Scene outside of a fine restaurant:
Two suburban couples stand talking about their after dinner plans.
From the few seconds of conversation that is overheard, it’s all about “Keeping Up With The Jones’s”, as the one jerk is bragging about his new CL63-AMG.
As they're getting ready to go to their next foray, the jerk guy turns to the other, nods his head in the direction of the other’s Lexus, a model several years older but still in pristine condition.
“Do you want to take the Mercede’s way or the shady way?”
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Flying
Flying again
Cool glass clouds
Cutting skin like paper
Cardinal red drizzle
Scatters
In a warm rain
On life and death
Below
I can feel the arrival
Of descent
Within the sound
Of loose wings
In ribbons
Tattered and fluttering
Behind
Endogenous morphines
Riveted
To swift blood cells
Pulsing
To the drum
Of a composed
And fading heart
The rocks below approacheth
Note to self:
Not everything is as cotton candy fluffy
As it might appear
From afar
Cool glass clouds
Cutting skin like paper
Cardinal red drizzle
Scatters
In a warm rain
On life and death
Below
I can feel the arrival
Of descent
Within the sound
Of loose wings
In ribbons
Tattered and fluttering
Behind
Endogenous morphines
Riveted
To swift blood cells
Pulsing
To the drum
Of a composed
And fading heart
The rocks below approacheth
Note to self:
Not everything is as cotton candy fluffy
As it might appear
From afar
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Snake
“C’mere!”
He said.
“I wanna show you my snake!”
“Oh no.”
She slurred.
“I don’t know you THAT well.”
They were both drunk.
They had hit several bars
In the neighborhood
And were now in his small three room apartment.
“We’ve only been out together a few times...”
“I feel like I’m still getting to know you...”
“What are you? The last Puritan in this filthy stinkhole of a city?”
“I just wanted to show you my snake...”
“You can hold it too, if ya like...”
“Why you nasty man!”
“I have a mind to leave right now!”
“Look.”
He said.
He had a tired but fiery register in his eyes.
“C’mere and stop this fucking around!”
He was pulling her firmly
By the arm
Into the bedroom.
“Stop being so rough!”
She spit.
He dragged her over to a dresser
Where there was a large glass tank
Awash in amber light.
Inside
A large snake lie sleeping on top of a piece of wood.
“You really DO have a snake!”
She laughed.
“What kind is it?”
“A Burmese Python.”
“He’s beautiful...can I hold him?”
“How do YOU know IT”S a HE?”
He asked
Lifting the top off of the terrarium.
He reached in and hefted out the snake.
Caught by surprise
The python quickly tried wrapping it’s tail
Around the piece of wood
Instead
Coiling it around
The man’s arm.
“In Greek mythology, the Python was the earth-dragon of Delphi, ALWAYS represented in Greek sculpture and vase-paintings as a serpent. SHE presided at the Delphic oracle, which existed in the cult center for her mother, Gaia, or Earth...”
His speech was thick and slow with whiskey.
She watched the snake’s tongue
Flicker in and out.
“SHE’S smelling you.”
He continued...
“...Pytho being the place name that was substituted for the earlier Krisa. Hellenes considered the site to be the center of the earth, represented by a stone...the omphalos...
or navel, which Python guarded.”
“That’s fascinating.”
She feigned
Sticking out her tongue
To touch the reptile's.
“She’s kinda sexy.”
He wrapped the python
Around her neck and body
The snake contracting.
“Oh, she’s squeezing me!”
She giggled.
“Don’t worry. She won’t hurt you.”
She felt the muscles slowly move
And massage her body
Sensually.
“Python became the chthonic enemy of the later Olympian deity Apollo, who slew her, severing her head, and remade her former home and the oracle as his own.”
“Oooooh...”
She gasped
Her eyes closed.
Her nerves were bubbling.
He kissed her open mouth
Moving around the reptile
Warming her neck
Unbuttoning
Her blouse
With fast and hungry hands.
There was no refusal
And he continued
Clothes dropping to the floor.
And but moments later
He thought to himself
“Works every time. Like a fucking charm!”
As he pushed his snake
Into her warm
Wet
Good stuff.
He said.
“I wanna show you my snake!”
“Oh no.”
She slurred.
“I don’t know you THAT well.”
They were both drunk.
They had hit several bars
In the neighborhood
And were now in his small three room apartment.
“We’ve only been out together a few times...”
“I feel like I’m still getting to know you...”
“What are you? The last Puritan in this filthy stinkhole of a city?”
“I just wanted to show you my snake...”
“You can hold it too, if ya like...”
“Why you nasty man!”
“I have a mind to leave right now!”
“Look.”
He said.
He had a tired but fiery register in his eyes.
“C’mere and stop this fucking around!”
He was pulling her firmly
By the arm
Into the bedroom.
“Stop being so rough!”
She spit.
He dragged her over to a dresser
Where there was a large glass tank
Awash in amber light.
Inside
A large snake lie sleeping on top of a piece of wood.
“You really DO have a snake!”
She laughed.
“What kind is it?”
“A Burmese Python.”
“He’s beautiful...can I hold him?”
“How do YOU know IT”S a HE?”
He asked
Lifting the top off of the terrarium.
He reached in and hefted out the snake.
Caught by surprise
The python quickly tried wrapping it’s tail
Around the piece of wood
Instead
Coiling it around
The man’s arm.
“In Greek mythology, the Python was the earth-dragon of Delphi, ALWAYS represented in Greek sculpture and vase-paintings as a serpent. SHE presided at the Delphic oracle, which existed in the cult center for her mother, Gaia, or Earth...”
His speech was thick and slow with whiskey.
She watched the snake’s tongue
Flicker in and out.
“SHE’S smelling you.”
He continued...
“...Pytho being the place name that was substituted for the earlier Krisa. Hellenes considered the site to be the center of the earth, represented by a stone...the omphalos...
or navel, which Python guarded.”
“That’s fascinating.”
She feigned
Sticking out her tongue
To touch the reptile's.
“She’s kinda sexy.”
He wrapped the python
Around her neck and body
The snake contracting.
“Oh, she’s squeezing me!”
She giggled.
“Don’t worry. She won’t hurt you.”
She felt the muscles slowly move
And massage her body
Sensually.
“Python became the chthonic enemy of the later Olympian deity Apollo, who slew her, severing her head, and remade her former home and the oracle as his own.”
“Oooooh...”
She gasped
Her eyes closed.
Her nerves were bubbling.
He kissed her open mouth
Moving around the reptile
Warming her neck
Unbuttoning
Her blouse
With fast and hungry hands.
There was no refusal
And he continued
Clothes dropping to the floor.
And but moments later
He thought to himself
“Works every time. Like a fucking charm!”
As he pushed his snake
Into her warm
Wet
Good stuff.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Bruthas (Buddy And Charles)
From day one
From the day we moved in
They told us they were bruthas.
We were legitimently poor artists
That had just moved into the rough neighborhood.
517 Saint Mary’s Street
Across from the old seminary.
The projects were one block away
Surrounding us
Wrapped around Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard
Like tall ash grey cemetary markers.
It was depressing
Just to look at them
Standing there soulless in the city’s hot sweat.
But we could afford this place.
A whole brick house
With iron grates over the first floor windows
And enough room
For a studio
On the third floor.
All for $575 a month.
Our families tried to convince us
That we didn’t know what we were getting into.
It was a diamond in the rough.
A diamond set into the gold ghetto grill.
We were the only white people
In the neighborhood
And it was immediately apparent
That the odds were against us
As soon as we pulled up
In a U-haul
Like the circus had come to town.
They were our new neighbors.
Our front steps just a few feet away.
“I’m Buddy...and this is Charles.”
“We’re bruthas.”
I could smell THAT one out
A mile away.
I’ve been around.
I shook their hands
Smiling
Looking up into curious big yellow eyes.
I smiled.
“Glad to meet you both”.
“I guess we’re neighbors then!”
“I’m Theo and this is my girlfriend...”
“She swears like a sailor and snores like a Chevy engine badly in need of a tune-up!”
I found out then
That Charles could break into laughter
For a good five minutes at a time
Doubling over
With his hands in movement
Like that mechanical furry monkey toy
That would clash the symbols together.
No...
Really.
They didn’t even look remotely alike
Physically.
They were both black and in their sixties
But that was the end.
Buddy was small and thin...
More flamboyant.
Delicate and happy.
Besides a few missing teeth
He was a pretty boy.
His appearance was thought out
In a thrift store hand me down kind of way.
Charles was the opposite.
A big strong man.
Loud.
Educated in the streets instead of school.
His skin was rough and broken
Like his leather shoes
That were cut away
In the front
So his powdered white black toes were poking out.
Homemade city tar sandals.
They were our next door neighbors
For several years
Until we left Baltimore.
We became very close.
They would cook soul food for us
Bringing over homemade fried chicken
Collard greens with ham hocks
Chicken livers
Greasy biscuits
“Buddy made those...”
Chitterlings...
Kale and turnip.
Food that we would never eat
Because we were vegetarians.
Everything was cooked in lard.
And we would give it away
Because we never had the heart to tell them.
We could see the pleasure it gave them
To cook for us.
It was a connection for them,
So we never gave that up.
We were invited into their home
On a more than regular basis
Smoking cigarettes with Charles
In the living room
On furniture rescued
From sidewalks
And church sales.
“Brothas”
They would tell us
As Charles pulled on a filterless.
It broke my heart
That they felt like they had to tell us this lie.
I wanted to tell them
That it was okay...
That we were cool.
That we loved them both
Very much.
That we were sympathetic to their situation.
That we knew that they had to live like that
Out of fear and safety...
That they had lived like that for many years.
Out of necessity
And we got it.
But I never did.
It would have made everything different.
Those two men were really beautiful together.
There was evidence of love
And hardship
Comfort
Longevity
And accomplishments.
We’d sit on our front steps
And shoot the shit.
Our laughter would sing through
The neighborhood.
It wasn’t until years later...
We had moved
A long time ago.
I was in Baltimore
And decided to look them up.
The neighborhood hadn’t changed a bit.
I knocked on their door.
After a few minutes of knocking
Charles opened the door.
As soon as he saw me
He broke down in tears.
I mean sobbing tears.
“Oh my God! How have you been? We missed you so much after you left.”
He was a lot older
But he was still
Toothless
Motherfucking
Charles
With his toes hanging out.
But he wasn’t laughing
And he told me Buddy had recently died
And that he missed him and loved him.
And I held beautiful black Charles
In the same living room
From long ago
As he talked to me
Tears falling down his face
As he told me for the first time
That Buddy was not his brutha.
And I cried with him.
Just the two of us.
From the day we moved in
They told us they were bruthas.
We were legitimently poor artists
That had just moved into the rough neighborhood.
517 Saint Mary’s Street
Across from the old seminary.
The projects were one block away
Surrounding us
Wrapped around Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard
Like tall ash grey cemetary markers.
It was depressing
Just to look at them
Standing there soulless in the city’s hot sweat.
But we could afford this place.
A whole brick house
With iron grates over the first floor windows
And enough room
For a studio
On the third floor.
All for $575 a month.
Our families tried to convince us
That we didn’t know what we were getting into.
It was a diamond in the rough.
A diamond set into the gold ghetto grill.
We were the only white people
In the neighborhood
And it was immediately apparent
That the odds were against us
As soon as we pulled up
In a U-haul
Like the circus had come to town.
They were our new neighbors.
Our front steps just a few feet away.
“I’m Buddy...and this is Charles.”
“We’re bruthas.”
I could smell THAT one out
A mile away.
I’ve been around.
I shook their hands
Smiling
Looking up into curious big yellow eyes.
I smiled.
“Glad to meet you both”.
“I guess we’re neighbors then!”
“I’m Theo and this is my girlfriend...”
“She swears like a sailor and snores like a Chevy engine badly in need of a tune-up!”
I found out then
That Charles could break into laughter
For a good five minutes at a time
Doubling over
With his hands in movement
Like that mechanical furry monkey toy
That would clash the symbols together.
No...
Really.
They didn’t even look remotely alike
Physically.
They were both black and in their sixties
But that was the end.
Buddy was small and thin...
More flamboyant.
Delicate and happy.
Besides a few missing teeth
He was a pretty boy.
His appearance was thought out
In a thrift store hand me down kind of way.
Charles was the opposite.
A big strong man.
Loud.
Educated in the streets instead of school.
His skin was rough and broken
Like his leather shoes
That were cut away
In the front
So his powdered white black toes were poking out.
Homemade city tar sandals.
They were our next door neighbors
For several years
Until we left Baltimore.
We became very close.
They would cook soul food for us
Bringing over homemade fried chicken
Collard greens with ham hocks
Chicken livers
Greasy biscuits
“Buddy made those...”
Chitterlings...
Kale and turnip.
Food that we would never eat
Because we were vegetarians.
Everything was cooked in lard.
And we would give it away
Because we never had the heart to tell them.
We could see the pleasure it gave them
To cook for us.
It was a connection for them,
So we never gave that up.
We were invited into their home
On a more than regular basis
Smoking cigarettes with Charles
In the living room
On furniture rescued
From sidewalks
And church sales.
“Brothas”
They would tell us
As Charles pulled on a filterless.
It broke my heart
That they felt like they had to tell us this lie.
I wanted to tell them
That it was okay...
That we were cool.
That we loved them both
Very much.
That we were sympathetic to their situation.
That we knew that they had to live like that
Out of fear and safety...
That they had lived like that for many years.
Out of necessity
And we got it.
But I never did.
It would have made everything different.
Those two men were really beautiful together.
There was evidence of love
And hardship
Comfort
Longevity
And accomplishments.
We’d sit on our front steps
And shoot the shit.
Our laughter would sing through
The neighborhood.
It wasn’t until years later...
We had moved
A long time ago.
I was in Baltimore
And decided to look them up.
The neighborhood hadn’t changed a bit.
I knocked on their door.
After a few minutes of knocking
Charles opened the door.
As soon as he saw me
He broke down in tears.
I mean sobbing tears.
“Oh my God! How have you been? We missed you so much after you left.”
He was a lot older
But he was still
Toothless
Motherfucking
Charles
With his toes hanging out.
But he wasn’t laughing
And he told me Buddy had recently died
And that he missed him and loved him.
And I held beautiful black Charles
In the same living room
From long ago
As he talked to me
Tears falling down his face
As he told me for the first time
That Buddy was not his brutha.
And I cried with him.
Just the two of us.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Why I Pay $14.00 For 12oz Of Coffee Beans
Sure
They start by
Procurring the finest
Aribica coffee beans
Available anywhere
In the world
Searching for
Small volume growers.
They are devoted
To developing direct
Sustainable
And financially beneficial
Relationships
With the small
Independent
Producers
And the communities
In which they live.
Small focused
Microlot crops
Are spoon fed pure glacial water
Imported from Iceland
And fertilized with
10,000 year old bat guana
Scraped from the floors
Of previously untouched caves
From an undisclosed and hyper secretive
Location somewhere on the Japanese rim
Or so they say.
The beans
Are gently massaged daily
By hand
While still juicy on the plant
And ‘coached’
By trained
‘Life Affirming Specialists’
Providing a ‘positive’
Growth environment.
The mature beans are harvested
Individually
At the precise moment
As some would say
“At the height of orgasm”
Meeting strict standards and guidelines
Set forth by the SCAA
The Roaster’s Guild
The International Cupping Society
And the Barista Guild.
The beans are flown in
Cryovaced
First Class...
Meaning each bag
Has it’s own seat
Watching first run movies
Or the option
To listen to one of one hundred and thirty
Streaming
Digital Sirius channels.
Once in house
The beans undergo yet another scrutinous inspection
Under a jeweler’s glass
To make sure they meet
This sommelier’s high caliber.
The coffee is then roasted
In a vintage
Gas fired
Probat UG-15 Roaster
That has been in continuous use
By the same family
From a small village
In Northern France
Since it’s date of manufacture
In 1956.
The same roaster is owned by
Only 16 other people
In the whole world.
I buy my vacuum sealed
12oz of beans
Only a day or two
After they have been roasted
For $14.00.
I take it to the counter
To have it ground.
Stove top espresso.
A real live trained chimpanzee
Dressed in Ralph Lauren
Grinds my beans
To the correct consistency
Using a hand grinder
And it takes a good seven minutes
For 12oz.
The monkey hands it to the Ford model
Working the register.
She is a red head.
Unusual for the modelling industry.
Maybe that’s why she is working
At a coffee boutique.
Whatever.
She is georgeous.
Bright eyes
Smooth skin
Delicious hair.
Her wet lips speak
“Do you have an account?”
“No”
I answer.
She takes my card and swipes it
As only a highly trained
Super model could.
I sign the vellum receipt
And take my coffee home
To make the most perfect
Chocolatey
Frothy
Red head foam
Espresso
In this neighborhood.
The pot
Sings sweetly.
Vivaldi I think.
They start by
Procurring the finest
Aribica coffee beans
Available anywhere
In the world
Searching for
Small volume growers.
They are devoted
To developing direct
Sustainable
And financially beneficial
Relationships
With the small
Independent
Producers
And the communities
In which they live.
Small focused
Microlot crops
Are spoon fed pure glacial water
Imported from Iceland
And fertilized with
10,000 year old bat guana
Scraped from the floors
Of previously untouched caves
From an undisclosed and hyper secretive
Location somewhere on the Japanese rim
Or so they say.
The beans
Are gently massaged daily
By hand
While still juicy on the plant
And ‘coached’
By trained
‘Life Affirming Specialists’
Providing a ‘positive’
Growth environment.
The mature beans are harvested
Individually
At the precise moment
As some would say
“At the height of orgasm”
Meeting strict standards and guidelines
Set forth by the SCAA
The Roaster’s Guild
The International Cupping Society
And the Barista Guild.
The beans are flown in
Cryovaced
First Class...
Meaning each bag
Has it’s own seat
Watching first run movies
Or the option
To listen to one of one hundred and thirty
Streaming
Digital Sirius channels.
Once in house
The beans undergo yet another scrutinous inspection
Under a jeweler’s glass
To make sure they meet
This sommelier’s high caliber.
The coffee is then roasted
In a vintage
Gas fired
Probat UG-15 Roaster
That has been in continuous use
By the same family
From a small village
In Northern France
Since it’s date of manufacture
In 1956.
The same roaster is owned by
Only 16 other people
In the whole world.
I buy my vacuum sealed
12oz of beans
Only a day or two
After they have been roasted
For $14.00.
I take it to the counter
To have it ground.
Stove top espresso.
A real live trained chimpanzee
Dressed in Ralph Lauren
Grinds my beans
To the correct consistency
Using a hand grinder
And it takes a good seven minutes
For 12oz.
The monkey hands it to the Ford model
Working the register.
She is a red head.
Unusual for the modelling industry.
Maybe that’s why she is working
At a coffee boutique.
Whatever.
She is georgeous.
Bright eyes
Smooth skin
Delicious hair.
Her wet lips speak
“Do you have an account?”
“No”
I answer.
She takes my card and swipes it
As only a highly trained
Super model could.
I sign the vellum receipt
And take my coffee home
To make the most perfect
Chocolatey
Frothy
Red head foam
Espresso
In this neighborhood.
The pot
Sings sweetly.
Vivaldi I think.
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