Italian sports car/ Yugoslavian maid.

Strangers when we met and strangers when we departed. I wasn’t disappointed when she said goodbye. It’s hard to be disappointed when you what you expected turns out to be true but It fucking hurt. Fuck did it hurt. Back to my routine of chasing woman, unobtainable woman they were easy and distracting they consumed my time, the time dedicated to the woman that I fell in love with like the idiot that I was. They usually were the emotionally unavailable meaning they were still in love with their ex’s and couldn’t get over the fact they were perfect in their eyes. The sly verbal abuses, the lack of a meaningful job, the borrowing of money only to never pay it back, their lack of meaning as a man.

Most men are lack meaning, I’m pretty sure a lot of men these days would still be sucking on their moms breast for the safety and security that it had and for the fact that they don’t have to do anything else but just suck on a tit.

I was attracted to her because she was such a mess and with that came a way to easily love someone. Everything they do is precious, the bottle and a half of wine, the constant excuses on why she didn’t do anything except to acknowledge she has seen every movie on netflix. “Every movie”? I would ask her. “ Yeah I mean it plays in the background while I do shit”. I would stay quiet not letting her know she actually didn’t do shit today. She was precious chaotic pile of anxiety disorders, depression, excuses, daddy didn’t love me and mommy didn’t care and I fucking love her so much.

She didn’t want me anymore and the more I said I was ok with that I really wasn’t god I don’t want to go back on tinder they’re so many trolls with their list of attributes they’re looking for a man, must have a good job, must be 6 and above( I wear four inch heels, wink), be emotionally available, don’t be a weirdo, if you voted for trump swipe left’s.
Marriage trolls, sugar daddy trolls, the I have a boyfriend but want to find friend trolls, I just moved into town from Idaho show me around trolls. Must read books and eat pussy trolls. It was time for me to go back to my own bridge and wait, wait for the next woman trying to cross my bridge with my ugly face covered in moles and orange hair; terrorizing.

I hate myself now always thinking if they want to be in your life they’ll find a way to be in your life. Otherwise they’ll fine excuses.

Mellow Migration

Rats, cockroaches, pigeons, lice, men & woman in a struggle for space constantly crossing each others paths, hearts filled with each others anxiety. The rats with the fear of laced poisonous food and ice-binding their tails together to form a rat king of the underground. The lice living casually on heads of men eating away the dead skin pleasant ground keepers with an itchy presence. Woman keep passing by.. I watch them biting my lips, silently thinking who they must be fucking. What type of ugly asshole do they find cute, funny and “I like his parents and he has a job.” The miniature thought of a man he must be but yet he was fucking someone because “he had a job”. And a mattress on the floor of a small one bedroom apartment in Little Armenia, the last poor mans enclave of Hollywood, struggling desperate hungry men wanting to be something, saviors of their so-called art, writing, music created for their friends by dragging them with guilt to their desperate need for attention on a stage. What horror to witness and an audience drowning them out with mindless chatter, five men on stage with delusions of grandeur. Tails bonded together, desperate and hungry rat king. 

5th Period Picasso

She sat across from me for most of the year. I was sixteen a junior in high school, she was eighteen and a senior with a year behind as she put it her parent’s fault enrolled her too late. But I knew she had come to the states at thirteen a story pieced together by not what she told me but what she didn’t say. She was a beautiful woman, no longer a girl. Her beautiful brown skin, light in nature, soft peach like the texture and with a shine from bath & body lotion; Chanel #5 of its time. We spent 5th period together that year, the 5th period was Advance Art it was after lunch and I was the 5th period Picasso; Knowing how to sell bullshit. I figured early enough she sat close to me because I could help her, later I just listen to her and all her stories of high school love and the eternal musical chairs of our youth. It happens on a Friday afternoon 6th period was canceled that day; parent-teacher conferences were starting the following week and teachers needed time to assess our incompetencies of soon to be adult life. She was behind in her final art project that quarter and was mad at what she had done so far. “ If you finish my art project I’ll let you grab my tits” … I laughed. A nervous laugh with a wave of anxiety sweeping over my heart the pounding on my chest wall causing nausea and yet I just laughed it off. “Sure… shirt off” “- O.k.” She responded.
She walked ahead of me I followed her to the ceramics storage room. I stood in the middle of the room surrounded uneven pots waiting to be fired and dust motes beautiful creatures of dead skin wrapped with clay. “Pull down your pants” “- What?”- “Pull down your pants”. I did what she said. Sun beaming from a slitted window rimming her; beautiful and angelic she bent over pulling down my underwear and taking me in. A rush of the universe flooded my body, my knees weak, my hands clinching an edge of the table, posed over like the theft next to Jesus asking for forgiveness and thanking him for this eternal moment. I never saw her again that school year. She found me years later. Knowing I was in NYC she invited me to dinner, she worked at a pharmaceutical rep, lived in Tribeca with her boyfriend, a doctor she met on the job. These were the things I found out by not what she told me but by the things she didn’t tell me. The universe constantly connects, looping infinitely in on itself. 

Clinton’s America.

He decided to sit across from me, she sat next to him on his right. The perfect eternal married couple. I wonder if he could smell my stench on her and the remnants of my soul.
She had been on laying in my bed an hour before waiting for me to come out of the shower naked with a desperation of a hungry child showing their displeasure with cries of want. “ Relax I take long showers sometimes”. I yelled out to her. She groans something that I could not understand or bother to understand.
He was a sad man, yeast in resemblance, single cell organism with no formed opinion from his self, dispelled of its vitals by her. Any resemblance to a man he once had is gone now. He sits day by day on Reddit forums building courage behind a computer screen, Alex Jones in the background spewing conspiracies that to him were perfect in meaning. I felt no guilt to shake his hand knowing I was the better man. A Mexican who took his job and his woman. I had no soul, no meaning a private tragedy it was accelerating to be a soulless man. I was nothing like him; A man bound by American morals and ideal and defined by isms.  

Copyright © All rights reserved.
Using Format