Filthy South

You are the Golden Hearted Vampire.

Pouring wet cement on my corpse and

Letting it harden for the statue’s eternal life.

Did you see the one-legged-bicycle man in Little Haiti?

Have we admitted our immortality?

Don’t I owe you a martini?

Didn’t I lie to you about my age?

Didn’t you dump me?

My pimples ablaze and

Out of her body came the Sorcerers fingernail.

Throbbing Gristle on the stereo

licking my afternoon cotton-mouth.

The sky is blue as a Canadian tuxedo.

I am hunting for greatness. I sleep in the woods on a piece of cardboard. I am playing my electric guitar while sparkles of light bounce from your buttery teeth. I love Miami. I just do: the smell, the pink clouds of evening, the water water everywhere but not a drop to drink, the Florida Marlins, nothing new under the blazing 305 syrupy sun, and the empty downtown streets. Like Tony said, “Miami is a big pussy waiting to be fucked.” The world is ours! Chi Chi get the yayo.

I spent a number of years as a “person of the street.” That’s right, motherfucker. Not in, but of. Women always seem to succeed in pointing me in the right direction with temporary unconditional love. Haters call me pussy whipped. Success is a culmination of failures. Let’s get down to business. I love you. I love you. I love you. I appreciate your enthusiasm. The President loves you boo boo.

This coming Sunday shall be another moment of glory. The President is studying and practicing the game of life. We are fine tuning the sounds of Air Force One with an eye on terror. I wish that I could help you understand the jolts of raw sexual energy running through my brain in the vortex of your eyeball nugget. Cell phones buzz and vibrate. ESPN is on TV. Miami Heat is going to fucking devour the NBA for the next couple years. Tiger Woods should play for the Heat. Am I being creepy? Creepy. Ok. Hello. I am sitting naked as I write this in someone else’s living room. I live alone in a house big enough for an entire island wedding. Remember the glittery X-mas Boat? Wait. I remember teekee. I remember Jhah Nah Nah Cho. I have tears welling up in my eyes. I need to be onstage right now. I am only happy when I am onstage with my guitar. I feel so close to the other side. I hate poetry. I eat women out because I am hungry and I gotta eat. Nutrients. Holy water. Hot wah kee kee. Mmmm. Yes We Can.

I once slept on a hardened pile of human feces near the train tracks in Philly. Oil cans so tall that you needed to climb the rusty ladder to get to the top. I ran naked through the woods chasing deer along the Ohio River. The space ship was from another planet. The waxed vagina is a filet mignon. Coffee ice cream is delicious. Coffee with ice is good too. “Been to jail 35 times in 12 different counties 20 different states and the firemen count pigeons on the windowsill.” Always the same bologna sandwich. Been around the world twice with a quarter in my pocket.

I cant tell you how much I love eating chocolate in the morning. Beer first. Then chocolate. Then brownies. Then more beer. Then orange soda and a donut, coffee and coffee ice cream. Hennesssy. Walk the dog. Omg, that was good chocolate. It just tastes good…that all it is…why does my stomach hurt but my brain is in mid-air? I lick the melted ice cream from the porcelain plate. I taste the fate. Come back late. Choco late. Choco late. Vanilla. Vanilla. Angelina Jolilla. Bolero. This is how we do it. A website has an infinite amount of space. I can write a blog equal to 12 miles of newspapers spread across an acre of land.

I am literally writing myself to sleep. Good night my love. Filthy South is a state of mind. My love love. I am always in love. I hope that our paths cross again this Sunday at SWEAT. Oh you ate one too? Van Handelsman 1984. I was still a little kid when you were born. I walk around naked in other people’s houses. I am not ashamed of my dyslexic breast. I went to a Marlins game last night and had a ball. I cant stay awake. Any longer. Loafing man on the subway train, leave his formal education in the barrel. There is no waste of paper here in cyberland. Just radiation from the computer screen. My how happy the hippos penis looks. Don’t wanna sell T shirts. Don’t wanna smoke cigarettes. I’m sleeping. Sleeping in Jerusalem. Drop out of life with bong in hand.