Tuesday, September 14, 2010
I was born to be a dancer, i was born a white swan.
Monday, September 13, 2010
woke up this morning with wild berries in my hair.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
hot tramp, i love you so.
for me, seeing david live in 1983 in Paris, the opening night of the let's dance tour, was just that. My guitar teacher had turned me on the ultimate Bowie starter, ChangesOne. and like many, my first response was to RebelRebel. Fuck Bob Dylan, The Monkees and Aerosmith. He twisted every convention I knew and with it began my own hero worship, my own myth, the Zeus of my twenty first century.
innocently i asked John, my teacher, "hey at the end there, what is a "fuel line and a handful of loose"??
he said "it's a few lines, and a handful of ludes."
i said, "and?'
and he said "oh, you will find out some day"
Amen motherfucker.
enjoy, i do every day.
Monday, August 9, 2010
hello, is it me you're looking for?
Sunday, October 25, 2009
then i saw a strange and handsome fellow...
You
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
an eye opened, long since sleep shut
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
summer flight
Tell me it is time
time
to move
far
to ride
far
i am hot
for the final summer ride
mount our white steeds
illustrated with teenaged Heavy Metal
and long
and ache our way
back east
to the sweaty palm of the lower east side
and feel the walls shake of foot stomping house
to smell cocaine and swallow cool mimosa
lets roll
one last hurrah
and then hang up our cups
and return to earth
the night
music
heat
opening a yellow cab door
spilling in and out all night like loose jelly bellies
laughing to the edge of every bar
colliding like lips to a glass
and then like a dawn that fits in your wallet
we will unfold across the eastern board
like sand falling from a shoe
and when dusk drops like a light curtain call on edges of miami
we will ride into town
there are few who can make this journey
we will break open the night with the fine edges of our wit and the keen control of our hearts
wouldn't you want to see how close we could get to the sunset and if we could sit at twilight's table
maybe drink from the night's cup as it overflows with the cool darkness that makes the heat of all of your monday stutter, trip and fall in the alleys of your pleasure
throw it around like pollacks paint, dousing anyone who dares stand near
darker still we swim at the fading edge of days last light
reaching at it with the pleasure and abandon of knowing it will never happen
bathing in the folly and futility of your own life as it passes with same speed as this paltry day
it counts as you count
breathes as you do
but when the day comes that worms eat out your eyes
it will laugh and turn its immortal attention to the next you
who
will be
trying to dodge the last day