End of Summer Squash

The end of the beginning: 

The end of summer? not even close when you live in South Florida. It's business as usual down in the tropics. Chlorinated swimming pools, the beach, playing Frisbee in the park with the dog. heat and more heat. i smell meat cooking on the grill and i don't eat meat anymore but i cant say i don't love the smell of lighter fluid and hot dogs and hamburgers. A rib-eye steak on a grill? oh yeah. 
Sure I'd like to see leaves change color. I'd like a three-some Halloween. I'd like you to invite me to your town for lunch. show me the books you read. play me of the music you like. show me the undies you wear. expose everything about yourself in short sentences. text me your life story, email me the easiest way you come.


Consider short distances. the drive to work.
the holiday.
the big move away
is only a short distance to
any single
hearts desire
her leap of faith is
only depth perception. words
in a box.

blood virus.
my bones on your bones.

short distances
I'm clicking your home
page

and reading your
scars


-Today is home-made red sauce, down on the chopping block we have two kinds of summer squash and sweet peppers which are sauteed in EVOO, garlic and red pepper flakes. The sauce goes in. Some time goes by......cook pasta as directed on side of package. Mix in with sauce. Serve. -

sky is womb and she's the moon

we'd speak of food like porn in secretive sexual whispers, in moans and low tones. two religions. our prayers and favors carried out on knees. the philosophy of a good fuck or a perfectly seasoned steak. the taste of melted butter, pepper, a squeeze of lime. bruises and grill marks admired as art.

there was the weathered airstream trailer painted the colors of mexico where we bought one taco after other. the lime soda, the hot sauce. The night we pulled off the highway so you could sit on my lap in the drivers seat, riding me forwards back. The farmers market excursion randomly searching out mangoes and oranges. your lips warm from the sun. How about that old cuban guy who sells seafood from the the pier? live blue crabs and pink key-west shrimp. that was sex, baby. A salt water boil, steaming pots and clanking dinnerware. we can talk like this for hours. wet mouths and appetite. blood and wine, chocolate and wine, bread and honey.

Her tooth hurt. the one in the back.
her tooth fell out. It was only a dream.
something was under her pilllow.
a coin under her pillow.
there was a strange boy next to her. he was pretty and warm.
It was only a dream.

i declare a cease fire

the temperature has dropped below eight-five, so my windows are open, and there's a breeze carrying in the smells of molasses, oranges, mesquite, papayas, rum, powdered sugar, arroz con pollo, newspapers, dogs, road tar, cigars, garbage, perfumed women, babies, lumber, paella, sex, car exhaust, chlorine, mint, horses, manure, coffee, lime, gardenias, seafood, Tabasco, stone crab, prostitutes, lemonade, barbecue, pianos, sweat, the ocean, bananas.

Carving through bone

House clean. oven hot. the windows open with light pouring in- warm smells of food and clove. Football chatter coming from the T.V. Tennessee scores again.
I played my guitar out on the porch for awhile. strum and hum. I need a high and low voice to back me up. A me and a you. Ive written lyrics for this im working on but they are vague. It's more the feelings. when i woke up I decided on a melody but it sounded to much like something ive been listening to all week. That happens, you hear or read something and you can't help for it to sink into you. Then you have to release it somehow. It shows up your art. Im thankful for the inspiration.
I like the sounds from outside. the birds and motors low hum, the cars that pass. I think the entire neighborhood is cooking all at once. Everything smells so good. The air and the sky is amazing.


We don't share memories of having holidays together. Not my birthday or yours, not valentines, thanksgiving, christmas, not easter, not halloween. We have between all that. The in between. We are the love in between. We have become our own holiday.
I glance over at the night stand. I can make the shadow of my watch. Something familiar. Something me, something from home.
I'm in her bed under blankets. I am wrapped safely in her lies. She is drowning in mine.
we keep breathing. now and after. Time won't wait for us.
My watch keeps the time. Its touched you, it's spent the night in your room. When i last looked at it I was with you. I'll look again someday and be somewhere else. With someone else.

I wonder how it would look worn on your wrist. Heavy and big with glowing numbers illuminate the cool darkness. hands, to count our minutes and hours to count when we meant something and when we didn't. the fall. the falling apart. when you call me I will note the time. I will remember when you say goodbye. I will say...at two o clock tomorrow i will be over you.

I don't think you ever really move on from someone. you just make room in your heart for new people.

slumberland:999 miles

get into work. click on computer. there is work left from yesterday and i change screens to look stuff up, i count things, i compute, i estimate, i click my mouse and move it here and there and up over there. this is how things get done. my eyes are already starting to burn. I get down by my drafting table and do 100 30 quick push-ups. blood is flowing now, all i can think about is writing. I found some pictures last night i’d like to post before someone else does. It’s frustrating when you save a picture thinking you’ll be the first to unveil it to the world. Of course, you won’t unless you were the one who took it, and all the ones i take never get re-blogged. and it’s such a shame.

It’s such a shame about us.

i do more work. distraction. I shuffle papers, write up invoices. i like this pen. it writes smooth and i like my spidery handwriting. i need an envelope. money is good. invoice + mail it = money. that’s a good thing right? Don’t let anyone tell you there isn’t money out there. It’s limitless, like everything else. The truth is everything i need I already have. It’s already in front of me. In front of you. I have everything i need. just your love…your love..where is that?

I wonder if it’s to early to log into my tumblr. Is it to early to see girls sucking big fat cock all over my screen? I can take it. My blood is flowing. im no prude. i don’t want to become numb to it. Sometimes it isn’t art, it’s just a woman with her legs spread and a dick in her mouth and it can become redundant. Is it to early? or is it just what i need.

There is a common thread but we all don’t see beauty the same way. I like a breaking heart and there are plenty of those too. I decide to log on. As i suspected the first 5 photos posted by who i “follow” are women with no clothes. white, asian, tied, kneeling down, ass up. It’s before 10 a.m. who doesnt like a morning boner. The next few posts are broken hearted and love quotes. There is no difference between the two. You are either searching, or finding, or in, or out, or missing… love. The common thread.

I like photos of food, another common. our tastes in food differ as much as our taste in art, women, porn, music. Something to bond over, something to relate to. something to cook for you, bake for you. the women who have been in my life can all make great pancakes. usually, blueberry. I wonder does she make them for him now. will this post be enough to satisfy me for awhile. I hope so. A distraction. I’m essentially getting paid to do this. Many of us are. Right now. Paid to write and post and be beautiful. art. I have no complaints. Everything i need. I already have. and once, I even had you.

it was magical. the kiss. it’s how we started things. it’s how we ended things. or did things really end. Do they ever?

why did i have to learn love from movies and television. I always wished to be like that guy running down the airplane pre take-off or jumping from a dock on to a moving ferry boat. I take the girl into my arms. I can’t be without you

she is waving goodbye with a beautiful sound track playing in the background. me, i just wave back. But i wanted to be the guy holding a boom-box over my head outside her window- In the rain. That Lloyd Dobler kid because (to know him is to love him).

the accumulation of ghosts. it’s more like that movie. pain is often involved and dialogue not unlike a kevin smith film. I am the out-takes to peoples lives. i am the one who drives her to marry someone else.

maybe it’s because I’ve always secretly rooted for the bad guys i

n movies. the villians with the cooler costumes and better entrance music, better hair. Deep down thats who the girls always wanted. I mean, if there was no bad. how would you know what good is?

in the end, you’ll see there isn’t much difference. there is good in even the most misguided of hearts. look, i’ll show you. (cue music)

re-posted from my tumblr

and I am no king

my girl and me, we are driving back from the flea-market, we are hot, thirsty and hungry from walking around for about an hour in the South Florida sun.
It's lunch time and she says...you know what I really really feel like having right now? a veggie burger from BK. I wasn't even aware they sold veggie burgers and I bet her they don't have it.

I find a BK fast, it isn't hard. We go inside and there it is on the menu. VEGGIE BURGER. She wins. So I order two, one for myself, apple chips and a diet drink on the side. Okay, I didn't get the veggie burger. I can't lie. You can clearly see in the picture the wrapper says Steakhouse burger. I haven't had fast-food in over 4 months that isn't a lie. But I figured if I didn't get fries and had the apple things it wouldn't be so bad. Anyway, I'd been wanting to try the Angus beef burger. . It's $3.99 just for the burger. (the average cost of a full combo meal) but either i was extremely famished or it was well worth it. That is a tasty burger! .
She tells me her Veggie burger is wonderful too.

When I was about to order a homeless guy walks up behind me. I'm in the so called bad part of town. over where we have the giant flea-market and drive-in. He shyly asks me for a quarter and opens his dirty hand to show me he has a dollar and some change and wants some lunch.

I reach in my pocket and give him all i had left, which was a 5. His eyes lit up. He didn't have to order from the dollar menu. he thanked me over and over and then ordered an awesome lunch.

what was this feeling i was feeling? what was this warm light that was washing over me? Am I such a fucking uncaring bastard most days, that this feeling is so new to me?. I felt so unbelievable for helping someone out, making someone feel good. I felt good. I felt alive for once doing something for someone other than me. I felt like the King of fucking Burger King.

Wine of the week: EVIL. It's a ruby red Cab. hints of berry and notes of spice. I spotted it while shopping at Whole Foods Market. I have a thing for trying to find killer twist-off wines for under 10 bucks. And I quite like this one from Australia. Admittedly, I made the purchase based on it's cliche alternative name and packaging. I had it with Stuffed Peppers and Grilled Short-ribs on Sunday.
All Photos:
goodwinter
Art by:
artandghosts