spanish fly

in the drift of the night, the music of the waves. the sounds of your hearts. a mix an amalgam of minds in various states of cleansing and churning much like the waves of the ocean. a slight connection and it was nice to kiss the idea of being an idea and being in love again. whether it was a slight flirtation or an honest to goodness feeling it was nice. sometimes you have to make those moments last so they are forever in your mind, the next day these ideas may flee and you will forget the fire of the heat that they burned with. Never extol, never feel virtue, and never pass judgement since this is what will burn you. I chose to run off with her into the night, walking up the quiet country path to the house of everyone. In the stillness of the moon in the silver blue sky with the rim light pine trees standing silently against the many pin drop of stars. Passing by the open door to her room she sat there in a quiet shock of what now I may be judging regret or feelings that sometimes in the moments of group gatherings become bigger than what the really are, but she did look sad and that made me kind of sad and for the life of me I lost the words to make things better, which I usually have, but at that moment they escaped me like flitting birds and with regret I admit that I didn't have these magic bullets to make her feel better about the whole situation. In the sea swept sun, in the glaring of the bright metal boats the bobbed rhythmically to the music running through the minds of our hearts that become confused so easily. A vision of yellow and blue, yellow for the sun and blue for ocean she looked beautiful in the sadness, but I wanted it all to go away. I wanted to say, "can I come sit next to you..." but again I wasn't so brave nor smart about the whole matter. If I were right I would have done so and at least asked if she was okay. In the slight digressions of life it's never right nor wrong just the maelstorm of confusion. we can't read minds nor can we read hearts and we can never follow the natural compass that is our feelings. I'm going to have to remember this and just go for it and get that feeling that I had when I was young and the negative waves of life battered me like an old fishing boat that had lost it's way in an arctic storm in this tropical land where were would just love each other and tell everyone it's going to be okay. It's a new day tomorrow and everything will be okay, no matter what our histories were.

been a long time

I took a disco nap and it turned into a full on marathon. The birds of the neighborhood still chirp into the night. Sometimes the surprises of the late universe can wake you up. Sometimes you just wish you were sleeping in the lake, like the old tales of Camelot. The reversal of fortune was always fortuitous and you had to kiss the ground you walked on. Though once in a while it trembles and you feel the slow roll of an earthquake. Where can we be alone? In the desert, at the mountaintop or the slow low confines of our rooms. The proverbial rat in the cage sits there smoking a cigarette thinking about the ill-fitted tux suit that it will be wearing for a wedding. It was a Banksy production, but you can't take that to the bank. It's been an exhausting year, but actually it's only been on phase of the marathon. Two beats, one beat, and we skip a beat. One heart one dream and we surely have to diversify our portfolios. I'm looking to be bi-coastal so let's skip to the beat of that drum. It's a snare, like "Watership Down"...I believe that may be one word or one world that we need to avoid. The clouds today in LA were immaculate and almost alien. I need to buy new genes, because I'd like to be taller. Writing in the near future is the near present I need to get to. This isn't so rhythmic, but it beats with my heart.

coltrane

and the sounds of the pitter patter of little feat. the essential collection of beats to the sound of our breathing dreams. Alphabet soup and Alphabet city are spelled like this, A, B, C, D, and so forth. a robot beat for the robot drums and thunderstorm approaches and we take shelter in the basement of our thoughts. the steady hand of whispers in the dreams of clouds where we once lived. I can count, 1, 2, 3. four...like count chocola and frankenberry...can we be frank or are we tater tots that got burned in the oven. the settling sun was pointing due east in the ragged winds of the tempestuous storm...or brains were fried like an egg sunny side up. I have to get up early so I can begin running away from what I really don't remember. can we say the blurry vision of our octagonal sunglasses were pointing to the horizon of our early lives? I'm going to put this on the record and let it spin like a merry go round with a clown's face on it. The clown had a brown face and it was made of tiny little particulate matter that some would call poo. Is Jason black? probably since I imagined it so. it was a nice clean shot, and his head swirled as if caught up in a hurricane.

the painted picture

of this bird hang in the foyer of my near future home. The apples of a dozen centuries sit in the fruit bowl of my long gone past homes. The features of her face read like a perfect event horizon, we saw the sun disappear beneath the moonscape of our heavens and hells. Wait, did you hear the pin drop on the proverbial floor? Or was it myself imagining things? Probably both or one or the other. A shaman retreats into the bone thick edge of night, we read signs that may or may not be there. There was a dog howling at the moon, a saucer of intergalatic space cheese and you just have to realize I'm bored at work and mean nothing by this. The plate of bees were covered in chodolate and we could eat their stingers if we weren't too careful. Stung by a bee with some bee stung lips. Let's perse or is it purse them. There were diamonds made of stars and I was made forever in blue jeans. They were Capital E because that's all they wore, like Prince's yellow assless chaps. You were too nice, and that's what they said. That was the take away.

run around turn around

it was above the ground, like an adobe structure made from the tears of desert jack rabbits with the horns of a rhino...a rhinolope. or maybe it was a bird made of rhinoplasty. Secret stories told into the night, the phantom menace of Jar Jar Binks laid waste to the innocent people of this far off town. what can we say? Sometimes you see things that you'd rather not speak about, sometimes yellow taped cordoned areas are where you shouldn't be. I saw a cloud in the sky and it looked like a unicorn dancing on top of a leprechaun. The earth stood still, yet we were going around the sun in about 325 days. The shackles of the day light hours in the places we called work kept us shackled, like mining the diamonds of middle earth only to give them up to some overseer. Let's grow wings and fly away from this. The shuffling of neanderthal cards distracted me from the task at hand, which was to turn my printer in fire. A disheveled mess of cartridges, paper, broken scans, and the filament of one of Benjamin Franklin's long lost light bulb experiment. The times of the endless summer never end, we are always chasing the waves from this hemisphere to the next. I have a dodge prowler and it carries a six shooter. The earth spins in one complete cycle so make sure you put your sheet of Bounce in there. It's static free and keeps you from getting wrinkly pants. Is LeBron James leaving Cleveland, say it ain't so Joe, but I think so. Let's run here, let's pee there, but let's just do either. A declaration in Paris and I'm looking forward to the sleepy fun times...

NOLA

the deep south. the durty south. the smiles of unsolicited smiles. the steady beat of the horns echoing through the night. The real city that never sleeps, where everyone is drunk around 6 pm.
glowing night, dispatch cabs in the guttural sound of the bayou. It hovers like a drunken firefly of the past. The crisp sweet smell of fried chicken. A march of the saints that were probably devils. the insanity of the world swirls. the insanity of life is like a hurricane. The ever mounting love for a girl grows in my heart. one of these things I need to slow down. One of these things is making me think that maybe I should move to the south. Open up a store and let the moonshine flow.
The earth digs deep, it's black blood floods into the ocean, different species of birds rest in the caverns of moss growing in trees. we can be good, so why shouldn't be. We can live life, so why don't we? The coyote came into the yard and just sat there, looking at me. I tried to scare it away with a comedic swirling of arms and the fake bravery of man facing nature. The back of my neck stood up straight. The primordial soup tasted of mud. We can help eachother fight the vampires.
I'll bring my stake and you bring your good aim.

Coachella

Sea breeze, dark trips and the mad mexican who is my friend. Off the hook off the chains, and I got to see Emilyn Smith. Great notes, high times, running through the desert without a worry in the world. Deep springs, dark palms, the questions of the glitter coyotes running through the night. Illegal moments, illegal aliens, and the ufos they arrived on. I ran into a beautiful night apparition, one I had dreamed of seeing a long time ago in my sleep. Bunker hills, Bunker granites, the left of center was moved even more to the right. Ponies on sticks and the dangerous men who carried them. The dancing was full of butt cracks. The earth of matted down grass. The exploratory surgery of gym days gone by. Secret handoffs and holding hands through the darkened crowd. Die Antwerd was actually boring compared to real life. It was fun, maybe too much fun. I thinking I should have driven myself or had the guts to. fire it up, because someone has to.