Flanigans Wake

you stink

2011-12-10T12:13:00.001-08:00

I want to smell your armpits
after you've worked out all afternoon

I want to smell your feet
after you've run a marathon

I want to smell your pussy
after you haven't showered for days

I want to smell your soul
after you've fucked some guy
who doesn't mean shit to you

you stink

a la Sergio Mayora

Thank Heaven for Gigi

2011-10-23T06:26:00.000-07:00

Gigi is a girl men never forget. She never allows it. And I fell for her hard. Really hard. I'd been hanging out at the bar she worked at for about a year. Ever since I got back from Austin. Of course I thought she was beautiful. Everyone did. But at first - I wasn't really attracted to her. She was fun to talk to and flirt with, but I never thought about actually pursuing her. She had become a good friend. I talked her into giving me her number one night - and started calling her after leaving the bar. She was my drunken late night phone buddy. We talked about her guys - and my girls. She was dating another bartender, and I was still hanging onto someone distant in Austin. I used to love talking and laughing with her before crashing. But then everything changed. One night I had gathered a bunch of my poems together to give to some girl I liked in the bar. My latest crush. Gigi agreed to give them to her. After I handed them over she turned to me and said 'there isn't a poem in here about a girl with a spot on her head - is there Flanigan?' I jokingly replied - 'not yet.'

Yes - Gigi has a spot on her head. A birthmark. It's on her right forehead just below the hairline. It makes her even more beautiful. And my reply to her was not a joke at all - just about the biggest understatement of my life. So I asked her to meet me for lunch. I was so nervous. I met her at a small coffee shop downtown - Cafe Kopi. I got there early and waited for her. She walked in just a few minutes late. Wearing a light beige raincoat - with a skirt underneath. Upon seeing her, I realized I had never seen her during the day. She looked great. Her skin was perfect - and her long silky hair flowed over her shoulders. 'What are you staring at Flanigan. Ever seen a girl before?' I loved it when she called me Flanigan. It reminded me of Ali MacGraw in Love Story. Flirty irreverence. She sat down and we had some coffee and warm breakfast rolls. Lunch had become breakfast. We were both hung over. But it didn't matter. It was a magic day for me. Pure magic.

A couple weeks later - I decided to throw a party. I'd just bought this big beautiful sectional couch. It was periwinkle blue. Very very blue. With a zebra pattered rug, lots of plants and a huge carnival tarp on the wall with a beautiful woman's face and and the classic freakshow bark - 'Alive!' Quite the circus room. I loved it. And I wanted Gigi to see it. So I announced a party - I invited all my band friends as well as some of her coworkers from Jupiters. Popular people. Just to make sure she would come. And she did. I was so excited. There she sat on my blue couch. All curled up in the corner with her legs crossed and tucked under. Hugging a pillow she smiled - 'quite the blue couch Flanigan. Did you buy this just for me?' She was always one step ahead. The day was Thursday, September 20th 2001. Just a week after 9-11. I had even called her after hearing about the attack on the radio. I wanted to see if she was okay. And now she was here at my place. It was great having her there - but it didn't last. At about midnight - I wanted us all to hit the bars for last call. But Gigi was tired - and wanted to go home. Fair enough. So she hugged and thanked me. Then she left.

That should have been enough. It was actually a fun party. And it was great having her there. But I had become drunk as hell - and angry. Shit. Very bad timing. My expectations were so high and I was burning inside. And I couldn't pull myself out of it. My friend Kevin went out to a bar with me and tried to calm me down. But it didn't work. I went back home and called Gigi right away. I told her that I loved her and wanted to be with her. I was so pissed that she had left early - and I demanded to know why. I mean - wasn't she in love with me too? I just didn't understand. Why would she flirt with me so much? I was clearly wasted beyond repair and I needed answers. Right now! And I kept yelling. A madman. I held her completely accountable for all my feelings and loneliness. Fuck her! Who was she to put me inside this hell? She just kept answering coldly - 'We're just friends Flanigan. You are just a customer to me. That's all.' Damn. For all I knew - I was pleading for my life with my executioner. And she was forcing the bag over my head. No cigarette. Nothing.

And the next day - everyone in town hated me. I got phone calls from guys telling me how they were going to kick my ass the next time thay saw me. I called a good friend of mine and left him an hour voicemail ranting about all the bullshit coming down on me. He was pissed. Gigi was best friends with his guitar player's wife. Why had I put him in such a bad position? I was clearly the biggest asshole in Champaign. And it just kept getting bigger and bigger. The more I tried to wriggle free - the tighter it became. There was no escape. That weekend I went next door to Jupiters - High Dive. And they wouldn't let me in there either. It was Carlos' other bar and Gigi was working that night - down the street! Ridiculous. So I ended up at a bar called City of New Orleans. Jake was bartending. I loved Jake. He would understand. He was a 'ladies man.' Of course - he could explain it to me. But he just kept laughing. Very entertaining. Sean was sitting there next to me. He hadn't heard anything yet - so I sent him over to Jupiters to get me some cigarettes. Told him to tell them - 'put it on Flanigan's tab. They love me over there.' He came back ten minutes later rattled and sweating. 'What did you say to her anyway? If you had ripped her heart out in front of her and forced her to eat it - it wouldn't have been this bad.'

Over the years it became eight bars. Carlos had become quite successful. Pretty much owned the entire downtown. And he had informed me that I was banned from any property he owned - forever. And he was serious. Very serious. Gigi had Carlos wrapped up. My punishment was clear. But my struggles continued. For years. Champaign is a small town. And I had become way 'too big to fail.' In my own mind. One night I found myself back in 'The City' sitting next to some stranger - sobbing into my beer and recounting my story. He seemed like a good guy. And apparently this had also happened to him. Many times before. So we hit it off. And before long he invited me out to his truck to smoke a joint. How could I refuse? I had just met my new best friend. So we went outside and got into his pickup truck. It was old and dirty. Looked like he'd been four-wheeling. He must have come in from out in the country. But he seemed like a good guy. He pulled a joint out of his breast pocket and lit up. After we passed it back and forth a few times - he asked me if I really wanted to solve this situation with Gigi. Of course I said 'yes - definitely! 'Well - I have the solution.' Then he reached across me and opened his glove compartment. He reached inside, pulled out a gun and set it in my lap. 'Now let's go over to Jupiters and settle this right now.' Then it all became clear - Satan drives a truck.

So many crazy incidents had happened between us - that I started imagining all the possibilities. I just couldn't let go. Conflict between us was better than nothing at all. I just couldn't face reality - Gigi just didn't want me. But I had to keep flowering her with my theatrics. Only that made it bearable. So this was my fantasy. Gigi worked every Wednesday night at Jupiters. On the first Wednesday - a state trooper in full uniform walks in the bar at midnight. He walks up to the bar and asks Gigi if she knows anything about the whereabouts of Patrick Flanigan. He's wanted by the police. A week later - two moblike thugs from Chicago enter the bar and ask about me again. The third Wednesday - three bikers pull up front, go in and ask angrily - 'have you seen Patrick Flanigan?' Week four. Four latino gang bangers. Week five - five black gang bangers. Then six frat guys. And by now - people would be gathering week after week just to see who would come in next. And it would have been driving Gigi insane. Pure performance art. And finally - week seven. Seven ninjas slip in slicing and kicking - and looking for me. 'Who is this Patrick Flanigan anyway?' Perfect.

January of 2002. It had been a little over a year since the disastrous phone call. It was a Wednesday night and I was hanging out with my friends Jon and Rob. We were at a place called The Office over in Urbana. We were doing shots - and then started joking about going over to Jupiters for last call. Rob decided to disguise his voice and call over there to see if Gigi was working. She answered the phone - and he forgot to disguise his voice. Well - she was there and she probably sensed something was up. And it was. I really didn't want to go. I had bought her a vintage movie poster of 'Gigi' for Christmas. Secretly of course. A girl friend of my handed it to her without revealing it was from me. I heard from other people that she loved it. And that made me very happy. And satisfied somehow. Even though she didn't know it was from me - she actually liked something I did for her. And with that - I should have left her alone. But we did another shot. And they coaxed me into going. It had been over a year. Jon assured me as we left - 'nothin's gonna happen.'

' Yeah - 'nothin's gonna happen.'

So we drove over to Jupiters with fifteen minutes left till close. We walked in. She didn't seem to be there. What a lucky break. Jon and Rob went directly to the bathroom. I sat at the end of the bar and ordered three beers from the bartender. Some young guy I didn't know. Someone next to me turned and said 'Patrick? I haven't seen you here in a while? About a year now?' 'Yep. That's about right.' You had some problem with Gigi - didn't you? Is that over now?' 'I don't know. We'll see.' Then Gigi came out of the back carrying a case of beer for restocking. She bent down on her knees. Then she looked up and saw me. 'Oops.' 'Flanigan - if you don't leave right now I'm calling the cops.' 'Come on Gigi - don't call the cops. It's been over a year now.' 'I'm serious. Leave right now.' So I didn't. I grabbed my beer and started chugging it before the bartender could grab it away from me. Gigi was on the phone calling the cops. Shit. Jon and Rob came back and grabbed their beers. I told them that Gigi was calling the cops. Rob pleaded for her to stop. But she was pissed off. And determined. Suddenly I noticed the reflection of flashing blues all around me. I turned around and saw about three or four squad cars jack-knifed at the front door. I got up and headed that way. But before I reached the door I turned and asked Gigi if she enjoyed her Christmas present. No answer. The three of us opened the door and walked out. I raised me hands to surrender. One cop came up to me with his pistol drawn. I turned to Jon.

'Yeah - 'nothin's gonna happen.'

Les' Lounge was right out of Twin Peaks. The furniture - bar stools and booths all covered in red vinyl. And the carpet was a horrible red scotch plaid. Trippy. But it was on the outskirts of town. So I had started hanging out there. Carlos didn't own it. Les did. Les wore a lucky gold horseshoe around his neck. He was one of those townie guys who seemed connected somehow. He had apparently made a lot of money gambling. And he had a bed in back for hooking up with drunk chicks. Too drunk to know they were in the back with Les. Creepy. And Troy was his bartender. Ladies man. All the guys really dug him. He was bald and cooler than cool. He always had a bar rag hanging out of his back pocket - and a toothpick in his mouth. It was kind of a sad place. But I could drink there in peace. Gigi would never come way out here. Well - one summer night of 2003 - I was standing at the urinal taking a piss. And then I heard her laughing. It was unmistakable. No fucking way. Gigi was actually here.

I walked out and saw her sitting at the bar with a friend of hers I called Brady Bunch. He looked like a cross between Greg and Peter. And he was also a bartender at Jupiters. But I don't think he hated me like the others. He seemed like a decent guy. Her best friend. I had seen them together a lot. I walked around to the opposite side of the oval bar - and motioned to Troy that I had their drinks. Troy walked over to me, smiled and said 'So you're going to break my balls over this?' 'Ah - forget it.' His toothpick cocked upward with his grin. Damn. Troy was cool. I got up and walked over to the jukebox. After flipping through CD's - I found it. 'Can't You See?' by Marshall Tucker. Play. I sat back down and tried to catch her eyes. But I felt like a ghost. After the song was over - she walked over to the jukebox. She put in 'Linger' by the Cranberries. Perfect. I got up to leave - then walked out brushing up against her back as I went by. It was a beautiful, clear summer night. I pulled out a cigarette and lit up. Her car was sitting right out front. I looked over at the railroad tracks about twenty feet away. And got an idea. Luckily her car was in neutral - not that hard to push. I walked over, got into my car and drove off into the night. As I left - I heard an approaching train blast three times. I looked into the rearview mirror and smiled.

gigi

Budman

2011-10-07T07:26:00.000-07:00

We called him Budman because when we first met him - he was drunk and stoned, stumbling his way through an outdoor concert crowd with his pockets filled with cans of Budweiser. It was sunny and hot out - and he was wearing a long army surplus raincoat. It was really his tool belt. Everyone was yelling at him because he kept tripping over coolers and landing on peoples' blankets and laps. He had to be carrying at least a case - and he kept apologizing by pulling beers out and offering them to anyone in his path. 'I'm sorry - I'm sorry.' He mumbled as if some invisible giant was pushing him through the crowd. Poor guy. He had no choice. And neither did we.

His real name was Barry - but we didn't care. Dan and I held our hands out - and we were on our way. 'Where we going Budman?' 'Hell - I don't know.' So we just followed him and enjoyed the spectacle. I guess it could be called performance art, except I'm not sure he was performing. But boy - did this guy enjoy fucking with people. But he didn't do it in a hostile way - he seemed helpless somehow. So we followed Budman through the crowd enjoying the music and the sun. It was a great day for a party. Oh - did I mention we were tripping? Dan and I had just swallowed some shrooms and they started kicking in when we ran into Budman. What luck.

Budman led us to a dormitory towards the back of the crowd. The concert was being held on the grass between four dormitories on campus at NC State. It was the Fall of 1982. Dan and I had become close friends since the start of classes. We lived in the same suite of four rooms with a shared bathroom. I had moved from a farmhouse out in the country. Dan had moved from his parents house in a nearby suburb of Raleigh. We had been having a blast hitting the college bars for weeks. Both of us had completely forgotten about classes. We shared the same troubled addictions of staying up till dawn drinking and living in titty bars. We both agreed that strippers held some secret - and we decided to spend the semester trying to find it.

We followed Budman up some stairs - asking him repeatedly where we were going. He kept assuring us it would be okay. We would soon find out. I assumed we were going to find one of his friends. Then we stepped into an elevator and headed toward the fifth floor. Budman was hilarious looking. He had this huge infectious grin that wouldn't let go of us. I thought he looked like a blonde Gilligan with red Chuck Taylors - and that long raincoat. It reminded me of those guys who sneak into hidden porn theaters and sit there jacking off. He couldn't stop smiling. 'Where are we going?' 'My buddy's room - he told me to stop by and get him.' He's a really cool dude. You'll like him.'

The three of us got to the fifth floor and the doors opened. Right outside the elevator was a line. We could see at least eight guys - all standing there smoking, laughing and holding plastic cups of beer. There must be a keg. Budman turned to us. 'Well - here we are. This is his place.' The line lead into his suite. Budman walked toward the door bypassing the line. We followed - squeezing past one drunk at a time. Some guy was just coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waste. 'Hey Barry! What's up dude?' Barry waved and followed him into his bedroom. I looked at Dan and shrugged - 'Well - let's go. The keg must be in there.' The line was leading into his friend's room. We walked in. His friend started brushing his hair in the mirror. Over on the bed was some drunk girl getting fucked. Barry started giggling really loud. 'Holy shit man!' Then his buddy looked at us and asked 'You guys want some of that? Go ahead - cut in line.'

Weeks later - Dan and spent the whole day drinking at Blimpies. They opened at noon and had 32oz cups of beer for a dollar. Couldn't beat that. So we spent all afternoon hanging out, getting drunk and playing pool. It was a great way to spend the day. Typically - we would go get something to eat, get stoned and watch Andy Griffith back at the room. But it had gotten really late. There were some girls with us who we liked - so afternoon had drifted into night. And we were lit. Drunk as shit. So we headed back to our dorm tackling each other and spitting up with laughter. When we got back - we immediately hit the bathroom and pissed for hours. Or so it seemed. Then we decided to turn the bathroom into a swimming pool.

We plugged all the drains on the floor with socks and underwear we grabbed from our rooms. We used a towel for the door. Then we turned on all the showers and sinks. We were giggling like little boys. We hadn't really thought this out. We were standing there looking at ourselves in the mirror. Then we grabbed some broomsticks and started singing along to Zeppelin and Pink Floyd on a boom box - as the water kept rising - and rising. The acoustics in there were great - we sounded awesome! Or so it seemed. It must have been really loud outside because people started banging on the door and yelling. We were having a blast. Eventually - the water had risen to about two feet. And we were standing there in our cowboy boots and leather Members Only jackets. And then we started swimming - pushing away from the wall zipping back and forth across the bathroom. Surreal.

Then suddenly it was over. 'Shit. Let's get out of here.' Dan agreed - so we started draining the water. It would be a long wait. And we were growing more and more impatient - dripping wet, fully clothed and surprisingly sober. 'I can't believe we actually did this.' Me neither. The banging on the door had stopped a while ago. I guess they just gave up. But they had no idea what we had done either. Hilarious. I couldn't wait to tell Budman. 'Let's go find Budman!' I said. 'Yeah - he'll love this. He'll freak out.' Then we made a very bad decision. There was still six inches of water remaining. We opened the door and flooded the entire floor of our dormitory. We ran out following the rushing water and headed toward Budman's room. We burst in. He was sleeping on an upper bunk. I whispered. 'Hey Budman - wake up.' He slowly opened his eyes and looked at the two of us standing there soaking wet. 'Let's go swimming - in the bathroom.'

Budman had this thing. It's hard to explain. But he would suddenly just snap into an alter ego. It was friendly enough - but aggressive as hell. And it would happen without warning. There was no way to predict it. But we could always see it coming. It always happened when he felt uncomfortable. Then he would find it necessary to break out of himself. For example - we were all leaving a party one night. And Barry did not feel at ease with these people. They were all friends of his girlfriend Donna - and he felt they were all snobs and looked down on him for some reason. They had all been friends in high school. He was not part of their crowd. I could feel it myself. But it was driving him insane. So we squeezed slowly through the front room telling everyone goodbye. Budman started mocking people with his farewells - then we reached the front door. He turned the light off. Everyone started yelling. Budman eased everyone down by saying the power had gone out. Then he started leading the room singing 'Row Row Row Your Boat' - in the dark. One side. The other side. Then after it got going well - he switched the lights on. And we left.

Another night we were all sitting in an Italian restaurant on campus trying to figure out what to order. There was a family sitting a few tables over quietly eating their dinner. A young boy about six years old was sitting with his back to us. He was wearing a sweatshirt which read 'Billy.' Budman couldn't resist. He started calling out in a whisper. 'Hey Billy. Billy.' The kid kept turning around to look at us. His parents started snapping at him to face forward and to eat his food. But Budman kept going. 'Billy. Billy.' Then I stopped him. 'Budman - cut it out. This is getting ridiculous. Okay?' Then he started screaming at me and stood up. 'Why is that kid looking at me? What the fuck?' Yeah. What the fuck?

It definitely got old. So he stopped for a long, long time. Then one incredible day took us all by surprise. It was Saturday and the three of us - Dan, Budman and myself were all flat broke. We gathered some change from our penny jars. We found enough to each get one beer. But it sucked. This was all we had. Nobody to borrow from. Nothing. This was going to be a shitty day. So we headed to Blimpies with our pennies. We got our beers - sat in an uncomfortable wooden booth and cried into our beers. Then after a few moments of silent sadness - Budman jumped up onto the table spilling the beers a little and started yelling out at everybody - 'It's a misnomer! It's a fucking misnomer!' Then he carefully sat back down. I looked at Dan while sipping my beer. 'Great day - huh?'

Then Rodge came in through the door. Rodge was a full sized man. But he was proportioned like a midget. Or like Popeye. Everyone turned to watch him as he waddled through the door. Glancing over at our table, he winked and waved 'How you boys doin' today? Havin' a good day?' We looked at him and and mumbled back ' Yeah sure man - whatever.' So Rodge headed to the counter to order himself a beer. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a huge wad of twenties and started flipping through them. I turned to Dan and nudged him - 'Holy shit - do you see that?' Budman answers with a 'Hell yeah' and jumps to his feet and heads over to Rodge. 'Hey buddy - how about buying some beers for us?' Rodge turned around - extending his hand to shake. 'I'm Rodge.' 'I'm Budman.' And these are my friends - Dan and Pat. He led Rodge over to us and we all shook hands. Rodge just made our day.

So - the afternoon drifted along with drunken laughter and high fives all around. We called out our girlfriends. And Blimpies became packed. This went on for about three or four hours. I can't remember for sure. And Rodge was buying beer for everyone. Every once in a while I could hear Budman yell out rudely 'Hey Rodge! We need more beer over here!' And the wad of twenties would reappear. It actually appeared to be getting bigger. We were having a great time. Our girls were out getting drunk, Rodge was showing us porn pictures in his wallet. He began offering money for the girls - and the beer was flowing freely. We had certainly found a leprechaun with a pot of gold. Then the cops showed up. They quickly grabbed Rodge and handcuffed him. Dead silence. They told us he had robbed a 7-11 earlier that day. Rodge turned to us as they dragged him out.

'You guys are coming down to bail me out - right?'

'Sure - we'll be right there Rodge.'

Trap Door

2011-09-16T06:59:00.000-07:00

In the Summer of 1990 in Champaign - August 13th to be exact - all of the freshmen were moving into their dorms. Their proud parents seeing them off toward their bright young futures. Moms crying - dads puffing their drunken chests as their sons tossed footballs over their heads with yucks - nearly breaking their necks reaching for the throw. It was a happy time. A family time. A milestone upon the walk of life. Freedom was riding high upon the kids minds - who just couldn't wait for their folks to get the hell out of there - so they could start drinking and fucking their brains out.

What a beautiful day it was - the sun was high in the sky and all the girls were laying out on the grass in bikinis. Tanned and wet from sweat and coconut oil - they never looked or smelled hotter. Scattered by errant frisbees and balls thrown their way - made them jump up and bounce their pretty young titties. Boys ran up and apologized spilling beer like they were jumping for some heroic touchdown - instead of a making an awkward play for snatch. But it was certainly fun - extremely fun. Dads kept sneaking obvious glances at the young girls and moms grabbed them bitching about everything. It was a perfect day for everyone. Except Jennifer.

Jennifer had spent the last two months there - going to one easy class and enjoying the laid back life of summer school. Sunning all afternoon after a couple bong hits - toting a towel and a margarita in a plastic beer glass. One great afternoon after another. Groundhog day. The entire summer blurred together into a series of drunk hookups and strange distorted nights. Stumbling home in the morning with short dresses on and broken heals across the quad - the walk of shame. Much better than high school - new horizons, new boys and nobody screaming at them. Jennifer grew up in Elmhurst.

She had a great summer except for Richard. Richard met her at a popular campus bar called Kams. They had kissed a little - but she was drunk and wanted to leave. But Richard kept pushing. So she finally gave him her number to make him stop. It worked. Her friends came to the rescue and pulled her away. But Richard kept calling. Not unlike most boys - but there was something different with him. She didn't feel comfortable - so she never agreed to meet him out. But he kept watching her at bars. But eventually - she stopped noticing him.

But Richard kept at it. Late night calls. Notes left on her car. He had even started hanging outside her apartment watching her from afar as she laid out in the sun with her friends. By August - his stalking had apparently stopped and Jennifer was relieved - ready to start the Fall semester. She had some good classes scheduled with a lot of friends. Today was Monday. A beautiful, sunny afternoon. And Jennifer was looking forward to a nice nap before dressing up and heading out to the bars. After planning to meet up with her friends - she headed back to her apartment - just a hundred yards away.

Richard was waiting inside. He didn't really know why. He wanted to confront her - to try to explain himself. He felt like an idiot. Calling her and leaving drunken messages - scribbled notes on her car. He felt foolish and alone. He would wait for her and talk. Then the moment came - she walked through the door. He was hiding inside a front closet. She quickly walked to the bathroom to shower tossing her towel to the couch. She stripped off her bikini in the bathroom - then sat down to pee. She turned on the shower then walked back to the kitchen to get some water. Richard stepped out of the closet.

Jennifer saw him out of the corner of her eye and tried to run. Richard grabbed her pleading for her to calm down and listen to him. She stopped for a moment - then broke free towards the kitchen. She made it and grabbed a knife from the block and backed up against the sink crying and begging him to stop and go away. She found it impossible to scream - her cries stuck in her throat forcing out tears instead. She was frantic and started stabbing at him holding the knife with both hands.

Richard kept pleading with her - begging her to put down the knife. He grabbed at it and got hold of the blade. She yanked it away opening large slice wounds on each of his hands. Enraged - he got hold of the knife again forced her to drop it. He picked it up and and pulled her toward him stabbing her over and over again in the arms and chest. The police report said over a hundred times. Richard started wheezing and shaking - then burst out of the apartment door down the hallway - dropping the knife as he rounded the stairs. He fell out onto the outdoor parking garage - then into the sunlight and back towards his room.

Jennifer stood up slowly. She was coughing and gasping - but felt driven to get out and call for help. She stumbled down the hallway and somehow made it to the door which opened onto the stairs leading to the parking garage. She made it down the stairs and onto the pavement. People were walking by just as she appeared. Too horrifying for screams - Jennifer fell dead right behind her own car. The police arrived within 15 minutes. A crowd gathered slowly trying to catch a glimpse of her - stirred by mumbles and whispers.

Jennifer was a beautiful girl. Her friends told the newspapers she always had a smile on her face, loved animals and worked tirelessly for charities. My friend who went to high school with her - said she was a terrible bitch - but didn't deserve this. Richard was a football player. People said he always seemed to have a dark side. His friends said he was quiet. He certainly stood quietly that day against the police tape - with his hands wrapped up in bandages. When questioned by the police he said he cut himself slicing frozen bacon.

The building still stands as it did that day. The blood stained stairs have been rebuilt. The carpet on the second floor has been completely replaced. Everything has been scrubbed clean. The students have come and gone for more than twenty years now. Long enough to erase all traces and memories. Every time I walk by 105 E. Daniel - especially on sunny August days when the dorms are intensely alive with frisbees, bikinis and laughter - I remember that trap door. And keep on walking.

Johnny and Mary

2011-08-29T07:22:00.000-07:00

Johnny is driving his new gray Subaru along Highway 65 south through Indiana. Long stretches of corn fields, boredom and daydreams. Johnny is making his monthly visit to his mother who is dying of cancer in a hospital. She has been sick for about ten years - but lately her condition has become worse - so Johnny's visits have become more frequent. Johnny loves the drive. It gives him time away from his family and time to be alone with his thoughts, which are no longer predictable or escapable. Corn fields that spawned the roots of the KKK - soothing on the horizon. No bumps ahead. Clear sailing from here on out.

Mary is an 18 year old stripper who recently started working at a club in Louisville called Cheetahs. Johnny always stops to see her on the way. It's right off the highway. This will be the third time. Thinking of her - he reaches into the glove compartment and grabs his cassette tape 'Johnny and Mary' by Robert Palmer. He sticks it in and plays it over and over hundreds of times. He lives for the moment when he sees her. She just had a baby and needs the money. That's her story. He pictures her seeing him walk into the club - running up to him. Her short dress, long legs and beautiful, straight brown hair. And braces - glistening in the black lights and strobes.

Their rendezvous is about to happen again. He is just outside Louisville. Johnny starts rubbing his crotch thinking about her. They always chat for about half an hour before she eventually asks if he's ready. Which of course - he is. He thinks about her sitting with him inside one of the back booths barely able to see her braces clamping down on his dick through his pants. He remembers the first time when he was shocked that she was rubbing him so intensely that he started coming almost right away. And she was equally surprised and shrilled when he reached into his wallet and handed her a $100 bill. I guess they had reached an agreement.

As Johnny pulls into the club parking lot - his anticipation is unbearable. He bends down in the front seat - doing a quick bump to get things going. He starts shaking as he steps out of the car and walks toward the front door. No windows. Two cars outside. He walks nonchalantly - so as not to arouse suspicion. It's a bright sunny day out in the parking lot. It's the opposite inside. In his sunglasses and tight jeans - he imagines that he looks a lot like Robert Palmer opening the front door. And then - disaster. He could not find her anywhere. She is not working there anymore. No more giggles. No more braces. Shit.

So Johnny gets a couple of dances and sulks out of the club. He can't find anyone to rub him at all. In fact - he really pisses off two girls when he insists that it's standard procedure. Stupid blonds - so fake all the time. I guess you need to build up a relationship before you get special treatment. Johnny just wanted Mary - she was his girl. But he would never see her again. She has disappeared back into the landscape of rural Kentucky. So he gets back into his car and pulls back out onto the highway and heads toward the hospital.

The hospital is just a short drive down the road - so he quickly pulls off again. It is one of those old, red brick hospitals that seems to hold people forever. Johnny had visited many people in these places. Depressing - yet surprisingly comforting. The cafeterias always seemed to be pretty good. Before going up to his mom's room - he decides to grab a couple burgers and a salad to take up with him. She would certainly be hungry. She always was. He was looking forward to chatting with her about everything. She always had plenty of complaints about how badly she was being treated.

Johnny smiles as he gets on the elevator and heads up. He really loves his mom - she would actually find the whole story about Mary pretty funny. He decides to tell her about it this time. The elevator arrives at her floor and he gets off and heads down the hallway toward her room. He turns the corner. Something is wrong. All the lights in her room are very bright and the curtains are drawn. She had just died minutes ago. He looks down at her body on the bed - all the tubes had just been pulled out of her. Purple X's dot her arms and legs. Her mouth hangs open with exhaustion. Her hair needs to be brushed.

Johnny is completely alone.

Johnny and Mary

petals

2011-05-13T11:01:00.000-07:00

dogwood petals

scatter about us windblown

hair tossed across our eyes

my children dancing laughing

remembering our past lives

with each other at ease - at last

a moment of orange skies

and purple storms splatter us

with thunder and flashes of rain

drops as big as water balloons

bursting at our feet

I hide my shirt from splash

as the three of us run

like chariots on fire

jack and claire giggling

at my lack of spirit

striken down by worries

of a broken heart and beat

but we follow the trees

and slide along buildings

staying dry in shelters

hiding from the world

for one short moment

in our prison break

discovering that

life is just forgetfulness

- from which

there is no escape

typescript

plastic jesus

2011-03-19T23:09:00.000-07:00

Plastic Jesus - Cool Hand Luke

'Plastic Jesus' is an old American folk song whose tradition

has sprouted many remakes and additional lyrics. I added
five verses of my own. The first two below are standards from
the original version by Ernie Marrs. My verses follow these two.

I don't care if it rains or freezes
long as I got my plastic Jesus
sittin' on the dashboard of my car
comes in colors - pink and pleasant
glows in the dark 'cause it's iridescent
take it with you when you travel far

get yourself a sweet madonna
dressed in rhinestones sitting on a
pedestal of abalone shell
goin' ninety I'm not wary
'cause I've got my virgin mary
assuring me that I won't go to hell

------------------------------------------

calling out to all believers
save your soul from all deceivers
through the door to live for evermore
just one step will seal your future
accept him as your only teacher
and your heart will always rise and soar

finding words for plastic jesus
through his plan he haunts and pleases
nailed upon a cross of pain and thorns
sailing through a sea of strife
how can I make it through this life?
just hoping for a chance to be reborn

buy yourself some fuzzy dice
to remind you of the sacrifice
a gamblin' man can't live without a take
just roll them once and then roll twice
you must pay heed to my advice
the gold you seek on earth is surely fake

please tell me a good ole story
hoping that it will not bore me
'cause I'm singin' praise to my sweet lord
deaf to all your jokes and antics
count myself among fanatics
fools and dreamers cast upon the shore

now I'm finished with my query
those with ears - now can you hear me?
riddles solved by bible tales and lore
sitting back sleep rest assured
my troubles now are gone for sure
'cause jesus is the one who I adore

typescript

demanda

2011-03-15T11:31:00.000-07:00

shes a mean stick bitch

a slinky natural high
using paint and porno
to wicken up her eyes
always looking through you
calling all your lies
amandas in demanda
and fighting for the prize
dancing on the stage tonight
forget about the cost
carny light confusion
just hoping to get lost

jumpin planes and party trains
all night lines insane
a rainbow cut on broken glass
a tainted pearl in pain
she takes it all for granted
cursing beauty with extreme
wears a cross to keep her safe
while living in this dream
theres more to her
than meets the touch
a hint at what is real
wanting more than she can give
to take would be to steal

I leave her there and wait for her
and guard the heart she hides
we been thru this dance before
in countless other lives
facing off in bars and cars
using money bribes
our fates are gentle friends
giving warmth living tides
but our masks fight for turf
for their greed and their pride
amandas in demanda
for this take - this low ride
gypsy tellers weave voices
in patterns and lost choices
it hardly seems like justice
just one shot - but many times

typescript

circa 1999

horse'n buggery

2011-02-15T19:28:00.000-08:00

'twas clearly a case of horse'n buggery
a man and his steed fell in love y'see
so he crept in at night
dropped his pants at the sight
of his beautiful mare named penelope

a mission of love was his destiny
stacking bales behind her to ball
she looked back and winked
as he opened her pink
and sturdied himself in the stall

her loins lurched back as she whinnied
and gathered herself with a moan
all these years all alone
she had dreamed of his mount
and readied herself for his bone

it tickled a bit as he slipped it inside
and he jerked and screamed with the ride
slapped her ass as he squirted
pulling out just in time
to jekyll his sperm on her hide

but wait - what's this?

somethin's sniffin'
his butt from behind
unbridled passion
- just lookin' for action
a bronco in heat with balls of brass
pushing him down in his gooey mess
and sticking its dick in his ass!

at first it felt fine
as the tip just slipped
and parted his cheeks just a pinch
but then it got scary
as he snorted and bucked
and then sunk deeper - inch after inch

he was long in the tooth
this stallion who plunged
and raped the man with horse pride
and when it was over
the man buckled and bled
'cause he split the mans ass from inside!

The Strange Life of Ivan Osokin

2010-10-18T23:32:00.000-07:00

The 'Strange Life of Ivan Osokin' is a remarkable story by the Russian writer, mathematician and philosopher Peter Demianovich Ouspensky. Ouspensky is best known as one of the essential disciples of the enigmatic Georges Ivanovitch Gurdjieff. The novel was originally published as a cinematic tale of a young man of about 26 years who has grown tired of his life. He sincerely feels that his life has been a series of mishaps and bad decisions which have always destroyed his most cherished dreams and aspirations. Like most people he is absolutely sure that he has free will and that his destiny his formed entirely by his own actions and choices. We join him along his journey through life at a point where his remorse has finally pulled him to the bottom. On one fateful evening, he has decided to take his life. Yet he is willing to first seek the advice of a powerful magician. The magician gives him a great gift - a second chance. Unlike 'It's a Wonderful Life' - Ivan is allowed to live his life again as he lived it the first time. He is convinced that if given this second chance - his life will be different. It is a captivating story which resonates inside us all.

I restructured the novel as a stage play because I feel that the theater is more suitable for presenting this work. There are elements of theater which are not readily available to literature. By design - the nightly recurrence of a play lends itself naturally to the premise of 'Ivan Osokin.' I have also heightened the emphasis of Robert Louis Stevenson's parable 'The Song of the Morrow' as a poetic undertone. Also - Ivan's fading awareness of his situation can be reflected by his discourse with the audience. The more he identifies with what he is feeling and experiencing the more he retreats into his inner thoughts. Nearly all of the original dialogue and most of the key descriptive passages are left intact. My intention was to preserve the words and style of Ouspensky as much as possible. The setting of the novel covers the years 1890 through 1902 - the last years of Tsarist Russia. The initial publication date is 1915 - perhaps a presentiment to Ouspensky's first encounter with the 'magician' Gurdjieff that same year.

On one level - the 'Strange Life of Ivan Osokin' is a narrative exploration of Nietzche's theory of eternal recurrence. On another it echoes the playfulness of the movie 'Groundhog Day.' But seen in the light of Ouspensky's intense involvement with the esoteric schools of G.I. Gurdjieff, we are confronted with an extremely thoughtful analysis of our own existence. Like all great stories - 'Ivan Osokin' raises questions in our awareness of who we are and why events happen the way they do. In my opinion, presenting it as theater strips away the scenic evasion of a period piece and allows the audience to see Ivan Osokin in the flesh. The story is rich with expressive and poignant dialogue. It reminds us that our lives can be defined most readily by our relationships with those we find ourselves bound to. 'The Strange Life of Ivan Osokin' is really not so strange after all. It reflects our own thoughts and feelings as clear and lucid as a reflective pool.

the stage adaptation - 2010

the original novel - 1915

It's No Game

2010-10-13T16:34:00.000-07:00

My legs are just about numb. And my chin resting on my knees is the only thing familiar about this position. But this box is barely big enough to hold a tire. Seems like hours now - but probably only fifteen minutes. And that music is enough to drive anyone insane. Some demented remix of Indian raga, Yoko Ono and the Sex Pistols. I used to hang out at a bar where they played this stuff to clear the place out at last call. But I wasn't going anywhere. Not now. And the flood lights outside wipe out all traces of time. Removed from the context of my life. No possessions. No space at all. This box is actually too small to feel claustrophobic. There is no fear. No reason to panic. The worst has already happened - I'm inside this fucking box!

I should have listened to Harry Chapin. He knew the truth. After he quit as a 'doolie' here at the Air Force Academy - he returns every year to give a free show and to tell everyone to escape while they can. Smart guy. Not me. I just keep hanging on because of my 'commitment to excellence'. I'm not a quitter. Maybe a loser - but not a quitter. I can't believe how asleep I am. I hate this fucking place - but I can't leave. I've seen so many friends wake up and quit. And it's funny how they quit. It's like they get up one morning and look in the mirror and say 'I'm done.' And that's it. They're out of here. My mirror must be broken. I keep seeing a stud fighter pilot. Matt left. And his uncle was a four star general. I can't even tell you why I came here in the first place. The challenge? This box is much more than a metaphor. It's starting to hurt. But the pain will go away when I turn completely numb. I can't wait. I'd rather be 'flying in my taxi.'

You see - she was gonna be an actress

And I was gonna learn to fly

She took off to find the footlights

And I took off to find the sky

What's that? Someone is screaming. Damn - they're dragging someone else out to this field of dreams. Poor bastard. That sack over his head doesn't help either. From darkness to darkness. Right across from me. At least it sounds like it. I wish I could just talk to someone - that would help. 'Hey buddy - it's okay!' Then a loud crack lands on top of the box and smacks through my head. Fuck that hurt. 'Shut up in there! Great - my head hurts now. Damn. Hours and days go by with just this damn voice in my head. Just keeps chattering away. Shut up! Please - just stop. Damn - how many hours now? My legs are gone. And Yoko is still wailing.

The interrogation yesterday wasn't so bad. Not what I expected. But my arm still hurts like hell. That guy nearly pulled out my shoulder when he threw me across the room. I keep trying to remember this is just POW training - not the real thing. But after a few days drift by - it becomes real. I even forget who I am. Days in the box. I drift in and out of sleep. Daydreaming into sleep. And that damn music - and the lights. I pray for insanity just to escape this nightmare. It would be better not to be aware of all this. We all find some sort of escape. I just wish I could talk to somebody else. Some other prisoner. Maybe a friend. It doesn't matter. Just someone.

Holy shit! They're opening my box. Yes! I'm getting out of this thing. Light at last. Looking up I see two shadows with arms grabbing at me - screaming at me. 'Get up you piece of shit!'. But I can't feel my legs at all so my efforts are useless. They grab me ripping my shirt as the box tips and I fall sprawled at their feet. Dirt fills my mouth as my head slams against the ground and is crushed under a boot. Pressing down harder - and harder. Shit. 'What shit this guy is! Get up shit.' I hear them both laugh as I get a swift kick to the gut. I'm awake now. They have my attention. The bag is wrapped over my head again and I am dragged along - my unlaced boots pulling lines through the dirt raising the dust even more. Then we stop.

Home at last. My dog kennel cell. Hard to believe I'm actually looking forward to this. I can stretch out in my four foot cube. They throw me inside and latch the door behind me - screaming and laughing. I'm glad they're having fun. 'Get up rat! Get off the floor! - now!' They're peeking in through the little hole in the door. I need to get up. Now. But my legs are still wobbly. I can do it. I can. Finally. Up on my three-legged stool. No small feat. But then I fall and crash to the floor. Dammit! Here they come. The door flies open and the light blinds me as I scream 'No! Not the can!' They reach into the box and grab me - pulling me onto the ground outside. Then laughter and wetness. They've just dumped my coffee can of piss over my head. 'Hey shithead! Get up - this is no game!'. Damn right - it's no game.

cocoon

2010-08-24T22:21:00.000-07:00

each day becomes

an imagined choice

fanning the coals

razing the bonfire to consume

well worn thoughts and disappearing acts

mimicking the tightrope walker

without teetering

yet shaking inside

with hands unable

to hold a glass

so I suck

intravenously

through my straw

faint echoes

outside my window

I hear laughter and voices

of people with lives

barely over the white noise

of the fans

shaking for days

sweating into my bedsheets

which I wrap around me to keep warm

and cuddle trying to still my mind

psychotically

into the safety of porn

the greatest escape next to

death

tossing and spinning

inside my cocoon

this rebirth may take

days

typescript

bad directions

2010-07-26T18:17:00.000-07:00

if you watch closely

you will learn the road

to hell - paved by others

intentions and judgement

through their eyes

guilt will find root

with strength enough

to rise

I can see the bottom

now - I feel worn paths

beneath my feet

I've heard the secret

is to change your shoes

and to align yourself

with rules and hope

for beauty

to arise

amanda used to play

her dirges late at night

when parties drifted

and doors closed in time

alone at last she saw

the flicker of her soul

as the wind blew

swiftly past

does bukowski

know the way driven

by the hatred of hollow

men - the restless sleepers

chasing fortune tellers

lashing out at anyone

who has the balls

to smile

if I can just keep

from sorting through

trash and dying mementos

- I'll be alright

keep cleaning the sink

and floors busy collecting

dust balls blown in

by years of bad dreams

and bad directions

typescript

the razors edge

2010-05-22T16:59:00.002-07:00

how delicately
he slides his steel against her throat
as if he is measuring it for a fitting
brushing her skin slowly peeling it back
savoring her trust with every stroke
two drops of sweat follow the blade
making her start to forget about
the bloodstains left there
from the last time

except for the damp
soreness as he hurries away
hiding near the edges of her thoughts
life comes spilling in with the next day
as if the movie has started once again
her face reeling through the projector
throwing posed flashes against the wall
silent familiarity locked within
a still life

she had never been able
to escape the rush of beauty
lusty trysts had always pulled her into
back alleys of other peoples obsessions
hiding behind her veil which assures
her that the bloody fingerprints
are not hers but someone elses
the witch smiles and whispers
this is the way

the razors edge
will eventually seek her heart
calling out as voices hidden in the dark
cut yourself little girl to feel the heat
which you trip over in your imaginings
tears will not bleed it away watching
yourself in cloudy windows of dreams
until one day you will find that
it has all been real

cocaine rushes faster
when she chases it with tequila
and the spirits who live on each side
of the glass are not quite far enough apart
two girls who never meet yet sleep inside
slicing each other with the straight edge
he comes in again - slitting her throat
with both joy and hate holding hands
as our precious little soul
succumbs to her fate

lisa

typescript

some diamonds

2010-05-22T16:59:00.001-07:00

some diamonds
just won't shine
no matter how hard they try
and some men start the day
with nothing more to spend
left with broken wings
unable to catch
the wind

some trains always run
disappearing over
the edge
forever chasing the sun
making it impossible
to love me
so I sadly watch the ones
I lose - tossed within
my wake
addicted to this life
of running till I drop
I know my days are numbered
one day
it's gonna stop

you may break loose
from the one thing
I can choose
I have to keep on trying
because I have
nothing left to lose

typescript

L

2010-05-22T16:57:00.000-07:00

there is no blame which follows you through life seeping through the concrete seams of the L tunnels water cragged splits between giant blocks underground hunched as shoulders holding the mighty mountains of steel and glass stalagmites certain of their rise to the sky though nothing drips down to meet them halfway where god turned his back long ago leaving his word to drip drip drip through tunnels of homeless smells and roaring lights doing nothing to dispel the specter of decay eating away souls as they fight to look away holding newspapers close to eye hiding their glimpses at the other rotting men whose stench is covered by rich colognes of the avenues pretending to have shaken the shackles from early birth days on childhood playground bars fighting for the top which keeps them hiding up in the sky in their highest rises guarded doors watched by guarded roles - hello sir how are you this evening he mutters in robotic manners clutching the doors to release me - time for recess I guess I will go play for a while down the streets of happy couples and hapless bums sparing nickels for dimes in a one way shoot out with gutters I will fall into there teetering through days just in time for some of those wild mushrooms that go to my head and then come back down pouring electric sparks through my fingers and toes no one knows if whats inside is outside or which came first coming up upon a stop on this train up high as the mike goes beep and boop and the doors shuffle out of the way of my feet and papers keep folding then flying to the floor in a wet crumpled mess with dead birds and feathers finally finding the ground trying to love each other if not just someone before its too late just in time morning dew insects rush right by too small for me to see or even imagine but I know they are there somewhere just beyond my hopeless thoughts about my self and the hollowness that scares me at times during the day when the sight of a passing building or car with a face framed by the window reminds me of something falling off the edge filling me with anxiety attacks from yesterday not really today but reaching for the beer bottle I do get trembles nudging me that eventually I will not be able to hold anything at all knowing this drinking for days on end will be the end of me as I just keep getting on that train never getting off until boredom sets in like a pair of concrete blocks frozen about my knees able to just barely walk out into that north avenue street waving for cabs as they rush through the dead silence of fireflies zipping by on their way to pound down some gyros to reek up the next day but warmth right now from cold damp spells which end with anger and hurt feelings of being too old for anybody to flirt with or even crackle a smile and chuckle at a joke which flies over everyones head as everyone tumbles and tweets through the rumbles of rocks shifting at change from above due to global warming and populations mourning in far distant haiti too far for me to care when my life and destruction pierce my eyes in a day to day life that I have grown to despise sick of all these sicko comedians - look at me you fuckers - I am the shit because sometimes I can feel her breath against the back of my neck as the doors open once again

- this is a red line train to downtown

circus tents gather around these parts clowns out of work swarm around flaming oil drums stoking soul heat and places to meet on the way down looking for a glimpse of satan or even god as he toils with tales of the way it used to be and the times that used to click by one sunny day after another no need to lean on your brother because your own shoulders were big enough back then when men were men and women stood by them not tearing them down like in todays times and paper headlines in the good old days of lies living la dolce vita under austin lights money to burn no time to learn when I saw her face and her body leaning against mine just heavy enough to feel her tits pressing against me enough to forget about what I needed to do - what I must do - when all I could think of was doing her and these thoughts come back to me like waves as tides rush in and out of my way - windows turning down around corners buildings bear witness to my blues as each new day when the timing seems right for hope to be ripe at the end I feel remorse once again as the night falls and passes into this darkness that illuminates my soul and keeps me reaching for the blank faces which look away as I keep reaching for them - am I invisible - can anyone see me at all as I walk through the streets as a ghost among ghosts unless I don't belong - blend in is good - quiet is good - pretend is good and I my friend wallow in the mud of bad and contempt but hopeful for warmth by those rusty flaming oil can bonfires into the sky signaling for the them all to come home - come home the clown says waving but not smiling catching their surprise - wake up you blank faces because you are the ones in disguise - turning away disgusts me when I see a babys face watch me and notice me but not you - kings of men but rulers of none your empty kingdoms ring with hollow sounds - no one comes to you when you call out in ghetto factories scared and scarred by light shifting behind your curtains and illusions about your fate look in the windows in front of you and the reflections of your face - my god you cannot even look at yourself or your wife or your child all left to pretend playing hopscotch on the sidewalk in front of your house cheating just so it appears that you are still moving forward like this train kuka kuka kuka babump babump babump over splitting rails and night time wails babys cry because of fear but you cry because you never tried to see outside - you have a role you have a place but damn is that really your face it does not seem to fit in these mirrors you trust just waiting to be smashed this is not your movie it is mine so keep your eyes to yourself you doubter of dreams and cursers of past I am steering this train into my future get out of my way you bums of despair and preachers of books which convince you to lie close your eyes little baby everything will be alright keep praying for salvation as I turn up the heat and find out where it really lies back inside you and inside me as we all try to look away but keep peaking up from time to time - ahhh I caught you - I see that smile as it sinks back behind the bars and into bars I need another drink to calm these thoughts which haunt along the rails bleeding out into the streets as the train stops one more time

- this is a green line train to harlem

am I blue on this train with people laughing and nervous with suitcases and briefcases loaded up to ride off to fly and flee from the endless boredom of living without sight blinded into a straight shot to escape from what I ask but it always seems to be the point to look away from tv movies music others noise cars dirt and everything that piles upon the steps of ourselves right up to the door knocking relentlessly calling for attention as we run to work and run to play kuka kuka kuka babump babump babump children holding the magic is how I feel watching you smiling and laughing falling across the floor and through crowds you dance as minutes pass by swaying in and out of view - seeing different sides of you no time passes raised in flowers through my head and falling as words into nothing - some end up here to fly and some fall here to die in a pile of pigeon feathers in the the back of the train laughing and pointing as others look on in disgust and disdain fallen angels incarnate - michael and gabriel spark across the divide forth and fro - he reached out and touched them - now he hides inside their eyes - that turn away in thought - looking into mirrors instead of others - souls in search of a new day - waiting for someone to touch - stop this train stop this race - waiting for someone to taste - savoring help that pours out - and spills upon the ground - through fingers trembling to touch - to live yet one more day - blood runs through their fingers - and spills upon the ground - and it dries in the son - visiting the scene of the crime - over and over again - deus in adjutorium meum intende - domine ad adjuvandum me festina

- this is a blue line train to no'where

This is dedicated to James Monk who passed too quickly for me know well. Two weeks before his death we sat together listening to Dylan Thomas. Then I read 'L' as he followed me providing a chorus for 'kuka kuka kuka babump babump babump.' A little magic found us together that evening. Thank you my friend.

typescript

reading

bread crumbs

2010-05-22T16:56:00.002-07:00

star light star bright
I almost lost my life that night
there are times I lose the smell
of your flesh and sweat in the
distraction of thoughts that fail
to sustain me through these days
I forget myself inside my plans
for comic rants and raves which
ultimately will raise the curtain
to bring my love upon the stage
sharing what burns through me
never leaving me be as a dream
or nightmare held by morning dew
a new day remembering itself
becoming clearer thinking of you
the rain will always come
reminding me of my loneliness
and feeling the world falling
upon me in some secret splendor
a hiding place I find beneath
the moldy bark of trees gently
laughing at their leaves

I can't stop the bleeding
as my words scatter around me
bread crumbs tossed in eternal pools
whispering about my footsteps
chasing the joys and loves of fools
this long night of death for birth
when memories swirl like birds
you can find me in the movement
of time and life worn shadows
when sun streaks peek from clouds
when dogs look up to lick your hand
when only children can understand
storms gather to drench the ground
raindrops fall with hollow beats
upon rusty tin roof sounds

my absence is presence
inside this illusion of time
I will always listen with patience
as your heartbeats follow mine

typescript

the ghost

2010-05-22T16:56:00.001-07:00

oh mommy - I'm so scared
there is a ghost in my room
that won't leave me alone
tonight it appeared as a woman
so beautiful and frail
long dark hair and a silky dress
and when I held her she closed
her eyes and melted in my arms
then the lights would not work
and water was seeping everywhere

oh mommy - I'm so scared
I saw the ghost as a small boy
playing and tossing himself
joyfully through the air
bumping into furniture laughing
I chased him through my rooms
that now look so strange to me
where is this place where I dream
where fear lies in wait for me?
he vanished when I reached out
and tried to pull him near

oh mommy - I'm so scared
I fell over my bed and found
you lying there under blankets
so warm and tightly bound
not there just moments before
I held your face inside my hands
looking softly into your eyes
you have become so wrinkled
and hollow after so many years
while death hid you in disguise
are you going to follow me home?
yes mommy - I am here

oh mommy - I'm so scared
the ghost came home last night
he sat down and started writing
some words as his face began
to shine with tears of sadness
his drink had pushed him far inside
too deep for him to hear
but he begged me for my help
and a place to sleep at last
for as long as his heart can see
I held his hand - he disappeared
and I saw the ghost was me

typescript

martha

2010-05-22T16:55:00.000-07:00

you hide behind expressions
a twist of mouth into a grin
or frown bent to the side to
safely keep yourself within
nobody sees through your
spectacled faces drawn up like
blueprints for the artsy look
the happy go lucky torn child
existing only at the edges
barely visible like a scar
that won't heal no matter
how deep you push it inward
you talk with a quick banter
snapping off a need to chat
by spilling into a theatrical
spell out onto the floor
soaking everyone with charm

you barked at me once
as I chased you out the door
after trying to catch you
with vain attempts to hold
onto your eyes which fall
from you in sleepy repose
you adorn yourself with hats
and tattered second hand
clothes - darting inside
as a sparrow looking to nest
gathering cigarettes to hold
your hand up in a betty davis
pose - always living cool
never left to be the fool
but in delight I watch you
giggling about yourself
turning sad eyes into light

your seriousness catches me
by surprise at times when you
avoid contact or capture in
dancing webs of daydreams
carrying the tray erases your
passion for childlike romps
into others hearts and ears
swept into music which you
disappear into as life keeps
you marching on as a soldier
lost inside a private war
only to be slowly undressed
taken by arms inside a mirror
I can always feel when
you are almost near
martha my dear

martha

typescript

bum steady

2010-05-22T16:53:00.002-07:00

bum steady as he goes
without the crutch of a peg leg
or a parrot mind mocking
all those rainbow colors
there are men who live close
to the dirt
to the smell
of rotting trash
and blowing bags
and rolling cups
dodging their way
through crushing tires as
they spin down clark street
like determined marbles
finding their shoots

choices play over and again
a recording stuck on repeat
rats scurry as the light changes
some men live in darkness
and are left there
bum steady as he goes
spare some change buddy?
like he was talking
about the weather or the cubs
finding a smile somehow
as though laughing
at himself because
there is nothing else
to do

there is a man who lives
outside my window
lost between two buildings
he talks to the pigeons
and often to himself
not even noticed
all promises dashed
years ago when he passed
over into the invisible
I keep looking out
to see his muddy boots
and shantied olive coat
holding his place
till the waking of a day
into the same dream
staring into peoples windows
like aquariums after
the lights go out

I saw you last night
looking in through mine
just hidden from my view
you looked like you had seen
the same ghost I saw
waking inside my nightmare
bum steady as you go
looking for a sleeping
place against a resting wall
your plastic soul which
keeps walking and talking
sometimes stopping
to watch busy people
who appear to be alive
catching yourself staring
at me in your mirror
through the window
of a passing train

typescript

the hole

2010-05-22T16:53:00.001-07:00

he collects things
hoping they will make him too
big
to fall down through
the hole

he has lots of books
full of lots of
words
which connect his head
to others thoughts
and make him feel too
big
to fall down through
the hole

he calls other people
on the telephone
just to hear their voices
to remind him that he
can still understand
what they are saying
which makes him laugh
and forget about
the hole

he pretends
to love other people
because he really does
not know what it means
but he feels that if he
hopes for something
beyond himself
it will keep him
from falling into
the hole

he tries to explain
to others through his
words
throwing them out
as a rope hanging
over the edge of a cliff
swinging there frayed
a hangmans noose
he let go
he let go

typescript

blind spot

2010-05-22T16:52:00.000-07:00

I find it strange
you won't talk to me
on the train
and you don't know me
unless I pretend to be
someone you might like
to see

sometimes
glare becomes unbearable
light cuts sharply through
cracks in the wall
as my heart falls gently into
the womb of the world
holding the beauty of life
not measured by itself
yet everything existing
is measured by its
absence

loneliness lies waiting for me
inside an old shoe
lying upon the floor
dropped where I left it
just minutes before

I can see you sometimes
in the corner of my eye
a graffiti alley decayed by
years of worn old bricks
where you - don't see me anymore
only the sound of dead branches
scraping against the walls
pushed and swallowed by gusts
of gods breath

I hate most people
but I don't hate you
the sniveling masses
praying at the altar
of appearance and conformity
feigning romance for a moment
to forget about the terror
of being alone

when I awake
I miss childhood friendships
two together for the haul
walking through adventures
getting lost by nightfall
the first color of morning
what are you doing right now?
I always need to know

we are not much different
than pigeons huddled against subway
warmth and light
watching each other with dread
is that what I'm really like?
homing pigeons find homeless
trails while I search
desperately for you
to nurture and hide
my blind spot

typescript

beautiful madness

2010-05-22T16:51:00.002-07:00

I saw your soul
being sucked through a plastic straw
it made me cringe to think that you
might not fit
that your hatred and sadness would be
too big
or your tears might well up
too dramatic to command the stage
or contrived enough to make everyone
laugh
funny girl - she's such a funny girl
burnt by men who walked away laughing
at how quickly they left
blame it on insanity
or empty feelings that can't
find root
rooting for the best of us
as we smile and find comfort in lies
move away from me
they all say - in the middle of the night
when legs wrap over each other
looking for something to hold
like a hand that feels warm
but slaps when grasped
angry hands clapping
at the horrible spectacle
of beautiful madness

typescript

one night

2010-05-22T16:51:00.001-07:00

one night
I walked up on stage
because you stopped listening
to my rhythms words and songs
and my rights woes and wrongs
unaware of when you left me
stranded talking to myself
in the darkness of street horns
disguise and hollow singing voices
in the room next door lonely blues
so tired of lies from souls I lose
and drunkenness closes my eyes
I can see you laughing out at bars
with booze and the beating noise
too fast to follow too shallow
for anything to be a surprise
I still miss you these nights
laughing into my ear so distant
that I can barely see and hear
how great is this light
that you once handed to me?
is it just my nightmares
dreams and delusion
- or is it really me?

typescript

dark star

2010-05-22T16:49:00.000-07:00

who is the darkest star?
through windows of bars
never showing your belly
and holding it to the light
much too heavy to realize
that beauty runs deepest
when tortured souls hide
like moths to the flame
reading faces like braille
touching to get pricked
by hidden thorn nails
sometimes you talk to me
appearing lost in thought
afraid of coming out today
haunting your face with
a glimmer and a smile
and a twinkle in your eye
from crying and holding on
to a drifting life in time
I watch you sometimes when
drinks enslave and trap me
and days get clearer by night
as colors move softly inside
and my lonely one becomes
the only one

lisa

typescript

madness

2010-05-22T16:48:00.000-07:00

madness is the space
between one face yielding to the next
falling inside myself where forms
try to find themselves again through
vague memories and pictures in thoughts
familiar sounds and smells walking by
back down childhood streets of freshly
cut grass and screams of kids and cars
another day passing in an endless
stream of existing through senses
without a need for making sense
remembering moments of emotion
drifting away from loved ones
as they wander beyond our reach

death awaits us as surely as
it takes others before our eyes
rushing too fast for some truth
to be gleaned about the passage
of events tied forever to our lives
time at last is seen as a shift
between positions of viewing myself
trying to imagine what you might see
the last time I saw your face
I hold as a moment and time to be you
and to feel your passing as pieces
of love taken away from us all
ripped away from your life
as we tumble and fall

shelly

typescript

barnacle

2010-05-22T16:46:00.000-07:00

shenanigan hooligan
playing the fool again
barnacle rambles
along the sidewalk
trash blows upon him
swirling wind eddies
caught in the tide pool
of days and chances
capturing glances
a quick step and skip
a smile upside down
he gathers his pants
and dances

his gaze floats along
locked inside the past
poison whispers burn
his eyes with tears
in the rain falling
into his life at last
three children gather
inside his thoughts
more time is needed
to find what is lost
brutally honest
he hides behind lies
truth and trickster
darkness and light

shenanigan hooligan
playing the fool again
barnacle wanders
through lonely alleys
a sad spectacled face
parading disgrace
mocking our masks
facades for our taste
big shoes slap along
with a buoy in tow
in resonant prayer
as above - so below
restlessly searching
silently screaming
for the beauty of
life's torrid glow

typescript

the edge

2010-05-22T16:45:00.002-07:00

when you
stumble home drunk
peeing in your pants
on the way up the stairs
you climb into the bathtub
fully clothed playing your
trumpet and falling asleep
as your tub overflows
you wake up to a voice
yelling 'housekeeping!'

when you lose yourself
to vertigo arrogance horror
forgetfulness and dancing
where you will always burn
for those who feel you
and die for those who
fear themselves

the price is your life
which you offer up
shaking and crying
for the promise
of love

I have seen it twice
once falling from a cliff
in greece searching for feathers
and every time I fall out
of myself on stage

now it waits for me
tickling my heart
and laughing

typescript

flanigans wake

2010-05-22T16:45:00.001-07:00

life may bring you bounties of gifts
and smiles that adorn every turn
or smoke may billow through lovelorn
desire bringing nothing but grief
in return - but if you dance in
parades of jugglers charades
all bound by burdens and chains
and you fancy to ride
just for life's playful side
when pains are just vanes for a change
god bless this love burdened trip
of laughs and friends to awake
shake the reins one more time
and chug back some wine 'cause
you're riding upon flanigans wake!

typescript

before you drown

2010-05-22T16:44:00.000-07:00

immortal thoughts by mortal dreams
rip my soul and tear apart
immortal streams through holes
of distant places - never seen
blowing leaves on watchful trees
blackened dirt finds the scent
of pine and painful endings
by surprise and not foreseen

immortal days and nights on end
when loved ones get tossed by sin
booze comes in to hold my hand
waking up still dazed and lost
not seeing the faces I've crossed
some of you may understand
how life gets loose and breaks
like a bull - beneath the brand

I know that it's my heart
that screams and longs to live
at last - on nights like this
fighting clowns care no more
battered hands with bloody sores
finding smiles who see the score
we hide behind our certain lives
forgetting how at night we cry

give us love beyond our means
we pray and curse to fill our stay
and pass the days with sleepy stares
on each others faces - unaware
now is the time to fill the tide
and catch ourselves before we die
beware the clown with scorn and frown
and rise above - before you drown

typescript

broken bird

2010-05-22T16:43:00.000-07:00

I am a broken bird
hobbling along the beach
sanderlings linger rushing in and out
as the tide swallows up my footprints
pressed for a short time into the earth
my trail disappears behind me as swiftly
as thoughts into the sun along the orange
rayed horizon of a disappearing day
reflections bubble up with sand fleas
as waves retreat from painting the sand
beat beat beat swoosh ticks in time
the heartbeat of earth as gentle as mine
I walk this life along ridges and edges
tempting myself to step and fall
into this depth which I call myself
a perfect shell calls a perfect life
curling up within me filling my spiral
which turns with a clockwise plan
shells lie broken beneath my feet
angel wings tossed upon the sand
such symbols whisper silently still
longing for me to understand
I drag one foot behind me now
as I walk with slowed breath
my shore tearing sands away
from my broken bird heart
and my broken bird way

typescript

I can see your face

2010-05-22T16:42:00.000-07:00

at the end of the day
when time has run down
into one last cigarette ash
you turn to me and ask
'do you like me?'
and I just smile and rest
my head upon your breast
inside each others loneliness
we blame each other
for being alone
our fights are fights for space
lost in rage and tantrum tears
I reach up gently hiding them
behind my hands
like a room without a window
I can see you face

after a few glasses
of chardonnay
bar music underneath
our best friend talks
elixirs and laughter
I can feel your warmth
leaning against my back
your sun against my wall
my world without your smile
pulling me away from myself
falling softly into your arms
keeping days away from harm
my pain without disgrace
looking up in childlike
adoration
I can see your face

the life you promised
at times seems such a waste
sometimes I really hate you
for all you give in grace
beside you
my weakness fills my life
reminding me of being
blessed beneath your touch
holding beauty high
pretending I have sight
looking over at you in bed
living in black and white
old movie dreams
only you can see
and I can almost taste
I can see your face

pattianne

typescript

everything gets lost

2010-05-22T16:41:00.002-07:00

everything gets lost
sliding fingers trace the time
gently dancing to a favorite song
along my back when you were mine
I turn to look and you are gone
through a door that finally shuts
clumsy clowns lose their hearts
dying inside in the name of art
a silent sunset into dark
your voice still tries to find me
trapped in corners wispy leaves
wasted poetry in windblown sand
sleepless boats alone at last
waiting for someone to understand
forgetful dreams erase the past
rhyming words to ease the pain
ink just fades when soaked by rain
just a penny for your thoughts
just a penny through the crack
and you'll never get it back
crooked lines which never cross
lucky coins we always toss
everything gets lost

typescript

as I lie

2010-05-22T16:41:00.001-07:00

our secret pact
rises each day in spite
of ourselves
unknown even to us
it has cast its spell
and turned our hearts into
driven soldiers
who find warmth beneath
a stay of trees
when the battle has grown
old and weary of fighting
for ideas that circle
and rot our minds
we find a new day
always after the next
ending in each others arms
our pact of death
is a pact of light
suffering each other
against the wind driven
desires of our flesh
woven together in fabric
enough to find beauty
at times when it is lost
but our pact of hearts
is not a pact of minds
the apple sits balancing
teetering upon my head
my eyes look up catching
it as it almost falls
shoot me at the right
time - I said
kill me as I kill myself
but you keep missing
wounding me and passing
by with words and tears
not this time
living in hell almost
seems like heaven
as you lift your lance
to fight and destroy
and lovingly fill
the hole between my eyes
I crave your arms
and kisses upon my back
as I lie falling asleep
to live and die
with every stroke
of my breath

typescript

ale house blues

2010-05-22T16:40:00.001-07:00

bruce is a noble painter
of old town barroom lore
with bawdy boozy tales
a crafty raconteur
his dreams on canvas
entice and enchant us
with pictures of bitches
harlots and whores

anna marie is a new yawker
a wise girl walk and tawker
with eyes the size
of brooklyn skies
she charms and swings
her boots and bat
with a warning and a wink
to nevah evah taunt her

ruben’s firmly rooted
just a foot inside the door
the bellows of his banter
a haughty mexican roar
he belts out like a lion
with porn and wit and scorn
a martini for baby ruben
just waiting to be reborn

ale house

typescript

fox stands up

2010-05-22T16:35:00.000-07:00

it was a great crowd
- what a crowd!
his friends had gathered
to witness his rebirth
a rare sight indeed
in a world torn apart
by cowardice and greed
courage paced to and fro
stage shoes shined with sting
his wit fine tuned for banter
and bits of bawdy flings
carefully planned antics
of a tightrope clown
urging us to follow
- and we do

upon a field of dreams
his heart reaches out
with a steady hand and rein
pulling the horse
through loneliness and pain
fox watched the shadows
of heads and clapping hands
for those who go before
a legend in the gates
biting his bit and kicking
for a chance to toy with fate
- 'ladies and gentlemen!'
with a crowd roar he soars
carried through the tables
upon shoulders he adores
- 'the legend - john fox!'

never missing a beat
his nick nolte mugshot
sends us reeling in our seats
his hawaiian shirt bulging
with self mocking despair
I sit in awe of the man who
climbed upon the stage
and found himself there
punchlines piled upon us
forgetting about our fears
now tearing at our ribs
and tickling us to tears

after the show
he walked to the lake
alone to feel the morning
he stood on a baseball diamond
watching the sun rise slowly
over the blackened water
as he stepped up to home plate
his thoughts were flooded
by a time capsule boy
from a hundred years back
staring into the sun
just wishing to get a hit
once again - fox stands up!
smiling at his life
returning its blessing
upon the glassy waves
of a crimson sunrise
he swung at a fastball
and cracked his bat
whack! - a home run!

I stood there as the boy
just waiting for my pitch
trying to change the world
with words and laughter
when the mind steps aside
and bows to its master
I now see hidden magic
I never could have imagined
fox rounding the bases
his grateful tears falling
into the sun and raining
upon us all

fox

typescript

pattianne

2010-05-22T16:34:00.002-07:00

lonely
angry phone calls
beacons in the night
I would walk off into water
to rid me of this life
spinning into darkness
desperate for some light
I was lost to myself
standing alone on the street
rain pouring down my face
moments appear only once
footprint patterns trace
calling out to the sky
a torn sad juggling clown
carelessly tossing pride and purpose
invisible without a sound
rolling through fright and mist
my life falling through my hands
dreaming of the love I missed
reaching down you held me
curled up and huddled tight
lying with a childlike grin
opening my tired and
shallow eyes
finally able to see
I found a perfect angel
gently handing my life
back to me

pattianne

typescript

crippled cross

2010-05-22T16:34:00.001-07:00

stinking of houndstooth
patterns rich in speckled
christmas worn apparel
I walk the streets chilled
coughing up my weak heart
catching my breath barely
making it up stairs to fight
for space upon the L at night
headed to the ale house to
drown myself in beer and shots
longing for a chance to talk
to an audience about the joy
of living lies in thoughts
another day in paradise
I'm lost again bearing and
carrying my crippled cross
madness grows inside me
with clown torn tears
hanging from a gate too cold
to live and die with fear
my leg ripped and twisted
with a late night urge to find
a way inside myself donning
a mask of fate on a tightrope
just barely crossing the abyss
tearing and taunting my heart
for a chance to rip it out
showing the world once again
that it beats for me without
a doubt about love and beauty
much too deep to see

typescript

looking for you

2010-05-22T16:33:00.001-07:00

looking for you
through smoke worn windows
of white and yellow taxis
faceless riders lost insiders
swerve by in swift contempt
through streaking drops of rain
falling from peering rooftops
finding pools upon streets
dancing jewels upon my feet
in strangers eyes and homeless lies
in traffic lights counting time
through stands of trees
brushed and torn by reddened leaves
flowers bloom at last for you
a strummers tune echoes up
from beneath the hollow sidewalk
up and down through busy crowds
passing hushed and hurried sounds
once or twice I heard a voice
calling me to make a choice
tiny dogs pull leash and chains
owners eyes stare blank insane
watery crests the lake assumes
splashing walls and barkers calls
I never knew how far I'd fall
looking for you

jenny

typescript

song of the blue lady

2010-05-22T16:32:00.002-07:00

a closed door
stands in front of me
hiding the faint beat of persian drums
and celtic pipes in foggy moors
opening slowly
to the emerging dirge of love
longing to be captured by song
blue mist seeps out
tumbling and rolling through my feet
the singing blue lady becomes form
out from the shadows

a loo poo wats
hords do ma lee
a lons to key leeng
oon da bass
dair ee nair nuf die
far der magee doo la

as love pulls our hearts
towards tomorrow
and longs to keep living
in the past
there is never enough time
for the magic to last

a loo poo wats
hords do ma lee
a lons to key leeng
oon da bass
dair ee nair nuf die
far der magee doo la

in and out like a cuckoo
pushing a large wheeled machine
like an over heated steam engine
immersing my heart in passion and hope
dancing and chanting an ancient sea shanty
fading back into the harbor mist
the singing blue lady retreats
behind the closing door
form into shadow
love into life

typescript

just like a dog

2010-05-22T16:32:00.001-07:00

whenever I walk home at night
I growl - very loudly

instead of offering to buy
a girl a drink
I throw water in her face
and yell 'tsunami!'

when a girl looks over
and smiles at me in a bar
I tell her she has nice tits
and grab her by the crotch

when I get my heart broken
I ask out every girl I know
dropping lines in the water
like any good fisherman

when I feel a girl twist
a knife deep inside my heart
I laugh maniacally
and thank god I'm in love

when I go to watch my friend
act in the vagina monologues
all I can think about is
playing with her vagina

when I am denounced
for being a mysogynist pig
I am comforted by knowing
something has embraced me

when I get lap dances
from a young girl with braces
I don't try to save her soul
I ask her for another dance

when I take a girl home
after just meeting her
I skin my knees on her porch
getting to know her better

when I meet a girl I like
I try to piss her off
knowing that just being nice
is not very interesting

when I'm lost - really lost
and my heart just can't live
without seeing her face again
I write a poem to remind me

when I'm all alone at night
passing time at the ale house
I laugh to myself knowing
that I hate to love women

and when I truly love someone
I just roll over playfully
and show her my belly
- just like a dog

typescript

disco ball

2010-05-22T16:31:00.001-07:00

it happened again
when I tried to walk away
quietly so as not to stir
the monster from his slumber
then throwing myself face first
into a wall surpised once again
it does not break away or fall
but stands fast in its place
leaving me propped and bent
upon the floor tired of trying
to tear my senses from my sight
to find myself again twisted
inside a carnival mirror where
the illusion is the one looking
at once confident and self sure
then trembling in despair
strangling a moment of clarity
in a pool of shifting visions
lost in a drunken blur

my sense of who I am
evanescent to the touch
like the moon waning through
phases of itself passed along
deep dark nights of my delusions
unable to grasp what I need to last
my selves conjoined in a circlular
dance around fire billowed flames
kissing different faces as jewels
reflected in a spinning disco ball
lost in musical chairs of I's
looking into a mirror to catch
the thief who steals my eyes
who will be the next to fall?
holding onto this ferris ride
knowing what the others hide
in song and beautiful light
playfully pulling them along
for a ride into the night

typescript