Monthly Archives: January 2014

Ocular Affection

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God knows what that girl was saying.

I only saw a pretty face spewing conceit.

 

I do remember the dress though,

covering just enough skin to incite my imagination.

A deep scarlet that could’ve only been sexier

had it been lying at her feet.

 

I remember the thin strap, hanging reluctant on her shoulder

edging its way down her arm, like it felt my presence,

and understood,

begging to be discarded as intensely as I wanted to abide.

 

I felt pity, even contempt for my competition.

The poor bastards,

listening to her stories,

looking in her eyes.

The dress had more to say,

if you knew how to listen.

Like the hem: the front line, overwhelmed by enemy fire,

starting just above the knee

and retreating further and further,

responding to her every shift in weight,

revealing two tan, toned legs a fraction of an inch at a time.

 

Not wanting to stare, I started north,

rolling over her hips,

dipping down and peaking back at her breast.

My fingers latched tight to my beer,

aching in envy of my eyes.

Desire spread to my lips

as I roved over cream smooth skin,

brushing her cheek, tracing the curve of her mouth

and the dimples formed by a shy smile.

 

When I arrived at her eyes,

I froze

surprised

realizing that smile was for me.

Andy Cuts Himself (and it’s all your fault)

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It’s always irritating to me when certain individuals (you know who you are) jump into in-depth discussions about the “big questions” in life (i.e., who are we, why are we here, etc.). It’s not because the questions don’t interest me, because they do. I think it would be rare to have the capability for critical thought and not consider what this is all for. The discussions bother me because people scarcely consider options beyond the scope of their general system of beliefs.  If we both agree, for the sake of civility, that God does exist and has a general plan for creation, very few individuals will consider the prospect that humanity is not a central part of that plan. The God premise always seems to come with the built in assumption that people are his greatest creation. I think it more likely that we’re just a rough draft of a more civilized race he was working on, or an experiment in free will that got out of control.

Maybe Satan’s rebellion and subsequent fall made God think that maybe, just maybe, he was too controlling of his creations and should breath life into a sentient being with the freedom to choose: something with the option to resent, and rebel, and serve only themselves. If he just instilled in them the capacity for love, then maybe, just maybe, they would choose to be caring and selfless and good, and would in turn create something even more beautiful. Then we popped into existence and fucked it all up. I used to think that the simple fact of our existence meant that we had an ultimate purpose, because why else would he allow us to so ruthlessly dominate this planet without penalty? Now I’m not so sure. Now, I think that he permits our continued existence because he can see how the events unfold and has stepped aside to let us barrel headlong into our own destruction, saving him the trouble. Alternatively, there’s the idea that mankind is just a pawn, inventing and engineering things we don’t understand so a more deserving species can take the reins when we’re gone.  Maybe we’re just renting this planet until the real tenants get here and evict us, like the Book of Joshua*, but with aliens.

Even with the knowledge that there are billions of galaxies and trillions of stars with innumerable planets orbiting them, human arrogance still has us convinced that we somehow play an important role in the whole scheme of time and space; and further, that the mere fact or our existence qualifies us for an eternity of happiness. Just keep your head down, your mouth shut, and don’t do irreparable damage to another human being, and heaven awaits. HA! Maybe God keeps this planet around for entertainment, so he has a species he can vent his aggression on without feeling guilty, like a giant stress ball hanging in space. Any time he’s irritated, he sends a comet whizzing past just to see us scramble, or whips up a hurricane just because he feels like breaking something. In his defense (or my defense), tragedy really is the only thing that makes us shut the fuck up and exercise some human decency. At least when the disasters are natural, there’s no country or group of people we can use as an outlet for our grief and anger, because if we can blame someone, we will, regardless of how weak the connection:

“Let’s go kill those people!”

“Why?”

“Because they look vaguely similar to the physical manifestation of my hatred and fear!”

We are, as a whole, the worst thing that has ever happened to this planet, and while it will be a bummer, I won’t be surprised in the slightest when we finally get wiped out.

 

* For those readers who aren’t familiar, the Book of Joshua is when God finally makes good on bringing the Israelites to the promised land by helping them conquer the people that are already there.

 

 

Andy’s Long Night

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As some of you may know, and others are about to find out, I fell off a cliff when I was 17, shattering my left thigh, and had to get life-flighted to Cleveland Metro Hospital. However, that incident merely set the stage for easily one of the worst night’s of my entire life: 

Twas Andy’s last night in the hospital, after a week of sensational things. From the pain of a fresh mended leg, to the mindless joy  only morphine can bring.

Andy was sure he was ready to leave, but his doctors just weren’t. His ills were easily exploited. His parents had lots of insurance.

Andy’s friend Dan, who was present for the leg breaking debacle, came to see him and kindly smuggled him a delicious burrito. But this was no ordinary burrito. This was a four-pound-ring-of-fire-blood-in-your-stool-Chipotle burrito:  a prospect for which Andy, after six days of hospital food, was as excited as he was scared. 

Andy appreciated his friend’s gesture and did not want to be rude. So as Dan looked on with expectant eyes, Andy ate the whole thing, despite his stomach’s dwindling size.

Twas not til much later, as Andy awoke to feel his thigh greatly swollen, that the grumblings of his insides began, arising mainly from his colon.

“Oh dear,” Andy thought as he pulled it together. “This may be a storm that I’m unable to weather.”

“I may pass out in my struggle to stand, but if my body stays idle, I’ll surely crap my pants.”  So with haste Andy stood, bearing his pain with a frown, and paint that porcelain bowl he did, a reddish greenish, golden brown.

With his troubles at bay, Andy trudged back to bed like a slug, where he collapsed and pressed the call button, for he wanted more drugs. The morphine drip came and he slept, if only for a short spell. This time his nausea applied a pressure the drugs could not quell.

Again he fought the urge, hoping sleep could persevere; but his flatulence betrayed him, his cornhole would not adhere. Andy rushed to the bed’s edge, dragging his useless leg o’er the side. But with each sudden move came a shift: these squirts would not be denied.

He was tired and he was hurting, his roommates presence ceased to matter. Andy could not walk AND clench his cheeks, so with each labored step came a splatter. Though the splatters were small, he wore naught but a gown. With no undies to stay them, the splatters shot outward, and down.

He battled the second wave, and the third, and the fourth, bemused how no one could notice such a shit covered floor. Then finally he slept, and awoke in such a great mood. For his stomach had settled, and the floor looked brand new.

Then, Andy’s mother walked in as the morphine drip hit his blood. “How are you feeling?” she asked, like a concerned mother should. “I heard about your accident. Are you alright? The doctors are concerned. I told them you’d stay one more night.”

Andy wanted to protest, to present an argument, to cry. But he gave only a smile. He didn’t care. He was high.