Category: Desert Scrawls
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Psychedelic Encounters in an Empty Vessel
Pink jukebox spins an array of psychedelic tunes in a diner on the wrong side of the desert where the crows dance and bow and she wipes away the sweat from her frosted brow. She thinks it’s cold outside. Cold in the desert. What does she know? It can get cold in the desert. There’s Read more
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The Bottomless Inkwell
What is it about this disarray of life that eats at my guts on a hot morning in July while I stand in a sauna of soap and bleach in the kitchen of the Silver Taco Café in a town in the desert that has no right to be here. I throw down a white Read more
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An Amorikan Prayer
In a town called Shithole, Wyoming Where all good dreams skid, crash, and die The interstate exhaust hangs thick in the air And the cackles of the unloving haunt lonely hotel halls and rooms Where the color of the walls is warm wounded gauze and infection And the static of poor reception beckons the blessing Read more
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The Orange Motel
It was somewhere between Q-Town and the LA basin of all that glitters and orange grove cathedrals that there came the great snow and I was forced to shut down in some Arizona town— I was in between lives, feverishly dodging the corruption of compassion that come raining down all over the world like a Read more
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Roswell 1969
The low machine hum of the big, big city is entrenched in gaslight dawn. The birds and the killers are mum, waiting for the razor light of god’s heart to percolate and breed as the handmade souls rise, wash and run. And it was a hot day in the desert, a blowtorch sky was blowing Read more
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The Chronicles of Anton Chico (The First Instinct)
I told him I wanted to go to Juarez. He asked why. I told him I wanted to submerge myself in the various arts of indecency. He asked why. I thought about it, and I couldn’t tell him why. Read more
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Mingling With the Savages
The parched, rocky landscape flew by me like a desolate nightmare. The sky so gaping wide, churning blue and cream. Read more
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Inclined Corners of a Yellow Map
This is a companion piece to Bite of the Oven Salesman. Cigarettes For a Saint Once I was west and with the oven selling in Omaha behind me, I set a half-empty pack of Marlboro cigarettes on the stone feet of St. Francis outside the great cathedral in Santa Fe as a sort of offering. Read more
CEREAL AFTER SEX 