A Journey Through a #panicattack by My Father

Paranoid?

Para (stop) noid (like a noid) Paranoid (stop a noid). Paranoid.

Anyway, the other day I had to take a Xanax to control fear and anxiety. I didn't want to take one because of fear of what if I get a crazy reaction or a long lethargic outcome, what if it gives me fear and anxiety and I end up in the hospital. Argggg. I'll just take half of it and if all goes well then I can take the rest of it. Yes that's what I'll do. So, I did. I took half of a half. Yuk, bitter, sharp, intense, pungent flavor, yak, ten minutes after, I started getting dizy, I couldn't see straight and my heart started beating fast. Arggg, I thought, I feel sick, what have I done? I knew I should have not done it. Why did I take this medication, why can't I understand that this kind of medicine is not for me? Arggg, now I'm stuck in this nasty feeling, it's too late; now my  peaceful days are over, I am done for, no one can help me now, I'm stuck in a stigma.

Mmm, is there a medication that will reverse the effects of Xanax?

What's the worst that could happen? Maybe if I just don't pay attention to my thoughts and fear, maybe if I don't focus on objects I wont notice my blurry sight and I won't worry. Maybe I'll just eat and enjoy a good meal.

Mmm, yea I'll just go to the all you can eat buffet and pig out. Oh yea good idea, I will eat and eat and eat and enjoy myself. I wonder how many of these people here around me are on this same medication. Maybe the whole world is on Xanax and I don't even know! Ha! Yea look at everyone they all look so calm, ha! We are all on this feeling. We're family! Woohoo! We're all on this endeavor.

I should not eat too much, lest the medication wears out or becomes subdued by the food. Should I take another Xanax? Mmm, not sure, I guess I could if I wanted to. I think the effect lasts about eight hours, then. I dont need another one, but what if right when I need it it wears out? Ah! Whatever, I'm just not going to worry, God is in control. He is God and I'm not.

But where was I? Oh, yes. What is this paranoia!

Written, Typen by My Father

I Stole Your Boyfriend

Taylor Swift brought something up in the September (2014) issue of Rolling Stone that really made me think. I will bring this to bear down below. Uh, the rest of the article was pretty mindless and useless; I guess Katy Perry and she are enemies... OK.

T. S. sheds some light on why some girls are so horrible, but first some thoughts.

Visually, women are portrayed pretty much consistently in magazines, television, film, wherever; let us say: in media. Definitely: it is any woman's prerogative to be portrayed however she likes. Some women (Lena Dunham) think that women in general are "creating a sexual persona for the male gaze" (what a cool sentence; she is so good with words; I was a fan of the first two seasons of GIRLS; emphasis mine). You can't blame people for thinking that that is what's going on; it seems obvious. That whole idea: men are bullying women into doing what we want, á la evil 60's Mad Men. Wasn't it women who fought to wear less clothes though, to be "free" to be more sexually expressive?

I know men. We can't tell the difference between a size two and a size zero. Most of us are quite OK with a size six. Size twelve? Bring it on. Men will like anything on a magazine cover. So why do we get blamed for the extremism? We don't look at models and think, If only she was two sizes smaller. It's easier to blame others. My inkling is that women want to be skinnier because other women are skinnier. They wear less and less because so-and-so is wearing less and less. They wanna be this way or that way because other girls are that way and they perceive that other women are stealing all the attention from men or can if they so choose. What do you think? Men are guilty of all sorts of things, but for now we speak on the feminine. And who are all those nasty, evil marketing executives? Could they be women?

THANK GOD NOT ALL WOMEN ARE THIS WAY.

What is this attitude that women seem to foster all about? Is it the female human nature of competition for the alpha male or status? Could, would, is it possible Taylor Swift has some insight into the matter?

(Granted: sex sells, but isn't it obvious that at any time in history if you put a naked body in front of people they will look?)

This brings me to the lovely, blonde-ly Taylor Swift and her easy going insight. I'll let her speak for herself, being the strong woman that she is:

"When your number-one goal is getting a boyfriend, you're more inclined to see a beautiful girl and think, 'Oh, she's gonna get that hot guy I wish I was dating' ... But when you're not boyfriend-shopping, you're able to step back and see other girls who are killing it and think, 'God, I want to be around her.'"

That's awesome and how women should treat each other. There would be less ferocity, animalism, and women would look out for each other more often, instead of ... instead of ... being so MEAN to each other.

To be certain, women don't have to be boyfriend-shopping; they can just want the attention. This sheds alotta light on this issue. It's this huge, unstoppable, nasty competition (perhaps nature) thing; and some girls are worse than others. (Note: just because some things are nature, it doesn't necessarily mean they are OK.)

We all want attention, to some extent, surely. Men and women want it in different ways. Women seem to be perpetuating the extremism that they absurdly strive for and the "freedom" of nudity and sexual expression. Personally, I think sexual expression (male and female) is out of control and has been since forever.

Yes: some girls are far worse than others, and bullocks that they aren't doing it on purpose. They prowl around, taking as their own endless fads and looks and dispositions trying to get whatever guy. And why? To steal a boyfriend? To steal a girlfriend and be gay for a day to cause a stir (wow, she's so crazy and scandalous—BORING)?To be able to say, I stole your boyfriend? To sate the insatiable in them: to prove they can do it to themselves and whoever is looking, to get attention, to falsely validate themselves. Maybe that is it.

And these girls they look at themselves prettily in the mirror, so pretty they look, so proud they are of themselves in their solitude (alone, alone, alone) where they fancy that no one in the world understands them (except for their next target) and they glory in their evil conquests: "I stole your boyfriend." And sometimes all they can do is try. They do this to their neighbors, other girls, usually nicer girls. They are mean. And it's just not cool. It's just not cool.

They are usurpers, lacking character (and who knows what else) and we should feel sorry for them. Are these the same girls that are always so proudly confessing that most of their friends are guys, as if it is something impressive? "I just don't get along with other girls. They're catty and mean and they suck." Or are those the good girls that have been marginalized? Not all girls are that way, so that is doubtful. They're just one of the guys, ha. I don't know. It's just not cool. Whoever they are, they should focus on the good, cool things in other girls and try to get along. Can't we all just get along? Ha. It's just not cool.

Why so hateful? I guess it's more important to get attention —how boring.

YOU are just not cool.

None of this is to mention the ugly side of the male species. And, hey, what do I know? Maybe I'm way off here. Anyway, I'm the most wretched of the most wretched and need more help than confused mean girls. God speed you, may God help you prosper.

Written, Typen by My Father

Notes from Underground: to Princess Mononoke from Alyosha: so Kerouac... so Dostoevsky

Dear Princess Mononoke,

The sands have shifted, I got lost for a second, still underground but not for long.

I caught a glimpse of you and I remembered a certain light—a good one.

Well you told me your name and I remembered good things. Are you kidding me? Lise Louiselle Marie Martineau: can a name get any more fancy or regal? Were your parents inspired by an immense and important painting from an immense and important era (Romantic? Renaissance? A cool future one we don’t know about yet?)—is it French as all hell? (Pardon my French.) Ah, is it French-Canadian/Canadian-French? Like Jack Kerouac? It’s so Jack Kerouac, your name, it’s so Dostoevsky. Princess Mononoke, you’re so Miyazaki too. And, me, sharing Dostoevsky’s hero’s name, I’m so Dostoevsky too: Alyosha. How would you pronounce my name? “Al-yosha”? “A-lee-osha”? I’m so Dostoevsky for different reasons. Poor me, right?

I saw a light. Thanks for reaching out; making things a little lighter, here underground. A humble character, thanks for letting me metaphorically kiss your hand, your highness, Princess Mononoke. My letters will make a good rope and help get me out of here. God lights our way, even for us Kerouackian types. Until the next letter…

Love,
Alyosha

Written, Typen by My Father

A Word on Cussing

To cuss is to say "bad words." That assumes there are bad words. Or perhaps to cuss is to curse, which would mean to curse someone or something.

If we say that the word (the sound and letters of a word) is the bad thing, then we come across some problems. In Spanish the word "puta" is very very "bad." It'd be as bad as "fuck" or "bitch" in English. So if you're in the desert somewhere and you just spontaneously say "puta" then you said a bad word, because we are granting that just saying a bad word is the bad thing. The problem is that some words, like "puta," are in other words. In Spanish, you spell computer "computadora." See? ComPUTAdora. So by saying computer in Spanish you have said a bad word. Of course no one will agree that saying comPUTAdora is a bad thing, so it can't be the case that just sounding out a "bad word" is a bad thing. There are other "bad words"—and I assume in all languages—that are embedded in other words.

So what about intention? If someone says, "You're a bitch," to a respectable woman? Was the "bitch" part the bad part? It seems like it would be equally bad or worse to say to the respectable woman, "You're a nasty, ugly, promiscuous dog. You're such a disgusting dog. You're a dog." So it seems the bad thing in both of those was the intention and meaning behind the word and not the word itself. I could tell the woman, "Hello. When I say "tum tum" I mean whore. You're a tum tum!" You can make any word mean anything, just by making it clear what you mean by it. And you can contrast this with this: When you're buddy hits a home run, you might say, "Hell ya, bitch!" And you're not insulting anyone, and your intention is one of motivation and encouragement, a good thing. Again, the word itself is not the bad thing.

What about the joy of just saying a bad word because it's bad? Again it's not that simple. Yes, some people (maybe me) enjoy cussing because it's cool because it's bad because bad things are cool for some reason. We won't go into that here. So I go around in fourth grade saying, "Fuck ya bitch. This is bitchin'. What the fuck do you guys wanna do? Let's go fuck around. This shit is stupid. School is fucking stupid. My teacher is a cunt," and I would simply be reveling in the fact that I'm being bad, which equals cool. I would say that this here is an instance of bad words being bad, because they are tools that are being used for evil—perhaps to offend or whatever. That would tie in to intention as well. If you're intention is to offend, then it is bad, but the tools themselves (the cuss words, the bad words) aren't necessarily the bad things. It's what's in my rotten black heart bitch! And even just wanting to offend people isn't necessarily a bad thing. Offending can be used to make people laugh or learn, and sometimes an "offensive" thing is a good thing that is simply offensive to confused people. It's okay to want to offend Satan worshipers by telling them they are insane, or you know... some sort of good example like that.

But to want to offend someone just for the sake of offending them would be bad.

But, before we move on, it must be said that many people grow up simply using "bad words" without trying to be cool or bad. To some people the are normal words, and sometimes if they begin as words that are used to try to be cool or bad, sometimes they turn into normal, everyday words that are just being used to work the language and not to try to be cool or bad.

So I suppose simply saying bad words to be bad would be a bad thing, and it would be making letters and sounds into tool of evil. But the real bad part is that there is revelry in being cool and bad, not the words themselves. Because us bad folk would say "goat cheese" all day, if it was considered bad.

What about a real curse that doesn't even include standard "bad words?" Well there you have it. Cursing doesn't need bad words. I can say "fuck you," "go to hell," "fuck off and die," or I can say, "I hope you die a horrible death." All of these are curses of sorts, but again it's the sentiment that matters and not the letters and sounds. The fact is that the bad thing is your ill will toward someone.

And finally, what is vulgar? Our culture has deemed certain things vulgar, so vulgar indeed that movies are deemed too vulgar to watch for underage folks simply because they say "fuck" or some such word a certain amount of times (probably an arbitrary amount of times). So what is vulgar? Obviously "vulgar" means "of the common folk." That's kind of an insulting term then. Vulgar is bad because it is of the common folk? And who are the "common" folk? Poor people! Hooray! The things that poor people do are bad because it's poor people that are doing them, and the things that rich, royal people do are good because they're rich and royal. Those things are "proper" and good. So it would be vulgar to say "dude" or common terms like that at a dinner with the king of Saudi Arabia. Equally, it would be bad to go to your ugly girlfriend's house to meet her religious parents and start flinging "fucks" all over the goddam place...

BUT WHY?

Because society says so? The Bible doesn't say so. God doesn't say so. So, why? Society? All citizens of a country didn't get together and deem a word "bad" in general. These words simply evolved and turned bad when some people started using them in a negative (evil?) way. "Fag" used to mean cigarette. Now if you say "faggot" it's offensive, because people used it to do evil. That's why words are "bad." They're not really bad, but society (the evolution and succession of every new age) frowns on them. Society (ideas passed on to all of us that we all agree on passively) says certain things are offensive because of where they came from; they have a bad history. I suppose a word like "fuck" became bad when it was overly used to speak coarsely about sex. There you have it.

I wrote this on a whim, so if my philosophy is a bit weak you can just fuck off. And by "fuck off" I mean "take it easy."

Being Lions

There came a time where we became lions, and it was strange; it was like being in a foreign land. But, just like being in a foreign land, if you're there long enough, well, you get used to it.

But the thing was that we weren't always lions. Sometimes we became humans again. It was just us five, and the whole world was against us.

I don't know how it happened, but we woke up in a sort of cave, and we looked at each other, and we were great, golden, majestic lions. We stepped out of our cave to find that all the other humans wanted to kill us, so we had a meeting. Vana spoke up and made a whole lot of sense.

"We're lions aren't we? Why don't we just eat the humans, of course being careful that they don't kill us?" Vana made sense.

Stealthily and near sundown, we crept out and mauled a whole lot of humans. We filled ourselves and found that we liked the taste of humans. We ate and ate and ate and ate and ate! It was even easier getting around at night and we returned to our cave.

When we got there we found that we had turned back into humans, but of course it was a bit strange having human blood all over us, so we all took a communal bath then hit our giant hot tub. There was a hot tub in our cave. We all fell asleep telling stories, Vid and La cuddling.

We woke up stinking like lions, but we didn't stink lions to ourselves... just to whoever wasn't a lion; we were lions again. La made us all breakfast out of left over human parts we had dragged in the night before.

Anette looked like she was having the most fun, and I wished I was as fresh as her.

"Let's run!" She roared.

We busted out of the cave and ran free and hard and fast and our manes were in the air... well mine and Vid's. The women didn't have manes, but that didn't bother Anette, La, and Vana. Okay it bothered Anette a little that Vid and I had great big flowing manes. She joked that she wanted a man's mane too. I kissed her. We roamed, we ran, we flew, we roared, and we killed a lot of humans.

The fighting became fun and fierce, so we returned to our cave, but it was blocked by the dirty humans. So we ran and we felt like we might faint.

Finally, Vid found another cave, a well hidden cave. The cave was hidden by moss and grass and leaves and greenery of all sorts of the most beautiful kind and you could hear the music of Kings of Leon (only the really melancholy, beautiful songs like "Comeback Story").

Anette was smart though, she peered into the cave, and sure enough there were giant, GIANT, hanging bats all over inside—but we were in trouble. Luckily we had turned into humans again. We were blood soaked humans though so we found a lagoon and soaked off the blood. We found a hotel, paid $250 for a good, big, fancy room. Anette left the window open for when we turned into lions again.

Around midnight the human-ness wore off, and we were wonderful lions again. We jumped out the window and sneaked back to the cave.

"Let's slowly walk in, so we don't wake up the monstrous bats," Anette the lioness said.

"Sounds good," we all agreed. So we crept in, and slept as lions sleep.

In the morning Vid and La crept slowly and carefully to the rest of us. They had an idea they had conjured up before the had fallen asleep in their lion arms together.

La said, "We're going to roar and scare all the bats, all the giant bats out, and they're going to go out all over the city and kill all the humans that are trying to kill us." So we did just that.

ROAR! ROAR! ROAR! ROAR! ROAR!

And the bats flew batshit crazy cray cray all over the city not leaving one citizen untouched or un-killed. All humans died that day.

We stood on a precipice and looked over all the land. We would be lions forever more and feed off the land. We would forever be beautiful, tall, golden lions. We were awesome as fuck. We thanked the Creator. Lions we were.

From then on, we were being lions.

Rankings of My Facebook Friends' Kids

I know, right?

Rankings of My Hottest Facebook Girl Friends

I'm just kidding. I wouldn't post rankings of who I think are my hottest Facebook girl friends.

In Defense of the Selfie

about the selfie: really, i think selfies are only annoying because you don't like the person taking the selfie (or you don't like that THAT person is taking the selfie). for instance, if you're married, you might not like your spouse taking millions of selfies because you want them for yourself, but then you say you hate "selfies" when you don't really, because you don't mind so much when others do it.

i know some people probably get annoyed when i take pictures of my mug, but i also know that i find taking pictures of myself fun, and i wish i had lots of selfies of my parents when they were younger, but it wasn't a thing, so i have limited pictures of them in their teens, twenties, and thirties. my kids (i probably won't ever have kids) will have plenty of pictures of me to be amused by. i also know some people don't mind my selfies and might even like them (as hard as that might be to imagine).

some people annoy me (but i like them enough—or don't want to hurt their feelings—to keep them as facebook friends); i HATE when they take selfies, but sometimes that comes across as, "i hate selfies." i sure as hell don't hate selfies when my good friends take them to show off their new haircuts, beautiful scenery, their trip to the moon, cats, to show off their new boyfriend or girlfriend or both. and i actually LOVE selfies when beautiful girls take selfies (quantifier: beautiful girls that i don't severely dislike).


who (in general) doesn't like beautiful faces? everyone likes beautiful faces, and it doesn't necessarily have to be a sexual like of the selfie, but rather an aesthetically pleasing one.

right, so then there's those of you that supposedly hate the selfie because it is a representation of how self-absorbed our culture has become. the thing is that we have always been very self-absorbed. people generally buy "cool" shoes to... look cool (or to not look cool on purpose, so that they can be cool e.g. counter culture). we can keep going back in history and look at the things that people did that could have been seen as self-absorbed acts. whatever. granted, there are narcissistic people out there that go too far. it is not a virtuous trait, but i'm inclined to believe that we all have a little bit of that in us anyway. taking a selfie is not necessarily a self-absorbed act. taking selfies is not making our society any worse than it's always been; humans will always be terrible. we can't escape our physical world. taking selfies puts the focus on the person's face instead of their soul? you just don't like taking pictures or hate your face. get over it.

no, YOU  don't get to be the one that hates all selfies. i've seen you take selfies with your kids or after a comedy show making a stupid face and supposedly taking the selfie as an ironic statement; that is just to cover up the fact that you want to take a picture of yourself. don't be afraid. it's okay to have fun taking pictures ha ha.

i MIGHT grant that there are some out there that hate all selfies, but really those people hate everything... but let's face it, they're on facebook, so they're not THAT cool and if they wanna talk shit on selfies, they really have no place to do so; and they'd have to hate all photography too then.

let's make something clear here. taking pictures is fun. some people on facebook take lots of pictures of everything and a lot of pictures of themselves, because it's fun—not because they think they are god's gift to humanity. these people are genuine, fun loving people and photography has been fun since it first happened. those people shouldn't let anyone get them down or stop their fun. don't let people selfie-shame you! it's like those anti-cellphone people back in the day. they became cellphone owners. then they were anti-texting, then they became anti-myspace, then they became anti-facebook, and now they're anti-selfies. they always come around in the end. i like james franco because he unashamedly takes selfies, and you get the sense (if you follow him on facebook) that he does it for fun, or out of boredom, or to show off his friends or whatever. it's fun!

people have been taking pictures of themselves for a long time; now they just happen to be able to push the button themselves. there really isn't that much of a difference; people just want to bitch about something because of their own insecurities or to be hateful people or to make complaints about selfies when the real issue is that they don't like you or don't think that YOU should be taking selfies. yes, i know, this is a very important issue to be spending time arguing about. you're welcome.

i think it's healthy for people (that are not narcissistic) to enjoy their faces, to be proud of how they look, to have confidence. not everyone is going to like their mug, but some people will. it's a beautiful thing, why rain on their parade? just because they have ugly faces? fuck it.

it's worse to be a judgmental person in general (about selfies or whatever), than to be a serial selfie taker. people (in general?) are just trying to enjoy and get through life; we do what we can to distract us from the fact that all of this ends horribly. we die. everyone we know dies. it could all only end beautifully, if we all died at the same time and without knowing it. pictures bring joy. pictures bring joy. pictures bring joy. pictures bring joy. well... some of them do, but you know what i mean.

there is something curious about photographs. someone takes a selfie and we get to see their face and we just look at it like the monkeys that we are; and we enjoy the experience. "oh there's so-and-so's face. how interesting. i like to look at it. she's beautiful." or "i'm gonna take a picture of myself. oh it came out well. i like the look of my face. i'm going to put it on facebook. why? i don't know. i hope people like my face too and boost my confidence and ego, but not in a bad way." curious.

what i'm trying to say is that fun loving genuine people should keep having fun taking selfies of silly faces, hanging at the beach or some beautiful place, showing silly outfits or beautiful outfits on a fancy night out with friends. you know who you are.





who doesn't like esti ginzburg doing an in bed selfie? elevator selfie?

kissy face selfie? mascara selfie?

weird/silly face selfie? making her friend look bad selfie?

 innocent girl selfie? fun night selfie (but really a "geez i look really cute tonight selfie")?

on a boat selfie? booty shot/island/beautiful scenery/ocean selfie?

car selfie? another kissy face with minimal makeup selfie?

shades selfie? selfie that is so beautiful you forget who you are?

bikini, wet hair selfie? glasses and wine and friend selfie?

 "i love you, danny" selfie? "come lie down with me, danny" selfie?

cool selfie?  NO ONE.

that reminds me: some people really remind me how much i believe in and love god.

but... uh... what do i know? i'm just trying to get attention by writing something about selfies and enjoy pretty faces :)

let's give everyone the benefit of the doubt and try not to rain on people's genuine fun photo parades.

PS - if you're like REALLY ugly, don't take selfies. just kidding.

like i didn't just pose for a picture, tryna see how long my beard can grow, growing out my hair, took like ten photographs before deciding on this one, scrolling through all the filters and lighting options on instagram to get the "best" looking me possible, woke up at 1:30 AM and decided to write a very important blog on defending selfies selfie

A Geometrical Shape of Love

I am in love with a girl. This girl brightens my day, when I see her picture, when I think of her, when I hang out with her. My heart sinks, when I think that she probably doesn't like me the way I like her. She makes me think silly things like boy, if I had a billion bucks, I'd buy us a trip to the moon, and then maybe she'd fall in love me. Probably, it would take far less (and at the same time, far more) than that for her to fall in love with me again. I probably just need to be the kind of guy that she loves and is impressed by and is mysterious to her; also, a guy that the guys she looks up to look up to. I know she likes my style, because she's told me this before, and because she used to love me. She also loves boys that are good Christian boys, and I just don't come across as that kind of guy, even though I AM a "good Christian boy," despite all my f-words, s-words, p-words, any-letter-in-Spanish-English-words, and vulgarity a la Louis C.K.

She is in love with some guy. And this guy doesn't love her. And she can't get this guy out of her beautiful, little head with amazing hair. She probably loves him—especially—because he just doesn't seem to have the time for her! And girls just love what they can't have, don't they? Actually, humans especially want what they can't have, ya? And I think to myself this guy just hasn't noticed her or gotten to know her well enough, for if he had, he'd be in love with her as much as I am! She also probably loves him because he is tall and handsome. Tallness is an attractive feature, no? And handsomeness is an attractive feature too, no? He has great hair too. He also happens to be an outstanding Christian boy (to the extent that anyone can really be that, and as far as anyone can see; maybe he really isn't all that good of a guy), and my girl adores good Christian boys. Who knows, maybe the guy just isn't attracted to her, right? Maybe his type of girl is ugly and not beautiful; it must be. Or maybe he's gay.

Well, this guy is in love with a girl, so he's not gay. This girl that he's in love with is not as good looking as my girl, and she's older than him, but only slightly. Her father runs a big business, and they are well off. She drives a better car than he does, she has no need for money, she is very well put together ALL THE TIME (like flawless, I promise), her father is cooler than him, and although he is finishing seminary school soon, he also wants to work for her father's company; not just work at a church. This girl has an excellent family, and she's a good Christian girl too, and this guy just wants to be part of her family (maybe because his family life wasn't that great?). She has the opposite color hair as my girl, and that bugs my girl to no end, and she thinks that maybe that's why this guy doesn't love her, but that's a silly idea. This girl and my girl both wear high heels, as though they'd die if they didn't wear them; I'm not complaining, even though it makes them taller than me (it seems almost everyone is taller than me, even without high heels); they both look great in high heels. Well this guy thinks—to this day, even—that I can get any girl, but as we can see, that doesn't seem to be the case, and he looks up to me like I'm some sort of "pimp" cool guy. I promise, I am not.

This Christian girl does not love this tall, handsome, perfect haired Christian boy, though! She loves a bad boy that is not a Christian. She grew up in a perfect world, and perhaps she's looking for a retreat from all of that. I might be wrong. This "bad-boy" (I'm badder than him, I promise) is even more well off than she is. He's not as tall as the guy that's in love with her, but he combs his hair in a cooler fashion. So what is it about this guy? Why does that girl love him and not good Christian boy? It can't be that it's just because he's not a Christian, it can't be that it's because he has different color hair, it can't be that he's always dressed in black and wears cool boots, it can't be that he combs his hair super cool all the time... can it? On top of all this, this 'bad boy' pays her attention all the time, and she still loves him. So he's not ignoring her, and she still likes him. He treats her really cool though, and he isn't impressed by her dad, and he's cooler than her dad, and her dad really likes this guy, because he's really funny and natural. He's always making her laugh, and talking to her, and interested in what she has to say, and he remembers her birthday, and his smile is beaming, and his teeth are perfect, and he touches her hand, and shoulder, and arm, and face a lot; and it drives her nuts in a good way. There is something about him, though…it's almost as though his mind is occupied with something else, and it seems like that prevents him from loving her. Could it be his brother that is in Afghanistan? Is it that he's not a Christian and she is? That can't be it, because he's in love with another girl that is a Christian. He feels at ease with this girl, but he doesn't love her; he's so natural around her; it all seems a bit too easy. Maybe he feels a little bit forced to become like her and her family and her Christianity, and maybe that keeps him at bay.

Well, like I said, this "bad boy" is in love with a sweet little Christian girl that happens to be a daughter of a preacher pastor. Her attitude towards him makes him feel like he doesn't have to be anything but himself; he's fine just as he is. This girl melts this fool all easy. She's not nearly as funny as he is, but he finds the smallest things that she does hilarious, and she is slightly awkward, and he can't get enough of that. She has the same color hair as the girl that's in love with him, but this girl makes him laugh and feel giddy and she makes him want to be a Christian (despite his philosophical reservations about Christianity); he has read all of C.S. Lewis' works, he is well read in contemporary debates between theist and atheist; and although he doesn't see a fundamental contradiction with the belief that a grand, creator god may exist, something pulls him toward disbelief. Indeed, he is an atheist, but he is open-minded and continues to work out the debates in his mind, pledging to believe in whatever side is more plausible. He has an inkling that his unbelief is grounded in psychological reasons, not philosophical ones. Well this poor girl just don't love him. He has made his advances to no avail. Her heart is absolutely taken by someone else. She makes him laugh, but she doesn't laugh as much as he does. She wishes him all the best, but she never takes him up on his offers to extravagant dates in his nice cars, even though she'd look just lovely next to his handsome presence; they'd make a lovely couple. All of these people are so very good looking, me the least of all of them of course (but I promise I am funnier than all of them combined!). Why doesn't she love him? Why doesn't she choose this fellow over the one that has her heart firmly? Yes, it is partly because he is not Christian, but if he became a Christian, she knows she wouldn't love him. Something happened before she ever met this fellow, and ever since then, this 'bad boy' had no chance; maybe he never had a chance; maybe he's just not her type? He won't give up though, and I can sympathize with that. What happened to her, so that this guy doesn't have a chance in hell with her? She fell in love with me.

She has cried about me. I've brought her deep sorrow and deep happiness. I used to think that this girl's hair color was my type, but hers is the opposite of the girl's that I am madly in love with. I would think that 'bad boy' is cooler than me, and therefore that this girl should just fall in love with him and wait until the Holy Spirit moves him to become a Christian, but apparently coolness isn't enough—'bad boy' thinking I'm cooler than him anyway, because his girl is in love with me. Why does she love me though? I make her laugh. She loves my family. I feel extremely natural around her (as I do around the girl I am in love with), and maybe that makes her feel safe and good with me. She severely wants me to love her, for me to accept her, and she asks me, "Why don't you love me?" And I ask her, "Why don't you love 'bad boy?'" But I don't love her. She wants to become one with me for eternity. I've seen her face when we are having a good time together, and I can tell she is in heaven, but I can also tell that she dreads the eventual end of our hanging out, and so she clings. Why don't I love her? It can't be because I love another, for one can love more than one, no? I don't know. This girl is beautiful in her way. She is intelligent. She is caring. It's not because she is a little clingy; that doesn't bother me.  I know why she loves me. I remind her of someone else, someone I do not know; someone from another life perhaps; someone that she doesn't know perhaps; and perhaps she loved this person that I remind her of, and now here I am the reincarnation of her lost love (maybe a person or character from her youth that I remind her of unconsciously). I'm as cool as it gets for her. As for me though…I ask myself again why don't I love her? The answer is that I love another, and my heart has been asking for my girl for a long time, and my heart says, "If we don't get our girl, then it is better to be single and die single." I love my girl and not this girl because I like my girl better. I like her everything better than I like this girl's everything. I don't know why. It's not because my girl doesn't like/love me, because at one point she did love me. It's just that my girl is my girl and no other girl is, and no other girl ever will be. She'll love me again.

And so I don't love the daughter of a pastor. I love my girl. And she used to love me, but I ruined that a long time ago, but I think I can get her to love me again. These geometrical shapes of love suck, don't they? Yes they do. I wish they could all be resolved, but that would create a paradox, because that would mean that the girl that loves me would get me, and I would get my girl, and my girl would get the handsome seminary student, and the handsome seminary student would get the rich girl with the cool dad, and she would get the 'bad boy,' and the 'bad boy' would get the girl that is severely in love with me, and I would get my girl, and so on, and so on, and so on forever—a paradox.

I'll get my girl yet. You'll see. And to hell with this geometrical shape of love and paradox.

Jennifer Connelly VS Brooke Shields

Young Jennifer Connelly versus young Brooke Shields. We all know Connelly beats Brooke these days, so no need to mention that.

The Color of the Sky: of Angels and Bums

My hands gripped the lip of one of those big green trash cans–––the kind in alleyways or wherever.

My head hung down low between my arms, as slaver slowly dribbled down my lips and out my mouth; my mouth was slightly ajar; my eyes were slightly ajar; my soul was…

I wondered what my hair looked like. I was in an ever familiar alleyway, and at the mouth of this alleyway was the threshold to the rest of the world–––the world that operated by normative behaviors. I tried to look beyond the trashcan, but the light at the mouth blinded me a little; I let my eyes slide down to where they belonged–––looking down.

Oh ya. I had a full bottle of good gin in my pocket–––too bad it was only like a pint. I drank half of it fast, so I could get dizzy faster. Real quick the liquid made itself at home in my gut, and I felt great.

I hid my bottle somewhere on my body and looked into the dumpster (that's what they're called!).

"Hey you! Wake up!" Some girl was sleeping straight up in the dumpster. I felt silly and good. I wondered what my hair looked like.

"Wake up you girl! WEIRD!"

I walked to the mouth of the alleyway. I straightened my clothes and pushed my hair back; I was too bearded I think.

Man, I walked with some swag. I walked hard. I walked upright and straight (in my head that's how I looked). Some magical sparkles settled on my baby blues (my eyes had magically turned blue); they let me see everything at the same time, and everything was beautiful.

Fuck. I gotta go look good. I looked up at the sky and saw millions and billions and trillions of white angels flying around, making the sky white with specks of screaming blues…happy blues…not sad blues, as are common.

Luckily, nobody knew me in this town.

The angels began to sing a One Republic song, so I started dancing down the streets; oh there were many people everywhere; I mean it musta been New Yok or sumthin.

I was happy dancing the streets, when one twirling, falling angel caught my eye. The angel floated and twirled down the sky like a falling feather, but a little faster and more gracefully.

Drunkenly, I stared transfixed and soaked in happiness. I could feel my face having a sagging, drunken, happy disposition. I musta looked like a drunk Disney cartoon. I stumbled back and almost fell before leaning against a damn wall. My drunk eyes followed the angel. It flowed toward me. Its eyes were black.

BAMO. The motherfucker landed right in front of my drunk ass. The people that flowed like a river of flesh avoided us on the sidewalk and thus walked around us.

Me: "Your…your…your eyes are…they're pretty…black huh?" I pointed right into the angel's face.

The Angel: "They are black diamonds. Dance your ass right back to that trashcan. Do you even remember where you were or what you did before you were at that trashcan?"

Me: "Why…yes I do…no I don't…yes, that's right…I don't remember at all. I was just gripping the…the…the…the…the…the trashcan, and I think I was almost gonna puke, but I feel real good right now."

The Angel: "Well, you're almost about to forget everything again. Go back to the trashcan. Finish your bottle and lie down inside the trashcan with the woman. Keep her warm. Didn't you see what she was wearing?"

Me: "Barely anything at all, actually…I think…if I remember, no?"

Angel: "Yes."

Me: "You're beautiful Angel. I can easily dance my way back there."

Angel: "Thank you. You're beautiful too. Now don't fucking ruin this. Hurry up, and get in that damn trashcan before the cops find you. I'm telling you the right thing to do."

Me: "Okay, bye pretty angel with black diamond eyes."

Angel: "Bye Danny. Take care you fool."

Me: "Yes…yes…yes…yes."

I danced fluidly back to the trashcan as the angel made its way back to the amazing ocean of angels that covered our sky. The color of sky was angels. I got to the trashcan and looked in, "Hi weird girl." Oh shit I was feeling pretty drunk. I took the bottle out of my jacket and drank the 75% that was still left in it. I threw the bottle into the dumpster. Getting dizzy (in a good way) I took off my jacket and threw it over the young woman. I found I had another jacket on underneath the one I had just taken off.

I clambered into the trashcan I stood up on the soft trash bags and cardboard; it was all relatively clean; good I thought, very good. I reached over and brought the lids down over us. Just then I heard sirens pass down the street, and then just then after that I heard rain begin to fall, but we were safe. I hugged the woman and fell asleep or passed out or blacked out.

"Wake up, man."

"Huh? Oh hi. Are you okay?"

"Did we…?"

"No," I grabbed my head, "No we didn't do anything. An angel told me to come lie down with you in here."

"You don't remember me?"

"Nope. Are you okay?" I felt better already. Maybe I was still drunk.

She cuddled up, "You'll remember me and everything later. Let's sleep some more."

"Yup," I closed mine eyes, and I was gone into a deep good sleep and she smelled good. Maybe the angel made this a good smelling dumpster or maybe her smell took it all away or maybe it just didn't smell in here.

"Hey," I whispered into her ear.

"Yes?"

"I want to like everything you like."

"I want to like everything you like too."

"Okay. And I want to love you."

"You already love me. You'll remember everything later."

"Do you love me too?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight. We'll be safe. Thank you for not leaving me in here."

"Well, I just listened to the angel."

"Thank you for listening to the angel."

"Did you know angels make up the color of the sky?"

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

I Saved a Mouse

This happened last night: June 4, 2013.

I was watching Knight and Day because it was on TV, and come to find out that there is a mouse in one of the toilets in the house. In general, if I see a mouse around the house I'll fucking freak out. It has something to do with the open space that we're all in.

The mouse can go anywhere, when it's in open space! It can run up my leg or hide under the sofa, and then it'll be there until it wants to get out or until you move the sofa, but if you move the sofa, it'll run wherever the hell it wants to!

And then you might even lose sight of it and not know where it is! How can you sleep like that?!

Well, anyway, this mouse was in a toilet, so I wasn't freaked out. The poor damned thing was stuck in a single spot; I had the upper hand.

I opened the lid.

"Well how did you get in there, you crazy bugger?"

The mouse didn't respond, but I noticed that it was actually drowning. It would try to hold on to the ceramic just above the toilet water, but it kept slipping back under water, so it was only getting a little bit of breath every once in a while.

I got the lid of a shoebox and pulled it out and into a trashcan. I can't stand the idea of just killing a little animal like that; it probably has an animal soul or something, no?

Anyway, I dumped it outside, thinking that it was gonna run free, but it just stumbled out of the trashcan and stopped. I poked it. It just stayed there all wet and barely breathing. Oh well, fuck it, I thought, and I went inside.

I couldn't sleep, so hours later (at 5am), I went to check on the mouse. There were millions of ants all over it! I thought it was dead, but as I looked closer, I could see it still breathing. I scooped the little fucker up in the shoebox lid and hosed it down with the hose. I got all the idiot ants off of it, but the mouse just laid there barely breathing. I put him back in the trashcan and took it into my bathroom.

I dried the little dude off with napkins, and then I threw a bunch of grains and a piece of fruit into the trashcan (I googled what mice eat), and then I covered it with a sock that had the other pair missing. It slowly tried to munch on the fruit. I went to sleep.

When I woke up I went into the bathroom and the little guy was jumping around everywhere and alive! I took him outside and dumped him out of the trashcan.

He ran away—fast as hell. He didn't even look back. He didn't even thank me. I got a little sad. I had saved that guy like three times: from drowning, from starving, from hypothermia, from being eaten by ants.

I saved a mouse.

Aztec Princess Part Two: Near and Far

I was chewing on a…what is it…a long stalk of wheat? I didn't know if it was really wheat or if it was just one of those damned plant, weed, yellow things that grow with those damned things that stick in your socks and poke you and hurt you.

I was chewing on a long, yellow stalk with feathery blossomings at the end, like they did in the old days.

I was wearing rolled up jeans, a beat up cool white shirt with a picture of Christian Bale on it (some would say it was a picture of Batman…not me), a red cool trucker hat that was pushed way back on my fuckin' head. Well I was barefoot of course, and my feet were dirty. I was a regular ole American joe working the fields these days, and life was good except my mind kept reminding me of a certain someone, and my mind reminding me kept hurting my heart about that certain someone.

I was lying back in the soft golden land of the rancher I worked for: he was a real nice ole fuck ya know? There I lay looking up at the perfect blue sky. The plane that watered the fields was due any minute. It was a hot day, so I was looking forward to this little field shower. I thought about getting naked, but the rancher had damned kids. I heard the plane a-roarin' and a-tumblin' down the line; down that ole atmosphere; down that beautiful sky; fighting all that gravity; and my mind wandered away and away into the deep blue sky—maybe even to outer space. I used to think it was spelled "outterspace." Otter.

It had been a long time since I had been deported from Mexico and back into the ole U.S. of A. as they call it. I missed my Aztec princess Lizette. Feisty Lizette. I missed her beautiful face and her long legs and her torso and her breasts and her…her fuckin' hair man. Her SMELL man! I missed her sex, the way she could really fuck me. And I missed the way she would lick words into my fuckin' ear.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! I was jolted from my mental masturbations. I sat up scared as all hell.

"HOLY SHIT!" I yelled, "Mista Smith! Yo plane be coming down! It ain't got no wings no mo!" The plane's wings had been blown off somehow, and off the plane went over a hill or mountain to crash, as I saw the pilot jump out without a parachute. He landed on his feet.

Next thing I heard…

"Hey you fucking beaner! Hey you fucking beaner! What you doing on ole man Smith's land? Scoot! Get the fuck off his fucking land you fucking beaner!" From like five angry KKK dudes. They were really a rot to this beautiful Tennessee land.

"Why you ignant mo'fuckin' white trash, shit breath, incest lovin' piece-o-shit alkies! You call me beaner one mo' time and I fuck all y'all up!" I stood up and started making my way to the white pack, but they parted and surrounded me. Shit. I put my dukes up.

They drew it out nice and long, "B-E-A-N-E-R…beaner beaner pants on fire! Beaner beaner pants on fire! Beaner beaner pants on fire!" I don't even know what that meant, but they just kept on yelling. So I ran at the stupidest looking one, but before I could clock him a good one on his missing rotten teeth I blacked out.

I woke up in Mexico.

"Holy hell," I had a pounding motherfucking headache.

In Spanish, "Oye mang, you ok? You look bad ese. You got a big fucking ball on the back of your head," some old handsome fellow. I don't know if he was Mexican.

"Where am I?" I asked in English anyway.

"Mexico. You were deported. Five guys in Tennessee beat the shit out of you, and then they called La Migra on your ass and told them you were a shit head illegal alien beaner. The La Migra believed it too because they stole your I.D. and also because the shithead La Migra was KKK too, so they brought you here."

"Holy shit. How do you know everything that happened? Were you there or something?" I rubbed my fucking skull off it hurt so bad. I was still wearing my cool clothes at least.

"Because I'm the same old man from that one book The Alchemist. I know everything. Have you read it?"

"Shit. Yes I have! I fucking love that book! You're really him? This is amazing."

"Yes. That's me. It's pretty great to see me and meet me huh? Yup that's me."

"Wow," I shook his hand vigorously, and then I hugged him, and then I held him. I had been so lonely for a long time. I just held him and he held me. I was tired and I hurt. My headache went away. I started crying, "Man, I've been so lonely for so long old man. It's really good to see you." He just held me and soothed my soul.

We let each other go, and it wasn't awkward at all. I let out a big ole sigh and looked around, "Yup this is Mexico alright. I guess I'll have to find Diego or someone and try to sneak back over and go home. Ugh what a bummer. I don't blame those KKK fags. They just don't know any better. May God forgive them, because I sure do. Fuck it." I just looked around at the dusty place for a while, and then I got scared the old man would disappear so I looked back at him.

"Nah, you don't have to go home," the old man breathed.

"Ya I guess I don't huh? Or…what do you mean?" I asked. The old man was wearing a great big, beaming, bright smile on his face.

"Here. Take this magical, white horse, and go wherever you want. Go somewhere," he breathed, and all of a sudden a saw the sparkling white horse behind him. I wondered if it had been there this whole time! It fucking sparkled like it was a Twilight™ horse or something––––but not a vampire horse––a good horse.

"Go somewhere? Where? Wow. What a cool horse," I said stupidly.

"Ha ha you are funny son. This is where I leave. Go somewhere," he waited for me to say something.

I looked at the horse, and all of a sudden I could only think of one place to go, "OAXACA!" THE MEXICAN TOWN OF MY BELLE!!!

The old man smiled, "Goodbye for now."

"Goodbye friend! Thanks for the horse!"

The old man snapped his fingers three times, and poof he was gone.

"Wow cool!" I yelled.

"I know!" The horse said.

"Wow! You talk!" I said stupidly.

"Wow! You talk!" He said.

"Horse, can you take me to Oaxaca? Is it too far from here?"

"You can call me Guillermo. Sure I can take you anywhere. It's far as hell, but I ride fast like the wind and don't have to stop for breaks. Hop on."

"OK!"

So off we went, and boy was he right. We must have been going around 160 miles an hour or faster? Sometimes it seemed like we were flying. "Take a nap," Guillermo said, and I said OK and fell asleep.

"Wake up buddy. Wake up buddy," ––Guillermo.

"Huh?"

"We're here. I have to go, but I'll be back at the right time, if I ever need to."

"Wow. Thanks Guillermo. Be safe. Goodbye friend."

"Goodbye," and then this time he really flew away. It looked like he went west, and I imagined him going to some awesome island in the Pacific.

I looked around. Ah! Good ole green, beautiful Oaxaca! I love this place!

And now to get clean and dressed up for my Aztec princess, I thought, but then I looked at myself. I was perfectly clean and had new clothes on. I carefully touched my hair, and I could tell it was fucking perfect and awesome. Well, I'll be damned. Guillermo took me for a shower and bought me clothes.

I heard a rumble. Immediately, I was surrounded, but this time by a bunch of beaners instead of KKK shit heads! Damn it!!!

"Hey yankee asshole. Who said you could come here?"

Motherfuck. I couldn't win. Either I was a beaner in Tennessee or a yankee in Oaxaca. I replied, "Hey motherfuckers, it's Gringo to you."

"WE ARE GOING TO KILL YOU THIS TIME PUTO! YOU WON'T ESCAPE THIS TIME!" They all yelled in unison.

My heart sank. There was exactly 100 of them, and I knew they were serious, and I knew there was nothing that could save me. I was terrified. My breathing quickened. I looked around at all of them, as they laughed–––ugly wolves; they could see I was scared like a little bitch. I thought maybe Guillermo would return, but I doubted. I started to think about accepting my death. I felt really sick, man. I was so close to my princess, and I had met the old man and Guillermo. Fuck man, I felt sick. I thought I was going to puke. How could it end like this, ya know? I clenched my fists. The best I could do was to try and fight my way through some of them and then run. I ALMOST pissed myself, but I sure as hell didn't! They were going to RUIN my perfect hair.

I heard another rumble. This one was far greater than the first one that came with these beaners. It shook the whole fucking earth. I balanced myself, as I almost fell. It can't be! I thought. Could it?

100 of my princess Lizette's women cousins came to the rescue!

There was TOTAL war! 100 beaners verses 100 of Lizette's cousins. There was really no match. The cousins…Las Primas…were too vicious. It was an awesome sight to see. I stood there in the middle of this crazy bloody war! There was blood and death everywhere! And finally it was over.

"Welcome Daniel. You know you are in big trouble? Our cousin the princess has been waiting for you for a long fucking time. Lizette is pretty fuckin' pissed off eh," they all said in a chorus.

"Ehem…uhmm…ehem," they were a rowdy bunch.

"Don't worry! We won't hurt you! If we ever hurt a single hair on your fucking perfect head of hair Karina would kill us!" They all laughed.

"Karina?"

"Shit, you don't even know her real name? Lizette is her princess name."

"Ehem…" they were still pretty damned intimidating after beating the shit out of 100 beaners.

They picked me up, and threw me on top of them, as if I was riding a moshpit. It was great. I was floating on a bunch of Karina's cousins.

"Wooo!!!" I yelled in exuberance.

"Míralo muy feliz!" They all said. Look at him so happy.

I arrived at the famous Aztec palace, a lonely, sad, American bum. They tossed me off, and away they went. I made my way up the golden steps. Could she really be up there waiting for me? I thought. I kept going up, step by step. She's too beautiful damn it. A girl like that couldn't possibly be waiting for me. Ah fuck it. If she don't want me, she don't have to have me, I thought. Up and up I went.

I reached the top and before I could do or say anything Karina had pounced on me, her and her loose Mexican clothing: a white top with no bra, her midriff geez, and a crazy awesome loose skirt that tried to reach her knees but failed. She was barefoot of course. I looked awesome.

Oh Karina how I have missed you! My mind raced like a race horse of course…or a race dog or whatever. Karina! She kissed me, man, and I tried to kiss her back, but I failed, because she was kissing me faster than I could try and kiss her! Her hair everywhere engulfing me in her smell, I died over and over. Her breasts coming out of her loose shirt, here and there, I was aroused one hundred percent, seeing those perfect breasts. She kissed me everywhere. She was a flurry and fury of kisses on an undeserving American bum. I could hardly breath, as I tried to take in her smell as much as I could. And lips everywhere made me explode in orgasm after orgasm of happiness and ecstasy. I just let my tongue hang out so it could lick any part of her that ran across it. At one point I got a hold of her perfect bare ass, as she shoved her tongue down my mouth. What an ass! I mean, just imagine. The person you love the most is kissing your face like she means it! A poor American bum, being ravished by the most beautiful Mexican. This couldn't be real. The old man whispered in my ear slightly (even though he wasn't there), "Yes this IS happening." She dragged me to her chambers.

It took everything I had in me to pin her down and look her in the eyes, but what I saw wasn't what I had wanted to see. What I had WANTED to see was pure joy and ecstasy. I saw pain. She looked away. I turned her head. She closed her eyes. I kissed her lips. Her eyes widened with the same pain, and she looked away.

"You were gone for so long, you estupid idiot," with the most heart breaking sadness, as she held me, as if I could disappear.

"I…I…I…" me stupidly, "I was deported from Mexico back to the U.S. and then I got lost in Tennessee. To be honest, I didn't know you'd miss me."

"What's Tennasí?" She kissed me hard, "I don't want Tennasí to take you away from me ever again you estupid idiot," she kissed me so damn hard, I'm telling you.

Her body was perfect. I took off all her clothing. She took all of mine off, and then we just goddam held each other in a giant luxurious bed made out of ivory, gold, feathers, and all this other fancy shit. We made love real quick, because we both needed it, and then we held each other. We took a shower, and had more sex. And then we held each other, in that one bed. She fucked me like only she knew how. We did it every which way and for a couple days and it was amazing. Finally, she buried her face in my awesome chest and cried herself happily to sleep.

I lay there looking out the goddam window, wondering to myself. Really? I mean, really? You like someone; hell you love someone, and they love you back? This doesn't happen. Imagine wanting one person the most, and that one person wants you the most. That's impossible. It had just happened. It was happening.

Hmmmm. As a religious ole fuck, it made me think of Jesus, as I held the sleeping body of a fucking naked, beautiful, perfect Aztec princess with an ass of a goddess and the most generous and giving breasts. It was like Jesus just came down here, and all he wanted was for us to want him back…not to believe that he existed, necessarily…but to love him, and when we did, Jesus was like in fucking ecstasy.

I had just had ecstasy with this fucking Mexican creature and the erotic explosion could have killed us both, if our love hadn't protected us. I wondered. And then I prayed a shitty prayer: "God protect my shitty self, from my shitty self. Please protect this wild, Aztec princess Karina that loves me for some reason. I love her back. I know I'm shitty. And I know she's probably shitty too, but please forgive us our sins. We'll forgive whoever fucks with us too. Lord, I don't know how to pray, but I figure I'm just talking to you, so, I love you and thanks for all this crazy shit. I love you more than I love this fucking Mexican tigress. Let me know what to do whenever you want to Lord. I'll fucking do it, not because of what I have, but because you love me, and I love you. You know how when two people love each other and they do stuff for each other? Ya you know. Anyway. You saved us. I'll do anything. I promise. I love you a lot God. I'm ashamed. I'm always ashamed, but I'll try not to be because Jesus died like hell on that horrible cross for all my shit. I'll try to be grateful. Help me however you can and however is fair. Please protect my loved ones. I love you. I just want to say I love you. I love you. Amen. Bye."

I lied there. That damned Karina slept like a baby. She let go of her grip on me, and rested upon me, as if she now knew that I loved her just as much as she loved me and that I wasn't going to leave her––––as if something was now comforting her. I wondered in my soul.

I stared at her nipples. I looked over and checked out her ass. She was tan. I kissed her everywhere, while she slept, and I wondered if that was some kind of rape, even though she loved me. I put that thought away. Dumb liberals always trying to make me think something right is something wrong. I laughed. I looked out the window again. I wondered in my soul. I fell asleep.

I dreamt something awesome.

"Wake up Daniel. Wake up."

I sure as hell woke up, when those beautiful wind chimes sang, "Good morning, princess." I looked at her. She was on her knees naked at the foot of the bed. Her breasts hang perfectly, and I couldn't quite see her vagina, but it was there. Her dark hair hung so great around her sun dried shoulders. Her eyes were there gleaming golds, greens, browns, blues, and reds all over the goddam room. Her lips sang. Her ears heard the secret songs of angels. Her nose…her nose…her nose was mine, along with everything else.

"My prince. I'll be right back. I'm going to bring us some fucking fruit to suck on, ok?"

"Princess, before you go, I have two requests."

"Granted. Fucking granted! I'm so happy you're back. You can have anything you want. I don't give a shit what it is. I don't care that I don't even know what it is yet. I say yes. You can have it!" She smiled brighter than the old man himself. My heart beat, as if it were more alive, just to see her.

"Hell! I love you! I'm so happy to see YOU! I'm such a fool. My two requests, I want a kiss, and I want you to lick some words into my unworthy ears––––––any words." I looked at her, as if she might say no, or as if she might disappear. Damn it God! You can make some creatures! They're too lovely! What is happening on this weird planet!!!???

"Granted," she slithered over (and now I could see her vagina; it was still there), and gave me a perfect peck. She gave me another gift, before slithering words into my ears: she stared me square in the eyes. Oh her eyes! She just stared for years upon years and eons upon eons, and my heart was my whole being, and I didn't breathe forever. Her eyes were so beautiful. "OK," she said, "come here," and she licked the loveliest of rhymes, the loveliest of poems, the loveliest of flutters, the loveliest of words into one of my ears, and that was it. It was all complete.

She jumped off the bed, and made her way to the door, as I checked out her ass and back and legs. She paused at the door. She looked back and killed me with her beautiful face, "tell me you love me estupid."

"I love you," I smiled stupidly.

She smiled perfectly. She blew me a kiss, "Ahorita vengo," and she was out the goddam door.

"Wow!" I breathed aloud and fell back onto the bed. I was still naked, and my hair was still perfect.

"Danny."

"Holy shit!" I sat up, "You guys scared the shit out of me!" The old man and Guillermo were in the room. I didn't cover up my dick.

"We're back, and we're happy you're happy. Happiness is fleeting. Be content, and be thankful for any happiness. Sometimes sad times come, but happiness is good too. God loves you. We'll see you later. You won't ever separate from your new wife ever again, we promise."

"Well goddam, thanks guys. You guys are good. You guys are good friends."

"Only The Teacher is good. Be good dude. We'll see you when you get deported back to the U.S. again, and then you'll bring your princess. Things will happen."

"I love you guys. I'll miss you guys."

"As if we won't miss you Danny! We love you. See ya later dude."

"See ya guys!"

The old man snapped his fingers three times and nothing happened. Guillermo looked at me, and we both laughed, and then they both disappeared.

I lied back again, with my hands behind my neck. God was good. I knew I'd be poor again, somewhere sometime, and I hoped that I'd still think God was good. As for now, I was rich and a Mexican prince, with the most beautiful wife. I pondered. I wondered.

I got a little depressed thinking about everything in the world. I got sad. I got happy. I loved. I hated. I held my poor, beat heart. I wondered. I thanked Jesus. I wondered…

Everything is near and so far, I thought to myself, and I began to cry–––––––uncontrollably, but sweetly and deeply, and it felt so damn good, and I thought about Jesus and my family, and I cried some more.

And then that lovely ass walked back into the majestic room. I was in love. I had never thought I'd see her again.