Soul

Soul

1993

Words by VM

Artwork by Eddy Millan
(Eddy used Prismacolor pencils and pen on paper.)

To see more of Eddy's artwork please visit http://www.semigod.com/

The Rose

A single red rose was set aside especially for her.

 It stood out from thousands in the garden and was given

 as a symbol of my immortal love.

It was unique and beautiful

                       just as she was.

On the day of her death

 a single red rose was set aside and burned to ashes to our memories and to her gods.

 It was one in a breath of thousands but hers was the only light

 that gave me rhyme and gave me life.

It was unique and beautiful

                       just as she was.

1995 
Victor Millan

Winston

Whenever words come out of his mouth his arms thrash and flail the air like severing bullwhips teaching the air how it feels to kiss the sharp breeze w/a dangerous tease.

He jumps up and down like a toad that has just lost his mind wording the stories he was told as a young child when the world was but memories old.

(The world it was hot and then it was cold.)

And the people lacking sunshine laugh at his only facade ~ the one that was perpetually sad.

Every once in a while he got a pain to his knees and he cried in the bathroom, sitting on the floor rubbing them until they felt well. And the other kids ran up and down the stairs but some of their deeds would never agree with what their parents taught them. He heard all the kids laughing in various degrees from their guiltiness and misdeeds.

And his world was old.

And his stories were bold that he told the likes of we.

My, Winston sure is gifted.

No one, not one heard a word he said but they were impressed with the frog and the arms and all they could see.

The pain to his knees commanding a kneel.

His various degrees ever surreal.

1995
Victor Millan

Pull a Jesus

When the word spills out it bursts like a cornucopian gold rush,

maddening to the infected & addicted brain and with a burning fever the crazy wheels keep turning it over mind to hand.

And you have to use it right there and then ‘cause when the energy dies

it dies.

One just has to hope that it'll pull a Jesus.

You know~

Resurrection

3rd day

that whole “coming back from the dead” deal.

December 25, 1998

Victor Millan

Arcanum

Where’s the boundary

 that separates our existence from

                                           the next?

Where’s that fine hairline

     between sagacity

                                and

                         confusion?

This border, I believe rests deep

            within our minds.

It’s the one that keeps us on the cool side of sane

and hardly ever shows its many masks.

                                                        (legion).

       It surfaces only when triggered or needed

to keep us from the shadowy jewels and the answers

that lay hidden

      behind the

                 I.

Caress its lyrical tongue of wisdom with your inquisitive own.

Master its mystery, the bedlam and natural born deceit.

Her recurring faces with her cantations & rhymes

show the path to tomorrow’s

                             silver dream.

Reach out to touch this dream

and you’ll find yourself lost in mystical union

                                                                             with

                                                              fantasy.

  

You will find yourself in a universe

with no boundaries.

1994

Victor Millan

Toothache in Church

How do I work-in the time when I was about 6 or seven years old and had a toothache on the right side of my mouth and that Sunday evening at church I kept complaining to my mom, who was sitting to my left, about my tooth but she kept telling me to be quiet and that church was almost over and to hold the pain until it was over. And she gave me that biting look that said I’m this close to pulling hairs and belting your ass. But I couldn’t hold the pain and I kept complaining until we had to stand up and walk out while the pastor was sermonizing and all the other good Christians were sitting down on their hard, wood pews paying attention to the word of God.

At one point on the drive home in the middle of being pissed off at me she confused me by angrily calling me El Diablo from her sanctimonious front seat. I don’t recall my dad saying a word.

And when we got home I got my ass exorcised w/a belt real good by my mom for making her leave early and embarrassing her in front of all of her hypocritical church friends.

Bunch ‘a creeps.

10.16.2006

Victor Millan 

Witch's Brew

Witch's Brew
1993
Words by VM
Artwork by Eddy Millan
(Eddy used Prismacolors, coffee soaking, fire and blood in creating
this aged parchment paper look.)
To see more of Eddy's artwork please visit http://semigod.com/

Addictions

The rewarding pleasures of writing have been set aside for lesser gods.

It’s just a brief moment in the blistering sand burning hot like new Venus on descent.

And then, the mask is burned forever

In the sadistically fevered sun.

I wish I knew the combination,

I wish I was already there.

‘92? ~ ‘95?

Victor Millan

Three Brothers Rock

Timeless emotion on the faces of the three brothers rock. Faithful keepers of the painted

cloth and the book of myths.

Winter desert gales centuries old shaped their stoical faces into the mold and stone decay

they commandingly portray.

The winds ~

it was the winds that made them happen.

From several miles above ~

the others exist alone in the middle of absolutely nothing but control everything around

them. Eyes like a knife on the universe

they mumble the electrodes back and forth between minds.

The Sun And Moon

Keep Their Struggle In The Sky,

But When They Sex The Tempest ~

They Draw Me In. *

They wait for one to come and unravel the scrolls and feed their platinum eyes.

They wait for one to come and decipher the paint and tell the tale.

Centuries old  ~  the myths

and the paint.

Jan. 13, ‘98 – Mar. 6, ‘00

Victor Millan
*(the sun and moon keep their struggle in the sky, but when they sex the tempest ~ they draw me in)

Artwork by Eddy Millan

To see more of Eddy's art please visit http://semigod.com/

Erection

An erection from mud to flesh.

Some call it God ~ I call it evolution.

We never agree.

I love the thinkers’ meltdown.

1995

Victor Millan

Leaving the Party

I was quite drunk and standing outside the front door of Karen’s 1^st floor apt.

at about 2:30 am.  Everyone else was inside playing a “drunk game” laughing loudly and throwing curses at their gods.

I was standing there swaying because of the sucking ~ talkin’ art talk with Ed who was also sucking. Madness of the drunkards I guess.

We were cracking up at some of the people mixin’ it up inside. Also laughing at the nosey neighbor spy that poorly spied. Mocking the hidden shooshers behind their 2^nd story apartment windows.

I didn’t give a care. 

I didn’t know them.

I didn’t wanna know them. Right now I was having a good time leaning up against the building trying to keep myself from melting down into the sidewalk.

Keeping my fingers and my eyes crossed for good luck so’s that I wouldn’t throw up on the spot. And we wondered when our chicks would be ready to leave.

After a short while my friend’s door swung open and w/a bit of the living room light and her music, two girls strolled outta the pad but not ours. They were leaving the party and going home.

One of ‘em pinched my ass when she walked by and said

“See ya later heartbreaker.”

Ya sure.  No problems.

And they drove off.

And I told Ed how she had mental problems she was trying to dig herself out of and he laughed but I didn’t and the 2^nd story meddler wondered when will it all end? ~ Eventually we finished our drinks and went back inside for the photo finish.

About an hour later I was in my own bathroom sitting on the cold linoleum floor feeling sea sick, sweating profusely and taking a break n a breather from vomiting my dinner & guts out into the toilet.

I noticed some of it missed the mark and hit the floor ~

and then came the dry heaves in the killer ribs with my fingers locked in a hard clench holding the edge of the tub and the sink.

Death was off to the side tickling the funeral keys with my heart while I was toading and struggling for a miserly clean breath.

Oct. ‘98

Victor Millan

It

I was thinking today about how when I meditate to find peace or protection or answers; or as an act of gratitude - how it is similar to religious prayer.

Although I don’t believe in the organized part of religions, I do think there are similarities in the way we connect with the Energy when we meditate or pray.

True religiosos transport into a trance, into this womb and they hover in there mystically flooded w/Energy, meditating as I do.

Taking in the purity ~ leaving the negative behind.

Finding infinite clarity.

Feeling the serene heartbeats.

Chanting or humming or speaking it, or seeing the mantra as I do. Listening to the measured breathing ~ channeling with It as I do.

Tapping into the temple of the thing that makes us mad.

To me these things are what we all do the same when we pray or meditate.

Allah, God, Brahma, Energy.

It.

S’all the same.

8.17.05

Victor Millan

Puppet Me

At ghost time when whispers are sweeping dreams into webs, the puppet sits slumped on the smoky grey couch flipping through the faded edge pages of an old photo album. His eyes are skimming unfinished memories & secrets but a bit of thirst is burning on the tip of my fantasizing tongue.

Went back in time to that cold night in Hunt’s backyard when everyone was destroyed n drunk and that guy wore his cowboy hat while my friend played the drums and the noise all by herself. This was in the much warmer garage and then someone took a picture of Beck, Les, Karen n Me sitting outside.

Ed proudly showed us his inclinations emblazoned on his chest and Llerena’s mind was corruptedly gone.

Reaching for a beer now - maybe a roaming thought or a conclusion to be.

I’m judging it’s time to call it a day by the sounds of dawn leaning away from a night already in repose.

Imitations & innocence

Inventions & disguise.

1995

Victor Millan

Time’s Killing You

I was laying cross-ways on my bed in my white boxers one end of week morning feeling
Over run; taking a deep breath w/my head reeling madly and slightly over the edge.

Over the edge of the bed as well.

The ceiling fan was on the spin cycle racing the devil with my eyes trying to shake loose
That ghost and its complications off its weary brown fins; and I exhaustedly let go of my next
Breath and everything was suddenly still w/the exception of the heavy pulsing in my veins.

Everything was frozen in motion.

The city was quiet for a moment. Everyone’s confessions held with my exhale.

Everyone was caught in a mid-blink in the middle of their burdens or their passions that devotedly thrill. The Birds were hovering outside en route to where they will w/a warm autumn breeze holding Their calibrated dive and I threw the currents to my god ~

And I craniated.

“How will you make your millions young man?

 How will you make it?”

Beware! says my witch ~

Time’s killing you

And the clock is on time’s side.

1994

Victor Millan

HAR-MENI

A pretty girl is like a harmony of sounds keeping the fire alive @ night.

Like a disco ball superstar spinning in a fusion of chemistry and rhyme. Flower buds coming alive in ‘79.

Like the dancing silhouette, the constellations reborn, and the sometimes wise vintage wine.

Like the unforgettable taste of love Spring only knows to give in abundance

when it electrifies.

Like the erotic poetica the muse weaves from unfinished threads and leaves carelessly scattered about within the petals on your bed

and the sun spotted sheets.

A pretty girl is like sunshine for the ages

and a breath of life for the one she decides upon.

Jul. 31, ‘99

Victor Millan

†CROSSES†

Me and some friends drove into a small town in northern New Mexico but the action soon became rotten sour so we left; and on the way out we stopped for lunch and ate at a little restaurant known as Casa de Cruzes.

We walked in and right away we could tell Jesus was checkin’ it out. This place I mean.

Crosses were hanging on all the walls.

The ceiling alone had about fifteen of them kinda sprawled out,

nailed down.

How ironic, I thought.

I especially remember this one that had a long, sad Jesus face to it but our food came and I saw that it was good and I ate of it.

As I chewed I looked around and realized that I’d never seen so many goddam crosses in one place

not even church.

I guess someone wanted to make real sure this place was securely blessed ~

holy like.

There was the velvet Jesus ~ Unlikely superstar but always the King.

Paintings of crosses ~ Local artists giving St. Peter the sleazy wink.

Twisted metal crosses gracing the masticating I.

Chandeliers and the hung Christ giving up face n flesh

Day and night.

Crosses in your face. Burrito on the table.

Lunch was divine but the hills were burnt charcoal black.

Hot sopapillas & honey for dessert.

Taos, NM. ‘95/‘96 – 6/11
Victor Millan