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Jason Rimbaud

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Blog Entries posted by Jason Rimbaud

  1. Jason Rimbaud
    All about Eve or Stupid Words Strung Together to Form Sentences
    He left the two laughing, his blue eyes searching the crowd for Brandon, hoping he wouldn't run into anyone else he knew. After going to the bar, he ordered another beer and sipped it slowly.
    "Hi, how are you?" a deep voice called out from behind.
    Turning around, he looked into the smiling face of Justin, another one of Brandon's bandmates. "Hi. I'm fine, and you?"
    "Bored," Justin replied, shrugging. "But then I'm always bored at these kind of parties." Holding up a full martini, he laughed, saying, "But this always helps."
    "Yes, I agree. Insulation always helps." Gabriel said before draining his beer, ordering another.
    "Alcohol is good for many things," Justin continued, never taking his eyes off the longhaired man.
    "Such as?" Gabriel asked, returning the gaze intently.
    "Like forgetting, or maybe enhancing certain feelings we usually keep hidden." Justin stated.
    "Really," Gabriel said. "And here I was thinking it was only good for getting wasted."
    Laughing a deep rich laugh, Justin shook his head. "Oh no, my friend. You see, alcohol affects the brain, and when you've consumed too much, you do stupid things."
    "Really. I"ve never noticed."
    "Really." Justin said, pointing over towards Brandon, who was trapped between four older ladies. "Take him for instance. He gets that way after a few beers. One time, he told Robert DeNiro that he was one of the most overrated actors of all time."
    "Now that's funny." Gabriel said, chuckling at the thought of someone telling Robert DeNiro off. "I bet that was the first time anyone told that jackass the truth."
    Waving his hands, Justin said, "That's beside the point, we were talking about alcohol and it's effects. Take this other friend of mine." This time Justin pointed to a tall dark haired man talking to a pretty blond girl over in the corner across the room. "Alcohol makes him believe something he's not. When he's drinking, he can forget all about his true nature."
    Musing over Justin's statements, Gabriel still couldn't figure out what the blond man was talking about. He asked, "And what does alcohol do to, someone like you?"
    "Me? Nothing, I'm the same asshole drunk or sober," Justin stated, grinning broadly. "But what I'm worried about, is you."
    "What about me?"
    "What does alcohol make you do?" Justin asked, his face turning serious.
    "For one, it gives me the patience to answer stupid questions from people I don't know." Gabriel said. "And for two, it makes me realize that some people shouldn't drink martini's. Excuse me."
    Gabriel started walking away, but Justin grabbed his arm, saying, "Wait."
    Gabriel pulled his arm from Justin's grip, saying, "Yes?"
    A smile returned to Justin's face. Downing the rest of his martini, he said, "I like you. I do. But I don't want a certain friend of mine to get hurt."
    Feigning ignorance, Gabriel asked, "What do you mean?"
    Shaking his head, Justin said, "Absolutely nothing. I just wanted to tell you that you should be carefu what you drink. Other than that, have fun." Turning around, he ordered another martini. Looking over his shoulder, he said, "Besides, I haven't seen him smile in months."
  2. Jason Rimbaud
    Five Greatest Hitchcock Films of All Time
    Last Night my roommate, Daniel, and I, got into a loud fight about Hitchcock's greatest films. Three of the five we agreed upon but he feels like North by Northwest is Hitchcock's greatest. I'm not sure if anyone that reads this blog watches Hitchcock, but here is my top five. If you havent seen any of these films, you should do yourself a favor and rent them. Great flicks by a master storyteller with brilliant acting by both Cary Grant and James Stewart.
    Number One: Suspicion
    The best movie Hitchcock ever directed. The last scene with Cary Grant holding a glass of milk as he walks up that long circular staircase still sends chills up my spine. Brilliant.
    Number Two: Rear Window
    Jimmy Stewart's finest performance. Unleashing the voyeur in us all, Hitchcock shows us that nothing we do is really private.
    Number Three: Rope
    The first movie I ever watched with hints of gay love. Though the villains are the gay guys, brilliantly acted and shot beautifully in three continuous takes.
    Number Four: The Man who knew too Much
    Another Jimmy Stewart gem, playing a man who wants his son back no matter the cost. Love this movie.
    Number Five: To Catch a Thief
    Retired cat burgular Cary Grant, stops at nothing to prove his innocent with the beautiful Grace Kelly by his side. Very cool movie.
  3. Jason Rimbaud
    Maybe The Cause I Am A Bit Fucked-Up
    I am in the process of moving, and I found this piece I wrote when I was sixteen. To give a brief, like I could be brief, backstory,
    I come from a VERY religious background. In the News and Views this week, Dude posted an article that scared me, so much so
    I decided to post this piece here, on my blog. To show others how real the threat of the religious right truly is, and how the young are
    brainwashed on a daily basis. This piece was herald by the private school I attended, it scares me that they bought into this piece and
    made everyone in my class read it. Stating during chapel no less, that I might have been inspired by the divine one himself/herself to
    write such a cautionary tale.
    MY REWARD
    By: Jason R.
    One dark and stormy night, I died. It wasn't the first time I have died, but it would be the last. Some say that the best is always saved
    for last, as it was when Jesus turned the water into wine and the wedding guests claimed the host had saved the best for last, and it was
    true. I will never forget this time. NEVER.
    I was lying in my bed, touching myself, as I entertained thoughts about my best friend, when my heart suddenly stopped. Instantly, I
    was transported to an empty field. Each other time when I died, my earthly senses became void. Like I was so much wind floating
    through the earth. Yet this time, I could hear the wind gently blowing through the tree tops, I could see the grass slightly bending over
    by the subtle force of the wind, I could smell the night air, soft and rich with the promise of rain, I could feel chill in the air and I shivered.
    I made a small noise in the back of my throat that reminded me of a child whimpering. All around me was calm, much like the eye of a
    tornado. I could feel forces moving through the earth and I was scared out of my mind.
    Without warning, my eyesight focused so that I could see even the bugs crawling along the leaves in the trees several hundred yards away.
    I looked up, and much to my amazement, I actually saw the infinate of the universe as I stared into the night sky. I shook my head and
    took a deep breath, filling my nostrils with a moldy, dead smell that made me lightheaded and disorientated. Instinctively I knew something
    was wrong and I began running as fast as I could.
    I had not gone four steps when the ground started shaking violently, falling and rising much like a rushing river, I lost my balance and fell
    to the cold earth. To my horror, the trees started falling on the edge of the clearing, great massive trunks that threatened to end my life
    as they crashed around me, plummenting down on the grassy field showering me with dead leaves.
    In the center of the field, a chunk of earth shot up, flying through the air before landing fifty feet away. Smoke and fire exploded from the
    hole causing me to choke as the tonic fumes billowed out like sheet falling on an empty bed. Rising out of the hole, clothed in fiery tones
    of red and black, Satan ascended in all his horrible glory. As this supernatural being rose grandly from his earthly domain, I
    was forced to my knees by the power and hate that eminated from this devourer of souls. As the figure revolved around to face me, I
    shook and quivered as I hugged the charred earth. His powerful chest rose and he breathed out, a fetid smell that caused me to choke.
    This supreme master of evil watched me shaking, a look of contempt on his face as he surveyed the scene. Without speaking audibly, he commended me to rise to my knees and look upon his countence. I tried to resist but the force of his will overpowered my fragile human
    mind. As my eyes focused on the sight before me, I screamed out to God, because I had look upon Satan himself. Satan laughed, a sound
    so vile and twisted it caused me to heave, my stomach emptying on the ground.
    Again, I screamed out for God to save me. Satan stopped laughing and said with much glee in his voice that God had forsaken me. That
    I had commited the unspeakable sin in my heart and that there was no forgiveness for one such as I. That God had turned his back on me
    and that I would live the rest of my life serving a new master. I was informed that I would awake, and that I would live forever. Abruptly
    he disappeared and I awoke in my new body. I went insane as I realized I was a swine, my reward for being a faggot.
    Whether or not the writing is good, it scares me to remember how I felt back in my teens, trapped in a closet with hate surrounding me
    like so much sharks waiting to devour me. It scares me to think that others, young and impressionable teens are filled with such images
    every time they walk inside a church. I have not fought for gay rights, nor have I stood up for those doing so. I told myself that I did
    not care about marriage, so why fight for it, I told myself that I am tough enough to hear the word faggot and not become angered. I
    conditioned myself to use the word faggot, claiming humor as the reason I told "gay" jokes.
    For years I have fought being gay, for years I have acted straight, so much so that people wonder if I only say I'm gay for effect. I use
    to claim that I was helping the "straights" accept gays by acting like them, showing them I was "normal". Maybe in a way I was helping
    along the ideas that its a disease that can be cured. My god, what have I done?
    I think its time to be different, show them that I'm willing to fight for all basic rights. If we spend even a tenth of time on fighting for gay
    rights as we do fighting for the next piece of ass, what a difference we might be able to make. Chilling thoughts from me tonight.
    Jason R.
  4. Jason Rimbaud
    For the last few months, I have been undergoing some disturbing eye problems. This condition has virtually stopped me from writing, for a time it stopped me even from driving, working, and such normal activities I had taken for granted for years. Let's not even mention the toll it took on my porn watching habits. For three weeks I sat in front of the television and guessed what I was watching/hearing by putting together the sounds I heard. The screen a blur I could not make out.
    For a while, it was unknown if I would ever regain my ability to see, even with glasses, contacts, ect ect. To say I have been more than a bit depressed wouldn't do justice to the feelings raging inside my small mind.
    For most of the month of January, I was locked inside my house, the blinds shut, the windows blacked out with tin foil to stop the light from coming in. Not because I hate the sun, but my eyes were so light sensitive the merest light caused intense headaches and nausea. For weeks, I could barely open my eyes much less see anything. As a writer, I thought my life was over. Dark thoughts jumbled around my head, I questioned if I wanted to live without sight. I don't know what I would do if not for "Susan". But that really isn't the reason for this post.
    The blurred vision is all but gone, the constant draining and nasty fluids no longer leak from my eyes, and though my eye glass perscripton has grown in strength, I am now classified as legally blind without corrective lenses of some kind, at least I can see clearly with glasses. Unfortantly due to the nature of my eye problems, I can no longer wear contacts. And let me tell you, my eye glasses, even with all the new technology offering thinner lenses, my glasses are still like coke bottles. I think they make me look ugly but on the bright side, I can at least see.
    Even now, i can only stand staring at the computer screen for about an hour before the light from the screen causes intense headaches. At least I can resume writing again. If only for a small amount of time. Watching TV in thirty minute clips is a bit strange, but it gives me something to do, as reading is out of the question for now.
    The doctors say I'm on the upswing and its only a matter of time before the damage done to my eyes is healed. They predict, if I follow their guidlines and suggestions, that I'll be back to "normal" sometime around summer. Though normal is now skewed, since I've done permenant damage to the cornea of my eyes.
    To all you contact wearers, be careful about wearing your contacts too long, sleeping with them in, and waiting too long to get new lenses, a leasson I'm learning very well at this point.
    I've got to get going, my eyes are starting to bother me and its time to rest them. which is basically me sitting with my eyes closed, remaining still and calm.
    Special thanks go out to my support system: Absolute Ruby Red Vodka, French wine, Vicadin, Valium, Pot, Molson Candian Lager, Daniel, Susan, and of course, my cock. Thank you all for keeping me somewhat sane the last few months.
  5. Jason Rimbaud
    Scared Silly or (He pissed on himself)
    Current Music Selection: Elvis Presley?Live in Vegas
    Current State: California
    Current Mood: Hyper
    So next door to the hip up-scale restaurant where I work, is this little Japanese place that specializes in Sushi. Now I?ve never tried it, anything related to fish or sometimes takes on a fishy odor; I try my best to stay far away. Either way, this restaurant is ?rumored? to not only have the tendency to ?over-serve? its customers but allows underage kids to drink alcohol quite illegally.
    For the record, I?m not against underage drinking. I?ve made literally thousands of dollars hanging outside seedy gas stations on the weekends, waiting to be approached by underage youths wishing me to purchase beer for them. I?m okay with contributing to anyone?s delinquency, minors or adults.
    And since I?ve been known to reach the state of ?over-served? myself, I can?t really complain about such behavior. But since this is my blog and by now, you?re pretty sure I?m going to complain about something or make a fool of myself, you might be asking where is this going?
    Saturday night at work, I?m finishing up, waiting on that last table to pay the check and leave. I think to myself, this is a perfect time to go outside and burn a cancer stick. I worked hard all day and deserve to shorten my life by seven minutes.
    (why so caviler about smoking? Because though I?m shortening my life, it?s not the fun life, the first part, I?m shortening the last part, the miserable life. Judging by how miserable old people are, I?d rather not live)
    So I?m outside smoking. And out of the corner of my eye, I watch this guy leave this Japanese restaurant. Now the reason I notice him, he is not Japanese or Asian. Now before you accuse me of racism or stereotyping, I know white people enjoy some of that Asian cooking. I, myself, love the flavor of the Orient. (and the food isn?t that bad either) Yet, at this particular restaurant, I?ve never seen anyone other than Asian darken the doorway. So seeing this very drunk white guy stumble out of the building caused me to take a double look.
    The reason I continued to watch this drunk white guy was I thought he was kind of cute, in a dirty skate boarder kind of way. As he approached my hiding place (out back behind the restaurant in the shadows of the building, quite invisible unless you see the cherry of my cancer stick) I can hear that he is having a conversation. Unless he has an invisible friend I can?t see or a few pink elephants following him, I can only assume he?s arguing with himself.
    To stay hidden and continue my voyeuristic staring, I drop my cigarette to the ground and stand perfectly still in the shadows. Now that he?s even closer, I can him hear say things. I quickly deduce they have ?cut him off? from drinking anymore. And by the way he keeps mumbling over and over again, he didn?t agree with them, at all. Apparently he was the sort who wanted to keep drinking until his liver said, ?Fuck it, I quit. You win.?
    He stops about ten feet from my hiding spot, and looks around. Recognizing that he has to take a piss from the way he keeps pulling on himself and the way he looked around to make sure he was alone, I chuckle silently. I?ve had a rough day and I decide to have a little fun with this drunken white guy.
    Sure enough, he walks up next to the building and fumbles with his pants for a few moments. He leans his head against the wall and uses his left hand to balance, and a few seconds later, I hear the unmistakable sounds of someone pissing.
    I let him go long enough, just long enough where I know it will be tough or even impossible to stop the flow. Once I figure he reached this point, I clear my throat loudly and say, ?What are you doing pissing on my building??
    I was expecting him to jump a bit, maybe let out a few curse words, you know, something along those lines. Anything really would have made me smile. But oh boy, did I get so much more. I only wish I could describe this in a way where you could see exactly what I did.
    The moment I said, ?What are you doing pissing on my building?? He turned into something right out of a Marx Brothers Comedy or something. His head whipped around with a look of utter terror on his face, while his hand that he was using for balance dropped to his waist. This caused him to lose his balance and he started falling into the wall. He barely brings up both hands fast enough to catch himself. Now he?s pissing all over himself and his hands drop back to his waist. While he?s fumbling to stop pissing and put his cock away, he has to use his head, now pressed against the wall to keep him up-right.
    And just when I thought it was over, he lets out a scream. This scream was filled with such agony; I instantly knew he caught some part of his twig and berries in his zipper. He falls to his knees, right in the puddle of his own piss, and frantically tries to untangle his genitals from his zipper.
    I?m laughing because, well, because I?m an asshole. And I don?t think anyone should get so drunk, ALONE, that they find themselves unable to perform such simple tasks as urination. Plus, I?m totally against public urination, especially on my restaurant. That?s where I make my money for fucks sake.
    So I watch him for a few moments before walking back inside the restaurant, I now want to tell the other servers about this idiot that is outside in a puddle of piss. I rush in and tell everyone to come out and see the guy I scared so badly he pissed all over himself. But after going back outside, I was disappointed to find that he had already gathered himself and disappeared into the night to lick his wounds as it were.
    My juvenile antics probably scarred him for life, but hopefully in the future he?ll think twice about pissing in public. Well, at least on my restaurant.
  6. Jason Rimbaud
    Mistaken Identity and Two Rolls of Toilet Paper
    Current Music Selection: Snow Patrol?Eyes Open
    Current State: Buzzed
    Current Mood: Fulfilled
    So I stabbed my co-worker in the back with a fork tonight at work. I don?t think you can appreciate this statement. So I?ll Chris Nolan it, Memento style. We?ll go back in time so you can get the full impact of this statement.
    As some of you know, I work in a hip up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto California. Most of my co-workers are between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one. Almost all of us are males, and for the most part, we get along rather well.
    No matter how professional we are in the front of the house, the main room of the restaurant for those un-familiar, the back of the house, the kitchen area, is one rowdy and fun loving place. Here is where we make fun of the guests, catch up on the gossip of our co-workers, and mainly play practical jokes on everyone. Usually the games we play are divided between the servers and the kitchen staff.
    Mostly our games are harmless, high school games. Like the circle game. For those of you that haven?t heard of this game, I?ll explain. You bring your forefinger and thumb together to make an ?O?, and making sure the ?O? is below your waist, you try and trick the rest of the co-workers to look at the ?O?. If they look, you get to hit them in the arm. But there is a way out, if the person who is shown the ?O?, can without looking, takes his forefinger and breaks the ?O?, and then he gets to hit the person who flashed the ?O?. Usually we all go home with black and blue arms.
    Lately our games have been escalating to hit and run attacks of the left nipple. And yes, only the left nipple is targeted. This gives everyone a fighting chance, as we all have pockets over our left nipples and we can stick things inside to protect the rather sensitive nipple area. So of course we have to be rather creative to get a direct hit, but then we all are pretty creative.
    But none of these games were the cause of the above statement. I?m getting there, just like Memento; good things come to those who wait. Now, we have individual candles at each table to give off good ambience. At the beginning of the shift, we all have to light the hundred or so candles that litter our restaurant. One of my co-workers, after lighting thirty or so candles, walks over to me and complains that his lighter is really hot. I call him a pussy and to prove how hot the lighter is, he places the metal part, where the flame comes out, against my left forearm. I must admit, he was right. The lighter was very hot and it burned me.
    For some of you here on this site, you might not know that straight guys love hurting one another. And since I?m pretty straight acting, I think it?s kind of fun to inflict good natured harm to guys I like. Like I tell them all the time, we?re two steps away from one big gay orgy. That would inflict lots of harm mixed with pleasure but I?m getting off topic again. I stabbed my co-worker with a fork.
    So I scream out, stating the obvious that he burned me. Now, his best friend walks over to see why I screamed out like a girl. After relaying the story, and showing him the spot on my arm that is now a deep red and beginning to blister, that fucker uses his lighter and burns me again, a few inches above the first burn. So in pain, and with a vengeful nature, I flick both of their nipples, hard. So hard that I actually hurt my fingers. They scream out, complaining that the right nipple is off limits and that I cheated.
    So we stood there, the two of them rubbing their sore nipples and me blowing on my burnt skin. So loudly were we screaming, our General Manager came out of his office to see what the commotion was about. After telling him that I cheated by targeting the right nipple, a game he plays as well (we have a great boss) he looks at me and shakes his head, but then I showed him my arm. In his great wisdom, he allows the flick to go un-punished as they did burn me. I stick my tongue out at them, gloating. I know, real mature. But serving in a restaurant is a really stressful job and we need all the distractions to help us get through the night.
    Now remember, we haven?t even opened for business yet and already I have two co-workers declaring they will get me back for my unlawful nipple attack. I walk away, confident that I?ll survive whatever the two come up with.
    Remember, I?m a man of routine. We open at 5:30, at 5:15 everyday I go outside to get one last cigarette down before the hell begins. After I finish smoking, I go to the bathroom, relieve myself and wash the cigarette smell from my hands.
    They see me go outside, ten minutes later, they watch me walk into the bathroom. I enter one of the stalls and proceed with my business. I hear the door open and someone walk into one of the stalls. I think nothing of this; it?s a public bathroom after all. About a minute later, I hear the door open again. I hear them speaking, it?s the two that have sworn to get me back. They walk into the two remaining stalls. I hear a banging noise, and a few seconds later, one calls out to the other, asking if he?s ready. The other replies yes, and then I hear two loud bangs and then a splash, then a muffled yell, followed immediately by a very deep voice saying this, and I quote, ?I?m not who you think I am.? They had decided to grab two rolls of toilet paper and chuck them over the stall walls. What they didn?t know, they had chosen the wrong stall. It seems our delivery driver had needed to take a shit after giving us our beer. One of the toilet paper rolls hit him in the head while the other fell right between his legs and into the bowl.
    Needless to say, both of them bolted out of the bathroom like two scared rabbits while I started laughing. What made it even more comical, was after they left, the driver continued to curse and yell about the incident. I calmly washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom to find both of them, hiding in the office with scared looks on their faces.
    I shake my head, and then tell every person working what had just happened. To say they were mad about the nipple flick was an understatement now. They both swore they would get me before the night was over. And for the rest of the night, periodically one of us would look at the two of them and say, "I'm not who you think I am."
    Shortly after that, we opened the door and had one of the busiest nights in our history. And through the night, though we help each other out, every free moment is spent flicking nipples, pushing, punching, and generally having one hell of a time trying to out do one another.
    Now, wait for it, here comes the reason I?m writing this entry. At the very end of the shift, the one that burned me first, comes at me with a pen in his hand and acts like he?s going to stab me in the nipple with it. My reflex is to stop this from happening so I stick out my right hand. At that moment, the second one that burned me chose this moment to push the other guy hard from behind, sending him crashing into me. Needless to say, I get stabbed in the hand with a pen, deep enough to draw blood. I react without thinking, I pick up the first thing I could, which happened to be a dirty fork from one of the plates. I looked at the one who stabbed me, he protests, saying he was pushed and that he really wasn?t going to stab me. I shake my head and he starts to run. I chase him out of the kitchen and down the hall to the back door, where I catch him and in a moment of stupidity, I stab him in the back with a fork. He screams out, I push him outside, and slammed the door. Everyone, including the General Manager is standing there laughing as he bangs on the door. Yelling that I tried to kill him with a dirty fork and that he?ll probably get some crazy disease.
    After work, I buy a six-pack of beer and in the parking lot, we all drink beer together and laugh over the days events. Speculating on what the next day we?ll bring and what kind of adventures we?ll have together in this hip upscale restaurant in Palo Alto.
  7. Jason Rimbaud
    One giant can of Red Bull, Spearmint Gum, and a pack of Marlboro Lights
    Current Music Selection: Snow Patrol?Breaking Benjamin?Ryan Star
    Current State: Slightly drunk
    Current Mood: Optimistic
    So on the way to work, I stop off at Max?s Smoke Shop to buy a giant can of Red Bull, Spearmint gum, and a pack of Marlboro Lights. This is something I?ve been doing every day for the four months I?ve worked in Palo Alto. I say hi to Max, light up a cigarette and shoot the shit with probably the coolest ?old guy? I?ve ever met. We talk about football and the chance of the 49?ers making the play-offs. I ask about his wife, he asks about my flavor of the week, we converse in friendly tones.
    Being slightly OCD, I really, really, really, like my routine. If something happens to alter this routine, I become?well lets say it how it really is shall we?an asshole. I?m sure you guessed it; this routine was altered today when I returned to work after having off for New Years.
    It?s another post, if I ever get the nerve to write about New Years, but I walked into Max?s Smoke Shop, a smile on my face, and a happy New Year greeting on the tip of my tongue for my favorite ?old guy?. But that damn greeting died on my lips when I saw the nightmare standing behind the counter. Have you ever seen that show on BBC, called Are You Being Served? If so, do you remember that old chick that always changed the color of her hair? This is exactly what the DUDE behind the counter looked like. Even down to the cheesy old skirt and stained white blouse. It was frightening.
    I know I live in the San Francisco Bay Area, probably one of the largest gay communities in the world, and I know it takes all kinds. If you have any doubts, take a walk in the Castro and you?ll see what I mean. But digressing again and I?m trying to stop this practice.
    Upon seeing this?thing behind the counter, I pause at the front door. I look around, making sure I walked into the right store. I?ve been known after a long three days of partying to wander into stores aimlessly. But I had walked into the right place. I swear I stood at the front door for a good minute. I get used to certain things and I wasn?t sure if I wanted to buy my giant can of Red Bull from this sitcom reject.
    While I stood in the doorway, I noticed this old lady with probably the ugliest dog I?ve ever seen. I immediately shudder; this lady was somehow odder looking than the ?thing? behind the counter. She was wearing this long black wig, it was dirty and ratted like she had never bothered to run a comb through it. But the thing that made my head turn to one side, much like a dog, was every few moments she would raise a wrinkled hand to her wig. Like she was making sure it was still atop her ?probably? bald head. And each time she checked her wig, she would move it slightly. So by the time I saw her inside Max?s Smoke Shop, it was beyond crooked. I think a slight breeze would send it careening to the floor, which would be cleaner than the mess resting on her head. But digressing yet again. She was wearing these shoes, I can?t even describe them. But I bet they were old during the fifties. I think at one time they were black, but now they looked more like?mud. Her skirt, bright red with yellow fringe, looked like it was two sizes too small and unfortunately left nothing to the imagination. I couldn?t see what shirt she chose to accompany this ensemble, because she was hiding it under a three-quarter length fur coat. Which I might add, was suffering from the same affliction as her head hair.
    I think its time to let you know that I?m not an animal lover. I?ve never understood the need for a pet. But hey, it takes all kinds, right? Whatever, but I do believe that since I can?t smoke inside public places, then I don?t think a flea infested dog should be allowed inside public places. Digress, no thanks, trying to quit.
    I reach into my pocket and pull out my trusty silver cigarette case. I check to see if I have enough to make it through the night. I shake my head, three cigarettes won?t cut it. So I make the decision to go the rest of the way inside and quickly grab my giant can of Red Bull, my Spearmint gum, and a pack of Marlboro Lights. After all, Susan said I should be more open to change. Stupid therapist, change sucks.
    So I walk quickly by the ?thing? behind the counter. I hug the gum shelf to get as far away from the smelly dog, and its ugly companion. I breathe deeply as I reach the cooler that is normally filled to the brim with giant cans of Red Bull.
    Again for a moment, I stand there, staring in disbelief at the empty cooler. I decide that Max must?ve changed the coolers around again without giving me the week?s notice we had agreed upon. You would think the ?old guy? would?ve learned his lesson the last time he moved the coolers around. Why would you put the Red Bull cooler all the way in the back? It was right next to the gum shelves, it was perfect. I?d walk into the store, I grab the gum, grab the giant Red Bull, turn, and walk to the counter where I would pay for everything.
    So I walk down the row of coolers, peering into each one carefully. Maybe the ?old guy? had finally taken my advice and moved them back to the front of the store. But once I reached the gum shelf, I had not seen any Red Bull. So I walk back down the row of coolers, peering carefully again. After doing this two more times, I look at the front of the store. The ?thing? behind the counter was now leaning over the counter petting the ugly dog while the weird old lady looked on with the biggest smile I had ever seen on a human. Crocodiles had nothing on this lady, except maybe a few more teeth, but that was it.
    Again I shudder; dogs shouldn?t be allowed inside public places. But I choke back that retort and instead ask where Max moved the Red Bulls. This is when the ?thing? behind the counter, looks over at me and replies, I swear this is his exacts words, ?That?s right, Max left a note telling me to make sure I fill up the Red Bulls.. Sorry, I forgot.?
    So I walk towards the front, I ask, ?How can you forget? He left you a note and everything.?
    ?Sorry, why don?t you try a Rock Star instead?? This is what he says, now fully focused on the dog.
    Seeing that he has gone to that place when adults see either children or animals, I give up. I can do this, change is good, remember. So I grab my Spearmint gum and walk to the counter. I notice, because I?m somewhat intelligent, that the weird lady is neither waiting to purchase anything nor has she purchased anything. As far as I can tell, she wandered in just so the ?thing? behind the counter could pet her ugly dog.
    I wait, longer than a minute, I know I looked at my watch, and this ?thing? behind the counter is going on and on about this dog. Talking to it like it?s a human, like he expects the ugly dog to answer his stupid questions. And when he asked the ugly dog if it got everything it wanted for Christmas, I finally lost it.
    I ask for a pack of Marlboro Lights and threw my pack of gum on the counter, still standing a good six feet away from weird lady and ugly dog. The moment I spoke, that damn dog turned and looked at me and before I could do anything, it had covered the distance and jumped up on my freshly pressed pants.
    I pushed the dog, cringing at touching such a dirty animal, and looked at the lady and say, very plainly, ?Please control your dog.?
    You would?ve thought I punched the dog, which was my first instinct but after four months talking to Susan, I had ignored this reaction. She called out for the dog and the ?thing? behind the counter gave me a funny look. So I repeat what I wanted. The ?thing? rolls his eyes and grabs a pack of Marlboro Lights.
    While I?m paying for my purchase, minus one giant can of Red Bull, that damn dog jumps up on me again. This is when all of Susan?s advice went out the window. I shoved the dog down, and looked at the lady saying, ?What don?t you control your flea ridden dog for fucks sake?? Granted, not very diplomatic, but after seeing what I did the first time, she should?ve expected something along those lines.
    The ?thing? behind the counter looked at me and said, ?Calm down, he?s just happy to see you.?
    So I say, ?I believe Palo Alto has a very strict leash law, shouldn?t that thing be leashed up out front or better yet inside the car??
    The conversation pretty much went down hill from there. The lady went off on me, telling me where I could stick my leash law and the ?thing? behind the counter told me to get out.
    I was mad, but I knew in the back of my mind I needed that pack of Marlboro Lights, so I told him I wanted the cigarettes. He refused, so I threatened to call animal control and say that the dog attacked me and that it wasn?t on a leash, and I was inside a store.
    I admit I might have been just a bit irrational at this point. But change really isn?t good and sometimes I just can?t help my anti-social behavior. I really do try but I don?t have a lot of patience, or good judgment at times in crisis. Besides, I brought two people closer together today. I?m sure, long after I left with my cigarettes, they bitched about the asshole who doesn?t like dogs. So in a way, I did a good deed today.
    I wonder what Susan?s take on this will be next week. She probably won?t like it on one hand but on the other, she realize just how much money she?ll make trying to help me adapt to change. Wow, that?s two good deeds I did today. One more and I?ll make Eagle Scout. But I digress again.
  8. Jason Rimbaud
    Frequently Asked Questions
    Current Music Selection: Dashboard Confessional
    Current State: Five by Five
    Current Mood: Expended
    Frequently Asked Questions:
    In no particular order
    1: How old are you?
    In gay terms, I?m over the hill and very much the stereotypical Aquarius. This means I?m somewhere between twenty-seven and ninety-nine. But if it counts, I still behave like I?m eighteen.
    2: Why aren?t you ever signed on to Yahoo Messenger?
    I?ve never been one to go to chat rooms. And before I began posting on Awesome Dude, I never had a reason to sign on to Yahoo Messenger. But now I?ll automatically sign in so if you see me online, I promise I?ll answer all IM?s. Though I can?t promise to engage you in interesting conversation, I?m lacking most times in that department.
    3: What do you look like?
    The same way you do I guess. I have two eyes, sometimes four depending if I?m wearing my glasses or contacts. My nose has been broken three times though I must admit plastic surgery has done wonders for me and I look decidedly average. I have blue eyes and have been told this is my greatest attribute. I have dark brown hair and much to my chagrin, my hair has been committing suicide lately. (for all of you with thick hair, that means I?m slowly going bald) I?m somewhere between 5?11 and 6? depending on the time of day I measure. My weight fluctuates between 170 and 160, depending on my depression and alcohol intake.
    4: Why haven?t you recorded a promo for Awesome Dude Radio?
    I hate the way I sound on tape. Usually my mind is running so fast I have trouble articulating my words and typically end up stuttering or mumbling incoherently. And for the most part, my speaking voice resembles the sound a pregnant yak makes during a particular hard birth. The listeners would turn off the radio and never venture back.
    5: Why is it, usually in your emails, that you seem to have trouble conveying your thoughts and ideas?
    Anti-depressants and alcohol are never a good mix. And according to Daniel, I tend to forget that I already took my pill for the day and end up taking another one, this fucks with me on several levels. Although I must admit, getting the dosage wrong is always an adventure.
    6: Are you single?
    Yes. I have trouble with intimacy as you probably already surmised by reading my poetry and my blog.
    7: Is So Called Chaos your first story?
    No, I have written three complete novels over the last five years though no one will ever read them. Believe me, they suck.
    8: Why did you post a short story, Moonlight Will Prevail, in your blog? Is this a true to life story?
    I guess you could say this story is a ?true story?, it?s just not my true story. I had the pleasure of knowing the protagonist, Angel (though in the story I left out his name) and from the first moment he relayed this story, I knew I had to write it down. I broke it down in ten installments to make it easier to read and to give me the chance to do much needed re-writes. Other than that, I guess I just loved the piece.
    9: Are you ever going to put up a picture either on your website or Awesome Dude?
    One day I?m sure I?ll finally get a camera and take the time to learn how to up-load pictures. Though I can?t see that happening anytime soon. I?m not fond of cameras, plus, I have this fear of the camera possibly stealing my soul.
    10: Have you thought about ?reading/performing? one of your poems to include it on Awesome Dude?
    Forgetting about my ?I hate the way I sound on tape? thing, I?ve always considered myself a writer. And though I write about my personal life and allow the readers access into my most private thoughts, the idea of performing scares the hell out of me. And usually, once I write a piece, I?m done with it and off to the next one. I?ll leave that medium to those better suited to it.
    11: I see that you mention ?John? frequently in your poems and throughout your blog, is this the same person each time, and, is he a real person or a composite of several past boyfriends?
    John is very much a real person. Without giving you the entire sordid history, John and I had a brief but passionate love affair some years ago. This was a period of rampant drug use on both our parts and being we both are highly emotional people, our relationship was quite volatile. I find it therapeutic to write about the experience. If I didn?t, I might just grab a gun and go searching for the little bastard.
    12: Is Jason Rimbaud your real name? If not, what is and why did you pick that name to write under?
    I chose Jason Rimbaud for two reasons. Arthur Rimbaud, a French poet who?s most famous piece is called, A Season in Hell, had a great impact on my life during my teenage years. And the name Jason, is in reference to a good friend of mine who first encouraged me to find a home online. As for my real name, if you ask polite enough, I just might tell you.
    13: I really liked So Called Chaos and A Moment of Clarity, but each time I try to contact you through Awesome Dude, my email is returned. How can I reach you?
    Somehow, someway, Awesome Dude and my email address don?t get along. As far as I know, there is no way to remedy this. If you need to contact me, try using Awesome Dude Private Message or send me an email at jasonrimbaud2006@yahoo.com from your personal email account, bypassing Awesome Dude all together. As far as I know, this is the only way.
    14: If I send you an excerpt from my story, will you read it and give me your thoughts?
    Of course, though I think there are others better suited to this task. I found my current editor by posting a cry for help in the Editor section of Awesome Dude forums. Plus, don?t forget about The Bull Pen, a great place to get feedback from people more talented than I.
    15: I?ve enjoyed reading the poems you?ve posted at Awesome Dude. My question is, how long does it take you to write each poem?
    Writing times varies but usually I never spend more than an hour actually sitting in front of the computer. Normally I start with a title, usually inspired by music. Once I have the title, I might think about what I want to say for days and in some cases weeks before I ever sit down at the computer. So when I sit down, the piece flows out of me and after tweaking it for a bit, I post it and move on.
    16: I see from your blog entries, your almost constant poetry posts, and your running serial novel, that you spend a lot of time writing. Do you write each day or do you write in spurts when the creativity strikes you?
    I write each and every day. And usually I spend five or six hours each night in front of the computer writing something. This is a habit I do seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. I have to write, it?s something inside of me I can?t control. I?ve never understood those writers that only write once a week or when the ?muse? strikes. I never sit in front of the computer and stare at a blank screen. If I get stuck on a story I?m writing, I put that story away and move over to one of the other projects I have running. I found that if I take my mind of the story I?m having trouble with and go on to something else, my sub-conscious usually works out the problem for me. Sometimes it takes hours and sometimes it takes day, but during that time, I spend that time writing other things, usually poetry.
    17: You?ve said on several occasions that you do not like stories written in the first person, why not?
    In my experience, stories that use the ?first? person narrative tend to repeat themselves. The author usually has pages of ?inner dialogue? that tells the action instead of showing the action through character interaction. Or, and this really annoys me, the protagonist, through ?inner dialogue? will explain a trait about a certain character, then in the following paragraph, the protagonist will say the same thing through ?real dialogue? with another character. This happens all the time and it drives me crazy. Though I?ve found exceptions to this rule, and I always give a story a chance even if it is written in the ?first person?. This is my opinion and my personal tastes, nothing more.
    18: Who are some of your favorite online authors and what are some of your favorite stories?
    I?ve enjoyed stories by Dom Luka, Dan Kirk, Dio, and countless others. Though I must admit, I don?t spend much time reading online stories. I spend way too much time trying to construct my own stories. The above authors, all write in the ?first person? by the way. Laika by elecivil is definitely a favorite of mine and I never miss a post. Again, totally written in the first person. Always exceptions to the rule.
    19: I?ve noticed your poetry is on the dark side, why didn?t you submit a story for Halloween?
    I never really liked ?horror? stories, or movies for that matter. Plus, I?ve never had an idea dealing with those themes. The closest I?ve ever got was A Moment of Clarity, which is by no means a horror story.
    20: I live in the San Francisco area, I love reading your poetry, would it be possible to ever meet you in person?
    As flattering as that sounds, I?m afraid the answer is no. I?m really not that interesting to talk to and you never know, I might be some crazy killer just waiting to get you alone. I think it would be best if you?d stay away.
  9. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Conclusion
    By: Jason R.
    After the funeral was over, my Uncle told me how he had tried for years to contact me but my father had refused his inquiries. He told me I was welcome to stay in his house for as long as I wished to stay. And I have lived there ever since. I guess he became the dad I should?ve had in the first place.
    He taught me that hate, any kind of hate, was no way to live this beautiful life. He forced me to see that if I truly didn?t want to be like my parents, I couldn?t hate them for what they did to me. Or for what they believed. He taught me to love and to show compassion for all living things. And that loving a boy wasn?t sinful. He showed me that love in any form is pure and seldom achieved. Through his patience and constant guidance, I learned that love is a gift from God. He opened my eyes to the gift Greg had left me.
    From shortly after my sixteenth birthday till four days after my twenty-second birthday, I lived with my Uncle in bliss and contentment. He had never married and to my knowledge wasn?t gay either. He enjoyed hanging out with his many friends and of helping others out in thousands of different ways. For all I know, he never thought about sex unless I asked an absurd question about this or that. The time I spent in that house with him is some of the best years of my life thus far.
    For everything he taught me about life, about relationships, or just about giving of ones self to others, I am forever in his debt. Unfortunately, I will never be able to repay his kindness. You see, four days after my birthday, my Uncle passed away from lung cancer. It seems I?m destined to lose everything I love in my life.
    First, I lost my beloved, Greg. Just a few brief hours after that, I lost my family. The ones I have loved so deeply and to this day still miss like it was only yesterday. Then I lose my Uncle, my dad if I may be so bold.
    As I look back on the last ten years, I can see how I grew and how I changed due to my Uncles influences. He has helped me through some of life?s hardest lessons.
    But the most important lesson I ever learned, I learned from Greg. It wasn?t one thing he said or did but how he lived his life day in and day out. If anything, I learned by his example. I have to live everyday like it?s my last. We really never know when it?s time to go. I learned to follow my dream now, today, and not wait for that ?perfect moment?. I learned that it will never be perfect, sooner or later, if you wait, your dreams can pass you by.
    When I went to Greg?s funeral, I didn?t get it. I was so angry with the High School kids and their indifference. This attitude they had, thank god it wasn?t me. I hated each and every one because of this attitude. I didn?t know then what I know now.
    Last week at my Uncle?s wake, I didn?t get it at first either. All his friends were sitting around the table, laughing and joking like nothing happened. At first I was angry, but then I watched as they looked at old pictures of my Uncle and told stories about his life, and slowly I began to understand.
    Funeral?s aren?t about mourning the passing of a loved one. It?s not about groaning and moaning over death. A funeral is a celebration of life, my Uncles? life. His friends weren?t laughing because they didn?t care. They were laughing because they remembered my Uncle in the most precious of ways. They celebrated his life and what he did for them and everyone he came into contact with on a daily basis. It was a remembrance of all things good about a beautiful man.
    I wish I had known this for Greg?s funeral. I could?ve let everyone in that building know what a wonderful and kind person he was. And how much love he had inside his body and his passion for chasing his dreams. But I was still caught up in the trappings of death, I didn?t understand.
    I don?t mourn for Greg anymore. I miss him just as strong today as I did then. But when I think of him now, I remember the laughter we shared, the love that held us together, and I remember his life and what we all could learn from it. To live life with no regrets, to never pass over a dream due to fear and to always follow your heart. I believe with every breath in my body that Greg died content and happy with his place in the universe. A free spirit that never let circumstances dictate his happiness.
    The doctor said he had a heart attack, that he died peacefully in his sleep. He promised me it was painless and quick. I like to think sometimes as I gaze up at the moon, that the last thing he felt was my love and the last thing he thought was his love for me. I?ll never forget our walk in the moonlight nor will I forget he gave me the most precious gift of all, a will to embrace life and to always take a chance on love.
  10. Jason Rimbaud

    Stay Connected

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Current Music Selection: Papa Roach?the paramour sessions
    Current State: California
    Current Mood: Hungry
    In this fast paced life we live, the term ?being connected? has come to dominate our terminology. From the slow dial-up modem to the faster than light connection of DSL, Internet cafes, ?wired cities? and desktop PC?s, almost every human in America has a love affair with this Super Information Highway. (Write thank you note to Al Gore)
    I can get up-to-date scores on my cell phone, watch my Satellite TV right on my PDA (Sling-Box, the fourth greatest invention) send and receive dirty pictures of nameless ?internet? friends, keep in contact with my friends back in Pennsylvania, and thousands of other features we all take for granted.
    And yet sometime Wednesday morning, I lost my Internet connection. Okay, let me explain. Unlike his Dudeness, I don?t live in a third world country. I live in one of the most wired cities in America. How did I lose my Internet connection? I?ll explain.
    My roommate, Daniel, never bothered getting Internet access at his house. Mainly because he is one of the cheapest people I know and for four years he had been happy stealing access from one of his many neighbors. When I moved in, I bought a wireless card and enjoyed the same freedom. But Wednesday morning, okay more like afternoon, I got out of bed and turned on my computer to check email and to make my daily peruse of AD?s forums.
    ?NO INTERNET CONNECTION AVAILABLE?
    For a moment I sat there staring at the screen. My poor brain could not process the words. I didn?t know what to do; it was as if I reverted back to a child seeing the microwave work for the first time. Much like the scene in Zoolander, I reverted back to my primal self. I frantically tried to sign on again, like maybe I hit the wrong button the first time around. Or perhaps I had forgotten how to connect online. After failing six or seven times, I called Daniel and asked him for advice. I?m not sure what he was suppose to do but apparently I lost my mind. I felt naked, it was the first time I was ?not connected? and much like a junkie, I was in full-blown withdrawal mode.
    I even called my friend, Ann, in Pennsylvania, a tech-junkie that has forgotten more about computers than I?ll ever know, and asked her advice. Surely she?d know how to get my fix, wave her magic wand and say poof, may the fairy have Internet or some such shit. Well, I can tell you she did call me a fairy, but mainly because I interrupted her during an important meeting, and if she had the ?magic wand?, I?m not sure waving it would have been her first act with said wand.
    Undaunted, I continued my quest to get ?connected?. I grabbed my laptop and walked around my backyard, trying different spots to see if I could steal someone else?s access. No dice, why do all my neighbors have their modems set up for ?secured access only?? The nerve of some people, keeping all that porn to themselves. After screaming at random houses from my backyard, making sure my neighbors knew how I felt about them and their private access, I sat down and tried to conceive a plot to once again become connected.
    I considered breaking into random houses around my neighborhood and stealing the access code from the back of the modem or pretending to be a repair technician and steal the access code that way. I went as far as to look through my closet for any clothing that might resemble a repair technician?s uniform. I was in the process of combing my hair, you know parted on the left side to look more like ?them?, you know what I mean, straight, when Daniel came home.
    After listening patiently to my plan to steal the access code, he shook his head and said, ?Why don?t we just call ATT and hook up our own high-speed Internet.? Or we could do that, though my plan to steal it seemed more adventurous. Is it just me or is stolen Internet access somehow more fulfilling than the Internet access obtained legally? Like maybe you get access to better porn sites if you steal it or something.
    I guess the point of this post is this, for four days I went without Internet. Though I must admit the first two days were the hardest. By the time access was restored, I had stopped shaking and most of the craving has all but disappeared. Upon returning home from work Saturday night, Daniel had written me a note saying the Internet is now up and running. I ran, not kidding, I run full blown down the hall, my shoes echoing on the hardwood floor, waking up Daniel and causing his dogs to temporarily lose their minds.
    The two minutes it took my computer to turn on was the longest two minutes of my life. I sat there in my chair, staring at the screen, willing the programs to run faster, I hadn?t even bothered to take off my jacket. By the time my little computer in the bottom right of the screen started blinking, I was in a full-blown frenzy.
    My hands were shaking as I waited for Yahoo mail to open up. Who had emailed me in the four days I had been away? How many fan letters did I receive about So Called Chaos? Who did frame Roger Rabbit? I need answers to all these questions.
    Finally the page opened and my eyes found my in-box folder, there it was, big as life. ZERO. I had been gone four days and no one sent me a single email. Which brings me to my present state, how did this monster called ?Information Super Highway? ever get such control over our lives? I felt naked and lost during my four day absence yet I missed nothing. It was all there just as I left it, the same porn sites, Awesome Dude, Nifty, History Channel, youtube, they were all their just as I left them.
    Do I really need to be so connected I was willing to break into someone?s house? Have I forgotten how to talk to someone face to face? Why do I feel alone in a crowd yet feel accepted in a chat room filled with other lonely people looking for the same thing I search for? Maybe I need to ?disconnect? periodically and go out into the real world. Head off into the wild blue yonder and find my life instead of hiding behind profiles or screen names.
    Fuck that, bring on the porn and faceless tricks via cameras. I say fuck the world, or at least until the world has a place to maintain a constant connection. Until then, my ass will be planted firmly in my chair, a smoldering cigarette in the ashtray, an empty bottle of wine on the floor, and me wearing no pants. Cheers all you junkies out there, technically we aren?t alone. Remember, if everyone in the world would, at the same time, unzip their pants, it would be a sound that would echo across the world and out into space. Let the aliens know we all aren?t hell bent on destroying the world. That at least some of us, just want to stay connected.
    Jason R.
  11. Jason Rimbaud
    Stay True to the Dreams of Your Youth
    He rose again from his shadow to contemplate the decision before him. The sun was descending into the west, and he felt it exploding him from behind. A few feet from where his eyes rested upon his young face stood two signs.
    One sign pointed down a road where a car awaited to take him into the womb of certainty, should he choose that path. The other sign pointed towards a narrow trail that disappeared into a lush forest.
    He looked at the sign pointing at the car. Upon it, in big, black gleaming letters was the word CERTAINTY?10 miles. Underneath this word written a bit smaller, it read, ACCEPTENCE and SECURITY.
    He stared at the sign for a moment before shifting his gaze to the other. This sign was older looking and the words were a bit faded?it read: UNCERTAINTY?miles unknown. Underneath, like the other sign, were two words: RISK and FREEDOM.
    The boy became confused and distraught once again as his eyes began to swell with water. Most of his life he had been told that this day would come. They had all said for him to prepare himself and he now knew that this would be the biggest decision he would ever make. A resolution that would decide his life course. Those close assured him it would ultimately be his decision; but at the same time he felt the urge to get into the car, which would lead him to certainty. They had all been where he was now, and they would convince him that getting into the car would be the safest way to live his life.
    Most of them had chosen the path of certainty. They had all sat down in the comfort of the car, and like most before had all ended up secure and accepted. But were they happy? Were their hearts singing everyday when they awoke?
    The boy thought about this as he turned to let the setting sun dry his face. He watched the beautiful merging of the sun and ocean. The sight seemed to return a calmness that had been absent from his soul. He breathed deep, longing for the rays of light to enter his body, to maybe melt away his emotions. Then, after a while he closed his eyes and slowly turned to face the inevitable.
    The boy retracted his eyelids to let all perception enter. He glared at the first sign, trying to dismantle the words until they were naked, revealing their true meaning. CERTAINTY. ACCEPTANCE. SECURITY. He couldn?t figure out, why most of the world was obsessed with obtaining these things, why most deemed this path the safest for one?s life.
    He shifted his eyes to the other sign, looking deep into the words. UNCERTAINTY. RISK. FREEDOM. He repeated the words over and over as he read them. Then, slowly but suddenly, quietly but urgently, the revelation crawled into his head and rest upon his brain.
    The boy quickly looked up, beyond the sign to the trail disappearing into the lush green canopy. Then he glanced at the car. He felt his heart begin to beat harder. He looked back to the trail and the beautiful forest, which eventually enveloped it. The boy watched as a bird took flight from one tree to another. He noticed a squirrel run down the base of a tree and then disappear under a bush. He realized that animals are not concerned with security or acceptance. They are content with being who they are, and they are satisfied with what they have.
    His breath quickened as he looked back to the car and the looming city beyond. He pondered all the people scurrying around in the shadows of those towering buildings. He wondered if they were content with being who they were. He wondered if they were satisfied with the path they had chosen. The boy concluded that maybe some were, but most were trying to fill the void where their childhood hearts once sang.
    Most were trying to get somewhere the car would not take them because in this life, nothing is certain. He felt a wonderful burning in the center of his chest, as he finally turned his back to the car forever. As he moved to the head of the uncertain trail, he glanced at the sign, which pointed to it. A subtle smile crept across his face. For now he knew what the sign meant.
    The boy stood before the path of uncertainty, held his head high, and said these words aloud, ?This is the route for my life. I know because my heart has shown me the way. This passage will not be an easy one. There will be numerous obstacles blocking my way and many challenges to overcome; but by doing so I know that I will learn and grow from every experience, pleasant or unpleasant. I understand that by taking this uncertain path, I may risk acceptance and security, and at times life might be filled with suffering; but if the risk is taken out of life, then there will be no true living. Through the risk of the life I?m choosing, ultimately I will be free.?
    Tears of joy began to gather in the boy?s eyes as he took to the path of uncertainty, because he knew he was following his heart, and his heart had told him to stay true to the dreams of his youth.
    Just before the boy was consumed by the thicket of trees, he looked back over his shoulder to where the car was. He began laughing and singing lovely songs of freedom because the car had vanished.
  12. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Five
    By: Jason R.
    I had heard the word ?fuck? before at school, but had never heard that word uttered in my house much less inside the sanctity of my room. I was shocked at his blatant rebellion for everything ?our? religion stood for. And yet, at the same time, I was intrigued by his knowledge of all things carnal. Maybe this was my savior. Maybe he could show me all the things I wanted to know.
    Though I thought these things in my mind, I still looked around the room nervously, making sure no one had heard him swear. I was extremely scared that if my father had heard him utter that word, I would lose my new friend, my maybe savior, forever. When he saw me looking around the room, he began to laugh.
    I can remember that laugh so vividly. It was a laugh full of mischief, and very infectious. Not like the whole body laugh where the body shakes uncontrollably and it wasn?t a quiet laugh either. More like a laugh from the depths of the soul. Like he had found some kind of inner happiness and nothing could ever take it away.
    So I was nervous when he stopped laughing and asked me in a serious tone. Have you ever said that before?
    I replied, ?I could never say that word, I don?t want to make god mad at me.? (yes, I really was that innocent once upon a time) Do you know what he did, he laughed at me again, that bastard.
    I was more than a bit hurt by his laughter, and yet on the other hand, I wished I could be so reckless with my mortal soul. He teased me for awhile, calling me chicken. (one thing about me, and to this very day, I don?t like being called chicken) I told him I wasn?t scared but I wouldn?t say a word I didn?t know the meaning of.
    I had this smug look on my face, since I knew there was no way in the world this kid could know the definition to such an ?evil? word. I was sure he was only saying it because he knew it was a word kid?s shouldn?t say. Damn, was I wrong about that.
    I know my face turned every shade of red when he began describing in great detail, just what that word meant. I know I was squirming in my shoes, and that my soul was forever tainted at what I learned that day. But when he began to show me what it meant by using my bed as a prop, I lost it completely.
    I started yelling for him to stop desecrating my bed, and that he was the devil's child and that I never wanted to see him again. Do you know what he did as I was yelling at him, he laughed all the harder. I put my hands on my hips and demanded to know the reason he was laughing at me.
    Because you?re stupid and it feels good to laugh at you.
    He kept saying that word over and over again, FUCK. I put my hands over my ears to block out the sound of that dirty word. Now remember, I was still feeling guilty about my own brush with sin a few days earlier. And it?s easier to forget my mistakes if I can condemn him for his. I find this is a typical reaction of the religious zealots that populate our society.
    Then he asked me the one question that shut me up and caused my soul to freeze. Have you ever even jacked off?
    The look of confusion on my face must have been hilarious because it sent him into fits of laughter. And when he realized I had no idea what ?jacking off? was, caused him to laugh even harder if that was possible.
    After he regained control of himself, he began to describe what ?jacking off? meant, going as far as mimicking the motions right in front of me. I guess he could tell by the embarrassed look in my eyes that I knew exactly what he was talking about. You?ve done it. He accused, taunting me as he bounced up and down on my small bed. Then he looked at me, his eyes sparkling, and dropped the second bombshell on my life. Did you enjoy it?
    I think the hardest thing I ever did in my twenty-two years of living was to answer that question. My mind was telling me to deny it, but my recently awakened libido was screaming for me to admit that not only have I done it but had thought about nothing else since. Like a huge match of tug-o-war, my religious side was warring with my carnal side. Needless to say, my carnal side kicked the shit out of my religious side.
    I think in that one moment, with that one question, all hopes of me following in my father?s footsteps went out the proverbial window. That question started an adventure I?m still on to this day.
    Some would say I?m trying to justify my lust with logic. Others would say I?m blaming my promiscuity on a sense of adventure, and the admittance to a fourteen-year-old boy I enjoyed jacking off. Hell, both might be true. I do have an appetite for sex, and the pleasure of new experiences. Which is why I have tried sex with both males and females. Call it what you will, but I have to blame it on something, right?
    I remember hanging my head down in shame as the words came out of my mouth. ?Yes, I did it, and it was like nothing I ever felt before.?
    My head shot up as he said, You know it?s normal for teenagers to do it. My teacher said there?s nothing wrong by doing it. It?s actually healthy for boys to do it.
    He further admitted that he had been doing it at least twice a day for a few years now. I asked, ?Did it always feel the same way each time you do it?? How was I to know, it could have been a one-time thing?
    That night I learned about fantasies. I learned you could think about other people touching you while you pleasure yourself. I?ve always had an active imagination. So what if I put it to good use that night after Greg?s family left.
    This is the tricky part, up to then and for some time to come, I knew nothing about girls. So my fantasy that night used the only template I had at my disposal. That night I masturbated thinking about Greg.
    I?ve had lots of arguments with other gays about whether it?s a choice or if you?re born a certain way. Honestly, I don?t know the answer to that question. My thoughts marry the two ideas together. Some are just born that way while others have it thrust upon them by society. I don?t want to argue or start a discussion with anyone. Can?t we all just get along? See another choice.
    Up until that night, I was a complete sexual non-entity. I was attracted to neither sex, hence, I made a choice of what I was attracted too. And when I have felt that same attraction to a particular girl, I?ve had sex with her. I?m not bi-sexual, and I?m not heterosexual, nor would I call myself homosexual. I look at myself as a sexual being who enjoys the act of consenting sex between adults. Most of the time I?ve chosen males, kind of a remembrance of my first love so to speak.
    Where was I? Oh yeah, I started discovering my inner pleasures that night thinking about my new friend, Greg. As the weeks and months went by, Greg and I became close friends. Both of our families like the idea of us hanging out together. Because at that time, we both acted like good little Christian boys in public. But behind closed doors, that was another matter all together.
    Greg was my first in so many different ways. Not only my first sexual encounter but also my first time skinny-dipping. I remember choking my lungs out the first time we tried smoking a cigarette out behind the fence of my backyard. I was petrified my father would smell the smoke all the way inside the house or hear us coughing and come outside and catch us. I can still taste the puke I threw up the first time we got drunk on a bottle of Jack Daniels Greg stole from the local convenient store. It was horrible, and I vowed to never drink again. Though I broke the promise the very next weekend on a church camp out. This time it was a bottle of vodka, and I thought it might not make me sick like Jack Daniels. Again, I was wrong.
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    Current Music Selection: Meat Loaf?Bat out of Hell II Back into Hell
    Current State: High
    Current Mood: Optimistic
    Okay I?ve had one of the worst days of my life. And not in, oh my god I just broke a nail and my favorite pair of jeans was ruined in the washer, kind of day. I?m talking about getting ass raped by a gorilla in a public setting with no lube and without the courtesy of the reach around. They have opposable thumbs, don?t they?
    It started out okay. I had made an appointment to see a head shrinker, let?s call her Susan, a few days ago and had been slowly going insane waiting for today to arrive. I mean, it?s different writing poetry about my past or posting my rants online in this blog for the Internet readers to peruse but now I was going to pay someone to listen to my deepest darkest secrets, face to face for fuck sake. I?ve been chain-smoking cigarettes for two days while trying to maintain my nerve to actually show up for the appointment.
    So this morning, Tuesday, I awoke at 7am, my eyes wide open and my heart pounding in my chest. I ran down the hall and into Daniel?s room, waking him out of a dead sleep. I jump into his bed and hid under the covers, declaring there was no way in hell I was going to go to a head shrinker.
    He held me like I was a child, whispering words in my ears, telling me that I should give her a chance before I make my mind up. In a matter of a few minutes he convinced me to go ahead and go.
    Whenever I feel nervous or scared, I have this habit of trying on every piece of clothing I own. If I was going to go to a head shrinker, I wanted to look my best. So for three hours I tried on a billion outfits before settling on a pair of Tommy jeans, a black turtleneck and my LA gear kicks. Spending another hour making damn sure my hair was carefully arranged in a ?I just got out of bed look?, I was ready to face this head shrinker.
    So much like a prisoner marching to the gallows, I climbed inside my car and headed into the city, San Francisco, for my date with destiny. I must?ve smoke half pack of Marlboro Lights on the forty-minute drive to her office.
    Side note, I have this piece of shit car with just an AM/FM radio with no CD player. Being a musical creature, I bought an adapter that plugs into my cigarette lighter, the other end plugs into my I-Pod, and with this adapter, I can listen to my I-Pod on my car speakers. The fifth greatest invention in the world, the I-Pod adapter. End side note.
    So while I?m smoking and driving, I?m listening to Orgy?s Candyass. Steeling my soul for this titanic confrontation between this head shrinker and one scared little boy. By the time I arrived, I was shaking from the nicotine and the three Red Bull?s I had sucked down in quick succession. I was ready, for anything.
    Susan was nothing like I expected. Not only did this petite woman calm me down just upon entering her presence but in no time I was not only comfortable but I realized I really needed someone to talk too. I made another appointment for next Tuesday and fully intend to complete my homework assignment.
    I rushed home and changed into my work uniform. By the time I arrived at the hip up-scale restaurant I serve at, I was feeling quite optimistic about my therapy. I parked my piece of shit car behind the restaurant like always, hid my I-Pod under my seat and walked across the street and bought another Red Bull. And then I went to work. Never conceiving what a difference six hours can make in your life.
    The hip up-scale restaurant where I work closes at ten PM. At nine-thirty, a party of six walked through the door. I had the most tables still consuming our award winning food so I was asked by my GM (general manager) if I would mind taking the table so the other servers, most of whom are in college, could call it an early night. Why the fuck not, a party of six could garnish me a sixty dollar tip.
    The party of six was heaven sent, all were friendly, polite, and very thirsty. Their tab jumped up to four hundred dollars in a matter of forty minutes. I was feeling indestructible. But then Loki decided to jump in and join the mess that is my life.
    It wasn?t the tables fault, I know they hung till midnight, enjoying their wine and our fabulous deserts. It wasn?t my GM?s fault, he was trying to relieve some of the pressure from the college students that work at this hip up-scale restaurant. And it wasn?t my fault, I like my co-workers and anything I can do to help, I would gladly do. Let me explain.
    After desert was served and my table was pleasantly letting the food digest, I snuck out back to grab a cigarette. Walking to my car, I noticed immediately something was wrong. I don?t know a lot about cars but I know a few things. Such as, once you shut your door and lock it, it?s not suppose to be open again until you return with the key. Apparently, I knew less about cars than I thought. Because when I walked out the back door my drivers door of my piece of shit car was wide open.
    Believe me, the fear I felt earlier that morning was nothing compared to the blood chilling feeling that shot through my nicotine crazed body. I ran over to my piece of shit car and looked inside. Shards of broken glass greeted me, shining in the glow of the streetlights. My half carton of cigarettes, missing, as well as my Sony Erickson phone, (the four hundred dollar video camera phone that I use only for answering the few people that call me but has my entire life inside its memory card) and the fifth greatest invention in the world, my I-Pod adapter. And then the fear sunk in, my baby, the one thing I love more than life, (except my laptop), my I-Pod Nano.
    The rage I?m feeling at this moment can not be put into words. The string of expletives that spewed forth from my lips would make a sailor blush. In one foul swoop, this low-life scum sucking yeast-infected cum bubble, effectively destroyed whatever progress I made during my session with the head shrinker. The things I plot to do to this low-life scum sucking yeast-infected cum bubble should the opportunity ever present itself, would land me in jail, no, under the jail.
    I ran back inside the hip up-scale restaurant, where I lamented loudly to my GM about this travesty that had befallen on me. Though he was sympathetic to my plight, there was nothing he could do about it. As many cameras as we have throughout our hip up-scale restaurant, not a single camera points out the back door.
    The good news, my party of six must?ve heard me bitching about this great injustice because once they finished, the party that paid for the bill, which totaled four-hundred and eleven dollars, handed the booklet containing the credit card receipt to me and said he was sorry about my loss. I smiled and thanked him and once they left the hip up-scale restaurant, I helped the 2nd servers clean up before heading into the office to turn in all the credit card slips I had accrued throughout the day. When I opened the booklet to see how much of a tip I received, I was shocked. There written in the space for the tip was a three, followed my two zero?s, a period, and then two more zero?s. This party left me a three hundred-dollar tip, with a hand written note to go out and purchase a new I-Pod.
    For a day that caused so much stress in my life, it ended pretty fucking cool. I met my head shrinker, Susan, and I think I?m really going to like talking to her. I get to buy a new I-Pod and though I still have to fix my driver side window, my life is looking up. I guess I?ll have something good to write about in my homework assignment.
    So what I?m trying, life sometimes gets fucked up. And sometimes a perfect stranger offers you kindness without expecting anything in return. And maybe, if you?re ever working in a hip up-scale restaurant, and your piece of shit car gets broken into and your I-Pod gets stolen, complain loudly. Maybe this stranger is eating dinner and you too, just like me, could get a new I-Pod. Cheers until next time.
    Jason R.
    PS: Is it okay to have a small crush on your head shrinker? Is it okay to be straight for a day?
  14. Jason Rimbaud
    Current Music Selection: Five For Fighting?World from the album Two Lights
    Current State: Dis-jointed
    Current Mood: Depressed
    ?What kind of world do you want?
    Think Anything
    Let's start at the start
    Build a masterpiece
    Be careful what you wish for
    History starts now..? Five for Fighting
    If you?ve read any of my poetry hosted here at Awesome Dude or have ever been bored enough to visit my website, then you probably have an idea that my childhood was less than perfect. And before you ask, most of my poetry chronicles my life and the demons I face on every level of my existence. Add into the mix my BI-polar tendencies and dependence on altered states of reality, I wonder why I don?t let the pain slide.
    Maybe it?s a stubborn refusal to let ?him? win. He?s already taken my first from me and inadvertently gave me this sickness and fear of front seats and single beds. Squeezing the trigger now would be like saying the last ten years of struggling to find the sun was pointless. Maybe John was right, my life really was over at twelve. That I?m dead and just haven't fallen over yet.
    But giving up has never been part of my genetic make-up. I also got that from ?him? as well as his predatory nature and life denial. I?ve always been good at smiling at those who pretend to care about my well being. You know the types I mean, well-intentioned do-gooders who spit platitudes and rhetoric claiming truth from a book they use to bludgeon others into sameness. Or ?caring? therapists who attach blame but offer no solutions. Who takes poetry as absolute and recommends institutional care and gives you labels like, HRSA.
    I tend to roll my eyes and go off into my own world as they try to convert me, analyze me, or commit me, while alternately scratching my nuts and winking at the cute ones. Once, I even stripped off my clothes in the middle of her office and described in vivid detail that first time. That didn?t help me but it was the first time I was held overnight for observation.
    Have you ever wondered why christians are filled with such hatred for anyone who differs from their idyllic belief system? I was raised on the good book, I?ve read it ten or eleven times and for a brief period, I could quote dozens of scriptures and talk down to others with the best of them. But that was before front seats of cars and someone who used his position to further his own demons. Being taken advantage of puts you in a place, mentally and physically, that you never truly leave. Having one?s innocence taken by a man, who swore before god and the world that he would lead the faithful to the promised land, is something that can never be understood by someone who has never experienced such action. Molestation is an act of aggression against God.
    Christians hate others for one reason, stupidity. I?ve been there, I have the scoop and let me tell you, they begin brainwashing at the time of conception. Once a week, a man walks to the front of a building and for an hour, he pretends to speak the words of god. And the faithful sit there with raptured faces and rabid expressions as their own prejudice and fears are given validation. How can you fight christians? They tend to think in absolutes. There is no compromise with absolutes.
    Denial is the new black. My father had it, my mother has it, and my family embraces it. And I?m left alone. Can?t they see I?m hurting? It?s not about what I smoke, what I snort, what I inject, who I fuck. It?s not about whether or not I?ll go to hell. I?ve been in hell since cotton candy and broken heaters.
    It?s about this scared little boy who still sleeps in the closet at times clutching stuffed animals with ripped seams. It?s about a boy forever trapped inside a man?s body with no clear path on how to proceed. Just once, I wish they?d see me. Why can?t they see me?
    Mother
    (the reality)
    By: Jason R.
    Mother
    I can?t forgive you
    You were there all those times
    I know you know what he did
    You turned away
    Sheltered your eyes
    Belief in your god
    Could not save your boy
    What you couldn?t do
    Was protect me
    I?ve been dying
    Day by day
    Mother
    I tried to forgive you
    Because the bruises
    Speak of pain
    I heard the yelling
    I heard the praying
    But what good is god
    If a man can do that
    It?s your duty
    To your child
    Laid down in that book
    By your side
    Mother
    I won?t forgive you
    Because the laundry
    Was your domain
    You saw the blood there
    Where it never
    Should be
    From a boy of twelve
    You cleaned the sheets
    Saw the tear stains
    Mixed with fuck pains
    How could you let him touch me
    Mother
    I think I hate you
    Not as much
    As I hate that man
    Should I tell them
    All your good friends
    Just what kind of mother you are
    You hold your head straight
    During service
    They look to you
    For guidance now
    But if they only knew
    Mother
    I can?t forgive you
    I won?t forgive you
    I can?t?
    But I love you
    Help me
    Please
    Hold me
    Like a child
    Wipe the tears
    From my face
    Like I was twelve again
  15. Jason Rimbaud

    A Poem from my Youth

    By Jason Rimbaud,

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

    Being Gay Sucks

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Current Music Selection: DJ Sammy
    Current State: Flying the V
    Current Mood: Somewhat sad
    So I went to dinner with my older brother tonight. My first mistake was showing up sober. Why did I think it would be different this time? It?s been ten years since he found out I was gay. How much fucking time does he need to accept who I am?
    So I?m from a religious family. So my lifestyle is one long sin and I have an open reservation into the seventh layer of hell. Do I really need him to lecture me on morals and righteous living? He?s working on his third marriage and I?m morally deficient.
    While he?s telling me how promiscuous ?my kind? behaves, he?s flirting with the waitress. And she couldn?t have been more than eighteen. Maybe the left should re-evaluate their belief systems.
    And he says I broke our mother?s heart. I?m pretty sure her expectations and desires didn?t include having three daughter-in-laws or three grandchildren by two different mothers. Fuck, she should be happy she got grandkids at all after all the lectures she drilled into our heads about the dangers of sex.
    I remember the last time I was in the same room as my parents; I was surrounded by a group of ?concerned? family friends who decided I need a prayer circle to cleanse me of my sinful ways. Believe me when I say that no amount of chanting or yelling will ever cure my desire to suck cock. It?s bred into me on a very basic level. You know, genetically.
    My mother calls me periodically to guilt me into becoming straight. Or to read me passages of scripture that describes in disturbing detail what awaits in the afterlife for people like me.
    Thanks to her, I now know that people like me are a bunch of pedophiles, drug addicts, and sex offenders that only end up in jail or dead from sexually transmitted diseases. Looking on my life, I figure I?m doing all right. I only have two of those problems at the moment. But then I?m still young yet.
    I remember a few years ago, my mother drove from the Valley to San Francisco to see me. She called me at seven AM and wanted to go to breakfast. She kept saying how much she missed our relationship and wanted to mend the fences so to speak. After I kicked out the boy I picked up the night before and hid my drugs, I arranged for her to come pick me up at my apartment.
    Much to my surprise, she?s waiting for me in the lobby of my building. So I let her up and as I shower and get rid of the smell of sex, I hope that we can somehow achieve peace between us.
    As a child, my family was close. I lost my father shortly after I came out. Well, I never came out so to speak. It was more I got caught in the living room sucking off one of the boys from church. My brother stills claims the shock of finding out his youngest son was a faggot caused the stroke that slowly took his life. Maybe that?s the reason my mother hates me so, I killed her husband.
    During breakfast, my mother apologized for the way she had been behaving and asked my forgiveness. I was shocked. There was a god and he answered my prayers. We cried and for a moment, I felt like I was complete again. I might not have my mother?s approval or understanding but I knew I had her unconditional love and support. For those two hours, my life was perfect.
    Her words, I still remember so clearly. ?I want you to know everything I did, everything I?ll do, is always with your best interest. I love you Jason, don?t ever forget that.?
    Those words accompanied me back to my apartment. But the illusion of those words were shattered when I opened the door and saw my childhood minister and three imposing men waiting for me in my living room. Again, my mistake in trusting my mother.
    I escaped conditioning only because I was over eighteen and legally they could not take me against my will. That was the last time I saw my mother. But sadly, that was not the last I heard from my mother.
    While I was in the shower washing away the sex, my mother was busy putting little post-it-notes around my apartment. In my dresser, under my sheets, in the pockets of all my shirts, my desk, my kitchen cabinets, anywhere you could possibly think of posting a note, she posted. Each note with a different scripture verse and corresponding reason why I should stop being gay. Family.
    My brother and I really have nothing in common. He?s straight and like all straight people, he has an agenda. To alter anyone like me into his ?Normal? behavior. To keep people like me from ever marrying or enjoying the same freedoms.
    My first mistake was arriving sober. My last mistake was allowing him to make me feel bad about being gay. Sometimes I hate my life and wish I were never born this way. Sometimes I hate being gay. That sometime is today. I hate being gay. I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate the way I can?t have a relationship with my family. I hate the fact I can?t change it. I hate the fact that I?ve become everything I hate about gay people. I hate the fact that I?ve written these words. Today I hate everything.
    No wonder I think about letting the pain slide. No wonder I think about letting the pain slide. I wonder when I?ll let the pain slide.
    Dark thoughts from me tonight. I?m sorry but I?m a bit depressed and I don?t feel like typing anything else. Cheers and tears.
    Jason R.
  17. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Nine
    By: Jason R.
    It was shortly after I ?borrowed? the neighbor?s car. I had stayed at Greg?s house that night, not an uncommon occurrence as our parents had long given up on trying to keep us apart. Though they did try towards the end. Maybe they suspected our friendship, maybe they could see the special bond we shared, maybe we weren?t good at hiding it as we thought. Either way, it was a night I?ll never forget.
    His room was in the basement of their house. We had proper pictures on the wall of landscapes and animals, but on the back of those innocent pictures were pictures of guys we thought were hot. When we were in the room with the door locked, we?d turn them around so we could look at them. We had a bunch of things that glowed under the cheesy black lights we had stolen from the local mall. It was our domain, the place we went to be in love. The only place that was safe for us to be ourselves.
    I remember that night so strangely. It?s all perfectly clear but I remember it happening so slowly, like a movie playing fourteen speeds too slow. Greg had been telling me about his plans for us for the millionth time. How when he turned eighteen, he would get an apartment right down the street from my house so I could sneak over and join him during the night until I turned eighteen the following year. Then we would go off to college together and never look back on the hell of our childhood. It didn?t matter which college we attended, as long as we were together and free to be the couple in public we had always been in private.
    I asked him what he wanted to do with the rest of his life after hell and his reply is still burned in my brain like the afterglow of staring into the sun. I want to live my life without fear. I never want to be afraid to seize the day. I want to live life with a passion that will take me to the moon.
    That night we fucked, hot and animalistic. We both loved to fuck and I loved fucking Greg. I wish I could say we made soft passionate love where we voiced our undying love for one another, but I can?t. We fucked like two horny teenagers, hot and sweaty. I clawed his back and he bit my tongue so hard that little piece on the underneath took over two weeks to heal.
    Around three-thirty in the morning, we finally drifted off to sleep. I lay on my back and Greg put his head on my shoulder. We fell asleep clutching tightly to one another. It was our favorite position for sleeping. At that moment and for the rest of the night, we felt like we were one body, just like our souls were joined in a perfect love.
    When Greg was sleepy, his voice got this raspy rough sound that drove me crazy. And the last thing I ever heard him say was whispered to me in this sexy voice. He leaned close and said in my ear, I can?t believe I get to hold you in my arms every night. Ever since that first night in the moonlight, I?ve been the luckiest boy in the world.
    I kissed the top of his blonde head and called him a goof ball. I was never really comfortable saying what I felt inside but I knew he knew how I felt about him. He could see it in my eyes every time I looked at him and in the tiny ways I showed him every day.
    I slept great that night, just like always when I slept with Greg. I woke up around 11am that morning and instantly knew something was wrong. I felt it in my soul, like my heart had turned cold. Greg had his arm draped over me as he lay there tightly against my back. But his arm was cold, I could feel the chill emanating from his body pressing against mine.
    I don?t remember when I realized he had died sometime in the night but I do remember screaming my soul out. All my pain, all my dreams, all my love, I screamed out until there was nothing left inside me.
    My screams brought his parents crashing through the locked door, where they found us naked in the bed. I was holding on to Greg?s lifeless body.
    It took one EMT and two policemen to pull me away from Greg?s side. In the end, three of my ribs were broke before I released the grip I had on him. The rest of the day is a blur.
    Sometime between the time they found me and when they pulled me away from him, someone had called my parents. I remember they walked over to me as I sat on Greg?s floor, still naked, staring at the bed where so many times we had made love. Where so many times we had confessed our love for each other. Where so many times we sat there, laughing and basking in the joy of just being close to one another. Where so many times we made plans to leave hell and begin our life together. A life we should?ve had from the beginning.
    That?s the day my parents kicked me out of their house and out of their lives. The day I became forever cut out of the family. And yet none of that mattered to me, only Greg mattered. My moonlight. I remember Greg?s parents picking me up and carrying me outside where they dumped me on the sidewalk, still naked. Because they couldn?t bare the idea of having a filthy queer inside their house.
    I don?t know who called him, but my Uncle Malcolm came and picked me up. He took me home with him where he wrapped me up in a warm fuzzy blanket and just held me until I couldn?t cry anymore.
    I remember showing up at the funeral and seeing that my parents hadn?t bothered to show their support. But I heard they made sure everyone in the church knew about their queer son and that Greg was my queer lover. Even going as far as telling Greg?s parents that the reason Greg had died was because he was queer.
    Greg?s parents wouldn?t look at me and sometimes I think they only showed up because they had too. It was sad, hardly anyone showed up to pay last respects for the most beautiful person that only wanted to love. My Uncle sat there beside me, supporting me in something he didn?t?couldn?t understand. But he was there.
    Five students from our High School showed up, I recognized one of them. I figured Greg must?ve known them casually from one of his classes. Because we spent all of our time together and I never had seen them before. I suspect they showed up for the excused day from school than out of any other emotion.
    That was it, my lover, my best friend, my true north, had less than a dozen people at his funeral. And I was the only one that knew him. And I was the only one that loved him.
  18. Jason Rimbaud

    Happy 420

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    I know wishing everyone a Happy 4-20 day on 4-22 is a bit trite, but for some reason I totally forgot to post this on 4-20 day itself. I know there should be a reason for forgetting, but for the life of me I can't remember.
    HAPPY 4-20 Everyone
    Jason R.
  19. Jason Rimbaud

    Drop

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Drop
    written by Justin F.
    I touch the tongue to see
    A devil's face in front of me
    You blow your nose and cry
    The clown demands a sad good-bye
    A sad good-bye
    Black below the tree
    White horses dead in front of me
    A scar below the cheek
    There's a sweaty man in a bloody sink
    It's just a trip not a way to ease your pain
    Self-help...Tell another shrink the same damn thing
    Stay cool, everything is going to be okay
    Until you decide to drop again
    A blue jean girl to be
    Sweaty man is behind the trees
    The flip side of sanity is the game
    Fourteen million miles away from sane
    A dark man in the restroom window pane
    Whose words just pour out human pain
    It's just a trip not away to ease your pain
    Self-help...Tell another shrink the same damn thing
    Stay cool, everything is going to be okay
    Until you decide to drop again
    Until you decide to drop again
    Now, I'm so high, so high
  21. 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.
  22. 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.
  23. 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.
  24. Jason Rimbaud

    Hey Jealousy

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Hey Jealousy!
    Do you think it might be all right, if I could just crash here tonight?
    The green monster...
    Crack doesn't kill...gun's doesn't kill...bullets doesn't even kill...it's jealousy
    Jason
    Oh nuts
  25. Jason Rimbaud
    I’m back...and this blog entry is sponsored by “wingtip shoes” and candy apple cigarettes.
    I could look this up but I’m a bit too much on the lazy side to figure out how long it’s been since I last posted a blog entry. But I’m sure it’s so long ago that even my one loyal reader has given up on checking my outdated blog and has disappeared into the ether.
    Unfortunately I am regulated to posting to those that have no idea who I am or realize the sheer boredom the next few minutes will bring them as they read this blog entry called Bottom(less) Tales in Vegas 2016. So let me be the first to apologize to all of you for wasting your time.
    But I am a gentleman so just to avoid all the confusion, let me tell you who I use to be a long time ago, twenty-pounds smaller, and a few thousand hair follicles ago. I was a rather prolific poet, blogger, and part-time storyteller known as Jason Rimbaud.
    That was a long time ago when I was still messed up on pills, alcohol and a straight boy named Mark. Do you remember now?
    Just in case you were wondering, I have put all three of those things firmly in my rear-view view. And if I were to be honest, the main reason I stopped blogging all those years ago , I really didn’t have much drama in my life and what little drama I had was a bit on the boring side to share with my loyal reader.
    Trust me, no one wants to read anything remotely about me getting up to work, working all day, going home and sleeping only to rise and repeat. That should be the title of my life, Rise and Repeat (trademark pending). Literally nothing was going on in my life.
    Okay, so judging from the title of this blog post, I’m sure a few of you are expecting something interesting happened to me one blistering hot day in Las Vegas.
    I met a boy. Not really a boy, more like an amazing wonderful guy that from here on out, I will call “G” to preserve his identity. “G” is an Indian, his family comes from Goa but he was born here in San Francisco.
    Lets go back to the beginning, a perfect place to start for this fuzzy bunny slippers kind of a tale.
    I am currently sitting at the Luxor Casino in the quaint little dessert town of Nevada known as “Sin City”. This town is aptly named because I definitely found some sin in that city. Well, two sins to be precise.
    It has been just over a year since I broke up with “G”. Matter of fact, almost in the exact spot I was when I first realized that we were no longer an “us”.
    Have you ever been in a relationship and one day you wake up and realize that what you think was perfect was actually flawed and nowhere near the vicinity of perfect?
    “G” and I were together for well over two years and I must say, it was the most adult relationship I have had to date. It’s been long enough that I can look back and see it for what it was…perfect for me and just average for him.
    Before you go and think we had epic battles and tears were shed and bodily fluids were shared with other partners, you would be wrong. In the weeks before the break-up, we went about our daily lives in a comfortable routine. A routine that I guess worked for me but left him wanting something else. I don’t believe there was another boy that took him away. I believed he came to the same conclusion I did on that fateful day in Vegas, but he came to that much sooner than I.
    I went to Vegas in March, last year, after a long stretch of long hours and missed days off. I had been texting him off and on all day, sharing with him my wins and my losses, when I started getting the sinking feeling that something was extremely wrong
    Have you had the moment via text, when you can feel the mood shift? That’s what I felt from him that day. I could almost feel he was just replying back to me because we were together and not because he really was enjoying talking to me.
    We always had the most fun together, we enjoyed each other and spent most of our time laughing and joking and referencing all the inside jokes we had developed. Our texts were playful and flirty and were seldom one word replies. But that day, the replies were coming slower and slower and the words became fewer and fewer. I remember vividly sitting there at the slot machine, staring at the screen and then down to my phone, and the sudden clarity moment when I knew we were over. Matter of fact, six days later, we would be over and my life would be forever changed.
    I’ll be honest, mainly because he will never read this and partly because I have always been honest in these blog posts, I was lucky to have him in my life for as long as I did. “G” is a great guy and though I believe I am over him, I still think about him often and wonder how he’s doing.
    I am currently, as I type this, sitting at the Luxor Casino in a bar called Aura trying to get my head around the events that happened just a few minutes ago. I’m exhausted, and not in I need to pass out for twelve hours kind of way, but more like a contented exhaustion.
    I awoke this morning and decided I needed to clear my head and work out the memories that have been haunting me for a year. While it had been a year since “G” and I broke up, I had yet to throw my ass into the dating world.
    I might have been a bit too glib earlier when I acted like it was a mutual thing. It was the saddest break-up of my life. And that hurt, for a long time, and I was devastated. I couldn’t even as much look at another penis without a crippling feeling of loss.
    Don’t get me wrong, I joined Jacked and Grindr but no one I met even came close to “G” nor did I really feel like getting someone else fluids anywhere near me. But that was then, and this is very much right now.
    This morning I woke up and felt a horniness that I haven’t felt in a long time. So intense was this mental erection, I jumped on a plane and headed to my favorite vacation destination. And I did it right. I flew first class, I booked a two bedroom suite that came with a hot tub in front of the window so I could look out on the Vegas strip while soaking naked.
    So here I was, freshly mended heart, looking out across the dessert in one of the greatest cities in the world and I needed human contact. It was so overwhelming, I knew it was an itch only a guy could feel. What was a boy to do? Damn right! I opened Grindr.
    Twenty minutes later I’m sitting at the very bar I’m sitting now, chatting up this guy from Wisconsin. One drink after that, we were back in my room.
    He was a bit younger than me, late thirties, tall and rail thin. His name was Adam. A fitting name I thought as I was about to be partaking of the forbidden fruit for the first time in a year.
    I believe Adam was married and only played with men on his business outing. But he was horned up and for some reason, I was the reason.
    He kissed like a straight man. So like a true reformed slut, I put a condom on his peen and sat down.
    When I first met “G”, he was in a tragic relationship with a guy I really believe broke his heart. So much so, I don’t think there was ever a chance for us to work. He was coming off a relationship he thought was going to last forever, there was a ring and everything. Moving into my little world of craziness, he never really had the time to heal from that.
    I’m not the most emotional guy in the world and with just a hint of clarity in my pretty bald head, we were probably doomed from the start. But fuck me did I try, more than I ever tried before. At least I know when I do meet the right guy, I will have no trouble diving head first and doubling down.
    Adam had a great body, smooth and a perfect sized penis. You know the kind I mean, not so big that you can’t fit it in anywhere but not so small that makes you looked down and go “no thanks”.
    Looking out over the Vegas strip, pressed up against the window, I realized that was something I had been missing for a long time. As I gazed out at the twinkling lights of Mandalay Bay, I actually let out a sigh.
    I won’t describe the sex I had with “G”, that is for me and I won’t cheapen the memory by sharing it with you. But he was little, and I’m not talking about his down there parts, that was as close to perfect as you could get, but it had been a while since I was with someone that could really manhandle me around. I was so horned up and ready for Adam to stop kissing me, I didn’t even use lube, I just pushed back and took the pain. One, two, three, maybe five thrusts and he collapses against my back, shaking. As we kind of stood there, his weird breath on my back, silent for a moment before I said, “That was disappointing.”
    Think about it, it had been over a year since I had any action and fifteen seconds into it, right when it just started to feel amazing, he finishes with a grunt.
    I’m not sure what he was expecting nor the look that must have crossed his face when I said that. All I know is I felt him tense up, and he pushed off me and started walking over to his clothes. The condom dropped to the floor and without a word, he got dressed and left the room.
    I was still standing by the window, still excited and wondering what the fuck just happened and what the fuck was I going to do now.
    I could have taken it in hand as it were, but now I was like a man possessed. When you’ve gone a year without sex, fifteen seconds is nowhere near long enough to come close to satisfying me. No hand job in a poorly lit movie theatre, no wink wink nudge nudge, not even boom goes the dynamite. I needed dick, and for longer than fifteen seconds.
    I stood there kind of confused, all my blood still pooling far away from my bald head, when I heard that magic sound every Grindr user recognizes.
    I opened the APP, and the first thing I see is a bare stomach, two brown nipples winking at me, no face but that wasn’t what sent my stomach doing back flips.
    “G” was probably the first guy I ever took without a condom. And I can remember that first time we did it, like we were connected in ways that all homophobes will never understand. I don’t want to get too graphic, but fuck me, it’s an amazing feeling.
    Remember, it has been a year since I bottomed for anyone. An entire year, needless to say, it was a really tight fit. So maybe I can’t blame Adam for shooting so quick…maybe!
    So I open Grindr, and under ethnicity, I see Native American, Navaho to be precise. He was hot, 6 foot tall, runner build, amazing smile and let’s not even mention the glasses, because fuck I do like my men in glasses.
    What was a guy to do? I had never been with a Native American, the excitement was there, and that need to be fulfilled was still there, pounding in my brain. I told him my room number and promptly jumped into the shower to wash off Adam’s stink. After all it has been only ten minutes since Adam was all up in my business.
    I really hoped that Sonni, yes his name is Sonni, couldn’t tell that I just had someone else ten minutes earlier, but I really didn’t care. I was definitely seeing red at this point.
    Sonni was completely opposite of Adam. He was shy, so much so I also wondered how much experience he had with guys. That fear was quickly put to rest at the expert way he handled certain parts of my anatomy. But I am getting ahead of myself.
    While Sonni and I were chatting by the window, he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to have sex, he was a bit more interested in oral pleasure at first. But luckily for me, he took one look at my willingness and threw those plans out of the window.
    We made out for a while, doing a little bit of this and some dirty that, and I get another condom and in no time I am ready to go. He was bigger than Adam, one of the biggest I have been with on that end of things. But I was up for the challenge and slowly sat down.
    One, two, three, eight and wammo, his toes curl and he lets out a whimper and I’m back right where I started. Horned up and still not properly topped.
    The first time “G” topped me, the same thing happened. It was over long before it really began and after these two guys tonight, I am starting to believe I just might have a magic ass. Which might be quite difficult to accomplish at forty-one years old?
    But I am sitting here in this bar, a bit sore back there, but content that I was still attractive enough that two different guys in a matter of an hour, shot off because of the sensations I caused them. And for those of you that say that isn’t me as much as it has to do with them, don’t rain on my parade. I needed a confidence booster.
    The real difference between Adam and Sonni, Sonni isn’t leaving until Friday, that’s three days away. Who knows, maybe I can get him in my bed again for round one and half.
    I think I would take “G” back if he would offer. I still love him. But I also know that we grew apart in ways that neither of us can recover the distance. And just because my track record is being the king of looking back and diving headfirst into past boyfriends and all that tangled shit over and over again doesn’t mean I have to wash rinse and repeat. I miss “G” in certain moments, the fun we had, the times we shared, and all the moments that we created as an “us”.
    But then, for the first time in years, I was with two different guys in a matter of an hour. And yes I understand what that might make me, but after a year I think I deserved a bit of safe fun. Me and my magic ass deserve it. I’ve been in town seven hours and I already used up all my towels. What will the maid think of me when she cleans my room tomorrow?
    As usual, I’ve rambled on for too long to disclose the remainder of my Bottom(less) Tales in Vegas or the time when Sonni came to San Francisco and we spent nine amazing hours in bed for his birthday. But those tales are for another time and some other when.

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