Time to Fuck

I am home, sitting around, drinking.

Yeah, drinking. Bad? Probably. Good? Regrettably. My brother IMs me in the afternoon. I am stunned. What is he up to? He wants to come up, buy a quart of Jack Daniels and hang out. Can he come up? FUCK YEAH. Bring your ass up here. We have a big night planned for tonight. Why not make a day out of it?

He arrives and we buy a quart of Jack and sit and sip all afternoon. Bullshitting. Life is a bitch, and she fucks you instead of her. We are not making our lives easier, nor are we doing things differently. We are still settling down into a wasteland, a wonderland of pain. We are lost, and there seems to be no getting around our quandary. What can be said? What? Drink up! That's what! Damn the torpedos. Fuck all the women! Let's eat drink and make merry for tomorrow we may die.

Soon, we are printing out our poems to read and we shamble out into the streets. We are legitimately fucked up. Colors change, the world is upside down, sounds bite, the mind flies amok. We are fucked up. We head downtown to the Yippee Museum Cafe and this is our first night. I read my poetry. My valentines day card to the world...why a twenty year old....

WHY A TWENTY YEAR OLD?

I fucked an older woman
it was fun
she was like floating
on a mellow lake

Soft, slow, smooth
you could do anything to her
put it anywhere
without complaint

Screwing her made me feel
like a pornstar
Banging away like a drummer
in a marching band

So why would I want to fuck
a twenty year old?
I happen to like
myself

A twenty year old is like
screwing a racecar
or wiring your dick to your
christmas lights

When fucking one
I grabbed two fistfulls of her hair
and she says: What are you doing?
and I say: I'm fucking you, baby

And she says: Don't touch the hair
They tend to be on the skinny side
shit, I'm pounding away
and her hipbones are cutting into my sides

it's like fucking
a bicycle
I'm getting tired
my shoulders ache till they burn

She says: Fuck me harder baby
Harder? I'm tired.
I'm starting to get cramps
She says: Fuck me faster

I try harder
I hurt more
This is crazy
I'm tired baby

But I haven't gotten mine, she says
Shit, let me call OBSIDIAN
maybe he can help
your hot ass out

I cum and call it a night
she wants to go again
get up old man, she says
get that old dick hard

She makes my dick feel old
it's not going to get hard
no matter how long
she blows on it

Finally, out of frustration she dresses
and to my relief she leaves
I stare at the door
I call the older woman

What are you doing tonight?


It goes over well. People are laughing, smiling, enjoying it. I am pleased with my work. My brother and I then go out and smoke dope. D2theL is hosting the event and it is a pleasure to support him. Another poet is willing to drive us to another venue where a friend of ours is featuring. We agree, but somewhere along the line we lose them and we are left at the Yippee. D2theL and B-man want to catch a cab. We do so. Packing in and riding up to the Nightingale. Not a big crowd, but fun to be around. We go off, we have fun. We party.

That's what drunks do...they take the party with them. We get further blasted, drinking beers and smoking with the rest of the poets on the corner. In no time we are wrecked, like we were when we were homeless. When we were homeless we stayed drunk, stayed plastered. It eased the pain of living on the streets, shitting on the streets. We were happy and drunk and poets. Now we were revisiting that time, and things are the same. Nothing's changed.

We read, we love, we emote. We bring out our souls, break out or hearts. We move ourselves and what can I say, when you get it back from the audience, you are moved. You are stunned. You are made love to in the emotional sense. You are fucked with your clothes on. There is nothing like it. Nothing.

We ended the night. I had the munchies, so we headed to an Arthur Treatchers Fish and chips. Ugh....I was hungry but this shit was horrible. It was beyond words. I choked down the meal and said to myself, never again. Shit, it made me sick. I wanted to go home. It was very late, midnight. My brother was hammered, barely making it. I, unfortunately process alcohol very quickly and was sobering up fast. I wanted to be home, online, writing, living again. We left and headed across town. I dropped OBSIDIAN off at the 14th street station, then walked down to seventh avenue, caught the three train home and got my ass to bed. I called it a night.

I crawled into my lonely bed.

This will not do much longer. It is time to put a tiger in this tank. Something to ply, and pare. The hobo is on the screen. He is on the prowl. Sex is healthy and powerful, and creative and strong. It's time to reach out and touch the face of pure creativity.

It's time to fuck.

Hobobob