Friday, January 20, 2012

Viva Las Vegas

surreality surrounds and lingers tries to capture my separating humpty dumpty mind and body as parts and pieces of my soul seeps out into the stale stillness that is this alien world that suggests sin via subliminal messages beamed haphazardly from closed circuit television cameras one-armed bandits and twirling pasties adhered securely to breasts fake and natural little fingers of energy that tickle the balls of my inner satan

tens of thousands of us suckers slide through the portal that is mccarran station as we are ripped out of long winged aluminum tubular birth canals by our achilles heels held high and spanked on our bare bottoms to elicit screams and fill our lungs with the unnatural desert air spiked with spanish fly and a quixotic need to tilt at the ghosts of bugsy siegel and hank greenberg

and we cue up in lines that wind and wend through paths natural and manmade around the outside of the portal little white earbuds attached to jetsonian communication devices attempting to line up business appointments garner envious dinner reservations or more likely simply chit chat with whomever friend or foe we may be able to reach so that we are perceived by others in line to be both critical and necessary and

above all

hip and relevant and in the know

because we all know because we all fear that the moment either of us is perceived as being irrelevant the moment either of us is seen as being slightly out of touch we are forcefully extricated from this persistent game of musical chairs and relegated to the ash pile of trivial impertinence

tis a land of emotional grecian formula which is carefully distilled and distributed in very elaborate and fancy bottles stored by the thousands in rack upon rack upon rack and infused in libations both colorful and powerful served by female automatons injected with silicon and wrapped tightly yet sparsely in spandex and lace

ponce de leon wasted his time in florida he should have followed his compass across the desert as youth is indeed available if you can afford it

and love


love it flows freely and it flows with a heavy price love she is like the butterfly one does not wildly chase love down around through the vegas strip one must sit quietly at the video poker bar sipping on call brand spirits waiting for love to approach and she will oh she will

invade your consciousness squat in the dilapidated dens of your morality

and we make our way to our hotel of convenience our own little personal house of holes and because we are a saintly crew we alight in high rise comfort sans casino and without porn on the television but complete with signs plastered all about the room imploring us nee threatening us not to smoke under penalty of law under penalty of fine under threat of public flogging

which we immediately ignore

as we fire up bowls large enough to hold tomorrow’s cocoa krispies bowls filled with imported northern california ganja green and sticky like money

dirty dirty money

and we call our bookies to express our undying faith that alabama can cover the spread and we point our trusty browsers to youporn for inspiration to expend our fresh off the boat seed quickly and expediently so as not to provide an easy round for the anticipated dalliances that we pray will happen

either by serendipity or credit card

our faith in bacchus such that he will provide

and we descend from up on high to sit at the right hand of our savior the bartender and his faithful disciples we sit around on faux living rooms arrangements of sofas and chairs hip but not so overly comfortable as to suggest a long stay as to suggest pitching a tent alongside our faithful desert steeds

and we swap stories both bold and brave of our journeys across sand and stone stories perhaps true stories perhaps stretched and we measure cocks real and imagined we allow them to swing low we cross them as swords we measure them as metaphor

and we consume copious amounts of alcohol pretending that this is something we do every monday evening

while we also pretend to be grown ups doing grown up business things we extol virtues of ethereal products promulgate promises to deliver in the next quarter we’re taking orders now get in line don’t you know you don’t want to be behind the pack

you don’t want to be looking for tickle me elmo on christmas eve now do you our biggest collective fear being that of heading left when the world heads right looking under the bush when it’s up in the tree

and we are constantly scanning the room for fresh conquest for those with purchase orders flowing from their pockets for those with freshly fucked yet available looks for those whom we traveled all this way to see

and there she is

she drives me crazy and i can’t help myself and i must make my way to the bema to sit at the mahogany bar and talk to her she all blonde and buxom and her grin is like a scooby snack lifts me up not by the nose but by my cock drags me floating across the room sailing above the hipsters each and every one peddlers of gadgets big and small their shiny balding heads all bowed down praying their fingers dancing along their smart devices their electronic rosary beads angry birds a modern day parable for jesus throwing the money changers from the temple

and she pats the barstool next to her as i alight dizzy and drunk we enter into the hall of seductive discussion i express my respect for her good taste in drawing me near i sing praise for her eyes for her ears on which i lean over and nibble to which i lean over and whisper my desire for

her throat

soft and inviting and vulnerable

and i carry the conversation pretty much all by myself a burden we of the talented tongue must bear

i wiggle words of wonder and wisdom adulterous alliterations alight from my tingling tongue tickling her thigh without even touching

it’s so fucking easy

her vacuous eyes gazing at all the pretty baubles she admires she touches my cufflinks all shiny and bright and sparkling she touches the silky finish of my handmade in hong kong sports coat she takes my silver earring in her teeth with a growl

she whispers wishes to be rid of this place to find a spot more cozy more comfortable where we might where we may get to know each other a little better a wink a smirk a smooch to the air to the gods of love that hover about above us all

but simple sex seems as boring as taking a piss i beg her give me more fuck my mind suck my spirit grab my heart by the shaft soulfully slide your hand up and down tickle the balls of my brain shove a finger up my asshole opinion

don’t you wanna fauna

i’m gonna go to vegas i’m gonna find my joy i don’t want you any more cause you took my joy yeah you took my joy i want it back you got no right to take my joy i want it back

all i’m asking all i’m saying is tell me a joke give me a giggle lift a little of the load because i ain’t feeling it with you and yours

and i’m distracted by a squirrel running across the bar and some other lovely but lonely lauren clad lad slides in between us allowing me to slip away unnoticed to join comrades arm in arm out into the night to be swallowed by the dry desert air lit by moonlight and neon by a monster limousine that whisks us off to spinning wheels and rolling dice and tits in tuxedos that shuffle cards and deal dreams

queen six gotta hit queen seven gotta stick

and the piles grow and the piles waste away til the rhumba thumba of club tao beckons and the past midnight boogie begins we go all john travolta more pulp fiction than fever

oh momma where’s my uma

where is my drink better get another and another hot to trot waitresses never let us down they are always there it seems whenever we turn around whenever we find ourselves empty there she is tray in hand shots of bourbon of tequila of absinthe

of our sin

open up the window i need to catch my breath stop the world and let me off

and the music ends and the morning begins and our chariots whisk us back to the village inn where we will be escorted to our own very special little ten by ten luxury cell with its king size bed all turned down with a chocolate on the pillow next to the cardboard hanger suggesting breakfast be delivered at any time we may choose

and we stumble back and forth across the room turn on the television tour the offerings while we take the time to properly disrobe fold our clothes and hang them in the closet perform our night time ablutions slowly wash our faces with temperate warm water brush our teeth

we cling to the little rituals we hold on to tradition

because we all fear the day we all fear that point in time when we merely collapse fully dressed on top of some pallet on some floor in some fleabag motel found downtown off on some side road three blocks over from the strip

pass out and collapse in our blacked out state

drown in our own vomit

viva las vegas twenty twelve and all that

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