My Last Trip to New York

Three months in and still no waves. It’s hard for me to write to you these days. Rusty anchors drag down my sails and dedication through the cold sea. Along the floor the bottom of the house in my basement I have a gun stashed away behind my tools. The other night I thought I might have to use it. The wind was calm for the first time all day and the silence was too much for me without you there. So, I unlocked the liquor cabinet and got some matches that I had in there. I walked to the stairs and lit my lamp. The oil burned slowly which gave me time to put my jacket on. The messy memory of the past weekend like a shadow on the wall reflected the light from the lantern against the table. A magazine I flipped through earlier was on the thick glass and I remembered it reminded me of my last trip to New York…

Just In Time For The Music

A friend of mine owns a club. He hates it but he makes money. I stopped by to see him the other night when I was on my way home from my local bar, but he wasn’t there. I was filthy from a day’s labor anyway, I could see why they wouldn’t want to admit me, but I came ’round back. The cook said my friend took the delivery truck and sped off, giving hell to whoever he was on his phone with. This troubled me, mostly because he had been having a tough time lately. The last time I saw him his pupils were like full moons, black and bottomless, but he was happy. It was at the party over by the museum area. It was the night I walked from there to the marina. Anyway, I saw him and we had a brief discussion about Australian rock n roll bands of the last 30 years and he lit a cigarette and wandered off. It amazed me this guy could run a club with a great restaurant and everything. I know he’s highly intelligent and he can get it together when he needs to; an impressive combination in action, but as a lifestyle I think it’s taken it’s toll. I mean, he could of popped his lid tonight, especially if what set him off was something that had to do with his girl. She’s this incredibly attractive Hawaiian girl. She works for a wedding photographer, gonna be a realtor soon. I ordered a Black & Tan. I leaned on the bar and thought about having the baked ziti again. It’s early, I wonder if I’ll see her tonight. Maybe I should call her and see if she wants to meet me. She’ll come with some friends I’m sure and be just in time for the music…

How Alive I Feel

The relevancy of my attention becomes less and less as the evening progresses. Why she agreed to this night is beyond me, unless I am misreading nerves and shyness as perceived ambivalence. You know of whom I speak. She has long brown hair and a fresh tattoo of a mermaid along her left side. The lights in this nightspot are too dim. I cannot see her well enough. Although, I feel she is looking right through me. Why else would someone ask her out for drinks? She must know my intentions, my dull dreams and aspirations. Youthful cravings not satiated by drugs or drinks, only time. Her dark skin is so so smooth. Each time she blinks the smoke out of her pale green eyes, her eyelashes, long and curved, bat me farther away. I am on an island in the tropics. The trees are velvet and the sun is blown out. Black as night, my heart pumps blood. I do not trust the locals. The bar is crowded, but no one else is here. We speak quietly. The music is slow and mellow. I ask her if she’s enjoying herself. She leans over me and says yes, reaching across my body for her pack of smokes. I place my drink on the bar, and gently take the cigarette from her hand. I inhale, and tell her how alive I feel…  

A Cool Pool of Water

Ok it’s cooler now and I can think again and I can write to you again…That was a bit rough I don’t remember much except that we bought that painting in the square. The one with the yellow paint was nicer in the sunlight but the one I purchased will be worth much more. Knowing her she will probably break it or ruin it or sell it and leave me. Does it bore you when I speak like this? Oh, don’t be so easily rattled. She distracts my detatched mind. Dump trucks and cranes can build buildings I will sleep in. The air feels cleaner up here, as if whoever upstairs just returned home from a long trip and flipped on the air conditioner. I think I’ll take my shirt off. No, that’s not a tattoo just really bad sunburn. I know, I had a girl’s leg draped over me. From the nape of her creamy neck to the underside of my foot we were slowly cooked. Pass the aloe. I was once at a party on the West coast and I sat on a inflatable chair right next to a giant aloe plant. I saw her there and she told me she had been doing a lot of cocaine and was really enjoying it. She asked if I had any, I remember it like it was yesterday and it was about six years ago. I pictured us having a conversation in the bathroom. I leaned back in the chair, next to the aloe plant. I closed my eyes and the stars told me a story that made me want to jump off of a cliff into a cool pool of water…

The Vast And Murky Water

Let me know if any one person in the world right now has hope. I am at what seems like an all-time low. The thick summer heat is holding me close telling me it will not go away until December. What warm water carnage will be unleashed in the coming weeks. Maybe none whatsoever. I am possibly losing my mind in this humidity. I live in a dense valley of haze. We are lost at sea. I am landlocked and beginning to feel my self inside my skin. The noises have subsided and that scares me. A message was sent and received but not followed. How helpless can one become in a land where we are supposed to be in control. I am certainly not. Petty drivel about love and lost direction. I made a left at an intersection and witnessed a lady on a motorcycle go headfirst. I reached out and there was no one to take my hand. I have finished the lesson and have reached the end of yet another line. The sun sets quietly and will someday explode. I should take time and realize what is good in life and that is what will keep me going. I like being here right now. There are beautiful creatures throughout the vast and murky water…

Which Way To Go

As my cigarette burns a hole in her picture I sip my drink in disgust. I walk over to the ashtray and pick up the photo. God, she is pretty. I’m upset now it has a hole in it but why should I be? I should burn it. This picture is the sun I flew into. My wings melted like ice over liquor and down I fell fast. Burn it, those memories will dissapate like the smoke from my cig. Keep it, and remain in this cell. I exhale and listen closely. I hear shouting on the street as the record runs out. The needle slowly bounces off of the label. I’ve got to get myself out of this level. I should get my keys, and go downstairs to the bar. Nah, not that place again. My thoughts slither through senarios I will not play out. The poison in my veins is strong but it won’t kill me. That’s unfortunate. It’s too hot outside. I can’t think. My pen has run dry, I can’t even finish this letter. Someone must please save me. The pressure is crushing. My boat has been destroyed by the storm. I am far away from where I was. I am wandering alone. The girl in the picture can save me. Yes, she can take me home. She can listen to my nightmares and my dreams and tell me which way to go… 

Sleep Alone Again

Without many options at my disposal I decided to let a friend of a friend pick me up at about 10pm. I gave her directions on how to get to my apartment and to my suprise she already knew where it was. I had no recollection of meeting her and I was certain I would remember given the indisputable fact that she was heart-stoppingly beautiful. She smiled slightly, silently understanding my situation and, if I’m not mistaken, finding herself  attracted to me. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself. Her car was black with white interior, and made by a manufacturer in Italy I had never heard of. We raced away, my driver with a cigarette between her lips and my life in her hands. People crowded the streets along our route to the club downtown. The city was outside and sweating in the August heat, alive and violent and hungry for action and entertainment be it legal or illegal. I preferred the latter, and had several means to escape my poor excuse for existence in the left pocket of my jeans. This would be a night to remember. My driver and I made small talk about common aquaintences and she continued to smile slyly. I found this unnerving and engrossing at the same time. I was falling fast for this girl. Time dissipated into the night air. Her green eyes sparkled and reflected the city lights and I tried not to stare. I don’t ever want to sleep alone again… 

Uncivilized World

The light has yet to show its face. I stand at the agreed location hoping to gain some advantage I absolutely could use. I’m in way too deep. Blood boiling demons dancing in a frenzy on my psyche clenched fist I spoke my mind. My throat is sore from screaming and my cheek is cut and throbbing. I am wide awake and in control. That is the problem. I feel a cool wave of calm overtake me. Language is my chosen art more powerful than any strength I could marshall. I talked my way into this. The time for words has passed. Where is this fuckin guy? No matter, this fight is warrented, and I will finish what was started. No one may speak of her like that. Again my lust and love has been revealed. Why else would I erupt in violence? A broken mirror a broken bottle a broken heart. Life as even as the horizon line ahead. Blood was spilled and honor defended. She may care or not, I don’t. Out in my boat I could move on. Silently sinking my lure and my secrets. What would I catch? Would it feed me this week? Fill my lungs with smoke and fluid and my mind with fantasy. She will hear of my deeds and react with horror. Appropriate as that may be, I would kill for few things, but she is one of them. Contrary to common wisdom human savagery is underestimated. A broken bottle is a civilized weapon in an uncivilized world…

The Storm That Approaches

In no way was I trying to appear evasive although I would have preferred to answer the question in private. Nevertheless, surrounded by palm trees and polished utensils I commenced with my response. As lunch arrived from the poolside kitchen I mumbled, ”Yes, it’s true one time I drove with her to the coast.” Suddenly, a server in the kitchen dropped some dishes. The truth was out. The admission hung in the air. White clouds converged overhead. This heightened concern over a brief and meanlingless trip made me lose my appetite. I pushed my plate away. However, if I left I would only invite more speculation in my absence. I stewed in my seat, deciding to remain, and ate my sandwich slowly. Yellow flowers swayed in the warm breeze. I sipped my drink. My mind plunged into the depths of daydream. I cannot live a life such as this one, surrounded with people such as these. People who delight in the details of my mundane existence. At least to me, none of this matters. What matters is love and life and endless conversation. A face as beautiful as the imagination behind it. Later, at night in my room overlooking the lagoon I write on hotel stationary. A poem of dark intentions and pain. A memory of a time when the sun was black and burned my eyes forever with a vision too pure for this devilish world. Remember to breathe. She sat beside me quietly singing along with the song on the radio. Her voice was like a stream over smooth rocks like she cared that I thought so. For a moment I felt her leg against mine and I knew what a war could be fought over. Her friends with feinged interest made small talk. With crossed eyes and futile wonderings they have succeeded. From the still and polluted waters of the past they have dredged a dead and decomposing body. A time without meaning or significance has been dragged into the patchy sun of a poolside conversation. This horrible and cursed world. Out of reasons to continue on this path. The night will no doubt contain detachment and introspection, though I can always escape. A moonlit walk on the beach. Deal with your demons alone, for no one can understand how difficult your journey has been. Only you can. I need not speak with her again, my dream and my destruction. My lust and love for her exploded through my eyes undesguised and severe like the storm that approaches…

Smoke In The Distance

The words I strain to speak fail to escape my parched throat. My eyes swim and roll back from lack of available nourishment. Strange sounds eminate from the hills beyond. A dry wind carries shards of sand the remnants of a world long destroyed. My memory is dismal and distant. I don’t know who the girl I see is my eyes are dry and bloodied and closed. Cracked with dust no tears left to shed. I think I may be dreaming or hallucinating. I cannot be sure. It is here where I will die. I have been lost in this climate lost for what seems like centuries. I must find this girl but I cannot move in time. The storm will overtake me. It will cover me like dirt on a casket a treasure yet to be discovered in the endless sands. Who is she? A scorpion crawls across this cracked surface some things can live here and endure. A fever dream controls my thoughts I cannot swallow in the dust my throat is caked solid with cries to live and love this woman. I crawl on my belly like a green and brown alligator with no strength left to kill. A smashed skull greets me as I reach the summit of a shifting dune that overlooks a canyon. I’m dying. Slowly that realization becomes more comfortable in my heart. Mosquitos suck my skin draining my blood I am too weak to brush them off of me. I remember painted pictures and stringed instruments and her face. My heart feels as broken as the cracked ground up ahead. I am dying slowly but am already dead my life is empty. In the hills beyond as I slowly drift away I see smoke in the distance…