Hola...
Sleepy .
This upcoming Friday is "First Friday" downtown...
a collective of artist's (my wife included), music, street vendors, scene kids with matching hair,
psychotics, the homeless, 2 dozen U.S. Marshals and of course.... me.
Good times.
Come check it out if you feel so inclined.
Starts at 6:00pm and ends at 10:00pm.
For information check out.....
http://www.firstfriday-lasvegas.org/
Gina will have a tent and be selling the goods...
Cats-Skulls-and other adorable creepy things that go bump in the night.
Check out her myspace page at ArtByGina.
Here is some letters put together to form words, words to make sentences, etc...
just for you my hard working and loyal readers... whomever you may be.
Juggling a chainsaw,
Captain PirateFace
"Call no man happy, who is not dead!"
_____________________________________________________________
What did you order dear?
Looking at me with that urgent fucked up look.
Like some person, threw a human head into your lap.
This is not a sacrificial altar.
I don't even know you.
You stare from across the room with eyes full of blame and hurt.
God, I want you to hurt.
I don't even know you.
You sit in the middle of a group who's combined smell drives passerby to suicide.
I have to admit,
your next drink will be from me, on me.
I don't even know you.
And by morning when you are under thin blanket
and the makeup has ran down from sweat and tears
and promises you never intend to keep...
I still won't know you.
When they pull out the heart what will surprise you the most?
I imagine...
nothing could take you by surprise.
When the night ran late, with our first kiss...
I remember a small knife jabbed lightly into one of my ribs.
You smiled and I could feel the defeat that would last the rest of my life.
I am still at a loss..
I am giving you the creeps
With one hand deep into my most important secret spaces.
With little half dead poetry scratched out on mundane pieces of paper.
Some illustrations of explicit sexual misconduct.
I always find myself standing in the streets alone...
little papers floating down around me, the wicked center of my vile island.
A thousand lives turned upside down...
(A thousand bodies lay alone at the ocean floor)
The mess of being alive is...
has been...
stolen.
We miss the way the cloths would pile up in bedrooms and hampers.
The air condition pumping out the bleak and un-excitable cold air.
The silence of two bodies laying next to one another, with nothing more to say.
All of us ghosts before death.
We all are...
wasted opportunities.
Sad eyed martyrs.
Keeping hope in all things make believe.
The idiots who stuck around when there was a choice of heaven.
All for this.
To watch us being forgotten.
To watch our true loves sweat it out on top of our most hated enemies.
All that remain for us are cold, hard facts.
The oceans will always be a soup filled with sunken swollen bodies.
You may not always love me.
And the night is never truly dark until you just close you God damn eyes.
We try, God help us we really do...
We look up at all above us with worried and confused expressions.
Palms turned up begging that we do not become stigmatic and obsessed with...
Velvet Jesus paintings and,
Salvation in small bottles and dangerous lady friends and,
crippling fear.
We just want somewhere to put our love.
If it's not too much to ask.
Phone calls begging for your heart (piece of ass)
The apology boy.
Begging for a last stab at love..
at her.
The thought of her showing love for anyone but him breaks his heart,
turns his stomach.
Refusing to let her go, painting a portrait of himself that he has proven
time and time again does not exist.
Childish and hurtful to the ears, this ruse almost always works.
She hangs up the phone and surprises this enormous stroked ego,
joining her girlfriend under the covers.
Damn
I got lucky and never saw it coming.
I spend my days laughing and crying and screaming.
I thought this was the norm?
You have won me over beautiful.
Christ can have my meek salvation, I promise my soul to you.
Goodnight and I promise to try harder next time.
Sucker.
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