Old Posts that didn't make it through
I have recently been writing posts on my sidekick, often while drunk. Because Blogger isn't reliable, the posts often aren't. I usually get them over to my LJ, though. I have decided to copy and past them for your edification.
Cheers
----
find girls to be these strange little creatures that band together and
talk to each other in shrill voices. Occasionally they are given to fits
of giggles, in which case my brothers and I trade what-the-fuck stares.
Often teams will approach unsuspecting males and proceed to interrogate
him in squealing voices. Upon receiving an answer, they flee, leaving a
confused victim and a potentially new partner. I myself have been double
teamed tonight for a brief moment, only to be abandoned when they found
I could actually dance.
Occasionally a girl will splinter from the main flock, carrying a cell
phone as her only means of defense. The endless yakking and laughing is
an effective means of warding off a potential mate. Only the drunk dare
approach her without fear of being ignored in favor of some immaterial
voice.
Brother approaches. You drunk. Getting there. Nice beer. I'm giving in.
It’s a marketing ploy you know. Yeah I do. Giving in giving in. But it’s
so pretty.
The Asian girl gets hit on for the merit of slanted pussy. Never mind the
fact that she's pimply and pockmarked. Her eyes slant and she's
seductive for that reason. Yellow fever runs rampant and I hide in fear
of narrow uncurved hips.
Smoke. Please. Thanks. Been awhile. Want one? No. I don't. She's drunk
and mildly attractive as her bling reflects in the dull light. Punch the
numbers and the cell has rhinestones fucking rhinestones. Lord gaudy is
in again. Jesus kicks a bud in disgust and stares at a giggling crowd of
freshmen. The cellulose ass looks at me. I smile back. Go on a fucking
diet you beer whore. Even your red hair cannot save you from my
disdain.
Jesus calls after. Where are my apostles? Lurch shakes my hand. Hey man
how's it going? Getting my drink on. Same baby same. Its almost
midnight. Aint this the garden of good and evil. No baby this is all
evil.
He throws a can from the second floor. A cop drives by. Aaah. You need
better aim. I wasn't aiming at you. Flip flops on the stairs. A gulp of
beer. Lord I'm drunk. The dd nods at me and I contemplate life without
Chicago. Your soul is gone he said. I haven't been there in four years.
You are Chicago embodied. I am but sorry about the green mill. I tried.
I know baby I know.
Sigma
Phi
Epsilon
At 11:53 at night
~ I write with your life and my own ~
Writing this from 1:54am, at my computer. Come back, she said. I am back, but you’re gone. Went to a party at an apartment. Stood at the balcony. Do you ever feel like flying? No I don’t man. But the body wants freedom. You’re nuts. I’m not, I only want to fall, but I know I’ll go splat. He looks at me oddly. Don’t tell me you never felt like jumping. I didn’t. Went back inside. Bumped into the host. Sorry. It’s okay. Didn’t mean to meet you like this. Go away. Okay.
The counter was filled with blondes. Bleached, I think. My stomach rumbled. I always get hungry while drunk. I think I’m destined for fatness. You would have a six pack, he says, if only you wouldn’t eat so much. But I can’t subside without at least six meals a day. Then you need to run. But it’s cold. Lazy ass. I’m hungry. The blonde looks at me. High. No. Low. No. Drink some more. I’ve been drinking all night I’m sick of beer. Drink some more. She’s cute. Too cute. I want to lay her over the table. She looks at me with big brown eyes. I prefer green. Drink. I do. She moved to the next man. He’s wearing a shirt that reads republicans are hung. I tell him he’s hung like an ant. I think he takes offense. We exchange words and then drink to each other. To your little dick, little man. I’m not that little mutherfucker.
Hungry still. She hugs me. One of those hips away hug. I know your roommate. Everyone knows my roommate. Which roommate? The one named. I have several roommates named. He plays volleyball. All the muthafuckas do. Tell him I said hi. Get in line bitch. Make a bag last thirty years, he says. I wear mine out. You don’t respect your property. I just use them properly. Wash the fucking dishes. I do, believe me, I do. The blondes flirt with the cute guys. I sit in the corner drinking warm beer. Henner. What? You’re a fucking pimp. Yes. Me and my warm beer. I talk to someone cute. The curve accents her. We talk about nothing. Mostly because my battery has died and I cannot hear. Anything other than my stomach rumbling. I open the door. He looks at me. High five. Sig Ep. I leave.
He stands in the hall talking on the cell. I go down the stairs. He follows. Where are you going? I’m going to ZasZas Im hungry for pizza. I’m going to Phi Sigma Sigma to get laid. Good luck man. I have condoms and she calls me not the other way around. That’s how it should be. My hearing aid roars to life showing me that it died on purpose, so that I could suffer aimlessly. We walk. Cross some roads. Wave at some people. Girls flirt at us. One flashes. We ask her for more. She giggles and runs off into the night. Bitch.
I pick up the local paper. It’s bad writing. I crumple it up and throw it at the wall. Someone laughs at me. I tell her I can write better with my feces. She smirks. Bitch. I bet she write for the paper. I order a pizza. It comes. Ask for a tip. None received. She was cute though. Where are you going. Into the future. I mean where now? Home. I’m going to the Phi Sigma Sigma house. Money shot baby. I know it.
Walk home. She stops me. I know you. I know you. You’re sigep. Her friend grabs her. They walk off. I am too offensive for her friends. Me and my curly hair. I’m Lauren, she fingerspells painfully. Nice to meet you, Lauren. I’m sorry your friends are selfish bitches.
Arrive home hungry. Have consumed pizza. Grab a hotdog, stuff it in my mouth. Come back, she says. Baby, I was with you all along.
---------------
From the sidekick at 1050pm.
Just finished a walk. Night time. Can't move my thumbs. Just past three
guys. He grabs a girl. Shriek. Did you hear about the girl who was
attacked? No I didn't damn her eyes are pretty in the streetlight. She
was raped just over there. And there are a lot of lights too. Well she
got laid. Pardon? I said she was raped. Kill rhe smile
Walking alongside the train tracks. The right of way. Station agent is a
good movie. Walking the right of way because of the railroad land grab.
Up the bridge down the hill. Four guys walk by. One has a splint. What's
his story?
A lone girl walks under the bridge. Blonde and stumbling. Didn't she hear
about the girl who was attacked? I am not intimidating though and I
merit no more than a cursory glance. She was kind of cute in a frumpy
way. Jane Goodall would be hot without glasses. Men never make passes at
women who wear glasses I chide. She turns. Dorothy parker is dead in a
wine glass.
She wore hip hugging pants. Loose polyester. Pink jacket. Got my
attention baby. She wanders close. Damn. Why can I casually flirt with
girls but not women? Confidence is alluring. Strut baby. She once told
me that the man walks can be broken by a stranger’s casual greeting. The
invincible shroud of male cockiness shattered by woman.
There is only one star visible. I pointed it to her. It beamed a
biblical moment and then Kant killed it. Somewhere an al qaeda agent
shrieks under the torment of the critique of pure reason.
I handed her a pink flower. Plucked it from d.c. I used to ride the
George Washington I told her and then his wooden teeth bit and here I
am. Will you miss this place when you leave it? Maybe she said and the
old ghost of the library shuddered her ectoplasm.
There are boxes on the quad. Kids doing a homeless rally. He nods at me
as we past. The kids play and giggle just like real homeless folk.
Tomorrow they go back to their places and the homosexual sashays past.
They're so busy being idealistic I say that they trip. She nods. How
adorable.
Ask the man whether I should have my beard. Took me two months to grow.
He plucks the roots and hears Midas' confession. Wait another five
months. Ribbons grow in concrete soil.
I'm tired. And the girl was raped twenty feet from the emergency button.
A sleeping security guard. We are lulled by the statue.
He plays guitar on the bench. Insects shower coins. Three chord wonder.
Midstate man.
~ I write with your life and my own ~
Cheers
----
find girls to be these strange little creatures that band together and
talk to each other in shrill voices. Occasionally they are given to fits
of giggles, in which case my brothers and I trade what-the-fuck stares.
Often teams will approach unsuspecting males and proceed to interrogate
him in squealing voices. Upon receiving an answer, they flee, leaving a
confused victim and a potentially new partner. I myself have been double
teamed tonight for a brief moment, only to be abandoned when they found
I could actually dance.
Occasionally a girl will splinter from the main flock, carrying a cell
phone as her only means of defense. The endless yakking and laughing is
an effective means of warding off a potential mate. Only the drunk dare
approach her without fear of being ignored in favor of some immaterial
voice.
Brother approaches. You drunk. Getting there. Nice beer. I'm giving in.
It’s a marketing ploy you know. Yeah I do. Giving in giving in. But it’s
so pretty.
The Asian girl gets hit on for the merit of slanted pussy. Never mind the
fact that she's pimply and pockmarked. Her eyes slant and she's
seductive for that reason. Yellow fever runs rampant and I hide in fear
of narrow uncurved hips.
Smoke. Please. Thanks. Been awhile. Want one? No. I don't. She's drunk
and mildly attractive as her bling reflects in the dull light. Punch the
numbers and the cell has rhinestones fucking rhinestones. Lord gaudy is
in again. Jesus kicks a bud in disgust and stares at a giggling crowd of
freshmen. The cellulose ass looks at me. I smile back. Go on a fucking
diet you beer whore. Even your red hair cannot save you from my
disdain.
Jesus calls after. Where are my apostles? Lurch shakes my hand. Hey man
how's it going? Getting my drink on. Same baby same. Its almost
midnight. Aint this the garden of good and evil. No baby this is all
evil.
He throws a can from the second floor. A cop drives by. Aaah. You need
better aim. I wasn't aiming at you. Flip flops on the stairs. A gulp of
beer. Lord I'm drunk. The dd nods at me and I contemplate life without
Chicago. Your soul is gone he said. I haven't been there in four years.
You are Chicago embodied. I am but sorry about the green mill. I tried.
I know baby I know.
Sigma
Phi
Epsilon
At 11:53 at night
~ I write with your life and my own ~
Writing this from 1:54am, at my computer. Come back, she said. I am back, but you’re gone. Went to a party at an apartment. Stood at the balcony. Do you ever feel like flying? No I don’t man. But the body wants freedom. You’re nuts. I’m not, I only want to fall, but I know I’ll go splat. He looks at me oddly. Don’t tell me you never felt like jumping. I didn’t. Went back inside. Bumped into the host. Sorry. It’s okay. Didn’t mean to meet you like this. Go away. Okay.
The counter was filled with blondes. Bleached, I think. My stomach rumbled. I always get hungry while drunk. I think I’m destined for fatness. You would have a six pack, he says, if only you wouldn’t eat so much. But I can’t subside without at least six meals a day. Then you need to run. But it’s cold. Lazy ass. I’m hungry. The blonde looks at me. High. No. Low. No. Drink some more. I’ve been drinking all night I’m sick of beer. Drink some more. She’s cute. Too cute. I want to lay her over the table. She looks at me with big brown eyes. I prefer green. Drink. I do. She moved to the next man. He’s wearing a shirt that reads republicans are hung. I tell him he’s hung like an ant. I think he takes offense. We exchange words and then drink to each other. To your little dick, little man. I’m not that little mutherfucker.
Hungry still. She hugs me. One of those hips away hug. I know your roommate. Everyone knows my roommate. Which roommate? The one named. I have several roommates named. He plays volleyball. All the muthafuckas do. Tell him I said hi. Get in line bitch. Make a bag last thirty years, he says. I wear mine out. You don’t respect your property. I just use them properly. Wash the fucking dishes. I do, believe me, I do. The blondes flirt with the cute guys. I sit in the corner drinking warm beer. Henner. What? You’re a fucking pimp. Yes. Me and my warm beer. I talk to someone cute. The curve accents her. We talk about nothing. Mostly because my battery has died and I cannot hear. Anything other than my stomach rumbling. I open the door. He looks at me. High five. Sig Ep. I leave.
He stands in the hall talking on the cell. I go down the stairs. He follows. Where are you going? I’m going to ZasZas Im hungry for pizza. I’m going to Phi Sigma Sigma to get laid. Good luck man. I have condoms and she calls me not the other way around. That’s how it should be. My hearing aid roars to life showing me that it died on purpose, so that I could suffer aimlessly. We walk. Cross some roads. Wave at some people. Girls flirt at us. One flashes. We ask her for more. She giggles and runs off into the night. Bitch.
I pick up the local paper. It’s bad writing. I crumple it up and throw it at the wall. Someone laughs at me. I tell her I can write better with my feces. She smirks. Bitch. I bet she write for the paper. I order a pizza. It comes. Ask for a tip. None received. She was cute though. Where are you going. Into the future. I mean where now? Home. I’m going to the Phi Sigma Sigma house. Money shot baby. I know it.
Walk home. She stops me. I know you. I know you. You’re sigep. Her friend grabs her. They walk off. I am too offensive for her friends. Me and my curly hair. I’m Lauren, she fingerspells painfully. Nice to meet you, Lauren. I’m sorry your friends are selfish bitches.
Arrive home hungry. Have consumed pizza. Grab a hotdog, stuff it in my mouth. Come back, she says. Baby, I was with you all along.
---------------
From the sidekick at 1050pm.
Just finished a walk. Night time. Can't move my thumbs. Just past three
guys. He grabs a girl. Shriek. Did you hear about the girl who was
attacked? No I didn't damn her eyes are pretty in the streetlight. She
was raped just over there. And there are a lot of lights too. Well she
got laid. Pardon? I said she was raped. Kill rhe smile
Walking alongside the train tracks. The right of way. Station agent is a
good movie. Walking the right of way because of the railroad land grab.
Up the bridge down the hill. Four guys walk by. One has a splint. What's
his story?
A lone girl walks under the bridge. Blonde and stumbling. Didn't she hear
about the girl who was attacked? I am not intimidating though and I
merit no more than a cursory glance. She was kind of cute in a frumpy
way. Jane Goodall would be hot without glasses. Men never make passes at
women who wear glasses I chide. She turns. Dorothy parker is dead in a
wine glass.
She wore hip hugging pants. Loose polyester. Pink jacket. Got my
attention baby. She wanders close. Damn. Why can I casually flirt with
girls but not women? Confidence is alluring. Strut baby. She once told
me that the man walks can be broken by a stranger’s casual greeting. The
invincible shroud of male cockiness shattered by woman.
There is only one star visible. I pointed it to her. It beamed a
biblical moment and then Kant killed it. Somewhere an al qaeda agent
shrieks under the torment of the critique of pure reason.
I handed her a pink flower. Plucked it from d.c. I used to ride the
George Washington I told her and then his wooden teeth bit and here I
am. Will you miss this place when you leave it? Maybe she said and the
old ghost of the library shuddered her ectoplasm.
There are boxes on the quad. Kids doing a homeless rally. He nods at me
as we past. The kids play and giggle just like real homeless folk.
Tomorrow they go back to their places and the homosexual sashays past.
They're so busy being idealistic I say that they trip. She nods. How
adorable.
Ask the man whether I should have my beard. Took me two months to grow.
He plucks the roots and hears Midas' confession. Wait another five
months. Ribbons grow in concrete soil.
I'm tired. And the girl was raped twenty feet from the emergency button.
A sleeping security guard. We are lulled by the statue.
He plays guitar on the bench. Insects shower coins. Three chord wonder.
Midstate man.
~ I write with your life and my own ~
posted by Jon at 2:08 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home