Another Pattern

I write a lot about women. But it's mostly because I write when I am in trouble. When I am in trouble I need a parachute, and kisses make the best ones.

Oh Sister

Buelton, California, 4 a.m.?-

I have lost my journal. It is somewhere between Mary Beth's car and Buelton. I feel sorry for the poor bastard that finds it....

Tomorrow is today, yet so suddenly it is yesterday. The promises made for tomorrow have impetuously arrived, but it's too soon because it can't possibly be today when yesterday is definitely still today.
There needs to be a new term for this time of twilight. Something to do with confession; with being conquered. There is something about it that makes me admit my nocturnal orbit and ferocious urges.
She was married. Is married. Will be married.
I won't keep with whores anymore. I made the promise when she said "I do," but does that count as yesterday, today or tomorrow? Because when I look to my right I am reminded that I have once again shattered my word.
Who decides if it is yesterday, today or tomorrow? If it's God, then I must be him. If it's me, then I must be me. If it's you, then I must be you.
I need a new tense. One that blurs past, present and future together. Not synethesia, nor anesthesia, but something with a bit more swirl.
She said "I do." She was married. Is married. Will be married.
My heart has no shore.
There is something about this age that blurs tomorrow, today and yesterday.

Brazilian Women

In America, men are madly infatuated with Brazilian women. Mention something about Brazil, and possessed like a drunk confession, a man will drain all of his brilliance into retelling a story he once heard regarding Brazilian women. Sometimes you get somebody who has even been to Brazil.
I was in a small restaurant having dinner with family a few days before leaving the States. An elderly man and his wife, probably in their 70's, were eating dinner at the table next to us. He overheard that I was leaving for Brazil, leaned over and grasped my arm with desperation. His eyes illuminated. A death grip. It was over for him, I thought. But it was only beginning.
Sternly, fiercely and longingly, "Son, you are moving to Brazil?"
I nodded.
"I was in Rio in '63. Son, the women. I have never seen anything like it. Never-in-my-life."
I nodded again, saying thanks and that I was looking forward to it. He let go peacefully, looked towards his wife, recognized her briefly and returned to their quiet dinner.
I have been in Brazil about four weeks. Every few days I get a letter from a friend wondering if I have done it yet. Wondering if I have slept with a Brazilian, and to please include details if I have. Ok, I have. I have done it. I have slept with about 30 of them.
First of all, they have three tits, golden vaginas, and if you touch them just right they come liquid diamonds. Upon request, their golden vaginas have the ability to clench the base of the penis just before climax to ensure longevity. When kissing, their lips release the most dreamy hallucinogenic. It's a personal trip, so whenever I kiss them I end up in a forest full of boobs, spirit guides and electric guitars. Sometimes my friends Charles is there, but he usually has his own thing going on. Also, they can defy gravity. Once a good rhythm is established, weightlessness is achieved. Sex happens near the ceiling, in the sky, in the clouds, near the moon...They can even descend to hell if so desired. I don't recommend it, however. I tried it on a whim. It's filled with American women, age 17, and they are very, very attractive.