Chasing Ghosts

Passport stamps are the only thing I really dig these days. And not yours, but mine.

I landed in Berlin days after she. She working- some conference in Potsdam, and waiting on me. We taking in the scenes of the industrial Bohemia burghal as we prepared to dash into the low countries of Europe. The half done intentions to fuck in four countries was only wanting of a drunken tussle in Brussels and a good fondling in London. At sunrise, the tetrad complete, we gobbled obligatory English muffins then took a graceful stroll in Hyde Park. You rode a rocket home to the states and I took a shuttle to another world. As I rode the midnight train to Paris, I could only dream of you with enervated nocturnal erections. Sometimes I wonder if I could live abroad- international pimping- but I’m bound to you. My soul is landlocked by your love. Yet in Paris I admit I found an ocean away from you.


Hip Hop for Live

I hate when people snoop over my shoulder.

Your aesthetic is not mine. Beauty. It’s in the eyes of the beholder.

So I’m at work checking out trap rap and graffiti life when a middle aged lady ghost looking over my shoulder comments that it’s not real art. Defensively, half heartedly, I explained how it’s art and informed her that it is now commissioned to fix blight in cities when governments can’t. And the moment it left my mouth I knew it wasn’t worth my time or the cultures.

On Barack Obama

The problem is – Barack spent 8 years lying about a utopian future instead of making America face it’s past. He was supposed to die in office you see. America never had a black president, so everyone expected some nut job to do the unthinkable. Of course, he lives, and the measures he passed are being mashed by a moron with a must for money and power. So my problem with Barack is that while he is living and breathing he’s bearing witness to the wetness of this president’s idiocracy.

I’m not saying Obama should shoot Trump which would be the most awesome shit in 7 galaxies. I’m not even asking him to say shit to Trump. But he’s gotta have Angela Merkel or Trudeau on the phone still so why not set up a dinner just to piss on Trumps tiny hands. He hates being left out. Or how about you do some rallies of your own. At this rate, he’ll get Obamacare by the end of term one. Maybe Barry could tour with Clinton and talk it up. It’s corporate welfare after all and they are the best spokesman for our new plutocracy anyway. And with Jay Z and Beyonce dropping new music, well, opening act in the sack.

I’m just saying if there is going to be a sea change maybe we could still use the spirit of the man who made us first believe “Yes We Can”.


Working this part time at a welcome desk where nobody visits. Always tempted to write and more tempted to leave. Figured I’d use this time to catch up on a few phone calls. It dawned on me that those first three calls were always to lifelines. Whenever I feel alone I call my lifelines. Try to get three people to be there for you by being there for them and you’ll always have your lifelines. And never fail to call them when you’re feeling lonely.

I called my high school friend and made plans for the future. I called my girlfriend and talked about today. Then I called mom to talk about the past. Indeed my life is and always has been a part of theirs. No man is an island. And just like that I’m reminded I’m not alone.


When she offers to grab the take out so I won’t miss a second of the game I’m hooked…..

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