Daisy

Keep the faith old dog. Though it follows that all good things must be purged from this place, the world is not without its pockets of heaven. Save your graying hair, your sore legs as relics of strength. Your uneasy breathing will shift when you begin inhaling new air. My old friend you have been too good to me to lose faith. You will last.

My Native Tongue

I never understood the reputation my native tongue has always carried; it really is hot, sultry, and seductive.

It was last night that I saw a girl at a bar in Downtown LA, though, to be more specific it was her friend that I really saw first. She smiled at me for I’m sure no reason in particular when I was ordering a drink. So having just found a place outside to stand with a friend of mine I saw her with another female obscured by smoky dim lighting that reverberates off the industrial loft office building next to the second story balcony we were on. I dared myself to talk to them both.

Finishing my drink, I walked up to them and interrupted their conversation. Quickly stating my intention to both I glanced first at the girl I recognized then over to her friend which I found very attractive-immediately. Mustering up a few white lies to get the conversation moving I worked more of my attention to the girl I had just noticed. It turns out we had gone to school near each other when I stayed up north. Being quite sure she was most likely in her early 30’s or late 20’s and was probably (like much of the populous that frequents the bar) used to making over triple what I make in a year, I tried to keep my air of sophistication. My lips and tongue seemed to roll neatly and effortlessly through conversation and with quick resolve I ended it as soon as she give me the distinct glance of a woman’s approval.

Easing myself back into my seat I began to see the woman continuously eyeing me. A new man entered the picture- he was well dressed. I would assume that he probably picked that outfit up from Barney’s for a cool $1200 just to show up for the date, even though, that still didn’t make me feel ashamed for wearing a very wrinkled white American Apparel t-shirt, a pair of decent Japanese slacks, and brand new black Nike Airs.

As he tirelessly tried putting his arm around the women who kept sliding out of reach- she persisted in obviously eying me down. Though I found it flattering and reciprocated it started to get awkward when the man began trying to find out exactly who she was looking at.

My friends and I went back inside. Keeping a relaxed eye on the woman throughout the night I decided to get her number when we were about to leave. The perfect chance came when her friend was occupied with someone else and the man was nowhere to be seen. I immediately grabbed the opportunity and formerly introduced my self and asked her for her number.

Then there was a thick, palpable presence of raw lust as she replied to me in Spanish out of no where, “Vine con alguien.” (I came with someone…). Either she felt the impulse to test me in Spanish or her man was right behind me, either way her denying my request was directly contradicted by the look in her eyes and our faces coming almost too close for comfort. At this time I was praying for some kind of restraint. Her words, if spoken in English would have sent me away but spoken in Spanish it nearly replaced being in bed with her. She asked again where I was from and told me to come to the bar on Tuesday- she said it’s a lot of fun. Meanwhile, her hand rubbing up and down my left arm while the other was gingerly caressing my chest down to the top of my pelvis.

With her articulate English that I assumed was her only voice, it was in the irony of her rejection that her true wicked intent was spoken in a tongue whose absolute presence neglects anything other than lust and passion no matter how stoic and detached the syntax or nuance.

I prayed for some kind of restraint.

Summer in Southern California

Moving palms like waving hands, are like lovers’ fingers gently running up and down each other’s knuckles, nails, and creases.

Moving palms are wand-like hands that spark a breeze and guide it through life’s ether and like lovers’ fingers it lands coaxing your senses by nipping the neck, brow, and cheek.

Seven Grand

I am one more motherfucker at a swank bar with a blackberry or iPhone, wearing nice shoes and a grin. The same one buying the sophisticated drink lubing my mind into coaxing someone else with ill-intention.

I am the same man trying to fuck away my pain-fucking myself back to a healthy ego.

Where are those of pure intention? They are not those who appear innocent- those who appear innocent can be most rotten on the inside.

Those who may appear rotten on the outside can be most honest.

Purity is of intention and not stature, poise, or response.

Those that go through a rite of passage may lose their innocence and become a hyena-dependant of others for survival through feeding on weaker game.

They should be so lucky as to become the high lion that watches after it’s pride.

My Father’s Best Friend

My Father’s best friend died the way he lived- running from the law.

He spent half of his adult life behind bars and slowly came to the conclusion that he had not the will to reverse the effects of years of grime and mental decay that accumulates on top of a man’s soul within the confines of penitentiary. He had a son that he did not want to follow in his footsteps.

Luke Dyce was loyal to my father and was at his side when he had fallen.

I am proud to have his son as a brother.

Without a challenge there is no accomplishment.

In his passing he like every man or woman has become a notch; in a person’s passage their life can be seen to damage or construct.

The passage of a human being can become an added step to a staircase or a ledge from which to dive.