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balipoet


Beryl Dov Lew was born in Brooklyn, a small shtetl in New York. He has a Ph.D. ABD in Theatre and in Philosophy, and has been told he paints equally well with a palette of words or color. He’s won numerous awards, including the coveted ECHO Award in direct mail marketing and the even more enviable Largest Circumcised Penis in Southeast Asia Award presented by Oscar Meyer. He is the author of A Primer of Love, 165 Tools & Techniques to Jumpstart Creativity, four volumes of exquisite poetry to die for and a book of comedy pieces entitled, Drink, Piss, Fuck -- the long awaited sequel to Shit, Shower, Shave. He has been published in numerous journals, and his humorous spin on life has made him a persona non grata wherever frankness is unwelcome. Behold, the artist speaks! “Besides dripping in humility, I'm guess I’m sorta amazing -- confidence not ego -- a world traveler -- 94 countries not Google Earth, much too smart for my own good -- books scribbled + off the chart scores -- and I have a lightning wit -- rocket not flash. I get the attention of a room when I walk in. I have no idea why folks are so fearful of automatic weapons. Darn, I’m only usin’ blanks. I’ve been told that I'm more than a bit anomalous, but I assure you there's method to my madness like the flight of bees or a woman at a sample sale. I have an associational logic that instantly references philosophy, literature, music, art, pop culture and kitsch -- without Google. Spock would’ve approved my logic which, like the Vulcan moon, Trayfe, is at once elliptical and eccentric echoing the tides of the mercurial human heart. What else? I love the filtration prior to intimacy and the deep philosophical discussions that follow. e.g., ‘How many old Balinese men does it take to change a lightbulb?’Answer: ‘Two. One to change the bulb and one to hold the chicken.’; Or, 'Where do all these fucking Chinese takeout menus come from?'' I'm a rara avis that has migrated, due to the encroaching climate velocity, to my preferred habitat, Bali, where I now live. I have a beautiful villa here with views of terraced rice fields and volcanoes. On a clear day you can even see the bill collectors wielding machetes. Come on over y'all and bring some pie. I’m also out of bullets. By the way, I’m searching for a soulmate, a muse and a lover. The divine trinity should be a ridiculously creative (perhaps carve reeds out of root vegetables, makes bricks without straw, chalk realist portraits on sidewalks, play a kit or dulcimer...really, really well, bind beautiful hardbacks and strip homemade fettuccine or stop-motion animate your own flip books at 4 o’clock in the morning), ridiculously interesting (maybe you forged a greyhound bus pass and traveled the U.S. for 18 months, once moved to another country just to learn its language...no matter how obscure, or have considered converting your Vespa to vegetable based fuel), brilliantly (albeit not geekily nor socially ineptly so) odd (the dictionary on a party night fascinates, others marvel at your willingness to don costumes in public, your prosthetic limb collection supersedes all others or you have a photographic memory for all things reptilian), has her shit and shinola together with her row of ducks (no hard drugs, no chronic depression, no ‘bad’ drunks and hopefully ‘lithium’ hopefully remains just a periodic element and not a prescription), hopefully fabulously beautiful, sinfully fabulous, infrangible and highly fungible, head-turning child/girl/woman/goddess who is a self-confessed whore in the kitchen and a closet gourmet in the bedroom. As for you, o so lovely you for who I have waited an eternity and a half, please be a variation on the theme of slender/fit/toned female, and when you say curvy, please mean curvy in the right places as opposed to Ruebenesque with a booty big enough to warrant its own zipcode or possess a gravitational field that makes a game of 8-ball a graphic lesson in Ptolemaic astronomy, please be jaded but not a hue of cynical green, please spend less than 1/8 of your life on a fucking cell phone, please know how to make more than reservations for dinner, know the wealth of a person has little to do with his income, please retain the vestiges of childlike curiosity without tying cans to dog’s tails or throwing tantrums, please be a muse and at once amused by my musings, please enjoy good poetry and equate bad poetry with a long checkout line at Whole Paycheck, please know at least 18 slang words for sex, please don't smoke (near me at least), please know how to spell definitely and know your (ass) from you’re (elbow macaroni), please be scruffily feminine and an elegant tomboy, please be indescribably unique, please be affectionate but less clingy than saran wrap, please be visibly happy (at least most of the time) and irreverent and exceedingly considerate, please be within an age range an overgrown kid like me might consider apropos LTR material (i.e. not beyond 40 and not below jail-bait, please be spiritual without believing in organized religion and anthropomorphic supernal beings unless they’re made of spaghetti and a dripping of virgin olive oil, please do not ask me to become a Jehovah’s Witness -- I wasn’t even near the fucking accident, please have bothered to read this entire ramble, the perusin’ of which you will not have considered a chore, and please know the sexiest and most erotic thing about any man is his big fucking brain, and please please me, o yeah, like I please you." Send pix and your Goddess in the details info to: balipoet@gmail.com

balipoet has written 1 stories with an average rating of 5.00


Articles by Author
Title Date / Rating
Fear, Loathing and Dating in Bali: My Last 6 Dates September 4, 2011
Rating: 5.00