Monday, June 30, 2014


1. we learn from our sex mistakes. what sex mistake did you make and learn from? what was the lesson learned? some guy behind a dumpster told me that you should masturbate and cum before a sex session so you last longer. but i did and i didn't have anything left during the bedtime. we had sex for three days straight...

2. what sexual risk would you take if you knew you would not fail? threesome. double the chances of finding a soulmate. two out of three ain't bad. meatloaf.

3. at what point in your life have you felt most passionate and alive? right this second

4. what piece of advice about sex would you offer the virgin you? size matters. also, virgin oil is not the same as extra virgin oil.

5. what are you avoiding? reality

6. by what age should you know what you want to do with your life? death

bonus: do you think you've experienced true intimacy in a relationship? no, and i never will, and that is why i'm a blogger.



Wednesday, June 25, 2014


i the air hero performed my air dance in front of a gathering crowd in the carpeted inside entrance area of the YMCA. i swung my air sword violently and my air shield was at the ready. my target was one Vulpe, a bored guy who was an otherwise nondescript bully but he was in my life so he was interesting. Vulpe, otherwise known as Ganon, stood there inches from me, unfazed by my attacks and generally dumbfounded at this whole scene. he would have snickered if he knew how. Doc, the kindly old giant who was my protector behind the desk when mom was away, was at his post at the front desk dutifully but he was clutching his chest. must have been too much of my excitement. Doc decided to lie down on the floor.

video games were not a pastime for me, they were my very blood. they were the lens through which i saw the real world. they were my comfort, my explainer, my reality. somehow real-life steps were not as cool as the steps to a tower in a Zelda game. the Zelda games were my home, that's where i explored every bush and got every rupee and aced every mission put before me. i was a winner in the game. even at the very early age of 7 i could see that the Zelda ethos would live in me forever, until i died, died in real life, not in the game where you can start from where you died as long as you saved properly. i was filled not just with the confident air of now in the '80s but with my future gameplaying of all the Zelda titles which would come, all of the exciting new graphics i would see as i grew, i was seeing them now with my seven-year-old eyes, the generations past and future collided into one lifeforce which guided me, swept me away, infused me with their strength, their power, like the Triforce of Power, or rather Wisom, Vulpe obviosuly had the Power one, i would never fear again, never be afraid of the real world, because i had the video-game world, now and forever. bullies beware! Link, i mean i, was here, in my jean overalls, on the prowl, to fight back, to save the day.

Doc must have really been pooped, he didn't pop his head back up. luckily, my other knight was here, Mom! she came out in her bathing suit but her hair wasn't wet and scraggly like usual, it was bone dry. i was boned.

me: Mom, ready? i've never wanted a taco plain crunchy with just cheese, lettuce, and the meat, no tomatoes or sour cream from Taco Bell like i do at this moment.

i was a simple child with simple tastes.

Mom: oh honey, what happened to your face? hello, who is your friend?

me: no chum of mine, he's a psycho.

Vulpe: more of a teacher, ma'am.

Mom (suspiciously): i see. well, don't mind my boy, he has the greatest imagination a human has ever had, and that's why i love him.

Vulpe slithered away to the weight room. there is a large glass panel at the center top of the weight-room door where you can see in and they can see out. Vulpe began to do stretches of his arms with his laser-focus eyes trained squarely at me and my mom.

Mom: let me kiss your face and make it all better.

y'know, i always thought that was a myth, but it really was true: a mother's kisses did actually in reality scientifically make the pain go away, it was proven, at least my mom anyway, my mom's love, maybe it wasn't true for your mom, or maybe it only worked with each boy's mother, like another mother couldn't heal a stranger boy, had to be her own child.

Mom gave me five of her patented kisses in sequence. with each one of her kisses on my cheek, i glanced over at Vulpe exercising. in tandem, in perfect timing, Vulpe would stretch the mound of black weight with his arm, exposing his rippling muscle, with each one of Mom's kisses, at the same time. with each lift, he stared more intently at me and smiled, or rather winced, or had a salivary look of direction around his mouth.

Mom: *kiss* one for the money *kiss* two for the show *kiss* three to get ready and *kiss* four to go and *five* to let you know i'll always be there for you.

me: let's go, mom, while the gettin's good. let's blow this popsicle stand.

Mom: honey, i still haven't swum. the waves caused by the gladiators in the pool are only now settling. i'm gonna be a little later than usual, sorry about that, hon, i know you have your schedule, i do, too, i'm not happy about this, but sometimes you have to go with the flow of the swimming pool. it's gonna have to be more of a linner at Taco Bell. or is it dunch?

there was no win. it was over. game over. i was just a kid, i had no power, i had to go along with the adults, always had to. i still marvel at the quickness with which mom disappeared. and with that, i was a vulnerable deer again, a piece of meat. Doc was in the death of sleep. there was nowhere to turn. if i escaped, Vulpe would chase me forever. i had to face him. worse, i had to confront him in the fucking weight room, with all of the disgusting oily musclemen there. this was Hell.

Vulpe immediately tied me up to the lifting-arm machine by my arms ironically. couldn't say the bully didn't have flare. i was at the ceiling of the room, my little cute feet struggling for air.

me (closing my eyes): teach me.

Vulpe began punching me in the stomach. i was such a delicious target for him, my midsection was left bare and open for him, unguarded and perfectly at the level of his punch trajectory.

Vulpe: i punch because i care. *punch* one for the money *punch* two for the show *punch* three to get ready and *four* to go...

but he saved the last one. i was dead, but i at least knew that song by heart.

Vulpe: dude, you have to learn about life. there will always be stronger, bigger, faster, better. how are you gonna deal with all that? you can't talk your way out of it. life is cruel, life is about war, fighting, the strongest winning, the strongest surviving. i'm just toughening you up. think of yourself as a piece of meat. we're all pieces of meat, even me. thrown out there into the world cold and alone and hungry to fend for ourselves. will you be eaten or will you be the wolf who eats the meat?

despite me being dead, the lesson sifted through and my eyes moved with understanding, they were my only body part which could still move.

Vulpe: see what's going on over there?

Vulpe pointed to Doc's desk and said this somewhat ironically cos he knew i was in no position to see anything but the overhead lights. i'm tellin' you, you have to give the bully his due, he was special. he did take me down from my restraints, though, to show me.

Vulpe: Doc is having a heart attack, or he had one. i don't want you to see anymore, it's too grisly. they couldn't get to him in time because everyone was too distracted with your faggy dance you did. his blood is on your hands. you killed your hero. but it's okay, i'm taking you under my wing now, i'm your new hero, i shield you from all of the world's troubles until you are of strong mind, body, and spirit and can handle it.

Vulpe pushed a button on the vending machine. Skittles came down.

Vulpe: i'll put it in video-game terms. life is easy, and is gone in a flash, at the push of a button. as easy as it is to push a button on your controller to activate your hero to shoot, kick, punch the enemy, you can push a button and in a poof, a flash, people are gone. go ahead, here's a quarter, get yourself something nice.

i held the enemy quarter in my hands, it felt slimy, evil, from the underworld, it was possessed by demons. i quickly let go of it into the slot and pushed the button for my favorite chocolate candy bar.

Vulpe: you pushed it, you pushed the button, right? you pushed the button and Doc is dead. see how frighteningly easy that was?

me: come on, i'm young, but i'm not dumb. i didn't cause that by pushing the button. i love Doc...well...i loved him.

i started to tear up. through the haziness of my watery eyes, Vulpe's face began to swirl and i thought about what he said. although it wasn't logically true, it was the type of thing that could be true, and with my feverish imagination, i immediately pictured the scenario, i imagined me pushing the vending-machine button then looking over to Doc who went from smiling cheerfully at the desk and waving to me to dropping suddenly to the floor. the horror of this sent me to my second death. that's two, one more and i lose my three lives and i don't have a 1UP in my backpocket.

Vulpe touched my nose with his fox finger. he was nice to me.

Vulpe: get up, squirt, the talking portion is over, time for action. train and meet me at the boxing ring. i'll be waiting there for the round of your life.

the boxing ring was located on the way other side of the YMCA campus. that would give me enough time for (a) training (montage). i pictured it in my head now: the guilt, the shame, the need for redemption, i would need to traverse a long way to reach my destiny,


i was in my green outfit and ready to fight. i would do anything to vanquish Vulpe Ganon, i could turn into a wolf if need be. only wolves got the meat.

i carried my little cute legs out the front entrance and into the blinding sunlight of reality. i turned the corner, went down the nondescript steps, and made a sharp left to go to the towering building which would test my mettle to get the medal. did i have what it took? is seven years old too young to think of such grand things? was any of this real? i only cared about one thing: filling my belly with meat. was i still in the comfort of mom's arms? i walked, pitter-patter, pitter-patter, to the boxing ring. i was a boy, but a tough boy, a toughened boy. not yet a man, but a wolf. that's not true, i only cared about one thing: i wanted my mommy.




Monday, June 23, 2014


school is not cool, kids, it's a nightmare. share a memory:

1. English: this is the only subject that matters. i loved all all of my English teachers, especially one that was a Cosby Show dragon-lady type whom everyone else despised but i knew even at an early age was good for me. i'll write about her in a future short story. speaking of stories, all i am is stories, that's what i do, i write. although i have to say, i'm not sure it exactly was my teachers or the fact that i picked up a Choose Your Own Adventure book with filthy covers entitled You Are a Shark lodged in a crack behind a liquor store one day that engendered my lifelong eternal love of the word.

2. History: kindly old fat man with a grey beard and beanie who wore a I GET ALL THE DATES shirt

3. Foreign Language: my Latin teacher was Fox Mulder himself, see above. we never learned any Latin, we were on permanent field-trip mode looking for his sister...

4. Psychology: also Mulder. Mulder didn't care about any of us students, he would just lecture on for hours and hours about his psycho-sexual proclivities and inability to keep a girlfriend because of his obsessions and his OCD and crisis of faith since he wanted to believe but really he just liked that poster and the time he gave his platonic friend Scully sperm.

5. Math: my math teacher was a kindly old man with a grey beard, the pic above Mulder up above there. smart guy, but book smart, not street smart. yeah, one day at lunch, we all saw him being taken away. the principal, who is our PAL, told us he was going to math camp.

6. Physics: i hated science when i was a kid, i was english or bust. but like everyone else i saw the "Physical" Olivia Newton-John video and converted.

7. Chemistry: everyone learns this hard lesson in chemistry class: it doesn't matter how hot she is, if there's no chemistry, there's no chemistry.

8. Biology: penis + vagina = (one second of) happiness

9. Gym: that's not funny. i don't want to think about it. never again. it's a miracle i'm still alive. i fucking hated shirts and skins because of my skinny hairless chest. still do at the company picnic, for the same reason. love Skins, though.

bonus: Sex Ed: any lasting lessons? surprising information? was it helpful later in life? see that banana flasher up above there? he taught the class. i think i know how to use a condom, but...



Wednesday, June 18, 2014


when you're seven years old, the world is black and white, good guys and bad guys. my mom always had a bad back as long as i had known her, she swam at our local YMCA to soothe it on Wednesdays. Wednesday mornings were my favorite because i shared alone time with mom. she drove me to the Y in our beautiful little car, i could feel the air below the car whir beneath my feet, it was a magic carpet ride. then, i'd hold mom's hand all the way to the huge mat at the front entrance of the Y, where each square of plastic was individually painstakingly arranged in such a way as to form a huge letter Y in white against the black background of the mat. to me, that Y stood for Welcome, even though welcome does not contain a y. it was the '80s, my magical '80s childhood. buildings looked better in the '80s, they were mystical because i was viewing them from my short skinny stature, they loomed above me like iron castles. i always remembered the Y's gigantic one continuous pane of glass next to the mat where onlookers both within the campus and outside the property line in traffic could peer in and see the swimmers in their shiny gold and silver suits taking laps in the pool. red white and blue patriotic plastic rings formed the pool lane dividers. those noble swimmers in their nose plugs and funny caps on their heads were Roman gladiators to me, attacking the rugged ocean of the pool, synchronizing the beautiful human body to the rhythm of the waves, piercing through the water like a slippery eel to make the best time, their fine-tuned muscles flying above the white foam like magic. all for country, all for Roma. i felt this even though i hadn't studied the Romans yet. and the most mystical of all, when they would do that turn with their bodies when they reached one end of the lane so as not to lose time, they flipped their bodies gracefully like dolphins and continued to the other end of the lane. Aquamen. Aquawomen. and afterwards mom always treated me to Taco Bell for lunch.

i was 7 and a boy so of course i was into video games. video games were my entire world. as an only child, i could easily enter the fantastical worlds of video games with no distractions from a brother or sister, i melted into these worlds of swords and triforces and pipes and koopas, they defined me and i defined them, i used them to explain the real world, my real world, my innocent view of life still with the hope of a child. it was always the happy same when we came to the Y on Wednesdays, the gentle giant Doc would be there to check our IDs and hand out white towels. the Y was Doc and Doc was the Y. he was an old white bald hulky man, a kind man, he had been through wars and that pacified him, he smiled sweetly at everyone but took a shine to me because of my precious innocence. he made sure none of the big kids bothered me much so i could go on being innocent. he knew from his lifetime how sacred that was and what really needed to be protected, not what some country thought needed protection. i always pondered the name Doc whenever our eyes met, i thought about


the trainer for the boxer Mac in the video game. that was a thing with me, too, whenever i heard a name, my brain would immediately go towards a song on the radio i heard or a piece of video-game music or theme, it would trigger the notes of the melody immediately inside my fertile mind. i was so close to beating that game, i had gotten to the last level where you face Mike Tyson but was too scared of him to go through with it. i had it on eternal pause and didn't know when i'd face my fear again. of course i didn't know the last name of the video-game character back then, only the name of Doc. Doc Louis is coming to me now in the present with google. i never found out the last name of the real Doc.

mom would go into the ladies' to change, leaving me alone by the vending machine which was always magically stocked full of the naughty stuff through the glass, the cokes and pepsis and candy, all the colors of the rainbow represented in bad carbs and sugar highs and peanuts and chocolate, a boy's modest dream. and yes, there were Skittles, too. i pulled out the quarter that i remembered to carry with me on that day by leaving sticky rainbow-colored post-it notes on the post of my bed each day the week before from my little cute pocket of my little cute denim overalls outfit that mom picked out for me that morning laying it out on the bed, and i would use my cute little fingers to push the little quarter into the slot and i pushed the cute little button to activate the dropping of my cute little candybar which i then ate cutesily. oh the '80s, so innocent, so simple, no internet, just 3 basic channels of tv, more air to breathe, more room to think, more space for my active imagination to expand as i sat on the hard wood bench waiting and gnawing. suddenly there is a butt in my face. it farts right in my face.

it's Vulpe Pui, eighth grade, rough and tumble, backwards baseball cap, one earring, sour face, brooding eyes but not the good kind, mean for no reason for he had money. this is when the '80s free time was not so good, it gave bullies the free time, also, all the time in the world to play their mind games and use their intelligence over a dumber opponent. what a waste of brainpower.

i tried, i really tried.

me: what kind of name is that? pee pee

and then i shielded my head for the inevitable blow. fuck that guy hit hard. my trashtalk skills were not on par with his, could never be, he would always be six years older than me, always, throughout all of time, i could never catch up to him agewise, but maybe i'd catch up to him wisdomwise. that's all i had, i didn't have the faintest idea what vulpe was.

Vulpe punched me in the face five times, each time singing a verse or phrase or something from something i didn't recognize.

Vulpe: *punch* one for the money *punch* two for the show *punch* three to get ready and *punch* four to go...and *punch* one more for the road.

thing is, unlike most bullies, he didn't stand there and admire his bloody work and laugh. he never smiled, i had never seen him smile once. he would always stand over me blank-faced with cold barren eyes. of course he made sure to do this each time on Doc's lunch break when nobody was manning the front desk station. nothing crueler than a smart bully. what a waste of power.

i didn't have any comebacks, i didn't have any strength left, i was weak and just wanted to go home. he had won, he had always won, he would always win, i was too small and tiny and awkward and precious and innocent and happy to fight. i crawled up into a ball and waited for it to be over.

Vulpe: dude, what is with that getup? you look like Raggedy Andy. or rather Raggedy Ann.

you: "mom" i mouthed quietly. i loved my mom and would always represent her with dignity.

Vulpe: i keep telling you, if you want to beat the game, if you want to beat me, the final boss, you have to work out. why are you at the Y if you're not gonna use the weight room or the boxing ring? staring at the basketball players all morning won't get you anywhere in life.

so, he was trying to help me. i see. oh how i loved watching those basketball players, it was very much like the swimmers, with a similar one gigantic pane of continuous unbroken see-through glass. they were people with secret knowledge i did not understand, i admired them from a distance and could only clap in admiration, i could never achieve feats such as dunking a ball or swishing a three-point shot because i didn't have the Magic Johnson shoes and the height and the muscles and the determination and the work ethic and the alchemy, i just liked to lie on my stomach and play video games alone in my room for days. weight rooms scared me, they were filled with meatheads talking gibberish, hulks who were always angry though they were never green, struggling and sweating and talking loudly to get to the next level of weight. i could respect the level thing, but it was too foreign. they were so strong they could beat me to a pulp with one glance, and i was already a pulp. as for the boxing ring, i suppose i could give that a try. no, what was i thinking? that was real, not Little Mac and Doc, real gloves, real hits to the real face, it would hurt, when you uppercut, you would get hurt bashing your small gloved fist into the opponent's large face, not just have a star above you indicating you had an uppercut move in your bank if you pushed the START button. no, the thought of real life scared me. still does. video games, video games, get back to the fantasy.

Vulpe: as ol' Tyson says in the game, your arms are like fingers. seriously, dude, you are so fucking skinny i can barely see you. those arms are pipecleaners. don't you care? don't you care about living? don't you care about life?

you: i want my mommy.

did i say that out loud or think it? that's all i could think, i didn't have the fortitude to fight on my own, to stand up and be a real boy. i quickly needed to get back to video games and to the bathroom to wash my bloody face.

in the locker rooms, which were perfectly empty this time of day, i could swim in my forte, the only thing i was good at, thinking. i thought about it. it had to be a video-game solution. i was Link, i had elven ears and a green hat and a wooden sword. the adventure had begun and Vulpe was Ganon. i could do this, i could win this if i got enough rupees and the right armor and got that special item found in that one special place that moves the one specific rock that is needed to get to the next level to even gain access to Vulpe Ganon, much less defeat him. i would need the silver arrow to defeat Ganon Vulpe. i wondered if it was located in the ladies' room, that's why i had yet to see it. never found it despite hours and hours of gameplay.

i dusted myself off, picked myself up, or rather Link from The Legend of Zelda did, and i pushed that big heavy door with the glass pane in its center that leads to the front desk, my cute little strength in my cute little innocent arms that really were toothpicks, it took all of me to advance the door ajar so i could squeeze my rail-thin frame through. my body was ready. and so was my mind. my brain had another explosion again thinking about the start of a new quest in Hyrule, the music flooded my mind again, i so wanted to reach the Second Zelda Quest, the kids in the schoolyard had talked so much about it, i cowered in the hopscotch area alone because i wasn't there yet, hadn't yet defeated Ganon in the First Quest, so many new challenges awaited, so many new things they talked about, how hard the Second Quest was compared to the First, how so very difficult it was, did i have the strength and the will and the smarts to do it myself for me as a representation of me? or was i a dumb 7-year-old kid?

i turned to face Vulpe, who was unfazed. with my air sword in one hand and air shield in the other, i waved them around as the music danced in my soul. i danced to it in the middle of the carpeted inside entrance area for all to see. Doc was returning to the front desk slowly. i danced and swung. i was pumped up with blood.




Monday, June 16, 2014



1. name something you always carry with you: the Spurs are the 2014 NBA champions after their devastating loss last year. how many times in life are you able to make up for a life-altering defeat like that? it's as rare as an egg with three yolks. that's what i carry with me forever in my back pocket: ultimate redemption stories like these are possible. from Jesus Shuttlesworth to Jesus. last year i was making "Came Back Haunted" by NIN the Spurs' lasting theme song. now it's "We Are the Champions". "Came Back Haunted" is still a rad song tho, it's still what i use after a rough weekend. they are all rough weekends.

2. is there anyone on your mind at the moment? who? why? yes. i'll never tell. because i am in love with her.

3. if you were remembered for one thing, what would that be? my writing. and my extreme good looks.

4. tell us something new that you learned in the last month: planking. Tom Green invented planking in the '90s. everything that's ever been cool on Earth happened during the '90s.

5. what are you pretending not to know? why? one day...i'm gonna's scary...

6. are you happy with other peoples' perceptions of you? everyone has a unifying perception of me: i'm fucking weird. it's true. perception is reality. if i were rich, i'd be eccentric. or am i a damn good actor?, wink wink.

7. are you generally focused on today or tomorrow? time doesn't exist.

bonus: how do you eat Oreos? a) bite it b) twist each half separately c) twist, eat the frosting then the chocolate half: it don't matter y'know, it don't matter if you're black or white, MJ taught us that, he also was pretty good with a basketball in his hand. always had to look out when he stuck his tongue out. speaking of tongues, i use my tongue to lick the frosting out first, and only when it's all sucked up do i proceed to lick all around the cookie. and then my lover and i eat Oreos in bed together. i would not kick her out of bed for eating crackers...



Wednesday, June 11, 2014



Marcio doesn't have a beard anymore, it was too itchy and there was nobody in the monastery to impress anyway. Karl doesn't, either, he was always the practical one. Calvin is dead. it's still a mystery as to how exactly. Calvin was leading a foraging expedition looking for st. john's wort in the high hills. witnesses say that when he fell into a deep ravine he didn't struggle to latch onto the jagged sides with his quivering fingers and toes, he simply gave up and fell with ease to the bottom. the other monks were shocked but not Marcio and Karl, they knew that Calvin was waiting for an excuse. the Abbot position had completely tattered Calvin's soul, it didn't give him the comfort and clarity he was seeking, it didn't give him shit, just empty power, not the love that whispered away those many many many years ago before the insane asylum, the one that got away forever, cruelly forever. it was just a matter of time before the opportunity would arise, Calvin was clever enough to make it look more like an accident so he could still claim he had a right to heaven. Karl quit smoking and always had his reading glasses on which protected his eyes from the sun but also shielded his emotions from the crowd, no one could peer into his soul. except Marcio. Karl thought he looked like a nerd, though he did acknowledge that he wasn't exactly impressing anyone here in this place anyway. Marcio thought he looked like Karl: bookworm, sage, feeler. he was proud of Karl for enduring this most wretched life locked inside a sacred prison with him, they were soul mates who wouldn't have made it otherwise, they leaned on each other like brothers, especially when Doctor Lysander stopped visiting. Marcio was proud of Karl for sticking with the glasses for so long, it was the only thing he did for so long. as he touched Karl's shoulder, Karl kissed him on the forehead, and Marcio began to mist up.

Marcio: the mist is here today, blanketing the mountaintops with mystical grey cover. it's beautiful.

Karl: the mist is misting our eyes with beauty, but your eyes are also welling up over something.

Marcio: i can't help it. as the two of us sit on this log in the early morn while the others are at prayer, i can't help but think of our hard journey.

Karl: tis true. i am so proud of you, Marcio. we made it, bruised and beaten but we are still here. i thank god that you did not leave me. i love you, but i wish i could have loved you deeper.

Marcio: i understand. time flies so slowly.

Karl: we are small humans, painfully small beings in the wide vast infinity universe. as we look upon the mist on the mountains, the stars in the sky, the clouds forming the shapes of our loved ones, we measure time as long and eternal, but it's a fraction, a microsecond. thirty years to us is not felt by the universe, it would need to be a million years to be felt as a tiny pebble in its shoe. people are strange, we are not so affected by time as we think. we think there are things that can't be solved after so long a time. we think time heals all wounds. if you see a friend again after so long a time, it really is like you saw them yesterday. our emotions bind us throughout all time. time doesn't really exist.

Marcio stomped out his cigarette and took a hard look at Karl. he was pretending to look at the mist-covered mountaintops, the glare off Karl's glasses made a perfect cover. of course Karl knew Marcio was really looking at him. secrets die off quickly in this place. so does hope. the only space that remains is for irony and jokes. Marcio examined Karl's mouth. he centered in on Karl's teeth, they were grinded off from a lifetime of bitter disappointment. he looked at his lips, they were chapped black. Karl smiled but it was forced. it wasn't a smile anymore, it was a wince.

Karl: how's your hand?

Marcio: shaking as usual. shaky.

Karl: go down to the lake and get the four-leaf clovers for the stew tonight. supper after prayers. then, more prayers.

Marcio trods along the dusty trail slowly to the water. he has all the time in the world, always will here. he reaches the lip of the corner where the riverbank becomes the lake and scoops up some of the riverwater into his lips with his good hand. a bright light reflects next to him leaving a trail of light which leads him up past the dusty trail straight to the center point of the lake. a vision of beauty, of loveliness, is there. a specter, a ghost, a ghost from the past, a ghost from his past, the Lady of the Lake more vibrant than any color illustration from Marcio's Arthurian Legends books, her torn dress flowing in the mild wind. at first Marcio sees her floating feet, but it's just a trick of the light, a light trick, a life trick. Lady Luck, not the Queen of Spades, is with him today, no need for false clovers, false covers, false positives, a life lived positively gets you nowhere, but a bit of luck changes everything. the beautiful woman, the gorgeous lady, the one who will solve, cure, heal everything. it's not Jesus who is Marcio's savior, it is Rya. Rya is the Truth and the Life.

Rya motions for him to come to the lake middle. she is actually kneedeep in shallow water, and her dress edges are soaking wet. i hope she isn't wearing shoes is the first thing Marcio thinks.

Rya: you look like shit.

Marcio: you still look the...same. is it really you, Rya? i've dreamed about you. i dream about you all my life.

Rya: yes, it is me, really me. i'm nothing if not punctual. you said thirty years, right? well here i am on the dot. i'm not the best nurse but i listen to my patients' concerns, that's how i've been able to keep my job. the patient is always right. my nose is stronger now after you broke it. that's the thing, when you break a bone, when it heals, it becomes stronger than if you had never broken it. i hate to use that Nietzsche quote again...

Marcio: but i didn't break it, only grazed it. i would never hurt you intentionally.

Rya: the details don't matter, only the broad strokes. all that matters is the endpoint, not the destination. journeys are all the same, the endpoint is the collective outpost we all travel to eventually, death.

nothing could stop Marcio's shaking hand. not even a long hot shower. there is nothing like a shower taken in a monastery. the combination of the hard water pelting down on your skin and the absolute centuries-long peace and quiet of a monastic bathroom stall makes for an orgasmic experience that sex cannot achieve. but the hand was starting to lessen now.

Marcio: you look...the same. you've gone from babe to milf in all these years.

Rya smiled and said: huh, no husband, no kids, but thank you.

Marcio: your hair is the same except it's white. your body is the same except it's softer. your caring face is the same except for the wrinkles. you look like an older woman i could love. my mother except not.

Rya: i love you, too, Marcio, always have.

Marcio: but why me? why me out of everyone? surely you could have picked a normal person. i am eternally fucked up. i am depressed and will only bring you down. i am mental not in the good way, i have mental problems. i am schizo in the worst way possible, not in the euphemism for crazy, i am really physically crazy. i won't behave like a real man, a simple man, an ordinary man. i am special, and not the good kind of special.

Rya: i don't know why. that's a mystery. i like mysteries. i need mysteries. i can't have everything explained, that would be boring and dull. why live if it's already all been categorized on the internet thirty years ago?

Marcio: why did you wait for me? for so long? both of our lives are wasted.

Rya: yes, they are. we are two losers. so much potential, so little to show for it. we won't go down in the history books, no one knows about us, that we lived, that we did anything. we both are scared, we both ran away from golden opportunities elsewhere. we both didn't really try. i could have married five times over, but the man wasn't you.

Marcio: come on! why me?

Rya: i don't know, i really don't. all i know is that when we are close together, it feels right, it feels like we can hide from the world together, and that's so much more damn fun than hiding alone. and there's proof, this isn't a God thing, there's proof: look at your hand, the shakes are lessening.

they were.

Rya: and look, you aren't crying. you aren't forcing tears, you are just you right now at this moment, clear-headed and with me in the middle of a cold lake freezing our asses off together. ain't this better than stories from books?

Marcio: i'm not that attuned. i didn't notice i was freezing my toes off standing in this filthy water.

Marcio smiled. he actually smiled for the first time in his life.

Rya went in for the kiss, for the lips, but stopped suddenly.

Rya: oh no, Marcio, you kiss me! it's your turn. i've waited for this. you have to do this of your own free will. because you want to. not because you have to. not because it would complete the script. because it would look sickeningly sweet and good against the backdrop of stars here. this isn't Hollywood, this is real life. it's scary, it's not pretty, it's messy, awkward, intense, sickening, it's real, a real moment.

Marcio: why was i born like this? i just wanted to be normal.

Rya: look at us. we are two fools breaking the rules. we are embracing and about to kiss on the grounds of a monastery, in water. that's some fucked-up shit. there's not much time left, is there? the only time is right now. thirty years goes by in a flash. but love is worth waiting for. the two of us matter even for a split second. a kiss filled up with thirty years of anguish, dashed hope, regrets, and rage tastes sweet indeed, like a fine wine. it is so bright because it comes from such a dark place. it is a star which is finally seen after thirty years but which died thirty years ago from loneliness.

Marcio didn't smile again, he only had one smile in him for a lifetime. he didn't think again. he does not know how to be romantic, what to hold, where to hold, where the heads tilt and where the lips converge. but Marcio kisses Rya on the lips.



Monday, June 9, 2014


1. are you male, female, or other? male. i'm the other man.

2. dog or cat? One Million Cat Army Will Take Over The World ^..^ ^..^ ^..^

3. peanut butter or wasabi peas? peanut-butter-and-wasabi-peas sandwich. keep a drink nearby.

4. group midnight nude swim or mooning strangers? the doctor at my funny farm keeps telling me to join a group, get out there, make new friends. plus any chance to do an R.E.M. tribute i take. more friends, less strangers. i am a stranger to myself as it is.

5. Sneaker Pimps or IAMX? "6 Underground" is pure childhood for me, pure nostalgia arrow. just typing their name again brings back that beat in my head...

6. bologna or braunschweiger? always go with the one which sounds the coolest, which trips off your tongue, put that on your tongue, that's how i roll.

7. vanilla or kinky? so fucking kinky it's rocky road. with a cronut on the side. and i hate cronuts: worst mixing of two separate things since that weird lady did the bacon donut. that proved that bacon does not go with everything.

8. rocky road or chocolate ice cream? i'm so kinky that the second you lick me i get all scared and vanilla and shit and leave the money on the counter and run away like a bawse.

9. red M&M or green M&M? the green ones are supposed to make you horny. the red ones, like the red shirt of Tiger Woods, are supposed to make you win golf Majors. if you combine the two, you get...oh...wait...never mind...sorry about that.

10. pepsi or coke? since the first moment coke touched my lips when i was a baby, i have been a willing slave to it up until this moment now. pepsi is a fraud, traitor, and poseur. maybe if i had drunk milk, i wouldn't be a blogger...

11. Mini Cooper or Fiat Abarth? always go with the one which sounds the coolest, which rolls off your tongue, that's how i roll, and that's literally how i roll, as in how i get from place to place using a vehicle.

12. pleasure or pain? pleasure=pain=pleasure. it's not a cop-out, it's the truth. can't know pleasure without pain, for some pleasure is pain, pain is pleasure. can't know light without the darkness. can't see the stars without the night sky. the duality of life. pale blue dot. Cosmos isn't getting a Season 2: now that's pain.

bonus: either participate in the London World Bike Naked Ride or Japan's Festival of the Steel Phallus: as much as my soul IS Japan and all that it stands for, i gotta go with the bike ride simply because you are sure to awkwardly bump into your soul mate there whether you like it or not...



Friday, June 6, 2014


hello, is anybody out there? summer. tomorrow is the Belmont Stakes and everyone knows that California Chrome will win the Triple Crown, but let's play anyway. adult swim contends that the Cali horse will win it but people still won't care about horse racing. as a kidult, i go to adult swim for all my news and let them form my opinions on stuff for me. can you believe the dream was almost derailed over a nasal strip? come on, we all must breathe to live. when i go to sleep at night, i like to crack the window open just a little to let just a little air in. how about you? do you sleep in the nude or anything? predict who will win the Belmont tomorrow


the winner of this blog game is the one who correctly predicts the actual winning horse tomorrow. the winner gets 3 comments from me at your blog place. i'll try to make them clever, but i haven't been feeling clever lately. i've been down if you must know. look at my entry in the comments as a guide, i'm lonely. it has to happen tomorrow, right? it just has to. summer and nothing to fucking do...


Wednesday, June 4, 2014


the lights are on, people are home.


Marcio would cry at everything: breakfast, tending the garden, the drop of a hat, washing plates. it wasn't the things themselves, it was the state Marcio was in in the monastery. he was so keenly aware of his own being that it killed him. he realized he was not in an ideal situation, he was struggling for his life at every second in here. it was good, it was secure, it was holy, it was noble, it was deathly boring, it was death, it was waiting to die. at first he smiled through the pain because this is what the trio had decided and Marcio was loyal above all else to the only two people who would ever get him, but actually he wasn't smiling at all, he never learned to smile, it was just an awkward twisty contortion on his face, he was always too busy thinking while smiling that he never really smiled, only winced. that's why everyone thought he was continuously in pain, which he was. now Marcio couldn't even fake it.

that first year was extremely difficult, the transition from the comfy mental hospital to a grueling work schedule of getting up at dawn for prayers and tending to a garden that refused to grow anything but broccoli was taxing, strange, and unusual. it was harder than the transition Man made from hunter-gatherer to agriculturist. if it wasn't for Calvin's silent strength as example and Karl's big-brother act, Marcio would have killed himself on these very monastic grounds. suicide is not a good look for a monastery, you don't want to see a noose hanging from the same tree a brother uses to climb to the top of to read like Thomas Merton. the graveyard here is supposed to be a holy place, a place to reflect on the beautiful men who literally gave their entire lives to living in this cramped area praying and hoping and dedicating and not fucking and not fucking up.

not that this coming second year will be easier simply because it's the second year. Marcio is having doubts, so is Calvin and Karl. Calvin misses the smoking, at the hospital his smoking caused the layer of black to hover on the ceiling, black as his soul. the cloud reminded everyone and Calvin that he existed and was the cause of this. at the monastery, Calvin's stogie puffs disappeared into the mountain air with nary a viewer. his cool smoke rings lasted seconds. Karl was the one who tolerated the new conditions the most, he made do as he always did, that's how he survived. inside, he was a boiling cauldron of flame, but he had the precious ability to be able to channel and harness that rage into productive things, books and art and growing a garden. perhaps this is why Karl was so zen about everything. he realized his mind was diseased but he took a longview to everything, a very very very long view, he focused on the novel he would finish ten years from now, not on the childish tantrum fit he was having now. Marcio tried to pattern his life after Karl, except he didn't have Karl's tools. then again, maybe it was just the numbing medication.

it was fucking hard, a life without women, without luxury, without pleasure, all in the pursuit of some nebulous idea of heaven and the afterlife. the three were fidgety and agitated from their troubled minds, and they had weird outbursts and tirades, but they tried their darndest to have them when alone in their cells. they knew they couldn't be troublemakers or they'd get kicked out and be on the streets. there is nowhere to go when you are crazy, no one wants you for long. being in the monastery solidified Marcio's atheism, for now he really had the time to think think think about outer space. Karl was able to take up painting which he did surreptitiously after tending the garden. no one ever saw his pictures but the other monks who did would rave about them at the communal spaghetti dinner table and ribbed him about selling them online and earning some money for the main building repairs. Calvin ascended the ranks quickly and was soon Abbot.

time stands still here, or rather it goes by in a flash. already it's Christmas summer the next year. it was on a certain unknown unmarked day in the calendar when Lysander walked up the dusty trail, so cute were his little legs, lugging a briefcase and looking quite out of place with his suit amongst the robes. he entered a room none of the trio had been in but not before waving at the three of them with a fatherly gesture that immediately took them back to the intimate hospital. a father acknowledging his boys. his smile was a real smile but he was too far away for Marcio to learn how a genuine smile should come off. Calvin said he had already gone and it was Karl's turn to see the doctor. just a routine visit to make sure things were steady, stable enough that no stress suicides would occur.

Karl leaves the office in a huff, storming out, breaking the door down as he rolls off the southern hill into the stream. Marcio's next, he brings a couple of his favorite books along with him as some sort of armor against the unknown passage of time society has ridden without Marcio's presence in the world, time represented by the doctor who never left life like Marcio did, who continued the journey everyone else takes. but Marcio is special, he does things apart, he is not like the rest.

Marcio enters the room, but Lysander isn't there. Rya is there. too much.

Marcio: don't ask me how i am. because that's a stupid question.

Rya (lovingly): okay, i won't.

Marcio: this is. why? i'm uncomfortable now. i don't like surprises.

Rya: i missed you.

Marcio: don't say that. i can't do this.

Rya: sorry. i just thought if you saw a familiar face...

Marcio: yeah, Dad, not Mom! i should go.

Rya: no, please, was it something i said?

Marcio: yes, it's everything you say, you remind me of terrible things.

Rya: i just want to be your happy light.

Marcio: terrible things within me. lust, hornball, what could have been. what i will miss. tragedy. because i am not normal. will never experience normal pleasures.

Rya: but what is normal? there is no normal, there is only life, life lived in a myriad of ways. there are no more rules, anything goes, we are simply two people, right here, right now, breathing, living, we can do what we want.

Marcio: i'm special, everyone is unique and special, but i'm just special, not in a good way. there's a burden in me, a darkness, a blackness, a blankness. i can never be happy, i can never get happy no matter the circumstances or the people i fill those circumstances with. it's like when you don't cut your fingernails for two weeks, they start to grow imperceptibly while you sleep but just enough that you feel them prick on the tips of your fingers, you feel that extra weight, it's heavy enough that you do but light enough that you also don't feel it.

Rya: what are you reading there? i bet it's something interesting.

Marcio: this was supposed to be for Dad! i talk philosophy with Dad, not you! with you i talk, i talk...(Marcio begins to bawl uncontrollably), love, meaning, certainty, existence, happiness...

Rya: i'm right here, that's the beauty of it, the wonder of it, i'm not a heroine in your books, not words on a page, i am real, flesh, here, actually here, and i can give you a real hug, real nerve endings, and so much more if you want it, if you'll have me, if you just get your nose out of the book and touch your nose with mine.

Marcio enrages and with a runny nose and red eyes he begins to throw his books over the head of Rya, crashing them onto the wall with a thud. he never wanted to hurt Rya, but he also wanted to make a flashy point.

Marcio: so a cute little Eskimo kiss solves all the world's ills? it's not that simple, nothing is ever simple, nothing ever works out like it was nothing, i learned the hard way that life is hard, to always accept the hardness of everything, the hardness of people, the hardness of wills, the hardness of an illness which saps the good out of a person like me and replaces it with only the hard, the hard sap, the hard realizations and rationalizations, the hard way, the hard highway, the long way, not the shortcut.

Rya tried to say something to counter and to continue the conversation, but Marcio recognized that this conversation was like the rest, like all the other conversations he had ever had with anyone, meaningless words spoken back and forth like a tennis match which never added up to anything but zero-zero, never love-love. nothing was ever solved after a conversation, only stances made known, philosophies steeled, and both parties leaving the talk knowing for sure they were right all along.

instead of talking, Marcio needed action. action was always better than talking. action talked loudly without words. words were just that, words in the ether carried by the mountain wind to oblivion. in a slow-motion daze, Marcio picks up his last book, the Nietzsche, and flings it squarely into Rya's face, hitting her nose.

Rya wasn't badly hurt, Marcio threw like a girl, but it did stop things.

the Abbot heard everything and heard this commotion. he opened the door and went to tend to Rya. Marcio saw through his veneer of shocked silence that Rya was tearing up, but it was not because she felt external pain but rather internal understanding.

Rya: i'm okay, really.

Calvin: fuck that, miss, meeting's over. don't worry, i'll have a stern talking to with my underling here. nothing's off the table, even excommunication. if you want to press charges, meet with me, too. friendship can only last so long. the boy needs to learn what real life is all about.

Rya is taken forcefully by her wrists away from the room by Calvin as Marcio stands in his chair reflective like a stone.

the last words mouthed by Rya as she is dragged out of the room as she looks directly into Marcio's glazed eyes are

"Marcio, i know about your mother."

Marcio took an absent moment then crashed his head hard onto the table.

Abbot Calvin raised Marcio's head by the hairs and went face-to-face with him, shouting like Drill Sergeant Calvin, no noses here. Marcio didn't hear anything Calvin had to say, it was too loud, Marcio learned in silence, with silence. he did feel Calvin drag him by the wrists and fling him outside by the southern stream.

Calvin: go find your brother! before supper! i have to compose myself before prayers. i'll fix you two yet!

this is good. Marcio was getting bored with dishes anyway. this was an unusual chore for an unusual day, it broke the monotony. if Marcio got lost along the way, he is already lost.

Marcio finally caught up with Karl at the point where the stream becomes a river. by the riverbank Karl is sipping the water like a startled deer. Marcio is the frightened hunter who doesn't want to shoot, who only shot because his dad shot.

they've both calmed down, but it's on a scale.

when Karl spots Marcio, he rushes onto him like a startled deer, knocking the two into the water with a splash. Karl begins punching Marcio in the face.

Karl: you don't know how lucky you have it! she wants you! Calvin is the Abbot.

Marcio didn't fight back. he let the punches continue to land because Karl was right. Karl had nothing. it was hard enough being crazy in a crazy world, but being alone is the absolute worst. Calvin already was intoxicated with position, stature, and power, that was his replacement for love. Marcio had Rya if he wanted her. but he didn't want her. Marcio was special, not in the good way.

Calvin soon encountered the boys and laid his eyes on them and the splashing wildman scene like a seasoned hunter. Calvin's eyes were the sights and the lake was the site and his commanding orders were the trigger.

Calvin: cleaning up your mess as i always did at the hospital. it's not easy being a leader. i have an idea to cool down you two wet idiots. take a ride in the company car, around the hill three times like the Crow crowed. cool off, you fags. be back to clean the dishes after dinner.

Karl and Marcio had punched their peace and were tired out, even beyond the scale. Karl rubbed Marcio's hair and kissed his forehead and the two took a jaunt in the car. when night came to the monastery, it was the blackest night a human could ever imagine. the stars shone so bright against this black backdrop, they shone brighter for the monks than for the stupid other humans below enjoying their lives in society because monks were special, they had sacrificed to be here and were justly rewarded with that little extra luminescence of that ray of that star. the stars were so close the monks on this mountain could pick them off the sky like flowers. it was the monks' little secret. it made Marcio cry, every time.

during the soothing car ride, the two kept quiet as is a monk's wont. vow of silence kept whenever convenient. Karl profusely apologized by rubbing Marcio's face the entire ride with one hand as he steered with the other. Marcio thought back to


except at the end of it, Marcio did not feel free, he just felt fucking crazy.

after supper, while the two were serving out their punishment as dish bitches, a call was placed to the back kitchen phone. strange. everyone had the number to the hermitage proper, but few had the specialized number of the back kitchen alone. it was Rya.

Marcio: no, YOU LOOK! i can't deal with this! i can't deal with you ever again! you will always be a constant reminder of what i can be, what i have lost, what i will lose, normal life in normal society, normalcy, the special.

and in his most vociferous yell, filled with a lifetime of scurrilous unfairness and being looked over and depression from birth, the young old mountain man with the long unkempt flowing beard with twigs in it and sunken eyes screamed:




Monday, June 2, 2014


the questions come out of famous reality tv shows:

1. Sex Sent Me To The ER: ever gone to a doc for a sex-related problem?

me: doc, i have World Cup Fever.
Doctor Pepper: take two cokes and call me in the morning.
me: why?
Doctor Pepper: i'm lonely.

2. Survivor: have you ever been stranded somewhere with a group of strangers? yes, my family.

3. The Amazing Race: ever had a freeform play-it-by-ear international trip/scavenger hunt whose clues/challenges took you out of your home state/country?

Easter egg hunt, i wore bunny ears over my ears so i played it by ear but i couldn't hear anything. i lost badly and ended up in Canada.

4. Marriage Boot Camp: ever had group couples therapy? spill: it worked out just fine, it's easier to spill your secrets to a crowd than if it's just the two of you, there's strength and safety in numbers. plus, compared to the couple next to you (Kardashians), your problems don't seem that bad.

5. Airline: ever been in a contentious argument with airline personnel? what had happened was i was late for the last train to Hawaii...

6. What Not To Wear: ever had a complete makeover (hair/fashion/couture/weight loss)? on your own or with help? describe your transformation: one day i woke up to find myself transformed into a giant insect. my first call was to Kafka. my second call was to Jeff Goldblum.

7. How Clean Is Your House?: ever had a guest blatantly criticize the cleanliness of your home out in public and clean and rearrange it without your permission? these handsome men knocked on my door one morning. i was still an insect. they placed everything in brown boxes and left my home bare. i was just like whatever.

bonus: what is the second pic from up atop there? explain how you'd use it: it's the way any cow ensures a fun Saturday night whether or not her bull comes on time. you got your red lipstick, you got your vibrating dildo...