Just thinking...

With Christmas right around the corner, a writer's mind goes wild. We are poor, we are starving, we are hopeless. A "real job" only interfers with our writing and we are deemed lazy. In reality, all we want to do is put food on the table by doing what we love. Christmas is an especially hard time for us. We can't afford to give those we love something beautiful and grand. Perhaps we can spill our guts onto paper and hastely disgust it as a present but material times make it impossible to serve material minds. With each night that tears roll, we search and scramble for ways to earn even the smallest bit of cash. We think of our families and our girls. All we want is for everyone to be happy and sometimes we just can't make that happen. The thought of our mother's opening a brand new dress, our father's opening his brand new tool, our women cracking open the box that contains a shinning and magnificant diamond ring. These things scar us and with each year, give us the feeling we need to find new means of income. This being said, if you know a writer or have one in your family, have mercy this year; They really do love you.

A Loser's December

In a cold room,
a lonely room
I sit and think.
I sit and think
as I sit upon the cold
empty
wallet
that hibernates in my
back pocket.
No gold this year
my dear.
No ribbons or bows.
If only I wasn't lazy.
If only I was a man.
Maybe then I could afford
some cards
some candy
something.
Maybe next year
if she isn't gone by then.

Bow

When asked for a screw

she lit up like a Christmas tree

Her lip stick stuck to her cigarette

as she took a long hard drag

Her hands roamed and eyes gazed

as she ventured onto my body

subliminally begging for discipline

like an iron fist

She went in for blood and got short changed

robbed at the gates and denied

I slid a bill like a leopards tongue

into her pants back pocket

as we said our good byes

as she left into the night.

As of right now, her whereabouts are unknown

if I had to guess I'd say she was dead

strung out barbie doll gutter ball

that haunted the alley i frequented most.

And every year around just around this time,

I leave a package by the spray painted wall

full of old pills and disregarded words

Merry Christmas darling

where ever you are.

On Hating Math, Loving English and Being Completely Discouraged with Education

Math is an extra terrestrial language. Speak it to me and I will stare at you blankly. I have never been a fan of numbers and never will be. It's all a giant fucking enigma. Some people are blessed with the ability to tune into and interpret the language. That isn't me. Negative, positive, divide into, subtract from; It is as much of a problem for me to understand and translate as it is for me to solve on paper. I always failed math classes in school. To me, it is like placing a foreign kid in an English speaking class. He stares off into space, slowly trying to piece together the puzzle of education. It's just not my bag.

English, however, was what saved me in school. The words seemed to roll off my brain and splatter onto paper. My mind worked as a creative mechanism that produced only the finest organic thoughts. I feel the need to fertilize this garden of articulate growth thoroughly with century old words and mental works of art. With time, the harvest becomes plentiful and could feel thousands of pages. The pages can only sprout in strength and will eventually form a linguistic army that will battle the evils of the world. Well, I hope so anyway.

So be fearful, my loyal readers, for one day this will come true. My novels, stories and poems will reach the masses and provide food for thought to the lost; To the people in my generation and younger. I dream of being the voice that aids the forgotten youth. I urge you to spread my words and over looked wisdom. Tell those you know you have found someone unafraid. I am ready to fire at will with a ball point and my trigger will be literature. My aim is on our world, locked and loaded.

“If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, I will answer you: I am here to live out loud.” - Emile Zola

I am nothing but a writer. That is what I am, no more, no less. I live my life to simply vibe off life and tell people like it is. If there is one thing I need to write about it, it is love. People today do not understand love. It is just a word; Tossed around like a toy. Let me be the first to tell you, love is more then a verb. It's a feeling, an emotion. It has been lost over the years. Love is not a drunken hook up at a party on Saturday night. Love is not casual sex. Love is something more.

I have been in what I call love for a year and month, to be specific, with a beautiful girl. Sure, it started like everything else, as a feeling. Her voice made me feel like I was somewhere else if only for a short period of time. Her eyes were the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, so deep and so blue, man I could have lost myself in them. With time, the feelings alone grew and got more intense. Her kiss made me melt like a snowman in Arizona. Her hands could have ripped my still beating heart out and I still would have felt like a hundred bucks just because she was that close to me. I had never met a girl that made me that happy in my life.

I fell head over heels for her and never looked back. The road to love is a rough one, with stories, exaggerations and rumors being spread like wildfire. I still kept my head and my love, only to be ever so cautious on the path I followed and the people I followed down it. People might say I am crazy for spending most of my time with her. Frankly, I don't give a damn. When you have something so good, so pure, so real that you would give your whole world up for it, nothing else will do. Its a drug that you can't kick and you don't care. It could make you drop dead tomorrow and you wouldn't be moved to drop it because you would die with butterflies in your stomach and a smile on your face. That is love.

What I am trying to say is if you have found love, the real love, don't let anything destroy it. Let it grow and build up around you. No one in life can give you love like that one special person. Would you give up a million dollars if that made you happy? Would you stop making art because other people didn't like it? No. It it made you happy, you would keep at it and with time your love for it only grows and things only get better. I am not about to leave behind what I love. I never have and I never will.

I love you Diana Z. With all my Heart and Soul

"We lay on our backs, looking at the ceiling and wondering what God had wrought when He made life so sad.."

True words from a true man, Mr. Jack Kerouac. It seems lately I spend alot of nights laying in bed thinking. I'd rather think then dream. My dreams are always a dark mess of my worst fears. Lately, alot of my dreams end with me breaking down into tears after something terrible happens. Most of the time the dreams are of me being left stranded and alone. I think I'm more scared of that then anything else in this world. I remember when I was younger, I always had dreams about monsters and devils and your typical run of the mill terrors. With time we out grow the monsters in the closet and trade them in for the real demons of life. I have alot of demons but I think I chose not to face them. I can't help but face them in my dreams.

This is why I'm a big fan of late night thinking. The silence of a sleepy household brings out my most creative and meaningful thoughts. I like to think about what purpose I have here. I never can really find an answer. My mistakes and wrong doings are the only things that come to mind which leave me to wonder if I was put here just to fail. I sure hope that's not the case. I think that failure is a fear of mine too. Maybe I will finally have a definite answer tonight. Maybe it will be in my dreams...

"Mr. Bukowski will have the Soup De Jour...Oh yeah and a beer."

I wonder what lunch with Charles Bukowski would have been like. Today, in between all the activities and conversations I pursued, I thought about it. This is how it plays out in my mind; Chuck and myself would go to a small diner style place with red stools and mica counter tops. He would smile ever so gracefully at the waitress and comment on how great her ass looks. I would laugh and agree simply to make the man happy. Upon viewing the menu, I would order the greasiest plate of meatloaf and playdoh molded potatoes I could get my hands on. Chuck would order a steak, maybe with fries. For drinks, both beer, although Chuck would jokingly ask for a wine list.

We would talk about life and women. I'm sure at some point we would disagree on the subject of love but not too much. I would tell him how I'm in love with a beautiful girl named Diana. He would call his last female friend a whore and explain how he set her free because of it. After lunch was done and our drinks were too, I'm sure I would bring up dessert but Chuck would decline. After I throw a 10 dollar bill down on the table, Chuck would smile and I would throw down one more...