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Jason Rimbaud

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Blog Entries posted by Jason Rimbaud

  1. Jason Rimbaud

    Sands of Iwo Jima

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    I'm sick, I think I'm dying.
    My head hurts and I've got this light-headed feeling. My nose is running, there is no way I can have so much snot inside my little head. I'm cold, for the first time in years I'm wearing lounge pants in bed, I have a sweatshirt and I'm wrapped up in a comforter. I'm watching the Sands of Iwo Jima starring John Wayne. God, why can't I just die.
    Jason R.
  2. Jason Rimbaud
    Something strange has been happening the last three days. Beginning on Saturday night, I have been trying to reply either in the forums or post a rather...err...hostile blog message. But somehow, for three days in a row sometihng has stopped me from posting.
    The first time, I was rather drunk Saturday night and fed up with a few things I have been reading in the forums. After writing a long rant, filled with anger and curse words, I closed the window without hitting the "add reply" button in my drunken state. Save number ONE.
    The second time, Sunday night, after trying to construct the same entry, I was unsure of my spelling so I hit the spell check. For some reason, the spell check button wasn't working. (though it worked before that time and ever since) So when I went to download a spell checker, I accidently closed the window again before hitting the proper button. Save number TWo.
    The last time, Monday night, I attempted to post it again. But this time, right in the middle, I recieved a phone call. It was a boy I have been trying to get to know better. While we were doing a bit of chit and chat, I was absently toying with my computer. Again, I closed the window and lost the entry again.
    In the time since that failed attempt and now, I began to realize that fate might have been on my side for once and maybe, just maybe, has a bit of compassion for this stupid fool. Saving me from looking the asshole that I no doubt would have looked if I managed to post what I wanted too. Now, a few days later, I realized that I shouldn't really care what someone has to say in a forum/topic that I'm not even directly involved with more than just a casual read.
    I"m not sure why I depise this "person" so much that I wouuld attack him for something he said to another. To my knowledge, this person and I haven't ever spoken/wrote. Maybe it's the arrogant way he writes in the forums, or maybe his opinion just gets my ass chapped. And for some reason, I figured I should tell him how stupid he appears in these forums.
    Yet, I've been pondering these feelings. I've come to the conclusion that what he says really doesn't affect me in any way UNLESS I allow them to affect my spirit. And ignoring this person actually saves me time, when I see his name, I'll just skip over whatever he wrote. Then I won't become angry, I won't spend two hours constructing a reply that would only make me look foolish.
    Because next time, fate could just decide to allow me to post my replies and then I'll have to wear the asshole crown.
    Jason R.
  3. 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.
  4. Jason Rimbaud

    September highs

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    I should be here more often but my career ( what a weird thing to come from my mouth ) has me full up the last year. As it is, in a weeks time, I'll be leaving San Francisco to open the second restaurant in what I hope is the start of a national brand.
    And though I'm not the owner or investor ( yet ) I am quickly moving up in the new company.
    Can you believe they put me in charge of a multi-million dollar restaurant? And a celebrity Chef too boot.
    How my life has changed in the last five years. I guess sobriety has its uses after all
    Jason ( the happy one )
    PS. I also have a great boyfriend
  5. 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.
  6. 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.
  7. Jason Rimbaud
    Current music selection: Ole' Blue Eyes
    Current state: Almost hammered (drinking a nice red wine)
    Current mood: Content
    So Daniel and I went out for some early cocktails at the local gay bar. I normally never drink so
    early in the day but I felt like having a drinkie poo. Plus I wanted to wear my new outfit Daniel bought
    me today.
    It's not everyday I feel good about my appearance but today I must say I was looking extra fabulous.
    Even my unruly hair did exactly what I wanted it to do without having to bribe it with tons of product. Thank god Daniel got pictures. (I wonder just how many pictures of me Daniel has. I have a problem with walking around the house half naked and he always has a camera near by) I love the old queen. And its not just because he buys me gifts either. I shudder to think of where I might be if he had not cum on the scene when he did.
    Off topic but I feel I should explain our relationship. We live together but only as friends. He's this wonderful man that has a heart big enough to love the whole world. At times, late at night, when the
    voices become to obnoxious to ignore, I crawl into bed with him and wrap his arms around me. No matter
    how "straight" I feel, he brings the peace I so desperately crave.
    We met two years ago, I was this strung out twink with one thing on my mind. Okay, make that two things. Sex and drugs. I'm not sure which I craved more. Anyway, I was tweeked out of my mind one night and so horny I was willing to fuck the bar stool I sat upon. It was late, almost closing and this tall geek walked into the bar with a smile that could charm the pope into experimenting for a night. He stands around six feet, slightly dumpy with thinning brown hair that he keeps cut close. His green eyes are intoxicating, sparkling with a zest for life I sometimes lose sight of. And the zesty dressing to this delicous entree, he wears glasses. Yum yum.
    He walks in, maybe twenty people were left, and sits down across the bar from me and orders a coke. Being the ass i am and somewhat over zealous, I begin to poke fun at his choice of beverages. I make fun of his explanation, he has to drive, whatever. I begin to chat him up a bit.
    My first intention, I must admit, was to flirt with the geek for some free drinkie poos. After all, the old queens are always good for at least three or four drinks. All you have to do is flirt, maybe a kiss or two and its like having a credit card sitting next to you. Looking at the clock, I knew i'd have to work fast. The bar closed in less than an hour. Plenty of time to work my magic.
    But the joke was on me. I found out I really liked him. He was smart, its not hard for me to feel stupid around others but I never felt as stupid as i did that first time we spoke. He had no game, it was like he propositioned everyone and figured quanity was better than quality. The odds are sooner or later someone will say yes. His sense of humor, his charm, his laugh, his eyes, everything about this man just screams "take me home and fuck me silly".
    He became my first ever "pity fuck". Don't go getting all upset over this term. I feel it's every twink's responsibility to give out "pity fucks" at least once a month. Because sooner or later we all become old and to keep karma moving forward, you get what you give so to speak.
    And from that moment on, Daniel and I have become almost brothers. With the one exception that we still have benefits from time to time. And incest is...disgusting...so we are almost brothers. For a man who has spent most of his life in the closet, he gives the best head. i've learned things from him that I use with my other lovers and they are blown away. (no pun intended) Besides, paying rent this way is more fun. I love you Daniel. I know you're reading this you old queen.
    I forget what the point of this post was going to be. But at least you know about Daniel and our relationship. Because I'm pretty sure someone asked me to explain it. So cheers for the night.
    Jason R.
  8. Jason Rimbaud
    Somewhere in Between
    As many of you know, life has been more than a bit chaotic for me lately. And where I appreciate all the advice and private messages I received from those of you that care about me, even the someone, that will remain nameless, that persuaded someone else to check up on me, which I thought went so far beyond simple moderator duties and into the realm of a truly caring person. This site is not named Awesome Dude for nothing and I don't think I could ever find a better on line home anywhere. Enuff said about that.
    When I first decided to begin this blog, I named it My Chaotic Life, my life in narrative. The purpose of this blog was twofold.
    First, I had written many things that really had no place on Awesome Dude (they weren't stories per say and I never thought they fit in Awesome Dudes drawn from life category) and I thought they would make for interesting reading. When you can't find a place to post your work, you create a place. So My Chaotic Life was born, after all, just because something I posted happened several years ago, doesn't make it any less important or funny. So the first few entries were pieces I had written over the years about some of the juicier bits of my life. I didn't find this wrong nor did I think I was deceiving anyone. Truly, I never imagined that people would read it anyway, and never in a million years did I think for one moment that these entries would be something others found interesting. This blog WAS and still IS a place for me to vent my frustrations, share some of my funnier experiences, and come to terms with the darker parts of my personality with no apologies and no censorship.
    I guess you could say that I imagined this blog as a safe zone. A place where I could write about my depression, analyze my addictions, and try and comprehend why I fuck my life up over and over again, and NEVER be judged for the things I say. I know its a bit naive to think I won't be judged, this is a public forum after all, but...that's how I view it.
    And my second reason....
    I didn't fully understand this at the beginning, but over a year and some fifty-eight entries later, I started this blog because I hated being sober. I had just begun seeing my therapist and we were really getting into my past and my addictions. Re-living some of those experiences helped me to cope with the sudden intimacy I had with a perfect stranger. I've never let a lover inside my head and here I was telling a therapist that I once tried to drink myself to death by chugging two bottles of Vodka one night because someone said I didn't have the guts to kill myself. Of course he ruined it by taking me to the emergency room.
    But as I began talking to Susan, I started looking back fondly on my life. It's funny how an addict can look back at the train wreck of his past and only remember the good times. I chose to ignore the bits when I was strung out and sucking dick in alleys hoping I'd get AIDS so I could die. Letting anyone fuck me bareback because sex is always better when there is a bit of danger involved. How I made it through without so much as a harmless case of crabs I'll never know. I've watched too many people die for lesser offenses.
    I had been sober for three months, and in a matter of a few weeks talking to Susan, I was back to popping pills and snorting lines. What a pathetic liar I had become, for an hour a week, I was a normal human while in her office. But I didn't even wait to leave the building before getting a bump or swallowing a few pills. This went on for a few weeks until she asked why I was losing weight.
    And that's the other thing I hate about sobriety, without pills and lines, you gain weight.
    I freaked out in her office, she wasn't stupid, and she had called me on my bullshit. Like an addict, I ran. I couldn't face her, not fucked up. So I stopped, and quickly fell back into my normal patterns. I started drinking again, partying, and fucking anything.
    But as all addicts do, they hit a place, a few miles down from bottom, and they realize their faced with a crossroads. Down one path, parties and living stupid, and down the other path, sobriety. Every addict knows this crossroads. And usually the addict figures out a way to bypass this crossroads a few times, but sooner or later, the addict must decide which path he will walk down.
    My crossroad came a few weeks ago. I'd been up for three or four days, doing coke and drifting in and out of bars looking for sex. It was late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, I sat down at my computer and wrote ??????. For the first time, in quite a while, I was honest and wrote the words as they poured from my sick mind. I knew that the right person would read those words, the right person that wouldn't let me go this way, the right person that would fight the hordes of hell over my addict soul.
    Two days later, the right person did read it. And the duality of myself wouldn't let it end like this. I am an addict, have always been and will always be. But I can't let addiction keep dragging me down, pulling me away from the only thing I truly love doing. I called Susan and begged her to see me.
    It seems that I'll only ever measure my sobriety by days instead of how it should be....by years. But I'm working on it, I truly am. Friday I spoke the words I never thought I'd have the balls to say out loud. I told Susan that I would never do coke again. When she asked about pills, I shrugged. After all, it's not healthy to quit everything at once. But I'm working on it.
    So over the last few weeks, I've come to realize just how negative this blog has become for me. I trapped myself right from the beginning, I named it My Chaotic Life. I talked it over with Susan and she, amazingly agrees with me, that I should stop writing My Chaotic Life. Focusing on those parts of my life are self-destructing and really have no positive affect for anyone, myself included.
    I've always been a creature of extremes. I didn't just want to be happy, I had to be euphoric. If I was sad, then I was one step away from killing myself. But I'm sick of living like this. It's okay to just be happy, it's okay to be a bit sad, maybe living in the middle isn't that bad. A bit boring perhaps, a bit fat perhaps, but the alternative is something I'm not prepared to face just yet.
    Friday, during our session, I was silent and drawing in my diary. Susan asked what I was writing. I'll share it with all of you just as I shared it with her.

    So from here on out, my blog will be re-named, Somewhere in Between. I'm sure my more chaotic parts will show up here and there, but now I'll have something else to focus on. Life doesn't have to be chaotic, not even for me.
    Jason R.
  9. 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.
  10. 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.
  11. Jason Rimbaud
    Stupid Jason, Doing Stupid Things
    I said I was never going to do this again. And after the last time, this is the last thing I wanted to happen, again. But I have to face the facts, it did happen. And now I can?t stop these thoughts, I can?t control these feelings, and I don?t know how I?ll look at myself in the morning. Or even if I?ll try.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, again.
    And I don?t even know how it started.
    Wait, that?s a lie. I know how it started. I just don?t know how I let it get this far.
    It?s Sunday night, I don?t know what time it is, but then time doesn?t matter anymore, it?s already too late.
    It?s Sunday, a great day of football since the Colts lost and next week I?ll be watching the Chargers play the undefeated Patriots. It would?ve been a great Sunday if the night would have ended at that moment. But it didn?t, and I was drunk.
    It?s Sunday, the day my manager closed the hip up-scale restaurant where I work so the employees can enjoy a late staff Christmas party. A good idea normally, but I knew Mark would be there with his GIRLfriend in tow. Definitely not a sight I wanted to see on my day off. I have to see her enough as it is when she visits her boyfriend at work.
    Because of that, I had declared that I wasn?t going to attend. But a few nights ago, while drinking at a bar, I was somehow manipulated into promising I would at least make an appearance.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, while drinking.
    It?s Sunday, and it started off okay, I arrived around seven-thirty, an hour and half after it started. And I wasn?t late because I wanted to make an ?entrance?; I was still celebrating the Chargers win at the Sports Bar. And because I knew I would need a lot of insulation before facing Mark and his bitch. So I spent most of that time doing Vodka shots in between ordering double Screwdrivers. So by the time I arrived, I was quite hammered.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, because of fear.
    And while I was drinking myself into stupidity, I came up with a plan. My plan was simple; I would ignore Mark and his cum-dumpster. I would focus all my attention on everyone else. Good plan, right?
    I wish, but I was drunk. And we all know that a drunk Jason is a very dangerous thing. I should?ve gone home, but I didn?t.
    For an hour or so, my plan seemed to be working. Whenever Mark would walk towards me, I?d leave and start talking to the first person I saw. When I would sneak a look, he would be staring at me with an inquisitive look on his face. I could tell he knew what I was doing but there was nothing he could do about it. Not with his arm candy hanging on to him like she was scared he?d blow away in the cross-breeze from the ceiling fans.
    Like I said, this worked for an hour or so, but even with me ignoring Mark, it was still hard to see him dancing with his little blow-up doll. It didn?t matter that a few days ago; I could?ve had sex with him but refused because of past situations. It was still hard, so while he was dancing, I went outside to have a cigarette.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, while hoping he could handle it.
    And guess what? I couldn?t handle it, it was driving me crazy. How pathetic is that? I turned him down and I?m the one with all the regrets.
    So I go outside and sit down on the curb with a cigarette. I?m about half-way done when I smell him. I hang my head, it was going so well. I look up and see him standing next to me.
    He says, ?Always the loner.?
    I reply, ?Yep, did you think tonight would be any different??
    ?Not really. But I was hoping.?
    I focus my attention on my cigarette, like I?ve never seen one before. I see the end, glowing red in the semi-darkness, and realize that I?m slowly killing myself. But at that moment, dying would be welcomed, anything so I didn?t have to face him.
    I finished my smoke in silence; he stands there, staring at me patiently. I flick the butt away and stand up to go back inside. I never knew that silence could be so deafening.
    Until that moment, my plan of ignoring Mark was working perfectly. I had been there for over an hour and hadn?t even greeted him or his stupid walking blow-job machine. But if I know anything about Mark, I know he is quite determined. Mark is the type of guy that confronts things head on with a stubborn attitude that could wear down mountains if given enough time.
    As I go to pass him, he steps in front of me and peers into my eyes.
    I stop, I know it?s over. But I?m not going down without a fight.
    ?WHAT?? I hope hears the edge in my voice.
    ?So you think ignoring me is going to make all this go away.?
    I shrug, ?That was the plan.?
    He shakes his head and grins. ?You?re so stupid.?
    I have to agree with him, I am stupid. I should?ve punched him in the face. But I didn?t, instead I try again to walk around him. He blocks me again.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, because of a straight-boy crush.
    He takes my silence for approval, because he asks, ?Don?t you even want to hear about it??
    I shake my head no, and it?s the truth. I know what ?it? he was referring to and the last thing I wanted to hear was his adventures in gay sex from some boy I didn?t even know.
    So I did what I always do, I changed the subject. ?How?s your girlfriend?? I?m sure he caught the sarcasm; it was almost dripping from my mouth.
    He looks at the door of the restaurant and says, ?She?s fine.?
    I crossed my arms, if he wanted to talk about ?it?, then I wasn?t going to make it easy for either one of us.
    I ask, ?Did you tell her about it??
    He smiled and asked for a cigarette. I should?ve punched him, but I didn?t. I gave him one. I should?ve walked away while he was lighting the smoke, but I didn?t. Instead I offered my lighter and lit it for him.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, still.
    He took a deep drag and after he blew out his nose, he said, ?It was horrible, I hated it.?
    ?And I don?t care.? But I was lying, I did care. Because hearing him say that, it only served to drive home the fact that I was crushing on another unavailable straight boy. My anger started spiking.
    ?Liar.? This he said while staring into my eyes. He took a step forward and I took a step back.
    ?Why should I care??
    I know it was weak, it even sounded weak as I said it. I was just hoping he didn?t know how weak it really was.
    Again he laughed, ?That should be obvious, even for someone as drunk as you.?
    I crossed my arms and gave him an ?Oh Really? look. ?Pretend I?m stupid.?
    ?Nothing happened.? This he said very softly.
    I couldn?t help myself, I said, ?Now who?s lying.?
    He took a step towards me and said, ?He played with me for a bit and put it in his mouth, but I stopped him.?
    I stand there, not moving a muscle. ?That would explain why you were walking funny the next day??
    Again, he takes a step closer; we are now only a few inches apart. He whispers, ?I hurt my back, I fell off his bed when he tried to kiss me.?
    We were so close that I could smell the alcohol on his breath; I had to fight the urge to take a deep breath. Instead, I say, ?You couldn?t kiss him??
    He shook his head; his eyes seemed to be dancing, daring me to reply.
    So I asked the question that I never should have. I knew it the moment it left my lips. ?Why not??
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, while caught up in his dancing eyes.
    ?Because it wasn?t him I wanted to kiss.?
    And that?s when it happened, I don?t know why, I couldn?t help myself. I leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. And for a moment, he didn?t do anything. He didn?t kiss me back, he didn?t push me away. It was like we were frozen. And just when I started to think I had just made the biggest mistake of my life, he kissed me back.
    Someone moaned, I don?t know who, but I felt his hands on my hips and felt him pull me closer, tight against his body. I wrapped my arms around his waist and began kissing in earnest.
    I?ve had lots of first kisses, some were horrible, some blew my mind, and some were just okay. But this kiss was unbelievable. It was urgent, filled with passion that caused my knees to shake. It was like all the longing I locked inside over the last year suddenly came pouring out in a torrent of lust and wild abandonment.
    I don?t know how long it lasted, it couldn?t have been more than a few minutes, but I suddenly realized what we were doing and where we were doing it. I pulled back and pushed him away. He was confused by my actions; I could see it on his face like someone had drawn it with crayons. He shook his head and leaned in again.
    I put my hand on his chest and said, ?Stop.?
    ?Why?? He asked, still breathing a bit heavy.
    I looked at him; I saw that he was so wrapped up in the moment everything else had faded away. It was like he had finally given in to the feelings racing through his body and decided that rational thought was overrated. I know because while we were kissing I could feel it against mine.
    ?This isn?t right. Your girlfriend is right there on the other side of that door. And any moment she could walk out here looking for you.?
    That was enough to wipe that dazed look off his face. The reality of it all smashed into him. He was standing in the parking lot kissing a boy while anyone driving/walking by could see him.
    He looks at the door and reaches into his pocket while saying, ?You?re right, this isn?t a good place.? He takes a few steps away from me and puts his phone up to his ear. I hear him say, ?Hey babe, Jason and I are going to my car to smoke a bowl; we?ll be back in a few minutes.?
    He puts the phone back in his pocket and realizes I?m staring at him. He grins and asks, ?Where did you park??
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, because he?s horny.
    I should?ve been angry or at least a bit bothered that he had just lied to his girlfriend so we could go to my car and continue whatever it is we were doing. But I wasn?t, because instead of running away, I say, ?This way.?
    It?s Sunday, I?m drunk, and I allowing my stupid straight-boy crush to come back with me to my car. To say my thoughts are a bit jumbled wouldn?t be accurate. I wanted this to happen, hell, I?ve wanted this for a year. But I can?t help but think back to the last time I got involved with a straight boy.
    And what if we get caught? What if my little crush turns into something more? Something I can?t handle. What if afterwards he hates what we?ve done and it ruins what ever is left of our relationship? What if he doesn?t live up to my fantasy? Oh my god, what if he likes it?
    I get to my car and pause, asking, ?What are we doing??
    He gets this look; I can only describe it as passionate lust, and smiles. ?Something we should?ve done months ago.?
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, like unlocking his car.
    I hadn?t even shut my door and he was all over me. I did the only thing I could; I gave in and went for the ride.
    There was groping, mutual and animalistic without being violent and kisses that were so powerful they drove away all thought and for a time, we were one and the same. We had lost all sense of time during our exploration because thirty minutes later he phone started ringing.
    His girlfriend, who had given up waiting, had walked to his car only to find out we weren?t there. And though I found the situation to be wrong on so many levels, I was a bit amused by how pissed she sounded on the phone.
    It was surreal, Mark had one hand up to his ear and his other hand was lost inside my pants. As he lied to her, saying I ran out of cigarettes and we walked to the store to buy more, his hand never stopped exploring. After promising we?d be back in five minutes, he rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth bending up into a grin. He leaned in again.
    But I stopped him, the phone call reminding me that I was being very stupid. ?This isn?t right.?
    I couldn?t believe I said it either.
    ?It?s not fair to her.?
    What the fuck was wrong with me? After all this time, I had finally gotten what I wanted.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, fucking morals.
    He removes his hand from my pants and sits back and stares thoughtfully at the restaurant. ?I know.?
    I grab my cigarettes and light up as he says, ?What do we do now??
    I look at him, I don?t speak. I can?t. I don?t know what we should do now. I know that for thirty minutes I was happy, but the cost of those thirty minutes were beginning to frighten the shit out of me.
    ?You should go,? I finally say, looking out the window, anywhere except the passenger seat. ?She?s pissed enough already.?
    ?She can wait.? He declares, crossing his arms. ?I?m not done yet.?
    It was getting to me. This little game of cat and mouse that Mark and I had been playing all these months had finally reached the crossroads. Now was the time to decide. We couldn?t ignore it anymore, not after groping each other, and he was right, we weren?t done yet.
    I looked at him, his face flushed and his eyes shining, an expectant look on his face as he waited for me to say something, anything. And when I didn?t, he said, ?I know what you?re thinking.?
    ?Really?? I said, keeping my voice steady and neutral. I didn?t want it to show, the racing heart, the longing to lean over and resume exploring his mouth, and I didn?t want him to know just how much I wanted him.
    ?It?s her, isn?t?? He asks, though I believe he knew the answer.
    I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say. I felt sorry that I had that moment and he was going to be blindsided. But without asking, I knew he wouldn?t leave her for me. Not with the pressure from his family, and not with his fear of being gay. Not when it was just a few kisses in the front seat of car. I did the only thing I could do, I lied.
    I forced my face to a blank stare and said softly, ?This won?t happen again.?
    ?What?? I surprised him; he wasn?t expecting to hear those words. ?Why??
    I punched him lightly on the shoulder and said through a forced smile, ?We were just having some fun.? I almost stopped, his eyes stopped dancing and his smile faded. I saw the hurt in his eyes and forced myself to continue.
    ?I won?t tell anyone, we?ll just blame it on the shots.? Again I smiled, but then I had to look away. I wasn?t sure which one of us was about to cry. I think it was both, if only on the inside.
    But I forced myself to add the last nail to his coffin, I said, ?She?s waiting, go back inside before you get into trouble.?
    Now he looks away, and opens the car door. He pauses for a moment, so I say, ?See you Tuesday.?
    He shuts the door and quickly walks across the parking lot. I couldn?t help myself; I actually felt tears slip down my cheek.
    I start the car and drive away. My head knows I did the right thing, but damn if I hate it for that.
    Stupid Jason, doing stupid things, and now he?s alone.
  12. Jason Rimbaud

    TGI Friday's & A Broken Nose

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    TGI Friday's & A Broken Nose
    It was the year 1997. I was young, with luscious brown hair that fell past my shoulders. I was fit, hard bodied like only the young can have without exercise and down to fuck anything that captured my attention. But I was trapped in the midst of my only at night relationship with a straight boy named Jason and frustrated beyond belief. 
    I was also at an emergency room at 3:45 am and being questioned by a policeman about injuries Jason had sustained in a fight. 
    For those of you that haven’t followed this long outdated Blog, then you might want to read I'll Never Wear Boxers Again to fully understand my relationship with Jason, my undercover lover.
    During this particular year, at this particular time, Jason was balls deep in (love) with a female bartender at a local restaurant/bar called TGI Friday’s. You must remember, back then, TGI Friday’s actually had great food. Though they might have been better known for their “flare” bartenders and happy hour specials than anything. 
    It was common on most nights where the forty plus seats at the bar weren’t filled with regulars. Due in no small part that they offered a subscription based trivia game called NTN Buzztime that you could play against other players all over the country. 
    You’d ask a bartender for a controller, log in to your Buzztime account, and then play against other players in a plethora of trivia that normally lasted for thirty minutes at a time. I never participated in the sport theme trivia games but many a night, Jason and I spent hours playing that damn game until they kicked us out at closing. 
    We had been going there for almost a year so we had gotten to know the bartenders and most of the regulars pretty well. I was also involved in a rather heated rivalry with another regular patron by the screen name of FitzFuc who was my only real local competition in my never ending quest to maintain my high score on Buzztime. 
    You might not believe this, but my perfectly bald head is filled with useless information that makes me a devastating player at any bar trivia night. But I am finding more and more these trivia nights are less focussed on general trivia and more on themed nights which I find a bit boring. 
    But in 1997 and for all other purposes, I was head over heels in love with Jason. If you went back and read I’ll Never Wear Boxers Again, then you know how it started between us about a year earlier. 
    And since we never openly acknowledged our lust filled nights, I was confused, lovesick, and angry most of the time surrounding this secret relationship. With the amount of alcohol we consumed, my undercover burgeoning drug use and intense feelings, I’m surprised we didn’t have more violent arguments. 
    I’ll preface this story by saying I wasn’t the only one confused. Jason was in deep denial about his feelings for me and often used me more as a cumdump than a boyfriend. Though his intentions were probably more honorable than mine but both of us was stuck in this endless circle of sex, lust, anger, and hurt. 
    At one time or another, each of us tried to break this unhealthy cycle we had created for ourselves. As a gay man it was easier for me to find a willing receptacle. All I had to do was go to any gay bar and dance around in my underwear, twenty minutes later I’d be thrusting into some random dude or bent over taking a dick in the backroom.
    Jason had to employ a different strategy to find sex. His modus operandi was quantity flirting. He had figured out that sooner or later some random girl would agree to fuck him if he asked enough girls. So during this period, there were many nights he’d come home horny as fuck and needing to play around with me to scratch that itch. 
    Over the course of our “relationship”, I lost count of how many times I would see some ugly skank slip out of his room and make that long walk of shame back to whatever rock he found them under. And some of these “girls” he should’ve been more embarrassed than he was for taking them to his bed, but that’s a him problem. 
    With him being so deep in denial with his sexuality, those encounters might have been a way for him to justify the fact he wasn’t really gay no matter how many times I slipped inside his ass. As long as he was still sexing up girls, then he wasn’t really a fag but maybe bisexual.
    And that was an important distinction for him to make, which he did often. Usually it was right before I put my dick in his ass, he’d look up at me and say, “I’m not a fag.”
    What was I going to say? My dick was literally an inch away from the very place I wanted it to be. So I would always respond, “Me neither.” Then I’d do about the gayest thing one can do to another man. 
    But I was talking about 1997. I was working the mid shift, 12 pm to 8 pm, so after going home and taking a shower, I met up with Jason around 9 pm at TGI Friday’s. He had been there since five so he was pretty fucked up. 
    Our beer of choice at TGI Friday’s was Killians Irish Red Lager. They were served in a 23 oz chilled glass and we would normally knock back seven or eight before the night was finished. And in between each 23 oz Killians Irish Red Lager, we’d have a shot of our favorite drink. 
    Okay, they weren’t technically shots. I think I should explain before we move on. 
    Our shots were one of TGI Friday’s signature cocktail, the Malibu Baybreeze. This was a cocktail that had 2 oz of Malibu (coconut flavored) Rum, Pineapple Juice, and topped with Cranberry Juice in a ice filled 12 oz glass. 
    For some reason we loved that drink back then. So after each beer, we’d order this cocktail and then race to see who could finish it the fastest. The only rule, we had to drink through the straw. My personal record was five seconds. 
    Over a period of time, especially when they were really busy, the bartenders would grow tired of making so many of these cocktails, we had a habit of ordering them for several of the regulars. So for us, they started making us doubles and putting them in the 23 oz glasses. My personal record was about eight seconds.
    I know what some of you might be thinking. There was no way we would have the equivalent of sixteen beers and who knows how many double cocktails and still manage to walk upright. Then you would be wrong, very wrong.
    Jason and I were professional drinkers back then. We’d drink a solid five or six hours and then I would drive us twenty minutes back to our apartment. Don’t judge me, you do unbelievably stupid things when you’re twenty-two. 
    From the day I turned 21 until I turned 30, each football Sunday, five of my friends would drive about 45 minutes away to this amazing sports bar called Kokomo’s. There were closer locations to all our houses, but one of my friends, Five, was in (love) with one of the waitresses at that location so he made us go there.
    I can’t remember her regular name, but she also did strip shows in her private basement bar, and I remember her professional name, Velvet. Of course I’d remember her stage name. She was the only female stripper that ever gave me a boner. But that’s another story for another penis.
    Even though we’d arrived for the first game of the day at 10:30 am, Velvet didn’t start until 3 pm. We’d make sure we sat in her section so when she did come on shift, she would always be our waitress. We’d actually eat lunch and also dinner because we wouldn’t leave until the late night Sunday game was over. We’d basically drink for about twelve hours.
    Then we had our Friday game nights at my apartment. We’d all meet up at my apartment and play card games all night. It was standard practice for Jason and I to polish off two cases of beer and a 750ml bottle of Vodka. So our consumption was legendary in the circle of bars we frequented. Not only did we spend money like drunken sailors, we also tipped crazily. 
    How could two twenty-two year olds afford to drink like this you might ask? Prices weren’t the same as they are today. We could get a pitcher of beer for $10, .10 cent wings, and $2 well shots. So our Sunday football all day tab was about $150 and we split that five ways. 
    As a business owner, I am appalled by what I’m about to disclose, just remember times were different back then. Restaurants/Bars were making money hand over fist. Rent, labor, cost of goods, were maybe a third of what it costs now. Hell, bartenders/servers were only making $2.83 per hour because we really did live on our tips.
    Because we tipped so heavily back then, our bar tabs started shrinking the longer we frequented any establishment. After drinking for six hours, it was normal for me to receive a twenty dollar tab. We’d each, Jason and I, tip the bartender forty dollars and call it a night. So for eighty dollars, the bartenders were basically giving us who knows how many free drinks a night.
    Life was different, I had a 1200 square foot basement apartment with two bedrooms, a private entrance, and it cost me $800 a month. Jason and I split everything down the middle so our basic needs cost less than $600 a month. As a bartender in a very busy restaurant, I was making $200 in tips on a bad morning shift. Saturday lunch shift I was walking out with about $400, so I had cash coming out of my ears. 
    There was one ime after it got cold enough to warrant wearing a jacket, I grabbed one at random from the closet. When I put my hands in the pocket, I found tip money from the last time I wore it five months earlier. I had so much cash back then I had completely forgotten about the three hundred dollars. 
    But we’re talking about 1997, one of the more violent arguments I ever had with Jason. So when I arrived at TGI Friday’s, Jason was fucked up and in a bad mood. He had met his bartender crush’s boyfriend and it finally sank in no matter how much he tipped her, she was not going to suck his dick in the parking lot at the end of the night. 
    The other bartender, Nick, informed me Jason already had about eight beers and four of our “shots”. He was hoping I was there to bring him home. Nick had been a bartender for years and knew the signs of someone drinking in anger. But Jason was adamant that he wasn’t ready to go home yet and had no interest in stopping for the night. 
    There lies the dilemma of any bartender with a regular heavy tipper. If they cut off the drunk person, they run the risk of losing that income, on the other hand, if they continue to serve said drunk person, they run the risk of an altercation in the bar or worse, an accident on the way home. 
    I was only there for about ten minutes when Jason told me to fuck off and leave him alone. Remember, I was twenty-two, and you do stupid things at that age. So I did just that. I paid for my unfinished beer and I fucked off to the gay bars.
    TGI Friday’s was located on Union Deposit Road, about ten minutes away from Stallions, the largest gay bar in Harrisburg at that time. By the time arrived, Jason had called several times. He was angry that I left him there and was looking for a “fight”. I wasn’t in the mood to indulge him in an argument. So I ignored him.
    Stallions was a three level club but during the week, only the bottom level was open. The upstairs levels were the nightclub, dancing and drag shows while the bottom level was more like a neighborhood bar. There were a few pool tables, some arcade games, dart boards, and they hosted Karaoke on Tuesday nights. This was by far my least favorite level but it was the only one opened that night.
    Brandon, the downstairs bartender, was a good friend of mine. He was early thirties and had a nineteen year old twink boyfriend named Nicholas, not Nick, Nicholas. Nickolas was short, maybe 110 pounds, with a flaming red mohawk and a lip ring. I always thought Nickolas was hot but as he was Brandon’s boyfriend, I stayed away. 
    My last night in Harrisburg, some eight years later, I fucked Nicholas in a one room apartment next door to Stallions but that’s another story for a tired penis.
    Brandon was average height, a bit chunky but very cute with short brown hair. He served me my first legal drink in a gay bar called Strawberries the night I turned twenty-one so I had a soft spot in my heart for him. Those first few months he kept me away from the pervs, creeps, and drug pushers and introduced me to a group of gay’s that I regularly hung out with as we made our rounds of queer circle. 
    There were only about ten people there that night when I rolled in around 10pm. It was Wednesday night as I surveyed the crowd, I didn’t see anyone I knew other than Nicholas and Brandon. So I sat next to Nicholas and ordered my go to gay drink at the time, a Greyhound. 
    Nickolas was newly out to the world. He was a little punk rocker whose usual attire at the time was red checkered pants, black leather work boots, leather harness and nothing else. He was also a huge flirt and on the prowl to bring in a third for their sexual escapades that normally happened in the bar after they closed. 
    Don’t ask me, I just knew to keep my hands off his scrawny little ass. There was no way I was getting involved with that trainwreck of a couple no matter how many times they enticed me or how many free drinks Brandon gave me. And it was a lot. 
    Brandon liked them young and later on, after they broke up, Nicholas told me that Brandon had urged him to get me in a threesome with them. Nickolas was hot, but something about Brandon just turned me off so I always declined. But I will admit, one of the only reasons I did fuck Nickolas eight years later was to rub it in Brandon’s face right before I left. 
    This particular night, Nickolas was wearing a pair of black spandex shorts, black leather work boots and a smile. And the moment I sat down next to him, he jumped into my lap and kissed my cheek. I might have copped a feel of his little package as he squirmed around in my lap, maybe, but I’ll never tell.
    It was strange for me to be there on an off night, as I had the reputation of only showing up when I was looking to fuck. So Brandon said something along the lines of, “What are you doing here on a Wednesday?”
    “Relaxing after a long day.” Though Jason and I had been playing around for almost a year, I had yet to tell anyone about him. So I was dealing with all that emotion alone.
    “Let me help you with that.” Brandon declared and poured us Purple Hooter shots. 
    I had really only gone there because Jason was being an asshole and I wasn’t really looking to get hammered as I had an early shift the next day. But who could say no to a purple hooter. Not me, and after three greyhounds and two purple hooters, my will to call it an early night went out the window. 
    Nickolas and I started a game of pool. Back then, I played pool all the time. My buddy “Five” and I spent at least three hours a week playing at a local pool hall with regulation sized tables. I was really good once upon a time. On a bar sized table, I was virtually unbeatable. 
    Full disclosure, I loved playing pool with Nickolas, mainly because I would stare at his narrow ass every time he bent over to shoot. So as the night progressed, I was becoming increasingly horny and actually thought about taking them up on their offer to play. But that was as close as I would ever come to indulging their fantasy. Because a quarter after midnight, a tall slender boy with a caesar haircut, piercing blue eyes, and a sexual swagger walked in and asked if he could play winner. 
    I took one look at this boy and flashed him a smile and said, “I’ll play any game with you.”
    His name was Brandon, I know, confusing right. But he was known throughout queer circle as having all meat and no potatoes. And later that night I found out that was correct. He had an eight inch cock, straight and thick but little bitty balls that would have been perfectly fine on an eleven year old boy. Not a twenty-five year old man with a dick that could choke a horse, or a Jason.  
    For sake of clarity, my friend, I will call Brandon 1. I could give Brandon 2 another name but where would be the fun in that. 
    Nickolas quickly figured out that I wasn’t going to play with him so he went back to the bar to sit with Brandon 1 while Brandon 2 and I started to play. It was apparent from his first break, he was a great shooter. And after four games, we were tied, two to two. That’s when the night started getting interesting.
    First off, the loser of the next game had to buy the next round. So when I went to the bar to order the drinks, I asked him, “Do you know him?”
    Branond 1 frowned. “He’s kind of a whore.”
    “I like whores.”
    I could tell Brandon 1 didn’t like the guy. I wasn’t sure if it was because he had intentions on me for that night or if Brandon 2 wasn’t really a good dude.
    “Everyone says he doesn’t like to use condoms and he’s always staying for the afterparty at Strawberries.”
    Strawberries was right next door to Stallions and was a little narrow bar that was famous for a group of guys to stay after closing and run trains on naive twinks and do copious amounts of drugs. 
    Partipating in crazy sexapades didn’t bother me, but not playing safe did. AIDS was a huge deal and a guaranteed death sentence not to mention all the other STDs going around the gay community. As horny as I was, as dumb as I was, I was always careful to play safe. 
    As the months went on, I found out that most of what Brandon 1 told me that night was a lie. It was true, Brandon 2 was a whore, but so was I. He always played safe and didn’t sleep around near as often as his reputation suggested. 
    It all started because Brandon 2 had been seeing one of Brandon’s 1 friends that ended badly due to rampant drinking and drug use about six months earlier. A group of these older gay men were mad that Brandon 2 wasn’t a naive twink that could be passed around at those famous after parties at Strawberries. 
    Full disclosure, a few months after my twenty-first birthday, I was that naive. But that’s another story for a naive penis. 
    And the most interesting thing I found out about Brandon 2 was never mentioned at all. He loved watersports. 
    Jason had called me several more times that night but I always ignored it. I fully intended to honor his wishes by fucking off and leaving him alone. And some time later, when Brandon 2 followed me into the single occupant bathroom and started sucking my dick, I figured I’d start forgetting Jason by riding Brandon 2’s eight inch cock. 
    Brandon 2 still lived with his parents, so we couldn’t go back there. And I lived twenty minutes away in Grantville Pennsylvania, a place not easily accessible without a vehicle. So Brandon 2 didn’t want to come home with me. But I did manage to blast a load down his throat before I left with a promise to hook up again soon. That didn’t happen for another six months or so but it was worth the wait, let me tell you.
    By the time I made it home, around 1am, I was pretty drunk and ready for bed. Jason had not returned yet and a part of me was worried. I knew he was fucked up more than usual and he would never leave his Jeep there so the odds of him driving home was rather large. 
    But I was mad and being twenty-two, I shut my bedroom door and went to bed. I think I might have been asleep before my head hit the pillow. 
    “Hey asshole.” 
    I don’t know exactly what time Jason barged into my room, but I do remember coming awake and seeing him looming over me like some kind of vengeful angel. Before I could really blink the sleep from my eyes, Jason’s fist connected with my cheek and I fell back against the bed.
    No matter who you are, getting sucker punched in the face awakens something primal inside you. I’m not a tough guy by any means. Over my lifetime, especially back in High School, I had my share of fights. I’m naturally strong and can take a punch without collapsing like a sack of potatoes. So it really didn’t surprise me that I immediately jumped out of bed and went into a defensive stance. 
    I was still trying to process what just happened, and Jason lunged for me again. I’ll admit to all of you, there wasn’t a lot of force behind Jason’s first punch. Maybe it was because he was drunk and having trouble standing, or maybe he really didn’t want to hurt me. But when he lunged at me again, I didn’t have the same problem he did. 
    My fist connected and I felt his nose break. Blood immediately began flowing down his face and he looked at me in shock. LIke he couldn’t believe I had actually punched him. Then his eyes filled with anger and he attacked me. 
    We fell back on my bed, blood pouring down on the both of us, as we wrestled around for a bit. I slept naked, and not only was I self conscious about my nakedness, but I really didn’t want to hurt him. So I tried to block his blows and get him into a position where I could get away from him.
    Then a wild punch connected with my eye and I decided enough was enough. I threw him off me and started punching him as hard as I could. I made sure not to hit him in the head, I focused all my blows on his back. All I really wanted to do was stop him from hitting me. So after about six or seven hits on his back, I jumped off the bed and stood there gasping for breath. 
    Jason was groaning in pain, holding his broken nose as he tried to stop the blood. He was writhing around my bed and I grabbed a shirt from the floor and threw it at him. “Are you done?”
    Jason put the shirt up to his nose and said, “I’m done.”
    “Then get the fuck out of my bed. You’re bleeding everywhere.” 
    It took him a few moments to gather the energy to get off my bed and stumbled out of my room. I slammed the door shut behind him and stripped my blood soaked bedding. After putting the sheets in the washer, I remade my bed and was just about to crawl inside when I heard Jason calling for me. 
    As mad as I was about him attacking me in my sleep, I was still madly in love with him. And I could hear the pain in his voice as he called out for me. All the anger melted away and I ran out and saw him lying on the kitchen floor. 
    He had a towel filled with ice clutched in his hand but was face down moaning in pain. 
    "What's wrong?” I asked. I know, he had a broken nose and I was asking what’s wrong. But I was still a bit drunk.
    “I can’t breathe. It hurts. I think you broke my ribs.” Jason managed to say between breaths. 
    That’s when I ran over and knelt down beside him. I lifted up his shirt and looked. I could see where I punched him, his skin was red and angry looking. The next day, the left side of his back would be one big bruise but that night, it just looked hot. 
    His eyes were already bruising and the blood flow from his nose had pretty much stopped. He looked horrible. I immediately felt sorry for him. “I’m sorry.”
    “After this, me too.”
    “What do you want me to do?” I asked him as I tried to move him into a sitting position. 
    “I think I should go to the hospital.”
    “You can’t drive, I’ll bring you.” I offered. 
    He looked at me and then reached out with one finger and hit the tip of my dick gently. “Maybe you should get some clothes on.”
    On the way to the emergency room, Jason came up with a story to explain where he got his injuries. We both knew, the moment an ER doctor saw him, he would know he was in a fight and report it to the police. 
    Twenty minutes earlier, we were trying to kill each other and now we were conspiring to lie to a police officer. The basis of the story, Jason was out at a bar somewhere downtown, and after he left, a few guys jumped and robbed him. Then he drove home where I decided he should go to the hospital. 
    As we suspected, the ER doctor called the police and after they triaged him, the officer took his statement. Then as Jason was filling out the paperwork, the officer found me in the waiting room and interviewed me. 
    This wasn’t the first time I had lied to a police officer and it wasn’t the last. And from the look on his face, the police officer didn’t believe a word I said. I have no idea what he thought really happened but our story was so weak, Jason couldn’t remember which bar he went to, nor where he was parked, nor could he offer a description of any of the attackers. But I think the main reason he didn’t believe our story was that Jason had his wallet in his personal effects when he was admitted.   
    We were pretty quiet on the ride home. It was almost five am and he had to be at work at 8am and my shift started at 10am. He had a broken nose, a cracked rib and a bruised kidney, needless to say, only one of us made it to work that day. 
    The explanation he gave me behind his anger never made sense either. Yes, he was mad that his bartender crush wasn’t interested in him, and yes he was mad that I left him at TGI Friday’s, and yes he was mad that I went to Stallions and got a blowjob from Brandon 2, but none of that was the reason he attacked me. 
    After my shift the next day, I went home to check on him as well as to shower. He was propped up on the couch watching TV, bored out of his skull. When I went into the bathroom, he followed me and sat on the toilet as I showered. 
    “What are you doing tonight?” He asked.
    “Maybe go to Stallions.”
    “Why don’t we just get some beer and hang out here. I’m off tomorrow.”
    Truthfully, I was still angry that he had punched me. And I wanted to go back to Stallions to see if I could find Brandon 2 again. So I answered noncommittally. “Maybe.”
    “If you’re going to just hook up, you could always fuck me.”
    I started laughing. This entire situation was so ridiculous. Even in my young confused brain I knew what we were doing was bizarre to say the least. “You’re so banged up you can’t even walk. I’d break you.”
    “I’ll just take some more pain killers.”
    We ended up staying home that night. And somehow, we even took turns topping. We snuggled in his bed and I pretended we were a couple. It was nights like these, alone in the safety of our apartment, wrapped up in one another’s arms that kept this dream alive of us one day becoming a real couple. 
    When we arrived home from the hospital, I helped him get undressed and put him to bed. I made sure his phone was charging and right before I turned off the light, I asked, “Do you need anything else?”
    “After all this, the least you could do was give me a blowjob.”
    There it was. Our relationship summed up in a single sentence. After I broke his nose, his ribs, and bruised a kidney, after all that, the least I could do was suck his dick. Any normal human would have run away from this situation. But I have never been normal and I didn’t run away. I sucked his dick.
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    The Art of Letting Go
    Written By: Jason Rimbaud
    ?You don?t have a fucking clue as to what you want much less what you want from me.?
    Words, words, and more words designed to cause as much damage as possible without resorting to violence. Maybe I regret those words that were blurted out in the middle of a crowded restaurant the other night. You see, I think I might have come to a crossroad in my life and maybe this once, I?m taking the right path.
    Work?where to start with that mess. After Mark and I broke up I did what I?ve always done when I feel lost?I threw myself into work with a frenzy that borders on obsession.
    If I would?ve thrown half the energy I?ve been displaying lately into my relationship with Mark, we might still be together. What?s the saying about hindsight? With hindsight we?re all fucking savants.
    I have baggage, but who among of us doesn?t? Considering my past and the mistakes I?ve made over the last decade of this so called life, I am somewhat amazed that I still maintain a semblance of positive energy. I enjoy my life and still chase my passions with a single-minded determination that breaks down barriers and move mountains; even if it?s only a pebble at a time.
    ?I survived the hazards of my past and I am proud that I am so much better than my father could have ever hoped to be.?
    And I?ll admit it, there are times when the darkness that I suppress in myself overwhelms me and I fall into depression so black my friends are hesitant to leave me alone in a room with sharp objects. I?ve been known to go on weeklong binges, drinking myself into oblivion just to stop the noise in my head and steal a few hours of sleep before waking up and doing it all over again. And then there are times where I have such a lack of self-worth I start believing the shit my father said all those years ago.
    And like all things entailing this journey of life, it?s all a process. And I?m working on it. I can feel my darkness retreating further and further as I work towards the light.
    ?You are the place I stayed too long, I got trapped in your nightmare and I don?t know how to get out.?
    I?ve been accused of giving people small tastes, brief glimpses into my heart where I give just enough information to keep them fooled into thinking I?m something like human.
    My capacity for grand gestures and storybook endings are movie perfect. It?s the next day, when the moment has faded into pleasant memory, is where I have the most trouble. The living day to day in the grind and sameness of life is where I feel the most uncomfortable.
    I cut people off emotionally; giving just enough of myself to keep them interested before I pull back into whatever state of insecurity that rules my thought process It?s like I get them vested in my wellbeing and then I run away because the look in their eyes is too much for me to handle.
    I guess it?s always been hard for me to receive acceptance. Especially from those I am interested in or have a relationship with. It seems I thrive on being the odd man out or at least project that I like being the odd man out. Deep down inside myself I want to be different from the rest of the world even as I strive to become just like everyone/anyone else.
    Without going into a long dissertation about my current mental health, I just wanted to briefly link my thoughts together so I can get a better understanding of my patterns of self-destructive behavior.
    Love, regret, sadness, joy, anger, contentment, and a host of other emotions seemed to have bypassed my genetic makeup.
    One of my employees, F, called me the other day, so distraught he couldn?t string sentences together through his sobs. It seemed his mother, who had been battling cancer for years, passed away the day before and he couldn?t make it in to work that day.
    In my fucked up emotionless head, I?m thinking, ?why the hell can?t you work today if she died yesterday, it?s not like it was a surprise. Besides how long does it take to mourn someone??
    Now before you go and get all high moral road on me and write me nasty emails, I didn?t say that aloud. I said all the right things, take as much time as you need, let me know if we can help you in any way, don?t worry about covering your shift, blah blah blah.
    That is the proper response in that situation but the only reason I said it was because I know I was suppose to say those things. I truly could care less that his mother just died, nor can I fathom why he starts crying at random times three weeks later. This kind of emotional attachment baffles me on every single level.
    I wonder if I?m alone in these behaviors. Is the apathy most humans display genuine or is it nothing more than doing/saying the right thing to fit into social norms? Is it a practice adopted by the world to comfort with false feelings those who ?need? it?
    I?ve always been good at doing and saying whatever I need to get my desired effect. In my professional career, I act a part. I?m polite, engaging, charming, witty, and extroverted in my dealings with the hundreds of guests I see on a daily basis. But at the end of the day, I do it because I have to pay my bills and make myself a life.
    In my personal relationships, I pretend to care. I ask questions of my partner that I don?t care about the answers. I fake sadness when tragedy strikes them or their loved ones. I project happiness with their triumphs, and force tears when I feel it?s needed. Whatever I need to do at that particular time to make them feel better I do it. It doesn?t matter. And for the most part it doesn?t cost me anything.
    But it?s all a charade. I don?t care on a very basic and honest level. Am I alone in this behavior?
    This is how after three long years of obsessing over Mark, I can get up in the middle of dinner and tell him to fuck off without skipping a beat.
    ?You don?t know enough about me to give me what I need.?
    Words, words, and more words that make up my particular brand of truth that day, words that do more harm than good to both parties in question.
    I imagined my words having the desired effect and I think I can see tears forming in his green eyes. And I imagine him being dumbfounded, something that has never happened over the last three years.
    Did I set out on that beautiful southern California night to break Mark?s heart and to end things noisily in a public place? I don?t know. Maybe.
    Someone once wrote and said my Blog?s are too confusing because I tend to jump around with dates and time. So for you my dear reader, let?s go back a few days before the above incident. Back to Gay Pride 2011.
    I had just met this awesome guy and we were really hitting it off. Matter of fact we had dirty gay hotel sex and it was hot. This guy, R, was really into me and I could feel the vibe between us growing. But the very next day after dirty gay hotel sex with R, Mark called and wanted to know if I?d hang out with him and a few friends of his that were visiting from Russia in San Francisco. And much like a crack addict, I jumped at the chance to get all close and personal with my former straight boy crush.
    We had a great time in the city by the bay and we never seemed to have those awkward moments that sometimes creep up with ex-boyfriends. His friends were charming and so straight a little of it rubbed off on me and I actually started thinking about pussy for a quick minute.
    Mark was a bit worried that his childhood friends might not be so accepting of his newfound sexuality. But I must say, if they were bothered by it, they hid it pretty well. All day long we?d play this game, when a hot chick walked past, Mark or I would point her out. When a hot guy would walk by, they?d point him out, loudly.
    I was amazed by the type of guys they kept pointing out. They were all twinks, thin feminine type guys who fit every gay stereotype in the book. Of course it did cross my mind that they weren?t as straight as they projected but that?s neither here nor over there.
    After more than a few drinkie poos, they started asking us questions about our relationship. Like who fucked who, who was more like the girl; you know all the stupid questions clueless straight boys ask. And in a gesture quite out of character for me, I sat back and let Mark field all the questions. I only chimed in when I was asked a direct question.
    Mark impressed me that night. Listening to him talk about ?us? made me realize just how close our lives had become and how much I allowed the crazy Russian inside my neurotic mind. The more they talked together and the drunker I become, I started questioning our decision to end our relationship.
    I mean we were good together, and the sex was so epic if we ever allowed others to view it they just might implode and become eunuchs because they?d know they?d never reach that level of intimate violence we perfected.
    By the end of the night, Mark and I spent more time staring into one another?s eyes than we did listening to his straight friends try to pick up chicks in a gay bar. Seriously, that nights adventures alone is worth it?s very own Blog Entry because by the end of that night we were at an emergency room until two in the morning while one of the chicks got bandaged up after she was clipped by a taxi cab. But that story will have to wait for another day.
    ?Life is what happens while you stare up into the future looking for that perfect sum of one.?
    The next afternoon I woke in Mark?s arms, hung-over and covered with last night?s pleasure. For a few moments I lay there, content to listen to the soft snoring that escaped his lips and reveling in the feeling of his heartbeat through my hand. With each brush of my hand across his chest, every kiss I softly planted on his neck, I sighed inwardly like a little girl who just finished reading the Twilight Sage and had decided which team she would champion.
    ?Contentment is a place where you find yourself after you given up on trying to control every aspect of your life.?
    It took a moment for me to figure out why I had this overwhelming feeling of contentment as I lay there with my arms wrapped around my little Russian. Connection?plain and simple. We had this connection that a mere one night stand couldn?t hope to ever duplicate.
    No matter what had transpired between Mark and I, all the hateful things we had said to one another, the way we used sex as a weapon of control, the callous way we approached our relationship with selfish intentions, none of that mattered because we had this undeniable connection from the moment we met that couldn?t be severed no matter the circumstances.
    I?ve always thought connections were the single most important thing in a relationship. After the lust fades and the love becomes easy and predictable, the only thing that keeps two people walking in the same direction is their emotional connection. How intertwined have they become during their journey?
    Love is what happens when lust goes horribly wrong. And being connected is what happens when everything falls into place and you forget about love and lust and focus solely on making a life together. Let?s face it, you will lose your looks, your hair will turn gray or fall out, and the little things that you find so cute once upon a time will slowly drive you crazy after years of repetition. What do you have left after that?connection.
    That?s why a few days later Mark and I went on a little trip to Southern California. Maybe we forgot about the hurt we caused one another, maybe it was just easier to work on us that it was to find another ?us?, or maybe because deep down inside neither one of us could admit that we failed at something.
    Mark and I were good at sex, we were good at planning the future, but we weren?t so good existing in the moment.
    Mark is stubborn and will never relent once he gets something in his head. And it would drive me crazy. He?d ask my opinion about something, and for hours and sometimes over days we?d discuss it, look at it from every angle and then he?d go out and do exactly what he originally decided to do even before we even spoke. It didn?t matter what my reaction would be, he?d stumble on seemingly without a clue. He hates to be wrong and never admits when he is.
    I?m emotionally distant on my good days, during my bad days, I?m downright icy. I don?t like to chat about my day, I?m not that good at sharing my feelings other than anger, and it would drive him crazy. He?d badger me about what happened that day, he?d pry into my relationship with my brother, and when I?d get angry he accuse me of not loving him and not letting him inside. I hate to be wrong and never admit when I am.
    ?You can?t go on pretending that I don?t matter to you, I know I do. You?re just too fucking stupid to admit it.?
    After all the words that were said a few days ago, after the dust settled down and we returned back to our homes and lives, I now realize that just having a connection isn?t enough. Mark was right. I am too fucking stupid to admit that he matters to me. Emotionally I?m still tender and raw around the edges and maybe my progress isn?t as far along as I thought?or hoped.
    But I was also right when I likened him to a place I stayed too long. Love shouldn?t/isn?t that difficult, and if it is, then it?s not right. So what we were connected. Do we stay together when we are drowning and dragging each other down? Or do we severe the connection so that we both have a fighting chance at happiness?
    ?I?ve kind of been seeing someone.?
    Mark is staring at me in his own unique way that made/makes me feel like I was the only human on this fucking planet. I looked at him, as if to say, really. More words, more platitudes, more selfish impulses designed to force the issue we always seem to avoid.
    He met this guy at school and for the last month they?ve been seeing a lot of each other. He also tells me he really likes this guy. And as usual Mark babblings, he tells me more information about this guy than I ever wanted to know.
    I don?t know what to say, what to do, or even how to act. It was his idea to take this trip together; he?s the one that needed to spend some time with me without any distractions. This was day three of a three day trip and we had been like newlyweds the entire time. I was fucking pissed.
    Mark was the one person that really got me. He made me feel like I could have a shot at having a normal relationship. And right in the middle of my delusion, he?s ?kind of? seeing someone. Why the hell did he even invite me to the city with him and his friends? Why did he spend the night with me? Why did he always pop back into my life right when I was beginning to heal?
    ?I love you and I want you to be happy and you?re not. I see it in your eyes; I can?t make you happy no matter what I do. And it?s killing me.?
    And that?s the kicker, isn?t? I wasn?t happy and he knew it. No matter that every time I thought about him a goofy smile broke out on my face. Or that I thought about him more than I thought about myself.
    I thought back to all the times we shared over the years and I saw us happy and laughing, enjoying the togetherness. Was I angry? Hurt? Confused? Yes and probably more emotions that would be pointless to list. Because in the end, words, words, words, don?t mount up to a possum?s ass.
    ?I don?t know how to end this?
    In my head I?m screaming that we shouldn?t be looking for a way to end ?us?, we should be striving to save our future. And then like some bizarre movie montage, images of our life began floating in my head. Scenes of Mark and I in bed, at dinner, sitting next to each other watching TV, endless combinations of our relationship and on the surface we looked peaceful, serene, and happy. But then I looked harder, like someone turned the focus screw and everything changed. I started seeing the fighting, the bickering, and the dirtiness that was under the allure of connection. We hadn?t been happy together in a long time and it was like somebody shined the light on the exit and the path ahead of me became clear for the first time in three years.
    ?Sometimes if you love something enough, you have to set it free.?
    I?ve heard that statement many times in my life but it wasn?t until I was sitting across from him that I finally understood it. As long as I kept indulging our madness, I was preventing both of us at moving on.
    ?I really don?t know what to do to make you happy.?
    For years I wondered if I was so jaded that I didn?t have emotions towards others. Or that I wasn?t like other humans and that I was somewhat flawed. Over the course of this Blog entry, I think I?ve answered my own questions.
    I actually never said those words in that restaurant. You see, Mark wasn?t happy. He hadn?t been happy with me for a long time but felt torn between his love for me and his love for a better life. And hearing those words from him tore me apart.
    ?You don?t have fucking clue as to what you want much less what you want from me.?
    That night I found out that I am selfless. I never told Mark that he was breaking my heart. And when I told him that we shouldn?t see each other anymore because we?d only end up killing whatever good feelings we had for one another, I think I meant it. I looked him right in the eye and lied but you never know.
    For the first time in my life, I didn?t tell someone what he wanted to hear to further my own agenda. My motives were honest, even if I was dishonest in my delivery. So maybe I?m not as jaded as I like to think I am.
    Maybe?
  14. Jason Rimbaud
    Current Music Selection: Awesome Dude Radio (make sure to check it out)
    Current State: Undressed
    Current Mood: Irritable (49?ers shut out by KC)
    So last night was exciting, Daniel and I met a few friends in the city. (San Francisco) The night started off shaky. We met at Estia, billed as the house of lamb, for some traditional Greek fare.
    Since moving to the City by the Bay, I?ve been attempting to expand my culinary experiences by trying different ethnic foods and the wine that goes with each culture. Whether it?s Italian, Mexican, Mediterranean, Turkish, Indian, French, German, or Greek fare, I?ve realized I don?t care for other races interpretation of food. Though I must admit I like all Asian prepared foods, especially Korean.
    But I digress from the topic at hand. A few weeks ago, I?m sure everyone remembers Fredricko, the boy with the extra skin attachment. If you remember him, then you?d probably remember my new nickname, dubbed by one Connie Chung. Get it out of your system, I know, it?s funny.
    I was in the mood for some drinkie poos to wash the taste of that awful Greek wine away, so we stopped at Twin Peaks for cocktails.
    I was gulping my third Bombay Sapphire Martini when over the noise of the bar, I hear in a loud campy voice, ?Look, everyone, its Hoody/Hoodie.?
    My nemesis, the Kryptonite to my superman, the very old and bitter queen, otherwise known as Connie Chung. It was to be expected really. I just had a horrible dinner; wine that I wouldn?t serve my worst enemy, and my hair was too busy doing whatever it is that unruly hair does. Can we say that my reaction was inevitable?
    I?m not a mean boy, I respect my elders, I open the door for cute guys, I give out pity fucks for christ sakes. But this has been going on for almost three weeks and I was ready to put a stop to this madness. Oh yeah, and I was bored and slightly drunk.
    Downing the rest of my Martini, I turned and faced Connie Chung. Much like two gunfighters from days of old, we stood there, silently measuring one another?s resolve. The DJ dove under his mixing table, the dancing boys stopped and huddled together in a mass of Lycra and smeared make-up, tears falling down their faces. A hush fell on the crowd as they instinctively backed away from the threat of violence that hung in the air, thick and euphoric. Like vultures they could sense someone was about to get schooled. They waited with baited breath.
    The bartender called out that he wanted a fair fight and made sure none of the other?s gang got involved. A bull dyke with arms bigger than mine, spat out encouragement to Connie Chung, calling me a twink. Oh, it was so on.
    Connie Chung drew first blood, his shot grazing my neck, regaling the tale of my nickname and the circumstances surrounding such a name. Ooo?s and Ah?s rumbled through crowd, supporters of keeping one?s junk natural screamed for my head.
    I was momentarily stunned; I fell back, swaying on my feet. I tried to counterattack but my shot went wide, saying I had never seen one before and it shocked me. But Connie Chung wasn't fazed by my attack and sent another shot my way.
    By now, my neck and left arm was bleeding, my vision was a blur and I wasn?t sure I could go on. Sensing victory, Connie Chung continued relentlessly, saying how beautiful an uncircumcised dick is in its natural environment and how petty and superficial I was not to appreciate such a sight.
    Through the jeers and screams, I saw my opponent; eyes shining brightly with a feral look on its old face. I fell to my knees, seconds away from going down for the count. But instinctively, I reached down into my reserves and mustered up strength enough for one last shot. I took aim and growled out that this twink wasn?t going down without a fight. I did the only thing I could think of?
    I jumped up on the bar and dropped my pants. I pulled out my cock for the whole bar to see and said, ?How can any one of you say an uncircumcised cock is prettier and more enjoyable to look at then this All-American dick.?
    My aim was true, the bullet found its mark and Connie Chung stared at me, shock on its wrinkled face. The patrons began screaming and clapping; a few shoved dollars in my direction and one went as far as to inspect my dick up close. And as I raised my hands in victory, I watched Connie Chung teetered back and forth for a moment before falling dead at my feet.
    In my mind, Queen?s ?We are the Champions? started playing and for a moment I was the victor. Then the bouncers came and hauled me from the bar and threw me out on my naked ass. Apparently, it?s illegal to expose one?s self in public, even in the middle of the Castro District.
    My friends joined me on the sidewalk as I pulled up my pants, making sure to gather the eleven dollars I made. As we walked down the street heading for the next bar, I felt confident that would be the last time I was ever called Hoody/Hoodie again.
    Several of the patrons from Twin Peaks followed us, or rather followed me, probably hoping for another glimpse at my All-American dick. I got three phone numbers and a blowjob last night. I guess what I?m trying to say, the next time someone calls you out, don?t hesitant to put it all on the line. You could make eleven dollars and even go as far as meeting Mr. Right. Okay, at least Mr. Right now. Until next time, cheers everyone.
    Jason R.
  15. Jason Rimbaud
    Wow, I can't believe how long it's been since I last posted an entry.
    Bad Jason.
    A few things have been happening lately.
    I got a job promotion. I'm now the Catering Manager as well as the Assistant Manager in my hip upscale restaurant. And since we made the list of the top one hundred restaurants in the Bay Area, the catering sales have doubled. But I love it, I'm rarely in the restaurant anymore and get to boss around everyone. How cool is that?
    I'm single again. Mark is back firmly in the closet and in a way, I'm happy with that. I was going to write a long rant but I haven't the energy. Oh well, don't be sad, you all know I'll write a poem or two about it soon.
    Oh yeah, since I'm his boss now, I get to order him around. How fucking cool is that?
    My site should be up and running any day now over at the Hub and I'm pretty fucking stoked about it. So stoked that I'm almost finished a new five part story I started writing months ago when I stayed at the beach for three days. I think it might be called Time Stood still, but who fucking knows.
    I bought a new 65 inch 1080P projection TV and a Bose surround sound with the winning from two days at Cache Creek Casino. I was unbeatable at the black jack tables and won several thousand dollars which I promptly spent. Along with the TV, I have a new mattress, a steam carpet cleaner for those pesky stains in my rugs, and a new TV stand for my new baby.
    Thank god Wolfie likes the new digs, I was a bit worried as I didn't consult him.
    I made an appointment to get another tattoo and can't wait till next Thursday. I'm thinking about getting "SLAVE" on my neck, but my boss pointed out that it would'nt be the right kind of advertising for my current sex life. *shrugs* He suggested slut instead. I don't know, it just doesn't have the same flow as "SLAVE".
    I've decided to stop smoking, then I realized I'd rather die of cancer than of diabetes so promptly started again.
    Got so drunk a few days ago, that I called Mark up and begged him to come over for a friendly fuck.
    Needless to say, I had to wash my sheets again but was quite pleased that the new mattress lived up to my expectations.
    Further realized that sex with Mark is much better when both parties are a bit indifferent and slightly pissed. Rough sex...I likes.
    Well, that's about it from Jasonland. It's getting late and I have an early day tomorrow. Later
    Jason
  16. Jason Rimbaud
    I must say I like the new look of our Blog's as well as the upgrade. It seems to be a step-up though it gives me more work as now I need to change my Blog to match the face lift of the site. But I'm ready, and if I'm not ready I am at least excited to start.
    It's been a while since I lost posted, ignoring my Election night brief entry because that doesn't really count, two months. I've had a lifetime worth of events transpire and its taken me that long and more to sort it all out.
    I hate left-overs, something about half eaten food makes me shake. I've never understood why people eat left-overs, if it was so good then you should have eaten it all and if you couldn't eat it all then you shouldn't have ordered so much food. Much like the way I can't drink out of an open container, I waste so much Orange Juice I really should be brought up on charges of abuse.
    But that's me, left-overs and open containers freak the shit out of me. I've learned to live with it, it's my cross to bear as it were and for the most part it's harmless and doesn't affect anyone else.
    Mark loves left-overs, and for some reason he doesn't eat them, but he loves to bring the containers back to my house and settle them comfortably in my fridge where they sit forgotten and over time to get back at us for leaving them alone in the fridge they begin to mutate into something unrecognizable.
    I beg, I plead, I implore with my logic, I threaten, anything to get him to stop this madness but nothing gets through. I once decreed that he was no longer allowed to open the fridge for any reason and this only empowered him to become extremely lazy. I was then forced, by my own words, to become his bitch and wait on him hand and foot.
    He is of the opinion that he paid for the food, and he won't waste it by leaving it at the restaurant. This would be fine if the fucker would eat the food instead of waiting for it to grow green legs before I finally throw it out.
    Work has been progressing, sometimes rather well and sometimes not. Based on the current economy, people are having less disposable income and instead of going out two or three times a week, they are only going out once a week, sometimes once every two weeks. This has caused the servers to become a bit more stingy with their money as they went from X amount a week to Z amount. Tempers are flaring, arguments are happening between the staff and everyone has a general feeling of stress.
    This makes my job harder, controlling these tempers is like walking a fine line between a volcano and the pits of hell. One wrong misstep and life becomes way to hot to handle.
    A few weeks ago, I was counting the cash in the restaurant, tallying the books for the days business. When I discovered that I had somehow lost two hundred dollars from the opening cash to the closing cash. Seeing how I am directly responsible for the cash, and must pay for any shortages, I opened all the checks for the day and begin backtracking to find where my mistake occurred, hoping that it was an addition error as opposed to me giving either a customer to much change or a server to much tips.
    In this time consuming process, I was going over a server's checkout (for those of you that have never worked retail, a checkout is a list showing each and every transaction a particular server did on that particular day, with detailed accounts of credit cards and cash.) and saw a discrepancy on a credit card slip. The amount of the credit card was $119.45, the guest added in a tip of $10.00, making the total on the slip $129.45. Granted this was a horrible tip, and the guest really should be taken to a square somewhere and flogged. But be that as it may...
    When I looked at the slip, and the compared that transaction with the server's checkout, I noticed that the server had adjusted the credit card tip to $20.00 dollars instead of $10.00 dollars.
    I'm the first person to realize that mistakes happen, you might be tired, you might be joking around and not paying attention, loads of things could happen.
    But this sent up a red flag, and I began to cross check every credit card slip with the checkout for that particular server. On that day alone, I found two other "mistakes". I forgot about the $200 dollars at that moment and started going back and checking each day that server worked. Over the course of a month, I found several mistakes on that server's books, totaling over $150 dollars of stolen tips.
    Love is a wonderful thing, you accept someone's faults, overlook the bad annoying habits, and focus on the feelings that bubble over every time you look at your lover's face. Mark snores, I find this to be cute with him, all of my other roommates I've had I threatened to kill them if they didn't stop snoring, even when they were in another room on a different floor.
    Mark is messy, to the extent that drives me completely crazy. When he gets out of the shower, he doesn't bother to dry any part of his body before stepping on the floor, leaving water spots everywhere. When he's done with the towel, he leaves it on the floor in a ball. We've managed to work around this, I yell at him, he giggles and slowly cleans up after himself, not good enough so I always have to redo it, but we work through it.
    He leaves empty glasses everywhere, along with plates, forks, spoons, not understanding that if you do that, it leave a better chance of ants crawling around everywhere. He can't wash a dish properly to save his life, though it makes me all fuzzy bunny slippers when he tries.
    Love is what makes us overlook these annoying habits, because though he has faults, he more than makes up for it with his grand gestures of romance, his subtle yet loud declarations of love.
    But to be honest, I'm glad we don't live together. I would kill him.
    Being that I'm rather new to my job, I wasn't sure how to handle this situation of a sever stealing. What would happen if a guest realized that the server did this? I'm pretty sure my owner doesn't want her restaurant to gain the reputation of not running an honest establishment.
    I knew I had the server dead to rights, once could be argued away that it was an honest mistake, $150 dollars is a bit harder to explain. If it was a mistake, then that server is pretty fucking stupid and doesn't need to be handling money whatsoever.
    Yet I liked this server, we had worked together for over two years and I trusted him. Plus I know how much this job means to him, he's still in college that he pays for, his car just got painted and redone, plus I'm assuming he has other bills. Losing this job would affect his life in grand ways. I know, sometimes I'm a bit to nice.
    I was confused, I knew this behavior had to stop, but I didn't want to call in my boss just yet because I liked the guy. After a restless night sleep, I decided to confront this server on my own, and gage his reaction when I showed him the evidence hoping that we could come to some kind of agreement without him getting into trouble.
    The next day, I called the server and asked him to come to work early, right after his classes were over.
    A few hours later, he walks into the office smiling, happy as hell, and sits down across from me, "What's up?"
    I take a deep breath, I admit I was a bit nervous but had decided this had to be taken care of. I retrieve just one slip from the night before, hand it to him, and said, "You screwed up, you adjusted the tip wrong."
    He looks at if for a moment, shrugs, and says, "Oops, do you want the ten bucks back right now?"
    "That would be cool," I smile. He gives me the ten dollars and as I begin correcting the mistake in the computer, I ask smiling, "Have many times do you make this mistake?"
    "Come on, you know me better than that." was the reply.
    "So if I check, I won't find any more of these mistakes?"
    "Nope." He says, looking straight in my eye.
    For some reason, I took great offense in this. Here I was trying to keep this quiet so the big bosses won't find out, basically trying to save his job, and he looks me right in the eye and fucking lies to me.
    "That's weird, because I spent most of last night going through your slips and I found many more mistakes. So either you are lying to me, or you're stupid, which is it?" I was past nervous and slipped into anger by this time. "Is there anything you want to tell me, Mark?"
    His smile drained from his face and he stared at me blankly for a moment. I didn't know what to feel or what to say. This was a man that I shared my life with, a man that came out to his mother just to be with me, a man who faced the world and his own insecurities with his head held high. A man that I realized that I didn't even know.
    He started changing his story, saying that times were hard, and he only did that to the guests that didn't tip him accordingly to the service that he provided. He said they deserved what they got because they were cheap.
    I can overlook many things in a relationship, but this was something I couldn't overlook. I pride myself on my moral and work ethic. I do my job to the best of my ability and when I don't get that tip, or when a guest complains, I tightened my belt so to speak and continue on, knowing that in the end it all works out. One table doesn't tip you well but the next table tips you extra, it makes up for it and after all, we can't force people to tip.
    "I have to report this," looking him in the eyes. "If I don't, and my boss finds out, I could lose my job."
    "I won't do this again," he promises. "Just don't tell."
    "I can't, you are committing credit card fraud, that's a felony. If someone says something, we could lose this entire restaurant."
    "You're my boyfriend," he said, his anger apparent. "Can't you just forget about it."
    By this time, we're yelling at each other. He wants me to hide it and I can't. He accuses me that my job is more important to me than my relationship with him. And I guess in a way, it is. Loss of trust is what destroys relationships, and I don't think we could last with me knowing that not only does he steal but he doesn't have remorse or even thinks it wrong.
    Needless to say, I did tell my boss about the incident when he came to work the next day and Mark was gone. I showed him the evidence, my report on the conversation, and told him that I fired Mark.
    My boss is no longer worried that I would allow my relationship with Mark to interfere with my job, he knows how much this cost me, and understands how hard it was to do.
    My fridge no longer has left-overs inside it, I wish my heart didn't either. But time heals all wounds, and looking back, I believe I did the right thing.
    Mark and I haven't spoke a word to each other since that day. I gathered up his stuff that was at my apartment and gave it to a mutual friend to give it to him. It's weird that he was such a huge part of my life and suddenly there is a hole. The last two months have been difficult. I haven't been drinking much lately, I guess I have nothing to celebrate. And yet I've thought less and less of using cocaine. I go days without it entering my head, slowly over time I think it will gradually disappear all together. I guess I owe Mark that, because no matter how it ended, he helped me learn that if I focus on other things, namely my happiness, I wouldn't focus so much on the past. And my future is looking pretty fucking bright.
    I did find the missing $200 dollars, it was an addition error and our books match up perfectly.
    I'm moving at the end of the month, my lease was up and sadly I didn't want to live in a place that reminded me so much of Mark. I have a new place, smaller but with cheaper rent but in this economy, I'd rather live cheaper than resort to stealing.
  17. Jason Rimbaud
    So I went to a place to buy contacts, I won't tell you the name but it rhymes with BenRafters. After ringing in my 3 month supply of contacts, the lady said pleasantly, please look on the screen and make sure everything is correct, then please press a button to accept the payment. So far, pretty standard practices. But this is when they get sneaky. Because on the screen isn't a list of the items I purchased. Instead, on a white screen, with green boxes, and inside the boxes are bold black letters that says, $5, $10, $15, $20. Across the top is a banner that says something about donating money for something eye related.
    But I couldn't see a way out of the screen unless I pressed one of the boxes marked with a donation. So I look at the lady and ask, how do I get off this screen without donating to whichever charity you are shilling for. She smiles and says, just hit the button that says no thank you. I looked at the screen again, and finally I saw it, a white box on a white screen with white lettering that read, no thanks.
    How much money do you think they got out of people that just hit a button because they couldn't easily find the no thanks button. I looked at her and said, "this is a great scam you got going on here". And she had the nerve to look at me blankly like I was the asshole that didn't want to donate to eyes for the homeless.
    Do you think its right that companies prey on people in scams like these? This isn't the first time that companies purposely hold back information when it comes to your money. She could have said there is a screen that will ask for a donation for seeing eye dogs, but she didn't, she said plainly, please make sure everything is correct and then press a button to accept payment. 
    And while I'm here, in California anyway, my local grocery store always ask me if I would purchase a meal for the homeless. If I do, I get a free shopping bag. My answer is, why don't this multi-billion dollar a year company donate meals for the homeless. I can barely afford to purchase my after work beer to help forget that I live in the most expensive city in America and I can't walk down the street without stepping in shit or tripping over a crazy person shooting up heroin on my way to my overpriced condo that has amazing views of the alley and the building over neighbors hanging their undies over their balcony.
     
    Jason
  18. Jason Rimbaud
    The One Where I Throw Up on the Screen
    I feel sick, diseased and lifeless. I saw the darkest parts of myself today, struggled long after the hope of changing had faded. I'm dirty and need a shower. Have you fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I washed the sheets today, they were stained and filled with memories I'd rather forget. His name was Alex. I met him at Nola's last night after work. He was a tall skinny brunet with a lopsided grin. In a bar filled with two-baggers, he was the only one I'd fuck with the lights on. It was pathetic, awkward, and un-fulfilling. A coupling where you really want to cum as fast as possible just so it would be over. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    His breath smelled of un-washed ass, even after I made him rinse out with Mouthwash. A putrid smell I swear I can still smell on my dick, hours after I bid him adieu. But I needed a dumpster, a stranger, someone I would never have to see again. Release is primal, and jerking off only takes you so far. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I saw stains on my carpet, I wonder if Resolve will truly resolve them? Alex was cute, tall and gangly but with way to much body hair. I've seen less hair in 70's porno movies. What kind of homo lets his situation roam free and out of control? It's 2007 for christ sakes, trim up that bush people. Alex couldn't have weighed more than 140 pounds, and stood at least six foot three. I had fears of breaking him in half, though they faded as primal urge took over. When he stripped off his clothes, I admit I was a bit surprised. A monster cock fell out of his boxers, and though I know cocks look bigger on skinny guys, his dick was HUGE. I must admit I found his monster cock quite amusing, as he was a total bottom. This makes me kind of believe in god. Only the twisted god of the christians would have the sense of humor to give a total bottom like Alex such a monster cock. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    Fucking Alex was like fucking a box of ice, cold and slightly numbing. The noises he made were all wrong, and in the wrong places and time. I thought at first he was going through the motions, but his cock was hard the entire time. I don't think he came, though sex was never about him in the first place. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I washed my sheets today, three times. I think they might still be dirty, or maybe it's just the grime I sense in my self. His name was Alex, and he told me he was just out of two month long relationship with his straight best friend. Why is it gay boys always crush on their straight best friends? Again my belief in god doubles. At Nola's, he told me he was tired of jerking off and sleeping alone. All he wanted was some human contact. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I scrubbed my carpets this morning, early, right after I told him to leave my apartment. I can still see the look on his face, a sad look of quiet acceptance. It was heartbreaking, to see someone so broken, hints of tears in his blue eyes as he quickly got dressed. He is still young, young enough to have delusions about true love and lasting commitments. In his time spent in my bed, I think I might have jaded him, tarnished his golden armour. Set him on the path to be another jaded fag, just like me. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    His name was Alex and he was beautiful. His hair smelled of honey and mixed berries, I can still smell his Tommy cologne. And his breath didn't smell like un-washed ass, more of beer and cigarettes. A mixture that usually drives me wild. Young and filled with life, Alex was a tiger in the bed. The sex was primal and filled with passion and sweat. Innocence smells sweeter before you fuck, afterwards it smells of guilt and self-loathing. Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    I washed myself four times today, I still feel dirty though. Scrubbing the stains away in my carpet was something I could control. Elbow grease works, my carpet is now again spotless. Just like my shower, the fourth time I showered I spent most of the time cleaning it. My skin smells of 409 Bathroom and Tile Cleaner. My toes and hands are wrinkled, I don't think I'll ever get clean again.
    Have you ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive?
    Have you ever just fucked someone over?
    Have you...
  19. Jason Rimbaud

    The Thing About Mark Is...

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    June 25th, 2011
    The thing about Mark is?hard to define and I?ve tried to define it, shape it, and understand it going on three years. It could be his looks, he?s a real fucking hottie in a complete nerd star way. His personality? Maybe, he?s playful and caring and loves his friends and family with a passion that is scary for someone with my background. His work ethic? He goes to school full time and works full time. His drug addiction? He has to smoke first thing in the morning and several times throughout the day to feel normal. The thing about Mark is?I haven?t a clue.
    June 20th, 2011
    I know it?s been forever since I last Blog. So much has happened since my descriptive day in the life entry a few months ago I don?t even know where to start. Have you ever thought about how ridiculous that statement is?I don?t know where to start? Sure you know where to start, you just fucking started there.
    America killed our biggest enemy, Congressman Wiener set pictures of his cock to the entire twitter-verse, Michelle Bachman decided to run for President, and Sarah Palin gave us a history lesson on Paul Revere. Oh yeah, that?s right, and I?m single again.
    I know you?ve missed reading my boring Blog entries but I have a damn good reason for my silence. It all started about a year ago.
    July 6th, 2010
    ?What are you typing over there?? Mark asked me as he devoured the egg sandwich I made him, two eggs over easy on white bread with a thin layer of mayo, cheddar cheese and extra crispy bacon. I was drinking a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice that I bought at Whole Foods.
    It?s a mystery to me how anyone can eat first thing in the morning. I need at least two or three hours before I even began thinking about shoving something in my mouth. So he?s eating like a delicate flower, cramming the food in his mouth like it?s his last meal. Little bits of food are flying around the apartment like heat sinking missiles as he smacks and talks his way through breakfast.
    Okay, most of that last sentence is probably an exaggeration but you get the idea. He?s not the most mannered eater. From the way he eats you?d think he was the smallest kid in a litter of twenty that always had to fight for every scrape his older siblings didn?t consume. He was skinny as a rail and ate thirty-seven times a day but does anyone really have to eat that fast? Fuck, that steak cost $45 at least you could do was take longer than five seconds to eat it the damn thing.
    ?What are you typing over there?? It?s about six am on a Tuesday, a Tuesday that happened sometime last year around the end of summer.
    ?I?m updating my blog,? I informed him, dodging a bit of bread as it sailed by my head. I was still in the post-orgasmic bliss that he so often induced in the early morning.
    I?ve been having sex for more years that I care to share at this time. And in all that time I have never met another boy as horny as he was in the morning. It didn?t matter how many times we did it the night before or what was going on that morning, he was always ready to drop everything to satisfy his early morning cravings.
    He begins to read over my shoulder. ?Who?s Mark? And why are you writing about him??
    An hour later, and after one of our biggest fights, he makes me promise that I would stop writing about our relationship in my Blog. For some reason the idea that I was putting up our arguments, our fights, our sex life, and everything else I?ve shared over the last few years unnerved him to no end. I didn?t understand what his problem was; I wasn?t even using his real name.
    Side note: He hated the name Mark. He thought it sounded to trailer parkish. Like his name was any better. From what I understand, his name is fairly common in Russia and isn?t like an aristocratic name anyway.
    June 25th, 2011
    This was just one mistake in a series of mistakes that I made over the last year. The very first mistake, after that fight, was to give him the address of my Blog at Awesome Dude. And for that one person who reads it, you can imagine how upset he became after reading some of the stuff I?ve shared over the last three or so years. But that?s a whole other Blog post and would only make this one a bit more boring if I made you suffer through it.
    So I would like to apologize in advance at the length of the entry. I haven?t written in a long time and I have some shit to get off my chest. So it?s probably going to be a bit on the boring side, but fuck it, no one?s reading my shit anyway so this is mainly for me?and to piss off Mark since I?m sure he?s going to read it eventually.
    Though I stopped posting my thoughts on our life together online, I didn?t stop writing them down. So I?m going to cut and paste some of my thoughts in the attempt to cut down on the length of this entry to stifle your boredom.
    August 23rd, 2010
    This thing between us started so long ago; so long in fact that I can?t remember when it started. Well, that?s not really true; I do know when it started between us, I just can?t for the life of me figure out why or even how it happened.
    It?s all about timing I guess. Mark was there at a fucked up time in my life. At times he was the anchor that held me secure in an ocean of madness. And at times, he was the madness. It?s like the moment Mark came into my life, he?s been nothing but trouble for me. Oh what a perfect and fragile mess we are together.
    And I was so over him; at least I thought I was over him. I had moved on with my life and left him and all his fucking baggage far behind me. At least that?s what I told myself these last two years without him in my life.
    August 17th, 2010
    ?Have you ever been completely and perfectly blown away? Have you ever experienced a feeling so intense it rips you in half and draws you away like a rushing river, helpless, totally out of control??
    Mark said these words to me what feels like a lifetime ago. Back when we were still an us?when we were still in love?I mean?when we were in love the first time around.
    I often wondered if he meant like falling in love because he then added?
    ?It?s like an ache deep inside your chest so haunting that when that one person isn?t around, you feel so empty and nothing can fill it?no drugs, no sex, nothing.?
    And I often wondered; even after Mark and I split up that first time, if I had in fact ever been completely and perfectly blown away. I?ve been in lust, gut wrenching lust that is so powerful it threatens to rip apart your soul. And yet that lust always seems to fade with release. I?ve been indifferent numerous times, just going through the motions, insert penis, thrust, repeat, make an ?O? face, fall asleep. I?ve felt infatuation, pheromone driven urges that seemed so epic for weeks at a time only to fade as the smell dissipates from my sheets. But have I ever been in love? I don?t know.
    ?Do you know the true thrill of life? Not the simplistic feeling of riding a coaster or driving too fast on the wrong side of the road late at night without the headlights turned on or even that moment of epic, perfect release. It?s not something one can explain; it?s something one has to experience for one?s self.?
    June 20th, 2011
    Mark is/was/will always be a pot head, so during the quiet times, normally late at night, he would often wax poetically about deep subjects that have no clear definition. Never quite grasping concepts, he seemed to only dance around the edges. If you?re head is hurting, you can only imagine how my head felt after he told me that one night while we lay next to one another after a particular emotionally charged round of sex.
    What the hell are you going on about, Jason? I can hear you asking this question. Though I suppose if you aren?t asking this question or one similar, you should hit the back button on your browser because that?s the whole point of this entry; I don?t fucking know what I?m going on about.
    But me being me, I?m going to try and figure it out as I write these thoughts down. And since you?ve decided to come along for the ride, I?m assuming you?re still reading this drivel, so be prepared for a few digressions, a tangent or two, and my usual way of meandering my way through random thoughts until I get to a point.
    July 29th, 2010
    We started two years ago, the first time. And I?m sure you all remember that first time so I shan?t go on about it again. And if you?re like the majority of people in the world and you don?t know what I?m talking about, then do a little research in my past Blog entries (especially on Awesome Dude) and discover the boring words that made up my life with Mark.
    Because it really started six months ago for the second, first time. A time you haven?t been privy to as of yet because Mark is being a little bitch and doesn?t want me sharing with my one reader anymore. So perhaps I?ll start there.
    Some of you out there that partake in the ?harmless? addiction of smoking cannabis will know what the term 4/20 means. And for those of you that aren?t hopelessly addicted, I shall briefly (and that?s quite a feat considering I can?t do anything briefly) explain.
    4/20 is a slang term used by pot heads to identify April 20th, as weed day. Many demonstrations are held on this day worldwide to try and get pot legalized. I know it?s fucking stupid, but pot has never been one of my addictions, but whatever makes you hard and spurting.
    Side note: Most pot heads I know, and I?m talking about the everyday, three or four times a day smoker, seem to have a lowered sex drive, and I hear Dr. Drew, from Loveline, talk about it all the time as he fields callers questions. And the number one complaint from the partners of pot heads is their partner seems to have no desire to have a healthy sex life. Why would I ever want to smoke a drug that makes me lose interest in sex? Questioned answered!
    So this past April 20th, I was out with some of my ?friends? and we were having a few drinkie-poos and I did something very fucking stupid. And before you go all thinking dirty thoughts, I?ve been sober for a long time now so it wasn?t drugs I did on that lonely April day. It was something worse, far worse. I drunk texted, Mark, and that is just as bad as relapsing. Was I addicted to Mark? Fuck you for asking.
    Mark, my one time straight boy crush that finally admitted he more than liked me after a year and half and some six months of ?fooling around? above and below the covers. He was also narced out by some rat bitch cum dumpster that he once dated to his mom after she found out Mark and I had been making out at a party in front of the world, or at least the entire campus, to see. And after all that, a few months later I ended up firing him from my hip upscale restaurant in Palo Alto for stealing. Yeah, you know that crazy Russian.
    This is the text I sent Mark on that drunken night: ?Hope you?re having a high time on this 4/20.?
    I know it?s pathetic; you don?t have to inform me.
    The time I sent the text was 8:30PM on that lonely Tuesday night. Here?s the text he sent back at exactly 11:35PM that same night: ?who is this?
    You felt that, right? It wasn?t just me that was filled with rejection. You can only imagine how I felt about that, especially because I had been drinking and lost deep in relationship depression.
    Not only had he seemingly moved on with his life but had deleted me from his life as well?and by that I mean he deleted me from his phone. We all know it?s really over when you get deleted from the phone, because let?s face it, who the fuck remembers telephone numbers anymore.
    There is only one thing worse than getting deleted from a phone and that is getting deleted from FaceBook. He had already done that the day after I fired him but I won?t get into a digression about that.
    Who the hell has so much time on their hands that they go searching other people?s friends on FaceBook and then has the time to send me an instant message asking why Mark deleted me as a friend? Who has that kind of time? My nosey fucking friends, that?s who.
    I was furious of course. Had I thought about deleting him from my life/phone? Hell yeah I did but I never had the courage to actually go through with it. And, Mark, the one that had dominated my life for so long and had affected me in so many ways actually did what I couldn?t do. You better your furry ass I was pissed. And hurt.
    I stared at the phone for a few seconds/minutes/hours, however long it took my drunken mind to process the words on my phone, before I texted back: ?sorry, wrong number?
    And almost immediately he sent this text back: ?liar?
    And that?s when I ordered another shot. That?s also the last thing I can clearly remember for the rest of that blurry night.
    The next day was one of those kinds of days where you hope the things you remember from the previous night really never happened and you hoped you only hallucinated the events. But I have no such luck.
    While I?m on the subject, maybe all you computer programmers out there can help me. I need someone to invent an I-Phone application that somehow checks the user?s blood alcohol content. I don?t know, maybe you blow into the speaker jack and a few seconds later your phone registers your B.A.C. and if you have reached that pathetic point of drunkenness, the phone shuts down for five hours giving you enough to sober up. Do you know how much money I would pay to have an application like this? Mr. Gates, are you reading this?
    I looked at my phone and saw that not only did I text Mark but he had in fact moved on and deleted me from his phone. I was crushed.
    But then throughout the day I started obsessing over it like I tend to do in my hyper selfish way. I kept reading his last text over and over again. And then I saw a tiny thread of hope, so small an atom would look over and say, ?boy that?s fucking tiny?. I started thinking he knew exactly who had texted him. I wasn?t sure what his game was but I knew that he knew who that text had been from.
    Why else would he wait three hours to ask who it was? Why else would he call me a liar when in fact I did lie and said it was a wrong number? And for some reason, just knowing that I wasn?t deleted from his phone helped me move on just a bit more.
    June 26th, 2010
    Some of the gayer readers from San Francisco might recognize that date. For those of you that aren?t quite so gay or don?t not live in the Bay Area, its Gay Pride week.
    I never really was that keen on attending Gay Pride Parades. Don?t get me wrong, I?ve gone to them and did all the drugs, fucked all the boys, and basically lived out the life from Queer as Folk for years. But in reality, I?ve always had a love/hate relationship with Pride Events and mostly think it?s pretty ridiculous. Why do you ask?
    I think it gives normal everyday queers like me a bad name with playing to the worst possible stereotypes and lewd in your face behavior that just goes to strengthen the bigotry of the religious right and homophobes that breed like jack-rabbits and brainwash their little heathens into hating for the sole purpose of hating. But that is not what this Blog Entry is about either. I apologize for those of you that read this last paragraph. But not enough to actually delete it, my way of punishing you I guess.
    Where was I?
    A few of my ?friends? convinced me to go this year. I must have been asleep when I agreed to this but whatever. Up to this point, I must admit that I wasn?t hitting the dating scene much beside a few random hook-ups via gay bars, gym bunnies, or trolling about the Castro. I didn?t want to admit it to anyone, but Mark really broke my heart and I wasn?t in any way ready to jump back onto that horse anytime soon. Besides, I had been clean for a while and felt like I needed sometime to work on sober Jason without any distractions.
    I didn?t tell my ?friends? that I knew the real reason they invited me to watch the parade, and it wasn?t because they were dying for my company. They had someone in mind that they believed would fill the void Mark left inside me and they wanted me to hook up with him. They looked so smug as we drove to San Francisco I didn?t have the heart to tell them it wasn?t ever going to happen. Instead I just decided to let the cards play out to the bitter end. I?m devious like that; sometimes.
    We met up with their friends at 10am on that beautiful sunny day and I pretended to be surprised that everyone seemed to have a boyfriend except me and this very attractive blonde boy that looked to be around 25. I was 35 at the time, why the hell they thought I would go for a younger man is beyond me. Except that Mark was younger than me and I guess they thought that was my bag.
    Just so you could fully appreciate my day, and before you get a bad taste in your mouth about blonde boy, let me digress for a moment.
    He was hot, seemed well-read, and didn?t seem to smell bad for being half a hippie. He was a typical little twink that didn?t eat meat because he couldn?t bear the thought of those poor animals dying so that he might live. Though he did seem to be fine about eating eggs and diary; a practice I find to be a bit strange considering those same animals that he didn?t want to eat were still living in horrible conditions to be milked as so forth but whatever makes him bend over and take it.
    And as the day progressed, and as the alcohol started flowing, he started complaining about everything. He didn?t like the way the sun fell on him there, he didn?t like the cigarette smell here, the queens standing next to him kept leering at him; this behavior started to grate on my already fragile nerves. I was truly ready to throw him over my shoulder and toss him into the bay or just take him to a hotel and fuck the whininess out of him. Either one would have been acceptable and more enjoyable than listening to a hot blonde boy bitching about everything that came into his field of vision.
    My ?friends? of course were dressed somewhat scandalous. Two of them were dressed in black leather chaps, leather harness, and various studded bracelets etc etc. And a another one was only wearing a skimpy white pair of boxer briefs that were so tight you not only saw the side he dressed on but if he was circumcised or not. And for the record, he is cut and hates it.
    I always teased him about it, I prefer cut dicks, always have. He thinks his parents mutilated him at birth. But I?ve always looked at it this way; at the end of the day, if it gets hard, what does it matter, I?ll suck it either way.
    So blonde boy was dressed pretty Emo-ish. He wore tight black skinny jeans, with bright red boxers. I must admit he did have a real cute ass that filled out those jeans nice and wow. He wore a studded silver belt, and had a lip ring which he always played with?click?click?his little pink tongue would flick it back and forth against his teeth. His nails were painted black and his hair did one of those flippy things. I looked hot as usual.
    We found a place to squat while we waited for the floats of gayness to reach us. Everyone except for me had been pre-gaming for hours so by this time they were all feeling a bit loose and crazy. There was a lot of kissing, groping, and in one case a hastily completed hand-job from the couple on my right. I didn?t get the handy-J, I just watched one do the other. I was sober and more than a bit bored and annoyed at the world around me. Bored Jason is never a good combination, never.
    It reminded me of a time back in my younger days when I was hitting on this guy but not having much luck. This other guy, a fucking hottie, was getting close to sealing the deal. So to avert the attention from the hottie and onto me where it rightfully belonged, I did something so outrageous just so I would get noticed. I jumped up on the bar and started doing a striptease to Britney Spears Hit me Baby One More Time. I never did get the guy I was going for, but the old queens at the end of the bar shoved money in my undies so I guess I made out in the end.
    I had almost reached that point where I could feel myself gearing up for some inappropriate attention. Blonde boy was becoming more of an annoyance the drunker he became. He was hitting on me like I was his last chance at finding sex, groping me, and he kept trying to shove his pierced tongue down my throat.
    I already am not a fan of kissing, maybe after I?m with someone and the kiss means more than a prelude to sex, then kissing is fun. But for just hooking up, or even the first few weeks, you want to do something for me, suck on my junk.
    Blonde boy was driving me so crazy I knew it wouldn?t be long before I either shoved my cock in his mouth just to shut him up or beat him within an inch of his life and then rush him to the hospital and nurse him gently back to health just so I could beat him again.
    The only satisfaction I got was by chain smoking cigarettes. Because each time I lit up, he?d make a funny face and back away until I was finished. I smoked so much that day I thought my lungs were going to turn black and crawl out of my chest and walk away down the street. My clothes stunk, my fingers were turning yellow and I didn?t give a shit because for five minutes at a time, blonde boy left me alone.
    ?Can I have a light??
    I hear this, behind me, it?s a familiar voice. A voice I never would have expected to hear in the middle of San Francisco?s Gay Pride Parade. I noticed the looks on my friends face and reached in my pocket for my lighter and turned around and stared right into the eyes of a very timid looking Mark.
    Fuck me.
    ?Can I have a light??
    I must tell you, he looked good; like a proper nerd star. He wore blue jeans, just a little sagged, enough to just make out the tops of his boxers, they were greenish that day, a simple black T-shirt that said, ?My Dick Tastes Like Your Chap Stick?. He wore a black hat with a single pink triangle on the front. Since I last saw him he had added an eyebrow ring over his right eye, he was absolutely orgasmic. Fuck me.
    All this I took in a single glance. What I studied just a bit longer was the look on his face. His usual confident mask was there, lurking in the background but he looked hesitant and just a bit expectant; like he wasn?t sure how I?d received his inquiry for a light.
    ?Hi.?
    He smiled and looked down at his feet briefly. I brought the lighter to the end of his cigarette. ?Thanks.?
    That?s when I noticed he wasn?t alone. Standing just behind him was a very attractive looking guy. If I were to guess his age I would have bet quite a bit of money that he was only a few days past his eighteenth birthday. And the way he was staring at Mark?s back spoke volumes of what he felt about my nerd star. I hated him immediately.
    ?I thought you hated these things,? Mark stated as pointedly ignored my ?friends? who I?m sure were giving him dirty looks. Looking over to my left I could see blonde boy?s eyes darting back and forth between us, a pained look on his face.
    I shrugged. ?You know me; I?m always down for anything.?
    ?I remember.? Mark smirked, a knowing look danced around his eyes.
    ?You remember everyone, everyone this is Mark.?
    We all made small talk for a few moments. My ?friends? are great, they did everything right after Mark and I broke-up. They talked shit about him, swore on future unborn children that they wouldn?t rest until my honor was revenged. But here we were standing face to face, and they weren?t sure how they should react. Should they be rude to him as propriety dictates? Should they act like nothing?s wrong as social behavior dictates? Or should they pointedly ignore him? They went with the latter.
    ?I didn?t really want to come but, Bryan, just came out and wanted to experience the whole ?pride? thing first hand.? Mark explained without anyone prompting him. I thought it was cute the way Mark made air quotes when he said pride.
    I had just met Bryan and I could already tell he was completely in love with Mark. And knowing Mark as well as I did, I could tell he was oblivious about it. My hatred for Bryan slipped away like so much water from my back. I immediately switched my attention from unattainable Mark to safe target Bryan.
    ?So Bryan, what do you think of pride so far??
    Bryan?s eyes, when not fixed on Mark, were darting around the crowd growing larger and larger with everything he saw. Over there were two bears dressed in work boots and daisy duke shorts basically raping each other, while back over that way two fem twinks were arguing loudly. Apparently one of the twinks kissed another guy for a drink and the other twink, I?m assuming they were boyfriends, thought he had cheated on him. Down the street a ways, two older gay guys were standing there quietly holding hands and I swear they had tears of joy in their eyes. You know the usual suspects at Gay Pride.
    ?It?s amazing, seeing so many people come together. It?s like I can forget all about the last four years of high school.?
    From that statement alone I immediately fell in love with Bryan, as a little brother. Something about the way he still looked at the world with fresh eyes gave him an innocence that drew me in and felt like I should protect him. Or get him laid and get some of that freshness rubbed off. So I went with the latter and got him drunk and then blonde boy busted his Gay Pride cherry in an alley off Market Street. But that?s not really what this Blog entry is about either so I?ll continue onwards.
    I could tell that Mark and Bryan were at Pride alone and we sort of adopted them into our little group of wacko?s. Mark knew most of them and after a few awkward moments they fell right back into their pattern of playfulness. My ?friends? pretty much decided that Bryan was our mascot and life was good that day.
    It wasn?t long until the chemistry that is always between us came to the forefront and we started ignoring the rest of the group as we got lost inside our own little world filled with inside jokes and knowing looks that always drives my ?friends? crazy. All those months of being apart did little to curb our connection and the past hurts melted away like the new spring. At first it was little jokes accompanied by casual touches, an arm there, a shoulder pat here. We had some clean chit and some dirty chat like we always seem to do. And by the time we were ready to leave, it was quite obvious that we were going to hook up again. Just being that close to him was driving me crazy and I didn?t care about anything but waking up in his arms again.
    I had offered to drive everyone so after collecting Bryan from blonde boy, he was pretty much passed out by this time, I drove the three of us back to my house where we deposited Bryan on the couch. The rest of the night is/was for us and I won?t go into the details because it?s too personal and I don?t want to lose the magic that we created. It?s enough to know that we spent most of that night talking and in the morning light, we were an ?us? again.
    February 16th, 2011
    Mark and I have been together since that Gay Pride Parade where fate stepped in and pushed us to confront the past and agree upon a future. And I?m not sure when it happened but the other day I couldn?t help but notice that we?ve spent almost every night together in the last four months. And I think he pretty much lives with me now; he has a drawer in my room, space in my closet, and my bathroom is littered with his shit.
    I?m a clean freak, pretty much O.C.D. and Mark is what I call a fucking slob. He leaves dirty dishes everywhere; I once found a fork and plate in the bathroom. Not sure if he was eating while?well taking a shit?but really. Who leaves dirty dishes in the bathroom? He leaves his dirty clothes everywhere, boxers in the kitchen, why? I think one of the reasons he ?moved? in was so that I would do his laundry and clean up after him.
    I?m not really complaining, after all he so pays for it in spades?and blowjobs?and he lets me fuck him whenever I want?so it?s cool.
    Now I?m not saying it?s all been fuzzy bunny slippers for us all the time. He works fulltime and goes to school full time, so his schedule is already pretty full. And I?m a full blown workaholic so I don?t have much in the way of free time either. We?ve both had to make some adjustments and sacrifices to keep this thing alive this time around.
    You want an example. How about Thanksgiving? All he could talk about was how excited he was that I would be spending the holiday with his mother and sister. Apparently it?s the one day his mother lets him cook and he lives for that day. And he wanted to spend it with those that he loved.
    I thought it was weird that his mother actually agreed to these plans as she had never been overjoyed that I was the one that made her little baby boy into a queer. Yet I must admit that this time around she had really tried to be a supportive and understanding mother. I know Mark was floating around cloud twenty-three by her actions.
    I?m in the restaurant industry and being manager number three in a three manager restaurant means I get all the shit shifts. I don?t have a wife, kids, and blah blah blah. That?s right boys and boys, I had to work.
    True we closed early on that day so I did make it over to his house for a late dinner (which his mother kept warm for me) and dessert with the family (they waited for me). But I could see it in his eyes that he really wanted me to be there all day to help with the cooking and socializing.
    How was I to know that I was the only and first guy he ever brought over to the house to meet and hang out with his family? Let me tell you, it made me feel like shit not to spend the entire day with him but it made me feel all fuzzy bunny slippers to know I was someone special enough to invite over for family time.
    The next big disappointment, I don?t consider Christmas a big tragedy because he?s Jewish and doesn?t really celebrate that stupid holiday, was New Year?s Eve. It seems quite a few of his friends were going to some private party in San Francisco and he wanted me to escort him for the evening and to do the traditional midnight kiss. Needless to say we didn?t get that kiss until almost three am.
    Yet again, I had to work as the fireworks display brings in thousands of people to the wharf area and we were crazy busy. Needless to say we didn?t get that magical kiss until almost three am as I got stuck on the B.A.R.T. train for two hours with all the riders leaving the firework display. He was a bit upset but understood that business is business. Plus I promised we?d spend Valentine?s Day together.
    I had begged, pleaded, offered free blowjobs to the other managers, anything I could think of to make sure that I had off on that so overrated day of ?romance?. And fate, that mother fucker, decides to fuck me again; this time with no lube or a reach around.
    Three days before February 14th, the general manager calls me into the office and informs me that the owners wanted me personally to work that night and there was no way I could have the day off.
    I avoided Mark?s texts all day and only told him about the change of plans after I fucked him into delirium. That conversation was one of the hardest talks I ever had to do and I saw it in his eyes, he was crushed, upset, pissed off, and pretty hurt on top of all the other emotions probably running through his mind.
    I had made plans to decorate the apartment, cook him a romantic dinner, wine and dine him until his pants came off and then he would get dessert. He knew how much effort I had put into the whole ordeal so at least he understood that I was just as bummed.
    The only good news about that day was at least I didn?t have to close so I would be arriving home around 9 pm. So we adjusted the timetable and he seemed to be pretty understanding after I fucked him into submission.
    I wish I could erase the first half of that Valentine?s Day from my brain. Just like Murphy?s Law states, everything that could have possibly gone wrong did that Monday. Two of my line cooks didn?t show up, the fish company delivered the wrong fish and we had to change our special ?lovers dinner? that took four weeks to design.
    While I?m on the subject of restaurants, I want all of you that have never worked in the service industry, to listen up and really pay attention. You need to have some fucking understanding when things don?t go as smoothly as you expect them to with your dining experience. You have no idea how one tiny little detail can fuck your world six ways from Tuesday. We juggle all the balls in the air and one slip up can snowball into a cluster fuck of errors that we have no control over.
    You 9-5er?s need to understand this as well. When you don?t feel good you call in to your boss and you get the day with pay. Maybe someone has to cover a few of your projects but usually your work waits for you until you?re better. If you have a family emergency, you call up your boss and you get paid time off to handle your affairs. When a server gets sick, they show up to work because if they don?t work they don?t get paid. When their life falls apart they show up for work because if they don?t then they don?t pay rent that month.
    Most of you when you?re feeling a bit under the weather or just pissed off at the world can hide out in your office or cubicle and no one?s the wiser. Not us, no matter what?s happening in our lives we have to kiss your fucking ass and treat you like a king because you are so fucking stupid you think the whole world is going to end if you didn?t get that one last Happy Hour cocktail before Happy Hour is over. Just because your food took twenty-five minutes is no reason to yell at me and call me all sorts of names. Oh yeah, fuck YELP.com.
    So I was talking about Valentine?s Day and what a cluster fuck it turned out to be. Our expediter (the person in charge of calling out the food orders and making sure all the food is delivered to the right table) had to leave in the middle of service because he?s a breeder and didn?t aim for the chin and his wife decided that day was the perfect day to have a stinky pooping machine. Strike one against us. Redesigning our menu because our vendor sent us the wrong fish was strike two against us. Strike three came from left field and left us with lost food tickets, badly timed food courses and a feeling of disappointment to almost every single diner in the restaurant. In all my years of restaurants I had never been as embarrassed as I was on that day. To go up to table after table and apologize for screwing up their special day was draining on every level because I knew we dropped the ball. It was horrible.
    It was close to ten thirty before I managed to drag myself from the restaurant and all the problems that developed that day. Of course as a good boyfriend, I kept Mark updated on the stasis of my departure, explaining the delays. And he was unusually calm and understanding about the whole ordeal. All he kept replying to my texts were to make sure I text him when I sat down on the train.
    I am a creature of habit. I always sit in the same train car and if I can in the exact same seat on each car. This favorite seat of mine happens to be the handicap seat. I like sitting sideways on the train as opposed to riding backwards or forwards. So I sit in the handicap sideways seat and I always sit in the second to the last car on any train. Why?
    If I sit in the handicap seat in the second to last car when my train arrives at my destination it stops right in front of the up escalator. The moment the train stops I can run off the train and be the first up the stairs putting me ahead of the slower moving masses. Brilliant huh?
    I caught the 10:52PM train and sat in my usual spot and texted Mark that I was on the train. He sent me back a smiley face and I took a deep breath knowing this horrible day was about to get much better.
    My train ride is usually 42 minutes or so and then I get into my car and drive another twenty minutes to my apartment. So I knew I had some time to kill. I opened my laptop and lost myself in my latest story. But that oblivion didn?t last long.
    At the very next stop I was shocked when the doors opened and I saw a very handsome looking Mark walk on the train and sit down in the seat across from me. He was dressed in black slacks and a dark gray button down shirt. He looked amazing.
    He sits down across from me and after giving me a shy smile he opens a book and pointedly ignores me. Though he was ?intently? peering into his book, I couldn?t help but notice the smirk on his face as he sat there ?oblivious? to my presence. So I do the same, I stare at my screen while stealing glances at him.
    We do this for two more stops, making eye contact every few moments and pretending to be embarrassed when caught looking. I must tell you, it was hot.
    Finally I couldn?t take it anymore and I shut my laptop and asked, ?Excuse me, what are you reading over there??
    He sits there in silence. After a few moments, he turns the page and then shut the book, marking the page with his finger. He looks up and flashes the cover towards me. ?Just some light reading.?
    I started laughing. He was reading my copy of Dorm Porn. ?Light reading huh??
    He shrugged. ?My boyfriend always seems to be at work, I?ve got to get my kicks somehow.?
    ?Your boyfriend would rather work than come home to you??
    ?He has a stressful job, and he does take care of me. I just get lonely sometimes.?
    ?What does he do??
    Without missing a beat Mark looks at me and says deadpanned. ?He sells couch insurance.?
    Mark is the master at role playing. He loves creating wild scenarios to spice things up as he puts it; it really turns him on to live out his fantasies. Well, two can play at that game.
    ?He sounds like a real tool. If you were my boyfriend I?d never leave you alone.?
    He smiles at me, I can see the lust building and for a moment I wonder what is to come. ?He has his moments. What are you doing tonight??
    ?I don?t know, but I?d love to get a drink with you.?
    So there we were, me dressed in my stinky restaurant clothes, walking through the Castro pretending we didn?t know one another, talking about lives we didn?t lead and dreams we?d never realize. We ended up at the Look Out, a well-know bar in the Castro that allows smoking on the patio, talking small talk and flirting through the night. We awkwardly had a ?first? kiss standing on the balcony overlooking the street. And when he breathlessly asked if I?d like to go back to his hotel and spend the night with him, I about lost it.
    His hotel happened to be my favorite one in San Francisco, a little Kempton property with a Jacuzzi tub and glass shower. Beside the bed was a chilled bottle of Champagne and caramel dipped strawberries. We toasted our ?meeting? and fed one another strawberries before we undressed one another and went for a nice long soak.
    We ended up talking most of the night, connecting in ways I didn?t know were possible and closing the gaps that had widened with our hectic work schedules. It was probably the single most romantic night of my life. It was also the night I really knew without a doubt that I had been completely and perfectly blown away.
    The next morning he would tell me that he had been planning this whole ?seduction? for weeks and had booked the hotel room back in December. That little fucker let me make all those plans knowing full well it was nothing but a waste of time. These grand gestures were one of the reasons I fell in love with him.
    June 27th, 2011
    But in reality, times like these were few and far between for us. Even though Mark worked full time and went to school, in his heart he?s a pot head. And being a pot head means he spends a majority of his free time zoning out in front of the TV; disconnected with the world for large chunks of time.
    I?m a full blown workaholic that tends to put my job above my personal life and sometimes happiness. I focus so much on work that I am often disconnected in my personal relationships because I can?t live in the moment without worrying about the next day.
    You see, the thing with Mark is we are actually perfect for each other. We?re both passionate humans with the capacity for grand gestures and picture perfect moments that we painstakingly conceive and execute flawlessly. Both of us spent more time creating moments than actually taking the time to enjoy the moment.
    You see, the thing with Mark is we?re horrible for one another. We are both demanding and so often unwilling to bend or compromise for anything much less for each other. Our fights were epic struggles, shouting matches that came just short of violence.
    Have I ever been completely and perfectly blown away? I can now answer that question, though I think it?s too late for that to make a difference. Self-realization always comes too late and with too high a price.
    I haven?t been completely and perfectly blown away. But I?ve come close enough. I?ve always thought of heaven as a metaphor for perfection. And if that?s the case, then I?ve only ever reached the edges.
    Mark and I started drifting apart all too soon after that ?perfect? Valentine?s Day. A part of our divergence was due to his grades slipping. I understand he?s so close to achieving his dream and worked and sacrificed way too much to screw his future up now. He started spending more time at his house focusing on his schoolwork. It was closer to school and spending every night with me was a distraction.
    I?ll forget the part that I worked until midnight most nights and he had plenty of time to do his homework.
    After months of sleeping with someone, it was a bit lonely at first but as time moved on, I started to embrace the emptiness of the apartment. Mark and I as a couple was hard, only seeing one another for late-night hookups and dirty weekend sex was easy. After a week of not seeing each other for five days, we were so both horned up that we spent most of our time in bed rutting like two teenagers and for awhile that worked for us. But a relationship is a living, breathing entity and if you starve it, it will die slowly but surely over time.
    I?ve come to realize that being with Mark was much like getting fucked by a jackhammer. I know the orgasm is going to be epic but it?ll also tear up my insides.
    Mark and I stopped being an ?us? on April 1st, 2011. It?s an appropriate day and sums up our relationship perfectly.
    The decision to end it was mutual and we parted this time around as friends. I still love him and for most of the day I miss him terribly. His sense of humor is so like my own it?s almost like he?s inside my head. No other human on this fucking planet gets me like he does and he?ll always have a large space in my heart that is uniquely his and no one else. I often find myself comparing other guys I meet to Mark and I say to myself that they have large shoes to fill.
    When I first started writing this Blog Entry a few days ago, I had no idea what I was trying to convey. I was trying to wrap my head around the emotions that have been causing me so much grief and the only way I know how to work things out is to put words to paper so to speak. I had some anger lurking there, lots of heartache, a touch of longing, and even fondness of a time when I had a partner that was a close to perfect as I could ever hope to find.
    For reasons I won?t go into, I needed to get my thoughts about him down on paper so I could find a way to let this shit go.
    Okay, I?ll go into it even though I just realized that this Blog Entry is already sixteen pages long. That?s pretty fucking wordy even for my usual long boring entries.
    On June 17th, I was a bit drunk and very horny so I thought I?d go on Grindr and find a cum dumpster to vent my frustrations and release all the animosity I had pent up from Mark into. And what happened? I actually met an amazing guy and instead of hooking up we spent most of the night texting back and forth. And the more we spent chatting, the more I was intrigued. After having a great night chatting, we actually met the next night and had such a great time talking that it was only two days later we spent most of the night together connecting in so many ways.
    He wasn?t Mark, but that was okay. He was a writer, smart and uniquely sexy with a mind and humor that was refreshing in my fake world of hookups and one night stands. I was more than interested on that Monday night a week ago but as fate would have it the very next day at nine-thirty in the morning Mark texted me out of the blue. He wanted to know if I would want to hang out with him for the day with a few visiting friends in San Francisco.
    You see, the thing with Mark is I?m scared we?ve only reached the end of the second act.
  20. Jason Rimbaud
    The Wheel of Time: A Rambling, Digression Filled Review
    By: A Fan of the Books
    So somewhere & somewhen, I started replying in a Wheel of Time: The Series thread and realized after a few pages that it was way too long to post in a thread. Plus it was filled with colorful metaphors, talks of naughty bits, and generally senseless ramblings that I decided about that time for a new Blog Entry by the amazing Jason Rimbaud. Or is that the absent Rimbaud? Doesn’t matter.
    But before I start to bore you with my thoughts about a show that has been finished for almost three months, let’s go back in time. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. But definitely in the realm of times.
    The year was 1993, this little freckled-faced boy, who was filled with hopes and aspirations of one day becoming a writer of fiction, wandered into a magical place called Borders in Harrisburg Pennsylvania. 
    For those of you too young to remember just what the hell is a Borders, I’ll tell you. And again, I’m not saying this is true in all places and also times, I’m just saying what I knew to be true back in 93’. 
    Borders was a place that if you entered the store at a particular time, and you went up the long escalator to the second floor, and turned left and went straight to the back corner of the store. You would find one of the biggest restrooms you have ever seen in your life. And if you went into that restroom, you would first see a row of sinks, eight of them, then a wall of hand dryers, then if you continued walking around the pony wall, you would find a row of a thousand stalls, seriously there were a billion stalls in that restroom. 
    And like I said, if you were to walk into that bathroom at a particular time, and walked around that pony wall, and enter the very last stall on the right, then you might be able to get a blowjob from a random stranger. Who I might add, would refuse to look at you much less talk to you after the deed was completed and you accidentally ran into him perusing the rows and also rows of books.
    No my friend, we didn’t have hook-up apps like Jack’d & Grindr where we could see the photos of the person before we hooked up. Or read a profile detailing what they were into and what they wanted to do. 
    Nope, we had to do it the old fashion way. Sit patiently in a stall, sometimes hours before we finally got that wonderful signal, shove our penis into a hole in the wall, and pray beyond hope that it was at least a halfway decent looking guy. The times that ended up happening were few and very, very, very, very far between.
    So that is Borders kids, you don’t know what you were missing out on. Complete anonymous sex with older men, whether you liked that or not. That was the option back in those days.
    So there I was, a young man filled with testosterone and a full head of hair, perusing the rows of books waiting to see if anyone entered that magical place. As it happened, while I was waiting for something exciting to happen, I noticed a display of books. This display of books was in the perfect eye line of the entrance to the restroom. 
    I’m sure you’ve seen those displays, normally a huge cardboard placard of the cover of the book, with maybe a few reviews of the book, and the title. 
    And there it was, this large placard, saying coming this fall, The Fires of Heaven by Robert Jordan. And the cover is rather plain, just a man standing in the middle of what looks like a courtyard wearing a red coat, with orange hair. But in the background was a man standing there with a staff slung over one shoulder and a wide brim hat. This was the image I was intrigued by. Who was that man in the wide brim hat?
    Keeping one eye on the entrance to the restroom, I quickly realized that The Fires of Heaven was the fifth book in this epic fantasy series. I knew that because they had the first four books on the table under the placard, and being somewhat intelligent, I surmised that these were the first four books of the series. 
    And the rumor was back then, that this was going to be the final book of the series. Who would attempt to write a ten plus book series of fantasy. 
    I usually never want to start a series until it is complete, as I hate waiting for the new book to come out. And kids, if you thought waiting a week for a new episode of your favorite TV show, then try waiting two years or more for the next installment. That is patience.
    And if you really want to talk about patience, it took me another ten years before I got the ending I so wanted from that long ago day of sloppy blowjobs and cover art. Chew on that patience I displayed.
    Though I went to Borders that day for a quick, sloppy blowjob from a random stranger in the restroom, I picked up the first book of the series and decided to read a few pages while I waited for someone to go into the bathroom.
    Now I'm going to be honest here, I’d like to say that all thoughts of strange men sucking me off left my future bald head upon reading that first prologue of Eye of the World. But that’s not true, I ended up with a somewhat younger man than normal on the receiving end of my…bellend. But that’s another story.
    I think I finished all eight hundred or so pages in a few days of the Eye of the World and immediately went back to that Borders, not for a blowjob but to buy the next book in the series. Over the next few weeks I devoured all four books and couldn’t wait for the fifth and final book to come out. 
    Being a massive fan of the books that I am, and not that fan that thinks the books are perfect, I am fully aware that the first three books are somewhat a slogfest and let's not talk about eight, nine, and ten. But I loved the storyline and had the biggest crush on Mat, the one who turned out to be the figure in the wide brim hat. 
    I was stoked that the Wheel of Time would finally be getting the live action treatment from Amazon Studios. And once I saw the trailer, I knew it was going to be different then the books for a multitude of reasons.
    The average book length, not dick length, is eight hundred pages. That’s crazy long. And there is no way in hell they could do one book per season. 
    Who would expect a show to last 14 seasons anyway.
    We know that Robert Jordan loved describing the most mundane things in finite detail and that's not even discussing his fascination with ladies dresses and hairstyles. The books have a lot of filler that could be cut and never missed.
    By the way, how does one actually go about sniffing in disgust or anger? The female characters are always sniffing, pulling their hair (though I have noticed a lot lately that women constantly stroke their hair in public like a boy scratches around his crotch) and looking disapprovingly at every male they see.
    The story itself takes place over a period of three years. ( I had to look that up as I thought the story took place over a much longer period of years. That means Rand was only 19 when…) No spoilers. So 14 seasons would age the characters out.
    The amount of time spent traveling from one place to another is so time consuming that I know they would have to keep the story moving at a faster pace. So avoiding certain places and events only makes sense.
    There are thousands of characters in these books and many of them have speaking parts, so combining several characters into one or omitting them completely is understandable. 
    My husband, “N”, who does not offer blowjobs in the restrooms…anymore, has no experience with the book series. Except that he constantly tells me to throw out my WOT books because they are cluttering up the bookcase and he can’t put up more photos of us sans restrooms.
    “N” is a huge fan of fantasy & Sci-Fi, so he was all in after watching the trailer. And after watching the first three episodes, he was hooked. But then became rather pissed off because Amazon decided to drop a new episode weekly instead of all at once. He made me…physically threatened my life if I were to watch them without him.
    I’m sure none of you know this, but I am a huge fan of Survivor. Yes, that reality show that has been on the air for twenty years. Don’t judge me, I had to get blowjobs in restrooms by random strangers when I was young, I don’t know any better. 
    “N” also likes Survivor, but can’t stand waiting for the new weekly episode to drop, so I watch it first, and then once it's all released, then he will binge it in like three days. 
    That is what he made me promise to do, wait until it's all released and then watch it with him all in one night. And I don’t like watching TV like that. I like to digest what I just watched and think about it for a week before dipping my bald head back into the experience.
    So on Christmas Eve we snuggled in bed, I hate watching TV in bed, and binged the remaining five episodes.  
    “N” loved it. He liked the characters, the cinematography, the special effects, the magic system, and of course, the Trollocs. And I will agree, the first six episodes look fantastic. I love that they are filming in a location that is unknown to most American audiences. So it looked like a fantasy world. And yes there are CGI touches to things, but they built a lot of actual set pieces in the amazing landscape that is Czech Republic, in Prague. 
    He loved the mystery that is, which one of them is the Dragon Reborn. I actually enjoyed watching it with him in bed as he went back and forth. It is Matt, oh wait, it has to be Perrin, no I think it is Egwene. I’m sure it's Perrin, Holy Shit! It's Rand, I knew. 
    And he asked me questions about the books, which I refused to answer. He begged me to tell him what happened next, and all I can say, I don’t know, they changed so much I have no clue. Then he offered me blowjobs, not in a restroom much to my chagrin, and when I still didn’t acquiesce to his demands he cut me off from sex completely. So back to Borders…Wait, Borders are no more. Balls.
    “N” didn’t know what they had changed, made up, omitted, or combined into single characters. All he knew is he loved the drama, the mystery, the scariness of the Whitecloaks. Who I must admit, are even more terrifying than in the books. 
    So “N” didn’t understand when Tam first drew the Heron sword, I took a sharp intake of breath. And grinned from ear to ear when Morgaine and Lan were kicking Trolloc ass in the Two Rivers. The encounter Perrin had with the wolves in the forest only fueled his theory that Perrin was the Dragon Reborn, I only smiled. When the camera focuses in on the dagger, I yelled something out, but he didn’t understand why. 
    I got so excited when I first saw Thom in the Inn telling us the tale of the Dragon Reborn. And when he was killed by the Fade, I inwardly smiled as I am rather certain that isn’t the last time we see Thom. Or when I first saw a red haired Aiel in the cage, I giggled at the implication and wanted to know how they would portray the best fighters in the world. Nor did I say aloud, what the hell is that? When the Ogier first arrives talking to Rand in the Inn. 
    Or why I starting yelling, thats what I’m fucking talk about, when the Maiden of the Spear was on that snowy mountain top and I saw she was pregnant. Though I did remain rather silent as I watched in awe as she proceeded to take out all those soldiers. But I did get to see his reaction when he realized that the soldier was Tam and that badass fighter was Rand’s mother.
    And much like him, in a way it was a new story for me as well. I knew and understood the changes they had to make. And actually liked that they changed the age of all the lead characters. Or making the show way darker than the novels. Bloodier than Jordan would ever dare dream. And lets not forget boobies, there are boobies and butts everywhere. And maybe even a hint of ball bag, Lan’s ball bag. 
    Nudity is looked up as taboo in the Two Rivers, but throughout the rest of the books, there are boobies flooping around everywhere. And lest we forget, Rand and Egwene have been doing the nasty for a while. And Perrin knocked up some chick before slicing her open like a ripe Cantaloupe. Lan and Nynaeve knocking boots, that didn’t happen until book 10 or something. Moiraine being all lipstick to Siuan butch amazingness. Everyone is fucking,
    From the very beginning, which I do think was a bad cold open for Wheel of Times, I knew this wasn’t Robert Jordan’s Wheel of TIme anymore. And I was completely okay with that. If the concept is that everything has happened before, and these people are constantly being re-born into different ages, then this is just a different version of events that happened a long time ago in our future. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. 
    So in the books, the Whitecloaks were dangerous and very militaristic, but damn, what a way to introduce them. That scene was deliciously twisted and just the way I imagined those zealots to behave. I think his fascination on Perrin and Egwene wasn’t really explained well, there were several leaps of logic in why he suspected them to be from the White Tower. But, plot, I understand.
    I still would like to ask the showrunner why he spent almost an entire episode of only an eight episode season on an Aes Sedi and her Warder. That actually made me angry and wish I was back in that cold restroom with strangers sucking on my weiner. Lan didn’t need to thump his chest, in the books he was more reserved and rarely showed emotion. I thought it was so out of character and still don’t understand why they felt this deserved an entire episode. It didn’t further the main story, nor did it really tell much about the White Tower and the Sisters. 
    Let's talk about the magic system and its live action depiction. I absolutely loved how they showed the one power. And yes I’ve read the naysayers talk about how they don’t go into detail about wielding the One Power on the show and casual viewers don’t appreciate the toll it takes on the user. Fuck you, visually, it works. Not everyone bones up about magic systems and how they work. And the wisps of smoke, gray for the Sisters and inky black for the men, I thought really captured the yen and yang of it all. 
    And did the Whitecloaks put a beat down on the Tinkers, probably my least favorite groups in the entire series. The Way of the Leaf reminds me of vegetarians and I like my meat! (that's a long way to go for a dick joke, but I’ll allow it).
    We got to see a truly badass false dragon kill everyone and Nynaeve dropping the One Power bomb that healed everyone. That was epic in all the right places. I am finding this Nynaeve more tolerable than in the books. In this weaving of the Wheel, I dislike Egwene more, which I find distasteful. In the books, Nynaeve is the worst depiction of a female character I have ever read, watched, dreamed about in all the weavings of the Wheel. EVER.
    The actress who plays Egwene is simply amazing. And with the exception of Mat, who I didn’t think captured the essence of what Mat was, the rest of them are really good in their roles across the board. But Moiraine steals the show, she is perfect in every way and her scene where she fucks her “pillowfriend”, is amazing. Great acting. I didn’t find a weak actor in the bunch, just a stellar job of casting. 
    We get to see a scene from book 3, when the Two Rivers folk are riding together and start singing and then Moiraine tells the story of Mantheran, I got chills. It made me want to go join in the fight against fades, trollocs, the dark one, and Borders restroom trolls. 
    The last two episodes were my least favorite. And not just because they had changed so much of the story that I was literally lost a few times on who these people were. But mostly because you could tell that Covid restrictions really hit them hard. Set pieces were smaller, probably to disguise they had less extras than before. Unfinished special effects, and one of their main characters refusing to come back to finish the show in the poorly cast Mat.
    How much rewriting do you think they had to do to cover the absence of Mat in the final two episodes? Did I mention the horrible special effects in the last battle with the Trollocs? And why did they only send eight people to defend the gap against hordes of Trollocs anyway? Covid.
    I can forgive the limitations of the last two episodes. I also forgive the rushed ending as Amazon refused to move the premiere date to give them more time, so yes, it wasn’t perfect. 
    But I can’t forgive the way they ended the season. Three untrained Aes Sedi being led by a too weak to serve accepted, doesn’t matter she was tower trained, took out thousands of trollocs. And yes the idea was to say that Nynaeve and Egwene were that strong in the One Power, that even an accepted could destroy everything and everyone being linked in a circle. 
    Rand was the one in the books that appeared in the sky above the gap and saved everyone, thus proclaiming himself the Dragon Reborn. But they had to have a scene where Egwene saves Nynaeve’s life. Doesn’t matter that throughout the entire book series, Egwene was known to be weak in healing. Nor does anywhere in the books show that much destruction can be had without the aid of enhancement items. It really left a sour taste in my mouth.
    And before you say, “They made it all girl power because of the times and the me too movement. All males are stupid and useless without a woman telling them what to do”. I only have to ask one question, did you read the fucking book? Robert Jordan clearly wrote that into the story thirty years ago. Every single female character is written from a view of power, except for Min. They always know what to do and think men are stupid. Robert Jordan had either a very high opinion of women or thought they were all horrible, as every female character is written the same way. 
    So should you watch this show…like I said in that restroom stall all those years ago…yes, yes, yes!
  21. Jason Rimbaud
    The other day I was walking to the B.A.R.T. (Bay Area Rapid Transit), which is another name for the local Subway system, it was late, sometime around 11:PM, when I was approached by three youths, they couldn't have been older than twenty. Even though I was listening to my I-Pod, I am aware of my surrounding, and when they stopped in front of me, barring my way to walk, I took out one of the ear buds, and looked at them blankly.
    The tallest one, which still didn't come up to my shoulder, told me in his broken accent, "This is my block, if you want to continue then we have to do a pocket check."
    Now I'm not completely hip with all the new lingo that is floating around the world, but being as I have spent some time on the streets in my youth, I immediately knew that this young youth was basically saying that since I was on his block, then he was going to take everything that was in my pockets.
    On Saturday, I was witnessed to another crime. This time it was a crack-head looking dude that was hanging around my restaurant's patio. Being that I am rather cynical, the moment I laid eyes on this dirty man, I knew that he was up to no good.
    I watched him for a few minutes, I first thought that he was going to try and steal something off our patio, maybe drinks from a table, or cash after someone paid for their check. I guess if you've been in the restaurant business as long as I have, then over time you start to develop a keen instinct when something isn't quite right. I'm not sure what it is, but just from the body language, I can usually tell when a guest is going to try and skip out on his check, or when a skittish looking crack-head is going to try something shady.
    This time, instead of the crack-head fucking me over, he walked over to the bike-rack that is located right in front of my restaurant, and after producing a pair of chain-cutters, he cuts the bike lock and then quickly jumps on the bike and pedals away.
    Two moments later, the dude who's bicycles the crack-head just stolen, walked outside of my restaurant.
    Now I don't know why those people who have a love of bicycling insist on wearing spandex. It's like something inside them drives them to wear the tightest garments known to humans, a way to showcase the goods so to speak. I like nothing better than to see a guy's goods. But should I really be able to tell what religion a particular human adheres too? Because no one looks good in spandex...not even Lance Armstrong. There comes a time when the garments you wear outshine the sport you have taken up to pursue.
    Cycling is one of those sports. And while I'm speaking on the subject of spandex, why is it those of us humans that are weight challenged are most of the ones that abuse spandex.
    Not even when I was at my best, spandex was never an option. Fuck all, I love riding my bike, but I have never once in all my life, thought I would be a better cyclist by wearing those stupid outfits. Do I really need to see if a cyclist has hemorrhoids or not? I don't think so.
    So the dude that just had his bicycle stolen, who was abusing spandex by the way, took off running after the crack-head who was pedaling his stolen transportation as fast as his half-failed lungs could propel him.
    I would probably make a considerable wager that by the time that very hour had elapse, crack-head had sold that bike and was already high from the profits. But try explaining that concept to spandex wearing wacko, especially after getting the privilege of watching him run down Embarcadero. In a way, it was very entertaining.
    He was circumcised by the way...so maybe spandex might be good for something. At least I knew I shouldn't be shouting out Jewish slurs toward him.
    Not sure if any of you are familiar with Absinthe or the sordid history of this wonderful green liqueur. But my hero, Arthur Rimbaud, and his older French lover, drank this almost exclusively. And a few months ago, I found out that this once outlawed drink was now available in America. Apparently, the powers that be have decided that the terror campaign that was once waged against this wonderful drink was a boatload of shit, they have now agreed that it's a harmless spirit that is no worse than a bottle of Vodka.
    As I type this, I am now drinking this particular beverage, and I must say, I am quite addicted already.
    It's more than a homage to my favorite poet and mentor, though I must admit I was first intrigued by this drink because of my love of Arthur Rimbaud, but as I sampled this intoxicating adult beverage, I am now completely encapsulated under it's spell.
    It's 68% alcohol, and a wonderful green color. Which is why Arthur Rimbaud and his contemporaries called this magical drink, the green fairy. They even went as far as to name this drink the poet's third eye. Now I haven't written poetry in quite a while but I understand why it's nickname is the third eye.
    As I am now drinking this wonderful beverage, and have been for a few hours, I feel so inspired. Is this inspiration due to Absinthe, is it due to my connection to Arthur Rimbaud, or is it due to my own misgivings and a desperate need to have a connection with a poet that completely saved my life in my teens?
    It really doesn't matter, I have given up writing poetry in any way. Matter of fact, I haven't written a new poetry piece in quite some time. I have two pieces that I have written and re-written a dozen times trying to get it right, that one day I will post online and will be the last two pieces of poetry that I will ever write. Even two years ago when I first started these pieces, I knew that they would be the last two pieces of poetry I would ever write.
    Maybe I am scared, maybe that's why I haven't been "able" to complete these pieces even after two years. Or maybe the reason I started writing poetry is obsolete now and I can't let go of the past. Either way, I am two pieces away of being Jason Rimbaud, the poet.
    Not that Absinthe has any bearing on this decision. I am simply following this train of thought to it's bitter end. I am so close to never writing poetry again and in a way it scares the living shit out of me. For so many years, Jason Rimbaud had been mainly known for his poetry. Yeah I've written a Blog that a few people have found amusing over the years, but I can pretty much assure that when asked who the hell is Jason Rimbaud, most people, if they even heard of me, would say he's that poet that has written a lot of pieces a few years ago.
    What have I written lately?
    So I was in the middle of a block and three thugs were demanding that I give them a pocket check. Being that I am not a silly little fag and that I am pretty much a fag that is accused of being straight by even those that know me truly well, I did what was completely in my nature.
    I took out my ear-bud, looked them over one by one, and said in my most centered voice, "It's going to take more than the three of you."
    I then put the ear-bud back inside my ear and promptly ignored the three fuck-heads that were standing in front of me. After a few moments, they retreated to either bother someone else or make their way back to their home.
    It really doesn't matter what they did, because in the end, bullies are nothing more than beings that feed off of fear, if you show them no fear, then they have no power. Make of this what you will...I have already made of this situation what I will...the rest is up to you.
    Jason
  22. Jason Rimbaud
    I've been on vacation for the last five days and I must say, I haven't done anything of importance. Okay, that's not really true, I have done things. Yet none of these things were things I had been needing to do.
    On Sunday, while on the train going home to start my five day vacation, I wrote this in my notes section of my handy dandy I-Phone...'Starting tomorrow, I'll be having five days off work, not really sure what I'll be doing or where I'll be going but it's time to find a warm hole and stick my dick inside it.'
    Lofty ideals huh...don't judge me, it's not my fault. I blame television.
    On Monday, I had a plan to go to San Jose to get Hot Wings from my favorite place, Smoke Eaters.
    I would like to take this time to admit to a problem...nay an addiction that I have been struggling with for ten years. The taste of a really spicy Hot Wing sauce is like nectar of the gods to me. This is a straight up addiction no fly by night flirtation. So much so am I addicted to this sauce, I could probably mainline the sauce on a daily basis. I even go as far as to dip my finger in the sauce and lick it off while I drink beer. I guess I love the way it burns my mouth and lips. Though I must admit, the next day, while doing certain daily activities it burns like I'm stuck inside the seventh level of hell.
    So I had this idea to go to San Jose and get Hot Wings from Smoke Eaters and then go back home with a case of beer and maybe a new video game and veg out in front of my big screen high definition TV. So on the way, I stop off at the local GameStop to see if there is a new game that might stir my interest. And boy, did I find more than I bargained for...
    Splinter Cell, the latest one, I was very interested in purchasing so I sauntered up to the counter to this delicious geek that was standing there in all his nerdy glory and asked if this game was satisfying. Apparently, he loved the game because he started talking a mile and minute, his hands wavering in weird motions and he was practically bouncing off the walls.
    He was a typical looking geek, long hair, scruffy beard that couldn't grow in all the way, dressed like a fashion reject from a bad eighties movie with a Spiderman T-Shirt that was two sizes too small for his lanky frame. I'll say it, sex on wheels.
    It's four o-clock in the afternoon, I'm on vacation, and I'm randy as goat. While he's going on and on about this game, I couldn't help but to laugh. I say, "You seem pretty excited about this game."
    "I am."
    "I usually don't get this excited outside of sex, how about you?" I say/asked, flashing him my most seductive smile.
    For a moment, he looks at me, then he smiles shyly and looks around before saying, "I get even more excited about sex."
    "What time do you get off?"
    "Five o-clock."
    "Fancy an after work blow job?" I ask bluntly. After all, I only have five days and I don't have time to beat around the bush. Plus I really wanted to eat my Hot Wings from my favorite place in San Jose and drink some beer.
    It was so cute, he looked down at his feet and turned his head, not bothering to look me in the eye. He mumbles, "I'm not gay."
    "It's okay, my mouth is gay enough for the both of us."
    Geek always taste better when it's straight geek.
    On Tuesday, I had to do laundry and wanted to give the apartment a good cleaning over. Wolfie had been on my ass lately about the streaks and dust on the TV so for a few hours, I lost myself in the mundane chores of keeping house. About seven o-clock, I worked up a mighty thirst so I showered quickly and headed off to the bar to find myself a dumpster.
    Figuring I would make this vacation's theme, Straight Week, I decided to only try and seduce straight boys.
    For the last few weeks, there is this little hottie straightie that hangs out at my local neighborhood straight bar, and we have been giving each other the eye. Or to be truthful, I have been giving him the eye and he's been giving me the eye when he thinks I'm not looking. That night I decide that I'm not just going to look from afar, I decide that he's going to be my dumpster for the night.
    Turns out his name is Brad and he wasn't completely straight. He goes to some college, he's getting his undergrad in some subject. I know, when he was talking I really was paying attention.
    As he sat on the stool beside me, I couldn't help but notice his bulge, it was so enticing and mysterious. He's okay looking, probably about a "5" with no visible spots. I buy him a drink, make some dirty chit and some flirtatious chat before I say let's go back to my place.
    "I don't need anything else to drink."
    "Me neither." I say, rubbing my hand across his prominent bulge.
    Undergrad students who try to be straight tastes better than your average gay undergrad. Must be something about their pheromones.
    Sometime last week, I was riding on the train on my way to work when I noticed this young couple sitting a few seats away from me. I would guess they were around sixteen or seventeen and they were making out pretty heavily like only kids can do in public. The girl was cute, curvy and had red hair. The boy was your typical EMO, dressed in black and wearing skinny jeans that couldn't be any tighter unless he just painted them on. But what stood out about this couple, after fifteen minutes of heavy petting, the boy was in a very aroused state. You have to love skinny jeans.
    The boy looked to be embarrassed about his predicament, trying to place his arm in his lap, his hands, anything so as his erection wouldn't be seen by either the passengers or even his make out partner. I believe the girl was oblivious as to his state and as I watched this for a few minutes, I couldn't help but to laugh. Here was this boy trying hard to hide his cock and yet he still wanted to make out with his girlfriend who's hands had started to roam about his body.
    As my stop was approaching, I folded up the paper I had been reading and as I walked past them to exit the train, I dropped the paper in his lap and smiled at him. He quickly placed it in the proper place and gave me a look that said he was more than grateful for my act of generosity. I walked off the train feeling like I had done my good deed for the month.
    On the way home, the very same day, I watched two people fucking on the train. It was surreal, I was on one end of the train car and they were on the other end. They saw me but they didn't care that I was watching. She was sitting on his lap and from the moans they were making, they were having a ball. So I did what any person would do in my situation, I took a picture. So much for my belief in Karma. Whatever good I did with the boy by giving him a paper, it didn't come back to me in the least.
    The topper to this little tale, she suddenly jumped off his lap and then her head disappeared and the guy almost screamed out in ecstasy. So I started clapping. They didn't even have the shame to look embarrassed. I guess I lost my Bay Area Rapid Transit cherry.
  23. Jason Rimbaud
    So I'm off on a romantic weekend getaway. Three days and two nights of pure bliss. I rented a beach house in Santa Cruz, and I'm bringing my laptop, a few bottles of wine, and a cooler filled with food. I plan on doing nothing for three days, and hopefully, I won't even see another living human.
    For some of you, this might sound very un-romantic. But for me, being completely alone for a few days is my little slice of heaven. I always seem to be able to recharge myself after taking a few days off. So, maybe this will give me the chance to finish a new short story I've been working on the last few months. After all, it's about a beach, a boy....well, you'll have to wait and read all about it later.
    Hope everyone has a good weekend, I'm off.
    Jason R.
  24. Jason Rimbaud
    Yesterday, Mark and I met for coffee an hour before work. I guess he knew I was still pissed and in his usual stubborn refusal to ignore things like normal males, he confronted me.
    How is it that this little boy can have so much power over me? He's not that hot, more of a nerd really, just your average type "Joe". His haircut is nonexistent, I think his mother puts a bowl on his head and snips away. His taste in clothes is typical of every stoner in the world, jeans and t-shirts with skater hoodies.
    And...he's a drug addict. Though I must admit that pot is pretty harmless. But fuck, I don't think I ever saw him completely sober. But "just" pot or not, he still is an addict. And I don't think I need an addict in my life, one is enough thank you.
    Can you believe it's been five months without cocaine? I think out of everything I've ever accomplished, I am most proud of that. Five months completely off cocaine and pills. And I can't remember that last time I was drunk. God I'm getting boring.
    Forget about the drugs, let's focus instead on Mark's girlfriend.
    Did you know that after four months, they still haven't had sex yet? Apparently, and boy did I wish he would've kept this bit of information private, there's been a handful of blowjobs and some finger work, that's it.
    Should I be happy about this? Because as he told me this earlier today, he was fully expecting me to jump up and down with joy at this admission.
    Yeah, you haven't fucked her yet, you don't know if you will fuck her in the future, you come scratching at my door every day to shag like bunnies, but in the end, you still have her. Answer me that fucking question. You wanted to talk, let's discuss this topic.
    There's something about his eyes, it's hard to keep my thoughts in order when I stare into his eyes. And the one thing I really like is his constant eye contact. I find myself forgetting my argument while peering into his chocolate eyes.
    And a few weeks ago I found out I was allergic to chocolate. Why can't I learn my lesson?
    Fuck Mark.
    Unfortunately he never answered my questions at the coffee shop. Our co-worker saw Mark's car and came inside to join us for a cup of coffee. Boy was that awkward, here we were in the middle of a fight about our....whatever it is...and suddenly we have to act all nice and status quo. And I hate that. I've been through to much shit in my life because of my sexuality...I'm not up for hiding, or keeping secrets about something I am not ashamed to be.
    We worked, estranged and uncomfortable. So out of sorts, a few of the other servers commented on our lack of "affection". How do you answer that? Oh sorry, can't be all fluffy giggles with Mark, I'm mad because though he's fucking me and not her, she gets the prime time with him. You know the time slot that involves public appearances mixed with family time.
    Something I really like about Mark, he is extremely family orientated. Something I believe keeps him silent about me and firmly with "HER", his family might not be accepting. Which is something I doubt considering the closeness they share. I'm sure his mother would love him the same. I think all the problems reside inside Mark's fear of being labeled a "gay".
    Later that night, I finish first. I get my tip money and bolt out the back door without saying goodbye. Mainly because throughout the shift, I had convinced myself that, though fun, continuing with Mark was self-destructive and maybe a threat to my sobriety. I had decided to cut my losses.
    I wasn't a block away from my hip upscale restaurant when my phone started ringing. Without looking, I knew who it was. We hadn't finished our "fight" at the coffee shop and Mark couldn't let it go. I threw my phone in the back seat and turned the radio up.
    By the time I got home, he had called four times. I left the phone in the car.
    Once inside my apartment, I headed to the fridge and grabbed the Orange Vodka and OJ and made myself a cocktail. When my doorbell rang two hours later, I had three cocktails. Not enough to be drunk, but just happy enough to answer the door. On my way to the door, I told myself that I would fuck him one more time, and send him on his way like a worn out trick. I was going to treat him like I would any other one nighter. I wasn't even going to kiss him.
    I opened the door, shirtless and smiling with a drink in my hand. He didn't say a word, he grabbed my head and kissed me. It was like nothing else...I can't describe it...I won't...this is for me, something I won't share.
    A few minutes later, we had somehow made it the couch, and somewhere in between he has lost his shirt. It was so intense, I didn't even tell him to take off his shoes. He was right there, next to me, staring into my eyes.
    "Why didn't you answer the phone?"
    I didn't want to talk to you, I'm still mad.
    He smiles...fucker...I look into his eyes...he speaks, "I was wondering if you'd like to come to my house for dinner."
    Did I tell you, since he's still in college, he lives at home? Um, did I tell you that I haven't been to his house...yet?
    Why? I know, but it hasn't sunk in yet.
    "I want you to meet my mom and my sister."
    I met them, remember they came into the restaurant.
    He shakes his head, and playfully smacks mine. "I really like you."
    Remember, I'm a bit happy(read drunk).
    Okay, I'll tell the truth, it wasn't three cocktails, more like six. I was a bit drunk by this point.
    "I really like you."
    Prove it.
    That was me, my challenge to him. I was still pissed. He's fucking me and playing with her. Nobody wins...nobody.
    For the first time, he looks away, takes a deep breath, and almost whispers, "It's over."
    I'm crushed, because though I don't want him to know it, I really, really, really like him. And since I don't want to know how much he hurt me, I say, It's for the best.
    He looks at me, sees my face and for a moment he looks confused. This his face lights up and he starts to giggle. He grabs my face and kisses me again. ( it's none of your business) "No, silly fag. I broke up with her tonight."
    We didn't talk much after that. We messed up the covers on my bed and had one fantastic shower a bit later on. Much of the evening is a bit blurry. He's still not ready to admit/come out, he doesn't want anyone to know about us.
    But god damn, she's gone, out of the picture, flushed away.
    I don't know what the future will hold. There is a lot of obstacles and a hesitation on my part to try this. He's so much younger than me, so much he hasn't experienced yet. But fuck, the world is such a better place when he's lying next to me. He brings a calm, a willingness to try. To be something like human.
    Jason
    PS: I'm sorry about the errors and spelling issues with this piece. When I first started writing it, I was a bit pissed, slightly drunk and by the time I finished writing it, now it's after five am, I'm happy and quite exhausted. And I won't go back and re write it like I would normally.
  25. Jason Rimbaud
    So something happened to me over the last weekend that I've been debating on whether or not I would share with those of you that read this Blog. And it's not because I think the events that transpired that lonely Friday night is of a personal nature and I'm unwilling to share it here to those that read my Blog on the daily.
    Because I think you know that I've been nothing but brutally honest in these entries over the last few years. Whether I'm writing about my past drug addictions, my straight-boy crush Mark and our adventures, or the stupid shit that happens in my daily life, I never once second guessed or deleted a single Blog entry I've written.
    Not to say that I'm proud of each and every entry that made it online in this Blog and the other one over at Awesome Dude. There are more than a few that never should've been posted in the first place. But that's the beauty of Blogging, being raw and uncensored.
    And yes that was a dig at Julien, maybe I want to read your Blog entries more than once, I love reading old Blog entries and the comments.
    But let's move on, and I still love you Julien. *smooches*
    But when I decided to begin this journey of online Blogging, I created a personal standard, a guideline of do's and don'ts that I swore to strictly follow. I promised myself that I would always write candidly and without fear, no matter the subject. And that I would never censor my words no matter the personal cost. And looking back over the last few years, I think I've kept that promise.
    So why would I hesitate about sharing this particular event if I swore to always be honest in my Blog?
    Well, I never swore that I would share everything that happened in my life, I only swore to always tell the truth when I did Blog. After all, no one person's life is so interesting enough to disclose each and every event that happens.
    Can you imagine trying to read a Blog where the author described in great detail each and every little boring thing that happened to him on a given day? After a few entries, you?d find something else to read, if you just didn?t put a gun to your head to stop the boredom.
    It?s the Blogger?s duty to only present the interesting moments and to keep the boring shit safely locked away far from the reader?s eyes.
    So I was talking about last weekend night?or to be more accurate I was talking about thinking about telling you about what happened last weekend. But before that?
    Most of you know that my parents threw me from their house after my father caught me in a compromising position with an older boy when I was sixteen years old. Most of you know that my father died shortly afterwards and that was the last time I ever spoke to my father.
    My relationship with my mother is nonexistent. The last time I saw the breathing cunt that gave me birth was the day she tried to trick/force me to enter Desert Stream Ministries (I think that is the name), a place that specializes in the re-education of homosexuals. That was the day when I stopped hoping that my mother would one day come to accept my sexuality.
    That day, I remember looking into her eyes and I realized that I saw nothing but hatred, disgust. And I saw the blame. I think she blamed me for the heart attach my father head a few short months after he found out his son was a no good rotten cocksucker.
    That was the day I kicked her out of my life. And believe me when I say, I will die a happy man if I never speak to her again for the rest of my life.
    I wouldn?t go as far as to say that my sexuality is necessarily the fault of my parents, or that they somehow conceived a defected child. But I will go on record saying that they did nothing to curb my natural behavior. And in a way, a very big life changing kind of way, they contributed greatly to my innate desire to be in close proximity with other boys.
    ?Oh really?? you might have voiced this question or a different question that is somewhat similar to the one I offer here, upon first reading the above statement, at this particular time, while reading this particular paragraph, of this particular Blog entry. Or you might ask, ?How could a set of parents, so righteous and so in tune with the almighty god ever contribute to a son of theirs being a faggot??
    I?m glad you asked one of these two questions, it will make the rest of this entry more interesting. For those of you that didn?t ask that question, please feel free to exit?now.
    Beware, the worlds longest sentence is coming up.
    When you isolate twenty to thirty, thirteen year old boys, in a camp far away from all contact with the female type species, especially at the time when those boys are just discovering that the thing between their legs has a more important function that releasing bodily waste, only an idiot would be surprised that the boys, or at least a few of those boys, would find an alternative method to release and explore the pent up sexual energy that Mother Nature has so thoughtfully imprinted in our DNA.
    This is a fact. I?ve seen it proved too many times over the years. Hell, I?ve proved it too many times over the years. Don?t believe me, put three, twelve to fourteen year old boys in a room for three days and leave them to their own devices and see what happens. At least two out of the three boys will experiment, sexually, with one another.
    Because all humans have one thing in common, deep inside our genetic make-up, we are hardwired to ensure the continuation of the human species. And if you take that away, we will still try to fulfill that need.
    Sex is something that most American?s shy away from. I think in part because of our ancestor?s fear of women being accepted as an equal. And in part because a majority of American?s believes that sex is a gift of God that is only supposed to be used for procreation. Any other reason that brings you to orgasm is in direct violation of the Bible and therefore deemed to be an abomination.
    This is completely and hysterically fucking funny to me. We all know, just by reading the papers, the religious right are known to have the kinkiest sexual habits of them all. Of course, the bathroom trysts aside, they justify this behavior by decreeing that if these deviant acts are between a husband and a wife then all is fine and perfect. Just don?t let those same acts happen between two people who are unmarried, or ever worse, of the same sex. Because then it?s an abomination unto God and the evildoers should be put to death. Apparently, in the Christian Bible, only a male and a female are allowed to fall in love.
    Why do we know this to be a fact? Because some asshole who lived in the dessert three thousand years ago claimed he was a messenger of God and said so. That?s it. No facts to validate his claim. Apparently, if you live in the dessert for a few years with nothing to eat or drink, except what birds happen to regurgitate in your mouth, then everything you say must be directly from the mouth of God. Who, by the way, hates faggots for some unknown reason. And if there was a reason, he decided not to explain it to the world. He just hates faggots?because.
    Get this, two guys fucking is such a sin that it ranks up there with anyone who eats shellfish. I know, that?s pretty fucking bad. I don?t know why, and I bet your local minister can?t explain it rationally either. And I also bet everything I own, that your minister eats every kind of shellfish even as he denounces homosexuality. The two laws are in the same book, and I think in the same chapter. But shellfish are good so we?ll throw out that law but two guys fucking gives me the creeps so we?ll keep that in.
    It never ceases to amaze me, how any religious fanatic/fuck can pick and choose seemingly at will, which parts of the Holy Book he follows blindly and which parts he?ll casually dismiss.
    If you take even a part of the book as truth, then you must take it all for truth. Once something is an abomination, it?s an abomination forever. And that?s a long fucking time. Just because the custom of the land has changed, and shellfish is no longer deemed unclean by the masses, which is why the early Jew?s were not allowed to eat shellfish and pork in the first place, that doesn?t mean that God?s law has changed.
    It doesn?t matter what man might twist or interpret the words to say, God?s law never changes. It says so in the book, a cannon that was published by a panel of Christians who were ordered by an emperor to create a standardize belief system that could be implemented by physical force on the entire empire. Or to be more realistic, the entire known world at the time.
    Fuck you, it?s your religion, I?m just quoting from the book you decided to live your life by. If you have a problem with what I?m saying/writing, take it up with your god. These are his fictitious words, not mine.
    Whoa, fuck me backwards Batman, I seemed to have digressed into a rant about religion. This is just a habit I frequently do while writing these Blog entries as you who read my Blog well know. And I am tempted to delete every paragraph that doesn?t pertain to the original topic?but.
    I won?t, because believe it or not, life on this planet will not go forward until this delusional belief in an imaginary figure in the sky disappears forever. This goes for Christians, Muslims, Hindu?s, Jew?s, Buddhists, and any other fly by night religion. Notice I didn?t include Scientology, because let?s face it, those fuckers are insane. Even the Buddhists take a step back and say, fuck.
    So I can still choose which parts of my life to share online and which parts to keep private, how do I decide what to share and what not to share? I think for one?s own sanity, the author and the reader, there are certain things that should remain private and things that should be offered up for anyone to experience.
    And that is why I?m currently struggling inside even as I write this sentence. I don?t know if I should continue this line of thought and let my emotions take me where they may or stop typing and go back to work?

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