The Dragon

A mid-sized, friendly dragon walks through the door to my office pod.  I call it an office pod because the door opens into a large room with four individual offices and two large spaces for cubicles. I sit in a cubicle.  But love has won the day. And the dragon is walking in the door.  He coughs and a bit of fire comes out. He is a salesman dragon, and he has come to sell us expensive watches.  After trying for a bit, it's clear we're not buying, and he's not really here to sell watches to me and my co-worker Natalie.  He's gay.  And he wants to party.  We're like cool, been playing dance music all day in the office, anyway.  So I MOG some Michael Jackson Billie Jean, and Natalie me and the dragon start to boogie.  The mid-sized dragon sheds his blue suit coat, white dress shirt and CK plaid tie with golden accents.  Underneath is a superman t-shirt.  I click on some Rhianna, and the dragon is just in a frenzy, jumping on desks, dancing with loose, short dragon arms flailing about. He torches the ceiling a couple times, and Natalie and I shriek with joy. We can't get enough of his flame-throwing capabilities.  We got the new Daft Punk song and the dancing continues to stay wild.  During a slowed down part of the song the dragon picks up his clothing and starts trotting, double-stepping towards the door. He screams I LOVE YOU ALL and the wall bursts into diaphanous flames.

justice, equality, love
Anthony

Dublin

The scorched earth policy might apply to my mind.  Naw.  Really it's just love, ambition and chaos in my gut.  Wanting things like to be a great writer, to be wealthy beyond all comprehension, to create racial equality, to tour as a rock star (with The Gaslight Anthem opening for me).  The american dream. That kind of thing.

If I failed you, it was my fault. I don't deny it. Not with Joyce outside my modern, sliding-glass door window, looking out onto an empty glass mall, barren retail space .  To let, to let, to let you back into my heart -- the oceans come for us all -- blurred lines, watching a freshly poured pint of Guinness fall majestically to the bottom.  Swept into the misery by song.  Swept into the beautiful by melody.  I can't think enough for Sancho Panza and his dreaming dreamer.  Swept into the gilded gutter by the Irish.  Swept into sleep cause it's far past my bedtime back home.

I want to build a family crest that amplifies my emotions.  A structural invention.  An object of American ingenuity. Sonar, vibrating out in expanding, trembling circles.  I want to think of you in this pattern.  You are the distance and the closeness between the trembling circles. If love is an object of despair, let the wealthy sweep their yards with Mexican gardeners.  I hope, I hope things turn out well in the swell of the belly: Jonah and the Whale. But what if Jonah was the Whale and he grew so big that he swallowed himself and destruction of political fortune cast with golden bows freed us from ourselves and our language.  A Slovene philosopher sleeps well tonight in Dublin, knowing something I don't.

With love,
Anthony  

She Loves You

water