I say tomato. I say tamato. The indecisive actions I portray lead me astray. Should I make a left or should I go right. My memory remembers faintly. I can’t pin my finger on it. It’s on the tip of my tongue. What was the path, the cure, the consistency. Up and down. The highs-the lows. I’m happy. I’m sad. I sleep for 12 hrs. I sleep for 2. I got a ton of cash. I have to scrounge for change. I drink until I’m sober. I laugh when I should cry. I’m in a box inside of a box. My cousin thinks I’m crazy. He tells me this from the insane asylum. I write with my left, but I’m right handed. I’m always late to my job, but early for the next day. I was born in a barn, a barn without hay. My name is John P. Seasaw.

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Let your strength guide you through the temptation of those deep hidden thoughts we all carry. Insanity extorting the translation of fiction into reality. Eyes closed shut as you toss and turn in your sleep fighting the demons of yesterdays past. Living in fear as your dreams disappear and immorality clogs your mind. Self control becomes limited as the hardships you face become exaggerated. In-stint moments of anger tell stories of abuse on your face. Transformation from love to hate, becomes a love to hate those that have forsaken you. Weary and tired of the everyday grind of survival, you ask the heavens to release this punishment they have enforced on you. The belief of good is more and more saturated by the bad as you dig for that last inch of righteousness for your faith. Open your eyes soldier the battle has just begun!

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Just cruising on the highway to San Diego for 4 nights of summer time madness. Leaving Las Vegas to get away from the mayhem of casino’s and nightclubs to enter another realm of motivational partying. I love the drive. The scenic view of the mountains. Inching closer and closer to the ocean. A sense of freedom and relaxation. To lay on Pacific Beach and not do a dam thing. Superb seafood lunches. Taking in a ballgame at Petco. Enjoying an expense night of fine wine and the company of beautiful women. Anxiously as I speed pass the speed limit to get to a destination of no regret. Twisting and turning to get away from the high intensity of work. Popping the clutch, breeze flowing, I’m on my way.      

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A dark mist grew over the city as thick as smoke. Sudden flashes glimmered as if a big storm was brewing. It was the summer time and the humidity was high enough to sweat a 400 pound man to an easy 280.  The signal on my T.V. was fuzzy and the lights kept flickering. I was home alone. I got chills up my spine as these insane thoughts entered my mind. I tried to push them out as I sipped on a 40 ounce of colt 45. I even tried calling some friends and family, but the lines were busy. I faintly heard sirens in the distance, so I opened my window and looked outside and it was empty, but for some reason I felt like I was being watched. A smell of bacon crossed the passage way to my nasal cavity. I think I was hungry.  I decided to get some fast food, but when I went to start my car it was dead. My hunger grew intense. I was craving meat. Ra-min noodles was not going to cut it this time. I needed to eat. The closest source of food was 3 miles away. I wasn’t walking. Then there he was. I saw an owl in the tree across from my bedroom. I wondered what he taste like. I nicknamed him sport, because if I didn’t get something to eat soon he would have to be a good sport about me eating him…

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He was the fastest cat burglar New York has ever known. Frankie “2 steps” Vissiano. He was so fast if  you took a picture of him it would be blurred. What a guy. In and out Frankie. Two shakes to the left Frankie bell bottoms. Grab him by the neck sunny-side up with a lemon twist Vissiano. I heard the feds could never bust him for a crime. They nicknamed him the “fast snake”. Some say he had a twin brother cause he was always in two places at once. I met him in a bakery in Little Italy. I couldn’t believe it, he was blind as a bat. He had a white cain and black shades and a fedora like the one my pops use to wear. I showed him respect and shook his hand. I couldn’t believe this guy was the guy that I heard stories about, so I went up to the counter to ask if that was Frankie two shits to the wind Vissiano, and he said yes. As I reached in my pocket to pay for my cheesecake I noticed my watch wasn’t on my wrist. I turned around to where he was sitting and he was gone. That old bastard lifted my watch. I was so pissed off I ran out to ketch him, but he was gone. The guy sweeping outside the door tapped me on my shoulder and in his hand was my watch. And now I became apart of his legend. Based on a true story.  

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