The Journalist's Blues

She used to write for a few local newspapers and magazines
doing articles here and there.
But that was a long time ago.
The girl hasn't written anything in months
maybe even close to a year now.
She used to have this way about her
that whole superiority thing
so sure of herself
really going places
and no one could stop her.
Now I don't know what she's doing
and neither does she.
The last time we hung out
I met her at one of those new
hip wine bars.
We drank an entire bottle of something good
talked for hours
the gal just laying it all out there for me
telling about
the men she takes home
the coke habit
that's quickly turning into more than a habit.
Downing a full glass of wine
in one easy gulp
before she can tell me
how happy she is for me
and my new found 'success'.
"Getting published is a big deal, Danny. You should be very proud."
She drove back to my trailer
her left hand on the steering wheel
her right hand in my crotch
rubbing me, telling me she wants me.
Then we're on the floor and she's kissing me
with her big mouth
grinding her hips
but not even that well.
Her denim pussy
completely missing my hard denim dick.
Then came the fake moaning noises
"Oh Danny. Oh. I'm gonna cum. I'm cumming."
I just stared up at her with a raised eyebrow
and a befuddled look
this was nowhere near believable. 

I was a theater kid in high school 

I knew a bad performance when I saw it.

Our crotches weren't even really touching
I knew she was full of shit
and this was all just an act.
So she faked her little orgasm
put her little titties back into her shirt
stood up and said,
"And guess what? That was....completely....one hundred percent....fake. I'm good, huh?"
I said, nothing.
Almost felt embarrassed for her.
More than anything I was pissed.
Like a wolverine or a honey badger denied a kill.
She went into the bathroom
as I pulled myself to my feet
went onto the porch and lit up a smoke.
I swore to myself
that this was the last time
I ever gave her any hours from my precious nights.
Cause all the guys
everybody knows that's what she does
big talk and no delivery.
That was months ago.
Last night
she showed up at a bar I was at.
I asked how she'd been.
"Just working. I'm a server now. That's about it. Working and partying. You know."
"Yeah, I know."
"What about you?"
"Working, hanging with my little boy, and writing. That's about it. Finished that novel I was telling you about, the nursing home one. Yeah, just trying to keep myself occupied. Started writing a western-revenge story, you know, cowboy, gunslinger shit."
She stared off
straight ahead
blank as a sheet of unused paper and said,
"You're really lucky. I wish it was as easy for me, as it is for you. How do you do it?"
"I don't know. I don't think about it, I just do it."
I said, shrugging and sipping my water
while she ordered shots
with that fucking look on her face
the one she didn't used to have.
Later that night,
she told me that I was going home with her.
"I just moved downtown, you'll love it."
I just laughed.
When she left
I didn't even see her leave
she was just gone.
I don't understand her
a chick like that.
She's college educated
learned how to write at the academic level
they taught her how to do it
but she just can't.
Doesn't have it in her.
The girl wants to be that so bad
but it's just not her.
You can only force something so long
before it finally breaks off
and you're left standing there
with something broken in your hand.
Just put it down
and move the fuck on.

Three Months Descending Like a Spider

Well
another one bites the dust.
My true love
my dream woman
my dearest
she left a week ago
and it was the damnedest thing.
Ten minutes after she took off
I started hanging pictures
rearranging the furniture
doing the dishes that had been sitting for days.
It's always the same
a woman leaves
and I've got no other choice
but to get my shit together.
And she left at just the right time too.
My first book has been registered with the U.S. Library of Congress
so that gives me three months
three months until
my little ship sails into the sea
like all those writers that came before me.
But before I ever wrote
a poem or a short story
I sat down at the typewriter
and punched out a complete novel.
A girlfriend turned me onto
ole' Bukowski
and his first novel, 'Post Office'.
That book lit a spark in my head
that first spark
that idea
that I had my own story to tell.
All those wonderfully, beautiful, hideous, moments
from that summer of working in that crypt called a nursing home
and playing out in the wildest band in town.
The novel is complete
done
written
on typed pages from the typewriter
and chicken scratched, hand-written pages in a notebook.
The woman is gone
but I'm still here
with three months to get that novel typed up
on this computer
and into the hands of a publisher.
I ain't fucking around here.
The words are there
the story has been written
and now
now it's time to hit these keys
and show everybody
what my insides look like.

But then again,

I'll probably just do drugs

smoke cigarettes 

and write shit like this

instead.

Miss Darling's Two Weeks Notice

Everyone warned me.
"Exes are exes for a reason. I'd watch your ass, if I were you."
But I paid them no never mind
she was so convincing.
The gal said all the right things
told me exactly what I wanted to hear.
That in our eleven months apart
she realized just how much I mean to her
and if I gave her another chance
she's never do anything to hurt me again.
You see, before
last time
I caught her going behind my back
having secret conversations with another man
something she swore, she would never do.
But I'm a nice guy
I believed her this time
said, we'd get a place of our own
where she could paint
and I could type my stories.
It'd be better this time.
We'd do it right.
Because she knew what it was like to not have me
and never wanted to go through that again.
Within three months of her being back
it all unraveled.
So quick and so fast
just like last time.
First she got onto my Facebook
deleted a bunch of girls from my friends list
went through my journal
got into my phone
deleted pictures of girls I dated after we broke up.
So I said,
"Okay. If that's how it's gonna be, then delete all the pictures of your exes."
"Alright, I will."
The next day she came up to me,
"See..." holding up her phone showing me that they were gone.
"....they're gone." She said, with a smile. Then she kissed me.
"Are you sure you got rid of them? You didn't just e-mail them to yourself and then delete them?"
"Geez. What kind of person do you think I am. I know this is my last chance. I wouldn't do that."
"Okay."
"I love you baby." She tried to kiss me again, this time I put my hand up.
"Wait....so then open your e-mail. Just open it and let me see that you didn't save em'?"
Deer in the headlights look
her words began to stutter.
"Well....I---"
And sure as shit they were there. Just like I thought.
It just scared the fuck out of me
how easily, how naturally, and convincingly she could lie to me.
I told her that if she were any other chick, she'd be packing her bags
but she was my dream woman
the only one I ever really wanted.
So I promised to forgive her and try to move forward.
That became an impossible promise to keep.
When every week
new lies came out of the dark and into the light.
My started to turn from black to red
love to hate.
Every time she opened her mouth
everything that she said
a little voice in the back of mind cried,
BULLSHIT!
But it's put me in a helluva spot here.
We just bought a trailer together.
Barely been living here a week.
No heat, no running water, no carpet.
It's been so fucking cold here
we've been miserable.
Wrapping up in an electric blanket
a floor heater not doing shit.
We talked about it and we thought, we'd give it one last shotthat she'd go see a shrink and we'd work on it.
But the other night it just hit me
the truth, that is
like a smack in the face.
It stung so bad
I didn't want to believe it
but I knew, I couldn't deny it.
I was sitting here in the trailer
smoking
writing
listening to some music.
When I heard her car pull up.
And I thought, 'Shit, she's home.'
Right then, I knew.
We were done.
The gal is like two different people
one treats me better than any woman ever has
and the other took a dump in my heart.
I've never loved and hated someone before
so that's making this a real bitch to deal with.
But I'll be fine. I know I will.
I'm just so pissed off at her
for ruining everything
for pissing it all away.
We could've done so much together
made such a good life
had great times
grown old together
all that shit
and now it's all over.
She asked me if she could at least put in her two weeks notice at work
before moving her shit
back to her parents house in Tucson.
I said, that was fine.
And now we've got two weeks to
sit on this couch together
freezing our asses off
watching Ru Paul's Drag Race
pretending everything is okay
even though we know this is the end.
But you know,
because she did put in her two weeks notice
I guess, I'll give her a good reference
if anyone calls about her.

End of a Dry Spell

I woke up with her mouth on my dick
bobbing up and down
my balls felt like concrete.
We had done it three times
just a few hours earlier.
After awhile she stopped
as the dawn light filled the room
a bright blue glow in the window above the bed.
I got up
jerked off over her stomach
while she writhed and squirmed beneath me
biting her lip.
When I got out of the shower, she said,
"My ride should be here by noon."
I walked the 200 feet to trailer number seven
went in and sat at my desk.
Today it was a 130 minute clip
of a contestant on one of those singing, pop star, competition shows
where the judges sit at a big desk and tear the bad ones to pieces.
They were at a big mansion
and the interviewer behind the camera asked the young black singer,,
"Now how does this compare to where you live?"
I paused the video at the moment the question was asked.
The look on that guy's face
in his involuntary
natural reaction
said it all.
A face like, 'What the fuck do you think?'
He even said it,
"That's like comparing a thrift store to Macy's. I could fit twenty of my houses in just this one."
Then came a short pause and
"...but that's what's given me the motivation to win this competition. I'm in Beverly Hills, you know? This just shows me.... I could have this too."
without missing a beat and he hit em'
with the big smile.
The guy was alright.
Didn't stutter too much or say 'like' and 'you know' every other word.
I could almost type him in real-time.
Before I knew it, it was noon and lunch time.
I walked across the dirt lot, back to my trailer,
and found the girl laying on my couch
watching Louie C.K.'s show, 'Louie'.
"Hey there, sexy." She said, throwing her arms around my neck.
She kissed me a few times and then I walked across the room
grabbing my pipe and hitting the bowl of weed, leftover from last night.
Put my hands on the low ceiling of my single-wide trailer.
Leaned forward, blew out smoke and heard those vertebrates crack in that good way.
The dull pain in my back easing up a bit.
She was still sitting on the couch smiling up at me
and all I could think about
was the wonderful silence that would await me after work.
After her ride had picked her up and she was gone.
Solitude can love you and hold you in a way that a woman cannot.
Or can it?

Back to the Barrio

Things have been the same for too long

that is to say,

things have been easy for too long.

Having my job in the same trailer park

that I lived in

taking a bath every morning

as hot as I could stand it

allowing the muscles in my back to relax

before getting out and drying off

at 7:50 a.m.

to be at work promptly

on the dot, at 8 a.m.

These were the salad days

the summertime was good

and the livin' was easy.

But things are back to how they've always been.

I thought moving to Old Town Gilbert

would be just the break I needed

from the syringe littered bus stops of Mesa.

But my job, the business, is really taking off.

We've gotten too big for the little trailer.

Five typing away in the living room

two in each of the bedrooms

typing transcripts for reality TV shows.

We needed to hire more people

and there just wasn't any room

so they moved everything to an office building.

Right in the heart of the Mesa ghetto

at Horne &  Main Street.

Burrito stands, thrift stores, check cashing places, title loans, gun stores, pawn shops,

liquor stores that sell meth pipes, knives, and brass knuckles

from a little glass display case.

All the other employees are pissed about the move

bitching about how ghetto the neighborhood is.

But I grew up here.

Spent the past six years walking up and down

Main Street

looking for a job

waiting at the public assistance offices to get food stamps

riding the Route 40 Valley Metro

I'm back in my element.

We've been in the new office for two days now

every lunch break has been spent 

with my buddy Monty at an old bar called 'The Hambone'.

Drinking two cans of Old Style

and chain smoking our asses off.

It's actually one of the last bars that you can still smoke cigarettes in.

The last great slice of American freedom.

So I don't know how long this will last

or if I'll have the bus fare to get there everyday

we'll see how it all goes down.

But no matter what happens

it's all familiar territory

I know what to expect now

so come on cocksuckers

gimme all ya got.

I'm ready.