Sayaka and The Snake  

saxyjazzman 55M
26 posts
11/29/2005 9:15 am

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Sayaka and The Snake

They’re going nuts over the background music these days. Gotta keep up the manic vibe. They want hard bop jazz, but if there’s a bass solo they freak and try to change the CD. Real head-up-their-ass stuff. But for the live stuff, they’ll never find anyone to beat me. Big fat jazz sax. All Grover Washington and Sanborn and -- geez, 375 tunes! I kick off my set and the room temperature goes up 10 degrees. They're nuts to let me go.

And Snake Lady’s back. She walks up to the piano with this sheer black negligee thing and a gold leaf necklace. “Gold,” she smiles. “Anata mo,” I shoot back. That was easy, and she felt it.

I’m getting in the elevator at one AM and here she comes. I’m in the tuxedo with my aqua wing-tip collar shirt and an orange scarf tossed around my neck, She must like the colors. She’s all over me. They have to tear her off me. I am not making this up. I WILL get the phone number. I need a win here.

Such bullshit from saxyjazzman. What's the real deal? Snake Lady sees something in me, something cute, a fascinating older guy-artist-musician, a twinkle in my eye -- something. She'll never get there. We cannot speak. And what do I see? Her sexuality, her youthful effervescence. Nothing else. She has not and surely will never read Kafka. I won't get to her sexuality because, she is probably not promiscuous enough - or maybe I'm not! And they feel that don't they!

Still, she’s obviously looser than Sayaka, who came over last week to ask if I liked her new dress, this twisty red evening gown, her petite body squeezed in like she was inside a candy apple. Stunned, I just mumbled, “Uh, you’re dress is…red.” Then, “I can’t say anything now -- my heart is beating so fast.”

Sayaka goes, “Uso!”

“I’ll give you my comment tomorrow.” She nearly follows me into the elevator, staring adoringly at me like I’m Johnny Depp. Of course, after the doors close I’m Johnny Dead. These chicks are totally situational. Anyway, I wrote this, printed out in red…

Your dress is red, I said.
It swirls around you
It reaches for your heart
And there on your heart
A red rose

Red whirls around you
Like a whirlpool
Like a hurricane
Like a tornado on fire.

And the rose ‒
center of a red storm
a soft typhoon
that pulls me in

In your eyes --
What did I see in your eyes?

Hot shit, right? Maybe I’ll give it to her tomorrow. I'm incorrigible. Got her number already. But hell, I’m busy looking for work.

The Japanese fired me.

I'll show em.

Oh, and excuse me, but why is the only woman checking out my blog a German lady in Osaka who only speaks German and is into bondage and discipline?

Can I like get a break here?


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