Racing Home ( Jason's Mask)

"And me I'm in a rock'n'roll band Hah! Ridin' in a Stutz Bear Cat, Jim,You know, those were different times!"
 -Velvet Underground

  To say that Jason Mascaras was a fan of Jackson Whitlock's poetry wouldn't be accurate. It would be better to say that Jason Mascaras was a fan of Jackson's daughter Elise. Elise Whitlock was not only in Jason's math and history classes, but she was in his head  nearly all of his waking hours. 
Elise Whitlock was the only child of Jackson Whitlock and his ex-wife Rosario. 
Jason spent hour after hour trying to figure out how exactly to get Elise to notice him, give him at least the time of day. 
Nothing seemed to work.
He wrote songs for her.
He anonymously sent her flowers.
He "accidentally" bumped into in the hallway, in the cafeteria, at the mall - basically anywhere he could see her. 
All for nothing.
Then one day,finally, he struck gold.
Jason overheard Elise praising her father Jackson's poetry.
To say that Jason Mascaras was ignorant about poetry would be an understatement.
He wasn't simply ignorant, he ridiculed and hated it.
To him, it was effeminate and boring. It was for nerds and chicks.
But, it was a foot in the door.


   

Some New Thoughts...

   So now maybe the new trick is not giving a fuck.

It sounds so easy, so rock and roll.

The question is not only how, but when, and where? 

The bigger, more important question is should I even try to start giving a fuck.

Is it even possible ?

For fuck's sake, sometimes I even cry during sad or "inspirational" scenes in movies. 
Maybe it's all a bit like magic - in the illusion, in the slight of hand.

I just have to pretend to not give a fuck. 

Don't show my cards.

Keep everything close to my chest.

No need to wear anything, ( like my stupid heart, for example), on my sleeve.

No need to boast or brag.

Just keep quite.

Don't reveal.

Don't tell stories about "how one time, I did this or that..."
Don't fall in love.
Don't share.

Don't let them know how you feel, not too much anyway.

Because in the end, everyone gives a fuck about something, even if it's nothing more than the fear of other people not thinking that you don't give a fuck about anything.

Hyperactivity, Excessive Drinking, Over-active Libidos and Drugs - cont.

But, oh well, fuck it. 
No regrets, right ?
Just get tougher stronger.
Keep learning.
No one can be happy all the time.
Or funny.
Or the life of the party.
Or the person that everyone wants to be around.
It's better to just embrace the hyper-activity.
Accept it - no regrets, right?
So, by not drinking excessively I'm left with myself.
Alone.
Not alone on an island.
I am the island. 
Sometimes it's sunny and warm.
Sometimes it rains.
Sometimes it's overcast and cold - freezing.
Sometimes there are rainbows and sometimes there is fog.
But it is always changing - never static.
And if others don't like it, can't deal with it, won't accept it, fuck it, no regrets, right ?
No reason to continue the half-assed notion of change - of trying to be someone different. 
Maybe if I was having more sex, none of this would be an issue.
One of the ways that hyper-activity manifests itself is in the form of  an active libido. Makes sense right ? 
If I was fucking more, I'd have less time to be bored. 
Less time to think about all the crazy shit flying around in my head.
When a person goes from having sex three to four times a day to once every other month, there's a lot of free, dead time.
Time to contemplate and feel guilty.
Time to imagine and get paranoid.
Time to drink.
Time to take drugs.
Time to dull and numb my over-active brain.
Time to try to forget.
But the memories always come back.
They can not be escaped from.
Trying to drown them with whiskey, wine, or smoke only makes them stronger, more viscious.
So fuck it, embrace them. They are mine. 
No regrets, right ?

Hyperactivity, Excessive Drinking, Over-active Libidos and Drugs

" It's getting dark, too dark too see..."
   - Bob Dylan, " Knocking on Heaven's Door".
  
  Hyper-activity, that's the answer, that's the huge problem that has been dominating, fucking-up, destroying my life.  
At least that's what some people have told me in the past, ( mostly the "grown-ups" of my life, teachers, etc...) - that I'm hyper-active, hyper-emotional, and hyper-rebelious. 
But what really does that mean - hyper-activity ? Why shouldn't I just be myself- at the end of the day, I like myself alot more when I'm allowed to be myself.
Other people like me more too, when I let me be me...

What does it really mean -  over-active imagination, over- thinking, being too perceptive, too inquisitive ?
Basically, thinking too much.
Over-analyzing.
Not being satisfied.  
  I remember so well all of the reports that my Ma recieved from my schools -
"Jeremy really seeks attention. He's quite hyperactive, disruptive in class. He calls out in class with either the correct answers or just jokes - sometimes they are a bit of both."
I was so bored.
Unless I was doing something, ( normally, only something that I wanted to do), I was bored, uninterested. 
Not satisfied.
Then I discovered alcohol.
I probably discovered masterbation first, but alcohol seemed (and was), more effective. 
More numbing, more mellowing. 
Masterbation only made me hornier, more restless.
They couldn't complain that I was too hyper,too disruptive - if I just could just get drunk and quitely hide in a corner.
I may have actually discovered tobacco first. It also seemed to calm me down, mellow me out. 
Relax my hyperactivity. 
But in the end, it's never enough.
 So, the alcohol did it's job - not that the job was very noble, or at all helpful to me. It basically only helped me and taught me how to lie.-not just to lie to the people around me, the people I care about - but also to myself. 
It almost worked.
I became lazy. 
Weak.
I tryed to use alcohol to try to change who I was.
I didn't want to misbehave, I didn't want to get yelled at, didn't want to get reprimanded, but most importantly I didn't want to feel the restlessness of hyperactivity. 
I didn't want to have the strong personality that I was born with - the strong personality that my Ma always tried to cultivate. Even when I was getting yelled at as a kid, my Ma would try to make sure that I learned something, some kind of lesson. 
She trained me, taught me to be strong.

I was too weak to handle it.
I gave up.
I became soft
Sad.
Not funny anymore, not interesting, not challenging. 
Alcohol did it's job.
The world told me that I was hyper, I was out of control.
Fuck that !
No regrets, right ?
The people, who in the end, don't give a fuck, who only want to make their own little pieces of the world peaceful, they don't care.
They don't want the Jeremy that questions everything.
They don't want the one who analysizes everything.
They don't want the one who creates.
They don't want the who who cries or the one that sings.
They don't want the one who dreams or the one that screams.
All they really want is the fucked-up version. 
The one who drinks too much and is easily manipulated. 
The one who secretly gets drunk and because he doesn't want problems, because he doesn't want to get in trouble - tries to remain secret, but in the end is so ridiculous,
the one who lies,
so obvious,
and finally, in the end seems so sad.
"Big mouth strikes again."


   

Remember When I Said... / Sobriety on St. Patty's Day ?

  So, I recall writing a while back that I wanted to have sex with a prostitute. Well today the opportunity presented itself.
 It was just  past sunset and I sat down to have a cigarette in the lovely modern park with the interesting fountain that resembles a castle wall with knights peering over the top. A girl walks up to me and asks if I speak English."Yes", I answered and she sat down. I'm thinking, "wow this girl is kind of pretty, maybe I would, I dunno ? She's got a nice body and she looks between 30-35, maybe she has a nice fuck." She then asked me if I wanted company. Without thinking about it, I said, "yeah sure no problem". I thought she just wanted to have a chat, sit on the bench, maybe she was gonna ask me for a smoke. Then again she asked me the same thing, "Did I want company?". The second time, I understood what she meant - she was a prostitute.
This was my chance - fuck it, no regrets, right ?
 I causally answered, "No, I'm fine". She asked if I was sure and before I could answer she asked, with desperate lost eyes if I could give her five euro, or even one euro -something.
Any sexual urge that may have been tickled was now bathing in freezing ice cold water. It was too sad.
Truly pitiful
Nothing can take a piss on a libido like sad desperation.
I told her that I didn't have anything - sorry.
She left and it was then that I remembered that I'd written that I wanted to have a fuck with a prostitute.
I also remembered that it's St. Patrick's day and I'm totally sober.
I guess I'm not ready yet.    
Or maybe I am. 

Thoughts of Today on Stuff -continued

   I want to stop trying to make things around me perfect, to stop searching for perfection. To stop using that evil fucking word.
It is a waste of time, a neverending persuit - like a dog chasing and trying to catch it's tail.
Frustration.
Nothing is perfect.
There is no perfect husband or wife.
There is no perfect boyfriend or girlfriend.
There are no perfect families, parents, or people.
Sorry Lou Reed, but there are no "Perfect Days" either.
Maybe there are images of perfection, but they are only illusions. 
We can however feel perfection. Like an orgasm, for example, the climax.
Perfection.
The Rolling Stones aren't the only who who can't get satisfaction. No one can.
All we can do is search for those perfect feelings and cherish them, appreciate them.
Love, of course is not perfect. But the feeling of love is or maybe that's just the orgasmic feeling again.
No regrets.
The point is that we have to stop rating, compairing, complaining, analyizing,over-analysizing every person, place, and thing untill it all ends up looking like an aborted elephant man that got butt-raped by a grizzley bear.
But, again, fuck it. No regrets, right ?
This doesn't mean that we have settle, we just have to keep ourselves busy - keep searching, keep laughing, running, jumping, singing, screaming, smiling, dancing, crying, eating, traveling, drinking, loving, dreaming, liking, fucking, (there's that orgasm again ) for those perfect feelings.
And in the end, maybe the climax really is the only perfection.
That or chocolate.
But in the end, fuck it !
No regrets.

Thoughts of Today on Stuff

   So I've got loads of notes flying around in my head - things that I want to do, things that I shouldn't have done (said, thought, etc...), and things that I don't want to do.
I suppose we all have lists of this sort and most of our regrets are basically pointless in the end - just keep on learning.
   I'd like to have sex with a prostitute for one thing. Why not ?
No commitment, no effort, no real work involved.
Except for the sex, unless you're totally lazy.
Notice I didn't write, "I'd like to have sex with a whore". 
Are those really two different things, two different statements ?
I think so.
Quite often we are all whores - we whore out ourselves and say the hell with dignity.
We take jobs we hate - which are demeaning.
We sacrifice our minds and bodies for money.
We sell out.
We live existences that we are not proud of -like working as a cleaner in a certain Belgian hostel -but fuck it, regrets are bullshit.
  So if we're all whores sometimes, then we've all been fucked before - sexually or not.
Without dignity, without money.
At least prostitute sounds nicer, more professional,  like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman".
Actually, call girl sounds better still - classy.
A slut or an easy woman is a different story altogether and that's been done, ( I won't even start on the topic of the hypocrisy of male/female sexual activity). 
No regrets.
  In the end, I doubt that I will go with a prostitute, but if I do, I have a strong feeling that I won't feel good about. Who knows ? 
Masterbation's cheaper.
But again, fuck it, no regrets, right ?  

  I'd like to learn French. I'd like to learn Italian. I'd like to learn Japaneese, I'd like to learn Portugeese, etc... This one's obvious - just move my ass.

  I want to travel to Asia - Thailand, Vietnam, Japan, etc... again this one's obvious - move my ass, plan it and do it.

 I want to buy a motorcycle. Not just any piece of crap. Not the one that's the cheapest - the best deal. No, I want a Harley- Davidson - rock and fucking roll !
No explanations.
Of course, no regrets.

  So, now on to the things I don't want... (this could also be better entitled things I hate, or at least don't like)
I don't want to drink - at least not two bottles of whiskey in two days.
Sometimes the things we like or even love the most are the worst for us (eg. Single malt whiskey, Guiness, women, cocaine,etc...)
I refuse to say some kind of bullshit like,"I'll never touch a drop of alcohol ever again".
That is ridiculous. Anyone who makes a statement like that is unrealistic and stupid.  
Imagine - Penelope Cruz walks up to me and asks me to take multiple shots of tequila off of her naked body.
No brainer, right?
Of course, I would do that anyday,everyday, forever,(feel free to insert any of your own personal fantasies into this statement, I've got loads of women and scenerios regarding this. Another list...).
No regrets,right ?