: EVERY MOMENT IS LOVELY, YES :

she said: frost? blah blah blah indignant blah. cummings is good for masturbation. whores, man. underage whore poetry.

My dick was so hard in my hand it woke me up early without the alarm. Porn for breakfast, no shower and naked pushups until failure. I left a sticky handprint on the floor and there was spackle just below where my waist nearly touched the parquet between half-packed boxes. Or maybe they are half-unpacked.

A neighbor introduced herself in the elevator and shook my unwashed hand. She rubbed her face in several places and I wondered how many times I had shaken hands with someone who did not clean up after masturbating. In fact, maybe she had just masturbated and did not wash. I touched my face here and there.

A little girl in a pink trench coat and fluffy hat opened the door for me when I walked out of my building, no mother anywhere. She held a metal lunch box painted with a cartoon.

"Thank you," from above.

"You're welcome," from below.

The sun was blinding gold and still heating up low in the sky and I had to keep my eyes on the sidewalk. Pigeons pecked at dog puke that had not yet frozen to the concrete and my Metrocard expired and I missed the train while I bought a new one but another came right away and some days you know — you just know.

The hands of a woman on the train were almost as small as the ones holding the lunchbox. She hypnotized me with leopard print and two kinds of stripes. Amazing. But her little fingers could not close the gap on the pole. She gripped it with both hands at all times. Black stockings, gray boots. Dark hair back with barrettes on the side. A cutesy yawn, mouth barely opened, small teeth. Big black leather purse. Black earbuds. Nails painted the color of her skin, like a woman from my long-ago used to wear. She gave me head in my car the last time I saw her. I came all over the steering wheel and never wiped it up and it baked into the plastic under a decade of desert heat, a scar I could run my finger over and enjoy the pain it took to create it.

Time passing is better than prescriptions, even the pharmasmack a doctor pushed on a friend who dislocated his shoulder. The medication was developed for terminally ill cancer patients and now he goes to bed mumbling like a junkie because he slipped on some stairs. He said he is going to stop taking the pills and I asked for his leftovers.

Some she once said that I'm the type of guy who will piss in the sink if he has to. This other she said, "... the way absinthe makes your tongue numb." And the last she — well, her and me care too much about each other to be friends. Her dust is on everything still. Lint and hair, coughs and kisses. A quarter-sized piece of pink fabric spilled from a coin jar, three unutterable words written on it in unmistakable handwriting. It went into my pocket instead of the trash.

I had to go to her favorite store, which I hate, to find a few things. Women were smelling candles. They would never understand why I do not play the missions on the game in my phone. I hate missions. I will never finish the game; that is not the point. I play it to relax, so I drive around the city in stolen cars, destroy stuff, run over pedestrians and shoot cops.


~O~

42 x like a billion = how much I love you:

TC said...

Remnants, residues, objects coated with affect, memories disguised as things, this world so charged from one moment to the next with feeling, sorrow, histories.

The game is infinite.

Will time never leave us alone?

___

An Otto post becomes an event in the life. This is not supposed to happen on the internet.

Life is emotion.

___

"crati"

~otto~ said...

Thank you, Tom. Very much.

~O~

xTx said...

every bit of this is beautiful. hate you so very much.

~otto~ said...

xTx,

I love your hate. More please.

~O~

brittany wallace said...

fuck
this is fantastic

tia prouhet said...

First, Best Title Ever.

This is great. Sliding by women and sad,

and so good.

Write a novel.

~otto~ said...

Brittany,

Thanks. It means a lot to me.

~O~

~otto~ said...

Tia,

The title is the best part.

Novel, hmm ... yes ... type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type type.

Only way I'll ever be free.

You better not be wearing pants.

~O~

rollerfink said...

i'm wearing pants. shorts. they are board shorts really but i'm just wearing them. i'm not going to the beach. i haven;t had a shower yet. i might wear different pants after i shower. i bought a couple of new shirts. trying to step up my game a bit. they look good. i guess this comment is more about me and my clothing choices than you and your story. but if it was about your story i would be looking pretty fly because your story is a slim fit pop button shirt.

~otto~ said...

Rollerfink,

Never wear pants on Saturday. Ever. And thanks.

~O~

tia prouhet said...

I am not wearing pants. I am dangerously close to Naked Wednesday. Dangerously.

FUCKPANTS!

~otto~ said...

There is only one option. Remove all clothing immediately. Naked Wednesday it is, Tia Christina Robertson Prouhet Palooza_Logic.

tia prouhet said...

Nearly Naked Wednesday quickly became Too Cold For This Shit Wednesday. Now it has become Wear Ex's Over-sized Sweaters and Yoga Pants Wednesday. I'm a kid and a mini van away from being a soccer mom.

~otto~ said...

Gah! That is scary as fuck. But you would probably need many kids for a mini-van. Bonus: air-fist-punching-brainwashing.

tia prouhet said...

I'm not that close, not really. My hair cut is awesome and I still wear heels. I'm gonna be okay.

Fist punching is tremendous. I can't wait till I get around to taping it so you can get around to seeing it.

Comment comment comment.

~otto~ said...

This is the 2,000,007th way to communicate online.

Please post to YouTube soon. That will be way No. 2,000,008. And please get with Google Buzz. 2,000,009.

Heels and a haircut do not count as clothes. You are still considered fully naked with a new do and some stilettos.

tia prouhet said...

NO! The heels and hair are what keep me from SocMomage. I'm still sporting hobo chic sweater not naked no too cold.

I just looked at Google Buzz and it made me want to cry. I am too simple for this shit. Or lazy. IT'S WAVE ALL OVER AGAIN!

Isn't it funny that I'm complaining about how cold I am? Brrr, it's so, like 40 degrees, wah.

gamefaced said...

i'm running out of ways to say. to put myself properly. but i do love your words. like more, again and please yes.

Kevin said...

yeah what they all said. minus the pants and shorts. while you're at it might as well lose the underwear. you don't need my "nagra" to tell you how how good this was. fuck it, it was dope.

~otto~ said...

Tia,

Brrrrrrrr, fuck that shit. We had a blizzard and the whole place turned into an ice city like where Superman's dad lives, whateverthefuck that place is called.

~O~

~otto~ said...

Gamefaced,

More, yes, I will, for you

~O~

~otto~ said...

Kevin,

I may not need your nagra, but I want it. Please?

~O~

ana c. said...

yessssssssss
<3
"uracco"

~otto~ said...

ana c,

graciasssssssssss :)
<3

~O~

tia prouhet said...

millionses

hola

Mariana Soffer said...

It is all about sex my dear friend, I always reach that concluion in the end, when we do not get it as good as we want, people ramble about it nonstop. We are all bore.

~otto~ said...

Tia,

yes. bing bing bing.

~O~

~otto~ said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
~otto~ said...

Mariana,

I think you may be right. Sex has a powerful hold on all of us and it is difficult to acknowledge. Our biological needs are a force to be reckoned with, and can sometimes overwhelm our emotional needs. In fact, I suspect some people, myself included, have confused our sexual needs with our emotional needs.

~O~

TC said...

Ola Mariana dear,

And yes I do understand about primate conditioning and hormonal/glandular primacy in the early stages of development, but no, I don't believe life is all about sex.

The old view that sex is the glue of primate relations, inspired by Freud (whose views were obviously warped by doing too much toot), once caused brainwashed zoologists to argue that complex social units were just complicated systems of sexual entrapments of various kinds.

However: observation of lemur troops in Madagascar, an ideal study ground as these creatures were isolated from other primates for 55 million years, have shown that what really provides the bonding mechanism in social units is not sex but nurseries, feeding cooperatives and defense guilds.

Sex is just subject matter. Otto is a terrific writer, he would be just as good with any other subject matter. Those of his readers who dig him because he sounds hot are sweet but endarkened. Perhaps it's because I'm old, but I don't give a flying fuck whether Tia is wearing pants or not. If she could soar through the trees like a lemur, though, then I might begin to get interested.

tia prouhet said...

*disclaimer*

No Pants is is bigger than sex. No Pants is a movement, a mission, a challenge and a delight. No Pants does not care about your nakedness or your supple thighs. No Pants loves pantslessness for the joy of pantlessness.

No Pants wants you to be comfy. No Pants wants you to love joy. No Pants!

~otto~ said...

I love it when this happens. These comments have come alive. Thank you Tom and Mariana. I agree that life is not all about sex -- should not be all about sex -- but I am only now beginning to acknowledge the real role it has played for me. I wish there had been more soaring through trees like a lemur. No pants on, of course. Lemurs hate pants.

I know nothing of nurseries, but I am big on the feeding cooperatives and defense guilds, so maybe there is hope. Oh, and I stay from the Freudian toot.

TC said...

Otto,

Well, given the occasion, I believe I should believe there may be sex after lemurs. Or for that matter, sex while being a lemur. But, in the latter case, sensibly enough, only during two weeks out of every year. Short but hopefully not saccharine. No pants. Happy Valentine's!


"haries"

~otto~ said...

Tom,

BAHAHAHA :)

~O~

Chick said...

My favorite part?

"Thank you," from above.

"You're welcome," from below.


You make me see your words played out in my head.

...thank you.

~otto~ said...

Chick,

:::blushing:::

Thank you.

~O~

ty bluesmith said...

commentor number 37

ty bluesmith said...

you have a lot of comments i want to swallow your jizzum bless

~otto~ said...

37 is a special number.

~otto~ said...

Oh, and I do not jizz any more except on special occasions. I think you are a special occasion.

sarah san said...

My bipolar ex-girlfriend said, "Life is what you fake it," and I hated her for that, for being right, for being smarter than me, so I scraped my fork across the yellow bubble of a yolk, watched it ooze, and said, "Tomorrow is as meaningless as yesterday."


....I don't know how you did it,
but you did. you just kicked me in the chest and told me everything I've been trying to figure out
in that stanza alone.

shit. amazing.

~otto~ said...

Thank you, Sarah. Very much. I always aim for the chest, but usually miss. Glad I nailed it this time, and I'm glad you let me know.

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