Weiner Lets It All Hang Out

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Weiner Takes Da Bait
No the real headline is not Weiner takes debate, but he was feisty as hell so if you missed it on TV I have my own re-cap here. The front runner is Christine Quinn and Weiner was in Christine’s face throughout the debate. Bill Thompson stood tall and was inching closer but Weiner measured up. Public Advocate Bill de Blasio hammered away at Weiner’s ability to represent the people of New York but he assured everyone that Weiner will stand up for all New Yorkers. Comptroller John Liu expressed concern over Anthony’s transparency to which Tony replied “I have always been transparent. Anyone can see where Weiner stands.” The stage set, on to the debate.
First Weiner’s opening statement. “My name is Anthony Weiner, no relation to Oscar Meyer Weiner, and I am running for mayor because I have swag, and as recent tweeted evidence has shown I have the balls needed to run this city. True my pole has been sagging, um, I mean I have been sagging in the poll numbers but with a little help from my constituents it’ll get it back up again. I know my past indiscretions keep popping up but just to be clear no matter how hard it gets I will not pull out. I’ll stick it out as long as I can. I intend to show New Yorkers everything I’ve got. New York City is a hard town and they need a hard mayor which is what I‘ll be when erected. Oops, I mean elected, a slight boner in my choice of words. Anyway, New York is full of danger and trust me I know danger. In fact my middle name is Danger, so vote for me, Anthony “Carlos Danger” Weiner. Thank you.
The greeting was met with a splattering. That is a splattering of applause and a few Bronx cheers. Now on to a condensed re-cap of the issues. The first subject was the stop and frisk law.
Quinn : “ I’m okay with the frisking but not the stopping, if I’m elected they will have to frisk while the random pedestrian is still moving. New York is a busy town.”
De Blasio : “My wife is black and my son is half black with a big ass afro to prove it, so it could be my son with a cops hand down his pants. No to frisking”
Thompson : “What the hell, are we truly going to allow our police officers to act like TSA agents? This is America where no one is randomly searched unless they are in a busy airport. Just like the large soda and the poop pick up law Mayor Bloomberg saw the poop on the sidewalk and overstepped again.”
Liu :“I’ve seen this epic fail in Chinatown. If they continue to act on this dumb law everybody will be Kung Fu fighting, which is a little bit frightening.
Weiner :“From the beginning I stated cops should wear cameras and I stand by that. I say frisk like nobody’s watching, but take a selfie to send to that special someone.”
On to the next issue, a viewer question, a matter of trust. directed to Weiner. “How can we trust you when we find out you continued your activity even after you were busted?”
Weiner : “I have been up front from the beginning about my personal life. I did a bad thing and I was sick. Now I keep my hand on the problem everyday and have kept it down. It has been a long time since I sent any dick picks to anyone, almost an entire month now of not sexting. You can trust me to have matters in hand and keep it in constant motion. I have been endorsed by Woody Allen, Roman Pole-ansky, Marcia Gay Hard-on, and A-Rod to name a few and I am a member of members only so I will keep my finger on the pulse. Forget my past, look at my future.
Quinn :“You can tell he’s lying by the vein bulging, and not in his neck. He can hide behind the podium but fro here I see his problem growing. Its not just about trusting Weiner to keep it in his pants though, its about lying. I have it on good source that Weiner is at least two inches smaller than his claims. If he’s gonna lie about his dick size he can’t be trusted.”
De Blasio : “Look size doesn’t matter, just ask my son. He’s a half black man with a cool afro to prove it yet he has a portion of him that is half white, mainly his power drill, and he still gets down wit da bitches.”
Thompson :“Hey look, I can drop trow with the best of them but you need to know when to hold it and when to fold it, and Weiner just don’t fold his.”
Liu :“If Weiner is erected everybody will be Kung Fu fighting, which is a little bit frightening.”

Wow they all brought their big guns to that topic, lotta hostility here, now on to the final topic, the economy, and how will they create jobs.

Thompson :“What we need in New York is to have all taxi drivers self deport, so we can hire real New Yorkers in their place. That will be a huge boost to the economy.
De Blasio: “To create jobs in the city I propose making tax laws 50% more complicated especially for the rich who will be forced to hire our creative New York accountants to better hide their money. Companies like H&R Block will thrive and hire. Also I‘m gonna ask every fast food worker to chip in one dollar each to add to the city surplus. My wife is black and my son is half black with a killer afro and he works at Mickey Dee’s. He said one dollar would not be a strain on him, especially if he can take it out of the allowance we give him.”
Weiner :“Elect me and I promise more construction of clubs like Hooters, Scores, and my new company, ’Sexts and the City’, a self text club that guarantees anonymity. There are so many young co-eds in the city that need those jobs to work their way through college. By the way, if any of you young co-eds need part time work send me a text and I’ll hook you up.”
Liu : “I propose to bring the club scene of the eighties back which stimulates the economy by creating a tourist trap of dance clubs. Once finished, much like the eighties, everybody will be Kung Fu fighting.”

That wrapped up the questions, to save time I will just recap Weiner’s final statement.
“I want to thank Eyewitness News for such penetrating questions. I have never been afraid of penetration and I am happy to wrap my head around them every chance I get. So here’s me promise in a nutsack. Oops, I mean nutshell. The people of New York deserve a mayor who is in touch with the youth, and no one had touched more youth’s than me. The economy need stimulating and no one knows stimulation better than I do. The city needs someone who isn’t afraid to show everyone they are willing to stand up and I have proof of standing up in front of anyone. New York was at one time the fornication capital of the world, and if I’m elected I promise you New York will get fucked royally. Please vote for me, Anthony “Carlos Danger” Weiner. I’ll always be just a phone number away.

Lovers gonna love & Haters gonna hate–Savers gonna Save but Liberals liberate

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Those goddamn liberals are gonna ruin our country. What? Wait, let think this through a minute in terms I hope even the oldest whitest 50’s value clinging paranoid can understand. Words. Terrorist, one who inflicts terror, as a means to control. Terrorist would like to ruin the country, that’s clear enough. But how could a liberal ruin a country. Liberals seek to liberate, to create a power balance in which all share equal value and opportunity in a society. Kinda like Jesus did. Jesus was a liberal, at least according to the lame-stream media of his time, The daily scriptures. Was he trying to ruin the Fertile Crescent? In the dictionary liberal is defined as favorable to progress or reform. Favorable, not destructive. Terrorist-terror, Liberal-liberate. Women’s lib didn’t ruin the country it made it better, with many powerful women adding greatly to our society. Liberate the oppressed, that’s basic. Liberals believe in freedom and not just to other liberals but to all. Even conservatives.
Ah yes, conservatives. The very ones who use the word liberal to project an image of peace loving, tree hugging, environment caring, do nothings who would ruin the country by striving for racial equality, gender equality, a clean global eco-system and worst of all, world peace. What does the dictionary say about this odd group of take it or leave it change resisting conservatives? Conservative, disposed to preserving existing conditions or institutions, to limit change. Who would want to limit change? Obviously if one likes the way things are they wouldn’t want anything to change, wouldn’t want to liberate anyone. Not like that long haired liberal from Nazareth, someone different. Oh yea, King Herod. Lets face it, Herry had his choice of women, lived in a huge palace and was surrounded by wealth and power. Who wouldn’t want things to remain the same if that’s how life is for you? Conservatives conserve and that’s what they do. What they are best at conserving is money and power, and they prefer to conserve it all for themselves. They resist change because that would mean others may have equal value or opportunity and well, they want to conserve it all for themselves.
Not too long ago liberal was a derogatory term spat out with distain. Stinking liberals, bleeding heart liberals. In ’73 I had to choose which party to register as in order to vote, which made no sense to me at all. Why does everyone else have to know what party I believe in. But I dutifully followed the rules and marked my self down as a member of the liberal party partially out of spite to my staunch republican Dad and partially out of my own pure rebellious nature. When my conservative father found out we elevated our “disagreements” from my hair length to my disgracing of the family by becoming a liberal. I was warned it would follow me around like bad body odor. I wore that stench proudly in 1973, and I wear it proudly today. Politically I am liberal but I don’t define myself or others through a religious or political microscope because that’s what we believe not what we are. If you’re and atheist or a bible waving Christian that’s fine, but if you’re an asshole its not because of what you believe, but HOW you believe. Don’t force your beliefs on anyone else, enjoy them for yourself, allow other to enjoy their. The same in politics, if you’re a tea bagging homophobe its not because you’re a republican, you’re just an asshole. You can believe in the republican party without discriminating or fearing people unlike yourself. My Dad was staunch republican as I said, but I will credit him with having the sense to breakdown the stereo-types without sacrificing his core beliefs. It took time and a lot of nudging from me but in the end he understood we are not defined by our unconventional appearance, lifestyle, or religious practice. In name we are all human, and if you feel you must judge, judge not by political or religious beliefs, but by deeds and actions. I believe mine are worthy of any religious or political movement, but more importantly could be accepted as beneficial to humanity.

Camp Stoned-Henge

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cheech-and-chong

Fresh shipment of skunk weed just hit town and I rolled the mothah of all joints. I fired that bad boy up, filled my lungs to capacity and passed it to Mario. Its been dry for almost two months now with nothing around. No red or gold grass, no Jamaican Ganja, no hashish, no Canibinol, not even any shit Mexican dirt weed. We’d resorted to puffing seeds and stems or the occasional resonated tar like lump of whatever the hell we were able to scrape out of our pipes. The first real hit in weeks and its some of the finest wacky tobacky skunk weed we around. Skunk weed, as its name implies, stinks like shit. Not shit exactly, closer to its namesake skunk, but either way when you stick your nose in the baggie it stinks of ass. But the smoke tastes sweet as could be and more importantly this shit FUCKS YOU UP!! The marijuana drought of 72 was now officially over so we were puffing our stone free asses off. “Oh my gawd JT, this shit is kickin’ my ass” Mario exhaled as he was exclaiming what we all were thinking after only one hit. When my turn came around for seconds I inhaled even deeper and held it as long as I could until my lungs waved the white flag and I surrendered a cough agreeing whole heartedly. “You ain’t shitting pickles my man, this is some killer ass weed. I am so stoned! I just wish Jimbo D was here to share it with us.” Jimbo D was a good friend and the fourth musketeer of our gang who moved up to the Catskills. He dropped out of school because his girlfriend was pregnant. They opted to move to Monticello to work for Jimbo’s uncle so now it was just me, Mario, and Shadow hanging around town struggling to finish school. Out of nowhere Shadow blurted out “Hey, my old man has a four man tent.”
The three of us broke out laughing wildly each holding our sides as if they may actually split and continued until we realized none of us knew what was funny. Shadow recovered first, “Haha, what in the hell are we laughing at?” I composed myself a little and looked back at Shadow to answer. “I think it was you Shadow, something about your old man pitching tents in his bedroom.” Shadow laughed again but Mario scratched his head in confusion, “Pitching tents? No he said his Dad has tents, like four of them.” At that point I understood how stoned we were as our conversations were lacking any semblance of lucidity but I needed to know what Shadow meant. “You say you have a four person tent? What did you have in mind?” Shadow exhaled another cloud of sweet second hand smoke, “Well, maybe we could drive up to Monticello to visit Jimbo and Debs and camp out in a tent. That way it’ll just cost us money for food, beer, and weed. We can split the cost of gas.” Amazingly sound proposition from someone so buzzed, and it was almost instantly that all three agreed. A plan began incubating.
That gave us three days to gather together as much drugs and money we could rustle up on short notice and get out of work or whatever else we needed to do. Shadow said he’d call in sick, Mario didn’t work, and this is my weekend off so it was perfect. We chose to leave early Friday afternoon so we would still have enough light to set up the tent. Shadow researched and found a state owned campground just about fifteen minutes from Monticello where we could campout for free. So off to the upstate New York town of Sundown we go.
“Checklist guys. I got a half ounce of weed, a full tank, and a cooler waiting to fill up with beer before we split.” I looked over at Shadow who was supplying the tent, “I got the tent, a coulpa sleeping bags, and a gas lantern. Plus a hatchet and Swiss army knife.” Shadow had a smug proud smile because like most times it was he that thought of the practical shit. Like some kind of real boyscout or something. We both looked at Mario not expecting anything but he shocked the shit out of us. “Well, I got a little cash here, and I also managed to score 6 hits of Bounty Acid.” He held out his hand and in it was a ripped up sheet of what looked like a stained paper towel. Shadow and I let out a simultaneous “Bounty Acid?” Mario chuckled, “its some clinical LSD dripped on paper towels, kinda like the new sugar cube LSD. I got it from my brother and he swears it’s some really good shit man. He’s never let us down before right? When we find Jimbo and Debs we can all trip our asses off.” Me and Shadow exchanged elated approvals. Our weekend was gonna rock and roll.
Monticello was only three hours away in normal traffic but it was Friday afternoon so it took us over an hour just to get on the Throggs Neck Bridge. But once we got through the Bronx it was clear sailing and we located our free campground area just around eight. We surveyed our temporary home, a mountainous forest with a few large clearings and an ice cold stream. We figured out what a preserve is. An isolated place in the woods with no bathroom, no shower, not much of anything but that running ice cold communal stream and a lot of wildlife. Not like Lions and Tigers and Bears and shit, but woodchucks, raccoons, possums, beavers, and foxes. Not the beavers and foxes we were hoping for, real ones. WTF, at least we may find out how much wood a woodchuck can chuck. No matter, its free, we are always open for an adventure, and we had lots of shit for our heads so we worked together and got the tent set up.
Shadow was beaming with pride over our accomplishment and I gotta say the tent looked professional. I stated happily, “All the comforts of home.” Mario was not as enthusiastic not being much of an outdoorsy kinda dude, “Yea ‘cept television a kitchen and a place to shit in peace. JT, light up a joint will ya?” I reached into my cigarette package for the ready to puff fat doob and struck it up, “Capital idea my most awesome brother, lets commence to getting stoned.” Before the joint even reached its destiny of being fastened to a roachclip I lit a second one and Shadow got us each a cold Pabst Blue Ribbon. Now we were feeling good and buzzed and not caring about the lack of amenities in our camp, which we baptized as “Camp Stoned-henge”
Time to begin our search for Jimbo. We had an address, no idea what part of Monticello it was, but being naïve young stoners we believed if we drove around town we would eventually find the street, surprise Jimbo and Deb with some weed, LSD, and beer an have a big ole party. That was the plan anyway. Mario was by far the best driver especially when we were all stoned so I handed him the keys to my little red Simca “La Bomba”. “Okay Mario, the coolers is packed, I rolled eight doobs, and you got the acid. Here’s the keys bro, take us away.” With that the three of us headed out into the higher regions of the Catskill Mountains smoking joints and having fun. We laughed and drove and drove and laughed and we all three were in a great mood. The sun had just gone down to what they call sunset, but sunset way up in the mountains can be very different, and with the thick fog settling in it was more like horror movie cliché at dusk. It was nearly impossible to see but fortunately not many other cars were out on this foggy eve. Then we hit the road that would alter the complexion of our trip in ways we could never have foreseen. Twist Run Mountain Road. The road was long, with many a winding turn, that leads us to who knows where. Mario was doing his best to negotiate the twists and turns but between the fog in the mountain and the fog in his stoned out head his driving was far more erratic than normal. More than once he crossed or straddled the double yellow line and we couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of us. We kept moving, but at the speed of an old man in a wheelchair. We prayed we would not be noticed.
Prayers are funny things. Sometime they are answered, and sometimes they act like they are intercepted by the Karma police. None of us were very religious so instead of being answered they became some kind of karmic retribution, some sort payback for being evil Long Island suburban kids smoking devils weed. With the bright white headlights being refracted in the fog it was easy to see the contrasting rays of red strobe like lights which bounced off of everything. “Oh fuck man, I’m getting pulled over.“ Paranoia can make you freeze or give you paranormal quickness of thought. My panic first kicked in frozen as vision of an upstate New York prison until intuition filled my brain. Paranormal quickness took center stage as I immediately pulled the remaining joints out of my cigarette box and handed each of the boys two, leaving me with two. “Quick Mario, take out the cid an toss it out the window.” As Mario grabbed them from his pocket the always frugal and efficient Shadow pulled them from his hand and yelled “No wait, lets eat the acid first then the joints. We don’t wanna get busted tossing shit out of the window way the fuck up here. Besides Mario spent good money on it, hate to waste that.” At the time it seemed like a great idea. Mario stalled by pulling over slowly and we each ate two hits of LSD then began chewing the pot. Funny thing about skunk weed, and a fact I had previously been unaware of is it not only smells like skunk ass, it tastes like skunk ass too. Not to say I have eaten skunk ass before, but using my imagination that’s what it would taste like. I chewed and swallowed my two rodent shit tasting big bamboo sticks, Shadow ate his two, but Mario could only finish one. “Hey man, I can’t get this down it tastes horrible. JT, ya gotta take it man.” I grabbed the stick shoved it in my mouth and began chewing just as the cop came up to the window shining his flashlight on us. “Whatcha boyz a dewn up here, eh?“ He shined the light around our eyes and I stopped chewing, allowing the skunk ass flavor to proliferate around my cheeks awhile. Mario took control. “Um, sorry officer, we, uh we’re like here looking for our friend who lives up here in Monticello and like we got like lost in the mountains, he he, and well like the fog is like I mean like I can‘t like even see” Suddenly realizing he told a cop he couldn‘t see yet was still driving Mario made an attempt at a save and blurted, “I mean not like CAN“T see, but like not like really well, I mean this fog is like I mean can’t.. How do you do it officer?” The cop began searching our faces using his flashlight like a spotlight while I frantically tried to swallow inconspicuously the last of the skunk weed and rolling paper. He looked directly at me and suddenly that was me in the spot-light, nearly losing my biological functions. “Y’all looking fer a friend ya say? In Monticello? Well you boys’r in Ellenville now. I think maybe Y’all aughtta step on out the car.” He stepped back and shone his light on Mario and I took the opportunity to swallow the last of the wad of pastey skunk ass saliva soaked crap in my mouth. I was sure my breath stunk like a skunks ass and that’s something I wouldn’t want to try and explain to a hick cop way up in the Catskill Mountains. I wished I has a mint or something but at least we had no drugs to get busted with now. The cop frisked each of us then made us open the trunk of the car. Inside we had a cooler and my Moms wicker picnic basket. The lawman focused on the basket and said, “That’s a helluva nice basket there boys. My wife sure’d like something like that.” I said nothing, but Shadow was quick on the draw. He picked it up and handed it to the cop, “Well officer, why don’t you take this back to the Mrs. We’d be honored if you would take this as a token of our appreciation for helping us figure out where we are and how we can get back home.” Between Shadows charm and my Moms basket the cop took the bribe, smiled and said, “Well thank you boys, that sure is awful nice. My wife is gonna be right happy tonight. Now why don’t y’all get on back in your car, don’t move for about one hour an let the fog settle down. Make sure y’all go straight to where your staying” I looked at Shadow then at Mario and thought about how pissed my Mom was gonna be when she finds out I, or rather Shadow gave away her wicker basket. Anyway the cop was leaving, both Shadow and I mumbled good bye but Mario thought he would add to our new found friendly relation with the officer. With his goofiest big smile he added “We call it Camp Stoned-henge” The cop stopped glared in our direction and paused for a brief moment, then just shook his head as put his prize in his car. “You boys just get on back to your camp whatever, I sure don’t wanna run into y’all again tonight. Unnerstand?” No answer was necessary, we got into La Bomba, waited until the cop was out of sight and split.
Now there was some considerable silence in the car, each of us processing what just happened, and wondering what two hits of acid was gonna be like once it kicked in. Mario was driving and spoke first, “Lets just do like he said and head back to camp. Maybe tomorrow in the light we can find Jimbo.” As obvious and sensible as that was I still wanted to talk about my Moms basket, “Man, why the fuck did you give him My Moms basket? She’s gonna fucking kill me!” Shadow was already prepared with his answer, “Dude chill! It got us out of trouble, what if he kept us there and we all started tripping? We’ll chip in and get a new one, just tell her you left it somewhere.” Satisfied but not happy I had to agree, and off we drove back to Camp Stoned-henge in relative quiet.
No sooner did we get back to our tent did the tingling feeling of an oncoming LSD trip began. We popped open some brews, and waited. I don’t think I ever hallucinated so much before. I was seeing animals that weren’t there, probably not seeing animals that were, and we laughed for about three hours straight all the time having no idea whatsoever why we were laughing. Trees grew extra branches then bent over and kissed the ground. The sounds of the wilderness were symphonic, and even in the dark the colors were magnificent. Time seemed suspended and life looked distorted as if through a kaleidoscope tube but it was okay, even humorous for some bizarre reason. The acid changed the complexion of the evening and we had a blast.
We knew we were never gonna find Jimbo and Debs now, but we were high as shit, tripping and laughing away. We got lost in a mountain fog, had to eat almost all of our weekend supply of drugs including two hits each of acid, got pulled over by a corrupt hick cop almost getting busted, gave away my Moms wicker basket, but at least we’re safe, and happily tripping. Would be for at least the next 5 or 6 hours. We were laughing uncontrollably, happy as clams and the worst was over. Then something fell on the top our temporary canvas abode. Maybe a small twig or something. Then another, and another. Shadow peeked through the tent opening and gave us the news, “Oh oh, looks like rain guys” As the words began to sink in the rat a tat tat on the tent picked up speed and decibels. Within seconds the light rain morphed into a mountain downpour and I felt the earth move under my feet-I felt the sky a tumbling. Before we knew what happened we had wall to wall mud carpeting. Mario began freaking out, I began laughing harder, and Shadow stared out to tent opening and with a prophecy told us the wind was kicking up which reminded him of a time he and his Dad were camping, got caught in a storm so bad that the wind yanked the tent spikes out and one stuck in his leg.
The last lucid memory I had was Shadow showing us this little scar on his calf. Less lucid is a memory as vague as the mud carpet, of three tripped out stoners laughing with a mixture of delight and horror as we became part of a canvas blob of a soaking wet mudpack. We managed to pop our heads out of the openings, Mario found some cans of mud crusted PBR’s and we partied until well after sunrise. At some point we finally fell asleep.
We slept clear through to Sunday morning and when the Sunday morning sun menacingly shook us awake we looked like burnt and crusted Woodstock wash outs, completely covered in dried mud and probably woodchuck piss. We rummaged through what was left of our campsite, the weed was MIA, the cooler had tipped over but still had a few warm beers in it, and the sleeping bags and everything else including the tent were a damp collaboration of musty half dried shit. We tossed it all in the trunk where my Moms wicker basket once resided, went down and bathed in the ice cold stream. We set out home to Long Island and despite having a ton and a half of fun each vowed to never return to Camp Stoned-henge…..PEACE

I Know Where She’s Going, She’s Headed For The Cheating Side Of Town

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This is a very serious and sad excerpt of a story written from a normally humorous POV. It’s a peek into a portion of the dark side of JT’s life or it may just be a distorted reflection from your own mirror
You’re Cheatin’ Heart
Kayla was sound asleep and on any other night I would have been asleep too knowing Tina would come home after she was done with her shift. First maybe have a drink or two before coming home. I worked in many a restaurant and having a few “pops” after service was common. But this wasn’t any other night. This was the night I was confronting Tina. The green eyed monster was surely one of my less positive traits and has arrived too often under false pretenses, but I had been relatively certain she had been cheating on me No false pretenses this time though because tonight I have hard evidence. Her best friend and normal excuse for being late called earlier looking for Tina. Not much by itself but on the counter sat a receipt signed by her for a room at The Millers Grove Motor Inn. Of all places it had to be a motel bursting with happy memories of intense sexual excursions we had under the ceiling mirrors and on vibrating beds. I laid in wait in the darkness feeling my anger percolate. When I heard her car pull up a rush of adrenaline churned in my gut then gathered in my head. I was shaking. This was it!
The second she walked through the door my fears were confirmed. Her face bore an all telling freshly satisfied smile. The kind of smile I remembered seeing so often after our nights at the motel before we were married. It cut deep into my heart and made it hard to breath. Here it goes. “So where ya been babe?” Tina was startled, caught off guard not expecting me to be awake. I could feel the nervousness in her lie. “Oh, Joanne and I stopped of for a drink and it turned into 4 or five. We had some late customers and Jo and Jacob are having problems again.” I took a deep breath, anger growing by the second. “That’s really odd because Joanne called about two hours ago to remind you that you promised to cover her shift tomorrow.” The silence sat for an extremely uneasy four seconds as Tina began to attempt a backtrack. “Oh, did I say Joanne, I meant” I cut her off instantly” Stop the bullshit Tina! Stop it now!! You weren’t with Joanne or any other waitress friend. But I think I can guess where you were. More than likely at the Millers Grove Inn. It seems like that’s where you like to go, at least according to that receipt that was in your coat pocket.” I pointed to the receipt my finger shaking intensely. My body responding involuntarily to the sour mix of anger, nervousness, and anxiety. She just stared, eyes wider than I thought possible. Busted! She had nowhere to take it. She looked down at the floor unable to meet my burning angry eyes. Her face was flushed bluish red from the guilt and sex as well as the drugs and alcohol that were likely involved. She raised her head, eyes now pathetic an pooling up with tears as they held me hostage in anticipation. Her moist red eyes became pathetic and profoundly sad . It must have taken all she had to issue a sad mumble of “I-I’m sorry JT. I’m so so sorry.” She managed a sniffle for an exclamation point but I was miles and miles away from being ready to accept an apology.
“You’re sorry!? Sorry about what Tina? Sorry that you’ve been fucking somebody behind my back or sorry you got caught?” My face must have been bright crimson red because I could feel rivulets of livid red blood cells swirling around my head and I felt my Yeah you do cuz we’ve both been fucked over before and swore we would never do it to each other. I fucking trusted you Tina! I can’t fucking believe this.” The next question asked itself because I don’t remember thinking it. “So who is it? Who are you fucking Tina? Someone from the kitchen? A waiter? Who the hell are you sleeping with?” She paid no attention to the fact that it was more a demand than a question. Through her tears she softly asked, “JT please, does it really matter?” Actually a fair question but for some reason I felt I had to know. “It makes a difference to me, Tina, to me, to your husband. Remember him? You‘re partner for life!!” Tina looked up at me and streams of tear had begun sliding down her cheeks. “Please JT, don’t make me, it isn’t important. I made a mistake and I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say.” Head still burning hot with anger and distain my voice was getting a bit too loud. “I’ll tell you what I want you to say, I want you to say you didn‘t do it. I want you to say I haven’t been with anyone else but you can’t. It’s too late for that now isn’t it Tina. So I want to at least know who I can blame for ruining my life. Who is your fucking boy toy?” My sarcastic tone was over the top and I regretted the moment I used it, but fuck it man, I was beyond pissed! She looked at me defiantly and just spat out his name. “You really want to know JT? Okay I’ll tell you who I made love to, it was Johnny” The Louisville Slugger of shock cracked me dead in the temple sending resounding waves of disbelief across my skull. My head throbbed with a combination of bewilderment and almost uncontrollable anger. Johnny?! Fucking Johnny boy, the love of her life before we started dating. The very dude I had saved her from. The worthless prick who abused her, called her names, and cheated on her right under her nose!. The mother fucker she cried to me about for weeks after they broke up. The piece of shit that treated her like dirt for years as I begged her to leave him. I couldn’t breathe. I was aware of how loud it had gotten and didn‘t want Kayla to wake up. Choked with incredulousness my voice sounded squeezed .“Johnny. You mean Johnny boy the fuckhead that you hated? That fucking Johnny? I can’t believe this! How the fuck did this happen?” Now her tears were in full flight and forcing their way through her fingers. Tina was shaking visibly and breathing in uneven pants. “It doesn’t matter.” Fury was at an all time high. “Stop saying it doesn’t matter. It does matter. It really really does fucking matter!”
After a deluge of wet sobs Tina attempted to explain herself. “I went out for a drink with the girls after work week a coupla weeks ago and Johnny was there. He came over and we just started talking. Just talking, nothing else. He wanted to tell me how sorry he was and wanted to be friends again, we had a few drinks, one thing led to another and I-I don’t know. It just happened.” I was still in stun mode and the anger needed to escape in the worst way. “It just happened?” I was pissed and I could hear Tina sobbing heavily. “Something like that doesn’t just happen Tina. That’s bullshit. You have to know that something might happen. You say to yourself, this is a bad situation, this is wrong. This asshole fucked me over an now I’m talking to him. I can’t do this cuz I’m married. I’m happily married and….” The Louisville Slugger returned this time filled with reality. “Wait! Shit! Oh my god no!? Oh no no no. Oh shit Tina. You’re not happy are you? You were hoping. Oh Jesus god you were looking for someone or something that would free you out of ….of life with me. An unhappy life with me!” Anger was giving way to an old nemesis, my self loathing alter ego I believed to be dead had risen triumphantly. My loud rambling was replaces with a soft voice of reality, of self degradation. “What about Kayla? Are you unhappy about Kayla too?” Now Tina’s face looked distorted. The sockets of her eyes were sunken and wrinkled, deep reddish brown from so much rubbing. She looked old and haggard with her face soaked through and through from an all out cry. Every pore of her face looked sad and defeated. I wondered how I must have looked at that moment. Oh my god did she hate me that much? I was consumed by a combination of anger, betrayal, guilt, sadness and deep self loathing. My old pal, the demon self hate. I had truly hated myself morosely a few years ago when I first told Carrie about my theory that everyone that gets to know me either dies or leaves. That’s probably why I got so fucked up all the time, did so many drugs. Fuck man, even I couldn’t stand being near myself. Why should Tina feel any different f. The years of confidence building collapsed in a single instant. I was crushed and beginning to understand that it was my fault. Tina clearly had to share in the blame too but the reality was she didn’t love me anymore. Neither of us were able to talk. All we could do was shake and cry and sniffle. How did it come to this? I poured myself a huge glass of vodka from the freezer which was half gone in a matter of seconds, and being a half empty type of guy at this moment I filled back up before emptying it in one gulp.
We sat in silence for about ten minutes until Tina found the courage to talk. “So what now JT? What are we going to do now?“ I thought for a few seconds then said ”I don’t know Tee, I just don’t know.” My voice had taken on an eerie even tone which I almost didn’t recognize. “I think I needed to go home to Centerlawn and think shit through. And I think you need to decide what you want to do too. I guess we both need to figure out what we want but as far as our marriage well, thats over” Surprisingly Solomonic after such an emotional roller coaster. Tina just stared at me with a profound sorrow in her eyes so deep it made her look totally detached from life. “I am so so sorry JT. Its all my fault. I don’t even no where to begin.” I put my finger up to her lips, “Shh, there’s plenty of blame to go around. I’ve been so consumed with work and, fuck man I don’t know what. I-I just never saw this coming. We both fucked up. Maybe we should never have been, I don’t know. Like I said, I need to think shit through. I gotta split. I’m going home to my Moms, I need to think. I’ll be back to see Kayla after work tomorrow.” I pounded down another glass of vodka and took what was left of the bottle. I could hear Tina sobbing loudly in the background as I walked out the door. I took one last look at our home, our once happy home and could see the Tot Finder in Kayla’s window. Her parents have just become the monsters under her bed. I thought about Kayla and broke down and cried again. Not a soft cry, not even a cry like I had when my brother James died. This was a deep guttural cry with an ugly darkness. I have lost Tina, I lost my self worth, and worst of all I’m gonna lose Kayla. All in the blink of an eye. I blew Kayla’s window a kiss through my tears, wiped off my soaked cheeks and took a deep breath. I got in my car and left wondering if I was ever coming back.

Asking Fellow Writers For Help

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized3 Comments

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Fellow bloggers and writers I am requesting your input and advice. It has taken me many years to work up the courage to really share my ramblings and musings but I have reached a point where I want to reach out and share my twisted view of life through storytelling. I am ready to attempt to publish some short stories in either in magazines or on e-readers or any other medium but have no clue where to even begin. Writing has always been more of a hobby for me shared with only close friends, and growing up prior to the information explosion I have limited mastery of electronics and cyber worlds. I am asking anyone willing to check out this excerpt below and offer any serious and honest critiquing and any assistance on how I may go about publishing some work. Either way thank you and keep on writing….PEACE

COSMO AND THE GARDEN EARTH
(A guide to cosmic gardening)

PART 1. NOT JUST DUST IN THE WIND

In the beginning there was a vast empty space with atoms flying around in chaos everywhere when suddenly two overly aggressive atoms collided and caused a huge explosion. Out of this explosion came a vast network of stars and debris spinning in an ever-expanding vortex we call the universe. The Big Bang, the singularity, the beginning. Right! First vast empty space then all of a sudden a Universe so huge it has no end. Wait, even better, first there was nothing and then the one and only god created shit to keep him busy. A massive universe with one teeny little speck where he created human beings to be just like him. Now that’s even funnier! As a matter of fact both of these theories are a source of great humor and hilarity and the butt of many jokes at The Board of Co-operative Gods and Goddesses in District seven. At a cosmic cocktail party you will hear no less than one hundred jokes about various theories of how life came to be, but the Earth stories are by far the most popular. The “monkey trials” keep the gods laughing for hours on end at inter-galactic get togethers. There is not a god worth his sodium that hasn’t heard of Darwin, Moses, Mohamed, Elijah. Or the Talmud, Koran, The Bible or even The Upanishads. Stories of a pure evil horned devil with blood dripping from its hands and fear bolts being shot from its eyes keep them rolling in the anti-matter with tears of laughter. Satan, Lucifer, Serpent of Evil, all such knee slapping names. Oh yes, the earthlings grown by Cosmo are a source of great amusement to all the gods. All the gods? Am I saying there really are many gods? Does a pope defecate in the woods? Is a Polar Bear catholic? Can white bears jump? Of course there are many gods, and many galaxies supporting forms of life. Did you really think you were the only living beings in the entire universe? Jeez, and I thought Wookies were dumb. Well sit back you Vader naysayer and let me tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Well maybe a fabrication or two along the way because YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!
In the beginning there were many gods and goddesses with varying responsibilities an each god had a particular purpose.Some Gods to make the planets spin, some to make and enforce laws such as gravity, gods to create properties of physics, gods to ponder deeply the laws and needs of the universe’s to determine how they should be applied. These were the most intelligent gods and they held court to make decisions about everything. It is still known today as The Board of Co-operative Gods and Goddesses. (BOCGG) They made the decisions that effected the farmer gods who were expected to grow and experiment with the various galaxies across the universe. Each galaxy was tended to by its own god. There was great and clever Simon in the Tolkien Galaxy, Mychrighton in the Andromeda Strain Galaxy, The red haired beauty Lucille who watched over the Bobaloo Galaxy, Luke-ass who presided over The infamous Jedi Galaxy that was far far away, and so on. Here in our Milky Way galaxy, the farmer was and is the god Cosmo. Such a good farmer is Cosmo that they named the entirety of space after him. The vast space of the universe came to be known as “The Cosmos”. Travel was known as Cosmic travel, knowledge as cosmic knowledge and any left out odds and ends in space became known as Cosmic debris. I’m not jiving you bout that Cosmic debris! Cosmo is indeed an accomplished cosmic gardener, in fact he is somewhat of a legend among the other gods. In Solar system 728KJ he had cultivated eight grooving spinning garden orbs called planets. From the tiny and excruciatingly hot mercury, to the equally tiny but totally frozen Neptune he held them together with a tight asteroid belt and tended to all eight magnificently. He had the giant Jupiter (which for some reason has red eye in all the family photo’s), he put some cool looking bangle bracelets around the lovely and mysterious Saturn, and named two of the planets after his own Mom and Dad. The entire universe was touched at the naming of Venus and Mars. Yes Cosmo had really taken pride in that particular solar system. But his pride and joy and claim to fame is most assuredly for his work done on one particular planet, known throughout cosmos as garden earth. Garden earth is a rather insignificant looking planet in solar system 728KJ. It is the third planet from Sun 728, and has the benefit of the perfect amount of sunshine. Earth also has a considerable amount of water on it which is the other essential ingredient in growing things. Sun and Water in abundance makes for a smashing garden. Cosmo wants to make planet earth, in solar system 728KJ the most prolific and successful garden in all the universe. With a vast ocean to create clouds which would in turn drop water back into the garden a system of synergetic energy is created. Cosmic irrigation! Garden earth is a thriving ever-growing populace world. A wide variety of vegetation and many roaming creatures inhabit this garden. But what you see on garden earth today is not how it was at the beginning so put on your asteroid seat belt as we travel back in time to see how this all came to be The Planet Earth.
Catastrophic is the best way to describe his first attempt. Maybe he was not mature enough or maybe he just rushed it, but either way it’s a story that is told and retold as far away as Gabor40904 which is about eight billion gamma light years away. To you that would be a mere two point five septillion miles give or take. At any rate here is what happened in Cosmo’s first attempt. When a god reaches a certain age he or she is given a Galactic Farming Starter Kit. In the starter kit comes a package of sea monkeys which gods use to populate in any gathering of H2O. These sea monkeys would eventually grow into all sorts of different weird looking creatures. Some even had 8 legs! But, that’s way in the future as evolution thrives underwater. The problem was that no one could see the assortment of single cell creatures swimming beneath the surface of the Sea of Earth. Cosmo wanted more on his special planet. He wanted some things that he could watch and toy with and keep as pets. So with the BOCGG approval Cosmo sent away for the “Advanced” farmer kit which comes with both vegetative seeds and life seeds capable of growing multi-organism land dwelling entities.
Cosmo surveyed his round global garden and noticed a huge land mass which he had named Pangea after his sister Pangela. It was enormous but completely unadorned and surrounded in its entirety by water. Cosmo’s first brilliant concept was born. Large edible vegetation. He developed gargantuan trees and tall full shrubs which would absorb energy from the sun and convert it into oxygen. Now he could create some creatures and they would have food and be able to breath. Brilliance had come to Cosmo in a dream. He was being chased by a creature with a long neck and large mouth with sharp teeth. This would be his first creature. What should he name this creature? Jar Jar Brinks? No, that’s stupid. He thought out loud. “Lets see, the creature was chasing me and my buddy Steggo and when it got near it bit Steggo’s ass. Steggo yelled out damn man, now my ass is sore and.” He stopped in mid sentence. “That’s it! I’ll call him sore ass! No, not sore ass, Steggo’s sore ass. To avoid any divine libel law suits it was suggested he make it one word. It sounded smart and sophisticated as stegosaurus so he went with that. Now for some other creatures for stegosaurus to play with.
So Cosmo created an assortment of giant creatures. Long necks, smaller faster creatures, a few with wings, and one really scary one. He made up weird names for them like Stegosaurus, brontosaurus, Pterodactyl (He also invented the silent letter which would cause all sorts of shit in years to come), and his personal favorite, the frightening one, Tyrannosaurus Rex. For weeks the great god Cosmo played with his new dinosaurs. He started to get a little worried when he saw them chewing on the tops of all his beautiful vegetation, but realized that they needed to eat something. My creator almighty they have appetites bigger than their damn bodies. Seems the more they ate the more they expelled from there butts. Some of it a horrible almost violent smelling gas which was a bit of an embarrassment to Cosmo when other gods came to view his garden. But the solid stuff actually deteriorated and made the trees and shrubs grow even better. It seemed like a perfect system. Everything depended on everything else to survive. The sun gave everything energy and sucked up water to make clouds, the clouds returned water to cool things off in the garden and help grow the vegetation. The vegetation gave air and food for the creatures , and the creatures pooped out food to feed the vegetation. A cycle was created which Cosmo referred to as “The cycle of life.” A theme that would forever define his garden no matter what thrived in the garden beds.

Salvation On A Stick

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A candle glowed I saw the light
Was blinded by the glare
Looked inside the painted glass
Not a single soul was there

imagery hangs up on the wall
with beads of whispered hope
Empty promise from within
Behind the velvet rope

You can build life brick by brick. Trust me trust me that’s the trick
What you find out there can make you sick. Glory Praise Him Halleluiah .. Salvation on a stick

Come inside confess your sins
We love it when you give detail
Trade your switchblade for a cross
And shout his name with zeal

It’s why you’re here its why you came
To wash away the sick
Come inside and you will find
Salvation on a stick

You can build it brick by brick. Trust me trust me that’s the trick
What’s really there can make you sick. Glory Praise Him Halleluiah .. Salvation on a stick

The Needle And The Damage Done

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I couldn’t help but fixate on my conversation, or maybe slurversation with Artie last night and the China white heroin. Horse, the big H, dope. Heroin took the starring role in most of the PSA movies we were force-fed in high school as the ultimate villain. The Damien of drugs that was where all roads end and would surely be the death of us all. What worried me mot was that it didn’t worry me at all. My life was slinking along the gutter and rapidly evolving into rotted sewage. Carrie cheated on me and my best Ken is gone giving credence to my “JT is a jinx” theory. Everyone I care about either moves, dies, or gets pushed away by me as I wallow in my self loathing. No doubt just more of my self full-filling prophecy of dying a lonely young man. Just everything in my life sucks right now so what do I have to lose? It was like the angel and devil on each shoulder, one whispering “fuck it JT, just go for it” while the other was telling me to stop and think. What do you have to lose? You can handle it, you can handle any drug. The devil was much more convincing and eventually even the angel agreed I should go for it. The downward spiral was set in motion.
I gave Art a call hoping he remembered me even being there last night. “Here there little man, what’s on yer mind?” I took a breath and proceeded cautiously because drug users have built in paranoia and are always worried about cops listening in on phone. “Ah, I was like thinking about what we talked about last night, ya know, that uh, Chinese thing ya know? Well I think I’d like to try it.” There was a short pause before he understood my idiotic cryptic message. “Oh yea, of course little man, I can hook it up, come over tonight and we can get high. I’m partying with Penny and Pam man that’ll be perfect.” I bubbled with an extra air of excitement.
Penny and Pam, the twins, partying with me and Artie? Jesus shit that was unbelievable. Penny and Pam were identical twins, both with long straight black hair and high cheekbones. Either on could pas for Cher with a body to match. Such long legs an such a high tiny waist. Definitely out of my league but drugs are a fantastic equalizer. It was amazing to see them together, they not only looked the same but sounded exactly alike too. They even finished each others sentences. They were two years older so I would need to put on some extra charm. There was a rumor that Pam had a birthmark just above the hair line of her groin and if I had the chance to find out for sure my life would be back on track. Or was it penny that had the mark? Either way, if I had a chance to be with either of them I would be all over it. I would just need to dance the fine line between experimenting with dope and being a full fledged junkie. This could make me a social outcast or an instant legend depending how it goes! I took extra care in blow drying my hair that evening as if it would matter.
When I finally got to Arties I was nervous. The twins were already there and one of them winked at me. They loved to play with peoples heads and pretend to be each other so I have no clue which one winked but it was exciting either way. Artie handed me a glass of vodka while I pulled out a joint, lit it and passed it around. “Hey little man, go put on a record.” I wish he hadn’t call me little man at that point but on the other hand it showed a special connection between me and Artie which enhanced my coolness status. But pressure was on, which album? I chose a Santana album, Abraxas which would set a great mood and took note that Artie had the “Eat A Peach” album by the Allman Brothers. With any luck that will come in handy later because it had a tune called “Mountain Jam” which was an entire side and was the best tune ever to make love too. Gotta remain optimistic, I need a good vibe.
We laughed and partied for forty five minutes during which it seemed like Artie was deciding which twin he wanted to be with, because it was almost a given he had his choice. He’s ultra cool and the man with drugs so he gets special considerations from most everyone, especially the ladies. “Well my little dumplings, I think the time has come. Lets get high.” They both visibly perked up and began getting prepared. Obviously they’d done this before. “ladies this is JT’s first flight so lets help him out here.” They both smiled huge smiles at me and I was ready. One of them grabbed my arm as Artie began pouring some powder into a spoon and lit a candle.” Roll up your sleeve JT honey an lets have a look at your veins.” She inspected my arm, “Cool Artie, he’s got some big veins here, this one should be easy. I’m gonna tie him off.” Artie acknowledged as Penny or Pam looked at me slyly, “You want me to hit you Hon? I never gave anyone their first before.” I gulped a bit harder than I wanted to hoping she didn’t sense my apprehension. “Sure, I’d really like that but which one are you? I mean like for my record.” They both laughed lightly, “Dose it matter? I’m Pam and that’s Penny but we both answer to either so you choose.” She tied an old necktie around my bicep and tightened it then looked at my forearm and slapped it. “Okay, Pam sounds good, their both sexy names.” I felt like an asshole as they both giggled but Pam looked me straight in the eye, “Listen JT, I’m getting your veins to come up and then I’ll choose one. I’m gonna put the spike in your arm and show you how its done. Next time your gonna want hit yourself.” She smiled and instead of thinking about what was happening I found myself thinking about how pretty she is. Artie had put the spoon with the powder and a little water over the candle flame until it boiled lightly, “I’m cooking it up now JT. Soon as it boils I’m gonna draw the liquid up into the syringe. The spike. Pam’s gonna stick you, then pull back to make sure she hit a vein. When you see a touch of red in the spike it means she’s in and then she’ll pull back slightly then push and pull back and forth slowly. Its called booting. Once you start hitting yourself you decide how much you like to boot but for now Pam will choose. In about ten seconds you’ll feel the most intense high you’ve ever fucking had man so just sit back and enjoy it. Don’t try to talk, just dig on it little Bro.” He ripped off a small piece of a unused cigarette filter, put it in the liquid and drew in the liquid, handing the spike to Pam.
“Ready babe?” Pam snapped a finger at the syringe an pushed up until a tiny spurt of water shot out. “I’m making sure there’s no air in the needle, you don’t want air shooting into your heart. As soon as I get a vein I’m gonna release the tie and start booting.” Pam grabbed my arm and studied it locating the perfect spot then she injected the needle. I did my best not to shake. I wasn’t actually scared but I was nervous not knowing what to expect. Pam smiled at me, “here we go baby, enjoy.” I saw her pull back on the plunger, a dab of red liquid mixed in with the dope infused water as she undid the tie around my bicep. She plunged about half of the liquid into my arm and that’s when I took off.
I watched the plunger as Pam went in and out with it about six times, the last time plunging it all the way and then removing the spike. Immediately a warm sensation traveled across my shoulders into my back. I smiled involuntarily and all I could manage to make come out of my mouth was a long airy “Whoooaaaa!” In an instant every ugly, sad, and shitty thing in the world disappeared. Not one thing mattered. Nothing! A faint buzz sound filled my ears blocking everything else out and making me want to just smile. I never felt so good in my entire life and it felt like minutes before I remembered where I was. The first thing I saw was Pam smiling warmly holding my hand. “How ya feeling JT? You okay?” It was spoken in an even easy tone and Jesus shit I was beyond okay. I looked back at her, smiled, and softly and slowly said, “Holy shit Pam, that, thats incredible. I think my head is numb.” Pam laughed then reached her face over and kissed me tenderly on the cheek, “Its my turn baby, you wanna watch? Watching is sexy as hell” I just shook my head unable to form any rational sentences and rocked slowly back and forth. I looked on as she prepared her own batch of China white. Penny and Artie were gone and I assumed shooting up somewhere else. Everything was beautiful, every minute negative anything from the world was gone entirely. Nothing existed but me, Pam, the highest feeling ever, and China white.
There’s something special about getting someone high for their first time JT. Now your gonna share my high with me.” She dumped a packet of heroin into the spoon and filled an eyedropper with water. Pam had a remarkable sparkle in her eye when she gazed at me and said, “I think this is sexy. Watch what I do and maybe next time you can hit me. Pam instructed me on the proper way to use heroin as she got her hit set up. “I’m ready. I have great veins so I don’t even tie off, I hit a vein every time” She smiled and I thought it was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. It took everything I had not to blurt that thought out loud and look like a dork. I just smiled back as she rubbed her arm where she was gonna inject. I was still numb, and don’t know how else to describe the feeling. I have never felt so good. In mere seconds I had been transported from a loser seeking asylum in drugs to King of the world with a beautiful woman sharing my moment. I watched as Pam skillfully hit a vein and pulled back revealing the swish of blood, then began booting the dope into her arm smiling the whole time. She put down the spike and looked my way. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her lips parted sensuously allowing a long drawn out “ohhhh” to fill the air with an almost pornographic feel. We began making out and everything after that became somewhat foggy.
I woke up naked with my body wrapped around Pam’s. I didn’t even remember falling asleep but I do remember having the best sex of my life and how for one night every aspect of my life was beautiful. I didn’t want to go back to reality, I just wanted to stay high forever. It never dawned on me what a destructive omen that was because last night was the single most awesome night of my life. We had partied a few hours, smoked more weed and hit each other up one more time before we made it to the floor and made passionate love while listening to “Eat A Peach” I had an opportunity to inspect Pam’s naked body and no birthmark but I had no plan of sharing that bit of trivia with anyone. She began to stir and then woke up. “Hey babe, how was your first flight?” I wasn’t sure how to answer, everything happened so fast I was afraid I was falling in love again but this was much to soon. I was beginning to worry that I fell in love with any female that acknowledged my existence so I didn’t want to sound over enthusiastic “Holy Jesus shit Pam it was amazing.” I was about to blubber “And you were the most amazing chick I‘ve ever known” but Pam interjected, “Well its best we don’t mention this to anyone, I don’t want my boyfriend to find out.” Two shots of heroin followed by a shot of reality. A sure sign of danger ahead.

I’m You Venus, I’m Your Fire, What’s Your DESIRE?

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50 shades of Gray Matter. Sticky Gray Matter

Desire. A common bond everyone shares with each other. Not a person exits that doesn’t desire something. What exactly is desire? A philosophic and religious quandary before the word quandary even existed. Desire can raise you to the top of the power pyramid or topple you like a stupid Jenga move. It can get you kicked out of the garden of Eden, get you beaten by your wife with a golf club, or cause you to lose you your pulpit and have you defrocked. That right, the preacher that was frock-blocked and publicly humiliated admitting “I have sinned!” gave in to desire because he sinned. Of course he sinned, if you call sex a sin, he had strong desires. And sexual desire is the glue that binds all seven of the seven deadly sins.
Yes desire, that sweet sweeping feeling of anticipation of pleasure on the way. That marvelous feeling of bodily fluids creeping to the top of the roller coaster in anticipation of an explosive thrill ride. But what price are you willing to pay to fulfill your sexual desire? What will scratching that sensual itch that brings you to the edge of your sanity end up costing you? Everything has a price and desire can incur an array of costs. Reaching your desire makes you happy and although money can’t buy happiness you can pay to have your desires tended to. But they will only come back because you can‘t purchase a way to end your desire. Whether you desire a high octane thrills like the rush from bungee jumping, the status raising happiness of owning expensive clothes, or cars or whatever, it can all be bought. If you want sexual release you hire someone who works for the oldest profession. Want a feeling of euphoria? That too can be bought and paid for but once satisfied the rush is gone. Soon after we reach a climatic conclusion to desire we’re on the trail in search of another chance.
Desire can be achieved during a solo performance but its at its best when it involves more than one singular participant. Desire loves company but misery loves company too so its often accompanied by consequence. Eve desired the forbidden apple and Adam desired the forbidden fruit underneath the fig leaf and reaching for their desires got them a one way ticket out of the garden. Was it worth the consequence? Well if the pictures I’ve seen of Eve are accurate I have no doubt Adam would have proclaimed it was well worth it, and Eve had a major smile when she peered at the size of the talking serpent. For Adam and Eve the joys of sex were so intense it was absolutely worth the price of their exile an according to legend are till going at it today. Seems Adam had been overwhelmed by his horniness which intensified even deeper as it was discovered that Eve was skilled in the art of the tease. She coaxed not only the desires out of her mate but every ounce of human seminal fluid in the world.
Perhaps she learned of this technique as she engaged in a deep conversation with the serpent. Talking snake, lol! Of course we know there are no talking serpents so the snake is a metaphor for Adams writhing tubular appendage. Personally speaking if my own endowment were compared to that of a large cobra I would be quite flattered and other dude would have crazy penis envy. But Adam had no other male to compare his pole to so there was no envy. There was however a plethora of desire and Adam and Eve went at it like pros until Adams wallnuts were out of apple seeds. For the rest of us however the taming of his slippery pusillanimous one eyed slithering serpent is considered the fall of man. In truth I believe Eve was so hot and horny it was Adam who fell, head over heels, and to this day love and desire are a match made in heaven. They satisfied their desires on the grandest of scales. Tiger on the other hand didn’t fare so well.
Tiger had multiple desires which lead to multiple orgasms which once revealed to his wife lead to multiple shots to the head with a number 2 wood. Ironically, Woods was beaten with a wood for indiscretions involving placing his wood in someone elses golfbag during his midnight putting sessions. Elin effectively cleaned his balls by taking Tigers own tool and swinging Wood’s wood with a perfect swing and excellent follow through. She was so teed off she teed off on his noggin, metaphorically smashing both heads with the blows she leveled at him. Tiger paid tremendous consequences losing his wife and many of his endorsements. Mr. Woods has been off his game ever since. But the common bond that drove both men was sexual desire.
Sex. Sometimes a favorite subject and sometimes the pachyderm in the pantry. Taboo, illicit, underage, multiple partner, auto erotic, swapping, or orgies, the act of making love has been around since the dawn of time. Oral, anal, vaginal, or foreign object men have been sticking the snake in whatever orifices they can find since Adam did Eve. And a good thing too or none of us would be here to enjoy it. What is it about sex that makes us desire it so emphatically that many are willing to take chances just to get a little action? What causes us to toss aside inhibitions and engage in acts of pleasure that many others would wince at?
Its hard to pinpoint exactly because there are so many variations on traditional sex these days. There are more fetishes than you can shake a gag ball at ranging from quirky to downright disturbing. Furries, bestiality, acts involving human excrement, pony play, diaper diddling, and the list of the absurd goes on. Some fantasies are socially acceptable and harmless when practiced consensually involving dominants and submissive, voyeurism (not to be confused with stalking), various body parts like leg fetish or foot fetish, sexual role play, sexual fashion like bondage hoods and latex suits , and of course the most common, sex toys. There are legitimate stores that sell nothing other than adult sexual aids such a vibrators, handcuffs, rings, balls, and blow up dolls. There is a myriad of toys and ways to use them that will fulfill near every sexual desire imaginable, and some not yet considered. Whatever your sexual desire you can find someone or something to satisfy it. As long as both (or all if group therapy is your thing) of the participants consent to it then knock yourself out. (which ironically is also a fetish).
Sexual desire has gotten so ingrained into our society we even accept a condition which I refer to as being horny to (ahem) rise to the level of a disease. Not merely a strong desire to have sex but a medical condition that has them predisposed to need sex. A new market will soon open for medicinal debauchery because addicts can’t keep it IN their jeans so they blame it ON their genes. No coincidence it seems to effect celebrities and politicians more than other people. Maybe they really are driven uncontrollably, or maybe, just maybe, they are egotistical arrogant assholes who lack the awareness of anyone outside of themselves and their own all important desires. But in the end we need to do something with them.
So should we just send them to Sexaholics anonymous? “Hi, my mane is JT and I’m a sex addict. I‘ve been ejaculation free for one week now and I feel weak. I need a sponsor, preferably a younger redhead. I‘m just crazy about gingers” Sorry, I for one am not buying it. We all get horny but we also know right from wrong. I mean hell, why not say I have a bank robbing addiction, or an addiction to stealing expensive cars that goes back to my childhood? “It’s not my fault, if he didn’t want me stealing his Mercedes then why did they have to keep it in such sexy good condition. It’s my Dads fault for always making me wash his shitty Oldsmobile.”
This is what people like Jimmy Swaggart used as the excuse for committing the sin of sex or in his case hypocra-sex. Having sex after telling others they’ll go to hell for having it. Maybe he was trying to horde all the sex for himself. Guys who get caught with their pants down with their hose watering the wrong garden these days claim its an uncontrollable burning desire to relieve their sexual tensions. Its recognized as a medical condition. They suffer from chronic medical condition called Acute NonMeaCulpa, or “Not my fault.” That used to be something we said back in grade school before we actually knew right from wrong but now its an excuse to get someone off the hook for acting on something they knew was wrong. Don’t blame the one committing the illegal act, blame it on one of the seven deadly sins. Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride. Or in a word, DESIRE.

The Nutcracker Not So Sweet

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beach

Life’s A Beach

Another typical Friday night in Huntington Village where things have been hopping all night. Bar hopping that is, one of our favorite sports back in 73. From Canterbury Ales to Chelsea Square Pub to Sportmans pub in the bowling alley. I think we hit just about every bar, even the “old man” bars and it was no longer Friday night, but early Saturday morning. What better way to finish all the revelry than by walking into straight into the Lions Cage. The one on New York Avenue that is where they make the best Harvey Wallbangers in town and may offer our last shot at “scoring“. Truth is I knew I wouldn’t be picking up anything but my tab and I was feeling pretty buzzed. Missed opportunities aside we were on a roll anyway when we heard that all too familiar phrase which effectively stalled our rambling conversations. “Last call for alcohol!”
“Damn, last call already?” It was the same thing Shadow said every time we heard that “time to get your ass home” two minute warning but tonight, I mean this morning, Shadow was seriously not ready to call it quits. “Guys, lets grab a bite at Colonial Diner then pick up a few brewski’s and head out to The Hampton’s.” The five of us looked at each other and knew in an instant what a bad idea that was. “I’m game.” “Me too, I’ll go”. Okay, maybe not all of us because so far Shadow, Mario, and T-Bone were ready to go for it and it was up to me and Willie to avoid the poor decision. “Far out let’s go. You in JT?” My lone voice of reason was all that was standing between five idiots driving out to The Hampton’s and making the rational decision to go home and avoid what would more than likely be a huge mistake. “Hell yea I’m in man, lets go for it.” Holy shit was that me that said that?
To late the bad judgment call was made so we ate, stopped off at 7/11 to fill up our cooler, swung by our homes to sneak out our bathing trunks and a towel, and headed for a weekend in The Hampton’s. Mario was behind the wheel of my car because he was a good driver an the least impaired. Actually that’s why we called him Mario, after Mario Andretti the racing car driver. Mario hung those curves like a damn surgeon even when he was, lets just call it impaired. Once we breezed past the Walt Whitman Mall I knew there was no turning back. Of course knowing better now we would have never even considered such a ride but back in those days bad decisions were all the rage.
We had a half baked plan to head out towards The Hampton Bays and find a discrete place to park so we could sneak off into the dunes to have a quick nightcap and grab a snooze. In the morning we would scour the beach for a party because The Hamptons was one big ass party on the beach. Each of us had a favorite place to go at night and sometime to night we would be on our mission to hit them all. Mario was a big fan of The Cave, probably for the ladies dancing in the cages. Willie loved the Barge which wa boring and made no sense to me but to each his own and of course Shadow was all about alcohol so we had to go to OBI East for the “Long Island Iced Tea’s.” T-Bone met this killer hot chick at The Mad Hatter last summer so he wants to go there hoping he’ll find her again. Me? My favorite place was Cat Ballou with the deck out back but to be honest The Mad Hatter was a close second. It was wall to wall bikinis in that place. We would try and hit them all in the hopes of seeing The Good Rats or Otter Creek. Both bands play the Hampton’s a lot so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. Truth told the real reason any of us go there is for love and maybe a little sex. Okay mostly in the hope of sex but we were strapping young boys.
We cruised own the highway with Jim Cameron of WLIR radio promising some Santana and Canned Heat coming up next. “Hey man, crank it up when Canned heat comes on bro” I sat shotgun because it was my friggen car, and I would be more than happy to honor Willies request. “You got it Willie boy” Then I added a chorus of “Little Willie Willie wont,….go home” just cuz it pissed him off. I looke over at Mario who seemed almost sober as he got us to Sunrise Highway staring intensely ahead. The great thing about the overnight trip is so little traffic.Of course going home would be different, 495 would be on the Sunday evening Hampton evacuation crawl as so many tired and sun burnt people left weekend paradise to return back to their nine to five worlds in shades of mediocrity. Be we were almost there as the signs for East Quahog and The Hampton Bays faded behind us. Time to go local and find a place to stash the car.
It took about another twenty minutes but we finally found and old gas station, a run down Esso where Mario parked the car in the back among a bunch of other cars most of which were in even worse shape than my half dilapidated Simca. Willie was our resident analytic so he would have the street names committed to memory as we headed out with cooler in tow. We quietly negotiated the residential roads to find our sandy sanctuary while the beautiful early morning sound of waves tickling the shoreline set a placid tone. Once secure in the dunes we each had one beer then slipped off to sleep all snug in our sandy beds while visions of bikini clad ladies danced in our heads.
It was a beautiful Long Island summer morning and the sun had shaken off the last of the evenings darkness. I woke up hearing the commotion of people migrating towards the shore in search of their perfect spot to set up their blankets and chairs. But something else brought me rapidly alert. Something, or more accurately a bunch of something’s were biting my legs, arms and face. Horseflies! Holy shit there must have been a thousand of those bloodsucking flesh ripping winged pests nipping at my body with their murderous mandibles. I began a very spastic interpretive dance designed to quickly rid me of the parasitic miniature beasts. The boys also woke up to the annoying flies the size of bats. Okay, baby bats, but the suckers were big. And mean! I had brought a towel which had now become a weapon, Willie had tears in his eyes as he cried “Ow ow, ow.” I looked at Shadow’s interpretive dance just realizing how graceful he could be but when I saw T-Bone I nearly fainted. His bathing suit was a bit tight and was showing way too much for my virginal eyes. I pointed to his crotch and said, “T-Bone, either put that thing away or cover it up” T-Bone stared at me through groggy all night drinking confused eyes. Once he saw my finger he followed the trajectory to the image I was attempting to wash away and let out a blood curdling scream. He reached his down into his shorts and yanked out a live squirming snake which he sent airborne.
Instinctively the four of us grabbed our crotches and immediately began inspecting our trunks for any unwanted creepy crawlers. The wonderful sound of the Atlantic ocean waves crashing on the shore became overshadowed by loud giggles and some out and out laughter. I looked over still confused to the beach which was filled with those bikini clad images all pointing and laughing at five boys peppered with horsefly bites and each openly ravaging his own crotch. The blood shot up to my face accentuating the fly bites and coloring so deep red my embarrassment couldn’t possibly be mistaken for sunburn.
We enjoyed our day at the beach, some Frisbee and swimming, but it was hard to get past all the pointing and smiling as the story of the five clowns from Huntington circulated no doubt getting embellished at each retelling. Each of us had lost our dignity but we were in The Hamptons so who really cares. We did go out to some of the clubs, No Good Rats or Otter Creek, none of us scored but we all five had a great time anyway. At one point I was involved in a nice conversation with a gorgeous redhaired foxy babe and it was going pretty well until a friend of hers whispered in her ear and she politely told me she had to leave.
Oh well there always next time and next time we’ll be a lot wiser. Not smarter, more Budweiser because we are perfectionists o we keep repeating our mistakes until we get them perfect. None of us drink and drive now and if the weekend taught us anything its to be careful where you sleep and how you wake up because humiliation seldom results in sex. That there is much truth to the proverb you don’t get a second chance to make a first impression. Next time We’ll be prepared.

Their, There, They’re, Just Right About You’re Write to Right

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better

Tears Of An Abstract Artist

“You have to suffer for your art” I’ve heard that so many times before so maybe its worth considering. But what kind of suffering? Public ridicule, self mutilation, a good old fashioned ass kicking, exactly how should I suffer for my art? Some artists cut off their ears although I‘ve grown attached to my attachments, others go mad listening to the passengers in their heads (was that me that aid that?), some turn to drugs, and many go the route of heavy alcohol abuse. Maybe I’ll start at the drugs and alcohol and work my way up. Okay, that bullshit, that brushstroke dried on the canvass a long time ago, so if abusing drugs and alcohol are all that’s needed to suffer I’ve already suffered for years. But those aren’t acts of suffering they’re consequences of attempting to avoid the suffering. The suffering we bring on ourselves by being our own worst critics. Why? I believe its rooted in the fact that we tend to live our lives in the abstract and not in the conventional world that most “normal” people live in.
Artists think see and feel in the abstract. Even “normal” people experience abstract thought everything they sleep because our dreams are the inherently abstract. The brain functions for us when we’re awake but once REM sets in it’s the brain has free reign and great god almighty can it do abstract. That’s why our dreams can be unreal, surreal, or too real. Its like the brain likes to fuck with us while we’re lying defenseless in bed. It needs to keep itself occupied while we’re snoozing and its like “what the hell, might as well throw some weird ass shit out there that makes no sense” just to amuse its superior self and to keep us wondering. Sometimes I wake up and my first thought is WTF was that all about? Sometimes I wake up and think holy crap that was awesome, Ima try to get back to sleep and see some more. Other times I don’t even remember my dreams at all. More than likely a defense mechanism using selective recollection so I don‘t actually blow my own mind. But while our bodies are at rest our brains goes into an abstract state. That’s why dreams can seem so strange yet so real. Abstract is the normal state for an artist. Not much of a reach to label us “dreamers!”
At any rate I’m awake now and debatably lucid so allow me to define my concept of what an artist is. An artist is one who uses any or all of their senses to express their abstract manifestations in some form of expressive medium. We are familiar with the painters and sculptors because we can see their works Rodin, Michelangelo, Picasso, Van Gough, all the great works of the world expressed through colors and shapes and textures and committing their visions or images to canvas or marble. The same is done with a musician who hears sounds and then recreates those sounds using instruments, or anything that makes the sound they hear. Jimi Hendrix is the best example, using his guitar to express sounds we would never have been able to experience had he not been able to summon the abstract. The writer who puts random thoughts into words forming a recognizable pattern that expresses emotions. All of those abstract thinkers are artists but an artist is not limited to those more familiar mediums. I first began to understand this when I became a chef and learned to cook in the abstract.
I have always had the soul of an artist and it made me feel like I was just a tad different from others when I was young. I wanted to be some sort of an artist but it was frustrating. My best drawing are my stick figures o that was out. I loved and still do love music but I could never read it. I could read the note on paper but my mind and my hands failed to form the synergy necessary. I erroneously assumed without being able to read music I would never learn to play. I would have loved to get into acting but I suffered from chronic stage fright and rejection anxiety. I always wrote but never learned how to structure properly so only wrote for my self and my friends and even that was done sparingly due to that rejection anxiety. To make matters even worse I wrote a love poem for my first girlfriend and she laughed, effectively destroying both my elf sesteem and my self confidence while smiling. I suffered!
But working in restaurants is where I learned about artistry. I began washing pot and pans and quickly learned how to make salads, then simple deserts. I learned about food prep and eventually worked my way up to lead cook. But it was just a J-O-B, a way to make money for weed. A I got older I discovered I could make a living cooking so I worked hard and got pretty good at it, ultimately went to school for it. Once while I was working in a restaurant in midtown Manhattan as a line cook the chef took an interest in me. He is a talented chef from France and he saw something in me so he began to instruct me on his style of cooking. As time went by I spent many of my days off and after work hours working with him and he taught me so much. I quickly became not just a line cook but the best line cook, then the sous chef. My benefactor began teaching me how to not only cook, but how to give my dishes personality. I began to form my own style and every dish I created had a bit of my culinary DNA in it. That’s when I put it together. I wasn’t merely a cook, I was a culinary poet.
Cooking creatively is art. Performance art using a biodegradable edible format that is in the moment. It’s a fierce and fast paced performance balancing the demands of a hungry public and their discriminating taste buds. But the chef is responsible to reach every one of the senses with his creation. First it has too be appealing to the eye, it has to have a fresh and enticing aroma, it needs to feel good in the mouth and be at the proper temperature, It needs to incite a number of sounds from the diner (MMM, ahhhh), and most importantly, all the flavors have to come together in a harmonious taste sensation. During many of the performances I either cut or burned myself. I suffered!
But I had to man up because the show must go on and I was a culinary performer. An artist armed with an array of foods bearing different colors, shapes, textures, and tastes at my fingertips and they all required individual attention. Vegetables that need peeling or cutting, with different cooking times, meats and seafood’s that needed fabrication and storage, some in marinades, and also with varied cooking times. I also had to make decisions as to which methods of cooking would achieve the beat results. After that I take into consideration the variety of flavors of those components and arrange them using the various shapes, sizes, textures, and present them in a way that is appealing to the eye. And that’s done over and over with different dishes in rapid succession, each dish going out perfect. That’s Art!
I still think and breath in abstract and my life is one big improvisation which may be my strongest trait. I don’t have a structured life plan I approach just about everything in an abstract manner. If an inspiration hits me its only a seed, and what develops s from that seed is often totally different from what I originally had in mind. That’s how I roll. I’ve reached my pinnacle in restaurants and have refocused my creative efforts to baking and now that I’ve reached as far as I desire in the culinary world I continue to create desserts but I put more focus than ever on my first abstract love, writing. I’m not reaching for the stars with my words but there is much that I want to share to any open minds that enter the arena. I found my writing voice which not surprisingly sounds sarcastic, slightly cynical and its woven in a loom of dry humor that quite often no one gets but me. That’s okay, at least I’ll get the last laugh and besides I believe I have been steadily improving and I constantly pushing my boundaries to expand my parameters and write things I’m not comfortable with. Well not comfortable at first, but I adapt quickly. I’m happier with my words than ever before and it is incredibly self rewarding. I’ve even attempted to delve back into poetry a bit, still adding my trademark dry and sarcastic humor, and I’m digging the hell out of it. It has allowed to me further explore my philosophy of existentialism. Not suffering!
So my advice to any who have the fortune, or misfortune if you’re a sufferer, to read my ramblings, especially if you’re young, is never believe your thinking in the abstract makes you different in a bad way, but unique in a glorious way. If you need to make a living while honing your art do it, your family and personal life come before everything. Life spins by at lightning quick speed and while were are on this tiny twirling orb we need to take care of each other and save our abstract guilty pleasures for those moments when we need therapeutic assistance but can’t afford a shrink. Just never quit, and never give it up. You’ve got something to say and it should be heard….PEACE