IPOD
RADIO
PICS
So apparently I'm an actress?!?!
Craziness and serendipity follow me.
This was a casting call back.
it was an improv. I was trying out for the part of Ruby, a ruthless survivalist 16 year old punk rock runaway chick who travels with an all male crew of gutter punks.
The improv scene was that we were all in a stolen car after killing a police officer and he was stashed in the trunk, The girl in the front was playing the part of some fresh runaway chick who had witnessed the whole thing and I was threatened by her and was supposed to basically hate her.CastingCallBackFeaturingLily
needless to say, I GOT THE PART! I GOT THE PART! I GOT THE PART! i'm so excited, so proud of myself, also a little intimidated but also manic-like excited to be working with professional actors and actresses and an amazing film crew of writers and producers. This is so exciting and will be amazingly cathartic. Who knows, maybe even this will jump start an acting career.
I wish that was it for now but I need to drop some words for my girl, Christine Peterson, who followed the clouds a little too soon! R.I.P.
-I spin restlessly in a circular motion, trying to get this emotion perfected.
Too often I feel like just another tortured Lolita with too many stories to tell.
Trying to make jokes about that rigor mortis smell.
she left too soon for everyone.
she was a smile on every grey and rainy day.
but last week they found her slumped over and bruised in an alleyway.
The first time I met her, I couldn't help but stare. Recognizable always by
that celestial halo of blonde hair.
We made that park a home for wayward souls
all united by a couple of benches on fourteenth st.
She was maternal, always giving advice, Everyones mama in some orphanage zoo.
Now she's drifting through clouds waiting for rain.
I want her to know that now that she's gone, all of her children
will memorize her song.
And I can't stop wondering why do these true stories end up with sick twists?
and why does the human heart look more like a fist?
I walk with your memory, I know your last breath was a kiss.
Another suspect guardian angel added to my list.
xoxo, Lily
p.s. what have your dreams been like lately? all of mine have been post apocalyptic and insane!
and what do you think of the video clip? I promise I'm not so mean in real life, nor do I use the word "dude" so much!
Craziness and serendipity follow me.
This was a casting call back.
it was an improv. I was trying out for the part of Ruby, a ruthless survivalist 16 year old punk rock runaway chick who travels with an all male crew of gutter punks.
The improv scene was that we were all in a stolen car after killing a police officer and he was stashed in the trunk, The girl in the front was playing the part of some fresh runaway chick who had witnessed the whole thing and I was threatened by her and was supposed to basically hate her.CastingCallBackFeaturingLily
needless to say, I GOT THE PART! I GOT THE PART! I GOT THE PART! i'm so excited, so proud of myself, also a little intimidated but also manic-like excited to be working with professional actors and actresses and an amazing film crew of writers and producers. This is so exciting and will be amazingly cathartic. Who knows, maybe even this will jump start an acting career.
I wish that was it for now but I need to drop some words for my girl, Christine Peterson, who followed the clouds a little too soon! R.I.P.
-I spin restlessly in a circular motion, trying to get this emotion perfected.
Too often I feel like just another tortured Lolita with too many stories to tell.
Trying to make jokes about that rigor mortis smell.
she left too soon for everyone.
she was a smile on every grey and rainy day.
but last week they found her slumped over and bruised in an alleyway.
The first time I met her, I couldn't help but stare. Recognizable always by
that celestial halo of blonde hair.
We made that park a home for wayward souls
all united by a couple of benches on fourteenth st.
She was maternal, always giving advice, Everyones mama in some orphanage zoo.
Now she's drifting through clouds waiting for rain.
I want her to know that now that she's gone, all of her children
will memorize her song.
And I can't stop wondering why do these true stories end up with sick twists?
and why does the human heart look more like a fist?
I walk with your memory, I know your last breath was a kiss.
Another suspect guardian angel added to my list.
xoxo, Lily
p.s. what have your dreams been like lately? all of mine have been post apocalyptic and insane!
and what do you think of the video clip? I promise I'm not so mean in real life, nor do I use the word "dude" so much!
Lily needs all the luck in the world tonight. so be thinkin of me, sending me that intense energy 8 pm new york time! 
Janice Erlbaum My interview with a truly amazing woman is up, go comment!
March 23rd
sleepless nights became sleepless days.
I watched New York sunrises from broken glass windows with a bottle in my hand every morning.
Immersed in a cultural underworld where I have made my bed.
Spanish is everywhere and the men whisper from the broken streets "Muy bonita".
And the latina women with deep curves, hold fatherless children on their hips and walk to the market.
I watch the world awaken below me, sunrise after sunrise.
Insomnia bred a certain form of delusional love.
I was alice falling down the rabbit hole.
In seperate states of mania I created thet "Tradgedy" collage .
Something I used to work on when I was a teenager living with a skizo
who thought he was a prophet.
bizarre newspaper articles and a bunch of obituaries.
hallucinations made me feel stuck halfway between the dream world and my own.
the visions got stronger, like wind gathering air and picking up speed, leaving me flustered.
I fought off my reactionary impulses to make a home on the highway again.
I am, afterall, branded a gypsy, floating like smoke.
Finally the gift became a curse.
I just wanted it to stop, the hallucinations that I adored at first.The voices that made me feel strong and chosen like Joan Of Arc.
A bottle of whiskey and a bottle of sleeping pills.
Please angel, bring me back down.
drifting off into unconsciousness, finally, sleep, my old friend.
I woke up in a hospital gown. With the sound of the sick moaning around me.
I ripped out my I.V. to find someone with some sort of recollection.
A security guard soon intervened. "Go lay back down little girl."
"Where am I? What?"
A doctor twirled around, clipboard in hand, "Just relax, You are going to be transported upstate to a psychiatric facility."
"No i'm not."
He laughed like a man with more knowledge than me. "you are being involuntarily committed. You're leaving in about 5 minutes."
Soon I was on a stretcher, outside and in an ambulance. speeding past the city of lust and danger and love and heartbreak and.......My city got smaller and smaller behind me.
The psychiatric hospital was full of magical people. Some quiet and stuck in their own minds, and some theatrical and charismatic. My favorite woman was about 40 and had multiple personality disorder and I became quite familiar with all of her 8 intricate personalities. Some people would get shocked when she would speak and immediately change from one realm of existence to the next. I sat unfazed and intrigued. What a wild soul. She inspired me to write a play. One day they took her out for shock therapy and I never saw her again.
april 6th
The world becomes what we make of it, I stand in my own shattered glass trying to pick up the pieces. The day Rammy came to pick me up, he held my hand and said in spanish that this was the first day of the rest of my life. I squeezed his hand as the city emerged brighter and more chaotic than usual. Dia Jara wrote me a letter, in blue ink with her imperfect handwriting and bad english, They are sending her to Iraq. I cut out a heart to send back to her and ripped it a little down the middle. I miss her soul. I pray she uses all her strength for survival. Harmony has taken her place as the woman in my life, but they are worlds apart. Harmony the gorgeous and theatrical screamer. So pretty on the outside that it almost makes me sick, but her inside imperfections make up for her flawless beauty and anyway thats where the real shit is. I miss Johnathan. I miss angels and lovers and friends.I've been thinking of them a lot with this memoir (I've been seeing a lot of old acquaintances/friends lately and it's been a great disappointment) ... I've been hush hush about my writing, but things are starting to happen.
I love you all, Lily
But SPEAKING OF NAKED PICS, check out my little sister apathy 's "member review" set. I think its gorgeous and she is a wonderful little lady who wrote me letters in the psyche ward. Go comment
March 23rd
sleepless nights became sleepless days.
I watched New York sunrises from broken glass windows with a bottle in my hand every morning.
Immersed in a cultural underworld where I have made my bed.
Spanish is everywhere and the men whisper from the broken streets "Muy bonita".
And the latina women with deep curves, hold fatherless children on their hips and walk to the market.
I watch the world awaken below me, sunrise after sunrise.
Insomnia bred a certain form of delusional love.
I was alice falling down the rabbit hole.
In seperate states of mania I created thet "Tradgedy" collage .
Something I used to work on when I was a teenager living with a skizo
who thought he was a prophet.
bizarre newspaper articles and a bunch of obituaries.
hallucinations made me feel stuck halfway between the dream world and my own.
the visions got stronger, like wind gathering air and picking up speed, leaving me flustered.
I fought off my reactionary impulses to make a home on the highway again.
I am, afterall, branded a gypsy, floating like smoke.
Finally the gift became a curse.
I just wanted it to stop, the hallucinations that I adored at first.The voices that made me feel strong and chosen like Joan Of Arc.
A bottle of whiskey and a bottle of sleeping pills.
Please angel, bring me back down.
drifting off into unconsciousness, finally, sleep, my old friend.
I woke up in a hospital gown. With the sound of the sick moaning around me.
I ripped out my I.V. to find someone with some sort of recollection.
A security guard soon intervened. "Go lay back down little girl."
"Where am I? What?"
A doctor twirled around, clipboard in hand, "Just relax, You are going to be transported upstate to a psychiatric facility."
"No i'm not."
He laughed like a man with more knowledge than me. "you are being involuntarily committed. You're leaving in about 5 minutes."
Soon I was on a stretcher, outside and in an ambulance. speeding past the city of lust and danger and love and heartbreak and.......My city got smaller and smaller behind me.
The psychiatric hospital was full of magical people. Some quiet and stuck in their own minds, and some theatrical and charismatic. My favorite woman was about 40 and had multiple personality disorder and I became quite familiar with all of her 8 intricate personalities. Some people would get shocked when she would speak and immediately change from one realm of existence to the next. I sat unfazed and intrigued. What a wild soul. She inspired me to write a play. One day they took her out for shock therapy and I never saw her again.
april 6th
The world becomes what we make of it, I stand in my own shattered glass trying to pick up the pieces. The day Rammy came to pick me up, he held my hand and said in spanish that this was the first day of the rest of my life. I squeezed his hand as the city emerged brighter and more chaotic than usual. Dia Jara wrote me a letter, in blue ink with her imperfect handwriting and bad english, They are sending her to Iraq. I cut out a heart to send back to her and ripped it a little down the middle. I miss her soul. I pray she uses all her strength for survival. Harmony has taken her place as the woman in my life, but they are worlds apart. Harmony the gorgeous and theatrical screamer. So pretty on the outside that it almost makes me sick, but her inside imperfections make up for her flawless beauty and anyway thats where the real shit is. I miss Johnathan. I miss angels and lovers and friends.I've been thinking of them a lot with this memoir (I've been seeing a lot of old acquaintances/friends lately and it's been a great disappointment) ... I've been hush hush about my writing, but things are starting to happen.
I love you all, Lily
But SPEAKING OF NAKED PICS, check out my little sister apathy 's "member review" set. I think its gorgeous and she is a wonderful little lady who wrote me letters in the psyche ward. Go comment
I can't believe that it's been a year today. In memory of my angel lover i'm reposting this from last year.......
watch over me, baby, I need your hand.
ohnathans memorial site at www.myspace.com/axis_axis and Daves article which is at http://www.zwire.com/site/index.cfm?newsid=17741098&BRD=2318&PAG=461&dept_id=484045&rfi=8.... Which he is getting hate mail over, so if you like it, maybe tell him that you did. djmaass@sacurrent.com. I think he has balls to offer a different perspective in a mostly conservative state.
http://www.zwire.com/site/index.cfm?newsid=17721491&BRD=2318&PAG=461&dept_id=484045&rfi=8
http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/crime/stories/MYSA011407.01A.moore_sidebar.305bd0e.html
http://www.courttv.com/facing_death/johnathan_moore/interview_ctv.html
http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/metro/stories/MYSA011807.01A.execution.1bedc02.html
"If I know anything at all
It's that a wall is just a wall
and nothing more at all
It CAN be BROKEN DOWN"-Asatta Shakur
"This is a love story like every love story I had always known, Like no love story I could have ever imagined. It's everything beautiful-Bright colors, candle scented rooms and lavender amethyst. It's everything grotesque, disfigured. It's long twisting wounds, open and unhealed, nerves picked raw, exposed.
This is a love story. It's a breathing document of possibility, hope, and connection. It's a gathering of spirit, reclaiming of dreams. This is a story desperate to hold itself together. This is a story with patches in the knees.
This is a love story. My story and thousands of other womens love story. It's a story thats known, documented, photographed, videotaped, audiotaped, filed, photocopied, watched over, studied, questioned, researched and noted. This is a love story, one we keep close, sheltering it from judgement.
It's lovers denied at family visits and office parties. It's secret glances at polaroid pictures. It's whispered names. This story is hidden behind metal detectors, electronic doors, and steel slamming against steel.
This is a love story, one not generally discussed in polite or even public conversations but if theres one thing that I know about myself, it's that I hate secrets. That secrets mean shame and I am not nor will I ever be ashamed that I am a girl that has loved someone and that someone has loved me"-Asha Bandele
The morning awoke with an ice storm, skies clouded and sparkling icicles hung from every rooftop and tree branch in sight with air so cold that you could see your breath in Texas. The morning awoke with fear, saddness and pain. It awoke with anxiety, anger, strength, tears and love.The roads were too icy to carry me 300 miles away to spend my last full day with my condemned boyfriend. Roads and schools were closed off. accidents reported sullenly on the flashing TV screen. Later when a few roads opened up and ice began to melt, The three of us, Johnathans father and best friend huddled into the car to make the trek to look into our loved ones eyes one more time. We would have to stay in a hotel overnight near the prison death chamber that they had prematurely transported him to to die.We slipped through the ice with determination, buying alcohol when we checked into the hotel, trying to drink ourselves away from reality which was that somebodies best friend, son, brother and boyfriend would be executed the next evening.
Me and his best friend who had seemed like such strangers to each other just days before were now eternally bonded over this tradgedy. We had too much anxiety to sleep so we laughed and cried and talked about life and death and hope and darkness and light. We stared at the clock. We dreaded the end. We wondered, Was he scared? Was he cold? Could he sleep? We worried. We consoled each other. We were sisters finishing each others thoughts and sentences, Exchanging tears, denial, hope, and strength.
The morning came and we hustled to the famous walls unit in Huntsville. The walls unit looked like a city squat with boarded up windows and ugly red rotting brick. If it wasn't for the watch towers where guards were stationed with a pistol in hand, just in case someone might attempt freedom, one might not even recognize it as a prison. One by one we were belittled and treated horribly by the guards and finally we held out our hands for the metal detectors and were allowed inside. First went his father, Then his best friend, and then me. I walked down the hall anxious and fast to a small cage covered mostly with a metal mesh gate and some plexi glass. His smile was big and beautiful as I sat down and searched his eyes. "Look" he said "No bullet proof glass this time". I smiled and immediately held my hand up to his through the metal gate. This was the first time that our cells would rub off on each other and we were able to touch. His hands were big and warm and the connection felt good. I pressed my lips against the gate and we kissed and exchanged breath. For a moment I forgot about the gate, The guards, The glass, and the cage. For a moment we were just two people sharing affection and madly in love. The background clouded out and it was just the two of us, free from the confines. A guard dragged me back to my seat and then I was back again, looking at him through a cage. "Did you sleep last night?" I asked him. "I had to" he responded "They confiscated all of my property." "Why?" I asked him. "Something about finding a razor blade" he answered. I flashed back to when I was still visiting him at polunsky unit and we were using sign language to discuss escape plans. We would meet in Canada, where even if they found him, Canada refuses to extradite death row inmates. It was a dream that got me by from day to day. It was a dream he often spoke of vividly of us wandering through the woods together, on our way to freedom. "And what if it fails?" I had asked him that day. He put down the phone for a second, took his shoe off, lifted up the soles and underneath he pulled out a shiny razor blade that had been taped to the bottom. He then put his finger to his lip, motioning for me to be quiet. I couldn't. The gravity of the situation exploded at that moment and I broke down in tears. "I wish that I could get you out of here" I cried, putting my hand up to the wretched glass. "Baby" he had said calmly "It would be better than going the other way" he said referring to the lethal injection, "and it would save the state millions" he added. Just months earlier, his best friend Michael was on death watch with him and said that he would refuse to let the state take his life. One night they had stayed up all night getting drunk on hooch, Johnathan would go back and forth from partying with Michael to writing me a letter. It was cryptic and I shook when I read it.
"Dear Lily, It's 2:10- Me and Michael have been up partying all night. It's his last night. -It's 4:00,The party is winding down.- It's 4:06, Michael is telling me goodbye. -It's 4:10, I can hear him gagging and coughing.- It's 4:21,I see blood through the hole in the wall.- It's 4:30, I am puting my hand up against his wall.-It's 4:32, I told Michael that I love him.-It's 4:38, I can't hear any noise or movement anymore.-It's 5:00, a guard came by to do checks and then ran for help. -It's 5:20, The guards are putting Michael on a gurney and shaking their heads, There is blood all over the sheet that is covering his body.-It's 5:23, they are pushing Michaels body down the hall.-It's 5:25, I'm alone in my cell, My best friend is gone."
Michael Dwayne Johnson had broken a razor off of a shaving razor and slit his own throat with it. Left on his cell wall was a message to the world written in his own blood reading "I didn't do it". I imagined the determination one might have in order to slit their own throats with a shaving razor until they are dead. I imagined Michael having to dig deeply again and again across his neck with that tiny razor until he had punctured his throat enough to gag on his own blood and die. I thought about how much that goes against our human survival instincts. "Are you scared?" I had asked Johnathan after the tears stopped flowing. "Not with you here" he smiled. I tried to forget about that hidden shiny razor and that most likely my man would die but now I was here with him on his last day and plan A and B had both failed. I held onto his fingers through the metal mesh gate and kissed him again. The guards just shook their heads this time as we continued to kiss, hungry and beautiful even though our love was being displayed and studied like lab rats by hard white eyes surrounding us. "Give me some of your fur" he said. He called my hair fur and my hands paws. He had nicknamed me chinchilla early in our frienship that had evolved so quickly to love. I ripped out a piece of my hair for him and passed it through a small hole in the gate. He delicately put it in his mouth. "Did you just swallow that?" I asked him. He nodded, "Now I have a piece of you inside me" He said. "I hate this" I told him "and why is Jennifer going to be there" I asked coldly reffering to the dead cops widow. "She's got a right to be mad, baby, Don't hate her, Hate the prosecutor, Hate the state, Hate the justice system but not her"
I knew he was right. I just felt like she was doing to me what she had hated so much that Johnathan did to her. I felt like she was hypocritical for telling all the newspapers that she wasn't interested in revenge but that she was going to be there to watch my man die. Johnathan looked down at his watch. Taped to it was a small picture of us. Time ruled him, down to the seconds. "Hey, Let's just live in this moment" I told him "I'm here with you now." He nodded unconvincingly. "I had a dream about you" he smiled. "Oh yeah?" I asked smiling back at him. "Yeah" he said "You've become my fantasy girl big time, If I was out there with you, we'd have a bunch of stinky little Lily's running around" I laughed at the mental image. "I want you to have this necklace" he said pointing to the golden hammer on a chain he always wore around his neck "and my watch, I want you to have them, and make sure Devon gets one of my shirts."He added. "Okay" I promised.
"Times up" the guards interrupted. "Fuck you" I shot back at them with tears in my eyes, ignoring them I turned back to Johnathan "You might get a stay" I told him "They even talked about it on the news, They said because of the weather you might get a temporary stay of execution..." He looked down again. "Dont bet on it, baby." he said. "Maam, it's really time to go" the guards said. I climbed up on to the chair to kiss him one last time but couldn't quite reach his lips, then there were guards grabbing my arms, escorting me away as I cursed them. Tears welled up in his eyes and he punched the cage that encased him. "I love you" he yelled at me as I was being dragged away "I love you" I yelled back. I got back into the car and broke down. The whole world was collapsing around me.
Then the witnesses, His best friend, Me, His dad, and brother went to whats known as the hositality house which is run by self righteous christians, where the chaplain would brief us on what to expect as a witness to an execution. There was a memoriam on the wall which included pictures of every person that had been executed in Texas in the past two decades or so. The last picture was of Carlos Granados who had been executed just a week earlier. I remember seeing his whole family in the visiting room, talking through the telephone to him with soft voices and hopeless eyes.
The chaplain sat us down. I curled up next to Devon and she put her arm around me. We both cried as the chaplain described the procedure in gruesome detail.
The phone rang and it was Johnathan. "That was some good kissing, furry" he said after I answered hello. A smile spread across my face hearing his voice. "Yeah, it was" I said. We bullshitted for a while. I forget everything we talked about. I remember asking him what he thought happened after death. "I'll find out" he answered nonchalantly. The phone was passed around. I went into the bathroom to cry. The phone was eventually returned to me. "I have to get off the phone soon" he said and then paused "I want you to know that you came into my life at the perfect time and I couldn't have asked for a better girl in my corner, without you I would have died lonely." I was still crying. "Don't cry baby, I love you" he said. "I love you too" I said. "We're in this together now." He said reciting the lyrics to the song that had become ours "None of them can stop us now, we will make it through somehow. You're the queen and i'm the king and nothing else means anything" He sang to me. "Yeah" I said. "I've got to go" he said. My heart shattered. "No" I said. "I have to sweetie" He said. "Promise me that we will see each other again" I said. "We will" he answered. "No" I said "I mean after tonight. Do you believe that we will meet again?" "Yes" he said. "And you really believe that? You are not just saying that" I asked frusturated. "I believe it" he said "Take care of my dad and Devon and Walt, okay? Stay in San Antonio until ya'll are all okay" "Okay, I promise" I responded. "And stay off the drugs, you are a valuable human being" I promised again. "I love you" he said and then silence at the end of the line. I cradled the phone and cried. That was the last time that Johnathan Bryant Moore heard my voice. There was a knock on the door. "Lily, it's time" The chaplain said. We shuffled into the van and rode back towards the death chamber prison. Johnathans brother held my hand. Devon looked back at me "Lets not say anything in there" she said "Let's not give these reporters anything to talk about. Think Jackie O." I thought of Jackie O with her jet black hair and dark sunglasses after Kennedy was assasinated, always so cool, calm, and collected even with annoying paparazzi constantly stalking her, following her, trying to get her to show emotion, trying to get her to break.
I felt like I might throw up when we arrived. The chaplain escorted us past reporters, cameras and dozens of police officers who stood to the side who thought that this was justice. I glared at the cameras. "Jackie O" Johns brother reminded me.
We walked into a small wardens office where reporters were assigned name tags and told which side of the execution room they could stand in like a bunch of sick voyeurs. There would be two rooms. One where the victims family could watch and one where we could be. A phone rang. A false hope came over me that maybe the governor was calling and would put a stop to this maddness. Instead it was the warden, saying they were ready for us. When they opened the door for us to step in, we huddled together in the front with reporters behind us. I could have never prepared myself for what I saw. My mans arms were strapped down and stretched out, a tube already in his vein, a white sheet covered him up to his chest. It looked kind of like the crucifixtion of jesus. It hurt me to see him so dehumanized, unable to move but still shaky. His last moments recorded and watched. He turned his head and looked into my eyes. I unzipped my hoodie to show him that I was wearing his prison shirt in solidarity with him. He nodded at me. They asked if he had any last words. "Yeah" he said speaking into the microphone positioned just above his mouth. He looked to the other side of the glass where the wall seperated. "Jennifer, where you at?" he asked searching for the eyes of the woman he had left widowed twelve years ago. His lip quivered. "I want you to know that i'm deeply sorry for your loss, It was done out of fear, stupidity, and immaturity and I didn't know the man for but ten seconds before I killed him and I didn't realize what I had done until years later in prison" he went on to apologize, wish her well. He paused and then looked at me. I knew he couldn't hear me but he read my lips as I mouthed "I love you". He mouthed it back. "Lily" he then said addressing me "You stay off the heroin and the methadone" he said "Thats what you do" and then "I love you dad, devon, walt."..."Quit the self destruction, Lily" He said again, a single tear slipped down from underneath his glasses and then "Okay warden, I'm ready." Devon held me tightly as I felt maybe I couldn't stand anymore and felt faint. She was whispering the hail mary incessantly. First was the anasthesia. He started to say something again and then his mouth froze as the drugs took over his body. The second drug collapsed his lungs and we all heard a harsh exhale as that happened. The third stopped his heart. It seemed it took an eternity for him to die. I pressed my hand up against the glass and cried "No" over and over again as I watched the man I had fallen so deeply in love with be crucified and murdered. His eyes were still open. Blood suddenly filled the tube and we gasped as all color faded from his flesh. I felt an amazing energy come over me in a wave as he died. I felt him die. A man in a long dark coat came to check his pulse and confirmed him dead at 6:12 pm. They pulled a sheet over his head and opened the doors. The four of us held hands and walked outside into the cold night past the cameras. I saw the dozens of uniformed officers waving blue glow sticks. Days earlier we had joked that we hoped their bus would flip over on the way here but there they were, in freezing weather with freezing hearts celebrating our loved ones death.
We all shieled each other from the press and went back to the hospitality house to make cremation arrangements at the funeral home. Me and Devon sat in the car in silence, looking out the window at the icy starrless sky. "I think he's okay" she said finally looking back at me "I think he's with Bobbi" she said reffering to his mother who was a wild survivalist tattooed woods woman who rode motorcycles, had a garden, had native blood,believed in spirits and opened her home and heart to stray animals and children. Devon had once told me a story of a time when some of Johnathans friends had showed up unannounced and were met by Johnathans mother at the door with a shotgun aimed, barefoot in her nightgown. "What the fuck do you want?" she had asked. Later his friends had joked that that was the kind of woman they wanted. I am told that depression eventually killed her, when they locked her son up, she was never the same. She was held in contempt of court for biting a baliff and telling the jury that they were full of shit at her sons trial. I wish that I had gotten a chance to meet her but she's come to me in visions and dreams and I felt her carry me when I couldn't walk. If there is another side, I hope they are there together, laughing and holding hands.
Most nights I can't sleep. I awake suddenly and sweaty with the same sad dream that replays where Johnathan is there strapped down in the execution room behind the glass and I just want to touch him one more time but I can't.
But other times I am overcome with the strength to go on, to "stop living accidentally and start living on purpose" as Johnathan would say and I will, for him, for me, for us, for the 19 year old kid with one gun in his hand and one to his head who had to make a reactionary decision, for the man that he had grown into and that I had fallen in love with, with the years worn under our eyes from two lives of passionate mistakes that were able to find love and hope when it seemed impossible.
Love, Lilykiss
"Well they gotta kill what we found
Well they gotta hate what they fear
Well they gotta make it go away
Well they gotta make it dissapear.
The farther I fall, I'm beside you
As lost as I get, I will find you
The deeper the wound, I'm inside you
Forever and ever I am a part of you"-NIN
Johnathan Bryant Moore-R.I.P.
watch over me, baby, I need your hand.
ohnathans memorial site at www.myspace.com/axis_axis and Daves article which is at http://www.zwire.com/site/index.cfm?newsid=17741098&BRD=2318&PAG=461&dept_id=484045&rfi=8.... Which he is getting hate mail over, so if you like it, maybe tell him that you did. djmaass@sacurrent.com. I think he has balls to offer a different perspective in a mostly conservative state.
http://www.zwire.com/site/index.cfm?newsid=17721491&BRD=2318&PAG=461&dept_id=484045&rfi=8
http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/crime/stories/MYSA011407.01A.moore_sidebar.305bd0e.html
http://www.courttv.com/facing_death/johnathan_moore/interview_ctv.html
http://www.mysanantonio.com/news/metro/stories/MYSA011807.01A.execution.1bedc02.html
"If I know anything at all
It's that a wall is just a wall
and nothing more at all
It CAN be BROKEN DOWN"-Asatta Shakur
"This is a love story like every love story I had always known, Like no love story I could have ever imagined. It's everything beautiful-Bright colors, candle scented rooms and lavender amethyst. It's everything grotesque, disfigured. It's long twisting wounds, open and unhealed, nerves picked raw, exposed.
This is a love story. It's a breathing document of possibility, hope, and connection. It's a gathering of spirit, reclaiming of dreams. This is a story desperate to hold itself together. This is a story with patches in the knees.
This is a love story. My story and thousands of other womens love story. It's a story thats known, documented, photographed, videotaped, audiotaped, filed, photocopied, watched over, studied, questioned, researched and noted. This is a love story, one we keep close, sheltering it from judgement.
It's lovers denied at family visits and office parties. It's secret glances at polaroid pictures. It's whispered names. This story is hidden behind metal detectors, electronic doors, and steel slamming against steel.
This is a love story, one not generally discussed in polite or even public conversations but if theres one thing that I know about myself, it's that I hate secrets. That secrets mean shame and I am not nor will I ever be ashamed that I am a girl that has loved someone and that someone has loved me"-Asha Bandele
The morning awoke with an ice storm, skies clouded and sparkling icicles hung from every rooftop and tree branch in sight with air so cold that you could see your breath in Texas. The morning awoke with fear, saddness and pain. It awoke with anxiety, anger, strength, tears and love.The roads were too icy to carry me 300 miles away to spend my last full day with my condemned boyfriend. Roads and schools were closed off. accidents reported sullenly on the flashing TV screen. Later when a few roads opened up and ice began to melt, The three of us, Johnathans father and best friend huddled into the car to make the trek to look into our loved ones eyes one more time. We would have to stay in a hotel overnight near the prison death chamber that they had prematurely transported him to to die.We slipped through the ice with determination, buying alcohol when we checked into the hotel, trying to drink ourselves away from reality which was that somebodies best friend, son, brother and boyfriend would be executed the next evening.
Me and his best friend who had seemed like such strangers to each other just days before were now eternally bonded over this tradgedy. We had too much anxiety to sleep so we laughed and cried and talked about life and death and hope and darkness and light. We stared at the clock. We dreaded the end. We wondered, Was he scared? Was he cold? Could he sleep? We worried. We consoled each other. We were sisters finishing each others thoughts and sentences, Exchanging tears, denial, hope, and strength.
The morning came and we hustled to the famous walls unit in Huntsville. The walls unit looked like a city squat with boarded up windows and ugly red rotting brick. If it wasn't for the watch towers where guards were stationed with a pistol in hand, just in case someone might attempt freedom, one might not even recognize it as a prison. One by one we were belittled and treated horribly by the guards and finally we held out our hands for the metal detectors and were allowed inside. First went his father, Then his best friend, and then me. I walked down the hall anxious and fast to a small cage covered mostly with a metal mesh gate and some plexi glass. His smile was big and beautiful as I sat down and searched his eyes. "Look" he said "No bullet proof glass this time". I smiled and immediately held my hand up to his through the metal gate. This was the first time that our cells would rub off on each other and we were able to touch. His hands were big and warm and the connection felt good. I pressed my lips against the gate and we kissed and exchanged breath. For a moment I forgot about the gate, The guards, The glass, and the cage. For a moment we were just two people sharing affection and madly in love. The background clouded out and it was just the two of us, free from the confines. A guard dragged me back to my seat and then I was back again, looking at him through a cage. "Did you sleep last night?" I asked him. "I had to" he responded "They confiscated all of my property." "Why?" I asked him. "Something about finding a razor blade" he answered. I flashed back to when I was still visiting him at polunsky unit and we were using sign language to discuss escape plans. We would meet in Canada, where even if they found him, Canada refuses to extradite death row inmates. It was a dream that got me by from day to day. It was a dream he often spoke of vividly of us wandering through the woods together, on our way to freedom. "And what if it fails?" I had asked him that day. He put down the phone for a second, took his shoe off, lifted up the soles and underneath he pulled out a shiny razor blade that had been taped to the bottom. He then put his finger to his lip, motioning for me to be quiet. I couldn't. The gravity of the situation exploded at that moment and I broke down in tears. "I wish that I could get you out of here" I cried, putting my hand up to the wretched glass. "Baby" he had said calmly "It would be better than going the other way" he said referring to the lethal injection, "and it would save the state millions" he added. Just months earlier, his best friend Michael was on death watch with him and said that he would refuse to let the state take his life. One night they had stayed up all night getting drunk on hooch, Johnathan would go back and forth from partying with Michael to writing me a letter. It was cryptic and I shook when I read it.
"Dear Lily, It's 2:10- Me and Michael have been up partying all night. It's his last night. -It's 4:00,The party is winding down.- It's 4:06, Michael is telling me goodbye. -It's 4:10, I can hear him gagging and coughing.- It's 4:21,I see blood through the hole in the wall.- It's 4:30, I am puting my hand up against his wall.-It's 4:32, I told Michael that I love him.-It's 4:38, I can't hear any noise or movement anymore.-It's 5:00, a guard came by to do checks and then ran for help. -It's 5:20, The guards are putting Michael on a gurney and shaking their heads, There is blood all over the sheet that is covering his body.-It's 5:23, they are pushing Michaels body down the hall.-It's 5:25, I'm alone in my cell, My best friend is gone."
Michael Dwayne Johnson had broken a razor off of a shaving razor and slit his own throat with it. Left on his cell wall was a message to the world written in his own blood reading "I didn't do it". I imagined the determination one might have in order to slit their own throats with a shaving razor until they are dead. I imagined Michael having to dig deeply again and again across his neck with that tiny razor until he had punctured his throat enough to gag on his own blood and die. I thought about how much that goes against our human survival instincts. "Are you scared?" I had asked Johnathan after the tears stopped flowing. "Not with you here" he smiled. I tried to forget about that hidden shiny razor and that most likely my man would die but now I was here with him on his last day and plan A and B had both failed. I held onto his fingers through the metal mesh gate and kissed him again. The guards just shook their heads this time as we continued to kiss, hungry and beautiful even though our love was being displayed and studied like lab rats by hard white eyes surrounding us. "Give me some of your fur" he said. He called my hair fur and my hands paws. He had nicknamed me chinchilla early in our frienship that had evolved so quickly to love. I ripped out a piece of my hair for him and passed it through a small hole in the gate. He delicately put it in his mouth. "Did you just swallow that?" I asked him. He nodded, "Now I have a piece of you inside me" He said. "I hate this" I told him "and why is Jennifer going to be there" I asked coldly reffering to the dead cops widow. "She's got a right to be mad, baby, Don't hate her, Hate the prosecutor, Hate the state, Hate the justice system but not her"
I knew he was right. I just felt like she was doing to me what she had hated so much that Johnathan did to her. I felt like she was hypocritical for telling all the newspapers that she wasn't interested in revenge but that she was going to be there to watch my man die. Johnathan looked down at his watch. Taped to it was a small picture of us. Time ruled him, down to the seconds. "Hey, Let's just live in this moment" I told him "I'm here with you now." He nodded unconvincingly. "I had a dream about you" he smiled. "Oh yeah?" I asked smiling back at him. "Yeah" he said "You've become my fantasy girl big time, If I was out there with you, we'd have a bunch of stinky little Lily's running around" I laughed at the mental image. "I want you to have this necklace" he said pointing to the golden hammer on a chain he always wore around his neck "and my watch, I want you to have them, and make sure Devon gets one of my shirts."He added. "Okay" I promised.
"Times up" the guards interrupted. "Fuck you" I shot back at them with tears in my eyes, ignoring them I turned back to Johnathan "You might get a stay" I told him "They even talked about it on the news, They said because of the weather you might get a temporary stay of execution..." He looked down again. "Dont bet on it, baby." he said. "Maam, it's really time to go" the guards said. I climbed up on to the chair to kiss him one last time but couldn't quite reach his lips, then there were guards grabbing my arms, escorting me away as I cursed them. Tears welled up in his eyes and he punched the cage that encased him. "I love you" he yelled at me as I was being dragged away "I love you" I yelled back. I got back into the car and broke down. The whole world was collapsing around me.
Then the witnesses, His best friend, Me, His dad, and brother went to whats known as the hositality house which is run by self righteous christians, where the chaplain would brief us on what to expect as a witness to an execution. There was a memoriam on the wall which included pictures of every person that had been executed in Texas in the past two decades or so. The last picture was of Carlos Granados who had been executed just a week earlier. I remember seeing his whole family in the visiting room, talking through the telephone to him with soft voices and hopeless eyes.
The chaplain sat us down. I curled up next to Devon and she put her arm around me. We both cried as the chaplain described the procedure in gruesome detail.
The phone rang and it was Johnathan. "That was some good kissing, furry" he said after I answered hello. A smile spread across my face hearing his voice. "Yeah, it was" I said. We bullshitted for a while. I forget everything we talked about. I remember asking him what he thought happened after death. "I'll find out" he answered nonchalantly. The phone was passed around. I went into the bathroom to cry. The phone was eventually returned to me. "I have to get off the phone soon" he said and then paused "I want you to know that you came into my life at the perfect time and I couldn't have asked for a better girl in my corner, without you I would have died lonely." I was still crying. "Don't cry baby, I love you" he said. "I love you too" I said. "We're in this together now." He said reciting the lyrics to the song that had become ours "None of them can stop us now, we will make it through somehow. You're the queen and i'm the king and nothing else means anything" He sang to me. "Yeah" I said. "I've got to go" he said. My heart shattered. "No" I said. "I have to sweetie" He said. "Promise me that we will see each other again" I said. "We will" he answered. "No" I said "I mean after tonight. Do you believe that we will meet again?" "Yes" he said. "And you really believe that? You are not just saying that" I asked frusturated. "I believe it" he said "Take care of my dad and Devon and Walt, okay? Stay in San Antonio until ya'll are all okay" "Okay, I promise" I responded. "And stay off the drugs, you are a valuable human being" I promised again. "I love you" he said and then silence at the end of the line. I cradled the phone and cried. That was the last time that Johnathan Bryant Moore heard my voice. There was a knock on the door. "Lily, it's time" The chaplain said. We shuffled into the van and rode back towards the death chamber prison. Johnathans brother held my hand. Devon looked back at me "Lets not say anything in there" she said "Let's not give these reporters anything to talk about. Think Jackie O." I thought of Jackie O with her jet black hair and dark sunglasses after Kennedy was assasinated, always so cool, calm, and collected even with annoying paparazzi constantly stalking her, following her, trying to get her to show emotion, trying to get her to break.
I felt like I might throw up when we arrived. The chaplain escorted us past reporters, cameras and dozens of police officers who stood to the side who thought that this was justice. I glared at the cameras. "Jackie O" Johns brother reminded me.
We walked into a small wardens office where reporters were assigned name tags and told which side of the execution room they could stand in like a bunch of sick voyeurs. There would be two rooms. One where the victims family could watch and one where we could be. A phone rang. A false hope came over me that maybe the governor was calling and would put a stop to this maddness. Instead it was the warden, saying they were ready for us. When they opened the door for us to step in, we huddled together in the front with reporters behind us. I could have never prepared myself for what I saw. My mans arms were strapped down and stretched out, a tube already in his vein, a white sheet covered him up to his chest. It looked kind of like the crucifixtion of jesus. It hurt me to see him so dehumanized, unable to move but still shaky. His last moments recorded and watched. He turned his head and looked into my eyes. I unzipped my hoodie to show him that I was wearing his prison shirt in solidarity with him. He nodded at me. They asked if he had any last words. "Yeah" he said speaking into the microphone positioned just above his mouth. He looked to the other side of the glass where the wall seperated. "Jennifer, where you at?" he asked searching for the eyes of the woman he had left widowed twelve years ago. His lip quivered. "I want you to know that i'm deeply sorry for your loss, It was done out of fear, stupidity, and immaturity and I didn't know the man for but ten seconds before I killed him and I didn't realize what I had done until years later in prison" he went on to apologize, wish her well. He paused and then looked at me. I knew he couldn't hear me but he read my lips as I mouthed "I love you". He mouthed it back. "Lily" he then said addressing me "You stay off the heroin and the methadone" he said "Thats what you do" and then "I love you dad, devon, walt."..."Quit the self destruction, Lily" He said again, a single tear slipped down from underneath his glasses and then "Okay warden, I'm ready." Devon held me tightly as I felt maybe I couldn't stand anymore and felt faint. She was whispering the hail mary incessantly. First was the anasthesia. He started to say something again and then his mouth froze as the drugs took over his body. The second drug collapsed his lungs and we all heard a harsh exhale as that happened. The third stopped his heart. It seemed it took an eternity for him to die. I pressed my hand up against the glass and cried "No" over and over again as I watched the man I had fallen so deeply in love with be crucified and murdered. His eyes were still open. Blood suddenly filled the tube and we gasped as all color faded from his flesh. I felt an amazing energy come over me in a wave as he died. I felt him die. A man in a long dark coat came to check his pulse and confirmed him dead at 6:12 pm. They pulled a sheet over his head and opened the doors. The four of us held hands and walked outside into the cold night past the cameras. I saw the dozens of uniformed officers waving blue glow sticks. Days earlier we had joked that we hoped their bus would flip over on the way here but there they were, in freezing weather with freezing hearts celebrating our loved ones death.
We all shieled each other from the press and went back to the hospitality house to make cremation arrangements at the funeral home. Me and Devon sat in the car in silence, looking out the window at the icy starrless sky. "I think he's okay" she said finally looking back at me "I think he's with Bobbi" she said reffering to his mother who was a wild survivalist tattooed woods woman who rode motorcycles, had a garden, had native blood,believed in spirits and opened her home and heart to stray animals and children. Devon had once told me a story of a time when some of Johnathans friends had showed up unannounced and were met by Johnathans mother at the door with a shotgun aimed, barefoot in her nightgown. "What the fuck do you want?" she had asked. Later his friends had joked that that was the kind of woman they wanted. I am told that depression eventually killed her, when they locked her son up, she was never the same. She was held in contempt of court for biting a baliff and telling the jury that they were full of shit at her sons trial. I wish that I had gotten a chance to meet her but she's come to me in visions and dreams and I felt her carry me when I couldn't walk. If there is another side, I hope they are there together, laughing and holding hands.
Most nights I can't sleep. I awake suddenly and sweaty with the same sad dream that replays where Johnathan is there strapped down in the execution room behind the glass and I just want to touch him one more time but I can't.
But other times I am overcome with the strength to go on, to "stop living accidentally and start living on purpose" as Johnathan would say and I will, for him, for me, for us, for the 19 year old kid with one gun in his hand and one to his head who had to make a reactionary decision, for the man that he had grown into and that I had fallen in love with, with the years worn under our eyes from two lives of passionate mistakes that were able to find love and hope when it seemed impossible.
Love, Lilykiss
"Well they gotta kill what we found
Well they gotta hate what they fear
Well they gotta make it go away
Well they gotta make it dissapear.
The farther I fall, I'm beside you
As lost as I get, I will find you
The deeper the wound, I'm inside you
Forever and ever I am a part of you"-NIN
Johnathan Bryant Moore-R.I.P.
So many months past since I last wrote.
The promised land is always shattered, I think as I extend my thumb to the sky, just a cowgirl with the blues, woke up with a bottle of whiskey still in my hand, next to my foster brother, threw on someone elses sweater, light fading and walked to the highway stomping, determined in my leather boots. I left the little hell in the wasteland/nowhere to the assholes with no souls to destruct and of course they did, A knife in the wall and lipstick graffitti art screaming from the white vouid "I LOVED YOU".
I ashed my cigarette and let fate take control, let her take me somewhere far away. Rides with truckers and suckers and sadists and lovers into the city, my junk yard hope starlight city screaming my name like a mother who lost its child.
Squatted in an alleyway with a date rapist with bad facial tattoos. One day he ripped out my dreams and recreated them. The nightmare i've lived with quiet since 13, blood on my thighs and my foot tapping the floor. I walked away disillusioned, looking for an old friend, holding onto that pitbull, My hair tangled red like fire.
Found his love like an old handgun. He walked dreamless like he couldn't sleep. kissed me raw in that doorway the same night.I liked his poetry. Hypnotized and healed by the bluest eyes like oceans and his own madness. I held his hand as we fell asleep like two tired angels on that subway car and I thought maybe he could teach me to love again. His breath on my back.Lovejonsed.
Halloween night , My mama mentor faded upwards. I could telepathically feel her heart stop and it broke mine. Under the newyork skyline I live with other AIDS orphans in a shelter. No more silver handcuffs sinking into my wrists like sunday, mascara smudged and sweaty. Fate still dances here, watches over me, my angels, singing me songs of redemption.
Love, Lily
P.s. It will be a lonely christmas this year. If you want to make a gypsy orphan smile, here is my wishlist, ILoveYou
Q:if you could do anything you wanted right now, what would you do?
My answer, I'd have wings so I could fly to go see dia jara, my muse.
The promised land is always shattered, I think as I extend my thumb to the sky, just a cowgirl with the blues, woke up with a bottle of whiskey still in my hand, next to my foster brother, threw on someone elses sweater, light fading and walked to the highway stomping, determined in my leather boots. I left the little hell in the wasteland/nowhere to the assholes with no souls to destruct and of course they did, A knife in the wall and lipstick graffitti art screaming from the white vouid "I LOVED YOU".
I ashed my cigarette and let fate take control, let her take me somewhere far away. Rides with truckers and suckers and sadists and lovers into the city, my junk yard hope starlight city screaming my name like a mother who lost its child.
Squatted in an alleyway with a date rapist with bad facial tattoos. One day he ripped out my dreams and recreated them. The nightmare i've lived with quiet since 13, blood on my thighs and my foot tapping the floor. I walked away disillusioned, looking for an old friend, holding onto that pitbull, My hair tangled red like fire.
Found his love like an old handgun. He walked dreamless like he couldn't sleep. kissed me raw in that doorway the same night.I liked his poetry. Hypnotized and healed by the bluest eyes like oceans and his own madness. I held his hand as we fell asleep like two tired angels on that subway car and I thought maybe he could teach me to love again. His breath on my back.Lovejonsed.
Halloween night , My mama mentor faded upwards. I could telepathically feel her heart stop and it broke mine. Under the newyork skyline I live with other AIDS orphans in a shelter. No more silver handcuffs sinking into my wrists like sunday, mascara smudged and sweaty. Fate still dances here, watches over me, my angels, singing me songs of redemption.
Love, Lily
P.s. It will be a lonely christmas this year. If you want to make a gypsy orphan smile, here is my wishlist, ILoveYou
Q:if you could do anything you wanted right now, what would you do?
My answer, I'd have wings so I could fly to go see dia jara, my muse.
Nicolletta wrote me a song. A FUCKIN SONG! It's so beautiful, IM BLUSHING. I wish that I could play it for you but for now here's the lyrics
some lily lovers
try to dance with her
try to catch what she got in her coffer
all the lonely texas tales
lonely rivers
the non stop runnings
all the twisted pity hearts
go make love with her and she'll wake up running
and she'll take your soul
and all your money!
and check her music while you're at it...MyBabysART
Wild lonely heartbroken insanity. Followed my heart to highways with thumbs
Raised high. Slept in that train-yard for days chasing love over the border. 3 days I camped out in that train-yard, sang songs and rode around with rednecks who were selling morphine to troubled souls. chocolate for the pained bones and reckless trailerpark boredom
I was walking in the sunlight fresh like a new day and saw my train, red with CN for Canadian Northern on it. When it started to move I ran. I couldn't find any grainers or boxcars to ride in so I hopped into a gondala in a moment of desperation. On that train I just kept thinking of Johnathan because we had spoken so many times of riding this line together to get out of the states. I hallucinated that he was there sitting next to me in his white prison jumpsuit. I reached out to touch him and he smiled and disappeared. I cried. But this time the tears weren't only for pain but for love and his mischievous smile, because I knew he was on cloud nine and his bliss was like candy. So there I was with the wind in my face, a double heartbeat in my fetus, and every angel speaking in rhyme on my way to the city of love.
Broken hearted when the train stopped, I got off and put my thumb to the clear blue sky, singing a bob Dylan tune and a nice French man pulls over and drives me right into montreal. He could barely speak English, "Where you would like to go madam?" he said, "Oh you can drop me off in berri park" I answer sweetly. He shakes his head "Bad place, bad place for pretty girl like you"
Yeah, mister, sometimes pretty girls end up in bad places and can't find their ways outta them, and sometimes pretty girls end up in bad places and love them because bad places are all that they remember, all that they know.
I'm out of the car and French is all around me, I'm in a new world. I'm on the phone with Devon, My soul sister and we're making music with language as we always do and I tell her my troubles and she gives me her advice like a big sister and she warms my heart in a foreign land until we get disconnected and when I heard the phone disconnect my heart shattered. Bums in the park glued it back together. Julian serenaded me with his music. He strummed his guitar and we sang out our hearts. I looked into his eyes and found something scary and amazing. In his eyes. In his eyes. Later I found him hustling on st.Catherine and as the rain poured down he offered me shelter from the storm at his flat.
We slept together in perfect symmetry, sleeping angels escaping reality. He sang my sickness away. In the morning he took a cocktail of pills. "what are those for?" I asked already knowing as I've seen them. He told me the story of how he caught the virus. His girl was a prostitute. She didn't know. His heart was filled with anger and hate until he learned to play the guitar. I kissed his tears away on his beautiful face. He was so beautiful. Even with the sunken cheekbones. His eyes told me stories. Of course I had to fall in love with sadness. I held onto him real tight and he showed me what real love was like. Days I had to hustle, I had a crew for that. I was the cute little girl that distracted the cashier at the liquer store until the four tough punk guys had walked out with their pockets full of wine that we'd go sell to the home bums in the park. Some nights I slept on rooftops with Jay, others with a crew of street kids by the theatre. I met Marco one day, a strange soul, spitting weird shit that scared me and intrigued me at the same time. We promised to tell each other our dreams in the morning but then couldn't remember them. Most nights I ran around with Julian again. We kissed each others hands. I held him in my arms. People would ask if he was my boyfriend, but they didn't understand what platonic means. One counselour at pops, the drop in center, called me a passionate woman, the same day my mama called me a stupid girl. She said what "some may call stupid, others will call passionate and following your heart is passionate ms. Lily and you are just that a very passionate woman"
Passionate, I'm holding onto that.
Love, Lily
mAN, i miss Fatality
A quote that my lovely little sister Apathy sent me and through everything we have been through together, we have made amends and I love her as much as I hope she loves me. She sent me this quote cause she said it reminded her of me and her. I can't wait to hold this tough autistic bitch in my arms again!
""The Girl who has been through things of which she cannot speak. The girl with nothing. This Girl with nothing but her own strength and a desire to be free. With nothing but a beating heart that is scared to be alone, with nothing but clear blue eyes that see through me and understand me. With nothing but open arms ready to receive me. To stand by me. To walk with me. To love me. I love her. Lily. The Girl with nothing and everything. Lily. I love her."-J.F.
some lily lovers
try to dance with her
try to catch what she got in her coffer
all the lonely texas tales
lonely rivers
the non stop runnings
all the twisted pity hearts
go make love with her and she'll wake up running
and she'll take your soul
and all your money!
and check her music while you're at it...MyBabysART
Wild lonely heartbroken insanity. Followed my heart to highways with thumbs
Raised high. Slept in that train-yard for days chasing love over the border. 3 days I camped out in that train-yard, sang songs and rode around with rednecks who were selling morphine to troubled souls. chocolate for the pained bones and reckless trailerpark boredom
I was walking in the sunlight fresh like a new day and saw my train, red with CN for Canadian Northern on it. When it started to move I ran. I couldn't find any grainers or boxcars to ride in so I hopped into a gondala in a moment of desperation. On that train I just kept thinking of Johnathan because we had spoken so many times of riding this line together to get out of the states. I hallucinated that he was there sitting next to me in his white prison jumpsuit. I reached out to touch him and he smiled and disappeared. I cried. But this time the tears weren't only for pain but for love and his mischievous smile, because I knew he was on cloud nine and his bliss was like candy. So there I was with the wind in my face, a double heartbeat in my fetus, and every angel speaking in rhyme on my way to the city of love.
Broken hearted when the train stopped, I got off and put my thumb to the clear blue sky, singing a bob Dylan tune and a nice French man pulls over and drives me right into montreal. He could barely speak English, "Where you would like to go madam?" he said, "Oh you can drop me off in berri park" I answer sweetly. He shakes his head "Bad place, bad place for pretty girl like you"
Yeah, mister, sometimes pretty girls end up in bad places and can't find their ways outta them, and sometimes pretty girls end up in bad places and love them because bad places are all that they remember, all that they know.
I'm out of the car and French is all around me, I'm in a new world. I'm on the phone with Devon, My soul sister and we're making music with language as we always do and I tell her my troubles and she gives me her advice like a big sister and she warms my heart in a foreign land until we get disconnected and when I heard the phone disconnect my heart shattered. Bums in the park glued it back together. Julian serenaded me with his music. He strummed his guitar and we sang out our hearts. I looked into his eyes and found something scary and amazing. In his eyes. In his eyes. Later I found him hustling on st.Catherine and as the rain poured down he offered me shelter from the storm at his flat.
We slept together in perfect symmetry, sleeping angels escaping reality. He sang my sickness away. In the morning he took a cocktail of pills. "what are those for?" I asked already knowing as I've seen them. He told me the story of how he caught the virus. His girl was a prostitute. She didn't know. His heart was filled with anger and hate until he learned to play the guitar. I kissed his tears away on his beautiful face. He was so beautiful. Even with the sunken cheekbones. His eyes told me stories. Of course I had to fall in love with sadness. I held onto him real tight and he showed me what real love was like. Days I had to hustle, I had a crew for that. I was the cute little girl that distracted the cashier at the liquer store until the four tough punk guys had walked out with their pockets full of wine that we'd go sell to the home bums in the park. Some nights I slept on rooftops with Jay, others with a crew of street kids by the theatre. I met Marco one day, a strange soul, spitting weird shit that scared me and intrigued me at the same time. We promised to tell each other our dreams in the morning but then couldn't remember them. Most nights I ran around with Julian again. We kissed each others hands. I held him in my arms. People would ask if he was my boyfriend, but they didn't understand what platonic means. One counselour at pops, the drop in center, called me a passionate woman, the same day my mama called me a stupid girl. She said what "some may call stupid, others will call passionate and following your heart is passionate ms. Lily and you are just that a very passionate woman"
Passionate, I'm holding onto that.
Love, Lily
mAN, i miss Fatality
A quote that my lovely little sister Apathy sent me and through everything we have been through together, we have made amends and I love her as much as I hope she loves me. She sent me this quote cause she said it reminded her of me and her. I can't wait to hold this tough autistic bitch in my arms again!
""The Girl who has been through things of which she cannot speak. The girl with nothing. This Girl with nothing but her own strength and a desire to be free. With nothing but a beating heart that is scared to be alone, with nothing but clear blue eyes that see through me and understand me. With nothing but open arms ready to receive me. To stand by me. To walk with me. To love me. I love her. Lily. The Girl with nothing and everything. Lily. I love her."-J.F.
I'm sick... of being tied down like a fuckin psychotherapy patient in the 40's. My ode to Frances Farmer. Although God is very much alive and kicking, Like my friend Bob who knows we are both crazy and spiritually connected and he can talk to himself all day if he know's I'm only a phonecall away.
There's a little life inside of me. My womb defaced and obstructed. hello there little double heartbeat, I know you didn't ask for this just like I didn't, and If I meet u in the sky with my executed lover and all my junkie/suicide debauchary dreamers and my Aunt kate who believed in E.S.P. and would you listen when I told you of your ancesters, the poor white southern trash, My great aunt Jane who was a hustler and a whore and was always in the company of fast men and fancy cars in the 50's or my great uncles, Jane's Brothers, who were identical twins and had identical tattoos and would bare knuckle fight on the streets for money. We have fighter blood little one, and sometimes fighter blood has to give up the right to live in this realm.
I'm onto better days. I have to take a week or two break from shool to get my shit straight. So, I'm hopping a Freight train to montreal. Canada, where the healthcare is free and the world looks a little brighter.
^Better days, This was featured in Richard Kern's most recent Book "Soft", I like to call it "gutter lovin" or "east river lovin"
Everybody cross your fingers that the railroad police doesn't fuck with me and for me, today, tell someone you love them.
Love and Hope, Lily
There's a little life inside of me. My womb defaced and obstructed. hello there little double heartbeat, I know you didn't ask for this just like I didn't, and If I meet u in the sky with my executed lover and all my junkie/suicide debauchary dreamers and my Aunt kate who believed in E.S.P. and would you listen when I told you of your ancesters, the poor white southern trash, My great aunt Jane who was a hustler and a whore and was always in the company of fast men and fancy cars in the 50's or my great uncles, Jane's Brothers, who were identical twins and had identical tattoos and would bare knuckle fight on the streets for money. We have fighter blood little one, and sometimes fighter blood has to give up the right to live in this realm.
I'm onto better days. I have to take a week or two break from shool to get my shit straight. So, I'm hopping a Freight train to montreal. Canada, where the healthcare is free and the world looks a little brighter.
^Better days, This was featured in Richard Kern's most recent Book "Soft", I like to call it "gutter lovin" or "east river lovin"
Everybody cross your fingers that the railroad police doesn't fuck with me and for me, today, tell someone you love them.
Love and Hope, Lily
The morning is cold and the skies are grey.
For the first time in weeks, there is a few moments for introspection.
The past weeks have been fast delusional LOVE (gutter lovin, happened so fast)and drunken nights. Insanity and love have a place deep inside my heart, They say the heart looks like a fist, angry and ready for anything the world has to throw at it.
Water leaks into gutters and I'm here again, and still standing after the storm.
your place has turned into a flop house
So true, but now they have all left, on a freight train to Montreal and others in a closet waiting like clockwork for that cherry flavored poison, My heart wanted to go to Montreal, but I start school in 3 weeks and I have to kill off most of these spontaneous urges. The same spontaneous urges that keep me alive and the blood pumping through my veins. Pumping like heaven.
In the midst of love and war anepiphany called and we both sipped on whiskey or wine and told secrets of past lives and promises to meet up. My beautiful little soul sister. So young in years to be so wise and to have lived so many lives.
And last night the vampires pit closer to take more of me than I wanted to give. Sometimes lap dances aren't enough for them and they try to take pieces of your soul
And at the end of the night we were running to the getaway car and a girl I love, a girl that I have a sacred past with was screaming at me and we were screaming out our past broken lives.
And here I stand, in a place where the winters are colder than his black heart somewhere in California with a needle in his arm and my extended family all over this country, soul mates I miss but I'm here to gain the 12 credits and move on. Onwards and up. Cause sometimes writing is all I can do to help from screaming half naked and hysterical in the streets.
My thoughts come to Johnathan, on his last day muttering to keep my soul clean of all poisons. He's so far away but sometimes so close when I'm dancing with danger. In a box in my room are hundreds of love letters from death row that I reread when I need to be re-inspired and loved again. How strange it is that we might find love in the darkest of places. Beautiful and grotesque.
Yes, Onwards and up.
Love, Lily
For the first time in weeks, there is a few moments for introspection.
The past weeks have been fast delusional LOVE (gutter lovin, happened so fast)and drunken nights. Insanity and love have a place deep inside my heart, They say the heart looks like a fist, angry and ready for anything the world has to throw at it.
Water leaks into gutters and I'm here again, and still standing after the storm.
your place has turned into a flop house
So true, but now they have all left, on a freight train to Montreal and others in a closet waiting like clockwork for that cherry flavored poison, My heart wanted to go to Montreal, but I start school in 3 weeks and I have to kill off most of these spontaneous urges. The same spontaneous urges that keep me alive and the blood pumping through my veins. Pumping like heaven.
In the midst of love and war anepiphany called and we both sipped on whiskey or wine and told secrets of past lives and promises to meet up. My beautiful little soul sister. So young in years to be so wise and to have lived so many lives.
And last night the vampires pit closer to take more of me than I wanted to give. Sometimes lap dances aren't enough for them and they try to take pieces of your soul
And at the end of the night we were running to the getaway car and a girl I love, a girl that I have a sacred past with was screaming at me and we were screaming out our past broken lives.
And here I stand, in a place where the winters are colder than his black heart somewhere in California with a needle in his arm and my extended family all over this country, soul mates I miss but I'm here to gain the 12 credits and move on. Onwards and up. Cause sometimes writing is all I can do to help from screaming half naked and hysterical in the streets.
My thoughts come to Johnathan, on his last day muttering to keep my soul clean of all poisons. He's so far away but sometimes so close when I'm dancing with danger. In a box in my room are hundreds of love letters from death row that I reread when I need to be re-inspired and loved again. How strange it is that we might find love in the darkest of places. Beautiful and grotesque.
Yes, Onwards and up.
Love, Lily
- Go and check out the beautiful sexy electricity of Mercedes new set and fall in love and leave my girlfriend a comment, That's right, I called her my girlfriend!.......(in my dreams, that is)
- If you haven't commented or read my interview already. please go do so. Burk Sauls of the west memphis three support group. It's a cause that I'm whole-heartedly behind so I was cery happy when it got published.
Friday
Moments become fleeting at times like these. I forget where I was just that I had to get the fuck out. My homegirl and I were playing strippers with full on personas. With names like "Tiffany" and "Stephanie"…Wholesome and makes you want to vomit and that's what I was doing, face to face with the porcelain god, unleashing bile. She started the dance, sexy in her stilettos. The race I couldn't beat having never danced without a pole to swing down all sexy and upside down. All I could think of was my ghost husband and how he would have disapproved but the liquor poisons rational thought and before I knew It, I was abandoning my high heels to go flirt with every sorority girl and frat boy in sight because fuck it. I'm the commodity tonight. Watch me entertain you with the tricks up my sleeve, sideshow freak, with makeup on to cover the track marks that haven't faded over time and slight imperfections that I love. The bruises and scars that got me this far, but frat boy doesn't want to see that. He wants tits in his face and lipstick kisses. . He wants to see some tricks and I was never good in High-Heels so when my partner in crime for tonight is sitting on his chest. I seductively take off his pants and empty his wallet and there's this girl, Asian, small and fragile like a china-doll, she's giving me the eye and her eyes are full of adventure and she say's "Girl, you're beautiful, you don't have to take your clothes off for nobody" and I tell china doll that I'm a survivalist and I don't work for minimum wage. She kisses my cheek and in this moment of curled passion, I think she's the one for me but all my lovers flee. I'm the queen of driving them away with mania or depression or I can't commit because the future is always uncertain. So here I am in the circus sideshow alone, walking around the party asking for drags of cigarettes and drinks of liquor. Yeah, that's right, I'm a high class ho.
Tuesday
I remember the drowning, waking up in a whirl of suicidal loneliness where the stardust never sleeps and the tweekers with maps and plans unite to steal car stereos.
It was so hot and lonely and I uncovered the layers of blankets wrapped around me, sticky with sweat and the candy smell of crack smoke was ubiquitous. I stumbled to open a door, anywhere. The smell turns to cigarettes and I guess your sense of smell is off when you are sickly. I rise too fast and collapse. I get shuttled to the windowless hell of the emergency room and this modern day "god" is searching for a vein. Poking the needle around, tearing at muscle and veins I blew back in the day when I could find god in a syringe. Those days are over but not forgotten, especially at moments like these. I am the princess of my own trash heap.
"Girl, you are too young to already have done this much damage"
He keeps poking, blood hungry and impatient. When he is done I will look like a real fiend.
"No shit, Man, Why do you think I quit dope."
Laughter on the other side of the curtain. I didn't know there was another patient behind the cotton. He's a fag superstar with a Mohawk and tattoos that read life and death on his forehead. He coughs up a lung when he laughs but still we keep laughing, cause sometimes laughing is the only cure, so we keep at it and when god leaves he pulls back the curtain more and there's oceans in his eyes. So much life for a dying boy. Together we are too much life for this sterile hospital playground with I.V.'s in our veins.
They always put the AIDS victims next to me in hospital and they are always the most fun with a bad attitude and nothing to lose.
Sleepy eyed angel boy was pale as a ghost, for a minute I thought he was a ghost, in my imaginary land of junk. I have junkyards the size of wal-marts and look at all the treasures I found, all the shit you threw away. Death princess was no exception. Colorful and laughing, brightens up the fucked up. He caught the virus through "blood sports" in Europe. Him and his man are traveling cross-country till they find something they are looking for. They don't know what that is yet. Neither do I, princess, neither do I......
Yes, That's my cunt I'm covering. Live Free Baby.
I'm sick. Hopefully a few days rest will bring me to rebirth.
also, a sad song for Benni , You never know which ones on this path to self destruction will survive. So I'll just remember her for the girl that held me when I cried and was a beautiful writer. Let's all give Xaqary a :kiss. He was real close to her.
xo, Lily:
- If you haven't commented or read my interview already. please go do so. Burk Sauls of the west memphis three support group. It's a cause that I'm whole-heartedly behind so I was cery happy when it got published.
Friday
Moments become fleeting at times like these. I forget where I was just that I had to get the fuck out. My homegirl and I were playing strippers with full on personas. With names like "Tiffany" and "Stephanie"…Wholesome and makes you want to vomit and that's what I was doing, face to face with the porcelain god, unleashing bile. She started the dance, sexy in her stilettos. The race I couldn't beat having never danced without a pole to swing down all sexy and upside down. All I could think of was my ghost husband and how he would have disapproved but the liquor poisons rational thought and before I knew It, I was abandoning my high heels to go flirt with every sorority girl and frat boy in sight because fuck it. I'm the commodity tonight. Watch me entertain you with the tricks up my sleeve, sideshow freak, with makeup on to cover the track marks that haven't faded over time and slight imperfections that I love. The bruises and scars that got me this far, but frat boy doesn't want to see that. He wants tits in his face and lipstick kisses. . He wants to see some tricks and I was never good in High-Heels so when my partner in crime for tonight is sitting on his chest. I seductively take off his pants and empty his wallet and there's this girl, Asian, small and fragile like a china-doll, she's giving me the eye and her eyes are full of adventure and she say's "Girl, you're beautiful, you don't have to take your clothes off for nobody" and I tell china doll that I'm a survivalist and I don't work for minimum wage. She kisses my cheek and in this moment of curled passion, I think she's the one for me but all my lovers flee. I'm the queen of driving them away with mania or depression or I can't commit because the future is always uncertain. So here I am in the circus sideshow alone, walking around the party asking for drags of cigarettes and drinks of liquor. Yeah, that's right, I'm a high class ho.
Tuesday
I remember the drowning, waking up in a whirl of suicidal loneliness where the stardust never sleeps and the tweekers with maps and plans unite to steal car stereos.
It was so hot and lonely and I uncovered the layers of blankets wrapped around me, sticky with sweat and the candy smell of crack smoke was ubiquitous. I stumbled to open a door, anywhere. The smell turns to cigarettes and I guess your sense of smell is off when you are sickly. I rise too fast and collapse. I get shuttled to the windowless hell of the emergency room and this modern day "god" is searching for a vein. Poking the needle around, tearing at muscle and veins I blew back in the day when I could find god in a syringe. Those days are over but not forgotten, especially at moments like these. I am the princess of my own trash heap.
"Girl, you are too young to already have done this much damage"
He keeps poking, blood hungry and impatient. When he is done I will look like a real fiend.
"No shit, Man, Why do you think I quit dope."
Laughter on the other side of the curtain. I didn't know there was another patient behind the cotton. He's a fag superstar with a Mohawk and tattoos that read life and death on his forehead. He coughs up a lung when he laughs but still we keep laughing, cause sometimes laughing is the only cure, so we keep at it and when god leaves he pulls back the curtain more and there's oceans in his eyes. So much life for a dying boy. Together we are too much life for this sterile hospital playground with I.V.'s in our veins.
They always put the AIDS victims next to me in hospital and they are always the most fun with a bad attitude and nothing to lose.
Sleepy eyed angel boy was pale as a ghost, for a minute I thought he was a ghost, in my imaginary land of junk. I have junkyards the size of wal-marts and look at all the treasures I found, all the shit you threw away. Death princess was no exception. Colorful and laughing, brightens up the fucked up. He caught the virus through "blood sports" in Europe. Him and his man are traveling cross-country till they find something they are looking for. They don't know what that is yet. Neither do I, princess, neither do I......
Yes, That's my cunt I'm covering. Live Free Baby.
I'm sick. Hopefully a few days rest will bring me to rebirth.
also, a sad song for Benni , You never know which ones on this path to self destruction will survive. So I'll just remember her for the girl that held me when I cried and was a beautiful writer. Let's all give Xaqary a :kiss. He was real close to her.
xo, Lily:
-First and foremost please check out my interview with Burk Sauls of the Free The West Memphis Three Support Group and please leave a comment. Myself and Burk both put a lot of time and energy into that interview and I am particularly proud of it because I deeply believe in what Burk is doing and all the other people working so hard for the west Memphis three.
-Thanks for insight into some of your unconsciousness'.
I don't know what to think about dream interpretation, I have this Freudian book and everything comes back to some sort of incestuous fantasy that I'm sure he was just projecting.
-I have rape dreams and all sorts of science fiction dreams where I'm on another planet, In another realm..
-I visited with my little half sister and am forever grateful of my bond with her. We play make-believe and she has a wonderful imagination.
-Is it unusual? The tearing of ones spirit when so quickly disconnected from someone you loved?
-I feel stuck, visions of trying to run through muddy water to get to the other side, I applied for an apartment to live in in Vermont and go to school for a while. "It won't be permanent." She keeps saying. She who bore me and abandoned me and had lovers that tried to rape my teenage soul. And what does she know? I keep asking myself. I feel a lack of inspiration here and am only stuck because this psychiatrist says if I try to get off these drugs too fast it could be catastrophic to my psyche, that and a lack of money. I wanted so badly for my soul brother to come join me but he abandoned me again when I needed him most with foolish talk of Mexico. Have fun Gringo.
-Readjusting to society is harder than expected. I spend too much time dreaming and in my head, writing, painting, collaging. Self expression and movement is imperative for us lost angels. I liked to stay on the outskirts, hopping freights, hitching the country, staying close to the grit. Now I live in one of the safest states in America with probably one of the smallest minority percentages. All the queer girls bore me with their matching American eagle clothes, I love women, and there would be nothing better than a woman to inspire me right now but it's crazy women that I adore. The ones that have secret pasts as whores or junkies or self mutilators, the ones that have maybe been institutionalized because they don't think within the confines, the ones that take acid and go on spontaneous road trips, The ones who have enough experience to not get freaked out by everlasting but fading track marks. I want to disappear to san fransisco but theres someone there that haunts me that I'd rather not run into as well as the high motherfuckin cost of livin. So, No crack dealers on any bad streets, no hustling whores to make friends with. Here they do hillbilly heroin and paint their faces to cover up their soulless fuckin boredom. Don't you know, that the fuckin flaw keeps me alive, That the imperfection is my muse? In the words of the amazing but theatrical Virginia woolf in one of my favorite films the hours she says "This is my right; it is the right of every human being. I choose not the suffocating anesthetic of the suburbs, but the violent jolt of the Capital, that is my choice. The meanest patient, yes, even the very lowest is allowed some say in the matter of her own prescription. Thereby she defines her humanity but if it is a choice between Richmond and death, I choose death."
So anyway here's some eye candy for you, taken by nobodaddy on st. patricks day. Later that night I blacked out, screamed, got in fights, had a knife in my hand, smashed a wine bottle, and the police were called, you know, lived a little.
-Thanks for insight into some of your unconsciousness'.
I don't know what to think about dream interpretation, I have this Freudian book and everything comes back to some sort of incestuous fantasy that I'm sure he was just projecting.
-I have rape dreams and all sorts of science fiction dreams where I'm on another planet, In another realm..
-I visited with my little half sister and am forever grateful of my bond with her. We play make-believe and she has a wonderful imagination.
-Is it unusual? The tearing of ones spirit when so quickly disconnected from someone you loved?
-I feel stuck, visions of trying to run through muddy water to get to the other side, I applied for an apartment to live in in Vermont and go to school for a while. "It won't be permanent." She keeps saying. She who bore me and abandoned me and had lovers that tried to rape my teenage soul. And what does she know? I keep asking myself. I feel a lack of inspiration here and am only stuck because this psychiatrist says if I try to get off these drugs too fast it could be catastrophic to my psyche, that and a lack of money. I wanted so badly for my soul brother to come join me but he abandoned me again when I needed him most with foolish talk of Mexico. Have fun Gringo.
-Readjusting to society is harder than expected. I spend too much time dreaming and in my head, writing, painting, collaging. Self expression and movement is imperative for us lost angels. I liked to stay on the outskirts, hopping freights, hitching the country, staying close to the grit. Now I live in one of the safest states in America with probably one of the smallest minority percentages. All the queer girls bore me with their matching American eagle clothes, I love women, and there would be nothing better than a woman to inspire me right now but it's crazy women that I adore. The ones that have secret pasts as whores or junkies or self mutilators, the ones that have maybe been institutionalized because they don't think within the confines, the ones that take acid and go on spontaneous road trips, The ones who have enough experience to not get freaked out by everlasting but fading track marks. I want to disappear to san fransisco but theres someone there that haunts me that I'd rather not run into as well as the high motherfuckin cost of livin. So, No crack dealers on any bad streets, no hustling whores to make friends with. Here they do hillbilly heroin and paint their faces to cover up their soulless fuckin boredom. Don't you know, that the fuckin flaw keeps me alive, That the imperfection is my muse? In the words of the amazing but theatrical Virginia woolf in one of my favorite films the hours she says "This is my right; it is the right of every human being. I choose not the suffocating anesthetic of the suburbs, but the violent jolt of the Capital, that is my choice. The meanest patient, yes, even the very lowest is allowed some say in the matter of her own prescription. Thereby she defines her humanity but if it is a choice between Richmond and death, I choose death."
So anyway here's some eye candy for you, taken by nobodaddy on st. patricks day. Later that night I blacked out, screamed, got in fights, had a knife in my hand, smashed a wine bottle, and the police were called, you know, lived a little.
SEPTEMBER 2008
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