Desert Rendezvous (a parody)

Angela was glad Juanita had insisted she come out; it was nice to sit and chat with the gals over a few cocktails. After last call, she said goodbye to her friends and strode out of the smoky bar and into the parking lot. Her eyes scanned the star speckled sky and the cacti dotted landscape. She opened the door of her navy blue Honda Accord and slid in. She fished through her CDs looking for something besides country albums, and settled on a 60s rock mix. She shimmied the key into the ignition and twisted. The desert pseudo-silence grew louder, crickets taunting her. “Damnit,” she grumbled. She cranked it net time for seven seconds and nothing happened. After rinsing and repeating a few times, she groaned and slammed her door on the way out. She swept the parking lot and was surprised to find that she was the last person to leave. She searched the web for the AAA number and called.

“yeah. The Rattlesnake Tavern… yes 505…” She impatiently thumbed through a Reader’s Digest, taking advantage of the dome light still functioning. As she began to decide going out was a mistake after all, an unmistakable glint of headlights in her rearview mirror snapped her back to the moment. Angela began to script what she should tell this stranger, thinking how big of an idiot she was going to look like driving a car with a bad starter. She shivered, but not from cold. Oh well, here she was, the damsel in distress. She decided to embrace the role. Gravel crackled under the truck’s tires as it approached. She studied her exhausted countenance and now unflattering makeup in the visor mirror. He’s just a truck driver–I don’t want to look too good for him anyway. He slowly and deftly maneuvered the rid next to her car and stepped down from the truck. Some boots, ha. She never knew what to make of a man in fancy boots–neither the boots nor the cocky attitude wearers impressed her. The driver was a hair over six feet, built like a baseball player. She stole a peak at his rear end before he turned around.

“How do you do, miss?” I’m Marco with Spare Tire Towing,” his warm voice put Angela at ease like a friend’s hand on her shoulder.

“Hello…Marco. I’m Angela,” she managed to squeak out as they awkwardly shook hands.

“What’s a-matter with the car?

She swept her bangs out of her eyes and replied, “Oh uh, I don’t know exactly…it was running fine earlier tonight and I thought it would be okay…”

“Are your lights working?”


He frowned. “Bad starter. Gotta tow it.”

“I would’ve been able to jump it if it was the battery” she claimed, trying to impress him.

He looked around. “From wh-” he started to inquire then thought better of it. He linked up the car and wenched it up onto the platform. “Where to?”

“You know I appreciate you coming out here in the middle of the night like this to help me, you look like you just woke up.”

“Thanks,” he rubbed his eyes and chuckled.

“What I mean to say is…do you wanna go watch the sunrise together on the ridge?”

He was unprepared for this question and it hung in the air for a solid moment.

“Uhh…well I guess…I mean… sure.” He grinned and took her hand, helping her into the truck.

The tow truck lazily crawled up the road to the top of the ridgeline just as the golden disc of the sun began to peak over the horizon. She scooted over to him and lay her head on his shoulder. Half the sky was as colorful as a rainbow as the brilliance of the scene began to blind them. The cacti cast long shadows and a hungry coyote chased a clever rabbit through the brush. The pair in the truck held hands and exchanged increasingly bolder glances. Marco opened his mouth to speak and hesitated, “Angela…this is nice,” he leaned in and kissed her. Her lips met his eagerly. Then they trembled as she slowly exhaled and glided her fingers down his chest. He came to her again, gently brushing aside her hair, when her wig fell off! She gasped and shifted away, clutching the hairpiece. He gently seized her chin to raise her head. She hesitantly looked up and to her surprise, he tipped back his cowboy hat, revealing his own stark baldness. He was bald as a baked potato except he had sideburns. She gasped, this time in delight, and pulled him to her. They locked lips and he caressed her back and squeezed her breast gently. She stopped him, “Wait…have you watched the t.v. series Shaft?”

“The whole season, why?”

“Good,” she indignantly blurted and then pulled him over again. She slid her hand up his thigh. She rubbed his crotch and began unbuttoning her blouse, when he stopped her and ripped it open, roaring like a lion…only to see she was wearing an undershirt. She gracefully removed this, except for the fact that she elbowed him in the nose as she did. She pouted about the shirt, “My aunt Luna made that for me!” He hastily apologized. One palm on his now-bleeding nose, he unzipped her skirt and gently massaged her. She moaned and wiggled her drawers off. He popped open the glove box and pulled out limited edition Tiger Woods Hole-In-One® condoms. He eased inside her and she pleaded, “Marco!” He flicked her nipple and kissed her neck loudly. She pulled him into her, grasping his buttocks harder with each passionate thrust.

I thought love was only true in fairy tales…” Marco sang softly.

“Or for someone else, but not for me,” she continued. They found a physical rhythm with the tune and grunted with pleasure. They interlocked fingers and he tripled the pace without warning and she panted like a race dog. “Oh, Marco!” She bit her hand. “John…Jacob…Jingleheimer…SMITH!” She burst. Marco’s head reared back and his eyes squinted shut.

“Ah-ah-achoooo!” He sneezed powerfully right in Angela’s face. He sloppily cleaned her off with his forearm, and mumbled, “Sorry,” grinning sheepishly.

She slapped him. “Don’t Stop!” She scolded impatiently. He resumed as adoringly as before, kissing her collar bone and driving deep. This went on for another twenty minutes until she finally felt his hot breath on her neck. They smirked at each other as they dressed.

As Angela waved goodbye as he dropped her off, she hoped he would dial the number she had written carefully on the back of his hand.

Temptations ch.1

No great play or story ever began by someone deciding not to do something i.e. explore, strive, take a risk or a leap. Jon Daley decided not to eat an everything bagel. The damn poppy seeds end up everywhere. He did decide to prove to Amanda he was the right guy for her. The only problem is that of course he wasn’t. To everyone else, including Amanda, this was abundantly clear, like a cloudy day versus a typical Colorado day. But Daley was undeterred, uninhibited, and unrestricted in his pursuit of whom he assumed the Almighty had created just for him. His advances were met with cautious disregard and he scratched his head, assuming she was just playing hard to get. She had other things on her mind. She had a sick grandparent and a dead parakeet. Bills piling up and no job and she was nearly out of cigarettes to boot. Oh did I not make that clear? Everyone could see Jon shouldn’t be with Amanda because he was out of her league. Glad we cleared that up. Now, Jon really just wanted the quiet domesticity that life living with a spouse could provide if adequately maintained. He was a low-confidence man in general, and though he had immense potential, with his personality, it could never be fully realized.

Amanda’s life was a garbage can of chaos, bitterness, and ill-will. She hated people and anxiously awaited the grisly death she was sure was meant for her. She smoked her cigarettes to the filter or until they burnt her lips if they were filter-less. Sure, she dreamed of brighter days, but only when she was high. She had given up giving a fuck a lo-o-ong time ago and didn’t see the use in returning to her former giving-a-fuck ways. Her teeth were in poor shape and she itched nearly incessantly. Jon was a moderately successful mortgage broker from Queens. He grew up playing baseball and eating hot dogs like every American boy should. Amanda struck him the way she did because of this recklessness she embodied. Jon had met here one day when his car broke down and he had to walk to borrow a phone to call the tow truck and a Lyft. They nearly collided. It was raining, drops persisting to find their way to the ground for two days straight now, and she was waiting for the bus to take her to a run-down dive bar where she would find the company of cool beer, cigarette burn holes, and empty-hearted individuals with nothing better to do. He was wiping the smudged screen of his dead-batteried cell phone with his lapel when she took a step back, hearing the busses tires hissing down the street towards her and the stop.

“Sorry,” he gurgled automatically.

“Excuse you, I mean me” she offered apathetically.



Invisible Beauty


I’m looking for my angel. She’s invisible.

Until the exact right moment in time. That precious tick…

She will be the extra gust of wind in my sails

She will be my companion, my confidant, my muse.

We will talk about politics and current events and never get upset over it.

We will explore the world together. One day.

We will only have eyes for each other

We will build a home on our principles

We will laugh, cry, dance, fuck, and yes, argue.

But it’s okay. We love someone because we let them hurt us.

Pain is worth it if God forbid…

I hope love is still real




Endless nights…Too short

A different kind of chase ensues

Can’t stop the rain

Warmth enough to share

Mined deep within


I forgot what green meant

To you

Only a tickled fantasy?

Will there be time

To grow this right


You can fall but be Graceful

The Forgotten stirs

Too our surprised delight

We’ll let things be themselves


Permission to breathe

Scattered wonder collected

In the dam

 You help me take it all in


I don’t know how but

It’s okay

It always was

My favorite thing


Half-hidden pearls

What can I do

Your eyes fix me

To my surroundings


A painted man in a painted place

It’s only fair

Doesn’t matter if they don’t see it

We feel it

Quiet harmony


I was more interested in flesh and she was more interested in chemicals. Trying to remember what a romantic connection feels like–or did I ever know? Is it unreasonable to expect you to shut the hell up and scream while I fuck you in my thoughts? This is when my audience gets uncomfortable with the sexuality–goddamned Puritans. Pervert. I’ve heard it’s an evolutionary and psychological fact that people think about sex multiple times each minute–which is clearly more some minutes than others (God I love when she leans over the counter like that). There are 1,440 minutes in a day. Imagine the shape we’d be in as a species if we had safe sex that often! Gyms would go out of business.

I’ve starved my artistic nature. How else do you make meaning out of this mess we call life? By worrying about the how’s and the what’s? Why is always the more interesting question. Ethics and politics. Engrossing and putrid. It’s important to get yourself into emotionally healthy habits. Everyone focuses on physical health, but all forms of health are woven together, if one end of the web breaks, the whole thing is flailing in the wind.

Fear itself is the enemy of rational thought and also of one’s (or the communal) pursuit of happiness.This is hard to read–chaotic he was talking about sex and now he’s talking about health–real stream-of-consciousness crap, I can’t  do it anymore. Do I have a point? Will I tell you what it is? Are you entitled to it? He needs ADHD medication, poor bastard. Well fuck you. I don’t need your approval. This is art goddamnit. Not to say I don’t appreciate your feedback… As if I want to sell my heart and soul to earn a dying! The crazy part is, I love you all. I’m an atheist, yet I do the equivalent of praying each day, and wish all living creatures well, be they friend or foe. Foes can be allies at times. I think we should all try a hell of a lot harder to love each other than we do. Call me a hippy, but then look at Syria and tell me I’m wrong and I’ll tell you to do something vulgar. At any rate, have a great fuckin day.

The Con


Scam (Photo credit: mezzoblue)

There are plenty of good, genuine people in the world. Yet there are also those who wish to fool others for personal gain. For instance in the headlines today, there was apparently an interpreter for the deaf at a ceremony for Nelson Mandela (a great man, may he rest in peace) who didn’t know sign language and just wanted some limelight. A New York woman supposedly faked cancer to support a dope habit.

It’s sad, but this idea isn’t anything new or very rare, just ask Flannery O’ Connor. However perhaps the best con-artist of them all is reading this post. That’s right, who holds more of our confidence than ourselves? Personally, I’ve convinced myself of lies that I doubt I would ever let anyone else convince me of. Lies such as, ‘You can’t do that. You’re not good or smart, or strong enough.’ And, as long as I believe it, it’s true.

A wise friend of mine used to say, “Argue for your limitations, and they’re yours.” Today, expect more of yourself. Don’t give in so easily. You can improve your lifestyle and breathe easier with the choices you make. Today argue for your potential. Namaste.

Take a Moment

Boulder Falls

Blue thunder crashes down onto and then splashes off the mossy sandstone, pulverizing the riverbed into submissive sand. Refreshing mist greets the bystander’s face. The spruces, pines, and firs bask in the crisp autumn sunlight. A nearly leafless aspen is a spinal cord with nerves reaching out in all directions to feel the shadow suffocate the valley. A lone pine stands proudly atop the falls as though it’s modeling the latest needles from the Ponderosa line. And it all matches her perfectly. Her skin is gentle and brown like the sand we stand on. Her eyes are reminiscent of of the pines’ bark, a rich almond. The mountainside is tall and noble as she is. Her smile is as hypnotizing as the rushing waterfall. She picks me a flower. I accept it graciously and embrace her. We hold hands and smile at each other. We enjoy the scenery and the moment and ask some strangers to take a photo of us. Young love preserved in film, a sweet memory. When things are tough, we must think of times like this, and remember how calm and pleasant life can be.