long, old story

But one of us misread...

"Welcome everyone to coping with lactose intolerance! This is a time to learn how to work through our aversions and cope with the sometimes painful side effects. Here we're going to transcend..."
Already I had tuned out and was picking through my messenger bag to round up bits of trash and notice that I had 6 different chapsticks. I compulsively bought them like lighters and could rarely walk out of a drug store without a new one. I popped the cap off and put some on. What a gross little classroom. why are we here. Anthony was making a small cup out of folded paper. we were sitting in the back row with at least 10 empty rows in front of us. I found a lollipop in my bag and noisily unwrapped it. I offered the first taste to Anthony and he jammed into his mouth thinking I wouldn't take it back. Whatever, I paid for those hepatitis shots I'm going to put them to work. we struggled for a bit until I plugged his nose shut with one hand and manage to half cover his mouth with the other. he finally waived his hands to give up but when I let go he chucked the sucker off to the side of the classroom in some hideous pile of dust. in these cases when I know he's won it's the noble thing to back off and give him his moment. I wrote out on the paper that he had been folding, "It's fine, you're too fat for candy anyway". He was wound up and ready to freak when the guy leading the support group cleared his throat.
"Did you two hear what we're going to do now?"
"Not really, we were totally just goofing off. I can ask questions after class so it doesn't slow things down."
"This... this isn't a lecture. This is a support group to help people deal with dairy aversion. I'm sure you're both here for the same."
No... we're both here because our shared doctor felt that it would be beneficial to skip the dairy instead of the recent nosh n farts that we both got.
I was told a long time ago that the stomach is tied to our emotions. WOW, I know, deep and thrilling. Point is, when you're little and in trouble with your parents... right in the pit of your stomach... when someone's fighting it just socks me right in the gut... And as we slide into our older years sometimes people with major parent issues develop latent lactose intolerance. Oh sure, there's a bazillion medical explanations I'm sure. Just makes sense to me. You carry around pain and hurt in your stomach like that for years and it has to affect something...
Anthony went down first after ignoring the little details of his mother's suicide when he was a teenager that neatly tied into a decidedly doomed gay fling. I poked at his bloated stomach when he was beached on the couch after we went out for tacos. I bought him soy milk and tried to make a milkshake-like product but it wasn't nearly as good as the one I made with icecream. I passed it off as a symptom of unrealized mental issues. I crowed outside the bathroom door when he was trying to decide if he should shit his brains out or cut a hole in his side to let the billowing pressure out.
Three months into my miserable spat playing fat Echo to a distant Narcissus who didn't know I wilted thinking about him, it started. I would describe myself as being a person who can consume heroic quantities of dairy. I've eaten cheese that's aged in an attic in France for two months.... Blue cheese that was tangibly fuzzy and creamy... you put it in front of me with a cracker and I'm going to snarf it down. I had been at a fondue dinner and was dared to chug a mug of room temperature dipping cheese. I'd done it before... nothing to worry about. Well all that sad mood and resolute belief that I didn't deserve someone as wonderful as coffee shop boy... The one-track line of thinking that kept my chest rooted in a sinking feeling... and my stomach turned into slip knots of insecurity. Skipping meals for days on end and plugging my sober mouth with cigarettes until they irritated my body but gave me enough friendly feelings to cope. It started with a cup of coffee. I wondered if the cream had been bad and spent a pensive day with my hands folded over my noticeably distended belly. Plucking up the courage I went to have a small cup of cottage cheese and found that it wasn't a good option either. i shoved dairy into my mouth for weeks trying to find the one thing that didn't make me feel like being sick the whole time it made laps through my intestines. i broke down and admitted to Anthony what was happening when he came home to me teary-eyed with a plate of cheese and crackers in front of me.
"I'm not saying it! I'm not saying it until the damn doctor says it!"
It was lactose intolerance.

And it wasn't going to get any better. Oh the fuck it isn't! I can find enough hippy naturalpaths to get me hooked up with something. Maybe. My acupuncturist was on vacation for a month and her sub in gave me a card for the support group.
"You have to be kidding me. I'm going to group therapy to talk about the last time I had a grilled cheese sandwich?"
"Just try it... and take your roommate. I think you two could benefit from the positive healing vibe from this type of meeting."

Oh it was just awful... And between the both of us I'm the flake so if this was too too much, oy, it had to be the apex of god awful.
"Milk can't hurt us in here... we'll share this bliss moment and then we'll talk about healthy food options without dairy! Everyone come up to get a piece of paper. I want you to find a bliss moment. You need to get in touch with your resentment for this allergy... You need to actualize it before you can move past it."
Anthony whispered, "what the hell does that mean?!"
"It means he's going to make us do bullshit busy work to kill time before the recipes."
"Oh come on... I'm just here for some cooking tips. This is awful..."
"...And you two at the back. Please come up to write your bliss thought and I'll draw them out of a hat."
If I had been leading the support group I would have kicked my ass right out, but hey, if he won't do it, I'll just keep asserting my dominance. We moseyed up to the front as people glowered at us. YES we're the ones who aren't taking it seriously... I'M the only one who has enough sense to know it's my own fault that I've caused this. Everyone's looking to heal the intolerance and I'm more focused on when my acupuncturist is back to do some serious stress-relieving sessions.
We wrote down our bliss moment... It was already filled in with a suggestion at the top if you couldn't make up an original bliss thingy: "I would rather [blank] than dwell on my lactose intolerance."
We sat back down and I wondered if my cell phone had enough battery power left to play a game on it. No, too noisy with all the clicking.
"Ho-kay everyone. Let's share! This is a good one that someone came up with. 'Living life to the fullest is my bliss moment'. That's super! 'My children support me and work with my allergy'. How super is that? Take that thought... Empower yourselves with that thought! You're going to be OK! Now here's two folded up together. Looks like they used the phrase provided. Let's see. 'I would rather [die] than dwell on my lactose... in...tol... OK let's look at the other one... 'I would rather [fellate a cactus]..."
Of course he has to give the stink eye to me on that one. he's annoying to listen to but at least he's no dummy.
"Seriously, I would rather deep throat something with prickly spines on it than not be able to eat dairy..."
"YES? Did you say something?"
"I said, I can't wait for the recipes!"
He shook his head... I say we make a dart for it as soon as he turns away for a second....

the dude would be pleased... i won at bowling the 2nd time around

the horror! the horror! i ♥ the white board in the kitchen.

http://www.bassdrive.com i can't justify my love for drum and bass music...

sputter and cough. cough again. oh burned down lung cilia how you mock me. i made it past 18 but I'm destined to tote around this cough until I die. but smoking's been there with me like depression and being attracted to boys who push me around. all of the boys had something that linked them to cigarettes. some wouldn't let me smoke... some would suffocate me with smokey apartments that made me gag. others shared some sort of intimacy with me when i had a filter pressed up to my lips.

i take a small sip of coke and set the glass down again. i used to sit around and smoke all afternoon waiting for Marc to come home from "work". Always that rabbit-heart beat hearing the door open... the very real fear of it being him with someone pointing a gun at his head and robbing the place. Thank GOD the only time it happened i was out getting groceries. polite fellahs too, they left me a note with directions where to go bring the money and a cell number. always the courteous little june cleaver i called them to see if they wanted a coffee. what? it's on the way over to the street car. A fine cup of coffee and a laid back chat they began to get a little out of it from the rohypnol until they finally slumped over and let me tie up their hands. I left a note with the money saying sorry and here's an extra hundred etc etc. marc was furious that i would leave them more since they were probably going to kill us anyway.
you know what? nothing. i saw the one a few months later and there wasn't any hard feelings. do you have any concept how hard it is to get that out of a goon? the dude told me that they lied about the doping and said they scared the shit out of us to get the money. none were the wiser. why murder a couple of clever fags when you're still coming out on top?
Still, when the door would open I would butt out my smoke and sit up waiting for the worse. what a life. it was always marc... sometimes drunk, sometimes sideways from all the freebie drugs, but that could only benifit me so i never broke into the screaming bitch routine. he felt like a puff of cold air crawling on top of me with cold cheeks smoothing over my face.
"You smell like half a pack of cigarettes."
"More like a whole pack. Good book."
"Quit smoking, it's a bad habit..."
He was kidding of course but I wondered if he was too out of it to fool around. Magic 8 ball says yes. He turned on his side to lay on me and warm up. his jeans pocket puffed out with a wad of cash and i spied his knap sack by the chair. why couldn't i at least date a rich drug dealer?
He was always chewing on his lip and i leaned over to get another cigarette. soon he'd pass out on me until i slipped out from under him to pick through his bag and rail up a bit of e to get inspired to clean the apartment a bit as he snoozed lightly. all this tied to the thought of smoking. how noble and wonderful to have drug-infused whistful memories and the knowledge that i could have better hobbies than chain smoking...but nothing's going to come close to it.

tapes n tapes

"You seem to be in better spirits..."
"It's because you let me drink again."
"I think you did very well being sober... Just putting it out there."
"I think you'd be a very good fag... just putting it out there."
"That doesn't make any sense. you just wanted to call me gay."
"FAG. Say it... love it... Ffffffag. Lookit, i don't need to drink, but I do enjoy it. It's never going to change... it's up to me to drink to a certain limit and then pull back."
He looked down and fidgeted in his coat pockets. His hand was in a plastic bag loop.
"Did you buy me that magazine?"
"YES. And I'm never going back in there again."
"Not my fucking problem you lost at euchre with Todd."
"I had the money to give him!"
"He didn't want the money. He wanted you to go into the adult bookstore and pick that up."
"You two wouldn't think it's so fucking hilarious when someone from work caught me in there."
"You think that if someone caught you in there, they'd have the fucking balls to tell people? 'hey, when i was buying german piss-porn last thursday i saw anthony luk buying slutty czech hunks'?! Think about it. Now give me..." I tried to pull at the bag and he smacked my hand away.
"No. You can wait until Todd comes over to get it."
"That's not fair! it's for me anyways..."
"Good things come to those who wait."
"That's trite, even for you."
"Whatever, I think I'm going to take my purchase upstairs. Dont come in."
"I'm coming in with my camera. I'll make a fortune. closeted asian gay hombre's dot com."
"I bet it's already taken..."
"No I checked, it's not. Something to think about if you want to retire and get your asscheeks waxed."
He looked indignant. "I'm not that hairy."
"Oh nothing personal sweetie, it's just an aesthetic thing."
"How... who... who do they pay to get that done?"
"I've done it before. It's nothing big. I mean, you have gloves on. I get more squeamish about the guiche."
Blank look. "You know, the mile of pleasure? The landing strip between your balls and asshole?"
Nothing. "Did... did you want me to show..."
"NO!"
I lifted my leg up a little and pointed at the gooch-region. "See when you're getting a blowjob you get him to massage right there... Wow, it's just to die... Where're you going?! This can only benifit you!!" I like blowing his mind a little every day.

oh felix da housecat... how many shifts at thee porn shop did you play on loop...

mr. me too...

I cowered down in my seat. Anthony looked around.
"I don't get it... what are you freaking over?"
"It's my ex's hired goon..."
"What? Jason?"
"No no, Marc... and shut up for a second!" I leaned forward and kept my head down and focused on the remaining pieces of sushi. why the fuck am i always getting in trouble in this place? i guess my ex's liked raw fish...

Anthony tried to look around to see Bents. He looked stoned and didn't even look like he saw me.

I pushed around a bit of eel and offered Anthony my dragon roll. He wasn't interested in the food.
"So, Marc... that was the... gangster?"
"No no, Nam was the gangster. Marc was the one who ran coke for the Hell's Angels."
Shake shake shake of the head.
"Honestly. Doesn't something go off in your head to let you know when something's a stupid idea?"
"I am not taking SHIT from doctor relationship-destroyer!" hiss hiss and a tap of my shoe under the table on his bad knee.
"And you know what it is?" I leered at him and he looked annoyed and wholly bored with me.
"Oh i'm sure it's something that'll gross me out."
"It's all about fucky fuck fucking." I grabbed the side of the table and gave it a little shake.
"Well... I won't lecture you on this. i don't have the energy after eating 30 different types of rolls."
"Don't you want to hear about... you know it."
"No... pass."
"This isn't a game show... you can't just pass the conversation."
"See, you get one pass card per night. one time to trump the conversation and change it."
"There's an inherent risk in doing something like that. I could steer us into something terrible after you use the card."
"Did I say one? It's three actually. Lucky... chinese... thing."
Pause. I stabbed at the eel i had been moping over and tossed it into my mouth. reaching down i pulled out my knap sack and unzipped it.
"Familiar?"
"Oh..."
It was 35 of my swanky russian/czech/slovak-ee dude porn from the mid 90's. transfered from vhs i treasured them although it wasn't exactly shit i left laying around. i had packed them up and i was convinced they were misplaced in my last move. i mean, it's not like you need that shit all the time. but it's something that i eventually thought of to show off. and so began my furious search for one white wine box that was closed up with black hockey tape. Secret Spanky must have borrowed it but got caught in the trap of handing it over as second-hand porn or just keep hiding it... towel closet of all places. i found it and packed it up to take it over to josie's. we were going to rip it all a few times to give out as christmas gifts.
"I'm not mad...any...more about the hidden porn. it's more... dude, let's go get you laid."
"OH... Please..." He muttered and jammed an avocado roll in his mouth.
He tried to hold a straight face.
"Uhh... some of that..."
"What? The tranny stuff? Yeah. I'm unrepentant."
"NO! It's too strange..."
"You watched it though didn't you, you dirty little wanker..."
"IN-advertantly... keep your voice down."
"Why don't you call Dan for a little boot..."
"He'sdatingsomethingsomeone."
"Say... say what?"
"He's datingsomeone."
Blank. Point that pistol down and just BLAST your foot off. awwwwwkward.
"I'm fine with that."
"Yeah-uh-hmmm... Well I'm going to rip this stuff tonight, but when i'm done i'll throw the movies back in the same place. I'll leave it to you to filter the viewing content."
"Thank you."
"Welcome."
Silence... but more the full sighs of getting stuffed at dinner.
"Really, I'm just glad that you jerk off sometimes."
"HONESTLY!"
"Yes, honestly. Let's get the cheque before they kick us out." I ducked my head down and yanked on my heat quickly. "Hey you pick up the tab I'll be outside with the car." Keys already out of his pocket and out the door. I couldn't bear another second thinking that Marc's zombie would recognize me. marc owed me over a thousand dollars... and i wound up holding a few dozen of his lock picking kits. i couldn't meet him to trade off the back payment and the kit... he got mad and said he'd stomp on my face. the goon boy reiterated this fact when he saw me out at the bar. how was it my fault that i was owed... well... i dunno. he was, this, this really cute little wad of sweet... no. not sweetness. more like sincerely adorable but tough. he moved huge bags of coke that he bought directly from hell's angels. he wasn't overt about being a fag, but they knew... it worked well, but for a coke dealer he was awfully broke all the time.
I wonder if marc would pay me back? i'd give his shit back for sure... he'd probably still kick my ass for the hell of it. sigh.
"So was the only attraction to Marc based on him being a badass?"
We walked up the street in the cold wind and sped up our pace.
"No... he was a smart dude... I never thought i'd date again after my first pathetic highschool relationship. he was more in love with another guy but i was a good fill in blah-dee-blah-blah."
"It's always some kind of hoopla with you isn't it?"
"That..." I kept pace and whispered in a strained hiss, "That and PENISES."
"Urr..." He unlocked the drivers door and left me outside. Rattle.
"Open.. OPEN!"
Click.
"Thank you... Let's be mature here."

panda comic

"dark is what I want" apostles of hustle

i looked down at my pathetic attempt to passive-agressively tell coffee shop boy that I love him... and make it clear that I was going insane, but I couldn't afford therapy.
I pursed my lips tight and slowly pulled in a cheekful of wine. A single glass alotted to me for passing a piss test. so what if I had failed the first eleven urine tests to determine if i could phase in some merriment. And YES I tested positive for opium, but give me a bit of leeway. Who'd pass up on an opportunity to try opium from Afghanistan? Not me. and you can't even blame hunter s. thompson. i had conceeded at 16 that I would at least give it a shot. life experience that's not crystal meth. I have standards.
So. Glass. Of. Wine. Mmm mmmm. totally worth the $280.00 for the crash detox kit to flush out the hash and my second round of opium. apparently you have to smoke it twice to get the Real Deal effect.
I don't feel guilty about cheating, it was for good opium and really, I don't get my hands on hash a lot so, you know, fuck it.
Anthony had sincerely asked me to stop when he was laid out in the hospital and the nurses had forgotton to give him his evening dose of painkillers.
No need to dish on the conversation. Maybe it was the post-operative infection causing him to have a fever. Maybe he was feeling assertive after being bossed around by nurses all dau. But I agreed. He thought I was going to kill muself. I thought that I was too apathetic to invest the time in suicide.
A promise. Then he called my bluff and said I'd have to do a urine test. Multiple failures, but I hold my ground on smoking weed. so the eleven thc-induced fails and two back-to-back weekends of opium made me decided to buy a $280.00 glass of wine. just the one. god damned over-priced detox shit. i guess i should write them a letter to say it worked in spite of the inflated price.
I choose a cheap but delicious bottle of Carmen chardonay from South America. NOrmally a sauvignon blanc man, I decided that a tasty wine I wasn't totally mad over wouldn't send me into a frenzy of desire to comsume more.

A neat pile of arts and crafts sat out in front of me in the now.

The reward wine wasn't stimulating my creative drive. Sweet glass of letdown. Pray thee will be more rewarding after more gulps.

I could only do one crafty thing. Well, two. I could make paper. You know... the thick and decorated shit you see in greeting card stores and think, "Aw, that's nice. I'd never fucking use the shit though."
So I make that and then type out short poems I wronte onto them with a typewriter. Ol' Fire Hazzard was a whopping 40 pounds of "portable" one from the 70's that needed to be plugged in. it sounded like a primative microwave if it was powered by a crude fanbelt. it cooled off to the side of the kitchen table as I arranged the six squares I had hammered words onto. a small sheet of note paper sat blank in front of me. i couldn't decide what I would comit to the paper other than, "Dear Noah".
Yeah. Coffee shop boy's name is Noah. Noah and Nathan. Bleh bleh bleh. Never going to happen.
Dear Noah... Nothing. I got nothing.
Anthony shuffled past me and quietly looked over my shoulder at the powems. I had tried to scribble out some ideas on a rough sheet of paper. he jingled a mojito in a glass. cool and fresh smelling with freshly smooshed mint. fuck, i should have had that.
"'Dear Noah - You are the most interesting person I've met in 10 years and it scares me.' 'Dear Noah: Sometimes I think of you so much that I zone out at work for 45 minutes at a time.' 'Dear Noah, I like you to the point that I don't think about you when I jerk off because I respect you that much.' Ha ha ha!" Clink of ice in his tall glass.
Faggots drink things like mojitos!INside yelling. He'll take your wine away.
"Oh... Oh MY. I'm glad this is the rought draft phase."
I looked forward with a sour pout plastered across my face.
"Awww... Sensitive.."
He did a little back and fourth dance waving his hands around making the glass patter out a fast beat.
"I loooooooove you Nooooooaaaaaah! Ha ha h..."
I socked him in the crotch from my eye-level point at the kitchen table.
"Bwaaarfff... FUCK!" It was hard to get him swearing. I'm proud of myself.
"Auuhuhhh... You piece of... I had massive hernia surgery two months ago!" He set his glass down and leaned on the table.
"Whatever. If it pops out again I'm just laying you over the butt end of a hockey stick to shove it in."
I can be so mean when I'm mostly sober.
Anthony hobbled over to the living room to sit and I took a long gulp of his drink. Maybe mint is inspiring.

new makeup

MAC makeup fun ->vex + beauty marked eyeshadow = nice combination that lasts a long time.

The woman I'm thinking of she loved me all up, but I'm so down today

when i was a teenager i would spend hours recovering from bing drinking slung over a chair with headphones on. i would scour through the stacks of records that my foster family had lovingly brought out from the attic for me to use. the lovely hiss and pop of black plastic running under the needle... me fussing with the ancient headphones and feeling a little relieved when the opening beats of "out on the weekend" started up. Neil Young's "Harvest" was always at the top of the recently-played pile, followed by Oscar Peterson's "Blues Etude" and the ever-present collection of Pink Floyd ready to be laid down carefully on the turn table.
what a happy thought... the idea of me feeling wrapped up in beautiful sounds and wondering why I got my ass kicked at school all the time for listening to this instead of whatever pop bullshit was all the hype. I had sincerely hoped I would get cooler into highschool but I was still a constant source of laughter with my Led Zepplin tshirts and a steadfast belief that Soundgarden would be around forever.
there i am... eyes closed and pulling myself deeper into the chair. i don't know why i put "harvest" on first thing saturday morning. always always always had to have it. My foster mom would set down a coffee beside me and tuck a to-do list underneath it. the understanding was that it had to be done by sunday night, but it was up to me to get started. she never pressed me to unplug from the record player as long as I took my mug downstairs to be rinsed out.
i would adjust the headphones when they got hot and sweaty.... Onto "Old Man". "24 and there's so much more...live alone in a paradise..." I never thought that I would live to 24 so the lyrics seemed distant and abstract.
sad pudge in a chair with nothing but classic rock and delicious jazz piano music to fill in the gaps. Way back when. Back when I smoked so much on the weekends that I would show up to school hoarse... when i drank until I smiled again and all that reflective bullshit you apply a glossy coat to so you don't feel like a total loser.
i don't think i ever dated any boy who liked Neil Young. That's criminal.

"Out On The Weekend"
Neil Young - 'Harvest'

Think I'll pack it in
and buy a pick-up
Take it down to L.A.
Find a place to call my own
and try to fix up.
Start a brand new day.

The woman I'm thinking of,
she loved me all up
But I'm so down today
She's so fine, she's in my mind.
I hear her callin'.

See the lonely boy,
out on the weekend
Trying to make it pay.
Can't relate to joy,
he tries to speak and
Can't begin to say.

She got pictures on the wall,
they make me look up
From her big brass bed.
Now I'm running down the road
trying to stay up
Somewhere in her head.

The woman I'm thinking of,
she loved me all up
But I'm so down today
She's so fine she's in my mind.
I hear her callin'.

See the lonely boy,
out on the weekend
Trying to make it pay.
Can't relate to joy,
he tries to speak and
Can't begin to say.

someone please rip out my heart in a proverbial gesture of servitude to my endless need to be attracted to unavailable people

i keyed in a message back to the coffee shop boy. he was having a relationship crisis. my lips parted to push out cigarette smoke and I finally pulled it out of my mouth to give a proper exhale and sigh. i want to throw up. my smart little blackberry opal blipped again and i looked down to see another response.
leaning back on the bench i took a minute to see nurses coming in from their dinner breaks, sick people out for a wheel around in the fresh air... and other losers sitting outside smoking and trying to balance their thoughts between their own selfish fucked up issues and on the person they knew inside the hospital. i wish they had bars in hospitals. that's retarded. i wish i had brought a flask with me. now i couldn't decide what i would have filled it up with in the first place. white russian? too much dairy. whiskey? too stinky. wine? probably would taste queer from being in a flask with the reminants of old booze odour.
my phone blipped again.
my chest hurts. i massaged my sternum and felt a little poisoned from the last cigarette. it felt like it was gnawing through my stomach... probably was.
The phone finally rang.
"hey are you there?"
I felt hot in the face. ok, i'm supposed to write back within miliseconds AFTER I tell you I'm at the hospital. "I was talking to a doctor and I shut off my phone that's why."
Terse silence.
"I'm an asshole."
Don't agree with him.
"No..." YES YOU ARE. "No you're not it's ok. I'm just distracted with Anthony. How about I call you later?"
"I want an opinion on a photograph I'm going to give Jon. I'm worried he won't like it."
Personalized gifts from the heart. Yeah I'm going to curl up and have a fucking heart attack from rage right now. Mm... that's the ticket. Someone please rip out my heart in a proverbial gesture of servitude to my endless need to be attracted to unavailable people. That's too long-winded. Someone kill me now so I can stop wasting everyone's time being a boorish mope.

"mr. ocean colour pants!" super hans

"you're a posh spazz!" jeremy from 'peep show'

I could just fuck a coffee table at this point. raw, and bored and horny with too much apathy to do anything about it. i'm too restless to even focus on a wank so what's the point in starting. my ability to focus has receeded backwards and i can't take a minute of sitting still. i had three novels on the go, all of them stillborn projects that I couldn't stay with. have i been treating anxiety this whole time with booze? i could glean through stacks of books with my ass planted firmly on the couch and a beer in the other hand. i don't think it's fair to get me to stop drinking when it's clearly helping me learn more... more about... i lean over to the table beside the couch: a joey stefano autobiography, a picture book of tattoos and a collection of hunter s. thompson articles. there goes that theory.
anthony padded down the stair clutching his stomach.
"For godssakes, if you cancel that hernia surgery you're guts are going to splatter into your balls!" He whined and cinched the belt on his robe tighter.
"I told you, I can't go this week. I have to have this presentation or everything's going on hold for months."
"Listen, can't they get someone else to present it? I'm wholly positive that your intestines are poking out somewhere in there."
He frowned and rubbed at his shoulders. "It's cold in here."
"Don't you touch that thermostat again! I'm dying down here and you're just cold from going septic."
"You think I'm going septic?!"
"No... maybe... let's call the nurse line."
"I can't talk to someone about... you know..."
"Your enlarged testicles?"
"Shut up! Ah forget it... I'm sleepy. Move over. "
He didn't give me a lot of time to clear out and pathetically bumped me over by going limp. "How's the blood pressure there buddy?"
"Fine... woo... it's all sparkly in here all of a sudden."
Now I'm worried. I turned him around to lay down on the pillows. "Anthony, you don't look good. At all. And not in that 'you're old and look bad' way, like, for real, i'm calling an ambulance."
"No... No! I'm fine."
"Stand up right now."
He wiggled a little, raised half an ass cheek and dropped down twice as fast.
"If you had your license you could drive!"
"Hey, well who gives a fuck, let's teach me to drive right now! Prick. You just don't want to pay the $40 for the ambulance."
"Fourty dollars! No! I'll drive... Omph... I... I feel..."
"Feel like some emergency surgery? You douche. Here I am, sober as the day I was born and now I have to take your lumpy guts to emergency."
He looked at me and didn't make a move to respond. I made the call and walked to the front door to undo the deadbolt. Might as well keep it open so they can see throught the screen door. I turned around and Anthony looked sulky but horribly pale.
"You OK?"
"I don't feel well."
"I know. Because?"
"Because.... I don't feel well and I don't think you should rub it in."
"You want me to bring some bottled water with?"
"Oh that would be so nice." He looked cheered by the thought of avoiding hospital water.
"You want the water, you tell me what I need to hear. I can hear the siren."
"You would make me do that?"
"No I'm just taking the piss out of you... I know I'm right and deep down that's all the justification I'll need." I made a sweet little kisskiss noise at him and he looked like he wanted to barf. He might actually need to barf. Better go get the garbage pail. Lovely. How many nights can I spend in emerge over a period of 6 months? Quite a bit let me tell you. I wonder if Anthony can plug up being sick until we get there. That ought to speed things along nicely.

quiet time set list

just the list of mp3s i turn on while quietly contemplating. no particular order, just on shuffle.

bjork - possibly maybe
nine inch nails - piggy
air - run
radiohead - sail to the moon
bonobo - nocturnary
the dandy warhols - nietzsche
pete tong & chris cox - more intensity
shudder to think - mom's mercedes
underworld - mo move
massive attack - intertia creeps
boards of canada - gyroscope
nirvana - frances farmer will have her revenge on seattle
bonobo - flutter
bonobo - dismantling frank
esthero - country livin'
modest mouse - bukowski
wilco - ashes of american flags
boards of canada - 1969
lcd sound system - tribulations
depeche mode - useless
queens of the stone age - songs for the deaf
and three songs that were punked off a jeff addison mix cd, but i have no idea what they're called or who they're by. they're rad whatever the fuck they are.

bonobo - wayward bob

"what's shakin' coo-coo pants?"
Josie wasn't really being sensitive to my emotional state lately. she had taken to coming up with a new euphamism for crazy when she saw me. i don't think she knew how to cope with me being out of sorts and I wound up being mocked instead of comforted. not that it's what i was looking for, just more wanting friends to at least feign that they gave a shit.
i was barely propped up by a tossed stack of pillows on the floor of the sunroom. it was chilly but I was secured under a thick wad of blankets. my goal for the day was to chain smoke and pound back a few cans of pop since i was off the booze. my hands were tired from curling back a worn copy of "Moab is my Washpot" by Stephen Fry. it smelled off and i vaguely recall spilling some wine on it when i tried to use it as a makeshift coaster.
josie had walked in like she was paying rent and proceeded to tidy up around me. i didn't bother to move and wondered how long I should wait before asking her to make me a cup of tea.
"Honestly... look at this shit."
"You don't have to clean it up. It's more that you feel guilty about your own piggish way and this is an easy transference onto me when i'm down... you know, on the floor... in a pile of blankets... alone."
"Not my choice to sit in here all alone, boy."
"I don't feel like going out, ok? Good enough?"
"You're being so LAME about this boy. He's so much younger than you..."
Lunge. Jab. Touche. En garde!
"Listen, I don't feel keen on taking shit from the woman who dated an 18 year old because she seemed like the mature side of 18."
"She was mature!"
"Yeah, ok, and that's why her parents wanted to get the police involved. Besides the point, why the fuck can't I have this moment of total clarity that I can't have the guy I'm hung up on? Why does every one feel the pressing urge to remind me i'm not allowed to be depressed?"
"You're not allowed to be depressed over something so STUPID, that's why."
I'm deflated under covers that're long over due for a tumble in the dryer. I receed into a fantasy about making lunch with Stephen Fry but immediately I hate the image of me trying not to be awestruck and timid...and not blurt out something assinine. Yeah, I know where it's going you fucking Freud genius, i don't need you to tell me what it all means. who am i yelling at inside my head?
"Coffee time boy is just a delusion... this is just a photocopy of yourself that you want to sit around and hump all afternoon. Don't you percieve it as unsettling to waste away over some flighty twit that you'd probably hate if you really got to know the deep down him? You want to consume this, let's face it, cooler version of yourself."
"Amazing."
"What?"
"You're fucking amazing. Coming in here with this, well, I'm going to lay it out, this STUNNING piece of advice and work so hard to try and put me on the path to recovery. ah! darling i love you."
She shook her head at me. "Snark all you want. The godawful truth is that you love him so much because he's every simpering complaint and open wound that you fancy as your own pain. he's what you want in a partner, and deep down it's not someone different to you know, complete your personality, it's just a fucking extension of yourself."
Silence. "SO THE FUCK WHAT? What the fuck is wrong with wanting to be with a man that I can actually relate to? Someone I don't have to feel embarassed around when I launch into a geeky tirade? Someone I feel warmth towards instead of barely-concealed distates? Someone who I just feel weak over."
"You've felt weak over other guys too and it went so well."
Suddenly Anthony came to from his spot on the couch that was more like a half-ass suicide watch program under quilted and knitted plate tectonics. He quickly flicked out his hand and spun a well-loved copy of "The Screw Tape Letters" at Josie.
"God fucking damn!"
"Josie, shut the hell up, seriously. Could you for once come over, make a cup of tea and just try to help? God, you're over here enough weeping your fool head off..."
Her face was flushed and she didn't have anything to say. She stood up and pushed the door open to the kitchen. I heard the sounds of the kettle going onto the stove and I had a funny feeling that she was just boiling water to scald Anthony instead of make some tea.
"I forgot you were sleeping."
"Not sleeping... I was just faking because I didn't want to talk to Josie and it was too late to go into the house when she showed up."
"I'd ask if you want some tea but I'm pretty sure she's going to spit in it."
"No it's fine. Just pass me back my book. I'm keen to hear what else she has to say."
"Don't throw it again. She'll try and beat your ass."
"She talks big game about kicking my ass but all she does is sucker punch me when I'm drunk."
"That's her fighting style, man. I hope she makes something fruity. I need the vitamin C."

"and this loneliness just won't leave me alone"

my sugar pill

i fell asleep outside propped up in a lawn chair. i passed out face down mumbling some obscenities. there's lines on my face from where i smushed my cheek down.
there's a couple squirrels on the table lapping up some leftover snacked-on crackers. their little feet go skitter as they hear the screen door pop open.
perplexing mess. me in brown slacks and my over-priced cardigan snoozing on dewy plastic furniture. the last drink i had poured was separating in a glass... probably over-loaded it with ice causing the water to stagnate over night.
pull myself up. yes. yes i always sleep out here in the clothes i wore the night before. nothing to be worried about here.
anthony brought the phone to me. not a word. tight lipped snip and drop of the phone onto the table. it's on. it's for me?
"hallo?"
"hey! it's me! did i forget my book?"
i looked down and spied my man bag. faintly reaching for it i knew this was going to be a struggle.
"So, anyways, did you want to hear about my date?"
Deflated. I'm going to jerk myself off to death. forever. still can't reach the bag. i can't even hear what he's saying. i knocked the bag closer to my fingers. i still couldn't get motivated enough to properly get it. there was talking on the phone. this drink should still be fine. right? for all i know a squirrel has pissed in it. no. it still tastes fine. sip. breathe. reach. i finally grasped at the zipper and fumbled around for a paperback. "fugitve pieces". open it up. it's a gift to coffee shop boy from his boyfriend. this is MY favourite book. this is MY gift to men that i'm trying to impress!! i want to throw up. how hopeless. how hopeless to sleep outside and finish off a watered down version of a cocktail. maybe i didn't sleep that long? maybe this is still a waking dream?
"So Nate... Jon was thinking something silly. that you, now don't take this the wrong way... you don't have a thing for me right?"
Stunned. stunned and yes, yes i'm definately still drunk. an indignant rage flushes my skin. "No, it's not so much a THING as I think you're fantastic."
"Oh... I..."
"I think you're fantastic and that means that i'm not allowed to have you. Right right?"
"Nate..."
"You would make me happy. Real happy. That bouncy little sensation of being in lust and feeling like you want to whip yourself into a streetcar to end it all."
"Oh... oh no!"
"But you don't end it all. No no. " I stood up and strode around. Attempted to. reality: stumbled around the patio furniture.
"You CAN'T end it all because you've accepted that this is your lot in life. you find that onnnnnnne person that you feel like you want to, you know, THROW IT ALL INTO ONE BASKET and admit that you've been a sonofabitch that's unlovable..." Look! there's still a bag of peanuts out here. I tossed a handful back. "Mm. muh... You're unloveable but when you find someone to pin all those morbid hopes and dreams on they don't like you! Isn't that great? I don't feel depressed about something that i can't control. It's like..." mouthful. "Like it's something i'm resigned to! I... I ah... I gotta get sick. I'll leave the book in the mail box... or... something... talk to you later."
End communication. Well that was interesting. i really do need to go throw up. extra points for the ceadar bushes the landlord just planted.

more new years... pics from fahmi

that's pretty cute. guess which one is adopted?! just kidding! of course mike's adopted.


fahmi, matt and me with a tequila in jello shooter. CLASS.


GAVIN NO! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT MIKE'S DONE ON THAT!


supplies


me, gavin

pictures from steph

one....


two....


go!


gay and retarded:


those who fled shitty small towns:

new years

little v, me and deh kitty

happy new years... pass the kleenex.. snerk...

soup pr0n!