I know I can be boring sometimes so here Take this! it's french and

......Fun!

IS TROPICAL - THE GREEKS (official music video) from EL NINO on Vimeo.

"So you're really Gay?"

He stood there holding up the tray. The bar was filled with people, it was a typical Friday night. He had been working as a porter for over a year now. He hustled there busing the tables watching the bartenders work the room. The female servers knew how to wheel them in but the boy bartenders had the know how, they knew how to get the ladies to cough up the cash. Everyone made money, except for him. His hands were tiered from carrying kegs. It was busy and two of the bouncers had called in sick, hence his help was padding down bottoms ensuring security, while he was left picking through the pieces of shrapnel left behind by all the the Jagar Bombs.  He stood for moment and watched the dance floor. It was alive with light and color. He could see a woman amongst all the others, she was wearing a white dress. Her essence illuminated the room, all light reflected at her and back at you. "Alone again" he said to himself, watching the one woman spin.
Working the night shift had changed him a great deal. "I used to wake up in the early morning to jog." he said to himself, driving back several shot glass's into his bin. One of the women at the bar recognized a frustration. "Hey" she said, "you pissed off?" she asked energetically. She was older then him, she looked thirty, and he was only turning twenty three. She was a darling, behaving so kindly she observed him keenly and remarked "you should clean off that section of the bar." He could hear her arrogance, and the tone over the loud music and he liked it because she thrilled him. He stopped collecting the cups, and looked at her, openly. With a smirk on his face looking past her he said "Oh" stopping, scared thinking "Thank you!" she was arrogant, wearing a red dress and white high heel shoes. The type of woman the light seemed to find, but her reflection came from the sound of her walking and the change of her shape through her pace. He was stunned. "Fuck you!" he thought to himself. She looked alone. They looked at each other and he could see the women in  the white dress spinning behind her. "Can you get me a glass of cranberry juice?" she asked. He was up to his knees in work, but he got her a clean glass. Then pressed himself through the line of bartenders and filled her cup with juice. "there's no ice in it" he said pointing at the edger of the glass. Laughing and looking through the liquid she said  "There's nothing wrong with that!". He wanted to see past her again, but he couldn't, so he went back to work, fishing out the empty glassware off of the worn out, drunken clientele. He loved the music at the end of the night more then at any other time. Just past last call when the DJ was forced to relax, step down and change the mood.
The room always felt different toward the end of the night, in the early morning. And watching the devoted crowd wine down always brought a sigh of relief that the work was almost over. While picking up the pieces left behind by the night owls he found himself situated, again watching the women in white. She had again caught his eye dancing in that  neon green florescent lazer, he happened to be standing in front of the woman in red. She watched him stare as she pushed herself up to him drunkenly. He was sweating from the work and the heat of the club, so was she. "It's hot in here" she whispered, pressing herself up against him from behind, pushing her cheek against his face hard so that her mouth was close to his ear. He could smell her perspiration, her rage and her fear. Turning he pressed his body closer to hers, after all the spilled drinks and all the spilled beer neither minded the smell of the other. She was drunk, "what was that?" he asked. He was looking down her dress, she was forcing her chest toward him. It made him laugh, "I'm lonely" he said so she could hear. She pushed herself closer and he backed off, she was beautiful, but sadly he was working. "I knew it" she cried out, loud over the music, yet still, no one heard her but him. "We thought you were gay" she laughed out, and turned to run at the woman wearing the white dress. She was with a group of men, bigger guys, boys who'd been buying drinks. There was six of them. The music was coming down to a closing, as he kept picking up the bottles and continued getting ready for the bars closing. He wasn't scared of the men, or of what she had told them. They stood and stared, all of them stopped dancing. The neon lights were quickly beginning to get switched to a tungsten yellow world, that no longer looked or felt right. It was the establishments means of chasing the drunken mobs out, to be on their way into the streets.
As he began clearing the tables in the back room, he noticed the six guys coming toward him. They were an aggressive looking bunch, and from what he knew of their bar tap, they spent money like a crew that pushed powder to the pigs in the zoo. There was six dudes coming at him, and they were six men with enough brute force to destroy him. He stood his ground looking over their shoulders, seeing and watching the white and red dresses spinning around and round in the yellow world. The biggest of the six stood up to him and asked

taxitalk: Celexa? Wellbutrin, Sex.......what is it?

taxitalk: Celexa? Wellbutrin, Sex.......what is it?
I took this picture outside a bar I did a shoot in tonight, I won't wait in line for it....RockStars are a celebration away, the closer you get to your dreams the further you want them to be... this is a small thing, our life...I am the top of it, I know I am living, and I want people to understand that, I love this place so much, and there is really absolutely no impact I can really have. But I'm gonna try, I won't stand in line, I'll accept my shortfalls as sweet reminders of how good I have it. And I'll meet ya there!

you are not your sex life!

or are you?

Doggart Press!

The sensation stopped giving him pleasure the moment he realized what was going on. She was standing next to him. The night was elegant. The evening was put on to give him a showing. He was a new sensation, an amazing talent that they were all beginning to revere. She stood next to him for his first time in front of that crowd. The adoration he was receiving was overwhelming, and he adored it. Life was more then he could have ever wished for. He remembered how he used to reflect with her about whether what he was going to embark on was going to worsen his fall, his decent into sin. He remembered her laughing at him. She was something that he never had, a beauty, willing to forgo all the pain on the planet for a tiny ounce of that good old-fashion, wholesome, innovative vibrant, new, fun and satisfaction. She was something he had never known could really exist, he was only a pup. He wasn't ready and he didn't know how to use her, so she did what she knew, she taught him to use up life, live, the only way she ever knew. "What do you think God would say about us?" he asked, she was wearing all the cloths he mentioned he liked in the letters. She looked at him, she was an absolute, she meant everything to him, he was stupid she though when she said "There is no God that thinks about you." He believed her, she made him happy and he began to see past the purpose he was so focused on. "You've stolen my soul" he told her, she laughed. It was funny to her "You know" she said "Wouldn't have been the first." He believed her, she was beautiful. The sensation would always stop the moment she realized that he liked that way it made him feel when she lied to him. He knew that they both knew that the curtain was going to be drawn on their fever for one another the moment her coldness decided to stylize his work. He loved it, her work. She was a first class act, so beautiful. They stood together amongst a room full of his patrons. It made him, "they're really here to see you" he whispered, lovingly with licks, regretfully aware that drawing her in closer toward him would only pull them apart. The tension he felt cast a light, through his closed eyes.  The work was magnificent, their reflection of each other being seen by the people, the groups.  He stood there panting.

It's love!

I want to be so small you want to surround me, that you come close to me, to see me. There is two of you, and there will be more. I'm sitting there alone watching  you circle me. I lure you in with my innocents, but I'm actually very deceptive, because when  you come even remotely close, I come at you and swallow you whole. You like that though, because you know my reaction. I'm'a Dragon! It's expected, it's honest. It's not gaiety running rampant through the willows of time, right? No! belonging to me is something relativity concrete. Belonging to me means you enjoy circling me. It's not insanity. You know I'm vulnerable, because you come back to get swallowed again.

In a World Of Pooh there is Utopia

Having created the world of Pooh, Piglet and the  "100Aker Wood" for his still innocent and protected child, A.A Milne reflects upon the hierarchy of military class and the industriousness of modern society in a rather vague and ambiguous manner; relieving himself as an artist and satisfying his goal to create something for the love of his son. In the world of "100Aker Wood" Christopher Robin reigns as "Captain C. Robin,"(146 Milne) the boy is officially the commander and chief of a purely fictionalized environment, that reflects only the remotest possibility of danger even in some substantially scary circumstances. Pooh Bear and Piglet seem to be some of the higher-ranking officials in the hierarchy of friends. Their relationship is ordered in a very coherent manner throughout the story "Christopher Robin leads and Expotition to the North Pole." Christopher Robin finds himself close to a possibly dangerous situation when he turns to his crew and hush's the next in line, Pooh, who turns and hush's Piglet, who turns and hush's Kanga, who turns and hush's Owl, who turns and hushes Eeyore, who turns and hush's all the remaining insignificant assembly of the infallible infantry. There is a military presence in the world of Winnie the Pooh, but it's only starkly contrasted with a social utopia that never needs any true military force to be acted out in an indignant manner. The ranking system is used to glorify the reader, giving the narrator the useless position of acting general, in a world that will never need him. 

Work Cited

Milne, A.A. Winnie-the-Pooh. 1926. US:Puffin, 1992. Print

Kougar Country!!!

is dangerous! and exciting!

Nothing is Priceless!

"The picture is going to sell" he said to himself and she loved him for it. The two of them were walking by it. It was priced at over two thousand dollars. The Gallery was going to take its share, the print was expensive but, the work was out. "Your first piece!" she said energetically. She was being sweet. "Baby about that fight, I was thinking about it" he stood facing  her, eery eyed, and melancholy, "I got the job at the Safeway!" He laughed, "I'll be able to pay the rent, because at this point I haven't eaten in a week" he said sourly, but with an encouraging smile. "You're gonna work at the grocery store?" She asked him, upright and stone cold. "Well" he responded, "It's been in the window a week!" he looked down and patted his stomach, "I'm actually hungry" he said looking back up at her. "I don't believe it" she smirked, irresponsibly, wearing her new coat  and earrings, sparkling, "You can't" she laughed beautifully, swelling with a rapture like presence. "You'll be poor!" she said. Turning his head away, smiling at the ground he said  "I already am." She stayed there thinking things through, trying to make sense of the dream she sought out with him. He no longer fit, Safeway was not an acceptable solution for them, for her father, for her, or for him she thought. "Baby you're an artist!" she said holding her hat tight over a strong wind. Exposing her manicured hands, he could see her whole arm, she was wearing a sleeveless lace blouse, her nails were painted pink. But it was windy, he could only see himself losing her, furthering himself form what they once were. He wanted them to still see the same picture in that window. The store front, she saw herself in, her portrait staring back at her priced. The sun was falling, and the cars were beginning to stir heavy with Friday night traffic. People were filling the streets to party, and the two of them were standing still, looking at their work together, for sale in a window. "It's worth way more then two and a half grand isn't it baby" she asked him. He looked at her and said, "Baby me and you are one another when we're together, we're a joke that's not funny when we're apart. That picture I made of you, hanging, exposed for sale is" he stopped, stepping closer to the showcase, pressing his face against the glass, sad. She stared at him she thought that he always found himself in such awkward situation, it made her even more sure he wasn't one of the others as he pushed himself from the glass, leaving his own greasy face print smudged on the surface. They both looked through the stain of his face on the glass at the image thinking

A pence A picture

Throughout the children's book Alice and Wonderland children are bombarded with thwarts of nonsensical scenes written in beautiful and provocative pros, yet illustrated by John Tenniel in a monstrous and scary sort of way. From beginning to end Alice is tossed and tumbled further through Wonderland looking for a nonsensical way into the in-ordinary world of the Queen's garden. Along the way Alice is introduced to many enigmatic events that are accompanied by very descriptive, and often frighteningly dramatic illustrations. These pictures graphically define the way the actual very abstract nonsensical event begins to look like. After eating the cake Alice say's "Now I'm opening out like the largest telescope that ever was" (16 Carroll), the paragraph is typeset next to an illustration of Alice stretched out, elongated, she's monstrously tall gross and scary. This is the first of a series of illustrations in the story that paint a very real portrait of an obscene world that is depicted horrifically. Images such as Tenniel's could stir up uncomfortable feelings for Lewis's strange characters and leave younger readers running for their mothers embrace in the middle of the night. Almost all the characters bearing animal attributes are drawn out in a very realistic and harsh fashion, possibly reeking havoc in the minds of children. Most young ones live in a world where a talking cat imagined in their own minds innocently might not look like it actually has a murderous grin. Martin Gardner probably fell asleep as a child thinking about the grotesque images embedded into his mind not by innocent Lewis Carroll by nasty and graphically inappropriate John Tenniel.

Work Cited

Carroll, Lewis. Alice and Wonderland. 1898.  New York: The Macmillan

Company, 1998. Print.

a hot talk like that would be cooooooool!

suns second landing while soul sister-prays for you

Everything stopped, the world fell apart, her life was finally over.
The still air of the early afternoon left a faint feel of odyssey on the precious side of her cheek, she was fifteen. Nothing like the feel of the air on a sweet spring evening. It was no more then a quarter past six when the two boys pulled up in their black Eldorado style pick-up truck. They were the husky type, the kind you find up over, working the pipe line, mending the rigs over the valleys of the fine linings of the even Alberta Prairie landscapes. The nights were brisk in the early spring part of the season, the world around them was waking form a stubborn winters sleep and the nights were still holding strong and cold over the lake. The two boy's weren't wearing jackets. She smiled when they first showed up, not far from where she lived. They pushed the car up ever so slightly nearing the curb she was sitting on. The wind kissed her cheek, and just then out of the corner of her eye she realized that there was a series of clouds looming, they were dark and they threw down a benevolent shadow. The wind blew hard at her the instant she opened the door. "It was me" she remembered, looking back accepting that she went willingly that she had wanted to go forward with it and see.
They drove ten miles up town, they were speeding, both were drunk, the driver more so then his partner. She was more then two years younger then they were. Excited, the horizon sizzled with the saturated sun light, shinning, showing it's self to the ever so deliberate three, ominously over presently penetrating. All behavior was of the innocent nature till that spot of light decided to inevitably move along and run it's self off as always as the ever defiant, superficial explosive clock of imprisonment.
The darkness settled in nicely on them illuminating her with the realization she was together, alone, with them after dark. The night was slight, stone like. It whispered sorrows that grew too powerful, and became like threatening nomadic moans. If you listened closely to the cries your ears would begin to simmer and burn saluting the brimming stars with the sight of the stench of the insentient smoke. It grew fast and the wind howled and whaled as the vehicle endured and moved relentlessly against it, destroying, shoving forward. Shielded within the ride the passengers remained isolated, distracted, in their drunken demise together they were rearing an incredible witness. The boys were having fun, and she lay there demented, dreaming of the precedence of her emotion, re embarking herself in the thought of an entanglement with the sun and their falling together. Holding it now in the palm of her hand and pressing the recollection of it into the core of her heart. The wind was there hearing the stunted atmosphere swear in screams, as one drunken driver holds off to be replaced by the other. He listens as he finds a straight line between the curves along the road, while feeling the wind stiffen rushing through the small cracks let in through the windows. Peace blows by them both, as they began their journey home, back to the winter-less abyss that has been their predicament, their home. The ride seems endless to her in the motionlessness of the travel. Over come with inertia she listens to the saunter of the soft songs of the night. One of them had his wide window open and in through it blew what baffled them, it was the painful rush of a strike of molested and mangled air.
"Can you smell that" he asked, sober sounding, having softened and feeling relieved. "It's smoke" he yelled, sniffing and sticking his head out into the wind. "look..." he stopped, pointing, "oh my God...the town's still in there." She had set it back...as she sat and marveled in the delight of the majesty that is in her inevitable reason.

began a very thorough examination

It was three o'clock in the morning and she was nervous bout what was going on. It had taken Dr.Robasakar two hours to show up. She sat there looking into his eyes, worried, wondering whether to start mourning or celebrate. She was in her sixth month, finishing off her second trimester, they were on their way back from the seven o'clock show, "remember that part where she asked him to order that awful pizza", she asked him referring to the picture. He looked at her and smiled a nasty giddy snarl of smirk and said "I didn't like that movie. It grossed me out." He was referring to the scene where the main character was forced to have a C section. "Ah baby" she said looking up at him form the hospital bed. "Six months baby and now this" he exclaimed looking up, arms raised over his shoulders pulling down his hair. "It was not our fault," she  waited for him to settled down before going on. "He was drunk baby" and with another pause she touched her stomach and said, "I'm fine I know it." She felt fine, nothing hurt, the accident cause a nasty smash but she happened to have been sitting right to brace for the impact, something she didn't see coming. He did, and it that moment he braced for that impact himself he felt so vulnerable and weak. He hadn't the time to turn and protect her.
The examination was awful, and the doctor had several tests run, form blood tests to x-rays, everything seemed to be in good measure but the doctor insisted upon it. She was known to be an excellent and thorough doctor. Then there came the final test, she was asked to lay down in a nice peaceful room then the sonographer began probing with the echo locator. "So how's it going you guys?" The young technician prodded. The pregnant women lay there weak form a night of treacherous agony waiting for the results of an on slot of atrocious and what seem like meaningless tests and says "I can't wait to go home?" They all laughed, it was early in the morning and the heavens were beginning to part for the day to break through and have the sun kiss this side of our mother earth, "What happened?" asked the health care professional. The couple looked at each other strained, stained, neither wanted to answer. The health care provider continued her task saying "these are often routine calls, I'm just here to employ more faculties of our health care industry," she paused, looked over the women healthy stomach. "There is lots of corruption in the system, usually you're put through those meaningless test just to funnel more people through the system to make more money for said testing organization." she laughed holding the locator in her hand bearing a glove and a palm full of lubricant in the other. Beginning the examination, not causing any discomfort to the pregnant party, all three laughed insisting that the test was requested to deepen the pockets of the heads of the radiology department, "Yeah the Dean needs a new trailer for his yacht" the man said watching the work initiate. Almost immediately upon focusing the image on the child's heart did the women stop laughing and

WHat the Fuck lets Hang with HUCK!!!

Tom's evolution as a character begins to take part almost immediately into the novel. Or introduction to his boisterous and manipulatively tactile antics overwhelm us with a sense of desire to know that boy. His persistent ability to make change in, and renew his circumstances catapults him into a deadpanning chasm of dynamic characterization. Tow Sewer, is in pursuit of individuality within his society, to maintain himself as an equal in the community, and yet still hang with Huck. The facts are Tom reign's as king in his achievement of creating a homeostatic relationship between the abstractions of his dreams and the rigid rules of reality. Injun Joe is a mirror image of a Tom like character who could never make it. Because  unlike Tom, Injun Joe is out for revenge, incapable of reinitializing and reembarking on different events, he focuses on destroying the structures that helped create who he is in that moment. Injun Joe was left in the cave just as Tom. Except Tom is faced with a situation where he can save himself, and his beauty, by findind the light, while Injune Joe is forced to pry his way through a wall that will never submit with a rotten chest of money that inevitably he'll never be able to spend.

T is for .....?

Wrote a great story bout my past bout my childhood and all that jazz. Then I erased it accidentally, then I told myself that it's o.k.

WINter flyERS!

The river was frozen over for over a month. His cousin was two months younger then him, and two inches taller, but in general they were both short for their age. "Come on!" lets go, the older boy called. He was by nature a resilient and quick mannered individual. "Come-on brother, brisk baby can you feel it?" He asked, ready at the door looking over at his younger cousin. The boy was looking up at him from the stairs where he was sitting tying his boots. They were going out to smoke, it was winter and the river fast frozen solid, "Look at all those fishermen"  the older of the two said. "Waiting to catch the big one?" he yelled. The younger boy watched as his older cousin got on the ice. They were in a private nook, hidden, "David" the younger one yelled out form the shore in fear of accidentally stepping out onto the ice. Standing there watching his cousin inhale the filtered cigarette, he began to think about what his grand mother had told him about the river.
It was about a week ago, he was sitting around the kitchen table with the family eating pork chops and potatoes when his grand mother turned to him and while he was taking his last bite of the succulent meat she said "Don't think twice about following your cousin down there to the river" she looked him over. He finished his supper. He got up to clear the plats when she grabbed him by the hand and said "Adam!  he's cunning, and he's sharper then you."
Adam understood her concern for him, ever since his mother left Adam was becoming so much more rigid. He could see his grand mother take notice when he waned her advances at him possibly becoming a choir boy. That was never an option back home in Canada, it was never an option when his mother was around, but now in her absence, the idea of a secular fellowship was being shoved down his throat.
"Fuck that" he told himself as he stepped out toward his older cousin who was standing no more then fifteen meters off shore. Adam had never seen the river without the thick layer of ice, he had only just arrived at the end of that  November, a month said to be engulfed in a very miserable winter.
"It's frozen solid Adam" David told him standing over the depths of its wilderness, of one of the largest rivers in his new home, in this foreign nation. "How deep do you think it is?" asked the inexperienced younger cousin, the two moved forward together, they veered off toward a canal. It was an off shoot a progression of the nook they had already been standing in, it was getting dark but only because of the clouds, dense as they were above them. David gave Adam a cigarette, Adam looked up into the air and watch an eagle flay over him. He said nothing, but David saw the reflection of the bird in his cousins eye's and in that instant turned to look. Adam was paying attention too as the lighter accidentally shifted and started his thick hair on fire. Adam was stunned, unaware what was happening, panicking and falling to the ground. The cracking came powerfully, that sound upon impact, the ice shifted, David stood still and Adam screamed until the instant the ice broke. His hair no longer on fire!

"Prostitution"

"There is no money in it!" he announced, standing in line waiting to pay his bills at the bank. She was standing next to him wearing her red dress and high heels. "You look stunning by the way!" He said, jeering a wide insignificant smile. "No no money in anything!" he repeated. She smiled looking down, her brown hair hung toward the floor as she arched her back ever so slightly, she let her arm lag too. "You're bored hey?" He asked, knowingly watching her. "Well you'd love my job!" he explained. "I sit upstairs" he said, looking around his downtown surroundings, "and I manage to avoid getting told what to do by coming down here to deposit checks, I stand in line all day!" he said, cleverly smiling while crossing his legs. The envelope help tight in between his fingers, arms crossed, standing there staring at her tilting his head. "I can see you naked" he thought to himself. She could see a slight flash of existence in his eyes the moment he thought that, "What did you say?" she asked, straitening out. "There is no money in anything these day's". He repeated, smiling looking her over standing in line, waiting to deposit the next check. She liked it, his manner. "Money in what?" she managed to asked.

Soul for SALE...Ame...a me..SOul, Gratis or for food or a good fuck!

Focusing on empowering you, the consumer. Who the fuck cares about getting what you need fast and reliable, let's empower the God damn consumer, the world is growing bleaker. Meaning we are beginning to sustain ourselves on regular means, we're equalizing. Isn't that like being English and wearing leather. Remember Knight Rider...or Viper...No you don't. A Polish person might call it Veeperr, (rolling the tongue funny). Who owns a T.V? Not me. The world is about getting people to understand what it is to be real, empowering you. You need to have food first I guess, you need to eat. Then you fuck with everything. It all needs to be dismantled to be understood. Books need to be read and a life needs to be lived. If we the people can do that in this infinitless  abyss of success's achieved by people who bought them we can prepare ourselves to be hit by a comet, soon!!! Because if it doesn't hit us soon, we'll all be living on a grand Prairie or sucking up to some oil barren from a slave Lake of oil. Information! Who cares? I know I know you watch Global...You do!

readeeming me

"SON!" he yelled intolerantly, angry.  The fifteen year old was drunk and trying to make himself a milkshake at 2:30 in the morning. "Son" his father said to him, the blender was off, the bananas were everywhere. "Where's the yogurt dad?" the boy asked, his eyes bloodshot and the corner of his mouth full of some thick goo. "You smell bad son!" the father said, scolding his juvenile son with a stern honesty that was known to settled the boy down since he was in elementary. Settle him enough to cause him to softly place the gallon carton of milk on the counter and start crying. "Why does it hurt so much dad?"  asked the adolescent, inebriated, a heap at almost sixteen years of age sinking into the kitchen counter. "You're mothers not gone Josh" said the middle aged, single father of one. "Dad! shut up fuck!" the boy shouted picking his head up. "She slept with someone else dad!" the voice, adolescent, pained. "It's all her fault! Who'd she think we were?" The trauma was settling in, his father could see the boy's heart beginning to be worn on his sleeve, sensitive to his usual dispositions but not used to it; accustomed to having his mother be inflicted by it. It was his first time drinking, he had crept into the liquor pantry. His father sat there watching his son suffer, tears running down his young face. "Do you know what love is son?" the man asked the boy directly, Josh just laughed. Knowing the boy as well as he did he was envisioning his son's ingestion of the quarter liter of vodka. "He must have drank it fast... and he's gonna be sick he won't remember a thing" the father though to himself. "Hey boy?" he asked, Josh was reeling in self defeat, he was reprehensible. "Josh!" the father yelled, the boy just looked up sulking, "Dad?...Why do I have to hate her so much." His expression spelled chaos and his father knew it. "That pain, Josh, the way you feel, that's love." The man stood over his son, "that's the way it taste's" he said then fell silent, looming, the boy bowed his head and cradled his face in between his arms. He could smell the laundry detergent, then the thought of his adulterous mother doing his laundry fell into his mind. Then he though about seeing her kiss him, just him. "They were in love dad" he screamed, "Ha" he proclaimed "do you know how I know?" He waited but his father just stood and stared, the boy looked up and said "love?..I know what that is then dad, she did this to make us feel this way. We feel this way because she loved him because she always will" The boy was exhausted, he was sad, his father sat next to him and said "Love son, has a stinger, and makes us get up and drive the kitchen haywire, but you know in your heart that with your soul you love her right?" he asked the question directly, watching, waiting for the answer. Josh turned up to his father sitting next to him and said "I miss her dad!" lowering his head letting it fall onto his fathers shoulder he wept. The two sat there  in  silence until Josh picked his head up with a small smile and with a vivid sign of relief, he most have truly seemed  happy to have his father there for him through all this hardship. Looking down toward his child's blameless eyes, he knew that his soul was going to be sunk but he also knew that his son could not doubt the heart of his mother, her intentions, "Son" he said gripping the boy by the shoulder, his hand full, strong and the grip tight, Josh looked up at his father, their eyes met as Josh's father showed him true love and said "I had already cheated on your mother son, a long time ago! Non of this ever mattered son, I was, I am worse!"

I have a hole in my stomach!

I'm curious to see what's that I see coming at me, through the reflection. I'm a painter of light, a re-bounder of beauty, except there is a saturation of excellent and hence too much quality to define. No lie, I live in a key hole that reflects reflection and realizes, that no key can go there. Does this make no sense! O.K it's a bull raging, vicious and beautiful. So many bulls! how many bullfighters? almost non, I know of one, with no penis. Son of a bitch, painted nice and then killed himself. American! Beautiful, the fall. Then there is the British, no Polish, no, there was this guy, this guy, who talked about corporate expansion along foreign jungle rivers, filled with killer sexy women that idolized tourist...Who cares! I know. I'm looking for a raging bull to butt heads with, Whimper with. Not a painter. Hell no. Reflectionist, No!....Yes, Maybe. I need love to succeed to thrive.  Through social destruction, and I've already gone through the process of castration. I look for it, from others. I enjoy it to the maximum, I strain it. I was told to do what suits me, so I do. I suit myself in thunder.  I remember, what love looks like, it's dark, not reflective, it magnificent, but deceptive. Like lightning...Bang. Love I guess???  it is abundant, and fine, I know I'm delusional and out of my mind. Like a party after the park, yes a party at Clarissa's, a thought embarked, and derived from the mind of a Wolf. I'm curious to see what's coming at me in my own reflection, the things I can't see, they are frightening but not scary. Over seas I can see a bottle of C-plus floating with my SOS saying that it was born in the darkest part of Dublin next to a young Irishmen named Stephen. I'm safe and sorry thankyou. This paragraph is something I don't believe in because, there is no one here that we are actually seeing it with.

pullin teeeeeeth! and hunger pains

The sky was down beneath my feet as I slowly ran toward the furthest point I couldn't see. I envisioned a monster there but instead I found a baby. The young was old and our fresh attachment fell apart and began rotting. What is in the words? You see the world in my belief. I scribbled down a manuscript, a journal without any agenda but to kill you. I am standing down my opinion and guaranteeing you success, my mind is in an oblivion and the universe is in the palm of my fathers hands. I walk below it, not to show it that I am determined to deliver to my sun the earth. A sinister ball of blasphemy that I curse and kiss and con. I am here to lie to you, to tell it as all, to tell it as truth, but an obvious correction here is it's without heart. My mind is a burrow of plight and I adore you enough to burn down the nest and give up, stop, and again fight. I am a big one, tall, tough, tight, together, I am a big one. In the sky off the ground, kissing boys in a marry-go-round. I learned to be the teacher when I realized that the pupils were above me, they knew more then me, nonsense, you say, God is dead today. Who told you? Oh...he did! Makes sense! Yeah! I believe you now! I've married into a union with an atheist an oniun. I'm scared so I'll take that as the command to stand tall. March...4.3.2. Salute. Sovereign, singular, assimilated good girl, foreign girl. She walks above me now, carrying my heart, soaring, little bugger, through the wind, but when he gets to close to me it burns. But you don't have to breath, just inhale! then eat! just eat!

while I kept driving us forward

Wow what an incredible evening, I don't believe what happened to me today. Well let's start at the beginning, I was dispatched to LakeView in the south end of town, an new community I don't really know. I don't use the GPS bullshit, I just adapt to the fact that the city is growing. I'm getting older these days, I can't see the same in the night, I mean, I don't look at it anymore like I used to. I can't fight every war that sets itself in front of me, now I choose my battles. Tonight was no exception, so many assholes. My first fare was an old women from the new Zellers up there in LakeView, she had the nicest shoes and pedicured feet, but she was old, lovely attitude, till she slipped me a slime tip, I dealt with it. She was a citizen. Then I waited listening to an Oasis song. My next fare was what you'd expect on a busy Friday evening, a group of four dirty, thick in rig and strapped and splatted in pig. They were finishing their beer next a truck with a flat bed back. It was huge and so were they. There was four of them, they smashed themselves into the back, I could smell the beer, "Where to?" I asked, they said "WHyte ave, the Fucky Buddha." They were all healthy men, happy, laughing in the back. I smiled thinking that I was a part of their group. "Can you guy's smell the spring in the air?" I asked looking back at them through my rear view, I could see two sets of eyes. Both were hazy happy, lucky, gone. I watched them as they laughed, we were waiting for traffic, I watched as one of them stared toward the intersection, his face was red and the heat of the day mixed with the alcohol was wearing on him. He was going to be sick. "This guy's gonna get sick" I announced, we were still at the red light. The moment I said it, he threw up,  on his friends. They all jumped out of the taxi, it was 7:30 and that guy almost signed me out for the night with a car reeking of his residue, but he missed everything but his three boys, I drove off. Seriously he puked in the car, and only got his friend, well that's what I thought. My next fare found out that one of the riggers whipped a nugget of vomit on the exterior handle, I saw my fare realize what it was, I saw her smell her hand after she touched it. Ahhh totally repulsive, fuck! Well what are you suppose to do, give up and die? I pretended I didn't know what she was talking about when she complained. The interior was pristine, her friend told her to settled down, and she did after I let her smoke. They took me into the North end where things got interesting. I was flagged on 118ave and 82st, three young girls, not a day over twenty, naive, and new to Edmonton. When they got in I could smell the booze, but they were beautiful, all three. "I had no idea my aunts apartment was in such a bad neighborhood" one of them said as soon as they were all clumsily and drunkenly settled.  I tolerated them because of their youth, and by their looks, I figured they had cash. "West end" yelled the one in the middle, her eyes perceived me as I connected to her, I could see she was excited, so I floored it, pushed west fast. The radio was turned up high. They were in the back and I was watching the remnants of the sun set, it was twilight. The sound of the music disappeared, got muffled by the sound of the girls in the back, they were in their own world laughing. It made me happy. Wind raced into the car as I opened the window, my scenes were overwhelmed. I perused the short shot of light peeking through the horizon, saturated in a short cut to that heavenly instant. Things were good right then, as I felt one of their hands touch my ear, intimately. I was shocked, as I looked back at the three of them staring at myself in their reflection. "Shit" I said smiling and turned up the tunes. One of them jumped over the front seat, we got started talking philosophy

Entitlement

It was kinda cloudy, it looked different, things weren't typical, that afternoon spent at home with mom was different. Jame's was upstairs with me when I heard her say "Jesus there is so much at stake." She sounded serious, it was unfortunate, how sad she looked to me in that instant in my mind. The day was growing dark, things were turning, the weather was getting angry. "Adam" mom called from the living room, I was in my bedroom watching ready for the rain to come. I was sitting on the window pane, I remember looking facing south, gazing out of my big window, resting my elbows I held my face in the palm of my hands. Routinely! after school, I waited for my friends there. The neighbors came home from school later then me. I went to the French immersion Catholic elementary, they went to the Protestant school. We came home at two separate times.  I remember looking over at Lauren's house and thinking how serene everything was. The sky was still blue, and it looked like the world was standing still in the faint ignition of what was going to be another spiraling replica of my life, really a vicious fire storm. "There isn't even any rain yet mom! " I hollered down, looking back hoping to see anyone returning home from school.
 "Adam" she yelled, encouragingly with a hint of that anxiety in her voice. James had already obeyed, met her demands and had come down. "Adam, get down here!" she insisted.  I knew what she was thinking, "but the storm was too far away" I said to myself. I can remember my brother smiling at me as I squabbled into the dinning room. It was, on account of the big windows, usually a brightly lite room with enough radiant heat in it to force the family to eat elsewhere on hot summer mornings. The windows faced north, and the clouds, I remember seeing them, they were funneling themselves over towards that familiar view of, the sky line, the city.
"Where's dad?" I asked my mother to her face directly. She didn't answer, the weather was conducting itself originally in front of me. I had never though of an even so seriously symptomatic type of event, it was a nice day I thought, but that was ten minutes ago, and the wind was howling. The trees were bustling, pushed, penetrated, by a powerful and cold wind. I ran to the family room, and found myself in a darkness looking through the window, facing the neighbors house's again. I saw Lauren's dad pull up in their big black Cadillac, I remember the hail dropping and the storm beginning, forcing her farther to carrier her in from the back seat.  I ran back to the dinning room, that residual heat simmering, the cold humidity rising.
"Hey mom" I asked, young squeamishly sitting myself back at the dinning room table, my legs still didn't touch the ground. My summer shoes left dirt marks on the socks at the lace holes from the dust. I had my head down facing the storm, we could see it from the house, we were at the top of the hill, "where is dad?" I asked again. My mom turned to me, twisted, tunneled and tired, " he's in the storm son." My heart sank and sang to my soul, and I forgot everyone and I saw my father in the storm. In my mind he was in his utility truck, and it was turned. The wind green tainted with the labor, the burden held by men, that man. The television was on and the news was read over and over accurately, descriptively, I was fascinated with my vision, the fusion of my imagination with the image I saw. The warning to go to the basement. My father had built our house in case of war, it was bunker, the storm had forgiven us and decided to send him, our bread winner, to find him and stress him with only nature's relentless fire. It was the excitement of skies, the atmosphere. I was glued to the T.V and the skies, they eventually let in with the rain, and the sunshine gained at a certain point. It was over, quickly, suddenly, expensively.
When my father came home I hugged him, worried, I was sullen in the sun that came through the windows that I sat at and watched for him patiently alone. He returned safe, without incident. He had managed to avoid the storm, but he was close enough to witness it's power and he thanked God in front of all of us that he had made it home to us safely. I was the only one listening. I wanted to tell him how excited I was that we were going to have to live in the basement.