A Joint and a Trip

I have been telling God that I wanted to be in a hotel room all by myself on the beach, close my eyes to the wind, lay flat on the bed like a piece of gum, without a care in the world, just laying there, like Mr potatohead, watching the rainbow go by, shooting at flies pissed at the rain.

I have, for ages, I promise but it seemed to die on thin air on the transatlantic railroad.

I asked and I asked the bellman, the concierge, the fruitloop dressed like a bodyguard at the corner store to give me a sign. I begged my soul keeper to decree a heaven’s gate, a place to drip the scrambled eggs on any given omelette as I fought the alligators on the prowl. I did but no answer.

Instead, I woke from the dream, feeling more like a contessa then a princess, in a hotel somewhere in the middle of the ocean, laying flat on a palm tree, legs dangling like a yoyo, on a full belly, my heart racing like a leopard, margarita on hand, vegetable cigarette on the other, drunken stupor from a lemon juice overdose. I don’t know who was driving this joint but it surely felt like a trip to me.

©️Angela Aguiar

The Shoemaker

20130923_171557 (1)

Porto, Portugal

Living Statues contest Jury Prize Winner.
It is Art and he is a winner just for standing in the same ole position for a long time. Yes, the life of a street artist.

The Shoemaker

The shoemaker drill presses the shoes,
The shoes is drill pressed by the shoemaker
The tip is bent
Bent doesn’t penetrate.