There is a bottle of pumpkin wine in the refrigerator.  It has been there for some time.  Everyone’s afraid to drink it.  I don’t know when, or how, or who, but some day someone will drink that wine and that will be a tale to tell.

 

                I sit at the bar and this black haired beauty comes up and sits next to me, rubbing my leg and chatting me up.  She has dark eyes and thick make up.  Looking good.  Rubbing my leg, leaning over me, grinning, and batting long lashes.  I know she’s no good for me.

                A sudden quizzical expression covers her face, she looks deep into me, all serious, sincere, and somber, “How come all writers are alcoholics?”

                “Pf,” I shake my head and finish off my beer, “I don’t know.”

 

                Well, I’ll always be shadow dancing.

                She calls me tonight.  This thing that cut out my heart.  With a razor and a devilish grin.  Calls me and calls me weird.  Says there is something wrong with me, why can’t I be normal.

                Lucifer loves me.  I sit on the edge of my seat like a wide eyed little boy catching all her words as they fall from her soft lips.  She tell me how she love me.  I pick the words up and clutch them to my heart.

                Please, play far, far away from my heart by the Bodeans at my funeral.  I’ll never forget you.  Will you forget me?  Like the king’s glory crumbled to dust.

                The secret glory of saint natas.  I must get my things in order.  Voice is changing and I can’t escape it.

                I die when she doesn’t give me attention.

                Tonight I was ridiculed for believing in anarchy and loving hip hop.

                Just love me and I’m okay.

                A saint (from the Latin sanctus) is a human being who is believed to have been ‘called’ to holiness or has, consciously or unconsciously, fulfilled the criteria set for sainthood by a religious institution.

                Satan (Hebrew: השָׂטָן ha-Satan ('the accuser'); Arabic: الشيطان al-Shaitan ('the adversary') - both from the Semetic roots: S-T-N) is an embodiment of antagonism that originates from the Abrahamic religions, being traditionally considered an angel in Judeo-Christian belief, and a Jinn in Islamic belief. Originally, the term was used as a title for various entities that challenged the religious faith of humans in the Hebrew Bible. Since then, the Abrahamic religions have used the name 'Satan' as a name for the Devil.

                Now you now saint natas.

                How could you just leave me standing, alone in a world so cold.

                Praise God for William S. Burroughs and Brion Gysin.

                The cut ups and dream machines are such powerful tools.  Pick them up and use them yourself and you’ll understand.  I’ve developed my own method with the cut ups which is more aesthetically subjective and less random.  Some day I’ll share it with you.  But not tonight.

                With wet eyes I whisper to Lucifer, please do not let me go.  She swallows me whole.

                I can’t escape.  I wiggle my way out.  Then find myself casing casinos and ATMs, fallen astray to my friend’s tales of financial woe and lay off.  But good will conquer evil.

                Can’t you just leave me alone?  I don’t want to be alone.

                You’re so dear to me.

                Leave a note and tell me why.

                I’m so dear to you.

                I’m so dead to you.

                I’m so dada, yeah.

                Tear drops like fire and smiles like rain clouds.

                Maybe this is your suicide.  Maybe this is your love.  Your life.  Your tug.  Your brush.  Your must.  Your cuss.  Your fuss.  Your just.

                White horse.  Pale horse.  The little things.  You must have wanted to know.

                Way down.

                In the trailer court.

                In the trailer court wolves circled.

                Some times when you’ve been abused like that, you’ve touched the stars.

                Romantics struggles more than physicists to put the universe together.

                You say you hear the call.  Don’t be shy.  Lift your head.

                You are a storm and you are a god.  You are elite and you are complete.

                Please howl with me, die with me, fuck with me.

                He has no tact or social grace.  No reason or filter.

                We were born to die.

                The deity said take wine and strange drugs.  I said, hey bitch, don’t tell me what to do.  But did it anyways.

                Most of the time they lived in poverty and abused drink and drugs.  To be sure.  I came to you with best intentions.

                Let’s celebrate.  Dance, fuck, love, drink.  Invoke Pan.  Dionysus.  Bacchus.  Sky clad with witches and wiccans.  Druids and Picts.  All blue and regretless.

                Her taste like blood from the grail, like birth, life, and death.  She opened her legs like a black hole, ripping me at event horizon.

                And I spoke and thought without words.

                The secret truth is that I love you and heaven opens like a river crying into the ocean.

                I felt the rush like Roman, Nazi, British, and American thunder.

                I love gnosis like God, however it comes, in sex and death, drunk and fucked,  running like blood or sweat, panting or still.  A moment like a photograph, a haunted memory, faded and jaded, nostalgic and golden.

                Lucifer taunts and teases and my head spins, stars abound.  Head drips down.  Melting.  To this immaculate nothing.  The silent, extended orgasm.  This nothing.  This perfect nothing.

                Feeling God on my tongue.  The prayer and salvation of the poet and seer.  Like so few slick semen.  A babe crying when awakened.  Drowning in sunlight.  Racing for breath toward the surface of water.

                A magical paint brush brings it to life, like Prometheus, stealing light and fire.  It was real, waiting for me or something else.

                Why am I still awake?

                Oh, God, like a warm, silk cunt gripping my soul.

                We were born to go.