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Jason Rimbaud

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  1. Jason Rimbaud
    7 Things I Hate Today!
    I know hate is a strong word and should never be used lightly. But if there is anything that would justify a universal feeling of hate, I think the following list will suffice. So without further digressions, rants, or any other silly hijacking comments, I give you the seven things I hate for today.
    Number 7: Every few days I receive an Email from ATT INTERNET service. They give me a list of reasons why I should switch my INTERNET service and they also offer discount prices. Today I read an email where, if I sign up for a year of service, I could get DSL access for $14.00 a month. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention this part. I already have ATT Internet access, they sent me the fucking email at my ATT Email address that they fucking gave me when I signed my contract locking me in at a set price for a fucking year. Oh yeah, I fucking hate that.
    Number 6: Old people coming to restaurants. I don't want to hear about the good old days when coffee was a nickel and you had unlimited refills. At my fucking restaurant, coffee is $4.00 a cup. And if you want another one, that will be another fucking $4.00 dollars. That's what by the cup means. Oh, and one more thing, it's never a good idea to order only one entr?e with the intention of "sharing because you don't really eat that much anymore". We all know it's bullshit, you're just cheap. And if you weren't cheap, then you would leave more than a ten percent tip. Remember, a server lives on tips, and if you stay sitting at that table for three hours because you and the old lady have no where else to go, then don't be surprised if you find something floating in your $4.00 cup of coffee.
    Number 5: Anyone, and I mean any-fucking-one, who believes that a one-year-old is a welcomed addition to a night out at a restaurant who charges sixty-dollars a plate. And don't even think about asking why we don't serve a children's menu. If you have to bring your smelly offspring with you everywhere you go because you don't want to pay for a babysitter, then take your fucking family to Denny's. Don't bring your ill behaved monsters to a hip upscale restaurant, the servers don't want you there, and I can bet the couple sitting next to you trying to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary don't want you there either. So fucking stop it. If your kid doesn't have hair on it's "no-no-parts", then stay the fuck at home.
    Number 4: People who arrive 5 minutes before a restaurant closes for the night, wearing smiles and exclaiming loudly that you're just so damn happy that you made it before we close. Why? Because you are the type of person that will order two waters, and share a single entr?e, that you will not eat for two hours because you're busy making-out in the booth in the corner. Not only are you keeping the server from going home, but you're making them wait for ten-percent of a thirty dollar check. And even if you add in an extra ten percent and give them six whole dollars, don't be surprised if they leave the money on the table. Because the idea of having to stay at work two hours after the restaurant is closed because you want to make out in the corner booth is not worth the six dollars. If you are the type of person that does this, then you are a bastard and I hate you. I fucking hate you.
    Number 3: Commercials spouting anti-smoking propaganda. Let's face it, there is not a single person living on the planet in the year 2007 that doesn't know that smoking isn't the best idea. And I get it, you hate smoking. Get over it. Do we really need to spend hundreds of millions of dollars on really stupid commercials trying to stop people from smoking? Why don't we take that money and spend it on more important things, I don't know, how about universal health-care? How about offering classes on the long lost art of minding your own fucking business? I want to take that guy from that commercial and lock him in a room where hundreds of people blow cigarette smoke in his face for three days. Then, and only then, can he have a reason for making those stupid fucking Truth ads.
    Number 2: Commercials heralding the latest advancement in prescription drugs. It started out harmless enough, remember Antonio Banderas as the cute little bee flying lazily about telling us too take this new pill for our nasal allergies. And I could even understand the ads dealing with sleeping disorders. But now every few minutes I see commercials advocating erectile dysfunction pills and anti-depression tablets with side affects that are decidedly worse then the aliment they claim to cure. Think about it, I've got this granite hard cock but I can't seem to stop my ass from leaking. Hmm, flaccid cock or shit spewing from my ass, I wonder what I would choose? And doctors need to stop inventing diseases to justify their new miracle pill. Who the fuck ever heard of restless leg syndrome? I didn't, I didn't know it was a syndrome. When my legs hurt when I was in bed, I got up and drank a glass of water. Problem fixed. But that's not good enough anymore, now we need a fucking pill. What the fuck, it seems like they have a pill for everything now-a-days.
    Which leads me right into
    Number 1: Commercials telling us NOT to do drugs. Well, it should be, commercials telling us not to do drugs that aren't controlled by the Federal Government. Have you seen these anti-pot ads? In one, a girl is sitting in the kitchen, go figure, eating, and the family dog comes in and sits on a kitchen stool and asks her to stop smoking pot. I wasn't even smoking pot when I saw that commercial and all it did was make me wonder if my dog would start talking to me if I smoked up. How fucking cool would that be? Can you imagine what the family pet would have to say?
    I don't want to start bitching about those of you that are currently taking pills that are saving or prolonging your life, but I'm not sure if I want to take a handful of pills that actually have a higher risk of hurting me than helping. And what about those pills that after you take them, you fucking die. Is that side effect warning on the bottle?
    Shouldn't we be wary of any drug that is invented for the sole purpose of generating money? If we are so advanced that we now have to start inventing diseases to cure, why are people still dying from cancer? Why can't we cure AIDS? And don't get me started why we have dozens of pills to get a boner but still can't come up with a better solution to fight the flu then by injecting flu in the form of shots. Hmm, I get a shot to ward off the flu, and the shot gives me the flu. That is a brilliant scheme if I ever heard of one.
    For a society that spends so much money on anti-drug campaigns, we are quickly becoming perpetually medicated and all with the Federal Governments approval. And I don't care what anyone says, having a full-on-robot-chubby due to severe rigor mortis stemming from complications caused by my erectile dysfunction medication isn't really a miracle cure by any means. You have to be at least breathing to enjoy fucking. Though being dead is a viable alternative when faced with anal leakage. But of course, that's just me.
    Jason R.
  2. Jason Rimbaud

    My Resurrection

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    My Resurrection
    A few weeks ago I headed off to the beach for a few days, probably the best idea I?ve had in recent memory. Anyone reading my blog has seen witness of my bouts of depression, my slow recovery from addiction, and the added stress of continuing my therapy with Susan. To say I needed some time away from the chaos of my life to clear the darkness from my soul would be a severe understatement.
    Basically I?ve been feeling like a caged animal, trapped inside myself and slowly going insane in plain view of those that really didn?t give a shit on ?whether I lived or died?. For a time, it seemed to me that as long as I showed up for work and did my job; the people around me were satisfied. It didn?t really matter that I was depressed and anti-social. I smiled at the appropriate time and made the restaurant guests feel welcomed. All other behavior was overlooked.
    I couldn?t then, nor could I now, put the proper descriptive definition on the feelings roaming around my head. And yet, maybe instinctively, I knew if I couldn?t tame the animal that was lurking under the surface of my sobriety, then I would lose the better parts of myself to addiction and sink back into depression.
    And this scared the shit out of me. Because maybe this time, I wouldn?t be able to escape.
    And the fucked up thing about this is it wasn?t until I got away from the noise of my job, the voices of my co-workers, and the deadening silence of my apartment, that I realized just how close I was to the edge. And how drained I truly became by the events of the last few months.
    I found it to be rather easy to ignore the shambles of my life when I was busy dealing with the hundreds of problems that crop up on a day to day basis of working in a hip, up-scale restaurant.
    I could either focus all my energy on the problems of the restaurant, problems I knew could be solved rather quickly, OR, I could waste what little energy I had left and spend hours self analyzing and attempting to tackle the large problems that persisted in my life. What would you do? Yeah, that?s right my friends. I?d thought you say that.
    BEWARE DIGRESSION ALERT
    I think this is probably the deciding factor on why there are just so many workaholics in the world. Maybe I?m not the only one that has discovered this coping mechanism that seems hardwired into our primitive minds. Survival at any cost.
    And while this is something we should all think about, this is not the where nor is this the when to chew the fat and make left-handed supposes on the growing trend of workaholics the world over. So I?ll return you to your regularly scheduled rant.
    END DIGRESSION
    I didn?t do much that Friday I arrived at the beach; I was so mentally and emotionally frazzled I spent most of the whole afternoon on the front porch watching the rain fall into the ocean and losing myself in my I-Pod.
    And as I sat there, the music playing randomly in my ears, my mind started drifting around to long forgotten memories. Poking around into places that I thought we had previously agreed, my mind and I, to leave forgotten and buried forever.
    And as I sifted through the past, I slowly began to realize that I hadn?t been happy in a very long time. This is not to say that I didn?t experience happy moments, let?s face it, over the years I?ve had lots and lots of happy moments. You can?t be a drug addict with a constant hard-on and not have some happy moments. But I recognized and more importantly, understood the difference between ?happy moments? and a genuine feeling of happiness.
    The longer I pondered this, the further back in time I delved. I knew, sometime when, there had to be a period in my life where I was truly happy. I wasn?t always an addict; I had lived for sixteen years before finding solace in the numbness of drugs. And I was determined to find that source of that happiness again.
    But the further back I went, the more I remembered, and the angrier I became.
    Before the age of sixteen I was pretty happy. I had loving parents, and even though they were religious bigots who brainwashed me into a life of fear and self-loathing, they were quite affectionate towards me and I loved them very much despite their beliefs.
    No matter what anyone might say, the ties between families are extremely powerful. Especially between a child and its mother. Think about it, for nine months, you are an extension of your mother. You experience all her emotions, happiness, sadness, the uncertainty of the future, and I bet in some respects you feel the pain and the ecstasy of birth itself. That kind of closeness creates a bond that nothing else you ever experience could ever compare.
    This bond begins as an unconditional love. It?s engrained into the human DNA; a mother?s instinct to protect its offspring. And even though my parents were strict and sometimes quite harsh, I knew/know that they loved me and only wanted the best for me. And as long as I followed the path they laid out for me, their love was unconditional.
    But much to my chagrin, one night I found out that their love had more than a few conditions attached too it. It seemed that the love they gave me hinged on the belief that I was a heterosexual. Because the night my father caught me in the living room giving an older boy a blowjob was the night I lost my home and my world. After that night, unconditional love took on a whole new meaning. Matter of fact, to be completely honest, from that moment on I have always put conditions on love. So you have to excuse me if the notion of unconditional love is a bit tough to swallow.
    Is it any wonder why I turned out the way I did? What was I supposed to do? I was sixteen, I had no money, no place to go, and my only possessions were the clothes on my back.
    I ended up sleeping in a bus station that first night, scared out of my mind and filled with an unholy rage. I was tossed aside for some obscure religious belief, and for a god that I had began to doubt even existed. Because if god did exist, and he really hated me because I liked other boys, than my unholy attraction to other boys was a gift I received from him.
    Read the fucking book, we were created in his image. And if you believe what my parents believe, then it is impossible for god to make mistakes. So?what the fuck was up with me? If it was truly wrong for me to be attracted to other boys, then god must?ve somehow fucked up when he made me in his image.
    BEWARE WORLD?S LONGEST SENTENCE BELOW
    Because, even before I became aware that there was a difference between girls and boys, and that other boys should only like girls, and that girls should only like boys, I was full-on, no denial, looking away wouldn?t change the fact no matter how often you arranged some ?alone time so the two can get to know each other? with the local girl, and forbid me to spend ?alone time? with my best friend, Sean, would I ever choose to hang out with a girl over the sheer pleasure of spending ?alone time? with a him.
    And it didn?t have to be my best friend, Sean, either, who at the time I was completely in love with but that?s definitely another story for another time. I have been that way since before I can remember. I would rather hang out with a boy than spend a moment with a girl. It was simple, plain and true; I was/am attracted to boys.
    I like the way they look, I love the way they feel, I go absolutely crazy by the way they smell. I was/is completely obsessed by just the physical sight of them. Clothed or not, the figure of a boy/man?s body drives me wild to this day. This is the only reality I ever knew, from my earliest memories all the way to the present day, it?s as natural as taking a breath. Did I make a choice? There has never been a choice for me to make. I?ve always liked boys, its simple genetics.
    ANTI-RELIGION RANT
    So when my parents, to be honest it was more my father than my mother at this time, threw me out of the house because I was gay, I immediately placed the blame on the god of my parents religion. After all, it was god?s bible after all, it was his words, and it was his hatred I felt. He was the root of my problem. He made all of humanity, and apparently he didn?t figure into account that some percentage of his creation might be attracted to a member of the same sex. And if he did take into account this ?phenomenon?, and still decreed that such love was an abomination, then I was the lowest form of scum on the planet. It didn?t matter to my parents that I was the scum that god created, because upon finding out I was gay, they had an instant hatred for me. And since god teaches that he destroys those he despised, my parents opted to destroy me. At that time, it didn?t matter if god created fags or not, because I was fucked. And by a god, that at that time, I loved almost whole heartedly. And people wonder why I?m an agnostic.
    END RANT
    In the morning, after I spend the night in a bas station, some guy told me about this shelter that allowed young runaways to stay there on the condition that they help out around the place and attend chapel services at the church that sponsored the shelter. Not having any other option available to me, I embraced this opportunity.
    Though I must admit it was rather difficult to go to the shelter. I had just been tossed out on my ass by my parents and their religion, the last thing I wanted to happen was to give someone else an excuse to exclude me based on something I couldn?t help or control. So upon arriving at the shelter, I kept my sexuality a secret and told several vague lies to disguise the real reason my parents gave me the boot. Though looking back now, I don?t think for a minute I fooled either the volunteers at the shelter or the minister about the real reason I ended up on their doorstep.
    I can also say, looking back, that they were a group of people who truly tried to help those that they came in contact with at the shelter. But at the time, I treated them like they were the enemy. Like they were a part of some grand conspiracy, plotting to destroy me and take advantage of na?ve fags the world over. I was/am forever bitter about religion and the people that believed in religion.
    There was another boy, around my age, who had been living at the shelter for a few months before I arrived. Though he never told me outright, I ?m pretty sure we had more in common than just needing a place to stay.
    It?s always been easy to spot the gay kids. They have an attitude, the way they carry themselves in a crowd that reminds you of a wounded animal quietly freaking out in a life and death kind of way that makes them easy to identify.
    And for whatever reason, most gay kids on the streets become predators as they get older. They find the weakest species on the block, some kid who might be new to the whole I don?t have a family so I now have to live on the street but I still don?t have a clue what the fuck life is about but I?ll trust you because I think you?re cute boy kind of kid, and take advantage of that innocent frame of mind and completely fuck them up.
    I think it might be Mother Nature?s way of coping with these situations that humans aren?t prepared to deal with. Of course it could be just a product of surroundings and circumstances that most youths find themselves facing after expulsion from their home. Much like the only way they know how to control a situation that is completely out of control. Or it could be a way to gain revenge, to make sure someone else?s life is as fucked up as their own.
    Anyway, most runaways/get the fuck out of my house, type kids becomes predators in one form or another. It?s like they become the embodiment of those that first drove them into exile in the first place. Food for thought, but still not the main reason I?m writing this tonight. If you?re still with me, I move on.
    Back to this other kid I met at the shelter, I?m sorry I don?t remember his name. On the second night after my arrival, after we washed and dried the dishes, and right before we were loaded on the bus to attend chapel services, shown me a little plastic baggie filled with white powder asked me if I wanted some insulation to get me through the mandatory chapel attendance. I didn?t know what he was referring too, because at this time, I really was, for all purposes, a complete innocent.
    Drugs were something that my father had warned me about since I was a young child. And looking back on all the things he filled my head with, the only good advice that mother fucker ever gave me was, don?t do drugs. But again, I digress.
    When he realized I didn?t understand, he started laughing at me.
    Now, I?ve been laughed with a lot over the years and I?ve been laughed at as well. This laughter was definitely one of those times when I was being ridiculed because of my naivet?. This was a feeling that I quickly found out I absolutely despised. And even to this day, I refuse to accept anyone laughing at me. I?ve gone to ridiculous lengths and have done some pretty dumb ass stupid shit to make sure that no one laughs at my expense ever again.
    Once regained control of his laughter, he pulled me into the shelter?s bathroom. This was a space that was accessible to anyone who wished to use it, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. So I?m sure you can imagine the smell of stale piss, fresh vomit, and un-flushed shit that permeated the small enclosure. This was the kind of place that even drug addicts would warn others about avoiding.
    Once inside the cesspool of a bathroom, he dragged me into one of the filthy stalls and locked the door behind us. He then pulled a plastic baggy from his pocket and held it up triumphantly, like I was suppose to know what was inside. To the white kid from suburbia, it looked like he crushed up a stick of white chalk. I know, I was pretty stupid back then.
    So I asked how a piece of chalk would insulate me from the attempted brainwashing we soon would be subjected too. And can you believe it, that bastard laughed at me again.
    Once he informed me of the true nature of the white substance nestled so innocently in that plastic bag, he laid out a choice for me.
    HIJIKED THREAD
    To be honest, the best way to get me to do anything; is to make it appear that I have the final say in the outcome of my actions, that I made the choice. It doesn?t really matter what the two choices are, if you pretend to give me an option of deciding my fate, then I will usually do what you wanted me to do in the first place. Just don?t ever tell me what to do, that?s a sure fire way to get me to dig my heels in and let my stubborn streak rear it?s ugly head. Just something for those to think about that might have ambitions of controlling my actions. I know I should delve deeper into this weakness but this is not the entry for discussing the inner workings of my mind and I?ve rambled on long enough already and still haven?t gotten around to explaining the reason I began writing this blog entry in the first place.
    RETURNING TO NORMAL BLOG ENTRY
    Okay, what was this choice he laid out in front of me?
    I could attend the chapel service and buy into the concept of an all-knowing, all-seeing, judgmental god that will hold me accountable for my every action with an unwavering solidarity to the rules as laid out in the Biblical text, OR, I could snort a few lines of cocaine and put my trust into the hands of fate and let chance decide the cards that would be dealt for me to play in this game called life.
    Fuck it, what can I say? He was cute. He was a dangerous boy that lived by a philosophy that went against every single thing I was ever taught by my parents. And for a moment, as brief as that moment was, I was scared that this cute boy would lead me directly to hell.
    But then I remembered my father, and the way he threw me aside for a god he?s never seen all because a man stood in front of a church and told him to hate people like me. At that moment, joining in something that might send me to hell was pretty damn tempting. If god hated me simply because I was gay, then I didn?t want to go to heaven anyway. That was the day, the very moment, I walked away from the religion I was raised to believe.
    And the more I thought about that first time doing drugs, the more bitterness I began to feel. The more anger that slowly started consuming me. I was a product of my past, I had lived a life that I never choose. It all began when my father turned his back on me.
    And there, sitting on the front porch of that beach house, I felt like no matter what I did, I could never escape the demons that haunted me. I?ve tried again and again to remain sober. I?ve spent countless hours and countless dollars trying to erase the depression that stalks me. And I?ve failed each and every time.
    There was no way a faggot like me could ever have a chance at living a normal life.
    I was filled with rage, bitterness, and an overwhelming desire to get as high as I could possibly get. I almost ran into the house, with the full intention of grabbing my shit and driving back to Redwood City where I knew I could score some pure coke. If I was going to be trapped in this shit, then I was going to be as numb as possible.
    But something happened as I stalked into the house. Up to that point, the music blasting in my ears was background noise. I had been sitting on that porch for three hours and I couldn?t tell you a single song that had played. Until that moment, then my mind focused on the song and I understood the words I heard.
    I had listened to that particular song probably fifty times over the course of this year. I liked the song, but I don?t think I really heard what the lyrics were really saying until that moment. The clarity that washed over me was staggering. And all the anger and bitterness that was so consuming a moment before melted away, slipping from me like a bad dream, fading into that part of my mind where all nightmares are banished.
    I spent the next hour walking along the beach, the rain pouring down on me, just letting the cleansing flood wash me clean. And as the sun set, as I peered into the fading light, I couldn?t help but think I was watching my past slip into oblivion.
    Because that?s all the past is, a string of events that happened. My past certainly shaped the man I am today, but it doesn?t dictate my future. The future is wide open, a new page that only I could write, but still a fresh parchment. I couldn?t control my past but I can control my future by changing my present.
    For the first time in my life, my past is just that, the past. To have a future I can?t dwell on those memories anymore. And so my present is looking pretty fucking bright.
    The last time I thought about using cocaine was that time at the beach. It?s almost like I put my addictions to rest that night. This might change in the future, but somehow I think my present doesn?t allow for those feelings to exist here. Either way, I feel like I have a real chance to become the man I see in my dreams. Cheers.
    Jason R.

  3. 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.
  4. 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.
  5. 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.
  6. Jason Rimbaud
    So I had a single GAY man and his mother come in to the restaurant today. When I saw him walk in the door, I actually paused in mid-step. He was gorgeous. One of the female servers was near me and she made the remark that he was dreamy. I smiled at her and replied, "Don't bother, he plays for my team."
    She asked, "How do you know?"
    I smiled mysteriously at her and said, "Trust me."
    As luck would have it, the man and his mother sat in my section and I ended up serving them. Throughout the dinner, the man and I would do some chit and some chat. Nothing really bad, just some harmless flirting, much to the amusement of the man's mother.
    Once dinner was over, they ordered a dessert and declared that they would share it.
    What I wanted to say was, "Aw, that's sweet."
    But what actually came out of my mouth was, "Aw, that's qweet."
    The man looked at me and flashed a smile, saying, "Did you just say that's qweet?"
    I blushed and nodded my head.
    His mother spoke up, "Qweet, that's sounds like a mix of queer and sweet. What exactly are you accusing my son of being, a sweet queer?"
    Needless to say, I blushed even more and they had a good laugh at my expense.
    I walked away and got the check ready. I placed it on the table after they paid and wished them a good night. I just happened to be standing at the door talking to my manager as they were leaving. My manager, as he inquires of every guest, asked, "How was everything this evening?"
    The mother looked at me and with a big grin, said, "The dinner was wonderful. And the service was lovely."
    My manager, completely unaware of the earlier conversation, looked at me and said, "Jason's one of our best servers."
    The mother replied without missing a beat, "He deserves a raise, not only did he take care of us but he invented a new word for my son."
    They walked out the door as my manager looked at me, a confused look on his face. I shook my head and just walked away.
    So today, I invented a new word. What did you do?
    Jason R.
  7. Jason Rimbaud
    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.
  8. 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
  9. 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.
  10. Jason Rimbaud

    Something for Jason

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    I've heard that you have taken offense by this blog and the entries it contains. Never think for one moment that just because I no longer live in Pennsylvania doesn't mean I still don't stay in touch with my friends. Unlike you, I don't forget about my friends. I don't walk away from my friends every time I get into a relationship.
    Did you think she wouldn't tell me about the conversation between the two of you? Did you forget that she was my friend first? Did you think I forget about her because I moved away over two years ago?
    My fragile friend, I talk to Ann every few days, which is more than I can say about you. Whenever you call her its for a favor or you need her help for something. You live twenty minutes away and I know I've seen her more recently than you. That's my Jason, always the leave me alone until I need you kind of friend.
    So your angry with me. And yet your anger is without logic or rational thought. Truly no reason you can imagine that could back up your claims of broken promises and rose colored lies. I didn't break my promise to you, I haven't told anyone about you or about us.
    I write under an assumed last name and never even mentioned yours. I did write all about Jason Squared but in all honesty, you can't think that your friends would ever read this blog on this site. Not your self-righteous little pew warmers that populate your life now, they would never be caught dead on a gay site.
    Though if you look at the statistics, one male in every ten is gay. Maybe one of your Republican friends is reading this blog, but on the bright side, they'd never have the balls to confront you about anything they'd read inside these pages. That would lead to way to many questions about why they were browsing on Awesome Dude.
    So you can't be angry with me for relaying stories about Jason Squared. So why are you angry?
    Your anger confuses me I must admit. After all you are the one who went searching online for ME. You are the one who found MY poem at Awesome Dude. You are the one who found MY blog. You are the one who started reading it. And your angry with me,WHY?
    You twisted little closet dweller, how dare you try and put this back on me. This blog has never been about you, you egocentric little fuck. I write this blog for me, to help me understand why I put up with your shit for as long as I did. I write to better understand myself.
    Your angry because you found yourself in these entries. And your angry because you didn't like what you read. Does it bring up too many memories? Does it force you to remember the time you spent with me? It's kind of hard to deny that part of yourself when you read it in black and white, isn't it?
    You claimed that I am telling lies about you, altering the events to make you look like the villain in this little play. Well, I read back all the entries that include you and I must say, I don't see any lies. But then I haven't been lying to myself for years either.
    So I say if I've been telling tales, why don't you log in and set the story straight. You should be good at "straight", you've been pretending to be it for years. Come on Jason, grow a pair of balls and reply to this post. I know you're reading it. I'll approve any comment you have the guts to make. I don't live in fear of what others say because unlike you, I actually know who the fuck I am.
    And before I wrote this to you, I called you. But like the scared little rabbit you always were, you didn't answer my call. So if you don't have the balls to talk to me over the phone, register here at Awesome Dude. I'm here, you could be here, lets talk.
    Jason R.
  11. 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
  12. Jason Rimbaud
    I subscribe to Yahoo Music, for those of you that don't know what this is, you pay a monthly fee and you get access to over two million songs without having to buy the album. And you can play them whenever you want with Yahoo Music Jukebox. And the best thing, since you are a subscriber, you don't have to stream them online but actually download the song to your computer. As long as you pay the monthly fee, you can play the songs whenever you want even if you aren't connected to the internet.
    So today, I was browsing the new music on Yahoo Music and saw the name Sixx AM. I've been hearing things that the bassist of Motley Crue, Nikki Sixx, was putting out an album to go along with his new book entitled The Heroin Diaries. This is a book taken directly from his journals from Christmas of 86 to Christmas of 87, and chronicles a year in the life of a heroin addict. I heard Nikki on Love Line last Sunday night and I can't wait to read this book.
    Now I'm not a fan of Motley Crue, I've always thought their music and lyrics were too juvenile for my tastes. I like my music to be a bit more in depth than sex drugs and rock and roll.
    So I was more than a bit hestitant when I saw a band called Sixx AM. But since the name of the album was the Heroin Diaries Soundtrack, and from listening to Nikki on Love Line, my curiosity was peaked so I checked out the album, expecting to hear some bad knock off of Motley Crue.
    And Holy Shit, this album blew me away and left me feeling violated. From the opening track, X-Mas In Hell, I knew this was no bad knock-off of a Motley Crue album. This was Nikki's soul laid bare, an honest look into the mind of junkie. And I wanted more.
    The music is heavy, loud and in your face on some songs, yet on other tracks, there are strings, piano, and soft acoustic guitars that enhance the listening experience without losing integrity or speed. And the lyrics, wow, Nikki takes you on a journey that is one part horror, one part depression, one part suicidal, and one part...HOPE.
    I've yet figured out who is the lead singer for Sixx AM, I do know it's not Nikki, but whoever is singing, his voice is filled with power and raw emotion when needed yet is soft and filled with passion on the darker, more introspective songs. And throughout the album and some of the songs, Nikki speaks, in what I'm assuming is excerpts from the Heroin Diaries themselves, in a matter of fact tone of voice that is quite haunting and unapologetic at the same time.
    This is by far, the best rock album I've heard in years. It's raw, powerful, and definitely in your face rock and roll that forces you along for the ride and makes you examine your life as if you were living these songs along with Nikki. I also know that most people won't find this album accessible, the themes and music will be enough to turn certain people away. But if you like your music with a little more depth than the average pop rock on the radio today, check out this album by Sixx AM called The Heroin Diaries Soundtrack, you won't be disappointed.
  13. 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.
  14. Jason Rimbaud

    IDTIWLPAM

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    IDTIWLPAM
    I was pretty much depressed about the events of my Sunday night dinner with Daniel. I don't want to get into it right now because that's not the reason I'm posting tonight. But I was pretty depressed and didn't want to spend all day Monday thinking about it so I figured I might catch a movie on Monday.
    So after looking up the Movies on Yahoo, I found three movies I really wanted to see. And since I couldn't decide between the three, and I don't know of a three sided coin to let fate decide, I choose to watch all three.
    I'd first catch the 11:30 AM showing of The Bourne Ultimatum, great movie by the way. What a way to end the trilogy, great job. Afterward, I would catch the 2:30 PM showing of the last Pirate of the Caribbean movie. Kind of boring about two hours too long, but it did have its moments. Like about half-way through the movie, this guy that was sitting a few seats over from me, suddenly let out a scream and a moment later his cell phone landed in my lap. The only thing I could think of, he must've been holding his cellphone against his face, and when he received a phone call, the vibration scared the hell out of him. I handed the cell phone back to him, and watched out of the corner of my eye as he searched the seats and floor on the other side. He kept this up for a good five minutes before he found what he was looking for, his glasses that were in the other hand and that he sent flying along with his cell phone.
    That event caused my depression to disappear so after Pirate Movie was over, I went home and had a relaxing day. I never did make it to the Simpson's Movie. But as funny as I know it's going to be, it might not be able to live up to that dumbass scaring himself so bad that he threw his glasses and cellphone in opposite directions in a dark theater.
  15. 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.
  16. 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.
  17. 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...
  18. 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
  19. 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??
  21. 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.
  22. 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
  23. 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.
  24. 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
  25. 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.

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