turning around away from the girl's flesh and physical beauty
into the lame coldness of glass and flat reflections
fierce emotions scratched into a whitely primed wall
dead on sight to feelers who know about the planarity of words
unanswered questions left like air touched by fingers
my mind's wanderlust in darkness lit with light in your eyes
but another opportunity to reciprocate isn't our fate
and niether did i know your wanderlust in darkness
just ghostly pretense courtships our vessels flow by
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Elevator Banter (this is Grogs fault) - Part 3
"Yea! You see that guy?"
"Yea.."
"That's the schmo I'm talkin' about. That motha-fucka looks like he got a sandwich stuck in his ass."
"A sandwich?"
"Yea. He look like someone took the jelly out his donut. Every day, same fuckin' smirk."
"Maybe its the morning hours that do it to 'em JJ.."
"Nahh, motha-fucka's usually here around noon. Grabs a a sandwich at the cart and comes up these very steps.."
The whole time these two are doing this, people are flashing their badges and walking by. Some never bate an eye in their direction, some wait patiently for a nod of approbation. Its a strange sight and things are never quite as fluid as they should be. On occasion, you'll see some statuesque model woman walk straight into a middle-aged lawyer, other times you see the suits prancing and posturing, "No you first! No, I insist, you first!" No matter what, its always a small and exclusive travelling convention. The thing thats so startling is that even with the 10 or 15 guards located on this floor, the most random of people seem to cross paths unhindered, some on the way to their desk with their morning coffee, others on their way with big, brown packages. Meanwhile the guards seem to be laughing and govoreeting amongst themselves. It's always "Yankees this.." or "Fuckin' Brooklyn cops.." or "You think Hilary's got a bigger bush than Bush?"
Sometimes the guys let the girls ahead of them but its really not chivalry. Its actually a call to debauchery because the first thing that happens when they wave the girls ahead ("Thank you!" say the girls) is their eyeballs drop and not to admire the new branded footwear upon their feet or the intricate marble tiling on the floor.
"Yea, so I told them to tell their people to be in touch with my people, and thats that."
"You know thats what they generally want. Hard to get, reluctant to commit but, 'strangely', hanging on. They want our business. They know and we know it."
The whole while just staring down, looking for underwear lines, looking to see more shape in the shape before them. What are they really saying...
"Yea, told you she has a thong on. And its red my man, RED. I'd love to tap that ass all over the board room. Where these women come from?"
"Man you got me beat. I was sure she'd be travelling granny style. We ought to get a new intern, get some kind of a game going in this place. We should ask her, you know she wants it.."
The whole while just thinking about how cool they are for saying this or how this image will come in handy tonight, ohhh, soo, handy.
All of this standing in front of an elevator. If only the fucking thing would open and suck up us faltering white blood cells into the dark, black ventricles of this electric heart. One, two, three, now four different people come through the turnstiles, holding some form of food or drink. One has a look of condescension; why should he have to wait with all of these peons? He is, after all, well-dressed and paid, that must give him some privileges. He strolls back and forth in front of the elevators while the rest of us bourgeoise stand by with various musical notes blasting through our piece of shit headphones. He can hear our music..
"Lean back, lean back" Stupid ghetto fuck, he thinks.
"Like a Rhinestone cowboy.." Ignorant fagat, he thinks.
"I must confess, my loneliness.." Man, I'd like to take her to the back room... (he thinks)
"Hush little baby, don't say a word.." Nazi Bastard, he thinks..
"We don't need no educat--" Drug addict, stupid shit.. (he thinks)
And then a bit from the 80s pops in. He turns to the listener.
"How you doin John? How that meeting with the Fisher guys go?"
"Hey! Not bad.."
He has found his long lost, Aristocratic comrade and DING! The elevator door opens. Out rush a small swarm of birds, all dressed in the height of modern fashion. Behind them stand all of the dogs, panting and salivating. They can see the shapes of thongs and their thoughts for the night will be complete (tonight its Jessica, the blonde slut in a short black skirt with slut boots..). I slip inside and grab a corner. The elevator slowly fills (one bird in front of the other) and the doors come to an enigmatic close, birds and dogs mixed in a wild, new-age romp. We can hear a song faintly being played..
"Its hip to be square!" and the Aristocrats bob their heads.
"Yea.."
"That's the schmo I'm talkin' about. That motha-fucka looks like he got a sandwich stuck in his ass."
"A sandwich?"
"Yea. He look like someone took the jelly out his donut. Every day, same fuckin' smirk."
"Maybe its the morning hours that do it to 'em JJ.."
"Nahh, motha-fucka's usually here around noon. Grabs a a sandwich at the cart and comes up these very steps.."
The whole time these two are doing this, people are flashing their badges and walking by. Some never bate an eye in their direction, some wait patiently for a nod of approbation. Its a strange sight and things are never quite as fluid as they should be. On occasion, you'll see some statuesque model woman walk straight into a middle-aged lawyer, other times you see the suits prancing and posturing, "No you first! No, I insist, you first!" No matter what, its always a small and exclusive travelling convention. The thing thats so startling is that even with the 10 or 15 guards located on this floor, the most random of people seem to cross paths unhindered, some on the way to their desk with their morning coffee, others on their way with big, brown packages. Meanwhile the guards seem to be laughing and govoreeting amongst themselves. It's always "Yankees this.." or "Fuckin' Brooklyn cops.." or "You think Hilary's got a bigger bush than Bush?"
Sometimes the guys let the girls ahead of them but its really not chivalry. Its actually a call to debauchery because the first thing that happens when they wave the girls ahead ("Thank you!" say the girls) is their eyeballs drop and not to admire the new branded footwear upon their feet or the intricate marble tiling on the floor.
"Yea, so I told them to tell their people to be in touch with my people, and thats that."
"You know thats what they generally want. Hard to get, reluctant to commit but, 'strangely', hanging on. They want our business. They know and we know it."
The whole while just staring down, looking for underwear lines, looking to see more shape in the shape before them. What are they really saying...
"Yea, told you she has a thong on. And its red my man, RED. I'd love to tap that ass all over the board room. Where these women come from?"
"Man you got me beat. I was sure she'd be travelling granny style. We ought to get a new intern, get some kind of a game going in this place. We should ask her, you know she wants it.."
The whole while just thinking about how cool they are for saying this or how this image will come in handy tonight, ohhh, soo, handy.
All of this standing in front of an elevator. If only the fucking thing would open and suck up us faltering white blood cells into the dark, black ventricles of this electric heart. One, two, three, now four different people come through the turnstiles, holding some form of food or drink. One has a look of condescension; why should he have to wait with all of these peons? He is, after all, well-dressed and paid, that must give him some privileges. He strolls back and forth in front of the elevators while the rest of us bourgeoise stand by with various musical notes blasting through our piece of shit headphones. He can hear our music..
"Lean back, lean back" Stupid ghetto fuck, he thinks.
"Like a Rhinestone cowboy.." Ignorant fagat, he thinks.
"I must confess, my loneliness.." Man, I'd like to take her to the back room... (he thinks)
"Hush little baby, don't say a word.." Nazi Bastard, he thinks..
"We don't need no educat--" Drug addict, stupid shit.. (he thinks)
And then a bit from the 80s pops in. He turns to the listener.
"How you doin John? How that meeting with the Fisher guys go?"
"Hey! Not bad.."
He has found his long lost, Aristocratic comrade and DING! The elevator door opens. Out rush a small swarm of birds, all dressed in the height of modern fashion. Behind them stand all of the dogs, panting and salivating. They can see the shapes of thongs and their thoughts for the night will be complete (tonight its Jessica, the blonde slut in a short black skirt with slut boots..). I slip inside and grab a corner. The elevator slowly fills (one bird in front of the other) and the doors come to an enigmatic close, birds and dogs mixed in a wild, new-age romp. We can hear a song faintly being played..
"Its hip to be square!" and the Aristocrats bob their heads.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Envisioned Screams
Direct! Direct, I say, be that way!
What stars do you try to emulate who
have fallen before ever being splayed across the ..sky?
And these covers, these tents of deception,
mere signs of a masquerade, sweet sixteen
for Romans and Greeks alike.
These are black and white times, folks, and
a caress can go a long way, creating
distress out of infinite regress.
Shutters that capture the exposed;
light that hits those places makes
light of atrocious faces (faces that creep)..
no emulation is necessary, the stars will fall,
they will arrive in their respective bars
and brawl.
What stars do you try to emulate who
have fallen before ever being splayed across the ..sky?
And these covers, these tents of deception,
mere signs of a masquerade, sweet sixteen
for Romans and Greeks alike.
These are black and white times, folks, and
a caress can go a long way, creating
distress out of infinite regress.
Shutters that capture the exposed;
light that hits those places makes
light of atrocious faces (faces that creep)..
no emulation is necessary, the stars will fall,
they will arrive in their respective bars
and brawl.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Panavision dreams
unopened doors and clothes on the floor
take more, give less, undress, it's a mess
cigarette smoke and thin voices under cover
floating musk in the dusk of evaporating darkness
before the alarm breaks her technicolor nightmare
the lonesome cassanova leaves without a caress
so much said and lots more to spare
at least it's well covered on page 6 in the press
who we are dies with each step to emulate stars
acting out each day to sleep with the stress
take more, give less, undress, it's a mess
cigarette smoke and thin voices under cover
floating musk in the dusk of evaporating darkness
before the alarm breaks her technicolor nightmare
the lonesome cassanova leaves without a caress
so much said and lots more to spare
at least it's well covered on page 6 in the press
who we are dies with each step to emulate stars
acting out each day to sleep with the stress
Calling Mr. Grogs.. - Part 2
Suck, suck suck is just what I did, with hand in left pocket, right foot tapping, shoe laces slowly loosening, pants tightening, chest heaving in-out, in-out, in-out. And the characters that jostled by me continued.
Brown balmorals with micro-fiber laces, small patterns (dots or imprints) shaped in Us near the tips, dark brown Armani Producer pants, pleated ever so perfectly swooping up into a 28 inch waist, chocolate colored leather Prada belt with double plated Gold buckle and micro stitching as borders. matching dark brown jacket, with a light beige Armani French-cut shirt (with matching cufflinks of course), earth tone flower tie, pristinely trimmed goatee with a tight, Ivy-league haircut (brown hair of course) and thick solid D&G glasses. Stupid bastard, could have bought a fucking trip to Hawaii or a Camry. But now he's walking the runaway, he's one of god's models, balancing Encyclopedias on his head while walking a diamond studded balance beam.
Then there's the Sunglasses and heals walking about. "Look at me, I've got 30 million dollar sunglasses, my daddy bought them for me. Did you know I lost 2 pounds this week? I ate chocolate and seltzer and washed that down with cigarettes and Ex-lax. My asshole might be dry and moldy from all the things I've had stuck in it and the drugs I keep pumping but at least all the makeup I wear makes me look like a wannabe Paris Hilton. And guess what? I made a video last night! Yes I did! The type you download from the internet and send to all of your friends! Yes thats me! See how good I look in that position? Only one way to achieve that! Lots of chocolate and seltzer for me. Come on boys, masturbate away!" Fucking bitch.
Don't you realize you're as useless as a c*m rag? Guys will look at your image while they touch themselves, they'll remember you until they finish the job. Then you're in the garbage with all the other tissues, napkins and condom wrappers. You are a fuck doll in expensive garb, humped and horned to suffer. Your best bet is to lead some poor, blue-balled, backed-up bastard; take him by his leash (you know what I mean by leash) and walk him about like a dog. But what do dogs do? Eat, sleep, fuck and shit. That's what you'll get from your new dog. But I bet you think you can show him some tricks. Just make sure you have lots of biscuits handy (and your legs easily opened).
I walk up to the corner, watching all the other dogs and birds stroll by, I suck the last drag out of my cigarette and dial Mr. Grogs.
"Grogs? Hey, its me again, just checking in on your progress. Flying over Connecticut? Ok, I see, I see. Picking up Cherry is it? Well that's nice, haven't seen her in quite some time now. She did what you say? Got corrective oral surgery? I see, what for? Buck teeth? No, no, I--a---I---a--never really noticed that she had buck teeth. No, not at all, I thought she was downright charming. Yes, yes. Ok, so you'll be here in an hour now? Ok, I'll wait in the office then. Very good, anything you need from down here? What was that? Scotch tape? Scotch tape and a cucumber? Ok---a---sure I'll make sure I pick that up for you. Yea, talk to you soon, bye!"
I ran for the revolving door and jumped in. As I click-clac-click-clacked across the floor, I could hear birds chirping ("Oh yea, he's so dreamy! You had to see my dress...") and I whistled my way to the elevator, next vision in hand.
Brown balmorals with micro-fiber laces, small patterns (dots or imprints) shaped in Us near the tips, dark brown Armani Producer pants, pleated ever so perfectly swooping up into a 28 inch waist, chocolate colored leather Prada belt with double plated Gold buckle and micro stitching as borders. matching dark brown jacket, with a light beige Armani French-cut shirt (with matching cufflinks of course), earth tone flower tie, pristinely trimmed goatee with a tight, Ivy-league haircut (brown hair of course) and thick solid D&G glasses. Stupid bastard, could have bought a fucking trip to Hawaii or a Camry. But now he's walking the runaway, he's one of god's models, balancing Encyclopedias on his head while walking a diamond studded balance beam.
Then there's the Sunglasses and heals walking about. "Look at me, I've got 30 million dollar sunglasses, my daddy bought them for me. Did you know I lost 2 pounds this week? I ate chocolate and seltzer and washed that down with cigarettes and Ex-lax. My asshole might be dry and moldy from all the things I've had stuck in it and the drugs I keep pumping but at least all the makeup I wear makes me look like a wannabe Paris Hilton. And guess what? I made a video last night! Yes I did! The type you download from the internet and send to all of your friends! Yes thats me! See how good I look in that position? Only one way to achieve that! Lots of chocolate and seltzer for me. Come on boys, masturbate away!" Fucking bitch.
Don't you realize you're as useless as a c*m rag? Guys will look at your image while they touch themselves, they'll remember you until they finish the job. Then you're in the garbage with all the other tissues, napkins and condom wrappers. You are a fuck doll in expensive garb, humped and horned to suffer. Your best bet is to lead some poor, blue-balled, backed-up bastard; take him by his leash (you know what I mean by leash) and walk him about like a dog. But what do dogs do? Eat, sleep, fuck and shit. That's what you'll get from your new dog. But I bet you think you can show him some tricks. Just make sure you have lots of biscuits handy (and your legs easily opened).
I walk up to the corner, watching all the other dogs and birds stroll by, I suck the last drag out of my cigarette and dial Mr. Grogs.
"Grogs? Hey, its me again, just checking in on your progress. Flying over Connecticut? Ok, I see, I see. Picking up Cherry is it? Well that's nice, haven't seen her in quite some time now. She did what you say? Got corrective oral surgery? I see, what for? Buck teeth? No, no, I--a---I---a--never really noticed that she had buck teeth. No, not at all, I thought she was downright charming. Yes, yes. Ok, so you'll be here in an hour now? Ok, I'll wait in the office then. Very good, anything you need from down here? What was that? Scotch tape? Scotch tape and a cucumber? Ok---a---sure I'll make sure I pick that up for you. Yea, talk to you soon, bye!"
I ran for the revolving door and jumped in. As I click-clac-click-clacked across the floor, I could hear birds chirping ("Oh yea, he's so dreamy! You had to see my dress...") and I whistled my way to the elevator, next vision in hand.
Monday, March 3, 2008
truths and sidewalks
in roads whose path is virtue
relative conjectures bind absolute truths
in the slipstream of utterances
mental lapses occur without percetive glances
to the immortal mind of atoms
this place does not leave them confused
while our collective thinking fits and chasms
time marches on Bourbon and Toulouse
in the numb crowd
dumb notions work like potions
working best for politicians and cohorts alike
pinning guile tails on the donkeys with a spike
watch out for droppings of cow manure on the street
walk on the sidewalk, shaded from the steaming heat
relative conjectures bind absolute truths
in the slipstream of utterances
mental lapses occur without percetive glances
to the immortal mind of atoms
this place does not leave them confused
while our collective thinking fits and chasms
time marches on Bourbon and Toulouse
in the numb crowd
dumb notions work like potions
working best for politicians and cohorts alike
pinning guile tails on the donkeys with a spike
watch out for droppings of cow manure on the street
walk on the sidewalk, shaded from the steaming heat
Slight Drafts with Mr. Grogs - Part 1
" Mr. Grogs! How you doing? I am good, I am good. And how is Deleney this morning, hmmm? Warm and giddy or a bit shitty? That's good, that's good. Yea, I've been waiting for you (kind of) just lazing about. You know how we Americans look at Mondays, recovery time! Yes, yes, it was a good weekend. Went to a couple of boat shows, a Hootie show, you know, the usual. No I didn't get to catch him when was in last month. Really? When did that happen? Oh wow, so I should probably call him the next time I need a helicopter ride ehh? Hahahahaha. Well hey listen, give me a call when you're back around, we'll do lunch. Yes! Ok, I will say hello to Cecilia. Ok, take care Mr. Grogs! Ok, bye bye!"
Mr. Grogs is an old friend who pops in and out. In a certain way, he's a bastard, a poor soul with constant swamp ass. He just doesn't know when to quit; he cuts everyone on line, he passes gas in temples, he wipes his ass with his sleeves, he takes his shoes off at work, he chews gum that he finds blackened and crusted to the streets, he refills his Poland Spring bottle with yellow snow, he picks up dog shit and throws it at babies, he's a god-damned liability.
But somehow, he's always there. When you least need him, he shows up, pink overalls, striped socks, with a gigantic red belly, clear high heels and a long black Gucci coat. Today, he calls me to cancel. Motherfucker. Why do I waste my time on this shit? I sat here and waited for this fat fuck and now he tells me he's off, flying around the Caribbean, sitting in a chopper, clipping his toenails and sipping Mylanta from a straw. Shiftless swine.
The phone rings and I pick up. "Hello? Hey Grogsy, whats going on? Forget something? What's that? Can you pick up Cecilia? Well, to be quite honest, thats my main squeeze, why would you ask me such a question? No, no, I'm not getting mad, its just a...well...a...strange request. Well to be quite honest I'd have no problem with that except that Cecilia is a...well....a she's visiting her parents in Florida. Yes, sorry about that. What? You can swing by Florida? Yea, I don't know exactly where. Yes, yes. I tell you what, why don't you swing back here and we'll go out there together. Yes, and then maybe we'll contact Cecilia along the way. Ok? Sounds good, see you in a bit. Bye."
Motherfucker! This motherfucker! He can come back for some tail, but not moi. I grabbed my briefcase and ran for the elevator. Elevator button, "down"; "ding" as the elevator door slides open; "Excuse me" as I squeeze in; "Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding (etc, etc)" and we finally reach the ground floor (10 people heavier); "Excuse me" as I struggle out the door; Round the corner; "click" through the turnstile; "click-clack-clic-clack-click-clack" until I reach Security; "Oh, here it is!" as I slide my card out; "No, after you!" as the woman in front of me goes through the revolving door; "Whoosh" and I'm outside; "Clink, fuhh" as I light my cigarette and wait for Mr. Grogs standing on the corner, rolling my eyes.
Mr. Grogs is an old friend who pops in and out. In a certain way, he's a bastard, a poor soul with constant swamp ass. He just doesn't know when to quit; he cuts everyone on line, he passes gas in temples, he wipes his ass with his sleeves, he takes his shoes off at work, he chews gum that he finds blackened and crusted to the streets, he refills his Poland Spring bottle with yellow snow, he picks up dog shit and throws it at babies, he's a god-damned liability.
But somehow, he's always there. When you least need him, he shows up, pink overalls, striped socks, with a gigantic red belly, clear high heels and a long black Gucci coat. Today, he calls me to cancel. Motherfucker. Why do I waste my time on this shit? I sat here and waited for this fat fuck and now he tells me he's off, flying around the Caribbean, sitting in a chopper, clipping his toenails and sipping Mylanta from a straw. Shiftless swine.
The phone rings and I pick up. "Hello? Hey Grogsy, whats going on? Forget something? What's that? Can you pick up Cecilia? Well, to be quite honest, thats my main squeeze, why would you ask me such a question? No, no, I'm not getting mad, its just a...well...a...strange request. Well to be quite honest I'd have no problem with that except that Cecilia is a...well....a she's visiting her parents in Florida. Yes, sorry about that. What? You can swing by Florida? Yea, I don't know exactly where. Yes, yes. I tell you what, why don't you swing back here and we'll go out there together. Yes, and then maybe we'll contact Cecilia along the way. Ok? Sounds good, see you in a bit. Bye."
Motherfucker! This motherfucker! He can come back for some tail, but not moi. I grabbed my briefcase and ran for the elevator. Elevator button, "down"; "ding" as the elevator door slides open; "Excuse me" as I squeeze in; "Ding, Ding, Ding, Ding (etc, etc)" and we finally reach the ground floor (10 people heavier); "Excuse me" as I struggle out the door; Round the corner; "click" through the turnstile; "click-clack-clic-clack-click-clack" until I reach Security; "Oh, here it is!" as I slide my card out; "No, after you!" as the woman in front of me goes through the revolving door; "Whoosh" and I'm outside; "Clink, fuhh" as I light my cigarette and wait for Mr. Grogs standing on the corner, rolling my eyes.
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