The Deviants Rendezvous

John McConnell was a deviant. He was also a god.

I once saw him quench a cigarette butt in a Salvation Army donation box. With the same hand, I watched him guide a frail elderly woman across the deathly streets of Wellingdale.

I will be the first to admit that I was deeply enamored by the man’s enigmatic persona. But, was it he I was most curious about, or was it my own interest in his deviance I was looking to explore?

John was the wind that announced the tornado right before it struck. Some people would argue that he was the tornado itself. On those rare occasions, I had both the fortune and misfortune of stealthily feeling his pulse. On first contact, I felt the familiarity that came with interacting with a fellow human. It was a warm tinge, and though fleeting, I was just glad to be made aware of its existence. A few more seconds of willing my nerves into venturing into uncharted territory, I found exactly what I was looking for; John McConnell was me.

On Lucifer’s Wings of Love

A blank canvas always gives the painter an illusion of innocence

But there are voices in the stern silence of the dark night if you listen closely

The Hugo Boss stained ambience clandestinely

Musks the stench of yet another bleeding heart

They probably should have never said hello

Along Hallowed hallways paved on promises of everlasting lust

These lilac scented lies have brought you a beautiful truth laced in fiction

They’ll have you thinking dreams come true on Louis Vuitton sheets spread out on huge Victorian beds in rooms whose vintage walls have bounced off more of Jezebel’s echoes of ecstasy than any Chinese brothel in the capital

I thought she knew, that the devil was the most beautiful angel ever created.