Gonzo

Is often called a barroom poet slash outlaw .
Who's work has been featured in some mags that clearly do not care about good taste or morals .

When not living as a total recluse drinking his liver silly and watching ****, He often enjoys long drives by himself picking up hookers but enough bout his ex wife.


His short stories usually revolve around some demented ******* much like himself .

He currently resides in hell or as others call it North Carolina .
Where him and his dog share drinks and take turns being the designated drunk driver .


His work will probably give you a contact high or at least the clap.

Enjoy .

And stay crazy .

Gonzo

As Heaven and Hell filled your glass you gave me the the gift of laughter and raised my spirits several times.
Those stories about a plethora of assess, wild crazed friends, and a hard painful life intrigued me for countless hours.

Never are you just a simple shade of black or white your always that insane drunk artist that mixes up the paint.
Your advice and experience taught me new colors that I would have never been able to imagine before.
Unlike me your a true writer that’s unaffected with the STD of being just a poet, but you still just might have the clap.
Your works are ****** great so don’t you EVER stop trying to get your stuff out to this twisted world……..

Because if you quit I will seriously be obligated to punch you and I know you’ll still be able to easily kick my ***,
even though you probably broke your hip after you got out of your walker and unplugged your dialysis machine.

I’m not a mascochist  (Unless I get a *** of cash or your a pretty Asian girl) so please for the love of god never make me do that, and hell I really like a lot you so I’d really prefer not to put a .38 special deep into your chest cavity.

Keep staying crazy you ******* and although more than likely as your future attorney I’ll sure as hell stay busy,
but your my big brother and I ******* love you man so don’t you ever change.

P.S. Don’t hog on all of the good runoff ***** unless they are too chubby.

We sat there at the bar were I always preferred to hold court .
"Hey man Rebecca tell's me you write".

The young kid said as he took a seat next to me .
"If you can call it that then yes I do bud".

"Well to be honest when Rebecca told me that I looked up your work ", "Your style isn't my cup of tea but you are a skilled writer".

"Oh yeah I'm Brandon by the way ".

The young kid said sticking out his hand .
I shook and braced myself for whatever boredom I was about to endure .

"So you write also I take it or you just a critic"?.

"Oh I'm no critic I write but I write science fiction it's simply a more free forum to me with endless possibilities ".

Wonderful I thought to myself not only am I sitting next to someone who thinks there a writer they have to be a godammed science fiction writer!

"Do you ever read science fiction"?

"Not if I can help it".

"Oh why is that "?

I took another swing of beer decided to light a cigarette maybe the smoke would drive this mosquito of a person away.

"Bud I will be honest I write what I know , "And time travel and space ships and bio mechanics is just a little out my depth you see".


"Well it can get complex I suppose ".

"Well kid honestly if I have to spend five chapters explaining the environment and setting up the story I've already lost interest".

"Yes but the freedom it gives the writer is without limits the pallet is so vast".

"I'm happy just staying in my corner kid and I am no painter so I prefer a page to a canvas".

"Well I think you would really like my work maybe I could share some with you sometime".

"I'm good bud".

I ordered another beer the kid beside me just kept silent least for a second .

I kind of felt like a ***** so I told the bartender grab one for my friend here .

I was a ******* but anyone who had the ***** to put themselves out there still was owed a ounce of respect even if I didn't dig there style .

"Hey thanks is it okay if I call you Jack"?.

"It's my name bud so feel free".

We sat there spoke about the flustrations of publishers and rejection slips all the normal ******* that goes along with writing .

"Jack how did you break through"?
"  I Mean you get published you get read how did you do it"?

"It's no secret kid ,I just kept writing through the ******* ".

"You see eventually if you dont go away and your work is good someone will say yes ".

"It's no different than chasing women , You take a room of fifty women you ask every single one of them to dance someone's going to say yes ".

"I thought all women love to dance ".

"Most yes ,But not all and usually its more appealing from far better looking men".

The kid laughed and replied well I guess you got a point there .

"Jack you ever think about writing about more than just ***** and chasing women "?

"Nope ".


"It just seems so limited give me the moon and stars worlds unknown that's the sight I yern to see".


I laughed as the bartender sat two beers down took my money off the bar and stared at her nice round *** as she walked away to get my change.

"Kid you can have the moon and stars I'm doin just fine with the view down here".

We gave the night a fling and spoke without words letting only are emotions and passions do as they pleased .

I don't care to know you beyond this night she said and that suited me just fine.

We spared no secret and loved a moment for what it was .
Inside we find solace in warm bodies and cold souls.

Only the night breathes passion and the ocean creeps across the sound.
Salt we taste of spent passions does the moment breathe as heavy as I ?

You are far better than the page .
And far less than anything that soothes a bitter heart and nothing more .

She was that which could consume most but could never truly grasp a devilish truth of a wicked reprise that was me.

No closed eyes for some things need to be seen.
Was it something more .

Tell yourself so if it feeds your ego.

But it was something .
Enough said.

Farewell sweetheart.

I may never be good.
But I'm always a good time.

Cheers .

The portrait never shows the time or pain behind every brush stroke are flaws so easily hidden in the beauty that stands before us now.

It's a slow death in the pages and
a world of torment so easily escaped in this room alone.

I can show any emotion so why must I stay here in the confines of this one .

Maybe we **** what we love the most simply to watch it die.
The innocence lost with time now the bitter winds flow so cold through the trees that once knew spring .

Can we see it for what it truly is .
The art we create and the happiness we sacrifice along the way .

Old paintings like tombstones are simply markers of a time the earth did embrace our existence.

And something I know longer can bare to view .

Its been weeks and still there isn't a moment i escape your memory.

I tried the bottle and it only made me find the depths of emptiness that dwell within my soul.

I know my life has come  to its closing moments I watch it fade a sunsets reprise sitting upon the sandy shore .

I no longer give a **** to fight I wish only to allow the tide to consume what is left and nothing more .

We are all bunt out buildings from the wars waged upon ourselves .

Now let the dark waters give rest where torment once stood on full display.

I am tired beyond my years no longer content to simply exist were once I rode the wind .

My choices are but my own never try to follow another footsteps for there shadows cast will freeze you out in there ego's nature by design.

There is no more lines left .
The ink as blood no longer does course through my veins.

I'm simply waiting on the tide to take what's left away.