I Cannot Save You

From the orgies and the blow. From the inebriated "heartfelt" conversations that you have with drunk boys during the pre-dawn hours; thinking they are listening to (much less comprehending) the "real" you, when all they're really waiting for is for you to shut your mouth so they can fuck you...not understand you. From the rotating turnstile of boy, after boy, after boy, after boy who always end up letting you down in some way or another in due time; even when your eager little heart told you otherwise from the beginning. From that lonely feeling that nobody in this world truly understands you, or will accept you if they knew you, or the fact that you feel you can't give love. From the ego-centric fog that flows through the people in your surroundings, blinding them to the rest of the world and even themselves. From the self-righteous-psuedo-intellectualism doused in an overly-spoiled adherence to life during the height of their days. From the esteem-killing cycle of relationships that last only three or four months when they all turn out to be shit anyways. Much to your chagrin, the next one in line always ends up the same. Maybe if you took some time for yourself and figured out who you really are and what you really want...things might take on a different perspective. Maybe if you didn't have a consant love interest on your plate at all times...but I can't save you from your synapses. From that little roller coaster you find yourself on, reacting to the ups like they were the best, and the downs like they were the worst, not meaning what you say, and saying what you mean. From those little human idiosyncrasies that net the blame for inconsiderate selfishness. From the poisonous way you see yourself. From your hypocrisies and blinding damnation of someone else when you see their's. From the evil side of you that derails you at times and chokes the life from you. From the way you treated me and the accountability that comes with it when you're confronted by me. From your cleverly disguised lies; which you tell straight through your teeth in much the same way a rifle would shoot ice-cold bullets into the chest of another. From the hurt that your own lies cause you. From the walls you build up to keep people from them. From the people who are sour with you and have nefarious fun at your expense without you being the wiser. From your failures. From your past. From your guilt. From your inability to put it behind you and let go. From your condescension towards those you consider less capable and adaptive than you. From your elitism. From your sanctimonious bullshit. From your attention-grabbing. From the people who have hurt you over and over. I cannot save you from my anger towards you, and I cannot save you from truly knowing deep in your heart, that you felt loved at least once in your life, and that haunting little sting that resides there.

See, the problem with you is that you let the things that hurt you define you. You identify with it and you let it become your identity.

Are you mad that I'm mad? You shouldn't be. This should all be comfortably expected. I have a multitude of reasons; each of them you should already be well aware of. None of them, less substantial than the last. Is this gonna motivate you to prove me wrong? I hope so. Is it going to send you into a downward spiral of anger and resentment? Who knows. Does this validate your reasons to brush me aside? I have a pretty good guess. I'm sure you're too cool to let this bother you. Too apathetic towards these words to let them irritate you. Too collected to let it ruin your day. But the simple fact of the matter is, I've been too nice to you. I'm putting many things behind me in this time, the least of which is you.

I cannot save you from yourself. And I will not try.

You don't know everything, angry little girl.

I Need a New Muse

My old one is busted. I think I've squeezed every last drop from that rag. I'm glad that my surroundings are about to change. I'm tired of this town and the ghosts who reside here. They've worn out their welcome with me. The neon buildings with their monolith presence and the times I've gone in and out of them rub through straight to the nerve now. It gives me a headache and it's worn me out. I'm tired of lying to myself, but most of all believing them. This road leads to nowhere which is why I'm making a sharp detour to the south. Brand new chance in a brand new town. I've got my pick axe, my pail, and my polishing cloth. I'm gonna pan the rivers for a new muse. I'm going to burrow in the sides of the mountains for a jewel that shines a little brighter and is more geometrically sound. I'll see where that gets me, if anywhere. I've said this all before...

C-Word

My boss is a "C-word." I don't use that word often. I reserve it for a select few. It's like the silver bullet of cuss words. Particularly effective if you've been cussing at werewolves, or perhaps Dracula. But yeah, my boss...she's a C-word. Not the one who's repeatedly told me that she wants to have sex with me...she's cool. It's the other one. I'm pretty sure she has a dong, and fornicates her husband's anus with it.

If one were to tell me that after I had departed that she caught and lost a raging bout with gonorrhea of the face, I think my reaction would be somewhat on par with this:

"Good."




*fist-pump following shortly thereafter*

Hemingway = Genius

This is my favorite short-story from Hemingway.

Itsa good....

Hills Like White Elephants
By Ernest Hemingway


The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On this side there was no shade and no trees and the station was between two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the side of the station there was the warm shadow of the building and a curtain, made of strings of bamboo beads, hung across the open door into the bar, to keep out flies. The American and the girl with him sat at a table in the shade, outside the building. It was very hot and the express from Barcelona would come in forty minutes. It stopped at this junction for two minutes and went to Madrid.

'What should we drink?' the girl asked. She had taken off her hat and put it on the table.

'It's pretty hot,' the man said.

'Let's drink beer.'

'Dos cervezas,' the man said into the curtain.

'Big ones?' a woman asked from the doorway.

'Yes. Two big ones.'

The woman brought two glasses of beer and two felt pads. She put the felt pads and the beer glass on the table and looked at the man and the girl. The girl was looking off at the line of hills. They were white in the sun and the country was brown and dry.

'They look like white elephants,' she said.

'I've never seen one,' the man drank his beer.

'No, you wouldn't have.'

'I might have,' the man said. 'Just because you say I wouldn't have doesn't prove anything.'

The girl looked at the bead curtain. 'They've painted something on it,' she said. 'What does it say?'

'Anis del Toro. It's a drink.'

'Could we try it?'

The man called 'Listen' through the curtain. The woman came out from the bar.

'Four reales.' 'We want two Anis del Toro.'

'With water?'

'Do you want it with water?'

'I don't know,' the girl said. 'Is it good with water?'

'It's all right.'

'You want them with water?' asked the woman.

'Yes, with water.'

'It tastes like liquorice,' the girl said and put the glass down.

'That's the way with everything.'

'Yes,' said the girl. 'Everything tastes of liquorice. Especially all the things you've waited so long for, like absinthe.'

'Oh, cut it out.'

'You started it,' the girl said. 'I was being amused. I was having a fine time.'

'Well, let's try and have a fine time.'

'All right. I was trying. I said the mountains looked like white elephants. Wasn't that bright?'

'That was bright.'

'I wanted to try this new drink. That's all we do, isn't it - look at things and try new drinks?'

'I guess so.'

The girl looked across at the hills.

'They're lovely hills,' she said. 'They don't really look like white elephants. I just meant the colouring of their skin through the trees.'

'Should we have another drink?'

'All right.'

The warm wind blew the bead curtain against the table.

'The beer's nice and cool,' the man said.

'It's lovely,' the girl said.

'It's really an awfully simple operation, Jig,' the man said. 'It's not really an operation at all.'

The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on.

'I know you wouldn't mind it, Jig. It's really not anything. It's just to let the air in.'

The girl did not say anything.

'I'll go with you and I'll stay with you all the time. They just let the air in and then it's all perfectly natural.'

'Then what will we do afterwards?'

'We'll be fine afterwards. Just like we were before.'

'What makes you think so?'

'That's the only thing that bothers us. It's the only thing that's made us unhappy.'

The girl looked at the bead curtain, put her hand out and took hold of two of the strings of beads.

'And you think then we'll be all right and be happy.'

'I know we will. Yon don't have to be afraid. I've known lots of people that have done it.'

'So have I,' said the girl. 'And afterwards they were all so happy.'

'Well,' the man said, 'if you don't want to you don't have to. I wouldn't have you do it if you didn't want to. But I know it's perfectly simple.'

'And you really want to?'

'I think it's the best thing to do. But I don't want you to do it if you don't really want to.'

'And if I do it you'll be happy and things will be like they were and you'll love me?'

'I love you now. You know I love you.'

'I know. But if I do it, then it will be nice again if I say things are like white elephants, and you'll like it?'

'I'll love it. I love it now but I just can't think about it. You know how I get when I worry.'

'If I do it you won't ever worry?'

'I won't worry about that because it's perfectly simple.'

'Then I'll do it. Because I don't care about me.'

'What do you mean?'

'I don't care about me.'

'Well, I care about you.'

'Oh, yes. But I don't care about me. And I'll do it and then everything will be fine.'

'I don't want you to do it if you feel that way.'

The girl stood up and walked to the end of the station. Across, on the other side, were fields of grain and trees along the banks of the Ebro. Far away, beyond the river, were mountains. The shadow of a cloud moved across the field of grain and she saw the river through the trees.

'And we could have all this,' she said. 'And we could have everything and every day we make it more impossible.'

'What did you say?'

'I said we could have everything.'

'No, we can't.'

'We can have the whole world.'

'No, we can't.'

'We can go everywhere.'

'No, we can't. It isn't ours any more.'

'It's ours.'

'No, it isn't. And once they take it away, you never get it back.'

'But they haven't taken it away.'

'We'll wait and see.'

'Come on back in the shade,' he said. 'You mustn't feel that way.'

'I don't feel any way,' the girl said. 'I just know things.'

'I don't want you to do anything that you don't want to do -'

'Nor that isn't good for me,' she said. 'I know. Could we have another beer?'

'All right. But you've got to realize - '

'I realize,' the girl said. 'Can't we maybe stop talking?'

They sat down at the table and the girl looked across at the hills on the dry side of the valley and the man looked at her and at the table.

'You've got to realize,' he said, ' that I don't want you to do it if you don't want to. I'm perfectly willing to go through with it if it means anything to you.'

'Doesn't it mean anything to you? We could get along.'

'Of course it does. But I don't want anybody but you. I don't want anyone else. And I know it's perfectly simple.'

'Yes, you know it's perfectly simple.'

'It's all right for you to say that, but I do know it.'

'Would you do something for me now?'

'I'd do anything for you.'

'Would you please please please please please please please stop talking?'

He did not say anything but looked at the bags against the wall of the station. There were labels on them from all the hotels where they had spent nights.

'But I don't want you to,' he said, 'I don't care anything about it.'

'I'll scream,' the girl said.

The woman came out through the curtains with two glasses of beer and put them down on the damp felt pads. 'The train comes in five minutes,' she said.

'What did she say?' asked the girl.

'That the train is coming in five minutes.'

The girl smiled brightly at the woman, to thank her.

'I'd better take the bags over to the other side of the station,' the man said. She smiled at him.

'All right. Then come back and we'll finish the beer.'

He picked up the two heavy bags and carried them around the station to the other tracks. He looked up the tracks but could not see the train. Coming back, he walked through the bar-room, where people waiting for the train were drinking. He drank an Anis at the bar and looked at the people. They were all waiting reasonably for the train. He went out through the bead curtain. She was sitting at the table and smiled at him.

'Do you feel better?' he asked.

'I feel fine,' she said. 'There's nothing wrong with me. I feel fine.'

I Have A Bleeding Heart...and you're fucking addicted to it

I'm gonna use it. I'm not gonna address it. I'm an antioxidant farm with the amount of chemicals producing love in my heart and the wine mixed in. I stare at that goddamned picture way too much. Sometimes I want to make you cry. But mostly just laugh. You should watch yourself cry in the mirror. I think everybody should do that once in their lives. It's haunting. I just wanna laugh.

I'm laughing at myself right now.