titles or no titl... who really cares!!!

She asked me to write a blog about something we had talked about, it didn't seem interesting at all but even the most despicably boring story hits right with a timeless introduction. Here are 7, go ahead pick the best.

1. As she begged, begged and continued to grovel and appeal to any whim within my creative core, it was too late. I had already become introspective.
2. She sat on her edge of the couch while I occupied the far cushion with the “safe distance” one cushion rule applying. She made the repeated request and I was lost in my own thought.
3. I retraced our sporadic steps back through our incredibly unfocused conversation. She (myarson), summoned and requested from the farthest known reaches.
4. Under the lume, she may have been. But I could never have been found.
5. With class she continued to soupcone. With spunk she called for satisfaction. Sassy sentences structured her demands. Postulating with the upmost pluck she addressed me. I was lost in reverie.
6. Unstoppable force meets immoveable object. Girl of southern tenacity but no angle meets boy of proven stubbornness and no reason.
7. She said what this boy had never heard, but even sugar wears off with time.

Heavy Blankets keep me safe

How many times do you wake up in the morning and instantly as the blur ebbs away from your eyes, a rhythm comes rushing into your brain? This my version of radio wake-up calls. It is not what I listened to the night before, it is not that simple. I kid you not my brain knows exactly what sonic caffeine I need injected into my veins the moment my matted hair raises off the pillow. Again it is not what I listened to the night before, it’s what happened to me the day before. What did I talk to God about in my prayers, what did I stare at my ceiling thinking about. My mind knows and when I wake up that next morning my brain has looked through the playlist in “Mitchtunes” and has picked the jam I need. That I need, possibly. Sometimes the song is a soundtrack to something I am trying to forget and get behind me. Sometimes it’s the background music to a temptation. Sometimes though it’s what “eye of the tiger” was for Rocky. Sometimes I am jamming that sound round and around three or four times post-shower, telling me it is going to be just fine. I’m gonna kill it, and that song is no longer a 4min sound bit but a friend. A friend that listened to me and was that running start needed to get over the terrible hill.

Incomplete set of examples:

- P.O.S. : I am angry at a circumstance/situation

- K.O.L : Horny or heart-ache

- Hospital Beds: Got knocked hard but no hope lost.

- Rocks Tonic Juice: pointless girl trouble, it’s negligible. Happy to hate.

- Sowing Season: it’s raining

THE HOT SEAT

The hot seat.
Not referring to the phrase used when “Who wants to be a Millionaire” was what everyone got together to watch at family friends house’s.

The hot Seat.
When one is in the computer lab and within viewing distance is someone very attractive and you look and them and they look at you. They finish before you and leave, to be replaced by someone of equal or increased attractiveness. With whom you meet eyes.

Cute and Creepy

Pretty girly

Pretty girly from far away

Pretty girly so much between us

No less than fifty feet of cold air and one window pane

Talking on the phone can’t hear your voice I’ll go insane

Pretty girly I bet you are really nice

Pretty girly could be single

Pretty girly

Pretty girly with long hair

Pretty girly could laugh at my jokes

We could watch seasons of your favorite show together at night

From our first date then honey moon to wake we wouldn’t fight

Pretty girly my steps close the space

Pretty girly our eyes met

Pretty girly

YOUR MOVE SUCKA

You head out to the date, you pick her up and she is looking very very fine, and obviously she knows this is an important date not that she needed to wear one specific clothing article but she meant to look sexy and she is succeeding. Things are going well, when you want to drive a joke home you stare her down with a big laughing smile while you put your right hand noticeably on her hip. She playfully hits you when you said something edgy. You guys are walking out to your car (which you have cleaned out for the date) but you lead walk with her to her passenger side. Through some positioning you are now holding her close around the hips; she knows what you are going to do. You know what you want to do, so like a seasoned pro, you do it. The Mac’in starts, you move onto the reclined passenger seat. But as you begin to nuzzle her neck you see something just outside public view, something only a man in your current position could see, a hickey. Now most men would recoil in disgust and horror but you are a Mac Pro, you don’t back down to no hickey.
You move over to her other side just a bit below the collar bone, you open your mouth a bit wider than normal and get sucking. You are going to make a bigger hickey than who ever left the last one. Once you’re done she gives you a sultry look saying I enjoyed that and you drop her off gentleman like at her door and go home. Three days later you find yourself with her on her couch watching some movie, you being the big spoon can see most parts of this sweet thang. Then in a message as clear as the color contrast between her silky smooth skin and the blue of a bruise, a hickey sits just inside her hip bone. Its huge!!! You don’t waste much time flipping this girl around and start what definitely was going to happen once the credits rolled. You give her a flower hickey, five hickeys grouped together to make one freaking huge one. Next time you see her, she’s got a hickey line around her left thigh. You retaliate with a tic-tac-toe game hickey on her right shoulder blade. Saturday night shows that your suck happy opponent can shade to make a 3D illusion orb with varying intensity hickey’s. This girl goes to church the next day with a van-gogh perspective hickey on her left ribs underneath her dress. She is no longer a girl but a chess piece between two grand masters.
You are giving the girl so many hickey’s, sucking her face and toes and everything between that your lips start chapping big time, and then they peel and start to bleed. You are in the computer lab one day when you look at the guy across the table. He looks up and stares and exactly what you zero in on, his chapped, peeling, bleeding lips…

SENDING OUT A S.o.S

The karma of ships. I know when I have hurt someone as we sailed on our own ship. I tell myself, it was just part of the game, my hand was forced, I had to abandon our ship sorry but I had too. It will hurt being alone tossed on the seas but, this failure is just one step closer to your success. Cheer up it will be ok without me onboard. But as the notches of my jumped ships pile up, I become aware that I may escape the storms but I may not escape the fate. So with a grin on my face and clenched fists at the end of my wrists, I say, well yeah she jumped your ship but that’s just one more S.O.S that you have paid for on this voyage. Will my karma of ships mean that for every capsize, and abandonment I cause, I must also endure? I don’t really care! My sails are full against the wind and I am on a F#*cking boat. Thus i continue my voyage.

Die young and save yourself!!!

You know what I hate and I hate and I hate even more? A meet up that leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It did not go the way you planned it, the way you envisioned it, the way you wanted it. Not so much like in 500 days of summer where he was totally let down, but where you are totally left thinking and freaking. Like, “wait what did that all really mean, did he/she want me there? Why did he/she act like that?” You leave the person’s house thinking you messed up, you just knocked a chip off the statue of David and now you are in some bad area. You are in the danger zone, and what will make you hate it even more is that it will not be less than 24 hours before you are allowed to know if you are freaking over nothing or not. That bad taste, that fear that you actually did mess up Michelangelo’s masterpiece will stay there. Every time you think of that person, the thoughts of fun and attraction that originally drove you to meet up with person will not be the first ones to pop, the immediate angst will surface. You want to fix it, take charge, but you can’t because you have to wait it out. Be Patient. Isn’t that the worst part of having a bad taste in your mouth, there is never anything close by to wash it away?

GIVE IT UP GIVE IT UP, DOWN

Things I can say to you but I don’t. This is not because I am not a talker. Far from it baby. People wonder how I am so skinny; I personally got a call from an ol’ acquaintance by the name of jen Aniston. She’s kinda built her popularity empire on a few indisputable facts. Her hair, how she got screwed by the hated A. Jolie and her wiles, and how incredibly she has the same body as she did back when we didn’t know that friends would go nine seasons. Anyways getting off topic she called me cause she wanted to know how to keep that body so people can keep looking at her exclaiming she got screwed by bradgelina ultimately ending with she still has great hair though. I told her get talking. That’s it that’s all there is nothing needed more than a tongue that whips itself into a vernacular frenzy. Granted she and anyone down with taking my advice may not be found the most enjoyable person to be around cause I don’t like a motor mouth girl but hey if it keeps you fit (British usage of the word) than guaranteed no one will care cause you got the necessary curves and everyone is shallow enough to go for that. That advice is complete crap and I don’t even believe in it but it proves my point that I like to talk. But I don’t talk about everything. I specifically choose not to talk about anything that will even remotely seem like I am bragging. Oh my goooooooodness I am scared of death of someone thinking that I am bragging. I’d rather be held down and made to watch someone lower a pissed off hornet held lightly with tweezers to my body to have it sting and sting me than get caught bragging. I choose not to talk about things I have done, where I have been, what I am doing and what I like. Unless it’s a completely heinous statement or I make a disclaimer joke at myself for almost crossing over that bragging/conversational line. I have things to brag about, I am a pretty interesting guy I can admit deep inside, but people don’t need me to tell them why. If my qualities aren’t obvious or findable I don’t have them I guess and so I don’t need to tell people what they are. Go ahead try to make me brag, you wont.

When it is like this

Reflection means more when it is like this.

Every hour past means more when it is like this.

The glances connected and snapped mean more when it is like this.

Each inch of safe distance invaded means more when it is like this.

The words heading my way and ignored mean more when it is like this.

I know your thinking means more when it is like this.

Music means more when it is like this.

Words that are held back mean more when it is like this.

Words that slipped out mean more when it is like this.

Finger tap texting means more when it is like this

Windows down and hot nights mean more when it is like this.

Lines written from inside out mean more when it is like this.

Soap and warm water means more when it is like this.

My lighter, my shiner and your bridge mean more when it is like this.

iNSERT bEAUTIFULLY pOETIC nOSTALGIC nAME hERE

You know I really never ever watch the office. When I do it is usually only due to it being a being a social get together that I attend and watch. I ended up in my ample free time today watching an episode of the office all alone in our family room. I laughed a few times but it was actually something else very very odd and unexpected that happened at the end that caused me to write this post. I was emotionally moved by the office.
It was the part where Pam comes back from NYC unexpectedly. Jim was thinking that she had to stay up there for another 3 months or something and bam he is walking out to his car all moopy like and he looks up to see her waiting for him. It was expected, it didn’t throw me or anyone else for a curve. In total simplicity I was quite taken back by how well the Pam and Jim work together. I know that sounds dumb and doesn’t warrant a whole blog but what just got me was they are this fantastic though completely fictional example of a couple working through thick and thin together. That’s all I have to say about it really, nothing is more romantic and nothing makes me want “love” more than knowing my girl is right by my side with a snide light hearted remark for the hard/soft times.
That’s what I saw and that is what I want, my girl by my side. This isn’t like a desperate plea either for this to happen soon. I know by the many dates of which I have put myself through that someone that connects with you like that doesn’t come around often. Because you are original and different means that someone that clicks with you must also be original and different. I am willing to wait and push through it and I guess maybe one of the best parts of this other person is that they didn’t hurt you, bore you, make you have a panic attack daily like the others did in the past. My girl will help way more than she hurts.

Joe Joes and Orgasms

There is a beautiful site just across the lane in the computer lab. A young gal in a horrendous pink and green sweater, sporting a robin egg blue cardigan. She is eating Joe Joes which in the lab is a no no. On her screen is a large diagram of a female vagina with the bold words “Orgasm” printed on the top.
The whole miniscule scene is a fantastic moment. For even I know with all my game and show that I would still feel pretty “funky” with a big ol’display of the orgasmic goings-on of the female body on my screen in the bustling pre-lunch hours in the TSC computer lab. This girl doesn’t even stop there no this girl is quickly becoming my C-lab hero. SHES EATING JOE JOES WITH HONEY MUSTARD!!!! (Pause for effect) IN THE COMPUTER LAB!! I have a guilt trip every time (ohhhhhh jeez she’s now on real live photos of the ovulation process) the prowling computer lab techie comes near my sector and I am watching hulu. This girl is doing it all and you know what she just don’t care. I catch the girl next to her look over at her screen with a horrified look. Not that she should have any reason too but alas we all have our limits and boundaries, apparently out of sight out of mind and in her body her motto. I do believe the moment has passed since the slide on her monitor is a picture of Humphrey Bogart being turned down by Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca promoting abstinence. Such is my luck that I was able to see such an awesome display of total isolation from social norms. She is such a rebel!!! Now I will check my facebook listen to cold war kids and watch that gorgeous red head across the lab walk to the desk to get her printed documents. Creepy yeah I know but I am so motivated to not care right now.

The big "Big"

I am sitting here, thinking but not sure what I am thinking. I am sitting here feeling but I am not sure what I am feeling. I have just erased like at least four sentences that were meant to explain what I am experiencing right. I just cannot get those feelings to take a form in sentences and phrases. They can’t because they don’t know why they are there and I don’t know either. My feelings have a purpose just like the ones I am feeling right now, but the ones I am feeling right now do not know their purpose. They have found a way into me somehow and now they are just waiting. Their presence there inside me does not make me feel sad nor does it make me happy. I just feel them. They are not telling me what to do they are just waiting for it to happen. They are not pointing me in a direction they are just waiting for me to get going there.
So I sit here and think where did they come from, maybe if I find where they have been and how they got inside me, then I can figure out where they are going and how they want me to work them out. So I think of the things that have happened today and I present them to my feelings and say, is this what brought you in? Is this why you came inside of me? For every memory of the recent events of today, my feelings say no that’s not what let us in, we didn’t come inside you because of that. So I just don’t know what to do with them, I have tried to find out where they came from but they don’t know either. Both they and I do not have any idea what we are going to do with each other. But then I say to the feelings or to me because I am not quite sure who is in charge at this point maybe you are here so I can feel. In an honest moment I can say that I do not feel like I do now, often. To have this big “Big” right inside of me is yet again inexplicable but it is also not ordinary. My feelings scoff at the notion that their presence is there to give me a break from the ordinary, they did not fill me up with whatever they are for such a menial task. My feelings are great and powerful their reasons must also be as such. So I have resigned myself to the belief that these feelings have come to the very core of me, so they could be felt. Where they took me was where I was already. What they helped me do was what I was already doing as I felt them. I say to my feelings thank you for coming and letting me feel what you feel like inside of me. In short thank you for making me feel, and I would like it if you came back again sometime.

Straight-leg 501 fire

It is 12:35 and you are out walking the many intersecting sidewalks of your campus. Making your way at your own pace and canter to your next class, your car, your humble abode, your point B. You just may be even walking with a friend or with Beyonce crooning in your ear but the point is that you are walking. About 20 yards up the sidewalk that obviously is filled with other transitional students you see a young man round the corner. He is sporting a pair of 501 jeans and a teal green jacket that looks like it keeps him sufficiently warm. He has got his backpack on, and it’s strapped down tight around his waist and chest but it doesn’t keep it from bouncing, it’s bouncing because he is running. Yes, he is rounding the corner at full gallop, not a brisk walk, or even a speed walk. He is lifting his legs and leaning into the wind while pumping those arms. The sound he is making from all the fabric he is rubbing together and the backpack thumping is not doing anything to help him not attract attention. The whole sidewalk population has noticed his awkward dash and is either gawking or veering off to the side to give this man a straight shot. Why shouldn’t we stare? While the whole surrounding population found a way to adjust their schedule to allow comfortable traveling time, our sprinter decides to see he can start a friction fire in his jeans. It’s a slight offense against the jovial code of student transitional activities. Punishable by the countless faces that will stare at this Olympian hopeful with expressions of misunderstanding and entertainment at his expense. In the end I learnt a great lesson from this sad fast man. If I am late for something I will find a deserted and probably longer forest path of which I can make haste without invited the disdain that I am sure everyone is so willing to stare out, as I was.

Caught me catching you

You walk past someone in the computer lab and their view screen is facing you but you can’t see their face. You look at their screen as you pass by and to your unexpectant surprise this person is looking at your facebook page. You stutter in your step and look down at the shoulders, neck and coiffure of the person so shamefully caught facebook stalking. Your surprise turning into curiosity and a bit of alarm as you notice that you do not know this person. Their shoulders draped in a winter jacket do not bring any acquaintances to mind. The style of their hair brings no friends or enemies alike to your memory. You can’t just stay standing behind them for fear of them catching you catching them, so you find a seat. But this seat offers no vantage point, no use to unmask your profile stalker. All you can see is their hand moving the mouse, click click click there goes your spring vacation album. Click click click now the stalker has full knowledge of your music tastes and your poignant motivational quotes. Click click click the unrelenting digger digs out your hometown city and can easily see your current where abouts. Click click click this person knows if you are looking for love, angry at it, satisfied by it, or desperate for it. Click click click this person will tell your children of all the photos of you doing things you wouldn’t want them to do. Click click click this person now knows more about you right now through your status post then your own mother. You sit there, you can’t do anything its unethical you can’t just run up to his screen and throw it off the table, you want to but you say I put that up there for people to see, it is not his fault its mine. But you want to fight back but how and can you now? You stand up and you go walking determinedly towards this unstoppable vile sneek, but possibly with the hint of a guilty 6th sense the person clicks the home page, evidence gone. You are no longer able to call this person on the gross and baseless activity you have witnessed on their behalf. You sit back down and think to yourself as the person logs off and walks away, am I safe now? Is the unidentifiable raping of my viral personality over? Can I go back to normal now? Was this the first time? Was this the last time....?

A POEM

Curse thy name thou art the spawn of pure evil.

A great and terrible contraption

Procurer of smut, anarchy and pure dribble

Thou art not benign

Leaving taste of cyanide

To be written in despicable lore

In Babylon thou would be a whore

From shores east to west

In guise a hideous portrayal

Thou art baseless relative incest

Burn thy records scratch thy mark

Between ocean beasts and thee

I will sleep with the shark

In lies thou elate

In truth thou defame

The sewer thy cradle

Thy taste, the same

In lack of all that is holy

Have thou a name?

Thou art the “iclicker”