15 – Blue Biscayne ::

Bisssss….ca-ii-yy….ynnnnnn……………ah!! The word slides off the tongue A susurration like the silk on your tanned thighs.

 

Bissssscaaaaynnnnnn.. The sin of Chevrolet. To build such a car as this.

A Chev Roll Hay. We sinned enough. Well not enough actually. I would like to have sinned more. But wott da fuk – we got a bed at home

Like a roll in the hay. Except firmer. And faster. Shining out in the two-tone sun, all turquoise and white

M.M. MMM. mmm. mm. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

 

Chek i-i-i-i-i-tt Outtt! White wall tyres and all. Shiny chrome like a sun tan. Big V8 just wanting to bust loose… just like your breasts seem to want to bust loose from your shirt

 

Como como como vientoooo…..like the wind

It makes time fly. Leaves the world behind. And takes us with. Leaves time weighing down on its self. The world drags by on it’s self…every thing goes into slow-mo and then the whole world kicks quickly into reverse,

and we fly>>> It's gonna break the speed of sound

 

 

Fly Biscayne :: “before time was our own, it belonged to providence”, you claimed. You wrote: “We have no influence, we insist on making it our own so that if any one cares to ask we can say that history is the work of men”. Or so you said once before. With a mixture of fatal pride and responsibility. adding that: if that is to be so – then we must “make ourselves responsible”. I was. The House on Travessa de Visconte is testament to that.

 

Still, out here on the Spanish Highway in your starched white lace bolera? You’re kidding. Its so white it blinds even chevroll hey? Slipping into The Slide Zone: We must make our selves responsible for time, past & future? “Now and then – because “the Universe can no longer comfort us, since we stole all time away for ourselves: now it is all our responsibility – to Sustain The Past and Invent The Future…” Minchia! You talk and philosophise a lot for a small Muy Linda Portuguesa, mi irma hermana

 

After that lecture do I want to battle with your bolera. Getting it off you. I will just as soon crease it leaving it on… The way your lapis lazuli boots tap the dance, the fandango that once it followed the music, would lead the musician to the next note. Irmã do caralho louca… I follow your steps with my notes, seducing you eventually to follow the tune of my guitarra. So I can tell you this:

 

Only here today – in the present only here, agorra! do we remember the past. Only here do we desire the future. You always waited till afterward to tell me the secrets of the no-oumenon. The strange tide of blood that runs, flows, stops all beyond my control – and yours even though you enjoy to dance “a flagrante”. Always the exhibitionist – on the white leather upholstery, your beautiful olive tanned arse slides around in your own copious mercurio-orgasmagic flood, as I push you from one state to the next. Nothing could be more dynamic than that dance of oblivious forgetting woven into a seductive awareness. Creating a history, whilst forgetting that history is a nightmare from which none of us can awaken.

 

Your friends called you “unruly” or “immoral”, your mother called you “incorrigible”, and the Public Defender was noted to mention the words, “way-ward” and “beyond parental control”. Applied to the young girl that you were, all they meant was “she likes to fuck”. But you could not leave it at that. “The cat is out of the bag”, you would say in company, when you wanted to warn me that you were getting horny Or as I heard you refer to it privately: “the pussy is out of control”.

 

I’m    a     High    Way     Star…….

 

A feint within a feint within a feint. A play within a play. A story being told of a story…

 

You always swore you would recognize me in every way even if you were blind. “Lupo. With no weapon but my desire, I will seek you out”. Your desire reflected in me is the wind in the sails of the Biscayne as it makes its beastly chromatic voyage across miles of tropical savanna heat. Thru the Novo Redondo to the Praixa do Tofo.

 

Just to find some sand where there are no scurrying red ants eager to feast on our skin flesh blood life in this hottest hell of a day in Pair A Dice. Like the pair of dice hanging from the rear view mirror in the Chev-roll-it.  Smoke-it. Listening to Jimi Hendrix belt out “The Stars that Play With Laughing Sam’s Dice”

 

Vrrrooooom..zhug-zhug-zhug-zhug-zhug........
as I turn the key and press the accelerator THROUGH the floor…. 
I’m a Highway Star
The endless turn of the wheels through the one hundred and eight stations
of The Cross – a beastly benediction, supplications to a god who
smiles on us as we turn through all the names of all ever born to all
the names before them in our quest to put distance between reality
and what is real.

Love that machine – our “La Disco Volante”: the time machine flying saucer of a time of love beyond the real. You said that I would never let you be alone for the days and all the things you tried to do… If only my heart was as strong as you, and you still have a love so strong.

 

Quizas, quizas, quizas…? Yes it is so slow and slinky smooth

 “I promise each day will be Valentines day.” you said.

 

I promise if you stay in my life. Here we go – pictures of the mind…

 

Ah the slow tinkle of music rising to dance in the warm evening by the sea… I can see the night will provide all the gifts her lilting ladino mouth whispers to me…and we dance…Where does love begin…in the taste of a kiss the color of the sea…near where I lived and want to live again with the one that has always filled my heart.

 

She filled my soul with enough love to last me all my life. How long it has lasted.  aah..

 

It is morning I watch the movement of dreams on the slick café side walks of my ocean city… She tells me all sorts of little meaningless things. That are neither important nor comprehensible. All I can hear is her voice and it the music of my soul.

I slide and swirl through her words down her throat to her heart. Listen to its rhythms… I really don’t know what she is talking about, but I do know that I know her through her voice….

 

A little faster thru the traffic… to the Hotel Etage

 

rush. stop. rush. stop. brakes. red light green light. We are always in a hurry to go some where to relax. Race thru this chaos to get to paradise… The paradiddle off the bongos coincides with the swing to over take on the free-way and as we cruise thru the underpass and on to the open beach road I realize that I am driving us to craziness. Light another cigarette and speak in secret alphabets.

 

And I know that we are the party. Hot heated hot… I think I am suffering from radiation sickness caused by the heat from her physique. And when I talk to her I observe that she melts a little more. Melting right out of that print floral dress…the big red hibiscuses are trailing off the fabric and out of the window leaving a trail of red smears across the smooth cyan dome of heaven…

I wish I knew her name.

No I do know her name – I mean the name she calls herself. That name….

 

The one I want to carve on a palm tree some where on this beach of for-ever.

 

Seven – As the tabla begins to play in the cool evening breeze, and the sound of the flutes rise into the dark blue, I take one deep breath … … … watch her dance. “Rapida, rapida, rapida…”

 

Nine – she rises out of the sand…and I begin to sing her praise… Are there not enough words to describe her ineffable beauty. Is there not enough blood in my heart to ring the bell of heaven? Enough air in my lungs to rend the stars out of their vault. For at each turn she fixes me with her stare, as steady and piercing. Demanding, beseeching, begging me not to stop my exultation of her fluid dance of Kali in the flames of her own desire.

 

Ten – Cool early morning….There are not the words. Except The Word. The snake charmer flute she slides down, and I sing that song of a thousand days of watching her slide. It is all a dream. Only a dream? A dream coming true or reality fading into a dream. I cannot be sure except that I do not want for it to ever stop.

 

Eleven – ah my Little Snake of Isis. What could any man want more than to feel the silk of your touch? Cool and hot at the same time. I am breathless for you. When you sing to me…sing to me… sing to…sing… sing… jussssssst….aaaH!

 

Twelve – Back to reality oh no! No ! The drive is back. Sun is coming up. Get dressed baby we are going out. Oh my, my…

 

Oh Hell yes, honey put on that party dress…