Naked Truth

“Famous isn’t good for a writer. You don’t observe well when you’re being observed.” 

Ken Kesey

I mentioned to a poet friend of mine, one of the few I respect, if he believed a writer could consider himself a success by the amount of nude photos of women and surprisingly a few men are sent to him.

I’m not sure how to measure my efforts as a success or as a failure. My point of view is if I am doing what I’ve always wanted to do as a profession, then I have achieved success.

I’ve mentioned my somewhat modest expectation to others when discussing the subject and it has received a variety of comments. But the comment that has been most popular is; “Bullshit! You can’t tell me you don’t want your book to be a best seller or  have your books made into movies and make a shit load of money. Come’on, everyone wants to be famous and I’m not talking the Warhol fifteen minutes kind.”

That would be a wonderful perk without a doubt but it is not my reason for being a writer. I sincerely am not concerned if what I write is accepted or rejected. Rejection letters are just fuel for my creative fire. I selfishly write for myself not for an audience. Twisting your prose to fit the perimeters of an audience is a fucking trap without any hope of escape.

A true writer knows this predilection is actually a curse we’re born with. It manifests in our souls, with an insatiable need to be recognized. I described a writer in a poem written years ago.

“A Poet is an Artist that paints in darkness

Words of the poem are colors creating light 

A Writer is blessed with all of the answers

Cursed with the search of which questions to ask.”  

It’s the first time I’ve directly quoted myself.

“Okay, but get back to the  naked pictures, will ya. No one is interested in this boring literary mumbo jumbo.” 

Who said that?  I was just thinking the exact same thought. Now that is an incredible phenomenon. 

So I’ve been receiving what I consider a large amount of nude photos on my WhatsApp, Facebook, Instagram and Gmail accounts and have become curious about its relevance in determining my success as a writer. I’ve researched the subject to investigate if other writers have experienced the same anomaly. I haven’t discovered any mention of it being so. I surely can’t be the only writer out there that has received this type of appreciation in response to their work.

I don’t write erotica although I’ve described brief moments of sexual activity in some of my stories. 

So my poet friend said he’d get back to me, it was something he had to think about. Although I judged him as an accomplished poet, he turned out to be an unreliable counselor. He would’ve made a terrible bartender without the ability to give advice. After a week I contacted him to ask if he had made a decision concerning my question. He first apologized and then started laughing, commenting he didn’t think I was serious. He believed it was all a joke, a setup or research for a story. Now I had his complete attention after convincing him my question was authentic. 

” In order to make an educated decision I’d need to look at the pictures. Do you think that could be possible?” He inquired.

” I’m not sure how seeing the photos would help in determining an answer to my question. Besides, all the senders asked me to keep them private and not share them.”

” How many photos exactly have you received? Are the women totally naked and can you see their faces?”

“I guess close to twenty five including the three photos of men.”

” Were there suggestive messages with the photos? Also, are you sure they were sent in response to your writing? Are you on some type of dating site?”

“Yes, some included sexual messages. Most mentioned my poems and I’m not on a dating site. So, what do you think?”

“I rarely receive more than fifteen comments on my poems when I post them.” He said with a sarcastic  tone. “So I’m going to conclude yes, it does have a relevance in determining your success as a writer. Although, the most viable explanation is that your poems appeal to a unique audience of sick, twisted and perverted readers.” 

The phone hummed a dial tone without a goodbye.

And I thought; What was with the Dutch uncle’s attitude? Why did he say it like it was a bad thing?

Written September 23 which would have been her 34 birthday  Judge Santiago Burdon

What Did Your Teacher Learn In School Today    

For McKenzie

It was when McKenzie, my daughter was in the second grade I believe. Her teacher called me in the early afternoon while class was still in session. 

” Mr. Santiago, it’s imperative you come to the school, we need to have a serious discussion concerning McKenzie’s demeanor. Is your wife available to come as well?” 

” Mrs.Callaway, my ex-wife, is most likely working at her shop and wouldn’t be able to attend. 

May I ask what kind of problem requires me to show up at  school?  Has she been injured? Is she okay?” 

” Yes she’s fine and isn’t hurt or injured.”

“Has McKenzie assaulted or hurt  someone?” I asked.

” No, it’s nothing like that.”

” Well then what in the hell is the problem? Tell me what my eight year old daughter did to cause you to call me? From the sound of it, you seem to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Are you alright?”

” I’m unable to cope with it any longer. She constantly corrects me when I’m teaching a subject or telling the class pertinent information straight from the lesson plan. She has an abnormal way of viewing the world. The other students now applaud her when she proves her point.”

” Wait a second. Are you telling me my eight year old daughter is questioning  the information you’re teaching? What exactly do you mean?”

” It started the first day of class with the Pledge of Allegiance. She refused to recite it claiming  that it was a lie. First of all she  said she doesn’t believe in God. Why does she have to say  ” one nation under God”? And what about nonchristians people that don’t believe in God? Atheists or those that worship Allah or Buddhists, why do they have to pledge allegiance to a God that they don’t worship?” 

“Well she’s absolutely correct on each issue”

” It doesn’t stop there. She also pointed out that it says  “liberty and justice for all”. And the Civil Rights Bill wasn’t made a law until 1964.”

” She’s right again.”

” In Language Arts the subject of Sunrise and Sunset came up. Well she said actually the Sun doesn’t rise or set. The Earth turns making it look like the Sun sets or rises. They should be called Earth turns. Morning Earthturns and  Evening Earthturns.

“Actually that statement is one of my original thoughts. I guess my children do occasionally listen to what I say”.

“Another example of her abnormal and oddball observations; The Dictionary should be called a Definitionary because no one uses it to look up a word’s diction, most everyone  used it to look up definitions.”

” So far she hasn’t been incorrect with any of her  information. I don’t understand…”

” Did you know the English settled Australia with Irish prisoners, criminals and slaves? I didn’t, until she said it in History class. I looked it up and it was true. She asked why the Declaration of Independence says “All men are created equal. Their creator  gave them life, liberty and to have happiness.” But at that time there was slavery in the colonies and it was practiced for almost a hundred years after it was signed. And still many Presidents of the United States owned slaves. How could that be possible?” she asked”. I didn’t have an answer”

” I fail to see a problem here? What exactly do you claim she is doing wrong?”

” Let me finish. Whenever she makes her statement, which is frequently, she always says; my father told me and promised he would never lie to me.” 

” Yes, that’s the absolute truth.”

” Well I would appreciate it if you would stop filling her head with contradictory information? I had her brother in my class a couple years back and I had the same problem with him. Are you raising your children to be revolutionaries spreading subversive ideas?” 

.” No, I raise my children to ‘Question Authority’ and not to believe everything they’re told.

I’ll be at the school in ten minutes. I’ll take care of this problem.”

” Thank you.”

I drove to the school with the biggest smile I could fit on my face. As a father I couldn’t have been more proud of McKenzie.

When I reached the school I found McKenzie in the Principal’s office along with her teacher. 

” Hey McKenzie. Do you have everything of yours with you?”

“No, my jacket and backpack are in my classroom cubby.” 

” Run over there and get all your stuff. Apúrate bebe”.

She scooted out of the office. I talked with the Grammar School Dictators, they mentioned  how much they appreciated me addressing the situation. And hoped I would take care of curtailing  her fanatical ideals. The principal held out his hand for me to shake just as McKenzie returned. I turned away from him to help her put on her backpack. “Have you got everything?”

She shook her head yes. I turned  back facing the principal and he still had his hand out for me to shake.

” I should let you know that McKenzie will not be returning to this school. I think it is better for everyone involved that I enroll her in an actual learning institution. We’ll be leaving now. I have no intention of shaking your hand. Please have her  records available as soon as possible.”

” Mr. Santiago, this is not the solution I had in mind.” Mrs. Callaway mentioned.  

” You’re just lucky you didn’t discuss the Bible in school. You would’ve been up the creek.”

We got in the car and McKenzie looked at me with an inquisitive expression.

” So you’re not mad?”

” Yes I’m a little pissed off but it’s not worth letting it bother me.”

“I’m sorry Santi” 

” Sorry? What are you sorry for? I’m upset with your teacher, not you.”

” So I’m not going back to school here?”

” No, we’ll find a real school. I guess  instead of asking you what did you learn in school today? I’m going to have to start asking, what did your teacher learn in school today? So what do you think, Smoothie or Milkshake?”

” I love you Santi.”

Black Moon Promise

Bathroom confessions
backdoor redemption
Black moon promise
made to a leather winged Angel
Afterglow addict disciple of dawn
woman standing at the edge of love
listening for the silence in between the words
whispered by an ambidextrous tongue.
Loiterer in dim luminescence
under bloodshot skies.
beautiful visions reminding her of horrible things  
knowing the best part of truth are the lies
casualty of kindness twilight apostle
feeling what is not her favorite color
the song of flawed perfection 
its taste bitter on her lips
The melody fading along with the last smile of summer

Two Dollar Talisman

I have never professed to know much, although what I do know,

is there’s a distance between want and need, the road is plagued with storms, the rain in time causes your ambition to rust,  your ego begins to bleed, your hunger doesn’t entitle you admission, to take part in the soul feast, you, still believing no one’s pain is greater than your own, convinced you’ve paid your dues, fate now owes you, but you’ve defaulted on the loan.

Your want is always a demand, to please an image reflected in a selfish mirror,  you’re damned to keep counting blessings, coming up short, then feeling cheated, out of what was never yours. And you ask why your prayers go unanswered, your self indulgent wishes are ignored, worshiping the two dollar Talisman, bought at the thrift store, it has exhausted any cosmic goodwill  it never had  before, turns out  to be just another poor choice, as a last resort. if a line between  right and wrong ever existed, you snorted it long ago, and a conscience you considered an encumbrance, was shedd in liability’s shadow.

I’ve lived in life’s underbelly, a deplorable existence, the reward for addiction and a troubled mind, been to places where God wouldn’t go, acting on a drug’s bad advice, I’ve learned the less I wanted, the more I understood what it is I need, it rains diamonds on Neptune, and there’s blue sunsets on Mars, but what do I know,

I’m just an imitation of me.

Who The Hell Do You Think You Are

I’m a recovering Catholic 

drug fiend and addict,  

a drunk, a thief and an ex-con, 

musician, writer, half assed poet, and fighter, 

a grifter, failed husband and father, 

horrible dancer, an excellent cook, well read and scholar, 

a liar, a crack shot, and a great driver. 

Quick tempered, dog person, sports fan, once a smuggler

too old to do any more time,

so now I’m retired.

JSB

Two Dollar Talisman

I have never professed to know much, although what I do know,

is there’s a distance between want and need, the road is treacherous, plagued with storms  in time cause your ambition to rust and your ego to bleed, your hunger doesn’t entitle you admission, to take part in the soul feast, believing no one’s pain is greater than your own, you’ve paid your dues now fate owes you, but you’ve defaulted on the loan.

Your want is always a desire, for  the image reflected in a selfish mirror,  you’re damned to keep counting blessings, coming up short, then feeling cheated, out of what was never yours. Still you ask why your prayers go unanswered, self indulgent wishes are ignored, worshiping the two dollar Talisman, bought at the thrift store, it has exhausted any cosmic goodwill  it never had  before, turns out  to be just another poor choice, as a last resort. if a line between  right and wrong ever existed, you snorted it long ago, and conscience you considered an encumbrance, was shed in liability’s shadow.

I’ve lived in the underbelly of a deplorable existence, the reward for addiction and a troubled mind, been to places where Jesus was afraid to visit, acting on some drug’s bad advice, I learned the less I wanted, the more I understood what it is I need, it rains diamonds on Neptune, and there’s blue sunsets on Mars, but what do I know,

I’m just an imitation of me.

My Ledbury Shirt

For my Birthday a while ago, my Dame de Mois at the time,  gave me a Ledbury dress shirt. It was magenta with the inside collar and cuffs in a subtle eggshell hue. I was excited to try it on and model it for her. The process of opening a new dress shirt is tedious. I have always been curious as to why they use so many straight pins in new shirts.

I began pulling out  the pins and putting them in a nearby empty beer can.

” Don’t throw them away!” She screamed. “Give them to me,  I save straight pins!” 

” Why the hell would you want to save all these pins?” I inquired.

” I use them on my Voodoo dolls.” She smiled in a scary sort of way.

First and last time I wore the shirt. I decided to move from New Orleans to Costa Rica in  a week and told her of my plans.

” A week! I’m not sure I can be ready in that short amount of time. There’s a lot I’ll need to take care of.'” She responded in an excited tone.

” It’s okay, I wasn’t planning on taking you with me.” 

” You mean I’m not coming with you to Costa Rica? You’re an insensitive bastard.”

She stomped off slamming the door then opening it and slamming it again. 

” Fuck you Santiago! Hope you get Dengue or Malaria or some other shit!”

I contracted Dengue eight months later, spending a week in the hospital. Now and then I  feel short stabbing pains especially in my groin area. A Doctor’s examination couldn’t determine a cause for the piercing pains. I had an idea as to the reason,  just don’t want to think it, write it or say it out loud.