Archive for the ‘The Art Model’ Category

No money to feed the children.

No money to treat the sick.

No money to help the poor, the homeless, the fatherless, the elderly, the hard-up, hard-luck, screw-up who’s about to kill himself and as many others as he can take with him, already in hell.

But money to pay for Monster Jam Trucks

(Coming to a city near you…)

… That’s entertainment,

the true opiate of the masses.

The Art Model raised her eyebrows and grimaced as she thought about these things.

 

Somehow,

much as she liked it,

these days,

she found Czech beer typically

had a tinge of something redolent

of fly spray.

 

Still, as she waited for the moisturizer to soak into her upper body,

with each sip,

that tinge

twinged and teased another memory,

from near and far,

one could say,

her life flashed before her eyes.

Art model.

 

It’s funny, strange, Abdul, I’ve been feeling very sympathetic towards your faith of late – something sent me down that line, news reports and feelings of being on the periphery. But, hey, now, take a breath, your self-righteousness (booming in my ears) has sent me back fervently to crossing myself and feeling nothing but detachment from you and your vitriol. … I like to be me.