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.