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| December
24th 26th 2006 Xmass Eve and Tuesday |
Were
is the Snow? |
 Bees…the color of
snowflakes.
 I
was in a room. Large, long, almost like a wide hallway,
high ceiling, warmly lit, hard marble floor smooth
but curved. On the left side of the room were large
windows starting form the front all the way to the
back of the room and on the right side were doors also
leading from front to back. There was a lounge couch
at the end of the room, there was a door behind the
couch, my coat was on the couch, I want my coat so
I walk towards it. My heels are clip clop on the marble
floor I look down, and my feet are hoofed, like a satyr.
I walk down the long room; I turn my head to look out
the windows. It was cloudy outside and the room was
high up above the ground. I can see the ground though
on the horizon. It was all smooth stone pavement, hilly,
hazy, shades of grey, I know all about shades of grey.
I hear doors behind me opening and closing and people
talking, I don’t turn
around though. I look forward to get my coat. I reach
the couch and grab my coat, I need to look behind the
couch, and I have to for some reason. Behind the couch
are tiny beehives. I tap one gently, foolishly and
bees, white bees, albino bees horde out by the thousands
covering the room like snow flakes, the buzzing sound
you would naturally hear from a horde of bees sound
more like a gentle wind blown through a flute. Some
of the snow-bees start to land on me but do not sting
me. I’m covered like a snowman now, again I say
the bees do not sting me, instead they whisper to me,
tiny whispers all at the same time, the snow is trying
to tell me something, I am completely covered with
the snow, the snow bees, its heavy, there heavy, I
start to quiver, and they hold me tight, they keep
on with the whisper, there words are blended with the
wind-which is there wings, so many chatter to me softly,
snow flake bees. I feel there frustration, cause I
cannot make out what they are trying to tell me, trying
to get me to do something, to many all at once to much
for me to understand, they fly off me and fly away,
my coat disappears out of my hand and I start searching
for my coat.
`````
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My dream starts to get jumpy after
that. I remember my cousin was in there I’m talking about the giant
room, and my little brother as well, didn’t see
ether one of them but I know they were there. I remember
going outside to the grey land, I’m interacting
with different kinds of people, I remember angry bees,
only a few though, were chasing me, and I remember waking
up, at first I thought I really woke up, I rubbed my
eyes and go for the bathroom, but, there was a giant
bee hovering over to my right, I guess I really didn’t
wake up. This was a bee, bumble, yellow an black, giant
like the size of a 20 pound turkey, kind of blurry though.
I swat it with my pillow but then I wake up again, I
jump out of my bed and I start to look for my coat, there
it is, I look in my pockets and find…nothing,
I always have something in my pockets. Now I feel there
is something missing, something I dropped or lost,
or maybe it was taken. |
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Dec 24th 2006
I remember when December in NYC had snow falls
like this. |
It’s
the eve of Saint Nick 2006 and there
is no snow.
Its annoying ya-know, no snow
on Christmas Eve. Was-up with that? Hey Jack,
lets getting cracking with some cold winds and
electric air. Make everything look clean and
new. I miss those seasons. |
  
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| December
22th, 23rd Saturday. About Friday. Day Time and now
night as well |
Mafia |
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| December
20th Thursday. About Tuesday and
Wed Night... |
This
I give you? |
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| Thursday Morning
I make a Scromelet, That
is an inside out omelet |
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Tuesday Night I eat lots
of Junk |
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| Tis
the season to get loaded fa la
la la la, la-la la la. Everybody in NY is really
loaded fa la la la la, la-la la la.
Except for me. I was stoned cold
sober on Tuesday but still felt kinda
hazy, foggy of sorts-in-D’uh
head an-ma-braim. I was kind of hung
over from Monday night as well. I’m
diabetic, so the alcohol stays in my
blood long after I stop drinking. So,
yes, since I have been boozing it up
since last month and on Tuesday I decided
to go dry for a bit, yes, I am now
feeling it; that feeling of too much
of the party thing. It’s ok,
my senses are a bit dulled and my vision
is a little impaired with that blur
on the edges thingy, you know? What
happens to normal eyes on a cold dry
day, but I’m a-okJ I’m
not really complaining. It’s
funny, cause on the way home after
my match, there were a whole lot
of people on the streets of NY really
drunk, I mean laid on the ground
drunk, bumbling over drunk, sleeping
on the subway car drunk. This all
happened last Tuesday. |
    
    
    
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Wed Night: I
eats lots of Sweet
Yummy Cookie
Get your fucken
finger out of my cake Julie...
 
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| December
19th Tuesday. About Last Monday Night |
huh? |
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| December
18th Monday...About Last weekend |
Move
over Tom Cruise |
I’m reading about
this amazing dude…this dude is amazing.
Like charismatic amazing. Like the only
way he would go is by the hands of people
who can never be as amazing like him. I’m
not saying I admire him, but these are
the kinds of cats that walk the earth not
like the rest of us regular dudes.
Rasputin
Political
Figure / Mystic / Drinker /
Known as the "mad monk," Grigori
Rasputin was an outlandish figure in the
court of Czar Nicholas
II of Russia. A wandering peasant and
self-styled holy man, Rasputin became a
favorite of Nicholas and the Empress Alexandra
in 1905 after he laid hands on their son
Alexis, apparently healing the boy of hemophilia.
Rasputin was soon a fixture in the royal
household and a particular confidante to
Alexandra. Wild-eyed and unkempt, Rasputin
was strangely charismatic and his personal
magnetism was legendary; at the same time
his bouts of drinking, womanizing, and
wild behavior created a scandal in Russian
society. He was finally killed in 1916
by a cabal of aristocrats who feared Rasputin's
influence had grown too great. Rasputin's
death became the stuff of legend: assassins
fed him poisoned cakes and wine, and when
the poison failed to kill Rasputin they
shot him and beat him. Still Rasputin didn't
die, until finally the men bound him and
tossed him into the Neva River, where he
drowned. |
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Slipping
away...
What-a-ya-slippen
on you wonder? I’m slipping
on ice, cold hard winter ice. Holding
my whiskey flask in my right hand
and my dignity on the left, all
under a weekend moon in the quite
of the late night. I think slipping
on a sheet of ice, and then falling
down, hard, is a lot better, than
trying not to hit the ground from
your slipping. That dance you do,
to stay on your feet, looks so
undignified and silly next to just
simply falling down, and then just
standing up again.Yes,
in a heartbeat you’re on
the ground with out the dance,
yes, this is much better, not to
fight the fated fall.
Sometimes
one can get away with out falling
on the cold hard ice, but at what
price? Your dignity? Your self-respect?
To proud to admit you walked into
a mistake? A cold slippery mistake?
O’ that dance; that silly-silly
dance of not landing on the cold
hard ice; your warm breath smokes
in the cold air as your arms flail
about struggling to keep standing
on your feet, to proud to take
the fall, or maybe just scared?
So really, what did you get away
with? I can’t do it.
I
cannot do the dance on a sheet
of cold hard ice. Not me, no racing
heart or struggle to prevent the
fall, I’ll just fall. Then
ill laugh, then I will get back
on my feet and take another shot
from my whiskey flask, and look
were I’m going next time,
if any. |
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| December
16th 2006 Saturday. Just a little about Friday night....
I'll put up the rest of the stuff later |
New
Song in the Juke Box |
Poem by William
Fuentes
Persist was so passive
an unwavering.
Resist was so alluring
an undeniably sweet. |
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Poem
By Sri Chinmoy
Persist, You will
succeed.
Resist, You will
succeed.
Smile, You will
succeed.
Cry, Lo, you have
already succeeded:
You have perfected
your love life.
You have manifested
the all mightiest Reality-Dream. |
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This Morning
I think about what I do
I look inside and think…
I will be respectful of
that…
But then I push. No. Instead,
I then pull.
There shirt rips at the
sleeve and I end up falling, horizontal,
into a brick wall made of water.
Then I wake up. No. Then
I fall to sleep, sleep to wakeing dreams.
Cause that as far as it’s
going to go. |
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Last night Dec 15th 2006
Friday.
I tried to dotty about my usual
manner of toasty-ness during these holly-days
of love and gift giving that I am so desperately
trying to make memorable. The last few years
before this one left me dry like a cheap Champaign
and kiss-less under a deadly missal toe. It
worked for a little while, now, it turned into
a vice. The booze; the booze turned into a
vice. At least it did today. So I stopped drinking
after my third shot and went home to my bed.
In my bed, in my head, was this
quote that was afloat over my thoughts about
the evening. “Persist, resist”.
This is dangerous, I think. This quote got
me into-and-then out-of a corner I painted
for one and myself accidentally.
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“Persist,
resist” The Header for her Blog; Jina Bloton.com. This
is where I first read this intriguing quote about eight months
ago. |
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| December
15th 2006 about Thursday night.... |
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Me and my Friend Mojito
Doug does the Mojito dance
My Mojito moves
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The bar was a mile
long |
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My peep likes to
eat |
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D'uh Jazz, food
and drinks were good |
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I was here but then was gone
I had almost had one two many
so I carried on...
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| December
14th 2006 ... About Last Night Wed. |
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Dialog 8:30pm
December 13 2006
in the bar by the pool table
William: “Hey
Julie, what is the name of that guy who
was yelling out Stella? Stella! In that
movie, Streetcar
named Desire, you know
that guy, what’s his name?"
Julie: “Huh?
What? What Movie? Oh wait…Huh?
Oh yeah, Rocky….?"
And I was sober when she said that...
 
Rocky Balboa and Marlon
Brando, to some people, are just old yellers...
Its a good thing
I decided not to drink today |
    
I slowed down with the devil juice today....
    
Talk to the hand
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Shes Landed |
I come in peace |
How |
Stop were you are |
Nanu-nanu... |
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIKE
DJ Party Chip can spin a mean
Dorrito
 
Strawberries made me think
Rocky is Marlon Brando |
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