Person: Ode to Lisa

Close my eyes and imagine.
Running fingertips up and down her hips, the faint aroma of a cigarette.
The smell of money, alcohol, and some cheap perfume
Keeps the boys coming back to the secret room.
It’s like it’s dejavu.
Everybody needs some paper, and we all gotta pay our dues.
Professional or amateur,
I don’t know your name, but I really like your character.
As soon as you step off stage,
Show me your prerogative, and I’ll show you Mr. Washington.
So she approaches, and I catch a glance.
She bends over, and she whispers, “Do you wanna dance?”
She’s really digging me, and hopefully she’s not pretending.
I like her, but it’s too expensive for a happy ending.
Thoughts maneuvering, the questions are numerous.
What’s her name? I wanna know who she truly is.
I only see the surface, makeup defeats the purpose.
She’s confident, but underneath that smile she’s really nervous.
I break the ice, ask her name, and she says it’s Lisa.
I say, "Hey Lisa, I’m Mike, and it’s nice to meet ya."
Twenty dollars and a dance, damn, it’s that simple.
She takes my hands, places them on her back dimples.
Souls intertwined, both with nothing to lose.
Broke college student flirting with a mother of 2
I assume. Perhaps she has another tale to tell.
She has imagination, has goals and aspirations.
She doesn’t have excuses; she puts food on the table.
She acts a little naughty, but she’s a little angel.
I guess I’ll never know, identity is hard to show
After 3 songs, it’s time to leave you gotta go.
I try hard to interpret it’s hard to understand
What she’s doin for money pleases another man.
Thank you for your business, gotta get home to my princess.
She’s waiting up, and goes to bed in a couple of minutes.
But I can’t help but wonder what she does and what she likes
Is this really her life? dancing with strangers at night?
I can’t answer the question. How can I make the judgement?
How do you strip humanity from a wonderful woman.
So is this how it really ends?
Flesh to flesh, and we’ll never ever meet again.
Lisa, I’ll never forget you.
It’s true, because I do believe in dejavu.

Place: What Happens at Commerce

Don't let the picture fool you. The city of Commerce is not a desert oasis where tequila-induced one-night stands or random hookups with the hot girl’s not-so-hot friend happen. Billboards adorned by pudgy weight loss models and cracked concrete walls tagged with indiscernible graffiti line the sides of the 5 Freeway. For newcomers feeling lost, bearing wallets of several crisp 20-dollar bills, Commerce Casino reveals itself, hiding in the distance behind its very own Star of Bethlehem - a dimly lit Carl’s Jr. logo, smiling in the foreground of Commerce’s lusterless, smoggy night horizon.

Commerce Casino, simply put, is not Las Vegas, and Las Vegas is certainly not L.A. Five dollar steak and egg dinners served 24-hours a day are replaced by Vietnamese pan-fried noodles, and the bright lights of the strip are matched only by a mile-long stretch of power lines that extend throughout an overcrowded parking lot, filled with dented 92 Toyota Camrys and self-repainted Pontiac Sunbirds. When you step into “The World’s Largest Poker Room,” the air, despite an instituted “smoke-free environment,” reeks of lingering Newport cigarette smoke and unbathed men wearing cheap cologne who, on occasion, proudly say that they have not gone home or seen their wives and kids in several days. Wannabe card pros, imitating their favorite pseudo-celebrities from ESPN’s broadcasts of the World Series of Poker, dress in attire suitable only for the likes of rebel pre-teens: bland colored hoodies and sports caps tilted ever so slightly to the front, barely covering their dark sunglasses, which they tackily wear indoors in fear of giving the competition an “advantage.” Ipods are common accessories that scream, “You can’t psyche me out! The music helps me concentrate,” but only a large stack of chips can bring true credibility to these expressionless gamblers.

There are no burly pitbosses in pinstriped suits, 3 feet margaritas, or girls screaming or flashing their breasts from the sunroof of a stretch limo. Rather, cake-faced cocktail waitresses, hiding behind their ruby red lipstick with fake smiles, wearing long black stockings, short skirts, and high heels, strut around selling Starbursts and cigarettes. These subdued servants’ faces, continuously sighing and rolling their eyes, reflect a strong yearning to slap every sleezebag across the face and give them a smug “Fuck you!” As one waitress paces slowly back to the bar to retrieve more $6 Budweisers and Coronas, she painfully grimaces following another bad pickup line while the failed pickup artist whispers sweet-nothings under his breath, giggling to himself like a seven year-old. All in all, Commerce Casino boasts an eclectic cast of characters, but it’s less than spectacular design and atmosphere makes one think about how it came to be the poker Mecca of the world, flourishing in the pits of Los Angeles.

The Foreword

When pieced together correctly, words transform into a mythical creature, penetrating souls like a fisherman's harpoon. When pieced incorrectly, you get this first sentence.

Often times, people, myself included, nonsensically manipulate words into a meaningless mess, creating mumbo-jumbo chicken scratch akin to a college student's doodle masterpiece. Delusional, self-proclaimed "wordsmiths" indulge in the creation of metaphors, believing that nirvana can be attained at the slightest glance of the words on the page. Similes, overused to the point of pointlessness, have become mindless wordcount fillers, failed attempts at comparative comic relief like fat people falling and squirrels riding jetskis. Writing, today, would have Aristotle turn over in his grave.

However, writing, the masterbatory exercise that it is, reconciles the mind and body, giving a single thought its own unique form and identity. Reading is what makes this solitary self-pleasuring into a make out session atop Lover's Lane. Writing and reading...soulmates wholly dependant on each other to make beautiful music.

Like Socrates, I hope to make this site an open forum where dissenting opinions can meet and make love, planting new seeds in the bosom of human discussion. Whether it be about a person, place, or thing, let this forum become an outlet for the unheard voices, the delusional wordsmiths, the aspiring writers and artists alike. There is no perfect author. There is no perfect piece of literature. You will come to notice that my style is uncommon, never proper.

Enjoy...