What Are Friends For?

I’ve been waiting in the parking lot for over an hour. Jessica was supposed to be here at 2 and now it’s 3:15. The clinic closes at 5:30 and my appointment is at 3:30. There are people with picket signs across the street. I couldn’t stomach looking at the signs so I turned on the radio. The Smiths were playing “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now” how fucking appropriate.

I keep checking my cell phone and calling Jess but she isn’t answering. She’s probably fucking Marc or some bullshit. My hands are trembling and I can barely light a cigarette. I get out of my car and start pacing back and forth, toward the entrance and back to my car.

Where is Jessica? My cell phone rings and I answer without looking, It’s my mother, I hang up and get back in my car. I light the cigarette and drive away.

What are friends for?

Technology Just Jepapped Me

All week I've expended effortless hours on my laptop at all and any available moments I've been given. From early evening to sunrise I have been writing and writing because I've been experimenting on a project with one of my teachers and possibly for my thesis next year. Then a couple of days ago i was challenged with the opportunity to make a documentary for Malka, my girlfriend. She gave me no restrictions and no guidelines, just that it should include her work and process as well as a narration aspect.

In between writing I am running back and forth from my laptop to my camera shooting so many images and i have been very pleased with the outcome of the footage. Then phase two begins, I take a break on the writing and invest several hours working on a first cut and first section of the editing process for her documentary. Upon sunrise i decide to export it for my first cut and first viewing on my television and when i open the file on my computer (just to preview it) the video player would just crash.

I had come to the conclusion that i had exhausted my laptop beyond its power and i decide to restart it. Lord knows my devoted tool deserved a rebirth or reboot but that reboot was a fatal and regretful decision.

So as my computer shuts down, a relaxing silence settles over the whirring fans... When it boots up however it freezes on the loading screen. So after trying to restart it several times i approach it in every aspect from T booting it to Single User booting and even trying to safe boot but nothing worked. Luckily tonight or yesturday i connected it to malka's laptop and backed up all my important files.

A SIGH OF RELIEF, even though it seems like this ever growing shit cloud never stops soaking my closeness to happiness i was able to salvage all my writings and all things important from my computer. I ordered a new operating system and now await the restoring process.

MY documentary however is in limbo for the moment which is very upsetting...

I will be posting more stories soon through Malka's laptop so stay tuned.

Cheers to the few

Lipstick and Vodka

I leave her naked on the bed with the sheets barely covering her body. Her was face burrowed in a pillow exhausted and breathing loudly. I take a deep breath and my lungs fill softly with the scent of our sex in the air. I kiss her foot and put on my shirt. She tosses in bed and slightly wakes up.

“What are you doing?” she asks me. I hush her and continue to get dressed.

We met in the bar about 5 hours ago and I’m still debating if what happened was a mistake. I place the note on the nightstand, pick up my purse, and leave the motel.

I want to feel upset. When she wakes up she will be alone.
It was her first time, and for the two of us it was our last.

I left my stockings in on the chair, but I didn’t turn back.

Used

I feel used

He left me last night after he fucked me. I woke up and took a shower and worked on my mid-term paper. He is such a cold-hearted person but I feel pulled to him. John says I like the attention and I deal with the abuse. Is it abuse? I don’t feel abused but there is a part of me that is left feeling objectified.

I don’t think I could change him even though there are so many things I would change about him. My term paper is blank and my thoughts are pummeling my workflow. I go out on the porch and smoke a clove. Chris comes home and mentions something about a party later that I don’t want to go to. I return to my blank page and begin to stress. When he is here everything is fine but when he leaves I see things clearer about his personality.

Everyone thinks he is manipulative and heartless. I know why they say that but the situation goes deeper than other people’s observations. There is a lot more density to his character that I only see. He is different with me, different when we are alone.



I feel loved but I don’t think he loves me.

I write fiction

Best told through fiction these hands write truth through bended light. Amongst a library inspiration the publishing of twisted reality is a treatment for expression. I write not to forget but to remember. Vividly representing moments through fictional situations, keys to doors that only selected individuals have access to.

I am not estranged to the occasional literal recordings of moments and experiences but behind the wall of fictitious writings I am able to present my experiences to others. While I don’t seek an audience to listen to what I have written I feel a sense of release and vulnerability by publicly making my works available to passing eyes. I care not for attention but the exposure that these writings endure has an unexplainable meaning to me. My thoughts go ignored and are sheltered inside my mind and they are only able to be free.


I write this to my small audience as a note that the works are in fact fiction and while fueled by my own experiences with others they are not directly reality. Keep it in mind and judge not the individual who writes.