Boston was rainy and weird. The trains were really weird. I understand that they were the city with the first working subway system. Hmm they should update their trains. I don't think the idea of using the same exact train always works. Hell even we got rid of the red bird.

Let me back track and say that for the Kundiman Prom I sang always with Roger Bonair-Agard, and won the title of Prom Queen to his King. My tiara was pretty but too tight for my hair. That was fun. He kept telling me to stop touching him during the song. This was just an interesting night. I didn't sleep until I was on the bus to Boston, which was overpriced, and a bit cramped.
I just slept and woke up with the illest neck cramp. The bus was packed to the gills, and the dude next to me was watching spiderman 2 the entire time on the P2?. I didn't care I slept.

When I got to the South Street station in Boston I decided to walk. And I walked all over what looked like some type of China town for about an hour before I made my way to Boston University. I took the Red line to park, and took the Green line to Boston U West. It was simple enough. The first thing I was attracted to when I got there was a starbucks. Politically incorrect espresso that gave me the edge I needed to do what I did.
The Poetry was cool. I was really super happy to hear Corina Bain, and Mallory Kaczmarek. Corina I've seen before, but Mallory was like taking cocaine. She woke me the hell up. Wow what a great poet. She is the type that would be perfect for a louderEDGE.

Then I went up, did what I do, and got off. Heard a few more poets, and went back the way I came.

I read a whole lot of book on my way back. I read a 260 page novel in two days, and it was great dope ass wonderful crazy sick wow wow, times 2900. Say Word, Now say it again, now imagine that you could say the right words to kill anyone. Imagine you put together an anthology of poetry and you put this killing poem in the middle of the book disguised as a child's lullibye. Wow. Poetry that kills. Now go pick up this dzmn book. I finished and will lend it to anyone on a first come first lend order. Or maybe not, I do take drink chips as bribes. This book is a complete mind fuck. "Lullabye, by Chuck Palahniuk". This is my second Palahniuk book and my third Story by him. I didn't read Fight Club but everyone who did read it tells me that it is pretty true to the story. The other book was Diary, which I read sometime last year. If you want a review about that one, I know I blogged about it but I don't remember when so, google something and I'm sure you'll get it.

Anyway the book is crazy crazy crazy dope.
Crazy.

When I got back to NY in the over priced Greyhound bus (yeah I found out about the china town bus later one) I noticed we entered through the Bronx. I saw the cablevision building and I was like BX BABY!!!! It was really funny because the stinky redneck sitting behind me was bragging to his wife of the beauty you see when you come to the Island through the George Washington Bridge. Nope, you dead dog, lost in the game. Or something like that. Check out the beauty of the Bronx and the Bruckner expway. And then the bus goes into manhattan through 135th street and goes local all the way to the Port Auth. I'm like Harlem world what!!. It was really funny looking at faces worried about a bus breaking down in harlem or the BX. The bus driver was a sly cat and knew what the quickest, traffic free route would be and we made it there way before scheduled time.
So I run out of the bus, run through the terminal into MTA subway entrance, and walk the tunnel thing to the 2 train, and right there as I run up the stairs the train is waiting, to usher me into BROOKLYN. I love the smell of the rain as I exited fourth avenue. NY was waiting for me. Boston had a different rainy smell. Not bad, just different. I didn't recognize it but I would if I smell it again. Weird right?

So I get to the warren commission saying my hello's and ready to pour drinks into glasses. The night was crazy fun. There was a dip accident with a professional mambo dancer who teases me and tells me that it wasn't the first or last time. She even let me redeem myself and dip her some. I danced and in one forgotten twist or move or something I ripped the inseam of my upper inner right thigh. the jeans went prraat. I thought the bloods had invaded the party for a second. Then I didn't care and rocked out with my cock out. Always leaning him to the left of course. TMI? Yeah it was one of those nights. The cool thing was that Dally gave me a rid home so public transportation city draft were sparred of my underwear. Or I was sparred of them. Who knows.

The weekend was nothing if not interesting. Oh and I was still out of place leaving Boston, and I found that place re-entering my city. How dope is that?

Oh and can't forget the NEW SHIT

The Deconstruction of a Narcissus

I

I stare at myself,
Mirror splattered with toothpaste and bloody saliva
The Windex is too far

I argue with hair that refuses to commit
Nauseated with frustration and disgust
I stare until I feel gurgitation burn my throat
Put cigarette holes in my threshold for obscenity

My reflection angers me
Imperfections take me to the place where all things blister


II

I can't pull away from him
Free myself of his eyes
Staring with malicious intent

He pokes at the space where dimples should be
Indenting wishes

Sucks in my face
Bits my inner cheek
And can't keep them safely fastened

He releases
Plump round face bursts into
The original prototype.

He steps back,
Pushes me away form him
Stone fingers squeeze my nostrils

I need them that wide
Breathing is already a weary task
How could they get any slimmer?

He whispers dreams of ideal beauty
I beg him not to accept my architecture
But to fall in love with it.

He stretches his mouth
Wanting to bring fourth a smile from my awkward smirk
Full lips are my only credit
Until he notices dried dead layers
Covering rosey flesh
He doesn't complain when they're being kissed

Why must there be a hearing while they rest?

Soon he'll have a blade against my throat
Tight grip slowly pulling up
Patterned repetition

He'll think of the barber shaving Castro
Trembling hands
Fearing fantasy of liberating people

When water slides off the Brillo pad used to exfoliate greasy sin
He closes my eyes and imagines it to be slowly dripping blood

And now I'm exalting him to loosen my corset
and release my stomach
please allow me three deep breaths before re-applying

If he doesn't like the positioning of his hair
He should just cut it off

Strands won't conform to the menace
Of fists creating bald spots


III

I'm beautiful

Lounging on a lazy boy
Legs propped on leather stirrups
She straddled over my crotch
Tracing my face with her middle fingers
Tells me that I'm beautiful
While I offer no sign of gratitude

She might only see me through orgasm

Beauty doesn't exist beyond this room

She never sees me
Looking at him
Torturing him
Searching for the moment of perfection.