A Long Way From Hollywood...

I can see her smiling. Smiling at what? I don't know, perhaps she's smiling at my next attempt to make everything better. Fuck you, Hollywood for preying off my addiction to "happy ever after" and "forever". The world's got me bent on my knees in front of a table of narcotics, they're just a little painful to ingest without that sick 'morning after' feeling. It's that thumping in the back of your head you get when you realise that she doesn't quite feel the same way about you. There's many fish in the sea, they say, but a real sailor knows when he's caught beauty...I just don't know if she needs me.

Is there a love that still dreads the day I'm lying dead in a coffin, after a controversial drug overdose? I don't think so, but I love the shit out of her, she's a high priced range of narcotics; highly addictive and the only vice against my cocaine induced dementia and deluded belief that, she's still out there. When the devil and all his salacious beauties are trying to give me head without politely asking (no means no, you know); she'll be there waiting. It may not be obvious, but I want her.

She's the last letter in the alphabet; the last one. The "Z" in my literary archives. In the end, we have nothing but regrets and lot's of sexual frustration, they say. I'm not afraid of dying, but I'm afraid the nosebleeds won't mask the pain of being forgotten. However, it seems better to have lost than to have never had at all, I just wish she knew....

An Inappropriate Look...

I figured that all this talk about being alone in my - over exaggerated - cold world isn't as bad as I was led to believe. I blame all the narcissisticic junkies out there. Oh yeah, I also couldn't endure the whole, "cutting down", thing ...some people just live for this shit. So do you, dear reader...this is where you put your middle finger in the air, like a gangster in those gangbang porno flicks. Sometimes, you just gotta go with the motions, but I feared it would land me in bed with your grandmothers niece...

It is a cold world, but sometimes you just gotta go the extra mile, by cuddling with a lesbian just to hibernate yourself through the winter. Sounds a little like a long stretch, but these things really happen. I couldn't find a femme fatale to keep warm on, but hey, I'm still checking out the waitress in the cafe I happen to be typing this in. I can also say, Corner Cafe in Monument Park has some good coffee and the fact that I can wake 'n bake on a Saturday and feed some fuckin' munchies makes it all the much more enjoyable.

However, we can't forget that it's actually a cold world and our asses are freezing. So I must ask; what drives to carry on? Is it the hope of discovering a Kama Sutra book inside the Vatican? Is it that light that helps you believe you're still gonna get your lover to go down on you, after a nasty break-up? Pehaps, you hope to rule the world like most of us in the cold world...and it just feels like the beginning?

You can do whatever the fuck you want, okay? It is said to possess a beautiful after life...or something like that. Just please remember your reasons. Remember your reasons and you'll never find yourself being probed by Karma's shlong.

By the way, your grandmother's niece's bed isn't that bad and she does have an amazing body...you have quite a wild family.

A Suicide Note To "Her"

I always thought I'd win her back after a few years. I thought we were destined to rule the world together; just her and I against this cold world, but I was wrong. All this time, I was simply being played a fool by my own imagination. Ignorance is truly bliss.

I had always looked down on those poor souls who couldn't move on from their former better halves, without the thought of taking a peek at my own reflection on the muddy waters I had drowned myself in. Ironic, that I'd give advice to those around me on how not to dwell on former lovers and not care to give head to mother nature's law of attraction. I should've known it would all come down to this...something a lot more painful than the after sex sadness a prison inmate would get after dropping the soap: "I want nothing to do with you, Linda," she said, stretching out each syllable for me to hear...to get the message in my intoxicated skull.

She was always the type of dame who enjoyed the sexual banter, innuendos and anecdotes that I threw her way. She was the type of woman, I'd contemplate a "happily-ever-after" with. She was the type of lady, I'd make sweet love with, to old LP's of the Beetles, Rolling Stones and many more. The type of girl, a little kid wouldn't jerk off to, but write poems about.

She used to be the ocean my ship and its crew would sail, through treacherous storms in an attempt to find the treasures which lay beneath its waters. Now, my crew is dead and my ship has been sunk. I'm stranded on an island with nothing, but drugs, porn and music which only makes me cry for more. I did everything could, but she has still brought me to my knees.

That said, I'd like to wish her good luck on all her future endeavours and let her know that this will be the last she hears me cry her name to Aphrodite (the Goddess of Love). Goodbye...

Things Change.

Usually, we look at all the shitty things which make our lives miserable and forget to look at the brighter side of things that make us jovial. Reason being, all the shitty things usually suck and the brighter side has a dimlit light that's always shadowed by a pair of double-Ds owned by the shemale from across the street. Times are changing, girls and boys; our dreams are slowly fading...that's the painful truth fornicating you without the courtesy of using lube.

I've recently found myself recalling all the good ol' days, as if I'm some kind of old drunk in parliament. It's never much of a big deal, until you begin recalling memories of your former loved ones. The past is where our problems lie and you're either seeking attention by trying to invite whoever is listening into a 3-sum with how she broke your heart, or holding them in your chest as if you're that Bella bitch from Twilight (don't get me wrong, I'd take a run at her any day).

I won't bullshit you when I tell you, I at times, have a tendency of inviting those around me into a 3-sum without the courtesy of a second date. We all need someone to listen to us rant on and on about how the Pope touched us when we were little kids, before we decide to jump of the nearest bridge at the HeartBreak Hotel. However, when it's not called for, it's kinda like listening to Justin Beiber at an Eminem concert...we didn't pay to watch the gay kid dance.

Too much?

Secondly, I think that bottling up your problems, because you wanna believe you lost Robert Pattinson and that a werewolf can not fill that empty space in your heart is just ridicules. Speak up, you anal attentive half-wit. The world is coming to an end, so act like a patient of Dr Phil when someone actually offers you a 3-sum. However, I do understand when you can't really speak about your "situation" due to confidentiality. A sex-tape is not for everyone.

Hey, in the end, it's up to you. No one's perfect enough to shit roses and money. That's the truth about it all...

Irish Coffee Break...

When they say that, all good things come to an end, they mean it. Funny thing is, you don't realise that they're coming to an actual end, till you're staring down the cliff of your demise. Oh, why does the party have to end? Fuck, the holiday was pretty good, wouldn't you say?

Nah, as far as holidays go, I'd rather call this one an Average Joe's wank of a holiday, that's just my opinion. But hey, once you've seen it all everything else doesn't matter, it's just the same shit, different day. So, let's get a cup of coffee and add a little whiskey, vodka and/or scotch depending what time of person you are. Let's just look back and think to ourselves, what were we doing this time last year. Do you remember? If you do, consider yourself lucky...count your fucking blessings, because so many people go about life like fucking zombies and don't remember the good moments, because they didn't make it special (hence my self-loathing). If you don't remember, join my club, anyone with a little bit of memory loss is rendered an alcoholic even if they don't drink...they are just intoxicated by life's bullshit.

Let's say cheers to the people who didn't really follow up on their New Year resolutions. I laugh at them all, coz I may be young, but I gave up on the search for resolution a long time ago my friend, so come join us for some Irish Coffee. Attention alcoholics, drug addicts and anybody else who might be unlucky enough to find themselves in a rehab facility at least once in their lives...don't let the system get you down, we hold our cups high up, just for you guys...and hope that you sort your shit out, coz life's a bitch, it truly is and we all know that, just don't wanna admit it. For those of you planning to lose your virginity anytime soon, sex is overrated, but do it with someone who will not crush your fragile soul. For those of you who are reaching their 40s and 50s and beyond...and feel that your sex life is merely sadning to anyone who like to jerk off to midget porn, remember that it's just like riding a bike when you're 12years old! Just fucking do it!

People, why don't we think positive anymore? Remember when we were just kids and all we could think of before we discovered masturbation and sex was, being an astronaut, saving the world, helping people, being famous, fulfilling our dreams and fucking destiny. Have we lost our thirst for life? Come on!!!! We talk about living and being the best we can be, but if you think to yourself long and fucking hard about who you are right now, can you still improve on your game? Ofcourse you can!

The year just begun...just fucking started and we're already living like a zombies. What happened to that same enthusiasm that surged through our bodies like an orgasm during the birth of Christ, in the beginning of the New Year? What happened to it? We killed it! Now, we must face the consequences...a shitty time complaining about how much we hate school and work, how much we hate someone's shit and all that fucking pussy talk, coz we've lost it.

Remember, we can still regain our balance, our happiness and our thirst for life. I take the last sip of my Irish coffee, I'm drunk and I just wanna pass out...who listens to the drunk man? No one!

Definition of Reality...

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A Little Substance...

“Boring damned people. All over the earth. Propagating more boring damned people. What a horror show. The earth swarmed with them.”
-Charles Bukowski

I've gotten used to waking up to the sound of roaring waves and the sight of European pussy since I stepped foot on this damn island. I've gotten used to the blazing heat and the foreign tongues. I've gotten used to the hotel and the barebacks of tanning milfs, accompanied with the nubile's nipple slip and the chest hair born on men. It's a magnificent sight to feast your eyes upon, however, a place like this doesn't give me the holiday boner that most people (usually between the young ages of: 28 - 70) have the pleasure of receiving. Alas, I am only limited to a handjob (which has become much of a lost art) and everyone else gets to be blown by this place.

I guess I have a low tolerance level for tranquility, harmony and peace. Wait, lemme rather say, I have another idea on what peace, harmony and tranquility really is. Peace...besides the odd fellatio, a cigarette in hand, please. Harmony...see that bottle of vodka on the table? Yeah, that one...that's my harmonizer. Tranquility...a mixture of all, in a busy street somewhere...or at a beach party (Hey, just coz I mentioned fellatio, doesn't mean I don't return the favour with my cunnilingual skills).

Oh, I wish I could find pleasure in the simple things...but too many people focus on the simple things, they miss the big picture. What's the big picture? Some serious wood, a little substance, a middle finger, a place called Earth and your opposite sex...and then you bang the one who cleans up after your mess.

How The World Will Come To An End...

"A cynic is a man who, when he smells flowers, looks around for a coffin."
-H.L. Mencken 

Some wise crack said, that the world on December 21st (correct me if I'm wrong) would bring a cumshot of natural disasters and would be the end of the world, as we know it (cue dramatic background music). Now, I'm not gonna go into this, coz it would turn our heads upside down, but geez, shit does give me the creeps now that I think about it. However, now that a Mayan and a man called Nostradomus has got our invaluable attention, would now be the time to live like there is no tomorrow? So how do you live like there's no tomorrow?

Don't ask me such questions, I'm not a fucking therapist/shrink/psychologist or whatever they call them these days. That's up to you. I'm simply the clueless pornstar asking you all the questions. Why don't you rob a bank? Risky, yes, but always remember that the take is yours (unless you made some deal with the Mafia, that requires some heavy oral). Spray paint The Great Wall Of China? Okay, you may think that I'm way over my head, but no, it's a simple suggestion (even though they'll probably torture you in ways unimaginable <---that's a warning to you, Mr Banksy). Hijack a cop car? Balls of steel and my admiration to the bitch who pulls this off and gets away, of course).


Let's just say, doing these things is asking for a chance to get anally raped in some remote prison, somewhat similar to Robben Island. So let's lower the stakes for all the pussies. Ask that girl you had a crush on since 7th grade? Don't ask how, coz that's up to you (who do I look like, Dr Phil?). Take a trip to an island, preferably Zanzibar? Sounds expensive, but not really, it's worth the trip (WARNING: If you don't have someone to bang, don't go there till you find one). Play some strip poker! Lascivious? Yes, but in a game of no regrets, what's there to lose than your clothes?


It all comes down to giving the middle finger to the world, raping mother nature and fucking karma like the bitch she is...

The Beach Girl...

Oh, just look at her. Oblivious to the world surrounding her. She reclines and lays dead still, absorbing the sun around her. I'm enchanted by her legs, her sexy back, her alluring tone. She's still oblivious to her surroundings. What am I doing here, I ask myself, what do I do, do I sit? Fuck it, I light up a cigarette and get warmed by the sun. A few puffs in, I start relaxing. I take another glance at the woman, I discover she's let her bra hang loose. Oh, painful. I already know she has a boyfriend. I already know that she's from America. God, what do I do?

I spot some subtle movement and I quickly turn away. "Did she see me? Fuck," I whisper to myself. Oh, it's time I break the ice. "Hey," the conversation begins. "I must say, you have a lovely tan." Seriously? I sound like a priest trying to pivk up little altar boys.

"Thank you," she replies, almost too cheerfully.

I get back to my business. What business? Shit, light up another cigarette to not look awkward...shit, take out a book. Read, Linda, read. Don't be too quick...just do it smooth, with one swift motion. Ahh fuck. New Year's Eve and I don't have my own woman to tan topless on the beach for me. Just my fucking luck.

Don't look, you can't look, you don't have permission to look. I end up looking, only for a second. God, just look at that tan. Usually, I'd be quick to go from talking, to flirting, but I doubt any woman who has a boyfriend that brings her to a place like Zanzibar, is definitely out of bounds. Think about it. Read, Linda, read.

After a few more pages, which I blindly read through, she ties her bikini and grabs her handbag...then we all know what happens next...leaves. "Fuck, she was in her own world and I just ruined her zen! Fuck!!!" I angrily whisper to myself.

I have no more words, "Bye, enjoy your day," she says, with a large smile and her eyes hidden by those shades. Pink shades.

Dead Rockstar Mentality...

"I've been waiting for hours! How long does it take these people to make a fucking snack?" asked the man who kept the soul of a real rockstar deep within his heart. His prescence was felt around the table, I'd been parentally allocated to. He lit up his fourth cigarette and he went on to rave about life, women, pedophiles and politics, surprisingly all in the same conversation. After a few more cigarettes and my blank shots in the conversations, he lit up a joint in the restaurant and again, continued. He was a man in his own world.

There's not a lot of them nowadays. And all the ones that are still living are usually found dying in a hotel room snowed in with cocaine and the never ending scent of strippers and flavoured condoms. We can only refer to these people as, Charlie Sheens, Kurt Cobains, Jimi Hendrixes, Winehouses, Joplins, Bukowskis, Hank Moodys and the like.

There's no use judging this brand of people. They'll simply laugh at your pussy whipped, realist way of life and continue enjoying the spoils which you secretly envy (fun, substance, liberation, peace, sex and knowledge), while you're left to bend over for authority (pitiful). You envy their freedom, yet you hold yourself back from happiness, too pussy to break the rules, norms and to stand up against the crowd, when you're told what to do and not to do.

The rockstar thrives on chaos and comes out on top. Wanna know how to kill a rockstar? You can't. You can only attempt to slow down this soul's metabolism, using gossip, shit talking, constant critisizing and humiliation. In the end, only a rockstar can rise above the masses and piss on the crowd below. Only  a rockstar can blow his own head with a shotgun. In the end, the rockstar is his own worst enemy.

I listened to his words of wisdom, trying to drown every syllabel in my naked mind. I get this sudden probe within my skull and I think that, I'd like to be that, someday.

Happy Fucking New Year...