scottyfairmont

[scottyfairmont]

That’s the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen.

Charles Bukowski, Women

#drinking #bukowski #quotes

[scottyfairmont]

To create anything... is to believe, if only momentarily, you are capable of magic. These essays are about that magic — which is sometimes perilous, sometimes infectious, sometimes fragile, sometimes failed, sometimes infuriating, sometimes triumphant, and sometimes tragic. I went up there. I wrote. I tried to see.

Tom Bissell, Magic Hours

#quotes #tom bissell #magic hours #writing #creating #inspiration

[scottyfairmont]

Goddamn Mitch is jamming with these cats? I knew he was stepping out on Thursday nights, but he said it was just to get his helmet polished. Wait, maybe he meant.... there is a sexy brunette swaying around side stage.... fucking Mitch! That sly dog. Far, far out. That droid could stand to loosen up a bit on the upright though. Wonder what he's got jammed up his ass? Wookie's got a nice swing going on the ivories. Sounds like that kid on the drums is doing a bit of beatboxing too. Cool little Pharrell/Herbie Hancock thing happening there. I dig. Man, these martinis are just sliding down the ol' respirator! Better cool it for a bit, or i'll have to rustle up old man Tarkin for a flight home. Can i get some fucking peanuts around here? Boba H. Fett. I wonder if i can force Mitch to fuck up from here.... see what i've got left in the tank.... damn, he's staying on point! What a trooper.

#darth vader #herbie hancock #jazz #pharrell #star wars #stormtrooper #spilled ink

[scottyfairmont]

“Suicide carried off many. Drink and the devil took care of the rest.”

Robert Louis Stevenson

#quotes #drinking #devil #death #rl stevenson

[scottyfairmont]

Weekend at Osama's. 

#bin laden #osama #obama #barack obama #weekend at osamas #reduce reuse recycle

[scottyfairmont]

"You can tell what kind of night it was by how many wine glasses are in the sink."

#quotes #wine #drinking #how was your evening #dishes

[scottyfairmont]

"But i know we can't all stay here forever, so i want to write my words on the face of today.... and then they'll paint it."

Shannon Hoon

#quotes #shannon hoon #blind melon #change #lyrics

[scottyfairmont]

“If it doesn’t come from your heart, music just doesn’t work.”

Levon Helm

#quotes #music #levon #levon helm #the band

[scottyfairmont]

“Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read.”

Groucho Marx

#quotes #groucho marx #reading #books #dogs

[scottyfairmont]

Drinking With Bowie

We were drinking absinthe Red Bulls, as i expected. Dave (he asked me to call him that) and i had met earlier at one of his shows in a local gymnasium. Why was Bowie playing a gym? Well, it was one of those fancy two-tiered gymnasiums, where you could look down upon the action from the second level and throw things and spit, except everybody was on their best behaviour for Bowie; paper airplanes only. Upon informing us that he's Afraid of Americans, he twirled and headed for the lobby, his longcoat creating a cool umbrella-ish shape in the motion. I ducked out and spied him chatting up some young girls that were obviously amused by his Labyrinth haircut. He was suave and quite affable, even as the girls didn't appear to realize who he was. What a gent. I approached him, introduced myself, and mentioned that i was in attendance at his Prague concert where he had the on-stage heart attack, and commended his valiant effort to carry on that show for as long as possible afterwards. I told him that the fellas and i often do imitations of that moment in horrible brit-ish accents - "I'm sorry, i can't go on. I'm in incredible pain." He seemed quite taken aback at first, then abruptly threw his head back with maniacal laughter and took me across the street for a slice of pepperoni and double cheese.

#david bowie #dreams #drinking #fiction #nyquil #prose #spilled ink #writing

[scottyfairmont]

Mrs. Coupland

Oh what fresh hell is this? It's about as fresh as an evening-old fart trapped under cover, released upon awakening, like breaking the seal on a can of crushed assholes. I'm shivering, lying on a cot beside the stage where i have just performed, while my boss is loading out my drums and saying i don't have to be at work in the morning. I haven't worked for him in a year and a half. I pack up the sweat-soaked cot, climb in the back of the Ford Econoline, and rumble out of the parking lot towards a radiant summer field, where i jump down into a small stream and commando a wooden raft. Paddling towards the towering cliffs now unfolding around me, i marvel at the heights that the indigenous peoples are willing to dive from, even though several limbs floating in the water beside me would suggest it as folly. Further down in the shallows, i part with my new buddy the raft and spy the doe-eyed kid from summer camp '83 that i kinda felt sorry for and who looks a bit like my cousin Fraser. We ascend the river bank and talk sheepishly at two girls in braces, and i get the sneaking suspicion that the one on the left becomes my first high school girlfriend. I trace figure eights in the sand with the antenna of my walkie talkie until we're summoned to participate in the first round of the everfun games. I head off to climb the lookout tower, where i barbecue some burgers up top, and afterwards the grill scraper explodes in my hand like a firecracker. I float down and walk towards the camp lodge, which looks suspiciously like one of the longhouses from the replica Iroquois village in the south end of town. Decked out in my olive-coloured blazer from grade 13 grad, accented with a pair of baby blue New Balance jogging shorts, i proceed to re-organize the list of everfun events, while Mrs. Coupland, my grade 6 teacher with the runner's legs, trucker's mouth, and an undying love for Van Halen's Jump, condones my initiative and then asks me to fuck her. Goddamn NyQuil.

#dreams #fiction #fresh hell #nyquil #prose #spilled ink #writing

[scottyfairmont]

“It was true that I didn’t have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?”

Bukowski

#quotes #Bukowski #working #the man #ambition

[scottyfairmont]

"Like the kling-klang king of the rim-ram room."

Ben Sanderson, Leaving Las Vegas

#quotes #leaving las vegas #nicolas cage #boozy

[scottyfairmont]

Faye Reagan

Sensing i’m getting close to ejaculating she gets up and walks over to the desk drawer and grabs a condom. She tears the wrapper and slides it out, grabs my still hard cock, rolls it on and then mounts me. I really want to suck on her tits at this point but she’s still wearing the pink tank top she slept in, although her bra has long since been removed. I grab her hips and assist her in finding her rhythm, which doesn’t last altogether too long. She says she’s getting sweaty and flips off onto her back and i’m about to call bullshit and say that she’s just being lazy but decide against it, roll over in between her legs, put them up over my shoulders and thrust. With a bit of clitoral stimulation she comes fairly quickly and i follow soon after as a result of the aforementioned blowjay. 

Lying there afterwards, Riley says she needs to get home soon to put out the garbage, which seems like an odd reason to take off but i guess not really. I mention that the order seems wrong, having sex and then taking out the garbage and she says that it would seem more disgusting the other way around and i reconsider and agree with her. She assembles her clothes and ponders putting on the cute shorty shorts she brought over to wear around my place but decides it would look a little slutty rolling out early on a crisp fall morning in such an outfit. She grabs the half bottle of water she has left and tosses it in her bag with the other clothes she isn’t currently wearing and heads for the front door to put on her moccasins. I throw on some boxers to see her out, give her a kiss on the lips and lock the door behind her. As i head back to the bedroom i wonder if she is really going home to put out the garbage of if she’s heading off on some other day date with another dude, then decide i don’t give a fuck either way. 

Back in my room i realize that she’s left her Blackberry on my window ledge because it’s alarm setting is going off and playing a nifty little mariachi jam that i would find rather enjoyable as a wakeup call. I assume i’ll be hearing from Riley sooner than later due to this discovery and figure that can’t be a bad thing. Beside the Blackberry is a half can of warm Busch left over from the previous evening’s post-sex consumption. I grab the beer, sit down at my desk, fire up my laptop and search out a recent Faye Reagan clip where she’s lying on her back and the dude is fucking her while lying on his side. I watch her big, soft, pillowy tits sway hypnotically up and down for about 5 minutes while i jerk off into the palm of my hand. Having just fucked Riley some 20 minutes earlier i don’t ejaculate too much but it still feels fucking good. I wipe my hand off with a kleenex while wishing Riley’s tits were more like Faye’s. As i throw the tissue into the waste basket i notice the used rubbers sitting obviously on top, and one of the wrappers lying on my floor next to an Esquire magazine with Daniel Craig on the cover. What would Bond do? I quickly tidy up the area, burying the used evidence of the two fucks deep into the garbage, as to not jeopardize any new sexual situations that may arise over the days to come.

#creative writing #fiction #prose #sex #sex stories #spilled ink #writing #faye reagan

[scottyfairmont]

"It's possible to love a human being if you don't know them too well."

Bukowski

#quotes #bukowski #love

[scottyfairmont]

Willie Nelson

I'm not there. Rarely am. Persona non grata, as my parents used to say. I’ve been to exactly three family functions in my lifetime; a reunion, my grandfather’s funeral, and my sister’s wedding. Pissing yourself at the reception doesn’t typically elicit many encores. My sister, although clearly mortified, escorted me upstairs to my hotel room and placed me in my reserved seat on the bathroom floor, where i rode out the remainder of her reception horizontally, pulling myself up only to vomit. I was never sure what she saw in me, but she was the only one to ever offer any help in navigating through my putrid existence. 

I was there for my sister during her second miscarriage. She never told anybody about the first one. She'd been trying for years to have a kid, and when she was finally successful in creating a new hint of life, her body fucked her over once again. I didn’t think it was possible to feel anything through the complete numbness that i had created for myself, but that crushed me in a way like no other before or since, until now. At that time i'd already paid for two abortions, begrudgingly coughing up booze and motel money quicker than i coughed up blood, only to avoid the absolute disaster that bringing life into this world with those two whores would have been. What a disgusting irony, to be selfishly taking life while my sister was trying so desperately to give it.

We became fast lovers, carousing the dimly lit recesses of local shitholes like the Wick, after she finished up work each night. We would stumble blindly back to her quaint little apartment above a retro 50’s diner, light some candles, and attempt to fuck the remainder of the darkness through into daylight. I’d still be passed out when she left for school, and would be out drinking by the time she came home to change for work. Her penchant for drinking never seemed to interfere with her busy schedule, which was shockingly admirable to me. We’d meet up afterwards for some drinks and a laugh, the cover of night becoming our entire unified existence.

Julie became pregnant with my child, and when she insisted on having it i didn’t recoil in terror this time. I was always in awe of how i could continually function at a capacity to impregnate anyone, yet there i was yet again.  She knew she’d have to give up the nightlife we’d grown accustomed to, and i knew it as well, but didn’t anticipate the sheer difficulty in actually pulling off the task, even with such rays of light attempting to guide my way. 

Cheating on Julie was the last thing on my mind, but not entirely shocking based on my track record of past fuck-ups. She was understandably floored, and when i sobered up i felt like the complete bastard that i was. She left me, wanted me to have nothing to do with our kid other than financially, and distracted herself with finishing up school before she had the baby. I slumped miserably back to my other mistress, the Wick.

One afternoon, while sucking back dollar drafts like they only cost fifty cents, my cell phone vibrated with a courtesy call from my sister. I think she only called to make sure that i’d still be able to answer. We continued through a conversation - meaning i must have been moderately intelligible - asking if i was doing okay with the Julie thing, and something about me going to see a doctor for a ‘routine checkup’. This was her way of making sure i wasn’t going to die on a barstool, figuring that a doc’s orders might carry slightly more weight than hers. She never tried to get me into any programs, rehabs, or hospitals, knowing that pushing that hard would only cause me to bury her with the rest of them. She told me the appointment time and day, and called me again that morning to make sure i wasn’t sleeping or drinking through it. I obliged her and jumped a cab over to our family doctor, who i hadn’t seen in almost three years.

 He initiated the usual barrage of health questions, including how much would i typically drink in a week. Even with my answer reduced to 25% of my standard intake he looked visibly shaken. I gave him the usual spiel about going through a ‘rough patch’, and that i would definitely cut back, knowing the blood work would betray my story early next week. I tried to make light by asking if he knew the old Willie Nelson lyric about there being more old drunks than there are old doctors, but that only drew our appointment to an abrupt close. I thanked him for his concern and caught a cab out front. The cabbie was talking about the hockey scores from last night and cursing out the Leafs collapse yet again. At that moment, spanning exactly one second, i heard rubber screeching, metal contorting, and a ‘Jesus Christ’, as my brain bounced off the side of my skull, bringing only darkness.

I awoke to my sister’s face hovering worriedly over mine, unable to do anything except roll my eyes around in my head, with no other part of my body following suit. Her tears dripped down onto my face as she hurriedly buzzed for the doctor and prepared to recount to me what had happened. I could hear only her words, form none of my own, and didn’t think i’d feel anything ever again until she started speaking.

“Your cab was blindsided by a car running a red light. The cabbie’s okay but you are not doing well.” She tried to contain herself, but decided to just let it all go as she continued, slowly. “Julie’s water broke, so she panicked and jumped in her car to try and drive herself to the hospital. She’s the one....” She didn’t need to finish. She didn’t have to. Knowing my obvious next question, she leaned in and whispered, “Julie’s gone, but the baby’s going to make it. He’s going to live.” Sobbing uncontrollably now, stricken by a polarizing combination of grief and joy, she slumped back in her chair and waited for the doctor to come and tell me what i already knew. My son was alive, yet both of his parents would soon not be. He would need someone to guide him through this fucked up world, someone to love him as their own, and someone to tell him about his beautiful mother and vacant father. Someone like my sister.

Submitted to The Write Practice.

#creative writing #fiction #prose #spilled ink #writing #willie nelson

[scottyfairmont]

“There's nothing better than good sex. But bad sex? A peanut butter and jelly sandwich is better than bad sex.”

Billy Joel

#billy joel #quotes #sex