Alcohol found its way into me.
I breath, talk and smell like vodka.
There are people around me but
I still feel alone. The vodka is not
doing its job. I get my cellphone
and with some coordination
problems I manage to get to
the send text application.
I know you got rid of your cellphone
sometime ago, but I hope it was
all a dream. Months have gone by and I
still don't get a reply. Honey, if you
are reading this, I just wanted to ask:
"Are you still there?"
-LaLobaTonta
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
I do not get scared when somebody tells me about how they tried to kill themselves, or how often they think about killing themselves.
I've accepted the fact that only idiots would never think about suicide.
Life is kind of stupid and people are kind of annoying and you are gonna die anyways.
Ever since a gypsy read my palm and told me that I was gonna have a very intense but very short life I decided that I would only kill myself after I had SUCKED ALL THERE IS TO SUCK OUT OF LIFE.
I've accepted the fact that only idiots would never think about suicide.
Life is kind of stupid and people are kind of annoying and you are gonna die anyways.
Ever since a gypsy read my palm and told me that I was gonna have a very intense but very short life I decided that I would only kill myself after I had SUCKED ALL THERE IS TO SUCK OUT OF LIFE.
-La Loba Que Quiere Lamerle el Culo Al Mundo
Sunday, November 15, 2009
I woke up covered by the blues today.
my sheets, skin and eyes have changed color.
the after sex sadness is not going away.
maybe your blue eyes jinxed the natural way of things.
let me tell you that we made a blue day together.
and the sound of a collective of animals moaning and south dakota and comic books and unemployment are all over my quilt.
you're sperm paste....somewhere in a sea of deep blue.
makes it even clearer.
laying on my bed. smelling the fish and hearing the ocean from a shell.
we are only together to feel lonely together.
and the cigarettes smoked and sweet words whispered are only to remind us that we must attempt to make love.
as i sink into the cold waters of the ocean i think of me on and under you.
out and in you.
just like the water surrounding me.
but my thoughts are still about me... just sinking alone.
my sheets, skin and eyes have changed color.
the after sex sadness is not going away.
maybe your blue eyes jinxed the natural way of things.
let me tell you that we made a blue day together.
and the sound of a collective of animals moaning and south dakota and comic books and unemployment are all over my quilt.
you're sperm paste....somewhere in a sea of deep blue.
makes it even clearer.
laying on my bed. smelling the fish and hearing the ocean from a shell.
we are only together to feel lonely together.
and the cigarettes smoked and sweet words whispered are only to remind us that we must attempt to make love.
as i sink into the cold waters of the ocean i think of me on and under you.
out and in you.
just like the water surrounding me.
but my thoughts are still about me... just sinking alone.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
He is from Mexico, and he is shaking his dreadlocks back and foward while he is infront of the mosh. his cigarette is still in his mouth. as he is pushed, the tabaco smoke comes out of his mouth making beautiful patterns.
A dude in a red jacket screams in the microphone.
I cannot help it: i join him.
He has a heart tattoo on his left wrist and he is always looking for his girlfriend.
he tells me to fuck off when i ask for a picture
but he still posses next to that sticker on the refrigerator that says something about domestic violence.
i say: thank you sir, you are a sweetheart!
I try to scape but then the smoke comes.
I first think is my cigarette doing the tricks on me, but soon i realize it's just the smoke machine.
making sweet smoke for us: the moshers.
it is a laundry room with a refrigerator.
but when the guitar player gets his face close to another dude's crotch: it becomes heaven.
bodies and screams colliding into a mass of cacophony.
cacophony made by the people.
some of they do, and they do it well.
She is in the middle of it all.
a little hot mess on the smokey-cigarette-butts-covered grounds.
When she hits the ground you gain complete understanding.
crash against each other, bond through pain, feel through pushes.
it is rock and roll baby and I feel it on my skin.
A dude in a red jacket screams in the microphone.
I cannot help it: i join him.
He has a heart tattoo on his left wrist and he is always looking for his girlfriend.
he tells me to fuck off when i ask for a picture
but he still posses next to that sticker on the refrigerator that says something about domestic violence.
i say: thank you sir, you are a sweetheart!
I try to scape but then the smoke comes.
I first think is my cigarette doing the tricks on me, but soon i realize it's just the smoke machine.
making sweet smoke for us: the moshers.
it is a laundry room with a refrigerator.
but when the guitar player gets his face close to another dude's crotch: it becomes heaven.
bodies and screams colliding into a mass of cacophony.
cacophony made by the people.
some of they do, and they do it well.
She is in the middle of it all.
a little hot mess on the smokey-cigarette-butts-covered grounds.
When she hits the ground you gain complete understanding.
crash against each other, bond through pain, feel through pushes.
it is rock and roll baby and I feel it on my skin.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Picure me walking down Columbus street.
I like flowers.
I really do, specially when they are free.
But this time I am kind of drunk and with 20 bucks in my leather jacket pocket.
Me and a new zelander and a former macho lover.
I am with my bike, passing every single red street light 'cause I hate waiting.
I see purple flowers and then red roses.
I buy one and wait for the change.
A voice in my back says "how much are the flowers?"
I say "three dollars".
The macho ex-lover soon realizes that I already pay and says, "oooohhh. ok. I thought you want it me to buy it for you. That's what man do."
I say " That is what girls make boys do. A real women buys her own flowers"
Mad that I did not say it loud enough, or my accent got in the way and I only mumbled.
How the fuck did I almost fell in love with this piece of shit.
Burning inside, not enough bad words to describe.
And ooooohhhh....sweetheart I am bisexual, I like all colors...blah blah...SUCK YOUR MAMMA'S LAME ASS RELIGIOUS VAGINA MUTHER FUKER.
I can buy my own flowers. But this time, I am not buying a flower for me. To make you understand how I function, I am pushed to lie.
"I'm actually buying this for a man"
Then I use his bathroom, leave his hotel room and bike so hard and fast that my ankle gets hurt. Is that what man do too???
OOOOhhhh sorry, next time I'll let you buy me flowers and I'll make sure I hurt your ankle.
'Cause you are kind of a man, right??
I like flowers.
I really do, specially when they are free.
But this time I am kind of drunk and with 20 bucks in my leather jacket pocket.
Me and a new zelander and a former macho lover.
I am with my bike, passing every single red street light 'cause I hate waiting.
I see purple flowers and then red roses.
I buy one and wait for the change.
A voice in my back says "how much are the flowers?"
I say "three dollars".
The macho ex-lover soon realizes that I already pay and says, "oooohhh. ok. I thought you want it me to buy it for you. That's what man do."
I say " That is what girls make boys do. A real women buys her own flowers"
Mad that I did not say it loud enough, or my accent got in the way and I only mumbled.
How the fuck did I almost fell in love with this piece of shit.
Burning inside, not enough bad words to describe.
And ooooohhhh....sweetheart I am bisexual, I like all colors...blah blah...SUCK YOUR MAMMA'S LAME ASS RELIGIOUS VAGINA MUTHER FUKER.
I can buy my own flowers. But this time, I am not buying a flower for me. To make you understand how I function, I am pushed to lie.
"I'm actually buying this for a man"
Then I use his bathroom, leave his hotel room and bike so hard and fast that my ankle gets hurt. Is that what man do too???
OOOOhhhh sorry, next time I'll let you buy me flowers and I'll make sure I hurt your ankle.
'Cause you are kind of a man, right??
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
why i do the things i do
Femme Fatale es una palabra interesante.
Rip people's heart and make them feel filthy, broken and empty.
I know someone who likes to play that game.
The game of the alpha women.
The women who has it and then eats it all.
Because she likes that pure and bloody destruction.
Just like when you look at yourself in the mirror.
Lonelier than ever, darker circles under your eyes, maybe a new tatoo or two, a different shade of lipstick and you ask yourself why you do this things you do. and then the image in the mirror gives you one of those smiles that real femmes make and with a raspy cigarette voice and a slight shoulder movement says...... because you can.
La Loba Loca Es La Femme Revolucionaria
(pico para quien lo lea)
Monday, November 9, 2009
sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. yeah right fuckthatshit i'm going out. espescially since yesterday was "game day" and everyidiot in this town was playing beer pong on their front lawns while the police stood buy and "directed traffic". these idiots can "get wasted" in public but i cant smoke a little weed in my own house? this is bullshit. usually i get the fuck out of here or i don't leave my house, but i woke up feeling like a giant coughing yeast infection so i needed to get drugs. i think the most pathetic part was the 50 year-old dads getting drunk on frat lawns. you graduated 30 years ago. its over. go home to your wives you pieces of shit. i can't fucking wait to move.
so now it is sunday. ive been in all day so far but Mamma said i needed a bike. i call the number. what time do you "close"? the woman laughs and says whenever the entertainment stops. its 5 oclock? fuckit. wheres the F at? i make it to 21st and san carlos. they are still there. after a a few test rides and some hearty conversation with Francisco, i find my bike. i find the most amazing pizza ever made and eat it in the curb. i know Ash Reiter is playing a show around the corner at some bar, but America is threatened by young people drinking so I don't know if I will get in. fuckit. im here i might as well try. i go to Valencia, one of the more beautiful streets i think. park my bike (cuz i have a bike now) and proceed to light the first cigarette of the night. how ya feelin' tonight? oh god. of course. how do i always end up next to these sleazy jazz musicians with hats and pony tails? its like, unavoidable. whatever, maybe if i walk in with him no one will notice that i'm not 21. it worked. im in and right before they start charging people. these "men" are supposed to be almost 30 and i feel like im talking to a drunk 14-year-old. he finally leaves because he was hungry. wow. i somehow end up in the back of this very dark bar "hanging out" with the Ash Reiter band. We talk about the terrible ordeal that is "game day" in Berkeley, being drunk before a show, and she tells me the meaning behind my favorite songs. wow, that made my night. they dont even have to perform at this point. i dont get what so cool about bars. who wants to pay for every piece of alchohol they drink? good thing i have my own. i take a swig. shit the bartender saw me. please dont come over here. can i see the bottle in your bag? fuck. what this bottle? whats the problem. its just iced tea. i dont even drink. theres no need to open it up and smell it or anything mr. bartender man. you trust me right? okay your good. wow that was close. maybe its better if i dont call attention to myself in this bar that im legally not supposed to be in and didnt pay to get in to. they finally play and its all i needed. red air light. this is great. la bahia. thank you ash. paper diamonds. how sweet. stumble and fall. why yes, i think i will. i have to catch something across the bay so i get on my new bike and speed down some sidewalks. i wait for the last train as some man plays the ukelele and sings about his lost love in Cancún. it was the perfect way to end a sunday night alone in the city.
so now it is sunday. ive been in all day so far but Mamma said i needed a bike. i call the number. what time do you "close"? the woman laughs and says whenever the entertainment stops. its 5 oclock? fuckit. wheres the F at? i make it to 21st and san carlos. they are still there. after a a few test rides and some hearty conversation with Francisco, i find my bike. i find the most amazing pizza ever made and eat it in the curb. i know Ash Reiter is playing a show around the corner at some bar, but America is threatened by young people drinking so I don't know if I will get in. fuckit. im here i might as well try. i go to Valencia, one of the more beautiful streets i think. park my bike (cuz i have a bike now) and proceed to light the first cigarette of the night. how ya feelin' tonight? oh god. of course. how do i always end up next to these sleazy jazz musicians with hats and pony tails? its like, unavoidable. whatever, maybe if i walk in with him no one will notice that i'm not 21. it worked. im in and right before they start charging people. these "men" are supposed to be almost 30 and i feel like im talking to a drunk 14-year-old. he finally leaves because he was hungry. wow. i somehow end up in the back of this very dark bar "hanging out" with the Ash Reiter band. We talk about the terrible ordeal that is "game day" in Berkeley, being drunk before a show, and she tells me the meaning behind my favorite songs. wow, that made my night. they dont even have to perform at this point. i dont get what so cool about bars. who wants to pay for every piece of alchohol they drink? good thing i have my own. i take a swig. shit the bartender saw me. please dont come over here. can i see the bottle in your bag? fuck. what this bottle? whats the problem. its just iced tea. i dont even drink. theres no need to open it up and smell it or anything mr. bartender man. you trust me right? okay your good. wow that was close. maybe its better if i dont call attention to myself in this bar that im legally not supposed to be in and didnt pay to get in to. they finally play and its all i needed. red air light. this is great. la bahia. thank you ash. paper diamonds. how sweet. stumble and fall. why yes, i think i will. i have to catch something across the bay so i get on my new bike and speed down some sidewalks. i wait for the last train as some man plays the ukelele and sings about his lost love in Cancún. it was the perfect way to end a sunday night alone in the city.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
seriously. why does anyone ever go to the library. you arent going to study. you're just going to sit around with books and stare at the ceilings and other people. or sleep. this guy behind me has been asleep for an hour. the couple in front of me whispers to each other. he pets her head. she touches his knee. they kiss. i immediately gather my things and move to the complete opposite side of the library. i can't be bothered with that shit. how am i supposed to write a paper about colonialism and the history of the bayon temple at angkor thom if i am perpetually throwing up on my mouth. if looks could kill there would be two dead bodies on the 5th floor of moffit. but i've always hated couples. arguing about who is "cuter" should NEVER happen. dont hold hands on the bus or flirt with each other on the internet or kiss each other over your cafeteria food trays. its disgusting. keep that shit in your homes.
maybe i'm just a bitter whore who is afraid she will never be "loved". but i doubt that. i am probably just...right.
maybe i'm just a bitter whore who is afraid she will never be "loved". but i doubt that. i am probably just...right.
Monday, October 26, 2009
I'm sitting in my bed looking out the window, in the middle of taking my pants off. i hear weird noises from upstair, like somebody moving boxes. suddenly i see a figure falling through my window. looked like "munecos de trapo". people in peru burn these in new years. life sized stuffed figures dressed in old clothes.
atras lo viejo y arriba lo nueno.
i stand up and walk towards the window when suddenly a dude with a hat stands up from the floor. we share a second: me looking at him and he looking back at me with an aloof face. i leave my room, half naked, with my new stolen american apparel shirt and bra. I go towards the common space. "somebody was trying to steal shit" i said, but when i'm really exited my English doesn't work very well. so probably i just made weird noises. in a couple of minutes the word runs to everybody in the house, there is a fuking sketcher around! i come back to my room, put a dress on, look outside the window and decide that I no longer feel safe in my room. i am scared and paranoid. i might have to start sleeping with a knife next to me pillow again.
atras lo viejo y arriba lo nueno.
i stand up and walk towards the window when suddenly a dude with a hat stands up from the floor. we share a second: me looking at him and he looking back at me with an aloof face. i leave my room, half naked, with my new stolen american apparel shirt and bra. I go towards the common space. "somebody was trying to steal shit" i said, but when i'm really exited my English doesn't work very well. so probably i just made weird noises. in a couple of minutes the word runs to everybody in the house, there is a fuking sketcher around! i come back to my room, put a dress on, look outside the window and decide that I no longer feel safe in my room. i am scared and paranoid. i might have to start sleeping with a knife next to me pillow again.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Thursday was crazy in such a bad way that ruled.
I got fired, though i punctured my uterus, went to 16&mission, realized that I have no place to live, got really drunk, sang a made up a song that goes "LET'S MAKE A BABY IN THE BACK SEAT" on the streets of SF, saw the arrest of a child molestor(a homeless guy told me that the dude getting arrested was a pedophile. but he also said "how old are you?, like 16?. You are pretty!": so i don't know if i should believe him or not), overslept/passed out on the transbay bus and ended up in richmond with a drunk japanese man(i was thirsty and could hardly keep my eyeballs from moving everywhere. i asked him if he saw a water fountain anywhere and he said "no, but i have some wine in my bag").
Fridays was Collin's birthday! I made her cookies. THE FATTIES. aka made up cookies. People were completely memorized by them, they kept asking me if they had a little bit of orange in them. when they were asking me they made a wine-tester kind of face, "mmmmm....this taste kind of woodsy. wet pine trees with a pich orange in it"
So now is saturday and I should be studying for a midterm monday that i haven't even opened the book for. why CAN'T I CONcENTRATE????!!!!, Jeff from the Pentacles told me yesterday that I couldn't because I wasn't interested in my major. I told him that I was. and he said "believe me, I m a doctor". I don't believe in doctors. My dad is a doctor and everytime he asked me if I wanted to cook with him I never really cooked with him, he would just ask me to bring him the ingredients.... I don't believe in doctors!!! Plus I already know I am not really interested on anything specific. Although I could say Im interested on rolling tabacco. At least the only time when I can concentrate is when I'm rolling a cigarette.
-La Loba Que Se E sta Volviendo Loca
I got fired, though i punctured my uterus, went to 16&mission, realized that I have no place to live, got really drunk, sang a made up a song that goes "LET'S MAKE A BABY IN THE BACK SEAT" on the streets of SF, saw the arrest of a child molestor(a homeless guy told me that the dude getting arrested was a pedophile. but he also said "how old are you?, like 16?. You are pretty!": so i don't know if i should believe him or not), overslept/passed out on the transbay bus and ended up in richmond with a drunk japanese man(i was thirsty and could hardly keep my eyeballs from moving everywhere. i asked him if he saw a water fountain anywhere and he said "no, but i have some wine in my bag").
Fridays was Collin's birthday! I made her cookies. THE FATTIES. aka made up cookies. People were completely memorized by them, they kept asking me if they had a little bit of orange in them. when they were asking me they made a wine-tester kind of face, "mmmmm....this taste kind of woodsy. wet pine trees with a pich orange in it"
So now is saturday and I should be studying for a midterm monday that i haven't even opened the book for. why CAN'T I CONcENTRATE????!!!!, Jeff from the Pentacles told me yesterday that I couldn't because I wasn't interested in my major. I told him that I was. and he said "believe me, I m a doctor". I don't believe in doctors. My dad is a doctor and everytime he asked me if I wanted to cook with him I never really cooked with him, he would just ask me to bring him the ingredients.... I don't believe in doctors!!! Plus I already know I am not really interested on anything specific. Although I could say Im interested on rolling tabacco. At least the only time when I can concentrate is when I'm rolling a cigarette.
-La Loba Que Se E sta Volviendo Loca
Thursday, October 22, 2009
minding my own business and some dude skates up next to me. Whats your name? You are colorful. I'm a photographer. Can I have your phone number? wow. you dont waste any time do you man? sure why not, maybe you'll skate away if i give it to you. So you have midterms? You wanna come over to my house and makeout? It will relieve stress. seriously. are you really saying these things to me? I'm so ready to kill all of these self-entitled pricks that think since they don't slap you across the face with their dick you should be responsive. I dont HAVE to do anything. And i'm not going to give your ego a blowjob. so dont ask. Not everyone I meet deserves to know me.
Now if you had been attractive I might have considered your offer. But I'm not shallow, just realistic.
Now if you had been attractive I might have considered your offer. But I'm not shallow, just realistic.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
I don't want to leave my room. I want a new lover. I will keep him locked up in my room and he will make love to me, watch movies with me, drink coffee with me, give orgasms to me, smoke cigarettes with me, make more love to me, tell me naughty things in different languages, make more love to me and pretend with me that we live in a little cottage in some deserted island in the middle of the pacific where all there is to do is eat eachother OUT.
La Loba Que Se Volvio Loca
La Loba Que Se Volvio Loca
Someone Else's Boyfriend
fuuuuck. I've have been waiting all day on this damn balcony to get an illegal tattoo. These people come and go but the conversations are all the same: "How do you feel about bottled water? The balcony is a free space man, we shouldn't be restricted here. The party tonight will be sick, I hope too many people don't try to crash it. Cocaine is fucking mind-expanding. Yea I just got off a train from Arizona and the street is my home." Fuck these people. I just want to lay in the sun and let Saturday fuck me. Its been about 3 hours and I'm laying on my only friend's bed thinking about sex when someone knocks on the door. He says it will be 2o minutes. 20 minutes later I find myself laying face-up on a love seat staring at the psychedelic ceiling listening to weird instrumental music with my shirt off and this man's elbow in my crotch. Good tattoo.
Now that I can escape this place I don't know what to do with myself. To the City I go. He said he'd be here, but I had a feeling he wouldn't. Either way I can find someone I know in the City and I've got a water bottle full of vodka so I will be OK. He's downtown. I run as fast as I can from the Montgomery station but I still miss the fireworks. damn. I finally get there and I see him: someone else's boyfriend. Why should I get my own if I can have yours? He doesn't ask me to come back with him right away becasue he never really does. That would be admitting he has a mistress and who wants that on their conscious? Another Saturday spent smoking too much and drinking too much with college students. Another Saturday night spent in someone else's boyfriend's bed. Another night spent trying to suck someone else's boyfriend's neck quietly. Then after what feels like forever, its Sunday. Wake up at 2 in the fucking afternoon. Someone else's boyfriend makes me breakfast at 3 in the fucking afternoon. Bluberry banna pancakes covered in Nutella and bacon on the side. yum. The rest of the day is spent in a dark room with fingers and other appendages in vaginas and tongues on stomachs while a kitty purrs and Kacey Johansing talks about summer and Jeff Buckley talks about heaven. Perfect Sunday. What?! its already 9:30?! Well you might as well stay. fuck. What's another night? The weekend ends on Monday now.
I might actually feel bad about someone else's boyfriend if I wasn't such a cunt and she didnt deserve it so much. Whatever, maybe i'll plant a tree or something to help my karma because I believe in that bullshit. So I leave without a word and catch the early bus and laugh quietly to myself while I sip the last bit of that vodka and cross the bridge that leaves the city behind. I lift my shirt and peek down at that fresh tattoo. Its a wolf paw. Viva La Loba Loca.
Now that I can escape this place I don't know what to do with myself. To the City I go. He said he'd be here, but I had a feeling he wouldn't. Either way I can find someone I know in the City and I've got a water bottle full of vodka so I will be OK. He's downtown. I run as fast as I can from the Montgomery station but I still miss the fireworks. damn. I finally get there and I see him: someone else's boyfriend. Why should I get my own if I can have yours? He doesn't ask me to come back with him right away becasue he never really does. That would be admitting he has a mistress and who wants that on their conscious? Another Saturday spent smoking too much and drinking too much with college students. Another Saturday night spent in someone else's boyfriend's bed. Another night spent trying to suck someone else's boyfriend's neck quietly. Then after what feels like forever, its Sunday. Wake up at 2 in the fucking afternoon. Someone else's boyfriend makes me breakfast at 3 in the fucking afternoon. Bluberry banna pancakes covered in Nutella and bacon on the side. yum. The rest of the day is spent in a dark room with fingers and other appendages in vaginas and tongues on stomachs while a kitty purrs and Kacey Johansing talks about summer and Jeff Buckley talks about heaven. Perfect Sunday. What?! its already 9:30?! Well you might as well stay. fuck. What's another night? The weekend ends on Monday now.
I might actually feel bad about someone else's boyfriend if I wasn't such a cunt and she didnt deserve it so much. Whatever, maybe i'll plant a tree or something to help my karma because I believe in that bullshit. So I leave without a word and catch the early bus and laugh quietly to myself while I sip the last bit of that vodka and cross the bridge that leaves the city behind. I lift my shirt and peek down at that fresh tattoo. Its a wolf paw. Viva La Loba Loca.
rainy days
I'm so annoyed by all this assholes that start feeling all philosophical and sensitive when it rains.
The only thing that rain makes me feel is wet.
i had to leave my room for an hour and a half to go to class but i didn't have an umbrella. so i used my 15 dollar jacket as one. when i came back from class i decided that i wasn't leaving my room.
i got a bunch of gold fish and put on Garden State and the listen to the shins and then watched Boy's don't cry until the server stopped working.
i feel fat now and my only winter clothes are wet.
but it's cool, at least i managed to get through the day without updating my facebook profile to some cheesy overrated rainy day phrase.
The only thing that rain makes me feel is wet.
i had to leave my room for an hour and a half to go to class but i didn't have an umbrella. so i used my 15 dollar jacket as one. when i came back from class i decided that i wasn't leaving my room.
i got a bunch of gold fish and put on Garden State and the listen to the shins and then watched Boy's don't cry until the server stopped working.
i feel fat now and my only winter clothes are wet.
but it's cool, at least i managed to get through the day without updating my facebook profile to some cheesy overrated rainy day phrase.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Market & Spear
I knew that at some point in time I would have to become a porn star. Not only because I'm fucking HOT, but also because I do stupid things just to get a good story. After a couple of drunken hours with an ex-lover, I was sitting on the pavement enjoying my last unfiltered American Spirit. Waiting for my friend, William Blake(and yes, that's his real name) to get out of the movie theater and bike around the city with me.
Some trumpet is playing in the background, and I think I should be cold but the alcohol heats me better that after sex cuddling.
Suddenly a weird little bald guy walks towards me and asks me if he could sit down with me "for a sec". I am kind of drunk and slightly bored of talking to myself so I say yes. After making sure I wasn't a street kid, he offers me the opportunity of my life: an under the table Adult Entertainment gig... although most of the conversation has been erased from my mind since I am sober at the moment, I do remember the most relevant parts of the conversation and of course the trumpet on the background playing the same God Father song(???).
I soon let him know that I have done harcore sex shots (of course I forgot to tell him that this only happened in my mind, one of those crazy horny afternoons when you are 13 and you just wanna be rapped or become a porn star because sex in real life doesn't actually happen). He tells me he can't give me the name or the adress of the adult entertainment company that would bring me money and stardom. He tells me that if I work for him I would meet famous people that fucked for money. The only catch is that before being filmed or shot i have to show him that i am in fact fuckable.
I asked him if condoms are allowed, and he said that yes but then somehow the conversation turns into him fucking a beautiful woman al natural: without condoms. Then he shows me his arm to make sure I get a glance at this little piece of skin that was supposedly brused due to an STD test he had a couple of days ago. Then I give me a empty look because I have nothing else to say. He tells me that before anything happens he has to go back to his apartment and clean up and that I was hot and looked clean.
I think i told him to go to 18 & mission because some of my hot imaginary thirsty sex friends are at a cofee shop and they might be cool with all the fuking. Then I got on my bike and left. I did not turn around to see where this bald 5'5 littler chubby man with a white binder in his hads, offering "serious" porn jobs on the street went. But I wasn't gonna let him scape that easily. I realized that this is the time I had been waiting for forever: I dialed 911. I told the operator that a chubby 34 year old man had just offered me a porn job after he made sure I was fuckable. Then she transfer me to SF police and I said the same think. i didn't know how to answer when they asked me for his ethnicity, i said a combination of a "brown dude from iran". i hated myself for that description. BUt Fuck It, I'm not white so I can't be racist plus I ended up calling 911 drunk so it was a cool night. After that i ditched William Blake and decided that this guy's imagenary porn industry buddies might track me down and make me do unspeakable unconscensual things with out condoms...so I decided to make Oakland my Mexico. I hoped on the F and then biked all the way to The full full house to get some music flowing into my hears. Now that I think about it, calling 911 wasn't that cool of a story. Should had fucked the guy.
LA LOBA LOCA
Some trumpet is playing in the background, and I think I should be cold but the alcohol heats me better that after sex cuddling.
Suddenly a weird little bald guy walks towards me and asks me if he could sit down with me "for a sec". I am kind of drunk and slightly bored of talking to myself so I say yes. After making sure I wasn't a street kid, he offers me the opportunity of my life: an under the table Adult Entertainment gig... although most of the conversation has been erased from my mind since I am sober at the moment, I do remember the most relevant parts of the conversation and of course the trumpet on the background playing the same God Father song(???).
I soon let him know that I have done harcore sex shots (of course I forgot to tell him that this only happened in my mind, one of those crazy horny afternoons when you are 13 and you just wanna be rapped or become a porn star because sex in real life doesn't actually happen). He tells me he can't give me the name or the adress of the adult entertainment company that would bring me money and stardom. He tells me that if I work for him I would meet famous people that fucked for money. The only catch is that before being filmed or shot i have to show him that i am in fact fuckable.
I asked him if condoms are allowed, and he said that yes but then somehow the conversation turns into him fucking a beautiful woman al natural: without condoms. Then he shows me his arm to make sure I get a glance at this little piece of skin that was supposedly brused due to an STD test he had a couple of days ago. Then I give me a empty look because I have nothing else to say. He tells me that before anything happens he has to go back to his apartment and clean up and that I was hot and looked clean.
I think i told him to go to 18 & mission because some of my hot imaginary thirsty sex friends are at a cofee shop and they might be cool with all the fuking. Then I got on my bike and left. I did not turn around to see where this bald 5'5 littler chubby man with a white binder in his hads, offering "serious" porn jobs on the street went. But I wasn't gonna let him scape that easily. I realized that this is the time I had been waiting for forever: I dialed 911. I told the operator that a chubby 34 year old man had just offered me a porn job after he made sure I was fuckable. Then she transfer me to SF police and I said the same think. i didn't know how to answer when they asked me for his ethnicity, i said a combination of a "brown dude from iran". i hated myself for that description. BUt Fuck It, I'm not white so I can't be racist plus I ended up calling 911 drunk so it was a cool night. After that i ditched William Blake and decided that this guy's imagenary porn industry buddies might track me down and make me do unspeakable unconscensual things with out condoms...so I decided to make Oakland my Mexico. I hoped on the F and then biked all the way to The full full house to get some music flowing into my hears. Now that I think about it, calling 911 wasn't that cool of a story. Should had fucked the guy.
LA LOBA LOCA
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
