Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Hey Italiano!

(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 curious.
Just a little bit stoned but not like in the Middle East.
Just living it.
My life.
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"?
Michael Jackson.
Who touched Macauley Caulkin?
Michael Jackson.
Who's whiter than my euphoric Snow White?
Michael Jackson.
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?
Comeuppance motherfucker!
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 Phoenix.
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

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