pre-fuck.
by TRUE...And then it all comes together like a scene out of a movie.
The bass drops
Upon the door i knock
(can't catch my breath)
U know what i'm after
But u wanna wait till im in character
(true b-boy till my death)
...
The bass drops
Upon the door i knock
(can't catch my breath)
U know what i'm after
But u wanna wait till im in character
(true b-boy till my death)
...
by sterling
the city is filled with the most fresh faced, beautiful women you've ever seen. they move towards me slowly--dramatically,like horses in a dream.
star quality is what makes them walk like that.
they live and play here, and every door to every secret place is opened for them.
they don't stop can't stop wont stop
they stay up late and party and by the next season the rings under their eyes turn even darker and they're in all the worst places doing line after line of heavily cut coke and swearing to god that this time they are certain that next time will be the last time--the kind of promise that is made by a lonely fuck who doesn't know the way back to her shitty apartment in east williamsburg.
...and more new girls arrive everyday.
when all else fails i go out into the city and start walking. that's one of the main tricks i learned in AA. when in doubt, keep moving. if i'm in a lot of trouble i'll walk for days. you can do that in new york.
the city is filled with the most fresh faced, beautiful women you've ever seen. they move towards me slowly--dramatically,like horses in a dream.
star quality is what makes them walk like that.
they live and play here, and every door to every secret place is opened for them.
they don't stop can't stop wont stop
they stay up late and party and by the next season the rings under their eyes turn even darker and they're in all the worst places doing line after line of heavily cut coke and swearing to god that this time they are certain that next time will be the last time--the kind of promise that is made by a lonely fuck who doesn't know the way back to her shitty apartment in east williamsburg.
...and more new girls arrive everyday.
dream it; don't be it.
by TRUE
oh man. fuck going outside. i'm waiting for the day when someone finally turns this blog into anime. all that porn and hyperviolence--everything i've been getting at with these posts distilled down to its liquid candy center. i'd have a pair of sad, doe-like eyes and energy waves would radiate off my body like multi-colored spirits...
i could stay at home with a box of go lean crunch and a bag of herbal essence and watch my life unfold without actually having to live it.
Blue Chili
by sterling...and then she smashes the glass with the bottom of her fist, again and again, until it's in shards and there's blood everywhere and you realize she's listening to her iPod and beating her fist to some beat you can't hear and you can't stop her as she snatches up your life story and the paper fibers immediately turn into dust in her hands and evaporate into the air like dead sea scrolls.
in that instant you become unreadable to the rest of the world--
known only by one...
and she is bleeding from the most unusual places
the cartoon red drops dripping in time to a song you can't hear.
yr friendly neighborhood vampire
by TRUE
i'm like a drug, yo. people start by telling me one real thing then they end up telling me more and more and more.
when they're done the story of their life is laid out under my careful attention like a document under glass.
rocknroll
iN bLOOM
by TRUElike all women i want to be adored. yep.
i made this beer coaster on the occasion of my alcohol poisoning. it is dedicated to the pants, who gave me the idea.
(fer the coaster not the poisonin)
yo, world: every second i am getting closer to becoming state of the art.
put yr headbanger face on.
[belch]
by sterling
“What I really want is one of these turkey subs on honey wheat,” she said, dreamily. She had that morning-after-getting-your-stomach pumped hunger.
“Don’t worry, I got you,” I said, reaching for my converse and a baseball cap and running out the door to meet her.
“You just don’t move,” I demanded.
Of course I was ecstatic that she had called me first instead of Fitz.
I brought her a turkey sub and salt and vinegar chips and a bottle of coca-cola and a king-sized package of peanut M&Ms.
“Thanks, man,” she said, as she laid the food out in front of her like a mini picnic. We were sitting upon a soft blanket of dried grass and soil under a tree in the middle of Central Park. The branches and leaves spread out like a canopy and formed a large tent around us, giving us a level of privacy. She was wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a green hospital shirt with the sleeves rolled up above her shoulders, like the tuffie bitch she was trying to be.
On her feet was a pair of green paper slippers.
“I should have brought you some kicks,” I said, sadly.
At first she looked at me blankly, then she peered down at her feet and laughed, which made her clutch her stomach in pain.
“Hey,” I said and reached for her hand.
“I’m OK,” she growled, swatting it away.
“You do too much for me…way too much,” she said, her voice filled with despair.
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do,” I said, rather absurdly.
“I know,” she said, “That’s the problem.”
She stopped eating and blinked her eyes in the filtered green light.
I realized, as I do from time to time, that she didn’t want me, but she wanted the way I wanted her, and that this made her guilty, like someone who orders a fancy dinner when they aren’t hungry and ends up pushing the food around their plate for an hour before it’s unceremoniously taken away.
As for me the feeling is another wound, and then another and another.
My desire is left out on the window like empty bottles waiting to be filled with rain.
We sat in silence, with only the sounds of the birds and crickets and cyclists zooming past on the path a few feet in front of us.
Then she took my hand—the fucked up one—and held it with her own.
“You’re my friend,” she said, “we’re gonna find a way out of this.”
“OK,” I said, my eyes welling up with tears. With my other hand I pulled the rim of my cap over my eyes.
“Remember that Pavement show in that bar,” she said, “when everyone bum rushed the stage and we were in the front getting crushed and we could hardly breathe?”
“Yeah.”
“And I took your hand and told you to follow me and I weaved us in and out of the crowd and out the side door.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“And how I’ve told you that if we’re ever on some 9/11 shit, or some Great White burning show shit, or some lights out blackout pandemonium shit…remember what I told you do?”
“Yes,” I said.
“What?” she said, clutching her stomach. “Tell me.”
“You said to take your hand,” I said, crying openly now.
“Cuz why?” she said, softly.
“Cuz you have an uncanny ability,” I said.
I rubbed my nose and looked up and noticed a pair of pink plastic sunglasses hanging off one of the tree branches.
“No matter where you are, or what you’re doing, you always know the quickest way out.”
briar
It was early afternoon when TRUE snuck out of the hospital. She called me from a Subway shop. She didn’t have any money. The Syrian guy behind the counter let her use the store phone.
“What I really want is one of these turkey subs on honey wheat,” she said, dreamily. She had that morning-after-getting-your-stomach pumped hunger.
“Don’t worry, I got you,” I said, reaching for my converse and a baseball cap and running out the door to meet her.
“You just don’t move,” I demanded.
Of course I was ecstatic that she had called me first instead of Fitz.
I brought her a turkey sub and salt and vinegar chips and a bottle of coca-cola and a king-sized package of peanut M&Ms.
“Thanks, man,” she said, as she laid the food out in front of her like a mini picnic. We were sitting upon a soft blanket of dried grass and soil under a tree in the middle of Central Park. The branches and leaves spread out like a canopy and formed a large tent around us, giving us a level of privacy. She was wearing a pair of ripped jeans and a green hospital shirt with the sleeves rolled up above her shoulders, like the tuffie bitch she was trying to be.
On her feet was a pair of green paper slippers.
“I should have brought you some kicks,” I said, sadly.
At first she looked at me blankly, then she peered down at her feet and laughed, which made her clutch her stomach in pain.
“Hey,” I said and reached for her hand.
“I’m OK,” she growled, swatting it away.
“You do too much for me…way too much,” she said, her voice filled with despair.
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to do,” I said, rather absurdly.
“I know,” she said, “That’s the problem.”
She stopped eating and blinked her eyes in the filtered green light.
I realized, as I do from time to time, that she didn’t want me, but she wanted the way I wanted her, and that this made her guilty, like someone who orders a fancy dinner when they aren’t hungry and ends up pushing the food around their plate for an hour before it’s unceremoniously taken away.
As for me the feeling is another wound, and then another and another.
My desire is left out on the window like empty bottles waiting to be filled with rain.
We sat in silence, with only the sounds of the birds and crickets and cyclists zooming past on the path a few feet in front of us.
Then she took my hand—the fucked up one—and held it with her own.
“You’re my friend,” she said, “we’re gonna find a way out of this.”
“OK,” I said, my eyes welling up with tears. With my other hand I pulled the rim of my cap over my eyes.
“Remember that Pavement show in that bar,” she said, “when everyone bum rushed the stage and we were in the front getting crushed and we could hardly breathe?”
“Yeah.”
“And I took your hand and told you to follow me and I weaved us in and out of the crowd and out the side door.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“And how I’ve told you that if we’re ever on some 9/11 shit, or some Great White burning show shit, or some lights out blackout pandemonium shit…remember what I told you do?”
“Yes,” I said.
“What?” she said, clutching her stomach. “Tell me.”
“You said to take your hand,” I said, crying openly now.
“Cuz why?” she said, softly.
“Cuz you have an uncanny ability,” I said.
I rubbed my nose and looked up and noticed a pair of pink plastic sunglasses hanging off one of the tree branches.
“No matter where you are, or what you’re doing, you always know the quickest way out.”
briar
i think i'm ready now...
by TRUE
Baby, can't you see
I'm calling
A guy like you
Should wear a warning
It's dangerous
I'm fallin'
There's no escape
I can't wait
I need a hit
Baby, give me it
You're dangerous
I'm lovin' it
Too high
Can't come down
Losing my head
Spinning round and round
Do you feel me now
With a taste of your lips
I'm on a ride
You're toxic
I'm slipping under
With a taste of a poison paradise
I'm addicted to you
Don't you know that you're toxic
And I love what you do
Don't you know that you're toxic
It's getting late
To give it up
I took a sip
From my devils cup
Slowly
It's taking over me
Too high
Can't come down
It's in the air
And it's all around
Can you feel me now
With a taste of your lips
I'm on a ride
You're toxic
I'm slipping under
With a taste of a poison paradise
I'm addicted to you
Don't you know that you're toxic
And I love what you do
Don't you know that you're toxic
Don't you know that you're toxic
Taste of my lips and having fun
With a taste of your lips
I'm on a ride
You're toxic
I'm slipping under
With a taste of poison paradise
I'm addicted to you
Don't you know that you're toxic
With a taste of your lips
I'm on a ride
You're toxic
I'm slipping under
With a taste of poison paradise
I'm addicted to you
Don't you know that you're toxic
I'm intoxicated now
I think you'll love it now
I think I'm ready now
I think I'm ready now
I'm intoxicated now
I think you'll love it now
I think I'm ready now
"toxic"--britney spears
Effets speciaux
by TRUE
Someone else's world goes by
As my train runs through this night
Someone else's rain comes down
But no rain can touch me now
Smoke and mirrors
Special effects
A little fear, a little sex
That's all love is
Behind the tears
Smoke and mirrors
We were foolish, you and I
But there's no reason to cry
We put on a lovely show
But that's all. I had to go
Smoke and mirrors
Special effects
A little fear, a little sex
That's all love is
Behind the tears
Smoke and mirrors
I don't know the stations' names
I'll spend my life on this train
Smoke and mirrors
Special effects
A little fear, a little sex
That's all love is
Behind the tears
Smoke and mirrors
Fumée et miroirs
Effets speciaux
un peu de peur
un peu de sexe
sous les lârmes
L'amour n'est que sa
De la fumée et des miroirs
"Smoke and Mirrors"
--the magnetic fields
by TRUE
i stood face-to-face with Sterling in the middle of her bedroom.
the a/c was busted. a gigantic fan hummed loudly behind her like a scene out of Brazil.
"it's not dubya, it's not america in its current, mondo fucked-up state or growing up or growing old or getting a job or selling out that i'm afraid of..."
i lit a cigarette. i blew the smoke out my nose and the fan shot it right back in my face.
"what is it then?" she asked.
"mediocrity, man...that's my biggest fear. i fear the invasion of middle of the road thoughts and middle of the road non-deeds upon my person...i dread stalemates and compromises. mortgage payments and easy ways out...pedestrian tastes, waiting with the other androids on long lines at the supermarket..."
"brain death, " i said, tryin to sum it up. "i'm scurred of dying at 30 and being buried at 70."
"hmm," sterling said.
"i'd rather be a total twat," i declared, giving her my best tuff guy stare with the cigarette hanging loosely from my lip.
"i'd rather be the bad guy asshole, the person everybody loves to hate rather than some stupid SUV loser with money in the bank."
"hmm," sterling said again. then she sighed, long and hard.
"the problem with u is the problem with me," she said, in that high-pitched, sing-song voice of hers,"...and it's not a problem at all--in fact, it's a luxury, a gift from the cosmos or god or mother nature or dumb blind luck."
"i don't understand."
"no, you don't. and neither do i. that's my point. u and i have been thru some shit...some drama and some close shaves, but there are horrible things in the world that you and i can't imagine. the pain of losing yr mother. or yr father. or the pain of living in abject poverty with nothing to eat or god forbid the pain of losing a child."
"but you were kicked out by yr parents for being gay...we've seen people die from car crashes and drugs...we've been around the world and we've been arrested and nearly deported and experienced all sorts of ill shit."
"it's nothing," sterling said. "u and i haven't experienced jack shit. we're like two kids. innocents."
"innocents? c'mon, that's a crock of shit. i've been living the real 2 real for years now..."
"if that's what u want to believe," sterling said. she sighed again as wind from the fan blasted all the ashes out of the heavy ass glass ashtray that I'd rested on the end of the bed.
i waited for her to get pissed off at me but she didn't. each time i do something stupid i think to myself, now it's finally gonna happen--she's gonna get mad fer sere. i'm almost hoping for it, to be honest, cuz it would take away a certain level of supsense that makes me paranoid.
"i don't think you're very real at all. u live life like yr the invisible woman. the mystery guest with the extra long cigarette who believes she can control the game without playing."
"I don't like games," i said, pouting.
"no," she corrected me, "you just don't like losing."
i stood face-to-face with Sterling in the middle of her bedroom.
the a/c was busted. a gigantic fan hummed loudly behind her like a scene out of Brazil.
"it's not dubya, it's not america in its current, mondo fucked-up state or growing up or growing old or getting a job or selling out that i'm afraid of..."
i lit a cigarette. i blew the smoke out my nose and the fan shot it right back in my face.
"what is it then?" she asked.
"mediocrity, man...that's my biggest fear. i fear the invasion of middle of the road thoughts and middle of the road non-deeds upon my person...i dread stalemates and compromises. mortgage payments and easy ways out...pedestrian tastes, waiting with the other androids on long lines at the supermarket..."
"brain death, " i said, tryin to sum it up. "i'm scurred of dying at 30 and being buried at 70."
"hmm," sterling said.
"i'd rather be a total twat," i declared, giving her my best tuff guy stare with the cigarette hanging loosely from my lip.
"i'd rather be the bad guy asshole, the person everybody loves to hate rather than some stupid SUV loser with money in the bank."
"hmm," sterling said again. then she sighed, long and hard.
"the problem with u is the problem with me," she said, in that high-pitched, sing-song voice of hers,"...and it's not a problem at all--in fact, it's a luxury, a gift from the cosmos or god or mother nature or dumb blind luck."
"i don't understand."
"no, you don't. and neither do i. that's my point. u and i have been thru some shit...some drama and some close shaves, but there are horrible things in the world that you and i can't imagine. the pain of losing yr mother. or yr father. or the pain of living in abject poverty with nothing to eat or god forbid the pain of losing a child."
"but you were kicked out by yr parents for being gay...we've seen people die from car crashes and drugs...we've been around the world and we've been arrested and nearly deported and experienced all sorts of ill shit."
"it's nothing," sterling said. "u and i haven't experienced jack shit. we're like two kids. innocents."
"innocents? c'mon, that's a crock of shit. i've been living the real 2 real for years now..."
"if that's what u want to believe," sterling said. she sighed again as wind from the fan blasted all the ashes out of the heavy ass glass ashtray that I'd rested on the end of the bed.
i waited for her to get pissed off at me but she didn't. each time i do something stupid i think to myself, now it's finally gonna happen--she's gonna get mad fer sere. i'm almost hoping for it, to be honest, cuz it would take away a certain level of supsense that makes me paranoid.
"i don't think you're very real at all. u live life like yr the invisible woman. the mystery guest with the extra long cigarette who believes she can control the game without playing."
"I don't like games," i said, pouting.
"no," she corrected me, "you just don't like losing."
The Sketchy Artist
by TRUE
the little girls were gathered like apples at the bottom of the ancient tree. they had their sketchpads out for a drawing class that was about to begin--they were going to tackle those lush, long fields, where bees buzzed and horses stood around sniffing each other's butts and spring flowers tore to pieces in sudden gusts of warm wind.
they were gossiping and putting their hair up in pony tails and enthusiastically smearing lip gloss on their 11 yr old lips. they openly stared as i passed--they didn't know yet how to look at someone without looking.
i had a short lived feminist urge: u can do anything u want! i wanted to tell them, even tho i only half-believe that myself.
their clean white pads flashed at me as i passed. and it made me think about how i write like i'm drawing a picture...i hunch over the notebook and write a line or two on the top, and then on the bottom...a word here, a phrase there...
and all at once i missed writing so much and i missed the city and sterling and fitz and blogs and the innernet in general and iced coffees at the cafe i like and the weed delivery guys and my heroin addict neighbors and booming systems and the subway's celebratory egalitarianism and steam and smoke and stink...
and someone being there at nite to hold me tight and chase away the bad dreams...
behind the fields, came the slow wind-up of a lawnmower
as in my mind my thoughts were sliced to pieces by a silver saw...
she's got answers
by TRUE
he was my best friend. he used to hold me when i got my period and sing silly ballads until i fell asleep. he fed me drugs and put me on the pill. at first he was in awe of my pussy but later became spiteful of it, making me wash it with harsh soaps to make certain it didn't smell. i knew it didn't but his paranoia made me feel ugly. he had an awful temper that i used to find amusing, until he turned it upon me. his wrists were covered with scars...one set from when he was handcuffed to a car and raped and another from when he tried to kill himself. he was nearly blind, his blue eyes were so pale that they were practically colorless. he couldn't see things like tears or stars. or glass.
at one point i left a broken hi-ball glass on the floor by my bed. it had cracked in such a way that it still was able to stand up. the broken shard was at a 90 degree angle, like a knife. he came to my bed and started messing with me...doing his"play" wrestling thing...which, given the fact that he was a full foot taller than me and much stronger, was not much of a contest. it always started out fun before he'd start hurting me for real...never "on purpose," of course. i'd cry out for mercy, beg him to stop...i bruise so easily that the next day i'd be covered with green and purple splotches. oh, sweetie, he'd say in his innocent, sing-song voice. did i do that to you?
i don't remember trying to actively push him off the bed. as i said, he was much stronger than me, so it wouldn't have been easy. but i remember him on top of me and how i threatened to bring my knee up between his legs, which made him jump and gave me a chance to slide out from under him and give him a shove as i did, causing his left leg to fall off the bed and collide with the glass.
his eyes happened to be looking into mine at the moment of impact. as i watched the pupils grew huge and then immediately shrunk to pinholes.
"ouch," he said, softly.
it was a clean cut, the doctor at the hospital told us as he stitched him up.
"a perfectly straight incision," he said, in his oxy-foxy accent.
"however, it's quite deep. you can see all the way to the bone."
"really? can i see?" i said, jumping off my folding chair.
"ah, certainly," he said.
hey, he said, from the head of the bed, where he had a pillow over his face.
what is this? are you getting some sick pleasure off my accident?
i felt my face flush at the mention of the truth.
"me?" i said, as i leaned down and took a look.
there was the bone.
"it's so white," i said, awestruck.
for a minute i forgot about him and all the fucked-up, confused thoughts spinning in my head. the whiteness captivated me. it was like a gravestone or a seashell.
"i had no idea," i gasped.
"no idea of what?" the doctor asked.
"i had no idea it would be so perfect."
he was my best friend. he used to hold me when i got my period and sing silly ballads until i fell asleep. he fed me drugs and put me on the pill. at first he was in awe of my pussy but later became spiteful of it, making me wash it with harsh soaps to make certain it didn't smell. i knew it didn't but his paranoia made me feel ugly. he had an awful temper that i used to find amusing, until he turned it upon me. his wrists were covered with scars...one set from when he was handcuffed to a car and raped and another from when he tried to kill himself. he was nearly blind, his blue eyes were so pale that they were practically colorless. he couldn't see things like tears or stars. or glass.
at one point i left a broken hi-ball glass on the floor by my bed. it had cracked in such a way that it still was able to stand up. the broken shard was at a 90 degree angle, like a knife. he came to my bed and started messing with me...doing his"play" wrestling thing...which, given the fact that he was a full foot taller than me and much stronger, was not much of a contest. it always started out fun before he'd start hurting me for real...never "on purpose," of course. i'd cry out for mercy, beg him to stop...i bruise so easily that the next day i'd be covered with green and purple splotches. oh, sweetie, he'd say in his innocent, sing-song voice. did i do that to you?
i don't remember trying to actively push him off the bed. as i said, he was much stronger than me, so it wouldn't have been easy. but i remember him on top of me and how i threatened to bring my knee up between his legs, which made him jump and gave me a chance to slide out from under him and give him a shove as i did, causing his left leg to fall off the bed and collide with the glass.
his eyes happened to be looking into mine at the moment of impact. as i watched the pupils grew huge and then immediately shrunk to pinholes.
"ouch," he said, softly.
it was a clean cut, the doctor at the hospital told us as he stitched him up.
"a perfectly straight incision," he said, in his oxy-foxy accent.
"however, it's quite deep. you can see all the way to the bone."
"really? can i see?" i said, jumping off my folding chair.
"ah, certainly," he said.
hey, he said, from the head of the bed, where he had a pillow over his face.
what is this? are you getting some sick pleasure off my accident?
i felt my face flush at the mention of the truth.
"me?" i said, as i leaned down and took a look.
there was the bone.
"it's so white," i said, awestruck.
for a minute i forgot about him and all the fucked-up, confused thoughts spinning in my head. the whiteness captivated me. it was like a gravestone or a seashell.
"i had no idea," i gasped.
"no idea of what?" the doctor asked.
"i had no idea it would be so perfect."
