Blowing out the candle on both ends
Summer here is unimaginably long with fireworks provided
by the bus driver
July 15, 2003
The Iranian
Prelude to Hiroshima, Chinese paper lanterns hung in the window.
Carmen was hiding smoking skunk in the corner. About that later.
Standing in the shade of orange (naranja) trees on Gabrial-Miro,
old fart Firdowsi (he had been a young fart too) saw the bus driver
who first pleases, then matches,
then comes to dominate his passengers, set off alarm bells (pasa dobles) when
he climbed on the bus and saw him. A matador embracing life and death with
a red cape and Black Bull T-shirt. Salutos! Swords apart, they
took the bull by
the horns to become pickled Persian poets, lustful trash with balls of fire. Tortilla Khayyam thought he was hallucinating under a Spanish
star induced by a twitching, jealous imperfoate anus which
had stuck with him forever from age
15 in Nishapur with a detached mother and psycopathic father, raw Down Mexico
Way with a black and silver sombrerro wanting to make it for the wrong reasons
- chik flik fotos, erotic poses inside castles pf Spain Once Upon A Time, reflected
in the mirror. How selfish is that? Shattered by obsession (throw a brick through the window) with
Spanish men, Khayyam saw a flash of sunlight through the clouds.
Amnesia like honey drizzled on Castillo
de Calpe.
The bus disgorged Spanish girls in unbelieveable (veer off at
a tangent- "Let's
Dance") fresh cinnamon buns of insatiable silver-green dragonflies splattereed
on the window pane laughing up the hill to the old town knuckled up (after
the Goldrush) fuzzy balls, quoth the Raven "Nevermore", tentative,
epocal, cataclysmic climax. Great. Sometimes second rate. Fucking-fishy-fairytales.
Summer here is unimaginably long with fireworks provided by the
bus driver in ostentatious glow of "Viva El Amour" of latin longing in stunned silence
looking out the window at the sea. In the dark fell in love on the bus full of
cockroaches clinging to pineapples in efflurium ecstacy. It could never be washed
away. A red rose tattooed on his butt.
Well suited to the daunting task Khayyam chewed sticks, hammered
on nuts and cheated on everyone as the driver who spotted Pluto
in 1930 and in a tizzy let
out green farts blown away by an old fan on the radiator. A stargazing charlatan
who led the way to the Taj Mahal, the Egyptian Ra, Sea of Showers, Sea of Nector
and Charon the ferryman who rowed souls across the Styxx, creeping away (the
gloves were off) not daring to turn around. O:K. Fishhead finish your fook.
Ofcourse we'll never know (does it really matter?) who was able
to make a choice. Isolated in Calpe, there and then his reality
was altered on the spot with the
(what we already knew) writing on the wall. It all fell apart. Babylon loomed
across the Mediterranean (with Granada already in his pocket) he knew he would
die of malaria, drink or tickling lucious, soft and velvety Spanish vaginas
or pluck plump, juicy pears in bed. Like hell you will. It was an amazing performance capturing the imagination in Calpe
in the evening when the creme de la scum darkened Achilles
in a yellow chair painted by Vincent
with his pipe all sexed up on a pink lace fan perfumed with jasmine. I'm sure
there's no one who cares more than I do.
Firdowsi stood in the shade, Khayyam waved from the bus and pointed
he was going in the opposite direction down and Firdowsi was going
up. A white circle was
drawn around Firdowsi at that moment, a final heart-breaking flutter tucked
away on page seven with a good reputation for sleaze tingling thrills.
Por favor,
por favor, please, please.
Unconscious, he waited for mom (who had been dead since 1973)
to come home. Mom had been single (last throw of the dice) for
years. You're going back to that
motel to fuck
armen. She crashed dramatically when pressed to complete a full-size
Lego model of the bus. She finally confesses in the Spanish Civil War, she
brewed tea in the trenches above the hills of Barcelona. When the
phone rang his cock
went soft.
Firdowsi cowered in the corner. It was worse than any life sentence.
He dreamed he and the driver (didn't give a crap) we're lovers
(giving me head on an unmade
bed).
He lashed himself to the mast through squalls throughout the
moonlit night, sailed beyond the stars (on the beach selling sea-shells
in blue jars). At dusk on the
red Spanish sea, he blew out the candle at both ends, lit a cigarette and crossed
his legs with a cold beer by his side.
Just phone me if you want anything at all.
CALPE - V*U&L$L!V=A? - ESPANA
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