rants n raves

by tom miller

 

 

11/22/98 - 5:21 A.M.

 

miller - 1 : mr. prolific - 0

 

and i slept.

 

 

*****

 

woke up at 6:30 P.M. Took my usual half hour shower in scalding hot water with my scrubber and my soap and my 11 bath and body products. i was going to meet my straight friend from entry #2 over at the market street pub. got on my bike and headed over.

 

arrived and enjoyed chicken strips and a fancy beer. a cloudy beer with lots of yeast. i call it sea monkey beer, because it's as if you can see the yeast actually swimming in it. i forget what the beer is actually called. effivesen or yeadelhassen, or something swedish sounding. maybe ageryeiger, or sausenfluegen. whatever.

 

my friend had just returned from another job site in another city. he had eaten filet mignon in one of the nicer restaurants and according to him, it was acceptable. not the best.

 

of course, his favorite meal was the $200 dollar spread of sushi in manhattan, including a big cup of sake with a blowfish fin in it.

 

his quote on the taste of this delicacy is as follows: "it tasted like sake with fish flavor."

 

 

*****

 

 

then, i went over charlie's house, and played music. i play the left handed fretless steinburger bass (a one of a kind bass, by the way), and the music sounds like a robot blowing up. there was wine and horny cats, and the smell of shit. i had a great time.

 

matthew plays the keyboards, and they sound like instruments. kind of interesting that you can use a keyboard to play a harp, a guitar, a drum, a stepped on mouse, a lady singing soprano, or gas escaping from the sphincter.

 

 

*****

 

 

then, i biked back to the university club and began drinking. who should meet me at the door but nice boy.

 

he looked good.

 

he had on a plaid shirt over a white t-shirt, and jeans. i said hello and excused myself to pay cover and grab a drink. i walked inside and there was crab boy. he grabbed my ass and said hello. hi crabs, i said. (okay, i didn't actually say that.)

 

what's going on, i said. i politely patted him on the back and moved away. didn't want them bugs holding a fiesta in my pubes again. i went up the stairs. there at the top of the stairs was mr. prolific.

 

it was like a soup of notable tom miller journal- men, all coagulated in the smog of the bar. and i imagined them in an orgy; me in a cage, separated from the activity, watching them grind and grunt together; laughing at me with their heathen mouths and teeth.

 

must have a drink, i thought.

 

i went upstairs to the bar and ordered the last of the tequiza. the manager had decided to discontinue the beer because it tastes like mexican taco farts with a lime twist.

 

after i had finished that, i ordered a becks dark. all this on top of the wine and the budwiser I had had at the band rehearsal.

 

suddenly, as if out of a nightmare, nice boy and mr. prolific came up the stairs together.

 

oh my god! they had met! i knew what that meant, but i kept my cool.

 

nice boy wandered off and mr. prolific came over.

 

"i like him," he said. "i think i can have him."

 

"go ahead," i said, despite the fact that i didn't want to ever see such a thing happen.

 

it was like god was taking revenge on me for all the horrible poems i've written.

 

mr. prolific and my... MY FUTURE LOVER!

 

i imagined them together, and the two of them finding that they were meant for each other. i indulged that little fantasy in my head and accepted it as inevitable.

 

they would get together. no doubt about it.

 

that's how it goes.

 

 

*****

 

 

i asked nice boy if he would like to play pool. he replied, "sure. if you want to." i paid for the game and racked the balls. he searched for a stick and found one he liked. he asked me to break, so i obliged. he was so nice. so fucking texas. fuck you, and i'll never spend one more word on you, you sissy-ass redneck bag o' skanky whore butt.

 

then, i proceeded to obliterate him. pool is something i excel at. with each shot, i imagined them together; mr. prolific and nice boy; mr. prolific plunging that giant cock into nice boy's o-so-innocent ass. nice boy, suddenly not so nice, turning to him and saying, "harder! more! fuck me! yeah!"

 

in went the two. the six. the seven.

 

"soil me! i'm a whore. don't worry about tom miller; he's just watching. he's too old and ugly for me."

 

the one in the corner. the three / four combination and both balls drop.

 

"oh, mr. prolific. take me."

 

eight ball in the side pocket.

 

WHAM!

 

and that was the end of that.

 

 

*****

 

"i'm going to dance," nice boy said. "i told you i wasn't very good." he went down the stairs and there i was with mr. prolific.

 

"listen," i said. "i want to give you a little insight." i was remarkably drunk. "see, you say you want a relationship, but your behavior is that of a slut."

 

"that's true," he said.

 

"i think you're an attractive guy," i said. "you're young, sexy, tall, smart; i can see why it's so easy for you to get guys into bed."

 

"uh huh."

 

"but you see, nice boy is someone i'm genuinely interested in. and you want to, quote unquote, HAVE him, whereas i want to develop a friendship and maybe a relationship with him."

 

"yeah. go on," he said. "what's the insight?"

 

"well," i continued, "let me ask you this: if you knew someone was interested in another person, would you get in the middle just to get laid?"

 

"no," he said.

 

"so you get my drift on this?" i asked.

 

"i guess," he replied.

 

 

*****

 

 

nevertheless, for the next two hours, he followed nice boy around the club, making it plainly evident he was looking for sex.

 

i was ready to call it a night.

 

i was ready to get in my journal and write how i had bested them all; had used them just for good copy, but then something amazing happened.

 

mr. prolific went home...

 

alone.

 

 

*****

 

 

a few minutes later, nice boy came up and asked if i'd like to go to a party.

 

"who else is going with us?" i asked.

 

"just you and me," he replied. those were the best words i've ever heard.

 

 

*****

 

and we went to the party. it was a party for martina, a drag queen. she was having a birthday and the place was packed.

 

nice boy and i wandered around the scene, watching boys feel each other up, watching the drinks and the drugs go down, watching the drag show, but throughout the decadence, his arm was around me and mine around his.

 

this feeling, of having the one you know is right, holding you in their arms, is not something easily described given my ape-like command of the english language, but suffice to say it was a memory that will survive my death, as a flower.

 

*****

 

 

and after he drove me back to the club where my bicycle was, we talked briefly in the car about the night and what may come.

 

 

*****

 

 

"when you move out into your own apartment, let me know," he said.

 

"i will," i replied. and then i said "i'll see you later. i'm dizzy. i should be getting home."

 

"dizzy?" he asked.

 

"not from the alcohol," i told him.

 

i closed the car door and went to my bike.

 

as i turned, i saw him wave to me. i waved back. i unlocked the bike. i looked again, and he was gone.

 

we didn't kiss that night, but as i sit here writing this, for god knows what reason, i can already feel it.

 

 

(tune in next week for the continuing adventures of tom miller and his world of the not so bad after all.)

 


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