yes i understand

it’s a bit egotistical

again

an assumption

i wished

and just happened to get

at one point the likes of you

and couple more gals after that

i was in lust

didnt find the answer though,

it hurts

knowing i really fucked it up

so was it i

that made you cry

hit the pillow

wake up in tears

was that me?

well dear i’m sorry

i’m no longer trying

i’m doing

being, i mean

give me a shot

another chance

no?

i understand

]]> http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/2011/12/20/did-i-hurt-you/feed/ 0 stupiddrunktruths Interference http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/2011/12/08/why/ http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/2011/12/08/why/#comments Thu, 08 Dec 2011 17:56:01 +0000 stupiddrunktruths http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/?p=151 Continue reading →]]> Abstract: A young man is forced into a dark cellar. Where in wich he reads and writes after all the drinking has finished.  While he awaits with another man. What would be your last words on this very earth?

WHY?

“Why?” The voice asked on the other side of the stoned wall. It was a hard question to answer, much to the extent that I was unsure what the right answer could be, the possibilities were endless.

“Well, cause there is always tomorrow and well tomorrow has come along earlier than expected.” I answered in a Shakespearean tone. I was attempting to act somewhat sophisticated my last hours. Much different to lifestyle leading to this odd place. It was a dark cellar that had a small light from outside the bars on the door. They had given me a small candle to light my desk which has recently helped me a lot. In the last couple months I’ve gone through books I had always wanted to read and am writing things that I had always planned. My dark cellar was made with dark grey bubbled concrete walls. It was nice sometimes to feel the imperfections of the walls, it reminded that not everything’s is perfect and more so that are so many things that are unique. The ground was often wet, mainly due to the fact the cellar happened so far underground that water pipes often leaked out and water dripped in the far corner. It helped the writing the constant beat of dripping water, it was always dripping and at the same rate. It helped a bit. With the madness of certain death.

“Hey kid, shut the fuck up” The voice responded from the other side of the wall. I didn’t like the way he said kid, it made feel young. “Talk straight, I asked you a simple question, give me a straight answer”

“I’ve done a lot, it would too much time to explain”

“Hey kid. Where you think I’m going to go to fuckin neverland. O no wait, you thought I was going to the local bar right, ya cause they let us out so fuckin much” He was being very ironical. I hated his accent, it was country. I had a feeling that he was older man maybe fifty, had his hair always slicked back and talked with his right cheek always lifted on the side. I guessed he looked like an older Elvis Presley, I like Elvis Presley, I didn’t like the voice. It judged.

“O, they know you at the bar too. Every time I go there the bartender flutters her blue eyes at me. And without question always serves my favorite drink before anything else. Whiskey and coke.”

“Pretty little thing isn’t she?”

“Ya. We always shoot the shit” I replied. It was odd that we suddenly agreed on completely imaginary were both drank at. I hadn’t had a drink for a couple weeks, I needed a drink.

“I need a drink” The voice whispered as if it complete defeat.

“Me too” I agreed in defeat.

“Hey kid. Name the prettiest girl you ever beaded.”

“Kristna. Kristina Austin. Man was she a good lay. You, old timer?” I quickly replied. I liked my new comeback.

“Nice one kid. Lily Layne. I really should not have let that one go.”

“Lily Layne. Funny as name”

“So you’re a poet now. Kid?”

“Well could’ve been one. I had plenty to write about, all the broads and never-ending drinks with long trips that felt like they never ended.”

“Hey kid. Sounds like actually could’ve been a writer.”

“I really should’ve been one. But I lived life instead”

“Hey no judgment over here. I did the same. Why write? So others can experience what you should have experienced a little more. Like if you always thinking about writing about what is happening do you actually enjoy what is happening to you. Live for the moment.”

“Old-timer its different. Some writers write because it’s part of them, they write because it’s in their blood. They need to. They live life and then one free night write their entire life out. The Hemmingway’s, the Kerouac’s, The Bukowski’s. Now I’m not saying I’m like that, I just get hammered and see what pours out.”

“Hey kid.”

“Ya.”

“Does it fuckin sound like I read. Does it sound like I know who those fuckin shiheads are?”

“Well I didn’t think about, I just said it”

“Hey kid. Your smart ain’t ya?”

“I’ve heard that compliment a few times in life.”

“Then what hell you doin in a place like this?”

“Doing what I should’ve been doing out there, reading and writing. Because all I did out there was the drinking”

“I ain’t one to judge. I was the town drunk for a bit”

“Why?” I wanted to ask him the same thing. Make him feel the pressure.

“Cause there was nothing else to do” He was quick. I didn’t like it.

“So what you writing about?”

“About one of my crazy broads and the time we crossed across the U.S.”

“Sound romantic”

“She was a crazy bitch”

“They’ll the same”

“Ya. One of the best times, we smoked, drank and ate everything in site. And we just couldn’t stup fuckin, hell of a body. Nice rack. We were poor the entire trip and worked any which way job for a quick buck. Actually I remember this one time we were fucking while actually driving.” I was spreading all my secretes to this walled voice. At least someone was going here about crazy youths stories.

“Really. Still sounds pretty fuckin romantic if you ask me. The craziest broads make for the best bar stories”

“Ya.”

“When you start to think about her what’s the first thing that pops in you head?”

“Our first dance”

“Sounds fuckin gay”

“Fuck you”

“I’m teasin kid. Continue”

“Well I was chasing her for a while and she was dating a friend of mine at the time. So we all went out to a cool clean jazz club in New York and had a lot to drink”

“Like you should”

“And her boy was wasted and exchanging stupid stories with another friend. I asked her if she wanted a dance, we were drunk and she accepted. I was elated to say the least”

“What the fuck does e-lated mean?” He had trouble pronouncing elated.

“It means happy”

“Then why the hell didn’t you just say that? Don’t be tryin to be act smart to me kid.”

“Okay. Well anyway we got on the dance floor and the first song was a slower beat and I just held her. She smelled nice and looked drunk. She was a hot mess. I loved it. I wanted to get lost in her world. She had big blue vanilla sky colored eyes and soft cheekbones. Not a thing wrong with her. Long blonde hair that was wrapped in ponytail except for a small bit that fell over left eye. I had fun pushing it back behind her ear constantly. Anyway we start dancing. I tell her ‘You know I promised myself I would ask the prettiest little thing to dance tonight. Well it seems mission accomplished’ She laughed. I liked it. And I kept this up telling her how I wasn’t going to stop till I got her. She replied ‘I’m not good for you’ Like how can an angel not be good for you, right? Anyway we continue to dance I keep the sweet nothings up for a bit. Told her I’ve had my fair share of girls that weren’t right. She asked ‘How where they?’I replied that ‘Well I had fun with them, it ended. I can have fun again’. And after about three dances she asked if we should go back to the group. I simply replied ‘I’ve got you this close to me right now. Why would I want to let you go now?’ She laughed. I held her closer. We danced another song and I decided that it was time to go back. That night she stayed close to my friend I necked a girl later that night. She watched. We fought. Maybe I was the one that wasn’t good for her. It was nice. That was only the beginning” I sighed even thinking about her.

“Hey kid?”

“Ya?”

“Nice story. Hope you finish what your trying to write. You make me wanna read a book. Or at least your book, I can relate to those kind of situations”

“That can be arranged. I got a book right here”

“It won’t happen”

“I’ll slip you the book through the bars”

“It can’t happen”

“Here take the book”

“You give me that book I’m burning it”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t read. Kid” I could hear the defeat in his voice.

“Hey old timer”

“Ya?”

“On the Road by Jack Kerouac. Part one. I first met dean after my wife and I split up.” He kept quiet. I read. We went on this for weeks. The prison was quiet except for the nights when one of the guards always put on classical music. He kept mostly to Mozart and Beethoven. The records had a bit of noise but it was nice to hear some music. The voice was nice at times. He heard quite a bit of my stories. I heard quite a bit of his. He was born in small town in Oakland. Quite childhood which involved a lot of necking and fast cars. Served in the war. A lot of drinking, a lot of girls. Made a good living in Los Angeles. Had a run in with the law and has been waiting what he thinks is a year for his execution. I’ve only been waiting for about three months.

“That where they get you.” The old timer once said randomly.

“What?”

“They keep you in here till your mad crazy waiting for the day your going to get shot. You never when it’s going to happen, it just does. Just mad fuckin crazy”

“Ya. But this is a renaissance for me, for the first couple days I was mad crazy. Though after about a week of waiting I just told myself it’ll happened, so I might as well enjoy my last days doing what I love.”

“I like you kid.

“Thanks old-timer. You ain’t so bad yourself” I began to hear some music. It was so relaxing. “I love the music. The same guard always puts it on. It’s so relaxing”

“You shouldn’t like it kid.”

“Why?” I replied with closed eyes and waving my index fingers back and forth.

“Cause kid, it means that some poor sap is dying today.”

“What?” I was only half listening, I kept waving my fingers back and forth.

“Ya. When that guard comes on duty he’s out for blood. He puts on the music so the prisoner can hear something soothing on his way out.”

“Well. The song is good” I kept waving my fingers. The music was overtaking me.

“Well kid. It’s nice you have that outlook. Write on.” I heard some bars slam shut. I was completely invested in the music. The song ended

“Hey. Old-timer. What do you hear now? What should I read?” No reply. I began to panic. I knew what happened. I quieted down, sat at my desk and simply waited for something to change. It’ never came. I continued to read and write out loud.

Another random day I was fed steak. The music played and a guard came to the door. He was wearing a mask. He opened the door, I got up and he escorted me outside. I hadn’t seen the sun for a while. I missed it. I walked over to the post. There was a line of masked men with guns pointed directly at me. The guard who had escorted me asked me in heavy accent “Do you want a cigarette?” I nodded my head. He stuck the cigarette on the right side of mouth. He lit it up and I relaxed. He then asked in thick accent “Any last words?” I wonder how it would be to one of the guards. To hear all the confessions of already dead men? I wonder what others said, did they admit there wrong or simply asked or remembered something.

“I should have written more.” I took a deep breath. The cigarette was hitting the right spot “I should have read more” Another hit. “I probably should not have chased the broads so much” Another hit. “I miss her, Kristina.” Down to the last hit. They cocked their guns. “But at the end of the day, no regrets. I lived my life. The youth feel no pain.” The cig was running out, I running out of time as the spotlight. “I simply lived my life as if one day I awoke to being young once again after reaching the end of it. I lived it as if I were young once again” The cig slipped out. I never drop my cig on my own.

Going through all the freakin goddamn possibilities

All the ways she could say no

But it’s like preparing yourself for your own death

You may understand it

And try to accept it

But it will never come the way expected

And so even as it begins

And know the same feeling of hearing those magically delightful

Combination of words

It still hits like a baseball bat

Smashing teeth in

So why even give a though to it anymore?

Put worry on something I have no control

So let the words pour on to me

Let it burn

Let it sizzle

Let it get the best of me

Cause I still have to get back up

Cause the one day I don’t get back up is the day I’m done

Cause something worth getting was never too easy to get

Accept it

Or

Try to Eventually

Than what is left for me to think?

Because a constant flash of those big green eyes

Can melt so many men’s hearts

And me, my smile well can be said can make people

Think I’m somewhat cute

But not the same way you do

So turn that worried mind around

The lonely frown upside down

A girl like you should never have to worry

I know for a fact without speaking to single lonely man about it

That there a dozen waiting for their turn to say sweet nothings

In your ear

Me well me, I like to hit the bottle and try to reminiscent about

The small things

You should always smile because

Those are the kind of small things that make men like me reminiscent

With my right cheek constantly arched back

Dimple and all

And no I get it

I’ve heard all the same excuses before

You don’t have to explain to me

That is was a drunken mistake

But those lines you heard pouring out of me

Like an untouched river

Were all simply drunken truths

And I meant everyone one of them

Like a girl you should never have to worry

Or a guy that forces you to be constantly occupying your mind

And make it twist and turn in ways you should never have to bend

Well is he a guy really worth keeping?

So don’t get down

Smile and flash those big green eyes

Which make me constantly stop like deer stuck in front of an oncoming car

At least a sweet memory was left

To reminiscent about

And isn’t that what all relationships consist of

At least that’s what I’ve been taught so well to think

]]> http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/2011/12/06/if-a-girl-like-you-is-left-to-worry/feed/ 0 stupiddrunktruths http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/2011/10/20/graduation-gift/ http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/2011/10/20/graduation-gift/#comments Thu, 20 Oct 2011 00:12:25 +0000 stupiddrunktruths http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/?p=136 Continue reading →]]> Some things are obvious because they are in the distance, and some things are not seen because they are right under are noses. But how about this for a change, lets focus on our goals, instinctly of course and see where that takes us. And the future? Fuck it. Causee tonight were young and even though we know the future is waiting for us, lets not spend time thinking about and make stupid mistakes. Cause some consequences won’t happened for a while.

Graduation Gift

Like something is missing

Cause recently

I thought I

Discovered who I was

As my friend wouldn’t stop yelling at me

In a drunken way

The simple question

“Who areyou?”

And I responded

The fuck do I know?

And he kept on repeating

“Who are you?”

And wasted I said

I was an artist

First and foremost

And secondly

Came to the conclusion

All I wanted to do was

Take a girl

Out to coffee

And make her laugh

And be drunk

But not chases the broads

In bars

Cause more that often not

I end  up all alone

Bombed

Looking at the somewhat pretty girls

Hoping I could take one home

But that’s not me

And

So no more

I’ll be sober

And enjoy there beauty

But somehow

When they past me

Something is missing

Like a companionship

Of some sort

Like maybe I need some babe

To like

And inspire

And drive me

And allow

Me to think

That its all right

To write words

On a blank page

And feel emotions

And watch to many movies

And enjoy a play on words

In modern songs

Cause

Somehow

I feel something

Happens to be missing

Like maybe

Inspiration

Is good while being blue

But blue to long

Can actually make the god damn

Emotion true

So smile at me, and maybe

Enjoy my jokes

And then maybe kiss

Never hurts

And don’t play with my heart

And be nice

And some kind words

So this blue phase

Wont end like van goeh

Or Hemmingway

But live

A life a like

 bukowski

and know it ended

with a couple laughs

and drinks

and girls

who names i

happened to remember

cause im that kind of guy

that is always feels like something is

missing

when i

don’t have a girl to write for

or about

In between stained and dirty young women

Lies

In sleepless nights

Planning on new dreams

Shuffling through old memories

Love

It be nice, neat, enticing

At a time like this

Why?

Must the youth

Be wasted on The young?

He ponders

Maybe truth youth

Maybe a dream

Maybe not even old

]]> http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/2011/10/19/in-between/feed/ 0 stupiddrunktruths http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/2011/10/19/i-love-writing-about-women/ http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/2011/10/19/i-love-writing-about-women/#comments Wed, 19 Oct 2011 23:57:46 +0000 stupiddrunktruths http://stupiddrunktruths.wordpress.com/?p=130 Continue reading →]]> I love writing about Women

( An Essay on What Inspires Me)

                I love writing period. Or at least that’s what I say to most people when they ask what my hobbies are. But the truth is that I always cut myself short of telling the truth, the full sentence would most likely read, I love writing about women. Because there is something about destroying reality and creating fantasy that is so appealing. It’s like playing God, I once heard Hemmingway wrote a book about his real life relationship. The girl broke his heart so he kills the character that was based off her in the end. Again like playing God. Women are what inspire me to the core, it’s amazing that they have that ability to do such things. Like my favorite author once wrote, being a man I’m able to write and make up a man’s point of view. But I have so much trouble coming up with women in my novels, because I am not one of them, so I gain inspiration from real life events. And finally to the core, women are simply fun to write about, there are not enough words to truly describe a women so others would understand. Yet somehow when someone’s read those black letters on a page everyone’s stills imagines a women there. I love writing about women, period. At least that’s what I should tell people.

Giving it All Away

As lions when we’ve had

To much to drink

Cause

I want to call all the pretty girls

Baby

And so liquid courage help me

To say something

Worth remembering

Or regret in the

Morning