Live Schmoth: Warm and War

Welcome to another installment of the live schmoth, written by myself, Edren Sumagaysay, and Allan Aquino. I managed to “obtain” their stories again (tee hee). We had a ten-minute cap on our writing time. Our topics this time were “Warm” and “War.”


by Clint Pereira

“Dip your toe in! The water’s fine!”

Jake was kind of an asshole. He did asshole things. So, I did not put it past Jake to say the water was “fine” when it was actually fucking freezing.

“I’m not going in there!” I shouted, shivering in the cold wind.

“No! No, really! It’s fine!” he smiled, that shit-eating grin I knew so well.

“I’m going back inside.”

I’d only turned halfway ’round before I heard the word, “Pussy!” I turned around and saw Jake, looking like he’d eaten the best shit in the whole damn world.

“What?” I cringed, grinding my teeth. “What did you say?”

“I said,” Jake spat some water from his mouth. “You’re a pussy. You take dicks and don’t do nothing else!”

At that moment, I don’t know what I became, but the intent was to be the opposite of a pussy. I sprinted across the dock and did a cannonball right by jake’s fat head. When I surfaced, I shook the water from my eyes.

“Hey,” I said, “You’re right. The water is warm!” and I dunked his fat head under.


by Edren Sumagaysay

It felt like that last year
In between our palms
Walking down Santa Monica Blvd.
Hugging hello and let’s keep on
Saying Hello
As we fell asleep
Sharing the same pillow
Waking up
Tangled in fucking hugs
A year away
From last year
It’s pretty cold


by Allan Aquino

like the other mouth that holds me

like a warm friendly hand

like the quiver of her tendons when

she sashays and sways

like the valley summer’s tangerine

p.m. hours

i hold you, pretend-friend, like a talisman

to ward off lies and demons

a delusion i claim as my truth


as the tropic sea of an island

i’ll never see


by Clint Pereira

What is it good for? Famous words. Wise words. It’s the kind of question that begs a simple answer. I don’t know what war is good for. I can only speak from my own experiences.

I was never one of those front-line soldiers. But neither was I a medic. I didn’t help people. I shot them. In the nose. That’s what they taught us in Camp Sniper. Police officers aim for the chest for stopping power. Military snipers are nose guys.

For me, war helped me focus. It helped me meditate. I remember seeing a movie once with those monks that would sit down, focus on their breathing, and contemplate life. Then they’d kick ass with their monk fu. I’m not saying that was me, but… yeah, that was me. When I came into the armed forces, I could barely comb my hair. When I came out, I was a Zen Buddhist Shaolin fighting monk. I think I’m better for it.


by Edren Sumagaysay

At first
From youth/to a little after youth
There is no such thing
As riches/Just high fires/and hip bumps
Magic starlight/And love thy mother
Somewhere between/the beginning and end
Somewhere in the middle
Somewhere Now
Some fucking war happened
In between
Dude/That’s fucked up


by Allan Aquino

heavy with our finery, we plunged, thigh-deep into their cold savage tide. two of their battalions beat rhythms on their shields, screaming chants. we sloshed toward them, blades down, only to incite them more. just as one of our scouts began burning their huts, their arrows rained upon us, felling two of my comrades in one volley. captain mayallanes, grazed in his arm, bled into the seawater, yet kept striding forth. by the time we were near the shore, the savages rushed upon us. before my feet reached dry sand i retreated and in one glance back i saw my captain, felled by one of their spears before they struck him down with their scimitars.


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