Titays

He's a creepy limo driver, drunk and kicked out of an 8 year old relationship, again. She's a hooker and paints it as professionally as she can. He's staring at her tits and saying something I can't pick up but she says "so what if they're fake, you still want to fuck them." He says "if you touch me, I'll kill you." And that doesn't seem to coincide with what she said. And I'm thinking that she isn't her anymore in his mind. She is now the her that left him and he doesn't even see those fake tits. But she's a businesswoman trying to make a guy see her fake tits but the boners in the room that are producing one sperm an hour don't get it. He tries to hang himself from the curtains while she asks for another splash of vodka. I give her a splash and don't discourage him from hanging himself...but I do, because I'll be responsible for those fucking curtains.

I Live One of Those Lives

I live one of those lives
Where I care too much
And I care too little
And I get fucked
In between
I live one of those lives
Where when my day ends
It never ends
I just pass back in
Into the same fucking
Place I left it
Irritated
I live one of those lives
In which I feel awkward
Using coupons
And expression
And hand gestures
And toll booths
I live one of those lives
Where I drink so much
Coffee
I need to drink so much
Alcohol
And in between
I don't know if
I'm just fucked up
Or fucked up
I live one of those lives
That loves to love
When I'm in love
But loves to be alone
When
I am alone
And wants to be
Alone in love
Perhaps just with
The dream
I live one of those lives
Where when I'm away
I think of home
And when I'm home
I think of being away
I live one of those lives
That hates driving
But misses the road
At night
In the desert
Anywhere
With love but
Alone
Home but
Away
Fucked up
I live one of those lives
Where I feel that I have
About four more
I live one of those lives
Where if I see one more
Ex-girlfriend and it
Actually isn't an ex-girlfriend
But I panicked anyway
I will consider moving away
But probably won't
This city is mine
I live one of those lives
That is outliving
Relationships
Pets
Scenes
Trends
Architecture
Columnists
Newspaper clippings
Politics
Venues
Memory
I'm no vampire
But I am starting to think
That I am living too long
Because everything keeps changing
So quickly
A hundred years
Is now maybe ten
And I don't give a fuck
But I do
I live one of those lives
Where someone wheels me
In front of a wall
And all I can think of
Are the oceans
And vaginas
That I visited
And that I'm still
Here
Just turn me around
Let me face a window
"Fuck your goddamned coffee break!"
But I have no mouth
No voice
I live one of those lives
That ends
Once the final credit
Scrolls up
And the other asshole
Still in the movie theater
Says
"That sucked!"
And there was no indication
Of a sequel
 

Last Man Shitting

All the cocks were limp from the alcohol and living the futile life until the hookers walked in. Suddenly, the men on the verge of tears turned into a bunch of junior high boys hovering over their first porno magazine. I was embarrassed for them but I kept pouring. When they wake up tomorrow, they won't remember what fucking assholes they were, just that there were four large tits in the room smiling for drinks, waiting to follow the first sucker to the ATM. The liquor began to disappear from the shelves and cocks turned limp again as the depressant coursed through the brains and soon the tits were forgotten and the man-hugs and "I love you, man"'s drew the crowd through the exits, into the rain, the alleys, the over-sized vehicles. The ladies had beds in need of customers and continued their shifts. I shut the lights.
I re-stocked the beer, ate some cold ravioli, bought a half pint before the law said I couldn't and got into a cab. The taxi driver said "we meet again!" And I said "yeah, you've driven me home before." Then he said, "no, I say that to everybody." I gave him my destination and didn't say anything when he took the long way. I had the window open; felt the rain blow in on my face and splash my name name tag that I forgot to take off. I walked into my building and talked to the new doorwoman for a minute. I said that "you'll probably see me rolling in here late a lot, since I work nights and like to drink." "But I'm sober now," I clarified, "which is rare," I added and opened the half-pint. "I prefer drinking during the day," I said, took a swig. The puzzled look on her face was worth a buck. I realized that I had been listening to assholes all day talk about their relationships, jobs, they spent time reasoning their existence. I had seen ass crack and tit crack and smelled beer farts and cleaned up vodka spills and explained how to get to the nearest seafood joint and "where do you get a decent meal?" (in this massive fucking city) "I don't know what I want...what's good? I've been driving all day..."
And there I was confessing to the new employee that I drink too much, offering an apology in advance for all the times you are going to see me stumble into this fucking dormitory for the working dead...fucked...up. I perpetuate the cycle which depresses me.
So I drink my whiskey and beer while taking a scorching hot shower, sweating the alcohol out just as I consume it beneath the shower head, skin turning red. The cats sit on the other side of the glass door, I can see their shapes and colors through the fogging. I wipe away the condensation and they have this look of amazement. I'm the best magician these cats have ever seen.
I turn off the water and towel off. Drink beer. Swig whiskey. I sit on the toilet and fill it with blood, piss and shit. I'm drinking a Corona. I managed to cut a lime and stuff it down the neck. I hate Corona. I'm shitting and drinking beer and whiskey. The cats rub themselves up against my shins and this makes me feel uncomfortable.

Let's start talking about the speed of time

Buying grass-fed ground beef happened about 8 hours ago. Picking up a fifth and a pizza was about 5 hours ago. I started writing a paper about 12 hours ago and completed it, complete with Nagelbergisms, similar to fuckyouIgotthissojustacceptwhatIamsayingandmoveonisms....But I remember graduating 8th grade and assuming while mowing the lawn that high school would never arrive. I remember having to play Gerald Ford in a production about the presidents in 3rd grade and the day before thinking that time moved so slowly that the play would never happen. But it did. My mother told me to trip on stage, as Gerald Ford was known to be somewhat of a klutz. Even Chevy Chase played him that way. I tripped on stage but no one got it. They just thought I was a dumbshit kid, which I was...but these adults didn't even get it? My teachers asked me if I was okay. Did they not get it either? I guess not. I went home disappointed and stared at the jar of jelly beans I had bought with my allowance thinking that I'd be Reagan but some bitch-mother wanted her son to be Reagan and I got demoted. But that asshole kid forgot to bring his jar of jellybeans onto the stage so all he was was some dipshit that kept whispering "Well," "Well, Tear down that wall..." But he had no volume, no props and no panache. Fuck that kid. Three decades later, I barely want to be alive. Drinking in bed at 5am. I would have torn down that fucking wall. I would have screamed that shit. I feel like screaming it now.

Birthday

Just wanted to say thanks to everyone for all the birthday wishes. It was a great night at work; No old women showed me their tube-sock tits. No drunken Cubs fans showed up and farted until they shit their pants. No drunk criers, no hookers, no vomit...no one was jerking off in the lobby (while I was there), no trannies trying to rob drunken horny men that need a hole so bad they can look past a cock. Nobody shoved a razor blade up their vagina in the bathroom while singing Prince songs. The white trash stayed away. The self-righteous, the coke heads, the guy that really seems like a rapist, the guy that carries "Swan's Way" to the bar and licks his lips too much, the guy that asks me once a week "what time do you close tonight" but never orders a drink, didn't show up. The asshole that says "feel free to make that a stiff drink" never arrived. The guy that knows I'm not going to serve him because he's completely fucked didn't walk in. No one asked "what do you like to make" or "what's good?" No one asked for directions. No one asked me what there was to do in Chicago. No one asked me where to get drugs or for directions to the massage parlor that "you know, goes somewhere." In other words, the bar was pretty empty but for a few friends and I appreciated their company, pretty vanilla night. But in some weird way, I was a hoping for a random floor-shitter, or tranny-hooker fight or at least witness a blow-job for crack exchange in the alley. Oh well, I guess everyone involved in the background called in sick at the same time.

Ruckus

Outside someone is either screaming or laughing and I am drinking and wondering "should I get into this mix?" I know I'm going to either disturb some fucking or some murdering. So I start my way down the stairs. 10 beers steers, I'm just following, with fists. Too drunk and the adrenaline drops now. 5th floor, 4th floor, 3rd floor, I need to piss. I hear some knocking on the door that leads to the alley echo up the staircase, banging, really. I'm at the level where the sound pops and mutes. I hear that goddamned squealing and undulating. So I head down the stairs faster now, thinking, just get this shit over with and then run back up the stairs and have another beer and maybe piss or jack off...I get to the landing and throw open the door but I make sure to keep a foot back so the door doesn't shut. There is the noise. A man. No fucking. No rape. No murder. Just a man. Making asshole noises in the night. Fuck. You. He sees me and laughs, then belches. I look around. Is there a dead body? I don't see anything. Just a fucking man that still has the ability to make noise. I walk back into my apartment and grab an empty beer can and piss in it. I don't know why. I'm hovering over the toilet pissing in a beer can while my girlfriend nightmares and punches the pillows next to her that could be me. The cats are attracted to the bathroom light and start rubbing up against my legs and I hiss/whisper "Get away, I don't want to piss on you!" and I turn to the right, the mirror and suddenly the absurdity presents itself but I don't care. The sky starts to brighten and I realize that I'm no longer pissing into a beer can, I am just holding my cock, hovering it above some aluminum vessel. I pour my piss out of the can into the toilet and then feed the cats. I sit on the couch and consider turning on the television to hear some noise, to get that laughter or cackling of that "man" out of my head. I don't. I shut my eyes and I see him. Bones with a sheet of thin skin stretched around...laughter or just noise like a pastry chef serving tarantula cunt a la mode. When the sun comes up, I go to the medicine cabinet and prepare my sleep cocktail. I like to wait until the sky lights up to fall asleep. I don't want to miss the bile that flows in the night. I can deal without the stock reports and crowds of the day...

Picture

There is no burden to be had. Inclusion is not enemy. Opt out, if you must. The drip is just that...on pages, on canvas. We bleed a need.And if you want your own hospital bed, you better be dying. Everyone is throwing up in the emergency room these days. Nobody wants to go home. Write. Vomit. Write. The union janitors smoke with mops in hand, begging for sickness, waiting for over-time pay. The mops never get to punch out, they soak it up, beg for reincarnation to become rocks or spiders...or nothing...but never human.

Dollar Fucking Signs

Sometimes I "dislike" or "despise" life...not necessarily mine, just the whole concept of living such a dumb fucking life. Whether you are religious or not...would "god" create BMWs and million dollar shoes? And if you're not religious, then why give a shit at all, or rather care more, because you realize that this is all you have. Buying time..."it's BUYING time"...and so the rich stay rich and the poor stay poor, blah fucking blah. Who gives a shit if we rot in a mansion or in the gutter anymore, we're all fucking maggots, parasites. We die as stupidly as the deer that runs into traffic or the plumber that flushes his head down the toilet. Who needs this shit? At least write about it. When the bitch in the ass, tit and clit hugging dress shows up, don't give a damn. When the fuckhead with the million dollar watch shows up in his limo, don't give a shit. Live. I'd say piss on their dreams but they probably don't have any. They walk around sterile and clear...without struggle except for their addictions and nightmares...something is missing, isn't there?Indeed, your fucking mind. You can stand anywhere in the world but if you can't process the enormity or the privilege, than you must be a shitfuck with money. I don't need much money. But the little money that I have had has bought me out of some bad situations, like waking up and getting out of bed.

Jizzlet

Quote; "I told her that the jizz on the toilet was all hers."

Scanner

The skills that I have as a bartender include being able to hear every voice in the room. It's like "Scanners" but I can't blow up heads yet. Sitting at a bar the mishmash in my listening head is "superman you know punch cock walking alone urban planner when fucking is it comes with cole slaw do you know what I'm going to get herpes marvel universe kills DC aside from batman so don't cum on my food dam broken glass old style my wife has dry mouth and sexhole yuck yuck why don't you talk to me I was here last night my cap was forward for an hour my girlfriend ended up eating beach parties and the end up is I can't cover or go home so this glass is a sleeping bag. Stan? Stan?