Lucius Bod | Rogue Diary

I drove past the house you finally lost during the Recession. The garden is now covered in the sepia tones of our past. How I hated our fights! You were such a bitch to me sometimes. Well, I hated the moments when we could not communicate with each other.

Asher became your fourth husband, but he also loved your "cruel pretty girl" demeanour. As you explained to your girl friend at the time: "who cares what his family thinks? Who's got the pussy?" You are a true philosophical juggernaut. I won't forget your last words of feminine wisdom: "When it comes to boyfriends and gifts, the more they give, the more I can receive." Genius.

This city feels so enormous, and I lower my head to look at the small space I own in it. I always admired the way in which you picked yourself up and dusted the dirt off you to start again, anywhere. Call me when you get to San Diego, I miss you.

Sometimes at night I walk to the beach and lie on my back near the sea to dream of good things about my life. I’m a vagabond soul filled with Internet folklore, and the thought of your kiss shines like the stars amidst dark moments.

During the day I hunt for food and fight my enemies with the anger of my early twenties intact. I’ve taken up smoking again and do so with macho style in my red ‘79 Camaro Z28. A glass of Shiraz at lunch was never happier than with me. Handsome bloke, I am.

At home, my sofa should not reek of tobacco, but there lies my body in the afternoon, holding a pillow and smoking cigarette number three next to a cut crystal ashtray on my coffee table. Life, I am yours. Where are you in this poorly decorated tableau? It’s just another day for me.

I've questioned my sanity so many times during our furtive meetings. You refuse to speak to me and yet you enjoy every moment I hold you in bed. Your existence is my one big shadow, my sugary poison. One day, I'll lose you and perhaps then I'll know how to stop my slender arms and legs from holding you, only to find a void at dawn. My sugary poison, my midnight lover. My Greg.







© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Arno/Flickr

 This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. 

In my mind, we greeted each other at the airport and shook hands, then hugged each other. The hug lasted so much longer than any greeting…And I grabbed your hips closer, so I could feel your second pulse. Mine was beating so fast…



We kept up the civil appearances, but after we closed the door your mouth and mine became gluttonously and irreversibly one. I have waited years for your patience to fall, as I crawled back from being a cannibal into being a soul.


© Text: Orlando Barahona
© Image: Josef Stuefer "Statue of Igor Mitoraj"/Flickr



 This work by Orlando Barahona is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.