My Life On Sunset Blvd.

Major Deegan to AMERICA

2012-01-02T08:03:00.000-08:00

Major Deegan 1/2/12

Rows of cars penetrate wide bridges

en route to their respective destinations

Filled with colors and sizes, occupying seats above wheels,

above road, above rock

Beneath sky, clouds, unanswered hopes, prayers

and balloons

Released both voluntarily and involuntarily by children and fed up parents.

Planes at high elevation levels dodge wandering minds

stripping thc from hemp in form of prolonged inhalation.

Larger than life personalities traveling in waves from satellite to box,

to mind- as deception.

Government and actors,

actors enter government,

is there a difference?

A request for the merging of capitol hill and hollywood American history tours.

Come visit AMERICA: the end- TOURS ($67.95+tax)

From WALL STREET to SILICONE VALLEY, the masses travel in herds

From east coast Eliot Spitzer hotel rooms

West Coast adoption agencies frequented by the Jolie-Pitts

and ALL in between!

Demolish ALL boarders,

for the exception of Mexico

and allow all to COME SEE AMERICA...

all that the media has said is true!

Priest with a taste for Sunday mass and violating five year old ass.

Protected by pill popping parents who continue to bring

innocent robbed five year olds to pedophile priest to pray.

Priest PREYS

Child is SILENCED

Parents complacency ENSUES

Visits to Wal-Mart follow

Foods with bright colors and identifiable names are purchased.

Void left by priest robbery is now seamlessly filled- not with love- but with regret and high fructose corn syrup.

Priest PREYS

We pray

Priest TOUCHES

we pray?

Fast forward, child enters adulthood with warped sense of self and intimacy.

Innocent robbed

Childhood robbed

Priest employed

Families destroyed

NEXT EXIT, America.

BREAKUP to BREAKDOWN

2011-08-14T11:15:00.001-07:00

we can
continue to pretend like this isn't going to end
keep up with the lie: 'we'll always be friends'
make promises to go to events we'll never attend
cause our broken hearts we have yet learned to mend

we may
say that we'll touch bases again some day
even go as far as to making a reunion date to see a play
until the unreturned calls and text messages delay
pretend we may; some how, some way

we will
think about the countless hours we've spent having sex
deny to our friends that in bed we were each others best
continue to cheat, even though we've already failed the test
depend on the rest to clean up our own mess

we might
see each other somewhere, some day again
i'll have other women, you'll have other men
half-hearted good wishes to each other we'll most likely send
a hand we'll lend so we can continue to pretend

we shall
sever all ties and stop spreading horrible lies
refrain from the flow of anymore tears collected in our eyes
see each other at funerals when someone we know dies
and just like the day we parted, tears shall be cried

THOSE

2011-08-07T09:19:00.000-07:00

This—like all that came before it and all that will come after it—is for

those.

those

who paced phone in hand for pusher-man to arrive with their respective surprise.

those

who steam for pillow dreams and beams of the light green, striving to know what it all

means.
those

who seek thrills in form of pills, remain paying the dollar bill for your fill.

those

framing flies by ingesting the fungi—absolutely and positively high

those

CD-casing lines of white so clear of bind, it burns while you yearn for more—
More.
those

supposed OGs addicted to OCs from beach long who could sing a song , who’s
“never wrong”
those

tweakers whose life remains on blasted speakers, always in search of

PEAKers.
those

who troop to Country View to get your mind a stew, keep doing what you do!

those

who hit the sauce in order to fake dreams of being a boss who never ask:
“what does it cost?”

those

who rub liquid ‘cid on palms and enter forest to be calm and go by the name of,

Tom.

those

on line at Acres High seeking high, up and down West Seneca they fly

those

who took the bait and stopped the hate and came and mate with room OneTwentyEight

those

Xannie-barred out with ATM cards out, en route to sin, trying to remember pin.

those

who can’t handle, the wait for aid that’s financial, placing spare change on mantle.

those

constantly chewing through lolli’s while in search of another date with molly

those

on line to get behind a dime and grind to top 40 rhymes—stop wasting your time

those

shorting dimes to pay the fines for the crimes they avoided doing time, living life like a

corona holding the lime

those

supposed future linemen breaking hymens at Universities with girls who believe in “perfect timing”

those

middle class tricksters, repulsed by hipsters invading restaurants that sit on best listers.

those

trading in small town deers for big city tears, I hope you find what you fear.

those

who seek bliss from the ‘list, from jobs to a lady you can call Mrs.______________

those

not mentioned in here through name or societal fame yet believe they’re all the same.

You know, those…

An Inconvenient Evening

2011-06-02T10:56:00.000-07:00

It took me a while to realize that my iPhone had led me to the wrong O’Malley’s Bar in Manhattan and I was now 15 blocks east and forty minutes late to meet LeAnn. LeAnn was a Poly-Sci major turned Government Affairs Manager, whom I fooled around with junior year at Georgetown. She was in town from D.C. attending a speech at the U.N. headquarters and was staying at some Time Square tourist-trap hotel. Naturally, at first, I thought to offer LeAnn to stay with me but seeing as her hotel room was already booked by her company; I figured I’d stay with her and fuck on tax-payer money, kind of like the politicians do. I hadn’t seen LeAnn in nearly 7 years, but remembered fondly the nights I spent experimenting with her self-proclaimed no-gag reflexes and enduring deep back-scratches at the Phi Theta Kappa house—and of course her calling was her way of letting me know she wanted to revisit the experience too.

Flagging a cab down Friday nights on Broadway is the 2011 equivalence to entering Studio 54 in the seventies—virtually impossible. As soon as I was able to obtain one, I received the text:

“Hey, don’t know if you got sidetracked but I’m through waiting, going to a bar in Williamsburg with a friend, hit you up when I get back to my hotel room?”

I let out a sigh of relief, internally grateful for the sparing of the preliminary hookup banter. I thought of what to do with my time before having to meet up with LeAnn and decided I’d grab a drink at the wrong O’Malley’s I was just in.

I mentally blocked out the chatty blond from Hartford, Connecticut to check my phone. It’s 15 after midnight and still, no call from LeAnn. I contemplate bringing the chatty blond home—whose name may or may not be Rebecca—but decided against it when she begins to talk about how early she has to be up in the morning. Of course, this is all a ploy for Rebecca (?) to mentally insert that me taking her home is going to take a bit more then vodka tonics and empty compliments between glances of my iPhone, but I decide to not take the bait and respond with a “me too,” playing it safe with both the ‘not too interested’ vibe and ‘if-you-come-over-you’re-not-staying-the-night’ subtext.

The DJ turns on dry-humping hip-hop music and her and I follow accordingly. I grow increasingly interested in taking her back to my place as she proceeds to rub on my dick towards the back of the bar. With a direct disregard for her supposed “morals,” she whispers—though loud enough for me to hear her over the music—in my ear that she is wet and ready for me to take her. There wasn’t really a reason not to go home with her, but the idea of another random blond from another Manhattan bar on the same 300-count Egyptian cotton sheets from Bed, Bath and Beyond didn’t really sound appealing to me.

Did this blond have no-gag reflexes? Would she let me blow my load on her tits while she uses it as an impromptu moisturizing lotion?

I didn’t know if she would for sure, and had no intentions of devoting an entire evening on trying to find out. I decided to make up some excuse about having to leave. I take down her number on my phone but I don’t save it. Instead I end the contact list application as soon as I exit the bar and decide to walk the 30-some-odd blocks home instead of taking a cab.

I arrive home approximately 40 minutes after I left the bar. I quickly jump in the shower to clean up for LeAnn, when and if she called. The shower lasted about 30 minutes and when I checked my phone, still there was no call or text from LeAnn. I decide to send her an “Are we still on for tonight/this morning?” text but as time carries on, no response is received. I grow frustrated that I did not take the chatty blond home from the bar. Even more so, I’m pissed that I didn’t save her number. I pour myself a drink and begin browsing the internet. I surf multiple porn sites before realizing that this night cannot end in lotion and single person moans from a dark room, so I call up my colleague Jayson to get a website from him.

Jayson was another investment banker at the firm where I worked. He was single and had the potential to make enough money to retire before he was 45. Women loved him, but he couldn't care less about the women he'd meet at restaurants and bars. Jayson was interested, exclusively, with escort services and classy hotel prostitutes. The money wasn’t an issue for him, so it was like paying for any other services he would get: dry cleaning, new ceiling fan installation, Arabian Mocha coffee beans, brought and grounded at Starbucks. Thankfully Jayson was awake and instantly he knew the website I wanted.

When successful NYC businessmen want to fly under the escort service radar, they go on BackPage.Com. BackPage was a website created entirely for prostitutes and their John’s. The cover-up is of course a date escort service for those from out-of-town that requires nothing more than cash money from their John’s. No name, no phone numbers, no credit cards—just cash.

The last time I was with a prostitute, it was senior year of college and the evening had been finely clouded with copious amounts of booze and coke. I had plenty of booze at my apartment, but no way of getting in contact with my coke-guy, so I figured I’d place my order for a lady, and then make a drink.

After deciding on a long-legged brunette with perky tits and a fine fit ass, I began admiring all things right with this moment. The ability to obtain any and everything, as long as the price is right, was never an option for any generation, except mines. That is not to say no generation has been wealthy; it’s to say that no generation has been programmed by the idea of instant-gratification quite like mine has. I guess one could find it endearing in the past to join the countless men and women in bars and clubs making obscene gestures to try and increase the likelihood of sex with one another. Today, it just isn’t logical anymore. If I want to have sex, I will have it, and there isn’t any college-loan indebted NYU-grad student that’s gonna tell me differently.

She arrived just as I finished my 4^th drink. I was now superbly drunk and fantasizing about breast-banging Chelsea Handler from the E! Channel show Chelsea Lately when the intercom rang. It was Raul letting me know that there was a "beautiful young lady" waiting in the lobby. I told him to escort her up and began fixing myself up a bit.

A few minutes after getting off the phone with Raul, the elevator stopped on my floor. I could hear her share goodbyes with Raul and then her heels clacking towards my door. As each heel tapped the floor, my heart began to beat a bit faster.

Was I nervous or was it the 4 stiff vodka and red bulls I had in the last hour?

Before I could come up with a decision, the doorbell rang. I opened the door before she could ring again and was pleasantly surprised when I laid eyes on her. Though her breasts weren't nearly as perky as they were in her photographs online, she was still gorgeous and looked like she would be an incredible fuck.

Back Page? She asked sheepishly, trying to be as discreet as possible.

I signal her to come in and she enters. I take her coat and hang it in the closet in the hallway alongside mine.

PRADA, the tag on the jacket read.

Escorting pay well? I ask her

Pretty well, I guess. Why do you ask?

The Prada jacket

Yeah, well I guess you can say it pays the bills.

I'd say

I opened the door to my bedroom and let her in.

Would you like a drink? I asked

Yes, any gin?

Sure, how do you like it?

Splash of tonic, on ice

Coming right up

By the time I had finished making the drink and had brought it back to the room, she was already naked with legs spread on the bed. I stood in the doorway admiring her figure as she stared back at me. She took the drink from me, shoved a pinkish pill in her mouth and washed it down with the entire gin & tonic.

$1200 for the entire night--well into the morning, $250 for a full hour and $100 for oral, she announced nonchalantly.

Let’s start off with an hour and we’ll see where we go from there

Before I could finish my sentence, she was off the bed and on her knees, working on my dick. Over and over again, she would insert the whole thing in her mouth with the same enthusiasm a starving doctor finally eating a $5 foot-long, rushing to get back to work. I caressed her hair as it bopped back and fourth

What do you do? She asked mid-suck

I’m an investment banker for the Leibowitz & Goldstein Investment Firm

Investing pay well?

Well enough for me to afford women like you

Apparently I’m only worth an hour

Take it as compliment babe; pretend like it means I can’t hold my load for any longer

We were about 15 minutes in and all I wanted to do was ravish her. Her sexiness was anything but subtle. She didn’t know what it was I wanted but was willing to listen and follow accordingly—something most random hook-ups lack. As soon as she removes my dick from her mouth to gasp for breath, I signal her to get up and move towards the bed. I open my nightstand and remove a condom. I go to open it, but she takes it from my hands and insists on doing it herself. I let her put it on as I stare deeply into her, curious as to the life-choices she made that led her to my Central Park West apartment at 4:30AM.

As soon as she was done covering me up, she laid back and led me to insertion. I begin with small pumps, trying very hard not to be quick on the trigger—an issue that embarrassingly does presents itself when I’ve had a few drinks. I proceed to go a bit faster when her moans get louder. While, I was the one who both invited and paid her to come over, there was still an internal goal at work. Her moans were verbal indications of whether what I was doing was right or wrong. If the moans were less pronounced and spaced further apart, I knew that I must go deeper. If the moans were loud and intense, I knew what I was doing was right. Yet, I still wondered:

Why all the motivation to make her climax? Wasn’t I the customer who required satisfaction?

As I lifted myself up to change positions, I realized she wasn't making any noise, so I brushed off the hair strands from around her face. It was then that I realized that her eyes weren’t open either. I tried, calmly, to wake her up but she wasn’t budging. I checked her pulse and that’s when I realized that she was no longer alive.

I paced back and forth in my living room thinking of what to do.

There’s a dead prostitute in my house, with drugs and alcohol in her system. WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?

I grab the intercom and call down to Raul in the lobby.

Yes, Mr. Aidan, may I help you?

Uh yes, Raul, do you think it’s possible you can come upstairs and help me with something?

It is only me here at the front desk and I cannot leave it unattended

I assure you Raul; it will only take a second

Do you mind if I just wait for Jose, he’ll be here in 30 minutes, Mr. Aidan

Raul, get your ass up here NOW!

Be right up Mr. Aidan

I knew yelling at Raul in the current position that I’m in, was not smartest thing to do but what else would have gotten him upstairs?

A few minutes later, the door bell rang and I closed the door to my bedroom and went to open the front door.

Thank you for coming Raul

Is there a problem with the plumbing Mr. Aidan?

No Raul, there isn’t a problem with the plumbing, it’s about the lady who just came upstairs

Oh the tall brunette? Oh Mr. Aidan, you bring beautiful women home every night, but no wife. Why not Mr. Aidan?

That is neither here, nor there Raul, now listen to me! The girl who just came upstairs was a little bit drunk and took a pill. Now, don’t overreact Raul but…

I led Raul down the hall to my bedroom and swung the door open to expose the naked brunette sprawled on my bed. Raul smiled and looked back at me. He entered the room a bit more and then, with an even more worrisome facial expression than when he saw the body, he asked

Is she dead?

She isn’t breathing, that’s for damn sure!

Oh Mr. Aidan, no, I don’t have any business here.

No Raul, you’re a part of this now

No Mr. Aidan, you tell me to come upstairs to look at your toilet; I fix it and leave, good night!

I stop Raul at my doorway and show him 10 crisp $100 bills.

This is all I have right now, but as soon as the bank opens in the morning, I can get you more. I just need your help Raul.

As an investment banker, I knew that nothing speaks louder than visual cash, and with the option of making a month’s pay in an hour, I knew it would be nearly impossible for Raul to turn down.

Oh Mr. Aidan, please, I have family

And couldn’t your family use a few extra thousand dollars?

Raul stared at the 10 crisp $100 bill in my hand, and then proceeded to ask me:

What can we do Mr. Aidan?

We need to dispose of the body, do you have trash bags?

Why don’t you call the police?

Because Raul, how would you explain a dead prostitute in your bed?

An error of judgment?

Yes Raul, I’m sure the jury would love to find me innocent due to an error of judgment. This is America Raul; men like me don’t survive in jail—men like me don’t go to jail.

Is that because men like you have men like me who are stupid enough to help?

That isn’t what I meant Raul

Mr. Aidan, I’m very sorry but I cannot help

Raul, you know just as well as I know that you're not leaving this apartment and going back downstairs to sit at a desk; whether you like it or not, you’re a part of this. Now you can leave and act like you didn’t see anything but you know what happened.

I played no part in this Mr. Aidan

Doesn’t matter Raul, you’re the doorman, how do you explain letting a woman up who never came back down and is now missing? What will you tell the cops?

What will YOU tell the cops?

Well if we clean this shit up, none of us will have to say anything.

Raul paused for a second, looked at the body, rubbed his already balding head and said:

But I need $3000 Mr. Aidan…

Everybody has a price Raul…

Raul and I placed the body in trash bags after trash bags and tried to place in the trash shoot. Her entire body couldn’t fit, but luckily Raul had the key to the incinerator room.

The sun began coming up as soon as Raul and I finished mopping and wiping down all surfaces. Every few minutes or so, Raul would stare at the clock on the wall, possibly counting down the hours until the bank opened. Though he had the first $1000 in his pocket, I still owed him another $2000 and I was sure that he wanted it as soon as possible. Suddenly my text message alerts sounded. I picked up my phone and right in my inbox was a message from LeAnn:

“Just got back to my room, horny and drunk, cum over? (Pun intended)”

Normally the first thing that would cross my mind at that moment would be LeAnn’s no-gag reflexes but all I could think about was her as a potential alibi. Somewhere this dead prostitute had a pimp who will soon be looking for her once 8am hits. I had to get out of my apartment. I texted her back: “on my way.” Raul was growing impatient and finally I decided to write him a check. He was skeptical about taking the check, but I assured him the money was in the account and would clear on whatever day he decided to cash it.

Today Mr. Aidan!

Yes Raul, you can cash it today

Are you sure it will clear?

Yes Raul, it will clear

Raul stared back at me with the first genuine look of compassion I’ve seen all night. I walked over to my closet to get my coat. As soon as I opened the closet door, I saw it hanging: the long black Prada trench coat with the military shoulder pads and buttons—the final remains of the prostitute whose name I wasn't sure was real—Jane.

Raul, here; give this to your wife

No Mr. Aidan, I can’t

Raul this is a $3000 jacket, there’s no reason it should just be thrown away.

Mr. Aidan, with all due respect, we just disposed of a human body, a jacket you’re worried about?

I stared back at Raul, absorbing what he just said.

Okay Raul, if you don’t want to take it then don’t, just please do not leave it in my apartment. I’m leaving now so if you can lock up behind you, that will be great."

Raul stood in my hallway looking at the jacket draped over the side of my mail table, then back at me as I walked out the door. I knew Raul would take the jacket...there wasn't a doubt in my mind.

When I exited the cab in Time Square, right in front of the Marriot Marquis hotel, I felt somewhat happy to be surrounded by so many people. There were a few visible actual New Yorkers, but the streets were comprised mostly of early bird tourist in town for a weekend, maybe a week, soaking in the city, spending hard worked for yearly savings, eating overpriced meals of sub-par quality. What I had just done was irrelevant in Time Square. The lights and tall buildings left visitors mesmerized, unaware of the monster walking about them—under bright lights, we all looked the same.

I didn’t bother waiting for the elevator up to LeAnn’s floor; instead I climbed the 13 flights to her hotel room. I arrived at her front door which was already opened.

I’m jumping in the shower, be right out, make yourself at home, make a drink! She yelled from the bathroom with the same voice I remembered from the days back in Georgetown.

Alright , I yelled out

I fixed myself a drink but didn't take a sip—climbing 13 flights of stairs takes a lot out of you. I took off my shoes and laid down on the king size bed. My eye lids begin to grow a tad bit heavier as I listen to the shower run in the bathroom. I let my mind drift away from this room and this entire city and think about home—wherever that is.

Rolling Down the Road

2010-11-29T11:47:00.000-08:00

Rolling Down the Road

Part I

I had probably told Caitlyn four times that the lighter was in my backpack in the back seat before I saw any movement from her body. She just laid there, cigarette drooping out the left side of her mouth as her eyes rolled to the back of her head; that shitty grin permanently embedded on her face as she rubbed the palm of her hands on the shag seat covers of my Buick.

“So they’re good?” I asked her as we passed the ‘WELCOME TO Scranton, Pennsylvania’ sign on our way back to school.

“Fucking…fantastic,” she replied with a shortness of breath.

“Are they dopey? They seem dopey.”

“No…absolutely clean…absolutely fantastic”

I had always depended on Caitlyn to be the one to test the purity of the pills I got. When we first began dealing, she would casually sell a few and we’d impatiently wait for word on how good they were. However, now, a year and half in, she opted only to test them by way of self-administration as soon as we got our hands on a jar.

It wasn’t entirely fair to say that Caitlyn was in love with ecstasy because it would be like saying a child is in love with toys---when one is presented to the other, the infatuation is virtually inevitable. This was the case for just about everyone who tried ecstasy.

For the greater part of the 90s, I spent every weekend watching countless amounts of teens, twenty-something year old yuppies and even some parents shell out their weekly allowance or paychecks on a night of unadulterated bliss. Ecstasy had entered the homes of Generation X’ers the way that winter enters the year; with subtle warning signs, but with no real indication of its longevity. As soon as it arrived, however, I knew it was there to stay.

Living in New York City for the majority of the 80s, it’s safe to say I’ve seen my share of drug-addled adults and youths alike; yet with ecstasy, it was a completely different kind of drug that appealed to a much broader demographic. The feeling ecstasy produced inside its users was the same feeling that every religion sold, but never delivered. That power and the clever designer stamps each pill had turned ecstasy, in just a few short years, as popular—if not more—than marijuana.

It wasn’t uncommon to walk down Broadway on any given weekend night in Manhattan and see countless groups of people all huddled together, chain-smoking cigarettes and chewing on gum as if it were their last meal. Now, nearly twenty years later, Caitlyn and I, as a plan to dig ourselves out of college-inflicted financial ruin, were attempting to bring a dose of happiness to anyone who would shell out the cash.

“Holy shit, these are fucking great,” Caitlyn murmured under her breath.

“Glad you like them. Now send out those mass text-messages telling everyone you’ve got them and let’s get down to business.”

“You’re always about business Aidan, why don’t you just chill out and eat one. It’ll calm you down…you’re always so on edge.”

I swerved the car from the far left lane all the way into the service lane and stopped the car.

“Listen Caitlyn, now I know you’re in all too fabulous of a place right now to even begin to understand the concept of getting caught, but I’m fucking driving down i90 with 99 ecstasy pills in my backpack, the last thing I need is to be loved-up on the road; especially when 20 pills are considered to be drug-trafficking by the DEA. That means for every batch of twenty pills we have in the car, we get a maximum sentence of 25 years to life. Do you really want to risk that?”

Caitlyn’s over-dilated pupils stared back at me like a puppy whose feelings had just been shattered by its owner.

“What the fuck Aidan, I was just trying to help.”

I signaled for a lane merge and kept on driving. I didn’t say another word to her for about a mile or two. Midway through the first mile, she decided to grab her iPod and climb into the backseat to lie down. Casually I glimpsed into the rearview mirror to see how she was doing. She seemed to be having the time of her life, flowing from song to song in a complete haze of enjoyment.

“Why don’t you roll any more Aidan?”

Her voice was now soft and her eyes were glued on mines through the rearview mirror.

“I do roll. What are you talking about?”

“Liar, I haven’t seen you eat a pill since last February.”

“Has it really been that long?” I asked skeptically, although clearly knowing she was right.

“Yeah Aidan, it was Valentine’s day when you and I went to San Francisco for mid-winter break.

“Are you sure Caitlyn? I swear I’ve rolled after that.”

“No, I’m pretty certain Aidan. Remember, we had those blue pistols from the Bay Reggae Music Festival?”

“Yeah I remember that.”

“That was a great night. Come on Aidan, eat one.”

“I can’t Caitlyn; we’re still three hours away. Maybe when we hit Binghamton, I’ll think about it.”

“Why are we even going back tonight anyway? Everyone’s gone for the weekend.”

She was right. I was so preoccupied with getting back and making money that I forgot that today was Saturday.

“Alright, but I don’t want to drive on it, that’s an absolute waste.”

“Okay so get off on the next exit, we’ll find a park-and-stay motel and a bar. We’ll make a night out of it!”

Truth was I was really exhausted and a room to relax sounded pretty great after nearly 4 hours of driving.

“Alright give me one, but I do not want to hear another word from you until we get into the motel room”

“Fine,” she said while handing me the pill.

I chewed the pill up as finely as I could with my front two teeth, making sure not to get any residue stuck in between teethes or in any cavities. The bitter, metallic like chemical taste overpowered my mouth and instantly I wanted to take it back. I felt around the cup holders for a drink while my eyes were still on the road. Thankfully Caitlyn had a Luke-warm half-drunken bottle of Gatorade in her backpack and gave it to me. As the Gatorade washed off most of the bitter taste out of my mouth I glimpsed into the rear view mirror to see Caitlyn’s eyes closed and that shitty grin still spread wide on her face. Almost instantaneously, my heart began to beat fast as the initial placebo affects of the pill began to kick in. Excited for what was in store, I lit a cigarette and looked at the sign on the right: NEXT EXIT, ¾ MILE, DINER, RESTSTOP and MOTEL.

Part II

I was standing at the front desk of the Pennsylvania Days Inn, waiting for the lady to give me my room card when it began to kick in. It began subtlety with a slight weightlessness feeling in my body. Slight movements felt exaggerated and breathing became a task all on its own. Caitlyn was still rolling pretty hard when we were checking in---so much in fact that she had to wait in the car until after I had received the room card.

After the papers were signed and room-cards obtained, I made my way out to the car to get Caitlyn. As soon as I knocked on the window, her head turned swiftly and she greeted me with a smile that would have made Ted Bundy’s heart melt.

“Do we have a room? She asked gushingly

“Yup, Room 128. Here, take the card and go up, I’m going to grab something for us to drink and bring up our bags.”

She exited out the car and said: “Alright, see you soon.”

I walked into the gas station across from the hotel at about 60 miles a minute. I was coming up, and therefore was experiencing that initial burst of energy. I couldn’t keep my eyes focused in one direction; they flickered like a small fire burning into the nighttime. My body was now pulsating and I could feel the chemicals slide down the lining of my stomach and into a pool of stomach acid that would carry it to be metabolized. My hands were slipperier than a just-mopped floor so I kept wiping them on the side of my jeans. I grabbed a 12-pack of beer and a gallon of water.

“$14.28 sir” the lady at the counter yelled out to me as I stared aimlessly at the kaleidoscope of BIC lighters in front of me. “Sir…its $14.28”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was just….”

“$14.28 sir”

“…just looking at the lighters,” I said while digging through my pocket for the 28 cents I didn’t have.”Here’s $15, I don’t have 28 cents”

The sound of coins clinking together triggered a reverberation of similar sounds throughout my body.

“72 cents is your change, you have a good day.”

“You too”

As soon as I opened the tinted doors of the gas station, the cool Pennsylvanian air hit my face and instantly I was transported into bliss. The mountains in the backdrop of the never ending fields of grass looked hand-painted with calm oil colors. The blues of the sky seemed to change as the wind blew like it were a color palate book from Home Depots paint department. I felt slightly elevated from my body as if I had grown a few feet taller in the short time I was in the gas station. There was a blur of cars zooming pass me on the road a few yards over to my right; something inside of me felt it appropriate to say a little prayer for everyone on the roads---hoping they make it to their destination safely.

As I made my way back to the motel, I opened up the gallon and took a long swig. The cold, Poland spring water hitting my throat felt sensational---as if everything up to that moment had led me to take a swig right there in the middle of the parking lot. It was little things like this that made it evident that the ecstasy had taken a hold of my being; and as I entered the motel, I took a big deep breath and exhaled…hoping that not only the remaining air in my lungs was removed, but also all the remaining traces of Aidan that still lingered.

Every waking second on ecstasy feels like a second out of the greatest movie you’ve ever watched. Everything you see, feel, taste and smell seems to be designed and tailored to your specific liking. There are no bad emotions on good ecstasy, just indescribable ones. Emotions that not even Webster’s Dictionary or professors at Cambridge can muster up seven-syllable words for. In fact, the word that can probably sum up the greatness of the drug is the word it’s already referred to as---ecstasy.

I entered the motel room and found that Caitlyn had begun playing some music and was in the shower. I took off my shoes, laid down on the King size bed and lit a cigarette. As I drew the smoke of the cigarette into my lungs, it seemed to trigger an emotion only describable by receiving all 7s on a Las Vegas slot machine. Each and every drag off the cigarette was my jackpot, and I cherished each one accordingly.

Suddenly I heard the bathroom door open, and as steam began escaping out, like a marvel escaping out of the mist, Caitlyn appears, draped in a towel with a slightly less intense grin, but a grin nonetheless.

“Look who’s got a case of the smiles now,” she said cuter than ever

“Where’d yours go?”

“It’s still here, just slowly but surely making a run for it.”

“Well that must change,” I said, while shuffling through my backpack for my

Jar. “Here...” I said while handing her another dose of love.

“Are you going to eat another too?” she asked

“Maybe later, I’m good for now”

Caitlyn grabbed the pill and chewed it fast, faster than I’ve ever seen someone chew a pill before. It was evident that Caitlyn was on a mission, but I wasn’t sure what it was. Whatever the case may have been, when I took that pill from her in the car, I agreed to set forth on that same mission.

“I have some weed in my backpack…you want to smoke a bowl?”

“Absolutely,” Caitlyn responded while grapping my bowl and weed bag out of my backpack.

I took the first rip off the bowl and again the lucky 7s were hit and my jackpot was to be claimed. I handed the bowl to Caitlyn and as she went to grab it her hands grazed mine. Caitlyn’s hands had grazed mine’s a million times before, but this time the graze seemed to have so much more depth than it usually did. I often try not to differentiate what emotions are from the drugs and which are mine when I’m on ecstasy; mainly because they both seem to stem from the same place---my soul.

**DISCLAIMER PLEASE LISTEN TO: John Stanford’s ‘Aurora’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lAwRL2b_E2Q) as you read this section.

I grabbed Caitlyn’s hands and kissed her forearms. Her slight moan was directions for me to continue doing what I was doing, so I did. She was still in her towel, so as I pulled her closer to me, the towel fell by her waistline.

I never bought into the belief that ecstasy made you want to have sex. I think the more logical explanation is that, sex is a great feeling, and when you’re on ecstasy, everything feels brand new. It’s only natural that an enjoyable act like sex would be heightened to the umpteen power when you’re on ecstasy.

That was most definitely the case with Caitlyn. The smell of her just washed hair was completely occupying my every being. The scent filled my nostrils rapidly, and butterflies began to fill my stomach. Each kiss that did not connect on the mouth, felt equally as important as those that did. Each stroke of her breast or flick of her nipple caused her to let out a low, awe-inspiring moan that did as much to making me reach a climax as her mere presence did.

Caitlyn quickly turned the tables and began to reciprocate the same admiration for my body as I had shown hers. She made her way down to my package and quickly grabbed it with assertion and possessiveness, a side of Caitlyn I had never seen before. She began working on the area as my body pulsated to a peak. I could feel my limbs turn to mush, and everything in the room seemed to be moving to the beat of the ambient trance music playing in the background.

The mind-fuck portion of my peak was just beginning. Rapid thoughts and emotions I didn’t know existed in my brain begin to flood my every existence as I twist and turn on the bed. Auditory and visual hallucinations creep calmly, not to disrupt the tone of the whole trip. The patterns on the bed sheets begin to flow south as the music gets clearer, crisper than ever possible.

Caitlyn’s hair sat sprawled out on my stomach as I watch her head bop up and down. I gather up all strands of her hair and form an impromptu ponytail. She looks up at me, gasp for air and goes back at it. At this moment, my toes begin to curl and every indication that a climax is ahead is presented. Unsure of whether or not it’s a climax or just my trip coming to its highest peak, I grab Caitlyn, place her on the bed and penetrate her unapologetically.

I thrust some 10 times before I realize that my climax is near, yet I am not ready to release. I think of it like an old friend on their way to visit your home, but you have yet finished cleaning up. Deep inside you wish they would get loss on their way over---therefore granting you a few minutes more…just a few minutes.

“I’m gonna cum,” I say almost unrecognizably between heavy breaths. As I thrust harder and harder my internal doorbell begins to ring. I walk slowly to the door, cleaning up every last mess I can, but it is too late…they’ve arrived.

Part III

Caitlyn and I both woke up around the same time that next morning. Half empty beer bottles lay sprawled on the floor as the stench of stale cigarettes filled my virgin morning-nostrils.

“Is this a smoking room?” I thought to myself

“Good morning,” I heard come from Caitlyn who was crawled up in a ball beside me, still very naked.

“Morning...we should check out, get some coffee and get on the road.”

“Yeah we should, but first…”Caitlyn’s hands traveled down my pants to signal that she wanted to revisit the events of last night.

“Come on, we’ve got to get going”

“Check-out times not for another 3 hours, we have time.”

“Caitlyn, come on, we have a long drive ahead of us.”

I had since got up and began brushing my teeth in the bathroom sink...casually peaking my hand in and out of the room to hear what it was Caitlyn had to say.

“I’m so fucking stupid?” she shouted at me while getting up from the bed

“Why are you stupid Caitlyn?”

“Because I constantly fall into the same patterns with you. It happened in San Francisco and now it’s happening again. ”

“What’s happening?”

“Don’t play stupid Aidan; you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t. All I know is that we had a great time in San Francisco and we had a great time last night…did we not?”

“Yeah, we did, but you cannot continue having me when you want Aidan.”

“You see, I knew you would turn this around on me.”

“Oh please Aidan, you knew exactly what would happen when we got this room.”

“Maybe I did, but does that mean because of that I should be ready to commit?”

“No, but at least treat it as if it were an option.”

“It isn’t an option Caitlyn. It just isn’t. You’re a good friend of mine who helps me sell these pills. That’s it; nothing more, nothing less.”

Tears were now running down Caitlyn’s face as I tried to preoccupy myself with pointless things to try and not look at her.

“Listen, I’ll be down in the car. I’m leaving in 15 minutes and would like it if you were there with me.”

In less than 10 minutes, Caitlyn had come downstairs and gotten into the car. She had put on sunglasses to cover her red eyes and tears, but I can still hear her sniffle in the car. No words were exchanged for the first hour until she needed to stop at a gas station for cigarettes.

We were making good timing and had just entered Binghamton. I now felt a bit safer now that we were in New York State. There’s something absolutely unsettling about being in another state with drugs, everything’s different, both the cops and the laws.

As we entered Binghamton, I asked Caitlyn if she wanted to smoke a bowl. She nodded slightly and I asked her to hand me my backpack. She grabbed my backpack from the back and packed my bowl. She passed me the bowl and I proceeded to light it.

“Watch out,” Caitlyn yelled subtlety as we passed a state trooper on the road.

“You think he saw us?” I asked as Caitlyn went to turn around “…NO, don’t turn around.”

“Shit, he pulled out.”

“Hide the bowl.”

Caitlyn shoved the bowl down her pants and let out a scream

“Shit it’s still hot,” she yelled.

I was paying too much attention to the pig behind us to listen to Caitlyn. We got a few yards down when he turned on his lights and signaled for us to pull over.

The car reeked of marijuana and I knew he would smell it the moment I opened the window.

“Hello sir, license and registration please”

Caitlyn opens the glove compartment and gets my registration as I nervously dig through my wallet for my license.

“Here you go sir.”

He examines the license and says: ‘Sir, may I ask, do you smell marijuana?”

I respond, “Yes sir.”

“Please step out of the vehicle sir.”

I stepped out the vehicle and was detained by the officer and placed near the squad car as the officer talked to Caitlyn.

A few moments later Caitlyn too was removed from the car and the officer told us that he would begin a search of the vehicle.

Every second of a vehicle search is the worse seconds you can ever experience of your life. Everything the officer touches that is in close proximity to your stash makes your stomach churn and knees buckle. The backpack was on the floor in the backseat. He was still thoroughly checking the driver and passenger seats looking for stems or marijuana residue but I had none. To this day I wonder if he would have found a stem or a leaf, would we have been released with unlawful possession of marijuana, That’s the thing with drug dealing though, there’s a lot of what-if’s you think about, but only one definite.

The officer kneeled down on the driver seat and scoped out the back seat. He picked up the backpack and took it outside of the car. He put it on the hood of the car and walks back to squad car to get gloves. It is at this moment tears begin to run down Caitlyn face. Her glasses are still on but droplets of tears run down both cheeks. The cop notices this and asks her if she’s okay. She responds nothing and goes back to the back pack.

“The backpack is mine,” I yelled out to the officer.

“What?”

“The backpack is mine, everything inside of it is mine, the car is mine; everything is.”

The officer opens the backpack, looks inside and pulls out the jar.

“Holy shit,” he responds and automatically calls for another squad car.

I got a letter from a friend of mines from college who knew what Caitlyn and I were both doing. He asked me if I regret taking all the blame. Absolutely not. Yeah, it could have led to a lesser sentence, but it would have robbed both of us of a life. Caitlyn’s a good girl who, after all was said and done, was never doing it for the money. She was doing it for me. I guess this was my way of finally repaying her.

The End.

Intellectual Army

2010-04-30T12:03:00.000-07:00

We bring others into the world to say we've accomplished.
Ten fingers and ten toes, unaware of the sorrows never to be abolished.

Influences from days of birth reign relevant until not.
Thrown into the fire, left to boil without a pot.

Those older, supposedly wiser, seek guidance from above.
Those younger, innocent in the mind, know nothing but unconditional love.

Without knowledge of HATE, HATE does not exist.
Words keep flowing as long as intelligence persist.

The often-glorified college is nothing but High School with dorms
Infested with young minds straying away from social norms

While conforming might be adolescent Kryptonite
Every dorm room on every floor reeks of sex and beer tonight.

We might think we're so different, yet we're remarkably the same
We've all payed the same entrance fee, now we're just waiting for the start of the game

GIVE US FOUR YEARS OF YOUR LIFE, at the end you get a diploma in a frame
"DO I GET A JOB?" the college kid ask

Silly member of the Intellectual Army, you must be INSANE

The Miseducation of a 90s Negro

2010-04-28T10:07:00.000-07:00

THE MISEDUCATION OF a 90s NEGRO

Like the rope that broke the neck of the nigger-father-son-brother in Mississippi, WE will not be broken.

Like reality was still here, the truth will be spoken.

Like the seat that housed the buttocks of the tired Rosa Parks, WE will soon be warm.
Like the mother tangled in fear protecting her newborn son, WE will not be harmed

Like the father working nights, WE are not just another dead-beat-dad statistic
Like materialistic-fiends, we will thrive for retail logistics.

Though we loss the chains and name [NIGGER], the pain still remains.
Constantly being drenched in bleach, then being ridiculed for being permanently stained.

But like a disobedient dog, we will not be trained.
Why?
Because this 90s negro was under the impression that we were all born the same.

Stevenson's Top Thirty Favorite Films

2007-07-03T13:27:00.001-07:00

1- Casablanca [Michael Curtiz, 1942]
2- Sunset Blvd. [Billy Wilder, 1950]
3- Almost Famous [Cameron Crowe, 2000]
4- The Hours [Stephen Daldry, 2002]
5- American Beauty [Sam Mendes, 1999]
6- Y Tu Mama Tambien [Alfonso Cuaron, 2002]
7- One Flew Over the Cukoo’s Nest [Milos Foreman, 1975]
8- Before Sunrise [Richard Linklater, 1995]
9- Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind [Micheal Gondry, 2004]
10- Titanic [James Cameron, 1997]
11- Goodfellas [Martin Scorsese, 1990]
12- A Streetcar Named Desire [Elia Kazan, 1951]
13- Annie Hall [Woody Allen, 1977]
14- Taxi Driver [Martin Scorsese, 1976]
15- Dog Day Afternoon [Sidney Lumet, 1975]
16- Before Sunset [Richard Linklater, 2004]
17- Good Will Hunting [Gus Van Saint, 1997]
18- Closer [Mike Nichols, 2004]
19- The Godfather [Francis Ford Coppola, 1972]
20- The Shawshank Redemption [Frank Darabont, 1994]
21- Jerry Maguire [Cameron Crowe, 1996]
22- Habla Con Ella [Pedro Almodovar, 2002]
23- Garden State [Zach Braff, 2004]
24- Requiem for a Dream [Darren Aronofsky, 2000]
25- Petit home [Laurent Jaoui, 2002]
26- 25th Hour [Spike Lee, 2002]
27- American History X [Tony Kaye, 1998]
28- Mystic River [Clint Eastwood, 2003]
29- The Virgin Sucides [Sofia Coppola, 1999]
29- Amores perros [Alejandro González Iñárritu, 2000]
30- Dead Poet’s Society [Peter Weir, 1989]

"Here's looking at you, kid. "

2007-06-28T19:43:00.000-07:00

Hands down, Casablanca is the greatest film EVER made. I have probably seen more than a thousand films and I can honestly say; not one has been as moving, as original and as timeless as Casablanca.

Underneath all the memorable quotes and terrific acting, Casablanca is an everyday love story. What makes this love story unique is how it remains the strongest aspect of the film despite all that is going on. Set in Morocco during World War II, Rick(Humphrey Bogart) is a cynical club owner who "sticks his neck out for nobody". When a local black market dealer, Ugarte, played by Peter Lorre ask Rick to hold some papers for him, Rick agrees to do so, despite his pessimistic nature. Little did Rick know, the papers he was holding would be the ones that would seperate him from his true love, Ilsa(Ingrid Bergman).

In a flashback scene, we are shown the love affair that happened between Rick and Ilsa in Paris. Upon Rick's departure, he asked Ilsa to leave with him, Ilsa says yes. What should be the happiest night in Rick's life, turns out to be the worst when Rick is stood up at the train station, with only a note from Isla saying she could not see him anymore

"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine"

When Ilsa walks back into Rick's bar, years later, she comes in with Victor Laszlo, former concentration camp prisoner, and well known activist. With Germany on it's way to invade Casablanca, Laszlo becomes terrified of being arrested and sent back to the concentration camps. His initial plan is to leave for America. The only thing is, Laszlo's only ticket for America is the papers given to Rick by his late friend Ugarte.

Rick now has to choose, either he sends Isla and her husband away and lose the women he loves forever, or he keeps the papers for himself and remains a single, cynical-drunkard.

The outcome will leave you breathless. Casablanca is perfection.

A deeper look into 'Y Tu Mama Tambien'

2007-06-25T13:13:00.000-07:00

"Mamacita" Tenoch Iturbide screams while having an orgasm after sex with the beautiful Luisa Cortés, in a hotel room in Mexico. A dream of many teenage boys has just been turned into a reality by one half of the Charolastra's. What follows this is a series of events that end a life and subsequently a friendship. What started as an innocent trip down to a make-believe beach turns into a morbid look inside ourselves.

After viewing this film I felt like a gaping whole in my heart had just been filled. The impeccable screenplay from Alfonso Cuaron speaks louder then just what's on the screen. A glimpse into the lives of two sexually active boys, from two different financial backgrounds raises powerful questions as to what life is all about.

In the last 20 minutes of Y Tu Mama Tambien, we witness a friendship ruined by potential sexual relations after one drunken night.

As I sit in my room, I wonder: "what really happened in that hotel room?" Sure, one might conclude that both Tenoch and Julio engaged in sexual relations with not only Luisa, but with each other but I think that was but a mere formality amongst the two boys. Director Cuaron leaves it open to the viewer to know what happened in that hotel room. But from the narration and the awkard meeting in the Coffee shop, we are left to believe they did have sexual relations.

I personally think the film was made to be percieved on a larger scale then what we see on screen. The death of Luisa symbolises how death can come to us at anytime. Lusia chose to take life head-on and not sit around and mope about her cheating husband or her cancer. She went on a journey with two boys and taught them the meaning of life, love and friendship. Maybe Julio and Tenoch weren't meant to be friends. Maybe this trip was a way to help clarify it for them. Maybe they weren't friends at all. Maybe the films purpose was to show us how FUCKED up this world is. How your husband can cheat on you, you can be diagnosed with cancer, and your best friend can sleep with your girlfriend.

All my thought were changed with the final shot. Julio standing in the coffee shop, asking for the check. His eyes gazing at the door that just opened for the departure of his former best friends. Did Julio love Tenoch more than just friends? Was this trip with Luisa but a mere catalyst in Julio revealing his true feelings for Tenoch?

All these questions are impossible to answer. But, one thing has to be said about this film.

Life is like the surf, so give yourself away like the sea.

When In Doubt....

2007-06-25T10:56:00.000-07:00

Turn the music UP!

Top 10 Scenes ever

2007-06-25T10:12:00.000-07:00

1: Almost Famous

Directed by Cameron Crowe

A distraught and hungover Russle Hammond board the bus already filled with the rest of Stillwater and the band-aids. Willam Miller sits along side Penny Lane. The song Tiny Dancer by Elton John begins to play on the radio. The piano chords drift upon the bus. One by one everyone begins to sing. Music brings them together, and it prevents them from being torn apart.

2: Y Tu Mama Tambien
Directed by Alfonso Cuaron

Two boys dance with a beautiful women while intoxicated.

3: The Hours Directed by Stephen Daldry

"It is my voice. It is mine and mines only. I'm dying in this town. If I were thinking clearly.....I would tell you that I wrestle alone in the dark, in the deep dark, and that only I can know, only I can understand my own condition. You live with the threat-- you tell me-- you live with the threat of my extinction. Leonard, I live with it, too. This is my right. It is the right of every human being. I choose not the suffocating anesthetic of the suburbs, but the violent jolt of the capital. That is my choice."

4: American Beauty

Directed by Sam Mendes

Lester Burnham stands in his garage while Frank Fitts enters. Rain dripping from his hair down to his toes. Mr.Fitts is vulnerable, as he approaches Lester, he plants a kiss right on his lips. Lester backs away, and while Fitts cries, Lester holds him.

5: A Streetcar Named Desire

Directed by Elia Kazan

After hitting Stella numerous time, a drunk Stanley stands at the bottom of the steps, screaming for his love. "Stellaaaaaaaaaaa"

6: Before Sunrise

Directed by Richard Linklater

Celine and Jesse stand in a music booth listening to Kathy Bloom's: Come Here

7: Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind

Directed by Micheal Gondry

Clementine and Joel running through the house in Montauk. Clementine is upstairs while Joel is wandering downstairs. Clementine proceeds to ask Joel why did he leave. We are now aware that this is their second meeting. Joel confesses he thought she was weird. And as a plan to change the past, Clementine ask Joel, what if he stays this time. A crumbling roof falls upon them. Joel wakes up. The beginning is the end, the end, the beginning.

8: Taxi Driver

Directed by Martin Scorsese

An excited Travis Bickle takes Betsy played by Cybil Shepherd to a peep show as a first date. Being completely oblivious to his wrong doings, Travis looks at Betsy like a scared and confused boy.

9: Goodfellas

Directed by Martin Scorsese

A young Henry Hill stares out of his window as the 'gangsters' go about their business. Ray Liotta's voice-over comes on and says; "As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster"

10: Sunset Blvd.

Directed by Billy Wilder

A delusional Norma Desmond walks down the stairs awaiting her "close-up"