Summer burned bright, hot to the touch, when the second Adam finally saw Paradise.

Like all other days, this day’s dew cooled in curling leaves, bright ants crawled into new made hills, and a lion sang in the distant deep. He didn’t notice how the ever-friendly sun bloomed slowly into a stunned glare.  Instead, while his mouth still dripped red juice from his illicit breakfast, Adam leered at his wife, pale and naked.
“Are you cold, my dear?”
She turned toward him slowly.  “I don’t know.”

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It’s New Year’s Eve, and tonight my name is Virgo. Sapphire and I walk down a dark lit street, and we giggle about times of old. We’re going to a private party, and Sapphire says the girls who told her about it are good people. They have a pretty legit business and tonight should be pretty laid back. I tell her I’m game.

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    Phnomh Penh. The capital of a wounded nation, sprawling over landscapes dry and infertile. Suffocating heat consumes two weary travelers, as we hop on our bikes and make the best of another sweltering day. Once 6:00 rolls around, we know, the rain will wash the heat away, as well as all the trash which has accumulated in the streets. Like every other day, the roads will become rivers and we will bike in water to our ankles, the cool refreshing feel of condensed Cambodian dirt soaking into our feet, while children will play water football in their new public pools.

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Rocks. And spiral patterns made out of rocks. A path carved from boulders, with a slow running waterfall gently cascading down more rocks. They’ve built a mini Stonehenge that sits at the edge of the river, in front of a rusting metal railroad bridge. Lined with gravel paths and scrub grasses, I wonder what has been planted and what is here of its own accord?   A large flat rock is fashioned into a bench; a very large bench that could easily hold a dozen bottoms, or more if they were children.

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Dad in August


Dad doesn’t notice the Rose of Sharon that blooms papery white and sunset red outside his bedroom window.

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I wasn't even all the way through John Hollywood's door before being hit with a barrage of questions about how my crotch felt. Which was about as expected as all the beer and banana offerings that followed.

 

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           Motel Sheet Line Of Defense (Revised)

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There was no definitive moment of when I first knew. There was no sudden revelation like reading a quote from a great thinker: baffled by the truth of it. There always was just something there. An awareness of things. The natural curiosity that makes you look over when standing at urinals in elementary school, or the way you empathize with the longing of teenage girls, strung-out on neurosis and chocolate.

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