Jason Rimbaud
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Umm, Des, would your BF mind if I was one of those "gays" that you felt today?
Jason R. -
Well, it's about time you admit this.
Congrats Desilu!Jason R. -
Yeah!!!!!!!!!! Trab's back in town.
Now I'm happy again.Jason R.(Sorry Desilu, but now Trab is my favorite.) 
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Can one be addicted to sex?YESOf course, I could be biased, after all, I'm an addictive personality. Anyone care to try an experiment regarding on whether or not sex is addictive?
We could have lots and lots of sex, just to see if we truly become addictive of course. Jason R. -
My father died about a year after he threw me from his house. My mother and I haven't spoken in quite some time and the relationship I have with my brother isn't even a relationship. It's more like two warriors facing one another over a battlefield. And you're right, I'm better off without them. I do want to say thanks to all those that have shown me such great support over the last year. I believe this blog has been directly responsible for my awakening. I'd like to say that I would have continued blogging even if no one took the time to read my entries, but I'm not so sure. So for those of you that have taken interest in my life, I believe you might be responsible for my continued recovery. Much love to all of you.Jason R.A lot of the things you said hit home. I don't know if you still long to be with your parents, but in my opinion, you're better off without them. Religion does a lot of awful things to the human mind. I'm glad that you didn't just give up.Rad -
And it's such a pretty head too Des.Jason R. (in love with Des again)
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Congrats Emu-boy,I think the world needs more info on you strange birds.Jason R.
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I like the sound of that, Hugs for Thugs who are giving up Drugs.
Now that the flatteries are over. . . I hate you Desiloo. I try and try and try some more to be just a bit more witty than you and you constantly out-witty me. It's like you have a book on being witty that you keep locked away in your desk. I say its not fair. NO, I scream its not fair.*pouts*I'll have to talk a bit with your BF to try and find your weakness. Every superhero has one, and I swear by the Thor's Hammer that I'll find yours if its the last thing I do.*cuts wrist and signs pledge in blood*Jason R. (out to prove he's more witty than you) -
Dessie-loo,Believe me when I say I am not lessening this horrific event in any way. BUT....Could it be you mis-interrupted the true intentions of said attackers? You are advancing in years, and perhaps your hearing failed you. Maybe instead of yelling out "give us your drugs", could it be they yelled out "give us hugs"? I would be willing to fly down under and spend a few sessions with you and the BF on the couch. Maybe between the three of us we can "straighten" out the true events. Something to think about.
Jason R. -
Dearest Emu-Boy,You know how foolish us Colonials are. We have to make ridiculous rules and follow bizarre rituals to do almost anything. And since country music was invented here in the colonies, I must explain just how embarrassing it is for a mature, intelligent, gay man to admit to, publicly, his liking country music. It's tragic. Almost along the same lines as a grown man telling his unsuspecting wife that he really prefers fucking boys than her. Problems tend to arise after such a declaration. Basically the answer to your question is, YES. Jason R.
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To Rad, thanks. I was busy typing an email and my friend took the picture. I thought it looked cool so I posted it. That's my lucky hat by the way, I always wear it when I'm writing. Kind of like my security blanket.Jason R.As for Wibby's comment. I understand, and believe me when I say I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I like this new Garth song, but damnit, I do. It's not my fault, look at my hat for god's sake.Jason R.
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BESIDES TRAB, YOU ARE THE QWEETEST PERSON I EVER MET!!!!!!!
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Now, now, Trab. I don't think I ever said "HOT GUY" equals "COOL GUY". I know lots of hot guys who are assholes, and I know a lot of Cool Guys who aren't that good looking. My ex-roommate, Daniel, is one of the nerdiest looking guys in the world, but I think he's one of the coolest people I ever met. I wouldn't lose my job over you, but I'd definately talk to you, just because it doesn't matter what you look like, Cool people are above that shit. And by the way, I ALWAYS talk to anyone in the family. Jason R.
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Unfortunately Rad, getting his number, if my manager ever would find out, would be disastrous. It's never a good idea to shit where you eat. And he has strict rules about maintaining a professional work ethic at all times. I was pushing the limits even with the harmless flirting I was doing with the couple.And if you don't recognize the term, shit where you eat, it basically means you don't jeopardize your job for a cute guy. The same principle applies that you should never date a co-worker, because if the relationship doesn't work out, you are now stuck with working and seeing your ex every day. Bad for business let me tell you.And Trab, if you ever came to my restaurant, I'd make you feel like a king. I always talk to the cool people, especially if their in the family.
Des, I can see it now, qweet will be popping up all over the web. And the straights will be confused, but they'll repeat it anyway because it's a good word and they'll want to be cool. They'll start calling their friends qweet, and before you know it, the INTERNET will be full of sweet queers and the Republicans will try to curb the practice saying how the word qweet is destroying the fabric of America. Hmm, I like the sound of that.Jason R. -
I don't know. Shower at 10:17 followed by movies at 11:00.This made me fall on the floor laughing. Seriously, no self-respecting queer would ever finish a group shower in under three hours. I know you're a bit older, but really, it should read Shower at 10:17Followed by movies at 3:34 Snacks and such served intermittently (spelling ???)Jason R.
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Hey Des,You just say the word, and I'm on a plane. I've got muscles, and compared to you I'm young,
But then most folks around here are young compared to you. But then if you look at it in animal years, Wibby might be older than all the rest of us combined. I don't know how long the average raccoon lives, and as for Emu's, anyone figured out how old Camy is? Now that is out of my system, I wonder.....When someone is being physically abused by their significant other, don't they usually make up silly stories like falling in the shower, running into a door, etc etc...Just a thought, maybe I should fly on down to Des and check it out anyway. Anyone want to come with me?Jason R.BTW, glad you didn't break your head and stuff. Feel better. -
Thanks Trab, I fixed the your/you're problem. I didn't really go over it after I wrote it last night. Goes to show you that writers should always go over their work before offering it to the world.Deep, Jason. Sadly, it needs a small amount of editing, and that distracted me the first 3 times I read it. "you're", not "your".
This was exactly my point. I'm kind of seeing someone at the moment, someone I met through my job. And we were having a conversation about my writing and he asked if he could see some of it. This caused a panic, because most of my poetry isn't something I think a potential boyfriend should be reading. At least, not at the beginning stages of a relationship. If you've read any of my work, then you understand that it deals with addiction, slutty behavior, and general mayhem. He knows that I've been depressed lately, not the reason thank god, but as we start in this getting to know one another stage, I'd rather he see the good parts of me first. Which is why I wrote this piece, Why can't you only seeThe best things in meThat's my point, the dark places I sometimes go could ruin this before it even starts. Acceptance of who I am is what I want, but I don't want to throw it out all on the table all at once. I would rather he slowly get to know me, let the good, which is a lot sometimes, outweigh the bad, which is a lot sometimes. This piece is my way of coping with my fear. Just my way of dealing with a situation that is slowly taking over my life. I meant what I said when I wrote,Happiness isn't that farWherever you are.That's scary and yet I'm almost giddy at the prospect. Wish me luck.Jason R."Why can't you only see The best things in me" Uh, besides being unrealistic, it sets you up for fear of failure of a relationship equally as much as someone only seeing the broken things. Seeing the whole of you, good, bad, indifferent, beautiful, ugly, depraved and uplifting, THAT is what you want in a relationship. Acceptance and like equally. -
Camy, Wibby, Trab
I don't know how to explain it, this thought process on writing the above entry. But I'll try, because I think there are those that do give a fuck.It was riddled with metaphors that only I understand. And reading it back, I understand why it came across so depressing.THE NAME THINGIt's never about telling the world my last name. No, it's more along the lines of telling the world my "real" name. Or me. The me inside that I hide from the world. The drug addict, the twisted little slut that doesn't know how to show love or give love. The boy who uses sex as a tool to further my own self destruction.For over a year I've tried, so desperately hard to mold myself into a person I know I should become. To become sober and something like a human. To push my real personality into a dark place inside my self. To hide behind indifference and humor so no one could get close enough to see the train wreck that steadily approaches.I work with twenty or so people now for over a year. And I can honestly say I don't have a single one of them as a friend. At work I see them laugh, I see them hang out after work, and I see myself going home, alone. I wonder why I can't give a fuck enough to even try and make friends. They seem so happy and filled with life. And then I look at myself and see a depressed boy existing life. Existing life in a quest to try and maintain my sobriety and my sanity. Because life is boring, life is tedious and unfulfilling without drugs.SOBRIETY SUCKSAddicts, even those that no longer use, think about getting high almost daily. It doesn't go away over time and the allure never lessens. Each night I come home to an empty apartment and clean it, just for something to do to keep me busy. I write, things I hope no one ever will see, just to take my mind off the "thing" I've become. And when it gets too bad, I go on the prowl and find something/anything to fuck. Just to take my mind off the sober mindless drone I've become.I'm not built to exist life in this fashion. I'm not programed to be a functioning human steadily marching to a death in my eighties. My nature is to experience the third eye, a state of mind that only altered living can provide. To live life for only this moment.Writing helps, but after awhile I want to experience what I'm writing. Love, relationships, someone to have. The only time I ever fell in love, the only time I allowed myself to fall in love, was when I was an addict. Sometimes I think LOVE=ADDICTION. And addicts need something to be addicted too.Jason R.PS: Des, my friend from down under. I read, I understand, and I thank you. -
Umm, Des, why would I want my new lover/boyfriend/sex slave/ one night stand, whatever you would like to call him, why the hell would I want a poet as a boyfriend?I'm a poet, a hack but a poet nevertheless, and I'm so fucked up in the head, why would I ever want a boyfriend of mine to be a poet? I'm not saying all poets are fucked in the head, but poets are fucked in the head. With all my emotional baggage, the last thing I need is a poet for a boyfriend. After all, the bed is only so big and between my demons and his, there would never be enough room to fuck.Jason R.PS: Poetry readings are pretty cool. Too bad I never read my own work, because maybe I could meet my next boyfriend at a poetry reading.
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Firstly, let me say that it was never my intention to leave this tale unfinished for this long. When I first started writing this adventure, I could not complete it due to the fact I had to rush off to work. I swear I fully intended to finish it later that night once I left work. But due to some unforeseen circumstances, mainly a cracked tooth that needed some attention from my dentist, and then extra shifts at work due to some personal problems a co-worker experienced with the passing of his great aunt, time just seemed to slip away from me.Because now, it's some three days later and I have yet completed this tale. So I'll make a deal with all of you. If I can't find time between now, Friday afternoon, and my next day off, Monday, to finish this story, I promise it will be posted on Monday. This I swear by all things holy.Jason R.And to address those that might doubt the voracity of my words, I swear every thing I type is the complete truth as I see it. Of course that does not go as far as to say that I did not embellish the story to make it a more enjoyable read. Believe me, Wonder Boy is a real bartender that works at Applebee's, and all this happened about three weeks ago. Well, except the parts I made up.
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Hey Des,That was the sweetest, nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thanks.Jason R.PS: The checks in the mail Des, and I put a little bit extra just for you.
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Though I hate the fact that I"m shamelessly plugging my work on your blog
here is the link since you asked.http://www.gayauthors.org/eficiton/viewstory.php?sid=375Jason R. -
And Des, And I actually used the title you gave me for one of them, Poetic Justice of a One Night Stand. And the other one is called Fractured, one I'm actually really proud about.I read the poem at the end of your post, and I understood that you were answering your own question, but damnit, I just wanted to disagree with you because you are never wrong and I hate that.
Just kidding, I just wanted to add my one and half cents to your better two cents. Jason R. -
Hey Des,I think I'd have to disagree with you. I don't think writing blog entries drains the creative impulses at all, matter of fact, I think they can only add to any author's creative juices. Whether you're writing a full blown novel, a short story, article, blog entry, or even a rather detailed shopping list, I believe that staying in the habit of actually putting words on the paper can only enhance your instinct as a writer. Blog entries are more than just words strung together to form sentences, you have to construct them, sometimes from the ground up as simple idea, IE: Like thinking and writing a blog entry on the validity of writing a blog entry, brilliant by the way.For me, when I decide to actually begin a story, I have already a clear idea and usually a complete plot line before I even sit down at the computer. All I have to do is fill in the gaps. But when I begin to write a blog entry, I usually sit down and just start typing, like a free form writing exercise, what comes out comes out. Sometimes I edit before I post the entry but sometimes I just post it and forget it. Either way, this keeps me in practice of forming a thought into something interesting for others to read. And, in writing my blog, I took two blog entries and turned them into two short stories. So writing in my blog didn't hinder my creative juices at all, it actually enhance my ability and gave me the courage to write a story about a subject matter that I never would have even consider had I set out to write a short story.
Jason R.
Des, I can see it now, qweet will be popping up all over the web. And the straights will be confused, but they'll repeat it anyway because it's a good word and they'll want to be cool. They'll start calling their friends qweet, and before you know it, the INTERNET will be full of sweet queers and the Republicans will try to curb the practice saying how the word qweet is destroying the fabric of America. Hmm, I like the sound of that.Jason R.
I don't know how to explain it, this thought process on writing the above entry. But I'll try, because I think there are those that do give a fuck.It was riddled with metaphors that only I understand. And reading it back, I understand why it came across so depressing.THE NAME THINGIt's never about telling the world my last name. No, it's more along the lines of telling the world my "real" name. Or me. The me inside that I hide from the world. The drug addict, the twisted little slut that doesn't know how to show love or give love. The boy who uses sex as a tool to further my own self destruction.For over a year I've tried, so desperately hard to mold myself into a person I know I should become. To become sober and something like a human. To push my real personality into a dark place inside my self. To hide behind indifference and humor so no one could get close enough to see the train wreck that steadily approaches.I work with twenty or so people now for over a year. And I can honestly say I don't have a single one of them as a friend. At work I see them laugh, I see them hang out after work, and I see myself going home, alone. I wonder why I can't give a fuck enough to even try and make friends. They seem so happy and filled with life. And then I look at myself and see a depressed boy existing life. Existing life in a quest to try and maintain my sobriety and my sanity. Because life is boring, life is tedious and unfulfilling without drugs.SOBRIETY SUCKSAddicts, even those that no longer use, think about getting high almost daily. It doesn't go away over time and the allure never lessens. Each night I come home to an empty apartment and clean it, just for something to do to keep me busy. I write, things I hope no one ever will see, just to take my mind off the "thing" I've become. And when it gets too bad, I go on the prowl and find something/anything to fuck. Just to take my mind off the sober mindless drone I've become.I'm not built to exist life in this fashion. I'm not programed to be a functioning human steadily marching to a death in my eighties. My nature is to experience the third eye, a state of mind that only altered living can provide. To live life for only this moment.Writing helps, but after awhile I want to experience what I'm writing. Love, relationships, someone to have. The only time I ever fell in love, the only time I allowed myself to fall in love, was when I was an addict. Sometimes I think LOVE=ADDICTION. And addicts need something to be addicted too.Jason R.PS: Des, my friend from down under. I read, I understand, and I thank you.Scan to donate
(48) Revealed at last
in DesDownunder's Blog
A blog by DesDownunder in General
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Why is it I get a VERY uncomfortable image of Desilu dancing around his BF's video store singing at the top of his lungs?
Not that theres anything wrong with dancing around. I just think there should be video footage at least. Can you imagine the response we'd get if we posted that on youtube. 
And if there is going to be any touching, I want to be first and the last. Jason R.