Las Vegas Diary - Part June
Now as I type this, I walk thru a portion of the casino floor at the Stratosphere that smells like burnt popcorn and diarrhea. Or maybe that’s just the Starbucks.
Flowers from the Faucet at Midnight - A Poem
I’m nobody and you’re the anybody you’ve always
wanted to be. As long as we’re warm silhouettes in this
picture we have a piece of everything all to ourselves.
Night Out, 2025
Is it Friday? A day hazing over fast into the good long while of night. Both are so happy to have had themselves. To have been connected.
This was an age after the rooftop days were over. Removed and exposed from the vantage of twenty-or-more stories.
Three Graces At Beggar's Monument
A cigarette appeared in Cy’s mouth like a jump cut.
“I’m like Peter Pan and ya’ll are my misfit toys.” He scratched his gut over the smoothed down 4x t-shirt.
“The lost boys.” Jetta corrected him thru her own cigarette. “This is what we do when we come back from running away.”
She sat and bolted one from the freshly opened bottle.
Call Thru The Metal
And the tendril is the spark is the stem creeping a creep ominous and slow from the poisonous spotted orchid named malice. The tendril of disease sprawled to clutch at the softest tissue of the closest one.
Meet Me By The Sky | Poems
FUCK/MARRY/KILL-
For a total amount you talk
Unless violence swings on complete
Cock, we had better measure
Kiss with an element which exceeds
Morons deer games …
The Storytellers
It was a long signal and we were silent for a beat. Just enough time for my gaze to drift for no reason at all, over the door down to the blacktop where a female praying mantis lay crushed and paved over.
Valedictorians of the Anti- A Love Letter from Gen Y to Gen Z
Nineteen hundred and ninety-eight. The year, not the cash.
Ok. Weren’t we just two years from the world ending anyhow?
It gave me a secret thrill to hear of our empty coffers. The artist in me already knew besides that failure was the only way out. Proudly Generation “Why?”
In The Young Century
There was a lot of noise and shouting by this time, but my grandmother knew just what came next. She reached for the matches for her cigarettes in her apron pocket and began to light the massive bobbins. Moving down the row, crawling fast and watching from the floor as the flames climbed the yarn and smoke began to billow at the ceiling. The workers went fast for the exits when she was pulled from under the spooler and tied to a sewing table chair by a floor manager.
The Tao of Utopia - An Urban Exploration Poem
Stopping far from a level concourse behind a mahogany door
to a room where a girl poses for a portrait on the floor
between a large book and a crooked television.
Her gossamer night dress hasn't been changed from in nights and days.
Downhill in Heels — A Modeling Story
And this is where one of the perks of being female comes in. When it has been a while inside a pose (about 20 minutes is good before a break is necessary), and my body is starting to fight it, it is easiest to go back into my brain and relax for a few moments more by thinking about sex.
NO CATHOLICS, NO COPS, NO GUYS NAMED DAVID.
We all have to play a mental game or two to get thru life, that’s the price paid for being sentient, and nobody’s perfect. But your job can’t be a third wheel. You have to at least like what you do to make bank, or have a modicum of a plan to move on to the next phase of the dream.
The Cereal Wish | Part 2
And there I was, twenty minutes later out trucking with Maggie four blocks away now from our place down Algren Street. It seemed to be nap time for the rest of the world while I took the much-needed air.
Odyssey Preppers: A slothful meditation
How easily even the driven-to-dream Odyssey Prepper becomes paralyzed by the myriad comprehensive depths of MacGyver-esque preparedness choices. The Platonic mind frozen in delicious deliberation of future liberation.
pANDEMIC eCCENTRIC
I hope things never go back to how they were. That normal wasn’t normal. Lost to digitized history seemed to be leisure with gravity, interstitial tranquility. The accuracy of vacancy. Nilness.
I want to lose track of days and check the time only to be surprised at the lateness of the hour. Dusk looming, innocent as a satellite.
In Cody Pomeray's Room
I wanted to play but wanted to watch more. Swatched in blue light and old music and a pilled blanket that wasn't mine. That island would look differently if I was in charge. I would not elect this. Responsible for spires upon spires of invisible real estate.
Final Summation Review Report and Log of Science Team Executive Lieutenant Dr. Lana VanDavis - June, 2032 -
On a brief recreational fishing expedition lead by Captain Max Goldwell, we discovered more advanced stages of Gyre Syndrome had already occurred in some populations of larger sealife- turtles and whales specifically. It sounds like a terrible thing, but really it managed to be an extraordinary physiological phenomena tantamount to a mid-21st century evolution. The last collusion in the name of the pursuit of perfection between man’s desires and nature’s will.
At The House of the Convalescent Muses
We take our meals in the greenhouse at the long bench. Tonight marks the end of a lot of work and we are very happy to have a ceiling of stars. The high curved windows are tinted with a twinge of blue and all stars light filtering down twinkle a precious indigo. High and bright lights accompany the food, which has come with beer, and is greasy. We must be growing firmer if the fare is like this.
Three Months in One Letter
I’ll never see you again, though. The creamy clouds hang over the mountains and I wonder if you are there. Far away from here. From Eddie the bird and Chow the cat and the ranch-style house in a neighborhood not far at all from mine.
Democracy Post-"Impeachment": Dead, But Still Heartsick
Thomas Jefferson comes to mind, as he referred to knowledge in his thoughts and writings as Light
You best believe when our sweaty overdressed forefathers were sitting in a Philadelphia courthouse day after day for months during a sweltering summer trying to birth this country, every minute felt like a pressure-cooked eternity of Light.
...that empathy is a limited and local resource. Expanding one’s desire to empathize with an increasing number of people spreads it thin like too little butter on too much bread.