glenn dale jefferson owns three oscars. glenn dale jefferson prefers to go by the name actor. the actor has reads no newspapers watches no tv and will only own nondescript things. he is a blank slate ready to be written upon.
his life was one of a ship at sail, doing it's work, taking pride in it's own ship body doing it's ship work. the actor would train his vocal chords, he would mimic small animals that would skitter across his property, grasp fallen acorns and stuff them in his cheeks to understand the life of the squirrel he was to play in an animation film. the actor studied the asian woman for his big business drama about going to china and ending up on top. today he stands leaning against a bus stop dark glasses blocking his vision as he clings to a light pole learning the ways of the blind.
there is a man with a pout belly hurriedly walking towards the actor. the man reaches out one stout arm and grasps our hero as he trips over a bench and begins to fall.
'gotcha,' says the fatso.
'wooah,' says the actor.
the robust man helps steady glenn dale jefferson, the actor, on his feet and asks 'are you alright?'
'i am fine, i guess this is the trouble you get in with your dog in the shop.'
they laugh.
'thank you for the help,' says the actor.
the actor is wearing a gray sport coat over a green christmas tree sweater over a black button up shirt all above unzipped slacks and mismatched tennis shoes. the fat man is wearing a business suit and has combed his hair slick over his bald spot.
as the rotund man began to make his way down the street the actor called after him.
'sir, your name?'
'gerald,' said the man.
'gerald, i have an appointment i can not be late for. have you ever eaten at pepino?' said the actor facing a store window.
'no, i can't afford that place.'
'lead me there an it's on me. a thank you for helping. what do you say?'
'i don't know, i have to go back to work...'
the actor waved his hand in the air, after lunch we will go to work and i will explain to your boss.'
'i don't know,' said gerald.
the actor runs into the glass, spins about and heads towards the busy street saying, 'life is to be lived! even i, with my condition, have come to the realization each breath is the death of that breath. each day is a day closer to the end. forget treading water, and swim! now if you wish to tread, that is your decision but i must swim to pepino!'
gerald reaches out and grasps the actor just before he steps in front of a speeding taxi. he pulls him to the sidewalk and says, 'it's always better to swim with a partner. listen after lunch you must go to my office and prove my story.'
'sir,' said the actor, 'by the end of lunch we will be out of this stream and into the wilds of the ocean where all things are possible.
-pepino the director producer and the write in.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
12/9
it is early and cold. i am watching curious george with william and joanne. we are considering burning the house down and starting over. somewhere between clinton and now life has gotten hard. not just the everybody is broke and losing their jobs but something more internal. it is stressful to be american. there is the great pose down of representatives, i mean how can you not alleviate the struggle of the small business or independent insurance buyer? how is no the right answer to even looking at these problems?
it is true that i believe merkley was the wrong choice, not because i am republican but because oregon had a unique situation where our democratic rep and our republican rep liked each other and both held some position or chair in their respective party. this is not a shot at merkley but i can not shake the feeling that if gordon smith was still in office oregon would have a viable candidate for president.
i do not think oden is cursed. i think that the blazers must take out the magnifying glass and look at their training staff. to have this many problems is not the effort of the cosmos but a real failure of the training staff to stretch and/or care for the athlete's parts. bill walton would not return to the trailblazer organization because he felt the training staff failures cost him his career. watching the continual collapse of our players health one finds that hard to argue.
i am reading dan jenkins semi tough, it is a riot.
you can say what you want about granderson, but to steal bases you have to actually be on base.
is it amazing that the oregon ducks would still be in the rose bowl if they were undefeated, but there would be a great offense to having to play that game. so you have to wonder if you wouldn't take the same out come in boise and stanford. with these two losses it makes the rose bowl game a true reward worth celebrating.
thinking about football how is portland state such a terrible draw? is it the conference? have you been to civic stadium? civic has a great atmosphere and nestled in downtown gives a true personality you can not find anywhere else. i remember when pokey allen was on the television talking about how 'if you don't buy season tickets a meteor will land in your yard' and the place drew. now it is a ghost town. sure psu is a commuter school, but come on if portland is a sports town than it has to be an administrative failure to not find a local coach who can get the best kids in the portland area, or at least the third best kids.
if glanville could not draw, could not recruit than maybe the place is dead.
what about them pilots? top twenty five? that's redonkulous! is that a inspiration for the vikings football program? do they draw? if they don't than shame on us.
dear governor can you not cheer minimum wage job creation? to work to bring in companies how about looking at the places these companies already are and grandfathering those environments to oregon. how about single payer insurance, elimination of all tax save sin and consumption and federal. how about letting business pay unemployment and worker comp and that's it. how about giving business that freedom on the condition that they build green and work green. making oregon the green state the leader in the new economy. how about opening up the waterfront to the casino and creating an oregon boardwalk for tourism?
why does it seem like we are not the state of dreamers of pioneers? hello we would not be here without those things, and the business in a world wide market can pick and choose where they operate. look at michigan, a dead state well what if michigan tells the corporate world 'you can operate from here, in america at the exact same price you are operating in china or taiwan or wherever?' wouldn't they want to come back?
i could go on and on
i could write how alderidge should be traded for kevin love, how roy is not happy and secretly wants to be traded but there is always tomorrow!
thank you.
it is true that i believe merkley was the wrong choice, not because i am republican but because oregon had a unique situation where our democratic rep and our republican rep liked each other and both held some position or chair in their respective party. this is not a shot at merkley but i can not shake the feeling that if gordon smith was still in office oregon would have a viable candidate for president.
i do not think oden is cursed. i think that the blazers must take out the magnifying glass and look at their training staff. to have this many problems is not the effort of the cosmos but a real failure of the training staff to stretch and/or care for the athlete's parts. bill walton would not return to the trailblazer organization because he felt the training staff failures cost him his career. watching the continual collapse of our players health one finds that hard to argue.
i am reading dan jenkins semi tough, it is a riot.
you can say what you want about granderson, but to steal bases you have to actually be on base.
is it amazing that the oregon ducks would still be in the rose bowl if they were undefeated, but there would be a great offense to having to play that game. so you have to wonder if you wouldn't take the same out come in boise and stanford. with these two losses it makes the rose bowl game a true reward worth celebrating.
thinking about football how is portland state such a terrible draw? is it the conference? have you been to civic stadium? civic has a great atmosphere and nestled in downtown gives a true personality you can not find anywhere else. i remember when pokey allen was on the television talking about how 'if you don't buy season tickets a meteor will land in your yard' and the place drew. now it is a ghost town. sure psu is a commuter school, but come on if portland is a sports town than it has to be an administrative failure to not find a local coach who can get the best kids in the portland area, or at least the third best kids.
if glanville could not draw, could not recruit than maybe the place is dead.
what about them pilots? top twenty five? that's redonkulous! is that a inspiration for the vikings football program? do they draw? if they don't than shame on us.
dear governor can you not cheer minimum wage job creation? to work to bring in companies how about looking at the places these companies already are and grandfathering those environments to oregon. how about single payer insurance, elimination of all tax save sin and consumption and federal. how about letting business pay unemployment and worker comp and that's it. how about giving business that freedom on the condition that they build green and work green. making oregon the green state the leader in the new economy. how about opening up the waterfront to the casino and creating an oregon boardwalk for tourism?
why does it seem like we are not the state of dreamers of pioneers? hello we would not be here without those things, and the business in a world wide market can pick and choose where they operate. look at michigan, a dead state well what if michigan tells the corporate world 'you can operate from here, in america at the exact same price you are operating in china or taiwan or wherever?' wouldn't they want to come back?
i could go on and on
i could write how alderidge should be traded for kevin love, how roy is not happy and secretly wants to be traded but there is always tomorrow!
thank you.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
12/8s introduction.
this is the story of the 'ricker'. i am the 'ricker', rick naljev and i make love to women. it's always the same, they come up to me saying such things as, 'oh, you have such wonderful hair. how do you keep it so raven feather black?' to which i would respond with something like, 'the true miracle is in my pants, darling.'
it is true that my hair is a magnificent deep shade of black. i comb this masterpiece straight back, slicked so as to accentuate my chiseled cheeks and deep tender doe brown eyes. you see when a woman takes in a man she looks first to the hair, then the eyes then the shoes. she does this to see if you can take care of the small details, but not so much as you wouldn't need her to improve that area of your life. as we get more modern, as we get more lazy women want to improve her man but do not have the energy for a full remodel.
a woman knows immediately if you are married or in a relationship. if she goes with you then do not feel any guilt towards her for she has made her bed. the secret to the adultress is that she does not want to take on the full task of caring for a man so she chooses the committed man to share this duty. the woman who is being cheated on knows immediately when her man begins to stray and thus has her reasons for not stopping it. either she is ready to be out of the relationship, wants something that heretofore the man has not given her, or has lost interest in full ownership and may be looking for another part time investment.
the 'ricker' does not get involved in these types. i am a romantic.
now i understand that you are thinking to yourself, 'how can a man who has screwed so many woman (thank you) possibly be a romantic?'
well, first of all, i make love to these women. secondly, it is not about moving from one woman to another, it is not about another notch on the belt. i am not wilt chamberlin, i am looking for a true love and give my heart completely to each situation. i go in with the excitement that this could be the final stop for the 'big rick express'. to each woman i give an unbiased chance at success. each could tame the wild heart that beats in this chest.
'well rick if that is true than why do you immediately make love to them?' you could ask.
i make love to them on the first night, because i believe that the moment after you climax, when you are laying side by side you immediately know your future. if you get anxious and want to leave then it was just lust, if you stay, hold hands and talk of the future or fall to some joyous sleep then you have something. either way she receives the great gift of rick for at least one passionate, orgasmic night.
it is important for a man to make a woman orgasm. if you can not cause a woman and most importantly your woman to orgasm then your are in for a life of misery. i have always maintained that a woman who is not made to orgasm by her man should feel no guilt about having a wandering eye. we all must be satisfied.
i have made love to each and every nation. i am unbiased when it comes to delivering pleasure. i am not boasting when i say that i have a generously sized penis and i know how to use. though most men talk of their masterful cockmanship the true lover, the most generous of lovers will use, not only his penis but also his mouth and fingers. the 'ricker' has always believed that the secret to a satisfied woman is a good warm up and nothing will warm her up like a good oral session.
to a woman the orgasm is like a rope, the more she has the tighter you are bound. if you are inclined to read these lines and work these wonders on more than one woman understand that each will become bound and infatuated, this is the reason that i only have one woman at a time, unless more is requested, and that immediately after the fire of our love has withered i let them go. never keep a woman that you have lost passion for life is short she must have the respect to know she must keep looking for her partner.
during my adult life friends have come asking me, 'ricker, what can i do with my wife...' and i always stop them there for i have never been married so the 'ricker' can not discuss such things. though i believe that one should be open and honest with one's wife or husband. if trouble arises it should be tended to be a counselor or preist.
the way that i have handled threesomes is to be honest. since i am not in a marriage i can say no men, the 'ricker' is not interested in that. i don't think i would want two men coming after me if i was a woman anyway just seems like more work. so, if a woman wants to have multiple partners they must be women or not with me, but if i was married then i would have to consider my life partner's wishes, dreams and desires in order to keep the marriage healthy and happy.
enough of this for now.
let's bowl.
-------------next how dressing specific to desired nationality will help you get foreign poon.
it is true that my hair is a magnificent deep shade of black. i comb this masterpiece straight back, slicked so as to accentuate my chiseled cheeks and deep tender doe brown eyes. you see when a woman takes in a man she looks first to the hair, then the eyes then the shoes. she does this to see if you can take care of the small details, but not so much as you wouldn't need her to improve that area of your life. as we get more modern, as we get more lazy women want to improve her man but do not have the energy for a full remodel.
a woman knows immediately if you are married or in a relationship. if she goes with you then do not feel any guilt towards her for she has made her bed. the secret to the adultress is that she does not want to take on the full task of caring for a man so she chooses the committed man to share this duty. the woman who is being cheated on knows immediately when her man begins to stray and thus has her reasons for not stopping it. either she is ready to be out of the relationship, wants something that heretofore the man has not given her, or has lost interest in full ownership and may be looking for another part time investment.
the 'ricker' does not get involved in these types. i am a romantic.
now i understand that you are thinking to yourself, 'how can a man who has screwed so many woman (thank you) possibly be a romantic?'
well, first of all, i make love to these women. secondly, it is not about moving from one woman to another, it is not about another notch on the belt. i am not wilt chamberlin, i am looking for a true love and give my heart completely to each situation. i go in with the excitement that this could be the final stop for the 'big rick express'. to each woman i give an unbiased chance at success. each could tame the wild heart that beats in this chest.
'well rick if that is true than why do you immediately make love to them?' you could ask.
i make love to them on the first night, because i believe that the moment after you climax, when you are laying side by side you immediately know your future. if you get anxious and want to leave then it was just lust, if you stay, hold hands and talk of the future or fall to some joyous sleep then you have something. either way she receives the great gift of rick for at least one passionate, orgasmic night.
it is important for a man to make a woman orgasm. if you can not cause a woman and most importantly your woman to orgasm then your are in for a life of misery. i have always maintained that a woman who is not made to orgasm by her man should feel no guilt about having a wandering eye. we all must be satisfied.
i have made love to each and every nation. i am unbiased when it comes to delivering pleasure. i am not boasting when i say that i have a generously sized penis and i know how to use. though most men talk of their masterful cockmanship the true lover, the most generous of lovers will use, not only his penis but also his mouth and fingers. the 'ricker' has always believed that the secret to a satisfied woman is a good warm up and nothing will warm her up like a good oral session.
to a woman the orgasm is like a rope, the more she has the tighter you are bound. if you are inclined to read these lines and work these wonders on more than one woman understand that each will become bound and infatuated, this is the reason that i only have one woman at a time, unless more is requested, and that immediately after the fire of our love has withered i let them go. never keep a woman that you have lost passion for life is short she must have the respect to know she must keep looking for her partner.
during my adult life friends have come asking me, 'ricker, what can i do with my wife...' and i always stop them there for i have never been married so the 'ricker' can not discuss such things. though i believe that one should be open and honest with one's wife or husband. if trouble arises it should be tended to be a counselor or preist.
the way that i have handled threesomes is to be honest. since i am not in a marriage i can say no men, the 'ricker' is not interested in that. i don't think i would want two men coming after me if i was a woman anyway just seems like more work. so, if a woman wants to have multiple partners they must be women or not with me, but if i was married then i would have to consider my life partner's wishes, dreams and desires in order to keep the marriage healthy and happy.
enough of this for now.
let's bowl.
-------------next how dressing specific to desired nationality will help you get foreign poon.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
12/1
league night and we are rolling at alley cat lanes.
the thunderbolt. that is what i call it. my mustache, as it strikes women dead in their tracks. the slow roll of the bowling ball, from my hand, is the rumble of thunder. i strain, perched one leg stiff long pointed behind me, one arm straight to the side and the rolling arm extended down the lane. i form a perfect 't' as the ball moves towards the center pin i turn around head down, then suddenly, as the ball explodes into the pins i look up into her eyes and 'bam' lightening strikes.
'rick naljev, how are you?' i say extending my non wrist guarded hand.
'pam, fine, good...you knew it was a strike?' she asks.
'i always do.'
this is a league night so i am wearing our 'pin heads' ruffled white tuxedo shirt and blue polyester slacks. i can feel the cool air rustle the fabric against my thin frame. pam has highlights through her dirty blonde hair, she is five two with grey blue eyes and a simple beautiful face. she is above average and that is good.
'you want to sit and enjoy some of my chili fries?' i ask.
'ooh, a real romeo,' she says.
'so, what brings you here?'
she spins a fry through the chili onion and cheese staring down sheepishly. she moves slightly casting her eyes against my adams apple while placing the fry through her teeth she speaks, 'i was supposed to be meeting someone but i guess they couldn't make it.'
i run my fore finger across the thunderbolt and watch her eyes trace my movements. the juke box starts to play a familiar song from the eighties as i lean forward and say, 'some men are intimidated by beauty, me, i admire it.'
'oh really,' she says.
'yes, very much so, and you know where the best place is to admire such a beauty as yourself?'
'lemme guess, your bedroom?' she says with a sigh.
'i was going to say the dance floor, to this familiar and wonderful song. but what ever you want to do is fine with me?' i smile which causes the thunderbolt to dance for her. she blushes when she smiles and playfully punches my arm.
'oh pam if you knew your own strength, i bruise easily!'
we laugh and head towards a small parquet floor between the snack tables and video games. we dance slowly, in a circle she playfully puts her head on my shoulder. i playfully say, 'here comes the ass rub,' she blushes and says, 'you didn't just say that?'
the music talks about the rose, how every rose has a thorn and as the guitar solo begins we are no longer playing but quiet holding each other, moving in circles.
i close my eyes, breathe deep her perfume, feel the sway of her hair across my neck and chin. i grasp her hand close to my chest and feel the softness of her knuckles, rub with my forefinger across her chewed and rough nails.
pam sighs, she sways and rubs the back of my shoulder holding on, drawing in moving to the rhythm of the song.
when it is over an old woman claps and the pin heads sing over, 'ricker you ready to bowl this fucker down? you can bring your girlfriend.'
i nod and laugh, 'how 'bout it girlfriend, you can eat my fries.'
'that and a beer will get you a 'yes',' she says.
'you have a deal.'
this night i am magnificent. the pin heads are cruising. whenever the maulers get within striking distance i push them away. pam is cheering each roll and her voice must bear the power of the bowling gods for the ball moves true.
'the ricker is on fire,' the pin heads say.
i stare up at the score sheet and see a miracle forming, then stare across the pit to pam and see the miracle that is. pam laughs and i shrug. she drinks her beer and point to my stomach mouthing 'what about me?' she comes over and shares.
in between rolls we are together now. inbetween roles we are cheering on the team, i have my arm about her i have my legs crossed. she is leaning into me, she has her ankles crossed, she is wearing denim jeans, she is wearing a dark shirt underneath a light zipper hoodie and she is carrying a small dark purse.
the strikes continue as the game wears on. i have not missed they say, i am on pace for perfection, they say. i can not focus on the moment for i am lost into her, into this, into us.
'burn 'em down ricker,' she says.
'here comes the fire,' i say and blast through the final frame, the final toss the final strike. the maulers lay defeated as we cheer and clutch at one another. balloons fall from the ceiling as a 300 blinks on the score board. i am awarded a free pizza coupon, i am awarded a plaque, i am awarded a t-shirt with a picture of me against the score board. i pull pam in for the photo.
it is after the game, it is late, it is closing time and we have talked the whole night through. it is closing time and we are on fire for one another.
'who lives closer?' she says.
we say our address, she is closer. we are on our way. i am driving. her hands across me, all over me finally landing against the thunderbolt and stroking the hair down.
we arrive.
i watch from her doorway as she turns the lights of her apartment on. i watch as she moves back towards me, i watch her pull me in and close the door. we are across each other, we are all over each other falling over furniture and pulling at our clothes.
i close my eyes. i smell her. i open my eyes and watch her. i watch and fall in love with her humble body with her small one bedroom apartment. i can see her struggle and poverty. she is making just enough and on her own. she has broken her dad's heart because she won't let him take care of her.
i see the shadow of her body through the light reflecting off her glass frames. her things cute and thoughtful. as we roll and strip, as we make our way towards lusts climax i think of when she bought the salt shakers. i wonder if she was in a relationship, if she was happy alone or was this with friends . i imagine her alone shopping in some retail store, going through things, no one at her side but happy just because all her bills were paid and she had some left over for this.
we are kissing, we are moving we are making love and i am overwhelmed with the idea of her at the store alone. it is beautiful. we climax we surrender.
when we sleep she is cute, innocent, curled against me in a crescent moon. she has her hands tucked beneath her chin and her face is lax. i lay on the bed and try to imagine myself here. there is the answering machine, how many messages has it received from old lover boys and best friends. she has a giant stuffed bean bag chair which is ridiculous and would have to go.
i make my way to the toilet and relieve myself. there is a cabinet full of her things that i do not snoop over. i am sorry when i open the door and find there is not enough room for my things. i look at her shower curtain it is plain see through and would have to change.
i wonder how she can sleep knowing i am here wandering through the apartment, using her toilet maybe secretly thinking of eating her food. she is still in bed, but i can tell she is fake sleeping so i make a joke, 'oh good i can sneek out of here,' to which she pinches my arm and pulls me in.
'i don't think so,' is her sleepy reply.
we lay and dream happy for something found.
dreams are like rivers they snake around only to find themselves back again...
league night and we are rolling at space lanes.
the thunderbolt. that is what i call it. my mustache, as it strikes women dead in their tracks. the slow roll of the bowling ball, from my hand, is the rumble of thunder. i strain, perched one leg stiff long pointed behind me, one arm straight to the side and the rolling arm extended down the lane. i form a perfect 't' as the ball moves towards the center pin i turn around head down, then suddenly, as the ball explodes into the pins i look up into her eyes and 'bam' lightening strikes.
'rick naljev, how are you?' i say extending my non wrist guarded hand.
'misty, fine, good...you knew it was a strike?' she asks.
'i always do.'
the thunderbolt. that is what i call it. my mustache, as it strikes women dead in their tracks. the slow roll of the bowling ball, from my hand, is the rumble of thunder. i strain, perched one leg stiff long pointed behind me, one arm straight to the side and the rolling arm extended down the lane. i form a perfect 't' as the ball moves towards the center pin i turn around head down, then suddenly, as the ball explodes into the pins i look up into her eyes and 'bam' lightening strikes.
'rick naljev, how are you?' i say extending my non wrist guarded hand.
'pam, fine, good...you knew it was a strike?' she asks.
'i always do.'
this is a league night so i am wearing our 'pin heads' ruffled white tuxedo shirt and blue polyester slacks. i can feel the cool air rustle the fabric against my thin frame. pam has highlights through her dirty blonde hair, she is five two with grey blue eyes and a simple beautiful face. she is above average and that is good.
'you want to sit and enjoy some of my chili fries?' i ask.
'ooh, a real romeo,' she says.
'so, what brings you here?'
she spins a fry through the chili onion and cheese staring down sheepishly. she moves slightly casting her eyes against my adams apple while placing the fry through her teeth she speaks, 'i was supposed to be meeting someone but i guess they couldn't make it.'
i run my fore finger across the thunderbolt and watch her eyes trace my movements. the juke box starts to play a familiar song from the eighties as i lean forward and say, 'some men are intimidated by beauty, me, i admire it.'
'oh really,' she says.
'yes, very much so, and you know where the best place is to admire such a beauty as yourself?'
'lemme guess, your bedroom?' she says with a sigh.
'i was going to say the dance floor, to this familiar and wonderful song. but what ever you want to do is fine with me?' i smile which causes the thunderbolt to dance for her. she blushes when she smiles and playfully punches my arm.
'oh pam if you knew your own strength, i bruise easily!'
we laugh and head towards a small parquet floor between the snack tables and video games. we dance slowly, in a circle she playfully puts her head on my shoulder. i playfully say, 'here comes the ass rub,' she blushes and says, 'you didn't just say that?'
the music talks about the rose, how every rose has a thorn and as the guitar solo begins we are no longer playing but quiet holding each other, moving in circles.
i close my eyes, breathe deep her perfume, feel the sway of her hair across my neck and chin. i grasp her hand close to my chest and feel the softness of her knuckles, rub with my forefinger across her chewed and rough nails.
pam sighs, she sways and rubs the back of my shoulder holding on, drawing in moving to the rhythm of the song.
when it is over an old woman claps and the pin heads sing over, 'ricker you ready to bowl this fucker down? you can bring your girlfriend.'
i nod and laugh, 'how 'bout it girlfriend, you can eat my fries.'
'that and a beer will get you a 'yes',' she says.
'you have a deal.'
this night i am magnificent. the pin heads are cruising. whenever the maulers get within striking distance i push them away. pam is cheering each roll and her voice must bear the power of the bowling gods for the ball moves true.
'the ricker is on fire,' the pin heads say.
i stare up at the score sheet and see a miracle forming, then stare across the pit to pam and see the miracle that is. pam laughs and i shrug. she drinks her beer and point to my stomach mouthing 'what about me?' she comes over and shares.
in between rolls we are together now. inbetween roles we are cheering on the team, i have my arm about her i have my legs crossed. she is leaning into me, she has her ankles crossed, she is wearing denim jeans, she is wearing a dark shirt underneath a light zipper hoodie and she is carrying a small dark purse.
the strikes continue as the game wears on. i have not missed they say, i am on pace for perfection, they say. i can not focus on the moment for i am lost into her, into this, into us.
'burn 'em down ricker,' she says.
'here comes the fire,' i say and blast through the final frame, the final toss the final strike. the maulers lay defeated as we cheer and clutch at one another. balloons fall from the ceiling as a 300 blinks on the score board. i am awarded a free pizza coupon, i am awarded a plaque, i am awarded a t-shirt with a picture of me against the score board. i pull pam in for the photo.
it is after the game, it is late, it is closing time and we have talked the whole night through. it is closing time and we are on fire for one another.
'who lives closer?' she says.
we say our address, she is closer. we are on our way. i am driving. her hands across me, all over me finally landing against the thunderbolt and stroking the hair down.
we arrive.
i watch from her doorway as she turns the lights of her apartment on. i watch as she moves back towards me, i watch her pull me in and close the door. we are across each other, we are all over each other falling over furniture and pulling at our clothes.
i close my eyes. i smell her. i open my eyes and watch her. i watch and fall in love with her humble body with her small one bedroom apartment. i can see her struggle and poverty. she is making just enough and on her own. she has broken her dad's heart because she won't let him take care of her.
i see the shadow of her body through the light reflecting off her glass frames. her things cute and thoughtful. as we roll and strip, as we make our way towards lusts climax i think of when she bought the salt shakers. i wonder if she was in a relationship, if she was happy alone or was this with friends . i imagine her alone shopping in some retail store, going through things, no one at her side but happy just because all her bills were paid and she had some left over for this.
we are kissing, we are moving we are making love and i am overwhelmed with the idea of her at the store alone. it is beautiful. we climax we surrender.
when we sleep she is cute, innocent, curled against me in a crescent moon. she has her hands tucked beneath her chin and her face is lax. i lay on the bed and try to imagine myself here. there is the answering machine, how many messages has it received from old lover boys and best friends. she has a giant stuffed bean bag chair which is ridiculous and would have to go.
i make my way to the toilet and relieve myself. there is a cabinet full of her things that i do not snoop over. i am sorry when i open the door and find there is not enough room for my things. i look at her shower curtain it is plain see through and would have to change.
i wonder how she can sleep knowing i am here wandering through the apartment, using her toilet maybe secretly thinking of eating her food. she is still in bed, but i can tell she is fake sleeping so i make a joke, 'oh good i can sneek out of here,' to which she pinches my arm and pulls me in.
'i don't think so,' is her sleepy reply.
we lay and dream happy for something found.
dreams are like rivers they snake around only to find themselves back again...
league night and we are rolling at space lanes.
the thunderbolt. that is what i call it. my mustache, as it strikes women dead in their tracks. the slow roll of the bowling ball, from my hand, is the rumble of thunder. i strain, perched one leg stiff long pointed behind me, one arm straight to the side and the rolling arm extended down the lane. i form a perfect 't' as the ball moves towards the center pin i turn around head down, then suddenly, as the ball explodes into the pins i look up into her eyes and 'bam' lightening strikes.
'rick naljev, how are you?' i say extending my non wrist guarded hand.
'misty, fine, good...you knew it was a strike?' she asks.
'i always do.'
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
11/24
i have a pig. in the middle of the city he naps against the radiator snoring kicking his hooves and passing gas. charleston pig begat by princess snortus who was begat by king henry baconton the greatest show pig in american history.
charleston pig has taken home a million dollars in show prize money and stud fees. i do not have the heart to tell him what happens to his male heirs. famous actors buy his children to serve on easter or thanksgiving. famous chefs come calling two years before the president comes for dinner and they ask.
as i watch him dream i am filled with guilt. my room mate, my income, my friend how many of his children i have sent to the slaughter.
in an effort to suppress the pain i allow him to rut through the center of my life. when i invite a woman over i leave their clothes on the ground so he can roll across them. i shovel mounds of his waste off the floor and wipe the front room down. on weekends we spend hours at a small eastern oregon farm so that he may roll and frolic in the mud.
i do not know if he feels sadness. i do not know if he thinks of the ghost of children past. i do know that he will not mount any of the first class pigs that have paid for his services. charleston pig loves slumming it. he mounts freely, only the lower class and impregnates only the worst of the lot.
the farmers in the places we retreat to know this, they trade the land use and pig mounting for the chance to claim his blood line. each pig that becomes pregnant wins the pig lottery, as they will not be slaughtered. they are spared until they give birth and charleston has moved on to another pig.
i use to think this was just his taste. to each his own, as they say. then it began happening, where if i left him alonew with his woman he would snort, cry and dismount. he wanted me to watch, wanted to stare into my eyes as he performed. if i looked away he would snort and gnash his teeth, only quieting when i returned his gaze. this new practice caused a tremor in my heart.
each year, charleston pig, artifically inseminates 30 she hogs. each hog will give birth to eight piglets. that is 240 piglets, of those all but 30 will be slaughtered. we have been in this business for 10 years. i have sent 2100 of charleston's sons and daughters off to die.
i am the hitler of high quality pork products. as charleston lays and sleeps and dreams i watch, tearfully remembering those that have come to pass.
charleston pig has taken home a million dollars in show prize money and stud fees. i do not have the heart to tell him what happens to his male heirs. famous actors buy his children to serve on easter or thanksgiving. famous chefs come calling two years before the president comes for dinner and they ask.
as i watch him dream i am filled with guilt. my room mate, my income, my friend how many of his children i have sent to the slaughter.
in an effort to suppress the pain i allow him to rut through the center of my life. when i invite a woman over i leave their clothes on the ground so he can roll across them. i shovel mounds of his waste off the floor and wipe the front room down. on weekends we spend hours at a small eastern oregon farm so that he may roll and frolic in the mud.
i do not know if he feels sadness. i do not know if he thinks of the ghost of children past. i do know that he will not mount any of the first class pigs that have paid for his services. charleston pig loves slumming it. he mounts freely, only the lower class and impregnates only the worst of the lot.
the farmers in the places we retreat to know this, they trade the land use and pig mounting for the chance to claim his blood line. each pig that becomes pregnant wins the pig lottery, as they will not be slaughtered. they are spared until they give birth and charleston has moved on to another pig.
i use to think this was just his taste. to each his own, as they say. then it began happening, where if i left him alonew with his woman he would snort, cry and dismount. he wanted me to watch, wanted to stare into my eyes as he performed. if i looked away he would snort and gnash his teeth, only quieting when i returned his gaze. this new practice caused a tremor in my heart.
each year, charleston pig, artifically inseminates 30 she hogs. each hog will give birth to eight piglets. that is 240 piglets, of those all but 30 will be slaughtered. we have been in this business for 10 years. i have sent 2100 of charleston's sons and daughters off to die.
i am the hitler of high quality pork products. as charleston lays and sleeps and dreams i watch, tearfully remembering those that have come to pass.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
the weather and time change
has really got me tired and confused. so i am wandering the city with a headache. i will return. soon. after i figure out what all these bricks are about.
Friday, October 30, 2009
10/30
we suffer from?
old man with needle
behind ear
like cigarette
or pen
calls from beat winnebago door
'hey mail man,
you got anything for 2345?
i'll put a box soon.'
he is dressed
always slicked and suited
save for the worn slippers
on his feet
he makes his way with
elder son
with obese grand daughter
tumbling forward
no matter the morning
weather
to the local corner market
the poor buy in ones
one cigarette
one tall can of beer
it's pay day
my deposit
my check
didn't arrive
and i marvel how close
i am to the edge.
poverty drives my dad
to mexico
poverty drives my
inlaws
back to the restaurant kitchen
poverty drives me
to the streets
in circles
delivering
letters
day after day after
day.
old man with needle
behind ear
like cigarette
or pen
calls from beat winnebago door
'hey mail man,
you got anything for 2345?
i'll put a box soon.'
he is dressed
always slicked and suited
save for the worn slippers
on his feet
he makes his way with
elder son
with obese grand daughter
tumbling forward
no matter the morning
weather
to the local corner market
the poor buy in ones
one cigarette
one tall can of beer
it's pay day
my deposit
my check
didn't arrive
and i marvel how close
i am to the edge.
poverty drives my dad
to mexico
poverty drives my
inlaws
back to the restaurant kitchen
poverty drives me
to the streets
in circles
delivering
letters
day after day after
day.
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