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Tag Archives: Angel Uriel Perales
Tartarus
I lack many things. I am blind. My skin is uglier than Egil’s bones. My bones horrify the good James Paget. I’m led away from stadiums through vomitoriums. I forswear my faith and from faith, virtue, and placed in my … Continue reading
The Rose and the Red
Overtures are made. Music happens. Blame Canadian Mist and Mountain Dew. Blame the mix not the brew. I sat there stretched out in cummerbund, the circular table overflowed, sweet buns, wedding cake, something thrown, bridesmaids dancing in high heels and … Continue reading
Skin Tag (an Exaggeration)
The sun filled my ears if not my eyes and I remember squinting in paradise feeling the cloying warmth. This was on the Venice Beach boardwalk, on a crisp November morn, amber and comatose; in fact so wearisome, during a … Continue reading
Our House
Only the blood in my bones keeps me warm. Wake up to this chilling breath, shrouds out of my mouth, a dirge dog fog. My down comforter filled with sunken hopes, anchored by tears that swelled there. The marriage bed, … Continue reading
My Embellished Life. Game #2- Find the Embellishment
So let me regale you with the unimportant minutiae that compromise my life, because nothing screams self-obsessed more than inane insignificant observations that make me feel like I am not really so insipid to think that my life rises above … Continue reading
My Embellished Life. Game #1- The Internet License Plates and The Taco Bell Affair.
So let me regale you with the unimportant minutiae that compromise my life, because nothing screams self-obsessed more than inane insignificant observations that make me feel like I am not really so insipid to think that my life rises above … Continue reading
The Enigma of the 16th Floor Elevators
Okay. So I travel to downtown Los Angeles to attend a meeting with a “name” well-connected film industry producer. DOWNTOWN I can’t find parking under 20 dollars for the day or 8 dollars an hour. Since I don’t know how … Continue reading
Watching the Eccentrics
Red weather tigers skulk drunk sailors in dreams of the suspended men, the hopes of the men in red suspenders. The thin women in their awkward heels never received the awaited postcard from Vesuvious, their knockoff Hermes scarves in a … Continue reading
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