THE HOLLYWOOD RAGE PAGE

I LOVE LYING BENEATH AND ABOVE THE COVERS WITH YOU Written By David Steven Simon I love lying beneath and above the covers With you As I trace your spine With the earthbound wingtip Of my finger Which informs me Who you are And how you came to be It is the glue and thread of you. There were many others before me You had your following And reputation Some dumped you Some adored you Everyone had an opinion. But for me It was love at first sight. I discovered Within minutes that you lusted to be Spread wide open Just as much as me. Which is why I went on the hunt With invisible dogs Heady with the scent of fox. I had to be alone with you In the illusive Peter Pan shadow Of a half-lit night Where the soundtrack is The plaintive duet Between Pulse and breath Which are the stand-ins For Pirate And boy. I needed you to be Lost in the ambition of my hands Where the only voice Was yours Singing the tribal warning songs That are the p

I am married not to a woman Or a man I am married to my devices After the vows and rings were exchanged, We were pronounced Man and WiFi. Before the big day I had a Bachelor Party Where every man had A laptop dance. For our honeymoon we went down  The Amazon together Where we happened to be registered too. The truth is I can’t keep my eyes off of her for  more than a few seconds. I know how to read her and Stroke her keys When I am with her Nothing else exists I doubt that there is any measurable brain activity happening Inside me. And yet she has the best memory  And can find any picture from any moment in my life That sits in her files. We binge movies and shows together Listen to music Shop Order in Travel anywhere Everything that I need is at my fingertips. She keeps a very tidy home page and always Backs me up. She is always there for me. Always. She can answer any Question on demand. Love it

Temporary Resident Trump is just that: temporary. This is a nightmare which we will all wake up from. In the meantime, instead of endlessly fixating on him, which is what he craves (hate and love are the same thing to him. It’s all about being lavished with attention, either good or bad, in order to compensate for his feelings of self-loathing which is based on his knowing what a life-long, talentless fuck up he is) it is time for us to move on before he does. But how? Let’s dig deep.  Don’t worry.  I’ll hold your hand. We the people, spend most of our lives doing secret battle with the ghost feelings of abandonment, whose aftermath is more often than not, a crippling feeling of loneliness (which theoretically should guarantee anyone a handicapped parking sticker), which is a condition that even the best of partners can soothe and reassure, but never eliminate.   Not even the diamonds of our collective engagement rings can cut through the glass of our b

We have begun our final  descent That’s what the sleep pilot  Says, His morning daddy voice  Soft as a wisp  of finger-plucked Field cotton As we fly out of the  turbulence  the jet stream of heartache Which have been my dreams  Of late Aboard the red eye  Whose path  Flies dangerously low  over the bridge  that links the valley of  night sweats  and the battlefield of terror With its pillars of punishment And deception Which I receive as the truth  Like pamphlets of  wartime propaganda That descend Like a thousand angel wings Sent from the biggest Symbol of all Who we can only touch In the final seconds of our dreams Right before we wake  With seats in upwards position And seatbelts fastened Just before we land.