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tomatoes and radio wires.
Sep. 8th, 2011
09:48 am - help m e.
it's happening. the weening that girls do, so that they don't have to end it, all at once. i wish i could say it was pathetic, but i can't damn something I've done, more than a few times. fucking cowards.
i loved holding on to her for dear life, i needed her that way. i didn't miss vodka, or marijuana, they felt like lovers of the past. now, just one day later, they call me and text me all day long, they heard she wasn't really interested anymore. they want to have dinner and work it out...i guess I'll take them up on that. maybe i missed them more than I'd like to.
the hickey on the right side of my chest throbs a little. i regret the sex. i wish, she'd call. AWFULLY cold text messages.
i think it takes a certain kind of person to habitually blow up stuff a day after the fourth, like those that frequent gun ranges. my neighbor's m80's startle me even after like, 6 in a row. huh, and they think I'm gay. at least i don't need to blow shit up all the time to prove how many chicks i fuck...and p.s.... it's fuckin' plenty...
i need an, "i promise to love you someday, Gabe". i won't ever get one.
i got one:) i love this girl like a sea of confection. I'm drinking again, i wanna stop soo...just a selfish last out. i lost my job. I'm soooooo scared.
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drunkJul. 5th, 2011
10:37 am - the tiny contractor. (july 5, 2009)
i was building a little guest room for you, in the left half of my heart's main chamber. nothing fancy, i was just gonna throw up some dry-wall, maybe knock out a window, so you could hear the rain. it rains a lot, here.
i hired a tiny contractor, who held a tiny sledge hammer, and wore tiny cover-alls. he quoted me a little more than i had planned to spend, but you're worth it. i shook his tiny hand, and let him in, through my rib-cage.
i told you i loved you yesterday, i whispered in your right ear, all the while being drilled into, spiked with nail-guns and tiny beer cans from rather long lunch breaks cluttered my aorta.
you don't love me back. you say nothing, and kiss me. the silence between us reveals the scream of a tiny little power saw, making way for a window, of a tiny room, that you'd never want to live in.
there's vacancy, for now. maybe I'll turn it into a game room.
i sign a tiny bill and thank a tiny crew, and go about my day.
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blankJul. 2nd, 2011
10:47 pm
i think this ritual we partake in, when we first start dating people, should be outlawed. you know the one; everything's perfect, you'd rather kiss her than drink, and you're charming beyond even the lies you've told yourself. i don't deny that it's magic, i deny, that it's healthy.
she's 20. She's beautiful, and she treats me like a king. the crown on my left fore-arm is jealous, as it's rubies hint a green fever, and i smile like Halloween, '87. My dad got me this gorilla mask that my mom didn't want me to have. he convinced her, and i wore shorts, a t-shirt, and a gorilla mask from target. it was good to be young then. i didn't know about a forth-coming legion of young girls who'd take me for everything I've ever had. try shuusssshhhing someone in the middle of an orgasm, on your mother's couch, at 3:30am. it doesn't go over very well...needless to say.
i told her how i felt last night and that i was upset that she wouldn't kiss me in front of her friends. she didn't pass the test, that i seem to put even the most platonic of women through.
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scaredJun. 20th, 2011
11:25 am - St. Louis. 6-20-09
she hates when people call her "Hun". Fuck. I've called her that like four times. figures. Bye, then. On to the next.
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annoyedJun. 1st, 2011
11:14 am - 6-1-09
i don't know whether it's that i can't have you, or if it's that you remind me of Julian, or if it's love part two or what, but I WANT you. I want to throw you in the air and watch you never come down.
I love the idea of us, of me staying sober, because there's something to stay sober for. I've fought withdrawal a lot of times. I can fight it again.
I am in love with you. I wish you didn't have to be the cast of "my Boys", all the time, but i know that's how it is. i was in a room with you yesterday, and all i could think about was how to sneak away and speak, closely, with you. i was in a room with her yesterday, too. i mostly thought about you, but...i would like to sleep with her. she treats me like a hero. you would too, if you'd just,let go.
the play write hates me. it was only a matter of time, and, seriously, for her sake, I'm okay with it. I called her "Champagne Eyes", but only to my friends. she doesn't know i call her that, and i like that. Hey, A. I'm trying to forget about you. you could never handle me, nor could I, you. In a vacuum, we'd do okay, but never in the real world...never on Earth. My heart swells when you're near and I want to make you laugh, even more than i want to stay sober.
May. 28th, 2011
11:25 pm
i take the wheel when you're tired and i figure, fuck it, it's just the highway five. I've been in love with you since i first learned how to breathe, and here you are, asleep under a moon of farmland, getting closer to God, as far as the eye, is blind. i believe in you, but not in me. not yet. but i will, like a father's fortune to his only child, I will.
i want you to make me laugh. i can't laugh the way i did, with ridges against my lips. i want to learn without it being so painful and sad. it hurts so bad i feel enraged and terrified and insane. the bright side is that I'm going to climb those "steps", until i get there. i want you, who ever you are, to be waiting at the top, or maybe somewhere in the coming years ahead. an airport arrival glance, a second chance, a new opportunity, a painless stomach, a mutual respect, no apologies. we are allowed to be angry, just not, abusive. we are allowed to be sad, but not to wallow.
I'm glad i don't shake and that i slept most of last night. I'm proud of myself for these last three days, whether i know it now, or not. i can't wait for the day that i love myself. it will be better than all the substance abuse, in the universe.
day four. i lost all my money again. all of it. there is an evil black hole or an evil sister or evil karma involved. even of sound mind, i can't keep track of my Benjamin's. i slept well and behaved all day long. i showered after a TON of msnbc shows, and that's when i discovered my money was gone. I just got paid, yesterday. if i ever solve this phenomena, i will finally have my sanity back. 'till then, up in the air, up in the air.
tonight's meeting made me really uneasy. i don't want to be friends with Bill anymore...but i have to be.
i relapsed. pretty badly. 3 days i don't remember.
Apr. 30th, 2011
10:18 am - day one. 4-30-09
the programs haven't been nearly as embarrassing as i thought they'd be. 1st time, i cried, and went home to a full plastic container. next one, the speaker was excellent, went home to a full container, woke up to over 3/4ths of one, which found it's way straight down the sink. 3rd one, for the harder end of the spectrum, i liked the best, but felt a little like a phony. i made a contact, a couple actually. one of them called me to check on me. she was sweet, and under different circumstances, well...you know. last night i went home to no container, i sweat a lot, and didn't sleep for more than a collective 2 hours, but woke up, with my head a little higher. I'm terrified, but I feel a little, free.
Apr. 24th, 2011
09:24 am - 4/24/09
28 seems to be heavier than the chunks of dried concrete, that i chained to my ankles, at the on set of, 27. the pacific ocean doesn't want to help me, and neither do angels from Missouri that i thought i could get a smile out of, girls from palm springs who write me UN-filtered emails smacking of hatred in the likes not even I've ever known, and starving socially awkward internet girls who grew up, and watched a sweet prince, reluctantly trans form into a pathetic peasant.
*i miss Ally. a lot. I'm trying to think of a way to re-boot things, but i don't think there is one. plus...i don't really like her friends, and she's not the kind of girl to lead me to her bedroom and kiss me before the door even shuts. i need that from her. we played pool once, and she made this shot that was sort of unmake able, and we had a few beers, (not Gabe style few beers, normal person style. she has no idea about my intake). so any way i kissed her just below her right eye. it wasn't weird, and i of course, was nearly electrocuted. then, i went into a rant about why things weren't progressing with us, and then, followed it up by a cry baby my space message, that only made things worse. there are few things in my life i wish i could do over: Julian, refraining from hitting on, just about every girl i know, picking up a bottle, Scaring Ally, Not committing to La Shea. higher education. not committing to a band. fuck this broken heart.
Jan. 28th, 2011
12:33 am - no one's better sake 1-28-09
she sings like, him.
she plays guitar like Jimmy, and shows it like a carnival, after Woodstock.
their embrace is catatonic.
welcome passions of reality and sin,
blended as an iced mocha, on a Thursday, in the dead solar abuse,
of...January.
This global "hug" makes my hair bleed, and girls: are unavailable;
they need a frozen shoulder, and a fucked-up way, to say; Goodbye.
the florescent-side is;
a bottle and a poached "wing-of-prayer". that's what you have;
to bargain with.
maybe sex and...
the rest of a McDonald's' "Happy Meal".
you'll get the toy inside, and i get to toy, with my insides;
double knotting brain waves,
vacuuming my liver and giving my kidneys;
a dry cleaning.
i love the way her violence rolls off of his
department store shoulders,
mutates into a joke
like a hatching cocoon,
brand new teeth, clutching hair line,
and the way you held hands in high school;
brand new and smelling like a lightly used Ford Taurus.
it's enough to have to roll
out of bed every Sunday;
not too mention having to roll into bed, every Saturday night.
i watched a reality show with my eyes open,
and i saw sincere and beautiful women willing to
cart wheel
through hell,
to update;
their men.
i can't hold a girl friend to
to save my life.
sad.
annoyedJan. 20th, 2011
09:28 am - barack the vote. marie's callender, gabe's continuous failure. 1/20/09
we
went;
to the nearest pink berry.
i w a n t e d,
to go to urban OUTFITTERS.
i
wanted to ask her.
she was
a jar
of jam.
i
wanted to ask her
if
she minded;
b e i n g
short.
i didnt.
i
want e d 2
ask,
if she'd
join me for dinner.
i
d i d n' t.
we are from different worlds.
butthatdoesn'tmeaniwon'tthinkabouther.
marieandtheinevitableacronym.
MUSH;
miss u so hard.
or: HEAD;
haven't even asked, dammit!
o bomb a.
his t o r y.
yes, we did.
re: you're mean. all you had to do was read them. you always made me the bad guy, and never took any responsibility for you. good bye, so long, and good day.
Jan. 15th, 2011
11:44 pm - 1-16-08+
a lot of Spaniards view the Portuguese as Mediterranean trash. i think they're a beautiful sea-people, who deserve respect and recognition. i used to hate being Hispanic. i Rosetta stoned the language. it's hard...and expensive...but i'll try. i wanna replace the sauce, with knowledge. "Eu te amo ". "i love you.
Jan. 13th, 2011
10:21 am - would you ever dare to play the fool again? 1-13-09
what if the wrong side of the bed is the south east corner of your mother's couch? and an empty bottle your alarm clock? and waking up with new tattoos, common? wow. 2009.
Marie, turns out, moved here from Sweden when she was 20, and is married to her roommate. i didn't ask if they share a bed, or kissed it true at the court house. i did ask, if it was for citizenship, or love. citizenship, won. i asked her if she'd grown to love him. she hasn't. she's going to tattoo me. she's gonna quit urban outfitters and work at ink monkey. she showed me her green card yesterday. first time i've ever seen one. she looked just as weird when she was twenty, as she does now. adorable tattooed teddy bear. we're building a re pore. we'll see. all though she is married, but, it would'nt be the first time i bit the snakes apple. she's not in love, and i'm probably not goth enough, or whatever her deal is, but, she turns my stomach and steals stares when ever she walks into my store. i want to plug her piercing scars with dandelions and anonymously call urban to see when her break is, and white-out my floor schedule and fill in what ever matches hers and meet at famima and act like i barely know her and suggest we sit together and ask her why she has no accent, and if she's into nightmare before christmas and Bauhaus or what her deal is.
Jan. 11th, 2011
09:37 am - 1-11-09
i'm always drunk or in love, they feel the same, to me.
Dec. 29th, 2010
Dec. 24th, 2010
10:07 am - kriss-Mass-eev. eve'08
*fuck you for not following me when i walked away, and for saying that the distance was the only obstacle. you're here now. all I'm looking for is friendship...but the library calls, right?
**fuck you for getting married, and never texting, my good tidings, back.
***fuck you for giving me ultimatums.
****fuck you for moving to Minnesota, for never giving me a real chance, and for thinking you know me. for falling in love again, for the sex and for San Francisco. for making my name a Persian girl's, and for never letting go. your job comes first. good luck with that. i can't get a god-damned text out of you. fuck u-zen. fuck you.
*****fuck you for ditching me Saturday, thought we were gonna see that vampire movie that was made, for me. whatever, i take it all back. sleep with everyone and wake up to nothing. i was there for you, but i'm not, now.
******fuck you for saying you wanted something real, for being 19, and for tricking me, twice. for being so beautiful, and wealthy, and talented. enjoy your fake love. you know how real it felt when i held you. good luck.
*******fuck you, FOR SHOWING UP TO MY JOB, WITH A FUCKING HICKEY!
In short, I loved you all, happy holidays.
gabe.
anxiousDec. 16th, 2010
09:37 am - 12-16-08
*well, it's been a year since Senna. When we tried it a 2nd time. what a FUCKING joke. I hate to give her any acknowledgment at all, but...here we are. we almost went ice skating this one morning after waking up on my mother's couch. we went to Swinger's instead, and i asked her why she never kisses me. she leaned in, and gave me the only good one, we've ever shared.
**do you remember the back-packs we got in china-town in San Fran? mine fuckin broke, but i still have it. it has a badge on it that you made for your website. i remember the first time i woke up in your bedroom/living room. i didn't care. i wanted to get loaded and go home. remember "hide the vodka, and go seek"? the post-its? maybe nothing. that's fine, better, even. i don't want you to think about those days. I wish you knew me, now. apparently, there's some disease going around the mid-west that doesn't allow one to return text or myspace messages. shitty.
i bought from a girl a work yesterday that shook me to the core. she lives in northridge, a requires corrective lenses. she was as adorable as the day is, depressing. i wish she knew that i'm still thinking about her. maybe that'd make up for my teeth, my lack of credentials, and my mother's couch.
Dec. 8th, 2010
10:01 am - for the love of the hyphen. an ode to no one, and everything.12.8.08
fifth ave. is a little weirder, now, than it was in the bowels, of 2007. snow flakes up your nose, and what ever hands can carry you into a taxi, and into bed, but not for sleep. break it up. break it off, break down. your medication and ear drum-sticks scare me, in waltz time, to the beat of a Macy's day parade. i-used-to-like, hyphen's. i ditched 'em like community college, with a young man's red hair dye, streaming down my left temple in the embarrassing mid day sun, at twenty two.
I'm gonna miss Brandon and Erin, a lot more than i thought. weird. he's maybe my best guy friend, these days, and he's leaving. that's fine. they all do.
you know, as cheesy as i am, you'd think I'd get better with, age. nope.
just mold and cob webs, these days.
i sort of wonder how Minnesota is these days. would never want to go there, just, wonder how it is. get lost in the mall of America and maybe, you know.
i wave from a few stories up, we recognize each other, but don't say a word.
Nov. 30th, 2010
09:51 am - an open letter to New York City, or, a letter opener to my jugular.
arti,
i think if your cat loves me, you will. we could make a book together, listen to t.v. on the radio, and drink tea and hug when we least expect to. we could take walks and eat pinkberry and dance at the echo, and watch out for each other. teach me to drive and i'll pick you up, and we can throw your ipod on and drive pch as far as we can before dark.
Mung,
duuuuuuuude. how you livin', son! i can't wait to meet you, man. i've heard nothing but good things, and i know you're a tough nut to crack, but i'm gonna break it down!:). your mom is a good friend of mine, that i care for deeply. i think i might love her. i've never been to New York, but i hear it's awesome. were you born there? is it like sex and the city? ha. i think your mom is gonna miss it. i'm gonna try and make her comfortable. if you have any pointers on how to make her happy let me know, she's an interesting woman. mt. washington, a dui, and too many boys to mention...not that there's anything wrong with that, there isn't. big pimpin'.
i drink, a lot. i remember very little of the past 5 years. i am ashamed of that. this one time, your mom and i drank a case of that Sofia Coppola champagne, and i kept sneaking Canadian whiskey, between cans. i feel bad about it, if you would, be a pal, and let her know that i wasn't doing it because i found her boring or unworthy, i just could'nt shake the allergy, that
day. i'm giving you my word that the next time i see her, nothing will touch my lips but healthy food, and maybe...well...you probably dont wanna know about that...
i'm an ok guy when i'm not wasted. i'm looking to get healthy, have a healthy, caring relationship, an write all the booze out of my system. i'm scared, but, willing. i don't wanna be the town drunk anymore.
i'm gonna be nice to her, i promise. again, i can't wait to meet you. we're gonna be close, i can feel it.
gabe.
nervousApr. 6th, 2010
10:58 pm - matt and amy (4-6-08)
as she bursts from a weekly nightmare, her humid hair falls to curls.
she burns them straight, and puckers glossy lips against the back of
a recordable compact disc. make sure there's none in your teeth, darling...
you smile too often, for that.
sink water swirls slowly clock wise in a hydrogen tornado down an enchanted drain,
the make of a professional salon's;
flat black and leading,
to everywhere.
his kitty cat pay checks hiss and wince at brand new rent dues,
as hardly controllable lions, knock a marijuana habit out of his lungs,
and onto their brand new carpets. swatches they flip through over twice baked potatoes, white wine, and a couch as comfortable as candied yams.
he chose a leafy green hue.
she made believe it was
symbolic of a family tree she always wanted to plant,
and went with it.
i have this memory of them reeling in each other's beauty,
outside of a hair academy. i dont think love has ever seen a split end,
since.
i dont think i've ever been loved,
the way that i was, when i stepped into their bodies during a strange moment
where they avoided a fight, by kissing the anger from their mouths.
he never knew a valentines day that didnt end in meaningless sex.
these days, exotic flowers and seafood dinners leave them too tired for that sort of
love.
he follows in the overwhelming life course shadow of his favorite friend's,
and celebrates her differences, with a sip, and a smile. a cable box and a comfy couch.
a beautiful ability, to let their ugly imperfections
get a little dolled up,
once in a while.
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jealousMar. 28th, 2010
12:13 am - me and the weird girl i met at work & wasnt attracted to until i found out where she was from.3-27-8
a girl came into my job today. sunglasses at night, short, grease molded hair, leggings and toms shoes. she targets me for jacket advice. i recommend a leather from the vintage overs section. she likes it. she asks me what im doing tonight and i tell her i'm going to hooters with friends, 5 dollar pitcher night. she tells me she's going to alvarado for a fake, and i realize she's probably, still a teenager.i was a teenager, once. she wonders what's to do if she can't find one. tells me she talked her way into cinespace, and moscow is 18+. i tell her i dont know of anything, 'cept maybe vine bar, if she's got blow for the door man. that's how the Archer high girls did it. saved some for me when we faked meaning in a sephora-pink-lipstick kiss in the top room where we used to be able to smoke cigarettes and spoon on green bean-bags.
i asked her where she's from. she tells me northern california. my heart turns half way, like it was in the middle of being cooked by microwave. i have a baby skull's soft spot for that area of the world. never had i felt more at home, or, more grown up. "of course you are", i thought as she became all the more attractive. she's on her way to portland to try for a keyboarding part, in a band, that i'm, guessing sounds somewhere between built to spill, and pretty girls make graves. i admire her bravery and discover her birth year. she is 18.
strobe-lit day dreams pulse behind my eyes,
i see her, in those rare shade-less moments, on a couch we found in an alley, in east oakland. it's kind of a sty, but we don't care. we bike to work, and come home to pizza, dvd television series, and each other.
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