A supposedly fun thing I'll never do again

     I bought this new shave gel and the fragrance instantly takes me back years ago when I was vacationing with my ex. We were young and crazy and somewhere in the subtropics. Costa Rica. surfing and fishing, drinking and fucking. I brought along our video camera that recorded on 8mm video tape. she did some of the dirtiest things. I figured why not marry the slut and it wouldn't really be married since we are way over here and we live way over there. It didn't count. Just the honeymoon and sunshine and drinking and kissing other girls and the things you did in the men's bathroom. . 
The smell of this Nivea shave gel brings it all back and gets me hard. it makes me want to go searching the box in the back of the closet for the tapes. Problem is, the camera died years ago, I have no way to play them. It's comforting just knowing I have them. It's not good revisiting shit like that anyway. memories of a forgotten youth. Whores in love in a foreign country living out a fantasy or two. every time I shave my face I hear Spanish guitar and waves crashing, I see moonlight and think of the couple we went home with from that crazy dive bar. Slow dancing. Your lit cigarette and quiet promises. I wonder where the fuck you are. And does it still count?

do you like getting dirty teXt messages?

I'm from the generation just before Internet. From just after the fall out of 70's swingers and cb radios to the  apocalypse of divorce. From isolation to connection. Music on vinyl records to the 8 track to cassette tape to compact disc to mp3. the Ipod.  Beta-max video recorders, to vhs, laser disc,  and dvd.
From three local TV channels, tin foil and rabbit ears to OnTV, HBO, ESPN, DirecTV, tivo, Dvr, 60" high definition flat screens. holy shit.
    OMG.dont forget LOL (but thats getting ahead of myself)  The car phone as big and brown as a brick, beepers, cell phones,  text messaging,  and cam.  Overload. Give me back my comic books and flashlight under the covers. but I'm not scared. not really. I was young and looking for anyway to get off and all this new unsupervised time alone with my books was great , but then HBO after dark.  "The Hitchhiker," 'walking a lonely road where terror awaits around every curve. Walk with him, and you'll find yourself in some very dark places...places you wouldn't want to visit alone. That's why he's there. That's why he's always there. He won't hold your hand - but he'll make sure the only ones who get hurt are those who deserve to.'  
    I'm  from riding my bike 8 miles to the flea market just to pick up back issues of Penthouse magazine,  to now having instant porn,  to chat rooms, love@aol, instant messaging, livejounal, craigslist, myspace, tumblr, twitter,  it's everyone, everything - here and now at my finger tips. There is virtually nothing i cant know or have. there isn't a kink or fantasy i cant fulfill with the like minded. Yes, it turns out there are people out there just like me, with similar tastes in art and music and fucking. maybe you? love isn't any easier, never was never will be, but damn if we cant email or text to meet up in some shady motel on the side of highway 1. and damn if i cant place my zappos order for the 25th pair of sneakers i don't need.
The something different is the isolation that i once had and sometimes still crave and at other times don't want to be anywhere near again. i like the unknown and i like the silent moments between them. the sunshine at the end of my street. i like for you to tell me i can have you - if i wanted, if i were closer. oh,  the secrets we keep. and ending the chaos, all this mind fuck pretty picture overload is as simple as shutting it off, saying goodbye. stop writing, stop posting, stop staring at those little icons, stop dreaming, stop ......but now that we've made it this far, who can do that?  promise me thrills, I'll promise you jet-packs.  

yours not mine

She stood with her knees slightly flexed, one foot forward, head down, her hands at belt level, held slightly out from her body. Arrested motion. I saw them right away, lustrous black bees,enormous, maybe a dozen, bobbing in the air around her. At twenty yards I heard the buzzing.
    I told her not to worry, they wouldn't sting. I moved in slowly, as much to reassure her as to keep the bees from getting riled. Burnished, black-enameled. They rose to eye level, dropped away, humming in the sun. I put my arm around her. I told her it was all right to move. I told her we move slowly up toward the path. I felt her tense up even more. Her way of saying no, of course. She was afraid even to speak. I told her it was safe, they wouldn't sting.  They hadn't stung me and id walked right through them. All we had to do was move slowly up the slope. They were beautiful i said. I'd never seen bees this size or color. They gleamed, i told her. They were grand, fantastic.
  

  As I held her close she gave me a look that spoke some final disappointment. As if i could convince her, stung twice before. As if i could take her out of her fear, a thing so large and deep as fear, by going on about the beauty of these things. As if i could tell her anything at all, fake lover, liar.
     We held that inept stance a moment longer. Then i took her arm and led her through the field.

the fade away

 Am I her bruise? I wonder this under the halogen canopy lighting glow. In the stillness of night pumping four dollar-a- gallon gasoline into my truck. glug- glug- glug. road trips and bruises are an extravagant expensive. Soon, i fear we wont go anywhere at all. bruises and memories fade. will she remember me?  

I prefer to pay inside because enhances the two a.m. twilight zone experience. the people inside are crazy and smell like cough medicine and cigarettes. I feel i am seconds away from an armed robbery but nothing ever happens. there are zombies picking out candy and porno magazines devouring them like fresh brains. A girl with a blank stare. the floor is dirty. choosing the right energy drink is crucial. and let me ask you, at what age should one stop mixing every soda together to form the 40oz concoction we used to call " the suicide " as kids. I want to tell this  guy at the dispenser, holding his cup under one then the other, back and forth.  Dr.Pepper i believe is well enough alone (there have been extensive tests and studies) no need to hit it with cherry coke and mountain dew too. But it's his gut, his lost childhood. I open the glass cooler door avoiding   my reflection and choose a  red bull. Another form of suicide.

I kept the motor running in the truck, which is illegal. An empty car left running outside a convenience store is called a get-a-way car. I just call it my ride home. No cops. No hassles, I put the truck in gear. Red bull sweating bullets in my hand. Humid nights in south florida. Another then another then another. This is how it goes. I have to go to work in a few hours. I want to live somewhere where a scooter is a viable means of transportation. Somewhere like Italy or the Florida keys. A mint green vespa and the wind in my hair.. Aviator goggles and 5 dollars worth of fuel taking me 80 miles per the gallon. Every night a trip there and back there and back. This is how it goes.

this feels good this feels right

 

i like the shape
of your salty mouth
talking like this
your tangled
summer
hair
between my fingers

pirate ships sailed the
waters where
i live
i drink the same
purple wine
toss
my bottle over the side
with secret messages
inside

i found you
amongst the sharks teeth
and broken shells 
i found you
and drank your words
i poured you into me
until my
blood was
drunk
on your
love