Control yourself madam
I know that you are staring
It’s been over an hour
That you’ve had me wanting to fuck you
Stop Lady
stop this torment
I’m only getting hotter
and it burns me from the inside
Stop Lady
I’m not carved of wood
I’d die to be at your side
But you already have one who adores you, one holds by the arm
If only you had come alone
things would so much different
Stop Lady
Before I lose my sanity
I could kiss you now?
but that would be just fucking crazy
It might not be right
And we probably won’t ever get to do it
But I promise I will never forget you
Nike Air Max 90’s (look it up)
Happy V-day—4 days into it.
Molotov
two parts gas
one part oil
one part soap (tide)
tampon fuse
one bottle
“
—
Acosta, Oscar Zeta from “The Revolt of the Cockroach People”.
Public Trans
Think of the shivering cold and then there’s an asshole who does not want to close his window. Yeah it smells bad on the bus but sometimes the cold is unbearable. Everything about public trans just screams sacrifice and pain. Being nestled inside a bus does not afford you any privacy. The world cannot wait to fucking bother you and here it is: Can I sit down? Move, move! Can you let me borrow a dollar? Do you want to buy my day pass?
Who the fuck is that desperate? And no, I’ll buy my own. It seems like the fucking bus has made us into wild animals. Cramped shoulder to shoulder in a cage with 40 others beast puts your instincts to the test. Your senses are violated in ways only prison inmates can imagine. “Dude your touching my fucking leg.” “Don’t you see your Fucking touching my leg!” The guy just looks unphased and I am overwhelmingly uncomfortable. Too close for comfort is the phrase, so I just move two seats down. Some strangers are just too relaxed around each other. This man man states he is friends with everyone. “Don’t you want to be my friend?” He asks some dude. And before I can even tell myself that it is inhumanely possible to be friends with everyone. The dude answers with: “Everyone thinks I’m older, don’t I look older to you?” The friendly man agrees he looks older and sexy to boot!?
The word of the gospel goes like this on the bus: “Day and day I work for the gringo man!” “I give my shirt to that devil and he doesn’t even know my name?” It’s 11 am now, how does that qualify as all day? But this comment bares a truth similar to this: It must be 100 degrees fahrenheit somewhere, since a girl insists on wearing cut-off shorts today. Whenever a girl climbs onboard for this snafu it’s a different story. Those shorts rise and nestle at her butt and I am grateful for the weather that has bestowed these wildest of treasures. How I hate it when they wear sunglasses. I’m trying to look at your eyes but at the same time there is a gap the size of my fist between your thighs. A leper boards the vessel and no one dares to even look at the creature; leprosy has the ability to spread through sight. He becomes abrasive and irrational. And I say to myself: Come, jump in the fire.
WHERE WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO VISIT ON YOUR PLANET?
I am twenty-eight years old and barely feelings the effects of my boozing and getting high. It is a drained and sickening feeling, which I wish on nobody my age at least. The other day I went to a Japanther show and could not stay in the pit for the whole set, something I had been used to doing—at least for Japanther anyway. It wasn’t that the fucking crowd at the smell had been too much for me, (them dudes I could handle) but that I had been coming down from an 8-ball of cocaine and it had slowed me down.
There I stood amongst a hundred thwarting bodies, all covered with slime, and I plunged and hurtled like the best of them. One pussy even took a swing at me and landed a frail hit on the top of my head. I just looked at the cheap hack thinking, “that’s all you got?” Not really giving a fuck—as people might say.
It wasn’t until they performed I-10 that I really had begun to feel exhausted. People had been jumping on my back all night. I don’t know why? It must be my tall frame that compels these punk sonsofbitches to play leap frog with me, but by the third dude—I had stopped trying to hoist these faggots up and started to let them fall where the fuck they may.
So, by the time I-10 had rang through this dungeon we people call the smell, by the time the drummer had started revealing how much he loved Los Angeles (Never knew I-10 was about L.A. I’m ignorant) I had had enough. Fuck L.A., it’s coke almost gave me a heart attack and its arrogance has pulled me away from all the girls once again! I have been a L.A. resident all my natural born life and have nothing to show for it but one helluva drinking habit.
And as for the women? Well this much is true; they are fucking found everywhere. From cockroach infested apartments to the places you’ll never be and to the places you don’t remember going to. But please as that stupid fucking program they used to make me watch as a kid has said: ”you don’t have to take my word for it!”
