Prolog - the video

It was late in the night... or very early in the morning... and I lay there once again wounded and ravaged (and Ravished) by her hunger and lust... and my own damn desire... she stretches out her entire body with a long emotional sigh... and lets it go limp on top of me... usually I would pick a book that is sitting on the night stand and read to her until she falls asleep, but this night... I was to weak to move... she asked me to recite her some of my poetry... which I did... and she recorded some of them... that is why I sound the way I do... enjoy... and may you all have a very happy and safe New Years Eve...

The Moon - in living color...

... looks like some one left the lights on...

carta de despedida...

The words you are about to hear are from a good-bye letter said to have been written by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (author of One Hundred Years Of Solitude, The General In His Labyrinth, and Love In The Time Of Cholera) to Johnny Welch (muppeteer) though for many years he has insisted that he would never written something so ridiculous... The letter is written from the point of view of one of Johnny's Muppets - thanking him for all that he has learned from humans and how he would live his life if he were a real man... I thought of translating this into English but even if I could do my best, we would still lose a lot of its beauty... I hope you will still enjoy it in it's original Spanish as read by Johnny Welch... Many years later, in an interview, Garcia Marquez called the letter "beautiful".

Now that winter is here…

Now that winter is here – I want to pack my bag and disappear…

Now that the cold winds blow – It’s easy to turn my back on the life I know…

Now that the days are grey – I can’t find a reason for me to stay…

Now that the snow has come back around – I want to run away where I’ll never be found…

Now that the nights are long – It’s just more time to think of what went wrong...

Now that the nights are cold – there’s no inspiration when you’re not here to hold…

And now that you are not mine – I guess there’s really nothing left to leave behind...

espero curarme de ti en unos dias...

When I first began to put this video together I thought it would be a fun little project - but as the hours past and I found myself editing audio files and formating and rendering video... I wondered if it was worth all the trouble, when there are other things I could (should) be doing... I hope you enjoy it...

A mask to hide behind

pastel on paper

She walks in beauty...

Amanda's Rose

If it was in a dream the first time that I saw you
I can’t believe I let you slip away
I recall the many ways I loved you
In vain I lost you in the light of day
I remember when they hanged me for being a pirate
In a crowd I found your eyes
And the angel that could have saved me
Was drowning in the tears you cried
I went off to save the thrown of my king
Next to my heart the letter I meant to send
A jagged blade pierced my skin - my soul did bleed
But I cried because I lost you again

I can hear the sound of wild horse charging
across the battle fields of Mexico
I can hear your voice whispering sadly
Begging me to stay and never go
In front of a firing squad
I was trying to be brave and strong
A bullet killed another dream and
once again you were gone
How many times have I lost you
How many times will this heart break
How many lives must I go through
How much more do you think I can take

(photograph - Amanda Vasquez)

The nights we danced at the Havana Club

We were nowhere near Havana. No, we were on the pacific coast of Mexico twenty miles out of Acapulco on a private vessel called Indigo Cloud I was just a boy and our family was on holiday enjoying the sea on board this magnificent yacht... that may have been the point when I fell in love with boats, but certainly not the point when I fell in love with the sea... no, I fell in love with the sea the first time I saw a photograph of endless waters falling off the edge of the world... and it was not the point when I fell in love with women... that happened long before her... but she was beautiful and she would be the one I would compare all other women to - until "E" came along and brought me to my knees... This girl was sixteen years old - Gabriella was her name and she had sad eyes the color of amber... or was it gold? Her skin was kissed by the sun and she smelled of coconut oil, to this day every time I smell coconut I get lost in dreams of her. Her mother was from Chile and Gabriella had inherited that sweet accent that God blessed the Chilean people with - that their words come out almost as if they were being sung... and she laughed at everything even though she carried a natural sadness in her eyes that made her look as if she was about to break down and cry. Her lips were full and I wondered if they tasted like plum... or strawberry... and far away from Cuba we would sit around on the deck of the Indigo Cloud listening to her father's collection of records by Tito Puente and Celia Cruz... when we tired of listening to Menudo... I would watch her in the sun... as she rubbed that coconut oil on her body and stretch out those long skinny legs that she could use to dangle into the sea and stroke the backs of a dolphin with...Aquatine... was the secret name I gave her... Aquatine.  In the evening after supper the adults and the children would all gather in the main saloon for drinks and games. The Adults would have their Tom Collins and Gin with Tonic and play card games and the kids would listed to more music and dance... and if we were lucky... sneak in a couple of Tom Collins of our own... That was a good summer - before my family moved to that God forsaken waste land of the South West called Odessa... but I will never forget the nights we danced in the main saloon of the Indigo Cloud which they called "The Havana Club".

My dearest...

I am becoming a slave to your letters. My pulse races every time I see that I have a letter from you on my computer. I shut off the telephone and ignore the world around me for the few minutes I take to read them slowly, trying to imagine your voice with every word.

I want to open myself up for you and let you know every thing there is to know about me, but the details of my life are more than I can put into words in a letter for you to know who I really am... so if you have any questions you wish to ask me about my life - I will answer them for you openly and honestly.

I hope you know by now that I am not as serious and dark as I make myself out to be - I can also be quite silly at times... you’ve seen that... I like making you laugh. You are way to serious... If I promise to make you laugh more... do you promise to lighten up a little when I am not around? If I promise to think less... will you promise to sing to me more... the way you do some times at night when you try to distract yourself from those strange random thoughts that wandered into your mind from some other realm where angels and devils throw snowballs at each other laced with kisses and sighs and teardrops from eyes that fell in love at first sight... I get them too... they come in from the window... fallen from butterfly wings... You don’t have to sing... you could hum a gentle tune of your own design... and let the last note linger in the air like a whisper that gets lost on its way to the moon... distracted by the smell of the sea. If I promise to respond to your letters quicker and more often... will you promise to leave fragments of poetry, signed with your kiss, scattered about the city where those who hunger for love can find them and save them in little tin boxes for nights when God may be tending to his children on the other side of the universe... If I promise not to be so mysterious... do you promise not to push me into a conversation I do not want to have... and let us sit in silence... lost in the rhythm of the breath we take in and out... lost in the tempo of our hearts beating in the low light of the this computer screen... lost in the crescendo of the rising lust... you inspire...

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” you asked - I believe in destiny... I believe in lust... I believe in desire... and hunger... and the passion and the pain... and the moonlight and the rain... I believe in dreams and that angels scheme to make it harder for me to prove myself to my God... I believe... somewhere in the night the devil believes he will be redeemed if he helps a scoundrel like me find love... but I suppose I can be persuaded to believe in love at first sight... or something close to it...

I dreamed of you a few nights ago - There was a storm and I had laid down by an open window to listen to the rain fall and I had fallen asleep. In the dream I was back in Chicago walking down State Street, I was looking for a book store to buy some maps - but I don’t know why, had I planned a trip to Moscow... or Budapest? Suddenly it started to shower and as my luck always plays games with me the faster I walk the herder it falls - I was wearing my rain coat but I had no umbrella... I was drenched by the rain... through the chaos and storm I spied a coffee house on a crowded corner floating above the shoulders of those mindless conformist that laugh at mad men wrapped in cardboard boxes shouting that Jesus saves to the world... I made my way to it to get some hot tea and dry up a little and wait for the rain to subside. Sitting in the café, listening for a familiar rhythm in the storm outside... a song or a poem I may have misplaced in some far away bordello in Buenos Aires or Monte Video... perhaps finding its way back to me... I took out my journal from my rain coat and began to write you a letter... when you sat down beside me... I was surprised to see you... but you did not know who I was... we began a conversation and you told me you had come to Chicago to look for - censored - you described me and told me everything you knew about me... you spoke of me with tenderness and affection... I wanted to let you know that I was - censored - and that I was the one you were looking for... I was sitting right in front of you ... but you were in such a hurry to find me that you left as suddenly as you had arrived... I watched you walk out into the storm... like a ship that surrenders itself to the tide I watched you float out of sight... I felt a little empty inside, but I shook my head smiling - the way I do when I dismiss that little voice inside my head that tries to whisper the secrets of the universe to me when I am in the middle of a conversation with men much smarter than I...

As I write this letter it is raining outside... I do not know if this is the letter I want to send you... I have spent most of the day answering letters that should have been answered long ago... I still have to write eMi and Dutch, and I have to call Carlos... about that thing in that place with the guy... or perhaps I’ll just sit here in the light glow of this computer screen and listen to the rain fall... and try to find a familiar rhythm... a song or poem I may have misplace in some far away massage parlor in Hong Kong or Singapore... I will read your letter once more before I lay down to rest and dream of you in your city by the sea... are you thinking of me? Are you vandalizing the margins of history books in libraries and bookstores with dramatic endings that consist of men that look like Captain Rhett Butler taking some haughty princes in his arms and consuming her with desire before he sails off to conquer more lands filled with gold for a king that does not deserve to be one... are you tearing out pages from poetry books and placing them in travel books with ripped out pictures from girly magazines? Are you walking down the beach tossing the shells you collected back into the sea? Are you sitting in the lounge of some hotel with a bottle of bourbon or scotch, hiding words of passion and lust in a letter for someone across the sea... if by chance... it could be for me...

As the rain falls...

Making love to you was like wrestling an alligator... we stumbled and tumbled over each other to be the one on top. Making love to you was passion... desire... and lust... you are the oasis in the waste land I have been crawling through... on my belly... on my tattered knees.. Weighed down by the pieces of my shattered dreams in glass jars chained to my heart... the wounds of my past - the pain that drives me to my destiny...

Making love to you has left me broken and tired... you have conquered the valley where the child inside me goes to run wild with wolves and untamed stallions... you have raided the ketch of my dreams like a pirate out of some dark erotic fantasy... you have invaded my mind like the mighty Kahn... come to ravish and devour...

And now... we lay on this bed like two prize fighters too weak to rise before the final bell... we have been beaten down by our lust and our pride... and the screams of an angry mob hungry for blood... and while we lay there in sheets soaked by our lust I watch an army of angels retreat from the battle field... dragging their spears... and shields... and broken wings behind them... gathering their bloodied feathers scattered about along the way back to some lonely cloud that hangs over calm waters somewhere in the South China Sea... and the demons... broken and battered once more... lick their wounds and curse the night as they crawl back under the bed...

The glow from the television paints shadows from CHARADE on the ceiling... and as the rain falls outside you let out a sigh that I inhale... and I surrender everything I am and everything I long to be... to you...

The Seduction of Rebecca

This isn't the poem I intended to write
These aren’t the words I charmed out of the night
And all of the whispers I left in your bed...
They’re a poor substitute for the dreams trapped in my head

And all the caresses and all of the sighs
And all of the kisses I tattooed on your thighs...
They’re a cheap imitation of the love you require
But it’s the magic I use to conjure up your desire

This isn’t the way I thought the night would unfold
Is this moment in time for us to posses and to hold?
And all of those angels jumping off the moon...
Commit suicide like the demons in your room

And all of the hearts beating like drums in the rain
And all of those lonely people in search of the passion and pain
They’ll hunger all their lives but never find...
A seduction so sweet - as the one that’s going to make you mine...

self portraits

self portrait in ink...

self portrait in pastels...

self portrait by polaroid...

around and around... and around again...

She is not as shy as she pretends to be.
She is elegant and quite feminine. Reserved... and... very charming in a Lauren Bacall kind of way - think Bacall in “To Have and Have Not”... now you know what I am trying to say... she’s a woman... all woman. She knows what she has and she knows how to use it. Within the first hour of our meeting each other she has tested me over and over... and over again. So far I have proved myself worthy by indulging her ridiculous behavior... but it is what women do... and I - when I had reached my tolerance point for these little games, smiled - the way I smile when I am about to give a woman the big let down or the “it was very nice to meet you... I hope I never run into you again...” my “frankly my dear, I would have liked to gotten to know you better... but you’ve wasted so much precious time with your fucking little games...” she must have known that smile - perhaps she’s seen it before and put it to memory for future encounters with a would be suitor... she stopped long enough to allow me to be vulnerable and show her my humble, funny and boyish side... but she has already figured out that there is only so much shit that I will put up with... She already knew who I was though was uninformed of the specifics of my life. She works for the last client - the one from the “BIG PROJECT”. We were introduced through another member of the company whom I was advising privately on personal matters.  She strolled to our table at the coffee shop like a leopard among a heard of gazelles, many of whom stopped to admire and assess the danger they might be in. She joined us in a new conversation of her choosing until my acquaintance departed... non too soon as I was immediately taken in by this young feline - her walk, her clothes, her hair... the soft delicate tone of her voice and the dull olive hue of her skin. She wanted to learn more about me and I wanted to talk about her... I tried to talk about fashion but she seemed bored with the topic... tried celebrity gossip but she wanted to have no part of that... hmm... what else do women want to talk about... politics? That wasn’t going to happen... so I gave in and opened up about myself to which she responded by opening up about herself... we opened up to the point that we spoke of our dreams and our fears... and as I was letting her believe that she was seducing me by letting me talk about myself - I got her to tell me about her childhood and her deepest secret desire... how it makes her feel to think of it... the joy it gives her... the pleasure she hides deep within her at the thought of her private mental hide-away... oh, dear sweet girl... I’ve been doing this for quite some time now... you didn’t have a chance when you made your way across the savanna... unless this was all your plan... and so we went around and around... and around again, giving and taking here and there until I took her by the hand and smiled - the way I smile before I give a woman my best Han Solo... “well princes... looks like you managed to keep me here a little longer...”
“I haven’t kept you from anything important, have I...?”
I shake my head with a crooked smile and a lazy left eye
“Actually I have about forty-five minutes to get to another meeting... but it has been a pleasure spending this free time with you...”
“When can we finish our conversation?”
“Whenever you like...” I reach into my portfolio and pull out a business card and I slide it across the table to her.
She reads it and smiles... nods her head approvingly... she turns it over and looks up at me...
“There’s no phone number on it... just your e-mail address...?”
I smile.
“Baby steps my dear, baby steps” she laughs - “I am a very busy man... you use that when your ready... I check my mail once at night...”
She isn’t quite sure of what to do or say... you wanted to play a game my sweet... the ball is in your court now.
She looks up at me... I stare into her eyes... I look at her... those polished amber stones... I look past her... and I think to myself in a whisper that only her soul can hear... “take it... you know you want to... take it... I’ll make it better than it has ever been... I will give you that passion that you secretly desire...”
She looks at me... she wants to speak but can’t find the right words... what would Lauren Bacall say in this moment we find ourselves in? I stare at her... my crooked smile beginning to form... my eyes begin to get narrow... she looks at me and I stare at her in silence... she lowers he gaze and places her hand at the bottom of her neck...her cheeks begin to rouge... and her smile becomes insecure... she nods her head in an almost unnoticeable manner... “I’ll drop you a line...” and she opens up her hand bag and places the card I gave her in her wallet - delicately, in the pocket in front of her drivers license... and she takes out her card and a pen... she writes her phone number on the back slowly... deliberately taking her time... almost as if she wants everyone to know what she is doing... I look over to a table of young girls sitting next to us... they smile at me and turn away giggling... young girls...
With as much style and presence as she walked across the room to the table she hands me her card with a flick of the wrist that any magician would be proud to master... I do not look at it. I slip it into the inside pocket of my blue blazer.
I extended my hand to her and she took it... I hold it delicately... perhaps longer than I should have, placing my other hand above it... “we’ll get together soon...” I tell her...
“We will...” she responds - the way women respond when they have abandoned their logic... and their belief systems for the hope of reckless, adulterated... passion.
I excused my self and made my way out and as I disappeared into the crowded city sidewalk I could feel the eyes of a hundred thirsty gazelles following me...

to be continued...

scenes from the long slow seduction...

going through my old journals this morning I came across some old poems  - this one, as silly as it may be - is now lost forever in the Deringer Files...

The rain followed us from West-Texas to Paris
And we laughed all the way
We lived our lives like rock stars
Now look at us today...
Now you prowl down the cat walk
And I write poems at the bar
Some nights you find the time to call
Some nights I don’t know where you are
And all my magazines let me know
When someone breaks your heart
But Heaven will never tell us
How we let it fall apart...

The rain followed me from Paris to Chicago
With no laughter and little fun
The tequila slowed me down
But my heart is still on the run...
Still I keep writing poems
And counting stars for you
And I keep looking for that one kiss
To pull me out of the blue
And I look for you picture
In fashion magazines
To see if I can find the smile

you used to smile for me...

 

love is a treasure.

as I walked out one evening...

for our non-Spanish speaking friends...

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean Is folded
and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror?
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

me gustas cuando callas...

un adios anunciado...

Seducing the muse...

I lay in bed imagining how I will whisper to the memory of all the young girls I seduced when I was 26... young creamy thighs I stroked gently with my fingertips that I will remember more distinctly than the conversation that lead me to their beds... the back of freckled shoulders with subtle traces of the sun I tattooed with my lips... and my teeth... I will burn into my memory now those buttocks I can remember pressed against me in the calming of the night just before the summer sun rises to chase the remnants of passion away... and all the breasts I conquered on cab rides home that I would ravish in the lions den... I can remember the delicate lines of certain necks that glistened by the light of a flickering candle or the hypnotic glow of a broken television set... I can taste the sweat I licked off the backs of dark skinned girls in cheap hotel rooms in the days before Juarez became a war-zone... that tasted of lime and talcum powder...

I imagine... when I am an old man... and the meaning of my life has abandoned me for a younger and much more committed warrior poet... that perhaps one... or two of these young girls might find their way back to me and with the hands of an aging house keeper they might sooth my rusty heart... ticking away, out of rhythm like an old wind up pocket watch handed down from fathers to sons since the first world war... and with the lips that once charmed me into staying in bed much longer than I should have, to deposit the last of the love I could afford to give for the evening... they might whisper their tale of misguided youth and dreams that did not quite come true... so that I may conjure up that tender delicate creature whose name I can only release in sighs between bottles of wine... and bring to me the words to write a song so sad and true that legions of angels would knife their way out of the earth to stab at my soul to silence it’s moans of desire and lust... words to fall on me with rain drops that burn this wasted dessert as the fires of hell will burn the flesh of carnival preachers that charmed foolish young girls into dancing with the devil ‘round a midnight bonfire... words that blow in with the southern winds from a far away shore carrying the drunken tale of Portuguese sailors who linger at the bottom of the sea, scraping the ocean floor for sunken treasure and love letters that never reached the hearts of teenage mistresses that still wander the beaches of Fortaleza waiting for the ghost of their lovers to return with gifts from Istanbul and Capri...

I stumble out of bed and make my way in the dark to a makeshift alter at the end of the hall and light a candle to Saints Kerouak and Cummings... I light incense for Hemingway and Steinbeck... I pour shots of tequila for Versace and Dior and Halston too... I light a Cuban cigar and inhale it’s desperate Carribean brew... and blow it out with a prayer to a framed picture of Raquel Welch... who hangs over trinkets left behind by the victims of my desires... ear-rings and bracelets... lipstick and eyeliners... hair clips and hand mirrors... things I could not throw out for moments like this... I take a pair of panties left behind from the last one and offer them up in fire to my mistress Raquel... that she may call up the waters from the deep to pour down on my miserable soul... for a poem... just four pathetic little melancholy lines that will help put my soul at ease... I dance naked around a pile of orchids and lavender and assorted flowers from my mothers garden, placed above kameas and sigils drawn on the floor in a frantic trance designed to raise the spirits of forgotten burlesque girls... I slice open the palm of my hand with a kitchen knife and let the blood fall on my delicate array of colors before I spill the rest of the tequila on it to light the pyre of my sacrifice... and with a final howl up at Heaven I collapse to the cold tile floor in a mud of my own blood and sweat... and paint my face with the ashes of my unrequited prayers... empty and spent with nothing left to give the world I whisper a name I haven’t spoken in fifteen years... and think of smooth creamy thighs... and the smell of her hair... I feel her nipples graze my lips and she sighs into my ear... "forever".... I want to cry... but I have nothing left to give... before I fall unconscious... I hear her footsteps coming down the hall... I turn to her... she smells like the rain... dressed in a long, red, backless Halston made sheer by the waters of my lust she smiles approvingly... but shakes her head the way she does when she finds me in this state... I smile and offer my bloody hand to her as she walks to the fire... perhaps new desires... if not inspiration, might be on the rise... tonight...

for my most passionate fans...

sleep... (reloaded - by popular demand)

the long slow seduction...

I stood on the platform and waited for those arriving to disembark. Tired and weary travelers coming from the south... or from Spain. They bump into me and they shove me out of their way not caring to stop and go around me... they do not even notice that I am standing there... I am a phantom... I am a shadow of an affair that ended all too soon... I breathe in the putrid night air poisoned by stale perfume and bitter wine... and the echoes left behind by those would be artists that came before me... I let go a sigh... and watch it float away to the other end of the station.
I picked up my bag and made my way to the train... stopping at the entrance, I force myself to look down the platform to see if she came to say goodbye... and then I remember... I never told her I was leaving. I step in and find a place to hunker down... A place to make the center of my universe until I reach Berlin.

I remember thinking I wanted to get out of Europe before winter trapped me there... but I met Sarah... and I stayed until the end of February. There was no need or purpose behind my trip to Germany other than I had to get out of Paris to clear my head... and shake the smell of Montmartre off my soul.... the lights outside flickered on and off as whimsical pieces of poetry drifted in and out of my head... trying to find a permanent place in my collection of unfinished masterpieces... I thought about Carmen... as I always think about Carmen... how I left her too... without ever saying goodbye... I think about Carmen now... and wonder if she is happy... did I make the right choice? Probably not... and there I was trying to get the hell out of Paris... thinking of Carmen and running away from Diana... knowing that when I get to wherever I am running to - I will be alone again...

When I am an old man - and I have lost my senses - I will tell the demons that keep me company at night the tale of my amorous adventures... and they will ask "who was the love of your life?" and I will take a long dramatic pause to stare into the abyss of my miserable wasted youth and say... it was... Amanda... of course by then I wont even know what I am talking about and may get the muse of my life confused with the love of my life... so while I am still young and can remember the story I want to tell when I am old - I am going to tell it as if Amanda was the love of my life, for, eighty percent of everything I have ever written I wrote for her or about her... I thought of her when I was kissing the lips of women whose names I never knew to begin with and I dreamt of her on those long lonely rides across deserts and highways and restless seas... on buses and cargo ships and planes... but... Amanda and I were never meant to be... I headed to Chicago to chase after a dream... chasing after me... and she had gone to Hollywood.... we haven’t spoken in ten years... I no longer know where she is. The demons - perhaps one or two of them whom found me entertaining enough to stay with me for so long may ask - "what about ‘E’...?" well... she and I were definitely not meant be together... don’t get me wrong... I wanted her... I desired her... and many times in our relationship I had convinced myself that I loved her... and that she loved me... but in the end , it turned out that we were only filling up time with each other until we figured out what it was that we really wanted... and as it turned out... I did not really want her enough to fight for her and try to figure out how to keep her... I learned that I did not love her enough to try to understand her... and learn what she wanted from me... or what she wanted me to be... but... neither did she.... and after all the lips I’ve kissed and all the pretty words I’ve squandered in the dark of lonely rooms in lonely cities... I’ve had time to learn... or to convince my self that ‘E’ was not the love of my life.

Carmen... my dear sweet Carmen. You haunt me more than any other. I’ve carried your whispers with me around the world in a bottle of Chanel no.5... carefully packed in my shaving kit for nights alone in strange hotel rooms... I have burned in flames of passion bursting from my skin when I think of the love you gave... I fall to my knees when in my dreams I feel your trembling fingers slide across my chest... I crawl on my belly, as a band of demons slice my back with whips of fire and barbed wire, trying to reach the alter of your breasts... and the salvation that I find in the nectar of your cunt... I burn for you still... and it was that night in Paris sitting in that train, waiting for the hum of the engine to turn into the rhythm of passing villages, that I realized... you were the one that got away... you were the one I should have stayed with. I have made many mistakes in my life but leaving you, my dear, has proved fatal. The night you called to tell me you were getting married... to ask me to stop you... I did not realize you were giving me a second chance... I did not figure out, till it was to late, that you wanted me back... I did not stop you... I never saw you again... but every night of my life since then I have burned for you... I will never know if what I felt for you was love, but I know I cared for you. I will never know if I could ever be true to you... but I know that I did lust for you... I will never know if I could have spent the rest of my life with you... but I know that I hunger for you... to this day... I hunger for you... I will never know if I could have made you happy... but I know that I desire you... I tear at my flesh to release my soul to find you... burning for you.... I will never know if the man you are with makes you happy... but I know that his soul will never burn for you... as I burn for you....

Diana Campos had me trapped in her seduction long before Carmen had come into my life... in fact I was still with ‘E’ when I first met Diana but as hard as she tried... and she did try hard and often to get me to give in to her... now... I was never playing hard to get with Diana - I just happen to always be with other women when she would slip back into my life... and when she would slip out... she would slip away to Buenos Aires or Mexico City... or Chicago... or Rome...
Diana, whom today is still very beautiful - perhaps even more so, made her living, when we were young, by modeling and acting... and she was good at it... but I never knew - when she was with me - if she was still acting or living in the real world... sometimes she had the habit - as do I - of drifting from reality and wandering off into a private world all of her own... and as seductive as that world may have seem to me at times... I had my own dreams to chase. Somehow... and I really cannot explain it, Diana slipped back into my life when I met Amanda... and she slipped out again... then she reappeared when I met Irene... and then she was gone... She came back when I met Carmen and stuck around just long enough to tease me before I met Camille... Diana and I were pieces on a board game controlled by some strange and cruel celestial being mapping out the borders of lust and love... everyone that knew us at the time were confused at the relationship she and I had... were we lovers?... no... did we want to be?... yes... could we have been?... sure... if she would stick around long enough for me to surrender to her charms... we would have gotten together long ago... but she would never give up her career for me... or anyone for that matter... but she told people she loved me... and these rumors would make their way back to me only to be dismissed and forgotten in a drunken haze as I dove into the arms of another.

And it was in the mist of a drunken haze in which I found myself in the night Carmen called... the night she asked me to stop her from getting married... that night I should have gotten out of bed... and thrown the girl I was with out into the streets and run to Carmen... but I did not... I poured myself a tall scotch and lost myself in the haze of booze and cigarettes and cheap perfume... A week later I was in Chicago chasing after Diana... and here for the first time I will admit she was the reason why I went to Chicago in the first place... she of course came and went - always hinting at the feelings she believed to be love for me... and only me... and I... one gin and tonic away from abandoning love forever...

A folded piece of paper on the floor greeted me when I walked through the door... it was simple and elegant... and seductive... and the only word written on it was ‘Atlanta’ she sealed it with a kiss and I could smell traces of her hand cream... I was on the first flight out in the morning but when I got there she was gone... but left a ticket for me with the concierge. Destination: Paris.

It took us about eight years to get together... she said she was getting out of the business and I said I could start over anywhere. Our relationship was one long slow seduction after another... and it’s all we did - taking turns seducing each other... loving each other... we bathed each other and fed each other and clothed each other... we would spend weeks at a time in bed... we were John and Yoko... and we wrote post cards that we never sent to the friends we had left behind telling them that all bets are off... I was off the market... yes... between sessions of love and sessions of coffee with pastries... we planned out the life we would live together... how we would make our money... where we would live... the names of our children... and our wedding would be a very private affair as I have no friends to invite... all those bridges have been burnt. We made love and wrote down our plans as if we were planning our alibis for some undisclosed crime that may or may not have occurred that fall... it seems that various pieces of art had been mysteriously liberated and redistributed during our season in Paris... and she watched over me jealously in her little apartment... turned out that she was very insecure... and very possessive... which I did not mind - it had been a while since a woman was that nutty over me... and in a way it made me feel good...

We had planned a trip to Normandy but the night before she got a call for a job back in Buenos Aires... though she had said that she wanted out - she was filled with excitement at the thought of it... turns out she thought she was getting too old and would not be working much longer... to know that she was still in demand made her slip back into her little world... two days later she was in Buenos Aires... I spent three nights alone there then I filled up my ruck sack and split... I dropped of the keys with the building custodian and let her know Diana was back in Argentina, the elderly lady, whose name I have long forgotten, already had Diana’s contact information... I was going to make my way back to the states that night but I wandered the city like a zombie with no particular agenda to fill and no concept of time... I ended up in the Latin Quarter and I think it was on Rue des Ecoles... or was it Saint Germain...that I met a girl named Sarah... I invited her to have dinner with me and our evening together turned into my winter in Paris... we made love early in the morning... she worked for a bank... and I wrote long letters to friends I no longer had... when Sarah would come home from work we made love until we got hungry and I would cook for us we would go chasing after her favorite jazz bands if it was not too cold or go to little shops trying to find old records from the sixties - the Rolling Stones... The Doors... The Beatles... and we would raid the magazine stands and book stalls on quai Conti... she had an old boxy record player that she used to listen to her records on that had only one speaker... I wanted to buy her a new stereo but could not find a turn table for the records... I remember sitting down on the floor to write the letter telling her I was leaving and hoping silently that I was not repeating the words I had written for Diana... I don’t know if Diana even read that letter... but the letter I wrote for Sarah I stuck in my bag and left with it.... and that brings us to me sitting in the train... thinking of Carmen.... I did not know then that I would end up back in El Paso... chasing ghosts round every street corner... haunted once again by the smell of her... by the sound of her... by the moans of slow passion of her... as I fall on my knees in the dark once more for her... and burn for her.......

(art work by Pam Powell)

Regreso a ti...

the rain in Hong Kong... the video

the rain in Hong Kong

The sunrise at the end of winter burns the skies with the prayers that will never reach the ears of Heaven - and fall on me like the wax from melting candles of honey...

The clouds rolling of the mountains carrying whispers of celestial dreams... the mist rising from the water bringing me the scent of abandoned lovers from across the sea...

The sound of my fathers voice that I chase down empty halls... all the hellos and good-byes we never got to share are waiting for me there - in the mirror... smiling back at me...

The sound of a soft heart beating and the sound of her breathing in the dark... in my bed... in my arms... on the other side of the world... I contemplate her kisses and try to decipher the intricate subtleties of her perfume...

The words I used to seduce her and the poems I will never write... all the hearts I have broken... and the women that brought me to my knees...the lips that conquered mine...

I dream often of Buenos Aires - how I surrendered to her thighs... how I emptied out my soul to her with all the love I never gave any woman...I paid for her kisses with gold...

She was gone in the morning but left behind the longest confession I had ever read... A love letter from a prostitute who let her feelings get carried away... she got caught up in our game...

The sun rose that day... the last day of winter... and burned the skies with the prayers that will never reach the ears of Heaven - I lit a cigarette and read the first line again and thought of the rain falling in Hong Kong...

if you forget me...

palabras para julia

goodbye jack vettriano...

"it's red and it's bloody
clenched tight like a fist
love is tattooed 'long his knuckles...
cut here along his wrist...
and it's lonely and strong
still it beats on - no I know not why
you're love has gone... away..."

I believe...

I believe in magic and wishing on a star
I believe you can lose yourself if you don’t know who you are
I believe in miracles, I believe all dreams come true
I believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross for me and you

I believe every road I take will lead me to my destiny
I believe one day I will become the man I am meant to be
I believe John Lennon and Elvis sing in a Heavenly choir
I believe you have to live and love with a burning desire

I believe you learn what you’re made of when the times get tough
I believe we can change the world if we all love enough
I believe in truth and honor and I believe in rock ‘n’ roll
I believe in living free and listening to your soul

I believe Atlantis lies at the bottom of the sea
I believe my broken heart has almost forgiven me
I believe the time has come to fall on our knees and pray
And I believe I’ll find the missing piece of my life someday...

You Melt Me

You melt me
Like a comet in the sky
You melt me
Like lightning in your eyes
You melt me
Like candy on your tongue
You melt me
Like a snow flake on the sun
You melt me
...
You melt me
My heart is now a flame
You melt me
When you say my name
You melt me
Like a forest on fire
You melt me
You’re the spark that lit my desire
And you melt me
...

tu cuerpo esta a mi lado...

no es nada de tu cuerpo...

nada sin ti...

I shot this about two years ago... the poem is twenty years old.

encounters

Prolog to a dream...

If I died before touching her,
before kissing her,
before looking into her eyes
once more,
then I have truly been cursed.
And the wind that blows
is just the wind
not the breath of God,
and the rain that falls is just the rain,
not the tears of a lonely angel.
And the stars are only fading lights
from dying planets,
not diamonds
floating in a velvet sea.

If I died before I could hold her
in my arms once more,
and feel the beating of her heart,
and hear her whisper in my ear,
then the clouds
are only clouds
not the pillows she sleeps on.
And the moon is an ugly rock
not a stolen pearl
from a Chinese goddesses necklace.

It seems that destiny has other plans for me...

I thought that I was through slaying dragons for you
But on the desert bed I stand - My bleeding heart beats in my hand
I thought I would be fine leaving you far behind
But here I am again - the same fool I’ve always been
I know that I should be - chasing after my dreams
But it seems I’m lost in time - lost in the tempest in my mind
Lost in the rhythm of this rhyme...

I thought that I was through writing love songs for you
But here I sit in the dark - scheming schemes to break your heart
I though that I was done - said I’ll take it on the run
But the words I long to write keep me trapped in the night
And I know that I should be - chasing after my dreams
But it seems that destiny - has made other plans for me
To bring me so far from the sea...
...so far from the sea...

"Your poetry is so lyrical..."

She said your poetry is so lyrical
I bet she wishes it was more political
Don’t be too analytical
But everything else I post is too damn cynical

At least she isn’t critical
Of my quest which is so Biblical
for the love I seek is mystical
Not just something Physical

Though I may come off heretical
And my views conceived as radical
You should know I’m only being theatrical
Before I’m lost in my Sabbatical

So allow me to be whimsical
If my poetry seem the words of an imbecile
Who would like to be invisible
Cloaked by a love inexplicable
 
art work by Pam Powell

Happy New year!

so.....
the new year is here...and the world has still gone ccazy... we can only put out possitive energy into the universe and hope for the best... I have been late up sick in bed for the last few days not doing much... out of boredom created a new blog - not too sure were I will go with this or will it will end up - guess you could call it a tribute to the art of beeing "cool"... have a happy new year - good luck to you all... and stay warm... unless it is summer where you are at - then stay cool...

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