Heidi
I fell in love with you at the age of 15, and I remember how I rode my bicycle
The 4 miles across town almost every day that summer, two and a half years ago
How much effort I put in to make the 40 minute ride over, just to come visit you

Heidi
I remember your friends and they were nice at first, until your best friend Jaina
Thought the word *****, was a part of everyday language and I realized
She wasn't even good for much except putting people down and going outside to smoke

Heidi
I remember the stories you told me about them and how you said you felt obligated
To take care of them, and that they meant a lot to you, how you loved them
For their silly jokes and shenanigans and just the fact that they were "******* badass"

Heidi
I remember when Jaina, Miles, and David were over one night I came for dinner
They just walked in unprompted, and ruined the time we had alone
I remember how you all laughed at me when David made a sick joke about my racial makeup

Heidi
I got up from the table and went to the bathroom to cry that night
Not because I had to go to the bathroom but because you replied to his joke by laughing along
And you even made another joke saying "But he's our token asian"

Heidi
I remember sitting next to you on your bed when we would watch movies all evening
But I also remember your attitude and the things you called me the whole time
"Asian buddy"

Heidi
I started noticing things about you I hadn't seen before because my love was blind
Like how badly you treated people, just like your friends did
Like how self-absorbed you were and how quickly you and your friends ego's fell apart

When you realized going to the corrupt Art Institutes for art degrees to make art was probably a bad idea

Heidi
You were having a hard time finding yourself and what you wanted to do with your life
Because you'd spent all your time in high school thinking you were on top of everyone
I led you on for almost 8 months before I decided enough was enough

Heidi
I should have left you early on because during those 8 months I tried to change you
Talk to my friends, I talked to them nonstop about you and what I should do with you
I remember how I only stayed because it wouldn't be fair to you for all the work we put in

Heidi
I'm sorry I hurt you but you hurt me too and as time went by I realized
You weren't even close to someone I wanted to spend any time with
You were nothing I could love, a proven *****

I.

One night at the Troubadour I spotted this extraordinary girl.

So I asked who she was.

‘A professional,’

That was my introduction that on a scale of one to ten

there were women who were fifteens—beautiful, bright, witty, and

oh, by the way, they worked.

Once I became aware,

I saw these women everywhere.

And I came to learn that most of them were connected to Alex



II.

She had a printer engrave a calling card

that featured a bird of paradise

borrowed from a Tiffany silver pattern

and,
under it,

Alex’s Aviary,

Beautiful and Exotic birds.



A few were women you’d see lunching at Le Dôme:

pampered arm pieces with expensive tastes

and a hint of a delicious but remote sexuality.

Many more were fresh-faced, athletic, tanned, freckled

the quintessential California girl

That you’d take for sorority queens or future BMW owners.





III.

The mechanism of Alex’s sudden notoriety is byzantine,

as these things always are.

One of her girls took up with a rotter,

the couple had a fight,

he went to the police,

the police had an undercover detective visit

(who just happened to be an attractive woman)

and ask to work for her,

she all but embraced her

—and by April of 1988 the district attorney had enough evidence

to charge her with two counts of pandering

and one of pimping.

For Alex, who is fifty-six

and has a heart condition and diabetes,

the stakes may be high.

A conviction carries the guarantee of incarceration.

For the forces of law and order,

the stakes may be higher.

Alex has let it be known that she will subpoena

every cop she’s ever met to testify at her trial.

And the revelations this might produce

—perhaps that Alex compromised policemen

by making girls available to them,

—perhaps that Alex had a deal with the police to provide information

in exchange for their blind eye to her activities

—could be hugely embarrassing to the police and the district attorney.

For Alex’s socially correct clients and friends,

for the socially correct wives of her clients and friends

and for a handful of movie and television executives

who have no idea they are dating or

married to former Alex girls,

the stakes are highest of all.



IV.

Alex’s black book is said to be a catalogue of
Le Tout Los Angeles.

In her head are the ****** secrets

of many of the city’s most important men,

to say nothing of visiting businessmen and Arab princes.

If she decides to warble,

either at her trial or in a book,

her song will shatter more than glass.





V.

A decade ago, I went to lunch at Ma Maison,

There were supposed to have been ten people there,

but only four came.

One of them was a short woman

who called me a few days later and invited me to lunch.

When I arrived, the table was set for two.

I didn’t know who Alex was or what she did,

but she knew the important facts of my situation:

I was getting divorced from a very wealthy man

and doing the legal work myself

to avail lawyers who wanted to get a big settlement for me.


Occasionally, she said, I get a call for a tall, dark-haired,

slender, flat-chested woman

—and I don’t have any.

It wouldn’t be a frequent thing.

There’d be weekends away, sometimes in Palm Springs,

sometimes in Europe.

The men will be elegant,

you’ll have your own room

—there would be no outward signs of impropriety.

And you’d get $10,000 to $20,000 for a weekend.





VI.

The tall, slender, flat-chested brunette

didn’t think it was right for her.

Alex handed her a business card

and suggested that she think about it.

To her surprise, she did

—for an entire week.

This was 1978, and $20,000 then

was like $40,000 now,

I knew it was hooking,

but Alex had never mentioned ***.



Our whole conversation seemed to be about something else.



VII.

I was born in Manila

to a Spanish-Filipina mother and German father,

and when I was twelve

a Japanese soldier came into our house

with his bayonet pointed at us,

ready to do us in.

He locked us in and set the house on fire.

I haven’t been scared by much since that.



My mother always struck me as goofy,

so I jumped on a bus and ran away,

I got off in Oakland,

saw a help-wanted sign on a parish house,

and went in.

I got $200 a month for taking care of four priests.

I spent all the money on pastries for the parish house.

But I didn’t care.

It felt safe.

And the priests sparked my interest in the domestic arts

—in linen, in crystal.



A new priest arrived.

He was unpleasant,

so on a vacation in Los Angeles I took a pedestrian job,

still a teenager,

married a scientist.

We separated eight years later,

he took our two sons to another state

threatened to keep them if I didn’t agree to a divorce.

Keep them I said and hung up.

It’s not that I don’t have a maternal instinct

—though I don’t,

I just hate to be manipulated.



My second husband,

an alcoholic,

had Frank Sinatra blue eyes, and possibly

—I never knew for sure—

had a big career in the underworld

as a contract killer.

Years before we got serious,

he was going out with a famous L.A. ******,

She and her friends were so elegant

that I started spending time with them in beauty salons.

They were so fancy,

so smart

—and they knew incredible people,

like the millionaire who sat in his suite all day

just writing $5,000 checks to girls.



VIII.

I was a florist.

We got to talking.

She was a madam from England

who wanted to sell her book and go home.

I bought it for $5,000.

My husband thought it was cute.

Now you’re getting your feet wet.

Three months later,

he died.

After eleven years of marriage,

just like that.

And of the names in the book

it turned out

that half of the men were also dead.

When I began the men were old and the women were ugly.



IX.

It was like a lunch party you or I would give,

Great food Alex had cooked herself.

Major giggles with old pals.

And then,

instead of chocolate After Eight,

she served three women After Three



This man has seen a bit of life

beyond Los Angeles,

so I asked him how Alex’s stable

compared with that of Madam Claude,

the legendary Parisian procuress.

Oh, these aren’t at all like Claude’s girls,

A Claude girl was perfectly dressed and multilingual

—you could take her to the opera

and she’d understand it.





He told me that when she was 40

she looked at herself in the mirror

and said

Disgusting.

People over 40

should not have ***.

But She Was Clear That She Never Liked It

even when she was young.

Besides, she saw all the street business

go to the tall,

beautiful girls.

She thought that she never had a chance

competing against them.

Instead,

she would take their money by managing them.





X.

Going to a ****** was not looked down upon then.

It was before the pill;

Girls weren’t giving it away.

Claude specialized in

failed models and actresses,

ones who just missed the cut.

But just because they failed

in those impossible professions

didn’t mean they weren’t beautiful,

fabulous.



Like Avis

in those days,

those girls tried harder.

Her place was off the Champs,

just above a branch of the Rothschild bank, where I had an account.

Once I met her,

I was constantly making withdrawals and heading upstairs.





XI.

We took the lift

and Claude greeted us at the door.

My impression was that of the director

of an haute couture house,

very subdued,

beige and gray, very little makeup.

She took us into a lounge and made us drinks,

Whiskey,

Cognac.

There was no maid.

We made small talk for 15 minutes.

How was the weekend?

What’s the weather like in Deauville?

Then she made the segue. ‘I understand you’d like to see some jeunes filles?’

She always used ‘jeunes filles.’

This was Claude’s polite way of saying 18 to 25.

She left and soon returned

with two very tall

jeunes filles,

One was blonde.

This is Eva from Austria.

She’s here studying painting.

And a brunette,

very different,

but also very fine.

This is Claudia from Germany.

She’s a dancer.

She took the girls back into the apartment and returned by herself.

I gave my English guest first choice.

He picked the blonde.

And wasn’t disappointed.

Each bedroom had its own bidet.

There was some nice

polite conversation, and then



It was slightly formal,

but it was high-quality.

He paid Claude

200 francs,

not to the girls

In 1965, 200 francs was about $40.

Pretty girls on Rue Saint-Denis

could be had for 40 francs

so you can see the premium.

Still, it wasn’t out of reach for mere mortals.

You didn’t have to be J. Paul Getty.





XII.

A lot of them

were models at

Christian Dior

or other couture houses.

She liked Scandinavians.

That was the look then

—cold, tall, perfect.

It was cheap for the quality.

They all used her.

The best people wanted

the best women.

Elementary supply and demand.



XIII.

She had a camp number tattooed on her wrist. I saw it.

She showed it to me and Rubi.

She was proud she had survived.

We talked about the camp for hours.

It was even more fascinating than the girls.



She was Jewish

I’m certain of that.

She was horrified at the Jewish collaborators

at the camp who herded

their fellow Jews

into the gas chambers.

That was the greatest betrayal in her life.



XIV.

She was this sad,

lonely little woman.

Later, Patrick told me who she was.

I was bowled over.

It was like meeting Al Capone.

I met two of the girls

who worked for her.

One was what you would expect

Tall

Blonde

Model.

But the other looked like a Rat

Then one night

she came out

all dressed up,

I didn’t even recognize her.

She was even better than the first girl.

Claude liked to transform women like that.

That was her art.

It was very odd,

my cousin told me.

There was not much furniture

and an awful lot of telephones.

“Allô oui,”



XV.

I had so many lunches

with Claude at Ma Maison

She was vicious.

One day,

Margaux Hemingway,

at the height of her beauty, walked by.

Une bonne

—the French for maid

was how Claude cut her dead.

She reduced

the entire world

to rich men wanting *** and

poor women wanting money.

She’d love to page through Vogue and see someone

and say,

When I met her

she was called

Marlene

and she had a hideous nose

and now she’s a princess.

Or she’d see someone and say

Let’s see if she kisses me or not.

It was like

I made her,

and I can destroy her.

She was obsessed

with “fixing” people

—with Saint Laurent clothes,

with Cartier watches,

with Winston jewels,

with Vuitton luggage,

with plastic surgeons.



XVI.

Her prison number was

888

which was good luck in China

but not in California.

‘Ocho ocho ocho,’ she liked to repeat

Even in jail, she was always working,

always recruiting stunning women.

She had a beautiful Mexican cellmate

and gave her Robert Evans’s number

as the first person she should call

when she was released.



XVII.

Never have *** on the first date.



XVIII.

There will always be prostitution,

The prostitution of misery.

And the prostitution of bourgeois luxury.

They will both go on forever.



“Allô oui,”



It was so exciting to hear a millionaire

or a head of state ask,

in a little boy’s voice,

for the one thing

that only you could provide

It's not how beautiful you are, it's how you relate

--it's mostly dialogue.



She was tiny, blond, perfectly coiffed and Chanel-clad.

The French Woman: The Arab Prince, the Japanese Diplomat, the Greek Tycoon, the C.I.A. Bureau Chief — She Possessed Them All!



XIX.

She was like a slave driver in the American South

Once she took a *******,

the makeover put the girl in debt,

because Claude paid all the bills to

Dior,

Vuitton,

to the hairdressers,

to the doctors,

and the girls had to work to pay them off.

It was ****** indentured servitude.



My Swans.



It reached the point

where if you walked into a room

in London

or Rome

as much as Paris

because the girls were transportable,

and saw a girl who was

better-dressed,

better-looking,

and more distinguished than the others

you presumed

it was a girl from Claude.

It was, without doubt,

the finest *** operation ever run in the history of mankind.



**.

The girl had to be

exactly what was needed

so I had to teach her everything she didn’t know.

I played a little the role of Pygmalion.

There were basic things that absolutely had to be done.

It consisted

at the start

of the physical aspect

“surgical intervention”

to give this way of being

that was different from other girls.

Often they had to be transformed

into dream creatures

because at the start

they were not at all



Often I had to teach them how to dress.

Often they needed help

to repair

what nature had given them

which was not so beautiful.

At first they had to be tall,

with pretty gestures,

good manners.

I had lots of noses done,

chins,

teeth,

*******.

There was a lot to do.



Eight times out of ten

I had to teach them how to behave in society.

There were official dinners, suppers, weekends,

and they needed to have conversation.

I insisted they learn to speak English,

read

certain books.

I interrogated them on what they read.

It wasn’t easy.

Each time something wasn’t working,

I was obliged to say so.



You were very demanding?

I was ferocious.



It’s difficult

to teach a girl how to walk into Maxim’s

without looking

ill at ease

when they’ve never been there,

to go into an airport,

to go to the Ritz,

or the Crillon

or the Dorchester.

To find yourself

in front of a king,

three princes,

four ministers,

and five ambassadors at an official dinner.

There were the wives of those people!

Day after day

one had to explain,

explain again,

start again.

It took about two years.

There would always be a man

who would then say of her,

‘But she’s absolutely exceptional. What is that girl doing here?’ ”





XXI.

A New York publisher who visited

the Palace Hotel

in Saint Moritz

in the early seventies told me,

I met a whole bunch of them there.

They were lovely.

The johns wanted everyone to know who they were.

I remember it being said

Giovanni’s Madame Claude girl is going to be there.

You asked them where they came from and they all said

Neuilly.

Claude liked girls from good families.

More to the point she had invented their backgrounds.



I have known,

because of what I did,

some exceptional and fascinating men.

I’ve known some exceptional women too,

but that was less interesting

because I made them myself.



Ah, this question of the handbag.

You would be amazed by how much dust accumulates.

Or how often women’s shoe heels are scuffed.





XXII.

She would examine their teeth and finally she would make them undress.



That was a difficult moment

When they arrived they were very shy,

a bit frightened.

At the beginning when I take a look,

it’s a question of seeing if the silhouette

and the gestures are pretty.

Then there was a disagreeable moment.

I said,

I’m sorry about this unpleasantness,

but I have to ask you to get undressed,

because I can’t talk about you unless I see you.

Believe me, I was embarrassed,

just as they were,

but it had to be done,

not out of voyeurism, not at all

—I don’t like les dames horizontales.



It was very funny

because there were always two reactions.

A young girl,

very sure of herself,

very beautiful,

très bien,

would say

Yes,

Get up, and get undressed.

There was nothing to hide, everything was perfect.



There were those who

would start timidly

to take off their dress

and I would say

I knew already.

The rest is not sadism, but nearly.

I knew what I was going to find.

I would say,

Maybe you should take off your bra,

and I knew it wasn’t going to be

beautiful.

Because otherwise she would have taken it off easily.

No problem.

There were damages that could be mended.

There were some ******* that could be redone,

some not

Sometimes it can be deceptive,

you know,

you see a pretty girl,

a pretty face,

all elegant and slim,

well dressed,

and when you see her naked

it is a catastrophe.



I could judge their physical qualities,

I could judge if she was pretty, intelligent, and cultivated,

but I didn’t know how she was in bed.

So I had some boys,

good friends,

who told me exactly.

I would ring them up and say,

There’s a new one.

And afterwards they’d ring back and say,

Not bad,

Could be better, or

Nulle.



Or,

on the contrary,

She’s perfect.

And I would sometimes have to tell the girls

what they didn’t know.

A pleasant assignment?

No.

They paid.



XXIII.

Often at the beginning

they had an ami de coeur

in other words,

oh,

a journalist, a photographer, a type like that,

someone in the cinema,

an actor, not very well known.

As time went by

It became difficult

because they didn’t have a lot of time for him.

The fact of physically changing,

becoming prettier,

changing mentally to live with millionaires,

produced a certain imbalance

between them

and the little boyfriend

who had not evolved

and had stayed in his milieu.

At the end of a certain time

she would say,

I’m so much better than him. Why am I with this boy?

And they would break up by themselves.



Remember,

this was instant elevation.

For most of them it was a dream existence,

provided they liked the ***,

and those that didn’t never lasted long.

A lot of the clients were young,

and didn’t treat them like tarts but like someone from their own class.

They would buy you presents,

take you on trips.



XXIV.

For me, *** was something very accessoire

I think after a certain age

there are certain spectacles one should not give to others

Now I have a penchant for solitude.

Love, it’s a complete destroyer,

It’s impossible,

a horror,

l’angoisse.

It’s the only time in my life I was jealous.

I’m not a jealous person, but I was épouvantable.

He was jealous too.

We broke plates over each other’s heads;

we became jealous about each other’s pasts.

I said one day

It’s finished.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and say:

Break my legs,

give me scarlet fever,

an attack of TB, but never that.

Not that.



XXV.

I called her into my office

Let us not exaggerate,

I sent her away.

She came back looking for employment,

but was fired again, this time for drugs.

She made menacing phone calls.

Then she arrived at the Rue de Boulainvilliers with a gun.

She shot three bullets

I was dressed in the fashion of Courrèges at this moment

He did very padded things.

I had a padded dress with a little jacket on top.

The bullet

—merci, Monsieur Courrèges

—stuck in the padding.

I was thrown forward onto the telephone.

I had one thought which went through my head:

I will die like Kennedy.

I turned round and put my hand up in a reflex.

The second bullet went through my hand.

I have two dead fingers.

It’s most useful for removing bottle tops.

In the corridor I was saved from the third bullet

because she was very tall

and I am quite petite, so it passed over my head.



XXVI.

There were men

who could decapitate,

****, and bomb their rivals

who would be frightened of me.

I would ask them how was the girl,

and they’d say

Not bad

and then

But I’m not complaining.

I was a little sadistic to them sometimes.

Some women have known powerful men because they’re their lover.

But I’ve known them all.

I had them all

here.



She will take many state secrets with her.



XXVI.

I don’t like ugly people

probably because when I was young

I wasn’t beautiful at all.

I was ugly and I suffered for it,

although not to the point of obsession.

Now that I’m an old woman,

I’m not so bad.

And that’s why

I’ve always been surrounded by people

Who

were

beautiful.

And the best way to have beautiful people around me

was to make them.

I made them very pretty.





XXVII.

I wouldn’t call what Alex gives you

‘advice,’

She spares you Nothing.

She makes a list of what she wants done,

and she really gets into it

I mean, she wants you to get your arms waxed.

She gives you names of people who do good facials.

She tells you what to buy at Neiman Marcus.

She’s put off by anything flashy,

and if you don’t dress conservatively, she’s got no problem telling you,

in front of an audience,

You look like a cheap *****!

I used to wear what I wanted when I went out

then change in the car into a frumpy sweater

when I went to give her the money she’d always go,

Oh, you look beautiful!



Marry your boyfriend,

It’s better than going to prison.

When you go out with her,

she’ll buy you a present; she’s incredibly generous that way.

And she’ll always tell you to save money and get out.

It’s frustrating to her when girls call at the end of the month

and say they need rent money.

She wants to see you do well.





We had a schedule, with cards that indicated a client’s name,

what he liked,

the names of the girls he’d seen,

and how long he’d been with them.

And I only hired girls who had another career

—if my clients had a choice between drop-dead-gorgeous

and beautiful-and-interesting,

they’d tend to take beautiful-and-interesting.

These men wanted to talk.

If they spent two hours with a girl,

they usually spent only five or ten minutes in bed.



I get the feeling that in Los Angeles, men are more concerned with looks.



XXVIII.

That was my big idea

Not to expand the book by aggressive marketing

but to make sure that nobody

mistook my girls for run-of-the-mill hookers.

And I kept my roster fresh.

This was not a business where you peddle your ***,

get exploited,

and then are cast off.

I screen clients. I’ve never sent girls to weirdos.

I let the men know:

no violence,

no costumes,

no fudge-packing.

And I talked to my girls. I’d tell them:

Two and a half years and you’re burned out.

Save your money.

This is like a hangar

—you come in, refuel, and take off.

It’s not a vacation, it’s not a goof.

This buys the singing lessons,

the dancing lessons,

the glossies.

This is to help you pay for what your parents couldn’t provide.

It’s an honorable way station—a lot of stars did this.



XXIX.

To say someone was a Claude girl is an honour, not a slur.



Une femme terrible.

She despised men and women alike.

Men were wallets. Women were holes.



By the 80s,

if you were a brunette,

the sky was the limit.

The Saudis

They’d call for half a dozen of Alex’s finest,

ignore them all evening while they

chatted,

ate,

and played cards,

and then, around midnight,

take the women inside for a fast few minutes of ***.



They’d order women up like pizza.



Since my second husband died,

I only met one man who was right for me,

He was a sheikh.

I visited him in Europe

twenty-eight times

in the five years I knew him

and I never slept with him.

He’d say

I think you fly all the way here just to tease me,

but he introduced me

by phone

to all his powerful friends.

When I was in Los Angeles, he called me twice a day.

That’s why I never went out

he would have been disappointed.



***.

Listen to me

This is a woman’s business.

When a woman does it, it’s fun

there’s a giggle in it

when a man’s involved,

he’s ******,

he’s a ****.

He may know how to keep girls in line,

and he may make money,

but he doesn’t know what I do.

I tell guys: You’re getting a nice girl.

She’s young,

She’s pleasant,

She can do things

she can certainly make love.

She’s not a rocket scientist, but she’s everything else.



The world’s richest and most powerful men, the announcer teased.

An income “in the millions,” said the arresting officer.

Pina Colapinto

A petite call girl,

who once slid between the sheets of royalty,

a green-eyed blonde helped the police get the indictment.

They really dolled her up

She looks great.

Never!

What I told her was: ‘Wash that ******.’





XXXI.

Madam Alex died at 7 p.m.

Saturday at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center,

where she had been in intensive care after recent open heart surgery

We all held her hand when they took her off the life support

This was the passing of a legend.

Because she was the mother superior of prostitution.

She was one of the richest women on earth.

The world came to her.

She never had to leave the house.

She was like Hugh Hefner in that way.


It's like losing a friend

In all the years we played cat and mouse,

she never once tried to corrupt me.

We had a lot of fun.


To those who knew her

she was as constant

as she was colorful

always ready with a good tidbit of gossip

and a gourmet lunch for two.

She entertained, even after her conviction on pandering charges,

from the comfy depths of her blue four-poster bed at her home near Doheny Drive,

surrounded by knickknacks and meowing cats,

which she fed fresh shrimp from blue china plates.



XXXII.

She stole my business,

my books,

my girls,

my guys.

I had a good run.

My creatures.

Make Mommy happy

Oh! He is the most enchanting cat that I have ever known.



She was, how can I say it,

classy.

When she first hired me

she thought I was too young to take her case.

I was 43.

I'm going to give you some gray hairs by the time this is over.

She was right.





XXXIII.

I was fond of Heidi

But she has a streak that is so vindictive.



If there is pure evil, it is Madame Alex.





XXXIV.

I was born and raised in L.A.

My dad was a famous pediatrician.

When he died, they donated a bench to him at the Griffith Park Observatory.



I think that Heidi wanted to try her wings

pretty early,

and I think that she met some people

who sort of took all her potential

and gave it a sharp turn



She knew nothing.

She was like a little parrot who repeated what she was supposed to say.



Alex and I had a very intense relationship;

I was kind of like the daughter she loved and hated,

so she was abusive and loving at the same time.



Look, I know Madam Alex was great at what she did

but it's like this:

What took her years to build,

I built in one.

The high end is the high end,

and no one has a higher end than me.

In this business, no one steals clients.

There's just better service.



XXXV.

You were not allowed to have long hair

You were not allowed to be too pretty

You were not allowed to wear too much makeup or be too glamorous

Because someone would fall in love with you and take you away.

And then she loses the business



XXXVI.

I was pursued because

come on

in our lifetime,

we will never see another girl of my age

who lived the way I did,

who did what I did so quickly,

I made so many enemies.

Some people had been in this line of business

for their whole lives, 30 or 40 years,

and I came in and cornered the market.

Men don't like that.

Women don't like that.

No one liked it.



I had this spiritual awakening watching an Oprah Winfrey video.

I was doing this 500-hour drug class

and one day the teacher showed us this video,

called something like Make It Happen.

Usually in class I would bring a notebook

and write a letter to my brother or my journal,

but all of a sudden this grabbed my attention

and I understood everything she said.

It hit me and it changed me a lot.

It made me feel,

Accept yourself for who you are.

I saw a deeper meaning in it

but who knows, I might have just been getting my period that day!



XXXVII.

Hello, Gina!

You movie star!

Yes you are!

Gina G!

Hello my friend,

Hello my friend,

Hello my movie star,

Ruby! Ruby Boobie!

Braaawk!

Except so many women say,

Come on, Heidi

you gotta do the brothel for us; don't let us down.

It would be kind of fun opening up an exclusive resort,

and I'll make it really nice,

like the Beverly Hills Hotel

It'll feel private; you'll have your own bungalow.

The only problem out here is the climate—it's so brutal.

Charles Manson was captured a half hour from Pahrump.



I said, Joe! What are you doing?

You gotta get, like,

a garter belt and encase it in something

and write,

This belonged to Suzette Whatever,

who entertained the Flying Tigers during World War II.

Get, like, some weird tools and write,

These were the first abortion tools in the brothel,

you know what I mean?

Just make some **** up!

So I came out here to do some research

And then I realized,

What am I doing?

I'm Heidi Fleiss. I don't need anyone.

I can do this.

When I was doing my research, in three months

I saw land go from 30 thousand an acre

to 50 thousand an acre,

and then it was going for 70K!

It's urban sprawl

—we're only one hour from Las Vegas.

Out here the casinos are only going to get bigger,

prostitution is legal, it's only getting better.





XXXVIII.

The truth is

deep down inside,

I just can't do business with him

He's the type of guy who buys Cup o' Noodles soup for three cents

and makes his hookers buy it back from him for $5.

It's not my style at all.

Who wants to be 75 and facing federal charges?

It was different at my age when I

at least...come on, I lived really well.

I was 22,

25 at the time?

It was fun then, but now I wouldn't want

to deal with all that *******

—the girls and blah blah blah.

But the money was really good.



I would've told someone they were out of their ******* mind

if they'd said in five years I'd be living with all these animals like this.

It's hard-core; how I live;

It's totally a nonfunctional atmosphere for me

It's hard to get anything done because

It’s so time-consuming.

I feel like they're good luck though....

I do feel that if I ever get rid of them,

I will be jinxed and cursed the rest of my life

and nothing I do will ever work again.



Guys kind of are a hindrance to me

Certainly I have no problem getting laid or anything.

But a man is not a priority in my life.

I mean, it's crazy, but I really have fun with my parrots.



XXXIX.

I started a babysitting circle when I wasn't much older than 9

And soon all the parents in the neighborhood

wanted me to watch over their children.

Even then I had an innate business sense.

I started farming out my friends

to meet the demand.

My mother showered me with love and my father,

a pediatrician,

would ask me at the dinner table,

What did you learn today?

I ran my neighborhood.

I just pick up a hustle really easily,

I was a waitress and I met an older guy who looked like Santa Claus.



Alex was a 5' 3" bald-headed Filipina

in a transparent muu muu.

We hit it off.

I didn't know at the time that I was there to pay off the guy's gambling debt.

It's in and out,

over and out.

Do you think some big-time producer

or actor is going to go to the clubs and hustle?



Columbia Pictures executive says:

I haven’t done anything that should cause any concern.

Jeez, it's like the Nixon enemies list.

I hope I'm on it.

If I'm not, it means I must not be big enough

for people to gossip about me.



That's right ladies and gentlemen.

I am an alleged madam and that is a $25 *****!

If you live out here,

you've got to hate people.

You've got to be pretty antisocial

How you gonna come out here with only 86 people?

That's Fred.

He's digging to China.

You look good.

Yeah, you too.

It's coming along here.

Yeah, it is.

I wanted to buy that lot there, but I guess it's gone?

That's mine, man! That's all me.

Really?

I thought there was a lot between us.

No. We're neighbors.



He's a cute guy

He's entertaining.

See, I kind of did do something shady to him.

I thought my property went all the way back

and butted up against his.

But there was one lot between us right there.

He said he was buying it,

but I saw the 'For Sale' sign still up there,

So I went and called the broker and said,

I'm an all-cash buyer.

So I really bought it out from under him.

But he's got plenty of room, and I need the space for my parrots.

Pahrump will always be Pahrump, but Crystal is going to be nice

All you need are four or five fancy houses and it'll flush everyone out

and it'll be a nice area.

They're all kind of weird here, but these people will go.

Like this guy here,

someone needs to **** him.

I was just saying to my dad that these parrots are born to a really ******-up world

He goes, Heidi, no, no; the world is a beautiful garden.

It's just, people are destroying it.

I’m looking into green building options

I don't want anything polluting,

I want a huge auditorium,

but it'll be like a jungle where my birds can really fly!

Where they can really do what they're supposed to do.

There were over 300 birds in there!

That lady,

She ran the exotic-birds department for the Tropicana Hotel,

which is a huge job.

She called me once at 3:30 in the morning

Come over here and help me feed this baby!

Some baby parrot.

And I ran over there in my pajamas

—I knew there was something else wrong

and she was like

Get me my oxygen!

Get me this, get me that.

I called my dad; he was like,

I don't know, honey, you better call the paramedics.

They ended up getting a helicopter.

And they were taking her away

in the wind with her IV and blood and everything

and she goes, Heidi, you take care of my birds.

And she dies the next day.

She was just a super-duper person.



XL.

I relate to the lifestyle she had before,

Now, I'm just a citizen.

I'm clean,

I'm sober,

I'm married,

I work at Wal-Mart.

I'm proud to say I know her. I look into her eyes

and we relate.





I got out in 2000,

so I've been sending her money for seven years

She was…whatever.

Girlfriend?

Yeah, maybe.

But ***, I tried like two times,

and I'm just not gay.

She gets out in about eight or nine months

and I told her I would get her a house.

But nowhere near me.

I didn't touch her,

but I'd be, like...

a funny story:

I told her,

Don't you ever ******* think

about contacting me in the real world.

I'm not a lesbian.

Then about two years ago, I got an e-mail from her,

or she called me and said, 'Google my name.'

So I Googled her name,

and she has this huge company.

Huge!

She won, like, Woman of the Year awards.

So I called her and I go,

Not bad.

She goes, 'Well, I did all that because you called me a loser.'

I go, '****, I should've called you more names

you probably would've found the cure for cancer by now.



XLI.

No person shall be employed by the licensee

who has ever been convicted of

a felony involving moral turpitude

But I qualify,

I mean, big deal, so I'm a convicted felon.

Being in the *** industry, you can't be so squeaky-clean.

You've got to be hustling.

Nighttime is really enchanting here

It's like a whole 'nother world out here, it really is

I’m so far removed from my social life and old surroundings.

Who was it, Oscar Wilde, I think, who said

people can adjust to anything.

I was perfectly adjusted in the penitentiary,

and I was perfectly adjusted to living in a château in France.



We had done those drug addiction shows together

Dr. Drew.

Afterward we were friendly

and he'd call me every now and then.

He'd act like he had his stuff together.

But it was all a lie.

Everything is a lie.

I brought him to a Humane Society event at Paramount Studios last year.

He was just such a mess.

So out of it.

He stole money from my purse.

He's such a drug addict because he's so afraid of being fat.

He liked horse ****, though. He did like horse ****.

This one woman that would have *** with a horse on the internet,

He told me that’s his favorite actress.

Better than Meryl Streep.



XLII.

The cops could see

why these women were taking over trade.

Girls with these looks charged upwards of $500 an hour.

The Russians had undercut them with a bargain rate of $150 an hour.

One thing they are not is lazy.

In the USSR

they grew up with no religion, no morality.

Prostitution is not considered a bad thing.

In fact, it’s considered a great way to make money.

That’s why it’s exploding here.

What we saw was just a tip of the iceberg.

These girls didn’t come over here expecting to be nannies.

They knew exactly what they wanted and what they were getting into.

The madam who organized this raid

was making $4 million a year,

laundered through Russian-owned banks in New York City

These are brutal people.

They are all backstabbers.

They’re entrepreneurs.

They’re looking at $10,000 a month for turning tricks.

For them, that’s the American dream.



XLIII.

If you’re not into something,

don’t be into it

But,

if you want to take some whipped cream,

put it between your toes,

have your dog licking it up and,

at the same time,

have your girlfriend poke you in the eye,

then that’s fine.

That’s a little weird but we shouldn’t judge.



She was my best friend then

and I consider her one of my best friends now,

because when I was going through Riker’s

and everyone abandoned me,

including my boyfriend,

I was hysterical,

crying,

and she was the one that was there.

And, when somebody needed to step up to the plate,

that’s who did, and I have an immense amount of

loyalty, respect, and love for her.

And if she’s going to prison for eight years

—that’s what she’s sentenced for

—I’ll go there,

and I’ll go there every week,

for eight years.

That’s the type of person I am.

FIRST DAY

1.
Who wanted me
to go to Chicago
on January 6th?
I did!

The night before,
20 below zero
Fahrenheit
with the wind chill;
as the blizzard of 99
lay in mountains
of blackening snow.

I packed two coats,
two suits,
three sweaters,
multiple sets of long johns
and heavy white socks
for a two-day stay.

I left from Newark.
**** the denseness,
it confounds!

The 2nd City to whom?
2nd ain’t bad.
It’s pretty good.
If you consider
Peking and Prague,
Tokyo and Togo,
Manchester and Moscow,
Port Au Prince and Paris,
Athens and Amsterdam,
Buenos Aries and Johannesburg;
that’s pretty good.

What’s going on here today?
It’s friggin frozen.
To the bone!

But Chi Town is still cool.
Buddy Guy’s is open.
Bartenders mixing drinks,
cabbies jamming on their breaks,
honey dew waitresses serving sugar,
buildings swerving,
fire tongued preachers are preaching
and the farmers are measuring the moon.

The lake,
unlike Ontario
is in the midst of freezing.
Bones of ice
threaten to gel
into a solid mass
over the expanse
of the Michigan Lake.
If this keeps up,
you can walk
clear to Toronto
on a silver carpet.

Along the shore
the ice is permanent.
It’s the first big frost
of winter
after a long
Indian Summer.

Thank God
I caught a cab.
Outside I hear
The Hawk
nippin hard.
It’ll get your ear,
finger or toe.
Bite you on the nose too
if you ain’t careful.

Thank God,
I’m not walking
the Wabash tonight;
but if you do cover up,
wear layers.

Chicago,
could this be
Sandburg’s City?

I’m overwhelmed
and this is my tenth time here.

It’s almost better,
sometimes it is better,
a lot of times it is better
and denser then New York.

Ask any Bull’s fan.
I’m a Knickerbocker.
Yes Nueva York,
a city that has placed last
in the standings
for many years.
Except the last two.
Yanks are # 1!

But Chicago
is a dynasty,
as big as
Sammy Sosa’s heart,
rich and wide
as Michael Jordan’s grin.

Middle of a country,
center of a continent,
smack dab in the mean
of a hemisphere,
vortex to a world,
Chicago!

Kansas City,
Nashville,
St. Louis,
Detroit,
Cleveland,
Pittsburgh,
Denver,
New Orleans,
Dallas,
Cairo,
Singapore,
Auckland,
Baghdad,
Mexico City
and Montreal
salute her.



2.
Cities,
A collection of vanities?
Engineered complex utilitarianism?
The need for community a social necessity?
Ego one with the mass?
Civilization’s latest *******?
Chicago is more then that.

Jefferson’s yeoman farmer
is long gone
but this capitol
of the Great Plains
is still democratic.

The citizen’s of this city
would vote daily,
if they could.

Chicago,
Sandburg’s Chicago,
Could it be?

The namesake river
segments the city,
canals of commerce,
all perpendicular,
is rife throughout,
still guiding barges
to the Mississippi
and St. Laurence.

Now also
tourist attractions
for a cafe society.

Chicago is really jazzy,
swanky clubs,
big steaks,
juices and drinks.

You get the best
coffee from Seattle
and the finest teas
from China.

Great restaurants
serve liquid jazz
al la carte.

Jazz Jazz Jazz
All they serve is Jazz
Rock me steady
Keep the beat
Keep it flowin
Feel the heat!

Jazz Jazz Jazz
All they is, is Jazz
Fast cars will take ya
To the show
Round bout midnight
Where’d the time go?

Flows into the Mississippi,
the mother of America’s rivers,
an empires aorta.

Great Lakes wonder of water.
Niagara Falls
still her heart gushes forth.

Buffalo connected to this holy heart.
Finger Lakes and Adirondacks
are part of this watershed,
all the way down to the
Delaware and Chesapeake.

Sandburg’s Chicago?
Oh my my,
the wonder of him.
Who captured the imagination
of the wonders of rivers.

Down stream other holy cities
from the Mississippi delta
all mapped by him.

Its mouth our Dixie Trumpet
guarded by righteous Cajun brethren.

Midwest?
Midwest from where?
It’s north of Caracas and Los Angeles,
east of Fairbanks,
west of Dublin
and south of not much.

Him,
who spoke of honest men
and loving women.
Working men and mothers
bearing citizens to build a nation.
The New World’s
precocious adolescent
caught in a stream
of endless and exciting change,
much pain and sacrifice,
dedication and loss,
pride and tribulations.

From him we know
all the people’s faces.
All their stories are told.
Never defeating the
idea of Chicago.

Sandburg had the courage to say
what was in the heart of the people, who:

Defeated the Indians,
Mapped the terrain,
Aided slavers,
Fought a terrible civil war,
Hoisted the barges,
Grew the food,
Whacked the wheat,
Sang the songs,
Fought many wars of conquest,
Cleared the land,
Erected the bridges,
Trapped the game,
Netted the fish,
Mined the coal,
Forged the steel,
Laid the tracks,
Fired the tenders,
Cut the stone,
Mixed the mortar,
Plumbed the line,
And laid the bricks
Of this nation of cities!

Pardon the Marlboro Man shtick.
It’s a poor expostulation of
crass commercial symbolism.

Like I said, I’m a
Devil Fan from Jersey
and Madison Avenue
has done its work on me.

It’s a strange alchemy
that changes
a proud Nation of Blackhawks
into a merchandising bonanza
of hometown hockey shirts,
making the native seem alien,
and the interloper at home chillin out,
warming his feet atop a block of ice,
guzzling Old Style
with clicker in hand.

Give him his beer
and other diversions.
If he bowls with his buddy’s
on Tuesday night
I hope he bowls
a perfect game.

He’s earned it.
He works hard.
Hard work and faith
built this city.

And it’s not just the faith
that fills the cities
thousand churches,
temples and
mosques on the Sabbath.

3.
There is faith in everything in Chicago!

An alcoholic broker named Bill
lives the Twelve Steps
to banish fear and loathing
for one more day.
Bill believes in sobriety.

A tug captain named Moe
waits for the spring thaw
so he can get the barges up to Duluth.
Moe believes in the seasons.

A farmer named Tom
hopes he has reaped the last
of many bitter harvests.
Tom believes in a new start.

A homeless man named Earl
wills himself a cot and a hot
at the local shelter.
Earl believes in deliverance.

A Pullman porter
named George
works overtime
to get his first born
through medical school.
George believes in opportunity.

A folk singer named Woody
sings about his
countrymen inheritance
and implores them to take it.
Woody believes in people.

A Wobbly named Joe
organizes fellow steelworkers
to fight for a workers paradise
here on earth.
Joe believes in ideals.

A bookkeeper named Edith
is certain she’ll see the Cubs
win the World Series
in her lifetime.
Edith believes in miracles.

An electrician named ****
saves money
to bring his family over from Gdansk.
**** believes in America.

A banker named Leah
knows Ditka will return
and lead the Bears
to another Super Bowl.
Leah believes in nostalgia.

A cantor named Samuel
prays for another 20 years
so he can properly train
his Temple’s replacement.

Samuel believes in tradition.
A high school girl named Sally
refuses to get an abortion.
She knows she carries
something special within her.
Sally believes in life.

A city worker named Mazie
ceaselessly prays
for her incarcerated son
doing 10 years at Cook.
Mazie believes in redemption.

A jazzer named Bix
helps to invent a new art form
out of the mist.
Bix believes in creativity.

An architect named Frank
restores the Rookery.
Frank believes in space.

A soldier named Ike
fights wars for democracy.
Ike believes in peace.

A Rabbi named Jesse
sermonizes on Moses.
Jesse believes in liberation.

Somewhere in Chicago
a kid still believes in Shoeless Joe.
The kid believes in
the integrity of the game.

An Imam named Louis
is busy building a nation
within a nation.
Louis believes in
self-determination.

A teacher named Heidi
gives all she has to her students.
She has great expectations for them all.
Heidi believes in the future.

4.
Does Chicago have a future?

This city,
full of cowboys
and wildcatters
is predicated
on a future!

Bang, bang
Shoot em up
Stake the claim
It’s your terrain
Drill the hole
Strike it rich
Top it off
You’re the boss
Take a chance
Watch it wane
Try again
Heavenly gains

Chicago
city of futures
is a Holy Mecca
to all day traders.

Their skin is gray,
hair disheveled,
loud ties and
funny coats,
thumb through
slips of paper
held by nail
chewed hands.
Selling promises
with no derivative value
for out of the money calls
and in the money puts.
Strike is not a labor action
in this city of unionists,
but a speculators mark,
a capitalist wish,
a hedgers bet,
a public debt
and a farmers
fair return.

Indexes for everything.
Quantitative models
that could burst a kazoo.

You know the measure
of everything in Chicago.
But is it truly objective?
Have mathematics banished
subjective intentions,
routing it in fair practice
of market efficiencies,
a kind of scientific absolution?

I heard that there
is a dispute brewing
over the amount of snowfall
that fell on the 1st.

The mayor’s office,
using the official city ruler
measured 22”
of snow on the ground.

The National Weather Service
says it cannot detect more
then 17” of snow.

The mayor thinks
he’ll catch less heat
for the trains that don’t run
the buses that don’t arrive
and the schools that stand empty
with the addition of 5”.

The analysts say
it’s all about capturing liquidity.

Liquidity,
can you place a great lake
into an eyedropper?

Its 20 below
and all liquid things
are solid masses
or a gooey viscosity at best.

Water is frozen everywhere.
But Chi town is still liquid,
flowing faster
then the digital blips
flashing on the walls
of the CBOT.

Dreams
are never frozen in Chicago.
The exchanges trade
without missing a beat.

Trading wet dreams,
the crystallized vapor
of an IPO
pledging a billion points
of Internet access
or raiding the public treasuries
of a central bank’s
huge stores of gold
with currency swaps.

Using the tools
of butterfly spreads
and candlesticks
to achieve the goal.

Short the Russell
or buy the Dow,
go long the
CAC and DAX.
Are you trading in euro’s?
You better be
or soon will.
I know
you’re Chicago,
you’ll trade anything.
WEBS,
Spiders,
and Leaps
are traded here,
along with sweet crude,
North Sea Brent,
plywood and T-Bill futures;
and most importantly
the commodities,
the loam
that formed this city
of broad shoulders.

What about our wheat?
Still whacking and
breadbasket to the world.

Oil,
an important fossil fuel
denominated in
good ole greenbacks.

Porkbellies,
not just hogwash
on the Wabash,
but bacon, eggs
and flapjacks
are on the menu
of every diner in Jersey
as the “All American.”

Cotton,
our contribution
to the Golden Triangle,
once the global currency
used to enrich a
gentlemen class
of cultured
southern slavers,
now Tommy Hilfiger’s
preferred fabric.

I think he sends it
to Bangkok where
child slaves
spin it into
gold lame'.

Sorghum,
I think its hardy.

Soybeans,
the new age substitute
for hamburger
goes great with tofu lasagna.

Corn,
ADM creates ethanol,
they want us to drive cleaner cars.

Cattle,
once driven into this city’s
bloodhouses for slaughter,
now ground into
a billion Big Macs
every year.

When does a seed
become a commodity?
When does a commodity
become a future?
When does a future expire?

You can find the answers
to these questions in Chicago
and find a fortune in a hole in the floor.

Look down into the pits.
Hear the screams of anguish
and profitable delights.

Frenzied men
swarming like a mass
of epileptic ants
atop the worlds largest sugar cube
auger the worlds free markets.

The scene is
more chaotic then
100 Haymarket Square Riots
multiplied by 100
1968 Democratic Conventions.

Amidst inverted anthills,
they scurry forth and to
in distinguished
black and red coats.

Fighting each other
as counterparties
to a life and death transaction.

This is an efficient market
that crosses the globe.

Oil from the Sultan of Brunei,
Yen from the land of Hitachi,
Long Bonds from the Fed,
nickel from Quebec,
platinum and palladium
from Siberia,
FTSE’s from London
and crewel cane from Havana
circle these pits.

Tijuana,
Shanghai
and Istanbul's
best traders
are only half as good
as the average trader in Chicago.

Chicago,
this hog butcher to the world,
specializes in packaging and distribution.

Men in blood soaked smocks,
still count the heads
entering the gates of the city.

Their handiwork
is sent out on barges
and rail lines as frozen packages
of futures
waiting for delivery
to an anonymous counterparty
half a world away.

This nation’s hub
has grown into the
premier purveyor
to the world;
along all the rivers,
highways,
railways
and estuaries
it’s tentacles reach.

5.
Sandburg’s Chicago,
is a city of the world’s people.

Many striver rows compose
its many neighborhoods.

Nordic stoicism,
Eastern European orthodoxy
and Afro-American
calypso vibrations
are three of many cords
strumming the strings
of Chicago.

Sandburg’s Chicago,
if you wrote forever
you would only scratch its surface.

People wait for trains
to enter the city from O’Hare.
Frozen tears
lock their eyes
onto distant skyscrapers,
solid chunks
of snot blocks their nose
and green icicles of slime
crust mustaches.
They fight to breathe.

Sandburg’s Chicago
is The Land of Lincoln,
Savior of the Union,
protector of the Republic.
Sent armies
of sons and daughters,
barges, boxcars,
gunboats, foodstuffs,
cannon and shot
to raze the south
and stamp out succession.

Old Abe’s biography
are still unknown volumes to me.
I must see and read the great words.
You can never learn enough;
but I’ve been to Washington
and seen the man’s memorial.
The Free World’s 8th wonder,
guarded by General Grant,
who still keeps an eye on Richmond
and a hand on his sword.

Through this American winter
Abe ponders.
The vista he surveys is dire and tragic.

Our sitting President
impeached
for lying about a *******.

Party partisans
in the senate are sworn and seated.
Our Chief Justice,
adorned with golden bars
will adjudicate the proceedings.
It is the perfect counterpoint
to an ageless Abe thinking
with malice toward none
and charity towards all,
will heal the wounds
of the nation.

Abe our granite angel,
Chicago goes on,
The Union is strong!


SECOND DAY

1.
Out my window
the sun has risen.

According to
the local forecast
its minus 9
going up to
6 today.

The lake,
a golden pillow of clouds
is frozen in time.

I marvel
at the ancients ones
resourcefulness
and how
they mastered
these extreme elements.

Past, present and future
has no meaning
in the Citadel
of the Prairie today.

I set my watch
to Central Standard Time.

Stepping into
the hotel lobby
the concierge
with oil smooth hair,
perfect tie
and English lilt
impeccably asks,
“Do you know where you are going Sir?
Can I give you a map?”

He hands me one of Chicago.
I see he recently had his nails done.
He paints a green line
along Whacker Drive and says,
“turn on Jackson, LaSalle, Wabash or Madison
and you’ll get to where you want to go.”
A walk of 14 or 15 blocks from Streeterville-
(I start at The Chicago White House.
They call it that because Hillary Rodham
stays here when she’s in town.
Its’ also alleged that Stedman
eats his breakfast here
but Opra
has never been seen
on the premises.
I wonder how I gained entry
into this place of elite’s?)
-down into the center of The Loop.

Stepping out of the hotel,
The Doorman
sporting the epaulets of a colonel
on his corporate winter coat
and furry Cossack hat
swaddling his round black face
accosts me.

The skin of his face
is flaking from
the subzero windburn.

He asks me
with a gapped toothy grin,
“Can I get you a cab?”
“No I think I’ll walk,” I answer.
“Good woolen hat,
thick gloves you should be alright.”
He winks and lets me pass.

I step outside.
The Windy City
flings stabbing cold spears
flying on wings of 30-mph gusts.
My outside hardens.
I can feel the freeze
deepen
into my internalness.
I can’t be sure
but inside
my heart still feels warm.
For how long
I cannot say.

I commence
my walk
among the spires
of this great city,
the vertical leaps
that anchor the great lake,
holding its place
against the historic
frigid assault.

The buildings’ sway,
modulating to the blows
of natures wicked blasts.

It’s a hard imposition
on a city and its people.

The gloves,
skullcap,
long underwear,
sweater,
jacket
and overcoat
not enough
to keep the cold
from penetrating
the person.

Like discerning
the layers of this city,
even many layers,
still not enough
to understand
the depth of meaning
of the heart
of this heartland city.

Sandburg knew the city well.
Set amidst groves of suburbs
that extend outward in every direction.
Concentric circles
surround the city.
After the burbs come farms,
Great Plains, and mountains.
Appalachians and Rockies
are but mere molehills
in the city’s back yard.
It’s terra firma
stops only at the sea.
Pt. Barrow to the Horn,
many capes extended.

On the periphery
its appendages,
its extremities,
its outward extremes.
All connected by the idea,
blown by the incessant wind
of this great nation.
The Windy City’s message
is sent to the world’s four corners.
It is a message of power.
English the worlds
common language
is spoken here,
along with Ebonics,
Espanol,
Mandarin,
Czech,
Russian,
Korean,
Arabic,
Hindi­,
German,
French,
electronics,
steel,
cars,
cartoons,
rap,
sports­,
movies,
capital,
wheat
and more.

Always more.
Much much more
in Chicago.

2.
Sandburg
spoke all the dialects.

He heard them all,
he understood
with great precision
to the finest tolerances
of a lathe workers micrometer.

Sandburg understood
what it meant to laugh
and be happy.

He understood
the working mans day,
the learned treatises
of university chairs,
the endless tomes
of the city’s
great libraries,
the lost languages
of the ancient ones,
the secret codes
of abstract art,
the impact of architecture,
the street dialects and idioms
of everymans expression of life.

All fighting for life,
trying to build a life,
a new life
in this modern world.

Walking across
the Michigan Avenue Bridge
I see the Wrigley Building
is neatly carved,
catty cornered on the plaza.

I wonder if Old Man Wrigley
watched his barges
loaded with spearmint
and double-mint
move out onto the lake
from one of those Gothic windows
perched high above the street.

Would he open a window
and shout to the men below
to quit slaking and work harder
or would he
between the snapping sound
he made with his mouth
full of his chewing gum
offer them tickets
to a ballgame at Wrigley Field
that afternoon?

Would the men below
be able to understand
the man communing
from such a great height?

I listen to a man
and woman conversing.
They are one step behind me
as we meander along Wacker Drive.

"You are in Chicago now.”
The man states with profundity.
“If I let you go
you will soon find your level
in this city.
Do you know what I mean?”

No I don’t.
I think to myself.
What level are you I wonder?
Are you perched atop
the transmission spire
of the Hancock Tower?

I wouldn’t think so
or your ears would melt
from the windburn.

I’m thinking.
Is she a kept woman?
She is majestically clothed
in fur hat and coat.
In animal pelts
not trapped like her,
but slaughtered
from farms
I’m sure.

What level
is he speaking of?

Many levels
are evident in this city;
many layers of cobbled stone,
Pennsylvania iron,
Hoosier Granite
and vertical drops.

I wonder
if I detect
condensation
in his voice?

What is
his intention?
Is it a warning
of a broken affair?
A pending pink slip?
Advise to an addict
refusing to adhere
to a recovery regimen?

What is his level anyway?
Is he so high and mighty,
Higher and mightier
then this great city
which we are all a part of,
which we all helped to build,
which we all need
in order to keep this nation
the thriving democratic
empire it is?

This seditious talk!

3.
The Loop’s El
still courses through
the main thoroughfares of the city.

People are transported
above the din of the street,
looking down
on the common pedestrians
like me.

Super CEO’s
populating the upper floors
of Romanesque,
Greek Revivalist,
New Bauhaus,
Art Deco
and Post Nouveau
Neo-Modern
Avant-Garde towers
are too far up
to see me
shivering on the street.

The cars, busses,
trains and trucks
are all covered
with the film
of rock salt.

Salt covers
my bootless feet
and smudges
my cloths as well.

The salt,
the primal element
of the earth
covers everything
in Chicago.

It is the true level
of this city.

The layer
beneath
all layers,
on which
everything
rests,
is built,
grows,
thrives
then dies.
To be
returned again
to the lower
layers
where it can
take root
again
and grow
out onto
the great plains.

Splashing
the nation,
anointing
its people
with its
blessing.

A blessing,
Chicago?

All rivers
come here.

All things
found its way here
through the canals
and back bays
of the world’s
greatest lakes.

All roads,
rails and
air routes
begin and
end here.

Mrs. O’Leary’s cow
got a *** rap.
It did not start the fire,
we did.

We lit the torch
that flamed
the city to cinders.
From a pile of ash
Chicago rose again.

Forever Chicago!
Forever the lamp
that burns bright
on a Great Lake’s
western shore!

Chicago
the beacon
sends the
message to the world
with its windy blasts,
on chugging barges,
clapping trains,
flying tandems,
T1 circuits
and roaring jets.

Sandburg knew
a Chicago
I will never know.

He knew
the rhythm of life
the people walked to.
The tools they used,
the dreams they dreamed
the songs they sang,
the things they built,
the things they loved,
the pains that hurt,
the motives that grew,
the actions that destroyed
the prayers they prayed,
the food they ate
their moments of death.

Sandburg knew
the layers of the city
to the depths
and windy heights
I cannot fathom.

The Blues
came to this city,
on the wing
of a chirping bird,
on the taps
of a rickety train,
on the blast
of an angry sax
rushing on the wind,
on the Westend blitz
of Pop's brash coronet,
on the tink of
a twinkling piano
on a paddle-wheel boat
and on the strings
of a lonely man’s guitar.

Walk into the clubs,
tenements,
row houses,
speakeasies
and you’ll hear the Blues
whispered like
a quiet prayer.

Tidewater Blues
from Virginia,
Delta Blues
from the lower
Mississippi,
Boogie Woogie
from Appalachia,
Texas Blues
from some Lone Star,
Big Band Blues
from Kansas City,
Blues from
Beal Street,
Jelly Roll’s Blues
from the Latin Quarter.

Hell even Chicago
got its own brand
of Blues.

Its all here.
It ended up here
and was sent away
on the winds of westerly blows
to the ear of an eager world
on strong jet streams
of simple melodies
and hard truths.

A broad
shouldered woman,
a single mother stands
on the street
with three crying babes.
Their cloths
are covered
in salt.
She pleads
for a break,
praying
for a new start.
Poor and
under-clothed
against the torrent
of frigid weather
she begs for help.
Her blond hair
and ****** features
suggests her
Scandinavian heritage.
I wonder if
she is related to Sandburg
as I walk past
her on the street.
Her feet
are bleeding
through her
canvass sneakers.
Her babes mouths
are zipped shut
with frozen drivel
and mucous.

The Blues live
on in Chicago.

The Blues
will forever live in her.
As I turn the corner
to walk the Miracle Mile
I see her engulfed
in a funnel cloud of salt,
snow and bits
of white paper,
swirling around her
and her children
in an angry
unforgiving
maelstrom.

The family
begins to
dissolve
like a snail
sprinkled with salt;
and a mother
and her children
just disappear
into the pavement
at the corner
of Dearborn,
in Chicago.

Music:

Robert Johnson
Sweet Home Chicago


jbm
Chicago
1/7/99

Heidi hoo
My baby boo
I raised you
I love you
I miss you too
Heido hoo
Heidi hoo
I know
You're fine
Honey poo
My sweet baby
My sweet girl
I want you to know
You are my world
Heidi hoo
Heidi hoo
I'll never stop looking
For you

A touch of velvet, like angel
Feathers brushing against my
Face, I feel your fingers caress my
Features like an artist, you know the
Contours of my face.

I love you my
Darling, your love
I embrace.

Fists like barbed wire across my
Cheek, grazing my skin as a
Droplet like a tear falls from
My face.

You scratch at me like razors
On flesh, across my skin and face,
Your voice of rage distorts the
Beauty in your face, no love can
Be heard behind this rage.

I cant take this cold to hot
And in-between, I never
Know which person I'm speaking
to when I look at your face.

I love you, but I must leave, I
Cant take this Jade and heidi
Personallity, I dont know who
Is going to speak, know that
I love you, but now I must leave
This love. And you must face your
Demons before it is to late.

Oh Annette Tidy, I would love to lick your ****
Show me that you like it, you **** loving ****
******* pulled beyond your hole, while kneeling like a mutt
Legs apart so far and wide, I don't want your ******* shut

Spread you cheeks across my face and open your hole wide
Pelvic thrusting on my tongue, while I'm slipping it inside
The taste of it is magical, when tongue and *** collide
I can lick your ***** too , but I'll let you decide

It's okay if your a *****, when it's ***** and bums to pluck
A Furry ***** is alright, it's still so good to ****
Soiled ******* I don't mind, they make my cockerel cluck
A touch of romance is quite fine, but so is a good ****

Oh Annette Tidy let me knock on your back door
You can show me your intentions, you filthy ******* *****
I doesn't matter that we're strangers, because our *** is raw
If your like the phone box says, then what are you waiting for?

So come on now get naked, and I will do the same
let me have your **** hole and a **** ******* game
According to the writings your a filthy kind of dame
I've read that your an **** ****, so your be glad I came

Oh Annette Tidy, I am on a real *** hunt
I would be so happy, if your proper ***** ****
Whether your a posh girl, or just a ******* munt
You need to get your knickers off, and I'll give it a punt

I'll be grabbing onto your ****, and It would be devine
Vigorous ******* may result, in hearing your **** whine
If your a cheater that's okay, it really is quite fine
As long as your cheating with me, and you are ******* mine

So push your **** upon me, let my **** slide in
I'd **** without a rubber sheaf, it's better on bare skin
I'm sure that you'll enjoy it, when your sitting on my pin
And **** old Dennis Richmond, cos I don't give a **** about him

Oh Annette Tidy, I fancy a real good ****
I am really hoping, your a ***** ******* ****
It doesn't matter if your good looking, or a dried up hag
***** lips are free to flutter, when I **** your fleshy flag

**** ******* is so good, what a fantastic feeling
The tightness squeezing on my rod, that's what I find appealing
Doing **** would be great, bent over or just kneeling
An ******* that is spread wide, is really quite revealing

So when my **** is hard enough I would stuff it in your ***
Fingers up your ***** and your ******* under thumb
A frigging is in order, because I want to feel your ***
******* in your tight hole, I would really give it some

Oh Annette tidy, let us have some ****** fun
Let me see you naked, and I will ***** your hot cross bun
I also like a wet ****, but these things must be done
For you squirt me with your juice, just like a Capri Sun

I hope that you like big *****, cos I have a nine inch ****
Because I'm not hung like those fellows, who are in Hong Kong
So I won't put it all in, in case it is too long
But if you want the whole lot, I'll make sure that it says strong

Are you such an **** *****, well I don't really know
You could be a real ***** ****, or just an average joe
If your not that kind of girl, then somewhere else I'll go
Because I'm looking to get ******, and a **** and blow

You maybe such a nice girl, and you get home by ten
So you might not be interested, in ridding my big ben
I'm sure there's **** ladies, who'd like playing in my pen
A **** time they can have, if I went round to their den

Are writings on walls true, you don't have to sit there idly
If you want an arrangement, I could ******* every Friday
Unless you are a nice girl, and your a bit like Heidi
And your up in the mountains thinking . . . . Oh Annette Tidy!

I know you haven't heard from me in years .
I thought I'd write just to let you know that Tommy Faulkner died , you know passed away . I didn't even know it until it was all over . Don't even know what he died from . Heidi told me . Oh , you don't know Heidi , my fist and third wife . She and Tommy were good friends . Last I heard about you , you were moving to North Carolina , your home by birth . But your home was always with us  here on the Southside of Birmingham . Sigh !
I hoped you made a big splash back home when you arrived . Such a polar extreme . I kept your poems for years until Heidi threw out my box of poetry ,with yours included .
Also Steven Sedbury's . You remember him ? Last I heard about you , you had a brain tumor and you passed away . Now I stand alone with my ghosts and I have no address to send my posts .
      Love Thomas

I stood over the sink
Scrubbing our negroni glasses
Wishing the ginger-scented soap
Would wash away the cancer
Because the chemo didn’t work

I was wearing eyeliner
When I first met you
We’d laugh about that later
Over a bottle of wine
And patatas bravas

We always had our weekends
Movie dates and inside jokes
We would guffaw at the
Fuckery of it all
My god your laugh
How it filled a room

I remember when you said
“I love you, Christopher…
because you just GET ME”
You expressed appreciation
For how I carved out time
For our friendship

I reminded you,
“I don’t carve out time for you,
I shove everything away while
screaming ‘I NEED MY HEIDI TIME!’”

*******.
I need my Heidi time

For years you were
The most consistent thing in my life
Always there for one another
We were each other’s touchstones
I realize this now more than ever
During my weekends spent alone

Wine tastes different now
Something’s missing
Going to the movies feels strange
It’s like the hero has
Left the frame

Remember when I smoked cigarettes?
You’d *** a drag as we crept
Through early evening traffic
On our way to get gelato
Or if we were feeling sassy
Maybe an affogato

I switched to vaping
When you went into hospice
Then back to menthols
When your spirit left this world

I’m addicted to our memories
More than the nicotine
They bang around my head
Like a song or a scent
Nostalgic  
And
Lingering

You tattooed
“CEDENDO VINCES”
On your wrists
“By yielding, you will win”
My finger traced those words
While I held your hand

Last breaths

But what are deaths?

Transitions
Energy
Shifting
A spark
Returning

/ / /

Those letters live
On my wrists now
A reminder of her
The sister I never had
And sometimes
I still hear her laugh

258 days,

March
Man, march was two steps forward and one step back for us.
Several things happened in March
Heidi still wouldn't shut up
I think I admitted to you I was having flashbacks of her when I was with you,
I'm sure that didn't feel too great for you. You couldn't blame yourself (did you? I'm so sorry)
There were times when I kissed you I had to stop and look into your eyes
You're beautiful, were then, were now, when I looked, it cured my flashbacks
So that's where the whole thing happened where you were like
"What?" and I told you you were "just beautiful" ...you were just beautiful. So wonderful.
Things going well!
But... ... ...
Second week of March, I come over one evening, stayed till dark
We're allowed up in your room, hooray! You kept the door open so we wouldn't get in trouble
That night,
You had on Chicago the Musical, playing on the TV in your room
In hindsight, the plot is quite clever and I'll probably watch it someday soon as I'm crying over you
...anyway
Yes, I'm cursed with a memory that good...
I didn't like musicals. I put up this silly front and told you I thought they were too fake.
I was a little mean. I just told you that if you liked musicals though that was okay...
Except it turns out in the future I didn't let it be okay
Anyway, Joanna came upstairs, we just picked another movie...
I'm pretty sure I said "I really would rather not watch a musical, something else would be fine"
Ended up...
Playing Halo with Andrew in between making out
Until I left around 8:15
But I forgot my phone charger there
Came back to pick it up, but this information is insignificant
... ... ...
So third week it is, we go out to see the AYP / AYS Spring Side-By-Side Concert
Just so happened to play selections from Les Miserables
You sung really beautifully
And all my stupid self could do was look at you like I wanted to tape your mouth shut
Leaned away from you a little, you were on my left, I leaned on my right arm
I even remember which row and seats we were sitting in
I remember how you asked what was wrong
I told you "nothing" and I couldn't say more

Sweet girl, I have to stop this story right now because at that moment, I knew very well how stupid it was that I was doing that to you. I realized I got extremely defensive over the stupidest **** in the world, but I couldn't get over my stupid reaction. So I just quit talking. But I was quite bothered. But I couldn't help it. But it was so ******* mean.

Reminiscent of how I treated Heidi...how I did that to you. Heidi would hurt me and I didn't want to hurt her so I just gritted my teeth and told her it was nothing. Over time it got worse and I got angry over the dumbest ****, before I finally gathered the courage to break up with her.

I knew that I loved you exactly as you were, but you got the leftovers from my ****** relations with her and I'm so ******* sorry I did that to you, that I coaxed you to change, that I ruined something that made you happy for you

If I could go back to March I would, I would beat the absolute **** out of my past self for what I did...

Back to my land of verdant green
To feel the bite of winter chill
To know that while all this is so
That far off land enthralls me still.

That far off land of granite peaks
Of crystalline white massif high,
Of conifer which scale the *****
Of rocky outcrop to the sky.
The baking heat of desert mesa
Spread as far as eye can see
Sage bush in its fragrant aura
Tumble **** soon rolling free.
Squirrel dart on shale cascade
Of green grey slate on alpine flank
Bright blue birds in curious hover
...For this, my reeling senses thank.

Fishing boats in bright array
Adorn the West coast sheltered lee,
Crab and mackerel brim the bin
Of bearded fishermen with glee.
Pounding surf of North Pacific
Carves the rock of bastioned coast
Embryonic currents cold
Do modify the climate most.
Redwoods huge clad coastal ranges,
Bright geraniums do sing
From earthen pots outside the cafe
Hot coffee fragrant from within.

Hilarity as laughing people gather
Watch as yelling Serbs do sling
Huge silver fish across the stall
Amid Seattle's Pike's Place din.
Colour paints this market place
Flowers stacked in every hue
Noisy vendors bawl their product
Creamy ice cream cone for you.

Streaming dust in streaming hair
Scree slopes avalanche past for thrill
Mountain crevasse yawns aloof
As ATV's roar up the hill.
Wild terrain of wilderness
On mountaintop of forest fir,
Cougar, grizzly bear and wolf
In pack are found herein astir.
Atop the very precipice
We view the everlasting peaks
Magnificent in summer sun
Embalmed in snow when Winter speaks.

Freeways snake from coast to mountain
Clover leaf in junctions pile,
Forty ton trucks pull big trailers
Endless day for endless mile.
Barrel straight these concrete tarmacs
Stretching far as eye can see,
Headlong surge huge pickup trucks
But cautious eye for Sheriff be.
Roadside diners loud and raucous
Selling burgers, selling beer
Neon flashing through the night
Old ***** waitress' toothless cheer.

The years have clad our friendships well
Familiarity's warming hand
Allows resumption of our words
Despite the 40 year gap spanned.
Houseboat floats in crowded wharfage
Swimming through a clear cool lake,
Californian wine with friends
Hot chilli food and fresh bread bake.
Eye fillets grill on barbecue
See the distant mountain peaks
Summer snow endures aloft
Glows indigo as sunset speaks.

Endless skies of cobalt blue
Cloudless in the summer sun
Gracious denizens do offer
Generosity unsung.
Graciousness across the land
Across these people so diverse,
The wondrous gift of ready smile
Friendly hand and open purse.

History tells these people spoke
Electing leaders for their time
When sanity's quiet need arose
It was promulgated on the line.
With Washington and Lincoln
Through FDR to JFK,
The Presidents who bed-rocked
This Foundation for the nation's day.
Astounding, that exceptional men
Have carved this face from stone,
Have caste the global presence
That Americans call home.

I understand the feeling now,
Of pride and patriotic stance.
I understand the inner strength
Of America's great, true romance.

This poem bequeathed to our good friends who inhabit this land... Big Rich, Suzie and Mike, Our mate Stevo and Ian, Heidi, Wyatt and Cooper, Dear old Greg and his elegant lady, Holly.
But most of all, with gratitude and love, to our marvelous son Boaz and his lovely lady, Angela.

Marshalg & Janet
At "Foxglove", Taranaki... In the Southern hemisphere's mid winter.
2 August 2013

I dedicate these words to you,
     my saving grace you've pulled me through...
          Hopefully, I finally can repay,
               all the amazing gifts that you have brought my way...
Smile for me,
     I know each one...
          Moved to tears, I am, watching you with your son,
               Gram know's what I see inside,
                    among the love you fight to hide...
I love your lips,
     my **** man...
          MacGuyver, I'm your biggest fan,
               You try to keep me at arms length...
                    I admire all your inner strength.
I've learned from you the truth of things,
     then you've helped me through the pain truth brings...
          My darkest days, you shine your light,
                    Remember when we laughed all night?
You are a funny *******,
     your my lollipop, and I'm your sucker...
          Because of you, I'm not alone,
               when I'm with you, no matter where, I'm home...
I'm grateful for the time you spend,
     with me...
          You are truly my best friend.

               Heidi Shavill
                    2009

Sue Venir loved Hugh Biquitous, but he was unreliable, so she confided this to her friend, Di Namic who confirmed he’d been seen with Penny Farthing and Miss Chevous. Then she ran into Ken Tucky, who’d just broken up with Jen Erator, and was known to hang with Mel N. Choly. Together, they and Dan Ube went to a party thrown by Perry Winkle at the house of Dana Point.

Con Valescence introduced Sue to Marine Layer who asked Mr. Tucky to join the conversation, and they’ve been conversing ever since. Lou Kemia couldn’t make the party as he was ill. This was confirmed by Nick Knack who’d been informed by Conrad Alert.

Penny Saver left early, heading over to the home of I. Stan Bul, who was throwing a celebration in honor of Hazel Nuts and Grant N. Aid, who were to be married by Will Power, though Miss Givings, his former girlfriend, did not approve. Celebrants included Buzz Saw, Ma Larkey, Ben E. Diction, ***** Pack and of course Ann I. Versary, who deemed it worthy of being remembered. Tom Foolery was always good for a laugh, which was appreciated by Art I. Face, Dee Vice and Tess Osterone.

Some chose to dine alfresco, notably Flora Fauna, Heidi **, and Ed U. Cate. Barb Ituate was a downer, though Ma Larkey tried to cheer her up, watched by Cliff Hanger who wanted to see what happened, until a dispute arose between Ana Conda and Ann Ticipation, who’d both been vying for the attention of Billy Goat.

Meanwhile, in another part of town, Terry Dactyl was in a dispute with Billy Club over Lilly White because of something Miss Conception had reported after hearing from that duo, Caesar Salad and Reuben Sandwich.

Junior Mints tried to mollify the situation with sugary statements, but was interrupted by Yuri Nal, who said he had to go, and then left with Jay Walking and they were off to congregate with Diane Tomeetya.

At the next table General Jive held court in a warlike mood,  that Cary Cature tried to lighten.  With them were Tex Arcana, whose accent was amusing to Bill Collector, Al Gorythm, Tim Buktu and Marv E. Lous, who always had a great time wherever he went.

By then, Bobby Pin, the luscious seamstress, had given up on Peter D. Out, after seeing him clowning around with Butch Wax and Slim N. None, all of them malcontents and disrupters.

In walked Daisy Chain, newly arrived  from the Southern Hemisphere, along with Sydney Australia. Klaus Trophobic had initially agreed to travel with the two of them, but said he had to stay at home. Frank O’Phile overhead this and confided to Phil O’Sophically that there is sometimes merit to such position.

The restaurant was owned by Ty ****, managed by Chuck Wagon, with the food delivered by waiters Clay *** and Terry Aki , assisted by busboyTara Misou.

The next morning, everyone gathered at the home of Dawn Patrol, who was there with her new husband, Earnest Money, after divorcing Perry Mutual. Deb Enture was her maid of honor.  Nick O’Time was nearly late to the party, driving in with Stu Debaker, via a shaky Uber driver named Manuel Shifting.

Al Acrity was his usual sunny self, but not when Den O’Thieves interrupted his conversation, which was shut down by Kay O.

Sherman Oaks and Van Nuys were late, having gotten mixed up on the location. Cliff Hanger was worried about the falling stock market, and as a result was getting drunk with Jack Daniels. Stan Dup was his usually assertive self, but was overshadowed by the always munificent Cy Pres.

Claude Hopper was dressed in yesterdays’ styles, but that didn’t matter to Dov Tail who  was going into business with Matt Chabox, known for his incendiary personality. They had two other partners to round the group out, **** Ular and Ben E. Fit.

Gar Gantuan loomed large, and was unstable when paired with Mo Mentum, who said in such situations, they needed to involve Otto Matic.

Terry Cloth was wrapped around Jan U. Ary, ogled by Barbie Queue and Coleman Lantern.

"Heidi why do you have those lines on your arm?"
it's because im a broken person
trying to heal from all the pain
And the way I say this
I am no where near close trying
to romanticize my self harm or self hate

"so you mean people made you have these cracks in your skin"
remember the phrase "words hurt"
well the horrible sickning words
that were addressed to me
were killing me  

"Heidi please don't ever say you hate yourself again because I love you."
oh darling
you're beautiful 7 year old mind
makes me feel like
I'd never have pain again
but what am I feeling
as im trying to explain
why I hated myself so much
to have "cracks" in my skin
-H.M.

Studying her pillow frame
ample signs to take the blame
Neither one keeps marching on
Red stained eyes down by the pond

She said as she refused
Her mind a nightmare, light the fuse
That’s not the way I remember her glow
But that was a couple pounds ago

Hello there, I’m Heidi.  I’m 17 years old but I’m no longer alive.  I was 16 years old when I died.  It’s been a year since I’ve breathed the earthly oxygen.  The air up here is so much fresher than down there.  It’s quite unbelievable.  If you listen closely, I’ll happily tell you my story even though it’s not very happy.  If you're emotional, please take a moment to make sure there's a box of tissues handy, because by the time I reach the end, you might need some.  I’m just letting you know.  It’s not a happy ending.  Anyways, have you ever fallen in love?  Not the kind of love that you confused with the real kind.  I’m talking about true, heart pumping love.  The kind where you'll do absolutely anything for, anything in the world.  Even if it kills you.  The kind that if it starts slipping away, you'll do whatever it takes to hold it together.  You’re probably asking yourself, "16 and in love?"  Yea.  Well, here is my story.  
It all started with the day Sammy’s dad got a new job out of state.  We lived in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania for as long as I could remember and her dad's new job was all the way over in Long Beach, California.  "This can’t be happening," I thought to myself.  "How will I survive without Sammy?  She’s literally my life, the air I simply breathe every day.  She’s the only person I fully trust with my whole heart.  She’s the only person in my life worth talking to.  She’s so incredibly sweet, the sweetest girl I’ve ever met.  She doesn’t judge, she doesn’t cause any trouble, she’s real down to earth, well put together, and smart.  Everything."  It seemed too perfect, almost dream-like.  You know, the dream that you never want to wake up from.  Well, there I was living it and I didn’t ever want to wake up.  
People use to call me "The Dreamer" because I was always in a great mood.  I was always smiling and taking big risks.  I only took those risks if I absolutely thought it was worth it.  Which most of the time I thought it was.  In my opinion, I thought I was too positive but not cocky.  I was definitely not cocky at all.  I was simply positive and cheerful and constantly trying to cheer everyone else up.  Especially Sammy, I secretly thought that I had super powers.  I somehow summoned a power deep within myself that could make real smiles appear on people’s faces.  Real smiles!  The ones that create a bundle of energy instead of taking it away.  You know, fake smiles, they are forced as a result of wasted energy.  The only thing better than real smiles are real laughs.  My energy comes from laughs and smiles from other people.  When I created laughter and smiles, my energy level would rise to the top of the meter and I would be confident about everything.  I would feel indestructible, and nothing could ever hurt me.  So I thought.
When Sammy and I said our goodbyes that day, I surely didn’t want that to be the end.  I didn’t want that moment to be the last.  So I promised her that I would look for her in the future and we could get back together.  We’d keep in touch everyday with texts, calls, and the internet.  She got on the plane and that was that.  I didn’t cry.  She didn’t cry.  Until our backs were toward each other, then I couldn’t hold it.  We knew we’d see each other again and we were sure of it.  She knew I had a plan up my sleeve and that I was going to make sure everything was going to be alright.  Trust, number one thing in a relationship.
The next day I couldn’t stand it.  I couldn’t put up with the empty feeling anymore.  She wasn’t physically here.  I missed seeing her face, her smile, and her eyes.  I missed her laughter and her hugs the most.  My energy was dying.  So I thought up a scheme and I was going to follow through with it.  I called her up and told her that I was coming to see her.  Soon.  
I searched all my drawers and pockets for all my money.  I was going to have to be able to afford a one-way plane ticket and maybe a hotel if Sammy's parents wouldn't let me stay with them.  I wanted to plan for the worst just in case.  I wouldn't want to show up with no money and assume they'd let me live with them.  What if they wouldn't, then I'd be *******.  So after a while of looking around, I came up with 510 dollars.  Enough for a plane ticket and a cheap hotel for a few days.  I’ll have to find a job for sure.  But first, I'd have to go online and find the cheapest airline to use.
I picked out a few sets of clothes and fit them into a single bag.  I didn’t want anything slowing me down.  I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving or where I was going.  Besides Steve, my neighbor, I got him to drop me off at the airport.  We waited in line to buy a ticket to the first flight to California.  Fortunately, the soonest one was in a few hours and there was still a few seats left.  He walked me to the security check and then they wouldn't let him past without a ticket, so he wrapped his arms around me gave me a tight squeeze and he told me that he'd miss me an awful lot and if I ever needed any help to just call him and he would help out as best he could.  Which made me feel a ton more relaxed.  He had tears in his eyes when we separated.  I remembered saying, "I’ll text you when I get there."  I assured him that I would be just fine and he had nothing to worry about.  I also thanked him for being such a great friend.  He really was and always will be.  He stood there as I attempted to walk away, but then I turned and had to go back for another hug.  Then I was sure I was ready to go.  The second attempt to walk away was more successful than the first.  I felt him watch me the whole way till I turned the corner, out of his sight.  
I sat in the terminal for a long time, analyzing the room.  I remember that there was a cute little blonde girl with her dad, a guy with a mysterious black hat and matching trench coat, a tall thin girl with a guitar, an average looking group of 20 year old guys and a few old women.  Those were the only people that stood out, there was many more but I don’t particularly remember them.  After a while, they started calling seat numbers that were allowed to board, starting with the back.  My ticket said that I was seat number 22.  When they called 20 through 30, I got up and found my seat in the big jet.  The butterflies in my tummy are as hyper as possible.  I imagined myself with a butterfly net trying to capture all the fluttering creatures inside me so I could release them on the outside.  They were all crammed in there, fighting each other for space, and it was an unbalanced feeling.  I put my bag under my seat, sat down in seat 22 and decided to make a quick call to Sammy.  I told her I was on my way and I should be there in a few hours.  She sounded extraordinarily excited which made my heart pound.  She made the violent butterflies stop their fighting.  She also told me that her parents agreed to pick me up at the airport.  How nice of them!  Then a lady told me to get off the phone.  I thought it was rude of her to say that to me, but I don’t like making people mad, so I listened to her.  The thing I remember the most is when I told Sammy that I love her, with honesty in her voice she said it back.  Then I hung up and then I finally turn my phone off.  As soon as everyone was in and completely ready, a woman’s voice spoke on the income system.  She said something about there being flight attendants going around checking everyone’s bags and seatbelts to make sure they're secure.  There was the sound of my pulse in my ears and it was louder than anything else.  It was difficult to catch everything she was saying.  I buckled my seat belt but I left a lot of room for movement.  Before I knew it, we were up in the air.  Then I closed my eyes and that’s all I remember.  Don’t ask me how I fell asleep.  All the excitement must've made me exhausted.
The next thing I know, all of a sudden, I was thrown from my seat and I hit my head off the window and it sent sharp shooting pains through my nerves.  Everyone gasped at the same exact moment, and I had no idea what was going on.  I don’t think anyone did but I think we all knew it wasn’t good.  The feeling was like standing in an elevator, having the cables snap, and being dropped from 100 stories high.  Only it was a million times worse.  I was being thrown around everywhere.  I couldn't hold on or even fight back.  Everyone was in mad panic trying to grasp anything near to sturdy themselves.  I managed to get a glimpse out the window to see the clouds shaking.  That told me that the plane wasn’t working right.  Something absolutely horrible was going to happen, the feeling was so strong.  I heard a loud click and then a thud and I caught a glance of the little blonde girl across the aisle from me get hit in the face with a huge metal suite case.  It hit her so hard that it knocked her clear out of this world.  She fell limp and her head lay still on the floor, blood oozing out.  The puddle started streaking toward me, it told me that the plane was tilting or rolling over.  I noticed that her dad wasn’t around.  I stumbled across the aisle and held her in my arms.  I remember my vision being really blurry probably from tears or the plane shaking, or both.  I patted her cheeks to try and wake her, but she was out.  I held her tight and quickly took the time to look around for help but then realized there was no help.  Every ounce of calmness was clearly gone.  I set the girl in the seat and buckled her in.  I wasn’t sure if that would do anything but it seemed like a good idea.  The plane stayed tilted on its side then shook and it literally felt like an earth quake.  My stomach started twisting; the nose of the plane was dipping forward.  I took another look out the window.  My head was spinning, thoughts scattered everywhere.  Everything was moving way too fast and I couldn’t keep up.  I couldn’t concentrate or focus on anything.  I stood up and that was it.  After that, everything went black and then a bright white light took over.  Eventually something happened and I was floating above looking down.  It was a horrid sight, everything so lifeless and dead, unmoving.  Besides for the flames, they were more alive than anything.  Smashed metal, sparks and fire, soundless noise, and in the middle of nowhere, what was going to happen to all these bodies?  
Later, I somehow channeled my sight into a different location.  It’s been hours later and I saw Sammy and her parents in the airport.  They were anxiously waiting for my plane to arrive.  Little did they know, I wasn’t coming.  Hours and hours passed only making them more and more worried and confused.  I felt horrible.  I wish I could send them a message from up here.  They went to look at the departure and arrival screen and there was no time recorded on the screen for the flight they were looking for.  It was completely wiped off the board.  Her dad led them to the main desk to ask the man behind the counter if the plane had arrived yet.  A sorrowful look fell upon the man’s face.  He blinked away tears and you could tell he was searching for the right words to say.  He started to open his mouth but then failed to force words out.  He swallowed a gulp of air and he shook his head.  Something turned all their attention to the 40 inch flat screen on the wall where there was a lady reporting “heart breaking news” about a tragic accident.  He pointed Sammy’s attention to the television behind him, although she was already deeply fascinated.  The news reporter explained and then there were live videos being shown from a chopper that was looking down at the accident.  Sammy cupped her hands over her mouth.  Tears immediately leaked down her face.  Her parents were crying too.  Sammy collapsed to her knees.  I felt like I was standing right there watching everything but I couldn’t feel my feet.  I floated over to Sammy who was sitting on the floor with her face buried in her hands.  Her mom knelt next to her with her arms braced around her.  I waved my arms and shouted, "Look I’m right here!  Please stop crying."  But no one saw me or heard me.  I went over to Sammy and tried to grab her face to make her look at me, but I couldn’t feel anything.  I looked down at my hands and they were transparent.  I panicked and I knew this couldn’t be happening.  But it was.  I was dead.  
I channeled into another location, my house.  My parents were watching the same news channel but they didn’t know I was on that plane.  They didn’t know I was missing.  They didn’t know I was dead until weeks later.  When I didn’t come home that night, they called the cops and sent out search parties.  Whelp, they found me.  They identified my body in the plane.  My parents didn’t believe it because they had no idea how I would've got on the plane in the first place.  Then when they brought my body back to bury it, it was proof to them that it was fact me.  I absolutely hated watching everyone cry.  I hated that I couldn’t do anything about it.  Everyone that I left was left in silence.  I at least got to tell Sammy that I love her.  I got a last hug out of Steve.  Those were the most important people in my life.  I couldn’t feel worse at this moment.  
I felt like I was doing the right thing, chasing my dreams.
The dreamer thought she could fly.

Saturday April 17

You are my Lode Star

in the morning dawning light
you are always there
you are my lode star
my sunshine, my moonshine
the love of my life, my wife
with your endless love
I will face the evil corrupted world
even walk through the shadow of death
as long as you by my side
I will fear no evil for you are with me
and I will love you
until death takes me
from your your loving embrace


another Nigerian spam found poem

the Nigerians keep sending me
and millions of others
delightedly creative spam messages
this is one of the nicer ones
I have received

Enjoy
but don’t send her any money!!!!!

Good day Child of God,

Calvary Greetings
in the name of the LORD Almighty
and Our LORD JESUS CHRIST
the giver of every good thing.

Good day and compliments of the seasons,
i know this letter
will definitely come to you
as a huge surprise,

I humbly
ask you to give me
your attention
and hear me,

i am writing this mail
to you
with heavy sorrow
in my heart,


but I implore you
to take the time
to go through it  carefully
as the decision you make


will go off a long way
to determine
my future
and continued existence.

I am Mrs. Esther Heidi
aging widow of 61 years old
suffering from long time illness.

I have some funds
I inherited from my late husband
, the sum of ($17 Million Dollars) a

And I needed a very honest
and God fearing  
who can withdraw this money
then use the funds for Charity works

I WISH TO GIVE THIS FUNDS
TO YOU FOR CHARITY WORKS.
I found your email address
from the internet

after honest prayers  
to the LORD
to bring me a helper

and i decided to contact you
if you may be willing
and interested to handle
these trust funds in good faith
before anything happens to me.

I accept this decision
because I do not have any child
who will inherit this money
after I die.

I want your urgent reply
to me so that I will give you
the deposit receipt
which the bank issued to me
as next of kin
for immediate transfer of the money

to your account in your country,
to start the good work of God,
I want you to use the 30/percent
of the total amount to help
yourself in doing the project.

I am desperately
in keen need of assistance
and I have summoned
up courage to contact you

for this task,
you must not fail me
and the millions of the poor people
in our todays WORLD.

This is no stolen money
and there are no dangers involved,
100% RISK FREE
with full legal proof.


Please if you would be able
to use the funds for the Charity
(Note: I would use the money
to invest in the Church of Jake)

I want you to
take 30 percent of the total money
for your personal use
while 70% of the money
will go to charity.

I will appreciate your utmost confidentiality
and trust in this matter to accomplish
my heart desire, as I don't want anything
that will jeopardize my last wish.

Please kindly
respond for further details.

Thanks and God bless you,

Regards

Mrs. Esther Heidi

comment: the sad reality
is that 10 percent
of people fall for these scams
and loose lots of money

whole towns in Nigeria
exist to exploit the world
they call themselves
the 404 army

if it is too good to be true
it is probably not true

end comment


Last Day of America

the last day of America
was the day we last voted
the last election we ever had

for on that day
a month before
the corona virus re-emerged

as the great re-opening
of the US economy
failed to stop the relentless spread
of the virus from hell

causing panic and mass confusion
fear kept Americans home

and Donald Trump
was re-elected

because his voters
believed that God
had told them to vote
for their new found king

the newly energized President Trump
declared a national emergency
martial law
and suspension of the constitution

Promising to restore democracy
when the time was right

he promised his followers
that he would restore Christian values
renaming the United States
the Christian States of America

on that date
we met our fate

Christian fascism
was here to stay
on the last day
of American

writers digest prompt - last blank




the Conqueror Worm Corona Sonnet

Lo, t’s a galla night
within the lonesome later years
when around the world
the dreaded corona virus showed its might
spending fear to those in their later years
that it might take them in the night
that before the sun came up
their time on earth would end up
DEATH IS COMING
TO US ALL
NONE CAN ESCAPE?WE?AWAIT
FATE

# content tracing: the Conqueror Worm By Edgar Allan Poe

writing.com corona sonnet form challenge



my Mother’s secret life as a mad poet   Not for publication - remove from Poetry soup etc



one day I discovered
an unpublished poem
that my mother
had written

when she was in the midst
of her madness
before dementia silenced
the voices in her head

she had typed it out
and hid it among her papers
I read it while going through her stuff
decided to kept it

and reflected up it
over the years

my mother was born
perhaps 40 years too soon
for she was a true free spirit
a truly original thinker

and I wished
she had published
her writings

in her story
she talked about
the endless blame
that she felt

besieged on all sides
by the demands
of her children
and her cold unfeeling husband
who just did not get her

her poem speaks for itself

A Mother's Blues

How much longer can I live
With the thin edge of hysteria
And constant paranoia?

The slightest misstep on my part
Unleashes a tirade of my past sins, real and imagined--because I am the enemy.

I can't be true to myself
Since if I disagree

Even in the friendliest manner
The 16-mm. guns are revved up for a full-scale counter attack.

I wonder that I am still functioning.
By now almost anyone known to me

Has been subjected to the most agonizing kind of torture
And my humiliation is almost complete.

The phone calls I have gotten
Asking if that is my real position?

Or even worse asking
What am I doing
To cause such unprecedented allegations
Of provoking suicide
Are almost unbelievable.

And yet I have to listen,
In no way say or do anything that would even suggest
That anyone else than myself is the cause

And that the correction must come from me.

The reason is that when I am able
I do not want to let anyone else think differently

Since I persist
In the notion
That this is private
And there should be no intrusions.

But then late at night
When I am exhausted
And with no more defenses
My vulnerability is so effectively exploited.

I turn the other cheek, I change the subject
But then I get cornered

Because there is the screaming insult,
The statement of fact that is not fact

The bitter charges, the assertion of a position
That is they condemned
In the non-stop monologue,

The immediate challenge to get out,
And the endless litany
Of the deepest kind of hatred.

Am I the one to run--I have to no avail.

Am I the one to fight back

I have but to no consequence.

Can I ask for the common decency?
Of being able to sleep for a few hours

So that I can stumble
Through the routine of earning some money
Which goes to support my continued torture.

Do I have the option of fighting all night,
Sleeping all day and then returning to the fray?

Do I even have the right of insisting
The ledger is not all that one-sided?

No, I'm there to assault.

Money in unimportant
And so I don't need to work.
Because when it is all lost the avenger
Will then ride to the rescue
By taking in the laundry.

Do my dreams matter?
No, they are false and of no consequence.
Or, worse they are wrong.
Or, even worse they should be stamped out.

And now my final abjection.  Exhausted, desperately striving for the moment of quiet that precedes a restful sleep a son arrives asking for a chat. I try but I don't want to give advice, as I have none really to give. But my avenging angel swoops in saying why listen to that creep--he's a two-time loser. Did you know all the crimes he has committed?  Once again I could not remain detached and listen to the skill of the assault or the spilling of the hatred so long denied its vengeance.

I fight back and my humiliation is now complete.  Do I have any person left with whom I can feel whole? I am being reduced to a hunted animal.

If I have a kind word for anyone that person is at risk.  Can I fight back?  No, because there is the ultimate blackmail of the constant threat of suicide--I live daily with the fear that my reactions will trigger this.  After all, when the world is tired of hearing how bad I am what can prove it.

Should I finally admit this inevitability and take the only step that can forestall it and that is to move first.  What do I have to lose? NOTHING.  The anguish and hopelessness would finally be at an end.

My twenty-year struggle to do right would be at the end.

My god, how I have suffered but no one has asked since it was the suffering of others that was all that mattered.

How much larger must my burden of guilt become?  When, on when, can I have a reprieve?  Can my debts, real or imagined, ever be paid?


the poem spoke to me
for I was perhaps
her favorite son

for of her children
perhaps I was the only one
that ever got her

and I miss her
every day

and wished
I had told her
that before
dementia took her from us
and took her life

poetry superhighway prompt to write a letter based on your mother’s writings


Plane, Train or Automobile - none of us can escape our fate


in these dark and dire times
we find ourselves living
we often fear that the times
are infected with death

and so we are afraid
deathly afraid
that if we take a plane
we will find  General Corona
among the passengers

and we afraid
deadly afraid
that the subways
are incubators
of death and destruction

the virus spreads
fear and death
in its wake

many of us
retreating to our homes
and venturing out
in our cars

only to find
death is stalking us
as traffic piles up
traffic accidents
still killing more people
that the dreaded General Corona

the grim reaper smiles
his work is done
Satan thanks General. Corona
for a job well done

writing com daily dew drop in prompt


packages

they say
that God works in mysterious ways
his wonders to perform

every day it seems
that more and more
of what we buy
and consume

comes in packages
sent from here and there
as people
continue to practice
social distancing

and going to the store
becomes an exercise
fraught with peril
and danger

so we order
on line
and we get our packages
sent from here and there

one day we received
a gift package
of clams
delicious fresh clams

as I ate them
I thought of the workers
who had labored unseen
for me to enjoy
this bounty from the sea

and I gave thanks
to the gods
for making it happen

in this day and age
we should thank
those who are still
laboring to feed the world

they are the unsung heroes
of this war fought by nature
under the direction
of General Corona


tweeter speak poetry prompt April 16 Packages



computer madness sonnet


computer madness infects my soul
every day when I turn on my PC
and encounter endless  haiku error messages
constant crashing, constant eating my files
at times like this it seems to me
that my mad as a hatter crazed computer
is plotting against me and only me
it wants to drive me quite insane
sending me right around the bend
as I scream at my machine
it beeps at me this **** machine
smiling as I threaten once again
to shoot the hell bound machine

sonnet all poetry computer frustration contest
You have always been my sunshine

You have always been my sunshine
my moonshine, my load star
that guides me in the night
for your sunshine kissed my soul
the day that you walked
out of my dreams
into my life
and became my wife
for 38 years and counting
every morning I see you sleeping
your smile is like the sunshine
that wakes my soul
and banishes the nightmares
back to the dark corners of my mind

love sonnet for all poetry contest on prompt line Sunshine Kissed


Saturday April 18, 2020

Korean Blues Crown of Sonnets

I have been dealing with Things Korean
for almost 40 years now
dealing with a once exotic land
’now my second homeland?
first came to Korea?
in the Peace Corps in Korea?
went to Korea to find the woman
in search of the woman
who haunted my dreams
met the woman
Fell in love with the woman
From Korea who walked out my dreams
In an land still exotic

In a land still exotic
It was a very exotic different land
and even now decades later a new land
remains for most Americans
still a strange land exotic
but much more known land
in the US
due to K drama, K Pop,
Koreans have become globally cool but still exotic
Many of my fellow Americans
may know a few people from Korea
and some have served or lived in Korea
but to most of the us Americans
it remains over there still exotic
a strange Asian exotic land
A strange Asian Exotic land
I fell in love with that exotic land
now I spend half my time living Korean time
half in the U.S. time
and due to the corona time
will be here for some time
and well Korea
no longer an exotic land
as I am now just living in Korea
my thoughts half Korean
and even dream in Korean
so be it near the end of my time
I am back where I began
Writer digest prompt write an exotic poem wrote my first crown of sonnet form too, and it mostly rhymes! go figure




Cosmic Debris  Corona Sonnet


use as sample for remaining corona sonnet

the Conqueror Worm Corona Sonnet

Lo, t’s a galla night
within the lonesome later years
when around the world
the dreaded corona virus showed its might
spending fear to those in their later years
that it might take them in the night
that before the sun came up
their time on earth would end up
DEATH IS COMING
TO US ALL
WE  
WAIT
LATE
FATE


# content tracing: the Conqueror Worm By Edgar Allan Poe

writing.com corona sonnet form challenge



for Posting 2.  Cosmic Debris Corona sonnet 2

I received a mysterious email package
followed by a phone call offering me a magical mask
a mask that they claim would prevent me
from the dreaded General Corona
hey there
who you jiving with that cosmic debris
a mask that they did not want me
me to know about
TOP SECRET CODE 2 LEVEL  STUFF
MUST    ACT   NOW
SEND MONEY  ASAP
BUY
IT
NOW

# content tracing-  “Cosmic Debris by Frank Zappa”
with apologies to Frank Zappa




No More Ties for Me!

When I retired
I made three vows
to myself

first, I would spend
my remaining life
loving my wife

second, i would never wear a tie again
unless it was a real special occasion
as I hated wearing ties and suits

wore a suit and tie
almost every day
of my life

as a teacher
later as a foreign service officer
all over the world

last year of my job
I only wore a tie
on "tie worthy occasions"

since then I have been
tie free
except for a wedding

and I love it
hated suits and ties
just not Berkeley enough

for my free spirit
too **** corporate
and I don’t care anymore

and in Oregon, where I lived
no one wore a tie,
not the Oregon way

oh the last thing
I shave twice a month now
used to hate shaving

but I also don't like
a full shaggy itchy beard

and I shaved every day

for years and years
except when I was in the hospital
for a year

and I grew to love
having a beard
back then

back to the office
started shaving again
every **** day

now I do my thing
no office for me
and no more daily shaving

and a beard is also
very Northern Cal/Northwest
Oregonian Chic

so once every two weeks
is a good compromise
my beard is now a poet’s face

and so I hope to keep
these three vows
until my time is done

writing com Daily Dew Drop Inn prompt to write a poem about a piece of clothing





Corona Consumes Me  Corona Sonnet  3

I am consumed by the corona virus
and I am slowly being taken over
as the virus infects my mind
taking me over turning me
into a wild raving zombie man
Let there be light
will I become the first
ZOMBIE APOLYCAPASE LOOMS
WILL WE ALL DIE
CORONA
KILLS
ME

content tracing - Let there be light from Bible and the entire Zombie Apocalypse genre where the Zombie flu started usually in China as a flu and then morphs into the zombie disease



Sunday April 19, 2020

for posting General Corona Leads His Troops Into Battle, crown of sonnets

General Corona leads his forces across the world
riding on a black horse
from out of the Apocalypse  ride the four horsemen
which are let loose upon the world
He leads his forces across the world
into battle as the leader of his evil forces
The enemy of humanity
General Corona he does not care
nor does his virus minions care
about your nationality he does not care
about your politics he does not care
or your wealth or who you are
for all you are nothing but humanity
the corona general sees humanity
the corona general sees humanity
as nothing but hosts for his virus army

as nothing but hosts for his virus army
chanting death to humanity
until his evil army
sweeps throughout the world
throughout the world
and millions must die
it is the will of the general all must die
and it is the end of the world
or perhaps the beginning of a new world
filled with hope and love through out the world
humanity comes alive throughout the world
fighting back against the virus army
peace, love and compassion defeats the army
and general corona will finally himself die




Voice Message for God

dialing 202-346-5666  Beep
You have reached GOD
Press 1 for English, Press 2 for Spanish
leave a message or prayer
and maybe an angel will call you
will get back to you Beep
Hey GOD someone sent me your number
and well I hope I’ve reached your number
I don’t know where to start that’s the point
GOD I am scared of you
all the time is my point
I am so afraid, so scared
of the dreaded General Corona
and his invisible army is my point

and his invisible army is my point
forcing me to stay at home
and I am sacred
that you anointed the wrong man  
to be our leader, that makes me sacred
not to second guess you man
your will be done and all of that man
but GOD, can’t you do better job my man
of anointing our leaders to serve under GOD
of all the people in the U.S. dear God
this is the best you can do?, man?
I mean you picked perhaps the one man
in the world who could be the anti-chris, God
Seriously GOD what is wrong with you? man

Seriously, GOD, what is wrong with you? man
was this all sort of a cosmic joke?
well it ain’t funny any more ain’t no joke
Please GOD make it all go away, man
Please GOD for the love of GOD
and all that is holly and good, man
just make it all go away, GOD
and anoint someone else, man
a real leader for a change, GOD
and let him lead us to the promised land  
this I pray in Jesus’s name, my man
and if I don’t make it, GOD
We have a lot to talk about GOD
See you on the other side, my man

writer digest prompt write a “message Poem” so this is a voice mail to GOD




Every Day I go Back in Time to when she came to Me

every day I go back in time
to the two events that changed my life
to the dream that haunted my life
and the day she walked into my life
and became my wife
I can never forget the dream
falling asleep in the physics class
as the teacher was going on and on
and as I nodded off
I saw here there
standing there
speaking to me
the most beautiful woman
in the entire world

in the entire world
she was speaking to me
and disappeared from my dreams
and I knew that i would be
meeting her some day she would come to me
and so I eventually went to Korea other side of the world
in the Peace corps hoping she would come to me
then one day i had the last and final dream
she said don’t worry she would soon come to me
and then she walked out of my dreams
and there she was she came to me
and so she walked out of my dreams
into my life, became my wife
when she came to me

Poetry Superhighway prompt to write a poem about time travel to your past or your future

258 days
Are the number of days we were together, sweet girl

January ...
High School Basketball Game
50 texts
50 smiles
So cute
You didn't even mean it
Spleen smiles
Next week
You want me to come over
To help decorate for your birthday party tomorrow
Instead, making out on the porch
"I'm so bad"
... ... ...
Tomorrow
I'm sorry, I don't have any gift except for myself
Pop the question
Will you be mine?
There marked day 1
More spleen smiles
... ... ... still get this flashback so clear in my mind, in Ray's chair, Dani was up on the left arm, you and I cuddling in the seat, she looks over and tells us how cute we look

... ... ...
Every other day in that month consisting basically of
Heidi said this
Heidi said that
Help me help me
She's on facebook going nuts about me
I even called her four times for hours trying to calm her down
You told me it wasn't my fault
Our senses of humour blended really well
Spleen smiles all the way
You were my anchor
I fell in love

Little boy
Red fires trucks
Tree forts
Grasshoppers
Model rockets
Rock n roll
The sea
Growing body
Out of place
Sitting alone
Watching
Lonely
Hide
No one understands
Girl crush
Cars
Writing
21
Alcohol
Drugs
Relief
Job
Alcohol
Must smile
Alcohol
Work
Forget
Gay girls
Weekends with Heidi
I fit in
Guys made jokes
Hate them
Hate them
Alcohol
Alcohol
Marriage
Love
Happier
Travel
Escape
Love
30 years
Hiding
Feel it
Covered
Concealed
Leaking out
Femininity
Fashion
Passion
Beauty
Desire
Need
I'm Trans
Release
Lightened
Free
Happy
Me

©Lj Mark 2015

The Songbird

Are you broken-hearted?  Mend it with a song.
Sing one retaliating against how you’ve been done wrong,
Songbird your voice draws goose bumps, and tears.
Sing out loud using only your deepest wounds, and fears.
Sing by heart, be confident and proud
Sing in the shower, to yourself, or bravely to a crowd.
Lullaby yourself to sleep,
With soothing songs much peace you’ll reap.
Strong and beautiful, this voice in me
Soulful anguish will set you free
When expelled from your spirit lyrically.
Sing a song of sorrow for the little one inside,
For she remains twisted from insanity, still cutting, deprived.
Sing one jubilantly, of sunflowers and frogs
Then laugh so hard it hurts your sides until giggles become sobs.
Don’t be afraid to sing one hymn along with me,
About how life endured, strengthens our melody.
Whether acappella, country or the blues,
Let your raw emotion be the one to choose
Notice how we pick the songs that strum our broken hearts
It's only through revealing pain, that the healing starts.

Heidi Shavill
2013

Heidi Williams


If I edit language, call me poet, a word-smith if I pro it.
But if I edit music, there's no such name, no tags of respect
just beats to collect, sometimes trash that collects.
I'm a trash collector, musical dumpster diver,
producers dump their trash
I turn their trash to treasure.
Treasure hunter, trash tuner.
There's beauty everywhere
to the eyes of see-ers, the the ears of hearers.
Seagulls see trash and turn obsessive, possessive.
And we feed the other birds, but shoo them away,
but once winter comes,
we hear seagull sounds, and we feel the beech.
We listen for summer in seagulls.
We listen for oceans in seashells,
but I can hear waves in my headphones,
and I can change the tide when the trash comes.

God let her come back into my life
Thank You