Thursday, May 5, 2011

Boogie Baby

"I swear I can dance longer than I can fuck."      
                                                          Jane Leiby

        Before she knew it hands were on her hips, shoulders and arms, and someone with a headset was talking into Zuri's ear. Out of instinct she almost whirled around, ready to throw down and take lives with her powerful and quick hands, but Zuri with wide eyes was smiling and pointed over Ariana. She turned around and saw a blank space towards the back of the club, with special swiveling lights around it and small stairs leading to it, like a stage. It was elevated maybe fifteen feet off the ground, looked like a 12x12 circle. Ariana turned to looked at the men, some had headsets, bouncers, some were just excited patrons.
        She asked over the music to Zuri. “WHAT?!”
        She leaned in as Zuri explained, “It's an extreme hona to go up to the platform, they see you for a spirited danca. You must go!” She laughed hard and pattered her shoulders giving The Chosen One a cheek kiss, “GO BOOGIE BABY!”

Friday, April 29, 2011

Let it Snow


"I'm never a bad girl, but when I am, I certainly don't get caught."
                                                                                                — Peggy the cashier at Publix       

The snow was coming down thick, heavy, slow and steady; like a tortoise showing up the hare. The brown leather briefcase in the fat hand was getting powdered like a field from a crop-duster. So was the portly gentleman holding it as well. It was late in the day, the sun starting to hide it’s golden rounded head from one side of the world and show it to the other.
He was nervous walking through the doors of the restaurant placed on the street clouded with pedestrians rushing out of work for drinks, for dinner, for cigarettes, beer or merely decompression in the metropolitan area.
A manila folder with details of a specific nature nestled next to all kinds of photos and stapled documents and paperwork inside a briefcase that contained information of the highest priority.  Information that he knew could get him in front of an oversight committee full of crotchety older men who didn’t like things that were done outside of the pages of their strict “By-the-book” standards of practice. 

            Neither did she. . .

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

A Review: Hanna

Joe Wright did something with this one--he separated it from the garbage it could have been in the hands of a. . . less capable director.

The Wolf In Sheep's Clothing tries to bait the young and impressionable

Fairy tale? Fairytaledom is where is this is inspired from; but in the end isn't exactly a thriller/chaser. And we also get some unexpected but well-placed magic injected into it's veins, causing a nice and steady flow of wonderment through the blood stream. It is also a coming-of-age story as well. A coming-of-age tale. . .

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

A Review: Welcome To The Rileys

I remember when I first caught the sweet, rich smelling wind of this film being made; the cast and crew involved--and I got excited. Then I remember when Ebert posted his review of it after watching it at Sundance last January--and I felt a great of swell joy at his reaction.

See, if you are in fact a reader of my literature, then you would know that The Rog and me tend to see films and movies through the same or very similar set of eyes. So with his posting of his thoughts on the Jake Scott film (Son of Ridley Scott and Nephew to Tony; two producers on this) I was most pleased in deed. And now I am very inclined to agree with the man as well.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011


Sitting here in my navy blue boxer briefs, chosen on random I now see the irony due to the fact that the colors of the trade are Navy Blue and wheat. I go in in one hour.

I wonder to myself if anything will be okay, fuck one thing. Fuck, "It'll be okay."


Probably not, given my history. I wish I could "choke smoke from my Ferrar." But alas, I do not own one.

It's been a most, very, certainly, undoubtedly hot minute, since a few things have occurred for me. Most of them not around due to my own choosing, some I feel I have no control.

I was set to jet-set, but couldn't exactly get that to happen. This time, on another's request, not mine. But I suppose they changed their mind. . .

When they changed their number. Hmph. . .

I haven't flown but they always manage to get themselves into the air just take-off, leaving me at the airport terminal crying, holding myself and getting security looking very intently at me. I probably look like a terrorist too scared to set off a bomb. Mom! Nope, jail.

  1. First one goes back to the last one. 
  2. Then another leaves for her other.
  3. Then another doesn't just leave, she ghosts. Ghosted son. 
CIA snatch-n-grabs have been messier. She could teach "Old Batsy a thing or two about disappearing!"

Sitting here in my navy blues, I wonder to myself if anything will be okay.

This book? Who knows. Great Hendrix song too. People by it, people praise me for doing it, but not a single one them reads it. The next one? I have better hopes for actually.

My love life? Next.

Work: we'll see upon transfer.

Beer helps, not by much, but it sure alleviates. It sure does. Not to mention tastes terrific, the expesnive stuff anyway. Not Vodka Tonics, that stuff shoots even the most vile of women right passed drunk and straight to complete and total monster.

Cigarettes don't do anything for me but clog me up, but fuck it. I've seen people four times as old, smoke and die from unrelated illnesses. So I puff, puff, and do not pass. I have a nice spot I'll drive to just to have one, my own little gift to myself. I wish it was a balcony in some downtown district at night with lights, people, horns, cops on horses, food smells. Or so high up you jut get that faint honking and wind, but alas. . .

"I still feel you, in the taste of cigarettes. 
Why could I ever want to.
Just tell me, it's tearing you apart.
Just tell me, you cannot sleep."

We call it cat-howling. Standing there, crying at the moon with your cat(s) blasting bleak vocals at the white orb begging for things to "Just be okay." I am THE BEST at this new past time. It requires beer, but sometimes if your in a tight spot, you make do and perform it sober. And sometimes I crack and call the number, with liquid courage of course, and to no avail. And get shot, the bullet, the arrow, the needle, they pierce, breaking on through to the other side. Jeezus that band is truly magnificent. I don't and don't wish to know why James doesn't like them.

I have all these demons that float through my wet, red stream of blood, begging me to embrace them; powerless, I oblige.

I don't usually do this, because it seems fake to me, I'm not one of those "These are my written feelings please swallow whole the world is dark and I gargle gravel to get through it" kinda people.

At least I'm not one of those sob-stories doing things that would make any judge a temp restraining on you so fast your cock would harden.I love hearing those stories from chicks, because it makes me feel so much better about simply letting the piss hit my shoes, and walking away until it dries. My feet aren't soaked anymore, but sometimes this Mike Mockery feeling of misery and woe is too much for little red-kid won-ton soup loving self.

Godamned goddamn.

Hahaha! Where's Wilson when you need him.

Coockoo Coockoo Cuchoo what's me and Nicholson to do? I hear Galifinakis tried it too. Backer acted. Spell that right? Fuck that shit, thy shoot you all day. And feed it to you until your drooling more than one of those girls. (Late college night with Texas assholes, don't ask).

I suppose if I analyzed less, and tried more, I'd be balling, but when you get such a shit-fuck image of yourself hammered into the submission of your con-and sub-scious, you can't really blame yourself can you? Well, you can shadowbox it out. Or try at least.

I have no clue where I'm driving, and this road sucks too. I want the quite one with only trees, trees that let the moon and sun shine break though in rays.

Maybe I'll go look.