She can't bake a cake when the moon is this full. Floating with the nocturnal angels enveloped in a blue dream on the corner of San Vicente and Sunset she watches abstractions come to life. Sunset Boulevard creature cakes dripping bomb rocked busy disappearing into patchwork posters that adorn the Whiskey. She takes the change from a homeless man and throws it into the sky making survival starlight pour down in bitter envious mockery. Laurel Canyon feels a million miles away down here and she…
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Added by John on October 9, 2011 at 4:54am —
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I can feel deeper than most, this is not an attempt to sound conceited. I can see the sexual deviance that you keep tucked away in the deadly dark corners of your mind, I can see your tears before they fall, I can see a lot. I can hear the whisper that the traffic brings on a mid-afternoon day, I can hear the concrete carnival of depression rising up from the humid heat stretched tar that tries to conceal the imperfect cracks of the city; the same cracks that run through you and I. I can…
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Added by John on July 6, 2011 at 2:00am —
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Epic Fails:
Though I probably need structure more than I'd like to admit, I find it impossible to adhere to a schedule. My continued confidence that I can have three drinks or less when at a bar. Returning phone calls and emails. Putting on the patch of commitment and quitting smoking, (the ring was much easier). Keeping plans with people (I'm a notorious flake), I do have the best of intentions, but we all know where that paves the way to. Letting go of guilt, pragmatic phantoms of…
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Added by John on July 2, 2011 at 1:00pm —
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Blood
looks so appealing in the moonlight. The sweet
smell of death drifting up through the trees. The
taste of an autumn candlelight crucifixion. The
feeling of breaking bone solitude as color fades from life. Madness feeds this
senseless horrible impulsive indulgence. The
sound of desperate screams carried on the gentle breeze as my starlit blade shines beneath the majestic sky reminding me…
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Added by John on June 29, 2011 at 12:30am —
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Wedding vows recited beneath a hostile sun, sweat beads pouring down bride and groom, promises to hold and cherish, promises to love in times of sickness and health, promises to remain together until death. Promises...ambassadors of good intention paving the way to hell and heartbreak. Golden rings placed on sweetbread appendages, backs stiffen and a kiss is exchanged among tears and small smiles of approval.
Hold your applause, save your tissues for a later date, for no ring can…
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Added by John on June 28, 2011 at 10:30pm —
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I sit here obsessing as I've done for years, wondering what was in that letter. If only Jordan had grabbed it before she called the maid. One would think being one of her friends and a bridesmaid that she would want to know what was going on. After all, someone as scandalous and careless as Jordan would have loved the potential for gossip fodder that a letter like that could have made. I can't help thinking that regardless of whether you see Gatsby as a stalker or a hopeless romantic that…
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Added by John on June 26, 2011 at 5:44am —
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June gloom meets the weary pounding heads of Friday's bar room congregation. Virginal Mary adorned in an oversized college shirt walking in the moaning mourning light carrying wrinkled dress and heels. The red upholstered pews now empty as the Pastor prepares his liquid laced sermon for Saturday's mass. Midnight Jesus awaits the velvet rope line outside of the neon church waiting to greet the prodigal son (who's a regular). The altar must be restocked one soul saving bottle at a time, lime…
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Added by John on June 25, 2011 at 3:00pm —
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There's an electric circus going on somewhere beneath the pale moon. There's puke in the gutter and neon whores trolling for plastic wine cups among fighting giants with traffic light tempers. Dusty barkeeps sweep the floors looking for a loose change treasure chest to spark their dented chariots. Out here I'm away from this, though it's only a bit of a drive to thrust me right back into the chaos of that run down Pleasure Island. Skid Row's finest on display buying balloons for a hard days…
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Added by John on June 24, 2011 at 2:11pm —
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Jesus is handcuffed to every bumper in America, staring us straight in the eye begging for a release. Jesus is handcuffed to every bumper in America, screaming to be peeled off from metallic rolling death coffins. Jesus is handcuffed to every bumper in America, incarcerated among politicians and multicolored dancing bears. Jesus is handcuffed to every bumper in America, advocating views that he never endorsed crying rust stained tears. Jesus is handcuffed to every bumper in America faded,…
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Added by John on June 23, 2011 at 10:30pm —
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Lincoln's ghost said, "That plant's going to kill you." I heard him as he ran past my double paned window, I saw him while peeking through dusty blinds. I think the vines ate him or perhaps that raccoon that keeps telling me to turn the music down. Drip, drip, drip goes my chlorine throat. I can't sleep with all the lights on. How do you turn off the stars?
Added by John on June 14, 2011 at 4:30am —
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Musty red carpets, creaking benches with flimsy canoe seat cushions that howl with the wind that blows the faded watercolors shifting with the trail of every passerby. This gloomy church has the appeal of a dive bar; hungover Christ with his thousand yard stare pleading to be let down from the cottonmouth white chipped plaster walls. Sundays are strange for a wedding where nerve stretched parents run around kicking up dust from the faded rose wilted carpets of ages gone by. I wonder what these…
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Added by John on June 2, 2011 at 8:30pm —
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LAX you seem more tame, it could be the beers or the three hours of sleep I'm working on. Bin Laden is dead, yet I sit here drinking beers in your parking lot. So much for heightened security, perhaps it's all a ruse or it could be the Klonopin I popped before I left. Dare I smoke the joint inside my cigarette box? It's Friday night after all and to be quite honest I'm bored, I was hoping you could provide me with some entertainment while I wait for her flight to come in; no traffic, no cops,…
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Added by John on May 7, 2011 at 3:43am —
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Bukowski had a secret bluebird he kept hidden from society. If that varmint ever escaped all of the "cocks" and "fucks" would turn into meaningless trite. Morrison probably had a bluebird too, nestled deep within the soul of a sad clown. Had that one gotten away, the poor intoxicated bastard probably would have flown into a wall. I have quite the opposite affliction. I keep a demon inside, though mine isn't such a secret, just feed him some Jack Daniels and that little fucker will tell you my…
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Added by John on May 5, 2011 at 2:30am —
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He looked nervous with his barbed wire mouth waiting for the principal, a countenance of uncertainty staring out across the field between the plastic plants and framed pictures on the receptionist's chipped mahogany desk. He had been here before, but never for something like this, after all he was the prize of the school, Mr. All American, captain of the football team, dean's list three years running; all the while drowning in an adolescent pool of self loathing, all of the pressure…
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Added by John on May 3, 2011 at 11:00pm —
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She believes with hesitation that this life could be real, that this pain could be remedied through words and philosophy. She awaits the precious moments, she clings to a promise made out of guilt and white powder pills. The body rests but the mind wanders, waiting, hoping, choking on a word she can't quite say without feeling alone. She knows better, she's seen this all before yet she waits growing older with each labored breath that brings the bottle to her pavement cracked lips. Nobody sees…
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Added by John on May 3, 2011 at 4:23am —
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Walking down La Rambla in Barcelona, Spain on New Year's Eve day I promised my wife I would behave. She was content taking photos and shopping, I happened to enjoy it too since I has found several places that sold cans of San Miguel for less than a euro and you can drink in public there. By noon I was well on my way to becoming smashed once again crushing the notion I could drink in moderation. The gothic buildings seemed to point toward the grey sky as a reminder that heaven doesn't wait for…
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Added by John on January 10, 2011 at 2:00am —
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There is no "X" on the vagina. Yet millions of teenage boys try to solicit their way into the pants of unsuspecting girls through bad poetry, cheap gas station bouquets and premeditated primping. Davy Jones' Locker is filled with these dumbfounded dorks looking for booty. Sentenced to a prison of internet porn and tall tales swapped in locker rooms. Try finding "The G-Spot" young lads. No map or GPS required.
Added by John on October 27, 2010 at 10:36pm —
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Small town mongrels driving cars with smashed fenders along the same roads they've known since they were thin golden haired kids dreaming of business suits and million dollar jobs with uptown apartments on the Upper East Side of New York City. Years later these same kids who never traveled or went barreling through towns in corporate limousines are spending their afternoons in the local bars disillusioned with books, music, life and once promising aspirations. Drifting in helpless shame, lone…
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Added by John on October 26, 2010 at 7:08pm —
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Twilight derelict, skull white vampire children stepping out of the cinema looking for a chiseled champion. Emotionally confused teens acting crazy on purpose, a disturbing new American fad. Take thy blade and cut deep into the flesh. Cut out all of the Devil's profit you've been force-fed through bruised movie screens. Bleed out the phoniness and spiked hair honeymoon hunchbacks. Leave them all behind, step into the daylight and figure out how to be a real person.
Added by John on October 26, 2010 at 12:33am —
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The drab room is artificially bright.
Mannequins attached to wooden stools conversing loudly flashing push pin smiles.
Novocaine for the mind served in small chipped glasses,the occasional strumpet gets up to test her sea legs on the damp black carpet stretched around the bar.
Hipsters sipping red concoctions, foreplay for the upcoming round of shots.
Twelve steps to the bathroom, twelve steps to sobriety, twelve steps to the car; a steel death machine…
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Added by John on October 23, 2010 at 6:22am —
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