THE LOST TAPES Vol.34

   Back to school
   Meeting an old friend
   Though he looks 15

***

   “mirror, mirror on the wall
    who’s the fairest of them all?”
fucking robotics projects giving me nightmares

***

“Tem um sofazão ali. Bora deitar?”

***

Daddy’s got an Iron Maiden shirt
and a cozy leather jacket
Little kid jumping up and down in the rain
to the dirty sludge doom playing

***

Pissing on the church
Spitting on the church
Punching on the church
Barfing on the church

We talk, we do it
True religion rockers
Fuck your god

***

group of schoolgirls eyeing me
bet they’re talking about how hot i am

***

She had done acid last night
and danced like Charlie Brown to Teenage Riot
also sucked a lot of dick for five bucks a piece
She has huge dark circles under the eyes
talking gibberish, fails to give the cop an explanation
Awake for days, stealing a grocery store

***

Though I don’t show a smile
I’m not sad, not necessarily
As fine as can be, really
You’re not bothering when asking
“how are you?”

***

Maybe recognizing your characters in the street?
Come up to someone and say
“Hey, you would do a great withered pariah
I love the tone of your skin and
how miserable you’d look (crying) in a Chanel night gown.
Your greasy hair spread on tile.
Shots of you on the window, finger gun,
pretending to kill Kennedy.
I bet you a Sonic Youth shirt that
with the right atitude and a camera
I can make you feel like James Bond.”

***

Walkin
Tricot magazine lying on the ground
Decaying, barely readable
Open at a guide on how to make ponchos

Good old lady
Retired from the nightclubbing
Welcomes me to her home
Wearing a red poncho

I go home, open up the laptop
First ad I see
Is a beautiful gray poncho
On sale

***

I should be happy
Then, why do I feel so miserable?
So rotten inside
Outside too, a little
Kind of wanting to just
Throw myself to the pigs
To the bed, or the sofa
Get up from the floor
Own up to my achievements
Feel realized, hopeful
Or at least not so miserable|
|
Comfort is nowhere to be found
But on the floor
Hugging a bottle of Jack

***

maybe today i’m more for the visual
little too tired to move a pencil
but shaky enough to hold a camera

***

homeless man rolling up a lit cigarette
burns the tip of his fingers

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Untitled 04

Hi Hello How are you feeling today? Not much. What about you? I’m here. Yes, you are. Yep. I am. Why are you here? Do I need a reason? (How does one fill the silence that follows?) ***    I remember that afternoon. That strange afternoon when you told me to shut up, to not be a bitch, and I was too overwhelmed by my own feelings to see that you were crying too. To be fair, you were doing the dishes, I could only see your back every time I opened my eyes, through the blurry haze of painful tears. The sweat got into my eyes, and you know how it hurts when you just finish a coat of sunscreen and sweat get into your eyes, right? Double-pain, mourn on the necrotic-narcotic, you knew my friend had died just last night. I know you know that ‘cause he was your friend too. You got his cool Merzbow collection, and said it’s ours, you said I could take the first run 1996 Pulse Demon used CD with me after we listened to it together. You know how to cheer me up, how to make me smile t...
Read more

home at last

   We arrive, finally, at the building’s front door. Out of the car and barely able to stay on my feet I sit on the sidewalk, back to the wall, waiting for Priscilla to find the keys amongst the mess in her backpack.     “You know what just came to mind?” I ask.     “That you are way too hungry to be spending this much time looking for keys and we should just crash at the dumpster tonight for christ’s sake? Maybe order some pizza?” She replied, clearly fed up to give a shit but doing her best not to break my heart.    But I was too numb to care, and responded,     “No, I was thinking about Bovary. Did you feed her this week?”     “Of course I did, what? If I didn’t papa would come back to life and beat my ass. He loves these fucking cats more than me.”     She finds the keys after a while, but not before the manager comes down to check what was going on and open the door for us.      Today was one ...
Read more

an "ode" to all my friends

old friends everywhere, waves, nods, ‘mornings to sit down at the empty café and hear the latest gossip or even feel the sweat pooling on my back for I still insist in wearing these heavy clothes even mid-summer this time sat on one of my benches, in one of my parks looking at all the city pricks passing by at all the traffic outside the gate at all the gray in this world wild concrete world, house to all that’s modern, to all that’s me even me not being all that modern a den made to fit me like a buff man’s pinky ring and also all of my friends, mineral, vegetal, animal like that big rock you find driving out of town for a bit or the pothead homeless that knows my name, rocking a 100$ bong or even, and would you look at that, the handful of people with an active role in my life chatters, lovers, friends and foes the kids, the teens, the adults, the olds a cheer from the poor homeless at the shelter a group hug from the children at the orphanage a couple handshakes and smiles at the nu...
Read more