A “SMELL-FOR-A-CUM”

 

In near future,all will be sold.Solid gold for a beautiful smile,50 bucks for the sensational feeling of happiness for a night,drugs of all kinds,uppers,downers,sex drugs,drugs that will make you lose or change or erase your mind.pills on a chocolate pancake and pills for free with magazines and a toothbrush with your favorite actors teeth on it.

In sometime from now,evolution will be completed.

People will be the brutal beings they truly are,only they will have a new variety of ways to show their dirty undies.

It may seem impossible to a few people now(includes Stupid People and Woody Allen fans,which is oddly enough the same ones),but the way things are,we are done with the vals and the sweettalk and the rape on our most important prom is about to embark.

Realities about whores and serial killers,videogames where you kill parents and fuck sisters,more Woody Allen movies,online bet about dead children and abortions in Switzerland next month and media brainwash of terror.

Our heads will spin like a drunk baseball and there is nothing we can do about it.All we can do,is fight back.

In the end,it has always been about us and them.The doers and the makers and the multipliers and the swim out of a fucked up society,where we annoy the ones we don’t care and get annoyed by those that don’t give a shit about us.

story of love

If you are going to love,do it right.Take your red roses,make sure you smell like a seducing whore in a fancy dress and take out the knight of your heart for a ride and act for a while.Never mistreat or act bad to your speciallady.Never hurt her and make her feel pride for being part of your life.

Love her with all your strength and bear in mind it will never last too long.

And most of all,find out what kind of animal she is and act accordingly.

Cats need a bit of extracuddling,but dogladies will go for your bones.

In the end,its you,her and luck.Trust luck more than your beloved fairy.

That’s all I can tell you and Im  just  about over.Know that when it comes to personal affairs,you can  never win.

You can just fuck the prize and then pay for it.

Equilibrium

 

Autumn.

Trees dance once again like clockwork green giants after a long,overdued summer.

News say possibly the hottest one ever.

But they say that every year,only to remind you things are getting worse.

 

But this summer, is my favorite one.

 

Youth and life haven’t given up on me just yet.

 

Summertime,booze and pot and rides on the sunset,chicks with hot bikinis and a new red hot chili peppers compact disk.

Nothing else i need.

Since i am certain you find none of these trully important about our current –hostage-kill or not kill- situation,let me make this simpler to you.

I still wear the mask and have some decisions to make,you know.

 

This summer i met “i”.

And i knew,for the very first time in my mediocre pity existence,i was in love.

I will always savour and never forget this day,even if i should.

 

It was one of those days when you unexplicably don’t give a damn about anything real and you surprise yourself,smiling and sweettalking to anyone.even your parents or the cops.

Sun was shining and living was easy back then.my beard was as high as heaven and yesterday’s boozenight with an old friend got me even better.

I had my job,my worries,myself mixed and all,but sometimes you see magic in your life.

And i saw ,her.

On a midnight train.like in the movies.

Asking me for a cigarette.like a real lady.

 

A true lifeframe.

I noticed her first.

She stared at me and then,as soon as i light a winston outside the train station,forcing the poor security guy to start calling me names,i saw a smile fading in her pale lips.

I felt happy.

Like never before.

Even better,or worse,i felt more things.

Weird.violated.warm.

But now i know it.

I felt alive for the first time.

“may i have a cigarette?”,she said.i adore her voice.her hands were covered by purple torn gloves.

All i could think was that i was going to touch her for a while.

Pervert,i thought with shame,lowered my head and acted geekishly.

“sure”.i tried to act cool,but i couldn’t.

Failure waved at me,like so many times before.

 

Her look promised me a thousand more though.

I got better.needed to.A man is a man and sometimes that’s about enough.

My heart turned herself into a volcano,right before a biblical explosion.

-whats your name?

-Lucie.

(my mind is running like an escaped convict.i seem helpless.)

Anxiety strikes.make the right choice.now.

Tell my name,ask her number,offer her a lighter and some sweettalks or ...?Or what?

(the dogs are coming.i don’t want them to catch me.i cant go back to prison.)

-quentin.

(explosion.my volkano heart explodes fear,sweat and barks from hungry dogs.i hear the painful melodies of love .i look like a -horror movie freak- now.im a dead man walking.so,it goes.)

 

An enormous second later,i see her smile again.

-really?That’s my dog’s name.

I love dogs.i want to open a pet shop.i wanna kiss saint bernard’s picture.i wanna have a tail.

I can feel blood running through my vains again.

God,if you are out there,please,oh please,let her smile and take da vinci’s smily crapwhore instead.because she’s more divine.

 Then,i hear myself turning into words his question of instant happiness.

 

-what?

She smiles.

Tells me it’s because of her favorite director.

Tells me i was funny before with the security guard.

Tells me a lot more than expected.

 

We talk.

A date is arranged.she tells me “goodbye” and  “see you tomorrow,q”.

 

Now i smile like never before.

Now i got a nickname and a date.so much more than usual.

The world seems a little bit more like heaven.

Life can be a tricky thing you know.love too.

Train takes me back home.my mind tells me to take it easy.relax.get ready for the future pains.

 

I turn on my old-fashioned walkman.

My ears are soon to be treated by a radiostation.I let luck decide.

Hasn’t failed me yet today,i think.

Has to do it now.

But i didn’t know love is magic.

Radioproducer’s mellow voice makes me realize it.

-“i wanna be your dog”is my  last choise,ladies and gentlemen.have a great night and remember:

Equilibrium is always one step away from madness.take good care of your selves and smile.it’s healthy.”

 

Trees dance like never before..

Breaking into q

 

Dear mr patton,

This is the first time i do this.i’ve been trying to reach you through phone several times without success.i am sure you are a busy man,so i am going to take the least possible time of yours.my name is cherie johnson.

One of your patients,quentin “q” roi,is a friend of mine.

“q”is a really nice guy.

Q is alone.q is scared.q is –almost always- depressed.

But,most of all,q is a child.

He likes to have fun and enjoy life.

He doesn’t want to be a pain in the ass.

He doesn’t want to be rich,famous,a rockstar or a rocket scientist.

Not even a guy with with a family,a monthly paycheck,a house in the lake and a -black and white-dog named in a humorish childlish way.

He just wants to be himself.

A free spirit.

A bright thinker.

A lovable son and a role model citizen.

A guy you can trust and whose handshake you can hold without a second thought.

Some people say being yourself is the worst part.

 

He thinks different and i agree with him.

By the end of his harsh childhood,he created a rather changeable personality.

He didn’t want to let anyone down.

Not his friends,not his family,not his ladies,not his heroes.

No one.

 

So,he joined every possible culture club,learned all he needed to know about fame,shame,money,honey,elevation,discrimination and allibies and all the people’s perfect lies.

 

A perfect teenager was born with a soul ticking like an al-kaida product.

Knowledge is my weapon,he decided and found himself ten years later with three diplomas and a mind  filled with information.

Once he described me his mind like a house,decorated with nerve,grace,taste,confidence and cheap gifts from a road-bazaar.

And he was right.

 

But no one told my poor friend that the more you know,the less you can hope.

Hope is dead for him a long time ago.

Love has no place for q.

Future seems worrying and present is hell.

 

And the more he knew,like a constant student he was,the more he seemed to be locked inside him.

With a lock he has created and keys made out of everyone’s despair.

 

A hard situation you see.

But i assure you sir,he means no harm.

 

He is just going through difficult times.

 

He has just broken up,been fired and saw a man die in front of him.

That’s a hell of a pain,man.the things he did, must be now excusable,

Ya know?

 

Or else.

 

Ps. Or else means bad news for you.bullet.

 

 

Cheers

Death of the deathcarrier

  

 

Snow was falling all over town.it was one of those days where you would breathe out cold and pee icecubes.

The whole town looked like a sad pittoresque leftover of giger’s mind.

People walked and i walked with them.

This is the day i became someone.

 

No longer a number.

No longer a part of society.

No longer a working class hero.

Downtown now,minding still my own business.

The wind sent me a newspaper.i took it and threw it in the can.

An old man was there,next to the can,laying half-dead on the glassy floor.

Beside him,

Was a warm counter with french croissants and muffin cakes.

A suited guy

Was yelling about his merchandise.

 

I ran to the poor fellow.

-sir,sir..are you ok?

No reply.

Suited guy interfearance.

- hey man,don’t mind him.

He’s a bump.

Drunk for sure.comes here everyday.

 

A sunbeam attacked me.

Suddenly,i felt like a fucking knight.

 

My mind asked me all kinds of questions.

Whether i had to punch the guy,make him bleed and choke to death with his pretty croissant,help the poor old bump or just leave some money and get the fuck outta there.

Luckily,i checked his pulse first.

I approached his dirty moisty clothes and tried to hear his exhausted little heart bump just a little.

Total failure.

-he’s got no pulse,you asshole.call an ambulance.

-what?

The croissant guy felt like a child,whose mother was yelling at him.

-i cant do that.i don’t have a cell and i cant leave the counter.

You go find someone.

 

 

My eyes got scarier than any serial killer i’ ve seen in the movies.

I could see them through the look of this miserable,suited,fearful, croissant-guy,whose last last day on earth has just been decided.

Dreadful times,my friends.

Fucking brat,i said and ran to a hotel nearby.

Ten minutes later,i called for an ambulance.

Half an hour later,they were there just to take the poor old champ’s frozen body.

The croissant-guy tried to act friendly later.

That made things even worse.

He’s going to pay,you know.

Just figure out how and have faith.he has to pay.

When the ambulance came,a deposal was needed.the nursist smiled at me politely when he figured out what happened and wished me the best.

“at least,you tried,cowboy”,he said.

“yeah,i tried,sheriff”,i laughed at myself.

Nobody was going to make me feel better about this.it was nice to have someone trying though.

“by the way,cowboy,we found this.oldie had a mask.inside his left pocket.take it.something to remember him by.i don’t think anyone else will.”

 

A delirium of justice appeared.

“thanks”,i said and hold my new gift in my exploding,freezing hands.

Everything made sense in a violent way right now.

 

A mask was all i needed.

 

To hide my failure.

To hide my feelings.

To hide my face.

To hide myself.

 

This old man was a deathcarrier.

I can carry death for others now.

I am the deathcarrier.

It’s cold and it feels alright.

 

 

Snow never felt better.

……………………………………………

 

 

the plot

The bedroom

 

 

 

A bed is there,with the sheets thrown all over the floor.a bicycle,an expensive carpet and tons of books are the perfect scenery for a 35 year old guy,named james corduroy and his beauty sleep.

As soon as he wakes up,he groans in pain as a result of last night’s chase of passion,feels his head,checks for any booze left in an empty bottle of scotch,lights up a cigarette and smiles confidently.

-to my funeral then,he says and moves quickly into his shower.water is heard and steam comes out and into his bedroom.music is playing loudly while he gets him self clean,something classic but rock n roll,like a forgotten ian dury song.

He dries himself with a towel with his initials written on it and turns on the tv,while rolling a joint-which wont be the last for today- and eating honey cereals,an everyday ritual,done for the last time ever,as far he’s concerned.

He looks for a while his giant poster of clockwork orange and then he gets distracted by the voice of a gray-haired anchorman,who’s scaring the shit out of him with fake news about economy,politics and crime.

So,it streches for a while.

-what the fuck? Some bastards will never change,i presume. Fuck,i gotta stop talking to myself.

He is now pissed up and in a hurry,a combination of sentiments he never adored.he closes the tv,swears a couple of times,takes the joint,his last 50 bucks and farewells his beloved home with a lovable smile.

-honey,im going.forever.take care.

The house is now empty forever.that is if everything goes as planned.

 

 

 

The talk

Sun is shining pretty good for a day like this,he thinks and decides to live the shit out of the rest of his day by smoking a joint in public.

And getting to know anyone willing enough to chat with him.

He arrives at the closest park,turns on his i-pod,puts on some tom petty songs about death and love and sets fire to his joint.a black fellow is his sole company ,who has just woken up by the music.

As he seats confortably at the bench,he realizes the old black beggar will come,even without asking.a few seconds later,he knows he was right.

-hey man,got any money?I wanna eat something..i’ve got kids.

-hey dude,i got 50 bucks and you can have them.but you don’t care about eating or about your children,that is if you got any.if you want to,you can take the money,find me a day’s pot,5 beers and the rest is yours,(he replies and looks the black dirty guy in the eyes.)

-man,you got balls.(he laughs).you went for the fucking eyes.alright man,i ;ll see what i can get.wait over here.

-cool.(he gives the money).hey,whats your name?

-syl.

-cool.im james.get back quickly syl or i will find you and i will fuck your lady.

Syl stops walking and turns in surprise.

-how do you know i got a girl?

-it’s all about a girl,man.men with balls and broken cause of daughter dreams live on the road.other people take divorce,but you roll old school.

-he,he.never thought about it this way.never thought about it this way.will be right back jimmy.

-cool.

J.c. Gets up,stretches himself happily and smokes simultaneously his joint.he dances slowly like a rock star in the rhythm of a song.

Syl gets back.

-hey,white boy.got our stuff.

-hey,welcome nigga.so,whats your story,morning glory?

-jimmy boy,i will tell.but first,two things.lets roll a joint.

(they roll a joint)

-now what?

-now…(syl punches him..j.c. Gets up and asks him why?)

-im sorry man,but you brought back so much pain.i cant handle it any more.you can me punch me back,its alright.i don’t mind.(he starts to cry)you treated me well and i punched you.im sorry man..punch me,please.

-no,that’s ok,man.lets talk..i don’t giv a shit about my body.i drink,smoke and destroy myself in any way i can.i don’t think a punch will make the difference.now,tell me.

(syl kisses his hand,stops crying and looks him in the eyes and starts to wave his hands showing to the sky)

_look,man,she’s a nympho.i was once a married man,working at the post office and all that shit.i had a white house and a family.then,i found out that my wife was th bitch of every guy in the hood.she was a whore man,addicted to sex,before me.i thought i could save her.i gave her all she wanted,but it wasn’t enough.we had a daughter,marilyn.my wife;s last name was monroe,so we decided to make our daughter the next marilyn monroe.you get it,man?We were happy.

And then,she fucked every guy she knew.

I just couldn’t take it,man.i beat th shit out of her and watched our 16 year old daughter leaving us.

The last 4 years i live here,where i don’t give a damn about anything except from booze and the privilege of sleep.that’s all i remember and miss man,a night of good sleep.

-here’s the keys to my apartment,take it.pull yur shit together and call your child asshole.im sure she misses you.

-what?

-are you deaf,nigga?Take the fucking keys.

-but?

-but what,sylly boy?I am done with the fucking place.its yours now.get a lawyer to write it to you and here’s all the papers you ll need.

-man,i never believed in god.but,now,i have just witnessed his glory.thank you lord.

-are you stupid or something?Say it one more tim and i might change my mind,

-im sorry man,im sorry.its just that..hey man,who are you?

-im james corduroy.remember?Jimmy boy?We met like half an hour ago?

(j.c. Sets fire to another joint)

-i know man,i know.and i will always remember you.but,whats yous story?

Why are you leaving your home?

-cause im dead.that is,as far people are concerned.and you ‘d better keep your mouth shut or i will fuck your lady.

-ok man,ok.whatever you say.youre the man.but,why do people think youre dead?

-it’s a long story,man.really wanna know?

-hell yeah i do.you just been god to me.i wanna know your story.

-look,man, knowing stuff isn’t a fucking power or a bless.its a curse.so,i will ask again.do you wanna know my story?

-man,im not gonna move,talk,piss or hear anything unless you tell me everything you want to.im your slave.tell me.

(j.c. Slaps him.then,he gives him the joint)

-this was for getting me pissed.stop thinking youre in a fucking opra show,smoke some grass and relax your soul and your ears,cause youre about to be treated with the way i fucked my self.give me respect,not submission.asshole.are we clear?

-sor..

-yeah,i know,you re sorry.fuck.look,man,i gotta head to my funeral.i ve got like 30 minutes to kill.shut the fuck up and listen.ok?

-ok.

Walt (the deppian)

SOULSURF-The Walt Deppian Monologue 1

Testing the stairs as we go upstairs.We look each at each other and feel a bit lost and scared,maybe if we chose otherwise,our lives would 've been spared.There he is,black,mighty,violent and strong,smoking pot out of his African precious bong,Walt Deppian,part human,part star,the one who tried to go to far.No more will we speak,as he yearns to show us his best trick.

It's a monologue he once taught that made him really see the kindness inside you and me.It is his only hope we can be free.And oh how the wind pounds the night,well,we'd better be good boys and sit tight.

"My name is Walt deppian.
Know this,my dear friends.
Movies are just illusinations with stories.
Music is just a voice you cant really understand.
And don’t get me even started about the tv.
This has always been the game,and like it or not,this is how it goes.
We try to teach you,you never learn.
We poison you,you just keep getting it.we fuck with your head,you wanna fuck other people;s head.Fuck,einstein tried to help and in the end,all you said was “yeah,yeah,but can you make a bomb?”
This is just the way it goes.
For fun.

We pick a game,choose a random "sport" and we watch and test you like never before.sometimes you win stuff for being cool and all,but that’s just us.not your fucking life.think any nerd would get laid without star trek?Think any homo would have a job if not for christianity?You think any killer would wanna be famous if not for manson and mayonnaise?Well,mayo just went wrong.HAAAAAAAAAAHHHAAHHAHAAHA."

It was then the pot had just made its money,Walt Deppian felt hungry and ate some honey.We looked at each other,unable to speak and decided we didn't like our host and that he was a freak.But Walt Deppian was powerful and heard our common thought and then decided,to punish us and have some more pot.
And the,he just went on to talk.

"But anyways,im the happy guy.im the kinda guy who wants to show you around and let you decide whats best for you.This is how I intend to verbally express my concerns.

What if people wenen't just meant to become a partner in a couple that has to get married,raise a child or two,try to sing along and realize in the end they just barely live and always pretend?And all that other crap that each one might take as unique,colourful,blessed or lucky,like a love letter,a great blowjob,a nice wedding dress or a family photoshoot with a dog and smily kids really dont matter.At all.
I mean,who actually gives a shit?Why do we have to settle down?Why do we have to live in ways that haven't been chosen by us,but served straight to our bleaching asshole?Man,I just don't get it.
People changed honour to outlaw,beauty to whores,power to money and wisdom to lies.People got soft.Every single one of us feels like a small part of his soul dies every once in a while,that is he was lucky enough to have one in the first place. And so on.
People always forget that the only thing that matters is that they all seek hapinness in their lives.Their sadness reflects on all of their passions,whether it's a black filthy whore from downtown,a perfect mushroom spacecake or a smile each time they see someone and don't want to show them how boring they really are.It's all just a sad pittoresque circus,violently repeating its tricks.Great news is you are always a viewer,an animal,an artist,a clown or a worker.The circus is yours.
This is your jungle,you say and you forget you weren't meant to be there.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------And so on.

the QuestionDark interview

[ ] [ ] [ ] [ ] *

The interview follows:

 

Questiondark:-what do you know about men and women?

Tyler-men are raindogs and women are rapedogs.lords of dogtown battle.true story.a guy who fought in iraq told me.

Questiondark:-what are you doing right now?Does it make you feel in any way different emotionally?

 Michael person:reading someone else’s stupidity about a society that poops on my life and dickens planets plot.

This is the thing i am doing right now.this will cause my a thought that will prove me smart and not a dumbass online.or not.only i will know.thats the beauty of it. Im just online.

Questiondark-what will one day be your main concern?

Corduroy-must tell the rolling joy of thoughts to stop,cause my meds are gettin over and the feds are getting closer.game over or time to cross another border.inside my head,of course.i am the walrus.

Questiondark:a quick joke that  cool women will enjoy

Alex-women  give you a head or a headache.if it’s the first kind,fuck them.if it’s the second kind,screw them.if its both,fall in love with them and make them come like a theodoros aggelopoulos film.so slowly,that is.not in relief.

the wakeup

The sun always sets and rises.Stars come out,fewer every day.Neighbors will tell you goodmorning and to “take care of your -always pooping-dog”.Newspaper time,right before breakfast.Headlines about the power and misery of the world and the little news about the charm and beauty of a falling actor who’s just given up drugs or the new release of a pop-star’s record,whose popularity is not even remarkable.

Fuck.

Why bother and read these shit?

My mind always gets badly triggered in the mornings.

I say don’t you have an opinion of your own,man?

I say cant you make sense without a stupid guideline?

Cant you read between the lines,without the stupid lines?

 

Cant you see everyone is useful as long as they play along,don’t complain and pay their taxes?

 

Doorbell.drrrrrrn.

My door invites me to a morning surprise.

Final question comes in mind.

 

Why does the fucking doorbell have to always sound so fucking irritated?

Why not choose a more soothing sound?That would be a nice future job.I might as well place an ad tomorrow and result-laugh.

“WANTED woman who is willing enough to get to record her orgasm for a doorbell sound.Fee:an orgasm.Ages 15-45.Blondes have to get a blowjob too.”

Drrrrrn.dddrnnnn.

“ok,ok,i get it”.

The door opens.

Time stops instantly.

A shadow appears and in a very stylish and silent way turns into a 35 year old man,with rayban sunglasses and brown long hair.

Man,i got to stop the pot.

His look is certain and straight.

I don‘t know him,i think.

He doesn’t seem hostile,yet he gives me the creeps.

“hi.you must be wondering what the fuck i want,8 ‘o clock in the morning,standing here,looking at you and smoking”.

Self-confident son of a bitch i think to myself

And i protest slowly:

“but you aint smoking man.”

A match comes out of his right pocket and answers my question.

“now i am”,he replies slowly.temperature goes high.

He smokes deeply and makes his throat hurt.He waits and then I say.

-so,what do you want?

-let’s chat,baby boy.ask me inside.now.

 

The iron smile of a 45er makes me shut up and swallow my ego.

 

“he cant kill me,he cant kill me”,i think all the time.it’s the middle of the day,neighbours saw us,he cant be that crazy.

Anyhow,we end up inside,in my living room.

Scotch on the rocks, he says and no funny moves.

We gotta talk,he says.

Who the fuck is that guy,i keep asking myself.

Once his lips got wet,he asked me to put on some music.

“and not the pretentious crap kids love these days”,he added.

Guess we have something in common,after all,i think.

Faith no more or 16 horsepower,i asked.

Whatever,he says really calmly.

 

Man,i thought.

This guy was drinking my whiskey,threatened me with a gun,might even kill me and still,i cant seem to think something bad about him.

 

His looks and skills have something hypnotic.

 

The chat began right when i sat.

He offered me a cigarette.we were now both smoking and acting like true pals who havent seen each other for a long time.

A lot less awkward than expected.

With his face staring thoroughly at me,he disarmed his gun and apologised for his behaviour.

But it was necessary,he explained.

He smoked passionately and then took off his rayban and for the very first time,

His “glass” eye was revealed.

That’s when it hit me.

 

I know this guy.