Please Remove Your Foot From My Ass and Insert Into Your Own Mouth

Here was my horoscope for yesterday....
Greetings Dony - Here is your horoscope for Tuesday, June 29: “It's time for lighthearted fun -- which is just what the doctor ordered, isn't it? Don't try to plan things out too carefully. Just let go and enjoy the moment.”
Now, in reading that one might construe that this is a day to just kick back and groove, smile at all the world’s ills, devil may care. And even though I don’t plan my days around these insights, I thought it good advice at the very least. So, in my own way, I did just that. Little did I know where this lighthearted fun would eventually take me. Never in a million years...
The hateful vile woman I tangled with on Friday (see “Smack ‘Em Like You Mean It”) had thankfully left me alone over the weekend as I’d gotten everything cleared up to everyone’s satisfaction, or so I thought. I’d run into her at the desk yesterday morning and we had a pleasant exchange, and again, I took the high road and asked if she and I could talk to clear the air, get off on the good foot if we could. She smiled and assured me I was on her list for today.
I walked away feeling pretty good. I never like to avoid bad situations as I’m naturally inclined to find solutions to the problems and meet them head on to diffuse any leftover rancor. I was doing my part in the equation.
A good friend, the Mad Mexican, came by the crib yesterday afternoon and he was able to take me exploring on the web to find some things I’d inquired about. A fun afternoon, blazing away, cooking up a bellyful of chicken potstickers, thunder and rain outside. listening to some tunes. A groovy mood, in all.
Then late yesterday afternoon, the phone rang.
She bitch wasted no time coming out the chute with her usual hateful blather, demanding that I get a credit card imprint, giving me an hour to do so... or I was OUTTA HERE! It’s pouring down rain outside. It’s rush hour. I’m here with my friend. Unfuckingbelievable! I still can’t come to grips why this woman treats a good customer in such a caustic fashion. No rhyme, no reason. Hate to think of what her daddy did to her as a child.
Even though I’d given them all the information they needed for the account, my partner had still been trying to fax them an imprint of the card since Saturday but their fax machine hasn’t worked for days and still isn’t. I told the woman behind the desk this fact, telling them I would be seeing him in a bit and I could get the card then, but all I got were more threats and demands, and this after I’ve been here for over a year and spent quite a lot of money! I let them know what I thought about their stance and the whole situation in my own inimitable way, then I left to go retrieve the card so I could get this she bitch out of my hair.
It’s hard for me to understand how some people can make life miserable for not only themselves, but for any they come in contact with. Life is difficult enough without people who suffer from this crippled mindset spreading their misery all over you. I really yearn for the days of old where you could plug a hole in a jerk and everyone thanked you afterward. This situation certainly called for western styled justice, but unfortunately I live in a politically correct society and I’m getting more fed up with it by the day.
I drove in the torrential rain, in the bottlenecked traffic, got the card and returned to my abode. Nonplused.
The situation worsened, if you can believe it.
Another woman was waiting for me, she bitch’s shield, as it turns out. She bitch is too chickenshit to deal with me directly, preferring to toss everything upside down then let everyone else clean up her mess. Piece of shit in a human suit if ever I’ve seen one. I soon found out the wench facing me is no better than the other, but little did I know why. That unveiling came later.
I thought I’d been a good boy and done like they’d asked, as unreasonable as it was, but they had a whole ‘nother plan of attack waiting on me. Now they needed his signature. Now they needed a letter stating it was okay to use this card for this account. And the tiddly wink, pedantic, rooty poot, namby pamby, chickenshit pettiness got worse with each word out of her mouth.
I’d had quite enough of this rude and boorish behavior and stepped up to the counter and asked for the she bitch’s bosses names, their telephone numbers, their addresses, their positions, as this was so far beyond the normal customer/business relationship as to be believed! I was frustrated and disrespected and I smelt blood.
The other woman asked for my partners phone number. I gave them both, knowing he is pretty much available on either twenty-four hours a day. Then I was told she couldn’t reach him, and without payment, I would have to vacate immediately...
I kept my cool, but I let this woman know exactly what I felt about the situation, again, in my own inimitable way. And it was midway through my ‘as level-headed as I could get it’ tirade that the original she bitch appeared, and this after I’d been told she was no longer on the property. Aha! An all new low...
By this time I’d gotten ahold of my partner on the first call, unlike what they were seemingly unable to do, and right then when things were rising to a fever pitch between all of us, I turn around and there is a police cruiser pulling up to the front door.
I won’t bore you with the details, but let it be said, with each layer of the onion peeled away, the policemen kept looking at me, my partner, and she bitch, nodding their heads in assessment, slowly piecing this picture together, coming to the conclusion that I’d already arrived at days ago.
She bitch tried every way to get me and my partner to lose it so she could toss me out, or have me arrested, and the more she tried, the more her facade fell and the policeman knew it, giving me the all knowing “look” when she would ratchet her cat scratch lunacy up a notch or two, while me and my partner would calmly show her the err in her ways which only infuriated the shit our of her. She’d demand something new, we’d say okay, then she’d change the rules before she’d even responded to what we were offering! I sat over to the side, asked by the police to do so, uncontrollably shaking I was so mad. But we kept our cool She bitch didn’t. And before long, both policemen had her number.
After he’d heard quite enough one policeman took she bitch to the side and had a talk with her. I don’t know what was said but suddenly she couldn’t get our process finished fast enough.
I continued to press upon some issues that were unresolved and she complied, even though she wanted to explode. I enjoyed every second of it.
Finally, she bitch had, by her own hands, locked herself in a corner unable to squirm anymore, and she wouldn’t be able to sling one fucking untoward word my way ever again for fear of legal action. And she knew it.
Revenge tastes good when you really don’t have to do much except watch it all happen, the other person taking care of themselves, digging their own graves, then tossing dirt on top of themselves, as well. Yeah, she took her foot out of my ass and went to sucking on it so fast it made her fucking dizzy. She asked for it. She got it.
Me and my partner went and had some queso and chips while she bitch probably went home and beat up her dog and verbally abused her husband. Even though I didn’t know it, I’d actually carried out to the letter my horoscope, only re-reading it again this morning and laughing out loud at what I read. In truth, I had let go, and without a doubt, enjoyed the moment.
Now I can walk in peace. That is, until the next cocksucker jumps into my way. And with the human race being what it is, that’s only a matter of fucking time.
I can’t get far enough away. But meanwhile, I have faith, I work hard, and it’s only a matter of time. Freedom will be mine. All mine. And doomed motherfuckers like her and others will suck my dust.
Enlightened, fucking giddy, I walk on.

John Holmes is Alive and Well

Ran into John Holmes last night. The news of his death must be a hoax. Greatly exaggerated. Val Kilmer just collected a paycheck. John was sipping Singapore Slings with tiny, colored umbrellas perched on the rim and was cocked back in full recline on a fuzzy red velour couch, listening to some singer/songwriters over on the rock block. His shirt was untucked, a shiny polyester number with a purple and white tiger print and he hadn't gained an ounce over the years. Still lean and mean, packing a pound or two of prime grade A -I’m sure- which was carefully hidden by the front of his untucked shirt, he was sporting an Afro. By the looks of it he’d taken great pains to pick it out until it was a perfectly rounded puff. A rather stout woman who accompanied him had an entire loaf of bread for an ass. Bombeezy. Bustin’ out all over. Ripe. R. Crumb would've fallen in love with her at first sight. By the strut in his walk, old Johnny boy's still got it. Man is not to be denied. A force to be reckoned with. I was gonna buy him a drink, raise a glass to celebrate his prowess and his ongoing life with his foot-long partner, but I didn’t. With a shirt like that, man should’ve bought me a drink for having to look at it.
Women beware! Mommas and Daddies? Lock up your daughters! John Holmes is alive, on the prowl, and ready to plow a furrow. ...A deep one.

Shit is Shit is Shit is Shit is Shit

If it smells like shit, looks like shit, acts like shit, it’s shit. It may take a shower, doll itself up, and tell you the most enchanting lies you’ve ever heard, but beneath all the window dressing, it’s still shit. Shit is shit is shit is shit is shit.

Fur is Flying, The Wheels are Coming Off, Duck Wilma!

(this one was written for Friday, June the 25th but I'm just gettin' around to punching it out)

I read four newspapers everyday. Some days can be... well, never quite boring, but some can only elicit a yawn at best. Yesterday wasn’t one of those. Not by any stretch.
I don’t usually write about events in the news, preferring to write a piece of fiction about a specific event that catches my eye (see Double Dumbass). But as I scanned the papers yesterday I found it almost hard to believe what I was reading. I’m not sure what planet was in alignment with what, or what sort of solar flare activity we had, but some wicked twisted dagnasty shit was definitely in the air. News that made me sit down and ponder how out of wack we, the human race, are going to get, and what will become of our world in the process? I shudder to think. How bizarre could this news I read have been, you ask? If you’ve not dug beneath the surface as I, allow me to unveil. I’d be honored to be your personal tour guide into the maw of humanity at its zenith...
The seven deadlies in full view.

Lust
The first item involves a man from Utah named Walter Ball. I’m not sure what happened in Walter’s life for him to turn out thus, but whatever it was, or whomever was responsible needs to be brought up on serious criminal charges. I guess Walter, over the years, thought it most natural to sexually abuse his three daughters. He dug it. A lot. Walter was finally jailed after sexually molesting one of the daughters in a most deranged fashion. It was bad enough that he’d had his way with her, but then after he’d done the deed, he decided to up the ante by putting a gun to her head and pulling the trigger. Luckily for the poor young woman the gun wasn’t loaded but one can only imagine the psychological damage inflicted by such a heinous event. Well, after a short stint behind bars for being such a bad boy the powers that be decided it was time for ol’ Walter to hit the bricks again. There’s wisdom for you. All the daughters immediately sought restraining orders on their father. Didn’t stop ol’ Walter. Apparently the man has a most distinctive concentration and need and wasted no time in taking up right where he left off. First item of business was to visit a good friend of his wife, waking her up in the middle of the night and beating her senseless; no apparent motive. He then went back home and hogtied all three daughters together with some rope, this after making them strip naked. Then, in front of his nude and bound daughters, he shoots his wife in the face, killing her, then takes the girls for a joyride in the desert at their expense. After doing god knows what to these poor girls, he buys a bunch of booze and drinks until he passes out. One of the girls apparently has had more than enough and finding the bastard’s gun promptly plugs several holes in his sorry carcass, rendering him moot amongst the human populace. Thankfully. It’s really hard for me to understand how someone could be so vile. How did someone get to be so demented and why did it take so long for justice to be served?. My only question is why didn’t someone shoot the bastard a lot sooner?! Fucker deserved to die, but slowly, with much more pain and agony involved. Fucker deserved worse than he got; the old eye for an eye never more appropriate. Walter is gone and quickly forgotten, but not by his daughters, unfortunately.

Greed
Let’s hit the east coast and look at someone on the opposite end of the spectrum. Apparently the Olympic committee had requested that J Lo represent her hood in the Big Apple recently, asking her to perform for the torch carrying ceremony. She accepted the offer, but added to her fee a list of demands that were “absolutely necessary” for her to be there. First item, a private jet at a cost of 38K. Then there was the 10K a night hotel room with two adjoining 1K a night suites for her minders. Then there was the ever important makeup at 6k a day. The hair was only 4K a day. All to just show up for the good of her country, her city, and sing a song! What would have been so difficult to graciously accept the honor, hop on a plane, slap on some lipstick, comb her hair, and do something right and good for the occasion? Can we say ‘out of touch’? And when they refused her demands, she said she couldn’t accept the invitation because of a “work commitment”. But when the film company with whom she is working were contacted they said there wasn’t any shooting that particular day. ...Hate to be in that woman’s skin. She obviously believes everything she reads and hears, and we, the public, and the companies that vie for her services keep feeding that ego. I almost feel sorry for her, but it’s hard to feel sorry for someone who is abusing her privilege so. Reality check is nowhere in sight. Lucky man that Marc Anthony, eh?

Anger
Let’s go cross country and see what happened in East Oakland. It would appear that a certain Laurie Medina took a bit of offense when her ex boyfriend began to date someone other than she. Gosh, imagine that?! Something completely new and different in the behavioral patterns of humans! She had a car full of her friends and while they were leaving McDonald’s she saw her ex driving off with another woman. The horror! The shame! The indignity! Ms. Medina decided that she needed to show her undying love for her ex by chasing him down the highway, ramming his car repeatedly with hers. As the chase escalated to high speeds the ex, in an attempt to get away, exited the freeway. Ms. Medina, however, was far from through in her open display of unyielding devotion to her ex. She continued to chase and ram his car until it finally spun out of control and hit some parked cars, immediately killing the new girlfriend. Is it any wonder the guy left this fucking woman? Boy, she sure showed him, didn’t she?

Envy
Here’s a quote from the British Sun. “All you could hear were gasps when Colin Farrell appeared in his full-frontal pose. The women were over-excited and the men looked really uncomfortable. It was such a sight it made it difficult to concentrate on the plot, so the decision was made to get rid of it. Even director Michael Mayer admits, "It was distracting.” Well, not sure why this “it” made news the world over, but amazingly enough, “it” did. I guess we now know why the man doesn’t seem to have any trouble boinking gals all over the globe. As if he needed any more help! And now they’re keeping the salivating public from paying eight bucks a ticket to gaze longingly at his manhood. Ah, the injustice of it all.

Sloth
Next we have Marvin Buckley. A mild mannered Miami homebody who met a young woman on a chat line and arranged for her to meet him at his house so they could better get to know each other. Well, the woman definitely got to know Mr. Buckley better, maybe a little better than she’d bargained for. Ol’ Marvin got a might bit peeved when back at his crib, the woman refused to give him a nude lap dance. Marvin’s payback for her refusal to satisfy his demands was to beat her unmercifully and bind her from head to toe in gaffer tape. He then sexually abused and tortured her for a while, then the girl told him she’d given his address to another friend, whereupon Marvin put her in a laundry bag and drug her down some stairs and left her in the garage for a couple of days, stuffing her full of a variety of pills as he went about his normal day to day, which mostly consisted of laying on the couch and watching Cartoon Network, eating Cocoa Puffs straight out the box. Marvin grew nervous when he’d had time to think about what he’d done so he moved his victim to the house of a woman who was a friend of his, a woman who didn’t know Marvin as good as she thought, who immediately freed the woman when Marvin left the house and called the police to report the incident. Is it any wonder Marvin had trouble finding dates? He won’t have any trouble finding dates where he’s headed. He’ll be real popular there. Might not get the Cartoon Network though. Definitely no Cocoa Puffs.

Gluttony
Tommy Lee... Those two words alone spring to the mind a host of images, don’t they? Well, after years of boyish behavior, multiple recovery centers, court battles, starring in his own porn film, jail time for beating up wifeypoo, Tommy had decided to go clean and sober for the good of his children, to be the upstanding dad he knew he was. Well, apparently when the kids aren’t around Tommy has a certain lust for life, a zest, be that as it may; an off/on switch that runs straight to his proclivities and seems to be in prefect working order. The Belagio Hotel in Las Vegas had hired Tommy to DJ for one of their nightclubs whereupon Tommy got yet another opportunity to whoop it up old style. He was spinning music -which must’ve offended some of the patrons gathered there- and after he was asked to play different types of music by the club’s management, as these same patrons were the ones, by the way, who were paying everyone’s salary, including Tommy’s right? Tommy refused and continued to play music that HE wanted to hear. Finally the club management literally pulled the plug on the Tomster. Undaunted, Tommy begins to order $800 a bottle champagne as fast as he can down them, then refuses to pay. Oh Tommy me boy, some things just don’t change, do they?

Pride
Now the fun starts. First off, the Dick Cheney has obviously had enough of a Senator Leahy and when the two are paired together for a photo op on the Senate floor there is an exchange between the two that ends abruptly with the Dick telling Senator Leahy to go fuck himself. And when queried about it on a news program the Dick is completely unrepentant and instead says he feels much better for doing so. Rather telling isn’t it? Notwithstanding his political rhetoric which I know we all take to heart, something tells me his glaring condescension is a true glimpse into way the man really feels about his fellow conspirators, the American Public included. Then we have his partner in crime, Bushy Boy. Behind the scenes we hear of a caustic atmosphere where aides are walking on eggshells as the Prez is likely to jump down your throat for a simple disagreement, quoting scripture and Caesar at the top of his lungs. I guess he deserves to be a bit jumpy as we are only days from turning the Iraqi government back over to them, and just today there were coordinated attacks at five different Iraqi cities and a total of over 100 people killed, hundreds injured. Sounds like our plan to invade Iraq and show those people what democracy really is ain’t quite working, is it, Bushy boy?! But he and his administration continue to willfully ignore our founding father’s constitution, ruining our countries worldwide respect, wasting trillions of our taxpayer money, putting us in a deficit never before seen, and angering a nest of hornets who were already pissed off enough to strike us at our heart. Guess what? It’s gonna get worse...
All in all, quite a day for news, eh? The seven deadlies in full and prominent display.
Lest I forget, there were other important newsworthy items such as Jessica Simpson being unable to sing in Ohio because of a kidney infection, and one Olsen twin won’t be traveling to Australia to see the other who’s in a treatment center for anorexia. And then there was even some real insignificant shit... cops are still beating the shit out of black people in Los Angeles!?!?
We got a lot to be proud of, don’t we? I mean, as a race we are evolving into a more loving caring people’s aren’t we? We are focusing on what’s really important in this life, aren’t we? I know wherever I look I see progress, by God!

There isn’t a rock big enough. But I’m lookin’...

Double Dumbass

Robert Blake is sitting in his den, relaxed in his comfortable easy chair, casually smoking a cigar, sipping a glass of expensive wine. Enjoying the good life.
There is a knock at his front door. He rises, walks to the door, opens it.
A group of grim faced LAPD are standing on his porch.
One of the shorter of them says, “Mickey? We got your nuts in a vice, son.”
“Is that so, officer?” Robert Blake says, an air of elitism, mockery. a hypnotic, bemused stare levied the short officer’s way.
With a wag of a tree trunk finger and red-eyed squint, the biggest officer stood in front says, “You remember that role you had in that movie yous did a while back, ‘In Cold Blood’? Sons a bitch danglin’ and pissin’ from that rope? You remember back that far ...dontcha, Mickey?”
The policemen chuckle with menace.
Robert Blake’s asshole squares up in a knot. “Holy shit.” he says.
Another policeman says, “Sumptin’ like that.”
The biggest officer steps closer, and says, “Mickey? Assume the position, ya cocksucker!”, whips out the cuffs with a flourish and style. “Your cockateel lovin’ ass is mine today, but you’ll be somebody else’s bitch tomorrow! HAW! HAWHAWHAW! HAWHAWHAWHAWHAWHAW!”
A ripple of mirth from the gathered LAPD accompanies the biggest officer who is obviously delighted at his oratorical prowess.
Cuffs being tightened, the shorter officer leans forward, mere inches from Robert Blake’s distorted, suddenly pale face, and barks, “Can’t do the time?! Don’t do the crime! ...Remember that one, Mickey?!”
The policemen chortle mightily at this statement and disperse, a shackled Robert Blake led away, shoulder blades all bunched, bouncing on tippy toes, asshole swallowing half dollars.

The cigar is left smoldering in the stainless steel ashtray. Rancid smoke dissipating into so much nothingness. Stinking up the place. The wine is expensive, but too sweet, with an overbearing metallic aftertaste. Piquant, but obsequious. Not a good year.

Mickey will reprise his role, just like ole’ Truman wrote it.

Froggy is somewhere laughing his ass off.
Alfalfa never gave two shits.
Darla is dancing the boogaloo.
Spanky always wanted to see his own dick.
“Otay, Panky.”
Never did.

Robert Blake is one dumb, opprobrious motherfucker. He used to smirk, give a dismissive wave of the hand, and say, “...Awwww, you guys...”
Just like the Lou Reed song, now the colored girls sing, “Doo, doo doo, doo doo, doo -doo-doo-doo, doo doo, doo doo, doo -doo-doo-doooooo” ...and eagerly await their turn; hyenas geezed up on the scent of fresh meat; pumped, greased, all too ready for the screaming and the blood.
“Awwww, you guys...”

David Lynch will film it. It will be an arthouse smash, No one will remember the beginning, nor understand the ending.
Just one ...oh so small, delicately whispered, “Silencio...................”


FINIS

Smack 'Em Like You Mean It

I love to play drums. I’m damn good at it, if I must say so myself. The process of making music is an amazing thing, really. Expressing oneself with others in such a fashion is almost beyond description. I’ve had a lot of folks over the years who’ve challenged me with the idea of writing a story from a drummer’s perspective, an unflinching look at what really makes a true musician tick, not some ridiculous parody of a numskull teetering on the brink in a fog of drugs, alcohol, and stupidity; and to be honest, the idea seems completely unattainable, and not for the reasons you may be thinking. We’ve all heard the saying that goes like this, “Writing about music is like dancing to architecture.” Well, whomever uttered this original statement knew more than a little of what they spoke. To try and describe the process of making music to someone unfamiliar seems virtually impossible to me. There are no words. Only feelings. But I will do my utmost to give you a glimpse into the experience, ‘cause last night I got to play drums and for seventy-five minutes I was king of the motherfucking world.
Only an hour or so before I was due to leave to go perform yesterday, I had a really shitty experience with a most vile, hateful human being dressed in business attire, babbling about the unshakeable bottom line, shamefully exercising her menial position of authority. This person was one of “those”; one who the idea of sitting down, talking calmly and practically, working something out to everyone’s mutual advantage and satisfaction is not part and parcel of their makeup. Their style is to attack with a barely controlled rage, right out the chute. Catch the prey unawares, kinda deal. I recognize these people for what they are, and their rage stems largely from not having an orgasm for some time. I know it. I can smell it. Her controlling, dictatorial style just didn’t jibe with my ‘live and let live-we can work it out’ personality. Not in the slightest. So, when I finally composed myself enough to pack up, to ready myself to leave to go play, an unnatural anger and intensity, a jarring, unsettling force zeroed in on me, ratcheting my gears up a notch -usually a good sign- letting me know in no uncertain terms I would join these folks on stage here in a bit and let the fucking hammer down. A necessary release. The power. The fury. The delicate whisper. The ever inviting unknown for all the world to see and hear. A vacuum where we the musicians are the only ones alive, astral gliding through the galaxy, never touching down in the reality that more than pales until after the last chord struck. And I knew I could reach these plateaus with these people; vindication on my own terms was almost within reach. I knew I would soon have the final word and I’d feel damn good afterward, like the sensation post orgasm. I do have them, regularly, unlike my nemesis, you see. But still...
These folks I was going to make music with are good, soulful people who’ve written some unusual songs, songs that are rhythmically challenged, melodically unstable. In other words, a bucket of fun, especially for one who can master their set, bring to life the chords, the melodies, the nuances; strut your stuff in the process. I have. I do. So I look forward to making a joyful noise with these folks. Tonight was no exception. Except, tonight I would hit the stage with a murderous vengeance, all thanks to that orgasmically nil quim who’d instilled in me some payback. And she’d get hers, whether she liked it or not. Thank you, my adversary.
Luckily for me, we got there early and were able to nosh. This place has a hamburger joint next to it that ranks right up there with the best burger I’ve ever had anywhere, and that’s a statement unto itself as I’ve had some damn good burgs in my lifetime. And a breaking of bread with my compadres was necessary, setting the tone for the evening. Big kahuna bacon cheddar burger with a basket of home fries and onion rings definitely hit the spot, laid the foundation for the groove to come. The only thing that makes me play better is a rack of baby back’s and a frosted stein of root beer. But a big hog burger dripping with all the trimmings does nicely. I’ve found over the years there’s something inextricably linked between good food and even better music. One most naturally goes hand in hand with the other.
The stage was set.
To complicate matters on my end, as we were setting up I found that in my haste to depart the atmosphere created by the orgasmically nil one I’d packed the wrong tom toms and forgotten my bass drum pedal! Good... Off balance is good. Tests your resolve, your ability to ride the wave of what you’ve been dealt. A challenge to rise to the occasion despite, you know? Thank you again, my adversary.
And then, to make matters a little more fragile, we found that a new soundman was on the gig, one who didn’t seem to have a handle on the tools necessary. I’ll spare you the gory details, but I will say that our bass player had to jump into the fray to give the hapless fellow a hand and an ear. Arduous, only begins to sum up sound check.
I did finally get a bass drum pedal thanks to an employee who had one at home that had been submerged in a bucket of water for what looked to be a helluva long time. The thing had new unknown life forms attached to it, but at the least, it worked... barely.
Given all I’d been through, by the time we finished sound check my nerves were fare you well shot
This isn’t my first time to the cakewalk, and when faced with circumstances such as these, when all goes wrong that can, the gig will either be one of the best or one you want to immediately forget after the last notes decay into so much nothingness.
I was ready. Either way.
Managed to go take a few tokes and lay down on a bed in the back of the van, in the dark, all by myself, just me and my thoughts, the world and its inhabitants a million miles away. Collect myself. Cleanse the mind, clear it of all; a fresh palette.
I knew the second the first note was struck this was to be a magical evening. A savage determination took hold and held me in its spell. Every song was a movie that inspired, a novel you didn’t want to put down, and sometimes we just didn’t know where it would culminate, surprised and shocked at where we’d end up. Everyone had big ears, leaving room for the other to make statements, then propelling the other to new heights, then quickly taking it all away to spin out of control, to descend down a mountainside at breakneck speed, pushing the limits of the envelope, galloping round a corner not knowing what would face us once we'd made the turn. A dizzying free fall. A moment of perfect rectitude. A cascade of notes flying through the air like bright blue sparks, piercing the skin of all who watched, who listened. Sweat dripped. Asses shook. Smiles blazed. Fingers snapped. All in a slow motion wave. A gargantuan sound punctuating the night air, pummeling the walls until they crumbled, breaking up the concrete; chaos and order, all at once. Sublimity.
At times when I’d be midsong my nemesis’ face would appear like a bad dream which would only make me attack with a new level of ferocity, taking no prisoners, nor wanting any. The music, this moment, was mine, and she damn sure wasn’t going to take it from me.
She didn’t.
Thank you thrice, my adversary.
I got off and I wasn’t the only one. Ain’t that the way? A joyful noise, all ye lands...
We imparted memories, ones that many would not soon forget. Something pure. Something righteous. For all. And the notes they will never die, but only grow stronger, more resolute over time.
I love to play drums and this night I smacked ‘em like I meant it. As I was born to.
Afterward I drove home tasting total and absolute victory while my nemesis probably slept fitfully in her sweat soiled bed, covered by cheap sheets, her head squashed into her foam pillows, a sour, rusty imitation of life; a husk that breathes and eats and shits, never knowing the exhilaration of the grand promise that life holds for those who dare.

I Saw Her Swimming There

I watched this lithe young woman in the pool this evening. There were several people in the pool within her group, all looking very corn fed and paunchy, but she stood out from the rest. Long and tawny, she was like an otter in the water, whereas the others looked like potatoes on the boil. I was soon totally engrossed by this woman and her movements, fascinated by a figure of which one doesn’t see everyday.
Someone, one of her corn fed compadres, brought a beach ball and they began a game of keep away. While all the others were floundering to keep their heads above the water, she managed to tread it without exerting any movement or visible energy at all. While others thrashed and went nowhere, with several deft strokes she would glide through the water with effortless ease, grabbing the ball, treading the water, shoulders high, and with precison throw the ball to her target. In a world of clumsiness, she was grace and fluidity.
After a while the game broke up, more like everyone growing tired rather than an official ending. Most gravitated to a couple of floats. She didn’t. While others hung rather clumsily onto the rafts, she remained off to herself, lost in the night, under the stars, in her own world.
She would bob until only her face would remain above the water. That face like a moon, shining bright. Then with a twist, she would float on her back, slowly arching her stomach, her thighs, her knees, her feet, til they were level with the surface, whereupon she would briskly kick and slice through the water at great speed, almost the length of the pool by virtue of a few scissors. Then she would tread again, slowly spinning and twirling, her head thrown back, her eyes closed; languidly, sensuously. I watched her dip beneath the surface and torpedo the entire pool with a speed that almost didn’t look real, her sleek, supple body knifing the water. She would surface and tread again, smiling at the sky, before sliding beneath the surface, sinking to the bottom and disappearing. All alone. In her world. In a world that is not inherently ours, but she’d made it her own. And I was lucky enough to be there, watching something as graceful and beautiful as I’ve ever seen.
The gods were with me tonight. And I them.
Oh beautiful child, I thank you.

Toe to Toe

It was late in the evening deep in the hill country of Texas. I was standing at the check out counter, waiting to pay for my religious icon candles, wearing -as is my want- a sarong.
A fella stood next to me, looking sunbaked and lost, stumbling on his two feet trying to find balance that wouldn’t be his for the rest of the night. He eyed me as if I was the enemy. Up and down, up and down, his mouth curled into a sneer, his eyes becoming more vacant with each go ‘round.
Finally he couldn’t hold it in any longer and snarled, “Zat a dress?”
I turned and met his cross-eyed gaze. It was all there. The makings for carnage. I was ready.... but I stifled the eruption. Instead I put my nose right next to his and thumped him in his little pigeon chest -which caused him to stumble- and said, “Plaid shirt?”
I grabbed my bag full of candles and left. The man stood there with his mouth wide open, trying to disentangle himself from the candy rack, desperately searching for a witty comeback of which there was none, probably not realizing for several minutes that I was even gone.
I’m left hapless and deeply troubled as stupidity and hostility steadily gain in popularity these days. Years and years of bad, incessant breeding, even worse decision making processes, all have left our species nothing short of doomed.
Maybe it is time.
I, for one, am ready...
How ‘bout you?

Choices

Sounds like such an innocent way to spend a moment. Choose. Make a decision. So lighthearted! So frivolous! So carefree! But be forewarned... the repercussions from this moment of one’s choosing will affect many things surrounding the decision. If one is not careful, and chooses poorly, this decision will render you asunder and fuck with everyone and everything around you, too. The ripple effect in full bloom.
Example.
I remember when I first met “her”. At the outset I saw her final divorce decree that was yet to be finalized, one her husband and his cousin lawyer had drawn up for her, telling her, “Not to worry, don’t get an attorney, we’ll take care of everything”. I told her then -in no uncertain terms- that if she didn’t retain a lawyer and get this decree reworked til it was -at the least- halfway fucking fair, then the ripple effect would eventually turn into a tsunami that would grind everything in her life, including me, including our relationship, into an unrecognizable bloody pulp.
She chose.
She chose not to seek counsel.
Two weeks later she was filing for bankruptcy and had to move in with me. We’d only been dating a few weeks. That was only the beginning...
And in truth, to balance the scales, I chose too. Poorly, if one exercises hindsight.
And true to form, over the years, I watched as that one bad decision -one that could’ve easily gone the other way- turned everything in her life, my life, my families life, her children’s life, her families life, completely upside down, hellwest and crooked. The domino effect
I’ve been apart from her for several years now and I’m still reeling from the repercussions from that one bad decision; both hers and mine. Lifelong psychological scars riddle my psyche and will until death I do part.
Just the other day, in fact, I got a call from her. She told me her father had died. She was planning on attending the funeral by hitching a ride with a sister who I knew to be a powderkeg ready to blow at anytime, over just about any thing. These two, when together, were always gasoline on fire. I warned her before she left to rethink her plans.
She chose badly one more time.
Well, the powderkeg blew. They threw her out of the car on the side of the road after the funeral without a dime to her name. She began hitchiking and men pulled over immediately wanting her to flash them, suck their dicks for a ride! Glory be... How did I know this? She called again today, wanting me to come to her rescue, one more time. This time, unlike a decision I made a long time ago -which has haunted me ever since- I chose wisely.
And now this woman feels entirely abandoned, because, for the most part, because of her decisions, everyone indeed has.
Has she looked in the mirror?
No. It’s the cruel world’s fault.
I, too, made a decision. I realized I can no longer be there for her in any reasonable capacity. A friend, on some odd level, because I care for her as a human being, despite her shortcomings, despite the fact she thinks I dumped her unnecessarily and is still fuming about it. But still... something I have learned is that darkness will consume you too if you get too close to one who repeatedly makes decisions for all the wrong reasons. Your ass will get sucked in in a heartbeat and you too will suffer the consequences of a poor decision making process. The old “fuck with shit and you will get it on you” parable come to life. Harsh, extremely harsh, but true.
Choice. Such a simple word. Such a complex process.
Be careful when confronted with a decision. No matter how slight. Think things through as best you can.
But here’s the paradox. How do you learn? From making bad choices!
God is a funny supreme being. A laugh a minute. And remember, if you lose your sense of humor, you really have lost. So ha fucking ha.

There is a Mockingbird

There is a mockingbird who lives outside my front door that will not let me and my girls take a walk outside without exerting uber vigilance; constantly harassing us with every step taken. Hard for me to believe that this creature, so small, can be so damn fearless! Doesn’t give up for shit! And it matters not what time of the day or night either, this little bird is on it. I will say this, consistency of purpose is a trait to be well admired, and this bird has it in spades.
I hear him before I see him. I say him, more than likely it is a she; the male probably all wallowed up in the nest like a big dog, waiting on wifeepoo to bring him his next meal, watching The Sopranos on HBO, drinking a beer, ready to spring a hardon at a moment’s notice therefore fulfilling his natural obligation. Ha! ...Yeah, the fact remains throughout all the species, across the board, females are the true protectors, the true hunters. Males provide sperm. Simple as that. Kick butt when they are forced into doing so, but generally it is the females who take the lead. When danger knocks that maternal shit kicks in big time and they don’t even think of hesitating. Consistency of purpose on vivid display. Ubiquitous clarity.
I hear the sharp edged, cadenced “chirp!” before I see her. Only one or two steps out the door and she is on the case. Next thing I see is her dive-bombing both my girls, pecking them on their asses or their heads as she darts by like a kamikaze. My girls are a little jumpy now whenever it’s time to go outside. They instinctively know this mockingbird means business. I get a big kick out of it. Wherever we wander on the property, this bird stays dead on our ass, never letting us out of her sight. And steadily, with measured urgency, she chirps like an early warning signal, lettin’ the neighborhood know that danger is lurking; repeatedly risking life and limb, dive-bombing my girls every chance she gets. This bird ain’t fuckin’ around.
I respect the hell out of this bird. Gotta admire the little peckerwood. In comparison, I’m tormented by the incontrovertible way in which humans do nothing but pollute and malign. We’ve lost the plot. And we say we are the dominant species?! We ain’t got shit on mother nature. Mother nature eats us for lunch. We, the human race, can’t even protect ourselves from ourselves! Now ain’t that some shit... Suck on that.
This little bird, this infinitesimal speck in the universe has a heart much bigger than we will ever hope to. Kamikaze fucker lives to its fullest potential every day. Like we should, but don’t.
And tomorrow morning, when we step outside, I will hear that sharp tinged “chirp!” one more time, and there she will be; big red sun eyeing us down, daring us to take one step out of line, and if so, prepare to pay the consequences! I love this fucking bird.
Purity of essence is wondrous to behold. The simplicity, the perfection of it is awe inspiring. We, on the other hand, have become walking talking cesspools, drowning daily in our own bullshit, and we don’t even know it.
The meek shall inherit the earth. Indeed. As well they should. They got it right.
Meanwhile, there is a mockingbird who lives outside my door. She lives... she truly lives.

A Simple Smile

A different wind blows my sails. My tempo is my own. Harmony is due course. But life’s bitter winds are constantly distracting me, doing their utmost to blow me off tack. However, there are lighthouses in this storm and in these days of turbulence I am found when I see a woman’s smile. In this smile I find a valiant, stalwart light guiding my way, and usually right when I need it most.
These women don’t smile because I’m young, or cute. In fact, I am neither. These women initially smile because of what I stand for by virtue of my chosen attire. You see, I dare to be myself in a world where conformity is the status quo. I am compelled, impetuous. I haven’t any choice and these women sense a horse of a different polka dot and stripe and they reach out to me. They smile at me. They embrace me. They shower me with lambent praise. On occasion I’ve heard them say, “Here walks a colorful man, I do believe. Whatever your reason for being, please stick to your guns.” grinning all the while, reaching out for a hug. Or, “You must be very secure in your masculinity. It takes a real man to dress as you.”, eyes at once inflamed and unbridled. To receive such heartfelt encouragement gives me pause. Even though I know deep in my gut, my heart, that what they spout is truth - after all, I’ve lived it- when I hear it from the mouths of these babes it is essential, it is life’s blood. These women are angels. Avatars of love incarnate. Evanescence. In bloom.
The world is tough. Gives no quarter. And pushing the limits as I’m want to do makes me a virtual sitting duck as this torporous society is designed to leave the incorrigible senseless and bleeding, battered and bruised, confused and lost, wondering which way is up. After a roundhouse right the world laughs and sez, “Look at you now! What you got, my son?!”, shaking a fist in your face, daring you to stand, openly defying your very existence.
Color my ass Muhammad Ali, circa1964.
When I see a woman smiling at me now, I know implicitly. Before they say a word I feel their love and soon enough our shared ardor explodes into blinding ubiquity because I see these women for what they are, not for what they appear to be, nor for what they do, or for what they have. No, what these women embody is boundless love and their perspicaciousness commands me to continue on my way, armored and emboldened. These women know. They’re sagacious vixens, embracing life in totality. They see and give, instead of merely looking and passing without comment. A man named Saadi summed it up best. He said, “To give pleasure to a single heart by a single kind act is better than a thousand head-bowings in prayer.” Uh-huh. Like that. These women are unabashed, unafraid. Their hearts are full to overflowing and I am the beneficiary.
My heart is all I got these days. I need all the smiles, all the kindness I can attract. “Stand and deliver!” I sez. Consider me ready, my nuts hanging free. Filleth my cup. Buttereth my bread. I gots work to do.
It’s time to lead the orchestra. Like these women, turn your back on the audience and pick up the baton. Be unafraid. Crescendo to mezza forte’, or decrescendo to a pianissimo whisper. Above all, bathe the world in your sweet, extemporaneous music. Life is indeed a symphony.

I Was Blind, But Now I See

Man is aware of your enterprise. Divine providence is most wondrous to behold! No stranger there...
Man left the world and all that entails three years ago. You had a thing or two to say to Man. Man took heed. In turn, Man walked away from a highly successful thirty year career. Sold everything. Paid most all debt. Moved to the middle of nowhere in Tejas, seventy-five dollars in pocket, determined to write in obscurity, the silence, to make as much noise as he can one day.
Is.
Man’s cause is championed by friends and family alike.
Humbled.
Man exists far below the poverty line, but is happy. Able to strip away the trappings of this world, Man has learned. Needs are met. You provide.
Man is a writer now. Plumb giddy. Doing the work to give his talents wings, Man flourishes in solitude; nature. Man has been forged anew; still wretchedly poor, but rich beyond measure.
Man has plans. Give back more than has been bestowed ...to any, to all...
Will.
Yeah.
Glory be.

King’s harvest has surely come. Brave new worlds await. Man knows... where the deer and the antelope play... so does the mind.

What In The World?

I have a dog that likes to chase butterflies and dragonflies. Why can’t we all be so inclined?
My dog flops on her back in the grass, tongue all hung out, twisting back and forth with abandon under a noon sun. Why are we so stiff, so inflexible, so indifferent?
I have a dog who licks anyone she meets. Why do we recoil from extending tender mercies?
I have a dog who would give her life to save mine. How many of us can make a similar statement?
My dog gives love unconditionally. Why can’t we?
I have a dog that lives life to her fullest. What stops us?
My dog is supremely happy everyday. Why are we not?
I have a dog that at least will sniff a stranger’s butt. We don’t even look each other in the eye...
I have a dog who hates gunfire. We worship the very things that bring the death and destruction..
My dog doesn’t question, just is, and does. What happened to our instincts?
My dog has faith I will do the right thing. We have lost ours.
My dog doesn’t judge anyone. We do.
My dog has no capacity for lying. We can’t stop.
My dog ...my dog doesn’t hate other dogs different than she...

I have a dog. ...A dog who doesn’t wish for anything other than to be, and is greater than the sum of her parts.
We know better. ...Or we should. And yet we descend into madness.
What in the world made us lose our way?

I have a dog who likes to chase butterflies...
Why can’t we all be so inclined?

Purty Fucked Up

A wise man once told me, “If a woman is as fucked up as she is purty, then beware, or you’ll have hell to pay and then some”.
Ultimately, my dumb ass did not heed the wise man. I found, much to my chagrin, that my wise friend was absolutely correct on that score. I discovered his words rang loud and proud, albeit the hard way.
My asshole will never be the same.
No pussy is worth it. None. I mean it. I’m dead fucking serious. But I know you won’t deny yourself. The allure, the potential payoff is too great and your dick will not be denied. “How fucking bad can it be?” you’ll say to yourself as you succumb to her wiles, her charms. Then the fun begins. ...And when all the hair is singed from your body and your ass is all chunked up between your shoulder blades, your nuts dragging in the sand, not a dime to your name, nor any friends or family left who give two shits, remember these words...
Heed the fucking wise man.

My Big Ass House

I was a king in another life, a mantic life replete with pomp and circumstance, grand pageantry on a surreal scale. Elegance and fecundity were part of my daily ritual, my life enriched by the works of the finest artisans on this earth as well as being regaled every waking minute by a most sumptuous buffet born from superior, inquisitive minds; my every need and want attended to by a corderie of emminently trained minders and handlers, my slightest desire, my most eclectic, far-fetched whim to help those not so fortunate fulfilled beyond expectations. Simply put, I was free. Today, in this life, I’m a shadow of my former self, now merely lord over my meager -for the meantime- domain, which, considering the circumstances, isn’t half bad. A long and winding road, the karma of my past life is reaping the benefits in this, today’s forum, right when I need it the most; divine providence filling my sails, of this I’m certain. Showered with fragrant blessings, doors are opening that are leading directly to attainment, my penultimate triumph, so I continue the struggle toward the inevitable, recapturing what is rightfully mine. It is autonomy I seek. The ability to give and share on a scale that will count. Freedom, once again.
As a direct result, despite being under the gun, dangling by a mere thread at times, I reside in a big house. A big ass house in which I galvanize my thoughts, laying the tracks necessary to reclaim my throne. A big ass house of which I’m deserving; puzzling to some, but the irony is far from lost on me. Hundreds of rooms in this big ass house. Hundreds of bathrooms, too. Most of the time I’m alone during my occupation of these thousands upon thousands of square feet. I literally have the run of the place, but on occasion I share my house with strangers who find themselves passing through town, touching down however brief, needing a roof over their heads, a place to sleep and rest, a spot from which they can operate whilst they visit this city in which I dwell. My big ass house perfectly fits the bill. The location divine. Only minutes away from most anything worth investigating; all the exotic and garish of nightclubs, the most exquisite of restaurants, movies houses, museums, art galleries, theaters, concert halls, the gamut. State capital and governmental buildings for the historically inclined. A university campus that begs one come hither, too. Outdoor markets. Ethnic festivals. Countless national and state parks. Hiking, running and biking trails. Rivers. Waterfalls. Lakes galore. And in the middle of all this my big ass house sits pretty, high atop the vine covered banks of the Colorado River. Like a castle. Perched. Fortified. Inviting.
The regular citizens who drop in on my house will unknowingly find themselves knee deep in high cotton, smack dab in the lap of paradoxical familiarity; my house finely tuned to be a host, a comforting home away from home to any and all who come a-calling. Out back next to the barbecue pit is a most splendid pool that overlooks the city skyline and the river below. There’s a man who works here whose only job it is to keep the pool and the surrounding area immaculately clean. He does his job well. Visitors to my house get a free breakfast everyday. Free newspaper, too. Electricity and water are gratis, on the house; use all you need! The housekeeping staff are top notch. Each one goes the extra mile cause they care, and they‘re a smiling, laughing bunch, too; good natured, salt of the earth folk. You get free amenities during your stay here, as much as you need; toilet paper, tissue paper, napkins, sweetener, butter, teas, coffees, juices, yogurts, muffins, bagels, toast, cereals, and some cream cheese, peanut butter, and jellies on the side, too. Clean towels and fresh bed clothes everyday. Cable t.v.. Two phone lines. Answering service. Well appointed exercise room. Laundry room. Fully stocked kitchens in every suite. A spacious private parking lot. And the icing on the cake, the piece de resistance’ is a good many live oaks -indigenous only to the Texas hill country- are scattered haiku-like about the grounds providing both ancient beauty and shady comfort. My big ass house has the all the makings for a time well spent. All it lacks is imagination, life’s blood, an agenda of which the human element can sometimes thankfully provide.
I’ve seen many things whilst here which have seared holes in my memory, a natural by-product of the study and observation of free will.
Just a few weeks ago there was a biker rally here in town, and most of that weekend our parking lot was full of the most amazing, customized Harley Davidson motorcycles with their oddly festooned owners gathered close by, holding court and talking shop, flexing their tattoos and cool. Weeks before that a vintage hot rod rally roared through town; same kind of folks as the motorcycle crowd both in appearance and demeanor, but vastly different modes of transport in the parking lot; all manner of metalflaked, chrome laden, tuck and rolled, wizard-like craftsmanship in which to transport humans in grand, four-wheeled style. Jaw dropping individuality and attention to detail the likes of which I’ve never seen. As quickly as both descended upon town, so too did they leave. One night I awoke from a dream, hearing echoes of lyrical strains, so I wandered down the main corridor only to find a forty-piece Irish folk band all seated in a grand circle in the foyer, riffing madly, effortlessly scaling incredible heights, jamming well into the wee hours of the morning, the whiskey flowing like soda. I’ve watched somberly as families have seen their sons and daughters off to war; poolside soirees, barbecuing up a storm, knocking back some lagar, spending what could possibly be their last times together on earth. I’ve seen fishermen from around the world having their own version of a U.N. tailgate party; all manner of language and accent accompanying these parking lot cookouts; several five gallon pots all boiling with the day’s catch. the anglers reverently stirring their slippery, top-secret concoctions with boat oars, the ever present Guiness in hand. I’ve been witness to hip-hop pool parties afluff with serious bombeezy ass, jabberwocky verbiage, and massive low end thumpage, the bass drum rumbling so hard it quite literally shook the entire building with every smack, leaving some of our pale-skinned guests more than a little unnerved. I’ve seen fist fights between drunken men over women. I’ve seen fistfights between drunken women over men. I’ve stumbled upon homeless people tucked away in hidden little corners on the grounds, snoring and drooling in pools of their own urine, still holding their empty bottles as if they were the most prized possesion they had. I’ve chanced upon lovers under a carnal spell of a black cat moon, fornicating with animal urgency in the pool and on their balconies. Tragically, I’ve seen a child fall from the third story balcony and break his arm, left unattended by a crack head mom who wasn’t allowed to stay the night at my big ass house, taken away in handcuffs to stay in another house instead. I’ve watched steam driven paddleboats floating raucous moonlit parties down river. I’ve listened to live cajunto music drifting across the water, making the clouds waltz and the stars swoon. From the break of dawn ‘til well past dark I’ve watched matched groups of skullers practice and practice and practice their precise rhythmic teamwork, their coaches barking commands thorugh megaphones, the skullers darting like mosquito hawks over the river’s surface. And most everyday, from the sanctity of my royal balcony, I behold a family of swans swimming down the Colorado River by twilight’s purple, as if in a Manet painting. And on the mornings following a full moon, I can’t even begin to count the number of empty beer cans, scattered pizza boxes, and discarded orphan shoes I find flung everywhere but where they belonged, due to fits of vespertine madness and wanton swinish insensibilities, methinks. The ying and the yang in full bloom.
During the weekends, on any given day, there’s no telling what will take place at my big ass house. Lots of levels, both literally and figuratively. Hardly a dull moment. Befitting a big ass house and its ever changing array of denizens.
During the week it’s another story. More times than not, I’m alone. I can walk for several minutes in either direction; fore and aft, stem to stern, whiling away my time; taking the elevator to all the different levels and relaxing in the various sitting rooms, doing my laundry, never once seeing or hearing another person. Not one. That suits me just fine, it does. Preferable, really. A king needs his solitude to ponder the next great thing.
I’m lucky to have found this big ass house and it me. I see the way others live and I’m perplexed by their choices. I see people pay way too much for their domiciles, living as if the money will never run out, a slave to their maxed out existence. And I see others living in squalor, spending more than what little they have for a rather unseemly existence.
I’m paying next to nothing in the big scheme of things, as I’m living on the thin edge of the wedge; a most frugal and sensible lifestyle whilst I build my dreams brick by brick. Due to my uncanny intuition, coupled with God’s eternal grace, I will admit to being able to live in relative safety and comfort. Better than most, in fact. I love my big ass house. In turn, my big ass house shares my ardor, divvying up equal opportunity love to one and all. Yeah, even though I dwell here and do so value my privacy -and I mean that- I most whole-heartedly extend an invitation to anyone who wishes to seek new experiences at this big ass house with me. Come and let the world’s problems disappear for a bit. Let all of what troubles you go.
The yogurt is chilling on ice every morning. The sun rises over the river to the East. And the housekeepers are already smilin’ before you wake.The pool a haven for lost, incoherent thoughts.

As one day melts into the next, I maintain a balance, riding the crest of this wave I started awhile back. Whilst atop this wave, I’ve looked around and seen that life could be much, much worse, you know? I’ve got eyes. I’ve got ears. I need not ask myself, “Is there any other way?” God is good and I continue to fight the good fight, on my terms, under his guidance. I practice low octane fluidity in motion. It’s the only way I know.
Late at night me and my gals roam the halls of my big ass house and I listen to the insect hum of silence, carefully scaling the stairs, humbled by my good fortune; my footsteps so light I can’t feel the carpet beneath my feet. The girls take it all in, ever curious. The soda machine lights up when I walk past. The ice machine is gurgling; alive too, in its own way. And best of all, the walls keep no secrets, the windows tell no lies. Temporary utopia. My big ass house.
Here I am, where I’m supposed to be, the king in his lair. The lights are always on. The doors are never locked. And if chance should bring you to my doorstep, birds will gather and sing their welcome while raccoons and opossums stand on their hind legs and spin in circles, boisterously clapping, celebrating your arrival. Bring me wine, women, and song! Bring me reason! Bring me purpose! Give me season. Give me pause. Just don’t plan on staying too long. I’m working on the next great thing.
The king has spoken. Let it be said. Let it be written.
Etc., Etc., Etc..