Författare: xikano_2

John had receently been forced to pull a prank on officer Stacey Maloy. He was told that in order to get in the fraternity he was to pull from Officer Maloy’s locker his baton, without him noticing, and then put back. A witness would be provided, who would keep its distance at all times, to ensure the veracity of the events. Having done that, he went to his girlfriend’s house, Maria, to finish off the feat.

– You promised.
– Indeed I did, but I also said maybe.
– What are you gonna do then?
– Well, I just need to put it back, you know, so that no one notices it.
– Isn’t that, like wrong?
– Listen honey, there isn’t much time left, are you in or out?
– I don’t know, lemme think.
– Forget it, if you’re gonna think about it might as well get in trouble.
– I dunno, the last time you said the same thing and we nearly got caught.
– Duh, that’s because you were wearing reflexes and the cops light saw it.
– You know what? I’m not going, this time you’re gonna have to sort it out by yourself.
– God! I knew, I knew it was stupid to come here and ask you for help, damn it! How stupid can I be! You and I are done.
– Oh man, don’t say that. Alright, I’ll go, but this is the last time.
– Thank you baby, thank you. I promise I’ll make it up to you soon.

You know your hooked when you say that you’re gonna quit right after the next text only to find out that three hours later your still plugged to the net.

They don’t call you info junky for nothing.

You need a fix everyday.

What it isn’t told is how you overdose.

This is how you pass out.

Your body is contorted into the most unhealthy position, slouched, and your wrist is pulsating, begging for attention and rest. Your eyes bulge and you wanna throw up your intestines.

The anxiety regurgitates between your stomach sack and the larynx, except that there isn’t anything to barf.

How do you barf tons of text your eyes have swallowed?

Do you stand by the ledge of your Windows, arms stretched out gasping for air, with a wide open mouth, letting vile out?

And what would you barf?

The alphabet soup? Probably.

In my case a slimy US red-blue sprinkled with a green-white-red Cal-Mex stew blended with a chunky Nordic blue-yellowish liquid.

Yuk.

– The Macmillan Dictionary has an entry for duh.
– Duh! Like I wanna know that.
– Ok, so what, do you want to know?

George sat exasperated; this student was fidgety, looked distressed and nothing of substance came out of him.

– Dunno.

Silence. The room of his office couldn’t look emptier, yet he felt the need this student had.

– Why were you sent here? Do you know that?
– I suppose ‘cause my grades are low.
– Is there a reason why they are low?
– Maybe.
– Humm.

George felt resistance, clearly the boy had something going on in his life, what was it?

– Do you like to go out?
– Can’t, my parents got me grounded.
– Would you like to tell me about that?
– It’s complicated.
– That’s what am here for, to help out when complications arise.

The breakthrough was finally visible, why did the student open up?

– I Got caught smoking weed.
-I see, do you like drugs?
– Sometimes, they make me feel good, I suppose there isn’t any harm in it.
– Humm, your parents don’t think so.
– What do they know … All they do is bitch around all day how am not what they expected me to be.
– I see. So they go around telling you how to be.
– Gets on my nervs you know? Pisses me off man.
– Yeah, I can understand that, I mean, who wants to be bitched at.
– Yeah man, so I try to get back at them, I mean they already think am a loser you see. So I piss them off too.
– Humm, by smoking weed?
– Naaah, that’s just for fun,
– I see. So you do like drugs.
– Not really, it’s just that the crowd I hang out with does it, so I do it too.
– Humm, you’re records show that you been an exemplary student all along until last year, care to talk about that?
– Maybe some other time, gotta split, gotta class to go to. C-ya!
– I’ll put you in for next week, is that ok?
– Suppose so.
– Take care.

The satisfaction of helping made George feel good, it was clearly a step forward, maybe he could put Anthony back in track, despite of the rest of society thinking otherwise.

Americanness

They recognize me as one of them nowadays.
Somehow, somewhere, I must’ve lost it.
That glowing tan that set me as outsider.
Now, they speak to me unflinching;
As I seem no longer newly arrived.
Today, am the one thoroughly shocked.
Since I hardly expect to be talked to it in it.
Someway, I’ve acquired a ”native” look.
At times, I wonder, how this came to be.

– The Macmillan Dictionary has an entry for duh.
– Duh! Like I wanna know that.
– Ok, so what, do you want to know?

George sat exasperated; this student was fidgety, looked distressed and nothing of substance came out of him.

– Dunno.

Silence. The room of his office couldn’t look emptier, yet he felt the need this student had.

– Why were you sent here? Do you know that?
– I suppose ‘cause my grades are low.
– Is there a reason why they are low?
– Maybe.
– Humm.

George felt resistance, clearly the boy had something going on in his life, what was it?

– Do you like to go out?
– Can’t, my parents got me grounded.
– Would you like to tell me about that?
– It’s complicated.
– That’s what am here for, to help out when complications arise.

The breakthrough was finally visible, why did the student open up?

– I Got caught smoking weed.
-I see, do you like drugs?
– Sometimes, they make me feel good, I suppose there isn’t any harm in it.
– Humm, your parents don’t think so.
– What do they know … All they do is bitch around all day how am not what they expected me to be.
– I see. So they go around telling you how to be.
– Gets on my nervs you know? Pisses me off man.
– Yeah, I can understand that, I mean, who wants to be bitched at.
– Yeah man, so I try to get back at them, I mean they already think am a loser you see. So I piss them off too.
– Humm, by smoking weed?
– Naaah, that’s just for fun,
– I see. So you do like drugs.
– Not really, it’s just that the crowd I hang out with does it, so I do it too.
– Humm, you’re records show that you been an exemplary student all along until last year, care to talk about that?
– Maybe some other time, gotta split, gotta class to go to. C-ya!
– I’ll put you in for next week, is that ok?
– Suppose so.
– Take care.

The satisfaction of helping made George feel good, it was clearly a step forward, maybe he could put Anthony back in track, despite of the rest of society thinking otherwise.

– You really haven’t noticed?
– Nope.
– Not once giving it a thoguht?
– Are you talking to yourself again?
– Just hear me out.
– Oh God! Not again. Alright, Spill it out then.

Gardner sat silently and brought out his Stanwell Pipe, a Sixtus Smooth model. He invariably never failed to tell a story about how he got it and his consequent trip to Denmark. Yet this time he didn’t. He lit it up, took some puffs and sat relaxed. He began speaking as Anastacia accomodated herself near the edge of the sofa.

– One often hears of the trinity, body, mind and soul.
– You’re really gonna talk about that!? Oh, Lord …
– Shh Anastacia! Well, as I was saying. A lot of thought is given to the body, in fact, one could nearly argue that it is the domain of the femme. They spend much time in touch with it, they know their constitution like I know my pipes. Then there is the soul, countless of words and dialogues are poured out on this subject so that a lack of knowledge in that area is hardly missing.
– Is this going somewhere Gardner?
– Allow me to expand. The mind is mysteriously absent here, you see what I mean? Why don’t we know more of the mind than what we already know? Something is amiss.
– I can answer that mystery for you Gardner, the mind, my freund, is the place of convergence for soul and body, got it?
– Dear Anastacia, how little you know on this subject, not to say that I know anymore. You see? This is exactly what I mean. Here’s what I’ve come to think thus far. I’ve come to notice how at times am busy writing, a mind activity, and it baffles me how sometimes words just come out of me of which I lack explanation as to their origins, whence come they?
– Your pulling water way over your head Gardner, go read some more. Anastacia raised herself from the sofa and got ready to leave.
– Alright, I gave your fifteen minutes Warhol, gotta go, I’ll see later Gardner, you take it easy ok?
Gardner, kept puffing his pipe, it seemed as if he had giving it a lot of thought for all I could hear was a low, quiet farewell, he said ”Yeah, thanks for the listening, you be good now”, and as he raised up from the chair, he walked to the kitchen, to get his coat. I dashed away.

– You really haven’t noticed?
– Nope.
– Not once giving it a thoguht?
– Are you talking to yourself again?
– Just hear me out.
– Oh God! Not again. Alright, Spill it out then.

Gardner sat silently and brought out his Stanwell Pipe, a Sixtus Smooth model. He invariably never failed to tell a story about how he got it and his consequent trip to Denmark. Yet this time he didn’t. He lit it up, took some puffs and sat relaxed. He began speaking as Anastacia accomodated herself near the edge of the sofa.

– One often hears of the trinity, body, mind and soul.
– You’re really gonna talk about that!? Oh, Lord …
– Shh Anastacia! Well, as I was saying. A lot of thought is given to the body, in fact, one could nearly argue that it is the domain of the femme. They spend much time in touch with it, they know their constitution like I know my pipes. Then there is the soul, countless of words and dialogues are poured out on this subject so that a lack of knowledge in that area is hardly missing.
– Is this going somewhere Gardner?
– Allow me to expand. The mind is mysteriously absent here, you see what I mean? Why don’t we know more of the mind than what we already know? Something is amiss.
– I can answer that mystery for you Gardner, the mind, my freund, is the place of convergence for soul and body, got it?
– Dear Anastacia, how little you know on this subject, not to say that I know anymore. You see? This is exactly what I mean. Here’s what I’ve come to think thus far. I’ve come to notice how at times am busy writing, a mind activity, and it baffles me how sometimes words just come out of me of which I lack explanation as to their origins, whence come they?
– Your pulling water way over your head Gardner, go read some more. Anastacia raised herself from the sofa and got ready to leave.
– Alright, I gave your fifteen minutes Warhol, gotta go, I’ll see later Gardner, you take it easy ok?
Gardner, kept puffing his pipe, it seemed as if he had giving it a lot of thought for all I could hear was a low, quiet farewell, he said ”Yeah, thanks for the listening, you be good now”, and as he raised up from the chair, he walked to the kitchen, to get his coat. I dashed away.

The classical.

He does it. But he does it because he misses those things which bring back to memory those very things which he is far from. I’ve always argued that there isn’t a most fervent nationalist than he or she who is an ex-pat. So he sits there in the kitchen and makes food that he used to eat at home. ”It’s incredible”, he says, slurping and whiffing the warm beans, ”how these smells bring a comfort to this solace. At times it seems that I eat them only because I want home again” I don’t know what he did most, smell or eat, ”Qué ricos!” How delicious!, he said, looking satisfied. I told to him that it was a lachrymose orgasm. Turning around, looking at my eyes, he said ” could be” lifting the plate from the tiled table, ”but its my only gate to the past”. The thing is that he does it so often, remembers. And its frequency increases by the passing of the years. First it was the hot chile peppers, because he needed to prove that he was Mexican. Then fashion brought ancient tortillas to this unholy part of the Roman Empire, then globalization stepped in. So know he buys those canned beans every now and then and engages in those memory rituals. Like and Aztec sacrificing the present for the glory of the Gods of the past.

He does it.

But he does it because he misses those things which bring back to memory those very things which he is far from. I’ve always argued that there isn’t a most fervent nationalist than he or she who is an ex-pat.

So he sits there in the kitchen and makes food that he used to eat at home. ”It’s incredible”, he says, slurping and whiffing the warm beans, ”how these smells bring a comfort to this solace. At times it seems that I eat them only because I want home again” I don’t know what he did most, smell or eat, ”Qué ricos!” How delicious!, he said, looking satisfied.

I told to him that it was a lachrymose orgasm. Turning around, looking at my eyes, he said ” could be” lifting the plate from the tiled table, ”but its my only gate to the past”. The thing is that he does it so often, remembers. And its frecuency increases by the passing of the years. First it was the hot chile peppers, because he needed to prove that he was mexican. Then fashion brought ancient tortillas to this unholy part of the Roman Empire, then globalization stepped in. So know he buys those canned beans every now and then and engages in those memory rituals.

Like and Aztec sacrificing the present for the glory of the Gods of the past.

The rain came by
Leaving water puddles
I got mud with love