I don't need to know...

I don’t need to know who you were
And what you did before
I don’t need to know what you do
When you walk out my door
I don’t need you to give me any reasons
Or explain how you spend your time
I only need you to surrender to the moment
When you’re in these arms of mine

I don’t need to know who your friends are
And what you do when I’m not around
I don’t need to know all the details
Of what you’ve heard of me around town
I don’t need you to call me every hour
To let me know just where you’ve been
I only need your thoughts to be tender
When you’re back in my arms again

I don’t need to know what you are doing
Every minute of the day
I don’t care who you spend your time with
After you go away
I don’t need to know what your friends think
I could really care less what they said
I only need your sweet whispers
When you’ve fallen back into my bed

Like there is no tomorrow...

eMi says “there is no tomorrow...”

Perhaps she is right and this has just been one long day. One long train ride to the edge of hell and back... a long climb up the mountain to reach the steps to Heaven only to stumble and tumble back down to the salt pit... Perhaps there is no tomorrow... and I have been drifting in and out of reality for so long as I claw my way through the diamond mine, in a sweet day dream of my own design, that I have forgotten the life that waits for me beyond the corridors of my mind... Perhaps there is no tomorrow... and these words... well, they just might be the last words that I write... so allow me to say the words I never got a chance to say... to Edith - I wish I could have made you laugh more. I hope that you are well and have learned to enjoy the moments of your solitude... I know your heart was breaking when I found you - but laughter has never been the same without you... to Alicia - I always only wanted your body... you are insane... but so was I... and the only time we could make any sense out of our relationship was in bed... to Anita - I will finally answer the question that you asked so long ago - it was only when you would leave me to go back to him that I felt alone... to Kelly - when I said “you make me want to do stupid things...” I meant it... I would have gone away with you... anywhere... just with you... I don’t know what held me back... do you know what held you back... to Diana - you were worth the wait, my dear... you were worth the wait... but I just couldn’t wait anymore wondering what in the hell you truly wanted from me... to Laura - you have to admit... ours was indeed a scandalous affair... and if I could... I would do it all over again with you... to Gloria - I sat at the back of the room as you read my first published piece from the school paper in front of the class... your emotions and your tears helped put my life in focus... when you finished you were a wreck... I have worked very hard to capture that moment again... you will never know how you helped to form this man - thank you... to Carmen - I’m sorry... I was a fool... I never meant to hurt you... know that I have suffered in return for the pain I caused you... I miss you... I burn for you... I would kick Satan in the balls for you... I would steal an angels wings to get back to you... and give the very best of me to you... to Amanda - yes... from Bombay to Boston - I have left behind sweet words for you... you will never know how you still inspire... to Rebecca - the life we live is a result of the choices we make... you made your choice... you decided on what it was you wanted... don’t look back... I’m not there anymore...and to Veronica - your kisses have been a curse... your tears - the crown of thorns wrapped around my heart... I have gone around the world but cannot escape the whispers you planted in my mind... I wake up some nights to the sound of your voice tickling my ear... I look in the mirror and see you standing behind me... crying... when I am at me desk I can feel the warmth of your breath on the back of my neck and your tears rolling down my shoulder... I can smell you on my skin... on the sheets I have slept on around the world... I can feel you laying next me, where you should be... the ghost of you lingers in my arms and in my dreams and rises in the steam from my morning shower... I can still feel your fingers stroking my hair... your teeth biting down on my chest... I remember the sound of your heart beat fading in and out... and the way you struggled to breath out a whisper... a half spoken word that got lost in the chaos of my mind when you slipped away from me... I have tried to be a good man... I have tried for you... to be the man you would have wanted me to be... the man I am meant to be... that the ghost of you would be proud of me... I have not always been good... I have not always been kind... and there have been many times that I wanted to just give up... but your reflection or your shadow and the sound of your voice are never too far behind me... to remind me... before you drifted away like a lonely ship lost at sea, I promised to live and love like there’s no tomorrow... but...

eMi says “there is no tomorrow...” - my dear sweet eMi - you are beautiful... if there is no tomorrow fill the day with your beauty... fill these hours that pass so slow with kind and gentle words... teach the world around you to enjoy more music... more literature... more art... in Spanish and English and French... in Japanese and Portuguese... do everything you do with passion... live with passion... love with passion... hold onto your friendships with passion... and if you must hate... hate with passion... but fill this world with your passion... if tonight is all we have... then write us all those poems you have been hiding from us... tell all those stories you have been waiting to tell... paint all the paintings and sing all your songs... give away all those kisses and be generous with your charms... be kind to strangers and hold those dear to you in your arms... if tomorrow never comes... if tomorrow never comes.

eMi says “there is no tomorrow...” but still... I will spend a few more hours speculating the worlds markets and scheming up ways to keep a little bit of what’s mine, mine...just in case the stars fade from the sky and I find myself saying hello to a new morning... but before I let that happen I will take Lorena in my arms and seduce her with the words I meant to give Amanda... I will give her the kisses I was saving for Carmen... and I will make love to her the way Veronica would want me to make love to her... like there is no tomorrow...

Is it raining in London tonight...

Lightning burned the midnight sky

Like it once burned inside your eyes
I long to feel the magic of your touch
Missing you girl hurts so much...
Do you ever think of me - wonder what I’m doing now
Ever wonder where I’ll be when the rain comes down
Why must it just be in dreams that I’m by your side...
Is it raining in London tonight...

New York, New York brought me to my knees
Atlanta, Georgia was a mystery to me
Mexico City made me lose my mind...
Sometimes love can be unkind...
Do you ever wonder how we let it fall apart?
Will you ever find that lost beat of your heart?
Do you ever wish I was there to hold you tight...
Is it raining in London tonight...

Thunder explodes in my heart once more
It’s not the same rhythm as before
My heart wont beat like it did when it was yours
This might be love but I can’t be sure...
When I hear the thunder - I wonder where you are
I look up to heaven to find a falling star
But these dark clouds are hiding the moonlight...
Is it raining in London tonight...

Faith of the Heart

In my white shirt...

The subtle glow of dawn climbing over the mountains of concrete and steel and glass that is Mexico City melts into the perpetual amber hues of the morning that hangs above us, giving the lucky few - and the unfortunate many - a glimpse of what the foundation of Heaven is made of. I went out for my morning walk and tried to work out some ideas and plot out some schemes rolling around in my head but there is the whispers you left dangling on the edge of a dream like the phantom lyrics to some song I once heard in a filthy, smoky bar in Tokyo... but... what was that melody... I can’t recall... was it Dusty Springfield... or Gladys Knight...? I don’t know... but I remember Ayumi whispering the same words to me through the crackle of a broken stereo and the murmur of a drunken crowd... and those words... “besame... besame otra vez...” Yes, she spoke Spanish, and just as you did early this morning before you left me for whatever hero you leave me for in your dreams, she would say those very words... and like you... she would never remember the last kiss of the night... but it is something more than those words that all the women whom I gave the best of me to have in common - and they did also say those words in one language or another - that thing that made them mine... the turning point in the relationship that puts all doubts to rest... the moment she makes my shirt her own.

I have lost pens and watches and an assortment of trinkets I have collected around the world to the many women that have come and gone... but more than pieces of my soul I have lost some of my very most favorite button down shirts to the loveliest women in the world... and perhaps, without any surprise to me, many of those shirts met their demise in a ritual fire of a voodoo ceremony designed to raise the ghosts of love forsaken to chase me from one beach to another only to abandon me before the sun comes up as I have done to so many others myself... and I am sure many of those shirts met the cold steal of kitchen knives and scissors to turn into dust rags and window cleaners... but ahh... what wonderful shirts they have been... crisp cotton and linen... and buttons of mother of pearl... the many shades of blue and the stripes of white that raced down my sleeves like a skiers tracks down the Alps... some textures and weaves I will never be able to replace... the shirts I had made in Hong Kong and Singapore and my last Ascot Chang... Armani and Ellis... Calvin Klein and Hugo Boss... Ralph Lauren and Geoffrey Been... and those classic Arrow and Hathaway white shirts...

If it is true that we are given a vision of the history of our lives in the moments before we die, let those visions for me be a parade of the women that seduced me in nothing more than my white button down shirt with a straight color and her black stockings... and diamonds or sapphires hanging from her ears... with vodka on her breath and Chanel seeping through the valley between her breasts... From Sao Palo to Macau... and every port of call From San Francisco to Tierra Del Fuego... Sweet Lord... give me one more night with all of them before you throw your chains around me and hang me from my feet over the fires of hades... but most of all Holy father, give me all the nights I have left between the legs of only one... that one with skin of alabaster and eyes of fine amber... the skinny fragile one with the mole on the side of her left hip... the girl with the thin lips that tremble when she kisses me and moves her tongue across my lips as if every kiss she gives me is the first kiss she ever gave... and let every kiss always be like the first kiss... that girl that whispers gentle words to me as she drifts off to sleep in my white shirt and her black stockings... give me the nights I have left to write out verses on her back... to draw little butterflies and colibri up and down her spine... and leave the traces of my lust on the back of her neck and the small of her back... If tonight be our last night together... have room service fill our room with chocolate cake and a case of Johnny Walker... bowls filled with strawberries covered in sugar and Chet Baker recordings... If tonight she doesn’t drive a steak knife into my heart... then let us live it all again tomorrow...

I look up from this computer screen to see that the dining room is beginning to fill up with more early birds. This City is truly one of the Great Capitals of the world... I see the German business man wrapping up his phone call to Hong Kong... it is so obvious, as I too checked in on the Hong Kong Market before I left my room this morning... there is the little old Frenchman sitting at his usual table lost in a dream... he smiles at every one but his eyes have given up on life and I wonder if he simply just came here to wait to die... how long has he waited to be reunited with the one that left him behind. The Chinese students that occupy the fourth floor will be down in an hour but the Italian girls down the hall from us wont be up till noon... my waitress has Asian eyes and her skin is losing its tan... losing the last traces of Summer in Mexico - perhaps the scent of Acapulco or Isla de Carmen lingers on her wrist - I have caught her in moments looking at the little Frenchman with sadness in her eyes... does she think the same thoughts I think when I see him as well?

You wont read this until you get back to El Paso and open your e-mail... I will be in Panama - thinking of you and sorting out memories and conversation we haven’t had yet... listening for your whispers in another strange hotel room. The sun is trying to break through the windows and the sound of the morning shift is beginning to fill the streets outside... I will go up stairs and crawl back into bed with you... and wait for you to rise and wander around the room looking for nothing in particular like a doe in the woods wondering how it got there... in my white shirt... and your black stockings... dragging what’s left of my soul on the floor behind you...

Is there an angel?

Is there an angel - high on a mountain
On the other side of the sea?
With ink and pen - who writes out the disasters
In my book of destiny...

Is there an angel in the city tonight
With bow in hand and wounded wing?
O, send your sweet arrow to my true love
That she’ll come back to me...

Is there an angel somewhere in my room
To sooth my restless heart?
To pour me a whiskey and stand me back up
After I’ve fallen apart...

Is there an angel in the cream in my coffee
Singing to the morning sun?
A song filled with hope and sweet inspiration
To help me move on to the next one...

Baby will you teach me...

Baby will you teach me how to hold you
The way you need to be held
Baby will you teach me how to touch you
The way you need to be felt
Baby will you teach me how to seduce you
Because I want to do it well
I want to do more than just charm you
I want to keep you under my spell

Baby will you teach me how to caress you
To keep you from walking out my door
Baby will you teach me how to kiss you
To make you want me even more
Baby will you teach me how to undress you
Because I want to make you all mine
I want to do more than make love to you
I want to keep you ‘till the end of time

Baby will you teach me what to tell you
To chase away all your fears
Baby will you teach me how to impress you
To make you want to keep me near
Baby will you teach me just how to love you
Because this time I want to get it right
I want to give you more than I’ve given before
And I wanna give it to you every night...

the Captain...

what inspired this piece...

Looking through you...

What inspired this piece...

How Can I Give You Love?

How can I hold you in these arms
After I’ve beaten and broken your heart?
How can I protect you when I’m under attack?
After I’ve let you down - why would you want me back?
How can I give you love - If it’s something I’ve never known?
After I’ve shattered your dream - we both end up alone...

How can I promise you’re the only one?
When the night disappears I’ll be back on the run
How can I promise this time it’s real
When this heart of mine has forgotten how to feel?
How can I give you love - when I’ve got nothing left to give?
After I’ve taken every bit of you - How we both gonna live...

How can I give you a life I have squandered?
Alone in this world - you know I have wandered
How long have I waited to taste your kiss?
Only to end up in a moment like this
So how can I give you love - when I don’t even know how to trust?
After I’ve conquered your mind and your soul - all that is left will be dust...

Victor Vogt - as real as Dash Deringer
Photo by: Lorena M.

oh, tell me the truth about love...

Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

Desire

In her eyes

In her eyes I linger
Until the stars fade from the sky
Until the oceans have gone dry
And the birds have forgotten how to fly
...
In her I eyes I wander
Until the desert winds no longer blow
Until man has lost his taste for gold
and the whispers of a poet have no place left to go
...
In her eyes I'm stranded
Until judgment day has come
Until wild horses forget how to run
And fires no longer burn on the sun
...

my name in numerology...

I was chatting with a friend on the other side of the world about astrology and the topic of numerology came up - she said that my name is no accident... as I don't believe in accidents I asked what does my name have to do with my destiny? What does my name have to do with my personalty and my character... with my ideals and my wants...? so we found this site on numerology.. and... it sounds just about right...

You entered: victor leroy vogt

There are 15 letters in your name.
Those 15 letters total to 82
There are 5 vowels and 10 consonants in your name.

What your first name means:

Spanish	Male	Victor.
Latin	Male	Conqueror.

Your number is: 1

The characteristics of #1 are: Initiating action, pioneering, leading, independent, attaining, individual.

The expression or destiny for #1:
A number 1 Expression denotes the skilled executive with keen administrative capabilities. You must develop the capacity to be a fine leader, sales executive, or promoter. You have the tools to become an original person with a creative approach to problem solving, and a penchant for initiating action. Someone may have to follow behind you to handle the details, but you know how to get things going and make things happen. You have a good mind and the ability to use it for your advancement. Because of these factors, you have much potential for achievement and financial rewards. Frequently, this expression belongs to one running a business or striving to achieve a level of accomplishment on ones talents and efforts. You have little need for much supervision, preferring to act on your own with little restraint. You are both ambitious and determined. Self-confident and self-reliant must be yours, as you develop a strong unyielding will and the courage of your convictions.

Although you fear loneliness, you want to be left alone. You fear routine and being in a rut. You often jump the gun because you are afraid of being left behind.

The negative attributes of the 1 Expression are egotism and a self-centered approach to life. This is an aggressive number and if it is over-emphasized it is very hard to live with. You do not have to be overly aggressive to fulfill your destiny. The 1 has a natural instinct to dominate and to be the boss; adhering to the concept of being number One. Again, you do not have to dominate and destroy in order to lead and manage.

Your Soul Urge number is: 5

A Soul Urge number of 5 means:
The 5 soul urge or motivation would like to follow a life of freedom, excitement, adventure and unexpected happening. The idea of travel and freedom to roam intrigues you. You are very much the adventurer at heart. Not particularly concerned about your future or about getting ahead, you can seem superficial and unmotivated.

In a positive sense, the energies of the number 5 make you very adaptable and versatile. You have a natural resourcefulness and enthusiasm that may mark you as a progressive with a good mind and active imagination. You seem to have a natural inclination to be a pace-setter. You are attracted to the unusual and the fast paced.

You may be overly restless and impatient at times. You may dislike the routine work that you are engaged in, and tend to jump from activity to activity, without ever finishing anything. You may have difficulty with responsibility. You don't want to be tied down to a relationship, and it may be hard to commit to one person.

Your Inner Dream number is: 5

An Inner Dream number of 5 means:
You dream of being totally free and unrestrained by responsibility. You see yourself conversing and mingling with the natives in many nations, living for adventure and life experiences. You imagine what you might accomplished.

go to the site here

Without words...

I sat up all night looking out the window, counting the flashes of lightning splitting the early morning sky like cracks in a delicate porcelain tea cup. The rain falls and I inhale its aroma and remember three long and lonely months in Hong Kong - lost in a city drowning in the rain, as I drowned in bottomless glasses of scotch and kept myself barely afloat in the arms of shop-girls and hostesses and charming bank tellers... after all these years I have learned only three things in my miserable life... one - I dream in Spanish, unless I dream of my father singing the songs of his youth... two - Love is the only thing worth living for, and sometimes worth dying for... and three - You can buy happiness - in Hong Kong... I sat there a little bit longer after the rain began to fall and I try to make sense of my choices once again - it is a senseless ritual as there is no worthy result, no magical moment of enlightenment, no answers to the “why’s” and “why not’s”...

The rain in El Paso is not the same as in Hong Kong. Hong Kong has a fragrant all it’s own that the rain can never wash away - it is the scent of money... riches and prosperity await even the lowliest of citizens and visitors alike... and the rain is a gift of good joss that falls on that little island that sparkles in the night like a bejeweled pocket watch some gwailo China-Trader Captain let slip from his hands as he waved good-bey to his young concubine while his ship slowly steams away to India...

In this little room - so far away from the waters of Hong Kong - the fragrance that fills the air is that of “Carolina Herrera”, it slowly drifts out the window and mixes with the rain and the moans and sighs left behind from last nights love making... some of it will of course linger on the pillow cases and on my chest... and with her lipstick that stains the collar of my shirt. I will bear it as my scarlet letter until my dry cleaner absolves me of my sins with her magic formulas and
unforgiving glances from behind her alter...

Lorena - my mistress and my muse for the last few weeks is a gentle young woman, perhaps the most feminine and girly of all the women I have ever known. She is elegant and fragile (or she may only seem to be fragile for my benefit), She is a woman from a different era - she reminds me of the women I would watch on t.v. on Saturday nights when the Spanish stations played old movies from the forties and fifties - she dresses with a hint of nostalgia and has confessed to me that she wished she lived in a world where women still wore gloves and hats and had their hair done weekly at the salon... I said “do it my dear, and I will begin a crusade amongst my brethren to bring back the double breasted suit, and the fedora, and shiny wing tipped shoes”... She is my “Vettriano Girl”... in a red and white polka dot dress collecting shells on the beach at the end of a summer day... and she is the hungry wolf waiting in the back room of the China Market Shop in a little black Dior... Her kisses are softer and smoother... and warmer than any I can remember... her breath is warm coffee... she leaves every room she was in smelling like her and her scent is a mixture of cosmetics and grooming products that remind me of the shop-girls from Lane Crawford (Hong Kong) and it leaves me dizzy and incoherent like one of the kids down town sniffing glue from a brown paper bag. Her hands are small in mine... her fingers long and smooth... and they chase my demons away when they brush through my hair in the middle of her slow kisses and when they tremble as she unbuttons my shirt to touch my chest... her legs are pale and thin but her buttock is well defined... she does not were bikinis or swim suits, but appreciates the gifts of lingerie I surprised her with... especially the long purple silk night gown that I found that drags on the floor unless she is wearing high heels, which then looks like a perfect fit on her and the slits on the sides that go all the way up to her hips that reveal moments of her pale thin legs when she sways... legs I long to have wrapped around me... for some reason... when those legs are wrapped around me I feel like I am hers... Like I am her man and with her is where I am meant to be... the way I felt when Carmen wrapped her legs around me... and the way Anita did as well... but I know where I am meant to be is on the other side of the sea... where the rain falls for three moths on a city built by opium... and silk... and silver... and gold... Lorena’s love making is the complete opposite of Rebecca... she prefers things slow and with her I must pay close attention to the details like a sculptor molding the clay to get to that perfect moment that will be captured forever in time... I have to seduce her slowly and gently... I must stroke her skin ever so softly that my fingers brush her shoulders and her arms and the curves of her neck no more than the whisper of the breeze... I have to charm her into my bed with delicate words that land on the rim of her ears as gentle as butterflies landing on the edge of a tulip... her breasts must be handled with the utmost care... the way you would cradle a blind chick that has just pecked her way out of it’s shell... as much as I would like to ravage her body with mad passionate lust... I must restrain myself... for my kisses must be precise and carefully calculated... imagine if you will trying to catch a snow flake on your tongue or gently flicking at a drop of melting ice cream from a collapsing ice cream cone... yes, half our night is only fore-play... the other half is making love...

The thunder rolled over the city as if God himself was kicking a garbage can down the street... and woke up all of West-Texas... Lorena arose in fright... before she realized I was not in bed I rushed to her side... it took her a moment to catch up to reality... to come to terms with the truth of things... who she is... where she is... and who I am... her eyes opened wide and sucked me in... and for a moment I slipped out of reality... her breathing was a little fast and she was about to laugh... you know the way you laugh after you have been startled by something silly... but I stopped her before she could make a sound... I brushed her hair away from her face and let my fingers linger at the back of her neck... I leaned in closer to her face and my lips began to form words that no gentleman would dare speak in a room filled with sailors and whores... but better judgement prevailed and without any words between us I took her... with out apologies and with out any shame I took her... I did not make love to her... I devoured her... I unleashed my lust for her... my longing for her... all my desires for her as if I held Carmen in my arms once more... and in between kisses and moans and growls from hungry demons I think of Carmen... I think of the words I never said and the love we never made... and in those moment in between desire and lust... and sanity and reality... I want to give it all to Lorena... I take her the way I took so many young girls from Bangkok to Buenos Aires... and she let me...

When it was over I held her in my arms until we both began to breath in the same rhythm... slower and satisfied and tired... I held her jealously in my arms the way I held on to that box of letters from Elsa for fifteen years... But Lorena is not Elsa... and she is not Rebecca... and she is not Carmen... I could not use her like a bar girl from Soy Cowboy and get away with it... I had to make up for the seduction she had been denied... and so... without any words between us I commenced to seduce her... slowly and gently I began to make love to her... one fragile inch of her delicate body by fragile inch... imagine if you will trying to reform a shattered Ming Dynasty Vase piece by piece without any glue... but by sheer will power and the gentlest of thoughts and you will have some idea of the apology I tried to conjure up from the remaining darkness... I made love to her with more emotion and honesty and vulnerability than I ever had in a very long time... in fact... I couldn’t believe I still had it in me... and when Lorena let out a sigh that pierced through the dark heavy clouds that hung low over her apartment I knew I had gone to far... for I have heard that sigh so many times... it is the sound that comes just before a heart breaks... a heart I will break... and that sigh made my soul tremble... but still... I continued to make love to her...

Her eyes would not let go of me as I dressed. I wanted to smile at her but I knew what she was thinking... and I did not want to make her feel that I might be mocking her emotions. I threw on my blazer and walked to the bed... she was about to speak but I leaned in to kiss her... I stopped just in time to breath in a small fragment of a word before I let my tongue glide across her bottom lip... we stared at each other without words for quite a while trying decipher flashes of light in her eyes and she trying to read the thoughts escaping my mind... I kiss her forehead and inhale the fragrance of her hair... and hold it in my lungs the way you would cherish the last of the cannabis... I get up to leave but she grabs my hand and squeezes it tight... I bent down and brought her hand to my lips and held it there until she was convinced that she was now truly my woman and that I could not go on without her... without saying a word and without looking back.. I walked out of her apartment... and stepped out into the rain...

I ran up the street to a coffee shop hoping to get be some fresh brew while a wait for a bus to take me uptown but as I neared the door of the café my eyes focused on the woman standing in front of the entrance... wide eyed and mouth agape in disbelief... she shook her head ever so slowly and the guilt of an unfaithful husband came over me by surprise... I stood there and waited for Rebecca to run up to me and throw her hot coffee in my face - I braced myself for the worse... but she stood there in silence calculating the facts... where could I be coming from and where am I going... had I made love to her... of course I had... did I seduce her with gentle words and visions of far away places that I promise to take her to some day... I did... and was she perhaps still lying in bed thinking of me and planning out trips we will never take to Buenos Aires or Monte Video... absolutely...
As she tallied up the obvious in her mind she eventually remembered that she was the one that ended our relationship... and perhaps it was the anger stirring up inside of her or other emotions that maybe still linger... she started to cry... I don’t know if she was angry or frustrated... or both... she stomped like a child, who did not get her way, to her car... but she did get her way... maybe one day soon I will tell the ending of that story but for now... the rain is falling on me...

The bus I wanted to catch was coming up the road so I walked slowly to the bus stop - I never got my coffee - part of me did not really want to catch the bus and just stay there in the rain... I waited for all the other passengers to board and stood there a bit... the driver... without saying a word smiled at me inquisitively and I shook my head... he nodded politely and slammed the door shut!

I lifted the collar on my coat and began to walk north... “she did get her way...”
I once met a women from the Philippines named Sofia in Singapore... and several times she promised me love like I will never ever find anywhere in the world from anyone... the way she promised to love me... if I would devote my life to her... I do not know whatever became of her...
The rain falling on me today is filled with bad joss... it is not the rain in Hong Kong... and I am not the same man I was in Hong Kong... I tried to calculate all the “why’s” and the “why not’s” in my life... but it would be easier, perhaps, to count the raindrops falling... this rain that has taken on the scent of Lorena’s bedroom... My memories of Hong Kong slip further and further away... like the sound of my fathers voice... the rain comes down hard... I think of Carmen... and run to find a place to hide...

So... you want to be a Vettriano Girl too, huh?

I still tumble for you

I’m not gonna wait around
For you to change your mind
Not gonna chase the ghost
That you left behind
I’m not gonna wait to see
If you come back around for me
Not gonna waste my time
On no foolish misery...
Still I don’t know why
I keep thinking of you
I keep looking down the road
Hoping I might find you
I can’t tell you why
I’m writing these words for you
I guess I can’t deny
That I still tumble for you...

But I’m not gonna wait around
To see what you decide
Not gonna take revenge
On the love I’ve been denied
Not gonna hope and pray
You come begging on your knees
Not gonna conjure up your face
From my drunken memories...
Still I don’t know why
I keep a pillow empty for you
I keep looking down the hall
Hoping I might find you
I can’t tell you why
I’m writing poems for you
I guess I can’t deny
That I still tumble for you...

artwork by: Dmitry Shorin

we're not lovers anymore...

We’re not lovers anymore...
We’re not waiting for each other
Behind half opened doors

We’re not friends anymore...
I can’t make you laugh
when I find you crying on the floor

We’re not acquainted anymore...
We wont smile or be friendly
if we run into each other at the store

And we’re not even strangers anymore...
I’ve resumed living the life
That I was living before....

what does she want?

What does she want?
Why is she looking for me?
I’ve got nothing to give her
But my insanity...
And haven’t I wasted
Enough of her time?
She chose her life
So let me live mine...
We said all the things
That we had to say
What was left of our love
We threw it away...
So what does she want?
Has she come back for more?
She can’t break this heart
I’m not the same as before...
I don’t want to listen
And I don’t want to be cruel
Just leave me alone
You already made me the fool...
So what is the reason?
What the hell could it be?
That she’s come back around
Looking for me?

(art work by Pam Powell)

Te amo...

All in love is fair...

You have resorted to crying before we say good-bye... you pretend I am a sailor on his way to the edge of the world who you may never see again... and I use these fantasies that fill the corridors of your mind to conjure up your desires and passions and drive your savage love making... and you let me do it.
I manipulate your thoughts and desires by giving you the love that you don’t admit that you want and making you work hard for the man you want me to be... “yours...”
You are shy and fragile now and you seduce me slower - with more patience and thought and drama... you are Scarlet O’Hara and Ilsa Lund... you charm me to you by needing me - you want me to protect you and you want me to possess you... you want me to take care of you but you also want me to let you live your life - your life that has nothing to do with me when I am not around... and I let you...
You feed my ego... you inspire me, you motivate me, you make me want to make this a better world for us to live in... you leave me hungry for more and my hunger grows when I watch you walk away after we say good-bye...
We’ve gone beyond playing the games that lovers play - our seductions have a greater purpose - every glance... every touch... every kiss... is designed to keep us coming back to each other for more... and you come back for more... you come looking for Captain Butler and Rick Blain to save you from some potentially disastrous situation purposely planned and initiated so that I can be your hero... I know what you do and why you do it... and I let you... and you let me save the day... you let me be your hero, your knight in tattered armor. You’ve abandoned all those bullshit feminist ideals for what they really are - a cruel hoax... to parade me in front of all your friends and the world as “your man”... and you beam with pride and bask in the envy of all those sad and lonely friends of yours that secretly desire the new life you have found but dare not show it for fear of being thrown into the den of wolves in some secret man hating feminist dungeon...
And I come back for more - to my gentle geisha in her garden perfumed by jasmine and cherry blossoms and the smell of rain... I’ve crossed deserts and mountains and restless seas to bring you precious jewels and love potions and books filled with unfinished poems... and only the flavor of the marmalade on your lips can help inspire the words that will keep you coming back for more...

ladies and gentlemen... "all in love is fair" performed by Kimiko Itoh:

"enamorada"

...and now...I'm falling...

forgive me...

In the air tonight...

ella que pasa...

one thousand poems…

One thousand poems are not enough
to tell you how I feel...
When my heart is broken
When the words aren’t spoken
And I don’t know what in life is real...
One thousand poems are not enough
to get me through the night...
When my mind goes south
And your name leaves my mouth
And your memory has stolen my sight...
One thousand poems are not enough
to ever heal this pain...
When my soul is aching
And my body is shaking
And your voice is thunder in my brain...
One thousand poems are not enough
to ever set me free...
This misery is bliss
this curse of your kiss
it’s all that’s left of me...

art work: Dmitry Shorin

to forget you...

This moment we find ourselves in...

For a brief moment I drift off into a dream... I float like a phantom from a lost reel of a Fritz Lang film, down an abandoned hallway, passing suites named after dead artists with do not disturb signs hanging on the doors like tombstones in a field of fallen soldiers ambushed by the conquering armies of love and lust and an assortment of deadly desires... I tumble down the stairs into the lobby avoiding bell hops and chambermaids and lost travelers... in my own spiritual hopscotch... I skip and I duck... and I pause just in time to catch two lovers in an embrace that can only qualify them as cheating spouses on a scheduled rendezvous... I skip and I duck and pause at the revolving entrance... a brass and glass merry-go-round... ever coming and going from our dream world to the chaos that is the reality waiting for us outside the Charlie Chaplin suite... I watch a fire engine roll by but the wale of its siren echoes at a distance... my heart begins to race... another red engine streaks past me in a blur followed by an ambulance... my heart pounds... don’t let me die in a dream... surrounded by strangers... I hear a voice over the lobby intercom... It’s not God... the concierge is paging some one... It is your voice... calling to me... whispering to me... it drowns out the hum... that hum you can’t hear... that follows me everywhere... that strange electric hum that seems to come from nowhere... and I think I must be dying... if I am finally free of the hum... but then I feel your hands pressing down on my chest as if you were trying to keep me from leaving my body... I open my eyes to find you hovering above me like a phantom from some lost movie reel... you stare at me with fear in your eyes... “I don’t want to lose you...” you whisper with a trembling in your voice that I have never heard before... you close your eyes and bury your head in my chest... for a moment... I don’t know where I am... I don’t know who you are... and you kiss me... you kiss me... slower than you have kissed me before... with a tenderness I have never felt from any lover... you bring your hands up slowly to my face and embrace it delicately... as if you held a Faberge egg between your fingers... it feels like snow flakes melting on my skin... it tingles and melts into my cheeks. I try to calm the chaotic voices in my head but it feels like it will explode... My head spins and it is getting harder to breath... My memory drifts to a summer long ago in Mexico when I got caught by a strong current in a muddy river when I was very young... how I was pulled down into the water and how I crawled my way back up... I remember how I tried to yell for help but not able to make any sound ass the dark water would only fill my lungs and take me under again... I don’t know how I made it to the side of the river... somehow I made it to safety... I remember chasing my fathers voice... I remember opening my eyes and feeling lost and alone and wondering if anyone knows I am gone... they found me that night sleeping under a bridge... I take a deep breath and you release a long sensual sigh into my mouth... a take it in... and I let it out... I take it in... and I let it out... I breath in deep and I can taste your kiss... a mixture of wine and pastries... “come back to me...” I hear a voice whisper... “come back to me...” my hearing fades in and out but I can feel the blood as it races past my eardrums - pounding out some Morse code that I cannot decipher... my eyes focus from the darkness of my dreams as if I am stepping out of a limousine into a street filled with the flashing lights of the paparazzi... I see you now... you are crying and you are trembling... I can see your lips move but the voice I hear is not yours... for a moment... again... I don’t know who you are... I don’t know where I am... down the hall way I hear my fathers voice... singing the songs of his youth... I hear him call me... I wake up... you fall on top of me shaking like a rabbit in the winter snow... crying the way I have never known a woman could cry... “don’t ever do that again...” you whisper in between sobs... I want to put my arms around you to comfort you... but I can’t feel them... my fingers are heavy... my shoulders are unfamiliar to me... “Rebecca...” I almost call you by another name... but the smell of your skin is undeniable... I could find you in the darkest ally of hell... “get off me...” Like a rabbit chasing a butterfly you jump to the side... I follow you with my eyes as they are the only part of my body that I can move... before I can ask what happened you shake your head and put your hands on me once again... you wipe the perspiration and the tears off my chest... “what do you remember?” you ask
I look up at the ceiling “floating... drowning... drifting... in and out...”
“You stopped breathing...”
I close my eyes...
I think of Carmen...
I hear the hum... that strange electric hum that the people around me don’t seem to hear...
You lay down next to me and rest your head on my chest... I want to tell you... all my secrets... But my mouth is dry and my lips want to call you by another name... “Rebecca...” I whisper... you bring a finger to my lips to silence me...
We stay like this all night... both of us too frightened to close our eyes... too frightened we might not recognize one another should we stumble into the others dream... too frightened to lose this moment we find ourselves in...

another beginning

The poems I wrote in Berlin

I didn’t keep any letters that Elsa wrote me
I didn’t keep any poems that I wrote in Berlin
I threw away the photos - of the girl from Mexico City
I have thrown away enough love to keep all the stars burning...

I didn’t mean to break all the hearts I have broken
I didn’t have to draw her eyes in every hotel room wall
I should not have snuck out in the dark - with all the kisses I’ve stolen
I do wish I hadn’t made all those drunken telephone calls...

I didn’t find Samantha waiting for me in Monte Carlo
I don’t know who I made love to - the night I spent in Stockholm
I didn’t keep the promise I made to Katerina in Morocco
I don’t know why it took eleven years just to get back home...

I threw away the ticket to get me back to Paris
I threw away Sofia’s phone number on the boat out of Singapore
I don’t know if I’ll ever learn what true love is
I know I’ll never throw away any love letters anymore...

All of these things and more…

These are the post cards I could never send
These are the photos of my lost and forgotten friends
These are the poems that brought me to my knees
These are the paintings that haunt me in my dreams
And these are the letters that form the words you long to hear
These are the nights I wish I could just disappear...

These are the songs I’ve carried in my heart
These are the memories that have torn me apart
These are the kisses that I never could give
These are the days I was born to live
And these are the moments I want to run away and hide
These are the nights I sure could use you by my side...

These are the wishes that still haven’t come true
These are the schemes I left behind for you
These are the pages of the books I’ll never write
These are the broken wings of an angel shot down in mid-flight
These are the whispers she used to sooth my wounded soul
And these are the nights I need a woman like you to hold...

My God.

My God is Love...
My God is Mercy, Forgiveness, and Understanding...
My God is Truth, Justice, and Freedom...
My God is Beauty...
My God is Laughter...
My God is Joy...
My God is Prosperity, Abundance, and Wealth...
My God is Knowledge, Wisdom, and Tolerance...
My God is Liberty...
My God is the right to choose...
My God is love...

I am made in the image and likeness of my creator...

I am made in the image and likeness of my God...

I am Love...
I am Mercy, Forgiveness, and Understanding...
I am Truth, Justice, and Freedom...
I am Beauty...
I am Laughter...
I am Joy...
I am Prosperity, Abundance, and Wealth...
I am Knowledge, Wisdom, and Tolerance...
I am Liberty...
I am the right to choose...
I am Love...

My God is Love...

My God is Love...

Now she's falling...

She was tangled up in the chaos... until I set her free
Now she’s falling through the twilight of some enigmatic dream
And I can hear her echos ringing out as she’s calling to me
Now she’s an angel falling through the night... suspended in her own scream

She was sailing blind in the storm... until I called the waters back home to me
Now she’s falling like a wounded dolphin to the bottom of the sea
And I can hear the song she’s singing jingling the leaves on my shade tree
Now she’s falling through the verses... in my books of poetry

Have I arrived as an artist...

"Getting something that lasts the test of time is difficult. I hope this poem of yours achieves that goal. For me, it is worthy. In any case, with your permission, it will surely be studied at one High School."

-eMi.

What will they learn from this I wonder... will they scratch their heads in disbelief that it took me almost three months to write such a simple little poem... will they be enchanted by the images I tried to conjure from the darkest parts of my dreams... will they marvel at the rhythm and the rhyme... Will they debate its meaning... is it a poem about love -or death? Is it about chasing your dreams - or about abandoning them? Is it about finding your destiny - or is it about leaving it behind? Is it happy... or is it sad... Is it about desire and lust... or tragedy and sorrow... I will never tell... in the end, it will be for your students to decide what it is about... but they should know that... when the last line was written... I fell to the floor and slept for two days and dreamed of an angel that tired of waiting for me to cross the desserts and seas of my dark and lonely dreams...

Little poem... big aspiration...

We write because we have a story to tell... dreams we would like to share... pain that needs to be healed... We write in hopes of inspiring. We write to teach others. We write when we are happy and when we are sad... when we achieve... and when we fail... when we find love... and when it slips away... we write...
We write early in the morning with coffee and the rain... we write late in the evening with wine and the pain... We write for strangers and we write for our friends... We write stories with no beginnings... and we write stories with no end...
We write with pen and paper... and we write code to send out on the wire... we write truth and lies and shades of grey.. Some words fade away... and some spread like a brush fire... We write with passion... we write with rage... we write endless sonnets... we write three words on a page...
We write..

As writers we hope that the words we leave behind will fall into the hands of some one who will make use of them - they will learn from them, they will be inspired by them, they will live a better, richer life because of them... we hope that our words will last the test of time and be taught in schools and debated over in institutes of higher learning... or at the very least... quoted by a graffiti artist in the mist of revolution... or is it just me?

The poem you are about to read is such a poem... it has big aspiration... it is the one work that I leave behind that I hope will last the test of time... it is the one work I leave the world as proof that I was here... that I loved... that I dreamed... that I lived my life with passion. I leave this little poem in hopes that it will fall from lips wherever people gather to say good by to their loved ones... when friends reunite to laugh and remember and share dreams that got away... where Scotts men and sailors gather to drink... when soldiers and peace officers raise a glass for the fallen... wherever whiskey and wine and cold beer flows... oh sweet Heaven, let them sing my prose...

For a Scottish Angel

I would cross the ocean on an old Chinese junk
Carry the tears of angels in a paper cup
I would chase all the stars until they no longer shine
Until there are no drums a’ beating in this old heart of mine

I would cross the Never-Never down on my knees
And leave behind the oasis I call home in my dreams
I would abandon the treasures in my sweet Singapore
For an angel’s a’ waiting on a cold Scottish shore...

I would dive into the water where the light has never shone
Crawl through the Sahara until I get me back home
I would race around the Arctic chasing dolphin and wale
Oh let the whispers of Heaven be the breeze in my sails

I would conquer every mountain in the world I must climb
Turn my back to the riches- perchance I might find
Now no devil and demon can hold me back any more
For an angel’s a’ waiting on a cold Scottish shore...

These poems…

These poems are simple - they’re not hard to understand
just tales of reckless passion from a reckless romantic man
there is no code to decipher - nothing hidden between the lines
just a heart that’s been tossed around the bar too many times.

These poems wont haunt you - you’ll forget they are here
just like you will forget that I wrote them with my tears
and like all of the kisses - I squandered in the night
these silly words will be forgotten in the morning light.

These poems wont linger - not in any memory
there’ll be nothing you’ll hold on to - to remember me
and when they find my naked body - cold and dead on the floor
in the arms of some fifteen year old Moroccan whore...

These poems I will scribble - onto the crumbling wall
for the ghosts of love abandoned that occupy the hall
love’s a dangerous language - is the lesson I did learn
These poems are the evidence - and in hell alone I’ll burn...

Lost - the video

Here is another poem recorded by "R" from what will now be known as the "late night session"... enjoy...