Through the Glass: From the Archives of Jay Porks…..

 

Short skirt, boots, tons of make up and a random streak in her hair; she knows how to kill me softly. It’s the look that makes me feel that feeling, the way she stands there smoking. With every drag a little bit of hope is taken from me, stolen from me. The hope of one day being a foot closer to her, the hope that one day she might talk to me. Wonder what her voice sounds like, is it soft? Is it a calming sound or a wailing pitch? I wish I could find out, hell I see her everyday. Her smell from a distance if she were to pass near my direction. As I stare at her alluringness I get angry, but still want her so bad. Don’t keep walking away when you see me, hang up the phone. Always goes inside while I’m making my best effort at trying to get to know her a little better, get to know her at all. I wish she was here, though she may have never left or at least in my mind may have never showed her face at all. I miss the time we spent, she spent; ignoring me. Pretending I wasn’t even fit enough to be a cog in her machine of conversation, her hopeless opinions and sickening morals. The way her and her friends laugh at inside jokes. I try to piece the puzzle together in my head. Her noticeable insecurities that make her feel like less of a person. I could help her with that; I’m less of a person. Her ignorance may be on an outside looking in perspective; somewhat of a turn off I really don’t know her well. I don’t judge a book by its cover. Well, my libido does due to the obvious fact that these thoughts I conjure in my mind; the words I type the stiffie worsens.

 

 

 Through the Glass II

 

You may think you know, but you have no idea. Some conversations kill and some are misunderstood, this one is neither. This one is about you, minus the ringing in your ears: minus comprehension. Minus the math and what do you have? Boredom. Take away the boob tube, and your left tittie-less. Life without tits is not a life worth living in my mind, the mind that sits and wastes away. You know, a great man once wrote “I smoke pot every chance I get” and although endured years of scrutiny and criticism was eventually glorified for making note of that fact. I’m no Carl Solomon, but I’m in a bad place. I sit less then ten feet from the stench of overpriced beer, over-cologned wanna-be mobsters and over-assuming (sometimes under-attractive) females. I’m about 20 feet from the place that has replaced the cool, sandy dunes of the beach in this sick materialistic society we live in today. Probably about 30 feet from one false move to inhale deadly chemicals-sanding down the remaining brain cells. I can search far and wide around the clock and even with a pair of glasses on I couldn’t find a lawyer who could get me off. Someone needs to get me off, it’s been a while. I guess O.J. and I do have something in common: The last person who got us off was a long, long time ago and is dead to us now. Don’t read too far in between the lines, this one is not as complicated as you think. As always, it remains hotter on the inside.

 

These were written in 2008 and had been lost in the archives. Glad I found them. For concert reviews go to JayPorks.Com and get on the band wagon.

I think while I was taking off my shoe laces and my belt before entering the holding cell was when it occurred to me just how stupid this incident was. New York City is a not necessary a dangerous place but it's busy and a lot of stuff can happen. I watch the news every day and hear of innocent women missing, reported rapists on the lose, people being beat up, mugged; the raped, battered, beaten and dead bodies of defenseless girls lye in the back alleyways of lowest east side Manhattan or the not so friendly junctures of Alphabet City-Meanwhile about six or seven police officers are busy booking and processing a few harmless pot smokers. There are actual criminals out there, and these guys are busy filling up there quota for the month. Theoretically speaking, I'd love to hear the family of the victim of a car jacking gone murder after they find out that the under cover cops patrolling the area were around the block making sure that there's nobody taking a toke of a joint before heading into a rock concert. I'm sure they'd be thrilled. Let me ask a question, and before I do let me say that I'm full public transportation all the time. Whens the last time you heard about someone getting into a car accident and killing somebody mainly due to the fact that the driver was smoking pot? Now think about the last drunk driver to kill someone. Happens every single day, people get behind the wheel thinking they're okay to drive and then end up on trial for vehicular manslaughter. If we were drinking beer on that bench as oppose to smoking that joint we would have just receive a summons and a fine-that would have taken the officers five minutes. But this process took at least from 7:30 (those other three dudes in the back of the van said they were in there for an hour before we got in) til almost one in the morning. How many people got held up at gun point-how many purses were snatched from the defenseless elderly in the time these guys were on the clock? The question of the ages. They took my shoe laces-like I was some sort of hard core criminal or something. The justice system sickens me.

Where do I start? Lets start on West 56th street. My friend Frish and I had made it to the show tonight, Cake @ Terminal 5. Sold out show, going to be fucking awesome. Doors at 8:30 and it's ten after 8 only. So we head up the block to smoke a little pot before we head in, we settle on this bench in front of an apartment building with these trees over hanging where we were sitting so it's all gravy. I take a toke and notice that we have some mighty fine mary jane. I take not even two hits of the thing and two dudes walk passed us then turn and walk towards us. "Hey guys", while flashing their badges. "Stand up-You guys going to see Cake tonight?". We replied with a dejected "Yea" and as the cops are going through our pockets with the normal procedure "do you have anything else on you" and of course I lied and said no. So the dude takes out my cigarette pack and pulls out my flipped over cigarette and says "Whats this one for good luck?" Thanks asshole(don't worry douche bag I won the cigarette pack battle-read on). Then he goes through my book bag (took a glance through my journal-my personal journal) and finds the pipe. For the extra ticket I had, the trade was instead of money I wanted this sick pipe that has like a lighter built into it. So he finds the case which contains this insane pipe (at least a $70 value) and the three other joints we had in there. Cop says "Oh man, just when I was starting to like ya man you lied to me". I didn't know what to tell him, so I gave him my same old excuse I always give-I found it on the floor. "No but sir! I found that on the floor at 57th and 8th ! I swear." He wasn't buying it, but it had gotten me out of another occasion so I had to use it. I'm thinking that the worst possible scenario we get like $100 tickets and lose out weed. Then he tells me to put my hands behind my back and says "Well guys. You're gonna miss the show tonight we're gonna get you down to the station and write you guys tickets". What? In my mind I'm utterly baffled by the situation. I'm getting arrested for smoking pot? This is insanity! Did you know there are people actually out there committing crimes and I'm getting locked up for a 5th degree misdemeanor? So the cuff us and put us in the van with the other three kids who got arrested for the same exact thing (only they had those "one hitter" things that kinda look like half a cigarette where we had three joints, another 20 and a pipe) and they've been in the van for an hour. As were in the van they are writing people tickets for drinking beer like "open container law", but the thing is-these people aren't inconvenienced at all by this, where they just hand there ID's over and get written up tickets whole finishing there beers enjoying themselves while I'm sitting in the back seat of a police van with hand cuffs distorting the joints in my wrists(did I mention I was a writer?) and as I'm trying to finagle my way to position that puts less strain on my arms and I accidentally tighten them to the fullest extent. I say to the cops in the van(the arresting officers were fucking assholes, the dudes who just seemed like drivers were cool they put on Guns N' Roses) I'm like "Damn man can someone else break the friggin law already so we can get to the cell already. Never wanted to be in a cell so bad in my life these cuffs are pain man". Let me note that the first actual song I heard while cuffed in the backseat of a police van-the soundtrack to my arrest basically was Pink Floyd- Another Brick in the Wall Part Two. It just came on and I'm reliving the experience. Luckily enough, some idiot from Massachusetts joined the party by getting caught as well so we had six of us heading in for booking and processing. Fun times.

We get to the station and they take our ID's and me and frish are the only ones with book bags so they throw our stuff in there- my pack newports, lighter, notepad-everything. So they get all six of us in this creepy holding cell at around 10pm. Do I have to mention that it smelled like piss or is that a given? Anyway, they have my book bag in the same room as the holding cell so I'm keeping an eye out for that I have my camera, iPod all that, in there. One of the douche arresting DT's says "Okay, we're gonna get you finger printed and run through the system and you're all going to just receive DAT's". DAT's!!! DESK APPEARANCE TICKETS?? "Excuse me officer what do you think the fine is going to be?" His reply, "Oh no, there's not fine-you have to come to court on in like a month and you'll get a 6 month ACD so stay out of trouble." NO FINE!????!?!?!?!?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO FINE? I'M SITTING IN A PISS SCENTED JAIL CELL AND YOU'RE TELLING ME THAT THE "CRIME" I COMMITTED MERITS NO FINE AT ALL? THATS THE REAL FUCKING BULLSHIT. You make me miss a fucking great show, already like a buck forty down the drain, fucked up arms from the cuffs, you took my weed and pipe that you didn't know how to figure out [One of the douches says "Hey, Mr. found it on the floor, how do you work this thing" as they were taking several minutes trying to decipher what it was they came up to me and I said through the cell bar that I didn't know how to use it, considering that I was sticking to my story that found it on 57th avenue. He says "Come on we know you didn't find it on the floor just show me how this thing works" to which I replied "Well, after I found it on 57th and 8th I kinda figured that you.." and then explained how to work it], I'm locked in a cell with an annoying dude from Massachusetts and you're going to tell me that I didn't break the law enough for you to make me pay you any money? What a world we live in I swear. We were smoking a joint, they could have kept in moving.

So we get out ID's back and it's nearing midnight and I'm eying my book bag like a fucking drug addict. Problem is they took all my drugs, so a call will need to be made when I get back to the neighborhood. Let's remind everyone that I just got arrested for smoking a joint and I'm sitting in a cell pondering who I can cop from when I get threw with the cops. So around 12:35 they start to hand us our shoe lashes and belts through the bars and after giving us our Desk Appearance Tickets send us on our way. We got in a cab and made it to the ferry at like 1:15.

The one funny thing about this is that douche bag DT didn't notice that there was a baggie in my cigarette pack with half a stick in it? The dude looked right into my pack with a flashlight. What a dumbass. Then, think about it. The bag is in the room right next to them they could just got through my shit at any time. So as soon as I hit the concrete outside I opened my cigarette pack opened the baggie and ate the half a stick right there, turned to frish and said "Good thing they didn't find that, I needed it bad". So, Cake was canceled due to the fact that I was in a van for almost 2 hours and a holding cell for over 2 hours. What a miserable night-and I feel bad for frish he doesn't get out to many shows and Cake is like one of his favorite bands and we ended up getting locked up. Oh well, them's the breaks I guess, anything goes. You know, because who would think people going to a rock concert would want to smoke pot? Everyone thinks pot is the end of the world as we know it; but I feel fine. Fuck Police

Why is it in fashion nowadays to root for the underdog? Lets take the person most likely not to succeed and root for them; lets get on the band wagon. It’s stupid already. Now we have phony journalists asking the question: “Why is everyone so really to lynch up Jimmy Fallon?”, citing that people hated Conan his first year on the job to. “Why does everyone hate Jimmy Fallon?” BECAUSE HE SUCKS, THAT’S WHY. Name one funny thing the dude has done in his career. I can watch Saturday Night Live every episode for his tenor and not laugh at all. He was a joke on Weekend Update; a non funny one at that. And yes, it is entertaining to watch SNL and see someone like, trying not to laugh and break character. Not in every sketch though, sometimes you just got to get it done. I just don’t understand how they give this dude Conan’s show. I could name like 50 more qualified people then him. Shit, Tina Fey would be better. NBC’s cheap though, hence probably couldn’t afford that yearly salary; they already gave her a show of her own. Chelsea Handler could do it, she just got a new contract from ‘E’ through 2012. Her ratings are through the roof. Kelly Ripa didn’t want the job? She’s dying for a behind the desk job so bad. Can’t get out of Regis’ shadow ever I guess. What about Adam Sandler? Remember when he hosted Letterman when Dave was sick. He was great. Shit, where is Chevy Chase when you need him. I mean, anybody but Jimmy Fallon. The guy is fucking orange, too small for the screen for those of us watching in HD, and after all those years on SNL still hasn't yet mastered the trick of reading from cue cards or a Teleprompter without being so god damn obvious about it. The house band is the Roots? The Roots??? They play instruments? I could have sworn they were just on tour. And they can only play original material, they can’t do it Paul Shaffer style. Max Weinberg is touring with the E street Band and Bruce. I guess he wasn’t interested in watching this disaster from the front row. Sad thing is, people watch. He already gets more play then CBS at 1135 time slot, I mean most of them being former Conan viewers, but can easily turn on Kimmel halfway through. And trust me, when they get to know more about Jimmy Fallon, they WILL switch to something else.

Relationships as we know them in this lifetime are officially over. First thing is, No this is not spurred on by anything besides the fact that I was staring at the wall thinking; so don’t infer anything from this. Now on to business; in the world of the “21st century digital boy” and the internet highway known as the World Wide Web. Although it would seem to appear as if stuff like this would be made easier its actually in fact a lot more difficult then it used to be. In the early 90’s there was this slogan on some commercial that was like “everyone an individual, no two people are the same” or some dumb shit like that and now that I think about it, it makes sense. People are so different in all facets of life, that we all just completely despise each other. They say nobody’s perfect and everyone has flaws but if we’re talking getting married to someone,( you know, TIL DEATH TIL YOU PART!) then for me at least, that person is really going to need to be pretty fucking close to perfect. Yes everyone has flaws; just don’t let me see them. How can anyone even meet people anymore when all we do as a society is socially network? Yea let me go to match.com and fill out a profile; I’ll defiantly find the “one for me”. By “one for me” I actually mean “one for me” to divorce in a year and a half. Or maybe, “one for me” to get beat up, robbed and raped by. How would I know, all I see is a picture and a few sentences. And can someone explain to me what speed dating is what’s up with it? What’s that like you sit for five minutes with someone and see if there the “one” for you? And you like have a bell you hit when you think its not working? Well it’s defiantly better then wasting time thinking of interesting things to put in a profile, but still seems like a little to much pressure for me. Unless the first words out of this chicks mouth are “you wanna go get high?”, I really doubt I’m interested. I’d be ringing the bell every five seconds fuck five minutes. “Oh really, you’re a god fearing woman?.... DING!!!. Have a nice day-”. Or maybe a set of tits I can’t refuse, like when you see Jennifer Tilly on those late night poker shows. Where do they have speed dating anyway? How much is it, can I participate? That would be a hell of a blog. I would love to see how many women skip over my table. They’d see me and be like “you know what, I need to go freshen up..” then proceed to pry open the bathroom window, jump out and like never come back. That would be fun times. But it’s not even like you could random start up conversation with someone because everyone, including myself who would happen to be at a bus stop or walking are listening to an iPod most of the time. I love the bus for that simple fact, my iPod time. And with the death of the “High school sweethearts” scenarios, there’s really nothing else to bank on. I don’t know how any of you met each other, but your either fucking weird, or you hate the persons guts but stay with them because your afraid of not having a relationship. Either way, you’re all fucking miserable, and to that… cheers, because misery(me) just happens to love company!!!!