20110130, tumblr piece
A transformer on crutches with a lion at his foot and the number 4 as his mane
An oversized mannequin arm hanging like Seinfeld episodes
The camel’s are all gone now, so I’ve been smoking rollies. I’m so excited for duMaurier’s again, and the bent cigarette sexual impotence references on the box
Off the walls
Toronto bricks and divisions
I hope for spice girl heels in opp shops and saved by the bell star smiles
With dimples and suitcases
This guy reminds me of Isaac Hayes on his Black Moses record fold out but with two white babes
Watermelon skulls seeded and planted in the garden of real life and turf of Hollywood tan lines
To own a red car is simply to pay more insurance
The same qualification doesn’t apply for gingers or red walls or red nails or red dresses
Red carpet…maybe
Whatever chemical is needed in neon sign lights is what’s all in your eyes
Natural abundance
Lashes unfolding like rose petals in floral print
I like her for who the mirror tells me she is
Polka dots and fur remind me of my love, a witty label whore
With a diabolical halo and the light of an unknown source flickering in her core
My incandescent velvet girl friend
Dashing snow and smoking Newports, by preference
Long nails and wine glasses
She broke my shower once while having sex with Johnny
If we didn’t live in New York and sleep with scumbags I could imagine that scene similar to the one in American Beauty, B bathing in roses with deep and passionate coloured lipstick
Instead my imaginative reality leads me to see flashes of BUBO reminiscent fireworks and unknown galaxies setting flame to their existence
Or just some drooling mouths and a fallen shower handle
Some pink and fragrant suddy soap, straw hats and red bandanas – all too Clay evocative
Fire hoses, pomegranates, Polaroid guitars, tailoreds and the al camino
Sleeping and setting fires, flower gardens and white boy things
But that’s not me – or who to say it is?
After all he has cupped Lil Kim’s breasts, how is he not the man for me?
B would be the man for me if she were a man
Maybe I’ll like girls soon, but only the ones with strawberry tongues and mid drift shirts
I would much rather white pants, awesome boots, socks that remind me of sock puppets and a lumberjack shirt with Marlboro’s in the front pocket, real 90s Dad appeal
Maybe him and I could live in the middle of a forest where red cubes and fairy shrines could be found on our daily mushroom picking walk
We’ll have to fly in a shiny plane if we ever want to be in cold weather
He can wear cool back packs and patterned shorts with rainbow Nikes
And I can re-live my dreams of being a hybrid of semi-cryptic Jackie and Crazy Spice
And we’ll love each other like John and Yoko
With no big elephants swanging their truculent tails around in the middle of our room
Pastel tenderness in the glow of lurid lit nights
He’ll have a great jaw muscle that when clenched gives an appropriate illusion of tough guy behavior
Dark Disney fantasies pursued in an astronomer’s atmosphere
A mysterious rainbowed woman with gentle hands who crafts collages
Electric elbows and wired thighs
Multi-colored nails and painters eyes
She throws her hair back taking all the stars with it
His eye peeping out of the cracks in his hand looks at her, the apple of his eye at least for that one moment
And dives off of her curves into spiral staircases
Solar tattoos and golden graffiti
Exploited stop signs and Canadian flags drawn on loose-leaf used as gift wrapping paper
The lover daze in lacey bras under trench coats
Off white bed sheets, duvets and feather pillows
Cigars, Jordans and sunnies
Let’s get Lindsay Lohan wasted and never sleep in separate beds
We can wake up and watch Home Alone, Discovery Channel clips of comb jelly fish and Michael Jackson music videos
You can tattoo my entire back with your fingertips and I’ll guess that you drew a dragon
Bubbles, belt buckles and boxing gloves
How innocently you pop the white pearls of my spine
Lesbians for Lower East Side with candy rings and beach hair
Sex and the city and American flag joints, sailor printed Hello Kitty Stussy ads
A man got her to be his, at gunpoint
And they lived happily ever after in bowling alleys and ditches
She was the snow angel in the hallway
Downtown locked and loaded skater kids with discernible nipples under sheer shirted girlfriends
I’ve always wanted to be the rowdy hot Penelope Cruz in satin shirt smoking a cigarette via Vicky Cristina Barcelona type
Clueless crooked penis pizza crust
I’m over being the breathe of fresh air
I want to bite and be inebriating again
Toxic tear shed and not on my behalf either Leather Jacket
Starry-eyed war, pre-rolled spliffs and Holga cameras
Brace face fuzz ball
Spontaneous truth sex talks
Wink at the lens now baby and smile for canned camera
Cannabis cuffed
Good Friday is only one flight up
Can’t you see?
