Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Time to Fuck


    I am home, sitting around, drinking.

    Yeah, drinking. Bad? Probably. Good? Regrettably. My brother IMs me in the afternoon. I am stunned. What is he up to? He wants to come up, buy a quart of Jack Daniels and hang out. Can he come up? FUCK YEAH. Bring your ass up here. We have a big night planned for tonight. Why not make a day out of it?

    He arrives and we buy a quart of Jack and sit and sip all afternoon. Bullshitting. Life is a bitch, and she fucks you instead of her. We are not making our lives easier, nor are we doing things differently. We are still settling down into a wasteland, a wonderland of pain. We are lost, and there seems to be no getting around our quandary. What can be said? What? Drink up! That's what! Damn the torpedos. Fuck all the women! Let's eat drink and make merry for tomorrow we may die.

    Soon, we are printing out our poems to read and we shamble out into the streets. We are legitimately fucked up. Colors change, the world is upside down, sounds bite, the mind flies amok. We are fucked up. We head downtown to the Yippee Museum Cafe and this is our first night. I read my poetry. My valentines day card to the world...why a twenty year old....

    WHY A TWENTY YEAR OLD?

    I fucked an older woman
    it was fun
    she was like floating
    on a mellow lake

    Soft, slow, smooth
    you could do anything to her
    put it anywhere
    without complaint

    Screwing her made me feel
    like a pornstar
    Banging away like a drummer
    in a marching band

    So why would I want to fuck
    a twenty year old?
    I happen to like
    myself

    A twenty year old is like
    screwing a racecar
    or wiring your dick to your
    christmas lights

    When fucking one
    I grabbed two fistfulls of her hair
    and she says: What are you doing?
    and I say: I'm fucking you, baby

    And she says: Don't touch the hair
    They tend to be on the skinny side
    shit, I'm pounding away
    and her hipbones are cutting into my sides

    it's like fucking
    a bicycle
    I'm getting tired
    my shoulders ache till they burn

    She says: Fuck me harder baby
    Harder? I'm tired.
    I'm starting to get cramps
    She says: Fuck me faster

    I try harder
    I hurt more
    This is crazy
    I'm tired baby

    But I haven't gotten mine, she says
    Shit, let me call OBSIDIAN
    maybe he can help
    your hot ass out

    I cum and call it a night
    she wants to go again
    get up old man, she says
    get that old dick hard

    She makes my dick feel old
    it's not going to get hard
    no matter how long
    she blows on it

    Finally, out of frustration she dresses
    and to my relief she leaves
    I stare at the door
    I call the older woman

    What are you doing tonight?


    It goes over well. People are laughing, smiling, enjoying it. I am pleased with my work. My brother and I then go out and smoke dope. D2theL is hosting the event and it is a pleasure to support him. Another poet is willing to drive us to another venue where a friend of ours is featuring. We agree, but somewhere along the line we lose them and we are left at the Yippee. D2theL and B-man want to catch a cab. We do so. Packing in and riding up to the Nightingale. Not a big crowd, but fun to be around. We go off, we have fun. We party.

    That's what drunks do...they take the party with them. We get further blasted, drinking beers and smoking with the rest of the poets on the corner. In no time we are wrecked, like we were when we were homeless. When we were homeless we stayed drunk, stayed plastered. It eased the pain of living on the streets, shitting on the streets. We were happy and drunk and poets. Now we were revisiting that time, and things are the same. Nothing's changed.

    We read, we love, we emote. We bring out our souls, break out or hearts. We move ourselves and what can I say, when you get it back from the audience, you are moved. You are stunned. You are made love to in the emotional sense. You are fucked with your clothes on. There is nothing like it. Nothing.

    We ended the night. I had the munchies, so we headed to an Arthur Treatchers Fish and chips. Ugh....I was hungry but this shit was horrible. It was beyond words. I choked down the meal and said to myself, never again. Shit, it made me sick. I wanted to go home. It was very late, midnight. My brother was hammered, barely making it. I, unfortunately process alcohol very quickly and was sobering up fast. I wanted to be home, online, writing, living again. We left and headed across town. I dropped OBSIDIAN off at the 14th street station, then walked down to seventh avenue, caught the three train home and got my ass to bed. I called it a night.

    I crawled into my lonely bed.

    This will not do much longer. It is time to put a tiger in this tank. Something to ply, and pare. The hobo is on the screen. He is on the prowl. Sex is healthy and powerful, and creative and strong. It's time to reach out and touch the face of pure creativity.

    It's time to fuck.

    HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2010/02/time-to-fuck.html
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