Mon, Dec. 12th, 2005, 06:11 pm
Who knew that my church would speak to so many? Who knew that I, the prophet of the truth would arouse the envy and lust that lies deep in so many tortured souls? What is it about a man or woman who not only speaks so firmly for the pain and pressure we all feel but who takes action in that pain’s name that makes all the boys and girls want to unsnap their jeans and throw their panties on my stage? Since I have opened my house to all of you, the legs of my audience have been spread wide and willingly. Such an honor to be the object of so much affection. A different person might be humbled by the offers of free love and carnal passion. I am not a different person, though. I am a Messenger of God -- a prophet of sex, love, justice and no mercy. Why do people want me? Because I am their worst fears personified. I am their pain, I am the boyfriend who cast you aside, I am the girlfriend that laughed at you when you stood naked and vulnerable before her, I am the bartender who passed over you in line, I am the snicker in the locker-room. You are desperate to be had by me, totally, completely, without doubt. For only then can you be devoured by your pain, only then can that pain be validated, understood, accepted. Only then can you see yourself for who you are. You want me because you hurt – and being hurt by me is to have that hurt made love to. You want me because when I look at you I don’t see eyes, nose, smile, I see your anguish and nothing but your anguish. From behind my mask I see behind your mask. I accepted my pain years ago, but I am too good a person, I could not accept that I was the only one who could find peace, I needed to spread the message across the world, give it to all of you. When will I strike again? Soon, my flock. My Book of Revelations will be realized in the coming weeks – for those that have accepted my message, my blade will feel like the kiss of an angel across their cheeks – but for those who fight me, resist my truth, attempt to interfere with what I was put on this Earth to do, hellfire will crush them. There are those out there – they know who they are – who feel the need to “fix” what I have already fixed, who feel the need to “cure” what I have finally made well. They are the Brutus and Cassius of my play; they are the great traitors to my religion. Listen close, both believer and non-believer alike – those two will suffer more deeply and more completely than any others. Those two will see my face and beg it for mercy – of which there will be none. Until then, come to me, my lovers -- let me hold you close, let my blade pierce your pain, release it, expose it to the world. Let your blood mix with mine and let us be bound by it.
Tue, Dec. 6th, 2005, 10:46 pm
Shame about the plane crash – so many souls lost before I could save them. It’s also a hell of a headline grabber. I’m not one to give up my spotlight that easily, though. I have something in mind to get it back, but it might take a couple of weeks to put it together. No worries -- my mother always said – luck favors the prepared. Miami is getting cold, people are covering up – but I can see through the sweaters and the Juicy Hoodies to the pain buried underneath – pain begging to be relieved. Sometimes it just all seems like too much for me – so many innocents corrupted, desperate for my love; pleading for the hand of God to work through me and mark them, heal them, cure them of beauty’s curse. I suppose I just need to start small – think globally, act locally, right? There’s a new café that just opened down the street. The wait-staff wear these crisp, white oxford shirts. I have a thing for waiters. Put a girl in a white shirt with black pants, pull her hair back in a ponytail and give her a little pad and pen and I’m hooked. I think I’ll head down for a bite. I’m feeling peckish and I’m planning on giving whoever is lucky enough to wait on me one hell of a tip…
Sun, Dec. 4th, 2005, 09:57 am
Day of rest? No chance. I’m antsy; feels like my veins are electric eels. I’m backed-up. It’s been too long since I’ve “gone to work” and the City is moaning for me. She’s a lover with her body wide open for me, begging, desperate. Only I know how to love her, make her cry out. I want her to scream my name tonight. But where shall I have her? When shall I take her? Things are starting to heat up around here. The town’s not what it used to be for me – Miami Open City. Now there are Guardian Angels roaming South Beach, extra rent-a-cops in the ‘burbs, doormen are harder to charm my way past. Guess I only have myself to blame. I suppose I could have some fun with my little in-house project, but Blondie is starting to bore me a little. No, I have to find a new friend. A road trip might be in order. A little Sunday drive up to Ft. Lauderdale, or Middleburg. Maybe Boca. That’s the ticket. There’s that wonderful little organic produce shop up there. I can stop on my way back and pick up some papayas.
Thu, Dec. 1st, 2005, 11:28 am
It’s humid out today, that wonderful tropical dampness that gives Miami personality. If you could describe any kind of weather as “sexy,” it’d be humidity. I’m inspired to work when it feels like this. The sweat of the city gives off the most erotic musk; it makes me drunk, hungry, desperate to connect to someone…special. Maybe I’ll go down to one of the clubs on South Beach and do some scoping or maybe I’ll pop in on that actor who just moved in down the street. Our eyes met in the market the other day and I could see the pain behind his glance. He might as well have been calling out to me, screaming in the middle of the frozen food section – “Save me, please, release me from bondage.” Or maybe he was just cold. Who knows? Who cares? Either way, I think he’d be fun to spend some alone time with, do a little educating. A little liberating. A light breeze just picked up. The barometer is rising. The humidity is breaking a bit. I think I’ll still go out tonight, though. I still feel like dancing, and I think I just saw my new friend’s car pull into his garage.