Saturday, June 30, 2012

Lynch the Farm (Dustin' my broom)

I know this is lame but...I want to marry you!

We passed each other several times at the 4th street live outdoor concert last night. I had just been kicked out of the PBR VIP section and was taking out my aggression by pick pocketing anyone with a cowboy hat (Tight jeans make the wallets ride up and easy to pilfer, just sayin').

That's when I first saw you. You were carrying a beer cup with 7 empties below it. Clearly an announcement that you were either going to be A.) fucking someone shortly or B.) in need of a program of recovery.
Most likely C.) Both.
The Farm was still backflipping so, it was rather early.

I wasn't even upset when the old guys put their hands up your summer dress without much as a cough from you. I told myself that all mothers probably had that moment.

When Lynch said to holla' and swallow, you vomited. Now I'm a perfectionist when it comes to hitting the mark. Cameras are always rolling and stage presence is a constant concern.
But your recovery was epic. You pulled off your panties and wiped your mouth with them and then chucked your warm beer into the air.

Best post vomit scene, ever. Especially when the chic your beer landed on came looking for you.
I may have pointed you out to her. Nothing personal, I just like a good show and the main stage is wherever I am.

Like any cornered hot girl, you found some male proxies to fight your battles for you and you slipped away to find more medication.
The Bud girl told you to scram and since I pilfered your boyfriends wallet, he wasn't ponying up anymore.

You degraded fast without more alcohol to deaden the pain. Desperation. And for a moment I knew exactly how you felt.

Someone noticed my activities and my hasty exit prevented my getting your name...or purse.

Your cowboy and angel,

N. 

Friday, June 29, 2012

The Hard Way (Dirt in my Pocket)

Hey! Wow! I mean really wow!! You look so hot. I have no idea what your political, moral or religious leanings are or if you even have any. Clearly I don't. Maybe political is a word you can't spell.

But it doesn't matter. You are SO hot. By that I mean your parts match some kind of master blueprint in my head that I think I have created. It's really just TV images but what do I care! YOUR HOT.

Maybe you want kids one day, maybe your a self righteous twit, maybe you like several penises inside you at once on a regular basis or you flip out, kidnap small children and freebase. I don't care. Not yet anyway because you are freaking unbelievably hot.

I was the guy several people behind you yelling into my phone, "OMFG, She is hot dude, you should see her!"

Because being with a hot girl only matters if you can be seen with her. Just seeing her, well thats a missed connection but if you can be seen with her, for any reason, well, than I'm on my way. Finally being recognized for who. I. Am.

That's why I asked you if you left your lights on in your car. Who gives a shit. I have no idea if you even have a car. The answer you gave is just like your needs and wants, that is to say, irrelevant. I just needed to be seen with you. In fact, I'm pretty sure I walked right past a car jacking on my way to see what you looked like from the front.

I'm at the managers desk trying to get footage of your hotness so I can show my buds.

I don't want you to reply because than I would have to actually think of shit to say and you would disagree at some point and your hotness would be reduced and I would get bored. Better it stay this way...

N.


Thursday, June 28, 2012

Raising Cain (ringside)

Hot damn, you were in Walmart. Beating the living Bejesus out of your kids. It was a royal smack down.

I guess you had just about enough and you snapped. Atom smashing ballistic. There was some serious crying and gnashing of teeth.

You totally went OT biblical on the older kid. Straight up pre-flood domestic disturbance.
The genesis of WWE was taught last night in lane 7.

"Ah, clean up lane 7. Small children laid out er partially decapitated."

In fact, you scared the cashier so bad she was going to close. She had that, oh God, why me look on her face. Shut her lamp off too.
That is until you gave her that look like, "oh no bitch. I did NOT just go thru that to now get in another line..."

Of course you said nothing. It was all in the stare. The lamp came back on and it was MMA Sarah Kaufman Strike-force time revisited on Junior.

I have to admit, I jizzed a little in my pants when you resumed the Syrian style crackdown on your dissident, wayward heathen babies.
I've been in lines before behind women who thought their Devil child's misbehavior and disrespect was 'cute' and 'normal'.
So I was sorta cheering you on. At least until you were using the soft drink sliding door to remold the younger ones head.

I fully expected Jesus to return on Mount Zion, see you getting 1st century Roman on your tots, have a flashback and he would jet right back into heaven for several more weeks of dry summer.

The messianic version of groundhog day brought on by your Hamburger Hill tactical assault of your own Viet Cong offspring.

I noted that Asian and Black women cheered you on. One even said to "get that little mother-fucker!"

While most white women dialed 9-1-1.

Men of all races watched hoping for a boob to pop out in the melee.

The bumper stickers on your mini van read, 'Pastors wife", and "honk if you love Jesus'. Ah, but alas, I was too scared to ask your name...

N.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

It's Alive! (I-420)


I was working late in my laboratory. Things had not been going well. In fact, it’s been one failure after another. So much so that I wonder sometimes if its worth it.
So I walked out to the roof, and to be honest, I gauged if the fall from this height might kill me. Probably not I thought. Just enough to paralyze me, from the waist down no less. Yea, that would be my luck. I stared into the distant night.
And then like a hydroponic bulb suddenly flickering on, you appeared. Startled me actually as the roof is my happy, solitary place. You were quickly trying to hide your bowl but the smoke still lingered. 
Your awkward movements in the low moonlight made you appear younger than you were. I chuckled as you coughed. 
“Seems we startled each other”, I offered as an olive branch to open the tense space between us. “Fear not. I’m up here mourning the dampening off of almost an entire elbow worth of 420”. 
“A pound?”, you looked shocked as you then continued while lighting what looked like a Marlboro red. “Jesus tap-dancing christ! Fucking fungus will wilt ya man, bad, every time.”
You couldn’t see it in the low light but I popped an instant woody. I watched you exhale smoke for what seemed like an hour and it wasn’t long enough.
The intruding sound of a car horn. A name being called out into the night. Another blast of horn.
You flicked the cig and bolted for the door. “Shit, gotta run...Gonna be up here again soon cutie?”
I wasn’t in control of my tongue. “What? um. yea. sure. Whats your name?” 
“Echo!” as you disappeared down the steps.
And so I live on the roof. Waiting for lightning to strike yet again.
N.


Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Despite all my rage (Still just a rat in a cage)


You were celebrating your kids birthday and when you almost mistakenly walked into the mens room that I was coming out of, I knew that fate had brought us together.
Sure it was a family establishment. Your husband, your three children, your brothers, your parents, a cousin, the BFF, your in-laws and even your pastor were all there too. Probably a 20 top if I recall...
It was 7 years ago. I was the guy at the front yelling about the retard bartender who didn’t seem to know what a Miller High Life or a MGD was! I mean, I’m getting angry all over again just thinking about it.
I had some real zingers during that heated exchange. I’m sure you remember even though you were on the other side of the building and behind glass and in the midst of a party. 
I learned later that apparently they don’t serve MGD or Miller High Life at Chuck E  Cheese’s. In fact, no beer what-so-ever. What. The. Fuck? How does one cope with children without alcohol? 
But when we almost bumped into each other at the restroom intersection and you said smiling, “Oops, one too many slurpies, excuse me...” I knew you were ready to ditch the family and run away with me. I remember it like yesterday. Gwen Stefani was singing, Hollaback girl. The Spurs had just won the NBA finals and you were unforgettable. The shy smile. The excessive eyeliner. The cleavage that said, these have life milk.
I of course, sacrificed myself for your family by NOT tempting you further. I was strong for both of us. Especially since your children were still in diapers at the time and, well, I don’t do diapers. So I proceeded to get extremely drunk in the hopes that you would look away and stay with your young family. It worked and yes, I always carry my own alcohol.
But now the time has come. Fate cannot be postponed another minute. The restraining order/statute of limitations is expired. I am here...
Yes, here as in, I work at the very same Chuck E Cheese now. Imagine that!
I have waited for you. Just as you have no doubt been wondering, even despite your lack of mentioning it here...Ever. Nope, not once in 7 years...You must have took it pretty hard. I get that.
If you fail to recognize me, I’m in the Chuck E mascot suit. Thank god for Vodka.
N.

Monday, June 25, 2012

Call me maybe (East of Eden)

I just met you...and this is crazy...but I know you are the one.

No animal spends more of its allotted time on Earth fussing over sex than Homo sapiens--not even the famously libidinous bonobo. When we left Eden, it was with an erection.

Your tan skin showed just enough thru your ripped jeans that you almost looked as good as I do. I don't like sharing the stage but for you I will make an exception. Roll film...

At first you pretended not to notice me at the coffee shop, even after I crawled under the table and took a good long look at your camel toe.

But eventually you were so startled that I was 1/2 way up in your crotch that you knocked your grande iced mocha latte (no whip cream) onto what looked like a brand new MacBook Air. Bummer.

You didn't believe that my laptop cable was snagged. I admit that line rarely works, especially when I don't actually have a laptop...but its such a go-to excuse in a pinch.

Lesser men than me would have thought your cursing and crying was an obvious denial of my unorthodox advance. But I knew better. I always do. The attraction was undeniable.

Your cry for attention was heard my sweet partaker of the apple. True, I was asked to leave, essentially kicked out of the garden, by the proprietor since I refused to actually buy anything but I waited by your car for an hour until a police cruiser told me to get going.
I left since I'm clearly not a stalker and so I could go to the library and run your plates.

I made sure to stall the honda right by the front door so you could have another good look at me. It was gonna stall anyway but I play even my weaknesses to the advantage.
Not sure who you were giving the finger to, I guess the cops. You are such a rebel. Bone of my bone. Flesh of my flesh.

When you get your apple product replaced, hit me up.
Mac daddy,

N. 

Friday, June 22, 2012

XXX marks the spot (dead of night)

This is a long shot I know but even just the slightest chance is worth it.

I was over at Theater X getting a blow-job (It was a guy yes, but I'm not gay) when you pulled in.
I was in the car parked in the dark corner. I know you saw me because you said to your friend, "holy shit those pillow biters are in that car going at it".

Plus the public police report also mentions this.

You wanted a dildo gag toy for your sisters bachelorette party. How original!

When you looked at me my heart leapt, I forgot all about the hairy truck driver in my lap. We made a connection as you crossed the parking lot.
I had to have you. Your face was so sexy I could eat it.

You were clearly upset and frantic when I emerged from the car. I tried to calm you but you only increased your spasms.

Apparently in my rush to greet you I forgot to put the ole shovel back in the shed properly.
I mean, who hasn't forgotten to zip up after a hurried rendezvous in a car or by a dumpster in a dimly lit alley? Can I get an amen?
Been there and have the stained t-shirt to prove it!

I guess the responding officer was a rookie because when I told him not to worry, that all I had been ingesting of late was some harmless bath salts, he flipped out.
Geesh, you would have thought I told him I was a zombie or something. Fuck me running.

Which is what I did. I ran.

Thankfully the truck driver took off running as well.
For what reasons, only god knows but as they say...you don't have to outrun the bear, you just have to outrun the other guy.

So my sweet dildo hunting homophobe...lets grab a bite to eat sometime.

Sooner than later as I'm famished.

N. 

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Big and tasty (Friends with benefits)

"How do you spell that again?", you asked without looking up from your archaic HP monitor.

"N..A..R..C..I..S..S..U..S". That is indeed my name and while the unemployment office is a black hole of personality and fun, I can sense you are excited by my mere presence. Who isn't? I'm glad I sprayed the axe all over myself while in the honda.

"Right. It says here on your form, you wrote for skills: Have a home phone..."

"Yes."

"Thats your skills? That you own, your very own, home. phone?"

"You have such a way with words my sweet bureaucratic beauty. You know my name, but what is yours?"

You stared at me for a long time. Mouth slightly open. And without taking your eyes off me, you bellowed...

"Monica!...Monica! Get over here girl. I got a live one..."

A Ménage à trois! How exciting. Despite being a big women, you knew you could not handle all of me yourself. A threesome was in order.

Monica walked over. Waddled might be more accurate. She was almost the same size as you. A lot of breast milk was now in front of me.
So much so that I forgot the line of people behind me whose complaints seemed louder than normal.

"It also says here that your entire past history is confidential. Your schooling is Top secret. You have NO references and a home phone with 16 digits."

"You are as thorough as you are pretty. Tell me ladies, shall we get naked together or do you prefer watching each other for a bit?" I stroked my chin and adjusted my nut sack. For effect.

"Oh no he didn't", Monica was on the phone, no doubt calling in sick and getting this party started prr-ronto.

You however surprised me with your speed. I've not had that much female come at me that fast, all at once.
Well, now that I think about it, there was that tranny at the bus station that one time...

You throttled me pretty good and pulled me in close. I wasn't expecting a 3some right on the front desk facing the lobby but you were one determined woman. It almost hurt you were so rough.

Sadly, security broke us apart and poor Monica tried to cover her involvement by accusing me of harassment.
It's always the ones that say no the loudest that want it the most. I don't take it personal.

Anywho, your name badge popped off during your passionate attempt to mount me and LMPD said I have to do all further unemployment business online. So...
Don't bother with the home phone government agent, its not real. Hit me up on here and we can supersize and big gulp, all night. ; )

And for the love of god, bring Monica...and your own food.

N.

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

I touch myself (When I think about you me)


The down side of narcissism is that you are always preserving the self which hardly leaves time for meaningful connections.
The up side is, since your busy preserving yourself, you don’t notice. And when you do, there is a some pills/drinks/sex for that.
You see, its all about what I think and not what I do, that matters. 
I think I should talk to that hot person standing over there. I think they looked at me. I think I would look good with them at my side in the movie that is me.
But I don’t. And I won’t. Just like I think I should exercise more when I notice the fat. But I don’t. I may buy gym memberships, weights, DVD’s...but I will never use them.
I have no intention of trying. Only planning endlessly to try (Also called: Obsessing). In fact I will devour the entire bag of potato chips instead of exercising. That way, I can always be trying. Infinitely trying. I hate me. And...the failure keeps the story going.
Since what I actually do doesn’t matter, only what I think, I can now preserve this moment, make it into a summer blockbuster, by telling someone.

Thats what stories are for. To have more of me told to more of you.

(In narcissism believing something is preferable to doing something because the former is about you and the latter is about everyone else.)

This is a tragic comedy of course because that is what is inevitable and anything else would require work on my part. Fuck. That. 
The original story is 5 acts.
Act I. Introduction/exposition
Act II. Rising action
Act III. Climax
Act IV. Falling action
Act V. Denoument or what the fuck was that all about?
Every story after that is a repeat...
In this case the climax is NOT I saw a hot girl or she saw me or we saw each other. The climax is I didn’t do anything about it.
And the ACT V that sustains me to do the sequel ad nauseam is that I choose to self loathe so that I can in fact fail. Failing, especially on purpose, is easy work. A girl that actually says hi to any advance I can muster?...that is hard. What now...?
Obsessing and ruminating is a skill at which we are all tremendously accomplished, and admittedly that feels like mental work because it's exhausting and unrewarding, but I can no more ruminate my way through a life crisis than a differential equation. Brainstorming is NOT work. Its mental masturbation. 
So is dreaming. Someday, someone is going to somehow know just know how awesome I really am....and not this joke I am now... Oh, the lies we tell ourselves.
The mistake is in thinking that misery and self-loathing are the "bad" things you are trying to get away from with Ambien and Abilify or drinking or therapy or whatever, but you have this completely backwards. Self-loathing is the defense against change, self-loathing is preferable to actual mental work.
 You choose misery so that nothing changes, and the Ambien and the drinking and the therapy placate the misery so that you can go on not changing. That's why when you look in the mirror and don't like what you see, you don't immediately crank out 30 pushups, you open a bag of chips. You don't even try, you only plan to try. The appearance of mental work, aka masturbation.   
The goal of your ego is not to change, to preserve itself. It thinks its you and you are it. But you are only what you do.
And scene,
N.

Curbside appeal (The desert of the real)


You were drinking alone, which isn’t a bad thing except it was 9 am and you were sitting on my steps.
Not that I’m judging. Hell, when I was a kid I thought it a great idea to slide down a telephone pole...in my shorts. So. Yea. What do I know.
Besides, it was only mouthwash you were drinking. Not like it was grain alcohol, right? I mean at least you have great morning breath.
Not sure what the festive occasion was exactly, seeing as it was Monday morning but I was registering some strong feelings toward you. 
You hollered some obscenities at me and I thought to myself that your choice of combinations was pretty creative. I like a girl who puts effort into her condescending tirades. 
While stumbling away I saw the cutest little ass on you. You only managed to make it to the curb a mere two feet away. But hey, who hasn’t had dry heaves until they pass out in the gutter?
He who is without sin throw the first Pabst blue ribbon is what I always say.
I wanted to chat but I had the girl I’m trying to get rid of with me and, well, you were passed out. I put $10 in your pocket, gently brushed hair out of your face and pulled you onto the sidewalk. I also put the cap back on your listerine. All in all, the kind of story I could envision telling grandkids one day when they ask how we met.
Sadly, when I later returned to mi casa, you were gone. As you were the truest connection I have had in years.
N.
“We do not dream about fucking when we are not able to do it; we rather fuck in order to escape and stifle the excessive nature of the dream that would otherwise overwhelm us."

Monday, June 18, 2012

South by Southwest (Stranded)

You probably won't see this. But, lets try anyway. You were in an airplane, barreling down the runway. Just about up to speed for take-off.

I was on 65 South. Barely in the emergency lane. Broke down and snarling traffic for miles.

And as squinted to the heavens to pray that my life end abruptly, violently and preferably soon... We met. Yes, as your plane lifted, you looked out the window and saw me. I saw you. We checked each other out pretty extensively I might add for the entire 3.5 seconds it took your plane to clear my field of vision.

Since I don't see an ad here for me, from you, I am beginning to worry that you crashed, are stranded on a bizarre island and either have only a soccer ball to keep you company or you are in the Dharma Initiatives grasp.

Morse code me the odometer reading from my car, so I know its you. And the year of my car, and tell me what words I was mouthing, for I know you heard me with your heart.

And I will save you. Well, after I get the car fixed and as soon as my probation ends. I mean like the day of. Or the very next day for sure.

N. 

Friday, June 15, 2012

Pixar story rules...



Pixar story artist Emma Coats has tweeted a series of “story basics” over the past month and a half — guidelines that she learned from her more senior colleagues on how to create appealing stories:
#1: You admire a character for trying more than for their successes.
#2: You gotta keep in mind what’s interesting to you as an audience, not what’s fun to do as a writer. They can be v. different.
#3: Trying for theme is important, but you won’t see what the story is actually about til you’re at the end of it. Now rewrite.
#4: Once upon a time there was ___. Every day, ___. One day ___. Because of that, ___. Because of that, ___. Until finally ___.
#5: Simplify. Focus. Combine characters. Hop over detours. You’ll feel like you’re losing valuable stuff but it sets you free.
#6: What is your character good at, comfortable with? Throw the polar opposite at them. Challenge them. How do they deal?
#7: Come up with your ending before you figure out your middle. Seriously. Endings are hard, get yours working up front.
#8: Finish your story, let go even if it’s not perfect. In an ideal world you have both, but move on. Do better next time.
#9: When you’re stuck, make a list of what WOULDN’T happen next. Lots of times the material to get you unstuck will show up.
#10: Pull apart the stories you like. What you like in them is a part of you; you’ve got to recognize it before you can use it.
#11: Putting it on paper lets you start fixing it. If it stays in your head, a perfect idea, you’ll never share it with anyone.
#12: Discount the 1st thing that comes to mind. And the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th – get the obvious out of the way. Surprise yourself.
#13: Give your characters opinions. Passive/malleable might seem likable to you as you write, but it’s poison to the audience.
#14: Why must you tell THIS story? What’s the belief burning within you that your story feeds off of? That’s the heart of it.
#15: If you were your character, in this situation, how would you feel? Honesty lends credibility to unbelievable situations.
#16: What are the stakes? Give us reason to root for the character. What happens if they don’t succeed? Stack the odds against.
#17: No work is ever wasted. If it’s not working, let go and move on - it’ll come back around to be useful later.
#18: You have to know yourself: the difference between doing your best & fussing. Story is testing, not refining.
#19: Coincidences to get characters into trouble are great; coincidences to get them out of it are cheating.
#20: Exercise: take the building blocks of a movie you dislike. How d’you rearrange them into what you DO like?
#21: You gotta identify with your situation/characters, can’t just write ‘cool’. What would make YOU act that way?
#22: What’s the essence of your story? Most economical telling of it? If you know that, you can build out from there.
Presumably she’ll have more to come. Also, watch for her personal side project, a science-fiction short called Horizon, to come to a festival near you.

http://www.pixartouchbook.com/blog/2011/5/15/pixar-story-rules-one-version.html

Not gonna let em catch the midnight rider...

I was in a hurry but the connection we made was undeniable.

At first you were caught off guard, I think a little scared. I sensed your breathing. Rapid. Heart rate elevated. Your body frozen in that moment.

The moment I said I was robbing the place.

I didn't have time to get your number as the clerk was fumbling with the register and needed some incentive to concentrate. I looked at you twice. Standing in line with your Coke zero. Cherry. No wedding band.
Car at pump 4. No passenger. A heart shaped pendant around your neck. Maybe a married lover's gift... I was going to snag it but I could hear the sirens and well, I try to avoid conversation with the popo.

That was me in the mask. Obviously I couldn't pull it down and kiss you but I sure wanted too. I could see how badly you wanted me.

So needless to say, I'm flush with cash today and would love to take you out.

My apologies for knocking the slim Jim rack over. I can be a such a drama queen sometimes.

Hit me up,

N. 

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Jamie Dimon, Dark Sith Lord of the death star J.P. Morgan Chase


Master of the Universe Jamie Dimon went before Congress yesterday, tugging his well-compensated forelock and explaining how terribly, terribly sorry he was to have had J.P. Morgan Chase, the death star for which he is currently employed, soak the system for $2 billion in losses through the kind of exotic trading that every Master of the Universe pinky-swore would never, ever, happen again after similar shenanigans nearly ate the world. First, he read out the conditions of his nolo plea for being pretty much the kind of same hubristic, reckless high-roller that all of them are, despite the fact that I have to listen to the kept press of the financial-services industry — hello, CNBC! — repeatedly tell me what a good guy he is. Gaze in awe:

What Went Wrong:

We believe now that a series of events led to the difficulties in the synthetic credit portfolio. 

Translation: 
The people we hired and the people who hired them, do not know what they are doing.



Read the whole article here

Queue the 80’s action movie music (I’m going in...)


A marginal guy must save a hot chick from bad guys; when he does, he gets the girl.

I just described 853 movies from the 80’s and 90’s. 
Remember how everyone went ape shit over violence in movies? Swords, guns, explosions, rape, murder, beheadings...oh my. New ratings, new warning labels. Phil Donahue running himself ragged up and down the aisle. 
True, 1 hour of primetime Airwolf for instance contained a higher body count than some (most?) slasher flicks today.
But the people who wetted the bed over how much violence was in these films never watched them. Because if they did, they would have seen the real boogie man. The story or as described in the first sentence, the lack of one.
Violence is like a laugh track for movies that obviously can’t use them. It’s meaningless. “Did you see his head come off?” say the teens as they loudly annoy pizzeria customers discussing the movie. None want to behead a guy, they just want the chic at the end of the movie to want them. Just the like the chic in the movie wanted the guy who did the beheading.
What really drives all these 40 year old men today is the story they were raised on 30 years ago.
Hint: It wasn’t violence.
A generation of adolescent boys learned immediately four things: 
1. marginal guys are the real heroes. That’s right. Sit around watching tv, doing nothing and eventually the story will find you.
2. heroes never die. Shoot em, stab em, fall several stories. They might have a bandage on at the credits but they always have the pussy.
3. bad guys exist as bad guys, not as good guys who went bad, or bad guys with some good in them also.  Darth Vader was unquestionably bad starting in 1977, unimaginable that he was once a sweet young boy with good in his heart.  That story had to wait a whole generation to be told.
4. in order to get (active verb: to obtain, procure, convince) a hot woman to fall passionately in love with you, you  have to do do some extraordinary things: take out thirty terrorists, master kung fu, be in the special forces, etc.

Fast forward 30 years.

No extraordinary things. No terrorists slain. No kung Fu. Just taking out the trash. Chasing off the the neighborhood cat. Cubicle office job monday thru friday...And what women could be attracted to that?
Just add water and you have adolescent 40 year olds. Of course, 40’s the new 30 and bulls the new shit.
“Men today don’t want sex as much, I blame Porn...” Wrong.
The male libido falls not because he's not interested in the woman he's with, but because he's not interested in the movie he's in. Repeat this sentence again. Aloud. 
Uh-oh. Now we come to the crux of the matter.
What drives us men and especially the narcissist is that HE feel like the 80’s action hero in YOUR eyes. He thinks you are lying if you tell him you love him and want him because deep down he knows that he hasn’t really done anything (he thinks) to truly have earned that love. Thanks a lot A-team.
Even if he’s in a Long relationship, he suspects that this women could not love him without the 80’s sitcom music introducing him, so he’s out of sorts. Distant. Not ready to procreate and will prefer masturbation since he can’t stand the gaze of a women he probably shouldn’t have (and who is probably cheating on him with - you guessed it - an updated version of the 80’s action hero).
Plus no one is looking back at him during masturbation, to judge. Not really.
There is some truth to the porn actress looking back at the camera as too actually perform for the male audience not a voyeuristic thrill but a sensation that, oh, thank god, she notices me. 
But that only works if its the “real me” she’s checking out.
Not the guy sitting here alone touching himself of course but the guy I will one day be. Ripped and tan and irresistible, with a terrorist under my boot....A real live girlfriend would 'see' thru all that unless she is a borderline. Seeing yourself, especially as you are ruins sex.
Sad part is (queue the slow piano piece) she may truly love you despite the fact that you act tough and pretend to be in special ops and do the whole strong, quiet type at her sisters wedding. She knows your a dud on the big screen and chooses to just laugh at your antics with her friends. But that only causes you narcissistic injury and if anything causes violence, even in weak, timid men, its injuring the narcissist within.
(insert explosion)

N.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

We had a moment...


We had a moment.
Just as my Honda impacted your grocery cart. It was intense. I mean both the moment and the impact. I can say this with certainty because of the ambulance. 
But make no mistake, in that slow motion period, when tragedy is unfolding, our eyes met. A connection was made, and my heart leapt for you and for my CD collection that was flying from the back seat. 
Would love to see you again, preferably under better circumstances. I couldn’t stick around with the police and all. Suspended license...you know how the cops are these days, geesh.
I love you and the tenacity with which you held onto that cart as it, and by extension you, sailed thru the air. Your purse was like a cape.
My grocery cart wonder women. Except of course, unlike wonder women you appear to have extensive internal injuries. Yea. so.
Hit me up!
N.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die (600 W.Jeff)

"Please state your name..."

"My name is Narcissus Thespiae." and I am unique. My destiny is of cosmic proportions. But until then, I masturbate and watch movies which are release valves for my anxiety about the future not getting here quite fast enough.
Contrary to popular opinion, I don't need to be the best, the most handsome or the strongest. I just have to be THE main character.
Echo seems nearby, always, yet out of reach and Nemesis lurks in the shadows.

"Turn to your left..." It's not that I'm in love with myself. It's that I want love THRU your eyes.

"Turn to your right...". Besides, narcissism is hard work. I'm on set 24/7. And supporting cast never seem to be on par with my skills. But carry the show I must. And I do.

"Please stand on the painted yellow feet..." Yet, with every passing day, I realize I will not fight bad guys, not join the CIA, not be in a band, not throw the winning touchdown.
I will not know kung fu.

"Buzz the chief...incoming from holding to general quarters..." Buzzers sound and doors unlock.

"Do exactly as I say. Put all your clothes in this marked box. Step into the shower. Use the bottle marked lime..." It's as if you thought you were cast in the Matrix movie, only to find out, holy shit, you are in Inception.
I'm in a matrix of someone else's 4th level, deep shitted, bad dream. Worse, there is no waking up.

"Get dressed. Underwear, socks, jump suit and sandals only." Thankfully, alcohol, narcotics and the occasional lay numb the oppressive silence. I remain undiscovered.
Someday my life will kick in though. Someday you will love me.

"Open cell doors....Main....One, Narcissis Thespiae entering block 01, cell 2b." At times I feel on the verge of...a connection, with something greater than myself. But as I ponder what that entails, distractions abound.
I endeavor to try this time and look beyond myself and..."

"Clerk note the time and make sure 1st shift gets a copy. Clerk? Sandra, you in there?" Sandra? Female clerk? Could she be the one? Is that you Trinity? Echo?

Dear Sandra, county jail clerk - night duty. I know you are going to post about me any minute. You were getting a Kit Kat when I first came through booking but you saw me, you really saw...

N. 

You keep on pushing my love (over the Borderline)...


We interrupt this show already in progress for a programming note:
You think narcissism is just vanity but you’d be wrong.
I create an identity, then I try to force everyone else to buy into it.  The borderline personality disorder (BPD) however waits to meet someone, and then constructs a personality suitable to that person. Borderline buys in.
If I am the main character, bending and manipulating whatever I can get my hands on (and I am), borderline is always the actress waiting for her script. If I like football, than she will love football. If she used to be a fan of a team I hate, she adopts my team. She is the Echo.
That is not to say the borderline doesn’t believe my team is now the best. She believes it wholeheartedly because that is what the script says and she’s going to hit that mark. When the last of her friends try to wake her up to the destruction I am causing, she will say, “you don’t know him like I do...”.
Those rare few, who can judge based on behavior can see this. We’ll call them Nemesis. But the borderline is judging the version of me that she has accepted, bought into and wanted to see.
Most girls I meet know that I do not know kung fu, they may like me anyway when I lie and pretend I do. Borderline however believes I know kung fu. 
So the online world (especially) is filled with souls running around looking for the perfect type, our supporting cast, while oblivious to the idea that these ‘characters’ actually have lives, dreams, hopes and fears quite distinct from our own.
The rest are running around looking for someone to complete them. Give them a script they can believe in. Give them the meaning they just know is out there.
It’s not that we are all stupid and can’t grasp this, but it’s what has been and continues to be pumped into our craniums all our lives as normal. I’m not here to tell you Advertising/marketing is the illuminati, hell, you give them most of what they want anyway. But a laser light, scope is pointed at your forehead 24/7. It’s trillion dollar industry for a reason. Your entertaining treason to think otherwise. Besides, the laugh track will laugh for you, so relax. No need to notice, go back to your cubicle life now...consume, consume, consume.
All those characters in sitcoms and movies whose sole existence is to help the main character find themselves, reach new heights; only to what?...disappear? fade into the background? Cease to exist. On TV, friends exist only to listen to main characters every ridiculous thought and fashion quibble. In real life they have shit to do and often they just don’t answer. And we fail to truly connect with them because of it.
These are all missed connections. A life of missed connections...
N.

Friday, June 8, 2012

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbors ass (Paradise Lost)


Sure, in retrospect it was a bad idea.

You are the hot little neighbor girl, we’ll call you echo. Always popping up wanting to chit chat. Leaving your window shades wide open. Constantly telling me when you are turning 18. Of course, I already know as I have the date marked on my calendar. 
You always want me to join you at Bible study. I never go. Not the main character in that narrative. But seeing as you were the first person to come to my aid after I was taser-ed yesterday, I gave in.
Besides, the last time I went into a six flags over Jesus arena, I got several numbers. I polished off the whiskey, put on some axe deodorant and stumbled into cuties mom’s car for the ride. Don’t ask, you know why.
I caught my reflection in the rear window and smiled to myself. That smile would be short lived.
I knew when the ushers asked me to leave the sanctuary after I got caught making some withdrawals from the offering basket going around that this was not going to end well. Who knew the four horsemen were mounted and up to speed. Not this guy. Lo, I beheld Satan fall from heaven, And he landed in my ass. 
As I got up to leave, the people at the front thought I was answering some call to come forward and ‘testify’. Insert applause, encouragement to come down and the baffled look of the ushers and there I was. Front and center. I was totally ready to excuse myself and bolt, that is until I saw it.
Falling from the rafters like a new Jerusalem, (insert Inception soundtrack here).
The giant mega screen. The main one, and there I was plastered all over it. With hot neighbor girl next to me joyfully crying. I remember hoping my erection didn’t show. Or maybe I did...
But I had no time to check. The microphone was in my hand...
...
The police report will say that I was indeed assaulted by the peaceful kingdom -Lutheran redeemer- resurrection - pilgrim life saints, Missouri synod, of Louisville but only after I had sex with a minor inside the baptismal font. But that ain’t the half of it. The public nudity charge was thrown on because when the curtain rolled up, there I was - on stage - in the font - ‘biblically” getting to know said neighbor. 
What it doesn’t say is that the frisky choir director, which turned out to be the pastors wife and echo’s mom was also naked. Only earlier, right after they wrestled the microphone from my hand but before the fire started in the rear vestibule. It doesn’t say that because they don’t know that.
Hence my post here. Was wondering if the mom might have a recording of me on stage. Would like to have that pending my completion of community service and the EPO says I can't have direct contact. Hit me up...
Peace in Christ,
N.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

N. answers mail. (sit up straight)



  So besides lots of ‘love it’ and ‘keep em coming’ type of responses, many of the comments I receive can be consolidated into mainly two.
  1. Are these stories you tell true?
  2. I am a narcissist just like you and want to stop acting this way, help!
   Let me use a story to address the above. You won’t think I’ve answered either one when I’m done yet I will have answered both. That’s mostly due to the fact that you need a laugh track and voice over to assist you in thinking. Thank you television sets. No one can be told what the Matrix is, they have to see it for themselves. 
One such movie that points us in the right direction is Enigma from 1983.
Didn’t see it or don’t remember it? Who cares.
This is about me, remember? But the plot of enigma and the answer you seek, is all about sacrifice. 
Not the definition of sacrifice YOU think of when you hear the word sacrifice.
Which is probably taking something you have (say: money, pride, time) and giving it up or giving it away. This will not do.
Because, you still get to play the lead, the saving role. The admired one who chooses to lack, but not really. Oh look at me, ‘sacrificing’. ‘Sacrificing for my kids/spouse/nation/god’...blah, blah, blah but what you are really doing is getting the affection you crave. You have found a way to remain the center of attention due to your so called sacrifice. That such surrender is even effectual is also doubtful. What you have then is just a different kind of transaction, not sacrifice.
So instead try this...try sacrificing something you do not have so that you have even LESS so that some one else gains something they only thought they had but didn’t. 
Clear as mud? Need an example?
Like a son who steals a fake piece of art from his mother. Why? Because the mother doesn’t know the art is fake, she has thought it real and extremely valuable her whole life and furthermore an Uncle and co-owner of the art wants it sold and so its fraudulent nature is soon to be exposed to all. So to hide this fact and save face for his Mother, the son steals it and flees. 
No parades and memorial days for this sacrifice. 
He took what he didn’t have (and still doesn’t/its a fraud) at great loss (he is now labeled a thief) to gain FOR ANOTHER what they never had. Think. about. the. other. 
Batman also tries this at the end of The Dark knight. He 'took' the blame and gave Gotham a lie, which gave them something they thought they had (hope) but didn't. Until now.
In Enigma (1983), Martin Sheen’s character is recruited by the CIA to steal a code breaking tool in cold war Germany. Except the CIA already has the code breaker.  The problem is, that the KGB suspect this and have suspended the use of the code. So...the CIA wants to send in Martin Sheen in order that the KGB will now THINK the CIA does not actually have it since, duh, Sheen is after it. A mission the CIA wants Sheen to fail at so that the KGB will relax and use the code once again.
Sheen’s very public mission failure is the sacrifice. The son’s theft is the sacrifice. Batman’s lie and evolution into the dark knight is the sacrifice. All hunted without mercy, rather than paraded as people to revere and mimic. But oh well.
You can’t battle narcissism by asking how to be less narcissistic. That is in itself a selfish question. It is the wrong question. The Matrix still has you. Instead, start describing yourself without using the word ‘am’. Then start doing for the other. 
N.

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