Savage Sex

Posted in Uncategorized on June 1, 2009 by staticity

I’m listening to the Savage Love podcast (sex topic advice column including fetishes) and a caller called in to talk about in seventh grade he had a relationship with a neighbor girl and they had sex. That wasn’t weird. The girl’s family had this strong reputation for sexual abuse, so when the girl asked this guy (the caller) to slap her around and humiliate her and throw her out of the house naked, he said he wouldn’t do it because he thought it would be bad news to try and have rough sex after sexual trauma. Dan Savage brought up that the girl might have these fantasies to feel more in control (even if the fantasies weren’t ones where she was in control.) and that it might have been a way to heal herself from what happened. What do you think?

( it’s episode 27 in the link above)

For Myself

Posted in Uncategorized on May 31, 2009 by staticity

I haven’t written here in a long time, probably because I have nothing important to say. I haven’t written any literary masterpiece or article or anything even worth editing.   I am writing in here today for myself in hopes I can turn things around again for the better.

Okay, you need a plan to get you through this week. It’s depressing. You want dope, but you’ve gotten off that for 9 months so don’t keep fucking up now with this couple times a week shit. It’s not worth it. I feel incredibly guilty afterward (as I should) So what if I’m nervous or if I’ve had a crummy past or if I just want my life to be great ALL THE TIME. it’s not reality.

Today is Sunday.  Praise Jesus! Today I don’t have to feel guilty for not doing yoga. Today I can lay in bed and listen to Savage Love and eat cereal. Today I will do laundry, play cards, and relax. I need to CALL MICHAEL about getting tickets to the play Hysteria.  Maybe hang out with Antonio. I need to drink a lot of  cranberry juice. I have a feeling eating healthy and drinking healthy will help me on my placement test on Tuesday.

Monday I will take the subway up to center city and time it. That way I will know exactly how long it will take to get to CCP from my house. I will browse barnes and noble, maybe look for some clothes.  I need to email Dad a birthday card. Of course I’ll need to drink cranberry juice and eat fruit.

Tuesday at twelve thirty I go to CCP for my placement test.  Also go to the meeting at 9th and Federal across from Pats and Genos. It’s at six thirty.

Wednesday is health day. Physically,  I will food shop, do yoga, take a walk.  Mentally I will read, listening to This American Life, read the NYT.  Play Chess, hang out with Beth.

Thursday evening I will go to 22nd and Market and talk to the Library people. Get the forms to fill out so I can work there, and get a feel for the place.

That’s all you need to think about until Thursday when you can plan other things out. Just don’t worry about anything else. You need a theme song for this week to take your mind off the job and school…………Stayin Alive. Bee Gees.

1 a.m.

Posted in poetry on February 16, 2009 by staticity

one a.m.

the electricy ran out. was the tv running a tad too long in the background, or had it just decided to move down to a different street? The case of the missing electricity. where could it have gone? i kinow it’s here, right in the back of the screen, but its no… that’s entirely too bright. it’s death. i heard your throat will close up before you can clasp your chest. i heard it makes you blind. a dead eyed stevie wonder. i had to look away, it was hideous the way it pretruded into the back doorways. walls were so white they were stark. it’s neon unavoidance... a plague of flourescent offices. it was as if somehow too ostentatious to ignore. ugly but in all the right places. pale electricity is like enviornmental lighting, it burned out too fast.

A Thursday

Posted in Uncategorized on January 14, 2009 by staticity
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A Thursday

And so he walked on with his head held high up to the shop around the corner. Destiny. A local shop with wine, cookies, and gas for sale. The shop where he worked from nine in the evening to five in the morning. It was night time, the streets were heavy with traffic and the ladies were heavy with makeup. They were all going fast and he wondered where they could go so fast, but he didn’t ask because they wouldn’t stop.

The shop wasn’t crowded and rarely did they have much business between the hours of one and four. The drunks went home at two thirty and the early birds were the only ones making it into the store for coffee at five. Before the early jobs. Before the bustle of more traffic. These were the quiet hours of life when the crickets were done for the rest of the day.

He slid into the shop, saying hi to the two people who were still working. One would be let out just as soon as he got there, but Frank would still be there. Working quietly in the back, stocking something unnecessary for the need of customers. They would say hello, ask him how his day went, and as always he would say it was okay. Just fine. Nothing great, nothing horrendous.
“No news is good news!” Frank would congratulate him on his welfare.

Frank talked about his girlfriend in the next county. “Next week, she says she’s coming next week.”
“Oh yeah?” He’d say, listening quietly to the hum of the electric lights.
“Yup. Next week she’s moving into the city. The big city. My girl will finally be home.”

Customers would come in occasionally, always bumbling from somewhere unexpected. They never expected to show up at such a place at such a time. Who would be here at such a time? Why would they need anything? They always sounded as if their real lives had gone somewhere else and abandonned them at this particular store. He’d give them their cigarettes and maybe their cheap magazine to go and ring them up with ease. Sometimes he wondered what they were thinking and where their brain was when it left them, but he never asked. He never said anything but thank you and come again.

At four a.m. the weirdos showed up. They were unsettled with life. Angry and shouting. Drugged and wired. Steamed and tired. The ones with beards and uncombed hair stricken by insomnia would stand around admiring the shop like a jewelery case. They would mumble to themselves and point at the gum or candy that they needed to have at that very instant of four a.m. Why didn’t he have Orbit gum? Didn’t he know that people NEEDED that gum!? So what if it was late! They needed something to chew on. Something other than their life to shoot the shit with. This would do! If only he had the gum than they could survive. But where was the gum? He would get it for them and charge them the regular price until they whined or returned the merchandise to a different place. Then he’d have to get the piece of gum and return it back to it’s rightful place behind the never-bought bananas for seventy five cents a bundle.
The four a.m. crowd was haggard and displaced. Their minds had never returned for them and unlike the one a.m. crowd, there was no hope of return for them.

At five a.m. he would tell Frank he was going home. Frank never left. Eventually he had to leave, but no one knew exactly where he went because he was always back at the store with in six hours.

So He’d go back to his house, the dawn would start to rise and the traffic would start to blur together. The early commuters were just waking and the cars would start to move more and more between the stop lights and I95. The women were tired and drained and their perfume stank through the streets back to his apartment.

Tomorrow is another day. The man thought, sitting down at his bed in the apartment above another corner store. He wondered if he’d find any of those nice looking 9 p.m. girls in the store that he worked at. How he wished he had a girl like Frank’s. Frank said his girl always wore nice smelling perfume and little skirts that past the knee all the way up to the thigh. It was never tacky, said Frank. It was always just right.

9 p.m. happened again and again. He went back to the shop where Frank was working, but still nothing had changed.
“One more week,” Frank said, unfolding the box of refrigerated goods. “She can’t make it this Friday, but she’ll get here in another week.”
“No news is good news.” He said weakly.
Another week, he thought. One more Friday.

strawberry fields

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on January 5, 2009 by staticity

Tonight I hung out with an old friend of mine. Lexx and I used to date about five years back. I think I expected that we might hit a bar or go over to Jesse’s house, but we actually ended up at another old friend, Tina C. house. It was amazing…there wasn’t any booze or anything  and it was almost like being drunk anyway. We watched a dance competition on tv and sat around making snide comments about the chinese judge and the american dancers.

Midway through, I went out for a cigarette and a guy I used to know, told me he missed hanging out and that I was so entertaining back then. He reminisced about driving me and a few other people in the ‘jet van’ etc.  The weird part is, I barely remember the things I did back then and I keep catching glimpses from other people’s memory. Riding in backseats of cars. Dancing downtown. Cab rides to nowhere.  Sometimes I want it back, I feel like everything was more exciting back then, and it was… but if I barely remember it… what good was it? I told the guy I wasn’t very entertaining now, I like to read most days away. We talked about books… everyone is grown up. It’s a city of faint memories from route 29 to I95.

So I get home now, at eleven thirty, before midnight, and claim my seat next to the fire and get out my book. The beatles are still playing on the stereo downstairs.  Rocky Raccoon. And Niccolo is fresh on the brain.

city slick

Posted in Uncategorized on December 3, 2008 by staticity

I found this article in the New York Times this morning and thought to myself, bus drivers/cab drivers/ city transit must have to know an awful lot about sociology to get by on their adventures.

“Bus drivers could be forgiven if they are confused by New York City Transit’s policy on how to deal with fare-beaters, which tells them on one page to act like Mohandas K. Gandhi and on another page says that they can deny access to the bus to riders who are “trying to put one over on” them.

“We’ve stopped using the word ‘challenge’ to describe what a bus operator needs to do to thwart fare evasion,” drivers are told in the transit agency’s Bus Operator’s Guide to Customer Service [pdf]. “‘Challenge’ implies confrontation, which too often leads to hostile verbal exchanges and even physical assaults.”

The subject of bus-fare evasion has been discussed intensely among drivers following the fatal stabbing of a driver, Edwin Thomas, by a passenger who did not pay the fare, sat down anyway, and later demanded a transfer ticket. On Tuesday, a 20-year-old man was charged with murder.

The guide for bus operators states:

We don’t want you to be injured, or your other customers forced to witness a violent exchange, just for a fare. Instead, the strategy is to let the offending customer know that he or she hasn’t put one over on you. It’s also to let the other decent, fare-paying customers know that you’re not tolerating exceptions. Since they all had to pay, this one offender should not be excused from being asked to pay.

The guide continues with what it calls “some random thoughts”:

The key to your reaction to fare evasion is your tone. In the tradition of Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr., you need to put up some passive resistance. In words spoken evenly and not in a threatening or sarcastic manner, you may say something like, ‘Excuse me, sir. The fare is (GIVE AMOUNT).’ You’ll notice that there is no accusatory ‘You’ or direct command used here.

It adds: “Never just take your bus out of service or argue with the person.”

In a separate section on transfers, however, the guide is vague and appears to contradict the earlier instructions.

It says that paper transfers are only supposed to be given at the time a rider pays a fare. But it says that sometimes riders wait until later to ask for the transfer. In those cases, the guide says, “a bus operator’s judgment is essential when determining whether a customer asking for a transfer in the middle of a trip is asking with the intention of ripping off the system or instead merely forgot to request a transfer while boarding.” It says that riders who make an honest mistake should get transfers but it does not say what drivers should do if they believe a rider is scamming them.”

in order

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on November 24, 2008 by staticity

The room was humid and damp with the fresh afternoon scent of hoagies and mashed out cigarettes. I was sitting on the mattress, trying to fluff up the blanket so it looked somewhat made up. No energy in the city sun. Roommates were flopped on the blue velvet sofas waiting for the inevitable jingle of the ice cream man. No more spare change.

I was trying to be quiet, so I wouldn’t have to face my roommates with cold sweats and groggy irritation.  Niccolo popped a cd into the dvd player anyway. It was venezuelan and humming with background insturments and a chorus that seemed to progress louder and louder until we couldn’t ignore it anymore. What was this?

We must have been thinking the same thing because at exactly the same moment we started singing. Quietly to ourselves at first – but then we started in louder. As loud as the music. As loud as we could. We were actually singing and didn’t even care that the rest of the house and maybe the house next door could hear us.

‘Mama I ain’t well.’  Track 4.

I want to go back, but not there. I just want the ice cream truck and the public fountains and my Niccolo.
Today is a very neat day. Everything is in order. Dishes are put away, table tops are dusted and squirted with lemon, sheets are washed.  I need some ice cream and a celebration.