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walt cessna
Thursday, October 09, 2008
"You're lying to me...That IS not your fathers voice..."
My mom is convinced that the voice on her cell phone voice-mail message no longer belongs to my father. First she calls the number and listens intently, cupping her other ear closed so as not to miss one syllable. "That is not your father's voice," she says, then hands the phone to my brother & his girlfriend so that they can hear for themselves. They listen. They look at me in bewilderment. They hang up the phone and tell my mother that she's wrong and it is my fathers voice. That's when she accuses them of being liars and trying to make her crazy so we can have her committed. Completely koo-koo for Cocoa Puffs. So I pick up the phone, dial the number and nervously await voice-mail to pick up. When it does, it's my fathers voice, just like it has been for over 5 years. The exact same message. I look at my mom and she can tell what I'm about to say by my expression. She falls back in her chair and screams, "What is wrong with me? What is happening to me!" and I try to comfort her but her tears will not be stopped and the pain must come. And I think about my fathers voice which I haven't heard since he died from lung cancer 3 years ago and it makes me miss him and wish things were different instead of the fukt up way they are now.
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Wednesday, October 08, 2008
LEFT ALONE TO MY OWN DEVICES...
...I found myself perusing the local Books A Million, located smack in da middle of one of the countless stip malls that infest florida like a deeply rooted plague. I arrived here yesterday after an exhausting 7 day whirlwind with my current love situation in NYC. After a pretty bad break-up (our 2nd) with Will, I spent a week up in the Pocono mountains in PA with my cousins. It was pretty chill- lotsa talkin, eatin, writen, drawin & healin. I tried to keep off the pain box, but after many phone conversations with Will, we decided to meet back at the apartment and try to work things out, which we did and proceeded to spend the nxt 7 days acting as if nothing happened, doing all of our favorite things and actually getting some art/work done. we eventually talked about everything and came to some harsh but obvious realizations about what works and what doesn't for us. Now I'm here in FL dealing with my crazy family for the next 2 wks and trying to figure out if getting back together again is going to help or hurt us. Of course the first night I'm gone Will goes out and gets completely trashed, ignoring my calls until he finally picks up way after midnite, supposedly safe at a friends house. The next call comes at 6:35am to let me know he's arrived at another friends house safely. I'm kinda like thanks for sharing, but WTF with waking my ass up? Haven't heard from him yet today and that's OK as I don't really know what to say or even actually want to say something. That's why I found myself at ye olde book shoppe (i'm bored, indulge my gramatical wierdness). I thumb through endless fashion magazines, stunned by Balenciaga, seduced by Dior couture, wrecked teens in McQueen and disgusted by the Invasion Of The Body Snathers like Kidman cover of bazaar. My mind races as I consider the new Augustin Burroughs audio book and the fierce temptation of a random copy of Ask The Dust by my fave Fante. I'm distracting mself, yet replaying the scenes of the past week in a movie reel of the mind. The long walks thru NYC streets full of visual stimulation, the gallery crawl where we ooh & aahh & then go blahhhhhhhhhh, ODing on art until we collapse at a local diner and share some food, the movie marathons entwined like pretzels on turqouise zebra sheets and the delicious dinners cooked with full flavor love. The nights asleep in each others arms and the kisses that always feel as if they're happening for the first time. I realize I'm in love with this person, but he's also my best friend. That's why it's so tough to be apart from him. It's like not only is my lover gone, but I can't even talk to my best friend about it. I've lost so many people in my life this year- from over-doses, over-indulgences & over the top indifferances. As I sit back and reflect on the past two years of my life I can honestly say it's a miracle I'm alive. Still creative. Still able to hope & dream. And. Still. In. Love. I feel as if i'm in this very specific board game where winning isn't an option and losing a constant threat. If I wrote a book about the past 2 yrs I would title it "THE WORST BEST TIME OF MY LIFE". But I also have a feeling that this is what I'm supposed to be going through and that if I can make it to the next level of this insane video game like world I'm in, then everything just might work itself out. Is that really too much to ask?
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Monday, September 29, 2008
GOIN’ POSTAL
Her flat, oval shaped ass looms in front of me, encased in a pair of high waisted, almost acid wash jeans that actually appear to be dry cleaned and then ironed again at home to ensure that oh so perfect pleat....
bitch will not shut up. i am waiting on line at a store called "Goin' Postal" (i kid u not) and high waisted jeans lady is debating whether or not she should use priority mail or cheap out and do media mail. my mind goes numb and i find myself lighting up a cigarette and blowing the smoke right at her, hopefully thru her. the counter girl smiles at me and looks at my inked arms and smiles again, as i blow plume after plume of smoke. bitch turns around and says something like "it's against the law to smoke in here", so i blow another round of smoke in her face and tell her it's against the law to wear jeans that make you look like a pear caught in a blender. i push past her, drop my two envelopes on the counter, plop down a five and tell the counter girl to keep the change. bitch tries to stand in my way as i turn around to leave, so i pick her up (big ass, but lightweight bitch)and place her a foot or so away from me as she huffs & puffs and tries to blow my house down. not today lady. i'm cranky. i'm tired. i'm sober. and i ain't about to put up with anybody's shit no matter how sweet it might be smelling. i flick my cigarette out the door as i exit and never look back, preferring to remember the look on her face as i left her- confused, freaked the fuck out and seriously pissed. i would be to if i had to wear those pants. get your ass to target bitch and pick up something thats at least trying to be current. nuff said, over-n-out.
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Strange Fruit
This woman walked past me today and for some reason turned around and smiled at me, so i smiled back...
little did i know this would result in an hour long conversation where I was lucky if i got 2 words in. She told me that i resembeled her son who had been killed in Iraq and wondered if anybody had ever told me i looked like someone else before. well, yes actually. back when i was hustling, a guy called me up and asked me to come on the bus from San Francisco to Sacramento and would pay me $150 for each hour of my time. i had no idea what he wanted, but at that point i was so desperate for $ to feed my addiction i figured why the fuck not. He met me at the bus station and it was obvious he was pretty sick- looked like advanced AIDS and after a breif discussion back at his house i found out i was right. he wanted me to put on a military uniform, which fit me perfectly and i assumed we wre gonna get into some kind of kinky role playing shit- instead he told me that my description of myself in my ad perfectly matched that of his boyfriend whom had just died a year earlier from the virus. instead of sex, he had me spend 3 hours sitting and talking to him, then eatting a beautifully prepared dinner, all in his departed lovers uniform with me pretending to be him. When i left i realized howw sad he was and i didn't want to take the money but he insisted. he told me how happy i had made him and that for a few hours it was as if his boyfriend was still alive and back in his life. so as this mystery woman droned on and on to me about her dead son, i held her hand and let her weep on my shoulder, feeling grateful for the blessings i still have in my life and hoping i could give her a bit of comfort. Strange days indeed, but that's the way my life seems to be- one weird day at a time.
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Are You One Of The Walking Dead?
Are you one of the walking dead...
do you wake up and roll out of bed ignoring your morning boner without even giving it a good wank. do you put on your sad sack suit of bland business attire and try to conceal your personality beneath a layer of muted pinstripes. do you line up with the java brigade for your corporate coffee fix. do you go through the day thinking about something, doing nothing, but acting as if you've achieved something. do you go to the gym after work and try to perfect your effect to a degree your told can and will be attainable. do you go to the restuarant that you read about in the glossy magazine that you subscribe to because some troll told you to. do you go home aand walk your lonely mutt who's been cramped up in that apt all day and try to act as if everything is cool & groovy. do you go to the same bar every night where you flirt with the same bartender and try to get someones attention but always go home alone. do you sleep on your 1 million thread count pima cotton sheets and try to sooth your soul in the ignorant bliss of pure 100% cotton. do you wwake up the next day and do it all over again because you think that you have to. do you?
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For Lindsey
Little girl lost in the fire, pale skinned Bettie with a penchant for spectacular drama...open up to me and let me into your mind, taking detours thru your heart and soul, but never understanding why you make me cry.
Chance meeting, un-coincidental encounter. Old soul, older soul, girl to man to man still like a boy and girl more like a woman. 2 selfish streaks cammouflaged as carnal desire, both with a tinge of sad regret that comes off as insincere and slight. We both trap our emotions deep down in our throat- confusing release with sacrifice of emote. I know what will happen to you, if in fact you are like me- so i'm praying your not and a future full of possibility. Although i've reached a few dreams, i'm broken too, but theres a good chance that won't happen to you. So learn a lesson that took a life for me, and pray your dreams are realized fore ye ever cease to believe.
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Sunday, September 28, 2008
I’m listening to the rain hit the roof of the house i’m staying and...
...each drop hits with it's own particular sound, echoing silently in my heart. My dreams have been about being lost and unable to connect with anyone, even those i love. Last night my dream had me struggling to get down a steep cliff to an unknown beach where several people in my life were frolicking on the sand and seemingly having fun with abandon. From the corner of my eye I spotted Will, but no matter how many times or how loud i called, he couldn't hear me. He headed for the water and jumped in, swimming away from the crowd. I tried to follow from above, but slowly and ever so surely he faded from my sight, swimming away from me into the oblivion to who knows where. That's how i feel about whats happened to us. It's beyond repair, both of us broken and our hopes shattered. He is literally swimming away from me. I'm suppossed to see him for a few days when i come back into the city on wednesday. I have no idea if this will still happen and even if it does it might be the last time i see him. he spent the past night partying with his friends celebrating one of their birthdays and i'm sure getting completely wasted. I on the other hand have been hiding out up in the mountains, recuperating from my last ugly binge that not only put me in the emergancy room but left me with a horribly damaged esophagus and the worst case of alcohol induced acid reflux you could imagine. But slowly I heal, slowly i start to shed his skin and slowly i come to some realizations that i didn't want to face. two addicts together are a recipe for disaster and the only way it could ever work between us is if we both stayed sober together and i just don't think either of us is ready to do it together. I could be wrong. who knows. But that image of him swimming away and not hearing my calls has been haunting me. I love him, that won't change and if it's possible hopefully we'll be able to stay friends. I just want whats best for both of us and if that means we can't be together then i'll have to find a way to deal with it. Here I am once again...44 years old and acting like a kid. Picking up the pieces of my self destructive actions as my life continues whether i'm present for it or not. My first big photo show is in Berlin on Oct 6th and I'm in such good company, showing my work next to some of my idols like Bruce LaBruce and Michael Economy and my pieces are going to be sold for 300 euros each print. Yet I can't enjoy it, my mind rattled by the past weeks events and what might be lost forever. How many bottoms can I actually hit before I finally touch ground?
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Saturday, September 27, 2008
RIM EM & WEEP
ok so i know that it's starting to get bad when i start indulging in back room blow jobs, business bears in office clone wear and my all time favorite... RIM EM & WEEP...
boys boys everywhere- but where the fuck are the men? i'm beginning to indulge in past life behaviours disguised as delicious sexual debauchery. Here I am getting a blowjob from a hot mexican boy while i stare in disbelief at the 70's chic decor of the dirty movie house and then i'm comparing denim dickeies at K-Mart until a grungy EV dude catches my eye and later my cock with his come hither gaze. I get down on my knees and say fuck me if you please to the boy with the goatee and the thirst for some of my knowledge. but you can't fudge facts and my track record is getting in arrears as i replace my need to get fucked up with the fleeting escapeisms into sexual decay, struggling with the cravings of my cock but finding myself jerking off with a freind, while i'm thinking of him and also of him, the two become one upon my orgasmic whim. I can only relate to the cum of total strangers, feeling slightly serene, a bit un pristine...lacking the will to just chill with my ills until i can no longer stand it and i let out a scream, taking my time, if ya know what i mean. so you can suck this and he can suck that as long as everyone gets their proverbial turn at bat- and i'll think of you, just as you think of me- losing ourselves in self declared depravacy. i'm back for more before i even get it- searching for the juicy fullfillment of my jaundiced joy. here comes another one- pretty eyes- he stops, we smile- we head towards a doorway where he pushes me in and presses his self upon me. next hour i'm in a park, walking to a friends house when i see him again- this time with a friend- they pass me un-noticeably, until he turns around and within 15 minutes i'm fucking one of them in the bathroom while the other eats out my ass and i grind into his face with just a little too much force but its ok- he likes it mikey. i wake up in a room covered in lime vinyl with a young man named ben who looks like a 10 going on 40 and i wonder if he's just a kid turned man until he notices me and laughs then jumps back on me. all of this takes place over the course of a week as i sink into a very sullified daze of self contentment disguised as seduction. i prowl. i leap. i mame. i lv a trail of my semen through pit stained alleys that dot my mind and look up once again into a strange face smiling down at me as they shoot their load against the back of my throat, stroking my hair like a mare- and then i stop. i go cold turkey. i walk past the bar. past the pretty boys. past the lustful looks of counterfeit astonishment and sexual intrigue. i turn to myself and question my means as the thrill of the cum sequesters this scene. i think about him and then i think about that other him- hungry for connection, but self starving for survival.
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Friday, September 26, 2008
Sometimes Life Takes A Great Big Shit On You And All You...
...can really do is laugh your fucking ass off. I have been on the longest two year journey of my life and it just never seems to end. Between all the pain, heartbreak and loss, there has been some correct fierceness, but lately i feel as if the trade-off just isn't worth it. I'm starting to realize that maybe I'm trying too hard to find happiness and myself thru the eyes and lives of other people. In short, last week, my partner and I broke up and chances are we won't be getting back together anytime soon. What came between us? My addiction and his and our inability to make things work by staying clean. Literally on the same day as this happened I found out my photographs of him were being included in a group show in Berlin on Ot. 6th. Joy, right? Whenever something shitty happens in my life, something amazing comes along and tries to clean up the mess. But this mess is too deep. He was my partner, my lover and my best friend and now i have to start all over again and try to make up for all the mistakes I have stupidly and selfishly made in my life the past 2 years. I am crushed and so sad, but something is stirring inside me and forcing me to be resilient. We are going to try and remain friends, but I know that will be hard if he starts seeing anyone else. Also, I'm realizing that life in NY is just not working for me. Trouble is, I'm tired of pulling a geographic everytime something fucked up happens in my life. Right now I'm escaping up in the mountains of PA and hanging with my cousins and trying to be positive and not get stuck in my head or get on the pain box. If anyone knows me from the past they know that I am a violent tornado trying to do a slow dance with a hurricaine from Hell. I have accomplished much in my life but it seems that for a few years now I have been trying to figure out who I am after walking away from a 25 year career in fashion that saw me doing everything from designing, styling, writing, editing, consulting, publishing and photography. Since then I've been focusing on my pictures and have had 2 shows so far, the coming one in Berlin being my 3rd and most important. Yet I still can't figure out what to do with myself, where I should go or how to keep myself happy & content without losing myself in a self medicated stupor. The past year i have lost so many good friends due to my lifestyle as well as lost a few to overdoses & fatal disease. Yet I'm still here. Not as fabulous as I used to be, but still feeling fierce somehere deep down. I have no idea why i'm puttting this out there, but I need to express how i'm feeling & writing has always been one of my blessings allowing me to do so. So for today, I'm thankful I'm sober, somewhat healthy and for the moment safe. But in my heart I miss my guy. I know it sounds corny but i really loved him and the thought of having to continue without him is not only daunting but filling me with dread and self imposed drama. Nuff said.
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Better Bargains In The Discount Basement Of Life by Walt Cessna
Fugly, Freaky, Gnarly funky assed trolls seem to be crawling out of the woodwork and everywhere i look it's as if an episode of The Twilight Zone has morphed with Village of the Damned and Invasion of the Body Snatchers...
...how does one put a stop to the beyonder beastlieness that has infested the masses as they ignore everything actually going on in the world and instead search for their 15 seconds of fame and the perfect fitting jean? I'm on line at Starbucks in a Target located smack in the middle of bum fuck Fla. (sorry floridians but unless you're in miami, Tampa or The Magic fucking Kingdom, Fla. is nothing but endless strip malls, cranky crocodiles, impatient old folk waiting to croak and an unbelievable ammount of counterfeit astonishment masking a haze of ignorant bliss). There are 2 counter kids to serve a line of java junkies growing perilously long by the minute and they aint exactly working on speed dial. There is a lady in the front dressed in an eggplant stretchy dress that resembles a vintage 80's legwarmer that she has unsuccessfully tried to pull over her massive tits and frame. Her hair is cornrowed not unlike bo derek but hardly scoring a perfect 10. Behind her is a family of six all dressed in Harley Davidson apparrel and cowboy hats and the dad is losing his patience with eggplant lady who clearly couldn't give a fuck as she decides between a non fat iced mocha or a green tea frap. suddenly, everyones attention is diverted to the front entrance where another family of four in bred looking pumpkin patch people are being detained by a lone security guard who wears a look of befuddled amusement on his sun stroked and tired face as the security alarm screams for attention. Eggplant lady finally settles on an iced coffee then proceeds to the condiment counter where she pours over 20 packets of sugar in the raw into her drink. The Harley family order 6 vente java chip fraps with extra whip cream which sends the 2 counter kids into a freaked out tizzy of confusion, but i'm too busy staring at a well dressed midget in his late 70's who has just walked into the store escorting an unbelievably botoxed blonde hottie through this surreal beauty pageant we call life. The police arrive and start interogating the farkle family until finally the littlest one is forced to pull a bratz doll out from under her skirt and the parents freak out on the kid while the cops give each other knowing looks. the line behind me is now over 20 people long and the 2 counter kids are getting a glazed, crazy look in their eyes as they try to get the six vente fraps together. I decide that i can't contribute to corporate coffee culture and sit down at a vacant table and suck the rest of the scene in, laughing to myself as i surmise the sheer absurdity of life and how desperate people have become for an overpriced coffee fix to get them through their fast food fashion shopping experience. I get up after awhile and leave, but not until eggplant lady has made her return, claiming to have spilled her iced coffee and demanding a free refill. the 2 counter kids are speechless but i know just what to say as i saunter past her and whisper just loud enough for her to hear..."hey lady, why don't you try that act out in Vegas, cause it sure ain't gonna fly here", and she turns around and shoots me a look but i smile at her and whistle to myself just as the midget and the botox babe are leaaving the store in search of better bargains in the discount basement of life.
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Thursday, September 11, 2008
BACK IN DA BRONX BABY! Well actually, we’ve been back for a little over a week...
Spent our last week in Cali as guests of a lovely & super sweet gal i photographed on my last trip, Colleen, AKA Miss Peaches Velour, a beyond fabulous burleque queen & performance arist at her casa in super casual Berkeley. We helped here celebrate her 29th Bday at a Unicorn & Rainbow themed house party that was a total plast & introduced us to her gal pals Jessica & Lisa who both completely rock. I'm still dealing with the gimp foot so was unable to get around as much as I would have liked. Still managed to get in a few shoots, the best one with Peaches & Will styled & made up like punk Kabuki ninja warriors with vintage 80's Visage make-up streaked in red & blue across their faces. They both turned it out majorly. Peaches made us decadent breakfasts every day in an attempt to fatten up our skinny white gay boy asses. After all the insanity of the last month, momma peaches soothed our savage beasts and momma Lisa made sure we made it to the plane on time, even getting us to Western Union so we could pick up the parents approved emergancy $. We got back to NY in a daze of flight delays, overpriced airport food & swag and no leg room seats. We collapsed in our apartment and slept for a day str8, on;y stirring to do massive ammounts of laundry and stock the fridge. We chilled, cooked in, watched netflix...everything was bliss. On Sunday as we headed downtown, soaked to our skivvies from the remnants of that damn hurricaine, Birdsong texts with tkts for his BF Basil Twist & Joey Arias show "Arias With A Twist". We invite Adam & Leslie to go with us and meet up with them just before midnight. At the venue we run in Lady Miss Kier, whom we had just seen in Cali and are introduced to her sweet mom Alice. The show is amazing- beyond inspiring and the most fun we've had in ages. Arias is a genius and Twist is beyond talented. We decided to go for a drink afterwards and ended up getting into a tussle with 3 breeder boys, who claim Will bumped into them. In front of hundred of people, these 3 badly tattooed and american apparell dressed goons proceeded to chase, kick, stomp and punch on us for the next 5 minutes. They even had the gall to come back and attack us a few minutes later when they realized we were still recuperating in the spot they had left us at. Not a single person on the street helped us. Not one. Pretty sad. Will got the worst of it and for some reaon refused to fight back which freaked me out, scared me and made me want to kill those motherfuckers even more. We did nothing to them, it was as if we had stepped into a bad dream, someone elses and got majorly bitch slapped for it. It's taken a few days to recover, but were good. will is in the final stages of writing the grant for his childrens sculpture upstate and so far it looks as if it will happen. As for me- I start the process of going back to school on monday after I spend the day being poked & prodded by the SSI Disability nazi's on Friday. I'm so over the plague, my fucked up foot, faggot haters on the street and being so fucking broke all the time. My show in Berlin has been confirmed though and the gallery is paying for the prints to be done so I scored on that. The show is called "In Cock We Trust" and there will be several shots of Will that I did for the next issue of STR8 2 HELL as well some new ones I shot in Oakland. Who knows, maybe i'll end up a successful pornagrapher. It would be my proudest day.
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Tuesday, August 26, 2008
So we have landed in Oakland, the 2nd to last stop on our Cali journey and a much needed...
...break from the drama and sweat of a NYC summer. My friend adal, whom I photographed on my last trip here, invited us to stay at a house he shares with about 8 other folks. It's an artist/musician collective in a 3 story house that is so wildly visual my eyes are still bugging out. This semi-perma-squat like casa and part-time party place where bands play in the attic and the back yard and anywhere from 100-200 local kids all come outto swig PBR's, do a little BBQ, rock out to bands bleeding with raw talent and make new friends while chilling with old ones. Theres a working jukebox in the hallway, the walls are covered with stickers, illustrations and extremely random graffiti and every room is imbued with a beautifully battered sense of lost child fierceness. The backyard is covered in art as well as about 4 dozen empty beer bottles from last nights party. A van is perma parked in the back and has been customizede into a neon splattered luna lounge where doll heads jockey for position with snging chip munks and hyperdermic needles pierce newspaper clipping declaring we are at war. I'm in visuasl distraction heaven. As I write this I'm sitting in the attic surrounded by more empy beer bottles possibly imaginable, couch surfing dujour everywhere and a set of bongos and an organ. YEAH! Adal is in the kitchen cooking up some eggs and Will is most likely dealing with a hangover from last nites welcoming festivities. I'm so glad that i chose to just get really baked. All of the roomies are super cool and each one unique and correct in their own way. So refreshing and needed at this moment when Will n I are dealing with drama in NYC and not knowing what the future holds. Queen Victoria still has him in limbo as to whether or not he'll still pay for the completion of Wills sculptures and theres also the chance of a large assignment for a childrens sculpture upstate NY which would mean thast we would have to stay in NYc until at least next July. Both of us are really jonesing to back west. NYC just isn't as chill and in order to keep our benefits we can only make a certain ammount of $ on the books or lose our medical insurance which means we'realways really broke. On top of this my brother has been admitted to the hospital for tests because his pulmonary fibrosis, emphysima and Hep C are slowly killing him. My mom sounds so fragile, but she refuses to give in. I feel frustrated and helpless because I can't really do anything but pray and god know i don't do that enough. The last 3 weeks in Cali with Will have beeen a true adventure and at times a test of our relationship. We've pushed the envelope a few times an d experimented in ways we haven't before, some successfull and others stressful. But the smell of fresh eggs wafting from downstair reminds me to live in the moment and for today we are someplace fierce, safe and healthy and we have another day together to discover something new and these days I think that's asking enough.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
MY ENDLESS TOUR OF DEBAUCHERY
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
 i stumble through the darkness, feeling the freshly jacked jizz on the floor beneath my feet as
i scurried cat like through the bijoux, trying to get from point A to Point D without point B & C grabbing too much junk from my trunk. The drugs have almost worn off and i'm ready for another unhealthy respite. I tumble backwards and land on some strange trolls lap, smile profusely and quickly excuse my self. I make it to the bathroom in one piece, collapsing against the cool tiled wall as i lock the door and fish deep in my pockets for another bag of coke. the knocking begins and doesn't stop for a good 20 minutes, during which time i am frozen in fear, unable to take a hit of blow or move even the slightest muscle for fear of being discovered. my mind was practically gone, my transformation into a human zombie almost complete. Was i beyond the point of no return? Remains to be seen.
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 Snorting rails of fresh crushed morphine, jonesing james, losing will, looking for pleasure...
with intimate gains, hoping 4 someone so kind, so nice...can i believe it? dare i roll the dice. I'm strangely attracted to human blight and live for the debauchery of my soul. I know i am in need of a searching self exam, but i am doing all i can just to be...me. I really ought to go, gotta find my own way, know that your bad for me, so why i wanna stay? take your pain away, but theres a thud, in my head, don't wanna make it go away. you are the thing that lives inside me and each breath i take brings us both closer to everlasting peace.
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Monday, February 04, 2008
 Fuquisha gets onto the train, plops her mack size ass down and pulls a bag of Nacho Doritos...
from her seemingly bottomless purse. I follow silently and sit across from her, pretending not to notice as she then pulls a bottle of Alize out and takes a hearty swig, followed by a deep and purposeful burp. She trys to cross her legs, but gives up once she realizes my skinny legs are in her way. Shooting me a look of inconvenience, she stares me up and down and then asks if there's a bathroom on the train. I point in it's direction and look at her in amazed bewilderment as she gets up, Alize in hand and trucks down the train car aisle towards the toilet. a suburban looking lady in a Burberry trench coat is in her way, so Fuquisha pushes up against her until the befuddled looking lady is forced to move into a row of seats and make way for her. Fuquisha suddenly stops in her tracks, downs the rest of her bottle and hands the empty vessel to the Burberry bitch and says "Can you recyle this for me?" By this point everyone is staring at her in disbelief, except for me. I have discovered a new form of personal diva, an X-large sized vixen in boa trimmed dress, able to work 5 inch heels and not give a flying fuck what the rest of the world thinks. My new heroine.
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Sunday, February 03, 2008
 standing 6 ft 4 in 5 inch silver strappy stilletoes with gold python trim and wearing a few...
sizes too small for xlarge frame eggplant polyester wrap dress with pink boa trim, FUQUISHA ST. IVES was a vision of gorgeous excess offfset by an undeniable visual appeal. i saw her standing on line waiting for a train ticket at the huntington station, escorted by her puerto rican & chinese pimp daddy Mookie LeRoy. I was a few peple behind them but i could hear every word that came out of her magenta stained lips and they were priceless indeed. As Mookie sipped openly from a can of steel reserve, Fuquisha looked at him with alarm in her eyes and counterfeit astonishment in her tone. "what the fuck are you doing, drinking a 40 while i am absolutely parched to death? where the hell is my beverage?" Mookie ignored her as they got to the window and he purchased two one way tickets to NYC paid with a greasy looking fifty. Fuquisha was not having it and as they walked away from the window she knocked the can from his hands and kicked him with her fiercely tacky shoes, then spun around and headed for the ladies room. Mookie cursed her in brooken puerto-ese and followed right into the john, forcing a large group of traveling nuns to run out at the sight of his presence. Screams and curses followed and then there was the sound of a single gun shot. Fuquisha emerged, smiling insanely and fixing the back of her hastily achieved weave. Without a word she strode through the station, the clickety clack of her heels echoing eeerily thru the room. I decided to follow her down to the tracks, which is when my adventure officially began. I soon learned that you don't fuck with Fuquisha, especially if you're hogging a banjee 40....more to come
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Tuesday, January 22, 2008
 I slowly dip my fingers into the red ink and spread it across my broken face in smooth...
...slow circles, trying to cover the black & blue with another shade of hate. As I cover each mark and let the ink dry I face my reflection in the mirror and start to cry. Partly for myself, but also for him, love trapped in fear, the ultimate fukt up emotion. I realize things now, that i wish i had before, opening my eyes, wider than before. Soaking in the past, while dreaming about the new, stuck in an endless pattern, of self persecution and abuse. I've never felt this broken before, yet also reborn, new energy in bloom. So I turn on the tap and start to wash my face clean, the red ink dripping from my face, the black n blue strangely clean. Once I am dry I turn out the light and think about better daze, be they wrong or hopefully right.
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Monday, January 21, 2008
 slipknots of secretion, inept serendipity, profound unpurposefulness, amiable ambiguity...
rambling again, feeling everything except being my own best friend, looking out never in, letting it rip another hole underneath my skin. day 2 of crystal clear yet befuddled sobriety, my body one big knot of pain and terror. everything unresolved but finding it's way in my head. big desicions to be made, hopefully which won't leave me dead. tired of just being a survivor, in need of love of myself and a possible lack of desire. knowing that it's all within my reach yet out of grasp...looking, searching, seeking, finding, yet still feeling like an ass. something calls out west and i know it's right, am i ready to make one of the biggest jumps in my life?
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Thursday, January 17, 2008
 Rocking it ultra hard amd working it like a pro, she was a vision...
Current mood: awake
Category: Writing and Poetry
in ultra correctness and hardly sacraficing her soul. Dressed as if it might be the last day on earth and bearing an air of self imposed superiority with a tinge come hither regret. She parted the crowd with the sway of her hips and the lazor presicion of her eyes. A modern day super vixen with a hint of kitten and an un-healthy appetite for personal destruction. She took no prisoners, just pieces of their existence, a slight slice of their soul. Many had come to fall under her gaze, slither into her spell, eventually falling into her evil web of her supposed desire and suffering a hautely horrific last act of dual desperation, full well knowing going in that there was no getting out, only giving in. And so many did. One after another, an endless list of lies, non goodbyes and airtight alabies. So beware the temptress who hides amongst the pure, waiting to seduce them and always wanting more. She's closer than expected and visually selective. But beware...and always rock fierce fucking hair. L8TR
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Tuesday, January 15, 2008
 black n blue n bruised all over, hardly feeling lucky, no 4 leaf clover...
Current mood: bruizd n busted
Category: bruizd n busted Life
magnum force of jawbreaking surprise, the blood paints a veil that fills my eyes. a hidden lust or an unknown greed, the sheer impact of it hits me like fresh cut speed. the lost, bedeviled little boy, no longer able to accept the simplest joy. but as the pain and scars begin to fade away, all that is left is yet another day. to start again and hope anew, until the next wave of nausea accented black with blue.
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 Licking my wounds while sucking out my soul, healing my heart...
Current mood: blah
Category: Life
while breaking my bones. shooting for the stars, but not even reaching the moon. hoping for redemption as i sink myself even further into hell. trying to love those around me , even if they can't love me, giving myself yet one more chance, to break through all this stupidity. Feeling as if anythings possible, but realizing maybe it's not. Living in a world, where all anyone care about is "that's hot".
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Fugly, freaky, gnarley assed trolls...
Current mood: rejuvenated
Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping
Fugly, Freaky, Gnarly funky assed trolls seem to be crawling out of the woodwork and everywhere i look it's as if an episode of The Twilight Zone has morphed with Village of the Damned and Invasion of the Body Snatchers...
...how does one put a stop to the beyonder beastlieness that has infested the masses as they ignore everything actually going on in the world and instead search for their 15 seconds of fame and the perfect fitting jean? I'm on line at Starbucks in a Target located smack in the middle of bum fuck Fla. (sorry floridians but unless you're in miami, Tampa or The Magic fucking Kingdom, Fla. is nothing but endless strip malls, cranky crocodiles, impatient old folk waiting to croak and an unbelievable ammount of counterfeit astonishment masking a haze of ignorant bliss). There are 2 counter kids to serve a line of java junkies growing perilously long by the minute and they aint exactly working on speed dial. There is a lady in the front dressed in an eggplant stretchy dress that resembles a vintage 80's legwarmer that she has unsuccessfully tried to pull over her massive tits and frame. Her hair is cornrowed not unlike bo derek but hardly scoring a perfect 10. Behind her is a family of six all dressed in Harley Davidson apparrel and cowboy hats and the dad is losing his patience with eggplant lady who clearly couldn't give a fuck as she decides between a non fat iced mocha or a green tea frap. suddenly, everyones attention is diverted to the front entrance where another family of four in bred looking pumpkin patch people are being detained by a lone security guard who wears a look of befuddled amusement on his sun stroked and tired face as the security alarm screams for attention. Eggplant lady finally settles on an iced coffee then proceeds to the condiment counter where she pours over 20 packets of sugar in the raw into her drink. The Harley family order 6 vente java chip fraps with extra whip cream which sends the 2 counter kids into a freaked out tizzy of confusion, but i'm too busy staring at a well dressed midget in his late 70's who has just walked into the store escorting an unbelievably botoxed blonde hottie through this surreal beauty pageant we call life. The police arrive and start interogating the farkle family until finally the littlest one is forced to pull a bratz doll out from under her skirt and the parents freak out on the kid while the cops give each other knowing looks. the line behind me is now over 20 people long and the 2 counter kids are getting a glazed, crazy look in their eyes as they try to get the six vente fraps together. I decide that i can't contribute to corporate coffee culture and sit down at a vacant table and suck the rest of the scene in, laughing to myself as i surmise the sheer absurdity of life and how desperate people have become for an overpriced coffee fix to get them through their fast food fashion shopping experience. I get up after awhile and leave, but not until eggplant lady has made her return, claiming to have spilled her iced coffee and demanding a free refill. the 2 counter kids are speechless but i know just what to say as i saunter past her and whisper just loud enough for her to hear..."hey lady, why don't you try that act out in Vegas, cause it sure ain't gonna fly here", and she turns around and shoots me a look but i smile at her and whistle to myself just as the midget and the botox babe are leaaving the store in search of better bargains in the discount basement of life.
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Tuesday, December 18, 2007
 Walking down the boulevard of my past, Santa Monica to be exact...
Current mood: forgotten
Category: Life
where oh where have all the hookers gone? Super tweaker freakers fried on speed, spinning out of control, hopping into passing cars or cruising the 7-11 parking lot on the corner of Curson. Plumber Park no longer serves as a breeding ground for midnight debauchery and the notorious TomKat theater has been homo homogonized with nary a fresh sticky seat to be found. Hunters, the ultimate hustler bar is now an empanada joint and the Spike is closed up, it's cold grey exterior the only sign of it's once glorious seediness. Will & I hung out at The Gold Coast all afternoon yesterday, where my old friend Boo from Hunters poured us a long & steady stream of drinks as we chain smoked and lamented the dubious clean up of a once sketchy neighborhood where we had both proudly let our freak flags fly. Maybe it is a good thing- I mean santa Monica Blvd. 10 years ago was like an open sore of a freshly aquired STD. Charachters both stunning and stupifying vied for your attention or paid favors, lost in a self induced haze of chemichal dis-connect. Strangers quickly became friends, friends turned over-nite into enemies and enemies were tolerated as long as their drugs didn't run out. I walked that Blvd. at all hours in search of things i could never find, finding things i still haven't been able to shake off. Fashion editor by day, hustler and drug addict by night. Lost in the street lights and passing glances of fucked up old trolls with bulging wallets and limp dicks. Wobbling home after the bars closed or getting lost in endless motel rooms a few blocks up on the strip. Miserable and merry, content yet cunty, sour cream feelings curdled by my own inability to actually feel anything but self pity, I felt rich in the cum of total strangers, bearing no name, a bastard whore with a bit of street fame. I survived it, not many do, so i raise my shot glasas and toast the ones that didn't get away. The wide-eyed teenagers hungry for love, the trannie hookers so gorgeously turned out, the dealers with no soul and nothing to fall back on, the greedy bar owners desperate to cash in on other peoples unhappiness, the hangers on & the posers all looking for the same unfulfilling thing and the tortured stars of the Blvd., beautiful yet broken boys with nothing to lose except their self respect and their lives, destined to end up another casualty of the sick & wonderfully perverse world of pay for play, where an unblemished face and a crooked grin can gain you entry into a fantasy world full of temporary satisfaction and everlasting demons, all in the glorious name of getting off.
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Thursday, December 13, 2007
 Passing thru yet another drive in convenience...
Current mood: content
Category: Life
...looking for something to fill the void. Deep fried guilt with extra heavy gravy remorse. Breaking free from TV interludes seducing me with pacification. I take a deep breath, exhaling all the counterfeit emotion I have been blown away by...emerging whole, as myself.
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Wednesday, December 05, 2007
 You Spot Them a Block Away, Mere Blurs Of Stylish Intrigue Approaching...
Current mood: blessed
Category: Life
...each other at runway speed. The flurry of feathers ruffling and the jaunt of a cap perched low over one eye...the stovepipe legs encased in flourescent orange jeans that look like two glow in the dark toothpicks...the flash of an assymetric bang, severe sassoon styling taken to Mis-Shapes extremes...the clickity clack of an overpriced designer boot and it's perilous heels drawing closer as you start to get a better view...half a block away they come into focus. They are of your tribe, style tribe that is...the eye contact begins at first visual fix and the cold stare of a fashion obsessed and food deprived soul intent on surreal visual correctness at the expense of everything else...their fierceness makes me re-consider myself and i take mental note of my own effect, my look, my fierceness...i pull my hat a bit off to one side and slide my hands deep into the pockets of my skinny pearl grey jeans and i shrug from the cold in my triple 5 soul hoodie, and i scratch the surface in my pointy toed boots scrunched down like slinkies around my ankles when suddenly we are passing each other, looking each other up and down with passive faces full of hunger. Hunger for freshness, hungry for visual stimulation taken to over the top extremes. And then it's over. I resist the urge for one more look and force myself ahead, my eyes fixing on my next victim of optical appeal, another funny blur in a distance that magically transforms into stylish swan or an uber ugly duckling. No matter which- sad or happy, gorgeous or fugly, as long as they are working a look of correct style banjee realnesss down the runway of life.
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Wednesday, November 21, 2007
 The POD people wander through the aisles of Walmart in a self enduced trance of shopatitis...
Current mood: crazy
Category: Music
excited by bargains that add up to nothing and losing their shame in the kitchen appliances section. Making up for their lack of anything by trying on lipstick that hardly suits them. Reciting song lyrics that you have no idea what they mean but mindlessly mouth the words anyway pretending to be snoop as you stare at yourself in the mirror and pretend that you're something that you're not. Dreams become real and the sensation of life disguises itself as counterfeit astonishment and you count your personal belongings thanking an imaginary god that you have the means to continue purchasing your happiness through things you don't really need, satisfying yourself with the bizzare notion that nothing means anything unless it costs a small fortune and bears the tags of the gods...Prada, Tom Ford, Gucci, YSL, Marc, Karl, Ralph, Donna, Calvin, Zeus...And you face each day safe in the knowledge that you exist because you have spent more than enough money to prove your existence...and importance...and potence.
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Sunday, November 04, 2007
 The flawless queen sashays through the bar- red wayfarers against Dior based skin...
Current mood: crazy
Category: Life
...she is just simply the fiercest thing ever, in her mind and now ours. We are both captivated instantly, straining our necks for a better view, pricking up our ears to catch every last drop of her deliciously wicked diction. Apparently some sort of drama has just gone down and she has escaped within an inch of her life. The Usual Shit. She takes a seat at the bar and i realize she's wearing a full on 40's net snood with a huge Lily propped on one side of her head, pistol like. The Red Wayfarers are put back on, i guess this diva does wear her sunglasses at night. She orders a Long Island Iced Tea, Xtra strong, xtra cherries, please. The bartender whispers something to her that we can't hear, but it causes the fierce diva to let out a deep and bellowed laugh that shook the room with hilarious fury and vocal debauchery. Our friends that we we're waiting for suddenly showed up and we had to leave, but as we walked past her flawlessness we managed to make a split second of eye contact which prompted a hesitant, yet heartfelt nod that signified nothing less than her anointing us to her corecct presence. She was the queen of cool and we were her disciples in a desperate search for ultimate visual stimulation, of which only she could properly supply.
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Tuesday, October 23, 2007
 Tripping down the boulevard of life, lost in Mayonaise dreams and Marshmallow delights...
Current mood: blank
Category: Life
By Walter Cessna
As I innocently skip down the anti-fashion runway of my daily life, fugly, freaky, gnarly & funky assed trolls seem to be crawling out of the woodwork and everywhere I look it's as if I'm stuck in a never ending episode of The Twilight Zone that seems to have morphed with Children Of The Damned and Invasion Of The Body Snatchers, constantly playing on loop as visual diarrhea in my brain.
How does one put a stop to the beyonder beastliness that has infested the masses as they ignore everything actually going on in the world and instead incessantly search for their fifteen seconds of ultra slim fast fame and the perfect fitting size 0 jean?
I'm on line at a Starfucks in a TarJay located smack in the middle of bum fuck Florida. Sorry my sweat soaked Floridians, but unless you're in Miami or The Magic Fucking Kingdom, Florida is nothing but endless strip malls, counterfeit crocodile warnings, never ending Amber alerts, impatient old folk waiting to croak as they pilot golf carts and let their skin turn to leather and an unreal amount of soul stripped denizens steeped in counterfeit astonishment masking a haze of ignorant bliss.
My caffeine fuzz is fading and I'm stuck in the middle of a very long and varied line. There are two counter kids to serve a line growing perilously long of java junkies by the second and they ain't exactly working on speed dial. There is a lady in the front dressed in a ripened eggplant hued stretchy dress that resembles a vintage eighties legwarmer that she has unsuccessfully tried to pull over her massive tits and frame. Her hair is corn-rowed not unlike Bo Derek but hardly scoring a perfect ten.
Behind her is a family of six, entirely dressed in Harley Davidson accessories, apparel, even stamped HD emblazoned cowboy boots. The father is losing his patience with ripened eggplant legwarmer lady who clearly couldn't give a fuck as she takes her sweet assed time deciding between a non fat iced mocha or a green tea frap. Suddenly everyone's attention is diverted towards the front entrance where a family of five inbred looking pumpkin patch people are being detained by a lone security guard who sports a look of befuddled amusement on his sun stroked and tired face as the security alarm screams for attention.
Eggplant lady finally settles on a skim milk iced decaf coffee, pays in change which she pulls out of a soiled Crown Royal sack and proceeds to the condiment counter where she pours over ten packs of Splenda into her drink. The Harley family order six vente java chip fraps with extra whip cream which sends the two counter kids (who incidentally, like all mall culture working underclass, resemble missing members from the animated band Gorillaz) into a freaked out tizzy of confusion. I'm distracted for a moment as a well dressed might as well be a midget late seventies man walks past escorting an unbelievably Botoxed and bimbo blonde beauty through this surreal beauty pageant we call life.
The police arrive and and start interrogating the funky family until finally the littlest troll is forced to pull a Bratz doll out from under her dress and parents freak out on the kid while the cops give each other smug, knowing looks. The line behind me now trails deeply out of Starfucks and into the TarJay and the two counter kids are getting a glazed, crazy look in their eyes as they desperately frapinate their brains out getting the six ventes together.
I suddenly decide that I can no longer contribute to corporate coffee culture, give up my space on line and sit down at a vacant table to suck in the rest of this increasingly absurd scene, laughing while crying to myself at the sheer insanity of life and how programmed people have become for an overpriced, over sweetened coffee fix to get them through their fast food fashion shopping experience. You've seen her. Expertly balancing an extra large drink in one hand while perusing multiple racks of Isaac Wannabe down graded couture like classics while tucking a hot pink and rhinestone encrusted cell phone under their chin all the while cranking out exasperated facial expressions and verbal squirts of delight or incredulousness through gum smacking chews and overly MAC'd lips.
I get up after the Harley family collectively whoops it up as they simultaneously suck up their fraps and begin their shopping journey heading in the direction of beacons bearing the names ELECTRONICS, PHARMACY, SHOES, TOYS, BOYSWEAR ETC. As I get to the counter I almost bump into eggplant lady whom has returned bearing an empty Starfucks container and claiming she spilled her skim iced decaf coffee, demands a free refill. The two counter kids are speechless, one is actually drooling, a slow stream of spit spilling through his pierced lower lip and splashing slowly onto the collar of his Pac Sun wish I was a skater somebody t-shirt. As I walk past her I whisper just loud enough for her to hear, "Hey lady, why don't you try that act out in Vegas, cause it sure as shit ain't gonna fly here." She spins around and shoots me a withering look of evil misguided contempt but I simply smile at her and whistle to myself just as the midget and Botox babe are leaving the store in search of better bargains in the discount basement of life.
I walk further into mall land until I find myself reluctantly on line at a shop called "Goin' Postal!" (I kid you not). In front of me, a flat oval shaped ass is encased in a pair of high-waisted, almost acid wash jeans that actually appear to be dry cleaned and then ironed again at home to ensure that anal retentive and oh so perfect pleat. Bitch will not shut up. High-waisted jeans lady has shape shifted into uptight and indecisive freakazoid loudly debating whether or not to use Priority Mail or cheap out and do media mail. My mind goes numb and I find myself absent mindedly lighting up a cigarette and blowing the smoke right at her. Hopefully through her.
The counter girl, a strangely voluptuous little number with half blue hair and acne under her lip forming a pimple moustache is smiling at me, staring at my inked arms as she ignores high-waisted jeans lady. I blow plume after plume of smoke, surrounding her head like a swarm of locusts encased in an acrid haze. Bitch turns around and says something like "It's against the law to smoke in here!" So I blow another round of smoke in her face and calmly tell her that "It's against the law to wear crappy acid wash jeans that make your ass look like a pear caught in a blender."
I push past her, plop down a five and ask for some stamps. The counter girl hands them to me and I tell her to keep the change. I turn around to leave but Bitch is standing right in my face giving a scowl that reads refusal to budge. So I politely pick her up (big ass, but lightweight bitch) and place her a foot or so away from me as she huffs and puffs and tries to blow my house down.
"Not today lady," I seethe. I'm cranky. I'm tired. I'm sober and strung out. And I ain't about to put up with anybodies shit, no matter how sweet it might be smelling. I flick my cigarette out the door as I exit and never look back, preferring to remember the look on her face as I left her. Confused, freaked the fuck out and seriously pissed off. I would be too if I was wearing those pants. Get your ass to TarJay bitch and pick up something that can at least be described as current.
I walk to my car, bracing against the 99 degree mugginess that wipes my body with the feeling of discomfort and sweat soaked defeat. I look around and realize that I am lost in a sea of sub standard sports utility vehicles and carts being pushed by the walking dead, consumer purchases on their mind, spending money they don't have their only agenda. I sink into the seat of my battle blue Corsica stick shift and turn on the radio, loudly confronted by "don't you wish your girlfriend was raw like me?" Actually, I don't, but thanks for asking. Oh yeah, have a nice day.
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 brilliant yet stupid, gorgeous but gross, sincere then superficial...
Current mood: blah
Category: Life
i'm scanning the room and looking for excusesm to indulge myself in the distraction of attraction. Of the the delight of disillusionment masquerading as the temporary thrill of visual first lust. Pretty boys and not so pretty girls- legs encased in sausage like jeans and shoes that have been worn to self destruction. Heels scraping cold concrete and broken hearts looking for one more chance- finding nothing but bitter regret and a cold stare from the face of a man-child- fresh meat but spoiled mind. Soiled soul. Still, we take the baby steps into the dance and look for new partners to lose ourselves in. An endless capacity for counterfeit astonishment that seems like fun at first but quickly makes you tired and bored and restless and restricted and rebellious and redundant and blah, blah, blah. I pick the simplest looking soul and draw him into my web...of despair & self destruction, sucking him dry as I fill anew with life, sacraficed from the innocent to support my endless tour of debauchery.
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 i stumble through the darkness, feeling the freshly jacked jizz on the floor beneath my feet as
i scurried cat like through the bijoux, trying to get from point A to Point D without point B & C grabbing too much junk from my trunk. The drugs have almost worn off and i'm ready for another unhealthy respite. I tumble backwards and land on some strange trolls lap, smile profusely and quickly excuse my self. I make it to the bathroom in one piece, collapsing against the cool tiled wall as i lock the door and fish deep in my pockets for another bag of coke. the knocking begins and doesn't stop for a good 20 minutes, during which time i am frozen in fear, unable to take a hit of blow or move even the slightest muscle for fear of being discovered. my mind was practically gone, my transformation into a human zombie almost complete. Was i beyond the point of no return? Remains to be seen.
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 Snorting rails of fresh crushed morphine, jonesing james, losing will, looking for pleasure...
with intimate gains, hoping 4 someone so kind, so nice...can i believe it? dare i roll the dice. I'm strangely attracted to human blight and live for the debauchery of my soul. I know i am in need of a searching self exam, but i am doing all i can just to be...me. I really ought to go, gotta find my own way, know that your bad for me, so why i wanna stay? take your pain away, but theres a thud, in my head, don't wanna make it go away. you are the thing that lives inside me and each breath i take brings us both closer to everlasting peace.
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Monday, February 04, 2008
 Fuquisha gets onto the train, plops her mack size ass down and pulls a bag of Nacho Doritos...
from her seemingly bottomless purse. I follow silently and sit across from her, pretending not to notice as she then pulls a bottle of Alize out and takes a hearty swig, followed by a deep and purposeful burp. She trys to cross her legs, but gives up once she realizes my skinny legs are in her way. Shooting me a look of inconvenience, she stares me up and down and then asks if there's a bathroom on the train. I point in it's direction and look at her in amazed bewilderment as she gets up, Alize in hand and trucks down the train car aisle towards the toilet. a suburban looking lady in a Burberry trench coat is in her way, so Fuquisha pushes up against her until the befuddled looking lady is forced to move into a row of seats and make way for her. Fuquisha suddenly stops in her tracks, downs the rest of her bottle and hands the empty vessel to the Burberry bitch and says "Can you recyle this for me?" By this point everyone is staring at her in disbelief, except for me. I have discovered a new form of personal diva, an X-large sized vixen in boa trimmed dress, able to work 5 inch heels and not give a flying fuck what the rest of the world thinks. My new heroine.
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Sunday, February 03, 2008
 standing 6 ft 4 in 5 inch silver strappy stilletoes with gold python trim and wearing a few...
sizes too small for xlarge frame eggplant polyester wrap dress with pink boa trim, FUQUISHA ST. IVES was a vision of gorgeous excess offfset by an undeniable visual appeal. i saw her standing on line waiting for a train ticket at the huntington station, escorted by her puerto rican & chinese pimp daddy Mookie LeRoy. I was a few peple behind them but i could hear every word that came out of her magenta stained lips and they were priceless indeed. As Mookie sipped openly from a can of steel reserve, Fuquisha looked at him with alarm in her eyes and counterfeit astonishment in her tone. "what the fuck are you doing, drinking a 40 while i am absolutely parched to death? where the hell is my beverage?" Mookie ignored her as they got to the window and he purchased two one way tickets to NYC paid with a greasy looking fifty. Fuquisha was not having it and as they walked away from the window she knocked the can from his hands and kicked him with her fiercely tacky shoes, then spun around and headed for the ladies room. Mookie cursed her in brooken puerto-ese and followed right into the john, forcing a large group of traveling nuns to run out at the sight of his presence. Screams and curses followed and then there was the sound of a single gun shot. Fuquisha emerged, smiling insanely and fixing the back of her hastily achieved weave. Without a word she strode through the station, the clickety clack of her heels echoing eeerily thru the room. I decided to follow her down to the tracks, which is when my adventure officially began. I soon learned that you don't fuck with Fuquisha, especially if you're hogging a banjee 40....more to come
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Tuesday, January 22, 2008
 I slowly dip my fingers into the red ink and spread it across my broken face in smooth...
...slow circles, trying to cover the black & blue with another shade of hate. As I cover each mark and let the ink dry I face my reflection in the mirror and start to cry. Partly for myself, but also for him, love trapped in fear, the ultimate fukt up emotion. I realize things now, that i wish i had before, opening my eyes, wider than before. Soaking in the past, while dreaming about the new, stuck in an endless pattern, of self persecution and abuse. I've never felt this broken before, yet also reborn, new energy in bloom. So I turn on the tap and start to wash my face clean, the red ink dripping from my face, the black n blue strangely clean. Once I am dry I turn out the light and think about better daze, be they wrong or hopefully right.
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Monday, January 21, 2008
 slipknots of secretion, inept serendipity, profound unpurposefulness, amiable ambiguity...
rambling again, feeling everything except being my own best friend, looking out never in, letting it rip another hole underneath my skin. day 2 of crystal clear yet befuddled sobriety, my body one big knot of pain and terror. everything unresolved but finding it's way in my head. big desicions to be made, hopefully which won't leave me dead. tired of just being a survivor, in need of love of myself and a possible lack of desire. knowing that it's all within my reach yet out of grasp...looking, searching, seeking, finding, yet still feeling like an ass. something calls out west and i know it's right, am i ready to make one of the biggest jumps in my life?
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Thursday, January 17, 2008
 Rocking it ultra hard amd working it like a pro, she was a vision...
Current mood: awake
Category: Writing and Poetry
in ultra correctness and hardly sacraficing her soul. Dressed as if it might be the last day on earth and bearing an air of self imposed superiority with a tinge come hither regret. She parted the crowd with the sway of her hips and the lazor presicion of her eyes. A modern day super vixen with a hint of kitten and an un-healthy appetite for personal destruction. She took no prisoners, just pieces of their existence, a slight slice of their soul. Many had come to fall under her gaze, slither into her spell, eventually falling into her evil web of her supposed desire and suffering a hautely horrific last act of dual desperation, full well knowing going in that there was no getting out, only giving in. And so many did. One after another, an endless list of lies, non goodbyes and airtight alabies. So beware the temptress who hides amongst the pure, waiting to seduce them and always wanting more. She's closer than expected and visually selective. But beware...and always rock fierce fucking hair. L8TR
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Tuesday, January 15, 2008
 black n blue n bruised all over, hardly feeling lucky, no 4 leaf clover...
Current mood: bruizd n busted
Category: bruizd n busted Life
magnum force of jawbreaking surprise, the blood paints a veil that fills my eyes. a hidden lust or an unknown greed, the sheer impact of it hits me like fresh cut speed. the lost, bedeviled little boy, no longer able to accept the simplest joy. but as the pain and scars begin to fade away, all that is left is yet another day. to start again and hope anew, until the next wave of nausea accented black with blue.
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 Licking my wounds while sucking out my soul, healing my heart...
Current mood: blah
Category: Life
while breaking my bones. shooting for the stars, but not even reaching the moon. hoping for redemption as i sink myself even further into hell. trying to love those around me , even if they can't love me, giving myself yet one more chance, to break through all this stupidity. Feeling as if anythings possible, but realizing maybe it's not. Living in a world, where all anyone care about is "that's hot".
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Fugly, freaky, gnarley assed trolls...
Current mood: rejuvenated
Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping
Fugly, Freaky, Gnarly funky assed trolls seem to be crawling out of the woodwork and everywhere i look it's as if an episode of The Twilight Zone has morphed with Village of the Damned and Invasion of the Body Snatchers...
...how does one put a stop to the beyonder beastlieness that has infested the masses as they ignore everything actually going on in the world and instead search for their 15 seconds of fame and the perfect fitting jean? I'm on line at Starbucks in a Target located smack in the middle of bum fuck Fla. (sorry floridians but unless you're in miami, Tampa or The Magic fucking Kingdom, Fla. is nothing but endless strip malls, cranky crocodiles, impatient old folk waiting to croak and an unbelievable ammount of counterfeit astonishment masking a haze of ignorant bliss). There are 2 counter kids to serve a line of java junkies growing perilously long by the minute and they aint exactly working on speed dial. There is a lady in the front dressed in an eggplant stretchy dress that resembles a vintage 80's legwarmer that she has unsuccessfully tried to pull over her massive tits and frame. Her hair is cornrowed not unlike bo derek but hardly scoring a perfect 10. Behind her is a family of six all dressed in Harley Davidson apparrel and cowboy hats and the dad is losing his patience with eggplant lady who clearly couldn't give a fuck as she decides between a non fat iced mocha or a green tea frap. suddenly, everyones attention is diverted to the front entrance where another family of four in bred looking pumpkin patch people are being detained by a lone security guard who wears a look of befuddled amusement on his sun stroked and tired face as the security alarm screams for attention. Eggplant lady finally settles on an iced coffee then proceeds to the condiment counter where she pours over 20 packets of sugar in the raw into her drink. The Harley family order 6 vente java chip fraps with extra whip cream which sends the 2 counter kids into a freaked out tizzy of confusion, but i'm too busy staring at a well dressed midget in his late 70's who has just walked into the store escorting an unbelievably botoxed blonde hottie through this surreal beauty pageant we call life. The police arrive and start interogating the farkle family until finally the littlest one is forced to pull a bratz doll out from under her skirt and the parents freak out on the kid while the cops give each other knowing looks. the line behind me is now over 20 people long and the 2 counter kids are getting a glazed, crazy look in their eyes as they try to get the six vente fraps together. I decide that i can't contribute to corporate coffee culture and sit down at a vacant table and suck the rest of the scene in, laughing to myself as i surmise the sheer absurdity of life and how desperate people have become for an overpriced coffee fix to get them through their fast food fashion shopping experience. I get up after awhile and leave, but not until eggplant lady has made her return, claiming to have spilled her iced coffee and demanding a free refill. the 2 counter kids are speechless but i know just what to say as i saunter past her and whisper just loud enough for her to hear..."hey lady, why don't you try that act out in Vegas, cause it sure ain't gonna fly here", and she turns around and shoots me a look but i smile at her and whistle to myself just as the midget and the botox babe are leaaving the store in search of better bargains in the discount basement of life.
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Tuesday, December 18, 2007
 Walking down the boulevard of my past, Santa Monica to be exact...
Current mood: forgotten
Category: Life
where oh where have all the hookers gone? Super tweaker freakers fried on speed, spinning out of control, hopping into passing cars or cruising the 7-11 parking lot on the corner of Curson. Plumber Park no longer serves as a breeding ground for midnight debauchery and the notorious TomKat theater has been homo homogonized with nary a fresh sticky seat to be found. Hunters, the ultimate hustler bar is now an empanada joint and the Spike is closed up, it's cold grey exterior the only sign of it's once glorious seediness. Will & I hung out at The Gold Coast all afternoon yesterday, where my old friend Boo from Hunters poured us a long & steady stream of drinks as we chain smoked and lamented the dubious clean up of a once sketchy neighborhood where we had both proudly let our freak flags fly. Maybe it is a good thing- I mean santa Monica Blvd. 10 years ago was like an open sore of a freshly aquired STD. Charachters both stunning and stupifying vied for your attention or paid favors, lost in a self induced haze of chemichal dis-connect. Strangers quickly became friends, friends turned over-nite into enemies and enemies were tolerated as long as their drugs didn't run out. I walked that Blvd. at all hours in search of things i could never find, finding things i still haven't been able to shake off. Fashion editor by day, hustler and drug addict by night. Lost in the street lights and passing glances of fucked up old trolls with bulging wallets and limp dicks. Wobbling home after the bars closed or getting lost in endless motel rooms a few blocks up on the strip. Miserable and merry, content yet cunty, sour cream feelings curdled by my own inability to actually feel anything but self pity, I felt rich in the cum of total strangers, bearing no name, a bastard whore with a bit of street fame. I survived it, not many do, so i raise my shot glasas and toast the ones that didn't get away. The wide-eyed teenagers hungry for love, the trannie hookers so gorgeously turned out, the dealers with no soul and nothing to fall back on, the greedy bar owners desperate to cash in on other peoples unhappiness, the hangers on & the posers all looking for the same unfulfilling thing and the tortured stars of the Blvd., beautiful yet broken boys with nothing to lose except their self respect and their lives, destined to end up another casualty of the sick & wonderfully perverse world of pay for play, where an unblemished face and a crooked grin can gain you entry into a fantasy world full of temporary satisfaction and everlasting demons, all in the glorious name of getting off.
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Thursday, December 13, 2007
 Passing thru yet another drive in convenience...
Current mood: content
Category: Life
...looking for something to fill the void. Deep fried guilt with extra heavy gravy remorse. Breaking free from TV interludes seducing me with pacification. I take a deep breath, exhaling all the counterfeit emotion I have been blown away by...emerging whole, as myself.
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Wednesday, December 05, 2007
 You Spot Them a Block Away, Mere Blurs Of Stylish Intrigue Approaching...
Current mood: blessed
Category: Life
...each other at runway speed. The flurry of feathers ruffling and the jaunt of a cap perched low over one eye...the stovepipe legs encased in flourescent orange jeans that look like two glow in the dark toothpicks...the flash of an assymetric bang, severe sassoon styling taken to Mis-Shapes extremes...the clickity clack of an overpriced designer boot and it's perilous heels drawing closer as you start to get a better view...half a block away they come into focus. They are of your tribe, style tribe that is...the eye contact begins at first visual fix and the cold stare of a fashion obsessed and food deprived soul intent on surreal visual correctness at the expense of everything else...their fierceness makes me re-consider myself and i take mental note of my own effect, my look, my fierceness...i pull my hat a bit off to one side and slide my hands deep into the pockets of my skinny pearl grey jeans and i shrug from the cold in my triple 5 soul hoodie, and i scratch the surface in my pointy toed boots scrunched down like slinkies around my ankles when suddenly we are passing each other, looking each other up and down with passive faces full of hunger. Hunger for freshness, hungry for visual stimulation taken to over the top extremes. And then it's over. I resist the urge for one more look and force myself ahead, my eyes fixing on my next victim of optical appeal, another funny blur in a distance that magically transforms into stylish swan or an uber ugly duckling. No matter which- sad or happy, gorgeous or fugly, as long as they are working a look of correct style banjee realnesss down the runway of life.
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Wednesday, November 21, 2007
 The POD people wander through the aisles of Walmart in a self enduced trance of shopatitis...
Current mood: crazy
Category: Music
excited by bargains that add up to nothing and losing their shame in the kitchen appliances section. Making up for their lack of anything by trying on lipstick that hardly suits them. Reciting song lyrics that you have no idea what they mean but mindlessly mouth the words anyway pretending to be snoop as you stare at yourself in the mirror and pretend that you're something that you're not. Dreams become real and the sensation of life disguises itself as counterfeit astonishment and you count your personal belongings thanking an imaginary god that you have the means to continue purchasing your happiness through things you don't really need, satisfying yourself with the bizzare notion that nothing means anything unless it costs a small fortune and bears the tags of the gods...Prada, Tom Ford, Gucci, YSL, Marc, Karl, Ralph, Donna, Calvin, Zeus...And you face each day safe in the knowledge that you exist because you have spent more than enough money to prove your existence...and importance...and potence.
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Sunday, November 04, 2007
 The flawless queen sashays through the bar- red wayfarers against Dior based skin...
Current mood: crazy
Category: Life
...she is just simply the fiercest thing ever, in her mind and now ours. We are both captivated instantly, straining our necks for a better view, pricking up our ears to catch every last drop of her deliciously wicked diction. Apparently some sort of drama has just gone down and she has escaped within an inch of her life. The Usual Shit. She takes a seat at the bar and i realize she's wearing a full on 40's net snood with a huge Lily propped on one side of her head, pistol like. The Red Wayfarers are put back on, i guess this diva does wear her sunglasses at night. She orders a Long Island Iced Tea, Xtra strong, xtra cherries, please. The bartender whispers something to her that we can't hear, but it causes the fierce diva to let out a deep and bellowed laugh that shook the room with hilarious fury and vocal debauchery. Our friends that we we're waiting for suddenly showed up and we had to leave, but as we walked past her flawlessness we managed to make a split second of eye contact which prompted a hesitant, yet heartfelt nod that signified nothing less than her anointing us to her corecct presence. She was the queen of cool and we were her disciples in a desperate search for ultimate visual stimulation, of which only she could properly supply.
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Tuesday, October 23, 2007
 Tripping down the boulevard of life, lost in Mayonaise dreams and Marshmallow delights...
Current mood: blank
Category: Life
By Walter Cessna
As I innocently skip down the anti-fashion runway of my daily life, fugly, freaky, gnarly & funky assed trolls seem to be crawling out of the woodwork and everywhere I look it's as if I'm stuck in a never ending episode of The Twilight Zone that seems to have morphed with Children Of The Damned and Invasion Of The Body Snatchers, constantly playing on loop as visual diarrhea in my brain.
How does one put a stop to the beyonder beastliness that has infested the masses as they ignore everything actually going on in the world and instead incessantly search for their fifteen seconds of ultra slim fast fame and the perfect fitting size 0 jean?
I'm on line at a Starfucks in a TarJay located smack in the middle of bum fuck Florida. Sorry my sweat soaked Floridians, but unless you're in Miami or The Magic Fucking Kingdom, Florida is nothing but endless strip malls, counterfeit crocodile warnings, never ending Amber alerts, impatient old folk waiting to croak as they pilot golf carts and let their skin turn to leather and an unreal amount of soul stripped denizens steeped in counterfeit astonishment masking a haze of ignorant bliss.
My caffeine fuzz is fading and I'm stuck in the middle of a very long and varied line. There are two counter kids to serve a line growing perilously long of java junkies by the second and they ain't exactly working on speed dial. There is a lady in the front dressed in a ripened eggplant hued stretchy dress that resembles a vintage eighties legwarmer that she has unsuccessfully tried to pull over her massive tits and frame. Her hair is corn-rowed not unlike Bo Derek but hardly scoring a perfect ten.
Behind her is a family of six, entirely dressed in Harley Davidson accessories, apparel, even stamped HD emblazoned cowboy boots. The father is losing his patience with ripened eggplant legwarmer lady who clearly couldn't give a fuck as she takes her sweet assed time deciding between a non fat iced mocha or a green tea frap. Suddenly everyone's attention is diverted towards the front entrance where a family of five inbred looking pumpkin patch people are being detained by a lone security guard who sports a look of befuddled amusement on his sun stroked and tired face as the security alarm screams for attention.
Eggplant lady finally settles on a skim milk iced decaf coffee, pays in change which she pulls out of a soiled Crown Royal sack and proceeds to the condiment counter where she pours over ten packs of Splenda into her drink. The Harley family order six vente java chip fraps with extra whip cream which sends the two counter kids (who incidentally, like all mall culture working underclass, resemble missing members from the animated band Gorillaz) into a freaked out tizzy of confusion. I'm distracted for a moment as a well dressed might as well be a midget late seventies man walks past escorting an unbelievably Botoxed and bimbo blonde beauty through this surreal beauty pageant we call life.
The police arrive and and start interrogating the funky family until finally the littlest troll is forced to pull a Bratz doll out from under her dress and parents freak out on the kid while the cops give each other smug, knowing looks. The line behind me now trails deeply out of Starfucks and into the TarJay and the two counter kids are getting a glazed, crazy look in their eyes as they desperately frapinate their brains out getting the six ventes together.
I suddenly decide that I can no longer contribute to corporate coffee culture, give up my space on line and sit down at a vacant table to suck in the rest of this increasingly absurd scene, laughing while crying to myself at the sheer insanity of life and how programmed people have become for an overpriced, over sweetened coffee fix to get them through their fast food fashion shopping experience. You've seen her. Expertly balancing an extra large drink in one hand while perusing multiple racks of Isaac Wannabe down graded couture like classics while tucking a hot pink and rhinestone encrusted cell phone under their chin all the while cranking out exasperated facial expressions and verbal squirts of delight or incredulousness through gum smacking chews and overly MAC'd lips.
I get up after the Harley family collectively whoops it up as they simultaneously suck up their fraps and begin their shopping journey heading in the direction of beacons bearing the names ELECTRONICS, PHARMACY, SHOES, TOYS, BOYSWEAR ETC. As I get to the counter I almost bump into eggplant lady whom has returned bearing an empty Starfucks container and claiming she spilled her skim iced decaf coffee, demands a free refill. The two counter kids are speechless, one is actually drooling, a slow stream of spit spilling through his pierced lower lip and splashing slowly onto the collar of his Pac Sun wish I was a skater somebody t-shirt. As I walk past her I whisper just loud enough for her to hear, "Hey lady, why don't you try that act out in Vegas, cause it sure as shit ain't gonna fly here." She spins around and shoots me a withering look of evil misguided contempt but I simply smile at her and whistle to myself just as the midget and Botox babe are leaving the store in search of better bargains in the discount basement of life.
I walk further into mall land until I find myself reluctantly on line at a shop called "Goin' Postal!" (I kid you not). In front of me, a flat oval shaped ass is encased in a pair of high-waisted, almost acid wash jeans that actually appear to be dry cleaned and then ironed again at home to ensure that anal retentive and oh so perfect pleat. Bitch will not shut up. High-waisted jeans lady has shape shifted into uptight and indecisive freakazoid loudly debating whether or not to use Priority Mail or cheap out and do media mail. My mind goes numb and I find myself absent mindedly lighting up a cigarette and blowing the smoke right at her. Hopefully through her.
The counter girl, a strangely voluptuous little number with half blue hair and acne under her lip forming a pimple moustache is smiling at me, staring at my inked arms as she ignores high-waisted jeans lady. I blow plume after plume of smoke, surrounding her head like a swarm of locusts encased in an acrid haze. Bitch turns around and says something like "It's against the law to smoke in here!" So I blow another round of smoke in her face and calmly tell her that "It's against the law to wear crappy acid wash jeans that make your ass look like a pear caught in a blender."
I push past her, plop down a five and ask for some stamps. The counter girl hands them to me and I tell her to keep the change. I turn around to leave but Bitch is standing right in my face giving a scowl that reads refusal to budge. So I politely pick her up (big ass, but lightweight bitch) and place her a foot or so away from me as she huffs and puffs and tries to blow my house down.
"Not today lady," I seethe. I'm cranky. I'm tired. I'm sober and strung out. And I ain't about to put up with anybodies shit, no matter how sweet it might be smelling. I flick my cigarette out the door as I exit and never look back, preferring to remember the look on her face as I left her. Confused, freaked the fuck out and seriously pissed off. I would be too if I was wearing those pants. Get your ass to TarJay bitch and pick up something that can at least be described as current.
I walk to my car, bracing against the 99 degree mugginess that wipes my body with the feeling of discomfort and sweat soaked defeat. I look around and realize that I am lost in a sea of sub standard sports utility vehicles and carts being pushed by the walking dead, consumer purchases on their mind, spending money they don't have their only agenda. I sink into the seat of my battle blue Corsica stick shift and turn on the radio, loudly confronted by "don't you wish your girlfriend was raw like me?" Actually, I don't, but thanks for asking. Oh yeah, have a nice day.
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 brilliant yet stupid, gorgeous but gross, sincere then superficial...
Current mood: blah
Category: Life
i'm scanning the room and looking for excusesm to indulge myself in the distraction of attraction. Of the the delight of disillusionment masquerading as the temporary thrill of visual first lust. Pretty boys and not so pretty girls- legs encased in sausage like jeans and shoes that have been worn to self destruction. Heels scraping cold concrete and broken hearts looking for one more chance- finding nothing but bitter regret and a cold stare from the face of a man-child- fresh meat but spoiled mind. Soiled soul. Still, we take the baby steps into the dance and look for new partners to lose ourselves in. An endless capacity for counterfeit astonishment that seems like fun at first but quickly makes you tired and bored and restless and restricted and rebellious and redundant and blah, blah, blah. I pick the simplest looking soul and draw him into my web...of despair & self destruction, sucking him dry as I fill anew with life, sacraficed from the innocent to support my endless tour of debauchery.
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Cafe RAPTURE Reading For Filth 3-19-08
Monday, March 17, 2008
 peeling away the layers while peeing on myself, standing up in an old skool NYC....
phone booth. it was one of those nights that drift back into your consciousness almost before they even begin. I’m fuct up- pissed on myself blacked out and carrying a scrip bottle full of percs and dangerous ammounts of cold hard cash in my pocket. Plus, i’m in the east village which offers way too many possibilities for my JW Black adeled brain to actually comprehend- so i stumble down to my old standby, The Troll Room, i mean the Boiler Room, all the while finishing pulling up my pants AND running back to the phone booth to see if i left any change in the phone even though i never made a call. Then again who knows- when i’m like that theres no end to the crazy fuct up shit i’m capable & more than willing to try. Anywayz I get to the boiler room in one piece, well relatively. i seemed to have lost one of my shoes and gotten the words "$7.95 Dinner Special every Friday @ TGIF" stuck on replay in my mind and regerjutating like verbal diareah from my mouth....I sit at my corner seat all the way in the darkened back and perform the drunken ritual of trying to look perfect as you attempt to take off your jacket as seamlessly as possible and sit your ass down on the barstool without it falling from under your inebriated ass. Nodding to some fellow trolls, lovers us all of the nitelife decadence, i manage to rip one of the arms at the seam of my left shoulder as i waved hello to a particulary nasty, stenchy, not very nice wanna be trannie, then i flip back on the stool and wind up on my ass, of which i have just ripped the crotch seam. As i stand up I discover that I resemble an extra from a Japanese designer fashion show done for mass market tastes in a 7th Avenue nightmare come to life. Oh yeah, and I have once again peed myself. I am so not pretty. I give messy an extra couple of YYYYs. Thats basically all i can remember cause i woke up the next morning in a box on the lawn of Thomkins Park doing my best Basquiat impression while realizing i was clad only in my pants, still ripped even more obscenely at the crotch and that my shirt had transfomed from a t-shirt to a pink feathered and aquamarine sequined tunic of bad 80’s old lady gambling in Atlantic City proportions. Oh, yeah, somehow during my adventure i had adopted a cat on a leash with a tag on it’s collar that read Vanitee, no y, 2 e’s. I stumbled from my box and walked majestically across the park, my eyes stinging from the summer sun, my one bare foot now also sockless and covered in strangely strategically placed Hello Kitty bandaids, led on a slow march out of hail by new pussy Vanitee who was literally pulling me with the force of a super beast. All i needed was a cigarette holder and turtlenecked turban and i could be the 3rd Beale sister residing in my own personal hell of Greyed Gardens.
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 Splinters of denial picked slowly out of my already thin skin, pricking up...
bits of bloody disillusionment and ungrateful surprise. Examining the sliver like shards that i try to rebury in myself slowly, not wanting to know if they wield an answer or just another plethora of questions that in my heart i know i can answer myself. Trailing the splinters slowly across my skin, it tingles, burns, goose-bumps appear and i close my eyes thinking of everything that needs to be addressed and then trying to immediately forget it all. Months spent in a bubble, days locked in forced purpose, seconds caught in an ever tangling web of counterfeit astonishment. And I know in my head that i do this all to myself, so i force myself to slowly release and search out the last few, deepest splinters- the ones of confusion, miscontent, loneliness, fear and worst of all lack of self esteem. I slide each one between my fingers, finally flicking them to the wind, out of my life and away from my future, until all i can feel is the slightest of my breath rising like extra slow motion lava up my throat and filling my mouth with a taste that is at once gorgeous yet repellent. the taste of promise, uncertain, but filled with hope and the dreams that bring it to fruition. And I close my eyes and fade away into one of those dreams, a slight smile taking over my face, strangely soiled, somewhat serene.
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Sunday, March 16, 2008
 Im Really, really, no, seriously really OVER the Bronx.
None of my friends come up or even offers to visit me and i can’t say i don’t blame them.It’s at least 45 minutees by train and then a 10 block walk home- not too bad, but my life in NYC is downtown. Always has been, always will be. They call me "white boy" in my building and at first i thought it was cute. Now it just makes me feel more alone. That’s why I’m leaving on april 5th. Who knows what i can expect but i know in my heart i’m happiest out west and i desprately need to be happy again, living someplace where i’m not isolated, surrounded by open minded and correct thinking folks who give a shit about something other than Prada (although that new collction WAS THE SHIT!) I’m gonna fo for a few weeks and shoot in San Frandisco and then head up to portland and see if it is a good fit for me. There is nothing happeng for me in NYC anymore- except for one, beautiful and very beloved boy-man Blue who i have gone trhrough so much in such a short period that when we are seperated i have a heaviness in my heart that sometimes takes a bit too long to get over. I’m reading at rapture on wednesday nite and seeing Blue for the firts time in over a week. i have no idea what to expect but isn’t that part of the excitement, the thrill, the instant spontanaiety of loving someone like him- unpredictable, strangely reliable, a prancing tiger ready to pounce, working fierce Ferragamo boots in the process. He will always be a part of me. ALWAYS, but we are coming to a fork in the road and each one might not walk down the same path. facing forward front with a stiff back i prepare myself for an uncertaing future and hope for the best and most loving solution to my dillema. Fiercely over & correctly Out.
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 Slicing thru the sweetness of a day full of posibilities, endless...
hope has returned after 4 days of me trying to squash it. Respite has come in verbal form badly hurting from seperation and distance. my mind is splitting into two camps- one that is following it’s heart and the other the mind- my insane mind, full of racing thoughts and the ability to attack with a verbal venom spew sure to snuff even the bitchiest queen to the curb. Food goes down without pain as i strengthen my body and start to heal, slowly letting the cuts of miscommunication to slowly and delicately dry up from my mind. Purpose- renewed and reinspired, leading me consider possibilities never considered before. i flirt with chance like a broken in whore, knowing it all go so many different ways, some with outcomes full of joy, but others screeching in dispair. I savor the sweet taste of personal victory, rising not only from the ashes but not losing my ability to dream, or hunger for more knowledge or conquer the personal demons that at times threaten to eat me alive, as I just stand there, usually sporting a shit eatting grin and air of "what the fucking ever".
4:12 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove
 peeling away the layers while peeing on myself, standing up in an old skool NYC....
phone booth. it was one of those nights that drift back into your consciousness almost before they even begin. I’m fuct up- pissed on myself blacked out and carrying a scrip bottle full of percs and dangerous ammounts of cold hard cash in my pocket. Plus, i’m in the east village which offers way too many possibilities for my JW Black adeled brain to actually comprehend- so i stumble down to my old standby, The Troll Room, i mean the Boiler Room, all the while finishing pulling up my pants AND running back to the phone booth to see if i left any change in the phone even though i never made a call. Then again who knows- when i’m like that theres no end to the crazy fuct up shit i’m capable & more than willing to try. Anywayz I get to the boiler room in one piece, well relatively. i seemed to have lost one of my shoes and gotten the words "$7.95 Dinner Special every Friday @ TGIF" stuck on replay in my mind and regerjutating like verbal diareah from my mouth....I sit at my corner seat all the way in the darkened back and perform the drunken ritual of trying to look perfect as you attempt to take off your jacket as seamlessly as possible and sit your ass down on the barstool without it falling from under your inebriated ass. Nodding to some fellow trolls, lovers us all of the nitelife decadence, i manage to rip one of the arms at the seam of my left shoulder as i waved hello to a particulary nasty, stenchy, not very nice wanna be trannie, then i flip back on the stool and wind up on my ass, of which i have just ripped the crotch seam. As i stand up I discover that I resemble an extra from a Japanese designer fashion show done for mass market tastes in a 7th Avenue nightmare come to life. Oh yeah, and I have once again peed myself. I am so not pretty. I give messy an extra couple of YYYYs. Thats basically all i can remember cause i woke up the next morning in a box on the lawn of Thomkins Park doing my best Basquiat impression while realizing i was clad only in my pants, still ripped even more obscenely at the crotch and that my shirt had transfomed from a t-shirt to a pink feathered and aquamarine sequined tunic of bad 80’s old lady gambling in Atlantic City proportions. Oh, yeah, somehow during my adventure i had adopted a cat on a leash with a tag on it’s collar that read Vanitee, no y, 2 e’s. I stumbled from my box and walked majestically across the park, my eyes stinging from the summer sun, my one bare foot now also sockless and covered in strangely strategically placed Hello Kitty bandaids, led on a slow march out of hail by new pussy Vanitee who was literally pulling me with the force of a super beast. All i needed was a cigarette holder and turtlenecked turban and i could be the 3rd Beale sister residing in my own personal hell of Greyed Gardens.
4:35 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove
 Splinters of denial picked slowly out of my already thin skin, pricking up...
bits of bloody disillusionment and ungrateful surprise. Examining the sliver like shards that i try to rebury in myself slowly, not wanting to know if they wield an answer or just another plethora of questions that in my heart i know i can answer myself. Trailing the splinters slowly across my skin, it tingles, burns, goose-bumps appear and i close my eyes thinking of everything that needs to be addressed and then trying to immediately forget it all. Months spent in a bubble, days locked in forced purpose, seconds caught in an ever tangling web of counterfeit astonishment. And I know in my head that i do this all to myself, so i force myself to slowly release and search out the last few, deepest splinters- the ones of confusion, miscontent, loneliness, fear and worst of all lack of self esteem. I slide each one between my fingers, finally flicking them to the wind, out of my life and away from my future, until all i can feel is the slightest of my breath rising like extra slow motion lava up my throat and filling my mouth with a taste that is at once gorgeous yet repellent. the taste of promise, uncertain, but filled with hope and the dreams that bring it to fruition. And I close my eyes and fade away into one of those dreams, a slight smile taking over my face, strangely soiled, somewhat serene.
1:16 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove
Sunday, March 16, 2008
 Im Really, really, no, seriously really OVER the Bronx.
None of my friends come up or even offers to visit me and i can’t say i don’t blame them.It’s at least 45 minutees by train and then a 10 block walk home- not too bad, but my life in NYC is downtown. Always has been, always will be. They call me "white boy" in my building and at first i thought it was cute. Now it just makes me feel more alone. That’s why I’m leaving on april 5th. Who knows what i can expect but i know in my heart i’m happiest out west and i desprately need to be happy again, living someplace where i’m not isolated, surrounded by open minded and correct thinking folks who give a shit about something other than Prada (although that new collction WAS THE SHIT!) I’m gonna fo for a few weeks and shoot in San Frandisco and then head up to portland and see if it is a good fit for me. There is nothing happeng for me in NYC anymore- except for one, beautiful and very beloved boy-man Blue who i have gone trhrough so much in such a short period that when we are seperated i have a heaviness in my heart that sometimes takes a bit too long to get over. I’m reading at rapture on wednesday nite and seeing Blue for the firts time in over a week. i have no idea what to expect but isn’t that part of the excitement, the thrill, the instant spontanaiety of loving someone like him- unpredictable, strangely reliable, a prancing tiger ready to pounce, working fierce Ferragamo boots in the process. He will always be a part of me. ALWAYS, but we are coming to a fork in the road and each one might not walk down the same path. facing forward front with a stiff back i prepare myself for an uncertaing future and hope for the best and most loving solution to my dillema. Fiercely over & correctly Out.
5:14 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove
 Slicing thru the sweetness of a day full of posibilities, endless...
hope has returned after 4 days of me trying to squash it. Respite has come in verbal form badly hurting from seperation and distance. my mind is splitting into two camps- one that is following it’s heart and the other the mind- my insane mind, full of racing thoughts and the ability to attack with a verbal venom spew sure to snuff even the bitchiest queen to the curb. Food goes down without pain as i strengthen my body and start to heal, slowly letting the cuts of miscommunication to slowly and delicately dry up from my mind. Purpose- renewed and reinspired, leading me consider possibilities never considered before. i flirt with chance like a broken in whore, knowing it all go so many different ways, some with outcomes full of joy, but others screeching in dispair. I savor the sweet taste of personal victory, rising not only from the ashes but not losing my ability to dream, or hunger for more knowledge or conquer the personal demons that at times threaten to eat me alive, as I just stand there, usually sporting a shit eatting grin and air of "what the fucking ever".
4:12 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Tearing apart my present while I Dive head first into my future...
nothing has been properly planned, nothing has been left to chance. A living contradiction in search of the perfect underpants. Seeking, never finding, reaching, rarely getting. hoping, sometimes hopeful. Less a man than a boy troll child. Waiting for the chance to show itself, the surprise to know itself and my soul to sell itself. Lost in waves of non emotion, self manufactured satisfaction. these days i don't even feel the need to touch myself as my dreams become realities of grade B disproportions.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The thought of walking into a dark room wearing nothing but a towel and proceeding to get felt up by dozens of mystery hands and fingers...
was his idea of bliss, not mine. i was terrified. scared shitless. The thought of coming to a sex club was initiated as a dunken idea turned into a sobering reality of unfortunate extremes. It's not like me and him were even fucking, we just liked each others companies and felt safe enough in each others company to slowly let ourselves sink into a drug & sex fueled super oblivion where the only thing that mattered was our getting off and how fucking amazing it was going to be each and evry awesome time we did it. Now here we were, coked out of our minds- stinking of bottom shel tequila and the shy walk of a pale boy wrapped in a too small, threadbare towel, washed of a million others sins countless times before. We were facing the maze, a surreal sexual puzzle of human proportion. Dare we enter? Just as we did a little streaked blondeb twink catches my eye and signals us over to his booth. within second were sucking down rails of sticky, stinging crystal, our eyes watering with each hit and our foreheads breaking out in a clammy wet gristle. The need for more never abates and i look for an emergancy exit only to end up in the furthest reaches of the ever darkening maze- fingers fingering me, hand stroking me, tongues washing me, cocks bobbing up against me and i close my eyes and lose myself to the ritual, stirring slightly as my towel is pulled off and i feel the warm cavern of a hot and hungry hole swallowing me in one starved gulp.
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