Bad Dream:
The phone rings. Ali answers and then says "it’s for you.”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“It’s Karrot.”
“Tell her I can’t walk.” I whispered.
“No you tell her. I can’t stand the red-head bitch.” Ali walked away from the phone.
"Well I don’t wanna talk to the kunt either.” my voice traveled toward Ali’s direction.
The phone was never picked up.
About Me
Saturday, January 31, 2009
It’s the Andy Griffith Dream
Starring:
Dad as Paw
Oppy as Debbie
Ron Howard as Himself
Paw is digging a hole with a shovel. He’s in his own little world of thought. Ron motions me over toward him. Ron’s on the sidelines with the other fans, waiting for the next scene. I walk over to Ron. He asks me how I’m doing. He had heard about my accident. What a nice man, I thought, to ask about me. I couldn’t answer because we were interrupted by a yell.
Paw yells, “Debbie, now come over here and help me dig this pond.”
“Comin', Paw.”
Dad as Paw
Oppy as Debbie
Ron Howard as Himself
Paw is digging a hole with a shovel. He’s in his own little world of thought. Ron motions me over toward him. Ron’s on the sidelines with the other fans, waiting for the next scene. I walk over to Ron. He asks me how I’m doing. He had heard about my accident. What a nice man, I thought, to ask about me. I couldn’t answer because we were interrupted by a yell.
Paw yells, “Debbie, now come over here and help me dig this pond.”
“Comin', Paw.”
Feeling Trapped
I’m upside down. Lloyd is drunk and says he likes to be upside-down. I, I, I’m claustrophobic? I wake up. The heavy cover has pinned me down and my head is between 2 cats. I throw the cover off me and lay back down again into the exact dream of Lloyd is drunk and likes to be upside-down, and I’m upside-down and hate it. I can’t breathe. I’m claustrophobic again. I wake up. The cover is on me. The ear warmers are still there. I move one of the fur balls out of my way and spoon the other. I push the cover halfway down to my knees and deal with the coldness of the air. I fall asleep again to different dream.
A Description of This Person
This person comes over and crashes at my place. This person doesn’t ask me how I’m doing. I mention in conversation that I’m hungry.This person and this person’s babysitter leave to go to a coffee shop. This person doesn’t invite me. This person doesn’t do the polite thing “can I bring you back anything?” either. This person takes food out of this person’s car. Food of bananas, apples, and biscuits. This person offers food “You want a banana, biscuit, apple?“ to this person’s babysitter. The babysitter politely says no. I wouldn’t mind any of them. This person doesn’t offer me any food as this person walks pass me to the kitchen. I say nothing. This person puts food in my refrigerator and leaves.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Tight Leash
My owner doesn't let me out that much. Sometimes he opens the door and I get to peep outside. I can't roam the streets. I can't be alone. Sometimes, he'll go watch me pee. He occasionally says, "You wanna go out for a ride?" I'm at the door faster than the words "Here girl!" The owner gets the leash and some plastic grocery bags. What are the bags for, I wondered.
I make my way down the steps, one-step at a time. It looks like I drag my ass since my ass is so close to the ground. It looks like I move slow, but I move at my fastest pace. My owner pets me on the head as he passes by. I look up at my master all happy and smiling. Glaring into his eyes, breathing heavy with my tongue sticking out and my forehead lines crunched together like crashing waves. And my master looks and smiles down back at me and says, "That's a good girl, I gotta treat for you."
He took me to a coffee shop and we sat inside. What happened to the park?
I make my way down the steps, one-step at a time. It looks like I drag my ass since my ass is so close to the ground. It looks like I move slow, but I move at my fastest pace. My owner pets me on the head as he passes by. I look up at my master all happy and smiling. Glaring into his eyes, breathing heavy with my tongue sticking out and my forehead lines crunched together like crashing waves. And my master looks and smiles down back at me and says, "That's a good girl, I gotta treat for you."
He took me to a coffee shop and we sat inside. What happened to the park?
The D&G Tour
“What up G?”
“What up D?”
“G are you my bitch?”
“No D I’m your Caucasian. Are you my Caucasian?”
“G I’m so white, I’m your Cracka. And we gonna crack this house up.
Yo, here we go, here we go, G’s IN THE HOUSE. That’s right. Give it up to G. What up GGGG”
“Yea I’m GINA THE G.
Yea the cool og.
I’m orGINAll.
You don’t have to call.
I’m on FACEBOOK.
I’ve got the look.
I got DOGS.
We walk & jog.
I got WORK.
I play & surf.
On the NET.
Yea, type & set.
Send me PICS.
I’ll video it.
Cause I’m THE G.
Give it up now to the D”
“Yea, I’m Crippy D, yo, yo, here we go, here we go.
I RAP.
I use to tap.
I TALK.
I use to walk.
I FIGHT.
I use to bike.
I’m not DULL.
I use to travell.
I’m FUN.
I use to run.
Got roMANce.
I use to dance.
Got rhyTHEM.
Knees use to bend them.
Got STYLE.
you should hear my howl.
Cause I’m CRIPPY D.
Just smooth operating me.”
“What up D?”
“G are you my bitch?”
“No D I’m your Caucasian. Are you my Caucasian?”
“G I’m so white, I’m your Cracka. And we gonna crack this house up.
Yo, here we go, here we go, G’s IN THE HOUSE. That’s right. Give it up to G. What up GGGG”
“Yea I’m GINA THE G.
Yea the cool og.
I’m orGINAll.
You don’t have to call.
I’m on FACEBOOK.
I’ve got the look.
I got DOGS.
We walk & jog.
I got WORK.
I play & surf.
On the NET.
Yea, type & set.
Send me PICS.
I’ll video it.
Cause I’m THE G.
Give it up now to the D”
“Yea, I’m Crippy D, yo, yo, here we go, here we go.
I RAP.
I use to tap.
I TALK.
I use to walk.
I FIGHT.
I use to bike.
I’m not DULL.
I use to travell.
I’m FUN.
I use to run.
Got roMANce.
I use to dance.
Got rhyTHEM.
Knees use to bend them.
Got STYLE.
you should hear my howl.
Cause I’m CRIPPY D.
Just smooth operating me.”
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Rap Song: `3'
Hi my name is Deb
I broke 3 bones; I’m on meds.
Here’s a story; it should be rapped, read & said.
About 3 guys who have been kind to care for the deb.
A year before I found Gold at the sPOTted Cat.
His name was Bart, and I said “where ya at?”
Some say Michael Douglas? Don’t tell him.
Bart’s a musician & artist, but not in film.
He talks in his sleep.
A good guy to keep.
Now, he changes my bed
He makes sure that I am fed.
I think he may just love the Deb.
He’s caring and smart.
He’s my main man, he’s my Bart.
--
8 months before
I was upset & sore.
I lost a few thousand, add another four.
So I jumped in my car,
I went down to Mimi’s Bar.
It wasn’t that far.
I ran into Silver in a cloud of smoke.
I was sitting on a sofa lining, now that’s no joke.
His name was Shawn, a carpenter and more.
A Johnny Depp look, & a competent roar
We exchanged numbers, we definitely scored,
Are you thinking, what I’m not. No I ain’t no whore.
I was thinking he could fix the core
of my house as well as the door
and the floor.
But he’s slow on the job now, cause I’m really really poor.
You know I broke 3 bones; can’t walk, can’t work, can’t drive no coahr.
--
I was injured on the job by a ladder fall.
On Workman’s comp by the act of '93 law,
Steel I met, he gave me a call.
His name was Taylor, a trainer I saw.
Reminds me of Schwarzenegger, built & tall.
He’s hard as nails, but nice as a doll.
He makes me work, I can hold up a wall.
My arms are now stronger then after all.
3 guys, 3 metals, 3 look-a-likes indeed
They all work for little humble me.
3 are deserving of precious beads.
They just follow my lead
when I’m in the need.
I get all the feed.
I think I just peed.
I broke 3 bones; I’m on meds.
Here’s a story; it should be rapped, read & said.
About 3 guys who have been kind to care for the deb.
A year before I found Gold at the sPOTted Cat.
His name was Bart, and I said “where ya at?”
Some say Michael Douglas? Don’t tell him.
Bart’s a musician & artist, but not in film.
He talks in his sleep.
A good guy to keep.
Now, he changes my bed
He makes sure that I am fed.
I think he may just love the Deb.
He’s caring and smart.
He’s my main man, he’s my Bart.
--
8 months before
I was upset & sore.
I lost a few thousand, add another four.
So I jumped in my car,
I went down to Mimi’s Bar.
It wasn’t that far.
I ran into Silver in a cloud of smoke.
I was sitting on a sofa lining, now that’s no joke.
His name was Shawn, a carpenter and more.
A Johnny Depp look, & a competent roar
We exchanged numbers, we definitely scored,
Are you thinking, what I’m not. No I ain’t no whore.
I was thinking he could fix the core
of my house as well as the door
and the floor.
But he’s slow on the job now, cause I’m really really poor.
You know I broke 3 bones; can’t walk, can’t work, can’t drive no coahr.
--
I was injured on the job by a ladder fall.
On Workman’s comp by the act of '93 law,
Steel I met, he gave me a call.
His name was Taylor, a trainer I saw.
Reminds me of Schwarzenegger, built & tall.
He’s hard as nails, but nice as a doll.
He makes me work, I can hold up a wall.
My arms are now stronger then after all.
3 guys, 3 metals, 3 look-a-likes indeed
They all work for little humble me.
3 are deserving of precious beads.
They just follow my lead
when I’m in the need.
I get all the feed.
I think I just peed.
The Conflict
I lay to rest without resting. I try to sleep without sleeping. I hear voices inside my head. I can't control it. Insecurity, paranoia, & fear; all controlled by my mind. My voices try to take over, but my mind will not let it. My voices strategize and issue a pep talk, "Think ocean, beach, serenity." But my mind overpowers it with depression and obsession. Voice asserts "Open a window, turn on some music." Mind speaks; "Can't reach, can't move. Will not reach, will not move." Voice calms down "Just relax, take a chill pill." My other voice interferes & declares, "These meds would do." My mind confidently responds "Go for it; I'll still be in your dreams." Voices think twice; "My mind's right, I haven't had a good dream yet." My background voice whispers, "Not since the accident." Voice shouts "But I'm TIRED". Mind articulates, "So what, I'm exhausted." Voices think, “My mind is so determined, it always thinks. I wonder if it will ever give-in to my voice.” My mind stares into space. It’s just not sold on my voice now.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The Challenge
My friend, Msh, likes experimenting too. He's got some stories that will make you roll over & laugh. One night, he turned off all the lights in his apartment. Maybe he blindfolded himself too, I'm not sure. He started walking and/or crawling his way around, feeling for furniture, objects, & things. I'm sure some toes or a knee or two got in the way of his path. Going to the refrigerator probably was an interesting journey. Or maybe shuffling thru his massive CD collection was even more of a challenge.
I asked Msh why he did such a thing. Msh told me he wanted to experience being a blind person for a night. He wanted to see how it felt. He wanted to see if his other senses would become a stronger substitute for his blinded eyes.
So I have an experiment for you. A challenge for anyone of you who is interested in experimenting & experiencing. Interested in how life is as a Cripple for a day? If so, you may want to pencil in this experiment when you have a free day. A free day off from work, worries, and errands. A day where you have nothing better to do other than relax. Maybe you would like to do it in your home or someone else's home. Maybe you would like to do it by yourself or invite others to do it with you. Whatever you choose, it's all the same. My challenge to you is called The Cripplet Game. Fill free to play the advance levels too. There are many other versions and different names out there as well. I never played this game or any different version of this game before, until I became one. I never even thought of it. Have you? Would you like to play The Cripplet Game? Here are the rules:
The Cripplet Game
What you CAN use 100% of the time:
Left leg, ankle, and foot
Left arm
Left wrist
Hands and Fingers
Right arm from elbow on up (biceps & elbow)
Right wrist can only be held in one position; straight and motionless
Right leg may be dragged around
Right hand may carry items, only if wrist is straight
What you CAN NOT use 100% of the time:
Right leg
Right wrist
Right leg and right wrist: No motion, no bend. No muscles, no weight. No pressure, no nothing.
Once you have mastered The Cripplet Game, you may want to play the Advanced levels:
The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 1
Same rules as The Cripplet Game, but you can't leave your bedroom.
The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 2
Same rules as The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 1, but you can't open the windows.
The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 3
Same rules as The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 2, but you can't leave your bed.
The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 4
Same rules as The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 3, but do it for 8 days straight.
I asked Msh why he did such a thing. Msh told me he wanted to experience being a blind person for a night. He wanted to see how it felt. He wanted to see if his other senses would become a stronger substitute for his blinded eyes.
So I have an experiment for you. A challenge for anyone of you who is interested in experimenting & experiencing. Interested in how life is as a Cripple for a day? If so, you may want to pencil in this experiment when you have a free day. A free day off from work, worries, and errands. A day where you have nothing better to do other than relax. Maybe you would like to do it in your home or someone else's home. Maybe you would like to do it by yourself or invite others to do it with you. Whatever you choose, it's all the same. My challenge to you is called The Cripplet Game. Fill free to play the advance levels too. There are many other versions and different names out there as well. I never played this game or any different version of this game before, until I became one. I never even thought of it. Have you? Would you like to play The Cripplet Game? Here are the rules:
The Cripplet Game
What you CAN use 100% of the time:
Left leg, ankle, and foot
Left arm
Left wrist
Hands and Fingers
Right arm from elbow on up (biceps & elbow)
Right wrist can only be held in one position; straight and motionless
Right leg may be dragged around
Right hand may carry items, only if wrist is straight
What you CAN NOT use 100% of the time:
Right leg
Right wrist
Right leg and right wrist: No motion, no bend. No muscles, no weight. No pressure, no nothing.
Once you have mastered The Cripplet Game, you may want to play the Advanced levels:
The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 1
Same rules as The Cripplet Game, but you can't leave your bedroom.
The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 2
Same rules as The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 1, but you can't open the windows.
The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 3
Same rules as The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 2, but you can't leave your bed.
The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 4
Same rules as The Advanced Cripplet Game: Level 3, but do it for 8 days straight.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
SleepLess
Jan. 20, 2009
I would not try to call me. You may get a full ear load of exhaustion, emotion, and delirium. I haven’t gotten much sleep in the last 3 days or so. I can’t find sleep. I just lay there restless, sometimes in pain, but most the time, my mind will not wonder into fairyland. I’m on 80 hours and counting. Sure, I got an hour here and an hour there of sleep, broken up at least 10 or so times to a total of 7 hours in the last 80. I’m not my crazy-usual self. I’m crazy-extreme self. I think it may be better for you to email or text if you need to get a hold of me. It might be the best route to take, for right now.
Yea, I did the drug thing to relax. I ended up writing for hours. I did the red wine thing too. It just gave me a migraine later and then I took my Imitrex to get rid of it. That’s when I got 2 hours straight of sleep, the most I got in one sleeping shot in the last 3 and a half days. But the migraine is gone. My good old Imitrex buddy came thru for me. He works for me 80% of the time. I also did the wine thing--the cry of exhaustion, pain, & helplessness. It didn’t work either. Nothing is working for me. My mind is going crazy and I can’t seem to stop it.
I’m not trying not to sleep. Warning: Even though I don’t work now, I still want to sleep now. This is not a Sleep-Less experiment. However, I do remember a brother of one of my dear friends who did a similar sleep-less experiment back in the old college days.
His name was Chris. Very good-looking, smart, cute personality, & good kisser. He was studying to be a doctor. I was friends with his sister, Amy. Chris was always pushing the envelope of discovering and trying out new things. One day, he thought he would experiment on not sleeping. He wanted to find out if the human body actually required sleep if it was properly trained into not sleeping.
So Chris outlined an 8-week, very detailed & well thought-out proposal on how to train his mind, body, & soul not to sleep. His studied plan was to delete 1 hour of sleep each and every night for a week until he could sleep no more. Soon Chris would be the Master of Non-Sleep. The Pre-Master thought we as humans waste a lot of time sleeping. In his strong opinion, Chris believed if we did not sleep, we could get more things accomplished. He was very confident in his thought process.
During the experiment, Chris kept an accurate count of the hours and minutes of actual sleep verses actual wake. He marked his calendar daily while adjusting to the extra hour of wake and looking forward to even more efficiency the next week. The young experimenter recorded notes along the way on how he felt each night during the 8-week exercise. Sometimes there were lots of notes and sometimes few on the development of non-sleep.
I never did find out what the result was right after the 8-week duration of the experimentation. Chris and I lost contact over the years. However, about ten years later, we bumped into each other. Still gorgeous and cute and nice as ever. Dr. Chris and I talked for a while, remembering the few times we hung out, remembering our past. It was very nice running into him. Chris and I got to talking about his Sleep-Less Experiment as well. I asked him how that experiment ended for him. He shyly smiled and admitted his result. “Not that well, I fell asleep."
I’m sure my unplanned sleep-less experiment will not work for me either. I'm sure I will crash soon. And I think I know the reason why I can’t sleep...Pat’s back.
disturbed, deb
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
My 2 Black Friends
January 19, 2009
Hello everyone. I hope you all had a good Martin Luther King Day.
I like blacks. I like all kinds of blacks. Particularly, I have 2 black friends who I'm close to and like very much. Well the truth is, I do like them both, but I'm in-love with one on an emotional level and I love the other one on a physical level. But I’m not attracted to the one I’m in-love with. And I’m not in-love with the one I’m attracted to. Nonetheless, here’s my 2 stories of my 2 black friends.
Meet my friend, Clicky. He’s my black friend. I just met him. I love him, but I’m not in-love with him. I just have sex with him. Bart doesn’t mind. It’s purely a physical relationship. I don’t think about Clicky in that way. However, I do like the way he feels. I like the way he feels against my skin when we caress each other. I gave up on my other friends. I gave up on all of my lovers, partners, and friends. They all physically disappointed me.
I’ve tried different ones over the years, over and over, I couldn‘t quite be satisfied. Never even came close. They were too thin, too short, too small, too thick, too long, and too big, couldn’t last, didn’t last, didn’t last long enough, etc. They were just not right. I was searching for the perfect size, but not knowing it. Nevertheless, I finally found him and it was just recently we made that strong connection.
I’m in Clicky’s click now, or should I say, he’s in my click. He’s average in length. Not too long, and not too short. He’s perfect for me. He’s just the right size for me. A little thicker than the average. I like to feel my friend. I like to hold and squeeze him in my skin. He wears a rubber too, one with ridges. I like ridges, if he didn’t have ridges, I wouldn’t enjoy it as well. He would slide out of my skin from the dampness of all the action we do. It is a sweaty workout.
He’s black and performs like a black. He cums all the time. Stays hard too, while cumming, and after cumming. I just can’t get enough of it. It’s nothing like having a good buddy hold my hand while I have sex with him, to him, on him.
I like his voice too. I like to hear him make his sounds. Such a masculine, strong and attractive voice he has. But when I want him to shut up, his pussy-whipped ass shuts up. I just give him a little push. One little push, that’s all.
Before Clicky came along, I would sleep with anybody. Yea, the true slut I was. I tried to stay with one partner, but I just wasn’t committed. I didn’t feel right. I didn’t see potential in any of my partners for that matter. I didn’t realize I was looking and searching all of my life for that special one who could fulfill me in that way. Clicky kinda fell into my lap, literally, by accident.
I just wanted somebody new. I was restless and tired of all of my performers. I was in search for a new black friend&partner. I always knew what I wanted, but never expressed what I wanted, until I found Clicky. I wanted someone who was easy to handle & hold & grip, someone who could hang with me and be very easily accessible to me anytime, and someone who didn’t wear clothes or caps, but wore protection that I could actually feel against my skin and enjoy it. All of which are important to me. All of which I found with Clicky.
Msh introduced me to Clicky, without even knowing it. But actually, Bart brought Clicky over one day and that‘s when the love affair began. Clicky was my sympathetic black friend after my accident. He serviced me best since I was laid up, and he was less likely to make a mess in the bed. Clicky has a lot of fine features and I’ve been with Clicky ever since.
You can call me a slut or a snob. Whatever. Msh knows what I’m talking ‘bout. He used to use him all the time. I wonder if he still uses Clicky from time to time and enjoys him as much as I do. I'm sure Carlos doesn't mind. I wonder if he or anyone else is in Clicky’s Click. Not everyone is in the click. Not everyone wants to be in the click. I joined Clicky’s Click just recently, when I met my true black clicky friend, Clicky. He showed me the difference; he showed me the black clicky way. And I am so proud, and so honored, to be part of such a fine group, of such a fine click, the Clicky Pens Click with my black clicky friend, Clicky.
* * * * * * *
Stinky is my other black friend who I'm close to. Although we have never made love, I'm in love with him very much. I've known him for 15 years. I met him in New Orleans in the Marigny Rectangle. He's been my black buddy ever since. I haven't seen him much lately, but I could definitely spot him out in a crowded room full of blacks. And he's definitely black. Blacker than brown-black. He's all black, no black about it. He's my blackest friend I've ever had. I can tell him apart easily from other blacks. I know some people say that it's hard to tell a certain race apart, but I have no problem when it comes to my black friend, Stinky.
My white friends have all met Stinky. Some have actually hung out with my black little fella friend. But I wonder if my white friends could tell my black pal apart if he was in a room full of other blacks.
If Stinky was in a line-up with 9 other blacks, and if all the blacks had the same height, weight, & built of my black friend, and no personality traits revealed, no voices heard, would my white friends be able to tell one black apart from the other blacks. Could they pi ck out Stinky in the line-up?
I'm sure Lloyd and Bart could tell my black friend apart from other blacks in a line-up. They both have hung out with Stinky. Lloyd even roomed with the black bro for a few years, a few years ago. In fact, Lloyd introduced me to Stinky. And Bart has been hanging out with Stinky and a couple of his buddies on a regular basis in the last year or so.
I know it's been a couple of years since my white friends-Msh, Carlos, King, Spaces, Gina, Vincent, Brandon & Julie- have seen my black friend-Stinky. But they all have met Stinky a few times over the past years. I wonder if my white friends could pick out my black friend in a line-up. I wonder if they can tell my Black apart from other blacks. They might just think that they all look alike, that they all look the same.
I have some other white friends-Matt, Tim, Nathaniel, Darwin & Shawn who all have hung out with Stinky just more recently. Well maybe not Matt, but he has crashed a night or two at Stinky's house after a night out. He's even had a couple of beers with Stinky at Stinky's place. I think all of my white friends in this paragraph have had a beer or two with my black bud. Tim and Darwin should know Stinky pretty well, much more than Matt, Nathaniel & Shawn, definitely, for sure. Stinky welcomed and took-in Tim and Darwin, each at different times, when the 2 whities were homeless for a few weeks or so.
But really, besides maybe Bart & Lloyd, I don't think any one of my white friends could pick out Stinky in a room full of blacks. I really don't think they paid that much attention to my black friend, even when Stinky was in the same room as them. Well he's black, what can I say, go Black Power!? No, I guess not. Even when I look at old photographs of Stinky and our friends, he’s just not that noticeable. His dark blackness over shadows his distinct features. He's just a cloud of black. He's just black.
It's easy for me to pick out my black friend. Stinky's my main man! You could put him up against any black and I got Stinky's black back. You see, I love Stinky. I love the fact that he's black all over and has one and only one gray hair on his mustache. Well, I call it a white whisker, and that's no meow about it!
Hello everyone. I hope you all had a good Martin Luther King Day.
I like blacks. I like all kinds of blacks. Particularly, I have 2 black friends who I'm close to and like very much. Well the truth is, I do like them both, but I'm in-love with one on an emotional level and I love the other one on a physical level. But I’m not attracted to the one I’m in-love with. And I’m not in-love with the one I’m attracted to. Nonetheless, here’s my 2 stories of my 2 black friends.
Meet my friend, Clicky. He’s my black friend. I just met him. I love him, but I’m not in-love with him. I just have sex with him. Bart doesn’t mind. It’s purely a physical relationship. I don’t think about Clicky in that way. However, I do like the way he feels. I like the way he feels against my skin when we caress each other. I gave up on my other friends. I gave up on all of my lovers, partners, and friends. They all physically disappointed me.
I’ve tried different ones over the years, over and over, I couldn‘t quite be satisfied. Never even came close. They were too thin, too short, too small, too thick, too long, and too big, couldn’t last, didn’t last, didn’t last long enough, etc. They were just not right. I was searching for the perfect size, but not knowing it. Nevertheless, I finally found him and it was just recently we made that strong connection.
I’m in Clicky’s click now, or should I say, he’s in my click. He’s average in length. Not too long, and not too short. He’s perfect for me. He’s just the right size for me. A little thicker than the average. I like to feel my friend. I like to hold and squeeze him in my skin. He wears a rubber too, one with ridges. I like ridges, if he didn’t have ridges, I wouldn’t enjoy it as well. He would slide out of my skin from the dampness of all the action we do. It is a sweaty workout.
He’s black and performs like a black. He cums all the time. Stays hard too, while cumming, and after cumming. I just can’t get enough of it. It’s nothing like having a good buddy hold my hand while I have sex with him, to him, on him.
I like his voice too. I like to hear him make his sounds. Such a masculine, strong and attractive voice he has. But when I want him to shut up, his pussy-whipped ass shuts up. I just give him a little push. One little push, that’s all.
Before Clicky came along, I would sleep with anybody. Yea, the true slut I was. I tried to stay with one partner, but I just wasn’t committed. I didn’t feel right. I didn’t see potential in any of my partners for that matter. I didn’t realize I was looking and searching all of my life for that special one who could fulfill me in that way. Clicky kinda fell into my lap, literally, by accident.
I just wanted somebody new. I was restless and tired of all of my performers. I was in search for a new black friend&partner. I always knew what I wanted, but never expressed what I wanted, until I found Clicky. I wanted someone who was easy to handle & hold & grip, someone who could hang with me and be very easily accessible to me anytime, and someone who didn’t wear clothes or caps, but wore protection that I could actually feel against my skin and enjoy it. All of which are important to me. All of which I found with Clicky.
Msh introduced me to Clicky, without even knowing it. But actually, Bart brought Clicky over one day and that‘s when the love affair began. Clicky was my sympathetic black friend after my accident. He serviced me best since I was laid up, and he was less likely to make a mess in the bed. Clicky has a lot of fine features and I’ve been with Clicky ever since.
You can call me a slut or a snob. Whatever. Msh knows what I’m talking ‘bout. He used to use him all the time. I wonder if he still uses Clicky from time to time and enjoys him as much as I do. I'm sure Carlos doesn't mind. I wonder if he or anyone else is in Clicky’s Click. Not everyone is in the click. Not everyone wants to be in the click. I joined Clicky’s Click just recently, when I met my true black clicky friend, Clicky. He showed me the difference; he showed me the black clicky way. And I am so proud, and so honored, to be part of such a fine group, of such a fine click, the Clicky Pens Click with my black clicky friend, Clicky.
* * * * * * *
Stinky is my other black friend who I'm close to. Although we have never made love, I'm in love with him very much. I've known him for 15 years. I met him in New Orleans in the Marigny Rectangle. He's been my black buddy ever since. I haven't seen him much lately, but I could definitely spot him out in a crowded room full of blacks. And he's definitely black. Blacker than brown-black. He's all black, no black about it. He's my blackest friend I've ever had. I can tell him apart easily from other blacks. I know some people say that it's hard to tell a certain race apart, but I have no problem when it comes to my black friend, Stinky.
My white friends have all met Stinky. Some have actually hung out with my black little fella friend. But I wonder if my white friends could tell my black pal apart if he was in a room full of other blacks.
If Stinky was in a line-up with 9 other blacks, and if all the blacks had the same height, weight, & built of my black friend, and no personality traits revealed, no voices heard, would my white friends be able to tell one black apart from the other blacks. Could they pi ck out Stinky in the line-up?
I'm sure Lloyd and Bart could tell my black friend apart from other blacks in a line-up. They both have hung out with Stinky. Lloyd even roomed with the black bro for a few years, a few years ago. In fact, Lloyd introduced me to Stinky. And Bart has been hanging out with Stinky and a couple of his buddies on a regular basis in the last year or so.
I know it's been a couple of years since my white friends-Msh, Carlos, King, Spaces, Gina, Vincent, Brandon & Julie- have seen my black friend-Stinky. But they all have met Stinky a few times over the past years. I wonder if my white friends could pick out my black friend in a line-up. I wonder if they can tell my Black apart from other blacks. They might just think that they all look alike, that they all look the same.
I have some other white friends-Matt, Tim, Nathaniel, Darwin & Shawn who all have hung out with Stinky just more recently. Well maybe not Matt, but he has crashed a night or two at Stinky's house after a night out. He's even had a couple of beers with Stinky at Stinky's place. I think all of my white friends in this paragraph have had a beer or two with my black bud. Tim and Darwin should know Stinky pretty well, much more than Matt, Nathaniel & Shawn, definitely, for sure. Stinky welcomed and took-in Tim and Darwin, each at different times, when the 2 whities were homeless for a few weeks or so.
But really, besides maybe Bart & Lloyd, I don't think any one of my white friends could pick out Stinky in a room full of blacks. I really don't think they paid that much attention to my black friend, even when Stinky was in the same room as them. Well he's black, what can I say, go Black Power!? No, I guess not. Even when I look at old photographs of Stinky and our friends, he’s just not that noticeable. His dark blackness over shadows his distinct features. He's just a cloud of black. He's just black.
It's easy for me to pick out my black friend. Stinky's my main man! You could put him up against any black and I got Stinky's black back. You see, I love Stinky. I love the fact that he's black all over and has one and only one gray hair on his mustache. Well, I call it a white whisker, and that's no meow about it!
Monday, January 19, 2009
Out of Kilter
Jan. 18, 2009
I can't sleep. Over 27 hours of wake straight. My mind won't give it a rest. I try to rest, but I lay there restless. I'm in pain too; leg, wrist, sometimes stomach. I did a hard workout yesterday. My stomach was aching b/c I had to pee, but I was trying to fall asleep. I needed to hit 2 stones with that little bird before I gave it a whiz.
I even tried my leftover Oxycontin to get some zzz. It just got me high and then I just wrote for hours. It's now 5pm. I'm not even tired. I just took some herbal stuff five minutes ago, it suppose to make me sleepy. I'll just wait and see.
A yawn...hmmm...I think I'm ready to finally get some shuteye. It was probably about 5:45pm before I fell asleep. Ahhh, finally.
I slept about an hour and then the phone rang. I couldn't get back to sleep.
I tried to sleep again around 10pm. A good 40 minutes of sleep is what I got, and then the phone rang. Damn, I forgot to turn the ringer off. I didn't pick up. Then the phone rang again at midnight. Damn again, I forgot to turn off the ringer! I didn't answer that call either. I had told some friends that I'm up late every night. I guess I must have mentioned that my bedtime was around 4am. But can't they see that I need to get some sleep around here?
I laid their restless for another hour and then got up at 1am to start a new restless day.
I can't sleep. Over 27 hours of wake straight. My mind won't give it a rest. I try to rest, but I lay there restless. I'm in pain too; leg, wrist, sometimes stomach. I did a hard workout yesterday. My stomach was aching b/c I had to pee, but I was trying to fall asleep. I needed to hit 2 stones with that little bird before I gave it a whiz.
I even tried my leftover Oxycontin to get some zzz. It just got me high and then I just wrote for hours. It's now 5pm. I'm not even tired. I just took some herbal stuff five minutes ago, it suppose to make me sleepy. I'll just wait and see.
A yawn...hmmm.
I slept about an hour and then the phone rang. I couldn't get back to sleep.
I tried to sleep again around 10pm. A good 40 minutes of sleep is what I got, and then the phone rang. Damn, I forgot to turn the ringer off. I didn't pick up. Then the phone rang again at midnight. Damn again, I forgot to turn off the ringer! I didn't answer that call either. I had told some friends that I'm up late every night. I guess I must have mentioned that my bedtime was around 4am. But can't they see that I need to get some sleep around here?
I laid their restless for another hour and then got up at 1am to start a new restless day.
Friday, January 16, 2009
My Life as a Movie Star--
January 15, 2009
I got my pads, pills, & purse; I was ready for the set.
"LIGHTS?" "Check." "CAMERAS?" "Check" "Scene 1: The Doctor's Office. And...ACTION."...
"Your 3 breaks are healing on track, you should return to work in about a month or so. Keep with continued physical therapy," the Doctor says. Yippeeeee! In my mind, I sung and did the in-your-face dance: “I get another month off from work! I get another month off from work! unt, unt, un-un unt...Hiiiiirch,” (a car slams its breaks): "Wait a minute, what do you mean 3? I thought I broke 2, my wrist & pelvis," I questioned Doc. I don't remember 3; I guess I was on drugs when Doc told me previously. He pointed with his well-informed pen to each break on my x-ray charts, using the neon white lit board behind it to show the 3 fractures. The Medical Professional started teaching the classmate: "This is your wrist now, this is your wrist a month ago, and this is your wrist from your break 4 years ago. You have scar tissue from your first break, which makes that part of the Radius stronger. Since you fell on a different area of the same bone, that caused the breakage of the radius...bla, bla, bla." Doc moved his ruler pen over to the pelvis x-ray and continued to educate me "And here, you have a break in the front of your pubis and you have a break in the back of your pubis, both on the same sid e of your right pelvic bone. The pelvis controls a lot of the leg muscles...bla, bla, bla” I drifted off into space. No wonder I have trouble walking and the different movements & positions. I confirmed with Doc "So what you’re saying is that I broke 2 bones in 3 different places. “ Now how cool is that!!
Doc and his assistant finished with me and left the room. It was just Bart and I in the room. When I got off the patient’s table, I noticed a reddish brown smear on the white paper from where I was sitting on the table. Slightly embarrassed, I wanted to rip the paper off the bed, but Bart had already wheeled me out of the patient's room and said that the staff deals with that sort of thing all the time. Yea, I guess so, but they are probably thinking that I just pooed in my pants and I didn't. I bled in my pants!
I had to go to the bathroom. Down the hall and to the right. Bart was waiting for the desk to book my next appointment. I had to change my soaked pad. Do you need any help getting there? Bart had asked me. No Babe, I can do this on my own.
All of the sudden, someone got out of their chair in the waiting area and opened the door for me. Now that's nice. She offered to assist me to the bathroom too, but I told her no thanks. Wow, that was really nice of her.
"Scene 2: The Coffee Shop. Ready and ACTION."...
My appointment with Doc ran late, it was about 5:30pm when we left. Bart needed his coffee kick for the day. Kinda late for his caffeine, but Bart was really hurting. He desperately needed his fix. So we stopped at CC’s Coffee Shop on Esplanade Ave across where Vincent used to live, for a quick shot of poison. I was excited to stop at another destination. It was my third time since I was out in the public since the accident, a little over a month ago. I was just glad to be out of my prison cell and wanted to stay away from the hole as long as possible. I was also excited that I could use my wheelchair for the first time in public, other than the two times I had previously at Doc’s. I thought that people wouldn’t even have to see the wet stain on my ass in the rolling chair.
What nice people, another door opens for me. And people were so generous; they threw me to the beginning of the line. I didn't have to wait. Wow, I had a nice view of the muffins and cakes and all sorts of pastries that they displayed for the customers.
I was finding a table for us. And people started to back up and move chairs out of my walkway and admired me as if I was their idol. I kindly and humbly smiled and politely said thank you. I didn't realize I was on the red carpet today. People offered me prime window seating. Then I was flagged down for an autograph. I guess fame has its perks. I started to wonder if I would receive such special treatment if I wore sunglasses and a hat.
=0 A"Scene 3: Bart's Van. And...ACTION."...
I wanted to continue to stay out for a bit after visiting Doc and CC. I still can't manage to go outside without any assistance going up & down the steps. Therefore, if I have the opportunity to stay out as long as I can, then I'll take it. Bart says that we would be too vulnerable if I practiced legwork outside on the steps in the Ghetto Farm and Burgundy Bend. He's right, with all the recent close-call crime stories I hear about. So I just pretty much write and draw in my prison cell everyday without getting any fresh air. I do, however, open the curtain to let some sunshine in, but that's only for about 3 hours a day since I wake up at 2pm. Sometimes Bart will open the door and I can see the outside thru the locked bars. I stick my hand & arm out, and feel the weather run into my limb. I like the cool weather we are having this week. And I know it won't last long, but how would I really know, my fame keeps me from real world experiences. The price I have to pay.
Bart had his coffee, and we were both hungry so we decided to go to an uptown restaurant, our third place in public for the day before we headed back to once again, my trapped hard prison life.
"Scene 4: The Restaurant. ACTION."...
The Italian Bistro restaurant on Magazine St. is a little more than casual. My dress code was not appropriate, by all means. But that's all I have. I'm living in the Ghetto Far m now and all of my clothes are at Burgundy Bend. Bart had brought over a couple of my white short-sleeved tees and some undies, but I try to only ask Bart to bring over my essentials.
It was too cold to wear short sleeves. Bart let me borrow one of his shirts. I wore his maroon long-sleeved shirt, my gray warm-ups with pink thick strips going down the side of each part of the outer leg, yellow socks and white tennis shoes with aqua stripes. I put on my black denim jacket to tie-in my colorful attire all together. Let us not forget my knotted, filthy, and smelly dreadlock look. Nevertheless, who cares how I was dressed and smelled like; I'm a famous movie star.
The restaurant didn't have a runway. I had to use my walker. No problem. It's only 2 steps. I just back up into one; push myself up onto the first step. Then pivot to the front, place the walker onto the 2nd step, which is also the landing. Then push myself up onto the next level. My arms, stomach, and left leg muscle strength have really stepped up to the plate. Oopps, what about the brown blood stain on my butt? Oh, who cares when I look as good as I do.
The door opened for me. The maître de said hello and said my table was waiting for me. I made a comment as I passed him as he was staring and wondering whom I was. I guess he just couldn’t place me. No, I’m not Maggie Gyllenhaal in the film Mona Lisa's Smile, but good guess. She does kin da look like me. I added to his curious thought with a nod, "I broke 3 bones too". Wow, I got a sympathy sigh of “oouu”. Cool, I’m milking these bones! Bart thought he was being thoughtful when he requested the closest table to the door. Hell no! This star wanted to sit in their usual prime spot, before the accident.
Nice red wine, warm bread, Caesar salad, Rainbow trout with capers, and chocolate moose were served one by one. Ahh, it’s nice to be out in the atmosphere and enjoy the good life of no hassles of being famous like the normal people.
The maître de came over to the table to check on us as we finished our visit. He suggested that the restaurant had a ramp if I chose to use it when I left. What a very nice young man. Bart, my chaffer, went to get the car while I went to go check out the ramp. A far little walking distance, around the corner, in a dark alley, there stood an alone, lonely ramp. The deserted slope had a few leafs on it with more leafs being blown around in all kinds of directions by the cold wind.
"Scene 5: Leaving the Restaurant. ACTON."...
Is this guy crazy! WHAT IS THIS SHIT! This 23-year-old know-it-all doesn't know shit! I can't use that ramp with my walker. I would FALL ON MY ASS if I used that steep ass ramp! And who would catch me? Bart's gettin' the car. WHO, this stupid ass punk who suggested it in the first place!?--Does he even know who I think I am!
Maybe, it's a trick to get rid of me thru the back way. Maybe he wants to kill me for publicity. How DARE HE? What is he tired of catering to the rich and famous? THAT'S HIS JOB! This kid don't know nothing about nothing! My fans would be highly disappointed if they couldn't see their idol from across the street, while they sip on their beers, and sit in the outdoors of the Bulldog Bar & Grill, while I flash my stained presence upon them. My fans need me. My fans need to see me at the front entrance of the restaurant under their bright neon lights that say: If You Can Walk, You can Eat Restaurant. It’s fun to play with my fans. And I will not stand for ramping my ass under the buzzed sound of the broken, fused neon sign that says, The Fuck You If You Can't Walk Restaurant. I need the spot light. I need to be noticed in my fine threads and dreads.
A deranged stranger walked past me after I made my way down the two steps to ground level. He mumbled, “That’s what you signed up for” and kept walking. How did he know? I continued to get into my character and play my humble movie star part.
I made a mental note to look myself up on Youtube at the next opportunity. In my earlier days before my movie star fame, I acted on some TV shows like Survivor Metairie and did some singing stage performances with Delta Dawn before I got discovered. I only got 2 stars for the singing performanc e, but Survivor Metairie scored a big 5. I'm proud of all my earlier work. If you google, I think those two shows can still be seen on Youtube: Msh999's Channel. I think shows like U2 & GreenDay, a movie about musicians playing at the superdome while saints dropped food from the sky to the ants running around below them, and The Evolution of Dance, a story about a funny & talented comedian, can still be viewed on that channel as well. Maybe all of the shows on that channel could definitely be worth a view.
Yea, those were my earlier days of acting. I'm in various films now. Mostly comedy and suspense. I also did a horror film just recently. Some of my fans saw a sneak preview. It'll be joining Youtube soon. Maybe on the same network.
To be continued....
I got my pads, pills, & purse; I was ready for the set.
"LIGHTS?" "Check." "CAMERAS?" "Check" "Scene 1: The Doctor's Office. And...ACTION."...
"Your 3 breaks are healing on track, you should return to work in about a month or so. Keep with continued physical therapy," the Doctor says. Yippeeeee! In my mind, I sung and did the in-your-face dance: “I get another month off from work! I get another month off from work! unt, unt, un-un unt...Hiiiiirch,” (a car slams its breaks): "Wait a minute, what do you mean 3? I thought I broke 2, my wrist & pelvis," I questioned Doc. I don't remember 3; I guess I was on drugs when Doc told me previously. He pointed with his well-informed pen to each break on my x-ray charts, using the neon white lit board behind it to show the 3 fractures. The Medical Professional started teaching the classmate: "This is your wrist now, this is your wrist a month ago, and this is your wrist from your break 4 years ago. You have scar tissue from your first break, which makes that part of the Radius stronger. Since you fell on a different area of the same bone, that caused the breakage of the radius...bla, bla, bla." Doc moved his ruler pen over to the pelvis x-ray and continued to educate me "And here, you have a break in the front of your pubis and you have a break in the back of your pubis, both on the same sid e of your right pelvic bone. The pelvis controls a lot of the leg muscles...bla, bla, bla” I drifted off into space. No wonder I have trouble walking and the different movements & positions. I confirmed with Doc "So what you’re saying is that I broke 2 bones in 3 different places. “ Now how cool is that!!
Doc and his assistant finished with me and left the room. It was just Bart and I in the room. When I got off the patient’s table, I noticed a reddish brown smear on the white paper from where I was sitting on the table. Slightly embarrassed, I wanted to rip the paper off the bed, but Bart had already wheeled me out of the patient's room and said that the staff deals with that sort of thing all the time. Yea, I guess so, but they are probably thinking that I just pooed in my pants and I didn't. I bled in my pants!
I had to go to the bathroom. Down the hall and to the right. Bart was waiting for the desk to book my next appointment. I had to change my soaked pad. Do you need any help getting there? Bart had asked me. No Babe, I can do this on my own.
All of the sudden, someone got out of their chair in the waiting area and opened the door for me. Now that's nice. She offered to assist me to the bathroom too, but I told her no thanks. Wow, that was really nice of her.
"Scene 2: The Coffee Shop. Ready and ACTION."...
My appointment with Doc ran late, it was about 5:30pm when we left. Bart needed his coffee kick for the day. Kinda late for his caffeine, but Bart was really hurting. He desperately needed his fix. So we stopped at CC’s Coffee Shop on Esplanade Ave across where Vincent used to live, for a quick shot of poison. I was excited to stop at another destination. It was my third time since I was out in the public since the accident, a little over a month ago. I was just glad to be out of my prison cell and wanted to stay away from the hole as long as possible. I was also excited that I could use my wheelchair for the first time in public, other than the two times I had previously at Doc’s. I thought that people wouldn’t even have to see the wet stain on my ass in the rolling chair.
What nice people, another door opens for me. And people were so generous; they threw me to the beginning of the line. I didn't have to wait. Wow, I had a nice view of the muffins and cakes and all sorts of pastries that they displayed for the customers.
I was finding a table for us. And people started to back up and move chairs out of my walkway and admired me as if I was their idol. I kindly and humbly smiled and politely said thank you. I didn't realize I was on the red carpet today. People offered me prime window seating. Then I was flagged down for an autograph. I guess fame has its perks. I started to wonder if I would receive such special treatment if I wore sunglasses and a hat.
=0 A"Scene 3: Bart's Van. And...ACTION."...
I wanted to continue to stay out for a bit after visiting Doc and CC. I still can't manage to go outside without any assistance going up & down the steps. Therefore, if I have the opportunity to stay out as long as I can, then I'll take it. Bart says that we would be too vulnerable if I practiced legwork outside on the steps in the Ghetto Farm and Burgundy Bend. He's right, with all the recent close-call crime stories I hear about. So I just pretty much write and draw in my prison cell everyday without getting any fresh air. I do, however, open the curtain to let some sunshine in, but that's only for about 3 hours a day since I wake up at 2pm. Sometimes Bart will open the door and I can see the outside thru the locked bars. I stick my hand & arm out, and feel the weather run into my limb. I like the cool weather we are having this week. And I know it won't last long, but how would I really know, my fame keeps me from real world experiences. The price I have to pay.
Bart had his coffee, and we were both hungry so we decided to go to an uptown restaurant, our third place in public for the day before we headed back to once again, my trapped hard prison life.
"Scene 4: The Restaurant. ACTION."...
The Italian Bistro restaurant on Magazine St. is a little more than casual. My dress code was not appropriate, by all means. But that's all I have. I'm living in the Ghetto Far m now and all of my clothes are at Burgundy Bend. Bart had brought over a couple of my white short-sleeved tees and some undies, but I try to only ask Bart to bring over my essentials.
It was too cold to wear short sleeves. Bart let me borrow one of his shirts. I wore his maroon long-sleeved shirt, my gray warm-ups with pink thick strips going down the side of each part of the outer leg, yellow socks and white tennis shoes with aqua stripes. I put on my black denim jacket to tie-in my colorful attire all together. Let us not forget my knotted, filthy, and smelly dreadlock look. Nevertheless, who cares how I was dressed and smelled like; I'm a famous movie star.
The restaurant didn't have a runway. I had to use my walker. No problem. It's only 2 steps. I just back up into one; push myself up onto the first step. Then pivot to the front, place the walker onto the 2nd step, which is also the landing. Then push myself up onto the next level. My arms, stomach, and left leg muscle strength have really stepped up to the plate. Oopps, what about the brown blood stain on my butt? Oh, who cares when I look as good as I do.
The door opened for me. The maître de said hello and said my table was waiting for me. I made a comment as I passed him as he was staring and wondering whom I was. I guess he just couldn’t place me. No, I’m not Maggie Gyllenhaal in the film Mona Lisa's Smile, but good guess. She does kin da look like me. I added to his curious thought with a nod, "I broke 3 bones too". Wow, I got a sympathy sigh of “oouu”. Cool, I’m milking these bones! Bart thought he was being thoughtful when he requested the closest table to the door. Hell no! This star wanted to sit in their usual prime spot, before the accident.
Nice red wine, warm bread, Caesar salad, Rainbow trout with capers, and chocolate moose were served one by one. Ahh, it’s nice to be out in the atmosphere and enjoy the good life of no hassles of being famous like the normal people.
The maître de came over to the table to check on us as we finished our visit. He suggested that the restaurant had a ramp if I chose to use it when I left. What a very nice young man. Bart, my chaffer, went to get the car while I went to go check out the ramp. A far little walking distance, around the corner, in a dark alley, there stood an alone, lonely ramp. The deserted slope had a few leafs on it with more leafs being blown around in all kinds of directions by the cold wind.
"Scene 5: Leaving the Restaurant. ACTON."...
Is this guy crazy! WHAT IS THIS SHIT! This 23-year-old know-it-all doesn't know shit! I can't use that ramp with my walker. I would FALL ON MY ASS if I used that steep ass ramp! And who would catch me? Bart's gettin' the car. WHO, this stupid ass punk who suggested it in the first place!?--Does he even know who I think I am!
Maybe, it's a trick to get rid of me thru the back way. Maybe he wants to kill me for publicity. How DARE HE? What is he tired of catering to the rich and famous? THAT'S HIS JOB! This kid don't know nothing about nothing! My fans would be highly disappointed if they couldn't see their idol from across the street, while they sip on their beers, and sit in the outdoors of the Bulldog Bar & Grill, while I flash my stained presence upon them. My fans need me. My fans need to see me at the front entrance of the restaurant under their bright neon lights that say: If You Can Walk, You can Eat Restaurant. It’s fun to play with my fans. And I will not stand for ramping my ass under the buzzed sound of the broken, fused neon sign that says, The Fuck You If You Can't Walk Restaurant. I need the spot light. I need to be noticed in my fine threads and dreads.
A deranged stranger walked past me after I made my way down the two steps to ground level. He mumbled, “That’s what you signed up for” and kept walking. How did he know? I continued to get into my character and play my humble movie star part.
I made a mental note to look myself up on Youtube at the next opportunity. In my earlier days before my movie star fame, I acted on some TV shows like Survivor Metairie and did some singing stage performances with Delta Dawn before I got discovered. I only got 2 stars for the singing performanc e, but Survivor Metairie scored a big 5. I'm proud of all my earlier work. If you google, I think those two shows can still be seen on Youtube: Msh999's Channel. I think shows like U2 & GreenDay, a movie about musicians playing at the superdome while saints dropped food from the sky to the ants running around below them, and The Evolution of Dance, a story about a funny & talented comedian, can still be viewed on that channel as well. Maybe all of the shows on that channel could definitely be worth a view.
Yea, those were my earlier days of acting. I'm in various films now. Mostly comedy and suspense. I also did a horror film just recently. Some of my fans saw a sneak preview. It'll be joining Youtube soon. Maybe on the same network.
To be continued....
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
A Quick Job--VULGAR
January 14, 2009
"Sweetie, can you get me a rag please?" I was sitting on the toilet.
"They're all dirty." Bart replied. He only owns 3 hand cloths: 1 square, 1 rectangle, and 1 kitchen.
"Then how bout a couple of sheets of paper towels?" I paused, then added "Wet please."
"Sure, why?” Bart wondered out loud.
"Cause I want to clean my dried-up bloody coochie hairs."
"Sweetie, can you get me a rag please?" I was sitting on the toilet.
"They're all dirty." Bart replied. He only owns 3 hand cloths: 1 square, 1 rectangle, and 1 kitchen.
"Then how bout a couple of sheets of paper towels?" I paused, then added "Wet please."
"Sure, why?” Bart wondered out loud.
"Cause I want to clean my dried-up bloody coochie hairs."
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Being Followed
January 12, 2009
My left cheek was pressed up against the mattress. I could hear the ticking sound of some stopwatch. Faster than seconds. It was as if the bed was alive or that I was on top of a bomb, just waiting before it goes off. I pulled my cheek up from the bed. The noise had stopped. I put my cheek back to the same spot and I heard the sound again, and it was still ticking. It was faster than a heartbeat. I knew it was me. My pulse was having a good time while I was in pain.
I feel lifeless. No movement is in me. It's not my usual pain from the broken pelvis. This pain was different. It was menstrual pain. I'm lying on my stomach, staring toward the window. Not knowing or caring what I'm staring at. My lens is out of focus. I just know it's daylight, and I'm in severe pain. I took Ibuprofen the night before, but it didn't help. The pain is back, it never really left. I feel almost deadly. Bart went to the store to get Pamprin; meanwhile, I took a Buenos Aires muscle relaxer. It has helped in other ways, why wouldn’t it help in this way.
The menstrual pain is still there, but I can lay on my stomach without pelvic pain now, another position I found the other day, but can't bend the knees yet without the pelvic pain. Nevertheless, with this Buenos Aires muscle relaxer in my system, I can now move my right leg a little upward and onto the side to=2 0support my back so it wouldn't arch as much as when I’m laying straight.
The Buenos Aires muscle relaxer isn't getting rid of this menstrual pain. The relaxer has been so good to me in the past, especially when I tripped and fell down in Buenos Aires 3 or 4 months ago.
I'm still with pain, thinking of negative thoughts. I just want to get out of this dark, thick, quicksand like vomit pool, but the weight is heavy and I can't lift myself.
I'm s i n k i n g...zzzzz....
I'm awake, 3 hours later. It's getting dark outside. Bart had dropped off the Pamprin by my bedside and left again to do some work at his office. I'm still in the same position with the same pain, but the Buenos Aires muscle relaxer has worn off now and now my leg hurts in the bent position. I move my leg straight, to a non-hurting position. I took some Pamprin. Then took my caffeine kick, Adderall. I'm still lifeless in pain, with pain. Depressed about life. Staring at the window not caring or knowing what exactly what I was staring at and my lens continues to be out of focus.
My friend John once told me that it took effort to keep your eyes open. I remember laughing. No John, it takes effort to keep your eyes open when you’re sleepy and it takes effort to keep your eyes shut when you’re not. Silly John. "Oh, yea" he agreed. That conversation was years ago. I haven't seen him since he moved to DC.
Pain persisted and my lens starts to focus. The curtain is open and I can see the branches and leaves’ silhouettes with the lighter sky in the background. It's around 6:30pm or so. I normally close the curtain when it gets dark. But I don't have any will in me right now. I just want the pain to go away. I could use my backscratcher, a gift from Tim when he moved out of New Orleans. It has come in handy since the accident. It’s my extended arm invention used to move things, like that curtain to close. It fits in my bedroom attire too. It’s stained wood and I hang it on my Casablanca wall when I’m not using it. It looks like a horse’s whip, the riders use when they’re competing. I got rid of the broom that I used in my earlier days of peeping toms and the whisper. That broom stuck out like a sore thumb in my bedroom. It was too long, bright yellow, and had a clump at the end. I also have a metal cane, shaped like a candy cane, to help as well. It provides even a longer arm extension when I need something even further to reach. A gift from my Mom. The metal cane matches nicely with my aluminum walker.
The metal cane would work better to close the curtain in this situation, as I lay hopeless, in my painful need to get away from this menstrual pain. But I can't make the effort. I don't want to make the effort.
I'm in too m u c h p a i n...zzzz....
I wake up. It's around 7:30 or 8pm. The pain is still here. I manag e to drag myself to the nearest arm & close the curtain. The Pamprin didn't work either. Something is wrong with me. I need to get checked out. But I can't now. I have a broken pelvis. It needs to heal before I try to heal another problem near the same area.
The day after the fall, December 13, 2008, I started my period. And it lasted 11 days. My period has never lasted 11 days. Quite a long time. My bloody sheets and underwear were stained and changed very often. And this second bloody period since the fall is now causing me heavy menstrual pain. I've had menstrual pain before, but Pamprin always works for me. Not this time. Not Ibuprofen either, and not even the once miracle drug I call The Buenos Aires Muscle Relaxers.
Pain followed me thru the night and into the next day. Bart went to look for a stronger prescription drug at my house, then at the pharmacy. When I fell down in 3 or 4 months ago in Buenos Aires, it was a bad fall. I didn’t break a bone, but I bruised my hip, the same side of my pelvic bone break and I started having bad menstrual cramps even when I wasn't on my period. Then I started a week later, 2 weeks early from my regular cycle. A little more heavier & longer. Before both falls, I didn't have trouble with any damn periods. Since the falls, I start earlier, I cramp heavier & longer, and this 11-day newbie shit threw me for a fuckin' loop. Something is wrong with me. And nothing seems to help to make the pain go away. I'm not motivated. Not even the ADD pill helps at this point. I just lay here with pain, hoping it will go away soon. And I can't do anything about it. I can't, until I heal from this pelvic injury.
I force myself to write out of my misery, but my pain writes with me.
My left cheek was pressed up against the mattress. I could hear the ticking sound of some stopwatch. Faster than seconds. It was as if the bed was alive or that I was on top of a bomb, just waiting before it goes off. I pulled my cheek up from the bed. The noise had stopped. I put my cheek back to the same spot and I heard the sound again, and it was still ticking. It was faster than a heartbeat. I knew it was me. My pulse was having a good time while I was in pain.
I feel lifeless. No movement is in me. It's not my usual pain from the broken pelvis. This pain was different. It was menstrual pain. I'm lying on my stomach, staring toward the window. Not knowing or caring what I'm staring at. My lens is out of focus. I just know it's daylight, and I'm in severe pain. I took Ibuprofen the night before, but it didn't help. The pain is back, it never really left. I feel almost deadly. Bart went to the store to get Pamprin; meanwhile, I took a Buenos Aires muscle relaxer. It has helped in other ways, why wouldn’t it help in this way.
The menstrual pain is still there, but I can lay on my stomach without pelvic pain now, another position I found the other day, but can't bend the knees yet without the pelvic pain. Nevertheless, with this Buenos Aires muscle relaxer in my system, I can now move my right leg a little upward and onto the side to=2 0support my back so it wouldn't arch as much as when I’m laying straight.
The Buenos Aires muscle relaxer isn't getting rid of this menstrual pain. The relaxer has been so good to me in the past, especially when I tripped and fell down in Buenos Aires 3 or 4 months ago.
I'm still with pain, thinking of negative thoughts. I just want to get out of this dark, thick, quicksand like vomit pool, but the weight is heavy and I can't lift myself.
I'm s i n k i n g...zzzzz....
I'm awake, 3 hours later. It's getting dark outside. Bart had dropped off the Pamprin by my bedside and left again to do some work at his office. I'm still in the same position with the same pain, but the Buenos Aires muscle relaxer has worn off now and now my leg hurts in the bent position. I move my leg straight, to a non-hurting position. I took some Pamprin. Then took my caffeine kick, Adderall. I'm still lifeless in pain, with pain. Depressed about life. Staring at the window not caring or knowing what exactly what I was staring at and my lens continues to be out of focus.
My friend John once told me that it took effort to keep your eyes open. I remember laughing. No John, it takes effort to keep your eyes open when you’re sleepy and it takes effort to keep your eyes shut when you’re not. Silly John. "Oh, yea" he agreed. That conversation was years ago. I haven't seen him since he moved to DC.
Pain persisted and my lens starts to focus. The curtain is open and I can see the branches and leaves’ silhouettes with the lighter sky in the background. It's around 6:30pm or so. I normally close the curtain when it gets dark. But I don't have any will in me right now. I just want the pain to go away. I could use my backscratcher, a gift from Tim when he moved out of New Orleans. It has come in handy since the accident. It’s my extended arm invention used to move things, like that curtain to close. It fits in my bedroom attire too. It’s stained wood and I hang it on my Casablanca wall when I’m not using it. It looks like a horse’s whip, the riders use when they’re competing. I got rid of the broom that I used in my earlier days of peeping toms and the whisper. That broom stuck out like a sore thumb in my bedroom. It was too long, bright yellow, and had a clump at the end. I also have a metal cane, shaped like a candy cane, to help as well. It provides even a longer arm extension when I need something even further to reach. A gift from my Mom. The metal cane matches nicely with my aluminum walker.
The metal cane would work better to close the curtain in this situation, as I lay hopeless, in my painful need to get away from this menstrual pain. But I can't make the effort. I don't want to make the effort.
I'm in too m u c h p a i n...zzzz....
I wake up. It's around 7:30 or 8pm. The pain is still here. I manag e to drag myself to the nearest arm & close the curtain. The Pamprin didn't work either. Something is wrong with me. I need to get checked out. But I can't now. I have a broken pelvis. It needs to heal before I try to heal another problem near the same area.
The day after the fall, December 13, 2008, I started my period. And it lasted 11 days. My period has never lasted 11 days. Quite a long time. My bloody sheets and underwear were stained and changed very often. And this second bloody period since the fall is now causing me heavy menstrual pain. I've had menstrual pain before, but Pamprin always works for me. Not this time. Not Ibuprofen either, and not even the once miracle drug I call The Buenos Aires Muscle Relaxers.
Pain followed me thru the night and into the next day. Bart went to look for a stronger prescription drug at my house, then at the pharmacy. When I fell down in 3 or 4 months ago in Buenos Aires, it was a bad fall. I didn’t break a bone, but I bruised my hip, the same side of my pelvic bone break and I started having bad menstrual cramps even when I wasn't on my period. Then I started a week later, 2 weeks early from my regular cycle. A little more heavier & longer. Before both falls, I didn't have trouble with any damn periods. Since the falls, I start earlier, I cramp heavier & longer, and this 11-day newbie shit threw me for a fuckin' loop. Something is wrong with me. And nothing seems to help to make the pain go away. I'm not motivated. Not even the ADD pill helps at this point. I just lay here with pain, hoping it will go away soon. And I can't do anything about it. I can't, until I heal from this pelvic injury.
I force myself to write out of my misery, but my pain writes with me.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
I Had A Bad Dream
We were at my parents house. Some guy named Chance said I looked 52. Penny Marshall sat in my Dad's chair & wanted to be my lawyer. She had a firm with Cindy called Laverne & Shirley & Associates. She changed careers. I thought it was weird, but she showed me the commercial. Brad Pitt was taking a nap in my bedroom. Penny said he was friendly and funny, but needed his sleep because he had a long day of traveling. Another guy said it was the way I dressed. Then chimed in on another comment, that it was my arms too. I went to go wake up Brad Pitt. I wanted to see it he was friendly & funny. I wanted to see if he thought I looked older too. He was already awake, looking around in my closet.
Morning Calls
Jan. 9, 2009
It was early morning. I had wakened from a doze. I heard a cat's yell. It roared an expression of pain. It sounded like someone had stepped on its tail or that a car had rolled out of bed onto part of the sleeping cat. About 20 minutes later, I heard a high pitched cry, sounding like a kitten. It meowed 7 or so times, with about 10 second pauses in between. Maybe the kitten was calling to its mother so it could be fed. Maybe the kitten was crying in despair after seeing its mother lying down in some alley, barely alive. Then I heard a long & loud growl. The deep noise was near. It went for a while before it took another breath. There was a short pause, and then the second growl started up. This sound was much more distinct than the first. It harked a fast, continuous, heavier & louder tone, taking turns with each other, while catching its breath in between. I wasn't hungry.
It was early morning. I had wakened from a doze. I heard a cat's yell. It roared an expression of pain. It sounded like someone had stepped on its tail or that a car had rolled out of bed onto part of the sleeping cat. About 20 minutes later, I heard a high pitched cry, sounding like a kitten. It meowed 7 or so times, with about 10 second pauses in between. Maybe the kitten was calling to its mother so it could be fed. Maybe the kitten was crying in despair after seeing its mother lying down in some alley, barely alive. Then I heard a long & loud growl. The deep noise was near. It went for a while before it took another breath. There was a short pause, and then the second growl started up. This sound was much more distinct than the first. It harked a fast, continuous, heavier & louder tone, taking turns with each other, while catching its breath in between. I wasn't hungry.
Head Ready for Explosion
January 7, 2009
Why would I want to go back to work? I get paid for not working. I get paid for doing nothing. And it's great! I live in the House of Entertainment on a Ghetto Farm. I live near an ocean & there's a bowling alley round the corner. Yea, that’s right. I bowl & surf, sometimes in one day. I also have a knack for dancing & hunting as well. I exercise here & there, and practice yoga. I also play games, & watch movies & sit-coms without commercial interruptions. Life’s pretty good in this House of Entertainment. If I don’t want to go to the bathroom, the bathroom comes to me. I eat what I want. I eat & sleep when I want. Yea, I’m rich too. I have a personal trainer, a personal assistant, and a business assistant. They all come to me & they all run errands for me. Yea, Life's real good. Who needs to work when you can milk it as long as I can!
See ya later, bitches. I'm gonna bowl myself down Hallway Lane now and try to make it over 2 thresholds.
o---tic---tic---tic---tic---tic-------o------------------O--tic--tic--tic--tic ----------O-tic-tic-tic-tic-------Otictictictictictic______M...
Awww. Damn my leg. AHHHHHH....
Why would I want to go back to work? I get paid for not working. I get paid for doing nothing. And it's great! I live in the House of Entertainment on a Ghetto Farm. I live near an ocean & there's a bowling alley round the corner. Yea, that’s right. I bowl & surf, sometimes in one day. I also have a knack for dancing & hunting as well. I exercise here & there, and practice yoga. I also play games, & watch movies & sit-coms without commercial interruptions. Life’s pretty good in this House of Entertainment. If I don’t want to go to the bathroom, the bathroom comes to me. I eat what I want. I eat & sleep when I want. Yea, I’m rich too. I have a personal trainer, a personal assistant, and a business assistant. They all come to me & they all run errands for me. Yea, Life's real good. Who needs to work when you can milk it as long as I can!
See ya later, bitches. I'm gonna bowl myself down Hallway Lane now and try to make it over 2 thresholds.
o---tic---tic---tic---tic---tic-------o------------------O--tic--tic--tic--tic ----------O-tic-tic-tic-tic-------Otictictictictictic______M...
Awww. Damn my leg. AHHHHHH....
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Game Night at Msh’s
January 5, 2009
I think it's the Vincent who doesn't like the mushrooms.
Who else in this group doesn’t like the mushrooms?
I’m sure Carlos likes Msh's room.
But does Carlos like the mushroom?
Is it the Jason, the King of big and small
Who doesn't like any mushroom at all?
Is Julie and Brandon on that list too?
How ‘bout a Gina & a S p a c e s--any one of you?
Now MP & Tim, I’m not too sure of you.
Do you not like the mushroom too?
I know there's a Lloyd and a Msh and a Deb
We all loved mushrooms, that’s what we said.
But it was the smirk on the faces that did it for me.
A group’s decision, “No mushrooms,” they plead.
And thru the whole night, not a mushroom in sight.
The mushroom lovers did not put up a fight...
Oh I miss my mushroom delight!
A poem by Deb. Inspired by Bart, the man who doesn’t like mushrooms.
I think it's the Vincent who doesn't like the mushrooms.
Who else in this group doesn’t like the mushrooms?
I’m sure Carlos likes Msh's room.
But does Carlos like the mushroom?
Is it the Jason, the King of big and small
Who doesn't like any mushroom at all?
Is Julie and Brandon on that list too?
How ‘bout a Gina & a S p a c e s--any one of you?
Now MP & Tim, I’m not too sure of you.
Do you not like the mushroom too?
I know there's a Lloyd and a Msh and a Deb
We all loved mushrooms, that’s what we said.
But it was the smirk on the faces that did it for me.
A group’s decision, “No mushrooms,” they plead.
And thru the whole night, not a mushroom in sight.
The mushroom lovers did not put up a fight...
Oh I miss my mushroom delight!
A poem by Deb. Inspired by Bart, the man who doesn’t like mushrooms.
Bart on the Bend
January 4, 2008
It was around 9pm-ish, Christmas Eve 2008, 12 days since the accident. Bart went to go feed my cats on the Bend, and spent some time with them as well, before heading home for the night, like the usual new routine. He then gave me a call about an hour later saying he was on his way. That's what I heard.
An hour went by. Bart wasn‘t home. We live only seven blocks away from each other, a 3-minute drive. I called his cell, he didn’t answer. I left vmail, I texted him too, but received no reply.
I started wondering what had happened to Bart. The worse thoughts and worries started swimming around me. I'm lying helpless on my back, staring at the ceiling from above and thinking that something bad had happened to Bart. The tear flow began. The weeping sound was loud and getting louder. Repeatedly, I could not turn it off.
A few days before, there was a recent robbery across the street from my Burgundy Bend house, Tim & Nathaniel, Matt, & Susie's old house. The new girl tenant was sitting on her front porch, doing some reading, enjoying her late afternoon in the spirited neighborhood. A gun then slid in front of her & tiptoed to her head and demanded her purse. Fortunately, the Christmas robber did not kill her. However, the girl was really traumatized. Bart hasn't seen her on her porch since the event. She would often smoke her cigarette s there.
So I'm lying on my back, hysterically crying, and thinking, that's the reason why Bart isn't here yet. He got held up by a Christmas robber and his gun. And this time, the Christmas robber shot his victim. And Bart is now laying down on the street, bleeding to death by the rupture of two bullet holes in the chest area, in front of his van, in front of my shotgun, on the Bend. This time the robber said, "what the hell, it's Christmas."
My crying continued out of control. And now Bart’s dead as a door nail or almost dead, blood seeping out of the two bullet holes. And no one is near him to see if he even has a fighting chance. And I’m helpless; I've lost Bart for good, just my luck. I'm caged-in & locked-up in this house, and I can't walk, much less crawl to solve the mystery.
My thoughts continued out of control as well. Maybe Bart is still alive in his pool of blood. And he's trying to drag himself to the nearest help. And his voice can't be heard by his weakening holler and the blood is vomiting out of his body faster than he's trailing it to safety.
More minutes ticked by and my thoughts encouraged the recent thoughts & welcomed more alarmed thoughts. Something had happened to Bart. Bart would have contacted me otherwise. He means what he says. He says what he means. So when Bart says he's on his way home, then he's on his way home.
I'm crying, still crying. Oh, I know, I can call my nei ghbor Joe. He can check out the bloody site. Joe was home, he answered his phone. At first, my panicky sobs kept him from understanding me. I was talking in tongues on a tangent. "Slow down, slow down, take a deep breath," he said. After hearing the fast scoop, Joe said he would check it out and call me back shortly.
I’m waiting and waiting, and crying and crying, and thinking and thinking, and praying and praying to someone who would listen to my frantic feelings. “Please don’t let anything happen to him, please.” over and over I said. “God please let Bart be alive and okay, please.” I plead with Him as well, “I’ll do anything, I’ll go back to work!" I spoke loudly for anyone to hear, for Him to hear.
The short time I've had off from the agonizing pain of the pelvic and wrist bone fractures have been quite adventurous and very enjoyable.
A second later, Bart calls. Nothing had happened to him, he was okay! What a relief and a load off the shoulders. Bart forgot his phone in my shotgun house on the bend. He had made a quick stop to pick up a few groceries at the nearby Mardi Gras Zone and then realized he didn't have his phone with him. So he retraced his steps and ran into Joe.
Bart’s voice calmed me down. I forgot he had told me earlier he was making a stop to the Zone first before coming home.
And damn, because of my freak-out & memory loss, I=2 0have to keep my promise to someone and go back to work when I can walk again!
Workless for a short while, :(
deb
It was around 9pm-ish, Christmas Eve 2008, 12 days since the accident. Bart went to go feed my cats on the Bend, and spent some time with them as well, before heading home for the night, like the usual new routine. He then gave me a call about an hour later saying he was on his way. That's what I heard.
An hour went by. Bart wasn‘t home. We live only seven blocks away from each other, a 3-minute drive. I called his cell, he didn’t answer. I left vmail, I texted him too, but received no reply.
I started wondering what had happened to Bart. The worse thoughts and worries started swimming around me. I'm lying helpless on my back, staring at the ceiling from above and thinking that something bad had happened to Bart. The tear flow began. The weeping sound was loud and getting louder. Repeatedly, I could not turn it off.
A few days before, there was a recent robbery across the street from my Burgundy Bend house, Tim & Nathaniel, Matt, & Susie's old house. The new girl tenant was sitting on her front porch, doing some reading, enjoying her late afternoon in the spirited neighborhood. A gun then slid in front of her & tiptoed to her head and demanded her purse. Fortunately, the Christmas robber did not kill her. However, the girl was really traumatized. Bart hasn't seen her on her porch since the event. She would often smoke her cigarette s there.
So I'm lying on my back, hysterically crying, and thinking, that's the reason why Bart isn't here yet. He got held up by a Christmas robber and his gun. And this time, the Christmas robber shot his victim. And Bart is now laying down on the street, bleeding to death by the rupture of two bullet holes in the chest area, in front of his van, in front of my shotgun, on the Bend. This time the robber said, "what the hell, it's Christmas."
My crying continued out of control. And now Bart’s dead as a door nail or almost dead, blood seeping out of the two bullet holes. And no one is near him to see if he even has a fighting chance. And I’m helpless; I've lost Bart for good, just my luck. I'm caged-in & locked-up in this house, and I can't walk, much less crawl to solve the mystery.
My thoughts continued out of control as well. Maybe Bart is still alive in his pool of blood. And he's trying to drag himself to the nearest help. And his voice can't be heard by his weakening holler and the blood is vomiting out of his body faster than he's trailing it to safety.
More minutes ticked by and my thoughts encouraged the recent thoughts & welcomed more alarmed thoughts. Something had happened to Bart. Bart would have contacted me otherwise. He means what he says. He says what he means. So when Bart says he's on his way home, then he's on his way home.
I'm crying, still crying. Oh, I know, I can call my nei ghbor Joe. He can check out the bloody site. Joe was home, he answered his phone. At first, my panicky sobs kept him from understanding me. I was talking in tongues on a tangent. "Slow down, slow down, take a deep breath," he said. After hearing the fast scoop, Joe said he would check it out and call me back shortly.
I’m waiting and waiting, and crying and crying, and thinking and thinking, and praying and praying to someone who would listen to my frantic feelings. “Please don’t let anything happen to him, please.” over and over I said. “God please let Bart be alive and okay, please.” I plead with Him as well, “I’ll do anything, I’ll go back to work!" I spoke loudly for anyone to hear, for Him to hear.
The short time I've had off from the agonizing pain of the pelvic and wrist bone fractures have been quite adventurous and very enjoyable.
A second later, Bart calls. Nothing had happened to him, he was okay! What a relief and a load off the shoulders. Bart forgot his phone in my shotgun house on the bend. He had made a quick stop to pick up a few groceries at the nearby Mardi Gras Zone and then realized he didn't have his phone with him. So he retraced his steps and ran into Joe.
Bart’s voice calmed me down. I forgot he had told me earlier he was making a stop to the Zone first before coming home.
And damn, because of my freak-out & memory loss, I=2 0have to keep my promise to someone and go back to work when I can walk again!
Workless for a short while, :(
deb
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Prison
Dec. 31, 2008
I can't sleep.
The days and nights run in to each other. I can't sleep.
Thoughts barricade my brain. I can't get out. I can't sleep.
Let me think of a plan to escape. Damn, another thought.
I can't sleep.
The days and nights run in to each other. I can't sleep.
Thoughts barricade my brain. I can't get out. I can't sleep.
Let me think of a plan to escape. Damn, another thought.
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