My Las Vegas Story

My Story Continues . . . In the Place Where . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 01:00:00 +0000

My story,
my life,
continues . . .

In the place where snow capped mountains dance with flat sandy valleys,
In the place where large wide avenues mingle with sparse alleys . . .

In the place where pools intersect with cold landscapes,
In the place where oases are created for escapes . . .

In the place where strange little animals frolic among a desolated garden,
In the place where people who are high off of nothing bargain . . .

This is my life,
It continues,
It lives,
It survives
In Sin . . .

This is my Las Vegas Story.

My Las Vegas Story: Part II: A New Beginning: A Rant

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 01:07:00 +0000

This is my Las Vegas story – part 2

I.

The mountains are brown and high,
Non-blue skies,
Muggy and heavy air,
Angry people lost in hell,
I’m in Las Vegas.

A small room with shadowy white walls,
Plain, angular, severe black furniture,
Technology everywhere,
A short, thinning black man in the middle of beige-ness,
I’m in Las Vegas in my room.

II.

I’m bored,
My body is bored,
My spirit is bored,
My voice is bored.

Boredom envelopes every part of my --
Cells,
Neurons,
Atoms,
I’m a large mass of boredom,

It is a festering and dangerous cancer,
A disease without a cure,
It is eating me a life,
The only solution is expiration.

III

I cannot understand the place surrounded by mile high treeless mountains,
I cannot speak its language,
I do not understand its vibe,
Therefore, I’m alone.

Its energy is confusing,
Too dialectical,
Too diabolical,
Too death looking,
Therefore, I’m alone.

Its people are queer,
They speak a secret language,
An unusual body language,
They talk through their eyes,
They just stare,
Therefore, I’m alone.

Oh, oh how I wish I was in The Bay,
The place of rich, lyrical language.

This is my Las Vegas story – part 2.

The Next Post

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Mon, 07 Jan 2008 03:42:00 +0000

Due to a recent family tragedy, the next post will be published next week. Thank you my dear readers for supporting my blog.

Take Care,

The Fragrance Man

Love and/or Lust: A Theory

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Fri, 04 Jan 2008 07:35:00 +0000

This is my theory about love or lust while living in Las Vegas.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Sugar is Sweet;

So, are you . . .

Roses are red . . .

Passion,

Sexual pheromones,

Ecstasy,

Sensual sensory overload.

Our bodies glisten after intense intimacy,

We are beautiful, almost divine,

Our union is near perfection,

We, you and I, are in heaven.

Violets are blue . . .

Sadness,

Sexual calmness,

Longing,

Sensory dormancy.

I mourn when we leave our secret world,

I wish our hidden universe could last forever,

But, alas, we must go to our lives,

To live in our public spaces.

Sugar is sweet . . .

Playfulness,

Sexual anticipation,

Invitation,

Senses are waiting.

I wait until we meet again,

I am impatient -- I want to recreate our perfect world,

I anticipate our bodily sexual discourse,

I will hold you in my arms.

So, are you . . .

You are perfect in my eyes,

You taste beautiful,

Your scent is intoxicating,

Your voice is mesmerizing,

I need to touch you.

This is my theory about love and lust

Season's Greetings My Dearest Readers

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Tue, 25 Dec 2007 03:01:00 +0000

Sunday Morning in Las Vegas: A Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 23:38:00 +0000

An all white room with a soft Sunday light

Two people laying in a comfortable bed:

Secret companionship

Madame Tussauds: A Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 16:13:00 +0000

I am staring at real celebrities
Many cool rooms --
They're fake

Howard Hughes: A Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 16:11:00 +0000

A warm winter day
At Howard Hughes Center --
I wait

Tuesday is a Trend: Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 05:55:00 +0000

Fila cream tennis shoes,

Perry Ellis jeans and turtleneck,

Black leather European cut jacket,

Gucci wallet in pants,

I'm ready to do my Tuesday ritual.

Workman-like Mazda truck,

Drive to the place where wine is sold,

Park vehicle,

Go in establishment,

I'm ready to meet new people.

Tonight will be different. I hope.

II.

The night is cool,

On the patio,

I receive stares,

Unfriendly stares,

I wonder what I'm doing wrong.

Is it because of my skin color?

After all, I'm the darkest being here.

Is it because of my fashion?

May be I'm too Bay Area for them,

May be my influences from the East is showing.

Is it my attitude?

They sense my difference, or rather indifference,

My uncomfortableness,

My otherness,

My incomprehensibleness.

Tonight will be different. I hope.

III.

Sitting down,

At the bar,

Drinking port,

Ordering vodka and cranberry juice,

I want to forget.

A man comes by me,

I recognize him,

We speak,

He says he like black guys.

I say oh and ask why,

He mentions my blackness, my African features,

Are like blond hair, blue eyes, brunettes,

He grew up in an all white area,

All black men are troubled beings,

Interesting, I say.

Interesting, I think.

I cannot comment anymore,

I wish his kind will go away.

Tonight will be different. I hope.

The end.

Goals: My Ninth Attempt at Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Fri, 07 Dec 2007 07:36:00 +0000

Three goals
Develop on a cold fall night:
I'm afraid

Vegas in Fall: A Happy Thought

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Mon, 03 Dec 2007 02:39:00 +0000

This is my Las Vegas story.

The mile-long mountains discover divine crystals,

waiting for their refreshing blankets,

thirst ends.

The earth is relieved,

sighing plants,

insects slumber.

Brown becomes gold,

calming dust,

the air is cool and refreshing.

People smile,

rediscovering their souls,

they are more generous.

I'm pleased,

feeling happier,

I am wealthy.

This is my Las Vegas story.

Money, Am I Real?

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Sun, 02 Dec 2007 04:19:00 +0000

This my learning experience while leaving in Las Vegas.

Am I real?

I trap the poor and middle class.

I am manipulated by the rich.

Am I real?

I was real before the seventies; your president turned me into currency.

I am real as long as you believe in me.

I am only digital.

Am I real?

I make you go into debt.

I make you fear and love me.

I make you hate me.

I know you feel this way because you don't know me.

Am I real?

I can take away your fortune.

I can make you work forever.

I can do these actions because you don't know my tricks.

Am I real?

Observing World AIDS Day: A Prayer

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Sat, 01 Dec 2007 23:35:00 +0000

Dear Lord,

I pray that you'll help humanity find a cure.

I pray that you'll comfort those poor souls who are living with this devastating disease.

I pray that those who are living with HIV and AIDS will get the drugs that they need.

I pray that those who are not infected will be understanding.

I pray that no other human being will be inflicted by this condition.

In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.

*Image Source -- www.ebogjonson.com.

The Strip and Arts: My Eighth Attempt at Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Mon, 26 Nov 2007 03:33:00 +0000

Millions of people throwing money
Hot, neon lights glowing in the crisp fall night air --
Zen aura art museum

Dread and Hunger: My Seventh Attempt at Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Fri, 23 Nov 2007 16:05:00 +0000

A-crisp-cool-Arctic-wind emotion
I feel dread --
I guess I'm hungry

The Summer of '93 [Explicit]

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Sun, 18 Nov 2007 23:38:00 +0000

Warning: The language and subjects in this post may offend you. Read at your own risk.

Remembering the past while living in Las Vegas.

The Summer of '93

Who was I in the Summer of '93?

A newly outed, black, obese homo boy,

Playing with radical African socialist politics,

Yes, I was a pinko commie fag,

Being radicalized by U.C. Berkeley.

Who was I back then?

A 20 year old child living in a roach and rat invested student apartment co-op,

Sharing it with an ultra-liberal sexy dark-skinned lesbian from my hometown,

Eating bake potatoes, fried snapper, noodles, mac 'n cheese,

Yes, I was just a poor radicalized effeminate male student.

Who was I?

A lonely child just trying to find love,

Sneaking into over-21 clubs,

Working for a nuclear lab,

Couldn't wait for that fat financial aid check to come,

Yes, I was just a naive and confused man-boy.

So, this was me and my stories during the Summer of '93.

(Note: In order to reflect my true writing spirit of 1993, the poems below have not been edited.)

Does it Matter?

Langston Hughes

James Baldwin

Audre Lourde

Angela Davis

I told my sister that these people were gay.

She scornfully looked at me and said, “Does it matter?”

I couldn't answer the questions;

however, now I can.

Faggot,

Cocksucker,

Boodybuster,

Sissy,

These are the names that they call all faggots and you ask me does it matter.

Dyke,

Pussyeater,

Man without a dick,

Lesbo-slut,

These are the names that they call all dykes and you ask me does it matter.

Abdominal sinners,

Unnatural sexual actors,

Perverts,

Sodomites,

These are the names that the religious yell to the pussyeaters and cocksuckers yet they suppose to be Christ-like, and you ask me does it matter.

Gay bashing,

Lesbian killing,

Those are the things that straight people do to gays and lesbians, and you ask me does it matter.

Broken wrist,

Switching like a woman,

Pink,

Men with skirts,

Manly woman,

Those are the ways that the hetero sees the homo, and you ask me does it matter.

I ask you, my sister, as a black woman, does it matter that

Beethoven,

Egyptian Pharaohs,

Jesus,

Martin Luther King,

Malcolm X,

Cleopatra,

The inventor of the cotton gin

are all black.

You know it matter!

Does it matter if society sees African people as

Mothers,

Fathers,

Doctors,

Lawyers,

Historians,

Business people,

Writers,

Judges.

You know it matter!

You know, my sister, as black people we must acknowledge and tell others about our blackness for empowerment.

Henceforth, the lesbian, gay, bisexual and yes, the transgender must acknowledge themselves and yell to others about themselves for empowerment.

Society does not want to make our lives a private matter.

They talk badly about us.

They lie about us.

They will not give us an equal chance.

They assume what we are not.

And, the worst sin they commit against us is they expect us to lie to ourselves and the world about our sexual identity.

If they see us as

Mothers,

Fathers,

Sons,

Daughters,

Cousins,

Friends,

Famous actors, writers, directors, producers, and artists

In other words, the history makers,

They may see us a little different.

And, my sister, you ask me does it matter.

Lawrence Johnson, Jr.

7/7/93

Chocolate Grandmama

“I always wonder what is the recipe for making an excellent grandmother. After all, I consider my grandmother the superior of all grandmamas. I go through my imagination, and this is what I think the recipe is for her.

Add a pound of chocolate,

and sugar-coated black licorice,

they created my grandmother's glowing dark youthful skin, and her salt-n-pepper hair,

throw in large peaches,

they gave her a round shapely shape,

make sure to add a generous amount of ruby plums,

they made her heart generous yet she scolded anyone who took advantage of her giving,

dump some red sweet juicy apples in your mixture,

apples added to her truthful nature; she always told someone the truth whether one likes it or not,

finally, pour in some ruby grape wine,

the wine gave her the greatest gift, it made her into a loving and caring mother and grandmother.

I love you Grandmommy.”

Lawrence Johnson, Jr.

7/12/93

My People

My people,

Please don't hate me since I love another man.

My people,

Do not be disgusted since I share my life with a man.

You should see us,

I hold my man close to my reddish-brown hairy naked chest,

I gently stroke his ebony smooth back,

I lift his face to my face,

Our lips touch,

We give each other a passionate kiss,

It is so natural when two people fall in love,

But, of course, my people since you are too blind to see the beauty in this,

You hate us,

You are disgusted by us,

You see us as a shame to the African Race; some one is wholly engulf in Europeaness,

My love,

My kiss,

My making love to this man,

Is nothing white,

It is a shared experience between two male African lovers,

If you are too blind to see this,

The romantic love between those of the same sex,

And beat us with your fists and words,

You are the ones who are actually engulf in European thinking,

You are the shame of the Black Race,

You know,

European thought only taught and teach,

Hate,

Disgust,

And kill things that are unknown,

My people we are unknown to you,

So you act like the European,

You know,

The unpolluted African taught,

to welcome,

to love,

to cherish,

to learn,

about the unknown,

So my people when you see one of your gay, lesbian, and bisexual brothers and sisters,

Act like the African,

By embracing true Black thought,

our race will be uplifted,

After all, my people, you need us as we need you,

Since we have historically helped to uplift our race.

Lawrence Johnson, Jr.

7/21/93

A Secret Wish from a Lonely Sensuous Man

My Fairy Godmother,

I Wish:

My love and I are both listening to the sad and soulful music and lyrics of Sade,

The room is filled with mysterious and opaque white mist,

It smells sweet yet masculine,

Sexy black fat and short candles gently glow the room,

Our bodies are naked and dripping with sweat,

We are kissing long, hard, and juicy,

Both of our bodies rub like two hard and smooth pieces of wood,

Our hard breathing and those musty sex smells turn into our sexual spirits,

They link our minds into one body,

Our physical beings metamorphize into one entity,

We are one.

Lawrence Johnson, Jr.

8/11/93

An American Poem

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Sun, 18 Nov 2007 19:31:00 +0000

This is my Las Vegas and American Story with very little punctuation

America

Listen to me

See my visions

A large African-American family with Southern values

In their Sunday best

Leaving church

So, America, what do you assume?

Do they belong to an all black church, perhaps they're baptist?

Are they in the South or at least near by?

Are they poor and live in the black side of town?

Do their children only make D's and F's in school?

Oh, America, you shouldn't assume

The large African-American family lives in Northern California

They are coming out of an old and established Roman Catholic Church

Most parishioners are Filipino

The family is well-off – they are upper middle class

Their children are good students

They graduated from good Californian universities: U.C. Berkeley, UCLA, Hayward State and Sacramento State

Italians and her white colleagues would love mom's lasagna and greens with turkey necks

Mexicans would love dad's burritos

The children love Thai and one of them is addicted to escargot

America do you need more?

An elegant Japanese women

Sitting behind a desk

Putting on make up

So, America, what do you assume?

Is her siblings well educated?

Is her family wealthy?

Did her family recently came from Japan?

Does she speak English well?

Oh, America, you shouldn't assume

She's a librarian

She grew up poor

Her parents were raised in central California

She was the only child in her family to receive a degree

She likes soul food

America do you need more?

A young white couple

In a black Mercedes

Listening to music while driving

So, America, what do you assume?

Do they come from upper middle class WASP families?

Are they doing economically well?

Do they speak the language of the dominant culture?

Are they listening to the classics or soft rock perhaps?

The couple lives in Contra Costa County, in a nice upper middle class neighborhood

They're facing bankruptcy

The husband was adopted by a Mexican family

His was given up by his teenage mother

The wife's family was well-off

Her parents love drugs

Lost everything and they divorce

He mother became a welfare queen

Standard English is good for work, but they mostly speak a common man's tongue

They love gangsta rap

Hot sauce is a necessity for their meals

America

You should never assume.

Death and the Soul: A Dialogue with God

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 14:17:00 +0000

This is my Las Vegas Story and my conversation with God.

“God, why did you take her away?”

God looked at me, and I was afraid he would have given me an instant pass to hell. But, since God is merciful, his mood changed and he said in a loving grandfatherly voice, “Baby, you wouldn't understand.”

“What do you mean that I wouldn't understand?”

“Baby, as I mentioned before, you wouldn't understand. Some things just need to happen. Plus, she's older than you.”

“How could that be God? I'm 34 and she was only 29. I asked you to take me. I wanted to be the sacrifice! I prayed that you would take me in my sleep. But, I woke up and I was still miserable. I would have been the perfect sacrifice for my family. As a matter of fact God, I didn't care whether I went to heaven or hell. I just wanted to leave this horrible planet.”

“As I said, baby, you cannot understand. You'll only mortal.”

“How can I not understand? You let me do complex things everything. I thought of things that were very unique to this world. I have the ability to understand many complex concepts. How dare you say . . .”

“BABY!!! I'M YOUR CREATOR AND YOU WILL NOT SPEAK TO ME IN THAT TONE. IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT I MEAN, I'LL TELL YOU, BUT YOU WON'T LIKE IT.”

“Baby, as I mentioned before, you're too young. Her mother is too young; her great aunt of ninety is too you. All of her aunts and uncles are too young. Their souls are young souls and they still need nourishment. They still need to grow. And this is true with yours.”

“But, hers been around a long, long time. I remember seeing the birth of her soul about the same time my son decided that he wanted to give it a try on earth. So, when a soul is old, I only give them from a few days to a few years to live on earth. As a matter of fact, she was lucky that I gave her 29 years. I've asked her many, many times to come up home and helped me, but she always requested to stay a little long. She wanted to do a little more of earthly living.”

“Baby, this time I told her that her time was up. I needed her in heaven to help run things. I also prefer my old and ancient souls to work directly under me. They have a much better understanding of the universe than the young ones. So, that's why she needed to go. I needed her.”

“Baby, when your time comes, I'll come get you. Just wait. My child, I have to go. And, please do not speak to me in that tone again. I love you.”

I could only respond, “I love you too.”

An Out of Work Librarian: My 6th Attempt at Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Sun, 04 Nov 2007 15:03:00 +0000

I am an educated black man
Delivering things:
Las Vegas Library is hope

My Las Vegas Job: My 5th Attempt at Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Sun, 04 Nov 2007 06:20:00 +0000

Job with very good pay

Flexible schedule --

I'm depressed

Tuesday is a Trend: Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Sun, 04 Nov 2007 06:17:00 +0000

This is my Las Vegas Story.

I wear my cream Gucci shoes,

Yellow poplin pants,

White French-cuffed dress shirt,

I'm dress to impress,

Is this really me?

I pick up my Gucci wallet,

Put $40 in it,

Take a few credit cards,

I may need to spend more money,

But do I have enough?

I jump into my Mazda B2500,

Drive a few miles down the road,

Go to the Four Seasons – I think the Mix I have to go,

Park my truck,

Will they accept me?

I go to the Mix,

A man in a black suit greets me,

I tell him I'm going to the place of trends,

He told me to enter an elevator,

Am I sweating fear?

I go into the elevator,

I travel up 64 floors,

I'm now at the top,

I exit this claustrophobic machine,

Will they judge me?

I walk to a table,

I see a sheet by a martini sign,

I write my name and email address,

I write Larry on a name tag and stick it by my heart,

Will they sense my shame?

I walked into the room,

I see the strip,

I observe people standing and speaking,

I know no one,

Do I belong?

I'm in the unknown.

I'm among people with Palm-Springs-Circuit-Party-Ways.

This is my Las Vegas Story.

North Side of Spring Mountain Road by the Strip: My 4th Attempt at Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 00:57:00 +0000

The edge of futuristic fashion
High living Wynn:
Homeless man sleeps in Esplanade

Downtown and Summerlin: My 3rd Attempt at Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 00:54:00 +0000

Struggling denizens
Gloomy depressed downtown --
Sunny rich Summerlin

Downtown: My 2nd Attempt at Haiku

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 00:51:00 +0000

Downtown Vegas
Bright neon motley lights:
Gambling addicted damned souls

The Perfume Man

noreply@blogger.com (Lawrence Johnson) — Thu, 25 Oct 2007 00:45:00 +0000

This is my Las Vegas story.

I am the perfume man,
the fragrance guy,
the lover of scented people.

I believe in artificial scents,
non-human smells,
eradicate all natural human pheromones.

Educate the public,
make them more hygienic,
have perfumed libraries, schools, work places.

Damn those with chemical sensitives,
won't bow to their tyranny,
refuse to be in public and smell like natural child, man, woman.

Yes, I'm the perfume man,
the fragrance guy,
the lover of scented people.

This is my Las Vegas story.