Feeding The Habit

"I will go in this Way, Oh but I will find my own way out." -Dave Matthews

Monday, May 31, 2004

If you've been to this site and actually thought it was a good idea to come back, then you just might enjoy this. I never intended to have out going links on this page, but the idea of a group story just sounded like too much fun. It brings me back to the old days sitting around the campfire and just letting the imagination run wild- screaming "purple bunny! purple bunny purple bunny!" everytime the smoke started hoarding your way. So hop over, place your fingers down, and let your thoughts carry you away!

This is where it begins:

The rain was pouring. It was dark. Eliza was tired. She continued to wait for Tom by the tree per their discussion. Frustrated, she lit a cigarette.

She looked down a her shoes, her left one soaked. She lifted her foot to inspect her sole. As she suspected, it was cracked, the rubber of her trusty old Chuck Taylors had given up.

"That's what you get for hanging onto shoes you owned in highschool," she thought to herself.

Sunday, May 30, 2004

Sunday Thoughts

I have tried to make this easy
rolling your thoughts over my tongue.
There's just too much
in a day
to make it rise up
like a flame. I saw
when you walked over to the garden
and sat down in your skirts
thinking you were alone.
Your toes dipped
into the pond and I
plunged in after you.
Now I swim all day
looking for little nibbles or
just the brush of your shoulder afterwards.

Friday, May 28, 2004


They should just sell the cookie dough as is, really. There’s no reason to go through with this whole baking facade. We all want it Raw. Not hard and course. Not crunchy. We like the things that melt warmly and soft on our tongues, the things that are gushing life and depth. Love is best left alone. I only want your fingers kneading my flesh. Delicate little licks, quick and soft. Long and steady thrusts. It’s not worth spending all that time working on something to end only half baked. Convince me I’m wrong.

Haze (Instalment II/final)

(It starts here.)

Overall, it looked like she had one Rum and Coke too many. Maybe I should have kept putting the Coke in her drink? But after the first two, she was really too wasted to make much difference either way. And so she sat; arms limp at either side, legs crossed like an Indian. Primitive. Just waiting for whatever and looking frazzled over the top.

The waistband managed to wiggle up between the rolls her stomach made when she sat sort of hunched like that. It occurred to me that I should probably set the trash can in front of her. Or at least motion to wrap this little game up. If they still made those clocks that sounded like a gong chiming in every hour it would have gotten tired by now. I didn’t even want to think about work the next day. Today rather. In a few hours at least I could put this all behind me. Move on to the normal things people do; like shit for a while then eat. Afterwards drink a cup of coffee and get on the Metra. Weekends work, weekdays school. But tonight, it’s sit and watch. For Hours.

Fading fast now my eyes start to slit. The cries of “I see it” won’t hold them. I glare over and think maybe this time I might actually see it too. A maroon haze around the grotesque form. Revolting, to even think, I would waste so much time drifting into otherwise settled… (It has always seemed like that moment just before you drift off into a dream that anything is possible.)


I’m not sure how but I am wide eyed awake now and the clock doesn’t seem to have made much progress. There’s sunlight through the curtains though and I figure the parents will be home anytime soon. Shoulda done this shit in the dorm. There’s a few people sleeping in the corners, on different couches, and random places on the floor. The girl is still half naked though no longer slouching over. It’s more what you would call “slumped” than anything. She’s left as a pile of flesh balled up and thrown into a puddle of vomit and piss. Yah, it looks like a mix of both as best I can tell.

I don’t know why, but for some reason I pity her, revolting chunks, yellow slime, and all. Maybe I’m still drunk. Maybe the throbbing head impairs my disinterest. I should be crowding everyone out. I should be forcing them to take as many handfuls of trash and left over cases of beer out the door with them as possible. And I should be cleaning, desperately cleaning. The whole moment throbs urgent.

But I can only think of her and how she might feel waking up in her excretions and seeing everyone she was hoping to fit in with walking around and over her looking disgusted and her feeling worthless and wondering what she had done and how she could recover and where she could go and it occurred to me that I simply had to get her out of there. I had to remove her from their sight before anyone could see her disgrace.

And so I lifted her delicately. For the first time now I looked down into that face. It was nothing extraordinary. Her eyes were closed snugly and the lashes fluttered only a little. I imagined them open and rolled back up into their sockets. It appeared she had put makeup on the night before in good faith but with little skill. The mascara and deep purple eye-shadow gave a look almost demonic and there was spittle hanging from the side of her mouth. Far from decadent. The thick scent drifted upwards, putrid, unhuman.

Being careful not to disturb the slumbering, I slowly picked my way through the intertwines of legs and bodies- carrying hers like a groom would. I reached the stairs and looked up. I decided that would be the safest place for us to go. The safest place for her to be hidden away. So the shame would be unknown. I don’t know what leveling of grace moved me to do this. I don’t know what passion caused me to feel like I did. But it was powerful.

I laid her down on my mothers side of the bed and pulled the sopped panties down and off. I smiled. She was safe from them now. I looked and the gentle blue aura was now clear, screaming calm and innocence. I moved slowly and placed my hand over her mouth. I could smell her stench. I dropped my pants. As I mounted her I could see those open eyes filled with terror. I felt her whole body try to cry out, but nothing could stop me.

Sunday, May 23, 2004

Sunday Thoughts

There are two sides to every green pond I have stood beside wondering whether to sit. I know only that I will if I make up my mind. I may (or may not) lean down to scoop a handful of thriving water, or a leaf floating. I may stop to give this moment a name. There is more life in a pond than I will ever encounter. Will you when given the opportunity, take time to reach into the algae and pray— loving it as your life?

Thursday, May 20, 2004

Rising over

She left at sun rise
and I slept till maybe half past ten.
The likes of sin still fresh on fingers.
Later that day I went to work
and long before I thought of coming home
I crossed into the day-after thinking
how this all looked so vague
and compromising. The birds
still nested on the window’s ledge.
They sang their song-
The one thing likely to remain.
Others are gone and passed like cold
and mornings without coffee.
The sweet nectar of life inviting.
Henry stares at me. He always has.
That old statue you gave me that night
will always be I suppose. Have you listened
lately? To the songs? I’ve missed you
since that day you were gone and
looking otherwise. I always looked for you-
Drifting as those little floaters
in the thralls of seaweed obscured
and respondent. Alone and compressed
like a child, vagrancy feeds me everything
I have sometimes needed. But never enough.
Never enough.

Sunday, May 16, 2004

Sunday Thoughts

Every door opened
is like this inviting world
lurking unfound
but waiting on discovery.
Every key I hold
is heavy
resting in my pocket
but not happy to stay there.

Saturday, May 15, 2004

Haze (Instalment I)

So needless to say, there are some things in life that only a few deserved souls can know. I have never been one of them. And I don’t anticipate an eminent change. In the room cattycorner to mine, George Sr. is heard faintly addressing the state of the Union. Though I couldn’t quite make it out, pathetic was the obvious conclusion.

Now most normal aborigines would be out dancing, drinking, and not inhaling various clouds of smoke on a Friday night. But instead we sat holding hands in a small semi-circle with someone who should have been a beauty at our focus.

“No parties while we’re gone,” I seem to remember dimly. This couldn’t count though. It wasn’t quite the same. There were no bodies shaking, and there was no pumping music. Something that sounded like an Enya reject was filling the air and we just sat there. Staring.

For the past two hours actually, that’s all we had done. Kinda looked like a band of displaced hippies had finally found refuge from the misery. Maybe we had. All eyes were centered towards the half naked freshman on display. Centered, though not focused.

For me it was typical. It seems that regardless of how drunk you get these chicks they never agree to separate from their damn panties. Even if I tried, I couldn’t tell you how many times I had a hot, glistening number wiggling and giggling in my arms to only have her smack me and cuss me a hundredth of a second away from “all the way.” And I’ve seen runners win the gold with that much of a lead. Well all I ever get is red.

Jim sat up now and shifted a bit making his toes peak out from under the cuff of his bellbottoms. He undid his shirt earlier and the sweat was just beading sweet on his chest. Jim’s one of those guys that can brag. Tight lines. Abs rippling with each breath. An exhibitionist at heart. Part of me, of course, is disgusted. The other part just wants to let go of these clammy hands and walk over rubbing mine all over those two sweaty rocks.

Must be too fucking hot. I’d get up to turn on the air but that would ruin a good half hour’s worth of stern concentration. Especially now that someone’s mumbling something about “seeing it.” I thought I could see it too. But that was a while ago. It didn’t take long to realize, it was just light bouncing off smoke from incense that was burning my nose.

Once I had gotten past not seeing it, I shifted my gaze a little lower. Sure the breasts were nice. Underdeveloped, but still plump and round. What really got me going were those sweet rolls hanging stage center. What was it they say to get the curtain pulled?

(Keep reading.)

Friday, May 14, 2004

Reflection after a visit to hart’s mortuary

I remember little of my Great Grandfathers Funeral. The more I think of it, the farther away it seems… I do remember the viewing. Just before my father led me up the isle to look down into the altar vessel, he placed in my hand a pocket watch that he said belonged to the man up front. He said I should always keep it to remember that man. As I marched down the isle, keeping my father close beside, I found myself fascinated by the button on top. When it was pushed, the watch clicked open like a clam popping up for brunch. The sound it made seemed to resonate off the walls, even off the faces of the people around me and there he was. He looked far too serene to be bothered by death. Besides, I had always been told that life here is just a time of passing.
The next thing I remember is a car ride; one that seemed to have a much better grasp on patience than did the human bladder. After a bit of idle chatter from the front, with the music hanging softly in the air, the car was stilled and as quick as a tear could be shed, we gathered offering final prayers. Some strays filed in, while others walked away, limp, as if they missed themselves. I stood still, and fumbled with the watch in my pocket, pushing the button, then snapping it closed. I tried to see how rapidly I could repeat the process; click, close, click, close, click… until I pinched my finger. I grimaced and fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment. I focused on the large western belt buckle across from me. I tried for once to embrace the feeling of boredom, but there was something greater present. Since arrival, its latches haunted my awareness, but I couldn’t look that way. Through a shinny horse in gallop, I could see that a vessel was now closed, and that left something…unsettled. At last, the clasp shifted - and the image went away.

Typical Introduction

Hi, this is me. This is my blog. I might write some stuff here but I'm not so sure if anyone will read it. But I don't care. That's right, don't give a shit. Think what you will. Enjoy the stay.