Monthly Archives: May 2007

Like a rock.

I held a handful, grabbing tight,
It slipped away,
It slid away,
Crevices and wrinkles letting them go,
Desperately, I closed my hands,

Clutching, grasping,
Wasting,

I saved a few, here and there,
But, little by little,

The grains of sand came tumbling through,
The grains of sand came tumbling,
The grains of sand,
The grains,
The,
,
,
,

Very soon,

I had nothing left.
So I clapped my hands,
And rubbed my face,
Making mud with my tears,
What a waste,

What a terrible waste,
To pick up sand,
Pick up a rock instead,

Because a rock stays put,
Because a rock stays put,
Because a rock stays put,
Because a rock stays put,

I hefted its weight and held it aloft,
And there it remained,
Reassuring me with its bulk,
Challenging my flesh to an uneven contest,
But I trusted it, and slowly relented,

So gingerly,
I lowered my arm,
But held the rock,

And it stayed put,
And it stayed put,
And it stayed put.

Happy Depp day.

Just a few random thoughts on this mothers day.  The first one being, of course,

Happy Mothers Day, to all that qualify as such.

Second, I watched two movies today that alone, would have left me feeling mildly uncomfortable, but together, managed to twist a hefty dagger into my insides.

They were, click, and the break up.

Both had that bittersweet agony that comes from knowing that all you had to do was change a few things, a few people, a few circumstances, a few words, and it would have, not might have, but would have been different.  The endings were quite a bit different, but I found the “Christmas Carol” ending on click to be a whole lot more satisfying than the awkward on the street meeting at the end of the break up.

So, after re-living several painful portions of my marriage and divorce through these films, I then read a story that cheered me considerably.

“I was the guy who had been bouncing around the film industry for years, and I’d been lucky if five or 10 people would see my movies, so Captain Jack did a big flip for my career,” he says. “[It has] afforded me and my family a certain luxury in that we are able to live a little more comfortably and it will be something that will reverberate for my kids and their kids.”

That, dear readers, was the great Johnny Depp.

Honestly, I love Johnny Depp.  Not only is he amazing, and fun to watch onscreen, he is humble.  Instead of being a douchebag ‘cough, tobey maguire, cough’ about his blockbuster role, he embraces it, and is thankful for the chance to be a hero to his children.

This is the guy who stood toe to toe with pacino in donnie brasco, this is tim burtons go to guy, this is the guy thats not afraid to do weird quirky movies, and stay unpretentious, (you listening, mr. fucking seabiscuit?) and still, be eager to do movies that are far from “arthouse” cinema, but that are fun and many, many, millions of people love to watch.  And lets face it, who doesn’t like Jack Sparrow? 

Yet, do you hear him griping?  Oh, I don’t know if I want to do that again, or, oh, they can’t make another one without me, pay me, pay me. Ugh, please.

Oh, and he seems to be an incredible father, his words don’t sound like phony headline grabbing madonna crap, it sounds genuine.  So now he wants to settle down and marry his longtime girlfriend and mother of his kids.

A moment of perspective please,

This man is to pussy, what Cesar Milan is to naughty canines.  He fucking owns them, and I mean all of them, every single piece of pussy on the planet belongs to Johnny Depp.  Find me the woman who will say no, and then quickly call an ambulance and check her pulse and respiration.  Hell, I’d probably bone him.

But he wants his family. 

So on this special day, let us all take a moment to reflect, and honor Johnny Depp.  Because this is mothers day, and if he wanted, he could be boning our mothers, all of them, yet, he does not.

Thank you Johnny Depp.

Avast ye mothers!!!!

-Tobas

No Goodbye.

I may say some things sometimes,
Words that come and seem unkind,
I may wish I swallowed those,
Kept my thoughts inside this prose,

Thoughts I wish had stayed unsaid,
Better off inside my head,
Make mistakes so often spoken,
Makes me wish my voice was broken,

And I don’t mean it quite like that,
But better words I lack inside,

You are my joy, that is a fact,
All the rest is put aside,

I would beg a thousand times,
Let me try and turn this thing,
Not to lose what means so much,
Happiness inside your touch,

Quietly I sit and cry,
Without you I’ll surely die,
Love me, leave me,
No goodbyes.

The case of the missing voice.

Tobas circa 1997.

(anyone notice how all my cool stories generally occur between 1995-1999?  theres a good reason for that, which I am sure the smart ones can gather from pretty much everything else I write on here.  Interestingly enough, I do have some very good stories that occur after this period of time, however, it does not seem wise to relate them as of yet.)

So, the story begins in New York City.  As with most of my more outrageous/ridiculous tales, at the time, I was managing the New York Tribe.  Although this involved quite a bit of work, it also involved a ridiculous and completely irresponsible and somewhat reprehensible cast of characters.

It was september, and I had been furiously working all month to prepare for our huge NYC broadcast.  I was sending ad proofs to our televison people, I was negotiating with our pretentious “talent”, and I was fighting NYC parks and recreation to cut down some branches for us.  I also was butting heads with the head of the pushcart vendor union.  (this, as I later discovered was a huge mistake.  they are a ruthless and bloodthirsty bunch, and if I had carried through with my threat of using outside vendors, I would have had a very unpleasant surprise coming my way).

So, basically, the last three days of preparation left me with no sleep, none.  for three days I slept in 1-2 hours clips.  this was also before we had the benefit of energy drinks, and my stomach was even more sensitive to coffee than it is now, so I had to rely on my youth and stamina, which I had plenty of.  regardless, by day three I was an absolute wreck, and I knew in order to be ready and awake for the big day, I would need to be there.  so, I dangerously decided to sleep on a park bench in east river park.  when I think back on it, it’s really amazing I was never mugged or killed.  I habitually slept on benches.  I slept very little, even though I was guarded under the watchful eye of the “d-man”.  he was a homeless dope dealer who I talked to a few times while getting the site ready for our show.  he was quite well spoken, and he had a very sad and compelling story, and for some reason, I trusted him.

the trucks started coming at 7am.  metal police barricades, vendors, tv trucks, sponsor vehicles, you name it.  I wont go into the entire day, but suffice it to say that it was long, and by the time it was over, I had run out of words.

literally.  I sat down on the bench, and just stopped talking.

This lasted for all of maybe an hour or so, as I gradually grew tired of shrugging and pointing, and attempted speech.  A funny thing happened then.  The words got stuck.  At least that is what it felt like.  So, I could not speak, no matter how hard I tried.  I was frustrated, but I quickly grabbed a pencil and notepad, and started having the best two days of my life.

I learned quickly to point out my inability to speak right away.  People were more attentive, and I rarely had to try and get a point across for more than a minute.

Anyway, the show after party was at some place on 8th street.  It was some club, I cannot even remember the name.  But it’s not really important anyway.

A few months before, an old high school buddy of Joe Fiorello and I, a guy named Pat, came into the city to have beer with us at the bowery bar. He brought two girlfriends in with him.  One, was a brown-haired somewhat mousey girl with large breasts.  The other was a beautiful tall blonde with a shy smile.  It turns out she wore braces, which made her insecure, and me, horny.  I had to have her.  She was definitely flirty with me, and at some point described me as “so beautiful”, that set the stage for some metal on flesh action, or so I thought.  Turns out, she was gun shy, and she ended up taking the train home with her cock-blocker of a friend.  I was dejected.

Ah, but fate intervened, and as I sat down at the club, exhausted and delirious, sipping an amaretto sour, I felt a tap tap on my shoulder.

I turned around, and she wasted no time in plopping herself on a cushion next to me.  She smiled widely, mouth closed of course, and started talking to me.  I quickly did the hand across the throat gesture, which seemed to puzzle her at first.  I thought fast and found a pen at a bar, and grabbed a stack of napkins.  I scribbled, “I lost my voice, sorry”.  If she liked me before, well now, she absolutely loved me.  The conversation went slowly from there, but it was mightly productive, and my written perversions were clever and effective.  By the time we left, I was drunk, she was drunk, and even her cock-blocker was ripped and raring for some action.  I was fortunate to be in the company of the mighty Joe Fiorello, aka, the mighty condor, who played wingman extraordinnaire, and macked it quite effectively to mousey big boobs.

Also, Joe had a dorm room, a close by dorm room.  So, we stumbled out into the night, drunk, and in search of malt liquor which we quickly found.  Four cans of colt 45 later, we found ourselves in Joe’s room.

Now, a problem of logistics people.  There is a bed, there is a floor mattress, there is a need for discretion.  So, we ended up on the floor under blankets, and they ended up on the bed under blankets.  Of course, she wanted to have sex, however, in order not to appear overly eager, she gave the whole, “I dont want to be slut” speech.  And this is where my lack of a voice worked brilliantly.  See fellas, the thing about that speech is this, if you just let them keep talking, they will eventually come full circle again and just get it over with and fuck you.  However, if you should happen to open your mouth, chances are you will say something to trigger their insecurity and end up pulling your own chicken.  I, of course, said nothing.

Instead, I crept downwards, slowly kissing along the way, eventually reaching the “on” button.  Three minutes later, she was fumbling for a condom and thrusting it at me.  We did our dirty, and she left a bruise on my neck that was so large, some people thought I had been in a terrible accident, or that I had survived a vicious choking.

I vaguely remember doing it again, being seated on a toilet this time.  After all this, we slept for a short while, and then the girls had to get up and take a train home.  She turned to me, and said, “well, what now?”  I shrugged, once again grateful for a lack of speech.  She was relentless, and would not give up.  So, I slowly wrote down on a piece of paper,

“Um, you make me breakfast?”

written, or spoken, that was clearly the wrong response.

She left that morning, and I never saw her again.

It was fantastic.

Live it, Love it, (but dont tell it to make you breakfast)

-Tobas