whiskey

Whiskey Philosophy

He had a knack for revolution

over coffee

and chainsaw negotiations

after midnight.

I enjoyed whiskey induced philosophy

and talking to the dead

inside my dreams.

I had my playlist for the end of days

at the ready

Paul, John, Ringo, and George will be there

Morrison

Simon & Garfunkel

Reznor and Keenan¬†as well…

For we ate the strawberries in the fields

and found the image of Jesus

in the patterns of the dogs butt fur

and knew we were saved.

He’ll ask me later

what inspired this one,

and I’ll say dumbly

I don’t know

I just liked the way it all sounded

and there might have been some whiskey

involved.

Love is a four letter word

Love is a four letter word

You don’t really believe that do you?

I smile and tuck away my sexual frustration

in my pockets, like a book of matches

I’ll light them all later

Or maybe not

There’s a banquet of mediocre lovers

just outside

I study them through my whiskey vision

wondering which one won’t call me the next day

that would be the lucky one

I strike a match

It bursts and fizzles and fades

Like my desire

I know who I am

Sigh

Roadhouse Blues

Feeling fly

feeling lit

crack a smile

take a hit

I got

whiskey

and Jim

the lights 

are going dim

Is that you?

Lost in

Roadhouse Blues

Singing out

of tune

Digging yourself

in deep

mumbling

poetry

in your sleep.


Fake a slap

a drunken lap

dance

a dirty

romance

I got an easy breezy

hurricane

a slow motion

speeding train

a rusted tin roof

in the pouring 

rain

Is that you?

wobbly on your feet

stumbling down

love street

The sun starts to 

rise

There’s an undiscovered

country

in my

eyes

Want to take

a moonlight drive?

Our chances are

one in five

we won’t make it

out alive.


Sip the whiskey

and swallow

your bile

Smile

the strangest smile

I’ve got an island

in my heart

There’s a killer

in the dark

I’ve got a city 

at night

She has the brightest

lights

Are you afraid?

I am not afraid

Not today.

And you fall

Wait, is that 

Roadhouse Blues?

And I fall too






Sweet Child O’ Mine

Everyone has fantasies. I’m convinced of this, even if they aren’t talked about or even denied. Writers likely fantasize more than the average person. I shouldn’t say likely, I am sure of it. We have to, its how our stories emerge. Most of mine are in an imaginary land, with imaginary characters. Some of those fantasies are worth sharing and that’s how stories are written.

But I do have “real world” fantasies too.

I had a discussion with friends over drinks about odd fantasies. (Dangerous combination, I know) Everyone thought my Axl Rose fantasy was hilarious. It’s not a sexual fantasy. No I never had sexual fantasies about Axl. But I did use to fantasize that he was my dad. (Of all things) This probably started when I was about 13 or 14 and I was beginning to realize how strict my own father was and how royally fucked I was if I ever wanted to do anything fun before the age of 18.

So I used to fantasize that Axl was my dad. (Sweet child of mine was written for me btw, although Axl got my eyes wrong. They are green and not blue. I don’t hold this against him. As a writer I understand how ‘she’s got eyes of the bluest sky’ sounds way better than ‘she’s got eyes like green grass.’ )

I figured I’d be able to do pretty much anything I pleased. I imagined myself sharing a bottle of whisky and a cigarette with Slash back stage at a concert. I could have a piercings and tattoos and cuss as much as I wanted. I mean, shit, the man pisses publicly on planes, what the hell was he going to say to me?

One of my friends pointed out that if Axl had really been my dad I would be way more fucked up than I am now. But I was like, who cares? I’d be rich, and Stephanie Seymour could have been my mom, so I’d also be super hot too. If you’re rich and hot who cares if you’re balls to the wall crazy?

A few of my friends still refer to Axl as ‘”Heidi’s dad” Well, you never know. I do not remember my conception, and our hair is kind of similiar.