"Run for the Border (¡Apurate!)"
look, I may look like a messican
but really, I'm not (scout's honor)
so before you go doing shit like
passing laws to fortify erect walls,
remember: you're only encouraging carlos mencia to steal more material from Jewish-American comedians
shame on you all
&&SG
Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rants. Show all posts
8.2.10
¡Fuck this Blog!
Memories from Dumpster Reading #6. Sycamore and Munger.
-Location: green dumpster behind 12 unit apartment complex.
-Some contents: diapers, stray beer cans and cereal boxes from torn open trash bags, oily rags, cardboard boxes, used prophylactics, bicycle chain, and some dried up tissues.
-Smell: nothing potent enough to unclog my sinuses.
-Audience: hippie looking dude in cowboy hat and homeless black guy who wanted the cans.
-Hippie jokes: 3.
-What I did: read six poems from "Ahora, tengo que ir..." and closed with a newly minted short story called, "When you get fucked at the Motel 6, you really get fucked at the Motel 6."
-Time: 23 minutes, 17 seconds.
-Talking with hippie guy:
Me: So, what's up ya hippie fuck?
Hippie: Not much. You Port-o-Reekin?
Me: I'm American.
Hippie: Oh. Me too.
Me: Yeah. Well, if you're a Mexican day laborer, you disguise yourself well.
Hippie: I'm not a hippie. I was born in '68.
Me: Look, if you don't have no thai stick or LSD or shit, you're wasting my time.
Hippie: Oh. So why you standing in the dumpster?
Me: It's a statement on artistry and a strong re-affirmation of the importance of the DIY ethic.
Hippie: No clue what yer talkin' about.
Me: It just means that I'm a cheeky fucker. I don't have a fuckin' book deal, and I don't roll 6-10 deep in some internet writing clique. Every artist I associate myself with I respect and would never want to emulate them or have them emulate me.
Hippie: Oh.
Me: You're really only like forty? Dude, you look sixty.
Hippie: I useta do drugs.
Me: I still do. Fuck me you look like shit. Best anti-drug abuse ad ever.
-Location: green dumpster behind 12 unit apartment complex.
-Some contents: diapers, stray beer cans and cereal boxes from torn open trash bags, oily rags, cardboard boxes, used prophylactics, bicycle chain, and some dried up tissues.
-Smell: nothing potent enough to unclog my sinuses.
-Audience: hippie looking dude in cowboy hat and homeless black guy who wanted the cans.
-Hippie jokes: 3.
-What I did: read six poems from "Ahora, tengo que ir..." and closed with a newly minted short story called, "When you get fucked at the Motel 6, you really get fucked at the Motel 6."
-Time: 23 minutes, 17 seconds.
-Talking with hippie guy:
Me: So, what's up ya hippie fuck?
Hippie: Not much. You Port-o-Reekin?
Me: I'm American.
Hippie: Oh. Me too.
Me: Yeah. Well, if you're a Mexican day laborer, you disguise yourself well.
Hippie: I'm not a hippie. I was born in '68.
Me: Look, if you don't have no thai stick or LSD or shit, you're wasting my time.
Hippie: Oh. So why you standing in the dumpster?
Me: It's a statement on artistry and a strong re-affirmation of the importance of the DIY ethic.
Hippie: No clue what yer talkin' about.
Me: It just means that I'm a cheeky fucker. I don't have a fuckin' book deal, and I don't roll 6-10 deep in some internet writing clique. Every artist I associate myself with I respect and would never want to emulate them or have them emulate me.
Hippie: Oh.
Me: You're really only like forty? Dude, you look sixty.
Hippie: I useta do drugs.
Me: I still do. Fuck me you look like shit. Best anti-drug abuse ad ever.
15.8.09
Q&A with writer Stuart González
Hello, my name is...
Stuart González.
Age?
SG: Chasing after 30 like it's a large breasted cougar in a low-lit bar.
Employed or Unemployed?
SG: I write. What do you think?
Good point. Unemployed. Okay. So, for the edification of our female readers (haha), single or taken?
SG: Definitely taken. Taken with ideas. Bad ones. Ones that wear ripped stockings and such...
So, what did you write?
SG: What didn't I write? In college I wrote essays about Lydia Lunch, Philip Roth, George S. Schuyler, Jonathan Borofsky, Albert Camus, and myself. I wrote lots of book reports in high school. I have a myspace, a fb, a lj, and at one point I had a black planet account. I like bootay.
But what did you write that people know you for?
SG: I ghost wrote everything by Stephanie Meyer.
I just puked in my mouth a little.
SG: Don't editorialize.
Seriously...
SG: Okay, I wrote a self-published novel with an egregious, ridiculous title: ¡El amor existe solamente para matarme! or Love and Me Have No Business Doing Business and I couldn't even give it away.
What's it about?
SG: It's not about love. I don't know. It might not even exist.
But what would it be about if it did?
SG: Good question. I think it would be about a guy kind of like Charlie Sheen's character in Two and a Half Men, you know? A guy who has no real job, but lives la vida extravagante because of kickbacks from some shitty kid's book he wrote years back (instead of jingle writer). Except, instead of being a drunken womanizer, he'd be a chain-smoking, cocktail drinking homosexual with style. I fucking hate those bowling shirts Sheen wears. Talk about puking in your mouth.
Isn't that part about being a homo and having style redundant?
SG: Don't be ignorant.
Right. Is that it?
SG: I guess.
Speaking of cocktails, what's your favorite?
SG: Four Horsemen. Jim, Jack, Johnnie, and Jameson or Jose.
...And Hell follows...
SG: Fuck that. I'm trying to get drunk, not die.
Fair enough. So are you reading anything worth mentioning these days?
SG: Just finished the Twilight series. Good shit. Bella is my heroine. If she were real I wouldn't fuck her and leave... I'd marry her.
...
SG: ...
Isn't she jailbait?
SG: Dude. It's fiction.
Right. If I open a pack of cigarettes and you take one, how many do I have left?
SG: Trick question. I don't smoke, and you're gonna get cancer, dude.
If you could say one thing to any person, living or dead, what would you say, and who would you say it to?
SG: "Are your tits as soft as they look?" -- to Eva Angelina
Best movie you've seen recently?
SG: "Paris, I Love You" was interesting. Nick Nolte is almost as godly as Gary Busey. Sometimes I mix them up, but they're both in my top 20.
Best music to make love to?
SG: Nothing. Music is overrated. The only thing I want to hear is my girl moaning or screaming or sighing in disappointment.
Really? So... you don't like a soundtrack with your casual sex?
SG: Music is best when I'm doing nothing. Ever stared at a white wall while listening to Division of Laura Lee? Or laid in bed and counted the oscillations of the ceiling fan with Morris Day and the Time funking out from the shitty speakers of your boombox?
Can't say I have.
SG: It's funny how people put so much stock in music and assign it such grandiose meaning. It's not that great. Just a bunch of notes and words and shit. And musicians are bigger assholes than athletes and writers. Actors are the biggest assholes. But at least they don't try to sing... most of them, anyway.
So no top fives?
SG: My top five records are: 5. Temple of Low Men-- Crowded House, 4. Ice Cream Castle-- The Time (with Morris Day), 3. Revolver-- The Beatles, 2. London Calling-- The Clash, 1. To The Extreme-- Vanilla Ice
So what's pissing you off right now?
SG: Being poor.
How do you feel about Sotomayor?
SG: She looks like my mom. So I kinda get pissed. But I think it's cool that she's an intelligent latina inspiring hope for the younger latinas. Ever heard of the reconquista? Slowly but surely, man. Slowly but surely.
Hahaha! So, are you working on anything you want to talk about? Hint: time to pimp yo shit.
SG: I'm writing a screenplay right now. It's about a guy who spends his entire day at a bar jabbering-- to anyone who will listen-- about his disjoint philosophies on everything from life and women to politics and cars. It's called, The Barstool Conversationalist. I'll be publishing a collection of poems soon. All of them are in Spanglish and dedicated to my mother.
And finally, I wrote a section of your short story. So technically, it is mine as well.
Thank you.
Stuart González is the author of "¡El amor existe solamente para matarme or Love and Me Have No Business Doing Business". He likes porn and drinking and eating. He lives in Dallas.
4.8.09
Sweet Refuse.
This is a disparate collection of scribblings and pitchures courtesy of moi throughout the years. At least since '06 ('07?). Some of them have been culled from blog entries on facebook and myspace. Yes, this is in the absence of anything "up-to-date." We're working on it.
"Sisyphean"
Baby, you're a rock alright.
(2007)
"Logorrhea"
Blah. Blah blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah, blah blah blah... blah. BLAH! Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah....
(2007)
"Optimism"
Across from me she sat, photographing. Secretly I loathed it. I am not photogenic. Everything around me could smack of aesthetic beauty and I would still feel unappealing. It's not her fault. Blame it on poor self esteem. I skimmed through the songs on her iPod. Eclectic. Tunes ranged from Modest Mouse to Converge (Two Day Romance is a great song) to Psyopus. She laughed at the faces I made with each run of the thumb. I began to wonder how many pictures she'd taken. I asked.
She said, "plenty, but I'm ready for a smoke now."
Outside the sun was bright. I told her that I was sad and she asked me why.
"Because the sun is not my friend."
"You are pale," she admitted.
"I don't mean that. It's just... I don't like these bright days. They reveal too much."
"The sun makes me happy," She said.
"Have you ever spent a night under the stars with a guy, just to be completely disappointed by the way he looked in sunlight?"
"Um, ha... no."
"She was horrible," I said.
"What are you listening to?"
"Some 80's sounding shit. But seriously, she had terrible acne around her lips. I think it was acne. I didn't feel it when she was kissing me in the dark."
"You're strange," She said. "I know a girl who had an STD once. On her face. Around her lips."
"STD?"
"Yeah, how do you know it was acne?" She asked, smiling. She threw down her cigarette, grabbed the iPod, and found the cover of "My Sharona" by The Number Twelve Looks Like You.
"Just for you."
I laughed, "You found it."
"Remember when we met at that party and you were trying to speak Spanish?"
I stepped back. "Yeah, I do."
"Are you talking about that girl that was slapping you all night?"
"Ha, yeah."
"STD."
"What?"
"STD. My friend Jonas said that she put out that night. And Jonas... he's a cool guy, but he's like a fuckin' carrier monkey."
"What does that have to do with me speaking Spanish?"
"I don't know. I thought it was cute. Yo soy Cubano. Haha!"
I sat on the concrete against the wall of the edifice. She sat next to me. She apologized.
"I can't afford treatment," I sighed.
"Maybe you don't have anything."
"Maybe."
"It's probably nothing."
"Probably."
She looked me directly in the eyes, the camera now in her clutches. "You're in love," She said quietly. She snapped another picture.
"Not with her," I said. "With someone else."
"If you say me, I'll kill you. Promise."
I grabbed her hand and licked it. She pulled away and said gross, wiping the spit off on my pantleg.
"Give me a cigarette."
"You don't smoke."
"Normally I don't, but right now..."
"I only have menthols."
"I can smell them. Gimmie."
She gives me a cigarette. I tear off the filter. She lights me. The fumes hit my lungs hard, causing me to choke.
"No one told you to tear the fuckin' filter off, idiot."
"No one told you to tear the fuckin' filter off, idiot."
"That's like death!"
"You're crazy. Tell me about the girl."
I pause, look to the sun, look at her and say, "She's a woman."
"Does she have a name? How long have you known her?"
"Dream girl. A year. Roundabouts."
"I give up," She says. She picks herself up, holds her hand out for the iPod, I give it to her, and she leaves. I sit alone with a smile.
Ooh, ooh... dreamweaver...
(2007)
"Myspace Ads"
One thing I didn't miss in my brief respite from this beloved social networking site is the ads. Oh yes. The fucking ads. Whenever you log in or check your messages or read bulletins. Some are annoying (the ones that make NOISES or ask you to play games to win shit-- though beating the shit out of "W" can be rather therapeutically cathartic), and some are relatively innocuous; usually pertaining to sites you visit on a regular basis or coincide with things you've listed as favorites on your page. You don't bother them and they don't bother you.
However, their ubiquity lends to the notion that pop culture can't get enough of ramming itself down our throats. I am a single straight male, so naturally I always get ads for meeting new women on Match.com or some other shitty site where the only people you ever talk to seem to be those so drastically different, you might as well be sitting in Santa's lap, asking him for the things you'll never get (and believe me, none of the chicks you find on that site are as hot as the ones in the ads. The rare exception being my friend Jess. Hi Jess). Fuck Santa, and fuck Match.com. Hell, might as well throw eHarmony and all those other "matching social misfits: two at a time" sites into that fuckbin.
I love the ones that address me for the sad, pathetic loser I am. My myspace page is so perceptive that I think it might be becoming self-aware. It knows when I'm sad and depressed, and it knows that, aside from a cruel joke or two, my status has never been off "single" for longer than a couple of weeks.
I have never met anyone who had any luck with ads on Myspace. Not one person. Seriously. Now, http://www.foreignhookermailorderbrideworld.com/*, I hear, yields much better results in at least finding the love you desire; even if brief and marked by miscommunication. There's a reason the dating sites advertise like crazy. Because they aren't selling what people are eager to buy: emotionally distant sexual encounter. Seriously... let the internet serve its purpose, myspace. Advertise to the lowest common denominator. Accentuate the shallowness of humanity. Stop trying to guilt us into commitment.
That being said, I am not a cynic. When I see the ad that says, "Sweet, beautiful, bookish girls await you," admittedly, I click.
(2008)
"Shit"
Shit. I have too much shit. I'm burdened with it. My apartment is filled with it. Stacked to the hilt with shit; those things that I (no one) have no real need for. Shit just exists. Sometimes I'm not quite so sure I can deal. Shit bores me. Shit angers me. Shit confuses and flusters, frustrates and blusters. It keeps me from sleep. Shit and the enormity of its existence defines my existential woe. Shit makes me sick, it forces me to sleep in (the Bartesque paradox rears its yellow head). Shit keeps me from living the dream. I blame shit for everything.
(2008)
"Untitled"
Her: If I said that I love you, would you react honestly?
Me: I wouldn't.
Her: Because you think you'll hurt me?
Me: Because I am not an honest person.
Her: Well, I'm done with attachments. I'm free.
Me: I'm not.
Her: So you do love someone?
Me: I'm not free.
...
Me: I love myself. I think.
Her: I used to think that I loved you.
Me: I used to think that you thought you loved me.
Her: I used to think that maybe you thought that I thought I loved you.
Me: I thought that perhaps you thought that I was thinking that you thought you loved me.
...
Me: I never thought once of hurting you.
Her: Things like that just happen.
Me: Sometimes.
Her: Yeah, there was that one guy...
Me: There's always that one...
Her: But there never is a one.
Me: What?
Her: A one. A person that owns you completely.
Me: Lamentably so.
Her: Ha, lamentably. Never. No one should own anyone.
Me: 'Cause then it'd be slavery.
Her: No, because it'd be senseless.
Me: Everything is senseless. Absurd.
Her: Hence my reasoning for telling you to shut up last night.
Me: I was drunk.
Her: Drunk with passion.
Me: For what?
Her: For me. Always for me. You told me you love me.
Me: No I didn't.
Her: You did!
...
Me: I am not an honest person.
Her: Neither am I.
Me: I love you.
(2007)
"The Quiet and Other Silences"
The quiet pisses me off,
I hate libraries, barren waiting rooms,
I hate awkward silences, your quiet lips,
the rooms in which finnicky children sleep,
I hate the solitude, the desperation of contact,
the hoplessness of hands, the quiet, the study,
steady,
I hate the quiet.
The still.
What you call serene,
such nature,
and love,
I will digress,
to stress,
and I feel,
quietude.
Your lips.
I love your lips.
Quiet when they speak.
(2008)
"Ends."
Gregory used to watch the stars from the bench outside his apartment. On a cloudless night he could see everything, and if he knew anything about astronomy, he'd be able to distinguish the formation of stars into constellations. This lack of astronomical knowledge gave him pause when he'd consider inviting the pretty girl across the courtyard out to gaze.
She smoked cigarettes in quick succession, which he abhorred.
He tried keeping a journal, but found that he had very little to say, and what he did say made no sense. At all. Politics bored him. Sports was incomprehensible. Why would grown men dedicate their lives to rhetoric or playing games? The money? The infidelity? He knew for certain that the latter wasn't true.
Christina would call off and on, sometimes sending him dirty text messages in an effort to get him over to her side of town. She claimed that she was in love with him. He didn't love her back, though he insisted he did whenever she made an issue of it. When he'd arrive at her place, she'd usually answer the door naked. He came to expect this. In fact, sometimes he couldn't remember what she looked like fully clothed. Couldn't even imagine it. Didn't.
She never liked changing positions. It was pretty much the standard missionary. He hated the fact that she never opened her eyes. Sometimes he'd thrust into her harder, thinking to himself, "open your eyes you silly bitch." Then he'd laugh aloud, triggering her self-consciousness. This lead to a minimum of twenty minutes of assorted hysterics, usually accompanied by flowing tears. Instead of trying to talk her back into sex, he'd leave.
He took classes at university, but never settled into any kind of major. He'd think to himself, "Gregory Olender is good at nothing." Perhaps there was a fear of settling. A fear of success. A fear of failure. Simply trying seemed a frightening prospect.
Gregory took to a young woman in a sociology class. She was bookish and young with pale skin and large breasts. He liked to tell himself that enormous breasts are disgusting, but with lust came curiosity.
(2007)
"Lovers" **
"We mean that man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world – and defines himself afterwards." -- Jean-Paul Sartre Existentialism is a Humanism
I have a beautiful view of the palm trees. With my cigarette and my wine. And strangely enough, my girlfriend resides in the downstairs apartment diagonally to mine. But wait, honest narration requires of me that I explain to you that she's not really my girlfriend-- but a guy can dream. Anyway, sometimes I drunkenly sing songs to her door in hopes that she'll come out.
If I'm really drunk, she'll poke out her head, smile that smile, and tell me politely to shut up. It's beautiful, but I know that it's impossible for her to love me. I know it. I don't have the tangibles-- good job, car, looks, etc.-- and my personality, of course, perishes in intangibility. If only we weren't such material creatures.
I love how her straight black hair rests upon her shoulders, ending in fine tips that point perfectly to her breasts. I love her smile when she directs it towards me. I love her eyes, her big, round eyes that appear to giggle as if they alone understand the joke life has played upon her. She calls herself Wendy. She's twenty-seven, an Aquarius, goes to law school and likes Hemingway. Sometimes we talk about her boyfriend. Sometimes we talk about my loneliness. Sometimes we talk about how lonely we both are and how nice it is to be alone with someone.
When she's drunk she tells me that she loves me. I say nothing in return. Not because it isn't there, the feeling, but because I know the impetus for her confessions. They say that the truth comes with inebriation, but so does impulsiveness, which is not always motivated by honesty.
We read books together. My lips tingle as I watch hers read aloud a line of import. I want to kiss her badly. I want my breath taken away. My mouth waters and my eyes are fixed. My thoughts go overdrive. Oh Wendy, tonight I will love you, you will love me, and I will forever be obsessed.
- all of these were originally written on my myspace blog.
© Patrick Patterson-Carroll
Photos:
This is from a video installation I filmed for J.C. Hernandez.
Found art object. '05 sometime. Looks gross.
** part of Women as Objects/Lovers which consisted of that story and a photo I no longer have.
Photos taken by me.
- These are all from my "fb" notes.
"Myspace Ads"
One thing I didn't miss in my brief respite from this beloved social networking site is the ads. Oh yes. The fucking ads. Whenever you log in or check your messages or read bulletins. Some are annoying (the ones that make NOISES or ask you to play games to win shit-- though beating the shit out of "W" can be rather therapeutically cathartic), and some are relatively innocuous; usually pertaining to sites you visit on a regular basis or coincide with things you've listed as favorites on your page. You don't bother them and they don't bother you.
However, their ubiquity lends to the notion that pop culture can't get enough of ramming itself down our throats. I am a single straight male, so naturally I always get ads for meeting new women on Match.com or some other shitty site where the only people you ever talk to seem to be those so drastically different, you might as well be sitting in Santa's lap, asking him for the things you'll never get (and believe me, none of the chicks you find on that site are as hot as the ones in the ads. The rare exception being my friend Jess. Hi Jess). Fuck Santa, and fuck Match.com. Hell, might as well throw eHarmony and all those other "matching social misfits: two at a time" sites into that fuckbin.
I love the ones that address me for the sad, pathetic loser I am. My myspace page is so perceptive that I think it might be becoming self-aware. It knows when I'm sad and depressed, and it knows that, aside from a cruel joke or two, my status has never been off "single" for longer than a couple of weeks.
I have never met anyone who had any luck with ads on Myspace. Not one person. Seriously. Now, http://www.foreignhookermailorderbrideworld.com/*, I hear, yields much better results in at least finding the love you desire; even if brief and marked by miscommunication. There's a reason the dating sites advertise like crazy. Because they aren't selling what people are eager to buy: emotionally distant sexual encounter. Seriously... let the internet serve its purpose, myspace. Advertise to the lowest common denominator. Accentuate the shallowness of humanity. Stop trying to guilt us into commitment.
That being said, I am not a cynic. When I see the ad that says, "Sweet, beautiful, bookish girls await you," admittedly, I click.
(2008)
"Shit"
Shit. I have too much shit. I'm burdened with it. My apartment is filled with it. Stacked to the hilt with shit; those things that I (no one) have no real need for. Shit just exists. Sometimes I'm not quite so sure I can deal. Shit bores me. Shit angers me. Shit confuses and flusters, frustrates and blusters. It keeps me from sleep. Shit and the enormity of its existence defines my existential woe. Shit makes me sick, it forces me to sleep in (the Bartesque paradox rears its yellow head). Shit keeps me from living the dream. I blame shit for everything.
(2008)
"Untitled"
Her: If I said that I love you, would you react honestly?
Me: I wouldn't.
Her: Because you think you'll hurt me?
Me: Because I am not an honest person.
Her: Well, I'm done with attachments. I'm free.
Me: I'm not.
Her: So you do love someone?
Me: I'm not free.
...
Me: I love myself. I think.
Her: I used to think that I loved you.
Me: I used to think that you thought you loved me.
Her: I used to think that maybe you thought that I thought I loved you.
Me: I thought that perhaps you thought that I was thinking that you thought you loved me.
...
Me: I never thought once of hurting you.
Her: Things like that just happen.
Me: Sometimes.
Her: Yeah, there was that one guy...
Me: There's always that one...
Her: But there never is a one.
Me: What?
Her: A one. A person that owns you completely.
Me: Lamentably so.
Her: Ha, lamentably. Never. No one should own anyone.
Me: 'Cause then it'd be slavery.
Her: No, because it'd be senseless.
Me: Everything is senseless. Absurd.
Her: Hence my reasoning for telling you to shut up last night.
Me: I was drunk.
Her: Drunk with passion.
Me: For what?
Her: For me. Always for me. You told me you love me.
Me: No I didn't.
Her: You did!
...
Me: I am not an honest person.
Her: Neither am I.
Me: I love you.
(2007)
"The Quiet and Other Silences"
The quiet pisses me off,
I hate libraries, barren waiting rooms,
I hate awkward silences, your quiet lips,
the rooms in which finnicky children sleep,
I hate the solitude, the desperation of contact,
the hoplessness of hands, the quiet, the study,
steady,
I hate the quiet.
The still.
What you call serene,
such nature,
and love,
I will digress,
to stress,
and I feel,
quietude.
Your lips.
I love your lips.
Quiet when they speak.
(2008)
"Ends."
Gregory used to watch the stars from the bench outside his apartment. On a cloudless night he could see everything, and if he knew anything about astronomy, he'd be able to distinguish the formation of stars into constellations. This lack of astronomical knowledge gave him pause when he'd consider inviting the pretty girl across the courtyard out to gaze.
She smoked cigarettes in quick succession, which he abhorred.
He tried keeping a journal, but found that he had very little to say, and what he did say made no sense. At all. Politics bored him. Sports was incomprehensible. Why would grown men dedicate their lives to rhetoric or playing games? The money? The infidelity? He knew for certain that the latter wasn't true.
Christina would call off and on, sometimes sending him dirty text messages in an effort to get him over to her side of town. She claimed that she was in love with him. He didn't love her back, though he insisted he did whenever she made an issue of it. When he'd arrive at her place, she'd usually answer the door naked. He came to expect this. In fact, sometimes he couldn't remember what she looked like fully clothed. Couldn't even imagine it. Didn't.
She never liked changing positions. It was pretty much the standard missionary. He hated the fact that she never opened her eyes. Sometimes he'd thrust into her harder, thinking to himself, "open your eyes you silly bitch." Then he'd laugh aloud, triggering her self-consciousness. This lead to a minimum of twenty minutes of assorted hysterics, usually accompanied by flowing tears. Instead of trying to talk her back into sex, he'd leave.
He took classes at university, but never settled into any kind of major. He'd think to himself, "Gregory Olender is good at nothing." Perhaps there was a fear of settling. A fear of success. A fear of failure. Simply trying seemed a frightening prospect.
Gregory took to a young woman in a sociology class. She was bookish and young with pale skin and large breasts. He liked to tell himself that enormous breasts are disgusting, but with lust came curiosity.
(2007)
"Lovers" **
"We mean that man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world – and defines himself afterwards." -- Jean-Paul Sartre Existentialism is a Humanism
I have a beautiful view of the palm trees. With my cigarette and my wine. And strangely enough, my girlfriend resides in the downstairs apartment diagonally to mine. But wait, honest narration requires of me that I explain to you that she's not really my girlfriend-- but a guy can dream. Anyway, sometimes I drunkenly sing songs to her door in hopes that she'll come out.
If I'm really drunk, she'll poke out her head, smile that smile, and tell me politely to shut up. It's beautiful, but I know that it's impossible for her to love me. I know it. I don't have the tangibles-- good job, car, looks, etc.-- and my personality, of course, perishes in intangibility. If only we weren't such material creatures.
I love how her straight black hair rests upon her shoulders, ending in fine tips that point perfectly to her breasts. I love her smile when she directs it towards me. I love her eyes, her big, round eyes that appear to giggle as if they alone understand the joke life has played upon her. She calls herself Wendy. She's twenty-seven, an Aquarius, goes to law school and likes Hemingway. Sometimes we talk about her boyfriend. Sometimes we talk about my loneliness. Sometimes we talk about how lonely we both are and how nice it is to be alone with someone.
When she's drunk she tells me that she loves me. I say nothing in return. Not because it isn't there, the feeling, but because I know the impetus for her confessions. They say that the truth comes with inebriation, but so does impulsiveness, which is not always motivated by honesty.
We read books together. My lips tingle as I watch hers read aloud a line of import. I want to kiss her badly. I want my breath taken away. My mouth waters and my eyes are fixed. My thoughts go overdrive. Oh Wendy, tonight I will love you, you will love me, and I will forever be obsessed.
(2008)
- all of these were originally written on my myspace blog.
© Patrick Patterson-Carroll
Photos:
This is from a video installation I filmed for J.C. Hernandez.
The 25ft rule, to our annoyance, was strictly adhered to. Cheeky fuckin' sign.
This photo was taken outside "The Grasshopper" in Houston. We got in free because of the Spartan costumes. Chris and Matt are the two Spartans. We did it on a whim.
Found art object. '05 sometime. Looks gross.
*If this link is dead, it was originally a joke about "Craig's List." That is where the link directed you.
** part of Women as Objects/Lovers which consisted of that story and a photo I no longer have.
Photos taken by me.
20.7.09
Not Every Movie Experience Has to be a Bad One
As for me, I have found that unless I take in a movie at 11pm on a weekday, that wont be the case. But then again, who actually has the luxury of attending a 2-3hr movie at a 11pm showing? Much less be able to afford the ever rising cost of tickets ranging from 7-9 dollars per person now. Having discovered that Tinseltown in Grapevine charges 4 for a Sunday matinee ticket, my boyfriend and I decided to take in Harry Potter at a 3:20pm showing.
We stopped to get snacks, and after my boyfriend bought a soda, beef jerky, and candy, 10 dollars later we were on our way. Now, let me preface something. My boyfriend is the junk food King of the World. He used buy a $7 tub of popcorn, 5 bag of m&m's, two $5 hot dogs, complete with a $ 6 soda, all without batting an eye at spending $20-30 at a concession stand. Adding up the cost of tickets and food, your looking at spending at least $50.00 each time! That was until I pointed out to him, that $20 could buy a bar tab, a t-shirt, or even dinner somewhere. Being a man, of course he didn't listen, until he too started feeling the pinch of the economy and realized that he would rather drink his money away rather that give it to the movie theaters. Now, hes on board for filling my bag with stuff to snack on without breaking the bank. Sure, some people might even compare this social faux pas to bringing your own food to a restaurant. However, if you're on a budget, you tend to worry about the practical things in life, rather than the superficial.
At first, it took us a while not to feel guilty and cheap as we walked in the movie theater with a bag stuffed to capacity. I will admit, there were a couple of times when I thought I was surely busted, and was certain I was going to get kicked out. Of course you stop to wonder who actually decided it was socially unacceptable to bring your own snacks to a movie theater. Is there some social police who is going to stop and ticket you for exercising your right to BYOS? (Bring Your Own Snacks) Chances are, no. The pimply faced teenager is already overwhelmed with taking tickets from screaming children, annoying adolescents, and pestilent soccer moms, that chances are: they don't care. Plus, what do they gain from being a movie theater Gestapo? Certainly not an increase on their paycheck.
Having arrived to the movie theater an hour early for whatever unknown reason, we got decent seats at the top in the middle rows. Jay, having inhaled his snacks in the first 10 Min's, while we sat in boredom watching stupid commercials on the screen, decided he wanted to check out the concession stand. He must have been thinking really hard about his choices because the movie theater filled up by the time he came back. And then to my horror, I realized why, it is a bad idea to see a movie theater in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. Families with children and babies; screaming ones that sound like banshees. Wails at such high pitches only dogs should be able to hear those shrills cries. Oh good lord. You and your children are ruining my much anticipates Harry Potter experience. I cannot get into my Hogwarts mindset because you are ruining my zen.
I swallowed it, remembering our tickets only cost $4.00. I waited patiently for Jay to come back, when a man and his son threaten to take Jays seat. Being the Americans that we are, we had chosen to isolate ourselves by leaving one seat open next to me, and one next to him. Everyone does it. Its like choosing a urinal; heaven forbid you get stuck next to someone, forced to make eye contact, or even awkward small talk. I politely pointed out that seat was taken. He then asked me who was seated on the right of me. No one was sitting next to me, duh! W e purposely got here on time, in order to strategically choose our seats. He then proceeded to stare me down for 5 minutes, thinking he was going to intimidate me into letting him have those two seats. Being the stubborn girl that I am, he didn't get his way and he retreated back into the top row. I would like to point something out now: we got to the movie theater on time in order to avoid situations like having to find seats. Had he simply asked nicely I would have graciously moved Jay's soda into the other seat. It was his narcissistic behavior where he was self-entitled to take whatever he wanted was what offended me in the first place. Of course I kicked myself later because as soon as he sat down this rather fat teenager sat in Jay's seat. I politely moved the soda. There, I am not such a bitch after all.
Which leads me to this, despite my confrontation, not every movie experience has to be a bad one. Through trial and error I have found the following survival tips are helpful if you are going to survive watching a movie with a bunch of idiots surrounding you. Remember, the average cost of a movie ticket is around $9.00, so you want to insure you get the maximum experience for your moneys worth.
1. If you don't care to consume 400 calories in one sitting with one soft drink, you do have options. Personally, I have found that a movie is more tolerable when I with pack my own bag with two bottles of wine or beer, and two bottles of water, just in case. I saved $10 dollars right off the bat, and you also make nice with the people sitting next to you if you offer up some. Please remember to be discrete and clean up after yourselves, so as to not ruin it for everyone else.
Tip for Wine: Many gas stations have started carrying wine, and the latest rage is screw top. It is easy and convenient. We usually also take plastic cups from the gas station where we buys the food from. There is a great variety of screw top wine under $10 that taste great.
Tips for Beer: I have found that individually placing beer in cloth bags or grocery recycle bags are durable enough to carry glass. Seeing as how you live in 2009, man bags are quite fashionable and most importantly acceptable. Take advantage and stuff the crap out of it.
2. BYOS- If you are like me and don't care for all that sodium and sugar, pack your own snack in a bag. You'll find that your wallet will be quite grateful in the long run. Plus how many of you have shown up to a movie on mind altering substances? Chances are, you will get the munchies. Avoid the paranoia about every looking at you while it takes you ten minutes to figure out exactly how much butter is enough on your popcorn and bring your own pre-made.
3. Pick a Proper arrival time- Use common sense when it comes to choosing movie times. i.e. don't go watch Harry Potter on a Sunday afternoon if you don't want to be stuck in the middle of a day care, but also don't go watch a pothead movie on weekend nights when douche bag teenagers are going to be constantly talking throughout the movie. Arrive with proper time to stake your claim on your seats. If you are rich enough to do so: pay a proxy to save your seats. If your like me and hate commercials, you will be able to skip right through them. Or you can just opt to watch a movie at off- peak times and spare yourself the previews.
4. Do not be afraid to confront a cell phone talker, loud eater, and crying babies. I know I found it very hard to get in my Hogwarts mind set with all those screaming kids. If you are like me and trying to get in your serious watching zone, you'll want to prevent any one from ruining your movie watching experience. Be warned: pick your battles. Some situations will be out of your hands, however, you will find that if you voice your opinion in a courteous manner some people are likely to oblige. I call it movie karma, and sooner or later it will reciprocate.
Blogger Bunny
original here: http://bunnylopez.blogspot.com/
We stopped to get snacks, and after my boyfriend bought a soda, beef jerky, and candy, 10 dollars later we were on our way. Now, let me preface something. My boyfriend is the junk food King of the World. He used buy a $7 tub of popcorn, 5 bag of m&m's, two $5 hot dogs, complete with a $ 6 soda, all without batting an eye at spending $20-30 at a concession stand. Adding up the cost of tickets and food, your looking at spending at least $50.00 each time! That was until I pointed out to him, that $20 could buy a bar tab, a t-shirt, or even dinner somewhere. Being a man, of course he didn't listen, until he too started feeling the pinch of the economy and realized that he would rather drink his money away rather that give it to the movie theaters. Now, hes on board for filling my bag with stuff to snack on without breaking the bank. Sure, some people might even compare this social faux pas to bringing your own food to a restaurant. However, if you're on a budget, you tend to worry about the practical things in life, rather than the superficial.
At first, it took us a while not to feel guilty and cheap as we walked in the movie theater with a bag stuffed to capacity. I will admit, there were a couple of times when I thought I was surely busted, and was certain I was going to get kicked out. Of course you stop to wonder who actually decided it was socially unacceptable to bring your own snacks to a movie theater. Is there some social police who is going to stop and ticket you for exercising your right to BYOS? (Bring Your Own Snacks) Chances are, no. The pimply faced teenager is already overwhelmed with taking tickets from screaming children, annoying adolescents, and pestilent soccer moms, that chances are: they don't care. Plus, what do they gain from being a movie theater Gestapo? Certainly not an increase on their paycheck.
Having arrived to the movie theater an hour early for whatever unknown reason, we got decent seats at the top in the middle rows. Jay, having inhaled his snacks in the first 10 Min's, while we sat in boredom watching stupid commercials on the screen, decided he wanted to check out the concession stand. He must have been thinking really hard about his choices because the movie theater filled up by the time he came back. And then to my horror, I realized why, it is a bad idea to see a movie theater in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. Families with children and babies; screaming ones that sound like banshees. Wails at such high pitches only dogs should be able to hear those shrills cries. Oh good lord. You and your children are ruining my much anticipates Harry Potter experience. I cannot get into my Hogwarts mindset because you are ruining my zen.
I swallowed it, remembering our tickets only cost $4.00. I waited patiently for Jay to come back, when a man and his son threaten to take Jays seat. Being the Americans that we are, we had chosen to isolate ourselves by leaving one seat open next to me, and one next to him. Everyone does it. Its like choosing a urinal; heaven forbid you get stuck next to someone, forced to make eye contact, or even awkward small talk. I politely pointed out that seat was taken. He then asked me who was seated on the right of me. No one was sitting next to me, duh! W e purposely got here on time, in order to strategically choose our seats. He then proceeded to stare me down for 5 minutes, thinking he was going to intimidate me into letting him have those two seats. Being the stubborn girl that I am, he didn't get his way and he retreated back into the top row. I would like to point something out now: we got to the movie theater on time in order to avoid situations like having to find seats. Had he simply asked nicely I would have graciously moved Jay's soda into the other seat. It was his narcissistic behavior where he was self-entitled to take whatever he wanted was what offended me in the first place. Of course I kicked myself later because as soon as he sat down this rather fat teenager sat in Jay's seat. I politely moved the soda. There, I am not such a bitch after all.
Which leads me to this, despite my confrontation, not every movie experience has to be a bad one. Through trial and error I have found the following survival tips are helpful if you are going to survive watching a movie with a bunch of idiots surrounding you. Remember, the average cost of a movie ticket is around $9.00, so you want to insure you get the maximum experience for your moneys worth.
1. If you don't care to consume 400 calories in one sitting with one soft drink, you do have options. Personally, I have found that a movie is more tolerable when I with pack my own bag with two bottles of wine or beer, and two bottles of water, just in case. I saved $10 dollars right off the bat, and you also make nice with the people sitting next to you if you offer up some. Please remember to be discrete and clean up after yourselves, so as to not ruin it for everyone else.
Tip for Wine: Many gas stations have started carrying wine, and the latest rage is screw top. It is easy and convenient. We usually also take plastic cups from the gas station where we buys the food from. There is a great variety of screw top wine under $10 that taste great.
Tips for Beer: I have found that individually placing beer in cloth bags or grocery recycle bags are durable enough to carry glass. Seeing as how you live in 2009, man bags are quite fashionable and most importantly acceptable. Take advantage and stuff the crap out of it.
2. BYOS- If you are like me and don't care for all that sodium and sugar, pack your own snack in a bag. You'll find that your wallet will be quite grateful in the long run. Plus how many of you have shown up to a movie on mind altering substances? Chances are, you will get the munchies. Avoid the paranoia about every looking at you while it takes you ten minutes to figure out exactly how much butter is enough on your popcorn and bring your own pre-made.
3. Pick a Proper arrival time- Use common sense when it comes to choosing movie times. i.e. don't go watch Harry Potter on a Sunday afternoon if you don't want to be stuck in the middle of a day care, but also don't go watch a pothead movie on weekend nights when douche bag teenagers are going to be constantly talking throughout the movie. Arrive with proper time to stake your claim on your seats. If you are rich enough to do so: pay a proxy to save your seats. If your like me and hate commercials, you will be able to skip right through them. Or you can just opt to watch a movie at off- peak times and spare yourself the previews.
4. Do not be afraid to confront a cell phone talker, loud eater, and crying babies. I know I found it very hard to get in my Hogwarts mind set with all those screaming kids. If you are like me and trying to get in your serious watching zone, you'll want to prevent any one from ruining your movie watching experience. Be warned: pick your battles. Some situations will be out of your hands, however, you will find that if you voice your opinion in a courteous manner some people are likely to oblige. I call it movie karma, and sooner or later it will reciprocate.
Blogger Bunny
original here: http://bunnylopez.blogspot.com/
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