staying at a camping ground a few moments out of
when first I saw her running toward me
Then in kisses and embraces she enveloped me
She had some white slip thing on that girls
in the '60s wore
and of course bells, beads and scent of sandalwood and patchouli oil.
Then she kissed my feet and said she had waited
all her life for me.
I couldn't wait another moment to have her
and did in a cloud of frankincense and myrrh.
She said I was surrounded in white light
as she lit up some Maui-wowie and took more psilocybin
She even dubbed me Saint Terrell
and for decades later she addressed me that way...
Now the world seems so different from
thoseSaint Terrell 25 years ago
Now no one calls me Saint Terrell:
Not me kids
nor the ex-thingie (who writes me 'dear shithead')
Chialeah visited me in
in the '70s and rambled on about other lives
realms, bodies (the one she had now was enough for me), dimensions
It was all peu de chose to me
Her body and responses throughout the nights-days-weeks...
was enough for every life, dimension, body...
She wanted my soul
I just wanted more of her body (the physical one she had with her then)
an equal trade in any man's book (eternity for a good fuck).
I have no idea where in the world she is
if at all she is on this planet
or whether in fact she now has my soul
(I've sold, traded and given it away so often ~ whom ever ends up with it is a loser for sure)
Maybe her daughters whose father(s)
could have been any number of us saints
are here still (as my dreams reveal)
But every once in awhile
when the day gets to me just a bit too much
I remember her
and my satisfied body and I escape smiling
one more time.
(c) Saint Terrell Neuage (Adsit
- alias Brother Arthur)
When I first sought her love it was the '60s
Everyone had a go of her
'make love not war'
We all chanted it
we all wanted her
I wanted her just to myself
so did everyone else.
Like being at the service department
in a market
Get in line - wait for your number
I always take two numbers
it is a habit
from when I wanted her twice an hour
'A kilo of Brie please'
Breasts and thighs please
I never did get her all to myself
She had a daughter
gained a lot of weight
No one wanted her
She committed suicide
no one lined up for her funeral.
I lost her at an orgy in 1969 in
So many arms-legs-and other parts...
Like a caldron of starving snakes slithering sliding
frantic tongues in eager mouths open wide
Did all those parts regroup - get back to their owners
Or did that pile of bodies stay entangled
and is now moving across the planet
her as its head
A multinational spider-web of lust
Engulfing all that goes before it
like love constantly does
She was a carefree flower girl of 18
Selling flowers on Bourbon Street
I was a street artist...
HOOM video (1969 - 1978 photos)