After an afternoon nap
the Friday and Saturday night ritual
shoes, shave, iron a shirt, refill the zippo
and soak in Armani
Every weekend night, to the Discotheque
it was my church
or the closest thing I've ever had to one
the high ceilings, the mirrors
the dry ice, the vodka baptisms
the lights
...and you
all of you
sometimes like angelic virgins dressed in white
others with red deviled lips
in black skimpy dresses.
Drunk in lust
high on the lingering aqua net cloud
with pot smelly fingertips from the heaven sent roach
in my car's ashtray
hitching a ride on the Bacardi bat
always buzzing
always on the prowl
Sacrificial lamb between the lasers
or predator in the night lights
our legs and lips and fingers intertwined
sometimes at some cheap motel
on the green at the golf club
my back seat
or the bungalow by the racket club
Sometimes I would stare at your thighs
heaven knows I still do
and think of her's
then her's
and then so many other pairs I've seen before
in a salad of nylons and sheer
it all becomes a blur
and you all become one single perfect pair of legs
as I lay consumed in total apophenia
I miss that sometimes
Christine's, Disco Beach, Barbazul, and Palladium
La Boom, Taizz, News and Kaova
I smile as they become a pareidolia of happiness
of youth, of dreams
My roller coaster of your thong and thighs and nylons
the chestnut waterfall of your hair on your cinnamon shoulders
and the hazel storm of your eyes
have become my straight jacket
my orb
my memoirs.
On my daily interactions I believe to be usually polite, at least I try.
I was brought up by a strict Swiss Grandfather who taught me to open the door for the ladies (regardless of age or bra size), stand up and offer my chair, pay the bill or pick up the tab without any room to argument, etc.
It is beautiful, it is like a dance. A man is a gentleman, the ladies acknowledge and it usually ended up in the sweet summer fornication at garden parties amidst endless ice tea pitchers and prosciutto rolls.
...and then, what happened?
am I freaky? do I need to shave more often?
I mean, I know that I dress like I'm 16yo but at least I don't wear long basketball shorts and bright blue baseball hats. Maybe my jeans are too ....cholo style?
Maybe I'm just old and fat and I have issues accepting that, but hey, at least I quit smoking. Still, I don't get why some (not all) of the ladies don't even acknowledge you, glance, thank, nod, burp, barf or bark when you hold the elevator for them or open the door at the local Starbucks for them. Nothing... not even an eyelash....
It's over
Really
I mean it
No more Mr Nice guy, Bitch!
You want to be just like us?
Fine, let's see you fart.
No, not silently and smirking like Rachael Ray.
I wanna see you fart vociferously, loudly, very Prada au contraire.
No?
The skimpy salad and garlic croutons just don't....?
It's OK, eventually you'll wrinkle and then only con artists will acknowledge you.
Me? I always wear Oakley's, remember? Now I got my ipod headphones 24x7 and unless you have a big ghetto booty I'm not even looking.
....Damn that felt good.
Ok, back to being the regular sweet lad I've always been....
ok, I'm almost done, just this last remark, I promise.
Is there truly a generation gap between The View and Sex and the City?
Sarah Jessica Parker looks more and more like Mr Ed
Your scent on my handkerchief
like your hand on mine
my pillow still has the shape of your head
and I don't want to get up
The steam escapes from under the bathroom door
the satin robe covering the rest of you
your wet hair
your big blue eyes
and those perfect high cheecks
are where I begin
and where I end
Your voice
pronouncing my name with a foreign accent
like your lips
in tangy red wine
remind me of gipsies and fairies
could not have told our story
how many ears it would take to paint your body
how many sighs it steals from me
and how my hands are constantly discovering
and rediscovering you
as my lips find the perfect path
between your breasts and your thighs
covered under my red cape
I'm your bullfighter
your map
and yet so far away
Don't expect a kiss
or a phone call
like a grave expects a body
and don't expect me to touch you
or caress you
like a watch needs to be wind
I'm permanently out of time
and you're temporarily out of touch
I was once expected to be home on time
to call
to take a test and pass
to not complain
to listen to others
to do
to undo
to fly to Florida
to move to a new Country
to get a job
to buy a ring
to be nice
to be polite
to pay my bills
to be ransacked by taxes
to shut up
turn the volume down
to fuck you
and to pick up the tab
...but I've grown up
I got my headphones
to not listen to you
I'm at an undisclosed location
to not see you
I am me
the magician
the sorcerer
the poet
the Faustus
the romeo
he who uses gravity and Gräfenberg
in the teeter-totter of love
I'm your master
as long as I wish to be
you must learn to give it all
and expect nothing
otherwise you will run out of love
before you run out of time
and the clock is ticking
Thank you for coming back
I'm flattered, honestly
cause my writing sucks
that's why I write constantly
in opium hopes that someday
by chance
I will scribble something worthy
but this time I'd rather share someone else's words
join me, sit down
shut up and listen.
The guitar? yes, that's Gilmour
When you know the name of the game
You can never play enough ~ Bryan Ferry
Stop.
Breathe.
Look around you,
breathe
you're alive....
Darkness falls swiftly,
barefoot feet
leave footprints on the sand.
I walk to the sea
to the cresting waves,
under the moonlight
on this quiet, summer night.
I see the plankton glowing
in green and blue and purple neon
splashed along the bay.
I then surrender the last piece of clothing
and let my soul escape through my lungs
as I float on the swing of the ripple.
The water, warm and deep
surrounds me and keeps me afloat.
Soon I can no longer hear the music
from the lobby of the hotel,
alone, I've come to be.
I stare into the night
and the sea becomes an extension of space
outer space...
I grab a bucket of stars
begin to draw new constellations
like plankton, space is more than night.
I think of Holst
and take a deep breath
as my mortal remains afloat.
Trying to think nothing
trying not to think of Her
losing myself in both immensities
letting go.
As the current drags me farther away
and as this patch of ocean becomes a womb
I spot a red light, glowing
far, far away.
It wanders aimlessly
as I keep track of it
she seems as lonely as I
with my mind I play calling her
and slowly lose any sense of time,
as I repeat my mantra,
over and over again:
"come, come to me"
"come and take me away"
A few falling stars later
and to my surprise
she gets closer
and closer
and stops right above me
as if looking at me
suspended in mid air.
Mars is at its farthest
and satellites travel in orbital vectors
I know this light is neither
and neither are three more that joined it
playfully.
I stare in awe
in total comfort
they are strangely familiar
like an unknown uncle
I'm nervous, and yet, unafraid.
They come closer
spining in circles
dancing in a slow rhythm
floating above my head
as if communicating with me.
I close my eyes
and feel a little shock run through me
then slowly fade away
into a nap, or self inflicted coma
my mind wanders to outer space
as jellyfish pass below me.
I can hear what these lights are saying
and for a moment, I am taken by them
and time suddenly stops.
Soon enough the waves become an orchestra
then I am suddenly back in the Pacific
in Oceanis, in Atlantis
I open my eyes
and wake up
I have arrived
I have been born
born again
I swim
I dive
I take the deepest breath
and as my feet touch the sand
the red lights vanish into the night.
I'm here
wet, naked
new, erect
I speak three of your languages
and have so much to say and learn
with a certainty deep in my heart
I am from another place
far, far away.
No matter how much I wind my watch
this excuse for a life still goes on
I grasp for air
as I drown in an empty fishbowl
like a plastic bag on my head
or a rope on my neck
Life, like sand escaping from my fists
and darkness slowly crawls up on my bed
death soaks my bath towel
and dried up tears and scars
and bills and I fall on my own traps.
I dig my teeth in my lips
and my nails on my skin
please bring me a box
dig a hole deep enough
for me to never crawl up again.
Here, take my heart
take it to the dog pound
maybe someone will take it
or feed it to the pitbulls
or mop the church floor with it
or put it in a crash test dummy
and send it out to space
make a mask out of it
put it on your face
honestly, I don't care
it doesn't matter anymore.
Your tongue is a wild lizard
bathing my body in a morning dew
stretched on your oak and satin bed
breathing in desperate cold sweat.
My skin trembles like a leaf under the rain
my nerves twitch in the mischief of your fingertips
lonely satellite, my mind is lost in orbits
tumbling and bouncing in circles around your eyes.
I helplessly let go
as your nylons bring blindfold night to my eyes
and restrain my urge to crush you
in my twisted forearms.
When I couldn't speak
she played Dvorak and Vivaldi
When I began to grow up, she was there
every step of the way
When puberty came along
she let Ipanema and Copacabana teach me
and they taught me well
and when I loved for the first time
and my young heart broke
she left me alone, for I locked myself up for days
at a hotel room in Buenos Aires
a few days later she gave me Garcia Marques
When I got into fights, even those I shouldn't have
she told me to hit harder
"cause you have lot's of Mother"
When I needed support and care
she would be an ocean of love
she still is
and then she showed me Octavio Paz
Picasso, Jesus and Van Gogh
Guayasamin, Aleijadinho and Renoir
she taught me to treat everybody the same
where I'm from and who I am
and how freedom
and the freedom to pursue love
is a right worth dying for
she taught so well
I find myself doing things like her
and while all this learning
and nurturing
and growing up happened
she always took the time to stop, and stop me
to look at my surroundings
listening to silence
admiring the majesty of forests
mountains, clouds, people, flowers
how the beauty of the Universe implodes
into just one single petal
into just one single moment
She's the saint that raised a devil
that from her love grew wings
not just my tutor and my guide
simply put she's everything.
"Because I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of "Mother"
- Edgar Allan Poe
Like a sailboat sinking in St. Augustine
I feel lost and the streets look all the same
my arms, like oars
tired from rowing
for there's no wind on my sails
Is that a windmill or a monster?
should I face it in battle?
should I destroy it or die trying?
for pride was the first thing to walk away
defeated, for I'm my own saboteur
Nothing left to face
other than the everyday mirror
there's a face in it's reflection
dauntingly familiar, as is its voice
repeating that I am still alive
to look in my heart
....and I did, just now
It was a jar full of fireflies
drunk butterflies
saying your name between hiccups
I heard them, when I opened it
and saw them fly away
maybe I shouldn't have....
In this life you can decide to change history by using guns, ruin someones life with a knife, infuse freedom using a beret, make someone fall in love by writing a poem, do nothing, or make people's souls look in the mirror through music, which is what Hendrix does. He changed us with a set of hair curlers and an electric guitar. His adversity, tenacity and virtuosity live forever in my heart.
Hendrix didn't turn water into wine, but he showed me 6 was 9. Since we are in the same neighborhood, I went to visit Jimi on Sunday.
"Cause Ive got my own world to live through and uh, huh I ain't gonna copy you." - Jimi Hendrix
Other than writing your most private thoughts, your love life, political affiliations, porn, nationalistic tendencies, thoughts you've copied from others, you tube videos, sport results or obsession for an actress... is there a true practical use of a blog? (not that all that shit is useless...but...)
So here's an attempt: I quit smoking and I'm done.
But it's not easy... can some members of this blog's quorum (come on, I know only two people read this blog and one of them is me) be a support group?
Add a comment with your words of support.
