- Victor Millan
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Summer dawned with its capital radiance and sexual magnetism.
Our lives were brought together by mere chance. A throw of the fates.
One from one side of the world.
And she . . . from the other.
Think back to when we were young and indomitable and the world as unhinged and magnificent as it was, belonged to us.
You expressed your burning passion for me w/every mesmerizing look. With every perfumed touch. W/my breaths caught in sighs by your faithful kisses.
My love for you was undying.
Later days and later songs the bouquet was gambled away and the gods showed
that we’d be together forever.
Winter creeped in with ruthless depression. Unforgiving and cold.
Abandon your memories and the years.
She’s now gone. I feel lonely and dismal.
There’ll never be another one like you.
In my old age I think back and I know that I’ve lived a full life. I know that my affairs are settled. Soon enough I will join my one and only love.
I lay in heartbreak as I near this death. Pain not in my body but in my aged soul for I know I’ll have to make this journey alone; without my beloved.
We’ll soon meet again my goddess ~ my life.
and only love.
Posted by milan_millan at 11:17 PM
Rabid jealousy death bed keeps hammering the laughing knives deep into my cold and breaking heart. Feeling disheveled and I’m drowning in my feelings as they quickly become unharnessed.
Raging insomniac I get covered in my own vitriol ~ gnawing psychotic thinking about killing through the mocking night.
I wanna destroy the world
but you mean the world to me.
Endless love falls to the gutter.
- Victor Millan
Posted by milan_millan at 10:42 PM
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
(This is a letter I wrote in March 2005 to my friend Giacomo who lives in Italy. I liked it so much that I gave it a title and here it is.)
Hey man, quick question.
Have you gotten the 2 emails I sent you from work?
Just a little bit stoned but not like in the
Just living it.
Loving it but not like MacDonalds.
Don’t want no Big Mac Heart Attack.
Gotta leave the mark of the pen.
Like Zorro but with a V.
No VD on this Peniliticus. No tricks for the victor.
No words to carry on conversations.
No sadness. No tears. No gout.
Only fog, a dinged up surfboard and waiting for waves.
The early days before the cocaine phase.
See what happens when cannabis is king?
I go off and write like Jesus Christ Porno Star.
Broken down Pope shouldering atrocities driving in his glass-mobile car.
Who says "blasphemy"?
Who touched Macauley Caulkin?
Who's whiter than my euphoric Snow White?
Why's the world turning in a negative spin?
Not Mikey's fault.
A species lives for about a 100,000 years they say.
When's our time up?
The Mayan calendar says 2012.
Does Kim Jong Il agree with that?
Who's got big enough balls to drop the Nuke and then wait for the payback?
Not I said the fly . . . and then the swatter came down.
The hand of god like a hammer.
The hand of Vic like a fire.
Like the Condor not the
The Pornographer in transit.
The sputum in your rectum. ~ Sounds German to the Peruvian.
Adrenaline rush like Steve McQueen jumping a motorcycle over a fence in The Great Escape.
A sentence too long like death by an Abu Musab decapitation.
A wife to beat for the half men.
A world to transform for the brown man.
And with that said I'm gonna go transform some leaf into smoke.
Be cool Italiano.
- Victor Millan
Posted by milan_millan at 10:22 PM