Piece of Shit

i hear the train go by and i love it. i miss that horn, it blows, first in tempe, then in portland, and now back here again. it even made a little funny tease toot-toot just now. beyond that, i'm bored, and i can only imagine who the next victim is right now. some would like to believe it, but i'm just not really a nice person, there's a huge crater in my soul. all i think about is how to fuck people over, and then how to fuck them; close friends excluded of course, but the rest of you, watch out. don't trust me, i am a liar, i will ruin your week. i really shouldn't be so candid about this right now, but i just don't fucking care, it really doesn't matter, i have nothing to lose. i stole from a few people tonight, i got things we needed for the house, it felt good to steal again. it's ok though, i didn't know them, and i don't steal from people i know, that's not cool. otherwise, at the moment, the things i'm doing are heinous, but i don't care to discuss them. i already look bad enough.

Less Is More

more i know... the more i know, the more i question things. i'm getting to points where i question the course of my actions. this life i lead is tricky. it has it's benefits, and it has it's downfalls. these benefits are short lived and trivial. we all crave for something more. i crave for something less. i pursue the weak. i'm a predator. and the days that i'm not feeling like a shark it becomes depressing. the drinking helps though, it enables me to soldier on through the piles of shit i've accumulated. yet everyday i tromp on the piles of corpses i've left in my wake, my vision becomes clearer. i know more about what i really want, not just what i tell myself i should really want. so... where the fuck am i going with this line of shit. i'd like to say it's over, but it's not. i'm too weak right now. even though i'd like it to end. let's just say i'm ready, but i need a catalyst, where the fuck are you my catalyst of catalysts. i'm dying for your touch. i'm dying for your soul. i'm reaching for your heart. yet i doubt i am. fuck you, you fuckin' fuck. joker grin death i salute. i'll get you soon.

Walking The Line

I started school today. Well, school started three days ago, but I started today. I perused the multiple intricate syllabus's and it felt like an overload. The topics and coursework are interesting, these classes actually have substance that pertains to useful knowledge in the real world. It only took until my final semester for that to happen? So what it seems like is that I'll actually have to study, put forth the effort, try, etc.. Now this may prove to be a difficult balancing act. I'm just having too much fun, too much booze, too much sex. After spending those focused times in New Jersey I bust out and did more in the first week or two than I had done in those previous six months. That's the thing about deprivation, expose yourself to the life again and your hunger will increase tenfold. I can see that now, as I've become quite out of hand, and that's just a month in. I can see it advancing, accelerating, and it worries me. Bobby needs to learn when to say when. Because it would seem that after the activities of the past month, I can do whatever I want. There's no lack of money, women, booze and good times that others have to contend with. My world is wide open, and I'm just getting my feet wet. If I continue on this path I wonder where it will lead just three months down the road. That's why I say I need to practice my balancing act. The past six months in Jersey were shit and filled with work. The previous year in Portland was dismal. I deserve this return to the wild, but I need to get my shit done as well. I'm confident things will go well, I will formulate a gameplan. It's too early not to have fun, and it's too late to fuck up.

The Rules of Attraction

What does she like, I was thinking. Questions raced through my mind--does she go wild during sex, does she come easily, does she freak out about oral sex, does she mind a guy coming in her mouth? Then I realized I won't go to bed with a girl if she won't do that. I also won't go to bed with a girl if she can't or won't have an orgasm because then, what's the point? If you can't make a girl come why even bother? That always seemed to me to be like writing questions in a letter.

The New Season

I'm in. It's done. Finally over. The idea that I had over six months ago has come to fruition. Back then I was down and out in Portland. I had to plan my return to Tempe via a layover at the Jersey shore. After laying very low for six months and making a bunch of money I left the cold beaches of Jersey behind, and headed out for the heat in Hollywood. It was fun. Fun, but short lived. After my inability to keep my dick in my pants and the drama that abounded from it, I had to cut and run. On short notice I traveled to LAX, paid cash for a ticket, and was being picked up by my friend Mark in Phoenix a couple of hours later. After staying a couple days at Mark's, I found a house, a great home that I didn't think we'd get, but amazingly it fell into place just in time for New Year's Eve. We partied hard that night, and many a night after, while I waited the thirteen days to move in. Here I am now, sitting at the breakfast nook, typing, after enjoying the delicious omelette I made after I woke up from my newly outfitted bed, the first real bed I've slept on in a month. This isn't just a house, it's a home. I'm very glad that the right steps were taken and my return was planned correctly. Now that the six-month sabbatical is over, it's time for the new season I had wanted.

Another Night In The Valley

we've all heard about the midnight rambler.
i'm sitting next room style while my buddy fucks this chick.
and i just sit here and wait for my turn.
what kind of life is this.
it's a weird one folks.
shit happens.
and it happens fast.
but here we are, and there we go.
with a half hearted chuckle.
and sometimes that's all we got in this fucked world.
oh, wait.
time to go....

Another Day In The Valley

well friends...

when you find yourself in the bathroom of some well manicured home in the valley on a Saturday afternoon, and you see yourself in the mirror, hair straight for a change, clean shaven, naked, and all you've got in your hands is a big ole cock, and you're covered in cum, well... i think that might be the time when you should take a shower, wash off, dry up, and dress yourself in all white, cause last night/today was fucked up, and take a nap, because Saturday night is upon us. can i get an amen?

Stop

I need to stop. The past few weeks have been fucking hectic to say the least. I should go see a doctor. My ear is swollen. My throat is bleeding. And at the moment I'm just pouring brandy down it to lull the infection or whatever it is growing down there. I've been going hard almost every night. I should really just chill the fuck out. My heart almost stopped the other day. I woke up on the couch, heart pounding, went to get a water, lost vision, and almost passed out to an erratic heartbeat. I should see a doctor for that too. Oh wait, I don't have any health insurance. Rad. All right scratch all that. Let's just keep going until we die.

Arrival

I can't exactly recall how that night went down. I believe there were long conversations and Steak Au Poivre. Later on I drank a lot of brandy, packed a few things, but I think that was about it. I must have passed out around three, and woken up around seven.

The morning was cold with sleet and wind. After the long drive to the airport, I shook my father's hand and promised to call soon, which I never did. This was the beginning of my trip back to the west. I looked like shit, shaggy black clothes, overgrown beard, but I managed to get through security without incident. Once I was through the checkpoint I sat down at the familiar barstool at Dick Clark's and had the usual shitty breakfast they serve up. I boarded the plane only to sit on the runway for an extra hour in a drowsy daze. The flight arrived just late enough in Phoenix for me to miss my connection to Burbank. At the costumer service counter, a cute brunette flirts with me while she shifts me and my baggage to the next flight to LAX. While sitting in the Fox Sports Bar enjoying my first beer of the day I call Michele and let her know that's it LAX now, not Burbank, and three hours later. My beer gone, I board the flight.

We were chasing the sun into LA, which finally dropped out as we went over the ocean past Santa Monica. Looking down during the descent I remember thinking 'Are those little clouds or just whitecaps?'. We must have went far out, because the ride over the ocean seemed endless until I could finally see the rocky coastline and then the lights of the city. Exiting the plane I had to push through endless streams of people waiting for flights that weren't coming. I called Michele "All right, I'm here now." "OK, me and Gomez are just circling the airport." "Well you're early, I still have to get my bags, call you when I do." Before getting my bags, I went outside and had my first cigarette of the day, then I was weak and light headed, which is what happens to me now ever since I quit. So, after hauling my 150 lbs. of luggage out the door my heart was racing. Five minutes later Gomez's white VW pulls up and I toss my stuff in. Michele greets me with a warm hug, after which I introduce myself to Gomez. It had been a while since I'd seen her, and she had changed from her blond, hippie type style to wearing all black with black hair. Gomez was about the same, drenched in black with black Wayfarers and a black trappers hat. "So... are you excited?" she says. "Sure, it's just been a long day, and I'm glad it's over. I need a drink." Just getting out of LAX was hell. Gomez says "This traffic is too much. We should just go down to the beach for a drink and wait to go back to Hollywood."

We try to find this place in Redondo Beach that they went to the other day, but we can't even find Redondo Beach. His GPS doesn't work, my I-Touch can't find a signal, and gas station attendants don't speak English. Driving along, we spot some place called the rustic cave or something like that and I say "That looks all right." So we turn around and head inside. We go in to find some little unassuming bar tended by a young Vietnamese man. He enthusiastically tells us the drink specials and then asks us "So... are you guys in a band or something?" We have some beers, I take a few shots of Bourbon, and then leave; thinking that the traffic has become manageable by this point.

Michele asks me if I want to drop my stuff off before we go out and I say I do. So we head over to her place on the edge of Silverlake. She lives in some uneven bungalow behind the house of a Mexican gangbanger named Hector. He's not around when we get there, so I don't meet him yet, we just drop off my stuff, and take off for Hollywood.