Last time I was in Los Angeles

Last time I was in Los Angles an artist tried to choke me.  I walked up and shook his hand so he smiled, snarled and threw his arm around my neck.  He pulled me to the edge of a balcony and tried to throw me over.

“I just want to kill you.”  He whispered in my ear.

I broke off and looked at him,

“What the fuck man?”  I asked.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

His breath was pure gin.  But so was everyone- this was a graduation party.  I turned for a moment to see if anyone had noticed but they were all drunk and busy with each other.  I noticed the pale moon gone gaunt and yellow.  Bloated and bleeding over the horizon.

The artist jumped at me, caught me unawares,

“I just want to kill you.”  He said.

I pushed him off again, I was tired of his shit.

“Listen man, I don’t want to fight, I don’t like to but if I have to I will.”

Then I walked out.

I was heading for my car when voice I knew called my name.  I stiffened and searched for the source.  But it wasn’t the artist.  My old friend Ramses dropped down from a camera with a tree.  Or was it from a tree with a camera?

“Ramses,” I said, “you’ll never believe what just happened to me-”

He just nodded.  I felt cold fingers around my neck and a voice whispered in my ear,

“I just want to kill you.”

Ramses lit a joint, snapped a photo and walked back inside.

John Mclaughlin

Jazz sounds like the rain

with gray clouds in between

steal the earth like ghostly chimes

bitter shades of memory

 looking for that you and I

that cafe called something

that lost Las Vegas trip

that acid trip reverie

that angel dust fix

but there’s nothing here but jazz drums and shady guitar

Miles Davis hides in the background

like no one wants to know

he plays the trumpet like god’s thumbs

I feel dew drops burning

Good God- am I high?

I feel like Valium everything

this jazz tugs the soul like bitter rain

falling dark chocolate

deep in the river of love

back before there was an everything

Do you know who I’m thinking of?