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  • Jimmy Broccoli

Passion and Love and Sex and Money, Violence, Religion, Injustice and Death

Updated: Jan 21

During the daylight hours…

this is the time for business and for being busy –

and multitasking – and answering phone calls –

and listening to my boss talk – and me wearing a tie

with proper trousers that fit well, but not too tightly

The daylight is for getting things done


The evening – once the sun has waved it’s goodbye –

Once the freeway traffic lightens up a bit –

and it doesn’t take an hour and a half to get home

it’s the time the hot summer air mellows and relaxes

and I lower my car windows to feel the excitement of the night –

it whips through my hair like electricity


Perhaps – for you – the night belongs to Michelob

or it’s Miller Time –

or whatever popular advertising campaign jingle that doesn’t leave quietly from your mind -

For me – I’ll pour a glass of wine (or 5) and –

And I bask in the yellow (Edison) lights of my apartment –

my windows without coverings – and I’ll dance –

my neighbors can watch if they want to – watch if they want to -

Because it’s evening – and evening is the time to dance

To dance without abandon


I light a hemp cigarette – it tastes like artificial cherries –

and the exhaled smoke is swirling around my bedroom

as I exhale smoke and look into the mirror

I dress for the evening – I dress to express myself –

I don’t dress to impress – because that’s snobby and elitist bullshit –

I dress to be me



My friend and I walk into the club as if we own it –

and absolutely nobody notices – but we know it

We’re kool cats embracing the vibe

…my friend has MDMA, but I don’t partake – I love without chemicals –

so he smiles at me and downs the tablet with an engraving of a bunny on it

(the real shit from the Netherlands have engravings)

The night is ours – because we claim it –

and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks about that

I used to think clubs were for posers and wannabes and losers and insecure gentlemen with less to offer downstairs than the rest of us –

but – I’ve learned I was wrong

The night is what you make of it


My friend and I – yeah, he’s high as fuck –

and he thinks everything I say is hysterical

We’re dancing on the floor – others near us are invisible –

The pounding, pounding of the base -

The multicolored lights violating the ceiling – violating the floor –

now the walls – triangles and circles that expand – and straight colorful lines that bend and stretch and expand the imagination

I think my mind may be glowing…

- is it obvious I took my friend up on his offer? –

… yeah, I’m high as fuck –

and just want to hug the shit out of everyone and the entire world


My friend seems to think he’s John Travolta on the dance floor –

and I couldn’t be more entertained

I smoke my CBD cigarette that smell like pot – but isn’t –

the cherry flavor violating the normalcy of my otherwise unflavored lips –

yeah – I think I’m high


The men’s restroom has a long trough and nothing else –

it’s not a toilet and it’s not a urinal –

it resembles (exactly) what pigs eat out of –

and I’m supposed to piss in it

and so I do – while trying to appear to be sober –

I don’t really care if people think I’m sober or fucked up –

but it is a game I enjoy playing – and it’s never not fun


This dude

(not in the restroom – I’ve moved on from there)

walks over to me and says, “don’t I know you?”

and I reply, “perhaps, if you have extraordinary taste in indie narrative poetry” –

and I chuckle every time I say this

and I think it’s super funny

He tells me I look like someone from TV -

I hug him because I’m on X

(or “E” if you’re from somewhere else)

- and he feels sweaty – but so am I – so it doesn’t bother me



The daylight is for coffee and doughnuts and for boring exchanges -

casual and mindless conversation to fill the empty moments by the water cooler or at our cubicles –


During the evening I am John Travolta

I am the Bee Gees – without the high falsetto voice and tight pants –

I am whatever and whoever I wish to be –


My friend has somehow picked up some reading glasses from who-the-fuck-knows-where that have a plastic pink flamingo perched above the right lens and frame


And I think it’s fucking hysterical

Photo: Jimmy Broccoli.

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