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Jason Rimbaud

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  1. Jason Rimbaud

    New Years Eve & Blowjob Shots

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    The first time I had sex I was fifteen. He was an older boy and that bending over the couch resulted in me getting kicked out of my house. And since my parents took the extra step in declaring me a fag to the entire church, I was basically outed to my entire community.
    So for a few years, fifteen to eighteen, I did all the drugs, fucked all the boys/men as an out and somewhat proud gay boy. I couch hopped when I could, lied to use the shelters, or struggled living on the streets when necessary. Basically I tried to navigate my world as best as I could.
    Shortly after my eighteenth birthday, I met an older gentleman who convinced me to move to Harrisburg Pennsylvania by offering to co-sign for my very first studio apartment. He also helped me get a job at Giant Grocery Store by dragging me to the DMV to get my ID. So I slowly started to build a life for myself.   
    Though Harrisburg is the Capital of Pennsylvania, I saw first hand the homophobia that surrounded me so I took moving there as an opportunity to start over so to speak. To avoid being the gay boy that was bent over the couch I went back in the closet and nailed the door shut behind me. 
    Giant was where I began making friends that would carry me for the next ten years. The first person I met was another eighteen year old named Nelson but everyone called him Five as he was the fifth Nelson in his family. Five’s best friend, John, a dirty blond nerd that is probably the biggest geek I’ve ever met in my entire life.
    On my second day, I met Jason, who would quickly become my best friend and the bane of my existence as we both struggled through our sexuality for years before culminating where I was his best man when he married a girl named Christine. But that’s another story for a different when. 
    The four of us quickly became inseparable. We all worked at Giant, and spent almost every waking moment together for the next ten years. That entailed watching many movies, going to Denny’s at two am, and playing pool for hours at a time. We also hung out in the Giant parking lot after hours, throwing footballs, talking, and just enjoying each other's company. Then we discovered alcohol. 
    One of my earliest memories of Harrisburg was watching a KKK rally spew their hateful message to a large crowd of onlookers. This convinced me to make a nice comfortable home in my closet. From the ages of eighteen to twenty-one, I was a typical straight boy. I dated girls, had sex with them, and tried my hardest to fit into a world as something I wasn’t. 
    I could do all the things girls expected boys to do. I could go down on them, stick it inside them, make out with them, but I never really figured out what to do about the tits. Even to this day, tits are an enigma I believe should be better left alone. 
    For a while, I existed happily in my straight fantasy. For the first time in my life, I had a close group of friends that actually liked me. I was very popular with the girls, not really dating anyone longer than six months to ensure none of them discovered my secret. But deep down, I knew I was living a lie and over time, that began to take its toll on my already fragile mental state. 
    Then New Year’s Eve, 1996, twenty-six days before my twenty-first birthday, something happened that would change the direction of my life. It would be another three years before I came out to my entire circle of friends, but that was the day I stopped lying to myself. 
    Five had a friend from High School, her name was Anja and she was a first generation immigrant from Croatia. She was brunette with shoulder length hair, brown eyes, petite with little perky breasts. She was also very athletic in a feminine way.  
    While Five wasn’t interested in her in a romantic sense, he was borderline obsessed with destroying her relationship with her High School boyfriend so I could date her. Her boyfriend, Eric, was one of the hottest guys I had ever seen. He was six-foot tall, shaggy brown hair, lean but very fit with the most amazing brown eyes. He was also funny, and always quick to laugh and enjoy life. 
    Though Anja and Eric had been dating since tenth grade, there were always rumors swirling around that Eric would cheat on her during vacations and out of state trips. This drove Five crazy as he considered her a friend so he made it his mission to break them up so in his words, “She could date you and have a good boyfriend for a change”. 
    Little did he know, I wasn’t a good match for her either. But all that would come to a head anyway and there’s no reason to get ahead of myself.
    So for months, Five invited Anja to every party, every trip to Six Flags, every pool party, any event where the opportunity would present itself for me to make my move. Remember, she was still dating who she thought was the love of her life. I never said Five was smart. 
    Of course, Anja would always arrive with Eric in tow and over time, I got to be quite friendly with Eric. Not like my core group of friends, we never hung out alone, but when we did show up at the same place, more often than not, we would spend the rest of the time laughing and joking together. 
    This frustrated Five to no end. I was supposed to be “helping” him destroy this poor girl's relationship so I could swoop in and save her, and all I did was flirt with Eric. Though no one really saw what I was doing was flirting, but I know the truth. 
    Before we progress, a little backstory on my little group of friends. John was an only child to a well off middle class family. Jason was the youngest, at eighteen, his older sister was twenty-five and already married. His family was middle class wealthy as well. 
    I was definitely the poorest in my circle of friends. But they never made me feel like I was. They would subtly buy movie tickets for me, offer me gas money when I drove them anywhere, little things to let me contribute so I could feel like an equal. They paid for a lot of things and I am really grateful they did it with such class.
    Five was by far the richest in our group. He was an only child and born when his mother was forty-nine years old and his father was fifty-five. Neither of his parents had wanted kids but when he was a surprise, they loved him anyway. They were amazing parents. They were also loaded, worth millions of dollars and lived in Hershey Pennsylvania on top of a hill that looked down on the small city. 
    And yes, Five worked at a grocery store. Later he would build his career at Costco, ultimately becoming District Manager. For all the money he inherited at an early age, it never seemed to affect him. He made his own way in life and never relied on his family’s money. By thirty, he was a multi-millionaire and worked eighty hours a week at Costco. He’s a very interesting person. 
    His parents were also functioning alcoholics. By the time he was eighteen, they were long since retired and enjoying the fruits of their labor. And since they were notorious drinkers, Five had been drinking beer at dinner since he was sixteen. They also allowed him to throw house parties in High School as long as all the kids' parents knew there was drinking and no one drove home.
    This made Five’s parties legendary. 
    On this particular New Year’s Eve, Five’s parents had gone away somewhere for the Holidays so we had the entire house to ourselves. Five had invited about thirty or so friends/peers but as all parties tend to do, it ballooned to fifty by the time the ball dropped. 
    The music was pumping, the alcohol was flowing, people were making out, jock/bro’s were playing drinking games, it was turning out to be a great party. Until the incident. The incident happened shortly after midnight because Anja caught Eric kissing another girl.
    Full disclosure, Eric wasn’t making out with this girl, but they definitely kissed. This turned into a full blown fight because during the argument, Eric let slip he was transferring to Pittsburgh for the next semester to finish his studies. 
    Things turned ugly quickly, Eric told her she was being overly dramatic and she accused him of using the transfer as an excuse to end things. Turned out she was right. Eric wasn’t satisfied with the prospect of turning twenty-one only having dated one girl. And then it came out that he had in fact cheated on her over the summer when he was touring Pittsburgh campus. That’s when Anja slapped him and stormed out of the kitchen with Five closely behind. 
    As this argument was going on, I was outside on the balcony smoking and chatting up with a girl I had invited to the party. Sometime later, a very drunk Eric came stumbling out on the balcony for a cigarette. I clearly remember he was not that upset about the whole incident. Matter of fact, he almost looked relieved. 
    As we did every time we hung out, we started talking and joking around. Then Eric suggested we should do shots and things get really blurry for the next few hours. Because I woke up the next afternoon in my bed, naked, with a massive hangover and very little memory of what had transpired the night before.
    I had several missed calls from Five. Apparently I had left the party, the girl I brought that no one else knew, my shirt, and just disappeared without a trace. I didn’t return his call as I laid in bed trying to reason out the night's events. 
    Then a lump in my bed that I had mistakenly attributed as my throw pillows started to move. That was an interesting turn of events. Apparently I had ditched the girl I brought to the party but still found a replacement. Go me.
    I reached out and moved the covers down and saw a mop of shaggy brown hair. Oh fuck.
    Eric rolled over and peered up at me. It took him a moment to register who I was and then he stretched and said, “Morning.”
    I managed to say, “Morning” as I reached on the nightstand for my cigarettes. Then my heart sank as I saw a used condom on the floor next to my bed. Oh fuck.
    “What time is it?”
    I looked at the alarm clock as I lit my cigarette. “One-thirty.”
    “That’s not good.”
    “Really, it depends.”
    “On what?”
    “What time you had to be home today?”
    “Not until tomorrow.”
    I propped myself up against the headboard and put the ashtray on my stomach. “Then what’s not good about 1:30?”
    “I was supposed to meet a friend for lunch at noon.” Eric mimicked my leaning position against the headboard and asked, “Can I have one of those?”
    Like me, Eric was bare chested and from how the blanket fell against his hip, I could tell he was as naked as I. I gave him a cigarette and said, “I drank a lot last night, do you remember what happened?”
    He looked at me with a questioning look. “I never thought you’d be one of those guys.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “A guy that conveniently forgets what happened last night.”
    I leaned over the bed and picked up the used condom. I held it up and said, “I can only assume we had sex.”
    “Twice.”
    I dropped the condom on the floor and asked, “Is there at least another condom on your side of the floor?”
    Eric took a long drag and replied, “Yep.”
    “That’s good. At least we were safe.”
    “We both insisted on that.”
    “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m assuming I fucked you.”
    “You did. Right after I fucked you.”
    I hadn’t bottomed in over four years. I had been “straight” and too many questions were swirling around in my poor aching head. He seemed to be extremely comfortable waking up next to a boy. And I couldn’t help but wonder if this was some kind of weird joke.
    I threw my legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stood up. Then I could tell that at least part of his story was true, my asshole ached. “I’m thirsty, want anything?”
    “Some water would be nice.”
    I made my way into the kitchen and poured two glasses of water. When I walked back into the bedroom, Eric was just hanging up his phone. He was still in my bed and looked like he had no plans on moving anytime soon. I held out one of the glasses and saw another part of his story was proving true. Right by my foot was a used condom. 
    I sat down and took a long drink. I said, “Eric, not that I’m upset or anything. But how did this happen?”
    “You mean us fucking last night.”
    “That. I really don’t remember much of anything after the ball dropped.”
    “We were doing shots in the kitchen, and someone dared you to do a blowjob shot.”
    “Fucking Jason.” I muttered. He was always bringing up blowjob shots and trying to force everyone to partake. “Was you the lucky constant?
    “Pretty much, in a manner of speaking.”
    It was a really stupid shot but he had roped me into doing it more times than I could ever admit. You put equal parts Amaretto and Bailey’s Irish Cream in a shot glass and then top it with whipped cream. A person sits in a chair and puts the shot between their legs. Then you get on your knees in front of them and then using only your mouth, grab the shot glass with your lips and tilt your head back to drink the shot. 
    “What does that mean?”
    “You were pretty drunk and you kept shoving your nose into my balls. It took quite a while for you to get the shot glass in your mouth.”
    “Great, so my head was between your legs in front of fifty kids.” I groaned out. 
    Pretty much.” Eric said as he leaned over my bed and put his cigarette out in the ashtray that was sitting on my nightstand. 
    As he stretched out, I got a good look at his ass. At least I had good drunken taste. 
    He caught me staring at his ass and smiled. “Later on, I teased you about the way you kept sniffing my balls while you were “pretending” to drink the shot.”
    “That’s mean.”
    “Then you whispered in my ear that if I ever wanted to experience the real thing, all I had to do was ask.”
    “So you decided to take advantage of my drunken ass.” I muttered as I ran my hands through my hair. 
    “All I did was ask a question.”
    I pulled back the covers and climbed in next to him. “So then it’s your fault we had sex last night.”
    “I wasn’t the one that was begging to be fucked last night.” Eric said with a grin. “Not at first. But after you seemed to enjoy it so much, I figured I should see what you were moaning about.”
    I moved down until my head was on the pillow, I put my hands over my head and said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t remember anything about last night.”
    Eric snuggled his head on my chest and said, “Don’t worry, you had fun.”
    “Apparently twice.”
    Eric, like me, had always known he was gay. At first he stayed with Anja so long because she was extremely religious and he figured it was a safe way to ensure no one suspected the truth. But they had dated so long, they eventually had sex. And he had been feeling exceedingly guilty for leading her on and the last few months, he had stopped the sex all together. 
    And it was true he had cheated on her over the summer. The part he left out was it was with a boy. After that experience, he figured the only way he could get out of his situation was to transfer and start over in a new city far away from the prying eyes of his friends and family.
    I dropped Eric off at home a few hours later and then went to Five’s house to do some much needed damage control. All my friends were worried that I had disappeared and once they realized I was fine, they really laid into me. I was a selfish bastard, I didn’t respect them, they said the most awful things. Their anger lasted until I decided it was time to play a drinking game around seven o-clock. It was just the four of us and their anger disappeared sometime after I made Jason do a blowjob shot. 
    No one ever found out the reason I left Five’s house that night. Eric went on to graduate from Pittsburgh and we never got together again. I saw him a few more times but by the time he came back, I was fully involved in the mess that was my relationship with Jason.  
    But that experience started me on the path to visiting my first gay bar twenty-six days later when I turned twenty-one. But that’s a story for another time.
  2. Jason Rimbaud

    True Ramblings

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    So we have been open for a month. And I know the pandemic has been heartless for countless small businesses around the world. Thousands of restaurants have closed forever, who knows how many people are out of work due to these closures. So it might have been foolish on the surface to open a new restaurant at this particular time. But we did. 
    I am also saddened by the damage that has been done to the San Francisco restaurant/hospitality scene. A lot of my friends lost everything and it is heartbreaking. The only good thing, after two years, those friends that moved away are slowly moving back.  
    “N” and I were standing outside our restaurant a few days before we opened kicking around ideas on how to get the word out that we have the best damn wings in San Francisco, when we saw a group of middle schoolers, about ten to twelve boys, walking down the sidewalk. He pointed out the group and said, “there goes our lunch crowd in a few weeks.”
    We watched as the group of middle schoolers suddenly took off running as a group across the lawn towards a single middle schooler. As a group, they jumped the single kid and started kicking him and punching him. Then they stole his shoes and his bag and took off running down the street causing several cars to come to a sudden stop.
    I turned to him and said, “maybe we should make them order to-go only.”
    So I have gone the entire pandemic without catching Covid. I have been working steadily and have been around people the entire time. Covid has run rampant through both of our restaurant groups. Between all our locations, when i was working for someone else, had about 40 cases in the three locations. “N’s” restaurant group has had more cases than I could count. He also had three deaths related to Covid. It’s been a hard two years on that front.
    “N” and I were talking yesterday about how lucky we were to escape Covid as we have been working with the public since day one. Our entire circle of friends have had it at some point. So I brought up that we might have had Covid but never had symptoms. He shrugged and finished his Mojito.
    Why doesn’t underwear come with a warning label, “might cause pregnancy.”
    Does anyone have a favorite color for their undies? Mine is red. I have upwards of twenty pairs of red undies alone. For some reason, and my husband agrees, my thingy looks great in red. Briefs, boxers, jocks, Mr. S Leathers, any type really. 
    By the way, Mr. S Leathers, a San Francisco original has some of the best fetish accessories I’ve ever seen. Prices are a bit on the high side but the upside, you get really good quality.
    Which brings me to the subject of toys. Does anyone like to use toys in your relationship? I do. I have about a hundred little metal cars that I force my husband to play with me. He doesn’t like to but I guess it’s better than seeing me cry. 
    I’ve been creating my own personal Christmas Village for the last few years. Building houses out of balsa wood, popsicle sticks, and plywood. I find it very relaxing to build, paint, and construct my perfect little Pennsylvania town. I have chocolate shops, Santa’s workshop, reindeer barns, ice skating ponds, colored sand to mimic ice and snow. And a Mr. S Leather store, complete with tiny dildo’s in the windows. 
    “I’m getting rid of Britta, getting rid of the “B”, she is a “GDB”.
    For the last few months I’ve realized that without a real direction in my life, I tend to ramble on about underwear. I really don’t think we spend enough time focusing on underwear as a culture. Underwear has so many uses. Support, keep your junk nice and tight while running. The right type of material can help keep you dry and itch free for your twigs and berries.
    Boxers for that loosie goosie feeling for your peen. Boxer Briefs to keep your bulge, well, bulging. Jockstrap to show off your ass in the gym. Thongs to get your partner boned up in a hurry. 
    In my sluttier days, I wore different types of underwear based on the mission I had for that particular evening. Jockstraps were for dancing in the club and showing off my goods. If you saw me in the club wearing a jockstrap, then I was ready for some fun in the downstairs bathroom. Boxers are only used for sleeping. A practice I learned from Jason all those years ago. Boxer Briefs are always my go to style to make my bulge look good in jeans. Briefs are the perfect accompaniment for sweat pants and T-Shirts. 
    And no, I don’t work at Mr. S Leathers. I’m just a fan of their products.
    Mr-S-Leather Explicit Content Beware!
  3. 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!
  4. Jason Rimbaud

    A Poem from my Youth

    By Jason Rimbaud,

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

    "N" And I

    By Jason Rimbaud,


    Life In Glasses
    So I had plans. Much like every other person on the planet, I had plans for my future. It involved moving out of San Francisco and going someplace where “N” and I could buy a house and maybe start a family. And much like every other person on the planet, March 16th, 2020 happened and the whole world went absolutely bat-shit crazy.
    As of this current writing, it is October 12th, 2020 and I have been married for one year and two months with the most amazing person on this bat-shit crazy planet. (truthfully, when I first started writing this entry, it was my one year anniversary but things got away from me as it often does when you always get distracted by bright shiny objects)
    Over the course of my life, I have made some mind-numbing stupid decisions. I have more sophomoric mistakes and regrets than any one person should have to endure while still maintaining the fiction that he is somewhat intelligent. But if you look back at the entries of just this Blog, you will find the most asinine circumstances one could find them in. Granted, all of them avoidable if I had even an ounce of intelligence but I digress.
    For those of you that have not had the pleasure of meeting “N”, he is perfect in every single way…and yet he is also the most flawed human being that means the world to me. He is irritating while somehow making me laugh at the most inopportune times. He’s serious to a fault, not understanding irony in the slightest way, and often leaves me scratching my head in amazement/confusion. He is also the most loving person I have ever had the pleasure of sharing my bed with. I have never been so much in love while suppressing urges to strangle him at the same time.
    Like someone famous once said, Context is King, I’ll relay a little story to demonstrate how his mind works. Two days/weeks/months ago, I was at work while he was enjoying a day off, I sent him a text, “What are you doing?” (And for full disclosure, I don’t use abbreviations when texting…ever) His response, “Studying.” So I texted, “Are you naked?” After a few moments/minutes/hours/days of staring at the three black dots, he finally responds, “Why would I be naked, its cold outside”.
    Have I mentioned he doesn’t know how to flirt? And lying is not in his nature, so I’m stuck with an Indian Spock. (very logical at all times)
    My plans to move from a city that I’ve grown to hate for more reasons than I could relay to you, is on hold indefinitely. Why you might ask? Mainly because “N” has decided to change careers after being in the restaurant industry his entire life. And while we reside in San Francisco, he can take classes for free. By the way, is it any wonder that this very serious individual wants to become a CPA.
    So my amazing husband is working full time and going to school, virtually, full time. And I’m stuck in a job I no longer like but after all it is for our future so I soldier on.
    I’ve told “N” I love him a thousand times a thousand times. And yet, when I first saw him in his Sherwani, traditional wedding attire, I immediately started to cry. He came out of the door where he had been sequestered and I swear, my heart skipped a beat. The song was playing and everyone in the space was staring at us, our eyes connected, and in that moment, I understood what unconditional love looked like, what it felt like, and what it meant fully realized for the rest of my life.
    No matter how many years we will get together, I know I will always look back on that single moment and wonder in amazement, how the hell I became so lucky to have him in my life.
    So yes, the world is a bit bat-shit crazy right now, and yes I might be living in a city I no longer hold dear, but I get to be with him, and that makes life perfect.
  6. Jason Rimbaud
    Current Music Selection: Five For Fighting?World from the album Two Lights
    Current State: Dis-jointed
    Current Mood: Depressed
    ?What kind of world do you want?
    Think Anything
    Let's start at the start
    Build a masterpiece
    Be careful what you wish for
    History starts now..? Five for Fighting
    If you?ve read any of my poetry hosted here at Awesome Dude or have ever been bored enough to visit my website, then you probably have an idea that my childhood was less than perfect. And before you ask, most of my poetry chronicles my life and the demons I face on every level of my existence. Add into the mix my BI-polar tendencies and dependence on altered states of reality, I wonder why I don?t let the pain slide.
    Maybe it?s a stubborn refusal to let ?him? win. He?s already taken my first from me and inadvertently gave me this sickness and fear of front seats and single beds. Squeezing the trigger now would be like saying the last ten years of struggling to find the sun was pointless. Maybe John was right, my life really was over at twelve. That I?m dead and just haven't fallen over yet.
    But giving up has never been part of my genetic make-up. I also got that from ?him? as well as his predatory nature and life denial. I?ve always been good at smiling at those who pretend to care about my well being. You know the types I mean, well-intentioned do-gooders who spit platitudes and rhetoric claiming truth from a book they use to bludgeon others into sameness. Or ?caring? therapists who attach blame but offer no solutions. Who takes poetry as absolute and recommends institutional care and gives you labels like, HRSA.
    I tend to roll my eyes and go off into my own world as they try to convert me, analyze me, or commit me, while alternately scratching my nuts and winking at the cute ones. Once, I even stripped off my clothes in the middle of her office and described in vivid detail that first time. That didn?t help me but it was the first time I was held overnight for observation.
    Have you ever wondered why christians are filled with such hatred for anyone who differs from their idyllic belief system? I was raised on the good book, I?ve read it ten or eleven times and for a brief period, I could quote dozens of scriptures and talk down to others with the best of them. But that was before front seats of cars and someone who used his position to further his own demons. Being taken advantage of puts you in a place, mentally and physically, that you never truly leave. Having one?s innocence taken by a man, who swore before god and the world that he would lead the faithful to the promised land, is something that can never be understood by someone who has never experienced such action. Molestation is an act of aggression against God.
    Christians hate others for one reason, stupidity. I?ve been there, I have the scoop and let me tell you, they begin brainwashing at the time of conception. Once a week, a man walks to the front of a building and for an hour, he pretends to speak the words of god. And the faithful sit there with raptured faces and rabid expressions as their own prejudice and fears are given validation. How can you fight christians? They tend to think in absolutes. There is no compromise with absolutes.
    Denial is the new black. My father had it, my mother has it, and my family embraces it. And I?m left alone. Can?t they see I?m hurting? It?s not about what I smoke, what I snort, what I inject, who I fuck. It?s not about whether or not I?ll go to hell. I?ve been in hell since cotton candy and broken heaters.
    It?s about this scared little boy who still sleeps in the closet at times clutching stuffed animals with ripped seams. It?s about a boy forever trapped inside a man?s body with no clear path on how to proceed. Just once, I wish they?d see me. Why can?t they see me?
    Mother
    (the reality)
    By: Jason R.
    Mother
    I can?t forgive you
    You were there all those times
    I know you know what he did
    You turned away
    Sheltered your eyes
    Belief in your god
    Could not save your boy
    What you couldn?t do
    Was protect me
    I?ve been dying
    Day by day
    Mother
    I tried to forgive you
    Because the bruises
    Speak of pain
    I heard the yelling
    I heard the praying
    But what good is god
    If a man can do that
    It?s your duty
    To your child
    Laid down in that book
    By your side
    Mother
    I won?t forgive you
    Because the laundry
    Was your domain
    You saw the blood there
    Where it never
    Should be
    From a boy of twelve
    You cleaned the sheets
    Saw the tear stains
    Mixed with fuck pains
    How could you let him touch me
    Mother
    I think I hate you
    Not as much
    As I hate that man
    Should I tell them
    All your good friends
    Just what kind of mother you are
    You hold your head straight
    During service
    They look to you
    For guidance now
    But if they only knew
    Mother
    I can?t forgive you
    I won?t forgive you
    I can?t?
    But I love you
    Help me
    Please
    Hold me
    Like a child
    Wipe the tears
    From my face
    Like I was twelve again
  8. 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.
  9. Jason Rimbaud

    Confusing Times

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    The beginning?well that isn?t really the right place to start this particular tale. No not there, that would take more time then I could ask any sane person to suffer through. So instead of the beginning, I think I?ll start in the middle.
    I?ve never had much luck with relationships. For all my slutty ways, I?ve only ever been in three long term relationships. And for those of you that might not know, I?ll define the phrase ?long term relationship?.
    For me, long term relationship is defined, anything that last more than a week.
    What? I tell the truth, even if it?s ugly. It just so happens that most of my truths are a bit dirty.
    Last go back for a bit and I?ll tell you another dirty truth. My first long term relationship was with a boy named, Jason. You might remember this almost straight boy that held my heart in his hand so tightly. After all, I did agree to be his best man a few years later when he got married to this chick he met in a bar.
    Jason was also the same boy that showed up at my apartment the night before his wedding for a final taste of the love that dare not speak its name.
    (For those of you that are/might be interested in knowing more about this boy, check out my Blog at Awesome Dude for an entry called, I?ll Never Wear Boxers Again.)
    I guess it was his way of thanking me for not telling his soon to be wife about our ?special bond? and the four years we spent together.
    And if I am to be speaking truths right now, I must be honest. That sacrifice of silence nearly destroyed me. Jason never knew just how much I loved him. I know this as fact, because each time we slept together, I made sure to say what we were doing, was nothing more than fun. Two close friends helping each other out.
    I was so worried, petrified actually, about scaring him away, never daring to show my true feelings out of fear that he would run to the hills.
    That fear was founded on too many fucking conversations we had over the years. Often, usually the morning after our sex was particularly passionate, he would tell me that he wasn?t gay, and that his one wish in this journey we call life was to find a wife and have a family.
    At first I thought, scratch that, I hoped, it was nothing but bravado mixed with self denial. So I would downplay my feelings, hoping to give him room and the time to sort out his emotions.
    I remember there was a time about a year into whatever we were doing, that he was dating this chick from two towns over. Every single Friday night, after he got off work, he would drive forty-five minutes to her and be gone all weekend only to return to me Sunday night.
    What a fucked up pair we made back then, Monday thru Thursday, we lived together, ate together, laughed together, got drunk together, and slept together. And then Friday night he would leave.
    And every fucking time, I would swear that when he returned, I would tell him exactly how I felt. Sadly, I never really seemed to muster the courage.
    This went on for about four months. And trust me; they were the longest four months of my life.
    It was horrible, on the surface I had everything I ever wanted, never mind the small fact that I had to keep it all a secret and ignore that in front of our friends, I got to hear about this chick and how happy he was spending each weekend with her.
    It was taking a toll, I started drinking heavily again and that turned into treating him like shit, basically behaving like a jealous school girl who can?t understand that her English teacher is already happily married and has no intention of leaving his wife for a spoiled little girl. For a time, I really believed that our friendship was heading towards destruction.
    But then it happened. It was a Friday night, and just like always, he was packing his bag, preparing for his weekend of straightness, when I walked into his bedroom and sat on the bed. After a few moments of me watching him pack, he asked if I needed something.
    ?I love you, you know.?
    That was the first time I ever said those words to someone other than my fucked up family.
    He closed his bag, his back towards me and replied, ?I know.?
    I got up and walked out of the apartment. A few hours later, after many drinks and a sloppy blowjob from some random guy from the club, I return home to an empty apartment. It was the first time I ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive.
    No matter how much I drank or how many blowjobs I got, I couldn?t fill the emptiness that consumed me.
    Sometimes, even when completely hammered, our minds can suddenly have a single lucid thought that shifts everything into place and the world becomes shockingly clear.
    Sitting on my empty bed, clutching his pillow to my chest, and through the self-loathing and Vodka haze, I knew that I could no longer go on fooling myself. Jason and I would never be truly together and I would be better off moving on.
    I didn?t even care that one of us would have to move out of our apartment, all I knew is I couldn?t do it anymore.
    Sometime around 3 am I passed out, fully intending to end it with Jason the moment he returned Sunday night. Around 3:45, I was rudely awoken by someone shaking me. And much to my surprise, it was Jason. He crawled into bed and pulled me close. He kissed my cheek and when I tried to talk, he put his finger against my lips and told me to go back to sleep.
    And in the morning, we woke wrapped in each others arms. And in that moment, I was truly happy.
    Sadly that moment didn?t last long because Jason started whispering in my ear as he held me tight. He told me that he loved me but wasn?t in love with me. He also apologized for leading me on. He said he knew that I wanted more from him but since I never came out and said it, he chose to ignore it because being with me filled a void and he hated to be lonely. He had decided for the sake of our friendship, that we had to stop sleeping together.
    And it worked, for a time, but whatever it was between us, was to powerful and a few months later we started the whole thing again and it lasted another two years before I moved to a different city in a different state on the opposite end of the country to get away from him.
    I guess Jason knew me better than any other human on this planet and I think that night in my bed was the only time he was completely honest with me and to this fucking day, I still believe it was a load of shit.
    Sad, I know, but how I wish for those confusing times again. Anything would be better than the last three weeks.
  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
    I woke up this morning feeling uncharacteristically happy and it took me a few hours to pinpoint the reason for this exciting emotion. Then I realized that my nose no longer bleeds when I blow it first thing in the morning to clear the sleep away. It's been years since this happened. Maybe sobriety has it's up-sides after all.
    Jason R.
  12. Jason Rimbaud

    Bitter Remains

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Bitter Remains
    Written July 30th, 2001
    By: Jason R.
    ?Dammit,? Justin cursed, slamming the phone down even before he heard the first ring. He rubbed his hands over his freshly shaven scalp and shut his eyes. There were times he thought everything might disappear if he could only shut his eyes tightly enough. Hating the feeling of his shaved scalp, he mentally kicked himself for his drunken impulsiveness: shaving his beautiful curls only to spite ?him? was pure stupidity.
    He looked around the shabby, one-bedroom apartment with blurry eyes and frowned. There was a time not long ago that his surroundings would have been quite different. But he was far away from the grand house on the hill, and the stained carpet and worn furniture only served to remind him of his loss.
    Scowling, he turned his head and looked towards the kitchen. His eyes found a bottle of cheap vodka, mostly empty, on the counter. He stumbled towards it, and not bothering with ice or a mixer, he dumped the remainder into a glass, and walked outside to the small patio, the apartment?s one and only luxury.
    It was a rare summer night in San Francisco; it was raining. Leaning against the railing, he tilted his head back and emptied the contents of the glass. By this time in the night, the bitterness of the alcohol had no effect on him. The rain fell down on his half-naked body and mingled with the tears that fell from his eyes, blurring together his confusion and pain.
    ?Why me?? he screamed into the night sky, hoping, demanding an answer from some kind of higher power. ?Why did he leave me??
    He had asked that question hundreds of times and never had gotten the right answer. No solace or forgiveness would come to him, no matter how many times he cried out. In his heart he knew the answer, yet he still cried out.
    He was alone and broken, because his boyfriend was tired of dealing with the lies, fed up with the cheating, and sick of waiting for love that was never given. This was why Justin drank himself into a stupor night after night?searching to find peace that always eluded him.
    He squeezed his eyes shut, so tightly that the tears could no longer fall, and gripped the railing. His mouth opened in a silent scream; he tried desperately to stop the memories, the raw emotion that careened through his drunken mind.
    But nothing could stop the memory of the night it all fell apart, the night ?he? left.
    ?I can?t take any more of this shit, Justin. It?s killing me,? Daniel screamed, pushing Justin away. ?Can?t you see that? You?re killing me.?
    That night went all wrong when Daniel arrived back at the house and found Justin in bed with another boy, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
    ?Wait,? Justin stammered, trying with one hand to cover his naked body with the sheet while reaching for his discarded boxers with the other. ?I can explain.?
    The invisible stranger, the boy who didn?t matter, had a look of confusion and embarrassment on his face as he tried to hide under the sheet, but he was having a hard time as Justin kept ripping it out of his grasp.
    ?No,? Daniel stated in a tired voice, his tone icy and barely controlled. ?No more explanations, no more lies. No more, Justin.?
    Hopping on one foot, Justin tried to pull his boxers on while saying, ?Wait! It?s not what you think. I didn?t want this to happen. He was a mistake.?
    ?Really,? Daniel said, spinning around towards the two boys. His eyes filled with rage. ?Did he force you at gunpoint??
    ?Daniel.?
    ?Did he have a cardiac arrest and the only way you could think of to give him CPR was to pound him up the ass??
    ?I??
    ?No,? Daniel cut him off, pointing a finger at the boy. ?I?m sick of you fucking every little twink you meet the moment my back is turned.?
    The invisible boy spoke up, ?Wait, I?m not just??
    Justin and Daniel both turned and yelled, ?Shut up.?
    The invisible boy ducked under the sheet again as Justin fell to his knees and begged, ?It won?t happen again, I swear. Just give me one more chance.?
    Tears fell down Daniel?s cheek, but he shook his head sadly and said, ?I can?t. Not again, Justin. You don?t get any more chances.?
    Justin stayed on his knees as the door slammed shut. He stayed on the floor, his arms wrapped around his body, crying. He didn?t notice the invisible boy leave the room, nor did he care. The man he loved just walked out of his life.
    Shaking from the power of the memories, Justin cried as he tilted his head back and let the rain wash over him. But the memories that crashed into his fragile mind would not let go until he looked at each and every one. Gripping the edge of the railing, he screamed again. But the scream couldn?t prevent the images from smashing through his defenses, shattering the last of his control, forcing him to remember.
    ?You?re so peaceful when you sleep,? Justin whispered into his boyfriend?s hair, causing the sleeping boy to stir. He leaned forward and kissed Daniel?s forehead, all the while fighting the passion that threatened to consume him. He moved down and gently kissed Daniel?s lips, tenderly and filled with love.
    ?Mm, I love you,? Daniel mumbled, still in that semi-lucid state somewhere between reality and dreams. ?How was the club??
    ?It was fun,? Justin replied, kissing Daniel again. ?But Sheila was really wasted.?
    ?Tell me about it later,? Daniel said, then yawned as he settled back onto his pillow.
    Snuggling up behind his boyfriend, Justin lay there in the manner of all lovers?gently connected with legs and arms intertwined, making it hard to distinguish one from the other. And when Daniel pushed back into his embrace, Justin felt the warmth of his lover gently caressing his whole body. Daniel moved his head back until he could feel Justin?s shallow breath on his neck. He sighed.
    Justin?s lips found the back of Daniel?s neck and softly kissed him, completing the nightly ritual they shared before falling asleep. They drifted off, both feeling the comfort of the intimate experience they shared.
    ?I had it all,? Justin mused aloud. ?Why did I ruin it??
    And as always, when he reached this point of inebriation, reality and fantasy blurred together. Not that he would listen to the truth if he heard it, but he always asked.
    He tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, but the pouring rain replaced them. His bare chest was slick from the rain, and his pants were soaked through. He shivered, the cold drops feeling like punishment from the heavens. He stood there shaking, crying from the pain in his heart so long that he turned numb?which is what he longed to truly feel.
    His ravaged mind tried to sort out this reality, to comprehend this behavior, but the pain and disillusionment kept him from seeing the destructive nature of this nightly ritual. So he kept playing this scene out in his mind, night after night, drinking until he couldn?t feel the pain any more, drinking until he passed out for a few fitful hours of sleep, before the agony set in again with the dawn, wracking his body with nausea.
    ?I love you, Daniel, he stated simply, staring up to the dark sky. But it was too late for any kind of admission. Daniel was gone, and nothing would bring him back.
    Stumbling inside, he headed for the bedroom, not bothering to remove his wet pants. He fell on the unmade bed and curled up in a fetal position, continuing to sob. A note lay next to him on the nightstand; he reached out for it and clutched it to his face until the tears made it a blurry mess.
    But it didn?t matter; he knew the words by heart. He had read it over and over again until the words were etched in his mind, burned there for all eternity. The letter was from Sheila, written two weeks earlier. The last line of the note read, ?I?m sorry, Justin, but he?s married now.?
    His world exploded around him and his mind finally had enough for one night, and he drifted away to the nightmares that haunted his dreams. His last moment of clarity was a longing look towards the phone sitting on the bed beside him. But he didn?t call Daniel. He never did.
  13. Jason Rimbaud
    More of A Few More Sentences
    It was a place like no other he had ever seen before. It was dark and light, seamless and joined all around him with no clear ending or beginning. Existing at the same time, hot and cold, black and white, a place where time didn't seem to hold stable, where time stopped or slowed depending on it's own whim. There was no sensation in this void, only a feeling of being. For the longest time, he didn't think or even seem to be aware of his surroundings. He couldn't remember coming to this place, only that he had been here forever. What he was before didn't matter now, only what he was. And he was alone for the first time, all alone in this void.
    His conscience mind drifted like the wind, going through his memories at a rapid rate. He was astonished at what his mind would linger on. Events that seemed small when they happened, his mind dwelled on them for the longest period of time. And yet, the events that were huge and self-changing, his mind briefly paused before continuing on it's journey. A journey that he wasn't in control of, but merely like a passenger on a cross-country train ride. A bystander of his memory's every whim.
    He wasn't aware of when it stopped, or when he awoke to an empty room. It was sudden, he was there and sitting alone in a chair. His eyes wandered around the room, taking in the strange sights and sounds. It looked to be a circular room about twenty feet across, and all around him was darkness. Not a darkness that he could see, no, not this darkness. It was more like a darkness he could feel in the depth of his soul.
    Suddenly, a loud noise began echoing around the room. A single beat that reminded him of a heartbeat, a wounded sound that seemed to be faltering with each passing moment. His nostrils filled with a smell, a smell that he could only associate with death. It filled his nostrils, causing him to gag with each ragged breath.
    Yet it was the sound of his own breathing that brought him to his senses.
    'Where am I?' he thought.
    Standing up, he looked around, trying to find a door, something to tell him where he was being held. But the room was empty except for the chair he had awakened in. Standing up, he walked around the room, finally making his way back to the chair in the center and sat down.
    "Where am I? Is anyone there?" He shouted out.
    But there was no answer. He didn't know how long he sat there in that chair, but it seemed like days. He had all but given up hope that he would ever find out where he was. He had accepted the fact that he was going to die in this room...alone.
    Yet, finally, out of the darkness, a voice said, "I've been waiting for you, welcome, Scott Taylor."
    "Who are you?" Scott managed to stammer out.
    Looking around the room, he tried to find the speaker, but the room was empty save for that blasted chair.
    "Who I am is not the question." The voice countered. "But who are you?"
    Turning to face the direction of the voice, Scott saw a cloaked figure standing in the center of the room. He took a hesitant step towards the figure but stopped, and said, "What do you mean? You know me? You said my name."
    "Yes."
    "Who are you?" Scott asked. "What am I doing here? Am I dead?"
    "Questions that need answers, every one. Questions that I might answer, but for now, answer mine. Who are you?"
    "Stop it, what is this place?" Scott demanded, approaching the figure.
    But once he was two steps away from the figure, it vanished before his eyes. But he heard this statement as the figure disappeared, "When you are ready, you will know."
    Running to the center of the room, he called out, "Wait! Don't go. Where am I?"
    But before he finished, the room dissolved and became a narrow corridor that seemed to go on forever. Looking in both directions, he pondered what path to take. Suddenly, in front of his eyes, a sign appeared. Taking a deep breath, he studied the sign. It was an average ordinary sign, one arrow pointed one way, with a single word, 'Beginning'. And another arrow pointed the opposite direction and read, 'Confusion'.
    "My god, where am I?" Scott pleaded to the darkness, sinking to his knees, and hugging himself tightly.
    "Choose." The voice thundered inside his mind.
    Reeling back in fear, he backpedaled across the corridor, running into the wall. Even as the voice kept repeating its cryptic instructions.
    "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?" Scott screamed, pleading with the voice inside his head.
    "Choose." The voice repeated, this time harshly.
    Scott started running down the hall, in his haste forgetting which path he fled down. He ran for what seemed like days, his body racked with pain, his throat burning from lack of water, his body drenched in sweat. And finally, the end was in sight. A bright light, intense and burning, stopped his mindless run.
    Walking out of the tunnel, he entered a house. Suddenly and quite unexpectantly, his senses were overloaded. He knew this house, that smell of leather furniture mixed with cheap pipe tobacco. He had smelled that for over half his life.
    "Welcome home Scott, you chose wisely."
    Startled, Scott turned his head and saw the figure standing next to him. He tried to look beneath the hood that veiled the figures face, but failed. It was just too dark. "How's this possible?" He asked in wonder, staring at his parents as they sat in the den reading different parts of the evening news.
    "Everything is possible. I've been waiting for a long time to get you here. So, now, it begins."
    "Who are you?" Scott begged, reaching out in his desire to know the figure under the cloak.
    Turning to look directly at him, the figure replied, "Whom do you want me to be?"
    Scott stammered, disbelief on his face. He asked, "Roy?"
    The figure dissolved, and in its place, stood Scott's long lost cousin, Roy.
    Backing away from the figure that had stolen his cousin's face, he yelled out, "You can't be here, you're dead."
    "No." The figure/Roy said in a sad voice. "You keep me alive."
    Falling to the floor, Scott cried out in pain. His fragile mind couldn't comprehend these circumstances. Laying on the floor, he began murmuring to himself, rocking back and forth on his heels.
    "There is much work to be done."
    "No!" Scott screamed, clawing at his eyes. Trying anything to block the vision of his long lost cousin from his sight.
    His scream was still echoing in the void as his surrounding changed and once again, he was back in the circular room with that damned chair. For an eternity it seemed that he screamed. When he was out of breath, he slowly looked around. Standing off to one side, his cousin stood, staring at him with a burning intensity in his eyes. Again he heard that sound. It sounded like a heartbeat, but it was getting fainter with each passing second. He stammered, "How is this possible? Am I in hell?"
    His cousin, laughed out loudly for a few minutes before saying, "Hell? You've been in hell for seven years. Not only do you live in hell, but you put hell into your body on a daily basis."
    "What?"
    Gliding over to where he was hunched down on his knees, Roy grabbed his arm and showed him the track marks that covered his arm. "I never thought you would turn into a junkie. You were always better than that. Better than this."
    "How do you know about that? You're dead."
    "I know everything about you," Roy asked seriously. Adding, "And who says I'm dead."
    "I saw you die." Scott yelled out. "You died in my fucking arms."
    Roy laughed. "If I'm dead, how is it that I can do this?"
    Roy punched him in the face, causing the confused boy to fall backwards onto his back.
    "You hit me!" Scott screamed, a stunned look on his face. "Why?"
    Rushing over to where he lay, Roy sat on his chest, preventing the boy from getting up. Saying, "Yes I did. You know better than to do that. We made a pact, remember? No matter what happened, we'd never do that. You broke that promise." With each word Roy spoke, he punched Scott in the face.
    "You said we would be together forever. You lied to me." Scott screamed out, trying to block the blows raining down on his head and face.
    "I fucking died," Roy screamed.
    "And it was all my fault," Scott replied, breaking down in tears.
    Standing up, Roy reached down and hauled his bleeding cousin to his feet. "It was not your fault. It was no one's fault."
    "No!" Scott denied, blood pouring from his face and running into his eyes.
    The sound of the heartbeat growing fainter still.
    Roy's face saddened at the denial of his cousin. As he began saying something, his face dissolved again and the figure with the dark cloak returned.
    "Wait, come back." Scott pleaded. But it was too late, Roy was gone.
    THe figure spoke, "Who are you?"
    "Fuck you!" Scott screamed. "I'm sick of this, I want to go home."
    "Home." The figure said. "Do you remember home?"
    Scott stopped in mid-sentence. Did he remember home? It had been years since he had been back there. But the memories came flooding back. He said, "Yes, and I hated it. My parents treated me like shit."
    "Then why do you want to return there?" The figure asked.
    "I don't know..."
    "Yes, you do." The figure argued, approaching Scott. Reaching out a cloaked arm, he grabbed Scott's head and whispered, "Remember."
    Scott started to shake and convulse, his memories returning un-aided. Memories of his father, picking him up and carrying him to bed when he was just a little boy. He could see the love in his father's eyes as he tucked the half-asleep boy safely into his bed. He could feel his father's lips on his forehead and a deep voice whispering that he loved his only son.
    He remembered his mother singing him to sleep. He remembered the way she would wash away the blood from his scrapes and the way she would kiss away the pain. He remembered the way she would stop doing the dishes or whatever she was doing just to ask him how his day went. He remembered the times his mother would get up in the middle of the night to fetch a drink of water for her scared little boy. Memories upon memories of the selfless sacrifices that both his parents made for their only son. A son they loved so fiercely and unconditionally. He couldn't deny the love he saw in their eyes.
    Trying to fight the memories, he screamed out, "No! They hated me."'
    "They loved you," The figure countered, drawing out more memories.
    Trying to block out the images, Scott screamed, "Love is a lie. They never loved me, love doesn't exist. They hated me and they stopped talking to me because I killed Roy."
    The heartbeat grew fainter.
    "You stopped talking to them." The figure said, taking a step towards Scott. "You pulled back, it was you. Never them."
    "No! They blamed me for his death. You don't know, I was there. YOu're twisting it all around."
    Pulling Scott to his feet, the figure stood face to face and said, "So was I."
    Scott reached for the hood and threw it back. HIs eyes widened as he saw for the first time behind the mask. He screamed out in horror as he realized he was staring into his own face.
    The heartbeat grew slower, fainter, until finally there was silence. It had stopped beating entirely.
    Scott lay on the floor clutching his chest and gasping for air. He knew, he could feel it, that any breath could be his last. He tried to get to his knees but the pain became to intense. He stopped struggling and gave up as he collapsed on the floor, staring up into his own face.
    The figure in black, his other self, looked down in comtempt as he raised his hand in a silent plea for help. The figure said, "Oh, are you in pain? All ready to give up?"
    "Help me!" Scott pleaded, turning away from his other self.
    "There you go again, running away. Always afraid aren't you, never willling to face the truth."
    "Help me, I'm dying." Scott begged.
    "Help you? Why should I?" The figure stated, laughing loudly. "When you won't even help yourself."
    "I am you." Scott said, his voice a whisper. "You are me, if I die, you die."
    "Really," The figure said. "Maybe that's for the best. You don't even know who you are. You are pathetic, complaining about your problems, no one loves me, no one cares. Boo hoo, poor little Scott," The figure now mocking the dying boy.
    Grabbing the figures arm, Scott tried to pull himself upright. But his fingers slipped, he was too weak. He said, "Help me."
    Even as he argued with his mirror image, he could hear someone speaking to him, though it sounded far away. It sounded just like Garet's voice and he was...Scott couldn't make out what his friend was trying to say.
    "Do you hear that?" The figure said, cocking his head to one side. "Do you hear what you are doing to your friends back there?"
    "I can't understand you," Scott shouted out to Garet. "What are you saying?"
    "He's yelling at you because you gave up." The figure said, laughing. "Your body is dying in that bed, and all you can do is lay on the floor."
    "I don't want to die." Scott said, staring at his mirror self.
    "Why not? Love does not exist. Nothing is ever good enough. Why not just lay down and die." The figure countered. "Get it over with."
    "I don't want to die," Scott spat out. "I'm scared."
    "Finally." The figure said, taking a step back. "You admit it."
    "What?" Scott asked, trying again to sit up.
    "You admit it, you are scared. Do you know that out there," The figure said, waving his arm, "Garet is scared because he loves you."
    "No." Scott denied, shaking his head.
    "Yes, he does. Listen to him, he's telling you in so many different ways." The figure said, bringing his hand to his ear. "He's begging you not to die, he loves you, just like your parents do."
    "NO!"
    "Just like Shelia does."
    "NO!"
    "Just like I do."
    "How can you love yourself?" Scott demanded, clutching his chest in pain.
    "Because, that is the only way you can exist." The figure said, his voice filled with sadness. "You are me, and I am you. I am everything that you used to be, everything you wanted to be, and I am everything that you are running away from right now."
    "I'm not running away," Scott said in between gasps for breaths. "I"m right here along side you."
    "You left me a long time ago, but I never forgot what we used to have." His other self pleaded. "Just stop running."
    "What am I running from?" Scott begged, his breaths a bit stronger than before, the pain a bit softer.
    His cousin, Roy, appeared next to the two Scott's and whispered, "From me."
    "NO!" Scott yelled. "Never from you."
    "And from me," His other self stated in a gentle voice.
    For the first time, Scott really looked at the figure that had his face. It was his, but it wasn't. Even though the face had a sad look, the eyes were so bright, full of life. Not like the stormy eyes he normally saw in the mirror. His face wasn't the same either, it was more youthful. He realized he was seeing himself long ago. Long before the drugs, before the guilt, before the death of his cousin.
    His eyse shifted to his cousin's face. Roy looked the same as the day he died. Scott asked, "How can you be here?"
    "You won't let me go," Roy said sadly. "You cornered me off in your mind, you won't let me die. You can't find peace until you forgive yourself."
    "I can't, I love you," Scott cried, the tears streaming down his face. "It's all my fault."
    "No," his other self shouted. "It was not your fault, it was not God's fault, it was just bad luck."
    "It was my time," Roy said, reaching out to the tortured boy. "Let me go, I don't blame you. I forgive you."
    Scott broke down and cried. This was not sad tears but more tears of acceptance. His breaths became harder, crashing into him, threatening to swallow and consume him. He grabbed out to Roy, like he was the only thing that could save him.
    Roy looked down and said, "Let me go."
    Scott's mirror self said, "If you want to finally be free, just let go."
    Scott held onto his cousin, crying as the weight of guilt pressed him down. His heart felt like it would burst from the pain that he had put himself through. HIs mind ached from the emotional turmoil that had racked his spirit for so many years. The pain in his chest returned, and somehow, he knew that he was dying. And he was tired of feeling all this pain, all this guilt. He wanted to finally be free of it all. So he did something he had never done before. He squeezed Roy tightly one last time, and just let go.
    As Roy began to fade away, Scott heard him say, "I don't blame you, and I will always love."
    His other self grabbed him, hugging him close until they were touching every inch of their bodies. And yet his other self squeezed even tighter until Scott felt the two bodies begin to merge. At first he fought this sensation, but finally he surrendered to that part of him that was everything good and pure and right. His mind exploded with forgotten feelings of love that he had run so hard to escape. His heart stopped hurting and his breathing returned to normal as he embraced what he had fought so long to deny.
    And then there was only one Scott.
    As the darkness slowly dissolved into pure light, and as he passed the point of no return, Scott heard a voice whisper, "Finally, it's over."
  14. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Five
    By: Jason R.
    I had heard the word ?fuck? before at school, but had never heard that word uttered in my house much less inside the sanctity of my room. I was shocked at his blatant rebellion for everything ?our? religion stood for. And yet, at the same time, I was intrigued by his knowledge of all things carnal. Maybe this was my savior. Maybe he could show me all the things I wanted to know.
    Though I thought these things in my mind, I still looked around the room nervously, making sure no one had heard him swear. I was extremely scared that if my father had heard him utter that word, I would lose my new friend, my maybe savior, forever. When he saw me looking around the room, he began to laugh.
    I can remember that laugh so vividly. It was a laugh full of mischief, and very infectious. Not like the whole body laugh where the body shakes uncontrollably and it wasn?t a quiet laugh either. More like a laugh from the depths of the soul. Like he had found some kind of inner happiness and nothing could ever take it away.
    So I was nervous when he stopped laughing and asked me in a serious tone. Have you ever said that before?
    I replied, ?I could never say that word, I don?t want to make god mad at me.? (yes, I really was that innocent once upon a time) Do you know what he did, he laughed at me again, that bastard.
    I was more than a bit hurt by his laughter, and yet on the other hand, I wished I could be so reckless with my mortal soul. He teased me for awhile, calling me chicken. (one thing about me, and to this very day, I don?t like being called chicken) I told him I wasn?t scared but I wouldn?t say a word I didn?t know the meaning of.
    I had this smug look on my face, since I knew there was no way in the world this kid could know the definition to such an ?evil? word. I was sure he was only saying it because he knew it was a word kid?s shouldn?t say. Damn, was I wrong about that.
    I know my face turned every shade of red when he began describing in great detail, just what that word meant. I know I was squirming in my shoes, and that my soul was forever tainted at what I learned that day. But when he began to show me what it meant by using my bed as a prop, I lost it completely.
    I started yelling for him to stop desecrating my bed, and that he was the devil's child and that I never wanted to see him again. Do you know what he did as I was yelling at him, he laughed all the harder. I put my hands on my hips and demanded to know the reason he was laughing at me.
    Because you?re stupid and it feels good to laugh at you.
    He kept saying that word over and over again, FUCK. I put my hands over my ears to block out the sound of that dirty word. Now remember, I was still feeling guilty about my own brush with sin a few days earlier. And it?s easier to forget my mistakes if I can condemn him for his. I find this is a typical reaction of the religious zealots that populate our society.
    Then he asked me the one question that shut me up and caused my soul to freeze. Have you ever even jacked off?
    The look of confusion on my face must have been hilarious because it sent him into fits of laughter. And when he realized I had no idea what ?jacking off? was, caused him to laugh even harder if that was possible.
    After he regained control of himself, he began to describe what ?jacking off? meant, going as far as mimicking the motions right in front of me. I guess he could tell by the embarrassed look in my eyes that I knew exactly what he was talking about. You?ve done it. He accused, taunting me as he bounced up and down on my small bed. Then he looked at me, his eyes sparkling, and dropped the second bombshell on my life. Did you enjoy it?
    I think the hardest thing I ever did in my twenty-two years of living was to answer that question. My mind was telling me to deny it, but my recently awakened libido was screaming for me to admit that not only have I done it but had thought about nothing else since. Like a huge match of tug-o-war, my religious side was warring with my carnal side. Needless to say, my carnal side kicked the shit out of my religious side.
    I think in that one moment, with that one question, all hopes of me following in my father?s footsteps went out the proverbial window. That question started an adventure I?m still on to this day.
    Some would say I?m trying to justify my lust with logic. Others would say I?m blaming my promiscuity on a sense of adventure, and the admittance to a fourteen-year-old boy I enjoyed jacking off. Hell, both might be true. I do have an appetite for sex, and the pleasure of new experiences. Which is why I have tried sex with both males and females. Call it what you will, but I have to blame it on something, right?
    I remember hanging my head down in shame as the words came out of my mouth. ?Yes, I did it, and it was like nothing I ever felt before.?
    My head shot up as he said, You know it?s normal for teenagers to do it. My teacher said there?s nothing wrong by doing it. It?s actually healthy for boys to do it.
    He further admitted that he had been doing it at least twice a day for a few years now. I asked, ?Did it always feel the same way each time you do it?? How was I to know, it could have been a one-time thing?
    That night I learned about fantasies. I learned you could think about other people touching you while you pleasure yourself. I?ve always had an active imagination. So what if I put it to good use that night after Greg?s family left.
    This is the tricky part, up to then and for some time to come, I knew nothing about girls. So my fantasy that night used the only template I had at my disposal. That night I masturbated thinking about Greg.
    I?ve had lots of arguments with other gays about whether it?s a choice or if you?re born a certain way. Honestly, I don?t know the answer to that question. My thoughts marry the two ideas together. Some are just born that way while others have it thrust upon them by society. I don?t want to argue or start a discussion with anyone. Can?t we all just get along? See another choice.
    Up until that night, I was a complete sexual non-entity. I was attracted to neither sex, hence, I made a choice of what I was attracted too. And when I have felt that same attraction to a particular girl, I?ve had sex with her. I?m not bi-sexual, and I?m not heterosexual, nor would I call myself homosexual. I look at myself as a sexual being who enjoys the act of consenting sex between adults. Most of the time I?ve chosen males, kind of a remembrance of my first love so to speak.
    Where was I? Oh yeah, I started discovering my inner pleasures that night thinking about my new friend, Greg. As the weeks and months went by, Greg and I became close friends. Both of our families like the idea of us hanging out together. Because at that time, we both acted like good little Christian boys in public. But behind closed doors, that was another matter all together.
    Greg was my first in so many different ways. Not only my first sexual encounter but also my first time skinny-dipping. I remember choking my lungs out the first time we tried smoking a cigarette out behind the fence of my backyard. I was petrified my father would smell the smoke all the way inside the house or hear us coughing and come outside and catch us. I can still taste the puke I threw up the first time we got drunk on a bottle of Jack Daniels Greg stole from the local convenient store. It was horrible, and I vowed to never drink again. Though I broke the promise the very next weekend on a church camp out. This time it was a bottle of vodka, and I thought it might not make me sick like Jack Daniels. Again, I was wrong.
  15. Jason Rimbaud
    Maybe The Cause I Am A Bit Fucked-Up
    I am in the process of moving, and I found this piece I wrote when I was sixteen. To give a brief, like I could be brief, backstory,
    I come from a VERY religious background. In the News and Views this week, Dude posted an article that scared me, so much so
    I decided to post this piece here, on my blog. To show others how real the threat of the religious right truly is, and how the young are
    brainwashed on a daily basis. This piece was herald by the private school I attended, it scares me that they bought into this piece and
    made everyone in my class read it. Stating during chapel no less, that I might have been inspired by the divine one himself/herself to
    write such a cautionary tale.
    MY REWARD
    By: Jason R.
    One dark and stormy night, I died. It wasn't the first time I have died, but it would be the last. Some say that the best is always saved
    for last, as it was when Jesus turned the water into wine and the wedding guests claimed the host had saved the best for last, and it was
    true. I will never forget this time. NEVER.
    I was lying in my bed, touching myself, as I entertained thoughts about my best friend, when my heart suddenly stopped. Instantly, I
    was transported to an empty field. Each other time when I died, my earthly senses became void. Like I was so much wind floating
    through the earth. Yet this time, I could hear the wind gently blowing through the tree tops, I could see the grass slightly bending over
    by the subtle force of the wind, I could smell the night air, soft and rich with the promise of rain, I could feel chill in the air and I shivered.
    I made a small noise in the back of my throat that reminded me of a child whimpering. All around me was calm, much like the eye of a
    tornado. I could feel forces moving through the earth and I was scared out of my mind.
    Without warning, my eyesight focused so that I could see even the bugs crawling along the leaves in the trees several hundred yards away.
    I looked up, and much to my amazement, I actually saw the infinate of the universe as I stared into the night sky. I shook my head and
    took a deep breath, filling my nostrils with a moldy, dead smell that made me lightheaded and disorientated. Instinctively I knew something
    was wrong and I began running as fast as I could.
    I had not gone four steps when the ground started shaking violently, falling and rising much like a rushing river, I lost my balance and fell
    to the cold earth. To my horror, the trees started falling on the edge of the clearing, great massive trunks that threatened to end my life
    as they crashed around me, plummenting down on the grassy field showering me with dead leaves.
    In the center of the field, a chunk of earth shot up, flying through the air before landing fifty feet away. Smoke and fire exploded from the
    hole causing me to choke as the tonic fumes billowed out like sheet falling on an empty bed. Rising out of the hole, clothed in fiery tones
    of red and black, Satan ascended in all his horrible glory. As this supernatural being rose grandly from his earthly domain, I
    was forced to my knees by the power and hate that eminated from this devourer of souls. As the figure revolved around to face me, I
    shook and quivered as I hugged the charred earth. His powerful chest rose and he breathed out, a fetid smell that caused me to choke.
    This supreme master of evil watched me shaking, a look of contempt on his face as he surveyed the scene. Without speaking audibly, he commended me to rise to my knees and look upon his countence. I tried to resist but the force of his will overpowered my fragile human
    mind. As my eyes focused on the sight before me, I screamed out to God, because I had look upon Satan himself. Satan laughed, a sound
    so vile and twisted it caused me to heave, my stomach emptying on the ground.
    Again, I screamed out for God to save me. Satan stopped laughing and said with much glee in his voice that God had forsaken me. That
    I had commited the unspeakable sin in my heart and that there was no forgiveness for one such as I. That God had turned his back on me
    and that I would live the rest of my life serving a new master. I was informed that I would awake, and that I would live forever. Abruptly
    he disappeared and I awoke in my new body. I went insane as I realized I was a swine, my reward for being a faggot.
    Whether or not the writing is good, it scares me to remember how I felt back in my teens, trapped in a closet with hate surrounding me
    like so much sharks waiting to devour me. It scares me to think that others, young and impressionable teens are filled with such images
    every time they walk inside a church. I have not fought for gay rights, nor have I stood up for those doing so. I told myself that I did
    not care about marriage, so why fight for it, I told myself that I am tough enough to hear the word faggot and not become angered. I
    conditioned myself to use the word faggot, claiming humor as the reason I told "gay" jokes.
    For years I have fought being gay, for years I have acted straight, so much so that people wonder if I only say I'm gay for effect. I use
    to claim that I was helping the "straights" accept gays by acting like them, showing them I was "normal". Maybe in a way I was helping
    along the ideas that its a disease that can be cured. My god, what have I done?
    I think its time to be different, show them that I'm willing to fight for all basic rights. If we spend even a tenth of time on fighting for gay
    rights as we do fighting for the next piece of ass, what a difference we might be able to make. Chilling thoughts from me tonight.
    Jason R.
  16. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Two
    By: Jason R.
    What is this forbidden fruit I discovered? I hear you ask with a hint of anger in your voice by my lack of explanation. So I?ll tell you. I discovered I had a free will. And I did the unthinkable in our religion, well any religion for that matter; I began to think for myself.
    And I decided to explore this newfound gift I discovered. I began exercising free will like a boy with a never-ending back account. I thought about whatever I wanted to think about, not the ?safe? subjects they outlined for me and drilled into my head. I thought outside of the box.
    I thought about all the hate that surrounded my life. The hatred that consumed my parents and I didn?t want to end up hating everything and everyone like they somehow managed to do. I thought about all the choices I could make, and all the different roads I could walk.
    Heavy thinking for a twelve-year-old you might say. But I was the only child of a father with an IQ of 174. Let?s just say I was taught from an early age the beauty of learning. This was a man who grew up during the sixties and all the paranoia that went with that decade. He taught me to think independently, and never to rely on what others taught. I was being taught by my father from the moment I awoke to the time I went to bed.
    It wasn?t just religious subjects he drilled into my head. Though I must admit that took a huge chunk of my day. But he taught me the classics. And I developed a love of reading and a thirst for knowledge at an early age.
    I know my father was trying to make sure I would not be swayed from my religious brainwashing by the ?worldly? teachings of public school. He knew that peer pressure overwhelms millions of students each year, and wanted to make sure I would never fall into that trap. (independent thinking, can you see how that might backfire with anyone with an IQ higher than 92)
    I was a good kid in my fathers eyes as long as I listened and followed whatever my parents or minister instructed for me to do. But when I began to question their words or deeds, I was branded a rebellious teen and punished accordingly.
    I ask you, how can you teach a child to be wary of what others teach and expect them to never question what they have been taught by you? I remember my father saying long ago, that he was a horrible father because he taught me independence. Thankfully, it was a lesson I learned well.
    But back to what I was trying to say earlier. I discovered my free will. And with that realization, I knew I could choose whichever path I wanted to take. I could choose what kind of person I would become. I could choose what religion I would practice. I could choose which sex I would sleep with.
    You had to know I was going to go there eventually, didn?t you? I have since found out that suppressing people?s mind is never the proper procedure for a well-adjusted adult. If you tell someone ?no? enough times, sooner or later they will do ?it? just to see what the fuss is all about. Well, at least that?s what I did.
    From the time I could understand English, I was told that sex before marriage was sinful. And if I ever dared attempt premarital sex, I would be hurting god. Do you have any idea what that does to your libido? Every single time I got an erection, I had this picture of god crying. It?s hard to have sex with god crying over your shoulder, believe me, I know.
    To this day, there are still times when in the middle of sex, I get a picture of an old wizened bearded god crying as he watches from on high. I missed out on so many years of intimate relations with my left hand because of the powerful fear of making god cry. All it took was a free will and suddenly my hand is one of my favorite partners. What? You know you do it to.
    I can remember so vividly, the first time I actually masturbated. It?s funny now, but at the time, I was so scared that god would send an angel down from heaven and punish me for wasting my seed.
    It was late at night, I?m guessing around four in the morning. It was summer, that nasty August humid summer night that makes sleep without air conditioning impossible. (we weren?t allowed to buy an air-conditioner for our house based on the belief that if god would have wanted us to be cooler than he wouldn?t have made the sun so hot)
    That?s right, I was speaking of masturbation. I was lying there in my small twin bed, naked, all the sheets thrown on the floor in my perpetual quest for coolness. My bed was so small; I didn?t have the small luxury of finding the cold spot on the bed. I had to lay there on my back, trying to fall asleep with that sickly sweaty feeling all over my body.
    I?m not sure what I was thinking about, but I started the innocent rubbing of my chest and stomach area. I found out quickly that if I lightly rubbed my body, using just my fingertips, I would receive a chill for a brief moment. To say my youthful curiosity was peaked would be pretty much redundant.
    I slowly ran my hand over my nipples, my body shivering at the feather like touch. With just one finger, I began to rub my left nipple ever so gently, alternating the direction every few seconds. As I now know, if I wanted to cool myself off, this wasn?t the best way to go about it. But back then, I was touching my body in a way I had never done before and I was enjoying the new sensations. As dirty as it might have been for me mentally.
    For the first time, I actually thought about my thirteen-year-old body. I was slim, even for a thirteen-year-old. I had been taught from birth that god hated obesity and was kept on a strict diet by my father. Which is the reason I was always the best-conditioned boy in my school. I exercised every day with my father for two hours. We would run two miles every day, then do sit-ups, push-ups, crunches, and all other sort of exercises that most adults, much less other thirteen-year-olds, didn?t even know existed. And of course, our daily workout offered my father the opportunity to continue his brainwashing.
    Where was I? Oh yeah, I was lying naked in bed, a big taboo in our house. You know, nakedness being a sign of the unclean as well as a sign of those that had unlawful carnal knowledge. (I wonder if my parents have seen one another naked even after so many years of marriage) Yet here I was, naked, and doing the unspeakable. I was touching myself and for the first time, I was lost in the euphoria of male sexuality.
    My flat stomach had sunk well below my ribs as I lay on my back. And each time I took a breath it sunk even lower. (to this day, I still lay on my back and stare at my stomach as I breathe. It never ceases to amaze me at the illusion of my stomach and guts disappearing into my body somehow) As I rubbed my chest and nipples with one hand, my other hand began stroking my upper, inner thigh.
    By this time, I had noticed my ?evil thing? between my legs was fully, painfully hard and sticking straight up in the air. And I swear, this isn?t just denial talking, up until this night I speak of, that very moment, I had barely touched my ?evil thing? unless I was washing it or putting it back inside my underwear after relieving myself. I had been told repeatedly that it was a sin to touch or play with it at anytime. I had been spanked because one day my mother saw me scratching myself in public.
    Quite accidentally, while I was rubbing my upper, inner thigh, my pinky finger brushed my ?evil thing? for one brief moment. This sensation shot through to the very core of my body, a torrent that washed over me, drowning all thoughts of a supposed crying god. Not only did I get the chills I was trying to create, but I also received pleasure that shot up from my toes and directly to the nipple I was massaging at the time. Needless to say, I brushed against my ?evil thing? again, quickly.
  17. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part Three
    By Jason R.
    Who can explain the first time a male masturbates? Who can describe the feeling of ecstasy one gets at the slightest touch on the male penis? I know I could never describe it but the feeling has never been as strong since that first time lying naked in bed. Not even after my many sexual encounters and my desire to learn new things, I have never felt that feeling again. I guess in a way, I?m still searching for that level of awakening. In a weird way, it?s the reason I?m writing this now. But I?ll get into that soon enough.
    For a few minutes or maybe hours, I would rub one finger against my ?evil thing?, reveling in the feelings I received. And just as every boy learns eventually, I began using more fingers and in no time I had begun a gliding motion up and down. No one teaches a boy how to masturbate, that?s obvious in the many different techniques I have observed in the various partners I?ve had over the years. But the gist of it, the end result, is always the same.
    As I played with my ?evil thing?, I began to notice each time my finger brushed against this one certain spot, right below the head, a shiver would shoot down my back. I don?t have to say this but I will, I enjoyed this immensely. So naturally I began to focus all my attention on that one area. It wasn?t long before I had wrapped my entire fist around my ?evil thing? and slowly began to develop the technique I would use for the rest of my life.
    That first orgasm didn?t take me long to achieve. I remember letting a groan escape my lips and my entire body convulsing as the release raptured my being, spilling out my seed on my heaving stomach. (I remember disregarding the seed on my stomach. I knew what it was, by that age I knew where babies came from and how they were made.) I?m amazed by what my parents considered good teachings and what they considered bad teachings.
    My breath came in gasps, and I realized I was still quite hot. I had sweat above my upper lip and my hair was damp from the exertion of my hand. But I felt satisfied. And in a weird way, I had taken the first steps towards my awakening free will. Steps that would set the tone for the rest of my life.
    Can I really place this much awakening on a single orgasm? At that time, I learned there was something other than religion that could give you satisfaction. I know it?s satisfaction in two distinct different ways, but it was satisfaction none the less.
    My parents had told me that my ?evil thing? was the downfall of humanity and that nothing good would ever come from it until I was safely married. That was the day I first found out they had lied to me. A lot had come from my ?evil thing?, and for the first time in my life, I begun to question what they had taught me.
    I?m not saying that next day I didn?t feel guilty about what I had done. But I didn?t tell my father either. That was my first experience that I had kept from my father. And though there has been many since that night, masturbating was the first thing I kept from my parents. (so dad, in a way you were right, my ?evil thing? really was the reason I stopped believing in your god, but only in a way)
    The next morning, over breakfast, I was petrified that my father would know I had played with my ?evil thing?. He had drilled into my head that god saw and knew everything we did on earth. And I was expecting to hear that god told my father about what I had done the night before and that I would be burning in hell forever for making god cry. And yet, all through breakfast, my father sat there telling jokes as he enjoyed his morning coffee, laughing with my mother like he didn?t have a care in the world.
    And then my overactive imagination took over. I began to believe that my father was making me suffer, and that he would yell at me after my conscience had wrecked havoc on my tortured psyche. It was the longest day of my life. All day I was jittery and nervous. I just knew my father was hiding behind every corner, ready to jump out at any moment and accuse me of my sinful act. But it never happened.
    After that long horrifying day, I swore I would never do it again. I had learned my lesson. I even went as far as to wear pants to bed with a belt tightly fastened to make sure I could never touch my ?evil thing? again, not even in my sleep. I must have sweated buckets in those following few days after I touched myself. My mother kept asking me why my sheets were so wet every morning. (try explaining the rational behind that freakish behavior to your mother) My father actually spanked me on the third day after I touched myself because he thought I must have wetted the bed during the night my sheets were so soaked. Couldn?t he understand I was trying to stop my ?evil thing? from sending me to hell?
    But after a few days with ?nothing? bad happening, I began to calm down. I thought I must?ve gotten away with it and I felt as long as I never did it again, that god would forgive me and let it slide just this once. He was supposedly a loving and forgiving god, right?
    But then church night came and once again, I was petrified out of my mind. At that age, it was the first time in my short life I really didn?t want to go to church. I had convinced myself that god had told the minister about what I horrible sinner I was and he would stand up in front of the congregation and explain how I touched my ?evil thing? until my seed came out. (I know I was a bit strange, but I had every right to be strange, I had a strange childhood, what?s your excuse?)
  18. 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.
  19. Jason Rimbaud
    Moonlight Will Prevail
    Part One
    By: Jason R.
    I guess I?m just like everyone else, I have good days and I have bad days. I cry through the bad days and laugh through the good ones. Most days I just exist. But then there are some days, I don?t know if I can take it anymore.
    You know those days. That day when your favorite cousin tells you his child, the one the doctors said they could never have, has a greater than average chance of being born retarded. That day when you realize that your cousin and his wife do not believe in abortion. That day when your heart seems like its going to burst from the sadness that encompasses your life.
    It never ceases to amaze even a skeptic like myself that the human will and the human mind can endure such pain and hardship. Any other species would have given up on life long before suffering the amount of torment that most humans deal with on a daily basis. That?s the magical word isn?t it? The human will.
    We all secretly laugh off life?s little misfortunes. We claim allegiance to one form of god or another. Even going as far as offering empty platitudes to those that have suffered a loss. We pretend, as a society, that we?re happy for those who pass, saying, ?He was in so much pain, he?s better off with the angels.? But isn?t that just a lie?
    I?m not saying we aren?t happy. I?m saying we?re happy for a completely different reason then we show the world. Aren?t we really ?happy? it?s not us lying in that expensive wooden box with brass covered handles? Isn?t that why we have the party after the funeral? Not to remember the loved one but to express thanks to whichever god we serve that we made it another day.
    We spend a few horrid hours pretending to feel sorrow by eating and drinking, whispering in small circles, telling all the sordid details of that person?s life. Thankful, deep down inside, that we have given death the old heave-ho once again.
    Unfortunately, to many of us humans feel that way. Maybe it?s something the collective society breeds into our heads from an early age. Maybe it?s the influence of pop culture that teaches us this manner of mourning?
    We?ve all seen the movies. You attend the wake, get drunk out of your mind, and talk about that person in quiet revered tones. Well, I think its all bullshit. And luckily, I learned what it?s really about. And I learned it from the most unlikely of places.
    I was raised in a strict religious household. We attended church four times a week. Yes, I said four. Once on Sunday morning for Sunday school, once for Sunday evening services to make sure we all remembered to give money to the church. Once on Wednesday, to drive home the fact that church was the center of the universe and once on Friday, to keep the parents out of the bars and keep the children brainwashed.
    It wasn?t the best way to become popular at school let me tell you. Looking back it?s quite ironic that I was one of the most popular students in my High School. I didn?t say I was well liked, I simply said everyone student in that school knew who I was. For good or for ill, I was famous.
    We had lots of rules growing up in my household. I won?t take the time to list them all since I wouldn?t want to bore you any further that I already have. But since most of the sports all took place on Friday nights, my father, deemed it blasphemy for any child to attend or play sports. To me, it seemed the church was more concerned with the loss of revenue if all the parents skipped service to attend their kid?s game. Do I sound bitter? Because I am.
    I had twelve years of torture and abuse from the other students because I never wore the proper clothing. No jeans for me, nope, I was lucky. I got to wear a suit every day to school. And don?t think for a moment I attended an exclusive private school, I know some of you were headed into that direction. I went to a normal everyday High School in Menlo Park California. If only Menlo Park had a Christian school back then, but also it did not.
    Years later my parents would blame the public school for all the ?trouble? I got myself into. Or they would blame my Uncle Malcolm, saying he had been nothing but a bad influence on my young fragile mind. (my uncle believed in free will and taught me to follow my dreams no matter what the world threw at me)
    Just thinking back on my childhood makes my blood boil, and brings an unquenchable rage rising to the surface from the core of my being. Should I hate my parents for raising me in this manner? I did, for years I hated them. Hatred so strong my anger consumed me until the very thought of my parents had me fantasizing about the horrific deaths I could inflict upon them.
    I didn?t want to be different. I wanted to be just like ?Billy? or ?Tommy? or countless other little boys that did all the things I could never do. Yet, little did I know that my quest for normalcy or to be the same as everyone else, would take me down a road seldom traveled by ?normal people?. I look back and smile at life?s little irony.
    I have to admit I bought into the ?whole god thing? pretty much hook-line-and-sinker. Until the tender age of thirteen, I said my prayers each night. All I wanted to do was save the ?sinners? from their evilness, and their inevitable descent into hell. This attitude never helped my already legendary image at school, no one likes a ?bible thumper?, especially a twelve-year-old one at that.
    What happened to change me you ask? I discovered the forbidden fruit. I discovered, which to the day my father died refused to admit or talk about. (when asked of my parents what happened to their only son I?ve heard they reply by saying I died in a horrible car accident) Nice parents huh? But don?t get mad at them, hate the disease not the person. That makes me laugh, my father always quoted that while I was growing up. I guess it?s a saying of, do as I say not as I do kind of thing.
    Oh fuck, he was wrong. I did listen when I was a child.
    Too bad he never followed his own advice. Not only did he hate the disease but he also hated me as well, and was convinced to the day he died that I was going to hell. I know, I say this with such casualness. But you must look at it from my point of view, I don?t believe in hell.
    To Be Continued
  20. Jason Rimbaud
    In Absence of Reason
    Maybe
    Maybe we should get away
    Maybe we should cross these tracks
    Maybe we should leave and never look back
    There is a car we drive that?s stuck in second gear
    Despite ambitious plans we can never get away from here
    We waste our time and get no where
    We end up lost and we don?t really care
    There is a thought we have that?s never acted on
    We want to save the world and then the thought is gone
    We get so far but quit too soon
    We end up drunk howling at the moon
    We?re wasting our precious time and praying in vain
    And making the same mistakes again and again and again
    Maybe we should get away
    Maybe we should cross these tracks
    Maybe we should leave and never look back
    Satisfied
    Marcus doesn?t understand anything about this world
    He?s wasted most of childhood trying to be a man he lost to a boy
    He wanted to be all grown up in everything he did
    Now he waste?s his adulthood wishing he was still a kid
    Marcus likes to laugh a lot so everyone around him knows he?s having fun
    He?s fashionably late for dates and likes to keep his boyfriends on the run
    He likes to be the center of attention
    He loves it when you stop and stare
    He says he?s suffering from beauty and bad karma
    He loves to hate the fact that his life is just one long drama
    He?ll never be satisfied no matter how hard he tries
    He?ll never be satisfied till the day he dies
    M.L.G.
    Mother?s little genius is different from the other boys and girls
    She makes him stay home where he plays all alone in his closeted genius way
    And after so many years of seclusion being twisted and doted upon
    He started to feel like this world wasn?t real that he might be the chosen one
    Mother?s little genius is a self-serving son of a bitch
    Who?s emotionally bankrupt and addicted to Playboy
    And in love with himself and his satellite dish
    Mother?s little genius believed every word mother said
    A whole lot of praise through each genius phase has engraved itself inside his head
    And after so many years of umbilical chord he?s finally gonna be free
    But it looks like he?s losing because the worlds not the way mother promised it would be
    Shame
    My neighbor didn?t want to pay his taxes
    So he had to go away against his will
    Now he?s staying in the upstate penitentiary
    And a tax man sending you and I the bill
    Don?t you think it?s kind of crazy could someone possibly explain
    My cousin doesn?t vote because he doesn?t want to
    He says the world is too wicked and unfair
    So he sits at home conspiring against the government
    Embittered because they don?t know that he?s there
    He?s got paranoid delusions he thinks he?s under too much strain
    I believe that in the end
    It?s up to you and me my friend
    So we should all start thinking twice
    Why virtue never tempts us quite like vice
    The more we live the less we learn
    Don?t you think that it?s a shame
    It seems to me that throughout history
    The more we change the more we stay the same
    Everywhere
    I stood there in the open air at a quarter after three am
    Staring at the stars that chart the sky
    And right then it occurred to me beneath the deep blue canopy
    There?s more to all of this than meets the eye
    As I stood there in the night my eyes adjusted to the light
    I started seeing things a little clearer
    And while the silence sung to me in close nocturnal harmony
    The stars seemed to come a little nearer
    There are things we?ll never know there are answers all around us
    I can see it in the sun I can feel it in the earth
    And I can breathe it in the air
    I can sense it in the sky I can taste it when it rains
    I can feel it everywhere
    Breakaway
    Not that hard to understand the way that some things work
    We know that we can?t always have our way
    So I think I?m gonna stick around and see if anything turns up
    And I?ll pay the consequences come what may
    I guess the works okay at least it pays the bills
    But it?s not exactly what I had in mind
    I really like to make a move but I?m scared by the uncertainty
    Maybe I?m afraid of what I?ll find
    So I?ll make the most of what I?ve got the cards I have to play
    But I wish that I could find the nerve to somehow breakaway
    Am I ever gonna change should I leave or should I stay
    Am I making up my mind or just wasting away
    But how I?m gonna run if my legs won?t carry me
    And how I?m gonna fly if my wings won?t work
    And how I?m gonna find?how I?m gonna find
    Some kind of deliverance
    Crush
    And this time you?ve got me hook line and sinker
    You?ve got me real good and you?re really something
    I will work all day and then I?ll drive all night
    And give you everything I?ve got and make it all alright
    And up stands the reason that I come running
    Wide-eyed and reckless you?re my undoing
    I?ll tear open my shirt and hold your head against my chest
    And you can listen to my heart beating harder than the rest
    You can crush me if you wanted too
    You could wreck me and run me off the rails
    You can crush me if you wanted too
    But I?ll keep coming back when all light fades
    Riptide
    The big blue sky and the brand new day
    Has got me laughing out loud as the radio plays
    Coming to pick you up and I?m gonna take you away
    We?re gonna be two kings for just one day
    And I?m gonna love you like lighting
    And I?m gonna love you like thunder
    And I?m gonna love you like a riptide
    Pulling you under
    I?m gonna buy you new shoes with what?s left of my money
    And I?m gonna tell you bad jokes and I?m gonna call you honey
    I?m gonna bare my soul and I?m gonna make you laugh
    I?m gonna show you my scars and my passport photograph
    And when the day is over
    We?re gonna climb upon the hill
    We?re gonna try and spy Orion
    While the town below turns on its lights
    And our hearts stand still
    Yeah, Yeah, Yeah
    I guess its time to get away despite what friends and family say
    We can?t stay here another day my darling
    I?ve canceled the utilities the landlord says he?s not to please
    He?s coming ?round to collect the keys in the morning
    I forwarded the mail my motorcycles up for sale
    Its time for us to hit the trail and get away
    We?ve got the car all packed I can safely say we won?t be back
    I?m as serious as a heart attack this time around
    Because nothing ever changes here it stays the same from year to year
    Most folk live and die in fear of things that don?t exist
    It?s just the same old yeah yeah yeah
    The more we hang around the less we seem to care
    I?m sick of myself and I?m sick of this town
    And I?m sick of feeling like I?m on a ship that?s going down
    What?s the point of waiting if there?s nothing worth waiting for
    If you never push the boat out boy you?ll never leave the shore
    So Long Gone
    He sits back and puts his feet up on the dashboard
    And tries to get as comfy as he can
    And he writes our name on the condensated window
    Then quickly wipes it away with the back of his hand
    He sighs as if he?s gonna speak
    Like maybe something?s on his mind
    Maybe its what lies ahead
    Or maybe its what?s left behind
    So I wind down the window and let the air rush in
    It?s easy to be sleepy when you drive all night
    I rub my eyes and search for something on the radio
    And I realize we?re not moving out but letting go
    So as we slowly disappear into the distance
    Another day away from no-wheres-ville
    Anything is better than stranded here in no mans land
    Like a demon reaching down suck you in like sinking sand
    And we?re so long gone and we?re so glad
    That we?re so long gone and we can hardly wait
    Never coming back
    Never coming back
  21. Jason Rimbaud
    Current Music Selection: Breaking Benjamin?Phobia
    Current State: Hungry
    Current Mood: Exhausted
    So I?ve had a long week. After taking three months off, I?ve recently begun working at an up-scale restaurant in Palo Alto as a server. Not only has this new job interfered with my writing but has contributed to my depressed state as of late. Let me explain.
    Have you ever heard of the theory of doppelganger? Basically it?s the theory that everyone has a twin somewhere out there. Like maybe two people with the same soul separated somehow in the cosmos. The bad part, they say one is evil and one is good.
    If you?ve read my poetry then maybe you?ve read about a boy named John that dominates my thoughts. Well, I met his doppelganger.
    Not that Brandon is the evil one, far from it actually. If anything John was the evil one and Brandon is like this brilliant light shining in the darkness. But it still sucks, because now I have to see John on a daily basis. Like I need more reminders about that fucked up relationship and that olive skinned boy that mind fucked me.
    It?s really uncanny, their similarities don?t end at looks, though I swear they could be twins. Both are slight of build and short, same dark hair filled with product in a mess of spikes. Both have intense green eyes that are filled with mystery and hint at unknown passions. They speak alike; enunciating the same, drawing out the vowels in an accent that can only be Northern California?s mix of culture. They have the same tastes in music, movies and both have addictions.
    John fucked up my world and now, I have to work with his other self. The first time I saw Brandon, I actually said, ?John.? And even now, I still at times call him John, much to Brandon?s amusement. Though I?ve never told Brandon about his resemblance to John, I don?t think the twenty-year-old could handle it.
    In the last ten days, I?ve thought a lot about John and our summer of sex and drugs. And the reasons I seem to attract such disturbing relationships. I know my past haunts me and dictates my behavior. I know if I can?t find some way to lay these demons to rest, I?ll never find peace.
    So with advice from my roommate, Daniel, I?m going to voluntarily seek help. I?ve made an appointment with a therapist and Tuesday I?ll have my first session. I don?t know how much help she can offer but I don?t want to feel this way anymore.
    So one last time, I?ll let John dominate my thoughts. Below is a piece I wrote three years ago called Nothing Like Human. It shows my state of mind and despair. One last time I will share it before putting it away forever.
    Cheers until we meet again,
    Jason R.
    Nothing like Human
    By: Jason R.
    I?m afraid of my own mental state
    I believe you know it?s a tenuous grip on reality at best
    And I can not stand to face my fears
    The longer I wrap myself with lies
    The longer I can deny my fear
    I am nothing like human
    No?not I
    Humans have a desire to be happy
    To know love and to be loved
    At least I know where my fear began, do you
    I understand my webs of deceit even as I deny them
    My life has been one long secret
    Love hidden in shadows
    Scared to let the sun penetrate the darkness of my love
    Joy realized only in the embrace of the night
    Scattered illusions when the sun crested the dawn
    Pretty ironic for the boy who only wanted to find the sun
    I need some blue skies
    Maybe I am Hemmingway
    Tortured you once claimed
    Not quite right in the head
    Honesty is the enemy and I hated you for that
    I hated your clarity and intuition
    I hated your knife that cut through my delusion
    And forced me to reflect with the truth
    I hated your manipulations
    Your icy silences
    I hated your volume
    I hated the calm before the storm
    I hated your coercion
    And I hated your intimidation
    And I hated your complete disregard for me
    I hated your explosions and your casualness of coldness
    I hated your alcohol breath
    And I hated your seduction
    Even as I was consumed by your words
    And torn between fear and lust
    Even though I was uncomfortable
    I allowed it to happen
    Your manipulations were as deft as mine
    Neither were harmless yet maybe
    Both were unintentional
    I hated your temper
    The drama that surrounds you
    Pushes you to end things noisily
    But mainly I was afraid of rejection
    Nothing started on a fabricated destiny will last
    My own web of bullshit returns to haunt me again
    And there was fear
    I feared you
    And to a point?I still do
    But now for different reasons
    But only to a point
    Since I now understand you
    You were easy to understand
    When I took the time to look
    I no longer hate you
    Hate is an emotion I can no longer afford
    Could it be we two are alike
    Stolen innocence long before toys were put to rest
    Long before we should have ever had to choose like adults
    I was a child
    Innocence taken by a priest
    Forced to grow up
    With scratches on my back
    And bite marks on my ear
    I wonder what was your instrument of damnation
    An Uncle perhaps
    Or some other relative
    I had to be close to you
    For to this day prompts you to be wary even in slumber
    Shallow and scared you still run from the dark
    I know, I wake up in sweats still reliving those months of torture
    Sleep eludes me
    Even without stimulates I sleep in stolen moments between nightmares
    Maybe the drugs ingested are a substitute
    For the nightmares that haunt us
    Or you may be right
    That my own perverse mentality leads me
    Drives me?Controls me
    Until my jaded outlook on life destroys all things good and pure around me
    Until happiness eludes me
    Jaded
    Looking back on the mess of shit I spewed around you
    Can I blame you for the reception I received
    When all you have are the lies to piece together the puzzle
    Then the distorted picture that emerges could only frighten you
    Push you away
    Force you to make that decision
    Maybe not the decision you wished
    But the only decision I gave you
    Realistically a choice was never made
    One avenue of escape was presented
    You took that step
    I pushed you
    And it was easy
    You wanted that push
    I fulfilled it
    I can not be trusted
    Those words ring in my head like a mantra
    Repeating over and over until even I believe them
    But for every lie I entrusted to you
    I received two in return
    I lied to you
    And you lied to me
    About me
    Against me
    Hatred fueling your words till perceptions were skewed
    And for a time
    You won
    A brief season of celebration you enjoyed
    I know
    I heard the clapping
    I felt the jubilation in your words
    And I smiled
    My greatest strength is I truly don?t care what others think
    I always said the greatest joke in the world is the joke no knew you played
    For through this all
    You?ve amused me
    I sit back and wonder how badly I must have crept under your skin
    To cause those feelings inside you
    After all
    Hate without love is powerless
    And your hate was strong
    Again I laugh at the perfect hatred emanating from you
    My manipulation was deft
    My target destroyed
    For my life is a jumbled mess of misconceptions
    Interpreted by those that saw through my bullshit
    And called me on it
    I respect those that see me for the liar I am
    I respect you though I hate to be around you
    No one likes to be reminded of the failure they?ve become
    But respect is there
    An unspoken fondness for you
    Yet you seem to struggle with this fondness
    Unsure of how to proceed
    I like to believe you only wished to help me
    Change me somehow
    Or maybe you only wanted to understand
    Understanding is the key to change
    And can I change
    Not in your eyes
    And I really can?t blame you for that
    Nor will I try to make you understand
    For I have no cause to explain myself
    Right or wrong
    Past is past
    And I?ll live for today
    And sometimes
    Some people just aren?t worth the effort
    But how long can you try to understand
    Before the struggle becomes more than you can bear
    Will it drain you
    Change you
    Alter your meager threshold of pain
    Will it break you mentally
    Until there is no gesture of goodwill left in your already fragile mind
    You lasted longer than I thought possible
    Longer than anyone else
    The respect grows
    So does the un-comfortableness
    I sat there in the dark
    Plotting
    Night after night
    Wondering what it would take to finally push you to the limit
    What could I do to break whatever feeling you had left for me
    Hatred
    Now that?s something I understand all to well
    Seeing the avenue before us was life changing
    For it was wide and straight
    Opposite of the twisted subversive alley you accuse me of dwelling in
    Telling our friends I walk in shadow
    Jaded
    I saw my way out and made you make the decision
    For if anyone couldn?t handle us
    It was me
    You were right about a lot of things
    Your intuition astounds me
    Even when your motivation is in question
    After all
    Your motives were never clear
    I know
    Mine mirrored yours
    Manipulation is my weapon
    I?ll give you that one
    But sex is yours
    Your body the knife that cuts deeper than any sword
    Your smile that destroys
    Mirroring a hurricane ripping and tearing the shore
    But who is affected most
    The victim
    Or you
    When I couldn?t make myself over
    Into your distorted vision of what we should be
    I manipulated you into hating us
    It was easy
    One conversation
    One fight
    One word
    Goodbye
    Marionette on wires
    You danced to my tune
    The puppet master
    The piped piper
    And if I made you uncomfortable
    All the better
    Self-preservation is paramount
    A lesson you know well
    You perfected it even as I have
    But you have nothing to fear from me
    Only those I hate need fear me
    And I don?t hate you
    These words may not reach you
    I know you
    You?ll walk around them
    Ignore them
    Wishing them away will be your game
    And though on the outside you will discount them
    On the inside you?ll be grateful to have read them
    To understand the right side of my mind
    This part of me I hold close
    Close like a junkie holding his syringe
    For these words are alive
    Brought forth by my own desperate need to understand myself
    Given breath by every keystroke of my hand
    I will affect you
    Complicate
    And erect you with these words
    This spoken question in written form
    Will confuse you
    But also wrap you tightly in a kind of tangled hope
    That I am not the man I was
    Or the man you thought me to be just a few weeks ago
    In a fit of anger
    You once told me to write down what I wanted to say to you
    Accusing me of being unable to convey my emotions in spoken words
    I hope I made myself clear in these words
    Though I believe it will not matter
    Scar tissue erodes my soul and suffers me a fate of loneliness
    My life is one long scar
    I wear it proudly
    Invent reasons to stay hard
    Unfeeling
    And when I begin to feel
    I create situations to destroy that feeling
    Why
    A question that will never be answered
    For no one will try long enough to receive the answer
    I will not allow it anyway
    Just as you weren?t allowed inside
    Seeing anger
    Hate
    Indifference in your eyes
    Is easier than seeing any form of love
    Surrounded by my fantasy
    My delusions accept me like no human will
    Looking back on my life
    I can blame no one for the choices I?ve made
    I can hate no one for any reactions I receive
    Though maybe someday I?ll prove I?m something like human
    Until then
    Don?t think of me in anger
    Hate
    These emotions will ruin your life
    Instead
    Think of me in pity
    It?s more than I deserve
    And all I ever receive
    Wednesday, April 15th, 2003
    7:08 PM
  22. 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.
  23. Jason Rimbaud
    Bitch of the Day
    (and I don?t mean Howard)
    By: Jason R.
    As I write this, I can?t help but feel a bit cranky and pretty upset with one of my numerous roommates. Not to mention I might just be dying of hunger. Oh yeah, I almost forgot until I shifted positions, I have this blister on the bottom of my right foot that just might be the size of Texas. How did I get to be cranky, tired and ravenous you ask? *Insert question here*
    Fine, those of you not conditioned to the tragedy that is my mind; I?ll explain it to you. As you might guess, July Forth Weekend is usually a slow boring three days for us at Market Street Caf?. Normally the crazy denizens of Harrisburg enjoy the numerous outdoor activities Mayor Reed had planned during ?lets make all the fucking money we can before winter kicks our ass? three day festival we call Fourth of July weekend. With everyone hanging at the festival with the cool peeps and considering my staff had been working overtime with ?little? complaining, I decided to schedule a skeleton crew for the weekend. (Just because I would rather have my nuts torn from my body by a baby elephant than spend time with my parents, doesn?t mean I should make others suffer for my retarded home life, does it?)
    Let me tell you, I must have been out of what little mind I have left. Not only were we busy as rabbits in a storefront window, but we did record numbers for the weekend. Probably due to the horrendous downfall of rain we were ?lucky? enough to receive. (Like I watch the fucking weather channel) I have spent the last three days eating, breathing, and sleeping Market Street Caf?. Wearing the same stinky clothes, trying my best to remember why the hell I entered the service industry in the first place.
    By four PM on Monday, we were slammed back to the ding dong section. I, in all my wisdom, had only three servers and two cooks working that beautiful rainy day. To say we resembled a famous star losing his mind on a popular daytime show would have been an effort in futility. Being the great and talented manager I am, I used my talent for multi-tasking. I ran around serving tables, I made drinks at the bar for the other severs, I bussed tables so fast I reminded customers of police upon hearing Crispy Creme gave away donuts. So basically I was the resident insane person. Why didn?t I call in some of my fun loving, grateful I had given them the weekend off, employees you might ask? Let me say this, all efforts to reach them by train, plane, automobile, cell-phone, fax machine, email, text message and pony express proved in vain. Not a single one of those pricks answered my call.
    After finally arriving home around 1am Monday night. I poured myself into my soft comfortable bed fully intending on catching up some much-needed sleep. But I was so wired on Monster and nicotine I tossed and turned for about five hours before finally drifting off to a restless slumber. I had clocked just under forty hours in the last three days and Damnit; I deserved some fucking sleep.
    But alas dear reader, it was not to be. Fate had other plans for me. After drifting off to sleep around six am, I was awaken rudely at nine am by the doorbell. Ignoring the various doorbell sonatas and the very loud banging on the front door, I rolled over and buried my head in my pillow hoping whoever it was would grow tired of this quest to gain entry into a house filled with five other roommates. But not before I wished some fairly unpleasant things upon whoever this was and their entire family, second cousins and such included.
    But the incessant banging finally grew too annoying for me to ignore any longer. So I ran from my first floor bedroom to the front door and threw it open only to find a crazy meter reader person standing there. She informed me in a pleasant voice that she was there to read the meter. So after greeting her with some pretty horrendous morning breath and seventeen yawns, I showed her to the basement. Not more than thirty seconds later she walked back up the stairs and wished me a good day.
    I slammed the door shut behind her and crawled back into the safety of my bed. Hoping to quickly fall back asleep and resume the dream I had been having about four friends and I in the middle of a giant arcade surrounded by pink bubble gum. Right about the time I had convinced myself that it had all been a horrible nightmare and while teetering on the edge of oblivion, teetering mind you, the ringing of my front doorbell once again disturbed my slumber.
    Exactly twenty-three minutes after I had slammed the door behind the gas meter reader person, a way too cheerful UPS delivery guy began his tortuous attempts to gain entry into my house to deliver a pair of shoes my roommate (and employee that would not answer my desperate cry for help over the weekend) purchased online from this trendy store in New York City.
    Tearing myself from my nice warm bed for the second time in under thirty minutes (I must have missed the meeting where the other housemates voted on making me the designated door answerer person. If you think about it, you know logically and stuff, it makes all the sense in the world. I live on the first floor, the other roommates live either on floor two or floor three. I don?t have the pleasure of traversing narrow stairs each time the doorbell rings. It?s only fair that I should answer the door. Isn?t?) I opened the door.
    It wasn?t that I rude. Because I wasn?t. I swear. But something about way too cheerful UPS delivery guys makes my blood creep inside my already blocked veins. He had it coming, right? I mean, it was early in the day. And I had a blister.
    Anyway, after signing for the package and giving the finger to the way too cheerful UPS delivery guy, I slammed the door shut. Now there?s something about holding a person?s package in ones hand that does strange things to your mind. Like maybe deep down we all, everyone one of us, has this unfulfilled desire to deliver the mail. Because no matter whom the package is for, we feel like we must give it to the intended party. I hated climbing those narrow rickety stairs but I found myself carefully walking up those stairs heading for my roommate?s door. You know I lost my mind because I wasn?t wearing shoes, and in my house, that?s as good as inviting tetinas.
    Banding loudly on the door, I completed the two-day trip for the pair of shoes by personally handing them over to said purchaser. Knowing my good deed for the day had been accomplished, I walked backed down the stairs and climbed into my now cold bed with a promise to the gay god, you know the gym, that I would not rise again until at least one PM. Again, fate decided to royally fuck me. Spitting and laughing on my simple pursuit of a good days sleep. Before my head hit the pillow, my roommate, now fully awake and ready to face this beautiful sunny day, began blasting his music at what I can only assume is volume eleven.
    With what I can only describe is him dancing around the room in his newly purchased sneakers to the horrid sounds of the Broadway musical Urine Town, I stare at the ceiling and plot all the horrible ways I am going to kill him, slowly. Upstairs, oblivious of my murderous thoughts, he dances and sings not caring about my desire and need by this time, for sleep. Beautiful restful zombie like sleep. In my tired dementia, I envision him dancing and singing in his room, wearing his sponge bob square pants boxers, in some kind of bizarre ritual to the shoe god in the sky.
    No amount of burying my head with my pillow can block out the wailing from above. And much to my dismay, God did not strike him dead, unless the banging sound is him in the final throes of death; he is very much alive and happy with his new pair of shoes.
    So with a spirit of retaliation, rivaled only by America?s hunger for oil, I rise from my sleep like a vengeful vampire and approach my own stereo. I serenade him back with the thunderous sounds of Orgy?s Fiction (Screaming in Digital), the synthetic sounds blending with crunching guitar?s to battle the happy sounds of Broadway. Like a childish game of truth or dare, we battle back and forth for noise supremacy. The noise emanating from the house not only woke up the remaining roommates, but shattered several laws of the city of Harrisburg.
    What is the moral of this tirade you ask? *insert foolish question here* No matter what you plan for your life, no matter how hard you try to anticipant the extraordinary, fate, destiny or maybe even Loki (mischievous god of the Norse) takes an almost perverse pleasure in destroying those plans.
    If ever awaken by a crazed meter reader person, promptly make a pot of strong coffee and wait for the inevitable. Sleep is lost for the rest of the day and maybe for the rest of your life.
    Oh yeah, on the subject of my hunger. I have yet to buy food this week so I had nothing to eat. In a final attempt at retribution, I eat my roommate?s last donut. And when he inquired about the missing donut, I smiled and wipe the crumbs from my shirt and blamed it on the crazy meter reader person. I?m not surprised he didn?t believe me. I was chewing the last bite at the time.
    Hey Ann, this is for you. Now you can't talk shit.
  24. Jason Rimbaud

    New Nickname

    By Jason Rimbaud,

    Current Music Selection: Disturbed?Ten Thousand Fists
    Current state: Red eyed (allergies are killing me)
    Current mood: Not pissed but not happy either
    So I have a nickname now. And not even a name I?m proud of or even answer too. And thanks to my roommate, Daniel, upwards of thirty people now call me this each and every time they see me out and about. And since I venture into the clubs on a regular basis, this name I hear all too often.
    In a way it?s my fault but damn, I wasn?t the one that shouted out this stupid story for the entire gay community to hear. I was drunk, I?ll give you that, but Daniel had no right. I even looked it up on the Internet; there is no precedent for such behavior. Especially from a friend and dare I say, mentor.
    I know you?re asking, what is this nickname you speak of? It?s hoodie. Or for a different spelling, Hoody. It doesn?t matter which spelling you prefer, neither is acceptable and this is the basis of my argument with my roommate.
    To those that are in the loop that is my life, it started back in the day, which was a Tuesday. Remember Fredricko, the sexy but ?attached? boy I saw a tiny bit too much of one night after drinking a few Jager Bombs. Yeah, that?s the one. ?shudders?
    So Daniel and I went out for a few drinks tonight. Apparently, Fredricko and I made an impression on the patrons of our local gay bar that Tuesday night. Because the moment Daniel and I arrived, Steven, the bartender, began giving me verbal abuse about the cute little boy I was making out with the last time I shown up. I wasn?t the only boy interested in Fredricko. After all he was the perfect little twink and the locals decided he was ?four fingers? worthy. (It?s a sliding scale between one and five. Don?t ask.)
    I was in top form; I played it off and acted smooth and cool. Well, as smooth as I could manage considering I?m a horrible liar. But my roommate, the bastard spawn of Satan, decided it was the perfect time to expound on my liaison with Fredricko. In a loud voice, it was like he had a microphone and some twisted fairy turned off the music to give him the desired attention this seventh son craved, he re-told the story of my temporarily loss of sanity concerning Fredricko and his extra attachment.
    For more than a few minutes I became the butt of jokes. Fine, I?ll take my paces simply because I know I handled that situation poorly. I know, I don?t need a bar full of fags to drive home the fact I?m a shallow boy. I get it. Let?s move on to the next subject. Yeah, like that was going to happen.
    After Daniel finished regaling us about my misfortune, this bitch (I never knew his name. Everyone called him Connie Chung) Connie Chung began riding me about Fredricko. Even if I remembered everything he said, I would never take the time to type out. But the end result of this particular conversation, I somehow received the moniker of Hoody/Hoodie. And thanks to Connie Chung, every time I walked into the local gay bars, everyone shouts out Hoody?s/Hoodies here.
    Not only do I hate Connie Chungs of the world but also hate my bastard spawn of Satan roommate for allowing the world access to my pitiful existence. I have a reason to be upset. No fag likes to be shown in public how much of an ass he is or has been.
    What did I say about consequences earlier? If I?d only knew, boy, would I have handled that differently. Hindsight and all that, I?m screwed and only time will tell if I?m known forever as Hoody/Hoodie or Jason. Anyway, until next time, cheers and all that.
    Jason R.
  25. Jason Rimbaud
    Current Music Selection: Robbie Williams--Intensive Care
    Current State: Sober (somewhat)
    Current Mood: Relaxed
    So now that its football season, every Sunday I hang out at the Old Pro. Its this really cool sports
    bar in Palo Alto. They have fifteen flat screens, high def of course, that you can see from every seat
    in the bar. Insert screaming like a little girl. And the best part, they have an outdoor patio with two flat screens and you can smoke, eat hot wings, drink beer and watch football all day. All this and heaven
    to. There just might be a god, and if there is, its okay if he/she hates me for sucking cock. I mean,
    football, cigarettes, beer, hot wngs. Yeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh
    Over the course of the day, Daniel and I are joined by various friends who come to the bar to watch
    me lose my mind. Though they leave after a while, I guess spending the entire day inside with
    screaming breeders is to much for them.
    Football season is something I take extremely serious. Not only do I wear my lucky 49'ers jersesy every Sunday but I have the cutest matching underwear with the team logo over the crotch. How butch is
    that?
    Over in the corner of the Old Pro, they have a bull riding machine thingy. But will get back to that later
    on.
    The day of football had its disappointments. The niners got spacked though they started coming together after the half. Anyway, being the loudest person in the bar and naturally fabulous, I began making
    friends with the hot college guys sitting at the next table. When I want to, I can turn off camp and butch it
    up with the best of the breeders. As long as they never see my underwear.
    I'm sure they figured out I was gay by the hugging and kissing I did to each of my friends as they arrived and as they left. (Even my straight friends much to their chagrin. If thats the only way I can touch
    then so be it) But they seemed cool with the chit and chat we were doing all day. I even bought them some
    drinkie poos. Okay, they called it beer but whatever.
    One of these hot college studs seemed to show me more attention then the others. Like maybe his closet door was opened a crack and he had convinced himself he was "bi" curious. Like they say, its still
    experimenting as long as you're in college. After college, you're a big ole' queer. Where was I?
    Hot college stud and I were doing a little chit and chat, discussing the niners chances at a winning season, musing over whether ketchup or musturd is the only condiment for a hotdog, which cheerleader was
    the hottest. Hey, whatever it takes. He even joined me a few times for a smoke on the patio.
    Okay, everytime he went for a smoke I followed. There, I admit it. Are you happy?
    After the niners had lost, I was feeling pretty buzzed. And bored. Which is never a good combination for
    people such as I. For weeks now, since the Old Pro re-opened, I have been staring at the bull riding machine thingy wanting to try it. But every time Daniel talked me out of it. So to get around the old queen,
    I waited until he went into the bathroom and made my move.
    By the time Daniel returned from the bathroom, I had already signed the waiver and paid my three
    dollars. Much to my happiness, the bull riding machine thingy operator informed him there were no refunds.
    And with his tight ass frugile saving money ways, he couldn't in good conscious let me waste three dollars.
    So with a smile, i jumped into the padded area and climbed atop this fake bull.
    Now the college guys were crowding around the bull riding machine thingy pen and joking around that I
    could never stay on. So I offered them a challenge. I threw the gauntlet down as it were, though I had to use my hat i had forgotten my gauntlet in my other underwear.
    My challenge came out sort of like this: "If I can stay on this bull riding machine thingy for longer than one minute then hot college stud had to give me his number." I pointed at the one I was smoking with all
    afternoon.
    Hot college stud immediately countered with, "Make it three minutes and you have a deal."
    So the bull riding machine thingy operator asked if I was ready. I waved and raised my hand. Using the
    same techniques I would on any other thing I ride, I gripped with my knees and held on tightly to the small handle right between my legs.
    I must admit, it was easier than it looked. Yeah, for the first thirty seconds until the bull riding machine
    thingy operator turned the knob to eleven (Spinal Tap reference number one) and that damn thing went one way and I went the other and I crushed my own nuts. But I was determined to last for the full three minutes. It would be nice to last for three minutes wouldn't it?
    I'd love to say I made it the full three minutes. I'd like to say after I won and the bull riding machine thingy stopped, I ripped off my niners jersey and I showed the bar the shirt I was wearing under my lucky jersey. Which is a pink shirt with big black letters stating this phrase "I Fucked Your Brother" And that hot
    college stud picked me up in his arms and we rode off into the sunset. As I read this paragraph back, I really wish I could say that.
    But that didn't happen. When that damn thing went one way and I went the other smashing my own nuts with my arm, I fell off and landed on my head. Once my vision cleared, I looked around at everyone laughing at me and my eyes rested on hot college stud. I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, your loss.
    After waving at my fans surrounding the pen area, I stumbled back to my table and nursed my bruised ego.
    It wasn't long after my bull riding machine thingy adventure that the college guys paid they're tab and left the bar. I watched my hot college stud leave and thought, win some lose some.
    Just when Daniel started consoling me, wouldn't you know it, hot college stud came back in the bar and shoved a piece of paper in my hand and said call me sometime. Yes, once again my charm and debonair attidtue worked on the breeders. Woo Hoo.
    I guess what I'm trying to say to everyone, sometimes acting like a fool gets you the guy at the end of the day. As long as that guy isn't some crazy homophobe that waits for you outside the bar and kicks the crap out of you. But hey, what the hell. Life isn't living if you live in fear, right. That and I have been known to outrun even the most determined homophobes. Cheers everyone.
    Jason R.

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