|I LOVE THIS SHIT
Thick white clouds sweep across the Costa Blanca
By Kristopher Kolumbus
October 18, 2002
As Vin Diesel said in his movie XXX, I was trying to make the most of
what little I had and separate the truth from the scam, where bodies of convicted
pirates sweep to shore including Captain Kidd in Calpe picking up dog poo in a plastic
bag after the battle of Waterloo in 1815 scattered under the stars of Orion a good
example of clearing up as I go.
Thick white clouds sweep across the Costa Blanca on the boat to the Virgin of Sufragio
after the Moors too old, too Moslem, too fucking rich disappeared in pugnacious integrity
in the city of Benidorm under two blue tiled domes with myth making white staircase
from the sea to the glowing alter erased all Moslem prayers and replaced it with
a black virgin and child covered in gold.
A grumpy old fart dressed in black sat on the wooden , nailed door collecting Spanish
coins singing Besame Mucho. A lifetime of spiritual searching and public artistic
angst recovering alone with a silver spoon dipped into white tapioca screaming at
an interviewer that he didn't need him because his tour sold out.
He called me a wanker in Calpe and yelled long live THE WHO! I opened for GARBAGE
sporting a wig and fake beard three nights later dressed in a black cocktail shift,
high heels, almost coming out. I tried Ritalin, Prozac, electroshock and an ex¬husband.
In the kitchen was a miniature Korean tea table with a tea strainer, salt and pepper
shakers, ornamental silver spoons, severn china and a full bottle of sleeping pills.
This bothered no one except my mother, Helen who took me away for a month to Calle
Italia, a street squeezed between Luzemburgo and Irlanda below Avenida de Europa
on Mar Mediterraneo.
I wore a yellow scarf alleged to belong to Princess Diana when she posed on her own
in front of the Taj Mahal. Her handbag held lipstick, matches, a cigarette lighter,
chewing gum and a 2p coin. A blue and green Versace evening dress hung in the closet
In the living room window at # 9 Casas
Neptuno the 332 meter Ilfach Rock shoots up royal heirlooms to homeless, broke and
tortured outcasts of sexual confusion speaking about once adored Persian fathers
saying "These horrible mixed-up feelings you have, the love-hate, Firdowsi and
Rumi. And you know, I still miss him so much, Khayyam in Nishapur. Isn't it crazy?"
He sped off in a white van.