This is the end part 2

“Call me old fashioned. But to some people, another woman sucking your man’s cock matters,” I attempted humor as a means of reassuring my friend as we stood on the balcony of her apartment.

Our conversation from break carried over into the night.

“Wait. Why did you say white trash Maury Povich?”

“I just assumed-“

“That I’m white, so I fuck white trash?”

“Well yeah.”

“He’s Puerto Rican you dick.”

Cyenna’s heart stretched over jagged agony for this little brown man. The tears of her love suprised me.

“I saw you got called into Sharon’s office. What was that about?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“J, you have no idea, I feel like I lost the family I almost had,” her eyes were scatter brained and dim.

She kept gurgling about her almost family. I was bored and I inattentive.

“Didn’t he borrow your phone and merge your Facebook accounts while you were grilling him some ribs?”

The thought of someone scamming my phone from me and using my contacts to fuck people on my friendslist made me queasy.

I laughed like a hyena.

“Sorry for laughing, your pain made me feel uncomfortable.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” For a moment I couldn’t tell if she was going along with the joke.

“You know I’m going to lose it and punch you, right?”

“Yeah. Just not in the face.”

We both looked at our beers. A shiver woke me and I understood that my friend had went through some fucked up shit.

“So, yeah, Sharon called me into the office,” I broke the silence as I applied a mood changing anecdote.

“You better watch yourself, I’m telling you this because I think you’re a hard worker and I like you,” Sharon says to.

“She says it like she’s privving me to some classified shit.”

“If I know Tawney, she’s gonna be out to get you…”

“Cyenna, never in my entire life would I have guessed that one day a 70 year old woman would be out to do me in.”

“And I don’t mean “do me in” like she wants to get me in the break room and suck me off (which would be equally disturbing)…But a 70 year old woman wants to put a knife in my back.”

The end

Thank you for reading my work. The work on here will stay up but I have began another site(s) to display my content. Best of luck on all your endeavours.

It’s like E.T. but with handys

Cassie’s pale pink fingers, neatly packaged my meal. As she wrapped my food, I thought, ‘say something. Anything stupid!’

“Are you a supervisor?”


“Ah, that’s were the air of confidence is.”

Yeah I have no idea what that means either. When I finally decide to talk to a woman; that’s the horseshit I come up with?

My social skills have really taken a turn for the worse. It’s been a slow process recalibrating socially since my last break up. Also, it doesn’t help that I generally avoid most socializing situations like they were AIDS.

On a relatable subject I found this line in the book Hollywood by Charles Bukowski. The part about shutting off when people talk is a kick in the sack of reality.

The words in this pic belong to Charles Bukowski. Courtesy of his book Hollywood.

Cassie and I made small talk. Her placid green eyes lingered as I sat down for lunch. I noticed there were alot of guys at the restaurant.

I thought ‘how much of this sausage fest’ is on account of Cassie’s playful, attractive nature?

Sparkly bright shit has been used to sell crap since the beginning of time. That’s not my gripe.

Factually, I’m not even sure what I’m saying would be considered a gripe.

I worked as a bail bondsman for about 9 months and I remember the owner always hiring pretty girls. Mostly ex strippers. There’s alot of fuckery involved in being one of the only men working in all female environment. And not the good type of fuckery.

Writer’s block with my 2nd sci fi horror story was getting better. I have figured out a way to double my productivity. I hired an assistant to help submit my work while I write. I agree that sounds pretentious but hear me out first…I feel you judging me😙

I couldn’t stop thinking that I should be submitting work. Always. And at the same time, I also worried that I wasn’t writing enough. And nothing was getting done.

“Well, I think you should allow yourself to meet someone new,” my bff from work Fran said in her motherly tone.

“Francine, it’s just work…I don’t even…”

“But you never know J.” She was so optimistic and cheery. I couldn’t argue.

I think Francine was just tired of seeing me walk around with heartbreak on my shoulders. I knew better than to argue with a woman. Besides, Francine had a point. Walking around with misery in the lungs doesn’t do much good for anyone.

“Maybe you’re right Fran.”

I read some of Tim Ferriss’ book the 4hour work week and he suggested hiring someone to do the shit you don’t necessarily have the time or the skill for. To paraphrase, he said why waste time achieving mediocrity at a skill when you can achieve greatness with what you’re good at. So I hired a friend to do the shit that makes me yawn. It’s better than hiring a stranger from Craigslist.

The story I stopped working on, or as I call it, ‘the pain in my entire ass,’ has many themes. One of it’s themes comes from dating a feminist, who once indoctrinated me with the propaganda premise, “…if women ruled the world, there would be no wars.”

“You are so right.”

Someone get me a time machine so I can Michael J Fox the stupid out my ears.

For about a month I was worried about using the real name of Valerie Solanas. But my story’s main concept is based on an alternate version of Solanas and Warhol’s history.

The following is a quote from one of the more entertaining books I’ve read. The SCUM Manifesto by Valerie Solanas. It’s worth a read, regardless if you are a feminist or not.

“…the male is, nonetheless, obsessed with screwing; he’ll swim a river of snot, wade nostril-deep through a mile of vomit, if he thinks there’ll be a friendly pussy awaiting him. He’ll screw a woman he despises, any snaggle-toothed hag, and, further, pay for the opportunity.”


Labor day always makes me think of the term manual labor. And that makes me think of the name Manuel. Which is really just a vowel change away from Manual.

“…and you’re like, okay Hemingway, I see what you’re saying.”-Tom Segura

Tom Segura’s bit called, “Pregnant while Mexican ” is one of the funniest things I’ve heard.

I’ve only read 43 pages and the book “Three Women,” by Lisa Taddeo is already giving me nightmares.

My crush has soft brown hair, soft eyes, and pouty Germanic lips. Suckable. Her long slender frame reminds means I almost have to stand on my toes to kiss her. I pull her beside me. Her clothes are contagious to she.

I been watching alot of the series, “my crazy ex” on Tubi. I fucks with it heavy.

The reenactments are hysterical. This one episodes’ climax ended with this one gal being caught living on this dudes’ roof. She had been there for the entire month they dated.

The guy figures out she’s been up there when one day he stumbles across her tent on the roof of his apartment complex. She came out of the shadows lookin’ like a goblin. With leaves in her matted hair and soot poorly painted on her face. Man oh man that one had me fucked up! For real son.

“An uncle Juan.”

My buddy Kevin explained to me one day, “an Uncle Juan is a Mexican version of black folks’ Uncle Tom.”

It’s a phrase he coined for Mesicans who think they are white. Bleaching your hair doesn’t make you white cabrona.

Continue reading

Leif Erikson

is one of my favorites by Interpol

It was the second time Charlene threatened to kill herself. We had been dating a year. It was turbulent but I loved her. That night she said she took a handful of expired pills and asked me to feed her children the next day. I lay there. Angry at her. I thought, ‘how dare you try and put your kids’ tears on me. Puta Madre.’

I tried to hold the anger in but that only made things worse.

She was suspicious of me because I lied to her early in our relationship. The lie was a mistake, but at the time I didn’t see it that way. I didn’t consider how hard it must have been for her to trust me again.

To prove I was sincere about never lying again; I cut myself off from everyone, let her check my phone, spent all my time with her-or on the phone with her. Did that work? Nope.

The night of the pills, I just wanted to not fight. I knew jealousy, like a lot of people do. I was accustomed to being the jealous one in a relationship. But this was different.

Its as if she used my one mistake to excuse her fucked up behavior.

Bettie Paige in a suitcase

“if her life is such a big joke. Why should I care?…It’s like learning a new language
Helps me catch up on my mind(mime?)
If you don’t bring up those lonely parts
This could be a good time…
You come here to me
We’ll collect those lonely parts
And set them down
You come here to me”

I was innocent but my innocence clouded my understanding of what she believed. And that’s very important to understand. I wanted us to be right. I thought I found my wife.

After a certain point I just stopped taking her accusations seriously.

Some people talk of recycled arguments that never get set to sleep. Arguments wailing at night, like a witch colored copy of an old resentment. Something that both of you can’t kick.

I’ve been thinking about the movie, “Leaving Las Vegas.” But I can’t remember why Nicholas Cage is trying kill himself with booze.

I mostly remember “Leaving” for the gorgeous Elisabeth Shue. Her blonde, wavy hair makes me wanna not comb my hair. But fuck! There’s no way mine would look that hot. Shue and the lovely, Sheri Moon Zombie kinda look the same. It’s their jawline smile. They have a similar beauty I find irresistible.

Charlene viewed my unwillingness to talk as a sign of guilt. The constant arguing was draining the life from my smile. I just wanted to show her. Get her in bed and rub her clit all over my face. Flip her over and eat her from behind.

But none of what I did got us back that way again.

What the fuck does that really look good? Really? Really.

My wallet looks like it belongs to a bum. Holy fuck have things been…weird.

The job is going well. I just survived a baptism of fire. Ask me what being stuck in a well hung room full of smarmy sales fuck tards is like. Not happy about the pay but the job does provide me with a semi stress free work place and plenty of free time for writing.

I finished my first sci fi horror story. Now it’s time to see about publication. Shopping my work around has been a slow, brutal process. I don’t like it. But until things change, I guess it has to be done.

This week I should have a set of poems and pics available on Amazon. I think there are more platforms to publish on besides Amazon and…

Name a few if you know of any.

Keep writing. I love the stuff I’m reading here on WordPress.

Inert Velocity — The literati mafia

Transcription Beta (low confidence) “Hey you, Apologies for taking so long to return your call, I’ve been lost in America, MIA. I haven’t been able to think clearly, although maybe I’ve been thinking too clearly and that’s the problem, after all clarity is a matter of perspective. Thank goodness for humor, almost everything is funny… […]

Inert Velocity — The literati mafia

We got that loud Saturday Sunday,

I really like Mia’s work. The part about Dramamine makes me think of that song by the Sparks – Angst in my pants. I’m probably the worst about explaining the fine details of why I think a piece of art is good but Mia’s writing in this piece is something I would like to read more of.

Work has been going well, it looks like next week they are going to order me a more ergonomically efficient chair, which is like, the best ever because who wants to fuck up their spine while they’re hunched over slaving away as a typist. A typist!

Mia I hope this share does your work justice, if you think it looks funky in any way or you want me to change anything just send me a message.

Have a happy eastersss everyone

Working on this curse

Over the past month or so, I have read some really great writers on wp. So in the spirit of goodwill, the two more holidays left in the weekend, and my general eagerness for sharing. I’m in the mood to share some work that I favor quite a bit. This first one is by Rimbaud who influenced people like Jim Morrison, Patti Smith, Bukowski (I think) and probably alot more. I just can’t confirm because at the moment I am half in the bag. Work has been going well. My supervisor at the job site told me that she didn’t normally offer people jobs before their 90 day probation period ends but she wanted to inform me that she was planning on offering me the job on a permanent basis because she felt confidant in my work. I came up with another idea for a story. I’m super psyched about. The writer’s block seems to be dissolving. I’ll post more soon. Have a fabulous pass over everyone

Sorry it’s crooked but my hands shake a bit