Misti Rainwater-lites is the author of Bullshit Rodeo and other works of fiction and poetry. She looks forward to sagging tits, wrinkles, and the glorious peace that comes with not giving a fuck.
Claudio Parentela is freelance illustrator,painter,photographer, mail artist,cartoonist,collagist,journalist active in the international contemporary art scene. He has collaborated with numerous ezines, magazines, comics of contemporary art on a global scale and was guest of the BREAK 21 FESTIVAL in Ljubliana (Slovenja) in 1991. His edgy and obscure style is widely exhibited in the real and virtual world http://www.claudioparentela.net, http://www.claudioparentel.altervista.org
Mister Political Candidate
Former Prisoners Love Me So Hard
Stop Seeking Me, Daughter
Mister Political Candidate Mister Defense Attorney Mister Happily Married Godly Man with gorgeous wife lovely children immaculate castle famous friends. I shook your hand in the bar and as I looked into your eyes I saw dark I saw edge I saw fire I saw demons dancing drunk on broken glass post apocalypse vomit storm beach nowhere specific. I saw my naked body stranded in considerable ashes. I saw you sitting at your mahogany desk during an exquisite lull the clocks dulled to a mute roar Lou Reed on your iPod my pussy on your mind. You don't know my scent my taste my tacky trashy hell but I delude myself into believing your imagination is as indulgent and corrupt as mine. I'm hoping you fingered and inhaled and read the two page letter I sent you and I'm fantasizing the smoke tickling your nostrils taunting your apple pie your white picket fence. "The best pussy on the planet is the pussy you haven't had yet." I've fucked seven different men since leaving my ex-boyfriend. One of them told me that in so many words. Clever clever boys and men inhabiting the fuckscape that is 21st century Texas America. Come. Let me help you with the tie your wife gave you for your birthday. If a wife gives her husband a tie for his birthday she deserves whatever she gets. You deserve me in your lap my hands in your hair my breath in your ear. This is just a suggestion, something to mull over in between meet and greets.
He was in jail for six or seven months and now he's in my cunt crying for more. More what? You're there. You've got me. There isn't much beyond this meaty moment. You can fuck me into oblivion but my eyes are closed and I'm conjuring the man who suffered a broken nose because of my stupid ass. He came to me with blood all over his t-shirt. The people in the laundromat gawked and I stuffed the fluffy towels in the basket when he said,"Let's get the hell out of here before they call the cops." He was in prison for three motherfucking years, baby. He'd mop the floor with your spoiled rich boy ass. He raped me once but I asked for it with my sluttiest makeup on. "Punish me," I told him and he did. He did. I still think of him whenever I see jars of Vaseline and I think of him hardest when wrapping my legs around other men. "Looking hot!" was the subject of the latest e-mail he sent me. I've asked him to kidnap me and take me someplace beyond these sad booty call bars that reek of sangria vomit and Axe deodorant. Motherfucker won't let me break his balls thus I remain immersed.
Daughter you are much younger than your seventeen years and I am sorry but I am all over the place and burned out and croaking like a derelict frog. I last loved you when you were three years old. I had to protect myself with barbed wire and napalm to survive. I had to give myself new reasons to live and shine and keep up appearances at every last call. You have the mother I assigned you, a better woman than I will ever be. Her heart beats Beatles songs and feeds the world chicken cream soup. My heart skips and stumbles, a badly scratched Rolling Stones record that played backwards will encourage you to kill all the unicorns that frolic through the spring sun dappled meadows of your mind and find yourself a pirate. Remember you came from me but it's not too late to twist a curse into a charm and wear it around your neck on your way to the next ball. There will be balls and princes and diamonds and jukeboxes glowing affirmation. I inhabit the edge where every answer is a question with the wrong punctuation. Do not trespass. I cannot cure you. I'm the witch that has lived beyond stones and fires and ropes and rivers. Blink. I'm gone. So much smoke.