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My God, Why Can't I Just Get Laid?
1 min read
Words words words, will not come
like I can not come
maybe the words are my sex
and since I'm not getting laid
I can't get them to lay
across this page
the way they used to
orgasmically burst,
only to be strewn
about my cosmic mind
this sitcom like comedy that I'm living
is giving me a wedgie inside of the ass crack of my soul
and all of a sudden everything's just moving to slow
Maybe I've lost it
my ability to fuck my way through the vocabulary
as if each word were my whore for the night
my right hand pumping them out
harder and faster
like a detachable dick-tionary
a prosthesis to make up
for my disability
of social norm
It's been like this ever since I was born
This urge to just write and type
in a nympho-manic sort of way
My God, why can't I just get laid?
like I can not come
maybe the words are my sex
and since I'm not getting laid
I can't get them to lay
across this page
the way they used to
orgasmically burst,
only to be strewn
about my cosmic mind
this sitcom like comedy that I'm living
is giving me a wedgie inside of the ass crack of my soul
and all of a sudden everything's just moving to slow
Maybe I've lost it
my ability to fuck my way through the vocabulary
as if each word were my whore for the night
my right hand pumping them out
harder and faster
like a detachable dick-tionary
a prosthesis to make up
for my disability
of social norm
It's been like this ever since I was born
This urge to just write and type
in a nympho-manic sort of way
My God, why can't I just get laid?
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Journalistic babble.
8 min read
It's been a long day and I'm exhausted. My job is wearing me out. Being a starving artist isn't as easy as it seems. The honesty that you must constantly expose yourself to is maddening.
I'm not in the best shape, though I do try to maintain what little health I Have left.
My mind has been stuck, frozen if you will. I wonder if I'll ever feel anything other than seventeen?
Once upon a time I lived my life out of a backpack and although it wasn't perfect, it was mine. But I'm old and overweight now so I relive my glory days in my head while smoking out my lungs in a desperate attempt to paddle back, swimming against the current of the main stream. I need adventure for my restless soul. I'm excited at the prospect of finding love while I hike across the world or just glance across to the other end of a bar. I dream of invisible electrical currents connecting me to this planet. But instead feel like I am the only standing on this spot on a rock hurling through the void and emptiness that is space. Every time I cry out across the edge of this earth I rarely hear anyhing more than the sound of my own voice.
I've been in love exactly the same number of times that I've been in relationships and truck stops. Greyhounds are my preferred mode of travel. I can sit in the back and watch the clouds as they fade into stars. The intentional and unavoidable shift as miles disappear hand in hand with the day. I yawn across the highway as it takes a deep breath and stretches out beneath me.
Another chapter closes as nervous anticipation over takes the stage to remind me that the lives we live can not be controlled if we want to be happy.
I am a bit of an insomniac who analyzes everything and a firm believer that ignorance really is bliss. Unfortunately, I didn't learn that until it was too late.
The person that I've come to feel that is "me" is a middle aged man with a drinking problem and penchant to surround myself with women. I enjoy the feeling of being adored. I am the man their husbands and boyfriends can't be. As a woman, I know what they want and I hear what they don't say and listen to the glances that speak softly about what they need. I've never met a woman that wasn't beautiful and damaged in some way.
When I look into the mirror though I'm always surprised to see a short stocky hispanic lesbian looking back. My reflection and I have become strangers. I live my life inside of my own mind. Although I can hold my own at any dinner table or smoke session, I remain withdrawn. Reserved for only the ones who get it and those that take the time to understand.
I would do anything to find happiness but every day is over before I can figure out which cereal I want for breakfast. I need more friends. I know a lot of people but I need more real friends that I can open up to. I have such a profound appreciation for people and respect whatever they have going on in their lives. I don't like to interrupt anyone.
Spring is creeping up on me now, and I'm beginning to realize that it's my favorite time of year. Inspiration spreads over me and motivations become revealed after stewing inside underneath the winter funk.
I aspire to be the next great something but at 32, I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I just know that I want to be great.
Our country is going through it's 2nd Vietnam but no one else around me seems to have noticed. They are struggling to see the mission anymore. They've stopped fighting and accepted their jobs as part of the machine.
There is so much to say about all of that but this is not the time or place. I mean, after all, we just met.
I met this girl not too long ago. We actually met several times before along our journeys. I always loved it when our paths would allow us to cross again. This time was a little different though. We were both different since the last time we saw each other. She was no longer the same beautiful girl but now she was a W-O-M-A-N. She had filled out and grabbed my attention in a way she had never done before.
She was a little jaded but still had a lot of life in her. We liked all of the same things and for the 1st time in 15 years I felt butterflies. Pubescent hormonal butterflies that made me want to vomit. The viscous butterflies that paralyzed me with an excited fear.
She was taken by someone who wasn't me and it made me want to scream. For 15 years I had noticed her. Before the tits, before the eyes, I had discovered all that she was and had to pretend she was just a friend. I am afraid. Not of what would happen if I was unsuccessful at making her mind, but rather what would happen if I should succeed.
She says things sometimes that make me wonder how she can be so great at stoking fires to keep mine burning for her, but not at making first moves. I think about the way she moves across a room. And how everything that comes out of her mouth comes out with such conviction. She doesn't need to impress anyone and doesn't apologize for who she is. And she has no clue how much she has me, by a string. She laughs and feeds my exhausted soul with life. We talk about everything, except us and what we feel for one another.
For all I know, she thinks I am a great friend. The curse to any great love, is to be the great friend. The longer we avoid us though the longer she lingers in my life. I won't push her out of fear of losing her, but the day she's serious about letting me take her away from this dive bar of a town, I will pack up my truck and ride off into the sunset like Thelma and Louise, where we can exist happily ever after inside of each other.
She doesn't believe that I love her, because I have so openly and willingly fallen in love with others since we met. She laughs it off as I tell her that those others were just practice for the real thing. The aching in the pit of my sex begs for mercy, but she won't cave. I don't think she understands the what I would do if given the opportunity.
I think, maybe, she is afraid of the success of us too and what would happen if she found out that I was real.
Until then, we are friends who eventually cross paths each time bringing us closer to our bodies touching, moving in synch to rhythms of pulses dancing beneath cotton white sheets I won't stop until such synchronicity is mine.
I want to be responsible for making her legs shake. Weak with anticipation. I taste the love she has for me on the tip of my tongue. Inhale warm, musky air, filled with the sweat she sweat because of me. Coming down, descending back to earth from this place we created in heaven for ourselves to escape inside of like a dream, an inception.
Maybe one day she will figure it out and stop doubting the sincerity of my words and open herself to the idea of us succeeding together. Maybe one day, she'll make the 1st move so I can stop this daring game that we've been playing for so long. Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I just need a sign.
I wait with nervous anticipation for her arrival, pacing the floor. Puffing feverishly on an unlit cigarette.
All I can see in my mind is her eyes and the way her face lights up my dark and brooding world with her smile.
I take a deep breath and smile to myself. She is all I want for the rest of my life. Is it any wonder why I'm scared of my own success here? What we could have may be nothing more than me having an overly analytical mind. Or we could have something real, but if I take this leap of faith from the ledge that I'm standing on and that parachute doesn't open my heart would stop beating and I would stop breathing. Are you seeing what I'm seeing?
She came in like a whirlwind and has already left again. Onto another mission with another guy and I'm left in the after shocks of her quake. What the hell just happened? I'm too high. The opportunity to stop her. Look in her eyes, and feel the earth move as our lips touched and bodies pressed together the instant our souls reached into each other plugging us into the universe has passed.
Will I ever be released from this game of torture?
I have to masturbate just to check my own pulse.
I'm not in the best shape, though I do try to maintain what little health I Have left.
My mind has been stuck, frozen if you will. I wonder if I'll ever feel anything other than seventeen?
Once upon a time I lived my life out of a backpack and although it wasn't perfect, it was mine. But I'm old and overweight now so I relive my glory days in my head while smoking out my lungs in a desperate attempt to paddle back, swimming against the current of the main stream. I need adventure for my restless soul. I'm excited at the prospect of finding love while I hike across the world or just glance across to the other end of a bar. I dream of invisible electrical currents connecting me to this planet. But instead feel like I am the only standing on this spot on a rock hurling through the void and emptiness that is space. Every time I cry out across the edge of this earth I rarely hear anyhing more than the sound of my own voice.
I've been in love exactly the same number of times that I've been in relationships and truck stops. Greyhounds are my preferred mode of travel. I can sit in the back and watch the clouds as they fade into stars. The intentional and unavoidable shift as miles disappear hand in hand with the day. I yawn across the highway as it takes a deep breath and stretches out beneath me.
Another chapter closes as nervous anticipation over takes the stage to remind me that the lives we live can not be controlled if we want to be happy.
I am a bit of an insomniac who analyzes everything and a firm believer that ignorance really is bliss. Unfortunately, I didn't learn that until it was too late.
The person that I've come to feel that is "me" is a middle aged man with a drinking problem and penchant to surround myself with women. I enjoy the feeling of being adored. I am the man their husbands and boyfriends can't be. As a woman, I know what they want and I hear what they don't say and listen to the glances that speak softly about what they need. I've never met a woman that wasn't beautiful and damaged in some way.
When I look into the mirror though I'm always surprised to see a short stocky hispanic lesbian looking back. My reflection and I have become strangers. I live my life inside of my own mind. Although I can hold my own at any dinner table or smoke session, I remain withdrawn. Reserved for only the ones who get it and those that take the time to understand.
I would do anything to find happiness but every day is over before I can figure out which cereal I want for breakfast. I need more friends. I know a lot of people but I need more real friends that I can open up to. I have such a profound appreciation for people and respect whatever they have going on in their lives. I don't like to interrupt anyone.
Spring is creeping up on me now, and I'm beginning to realize that it's my favorite time of year. Inspiration spreads over me and motivations become revealed after stewing inside underneath the winter funk.
I aspire to be the next great something but at 32, I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I just know that I want to be great.
Our country is going through it's 2nd Vietnam but no one else around me seems to have noticed. They are struggling to see the mission anymore. They've stopped fighting and accepted their jobs as part of the machine.
There is so much to say about all of that but this is not the time or place. I mean, after all, we just met.
I met this girl not too long ago. We actually met several times before along our journeys. I always loved it when our paths would allow us to cross again. This time was a little different though. We were both different since the last time we saw each other. She was no longer the same beautiful girl but now she was a W-O-M-A-N. She had filled out and grabbed my attention in a way she had never done before.
She was a little jaded but still had a lot of life in her. We liked all of the same things and for the 1st time in 15 years I felt butterflies. Pubescent hormonal butterflies that made me want to vomit. The viscous butterflies that paralyzed me with an excited fear.
She was taken by someone who wasn't me and it made me want to scream. For 15 years I had noticed her. Before the tits, before the eyes, I had discovered all that she was and had to pretend she was just a friend. I am afraid. Not of what would happen if I was unsuccessful at making her mind, but rather what would happen if I should succeed.
She says things sometimes that make me wonder how she can be so great at stoking fires to keep mine burning for her, but not at making first moves. I think about the way she moves across a room. And how everything that comes out of her mouth comes out with such conviction. She doesn't need to impress anyone and doesn't apologize for who she is. And she has no clue how much she has me, by a string. She laughs and feeds my exhausted soul with life. We talk about everything, except us and what we feel for one another.
For all I know, she thinks I am a great friend. The curse to any great love, is to be the great friend. The longer we avoid us though the longer she lingers in my life. I won't push her out of fear of losing her, but the day she's serious about letting me take her away from this dive bar of a town, I will pack up my truck and ride off into the sunset like Thelma and Louise, where we can exist happily ever after inside of each other.
She doesn't believe that I love her, because I have so openly and willingly fallen in love with others since we met. She laughs it off as I tell her that those others were just practice for the real thing. The aching in the pit of my sex begs for mercy, but she won't cave. I don't think she understands the what I would do if given the opportunity.
I think, maybe, she is afraid of the success of us too and what would happen if she found out that I was real.
Until then, we are friends who eventually cross paths each time bringing us closer to our bodies touching, moving in synch to rhythms of pulses dancing beneath cotton white sheets I won't stop until such synchronicity is mine.
I want to be responsible for making her legs shake. Weak with anticipation. I taste the love she has for me on the tip of my tongue. Inhale warm, musky air, filled with the sweat she sweat because of me. Coming down, descending back to earth from this place we created in heaven for ourselves to escape inside of like a dream, an inception.
Maybe one day she will figure it out and stop doubting the sincerity of my words and open herself to the idea of us succeeding together. Maybe one day, she'll make the 1st move so I can stop this daring game that we've been playing for so long. Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I just need a sign.
I wait with nervous anticipation for her arrival, pacing the floor. Puffing feverishly on an unlit cigarette.
All I can see in my mind is her eyes and the way her face lights up my dark and brooding world with her smile.
I take a deep breath and smile to myself. She is all I want for the rest of my life. Is it any wonder why I'm scared of my own success here? What we could have may be nothing more than me having an overly analytical mind. Or we could have something real, but if I take this leap of faith from the ledge that I'm standing on and that parachute doesn't open my heart would stop beating and I would stop breathing. Are you seeing what I'm seeing?
She came in like a whirlwind and has already left again. Onto another mission with another guy and I'm left in the after shocks of her quake. What the hell just happened? I'm too high. The opportunity to stop her. Look in her eyes, and feel the earth move as our lips touched and bodies pressed together the instant our souls reached into each other plugging us into the universe has passed.
Will I ever be released from this game of torture?
I have to masturbate just to check my own pulse.
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Greeting Card Lover.
1 min read
I spend so many nights not being able
to stop thinking about you
long enough to sleep.
I wonder if there will ever be a day that you find yourself
thinking about me
and what it would feel like when you realize that you want me too.
what it will be like when your brown eyes
meet
my brown eyes
and your moist lips
meet my soft lips
what will they say
don't walk away
this time
any time
you are mine
you're on my mind
be my guide
let me inside
I need to confide
this is love
defined.
to stop thinking about you
long enough to sleep.
I wonder if there will ever be a day that you find yourself
thinking about me
and what it would feel like when you realize that you want me too.
what it will be like when your brown eyes
meet
my brown eyes
and your moist lips
meet my soft lips
what will they say
don't walk away
this time
any time
you are mine
you're on my mind
be my guide
let me inside
I need to confide
this is love
defined.
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Welcome Spring.
1 min read
Welcoming home my friend "The Spring"
He and I are old friends
the way Jack and Dean were friends
We traveled together.
Searched our souls together.
Grew up together.
Now we sit here
reminiscing
contemplating life
over this
herbal brew
together
and all I can do is smile
it's nice to see a familiar face
among the crowd
once in awhile.
He and I are old friends
the way Jack and Dean were friends
We traveled together.
Searched our souls together.
Grew up together.
Now we sit here
reminiscing
contemplating life
over this
herbal brew
together
and all I can do is smile
it's nice to see a familiar face
among the crowd
once in awhile.
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