sometimes, like today the sun drifting behind cotton clouds, wind whistling a cold Feburary tune; melodic tenor through iced air perfect for melancholy and memories to pitch tent and homestead an acre or two of my time-space, I miss the girlfriends of adolescence, tight and full of giggles and the prestige of being two beats t
Slower than I had hoped, but still encouraging. Evidently, thing don't happen according to my best planning. There seems to always be someone else who has to see it and then more changes. But I am undaunted. I realize this stuff can take time, but I've got time and I dedicated to giving it my best efforts. Thanks for all the encouragement. J.
they say I’m losing my edge letting the shit get to me taking it too seriously getting soft in my old age my bones feel old the same goes for the shit stains in my shorts maybe my attitude has softened a little walking where I used to run and sipping not guzzling taking a little more time but I’ve tr
it’s Christmas time again everyone with an expectation of receiving a gift from someone—even a hope a trinket that says in a dime store motif someone gives a shit—even a little bit everyone wants to be baby jesus to be adored and worshipped to count and they want the gifts to prove it but we forget the treasure
thanks. I just hope it makes it through the process.
I'm impressed by your witty reply and I can't think of a reason to dignify it. J.
Outstanding...bravo! J.
Thanks for the comments. Keep reading, I'm told I get better. (winki). J.
The book thing is a lot more work than I imagined. I got the manuscript back from the editor and I have a lot of work to do before they will put it to print. But I'm working on it everyday. I hope to deliver it to the publisher by Christmas. It'll make a good gift next year...(wink). J.
i don’t know what you want but it’s not going to be filled with flowers and i won’t hold your hand i’m not going to smile and tell you it’ll “all be alright” i am going to tell you tales of madness and sickness stories that involve puke and blood and rape and murder ugly things by ugly people living ugly li
but hey i am a bit strange too. It seems to be a theme that runs the readers of Johnny. (wink). J.
rocket likes to throw her toys at the wall it wouldn’t be such a pisser except her toys are boys worn out from her torture and they leave such a mess in the kitchen she fucks the boys to throw shit at me on the dance floor she’ll whisper over one’s shoulder with a wicked smile, “…and he thinks he’s t
feel strongly, do ya? J.
my friend Moskowitz writes about the browning of California the smog is brown the water the buildings and the people he glories in it knowing la raza will win by breeding out the Anglos maybe dirt poor white people will harvest the great central valley of the Sunny State white blond haired Anglos<
What male can claim to having never been caught with their dick in their hand. J.
ruby at nineteen was cute and bubbly in 1968 she danced topless in the bar downstairs slept in the big room upstairs she had a little baby boy named Davie her boyfriend in Vietnam I had a terrible crush hers were the first real titties I ever saw up close she had pointy cone like nipples sometimes she wore tasse
Johnny L.’s getting old he’s still cool and for eighty-sum years his shuffle still has a hitch to it and he’s still quick on the draw waiting for the elevator pulling his coat close and pulling his old driving hat down over the corner of his face, leaving one eye open so he could wink his trademark sparkle
I have never met the man Jesus-bar-Yahweh I was not there 2000 years ago when he was hung from the cross and was pierced through his heart and bled to wash our sins from the sight of the Father but when I was a boy of ten banging a rock to break the lock from the dumpster to search for my daily meal, He came to me and op
it is both--what you read is what you get. J.
shit happens we all know it for some of us from foreign lands here at home shit takes a number and waits in line it floats in the bowl no matter how many times you flush willie mae 82 three floors down keeps a running poker game 12 to 12 Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays she takes a cut of the pot to keep t
man's gotta work. j.
glad you liked it.
I don’t want to die like you it’s too slow and unseen a car here a mortgage there endlessly churning ourselves into endless reams of paper and signatures and documents to hide in safe deposit boxes I don’t want to grow melancholy looking at 3x5 Kodak moments and regretting I didn’t live more chance more dream more<BR
on sundays johnny l. walks like a spider with a walker to add 4 legs it’s step by step of familiar trails over asphalt and fugitive grass growing in cracks in the sidewalk he has a date for mass at eleven before he visits his anita at roseland in the serenity section row 12 plot 28 they have lunch together a
nikki at 16 with pink panties peaking from low rise jeans held us hostage with a tiny pink bow one inch above the snap blackened hair with trails of red tips sweet sexy innocence that lied and beckoned matt cried in the corner having tasted her for 6 months muttering “run…run…” johnny kept his e
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