Brutha

I use this opportunity to slide Eric's draft closer to me. I drink, I think.

How's this to be decided, then?

The usual way. An issue of finances. You're a pretty high end prize, for once.

Yeah, well.

There are a lot of people lookin' for you. West End dogs, I-talians, our boys, I even heard a rumor about the Russians?

Ha, yeah, the russians. I almost forgot them.

I have to laugh at that, the Russians. Ha. They hardly count. A misstep with a climbing soldier's daughter. It's always someone's daughter.

You almost forgot the Russians? They haven't forgotten you, in fact, last I checked they're my highest bidders.

You're really gonna sell me, then? Your brother, your friend? Are we forgetting all those times I covered your scrawny paddy ass?

There's a moment of awkward silence here and I can feel the boys behind me reaching for their heat. I'm pretending not to sweat, it's all for show but a reps a rep and I've got mine.

Brother Eric. Do we remember?

Of course little bro. Of course

Here is the longest pause in my life.

Little bro? I can see you sweating. You've got the same tell you always have.

My fingers twitch, looking for Clarice's trigger, but she's not here. Neither of us move for the longest time, then Eric breaks one of his giant shit eating grins and laugh laugh laughs like the maniac he's always been.

Little bro, I'm only having a laugh. You're fine, you're safe, you're welcome here.

You little piece of shit, I hate you.

Don't forget to breathe. Have a drink. Let's talk.

The bar scene

in this town is lacking that certain sparkle it had when I was a kid. I'm meeting Eric on his turf. I haven't been safe here in years. Even with your best boy leading the gang there's only so much he can do to hold back the rabid pack of those who'd like to cash in on my bounty. There's no way to get around it, I'm not welcome in my hometown. Can't say I blame them.

Eric's already waiting when I trip into the bar. He's eying me over his glass of dark while his soldiers pat me down. They take Clarice. I'm not happy.

Eric, how's it been, brutha?
Not bad. Brother.
Fill me in then. What's the news on me?
Why should I know?
You know everything Eric.
You flattering dog. You haven't changed. How's Angel?
Who's Angel?
My ex. Your girl. Angel.
Oh. Right, right. I don't know. Haven't seen her around in, hell, months.
You bastard.
Yeah.

It's at this point I realize Eric's not in an informative mood. I'm wondering why he agreed to meet me if it's not to help me. I think I know.

Eric, are you gonna kill me now?
Kill you? No, brother, I'm not gonna kill you.
Who is?
That is yet to be decided.

The cut on the roof of your mouth

I've planned to meet with Eric, my associate from days and days back. Eric and I went to grades together, were practical brothers and learned the tricks of the trade side by side. Eric's one of those kids who fought and fought against the system. He runs it all now. Even though he has his rep to keep up, he's agreed to meet with me. It's been along time since the brother not brothers have sat together. Probably has something to do with his last girlfriend, hell, his last few girlfriends meeting me. The grapevines tell me there's a new one around. I don't think he'll introduce us.

This is what I'm thinking about while I'm grabbing my gun and cash and praying the fire escape will hold my weight. I'd take the front, but hotel management seems to be having difficulty settling their deal with the Wops. My head must be pretty expensive.

Eric, Eric is waiting.

Bleeding from the Gums

I keep a bowl at my bedside to spit in when I cough it up again. The blood, I mean. The point of this is that i don't have anything to spit in here. I'm in this shitty little dogtown hotel for a few days while I wait for some heat to die. Everything about the place screams Paddy-lice. I step out of the shower and my unwashed, threadbare towel smells like bad Italian food. This catches me off guard for two reasons. One, no one wants to smell old lasagna so early in the morning. Two, why would a Paddy fuck hotel towel smell like their arch enemy the I-talians? This is bad news for your anti-hero here. If the Pads and the Wops team up, my little game is over. I thought i'd be safe here.

I was wrong. Time to call in the team.

monologues

are more fun to write than one would think.

"You flinch back from me, as though my very hand would brand you.

Are these fingers poison then?

These lips drip lead in place of words,

This forked tongue curled behind serpent's fangs?

Is this what you see? It is him.

No doubt you're warned these tears are farce,

this pain a practiced melancholy.

He is a prophet foretelling the past,

a silly magician's parlor trick!

Go then,

before I further sear your flesh with these

all too filthy palms.

Remember though, I would sooner scratch

out mine own eyes, than put a single fleck

in the corner of yours.

This body is of no use to me now.

Blood does not boil and bubble

as the inexperienced will say,

rather, it flows in communion colored rivers.

Too much liquid for so small a vessel.

Streams of this from self opened arms will spell my innocence."

Oh Boy(s)

As time wears on, I find that there are a certain number of people in my life that only want me on conditions. There are these terms to our 'friendships' that I don't necessarily agree with, but then, who am I to argue. One does get burnt out on that after a time. So, one goes along, plays a long because something is better than nothing.

There are these boys, silly boys who will only have me on the condition that I belong to them. Silly boys.

Then there are those who will only tolerate me when they're other friends, particularly their girlfriends. In private, or rather the public that doesn't include the GdotFdot. At a party, let's say, I walk in, looking how I look and there they are, drunk usually. And they yell, and they smile, and they pick me up and swing me around press me to the wall and tell me how much they love me. "The things I would do to you if I were single". Look at that. "You shouldn't tease a girl".

Speaking of teases...Well, at least I'm aware of it.
In direct contrast with those who want me in combination with alcohol and other friends are the ones who want me around in public only. I know I'm being used, just let me know what for. Girls are particularly apt to falling into this category. We're friends when someone needs to be jealous. We're friends when you need to cry. We're friends when no one else will tolerate your bullshit. But, when the one you really want comes a-callin'. Well, that's my cue to find a nice drunk boy at a party. Innocent flirting and mutual ego boosts. That's what I like to call college.

10 things

Ten things I hate more than most other things (right now):
10) Rolly Backpacks
9) Internet courses
8) Small, dirty children
7) Flirty couples
6) Sexual tension I'm not involved in
5) Over actors
4) Children
3) Televangelists
2) White kids with dreads
1) Billy Mayes

I would that I had the strength. I can't keep falling, but what's there to stop me? Or, who? No one, nothing. There's too much that has to happen and no time to spare. Am I a glutton for punishment? This seems to be the case.

Oh dear

The fall is always a sad time. All that dying. It's beautiful.
Sometimes I wish that once, just once, I could wake up next to someone who wasn't hung over.

Know Thysituations

"It isn't heartache, babe, it's lust. There never was emotion to it. "
oh
"Didn't you know that?"

Memory Loss

I forgot the revenge part. That's always the best part.

So, after the fight, I get a call from a boy (of course) and he's mad I went to this party because I was supposed to hang out with him and he doesn't party. I'm much to tactful to say it, but he doesn't party, what's he expect from me?
Anyway, one word leads to another and now I'm being lectured about being 'one of those girls'. Really? Are we going there? I, above all things, am decidedly not one of those girls. I inform him of this. He disagrees, I hang up.

So, so, so

I see this boy last night. He tells me about his week, his work, his brother's hurt ear, and eventaully nicely inquires about my arm.

I tell him. In detail. Excruciating detail, about the night his big brother drunkenly ripped open my arm. Poor, misled, lied to baby brother. He thought his elder got hurt at work. That's what he told him. Baby brother questions everything.

Shattering fragile worlds is fun. Baby brother asked me if I 'even know' who I am. I do. I'm not one of them, but I am terribly vindictive. I hope his home life isn't too tense.

Sasha's sweet Revenge

So, look, I know there are certain things you don't say or do to (or around) certain people, we all know that. But it's only a rule because it's so fun to break.

I got in a fight. Well, I got in the middle of a fight because alcohol makes my heart bleed for the innocent.

I went to a party. It was fun, all is going well, and then two meat-head, dead weight of society types start pushing each other around. Okay, look, this isn't Sasha's party scene. This is a garage full of 'tough guys' wearing their best (and probably only) Affliction t's. The girls are, well, you know the type. So we're in the garage, music blasting from the lifted super duty ridiculous whatever truck and these two kids start fighting. The smaller (but still quite large) one has an earring. Yes, it's those people. I swear my attendance was endorsed and re-embursed in one way or another.

Okay, Earring takes a punch to the side of the face and suddenly he's not wearing an earring anymore. Ouch. And hilarious.

Huge guy goes after notearring again, but this time Earring's very, very small girlfriend decides it's a good idea to break them up. Of course, the liquor in me is not about to see this small thing get destroyed. Sasha stands up, Sasha joins the fight, Sasha realizes she's not that much bigger than the little girl. Sasha looks for an exit.

I grab the little one and at this point the beer in the spectators starts pumping and they decide to give me a hand. Who knows, maybe it wasn't the alcohol so much as the sight of two very little, very lost girls in the middle of the mess that got them going. Either way, next thing I know Petite One and I are concentrating all of our powers on moving her boyfriend up the stairs and into the house while the boys hold back the Monster.

One problem: Earring is a boy. Boy's are proud. Boy's don't run from fights. So what does he do? He spins around, grabs my arm to get leverage and rockets himself down the stairs again. Taking of course, a large chunk of my forearm with him.

I left shortly after that.

Why she stays

Bruises like tattoos
fade but never dissolve.
A Body broken, broken, and broken
with a Spirit to match.
Heart abandoned long ago.
The Mind is all that remains
but with disuse it too fades.

She is not one of those
weeping doe-eyed girls
staying out of some duty,
some desperation to save man
from his own nature.

She is not one of those
accepting this narrow field
as the world in whole.

And yet she stays.

Love deserved, accepted;
and what right has she to earn?

She eats and eats and eats
to feed the soul
starving the body.
What use is one lacking other?
False matrydom, this life.

Only girl in the boy's club

I think this should be archived for posterity.
(verbatim texts, spanning from saturday night, the 18th to sunday morning, 19th)

WB: Are you going to drink?
J: Your plan sounds brilliant.
(after a long night)
WB: Have fun at work.
J: Oh god. I just dropped Landon off. Time to clean Sarah's house. Did momma call you?
WB: Oh no, you must now dropped him off?! Guess no hunting. No, she hasn't called.
J: Okay, I haven't heard from anyone either. I tried to wake Lan earlier, but he was having none of it.
WB: hahah, yeah he was totally gone
J:Probably best he doesn't have a gun. Poor thing is hung the fuck over. Deadly combo.
WB: What time do you get home? I want to watch pushing daisies
J: 7. I don't wanna go home.
WB: Ha, you can't avoid it forever. My arm and hand hurt. Did I do anything that would hurt my hand last night?
J: No idea love. You didn't jump in the fight.
WB: Yeah cause I'm a pussy. I was just thinking how much more fun last night would have been if we were 'bad' kids.
J: If we were bad kids I would have gotten stoned and laid last night.

(Hours later)
J: My arm looks like shit by the way. We found more blood on Landon's clothes...when we found Landon's clothes.
WB: Haha, oh yeah, I forgot about that fight.
J: That fight? Wasn't it the only one?
WB: I don't know! I forgot about the fight in general.
J: Oh shit. Found my pants half buried in the couch. What does this mean?!?

Sasha suffers identity crisis

Maybe waning would be better.

Here I sit, oddly obsessing over what I don't even want. What it boils down to, I am confident enough to admit, is that I want the attention, not the boy himself. At least it started that way, it always starts that way. But, attachment to the attention leads to attachment to the boy leads to an awful sense of jealously when he plays to her whims and not my own.

I have too many boys on strings to be staring at this picture so often.

It's odd though, I only want him to want me, I don't actually want him. This makes sense, right?

It's not about the boy, it's just about the boy.

Shit. No, no, no.

What was a dangerous possiblity, a beautiful potential for mistake, will stay that way. It must.

This imagining, this use of Deskey in my art, my work, is too dangerous. The thought of risking the thought is too much an pulls me out of the moment. I will not.

Sasha fights the GossipGirl

Oh, hey now little one, little girl. You are tempting me something fierce. Tempting me to punch your stupid face, for one.

But no, we're a bit more subtle than that aren't we? Females as a whole, I mean.

There's this little one, young girl. It's not my fault that she's terribly insecure. I'm not the one who messed up her last relationship, but if she doesn't cut it out, I'm sure as hell gonna play with this one. Sometimes it's so hard not to become what people seem to want to coax out of you. She's sad that she'll be lonely, and sure, I do have a history with her beau, but really, it's not my fault and I've done nothing to deserve this behavior. Little girl needs to watch her attitude.

Here's the story in full:

I was at a party this weekend past and I know some people who know some people so I'm having a pretty good time. Soaring, soaring around the room. Little girl intercepts me, looking for a share. Well, I'm having none of that but am feeling so so generous. I add that we should be real life buddies or I'll start to get suspicous that I'm being used for my connections. She elevator eyes me and consents to my joke. Grudgingly. Then she wanders back to her boy. Her boy who used to be my boy. Now, I'm feeling good, good enough not to be walked on. So I call her out. One thing leads to another and now Little One is covered in my drink and I'm tottering on chipped heel. Little One.

Little Girl hates that her boy is sleeping with his ex again. Not me. The one before me. I mean, she doesn't know, none of us know, but still. We all know. Now, I've been there before, exactly actually, so I sympathize. But come on, I'm not doing anything wrong, I've done nothing to encourage bad behavior from the boy, but if she keeps this up, I may.

Like I said, it's awfully tempting and showmance is awfully fun. All I'm saying is that (by no choice of our own) the boy and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. If Little Bitch doesn't get her shit together, I may have to indulge. At least then her attitude will be well deserved.

Sasha meets Nature

Went camping for the first time in a year last night. Wonderful, simply gorgeous. No matter how jaded and hard, no matter the number of adaptations on the Deskey conversation, last night made up for it.

I am no fan of cowpies. I don't like spiders. I'm not one to get particularly dirty or enjoy sleeping with sticks in my back.

I got standed in a field on a gasless atv while looking for a cow corpse. I jumped off said atv when the driver took us through a spider web. We spent the next several minutes shrieking and jumping around, checking each other for the rogue arachnid. I slept tentless, under the stars, by the fire and woke covered in ash. We all stink, we all look like hell. But. We all have variances of the same memories. We have smiles in the photographs. We had fun and we had each other. I woke up sooty and cold and damp, but I woke up, my hand in his, surrounded by Beauty and his people.

Sasha gets the last word

Deskey, oh Deskey, how modern of you.

Modern? You mocking me?
Yes.
Why?
It's easy.
You're so sweet.
Now who's mocking?
Me.
Sure enough.
Why're you such a bitch?
Can't say for sure.
So far removed.
So it would seem.
So it would be.
Clever. Turning the words like that.
You would know about that. Turning things.
Tricks, you mean? Yeah.
What? No, words.
Those too.
You're so full of it.
Ouch, love.
True. You act like you don't care, that you're so worldly and experienced and twice-removed, but you're the most involved, thinking, coniving, actor, I know.
Excuse me?
You act like nothing hurts, nothing matters, like it's all some huge joke and you're the only one in on it. It's not true. You hurt, you cry, you do this so no one will see it.
How insightful of you, darling.
How modern of you.
You think you know? Who I am?
Yes! Yes, I do.
You think because you're here now, with me, when no one else is, that because I let you stay, remember your details, that somehow you have this 'in' and you get me?
Yeah, that's what I think.
How arrogant.
You're one to talk about arrogance. You sit there all high and mighty and untouchable, pretending you're better than all of us.
Am I not?
Are you kidding?
Rarely.
Shut up.
There's nothing to be done about it.
You aren't so hard. You know that? You get soft. I've seen you tear up and turn away. I didn't say it, but I've made you cry. It's that much more of a power trip when I do. Because you pretend no one can do it to you.
Shut up.

Sasha talks politics

Who says the mother must be good? What is it in she that demands 'good'? She is simply woman. The mother is nothing short of her own person, sometimes indulgent of her flaws. Why must 'mother' and 'woman' be differnt than 'man' and 'father'? These are not so different. Gender and breeding play their part, but what more? The woman is the mother is the life. She cannot be good always. She is a person and she is entitled to her faults, shortcomings and life. Because she gives life, is she not also right to take it, direct it, dictate it? Her own and others. She can be a bad character, and a more interesting person.

today was

rough. Acting is hard.

Femme Fatale

There is something inherently dangerous about being a woman. Whether it’s danger to you or simply the danger you offer, it’s there. And what’s the difference really? If he can get off just by claiming the “she was asking for it.”? We all know it’s true. No matter how liberal, how feminist, there’s always that small, quietly screaming voice in the back of your mind that asks what she was doing dressed like that in such a shady place so late at night. The woman serves the man. Protect him, protect his rights, protect his reputation. Even if it costs you your own.

But I won’t get ahead of myself.

What I’m really talking about is the danger we offer just by being born our gender. There’s something mysterious, seductive, risky, about most women. It’s bred into us from the start. It can get a girl into a lot of trouble. You wake up one morning and forget to look right, fill in the wrong blanks, and bam, it’s all over. There’s the questioning, the confusion, heartbreak, god forbid- the tears. Yours of course. Because a smart woman keeps a few of those on reserve at all times. Even if it’s your fault, you forgot to check the glass, if you cry, most guys will feel instinctive guilt. It comes in handy. Cry for Michael and he’ll forget the issue instantly.

It’s all a bit silly, really. They don’t care about you, no more than you care about them. It’s pride, I think.

It’s all about being born a woman. You can’t win, so you might as well do your best to just play along. When you’re driving and get cat called at the stop light, don’t get pissy and fly a bird; that’s no way to win. Look over, smile, pull down the sun glasses. Give those hicks something to whistle at. The power is in your face. The power is in your control. Let the boys yell, at least they’re distracted while your hands grab the wallet. And the wheel.

Sasha goes to a wedding

Every one from high school is fat.

I went to this wedding this weekend and I highly suggest them as ego boosts to those who have managed to keep their slim figure through the post H.S years. I ended up at this 'show' through a work relation with one of the Bride's younger siblings and, well, it's a long story really and it's not this story.
Brother 1 (my date) was playing usher and sat me in the back (far from the family) with Brother 2's date. Or, as he put it, "My brother's latest casual sexual encounter". Nice. Bride looked pretty as a princess. She was in the pop crowd when we were tweens and with all of her old cronnies present, I couldn't help but feel like she was treating this like the best prom ever. Only, she's the only one in a nice dress and she just got voted queen.

The reception was down home small towntastic. 5 kegs of Natty Light and free Franzia was a-flowin'. To set them apart from the rest of us, the bridal party was drinking out of extra large Mason jars. All the pop girls changed into thier cheetah print party gear for the dancing. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Dancing didn't come until after we'd eaten to 'blotation' on catered hamburgers and hotdogs.

I didn't dance. But I did get to sit next to girls from my old class and catch up on all the gossip. For the record, 4 of the 7 girls at the table are expecting, 2 are engaged, and 3 (total) know exactly who their baby daddy is. Like I said, free beer.

Tattoos

When you have a tattoo, people seem to think they have a right to look at it. Or worse, know what it's about. I cannot tell you how many times I've been standing in line at the grocery store, minding my own business, balancing my organic soy chocolate milk and my vodka when I feel someones cold clamy fingers pulling down the edge of my shirt. It's bizarre. Like, hey, how are you? Your hand is in my top. What the hell is wrong with you and do you plan on buying my drinks? By the way, I'm Sasha. Nice to meet you.
It's like these kids didn't learn basic manners.
Look, okay, I have a tattoo, you have a tattoo, we're brothers on some level, sure, but we aren't that close. You have a coy fish and chinese symbols. You're white. You'll live in this godforsaken town for the rest of your life. I have ambitions, motivations, I aspire to things greater than what are refleced in your rockin' dragon tat.
The point is this: stop touching me.

Bedside table

I can always tell who is laying on my left side by taking a quick glance to the right. It's all about the cup. Heavy glass Deskey with the glucose design? Landon. Black and red mug? Michael. Half empty whiskey glass? Andy. It saves a lot of awkward moments of confusion. Just make sure to wake up to the right, check the cup, roll over and with a flirty, sleep in my voice smile, "Morning (name here)." Follow up with an ironic, "How'd you sleep?"

Each cup says a lot about each boy.

Andy and his whiskey. Just imagine what kind of guy wastes that much alcohol every time he's with me. It's not like he gargles the remainder of his nightcap in the morning. And let me just say, Andy isn't cheap.

Michael using a mug. Who knows what that says. He's a little simplier maybe, but I'm biased, I know. Hearty, perhaps.

Deskey. Oh, Deskey. How modern of him. Does it help that it's only water and that he reaches over me to sip while he thinks I'm sleeping. I need this boy as much as he needs me. Which isn't really very much on either side.

So, the leason? Always look right first, things will be much less awkward if you fill in with the right name.

I woke up this morning and realized that I was not late for work. I also realized that I was in bed alone. This is unusual.

I'm studying acting, and I mean, you've gotta get the lifestyle down first. Haven't been sober in a few days. I'm working on breaking some records here. How long has it been? No.Idea. It's hard to have a solid idea about much these days. For obvious reasons.

Palin

asks that we respect her teenaged daughter's choice to keep her child. Palin also says that she would "veto a woman's choice to an abortion even in cases of rape..."
Right, we should definately respect her family's choice and support her plans to deny us the same choice.

I

would like you all to know:
I love you as best I can