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[canislopez-blog]

Too much onion

I dreamt about you last night.

Not quite the truth, I dreamt about you some time during the day.  

I had a bit of hamburger left after making some boxed salsbury burger mix Saturday, I sliced up a couple potatoes and cut up some onion to make some burritos.  Thing is, I sliced a bit too much onion, or so I thought at the time.  "Why is this too much onion?  I mean, can you really have too much onion?  Granted, it's about as much onion as it is hamburger.  Eh, should be okay.  Why would I think this was too much onion?"  You know me, I have memory problems.

Made enough for three burritos.  I'd like to pretend I had one for lunch, one for dinner and one in-between, that was my intention, however I was listening to a podcast of thsoe two guys from YouTube you liked, back before your sister got into them, and I ended up eating them up, one after the other.  Third burrito though had way too much onion.  I mean I spit it out because the onion was too strong.  Then I put it back in my mouth and ate it.  I'm not going to let a little onion get the better of me.  I had thought.

A few hours later; I had skipped dinner as I wasn't hungry, and I ate dinner during lunch, my stomach began to ache.  And the pain intensified until I thought the only relief would be to vomit, however I didn't want to, so I just got some ice cream.  Didn't really want to bother doing anything, dishes-wise, extra work, so I put a couple scoups of ice cream in a glass, covered it with milk, grabbed a fork and blended it to a bit of a shake while I watched some TV.  Helped calm my stomach a bit, or for a bit I should say.  Ten minutes later, the pain was back.  "Well, now that I've coated my throat I guess I could vomit.  Nah, that would mean I'd have to stop watching my show." Instead I went to sleep.

I woke up, probably around three in agony.  Onion, not onion, too much onion had wrecked my system and my neck, shoulder and head on my right were in so much pain, as was my stomach.  I decided to baby myself, spent my time in bed 'til about two, when I finally decided I should get up and have some breakfast.  Somewhere between the agony of waking up at ten and two, my mind came to you.

You had come to visit, I was out at the time.  Was it work?  School?  One of those institutions that takes away your day, but when I came home you were on the couch, along with someone else, someone I didn't take the time to notice the specifics of, just that they was another body.  My mother got up off her chair, opposite the couch where the two of you sat and told me she was heading out, to grab us some fast food for dinner, as we weren't expecting company and our cupboards wouldn't accomodate another two.  She went to go get some chicken sandwich/bacon cheeseburgers I had heard about monday during a podcast and that I've been obsessed with since.  With her gone, I slid off the couch and turned on my knees to my right, crawling in between yours and I leaned forward; wrapping my arms tightly around your waist, laying my head on your stomach, so happy to see you.  To feel you.

You felt so ...long in my dream, tall would be a better way to put it, but with my busted couch forcing anyone who sits on it to arch their back if they lean backward on it, I couldn't seem to get too close to you, just, as I said, your stomach.  However, after some time and indifference, you decided to show me some affection as well, leaning forward and hugging my head.  That forward lean made a difference, I had to shift and adjust myself as I went from laying my head on your stomach to laying my head on your breast as you held me.  Felt like you went from five-eleven to the five-three I remember.  I'd like to say that you kissed my head as you held it, but you didn't.  I'd like to say that you told me you loved me, but you didn't.  I'd love to say that I knew who that 3rd party to your right was, but I really don't care.  I mean, if you were to tell me that was your new boyfriend, girlfriend, that wouldn't have helped me any.  Or my cousin, friend, a friend of my mother; didn't really matter.  All that mattered was the woman my arms were wrapped around.  But then i woke up, in agony with an urge to piss, which I did and promptly tried to put myself back to sleep again.  Partially to see my ex girlfriend, partially to see my dead mother more alive than I'd seen her in a quarter of a century, but mostly so I wouldn't have to suffer being awake.  

It was good to see you again.  Even better to hold you.  More still to be held by you.  I'd like to pretend I didn't wish I could dream of you every night, but I don't like to lie, just tell tales.  

[canislopez-blog]

There's a band your sister got me into called Brand New.  Fell for them real fucking hard.  They have a song called The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot and it starts off "if it makes you less sad I will die by your hand.  I hope you find out what you want, I already know what I am.  And if it makes you less sad we'll start talking again, you can tell me how vile I already know that I am." so, good time happy songs.  Of course.  I'm a fan.

So I woke up from a dream of you and I.  Like a 70s teen buddy comedy, you just got the family trash car, not the mean green machine hidden in the tall grass like a ratatata, but something a bit shorter, narrower, yellower.  You being the driver you are didn't want to die alone and asked if I wanted to go on a ride with you.  Me being the supportive guy that I am was happy to die by your side, so I met up with you by your place, you drove a few blocks and picked me up and we intended to go to McDonalds.  

So we're up on Federal, but you, instead of just going straight four blocks made a weird turn, so weird, in fact, that we were in the back streets, almost like a park, almost like a fucking trash lot, a bit off from a trailer park.  You came to a stop in front of the side panel of a fuck-van.  I mean, it was one of those 70s vans that had windows for the driver, passenger, and windshield and aside that, you were fucked if you wanted air.  Nice.  Again, this wasn't particularly your intention, the car was kind of fucked, so you were getting us off the road to turn it off before it exploded, however we were witness to another type of explosion.

The side door of the van was pulled back, exposing the interior of two bears fucking.  "well, I mean he took us off road to some weird fucking lot, I can't say I'm that surprised to see two ursines mating" but they looked a liiiittle off.  The fur on the hair was cell-shaded like Handsome Jack to the point that I stared and stared and stared.  I mean, it was a furry bear on a furry bear, there's not much indecent in the act of staring.  It wasn't much different from watching a carpet rub against a carpet.  Though the more I tried to discern what I was looking at, found 'furry' didn't just mean the quality of their coats.  Guess it was a dude in a fursuit with his human penis outside of it in a human woman's vagina, through an expertly placed hole in her fursuit.  

Lying atop them, somewhat, was a young woman in tight pale yellow spandex with a Luna Lovegood quality Lion head atop hers, no more than 17, getting fucked by a dude in his early 20s similarly dressed as another unconvincing spandex lion.  Meaning they had nothing on the bears who made me think were actually bears under her.  There were hard nipples beneath her spandex skin, but that was the only thing truly ‘erotic’ about the sight before us, before the veil of grey smoke rising from the hood, was just the lusty gyrations.  No nudity, mostly confusion.  Interesting.  

Which is kind of my level of intimacy.  "I'm curious what's going on under those clothes.  Not really interested in putting it in you, but I'd just like to see what you're working with.  Ah.  Thanks, now I have another body in my biological library to compare with the next person I see's flesh in the flesh.  Beat off later?  I dunno, probably not, no offense, you've got a great body but like I said, just curious what you've got.  See you monday, sis."

So I was a bit curious with the lioness.  I mean the bears were just beyond comprehension, desire, they were figuratively two creatures devoid of humanity, coulda been two dudes, two women, anything, but she was definitely desirable.  So you and I strip the car a bit and essentially make a go-cart of it, you've got a strong desire to avoid getting behind the wheel again, so I get on it and, having drove less than you, to whit, not at all, I drive down to McDonalds to get us something to eat while you stayed behind to scout out someplace to do so in our little lot.  I show back up and you've found us a hovel; a 3 bedroom 2 bath hovel, but a home out of  Fallout no matter the size of it.  So we see the teen girl, who's actually happy, a happy person?  They're not just in fantasy?  Well this was all but a dream.  She sits with us, eats some fries and we talk for a while.

Then we talk a bit longer.  It was a lot of good stuff.  Me with my pretentious false street philosopher hat on, you a bit wife of 60 years, too used to her old-ass husband's erratic behaviour style.  So she asked if we were a thing, of course we weren't.  "I mean I’d fuck around with guys, but he's my brother" got us all talking a bit more.  Girl started crying, like, just so happy, so angry, so sad, all the emotions were rolling off her in waves, all this time I was bloviating, trying to 'have a turn' with her, as she seemed to be a fan of getting stuffed, but there I was, taking a shot and jumping in front of it, all "it's okay to love sex, it's great to love sex, but just because you love something doesn't mean you shouldn't be a bit discriminate, to make sure you spend your time with someone you want to spend your time with, not just with any guy who asks if you want to fuck", she told us her lion boy was something she'd regret if she was old enough to regret her actions, and she was a bit flirty with both of us.  I held her while she cried and she said she was tired and wanted to go to bed, one of the makeshift beds and couches in this non-radiated but equally grimy house.

So she left us, you were kind of down, not enjoying watching anyone cry when there's some bitterness in it, and I was a bit down, realizing I wasn't gonna fuck this gal who literally said she'd fuck anyone.  Of course I'd tell her to be discriminate when it was my turn to get my dick wet.  So I went to bed, wanting to pick the one with her to spoon her, but I'm a good guy and chose against it.  Just a pile of clothes on the ground while you staked a couch.  I heard her squeak out of bed and I think she joined the nice quiet guy on the couch for a while, but it wasn't something I was eager to open my eyes to find out, so I kept them shut and tried to get back to sleep.  Fortunately that wasn't as big a problem as I worried it would be because the next thing I know 38 year old asshole woke up in his shitty room on his shitty bed and figured he'd be better off getting up than trying to slide back into that dream.  

Well, first I woke in the dream to see you at the table reading a paper with a cup of trash coffee, girl was gone, you saw her off but the two of you didn't want to wake me to say goodbye, so you gave it to me for her.  She said she was going to take my advice and avoid bad situations as often as she could, gave me thanks and such.  Not that thanks was what I wanted, but, you can't bitch when you try to make someone's life better and then they find that better doesn't include you.  So I got up and joined you, Joe showed up with a tow truck shortly after to take us and your car bits home to put back together and make more dependable than a one mile machine.  

So I woke at 8, which always makes my stomach ache all day long, stress conditioned my body to hate existing when I wake before 9.  So that deep gut ache is mixed with a tingling of regret of another chance I ruined for myself when I was young enough that I shouldn't have cared about anything but a gluttonous hedonism.  I mean, given youth, given the free reign of dream, I'm still too repressed.  I wish I wasn't expecting mail, this is the kind of day that's tempting to sleep through 'til 4:30 when I jump into the shower and hopefully dry off before you two show up, regretting that I did nothing to make the house look like it's a place someone lives in instead of exists with little cares in.  

[canislopez-blog]

I was just on the bus with a mermaid.

Her hair was a soft shade of lavender, rooted with pale silver, on her ears were a pair of headphones, my style; circular and large, large enough to consume your ears, to feed you the sounds you need to live while filtering out those that hurt.

I dare not interrupt to pay her a compliment on her amamzing aesthetic.  

It needn't be said, she knew her style, the work she put into it to get it where she wanted it.   My confirming, "you did good" was as necessary as kelp on a handrail.

Headphones like that are, if you put others' pleasures above your own, a silent declaration of introversion, avoiding the assault of unnecessary prattle from strangers trying to get you alone, or perhaps one just wants the best sound they can get.  

They were a pale pink.  Soft, not vibrant.  A muted progression of her hair, drained of blue.

Her coat, the only other feature I could make out from two seets behind was a slightly greenish blue, the turqoise of a sun-lit shallow lagoon.  The bright blue, the muted pink and the vibrant lavender evoked the setting sun over a shallow sea.  

She obviously took legs and walked out the surf to experience the world of humans.  

I took a pen from my messenger bag, a throw-back pack that seems out of fashion, while searching my pockets and my bag's slots for a scrap of paper, something just to write her a note.  A receipt with a blank back is the closest I found.  

I put my pen to paper and wrote; "I didn't want to disturb your music just to say you've got an amazing aesthetic.  The blue of your coat, pink of your headphones and purple of your hair blend together expertly.  Very eye-catching.  It makes me think of an ocean's sunset."

I wrote with a hurry, my stop was approaching.  I finished scribing down my acknowledgement of appreciation of her appearance just as my bus rolled to a stop at my destination and I slipt my note into my pocket.  I gathered my belongings and passed her on my way to the exit, and as I passed, I noticed her legs; dark green scaled tights.

She was the sunset mermaid I had assumed she was, sitting behind her, an elderly woman between us.  

That look required work.  "She knew how well it came out and didn't need my acknowledgement", I thought as I put her and the 52 behind me, walking home.