Magnum Opus Aduro
And Watching The Leaves Curl
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(Source: macabresdanses)
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Passion and Via
Passion imprints itself upon my mind in a number of manners. I suck down my cigar, fuck a beautiful woman, sip warm coffee, gulp iced wine, and I can’t help but think mid action from what direction it derives.
I pass the gate of my realm with intensity tonight; hedonism’s call – too warm. I grace my steps to leave my jacket behind and grab my forgotten lighter. The balmy breeze of California kisses my bare arms as I reach into my pocket for my first cigarillo of the night. It ignites with a blaze parallel to my heart tonight, what’s left (my eager need) and I stand on the curb a few drags.
The ride over is cold, calm before storm, but the studio is far too warm. She steps out from her room… she… what’s her fucking name…
“Hey, babydoll.”
“Hey Andy.”
I pass her the wine and smile slyly, the dance I hate so dear.
“I love it when you call me babydoll,” As she drops hers. I take a swig from the bottle straight, the crisp taste, the pear aftertone, the dry pleasing nature, free from being reveled, lost. Wine slips from the glass, into her, as I have no plans of doing.
“You know why I call you babydoll, babydoll?” She gropes at my crotch, ready for the night.
“No,” she giggles flirtatiously, “why?” smiling, she thinks it’s a game. It is mind you, shame she’s playing the wrong one.
I gulp the last of the wine. “Cuz I can’t remember your fucking name.” Smiling; this is the game for which you should have prepped.
I hardly grabbed my coat before getting pushed back into the night air; patting down my front pocket for my second cigarillo.
There can be no doubt. One basking in passion is a consumable grace. It lifts from its benefactor and gives me hope for a worse tomorrow. A woman’s hope, a bottle filled, a page free from char, not but consumed in fits of want and need. I will churn that honeyed hope and wine as I burn pages for my future.
~MOA Andy
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Trotting in on a Worn Horse
An old cowboy rode into town today. His honest soul pierced my cold, icy apathy and I felt.
Fuck you cowboy, fuck you.
I toed down the nape of my stairs slowly, not wanting to provoke this imposing stranger, but not too slow, as fear is an olfactory whore. I shrug on my jacket and zip it half-way, light my first cigarillo of the night and stroll calmly toward the daunting figure.
“Greetings friend.” I polish in my trademark tone; too honest to be sincere - too friendly to be questioned - assertive to a fault. I give myself an inward smile at the delivery: flawless. Years of practice shows its benefit here in this moment.
“Well, son. Well.” He honests. I cringe. I think it showed. But this is no time to lose ground.
“That’s fine, sir. Staying long?”
“No, riding through.” I breathe visible relief.
He looks over at the corpse I call life and his eyes assault me. They sing of praises and America. They tell of a time not too long ago when honor stood for something, and spit in a handshake sealed a deal. They plead the world for life and to destroy ruin. They wield Christ like the burning end of a righteous sword that threatens to unmake my so-called hell in its own beautiful Godly image.
I shutter.
As I come to, I can see the man riding off as he says a prayer for my continued safety. I rise back within my kingdom and brush the silvery dust off my jacket, cursing the wasted tobacco now potpourri in my garden bed.
And in a weak moment, I felt pride for his kind.
Fucking cowboy.
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Let Loose the Dogs
Everyone deserves their own personal tragedy. One to keep near their heart like a locket, so in the throws of their passion they can remember it and cry. Their lover will fondle them gently and assume the damp spots tears of joy. In all reality its the glue that holds sanity together, and a small part of them dies.
I haven’t fucked in awhile. You know that twitchy feeling you get when all the lays are shitty and the alone time doesn’t cut it. You need a good partner to dance with; and as you twirl the floor, she gasps for breath and you smile because you know she’s never danced with someone like you before. And even as the song comes to an end she’s already danced through several crescendos and you both need to stop if only to catch your breath.
That was my hunt as I stepped through the wrought iron gate that encloses the small Pelaggio community. I step on to the curb and take a deep drag from my cigarette as I hike up my collar for protection from the cold. My short walk takes me to boondocks, the shady bar down the road. The slick smell of gin pervades my senses as one of the more inebriated women literally falls into me.
“Wanna fuck, man?” she slurs as saliva runs down the side of her mouth and onto what was once respectable imitation wood flooring.
“Not likely.” I push her off of me. She catches her balance on a stool just in time to fling herself onto the next person entering the bar. I take a seat at the counter and watch as this more receptive man takes her through the back door into the parking lot.
“I don’t usually see her get turned down. She’s easy but she’s cute.” I look up to see the motherly bartender stressing forty beaming down at me with caring.
“I’m not looking for an easy fuck.”
“Well it’s always more fun to have to work for it.”
“I suppose.”
“Maybe some conversation for a bit, some wining and dining, yeah?”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t want someone young anyway. No experience.” I looked up at the motherly face again and see not caring but incestuous lust and I take my leave of her. This place is too far gone for my work.
So I drive; a part of town I don’t normally see. College town, where young girls taste the sweetness of college life and the bitterness of semen in a single night -this is better hunting grounds.
I find a bar called “The Sportsman” and I saunter in with the cool confidence of knowing. I slender dame with an innocent smile and smart glasses sits in a corner by herself, only she isn’t by herself. No. I am sitting there with her and giving her sideways comments hinting at what I might want, with just the slightest flair of indifference.
As I laugh with the thoughtfulness of age I proclaim to my one woman audience, “One of these days I’m going to find myself in a one life stand with some girl I met at a bar!”
“One life? Haha! What is that supposed to mean.”
“It means we don’t know where night’s experiences take us. And that is what’s so special about them.” She touches my arm and looks down shyly. Looking up slowly she bites her lower lip.
There it is! Expectation! Interest! She feels that surge of power and confidence as she realizes this man in a dark coat thinks her a catch and will soon be taking her strongly against the wall of his art studio.
“I have to head home soon,” I smile at her with sincere welcome. “but I’m having some friends over later. Maybe you’d like to come?”
She smiles and comes so very close to accepting when I cut her off suddenly.
“I know my friends would get along with you. You’re the spitting image of my wife, so I know they’ll love you.” A deep, cutting grin.
The confidence pours from her like a gusher. Insecurities of youth bubble up and she can’t help but let the smile fall off her face as she quietly curses herself for misreading my signals. He was just a nice guy, he wasn’t interested in me at all.
“Are you married? No? That’s fine, my other friends are, but we don’t mind making some room for the odd single person in the group.”
“Actually I have somewhere I need to go.”
I frown convincingly, years of practice paying off with abandon. “That’s too bad. Perhaps another time.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
I get in my car and drive off, tactfully failing to mention that I haven’t gotten her phone number. I drive back home and step back out onto the curb and light my second cigarette for the night. I love smoking after a good fuck.
The twitching is gone, but the fact remains: for you to wear levi’s a child in Malaysia has to live in sweat shop misery. I’m a bit of a pyro, but that doesn’t mean you get to judge me. I don’t do it because I hate pages, I do it because I love watching it burn.
MOA ~ Andy
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And Watching it Burn
There are a number of problems with the descending nature of probable willingness to help. “Why?” one may ask. And the answer lies in how forgetful we honestly are.
This terrible drama is exemplified within the mimics of thought proposed at my place of employment. That young little calico; she goes by Jen. She bats her big brown eyes and men buy more insurance than they need. She looks over at me with her jazz little magic and I laugh and I laugh. She cries on my shoulder and asks why. I smile because she already knows, and she knows it.
Not the next day she is smiling at kevin, the dumb twat, and he stops to test out the waters. Poor bastard. I catch on the periphery of my vision the very dame that asked me to not toss my hat in the ring and she laughs.
“Kevin? Really?”
“He wont get far. She’s just messing with him. You’re dangerous.”
“Dangerous?! Ha! Hardly. He’ll break her heart.”
“You’ll break her soul.”
“Only a little.”
She walks away. Damn you Karina. Not even smiling. I’m a little funny at least. Looking up reveals Jen’s taut figure pressing up against Kevin flirtatiously. It’s kind of funny really.
“Is it?” Joi asks.
“I think so. Not like it was serious anyway. Meals are eaten at home. At work its just a snack.”
“That’s why karina’s not smiling.”
I flag down the flirting whore and she gleefully jumps off her current interest and pitters over; Kevin glares me down.
“Yeah, Andy?” smiling to her ears.
“Oh, not you, I was waving down kevin.”
“oh…” Kevin smiles.
But why? Certainly the good will purchased with chastity isn’t worth squandering on pain. But it is pain isn’t it? Pain that drives the wheels in my head, the cogs in my heart, and the flame in my book.
Did I say forgetful? I meant hurtful.
MOA ~ Andy
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And the only thing worse is…
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Getting to Know Me (The Obligatory Information Post)
My identifying label is Andy. I didn’t pick it, but I still get to live with it.
I live in a small suburban apartment overlooking two patios. As I saunter over to my window I can look down at the both of them. On the left, your typical Norman Rockwell family. Two kids from what I can see. They have dinner nightly I would presume. Probably at a large oak table, with a table cloth that needs to be washed. On the right, I see a trailer park couple. Likely barely able to afford the apartment they live in. Frequently drunk, they have shouted at the top of their lungs information no people sans themselves could use.
But this is how it is when you wait for life to start.
I have a terrible habit of living my life like a mountain range. Soon, the uptick will hurdle me back into joy. Just have to wait a bit longer…
The major players:
Yumi: My ex-fiancée and current best friend. She lives in Hawaii, so we only talk on the phone. She doesn’t treat me well, but I am far too invested and care about her too much to really put her in line, though I probably should. I get to be really honest here and have hilarious anecdotes run through my mind of her reading something terrible and calling me out on it, but in my heart, I know she isn’t even reading this. She wouldn’t waste that much time on something I’m doing.
Jared: My real best friend, the person who respects me, as I him. Problem: he lives in Arizona… another trial and tribulation, but it gets by. He is socially inept, but a better person than most.
The Dad: John. He spends the majority of his time making excuses to spend time with me, but only because I listen. He doesn’t really care what i have to say, which is fine, because I don’t really want to tell him. He is unemployed and spends his spare time writing reviews of coffee houses for 5 bucks a pop.
Joi: My good friend at work. I see her frequently and despite our VERY different personality types, we get along well. She is probably the most spiritual person I am willing to tolerate.
Hanna: The cutie patootie. She’s about as tall as she is mean, and boy is she nice. Within traveling distance, but not close enough to see all the time.
Jessie: The totally single and completely not waiting on her knight in shining armor to come back home from college, she just isn’t interested in seeing anyone right now friend. I’ll out her after she does it herself.
Dierdre: The Ex GF still friend. Good god is she mormon. o.o I take back what I said about joi. Dierdre is the most spiritual person I will tolerate.
Tyler: My boss at work. He lives, breathes, loves, and dies officemax. That is, except for the glimmer. That one split second when you can see it in his eyes.
Kevin: This terrible excuse for a person is one of the most disgusting, insulting, annoying, dishonest, disturbing, sickening people I know. He’s cool. We’re good friends.
Staicee: My favorite person at work. (sans joi) She’s like my little sister.
Super-Andy: The alternate personality developed at youth. I can sometimes hear him whispering in my ear.
The bit players:
Alex: My copy center boss, awesome guy, awesome wife, awesome kids.
Krystal: My current love interest. *queue “ohhh”ing. Also the current love interest of her boyfriend.
Sandi: My sister, whom I never see.
Meghan: My sister’s best friend, and author of sad tales about mountainous foothills.
Kenny: Jared’s best friend. He is skinny. He plays video games.
Juan: Kevin’s best friend. Professional pedophile.
That will serve well for reference. I’m pleased.
Oh, and I have a very sharp palette.
Until next time,
MOA~ Andy
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A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.Friedrich Nietzsche
I am a terrible person. I am cruel, narcissistic, obsessive, and arrogant, with the capacity for terrible will. 
