Tag Archives: drink

What It’s Really Like Being a Writer

I gutted the chapter
because it was downright hideous.
What the Hell was I thinking?
That I could turn this macabre piece of bird shit
into something that was a joy to read?

I felt insane. Defeated.
I might as well jerk off and go to bed
but I was a fighter
because God never stopped pissing on my soul
so I went through it all again
slashing, hacking, mutilating
sometimes screaming as I did so
mostly crying
but I cleaned it out good
and then filled in the blanks
with something that made sense
thinking the whole time:
why was I a writer?
Why the fuck was I a Goddamn writer?
I would never be anybody. I was shit.
What a momentous waste of time!

I pounded at the keyboard
drank some wine
next thing I knew it was four in the morning.
“Jesus wept!” I cried.
I had to go to bed
so that I could wake up early before work
and work on this chapter again
because I was a lunatic in obvious need of rehabilitation.

Writing was a hard line to sell
even to yourself
even for all you other writers out there.

Goddamn you all to Hell.
I need a drink.

All the Way to the Dump and it’s Only Tuesday

I open one eye
the other has fallen behind.
In fact, it may not get up today at all
and I would be forced to wear a patch
or explain why it is that I look like
I’m having a continuous stroke:
“Oh my eye? No, it’s not lazy or reluctant.
It’s dead.

That’s okay. Things pass.
Would you like some salsa?”

Dates would be awkward
because if there is anything wrong with your eyes
it’s because you stare at porn and small children
who also stare at porn.

The one eye that I have opened
has landed on an empty wine bottle
that glares back at me accusingly
like it’s my fault.
Wait, I took a wine bottle to bed?
Jesus, what does that mean?
That I had to bring it just in case
I couldn’t make it upstairs and to my bed
without having a drink?

That speaks volumes about something
that I don’t want to think about
without taking one.

The sadist sun outside the window
is the most aggressive thing I have seen
in billions of years.
It’s like a supernova that is purposefully
reaching into my brain to incinerate
everything that I have ever learned
about happiness and sanity.

It will soon blind my one good eye
and then there will be no point
in doing anything but continuing to
lie here
for the rest of the year.

I check my phone.
I have a single text from Katy:
“You’re such a fucking asshole!”
is all that it says.
I have no idea who Katy is.

The garbage trucks outside
are applying their squealing brakes
every two meters and it is as grating
as my ex off meds and it’s like
they know that I’m in here
in this room filled with darkness
and self-loathing
in pain from boozing so they’re moving
extra slow today and they’ll be back
around for the other side of the road in about
fifteen minutes
hooting, hollering, screaming at each other
likes sailors at port or children
on the first day of summer
jeering, winking, carousing
slapping asses, making faces
honking their horn while
applying their unlubricated brakes
laughing maniacally
all the way to the dump.

And it’s only Tuesday.

Big Fat Fly in the Dead of Winter

It’s the dead of winter
and there is a
big fat fly
marauding around my garage
coming closer and closer
to my head
as it sweeps out
trying to get the most
of the situation
and I sit here
writing this
to Stevie Wonder
with a used blunt
in the ashtray
sipping on a glass of Scotch.

I light a smoke.
The fly still gets closer.

Somewhere in Western China
someone is fucking
a blow-up doll.

How to Kill a Ginger

Vickers was a fire-breathing ginger capable of mass-destruction
even in the unlikeliest of places and therefore had to be kept under
constant supervision lest he destroy your peace of mind, soul and your
five-year relationship while going to the fridge to get a beer.

I had spent the last half-hour trying to kill him with my mind.

It wasn’t working (one day) so I offered him a cigarette.
On our way out to the patio I checked my coat pocket
for the blade I had coated in ant poison that my good buddy
at the shelter assured me would work on gingers. It was still there but the
patio had too many witnesses so I attempted to lure him into the back alley
under the false pretense that there were hot naked women doing yoga and
handing out free bags of cocaine.

He looked suspicious. I would have to try again later when he wasn’t as sober.

This wasn’t the first time I had tried to kill a ginger. Actually this one, specifically,
I have been trying to kill for years. He was my best friend so there was plenty of opportunity
but I had been so clumsy in the past and now had hoped to rectify that and finally rid the world
of one less gleefully frothing maniac that for all I know could be the next Napoleon
and didn’t Hitler start off as an artist?

In the past I have pushed him off a balcony, down a flight of stairs, into an elevator shaft, off of the CN Tower and to no avail as each time he had been so drunk and his body so relaxed by booze that Vickers nimbly bounced off whatever surface he landed on just to come back and demand more beer.

There were also the times when I had laced his weed with all kinds of shit and enough of it that it should have caused permanent brain damage if not an immediate and painful death but it inexplicably did not and I can only conclude that his tolerance was too high having been built from years of self-abuse and personal neglect.

And long has it been since I had given up on switching his beverages for ones saturated with all kinds of toilet cleaners, rodent poisons, industrial chemicals and even stuff that I picked up on the black market that looked like it belonged on an episode of X-files and you could even hear whispering if you placed your ear close enough to it. It was just too bad that Sonny (a.k.a F-DUP) had gotten arrested trying to bring some high-grade shit in from Japan (that glowed, yes, glowed) because I am sure that would have taken care of it like nobody’s business.

I can even recall the one time the depraved libertine had discovered my stockpile of mixed death-toxins meant to be introduced into his system nightly by injection and had guzzled all of the jugs at once leaving a mess in the shed all because he was out of alcohol and low on cash. Vickers had seemed to have caught a mild buzz off of it but little else and most certainly not the death for which it was intended and to my chagrin it was at this time that I had begun to realize the extent of his ginger constitution was not going to allow for such solutions to work therefore I need to reassess, focus and expand my base of operations until the devilish red rogue no longer remained a threat to humanity.

I do not think that he entirely suspects me so I will have my day. I have labs down south, a training facility up north, a weapons factory to the west and a team on standby in the east. It’s going to happen, all a matter of timing and finesse. I am even considering going undercover as a ginger myself to gain more intel on their devious ways and possible weaknesses. Hell, If I need to I will even deploy sharks with frickin’ laser beams on their heads.

I am going to post this on his wall because they say that the best place to hide your intention is in plain sight. Yes, I have read Machiavelli. It’s working. Gingercide is near.

I will sack me a ginger yet and it will make for a fine day.

Yes, a fine day indeed.

Good Ol’ Tommy

I saw an old college buddy at the grocery store.
I haven’t seen him in years so I waved at him excitedly with both hands
with all the subtlety of the Kool-aid Man crashing through a wall.
Oh Yeah!

“Hey Fucker!” I shouted gleefully across
the frozen produce section.

I waited for him to register who I was.
That’s right. Take your time…Dipshit.

Finally, “Oh, hey man!” He returned.
“Hey!” I repeated, came up to him and looked him over.
“Christ, you’re fat!” I said.
“I’m married.” He shrugged.
“Yeah, I can see that it’s done wonders for you.”
“Are you married?” He asked.
“Now don’t you start with that crazy talk!”

I saw him signal something to a woman
lumbering around the organics section
scaring children and
sensuously eying the cucumbers.

She almost sucked up an avocado just by breathing.

“Is that your wife over there?” I asked.
“Yes.” His eyes glowed so they must be newlyweds because
he didn’t absolutely despise or fear her yet.

“Good God! What happened to you?” I inquired,
“You used to be so slick
always picking girls off the club floor
like apples from a tree
now you’re perusing the tomatoes
you look like an eggplant
and your wife’s Godzilla!”

“Would you like to meet her?”

“Whatever, I gotta run.
Just looking at you two makes me
want to buy a steak
(I gave him a look)
before they’re all gone.
Cheers.”

I turned away and wheeled my cart
over to the next aisle
chuckling to myself.

Good ol’ Tommy.
Such a nice guy,
therefore we all rode him
like a cheap virgin hooker
on a Saturday night
all the way through college.

And something’s never change.

Problem Solved

I had no interest in her at first
because everybody liked her
even the girls
and all I heard about was her..her…HER!
And I was under the mindset that
if everyone all really liked something
than it couldn’t have been very good.

I had recently started working
at a textile factory
watching fabric spin around
all day.
It was great
if you were inept at doing
anything else.

In the break room
late October
when it was just the two of us
and we had not even spoken yet
I really looked at this girl
the one that everyone adored
(when she wasn’t looking)
and for the first time
I could see what all the commotion was about.

I have never seen a woman look so much like a
porcelain doll
in her tattered Ozzy shirt and track pants
in this godforsaken shed out behind the factory
in this godforsaken town
and I thought to myself,
What the Hell are you doing here?

I got lost somewhere in staring at her
when I noticed that she was looking back at me.
So much for stealth or finesse or…(drinks scotch)
“How are you?” She asked.
I tried to compose myself
but found it rather difficult.
“Good?” I returned.
“Is that a question?”
“Um…no?”
She laughed. “I’m Anne.”
“I’m truly honoured.”

At the time I was dating a girl from England
She had a great ass and horrible teeth.
She was rich, spoiled
and acted like it
everywhere we went.

She was so pretentious that she
called me from England after her second day visiting
and spoke to me in an English accent
that she never had before.
I couldn’t believe that she was that stupid
or thought that I was.

During that time
I had gotten to know Anne
and I started singing the same tune as everybody else.
(Anne…Anne…ANNE!)

I went over there with two friends from work
one who in desperation to impress her had brought over a 40 of vodka
that he dropped on her doorstep to smash all over the floor and I almost
didn’t laugh.

There was something different about Anne
when she answered the door
she wore a dress, had on makeup
had put down her hair
and when my friends left
she wanted me to stay.

I stayed.

We sat down.
She started to say something,
then stopped
and then started again…

“I’ve got feelings for you.” She shrugged.

My response was to kiss her
immediately as I did not want to
waste any more time.

Soft, slow, lingering…

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first looked at you.
I mean, really looked at you.
Inside and out.” I said
as we pulled apart.

It was true.
She was a uniquely beautifully brilliant treasure.

And in response to that
Anne grabbed me and kissed me back.
Oh god! Did she ever!
It was delicious and beautiful and glorious and just perfect until
“Wait,” She said, “we can’t do this. I mean, I can’t do this.
You’re in a relationship and I’m not that kind of girl.”

Really? Because I thought that…well, after you just…but…nevermind.

“Okay, alright…” I said, “I know you’re a good person
and I would not put you in that kind of unfortunate situation
so here is what I’m going to do.
Pass me your phone.”

I called my girlfriend up.
She answered all happy to hear from me.
“Listen,” I said, “I’ve been thinking about our problems lately.”
“What? What problems? What are you talking about?”
“I’m glad to hear that you’ve been doing the same,” I continued,
“because I think it’s time we went our separate ways.”
“What’s going on? I don’t understand.” I could hear anger in her voice.
I bet she would be fuming about this for a spell.
“Yeah, well I’m glad that you understand.
It’s over between us.
Have a good night.” I said softly.

I hung up
threw the phone on the other couch
and put my arm back around Anne.

“Problem solved.” I said.

BLOG IMAGE 2

Drunk Kid at the Bar

I was leaning against the bar
absently stirring my drink
when there was a tap on my shoulder:

“Hey, get the fuck out of my way. I need a beer.”

I decided to ignore it. Maybe it would go away.
But no, there were several taps on my shoulder now.

“Didn’t you fucking hear me? Move it! HEY BUDDY! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY! NOW! I SAID NOW!”

I sighed, stood up, turned fully around and looked down at this college kid
that appeared to be the source of the problem.
This boy
who looked like he enjoyed mom’s cooking
sleeping in on Saturdays with his thumb in his mouth
like an infant
and generally sauntering through life in his pyjamas
also looked like he would hurt himself a lot more
in the process of trying to hurt me.

I didn’t even say anything. I just looked at him. But I suppose it was enough
because he immediately changed his tune:
“Hey man, I’m really sorry. I’m really fucked up right now. Sorry, man, sorry.
I’m really fucked up.”
He kept repeating it and patting me on the shoulder
and it was pissing me off more than his initial bravado
until his friends dragged him away.

He smiled and gave me the thumbs up
like that strange, one-sided altercation
had somehow made us friends.

I don’t know if he was trying to impress his friends or his girl
if he was really that fucked up or was just an asshole.
Most likely a fine mixture of all of that.
What I do know is that he’s lucky he didn’t try that
on my good friend standing beside me
because he would have fucking killed him.

I returned to the bar and to absently stirring my drink.

Fucking kids. I thought.

BLOG IMAGE 2

One Hot Day & Two Hot Blondes

We went to an outdoor concert. Big venue.
It was me, my buddy, our girlfriends
years into relationships that were turning bitter.
We both had just gotten over some big fights
but there was tension still lingering and lurking
all over the place
behind words, gestures, looks,
swipes at character made here and there.
As their faces were permanently scowled,
fixed like stone gargoyles,
it was clear that they were adamant on not having a good time.

It was going to be a long day.
Luckily, I brought drugs.

So there I finally was
after parking, waiting in line at the gates
at the washroom and at the beer tent
in one of the many dark green port-o-potties
snuggled up against one another
fixing up a rail on top of the plastic toilet dispenser.

“This one’s for my son.” I said.
I did not have a son.

This was right after I left the group with,
“I’m going to grab a beer, on my own. Shake off the ride.”
“Sure. You do whatever you need to do.” My girl replied in the flattest tone that she could possibly manage. I looked back at her as I walked away and thought:
She’s probably still pissed at something I said in the car. Well, you know what? Good! I don’t take it back!
We’ve had our problems, I’ll admit to that, but you could’ve been a lot cooler about this and tried to make an effort. Maybe smile at me once in a while, hold my hand here and there, you know? Just fucking try and I’ll do the same and we could work on this shambles of a relationship together. But no, it was all quick, curt replies and uneasy distance –cold steel and ice. But that’s fine. You get out what you put in. So if this was the way you wanted it then here you go, here we are, here it fucking is.

It was going to be a long day.

So I got blasted in the can.

The bag of blow which I had purchased from one of my socially outstanding associates was supposed to have been evenly distributed between the four of us but I was doing it at my leisure because:
a) I really didn’t give a fuck.
b) If you were dumb enough to designate the resident addict as bag holder because you didn’t want it on you passing through the front gate and then completely forgot about it then this is what you got.
c) They probably wouldn’t even notice it anyways.
d) Fuck them.

I had to get to a certain level before I could leave the stall. I got there fast. As soon as I came out with the plastic door snapping shut behind me wiping my nose like a blatant asshole I realized that the last line had put me sailing right over into sketch-bag territory. The sun was out without cloud so everything became so vividly bright, hot and real that I had wanted to immediately retreat back into the neutral and enclosed space of the port-o-potty which would have made me look even more like a screaming drug addict.

So I walked out into the din instead.
Suddenly it bothered me that there were insects zipping around and it bothered me quite a bit. Who the fuck did they think they were? The people that milled about the bar tent looked conniving and dangerous. I had to focus on walking as my body felt like a strange vessel that I had recently taken possession of. Most noticeably my heart began thumping like a rabbit’s foot and I starting sweating like a mad junkyard dog.

A brief acquaintance from high school came out of nowhere and motioned me over to introduce me to his friends. I made my introductions and left. I knew him well enough to join them at the picnic table but I didn’t. I got a beer and settled myself into the only empty picnic table left.

It was right beside them.

The thing is…I didn’t like the guy. Never have. He was a nervous little twitcher that just had enough soul to pass as human. His friends were really nice although I could see them folding up like lawn chairs under the slightest pressure and pillow-fighting while washing each other’s hair. But the main problem was that I always became socially inept when I was this high and the thought of talking to anybody made me cringe.

So of course that’s when two blondes approached my table.
“Hi!”
I spun around and there they were all fun and bright and hot and tight with everything in the right place.
“Do you mind if we sit?”
Jesus! “Absolutely not, please make yourself at home.”
To anybody else in any other condition this would have been a very good thing.
Me? I panicked.
Not this time. Not now. Get your shit together and put your game face on because we’re live on air and on stage and you’re not going to let everyone down every again. So don’t turtle up and make this silent and awkward because you’re high. Make good with the ladies. Now…NOW!

Not wanting to piss myself off any further I introduced myself and kept the conversation going.

They asked me if I was a peeler. What a strange but intriguing question!
“That depends on how much you’re willing to throw down for some skin.” Okay, I didn’t say that. I mean, I do have a tendency to embellish somewhat in my writing here and there but never to the point where you would suspect that I was doing so. Or so…I…thought.

I actually said, “No, are you?”

They giggled. I love the sound of girl’s giggling so much that I should look into procuring a soundtrack like they have for whale noises and the Indy 500 if somewhere someone were to actually be so fucked as to create a compilation and throw it down on the web.

I just giggled. It’s not the same.

We talked for a spell and because I was such an avid listener I had found out that they were from whatever town going to whatever school and were best friends or whatever.
They also had tents setup in the camping area. That, I heard.
‘How is it?” I asked.
The one smiled. “You’ll see.” She said. They both giggled again. It was magical. I should have brought my audio recorder.

Dear Lord God! I thought. What black magic is this that presents to me two such outstanding females in this dark hour? Oh, what am I to do with these young maidens so desperately in need of this honorable knight’s most noble intentions of saving them from not having mind-bending intimate contact with such knight on a double-header basis?

That’s when my buddy finally found me and came over with a beer. Oh yeah…that guy. I had forgotten about him. For a moment I tried to recollect who else I came with but nothing was surfacing. Upon seeing me with the girls he suddenly became much more animated and interested in everything.

He gave me a look that said: Dude, one minute you’re alone and now I find you with two hot chics? Damn!

I returned the look with one that said: Dude, I know, right? We should make the best of this. In other words, don’t talk or I’ll make you part of this picnic table. That’s right, you better behave or I’ll put a steel-toe up your ass like it’s nobody’s business.
It was a long look.

This was part of our usual banter, except that I was being much nicer. Typically our conversations went like this:
Him: “Yeah Dog, I be all over that ass like white on rice!”
Me: “Shut up. Nobody cares what you think.”
Him:“ Yeah Dawwwg! You the man!”
Me: “Whatever. Fuck off.”

He had been one of my closest friends since college and by this time I had completely resented him. I hated myself for being so mean to him but I couldn’t stop because he was also limited to a vocabulary of ten phrases, some of which included:
a) “It’s all good on the hardwood!”
b) “Why you gotta do me like that, Dawg!” (Daaawwwwwg!)
c) “Cash, money and bitches!”
d) “Gender equality still remains elusive in society for reasons I cannot fathom.” (Just Kidding)

Suffice it to say he is no longer my friend. Goddamn philistines. And I’m a much better person now. You’re welcome.

It wasn’t long after he came to poison everything with his mind that the taller one said:
“OK Boys, we’re off to see the show.”
The other turned and asked, “Are you coming?”

In that moment I thought of every possible excuse that would result in us taking off with them and not having to endure the diabolical wrath of our girlfriends upon return and for the rest of our miserable lives. This is what I quickly came up with:
a) “We got lost. Where were you?” –We might as well have brought the girls back with us….naked.
b) “I overdosed on the toilet and had to be resuscitated back to life!” –They actually might believe that one but do I really want to use it now or save it as a wildcard?
c) “We were abducted by aliens and anally penetrated by Darth Vader.” –Okay, so now I was just reaching.
d) “We ditched you for these girls and now that I realize how wrong that was I am brimming with remorse to the point where I feel that you should put away your petty selfish emotions and console me.” –Yeah, I played Zelda once. It had less fantasy than that scenario working out.

Instead I said: “No. It was nice meeting you.”
They both looked back and frowned and then they were off. I thought I heard a giggle. I was glad that they were going to be okay.

No, I wasn’t.

My buddy (not really) from high-school and his friends, still sitting right beside us, had caught the tail-end of that interaction and as soon as the girls looked away they all sprang out from the picnic table like they were about to burst into a Grease musical piece:
“Dude…Dude! What are you doing? Go! Go now!”

“I have morals!” I cried. “And right now it really sucks!”

I suppose that in the end, despite where we were in our relationship and how miserable the rest of the day and night was going to be with her and how badly I had wanted to run away with these little girls all the way back to their fantastic little tents with them giggling all the way…

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it to her.

And I’m sure there are guys out there that would think:
What kind of man are you to even consider it? You licentious rogue!
Yeah, but those guys live perfectly constructed lives where nothing bad ever happens as everything goes seamlessly as planned. They’ve never chased sleep in a bottle so fuck them. And I’m also really not sure how that is relevant to my argument if I indeed had one but me…yeah, I thought about it. Of course I did. But in life you make your choices and they define who you are. You draw your own lines. I just drew mine.

I received a few affirmative pats on the back
as I watched their fine, young asses walk away.

I looked at my friend.
He was smiling and nodding and giving me the thumbs up.
Why? I’m not fucking sure.
I don’t think I ever was.

I felt the bag in my pocket.
The sun was staring at me in the face.
I forgot what I was doing
and I needed a drink.

It was going to be a long day.

BLOG IMAGE 2

A Letter and a Gun

I fell in love with my first cousin.
Yeah, I know.
But I’m not ashamed of it.
You should have met her
then you might understand.

My last night in Buenos Aires
we got drunk and I
put my hand on her knee.

That was it. I realized what I was
doing and removed it and
she never seemed to notice.
But I was mortified
for so long afterwards
not for what I felt but that I had almost
acted on it.

A year later she had gotten
accepted into medical school
and was leaving her boyfriend
to attend
a few cities away.

That did not sit well with him so
he went to her apartment
and shot her in the head
before turning the gun on himself.

My aunt had discovered the grisly scene
the next morning.

One of the last things my cousin had written
was a letter to me.

I have a safe beneath my bedroom desk.
It contains my birth certificate, passport
and other vital documents
along with copies of each book
I have written
and that letter
right here
at my feet.

I still have not read it.

Some things never truly die.

BLOG IMAGE

After the After-Party

After all the beautiful woman have
fucked your soul
until there is nothing left.

After everywhere you go
all you see are the damned
-the expressionless eyes
hanging lifelessly over vacant grins
-the halfwit producers of the mounds
of consumer waste
piling up at the edges of the earth
for nothing.

After everything you touch
bleeds dry and shatters
leaving you to ruminate
as the days pass
like bottle after bottle
and cigarette after cigarette.

After the perpetual storm
raging inside of you
biting at the back of your mind
with the total abandonment
of a new lover
finally diminishes
into empty space.

After the last of the world’s natural resources
have been squandered for cash.

After the last tree standing has
unceremoniously fallen.

After the overwhelming media machine
has simply swiped sanity from all lands.

After the last virtuous girl
spreads her legs gladly
for any one of the countless, misguided devils
that run our planet.

After the after-party.

After all the wine has been drank.
After all the pills that allow the dead to dream
have been consumed.
After the last junkie has fallen asleep forever
and you are left willing to
shake the heavens
for some angel dust.

After everything
that has come to pass
passes…

Yes,
I will still be here
with this damn pen
trying to pound out a page.

Rest assured.