Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Suck Me


















you draw blood with each glance
fangs piercing thin membranes.
penetrating throbbing vessels,
unwelcome, unfeeling
but comforting like soft pajamas
a morning kiss after a long night

feast until my blood become your tears.
drain it all...
the electric humming in my head
the static that keeps me restless
and leave me nothing but a fresh start
freshly washed sheets
a room just painted...

we're fire and wild brush...
gasoline and matches...
guns and rusted cans on fences....
destined to consume each other.

Go On Anyway















simple little treasures.
clarity. fitting in.nice.
boring. but still nice. normalcy will always
be illusive to someone brilliant like you, but
that desire and foolish quest keep monotony at bay. write. paint. sculpt. mold. scratch. hammer. melt. inscribe and make known your voice to a world which always remembers to forget. feel. dream. and hope there's a
point to it all. i don't know
what it is but
colors exist.

Monday, June 16, 2008

J the Cosmic



J the Cosmic
sparkles as she falls
And furry little things
melt into walls...

Wolves howl to keep
the blood moon in place
catalyst constellations light
dusty road back to grace.

And all the midnight spiders
sink fangs into dreams
until morning creeps;
smoky beam by smoky beam.

Bones aching, voice is gone
what frequency is reality on?

When i finally wake from this
may your taste bleed from my lips...



i flew in around 4am... got a ride into town from a person i met
at the baggage carousel. it's raining and dreary. i couldn't sleep, so i wrote that.

Just Maybe...

midnite passing. another lost beginning. i was supposed to start over... maybe tomorrow...maybe Monday...

i should buzz off my hair. get clean. i actually got the clippers ready last night for whenever i do decide to do it. maybe tonite... maybe not at all...

tough couple of days coming up. thousands of miles left to go. we'll see where i end up. i traded the map for a kiss. now, i'm just trying to put my life in 5th gear. full speed into what i'm supposed to be. a 6 figure career. sports car and bachelor pad. maybe a vagabond clutching memories asleep at your door...

dizzy. the world is spinning. tomorrow is coming to suck me dry. vampire calendars. rip them from the walls. burn them. it's midnite in november from now on. maybe...

maybe... such a rubber word. seems like you could say anything if you say maybe first. that way you never have to commit to anything. maybe tomorrow will be different...

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Water Light and Weed






There's a lake not many people know about, where a fountain
creates a butterfly mist dancing on a shimmering floor.

It’s so radiant, I have to turn away after a while. It burns my
eyes. It strikes me as peculiar that such a thing of beauty to which
my attention and mind gravitate can cause such pain. Were my heart to follow suit, I would stare until my eyes become like dates that have been baking in the desert sun.

It’s just a fountain in a lake on a summer afternoon. It’s really just water, confined to one mass, imprisoned within land. And the fountain is just municipal water traveling through hardware store pipes and given force by an industrial pump. But when the sun hits it just right, well…that’s magical. Light kissing water…

There’s something poetic about light traveling millions of
miles only to touch water for a fraction of a second. Millions
of miles. Just one touch. One touch lasting the smallest
increment of time. And only to then die in the viewer’s eyes…

Everything beautiful is tragic when you think about it. But
thinking is overrated. So the chron I smoked when I woke up this
morning makes this moment more meaningful. But man, I hate this
Hallmark bullshit. Any other day, thinking about fountains and
light is kind of pointless… except for today.


Saturday, June 14, 2008

RE:RE:FW:RE: One-Night Muse


Cold Brew and Nicotine


Captivating veiled in a cloud of nicotine

Secret longings sailing in smoke

Love is color to eyes that have never seen

In amber libations, her heart she’ll soak


Each sip closer to when the sadness slides

Bottles and cigarettes count hours gone

Each drag she confesses and she confides

She's long tired of the drama: Fine Being Alone


Her eyes betray secrets

that her smile works to hide

No lover. No regrets.

Only pain by her side.


Memories yet born

And things left unsaid

Haunt all the love songs

that play in her head


To love and be loved

First thing on her list

Three words are enough

To one never kissed


Cold universe

Cruel destiny

How ironic her name

Yet to everyone she’s happy

She just smiles through the pain


But in the small hours

When emptiness calls

Loneliness devours

Yet still she won’t fall


She looks up at the night sky and wonders away

Will these falling stars keep their promises she yells…

Will love be faithful and find her one day, someday

She fuckin’ hates that answer: “Only time will tell”


So just keep faking the smiles

Even after the smoke clears

Love may take more than a while

A thousand tears, maybe beers



I wrote this after meeting her on the Islands. 10 minutes. Drunk. I threw it away, but her friend picked it up. She read it and said I should share it with her. I didn't. But angst anyways.

Dear Queen of Saturn, More





A Magical Night with Gypsy, Flowerchild and Fairy














It was a hot, Friday afternoon when I decided to do some painting. I was about to have it out with a naked canvas that had been taunting me for a while. Wearing nothing but the sweet stench of 7&7 and my beloved painting jeans, listening to Janis, Ella, and Chet Baker, I was ready.

Earlier that morning, I went for a run, making my total for the last two days a little over 18 miles. Afterwards, I worked through lunch at my Starbux. It's been like that for a while. I hadn't done anything creative beyond mixing drinks. Just running and working, working and running, and then pickling my liver every night. So, Friday was going to be my night to just paint and write and allow myself to release. But just as the 7&7 was kicking in, my sistah from anutha mutha called.

"Are you decent?" she asked.
"Am I ever?" I replied.
"Better get clothes on because Fairy is coming." She warned. Fairy is our "fabulous" friend.
I put on a shirt. And they walked in the door just a few minutes later.
"Let's go!" Fairy commanded. Apparently, the plan was to go to Ye Olde Ship. I debated whether or not to go. I had my night planned. But who can say "No" to Fairy?

So, I put some gel on and headed out the door. Mistake number 1.

And that's the clearest memory I have of that Friday. Everything else comes in snippets. I do remember meeting Gypsy. Curly haired, dirty-blond, wearing a bohemian frock reminiscent of a Kerouac character. We talked about finding our Bodhisattva. She wanted to introduce me to hers.

She had magic in her purse which we enjoyed in the parking lot. Mistake number 2.

Flowerchild came to hang at my request. It's been a while since I've dipped down to her realm. She's legendary. And it was great to see her after all that time. The Ship was sinking, so we decided to move on. Fairy, Flowerchild and I walked merrily down the alley ways to Fowerchild's carriage where she had a surprise. With a siren smile, she pulled out her magic.

We enjoyed it and cast spells at Fairy who doesn't like magic. Mistake number 3.

The night should have ended there. For what must have been a half hour, we found ourselves wandering through more alley ways and then gardens in downtown. Old friends sprouted from the darkness in our magic-soaked journey. Some faces looked familiar, still others swear we've met before. Hugs and kisses and faded promises to keep in touch... we needed a drink!

When we got to the bar, Gypsy was there. It was a pleasant surprise. And another person was there, she was a twin, a Gemini... and we had much in common.

Gypsy lured me away from Gemini to blow magic into the night air. Mistake number 4.

I've already had way too much by that point. We sat in the veranda and engaged our psychic powers. I told her about my quest to find my soulmate but that all I knew was that somehow blue shoes and San Francisco are the keys. It freaked her out that I mentioned those words. She became silent. It turned out that her close friend, from San Francisco, has an email account under the name blueshoes. I was freaked.

From there, I remember going to another watering hole. By this time it was just Fairy and me. Mistake number 5.

Fairy threatened to touch me inappropriately. But he is my friend, and I knew he was joking. He gets drunk and plays around. As I leaned against a fence, waiting for a cab, he put an arm on my shoulder. I, of course, flinched, laughing. He accused me of being a homophobe. And for a minute, I actually wanted to prove that I wasn't by letting him. That thought lasted all but 1 second. I was gone but not that gone. And I knew he was just kidding. kinda.

So, there is my crazy Friday night with Gypsy, Flowerchild, and Fairy. That canvas still taunts!

Friday, June 13, 2008

Tropical Wanderlust , Mixing Work and Play



















What if these gigantic raindrops turned this building back into the sand and limestone it’s made of? Maybe all it takes is one raindrop hitting just the right spot. An avalanche of gray powder and metal, office furniture, computers, water coolers, and people wearing ties. Paper would collect in pools of rainwater, ink, and black coffee, making a Guinness-worthy paper-mache from which there would be no escape. Office people beware! Your cubicle walls won’t save you.

I’m on the 7th floor, looking at people running for cover. A river is disassembling in midair and regrouping like liquid mercury.

It’s rained most everyday since I’ve been here. It felt weird those days when it didn’t, like someone forgot to leave the water on in the bathtub. I’ve survived on a diet of gin and questionable pork minced and fried in its own fat. Actually, it tastes good. And I haven’t been sick from it thanks to the native chili pepper I learned to eat with each bite. The local gin is more assertive than what I usually drink back home, hinting of detergent and Listerine. I’ve had to put extra holes in my belt. But overall, I feel healthy. The humidity is thick like oatmeal soup.

I slept peacefully through the worst storm in over a decade to hit the area where I was staying. The sound of violent winds ripping roofs off of houses and smashing things against cinder block walls was my lullaby. More than a hundred people died. Tragic. But there's a resilience among the people here; an attitude that life goes on, and you just have to make the best of each moment.

Electricity was out for 3 days, but I still managed to find a few cool places that served cold drinks. Lit by candles, everything and everyone seemed calmer.

It’s the wild, wild west here, and there are no traffic laws. Buses and motorcycles jocky for positions with cars, making 3 lanes into 6. Red light?! What red light?! I was riding in a car when we were rear-ended by a drunk guy who was actually very amusing to speak with. He even drove me to the police station where charges would be filed against him. He kept insisting on taking me out for a night of drinking. I just left it up in the air.

Hot balmy nights and drinks. The sound of ice clinking on glass meld smoothly with the music playing on a boom box that a decade ago played tapes of Michael Jackson. Self discovery turns to self abuse. And all I can look forward to is when I slide. Broken beer bottles rain over me. A roach the size of an apple is splattered against the wall. For an instant, it feels like a rain of fireworks, yellow light trapped in shards of glass in flight. I hear nothing and things move in slow motion. And I begin to wonder if the plants are listening….

Suitcase to suitcase. Room to room. And one day, I’ll call you for lunch. We can eat spiders and talk in tongue clicks like bushmen in the Kalahari. Clickity click click click. Seriously?! Bring napkins and answers. And of course we’ll have cake.

Dear Queen of Saturn






















You’re calm and collected. So unaffected. Balancing elephants on thimbles over pools of lava. Never breaking a sweat. Each measured breath becomes another carefree step on your high wire balancing act. Your silent screams drown the applause and woos. Smile. Wave. Little do they know; the Cyclops’s pills could never heal you.

You’ve created your own bemusement park, attractions that repel. A petting zoo of alligators, snakes, the bones of cute, furry things. A giant tent to keep darkness in. A center ring of quicksand ready to devour. Dilapidated seats. Muddy aisles. A lion cage missing bars. Tickets fill a treasure chest of secrets. Spotlight's on you. And nobody’s getting the fuck out. Holding their breath for the grande finale.


Dear Queen of Saturn
(Bamboo, duct tape, rice paper)


Mutant Bunny Project



Mutant Bunny Project is...


An experiment without method. A journey with no destination.


Rhyme for the profane. Reason for the insane.

It burns. It bleeds.

No context. No pretext.

Unapologetic. Perverse.

Take it or Love it. Leave it or hate it.

It just is...

WARNING: There's nothing for you here. It's not too late to turn AWAY! THIS is more appropriate for you to consume.