You have a constitutional right to disagree.  I don't think it requires being "disagreeable."  Before demanding someone's resignation for exercizing his personal freedom to express his personal opinion (and that is what it was--a city council of 7 equal members acts on legislation in Highland Park, with the mayor carrying no more weight than any other council member), please investigate the circumstances and participate in the democratic process available to all.   I look forward to reasonable discourse on this and any other issue the citizens of Highland Park see fit to address in the forum of our council. 

 

Further, I am an Illinois politician by the same definition you apply to our mayor (the fact is we are both quasi-volunteers in a council/manager form of government) and your inuendo in that regard is not only unfair but offensive.

 

A reply is not necessary.

Lawrence D. Silberman

From: Lair Scott [mailto:lairscott@yahoo.com]
Sent: Tuesday, May 05, 2009 4:43 PM
To: Silberman, Lawrence; stevemandel@comcast.net; slevenfeld@earthlink.net; hpkirsch@comcast.net; mrboating@aol.com
Subject: Pitbull Ban Protest Planned

A protest to the proposed Highland Park, IL ban on Pitbulls is being planned for Monday, May 11, 2009.

 

An international call for Mayor Belsky resignation is also in place. The world will now watch as yet another Illinois politian's job is at stake. His statement,

"These are mercurial dogs, they are unpredictable and they are lethal," Belsky said. "I think we need to lead by example here, and maybe other communities will follow suit and create a groundswell, like the smoking ban."

is being heard around the circles of animal welfare and animal rights communities.

 

We hope, you, as city council members will NOT approve Mayor Belsky's proposal.

 

Sincerely Yours,

 

Lair Scott

This e-mail transmission contains information that is confidential and may be privileged. It is intended only for the addressee(s) named above. If you receive this e-mail in error, please do not read, copy or disseminate it in any manner. If you are not the intended recipient, any disclosure, copying, distribution or use of the contents of this information is prohibited. Please reply to the message immediately by informing the sender that the message was misdirected. After replying, please erase it from your computer system. Your assistance in correcting this error is appreciated. ____________________________________

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jLtzpUUUYE

I would bitch too if I had to go to a school like that.

Tumblin' Horizons

 

The Thunder Boy of Wicca Park ©

From the epic novel Tumblin' Horizons © by Lair Scott

 

Prelude:

"Faith is an oddity"

I sigh to the sky

As a mighty gale cometh

Toward my village

Here in Wicca Park

Within this city of Zephyr Megalopolis

      In the remote shadows of Mount Snowcane

 

     The classic melody of Oh Fortuna

     Chases through my head

This holiday feast evening

This November …

 

As I stand in the doorway

At the Church of Dearth

I reach deep

In my pocket

Pull a fresh crumbled

Memorandum    

I wrote today

I toss it to the wind

My gesture

To the God, Zephyr

It tumbles

Like a frantic Angel

 

Attempting to adjust

My rickety umbrella

My slow shrinking tummy

Somewhat full

From the meal I had

With the lost and unfortunate

Domeless community

Dining with them

Though my own pantry

Is temporarily full

There

To share

My own shame of poverty

There

Just to share my solitude

For their God

So I was told

Loves the pitied

The poor

And the domeless

But their God

Must have been somewhere else

As I did not see him

No spoon in his hand

No word from the wise

My anticipation to meet

This God

Dashed by any of their facts

Or even their fictions

Let down again

By someone else's

Optimism …

 

I leave the Church of Dearth

I am steadfast

Racing

Through this village

The oncoming weather

Blustery

Stinging my cheeks

When I take a short cut

Through a dimly lit alley

And spot a shanty

No vacancy there

And implore my Gods

As a God is a God

Is a God

That whoever lives there

Had found safe sanctuary

Hospitable friendships

And is not suffering

From uncontrollable

Isolation

As I do …

 

Dark fierce clouds

Whirl in

From once they congregated

Those unreachable

Summits of Mount Snowcane

Oh Fortuna

Still pounding

In my head

 

The weathervane

On the top of my building

The Building of Misfits

Sometimes

Commanding directions

Spins wicked and wild

Lightning flashes  

Without touching the earth

Thunder rumbles with rage

The powerful storm gathers

Its force of snow and rain

Oh so swiftly

My once sturdy umbrella

Collapses inside out

Defenseless

Insecure

Unguarded

With dear life

I grasp it with all my power

Repairing its damaged framework

Before it could take off

Like a night kite in flight

Gusty

It is then

I heed more piercing thunder

Deafening

Blasting

Shrilling

Flickers of brilliant thrilling

Illuminations

Bolts of erratic lightning

Eclectic and all audacious

Rapidly striking the ground  

Detonations surrounding me

Like webs of an all powerful

Electric spider

 

Fearlessly

I spy to the sky

And what emerges to be

A likely Angel

A striking tall tapered boy

A boy tumblin' without wings

Tumblin' from the cruel clouds

Lost, friendless

Frozen

Screaming for empathy

So it seems

Bouncing off the buildings

Tossed around

In the sky

Floating

Then flying

Roller blazing

      Speeding fast

Doomed to fall flat

Upon his frosty frightened face

His near naked body

Covered in massive grimy

Ice and snow

His shoulder length hair

All wild and spine tingling

Profound bitter snow

Constricts him

It covers his eyes and mouth

Ice dangles from his nostrils

      Vapors blow from his ears

His hands, so frigid

Yet blaring red

      Tiny bolts of violent violet

      Flicker from his finger tips

His skin smolders

A whiter shade of pale

His blue lips shiver

And on the heels of this bizarre boy

Tiny sparks of spitting lightning

Hysterical roller blazing

This creature …

This fiery and frosty

Mortal extraterrestrial

     Lands near my feet …

 

Could he be the Fallen Angel

I have been pleading for?

My new wishful beginnings …

All intact

Seething

Swiping his limbs

And torso

He lifts himself

From the barren street

Stumbles up toward me

Stutters, sputters and pleads

For safe shelter and human solace

I shield him from the raging weather

      Take him into my ragged coat

       I coddle him closely

Around his beaten exhausted body

His chin bent to his chest

As he lifts it

And tries to smile at me

In his attempt to thank me

I recollect his face

I draw him even nearer

To my warm beating heart

Cautious yet unconditionally …

As I had been hustled by this lad

Eras ago

Alas, I can not evoke his name

But remember him well

Before he plunged rigid to earth …

I then lift his six foot one

Warrior-like frame

Under my arm

And as I carry him inside

From the heavy sleet

The hounding snow

The chilling ruthless winds

My umbrella sails in the gusts

As I catch a fleeting glimpse

At the viscous villain himself

Vivus Vampyr   

Vivaciously solitaire  

Under a snow covered lamplight

Just across the boulevard

Throwing his despicable dice

Against a brick wall

In this torrential weather

Dancing in and out of stormy shadows

Bent on pending doom

And I am already weary …

 

Though my space is minimal

I feel the boy is domeless

And I am dreadfully lonely

This holiday evening

So I rush him in

Just for the night

 

As the boy thaws

He hastily relieves himself

Pisses his endowed pride

In my chamber pot

Right in front of me

In the comfort of my balmy abode

He complains that he is hot

Removes his backpack

He begins to greatly perspire  

The scent of a decaying dumpster

It saturates the air

His odor intolerable

Sickly sweet

Panic builds upon his forehead  

As he strips off his entire

Grubby attire

With no humble intentions

Salvages his twigs and stones

His garments reveal disgusting

Stains from the street

His hands are filthy

The tips of his fingers

Blackened with tar   

His feet and boots

Reeks the stench of rotting vermin

And canine defecations

Pungent beyond all toleration  

I wrap his clothes and boots in plastic

Explaining that I will replace them

Toss them in the trash

Though the odor lingers from within

Nonchalantly

I slightly open my only window

Then I race to close it quickly

For the raging outdoor elements

Are pouring in

I graciously spray

Disinfectant

So he apologizes

For his offensive smell

And we undergo

His thinly masked

Mannish bouquet …

 

I spoil him with essential

Holiday provisions

Provisions I cooked

For myself

Enough to last for days

I share with him

I feed him with delight

In all his arrogant nakedness

As he devours meals of four men

I arbitrarily admit my solitude

My isolations

He admits his days of starvation

And his lack of sleep

He gambles

That they are equal in assessments

I shrug my shoulders in indifference

I continue to gaze at him eating

His gluttony saturates him

Leaving him nearly comatose

His eyes, rolling with nirvana   

  

He reveals his memory of me

Calls me by name

"Troubadour"

He blurts it with amusement

In all his confidence

Remembering me  

From my prior service

At the Tavern of Enormous Horses

I of course impressed

By his recollections

I am humiliated

To ask his name

But then it comes to me

His name is Mercy

Such a proper name

For an aging boy

That had just survived

Such a frosty tumblin' peril

 

I then totally sanitize him

He polishes himself

Squeaky clean 

In fragrant detoxifying waters

I coyly court him

My eyes on his pride

Flirting with my personal expansions

My exhilaration

And I am aware

That I may just be

The eye of his machination

So cautious yet unconditionally

I continue to provide for him

I pamper him with a dry towel

Then assist him onto my futon

He is still naked and undaunted

He closes his eyes

As he fondles

His hefty pride

He poses

In several forms

Modeling, egocentric

Brazened and immodest

Celebrating

Our confidential freedoms

I too without restraint

Disrobe

Intensely study his nudity

As an artist

About to paint a canvas

Awakening my arousals

And rupture his mysteries …

 

Sculpted like an aquatic competitor

An obvious attribute

To his fondness of roller blazing

I study him madly …

 

His body

All radiant and nubile

His smooth alabaster skin

His light amber body hair

His wavy blond head of hair

His wide receding forehead  

His brawny unibrow

His long innocent lashes

His fluent hazel eyes

His intense expressions

His high cheek bones

His cleft chin  

His strong slender fingers

His chiseled stomach 

The tiny scars of his toppled perils

The soil rooted under his nails

The cleansed scent of his fluffy armpits

The tender blemishes

The back of his broad shoulders

The firmness of his branches

The silent objectives

 

Then, still in his hushed desires

He swiftly stares my way

Cocks his head

Groans like low thunder

Disrupting my voyeuristic

Bliss

Though I am mollified    

He explodes his nectar

An erotic volcano  

From the tip of his pride

It spurts, drizzles and oozes  

Upon his tight torso

I crave for his fluid seeds   

Upon the back of his strong hand

Which I desire to guzzle

For my own hunger

My souvenir

Yet, he ignores my appetite

As he sighs heavily

Exhausted and spent

Turns my way to thank me

Then he restlessly slumbers

Within the compassion of my bed

 

For days and nights to come

I observe him

Next to me

His warm body

His ebbs and flows

We are always both

Comfortably nude

Even though he is just a visitor

Unaware that I am mesmerized

By his beauty

Me, taking cerebral notes

I am the one who can not sleep

Though I am

Narcoleptic

Shared with

Apnea Syndrome

A certain mix of near

Fatal disorders

I keep them to myself …

 

Now with pen in hand

Scrawling down

His anticipated

Captive slumbered behaviour

For this to me

Is my serious folly

As he finally

Fades quietly into slumber

I then pick up my keyboard

And record his movements

I note …

"Client is observed sleeping

Chronic stereotypical patterned behaviour

Established"

Investigations of him

I can just forecast

By his aggressive

Twitching, tossing, moaning

The heavy snoring

He swears he does not suffer from

His inaudible arguments he emits

His drooling mumblin'

From the corner of his mouth  

His bucking ornate caressing

The fluctuations of his awakened pride

His need to snuggle and cuddle

His head against mine

Episodes of flinching arms and legs

His elbow

Punching me in the side   

In, then out of his dreams

He reaching his alpha

Then his beta

At last his delta

In and out

Quickly

This is not rewarding rest

This is resistant reserved sleep

From his sleep deficiencies  

No pleasant dream here

His prior admittance

Days upon nights of sleeplessness

Wide eyed existence

"Client is agitated

Evidence of malnutrition

And heartbreak

Signs of oncoming

Chronic Necrocooliosis noted"

 

Mercy half awakens

In brief intervals

Groggy  

Believes I am sleeping

I pretend

I am sleeping

My eyes closed

Mostly

His hunger

Constantly stimulated

Snacking on sweets

Gulping on milk

Lots of milk

Anything within reach

Rolls my tobacco

As if it is his

Smokes quietly

Then is once again

Comatose

This repetitive behaviour

Goes on

Over a period of days and nights

My endeavour to slumber

Reckless and aloof

By Mercy's intolerable

Sleeping patterns

Yet I endure

 

My annotations suffer …

He has out slept my tolerance

My patients worn

My eyes

Blurry

For I purely envision

His silent horrendous

Plundering nightmares of his artic past

Dreams of twigs and stones

Or the results of his

Clairvoyant prospects

His snow blinded detours

That he can only endure

And my pity upon Mercy

Prevails …

 

The weather outside

Abdominally snowy

An unconditional blizzard

Prevails

The snow is mounting

I have grave concern for him

And for what I have observed

Within a short amount of time

He obviously has several disorders

His most profound symptoms

Are overpowering

Suffering from adverse affects

The fatal disease

Necrocooliosis

A disease of the domeless

And feeble minded

Thunder Boys

A disease brought on

By Vampyr stalking

Their every move

Forcing them

To hold onto their pasts

Keeping them reckless

Their dependence on raw elements

Essential

Torturing them

With his keen sense of paranoia

His careless afflictions

It is his greed

Greed for all that is selfish greed

They learn so well

Passing it onto others

It is his torrential torment

They endure

His grip

Grips those who invite him

Into their souls

The ripples of nirvanas

They experience

He provides

Vampyr provides

Ever so rewarding to them

So rewarding

They are not aware

It is his powerful clutch

They do not even know

It is Vampyr

Ruling their demise

Altering their bodies and minds

Sometimes

Almost instantly into

Zephyr Zombies

Shall they not regard?

His cloak of terror …

Vampyr's Angels of Hell    

 

I am certain

Mercy

Has encountered him now …

 

I just sit here

Staring at Mercy's

Sleeping wonders

Cringing at his ambiguity

Where then there appears

To be a big blue snowflake

Where a tear should be

It seems to want to radiate

Like a sapphire

But fizzles out quickly

As it commences to dissolve

Into a actual tear

I softly bring my thumb

Over its wetness

Examine its texture and scent

I curiously taste it

As the boy rouses

His enormous stiff pride

Rouses with him

He mashes it

With the palm of his hand

Against his firm abdomen

A common waking reaction

Amongst males

Suddenly awakens

As though he had never slept

Bright eyed and all electric

Pisses in my chamber pot

Claims he is instantly famished

Then speaks in chilling tongues

Tongues of the schizophrenic

And lost Thunder Boys

He speaks in chilling tongues

As I witness him

Fumblin' for twig and stone

Twigs and stones

He does not have

He gets agitated freely

Assumes I can cope

With his emotional position …

 

It is just glacial-like outside

It is insufferably dangerous

The wind chill

Well below zero

I can not just toss him

Back to a sadistic sky

Or to the seclusion of a stark vacant alley

Unprotected from the elements

Where I believe

He called it his dome

Something he mumbled

In his sleep

In his unconscious conversations

While I tenderly

Watched him sleep

 

So I try to inquire about his journeys

My attempt to force him

To reveal his true sanity

For I know in his mind

He is in another world

He snaps back

The moment I open

The quaint refrigerator door  

Respectfully begs me

To feed him

Hastens me

To provide for him

To feed his urgent hunger

He again devours meals of four men

Meals I can barely afford to provide

     

      Then Mercy finally refocuses

On a topic of conversation

Though he shows

High intelligence

His lips tell me lies

But my ardent instincts are

That I know Mercy

More than what Mercy

Would like me to know

I will undergo his tall tales

As long as it will

Keep him off the streets

And safe within my heart

 

Cautious yet unconditionally

It shall be my mission

To rescue Mercy

From Vampyr's mesmerizing power

Assist Mercy in curing his

Necrocooliosis

And propose to engage him

To become my winter companion

My lodger mate …

This Urban Angel who fell from the sky

Mercy

My Thunder Boy

The Thunder Boy of Wicca Park …

 

 

The Thunder Boy of Wicca Park ©

From the epic novel Tumblin' Horizons © by Lair Scott

All Rights Reserved

A Thunder Boy Awakens

(Vampyr's Recollection) ©

From the epic novel Tumblin' Horizons © by Lair Scott

 

It is an All Hallows Eve twilight that I return to this desperate young man, squatting in tremours behind covert steel and concrete, where only the curious and eternal appendages such as I thrive

 

Typically pierced and rowdily tattooed, his lean face is that of a Rock and Roll idol, sprouting a wooly divot just under his pursing lip, his eyes, sapphire and oceanic  

 

His shoes are decaying, his sparse attire dangles like cobwebs upon his ashen skin, the threads wranglin' on the little black hairs on his sturdy bare legs and chiseled chest

 

He appears to be as other able-bodied thugs like him, those who have lost their wings and tumbled to earth, while nothing will compare for the fate to come of another boy in my prospects, the Thunder Boy of Wicca Park

 

But it is here where I refer to this, Thunder Boy of Twilight Alley, still strewn amongst the ruins … the stench of the simmering garbage, the rats and the dead vines, still here, petitioning me to ease his pain again

I, ambitious to execute my own thirst, a calculating callous manic mosquito, hovering over his fragile seclusions, as I console him with my enchantments and he receives me for who I am, his loving Shepard

 

His eyes are struck with lightening and he rumbles like thunder as I prick my needle into his flesh, merely a tool of my trade, and I freeze it into his vein while his sweat trickles like soft rain pouring over his withering willowy frame for there is little hope spared for a Thunder Boy persistently spiked with the nectar of a wicked blossom

 

The rapids of his wetness, his unfurling drama, pools into the rapture of my porcelain thighs and then, like a stiff current, he just swoons swiftly into his circumstances as this Thunder Boy awakens as an unseasonable storm begins to brew …

My rebel lamb gazes over my eyes and I relax his tremblin' head into the nest of my groin, soothe his long wavy locks, and fondle for strange ideologies, the Full Moon stirring his paradise and my hunger and I smell the rain in the distance

 

He shares his pride with me as it explodes into my incessant gutters of bliss … strewn amongst the ruins, the stench of the simmering garbage, the rats and the dead vines

 

While still nestled to my frame, wild eyed and all electric, like myself, he favours both sexes, so I trade his numb kisses in exchange for his youth and my wisdom

 

And as part of my epiphany, I continue to indulge him into the pit of my waning heart and escort our nourishments into the night; the Full of the Moon captures us in high shadows

 

His dawning will surely interfere with my careless voyage' and I am unwilling to compromise his nirvana, before it twists into his own captive terror, so I repetitively pierce him with my mighty valour, relieve him of his hopeless humanity and cradle him in my arms to provide his new infinite obsessions … his fresh nuances on his mounting horizons as he promptly transforms into the Vampire of Twilight Alley

Sex with Jesus – Part One

 

Okay. I’ve been holding off writing this since noon on Sunday because as usual, no one would ever believe this except for the people that were there and this experience coincides with my uncuntventional life. I finally had sex with Jesus.

 

I went to this party Saturday night where I knew most everyone there and I had every intention of picking someone up I didn’t know. I cleaned my room and made sure everything was set up when I got back to my crib and I was on a mission. I don’t get in these moods often but lately, I’ve been getting the ballz to socialize more, or, go hunting for sex that is.

 

I had invited a few people to go with me to this particular party but one by one, all of those I invited appeared to have other plans so, being alone, I thought it would be an opportune time for me to troll a party where I knew I could be myself.

 

It was Rich, my longtime friend who threw the party that night. He was going to be in the Olympics at one time in the early 80’s and the pommel horse was and is his choice of apparatus. Popularly blond and blue eyed, my Nordic built friend is always one to throw a grand party and this one was Space themed. In the past few years, after years of gloating, Rich was finally gigging out in a one man show and gaining his much deserved attention quickly. I am so proud of him and he takes my music business advice seriously.  

 

I had always had a thing for him, his androgyny and his techno-type musicianship; that thing where I would have dropped everything just to be with him forever. It wasn’t until 10 years into our friendship that he and I got drunk a few years back and he began to kiss me, in public, and announced that HE had always had a thing for me and that I could have had him years ago. I guess our acid trips together kept my thoughts of actually having sex with him at bay. I had always kept him as my secret love, yet, would brag to others that he was my “secret love” so I’m not sure how “secret” that always was. I knew his girlfriend for the past few years knew, but it was a big deal to either of us. We knew our places and respect that.

 

But when Rich and I finally got naked together that night of collisions and I gawked at his 8” shaved cock, which I had always known he had a nice sized piece of meat, I couldn’t go through with it. I’m sure all the opium we smoked and the wine we drank that unveiling night didn’t help, but something came over me and I would have just been satisfied to cuddle him than for him to want to bottom for me. Of all the men in my life, Rich would have been the best thing for me due to his artistic ways and social graciousness, but I still have his utmost friendship and that’s better than nothing at all. Lusting after a somewhat lifelong friend is sometimes better kept as a continuous longing that will never come to light. It’s as if it’s a curious hopeless romance that one takes to their grave.

 

Anyway, I arrived at the party around 11pm with my arms full of party snacks. Rich’s girlfriend, Diane, introduced me to some new people and she has this thing about making sure she tells people I’m the front man for a David Bowie tribute band. I’m always flattered when she does that but, well, because I’m on hiatus from the band for now, I certainly look nothing like my stage character, Ziggy 2000, any longer.

 

So, yada yada yada and I’m having a great time watching the peoploids having fun with the space type toys Rich provided and the cans of spray paint we were provided with to graffiti the walls with. In fact, I turned to one of my friends and commented about all the silver plastic covering the walls and told him I thought Andy Warhol would have loved this party. It did though; the party reminded me as though I was at The Factory and all the odd peoploids were coming out to play. I have no qualms as I bravely and respectfully consider myself one of those odd types as well.

 

There was my former room mate, Tris, dressed in glam with his black lame’ shirt, dancing with his girlfriend who ironically looked just like him in drag. She had a canary yellow bobbed wig on and was so thin; the black light was illuminating her bones. She plays drums in his band and that night, their gig was canceled due to the cops shutting down the venue for serving underage kids. I hadn’t seen Tris since we lived together and I was the one who brought him here to Chicago so he could live his dream as a rock star and that he was. We had a very pleasant reacquaints and promised to stay in touch. When I told him about my recent sleeping disorder diagnoses, his eyes filled with tears and he hugged me like a brother. This, from my memory of him, was not a part of his personality. Tris had always been a sort of distant type.

 

Most times, when I tell friends that I haven’t seen in some time they just seem so relieved for me. It’s as though, yes, they always knew something was wrong, something just wasn’t right about me and now the cause of my abnormal mood swings and unreliability was finally out in the open. Tris, his hugs; it was as if, well, it was as if he was hugging me and I had just told him I had five days to live. I could tell he was upset by my revelations. Those close to me have been reacting the same way when they find out about my medical dilemmas. I was so happy to be with all my old school friends that night. There were so many faces I hadn’t seen in so many years.      

 

And there was my current neighbor, his name is also Rich, dancing with his wife of ten years and they amazingly look like brother and sister. He provided the visual technologies for the party and we were brain farting all night about how we could apply these eclectic interior visual effects to my future stage shows. Next to me, playing DJ along with both Rich’s was my former cellists/bass player, Derek. Derek is also one of my attorneys and he had just started to play a song by Depeche Mode when Derek suddenly grabbed me by the shoulder and screamed in my ear because the music was so loud, “Ziggy! There’s your Personal Jesus!” Derek pointed toward the door and in walks in this young dude who looked exactly like Jesus only dressed in urban wear. He was a most beautiful sight to see.

 

It was exactly two in the morning and as soon as this guy came toward the dance floor, the music stopped and the lights went out. There was a power outage from all the audio/visual equipment but within a few seconds, the power came back on and the dude was right there in my face with his hand sticking out and he said, “Hi, my name is Jesus.” I was about to piss my pants as I shook his smooth hand. Jesus pulled a glass pipe out of his trendy pants and handed it to me. “Um, I’m Ziggy. That’s my nick name. Your name is really Jesus?” I asked as I gladly accepted his offer of the pipe. “Yeah, well, it’s a Spanish name, Jesus’ but I like tripping people out and just say it in English, Jesus.” There in front of me, was a man running right into my heart and down to my rousing genitals.

 

I looked over at Derek and he gave me a nod and a wink and when I introduced them, Derek was freaking out. He whispered in my ear, “Zig, you shouldn’t care if this dude is straight or gay or whatever, you should go after him!” That Derek, even though his fate is that of a 100% breeder, he knows what types of dudes I like, as well as the ladies I like too. With Derek’s blessings, I went into full flirt mod, as was my mission, and spend the next 2 hours partying and chatting with Jesus.

 

My hair is longer, but his wavy flocks flowed just past his shoulders. He had a dark and thick trim beard which molded about his thick pouting lips. He wore a fitted black Ramones t-shirt and baggy tan Abercrombie type trousers that he wore quite well around his hips, just where it’s most important. Of course, he sported sandals and his toes were covered with sprouts of yielding hair. I could see his legs were just as furry from the looks of his bare ankles. As he sat, I saw no secrets of hidden body fat as I could see that he was well toned.

 

Jesus didn’t seem like he wanted to mingle with others so we just sat next to one another and chatted and smoked a LOT of pot. People would come right up to him and interrupt our conversation, ask for a toke and howled that he looked just like Jesus of Nazareth. He would just reply that he “gets that all the time.” The room was packed but luckily found ourselves on a love seat where our hips and legs were touching and I could feel the energy radiating from his body. It was all I could do to attempt to hide and adjust the raging hard on that would rise and fall beneath my jeans. “When I walk down the street, people just seem to move to the side and let me through. They think I’m really Jesus. They point and scream Hey Jesus!” He laughed nervously as he glanced at my inflated crotch. “Maybe you should sign autographs sometime and sign it, Love Jesus!?” I cracked a smile and saw his balls bulging from the inside of his thighs just beneath his tight trousers. I noted to myself that he must have low hangers. That alone was getting me all stirred up.

 

Finally, while I was passing the pipe to him, he turned his head the other way and I rested the pipe which was in the palm of my hand upon his upper thigh, very close his testicles. He didn’t flinch and in fact, turned toward me, looked me square in the eyes and touched my hand for a very long moment. My spine was tingling, my skin was about to jump away from my muscles and my heart was skipping beats. “How old are you anyway?” I asked while his hand was still on mine. “25 and how old are you? Wait, let me guess. You’re 34.” His eyes lit up as he took the pipe gently from my hand. My thoughts raced to the stereotypical age resistance we middle aged men have and I barely could say, “Well, I’m flattered but I’m 10 years older than that.” “Wow, you look so much younger” he said drawing the smoke from the pipe. “Yeah? Well, you should see me in the light. I suffer from Narcolepsy and sleep apnea so that’s taken a toll on me.” I sat back in the seat and let my arm wallow just above the back of his shoulders. His long tresses would brush against my arm and I felt a thrill in my loins begin again.

 

I shifted the conversation quickly and asked when his birthday was as it’s really one of the first questions I ask everyone. He told me that it falls on January 7^th, the day before Elvis’s and Bowie’s birthday and then I said aloud, “Capricorn! Jesus was supposed to be a Capricorn.” And then the final thunder heralded from my imaginary sky.

 

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you in the light Ziggy” Jesus said out of the blue as he passed the pipe off to some sort of weasel type skater kid. “What does that mean dude?” I wrestled in the seat and moved my arm away and sat up straight. “What do you think it means Zig?” he asked as he placed his hand between our meeting hips. “I dunno dude, sounds like maybe we should discuss this at my crib? I only live a few blocks away. Would you like to come over?” My heart was beating so fast, I thought for sure I was going to have a heart attack. “Sounds like a plan to me Zig.” Jesus smiled. His teeth were perfect in every way. His cheeks were blushed and his green eyes glistened like fresh dew on a spring meadow. I was petrified. It was the very first time I ever made any sort of sexual advance on anyone, in person, in over 10 years. Other prior advances I had ever made have been on the Internet, when all half baked attempts have mostly gone off course.

 

“Jesus, I don’t mean to pry, but, well, um, what is your sexual identity?” I trembled, thinking he would quickly change his mind about going to my room. “I don’t know Ziggy. You’re the Sexpert. I’ve never had anyone ever ask me that before dude.” He grinned and looked inquisitively. “Well dude, I don’t want to go into the Kinsey theory with you?”  “Who’s Kinsey?” he asked. “Well, that’s just it. I’d have to explain that Alfred Kinsey was the founding father of the sexual revolution that began in the 1940’s and he created a sexual identity scale, from zero to five. Zero being very heterosexual and five being very homosexual, and there’s a wide gray area in-between. I don’t know you that well, but I’m a three on the Kinsey scale and I’d place you somewhere around that as well?” The party was thinning out and it was almost 4:30 in the morning. Jesus rubbed his eyes and just said, “Well Ziggy, I’m not sure where I’d be on that scale myself, but you can assure yourself that I am in the gray area for now. You’re the first dude I’ve really ever been instantly attracted to, ever. I rode my bike over so why don’t you meet me downstairs and I’ll wait for you there?” and as he stood up, there it was, the outline of his very aroused dick. “That’s cool dude. Um, I’ll be right there.” Of course I stared at his raging boner. He invited me to gaze at it. He shook my hand tightly, adjusted his crotch and said he’d see me downstairs and he left quickly. He never said a word to anyone else and just exited out the door.

 

The music was coming to a halt and people were filing out, making their good-byes and hugs. “Who was that guy Ziggy? God he looked just like Jesus!” Diane summoned me over to her corner of the room. As I grew nearer, a small group of my close friends began to huddle in and also questioned who he was? “Yeah Zig, we thought you invited him?” Rich said. “No dude, I thought maybe he was your fans or something? I never asked how he knew to come to the party.” I began to grow weary and curious. “That was fucking freaky when he walked in when Depeche Mode was singing “Your Own Personal Jesus” and dude, I thought maybe that was some sort of joke you conjured, knowing you!” Derek quipped. “No dude,” I retorted, “I said I didn’t know him before he got here and I thought he just got invited off of Rich’s fan list?” “Well, he’s gone now,” Diane sighed “but maybe he’ll come to another party some other time?” Then I made my announcement, “Diane, he’s supposed to be meeting me outside and I gotta book!” Everyone oooooed and ahhhhed and we all kissed and embraced and agreed it was one of the best Rich parties ever.    

God, I was melting with trepidations, anxieties, splendour and raging hormones. I was about to have sex with Jesus but when I reached the street, he was no where to be found. I just grimaced and figured this was another part of my failed attempts to find some sort of nirvana that memorable evening. This was my continued ultimate fate to go home like any other lonely, pathetic single male. I was in deep grief that I had just I allowed myself to let Jesus slip right through my hands. But fate would be kind and my wish to covet Jesus was waiting just around the corner, where dawn was just about to begin.   

 

TO BE CONTINUED …

From my epic novel Tumblin' Horizons (c) ...

Narcoleptic Neurosis

I can not keep my eyes wide open for another moment for I wish to escape to my other world where I have more control and the technicolour is vivid and the screams from the beasts can elude me within the blink of an eye.

My other world; where I can soar through vast fields of Casablanca Lilies and soft vibrant roses and where heroes lie amongst sweet meadows of emeralds and the scent of spring lingers even upon my awakening.

Here, I walk upon this planet where I am forced to survive through knee deep defecations of war and poverty and deceiving whispers that lurk behind the grins of the ignorant and whereupon their solitude rests on the shoulders of the weak.

Yes, no one knows of my other world as I keep it hidden from oppression. A world in which it is I who invites world renowned giants and prophet guests to share our Vision Banquet with the likes of the dead and the living. Where dogs bay at my feet and their pride hangs like the Wreath of Memorial Galaxies and strength, where it is due.

And yes, I have this Dreamerz Disease and I live in this secret world with no bondage police action or control over what I say or do.

Oh my other life ... when time can stand still and if a leaf falls from a glass tree, it can turn into prisms or even corn as reality never survives, yet, premonitions are the headlines and it's within those futuristic tales that I do bend my deaf ear and head their calls.

A lifetime of sleep and the cathartic awakenings of the clock blaring off the table to tell me it is time to walk the dogs where there are no dogs or it's time to run from the exploding building, when there is no building for I slept too long to build it and no one is there to help carry the bricks. No dogs to bark or howl at the postal carrier, with no news to bring.

Let me sleep and dream for it is better you see me this way instead of the fool you see as I walk into the wall of the building with no bricks.

From my epic novel, Tumblin' Horizons (c) ...

 

SURRENDER ZIGGY

 

I was wanking one day and rubbing my eyes and still was in Dreamland; I heard Blue Angles in the skies. I raced to my window and through up the sash and saw eight tiny jet planes about ready to smash.

 

I called out to my friends, out into the street, "Hey! Homer!  Hey Pee Wee! Liza! That’s Liza with a Z!” and threw on my boxers “Did you see that?! That was neat!"

 

But no one was out there, my friends from the bar and I teetered and shuttered at how the things are. My friends couldn't hear me as I began to cry, for Toto was missing, but then so was I.

 

I ignored the snarls of the Blue Angels above and just ate my Wheaties and stared at the dove.

 

Then out of the blue they came rushing to my door, “Hey Ziggy, what’s happening, you jerk off whore!” It was Liza and Homer and Pee Wee that scum. “Got any 420? If not, we better run!”

 

I threw on my jeans, I lit up and stoked and all of them tumbled from just one toke. “What’s up with the Blue Angels, are they here on a whim?” But Liza just sat there, so calmly and dim.

 

Then Homer, that cad just giggled and smiled “Look Ziggy you wanker! I’m a crock-a-dialed” He had my phone just over his teeth and he mimicked and stammered “Woo hoo, that was keen!”  

 

I winced at my friends all sprawled out on my floor and left them to ponder as I dashed to the store. I grabbed 40 ounces and paid the man well, then heard the chimes ringing, the toll of the bell. And as I returned to my hole in the wall, my friends were in costume, we’re going to the Beach Ball. 

 

And there was Homer all dressed in tin and Liza kept toking and had a big grin. She donned my Lion costume I wore on the stage and Pee Wee was wanking in my Thunder Boy cage. His clothes were tattered and stuffed all with straw and he unchained himself slowly and started to crawl. I threw my hair in pigtails and ruffled my skirt and I noticed my pumps were starting to hurt. The heels grew six inches and turned ruby red and Liza just gnawed on a Clark bar instead. Pee Wee snickered “Hey do you see that? Your shoes are all rhinestoned just like a mall rat!”

 

We seized my 420 and we went to the lake and the Blue Angels were soaring and started to shake. And Liza snatched my King Cobra of beers and chugged it all and went into tears. Then Liza was heard singing, all drunk as can be “Hey Ziggy I’m Liza, that’s Liza with a Z” The crowd started crying, “Oh my, oh my” and the jets started writing some words in the sky. Everyone was panicked, that morning of woed and the words were forming some message, some code.

 

“SURRENDER ZIGGY” the words did appear and Pee Wee was crying and Homer just jeered. But there was Liza, too drunk to speak and the crowd ran over her and the beer she did keep. “Who’s Ziggy? What’s whoza and who’s at stake?” the crowd squealed in tongues and ran from the lake. “The Wizard will tell us!” I saw them all run, “Whoever Ziggy is he’s a blister in the sun!”

 

And then we were all alone on the beach that one day and Pee Wee wanked Homer and decided to stay. “Woo hoo!” Homer shot as he jizzed on the land “Hey Ziggy, you’re famous, you’re the king of the sand”

 

Liza sat up, shook her head in stride and asked “Where’s the party?” and glared at the tide.

 

“I won’t surrender to Blue Angel’s spell, this story’s all finished” that’s all I could tell.