work to be done."
    "No!" Scott screamed, clawing at his eyes. Trying anything to block the vision of his long lost cousin from his sight.
    His scream was still echoing in the void as his surrounding changed and once again, he was back in the circular room with that damned chair. For an eternity it seemed that he screamed. When he was out of breath, he slowly looked around. Standing off to one side, his cousin stood, staring at him with a burning intensity in his eyes. Again he heard that sound. It sounded like a heartbeat, but it was getting fainter with each passing second. He stammered, "How is this possible? Am I in hell?"
    His cousin, laughed out loudly for a few minutes before saying, "Hell? You've been in hell for seven years. Not only do you live in hell, but you put hell into your body on a daily basis."
    "What?"
    Gliding over to where he was hunched down on his knees, Roy grabbed his arm and showed him the track marks that covered his arm. "I never thought you would turn into a junkie. You were always better than that. Better than this."
    "How do you know about that? You're dead."
    "I know everything about you," Roy asked seriously. Adding, "And who says I'm dead."
    "I saw you die." Scott yelled out. "You died in my fucking arms."
    Roy laughed. "If I'm dead, how is it that I can do this?"
    Roy punched him in the face, causing the confused boy to fall backwards onto his back.
    "You hit me!" Scott screamed, a stunned look on his face. "Why?"
    Rushing over to where he lay, Roy sat on his chest, preventing the boy from getting up. Saying, "Yes I did. You know better than to do that. We made a pact, remember? No matter what happened, we'd never do that. You broke that promise." With each word Roy spoke, he punched Scott in the face.
    "You said we would be together forever. You lied to me." Scott screamed out, trying to block the blows raining down on his head and face.
    "I fucking died," Roy screamed.
    "And it was all my fault," Scott replied, breaking down in tears.
    Standing up, Roy reached down and hauled his bleeding cousin to his feet. "It was not your fault. It was no one's fault."
    "No!" Scott denied, blood pouring from his face and running into his eyes.
    The sound of the heartbeat growing fainter still.
    Roy's face saddened at the denial of his cousin. As he began saying something, his face dissolved again and the figure with the dark cloak returned.
    "Wait, come back." Scott pleaded. But it was too late, Roy was gone.
    THe figure spoke, "Who are you?"
    "Fuck you!" Scott screamed. "I'm sick of this, I want to go home."
    "Home." The figure said. "Do you remember home?"
    Scott stopped in mid-sentence. Did he remember home? It had been years since he had been back there. But the memories came flooding back. He said, "Yes, and I hated it. My parents treated me like shit."
    "Then why do you want to return there?" The figure asked.
    "I don't know..."
    "Yes, you do." The figure argued, approaching Scott. Reaching out a cloaked arm, he grabbed Scott's head and whispered, "Remember."
    Scott started to shake and convulse, his memories returning un-aided. Memories of his father, picking him up and carrying him to bed when he was just a little boy. He could see the love in his father's eyes as he tucked the half-asleep boy safely into his bed. He could feel his father's lips on his forehead and a deep voice whispering that he loved his only son.
    He remembered his mother singing him to sleep. He remembered the way she would wash away the blood from his scrapes and the way she would kiss away the pain. He remembered the way she would stop doing the dishes or whatever she was doing just to ask him how his day went. He remembered the times his mother would get up in the middle of the night to fetch a drink of water for her scared little boy. Memories upon memories of the selfless sacrifices that both his parents made for their only son. A son they loved so fiercely and unconditionally. He couldn't deny the love he saw in their eyes.
    Trying to fight the memories, he screamed out, "No! They hated me."'
    "They loved you," The figure countered, drawing out more memories.
    Trying to block out the images, Scott screamed, "Love is a lie. They never loved me, love doesn't exist. They hated me and they stopped talking to me because I killed Roy."
    The heartbeat grew fainter.
    "You stopped talking to them." The figure said, taking a step towards Scott. "You pulled back, it was you. Never them."
    "No! They blamed me for his death. You don't know, I was there. YOu're twisting it all around."
    Pulling Scott to his feet, the figure stood face to face and said, "So was I."
    Scott reached for the hood and threw it back. HIs eyes widened as he saw for the first time behind the mask. He screamed out in horror as he realized he was staring into his own face.
    The heartbeat grew slower, fainter, until finally there was silence. It had stopped beating entirely.
    Scott lay on the floor clutching his chest and gasping for air. He knew, he could feel it, that any breath could be his last. He tried to get to his knees but the pain became to intense. He stopped struggling and gave up as he collapsed on the floor, staring up into his own face.
    The figure in black, his other self, looked down in comtempt as he raised his hand in a silent plea for help. The figure said, "Oh, are you in pain? All ready to give up?"
    "Help me!" Scott pleaded, turning away from his other self.
    "There you go again, running away. Always afraid aren't you, never willling to face the truth."
    "Help me, I'm dying." Scott begged.
    "Help you? Why should I?" The figure stated, laughing loudly. "When you won't even help yourself."
    "I am you." Scott said, his voice a whisper. "You are me, if I die, you die."
    "Really," The figure said. "Maybe that's for the best. You don't even know who you are. You are pathetic, complaining about your problems, no one loves me, no one cares. Boo hoo, poor little Scott," The figure now mocking the dying boy.
    Grabbing the figures arm, Scott tried to pull himself upright. But his fingers slipped, he was too weak. He said, "Help me."
    Even as he argued with his mirror image, he could hear someone speaking to him, though it sounded far away. It sounded just like Garet's voice and he was...Scott couldn't make out what his friend was trying to say.
    "Do you hear that?" The figure said, cocking his head to one side. "Do you hear what you are doing to your friends back there?"
    "I can't understand you," Scott shouted out to Garet. "What are you saying?"
    "He's yelling at you because you gave up." The figure said, laughing. "Your body is dying in that bed, and all you can do is lay on the floor."
    "I don't want to die." Scott said, staring at his mirror self.
    "Why not? Love does not exist. Nothing is ever good enough. Why not just lay down and die." The figure countered. "Get it over with."
    "I don't want to die," Scott spat out. "I'm scared."
    "Finally." The figure said, taking a step back. "You admit it."
    "What?" Scott asked, trying again to sit up.
    "You admit it, you are scared. Do you know that out there," The figure said, waving his arm, "Garet is scared because he loves you."
    "No." Scott denied, shaking his head.
    "Yes, he does. Listen to him, he's telling you in so many different ways." The figure said, bringing his hand to his ear. "He's begging you not to die, he loves you, just like your parents do."
    "NO!"
    "Just like Shelia does."
    "NO!"
    "Just like I do."
    "How can you love yourself?" Scott demanded, clutching his chest in pain.
    "Because, that is the only way you can exist." The figure said, his voice filled with sadness. "You are me, and I am you. I am everything that you used to be, everything you wanted to be, and I am everything that you are running away from right now."
    "I'm not running away," Scott said in between gasps for breaths. "I"m right here along side you."
    "You left me a long time ago, but I never forgot what we used to have." His other self pleaded. "Just stop running."
    "What am I running from?" Scott begged, his breaths a bit stronger than before, the pain a bit softer.
    His cousin, Roy, appeared next to the two Scott's and whispered, "From me."
    "NO!" Scott yelled. "Never from you."
    "And from me," His other self stated in a gentle voice.
    For the first time, Scott really looked at the figure that had his face. It was his, but it wasn't. Even though the face had a sad look, the eyes were so bright, full of life. Not like the stormy eyes he normally saw in the mirror. His face wasn't the same either, it was more youthful. He realized he was seeing himself long ago. Long before the drugs, before the guilt, before the death of his cousin.
    His eyse shifted to his cousin's face. Roy looked the same as the day he died. Scott asked, "How can you be here?"
    "You won't let me go," Roy said sadly. "You cornered me off in your mind, you won't let me die. You can't find peace until you forgive yourself."
    "I can't, I love you," Scott cried, the tears streaming down his face. "It's all my fault."
    "No," his other self shouted. "It was not your fault, it was not God's fault, it was just bad luck."
    "It was my time," Roy said, reaching out to the tortured boy. "Let me go, I don't blame you. I forgive you."
    Scott broke down and cried. This was not sad tears but more tears of acceptance. His breaths became harder, crashing into him, threatening to swallow and consume him. He grabbed out to Roy, like he was the only thing that could save him.
    Roy looked down and said, "Let me go."
    Scott's mirror self said, "If you want to finally be free, just let go."
    Scott held onto his cousin, crying as the weight of guilt pressed him down. His heart felt like it would burst from the pain that he had put himself through. HIs mind ached from the emotional turmoil that had racked his spirit for so many years. The pain in his chest returned, and somehow, he knew that he was dying. And he was tired of feeling all this pain, all this guilt. He wanted to finally be free of it all. So he did something he had never done before. He squeezed Roy tightly one last time, and just let go.
    As Roy began to fade away, Scott heard him say, "I don't blame you, and I will always love."
    His other self grabbed him, hugging him close until they were touching every inch of their bodies. And yet his other self squeezed even tighter until Scott felt the two bodies begin to merge. At first he fought this sensation, but finally he surrendered to that part of him that was everything good and pure and right. His mind exploded with forgotten feelings of love that he had run so hard to escape. His heart stopped hurting and his breathing returned to normal as he embraced what he had fought so long to deny.
    And then there was only one Scott.
    As the darkness slowly dissolved into pure light, and as he passed the point of no return, Scott heard a voice whisper, "Finally, it's over."
  25. Jason Rimbaud
    A Few More Sentences
    The house was dark and at first glance he didn't think Scott was there though his car was parked in the garage. But upon closer inspection, he saw the outline of the blond sitting out on the balcony staring up into the night sky. He didn't think he could cry anymore, but the sight of his boyfriend caused the tears to once again cascade down his cheeks. Willing the tears to stop, he wiped them away with the back of his hand and went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of vodka. Filling up a glass, he walked outside and leaned against the rail.
    He could feel Scott's eyes on him, boring a hole in his back. He lifted the glass to his lips and drank deeply, the clear liquid falling down the sides of his mouth.
    Scott spoke, "That isn't going to help you know."
    Spinning around, his blue eyes filled with anger, he said, "Fuck you."
    "It's your stomach," Scott said, shrugging leaning back further into the chair. The darkness hiding the pain in his eyes.
    Justin threw the glass out into the night, a few moments later he heard the sounds of the glass shattering somewhere below. He asked, "What did I do wrong?"
    "Nothing," Scott said in a quiet voice.
    Throwing his hands in the air, Justin asked, "Is there someone else?"
    "No," Scott answered immediately, surprised by the certainity of his voice. "There could never be anyone else but you."
    "Then why?" Justin asked, sinking to his knees in front of the chair, his hands clutching Scott's knees tightly. "Don't you love me?"
    Tucking his hair behind his ear, Scott caressed Justin's cheek, saying, "Of course I love you."
    "Then why did you say no?"
    Scott could not meet Justin's gaze, he looked so childlike, his eyes big and full of pain. Scott said, "It's hard to explain." His tears began falling down.
    "Tell me please," Justin begged.
    Searching for the right words, but knowing no matter which words he chose, Justin would never understand. Again he wondered if he should have just said yes. A part of him wanted to marry Justin, someday, but not like this. Not without something to offer in return. But that voice inside the back of his head urged him to tell the truth. Sighing, he stated, "Well, for one thing, I don't really believe in marriage."
    "What?" Justin asked, a confused look on his face. "What do you mean?"
    "Justin, even if I were straight, and you were a girl. I wouldn't marry you." Scott said in a soft voice. Though immediately he wished he hadn't said them like that. Justin's face darkened, his temper rising fast. Scott continued quickly, "That's not what I meant. I just don't see the point of going through a ceremony that wouldn't even be legal. I love you, you love me, can't we just leave it at that and spend the rest of our lives together? Why do people think they have to say an "I do"?"
    "It's about a commitment," Justin said, trying hard to force the anger from his voice. "It's about standing in front of a group of friends and acknowledging our love for each other."
    "Have you ever doubted my love?" Scott asked, slumping in the chair.
    "Not until tonight," Justin replied, standing up and walking back to the railing.
    "How can you say that?" Scott yelled out, standing up in his anger.
    "In front of everyone, I asked you to marry me, and you...you said no," Justin explained. "How the fuck did you think I was going to feel?"
    "Just because I don't want to marry you doesn't mean I don't love you."
    "I know, it just means you don't want any strings," Justin said, turning to face his lover. "You'll only love me on your terms, but not on mine."
    "That's bullshit, and you know it."
    "Is it?" Justin asked, his fists clenched tight. "After everything we've been through. All the bullshit that happened with Michael, all the shit that happened with your band, don't you think...you owe me...you owe me this little thing?"
    "Owe you?" Scott shouted out. "That' the problem, I feel like I owe you everything."
    That caught him by surprise and for a moment, Justin stared at him. "What?"
    "All this," Scott said, waving his arms around him. "This isn't my house, it's your house. The car I drive, even the fucking clothes I wear aren't mine. How could I marry you when I have nothing to offer?"
    Justin groaned and rolled his eyes. Everything came back to this tired argument. He said, "How many times have I told you, that what I have is yours?"
    "That's not me," Scott intoned. "I can't keep living my life on your good graces. It drives me crazy having you buy me stuff. I can't even buy a pair of shoes without first getting money from you."
    "You don't seem to have any problems getting money to go drinking," Justin spat. "Or using my money to make your fucking record."
    "That's beneath you." Scott said in a quiet voice, ignoring the tears falling down his cheeks. He turned away and headed inside. Justin followed him and grabbed his arm roughly. Scott spun around and pushed the man hard on the couch, his arm raised back, his fist closed tightly. Anger flashed in his eyes and Justin realized he had went to far. Closing his eyes, he waited for the blow to drop.
    "Damnit," Scott yelled, punching a pillow next to Justin's head. "I didn't want this to happen again." For a moment thinking back to the time he lost his temper in a herion induced rage and hit his best friend, Shelia.
    Justin stared at him, his eyes wide and filled with fear. And when Scott collapsed next to him on the couch, he breathed easy. Hearing Scott mumbling something, he reached out to touch him, yet was shocked when Scott whispered, "Don't."
    Scott stood up and headed for the front door, his shoulders slumped. Justin called out, "Where are you going?"
    "I don't know, but if I stay, I might do something neither one of us can forgive," Scott replied hoarsely.
    "Are you leaving me?" Justin asked, standing up clutching his stomach with his hands.
    Turning his head, Scott said over his shoulder, "Never you, Justin. I'm leaving me."
    Before the door shut, Justin fell back on the couch and curled up in ball. He cried for sometime until he couldn't cry anymore. After an hour, he went to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Vodka.

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