Ok, so I've done a lot of whining on here, but hey, this blog is like my diary. And no one is going to read this anyway, except for my friend Chuck, and hopefully, he'll be understanding. The point is, I've been bitching and moaning - and I know that - but, I think it's important to make note of any progress or improvements in my condition.
I went to work today and made it through the entire day. I wasn't at my best, but I got through. That's an achievement in my book. So, HOORAY! for me.
How's that for being positive?
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
My heart (update).
I'm waiting to see the cardiologist at the end of September. I feel as if valuable time is being squandered. Like I need something done right now. There's something amiss with my heart, something amiss within the core of my being. I'm a house of cards - there's an emptiness at the center of my structure - and it could all come tumbling down at any moment. That's a frightening feeling.
Everyone says "Relax," "Take it easy," "Don't over do it," and they mean well, but with my condition, it doesn't matter what I do. When it comes time to happen, it's gonna happen. I have no control over it. There are really no steps to take to prevent an occurrence, to lessen the risk, other than the medication.
The new meds are making me feel awful. I'm tired, sluggish, dizzy, shaky, jumpy and I can't sleep or think clearly. I'm a mess. I'm hoping it's just the meds making me feel this way. If so, it could be that after my body adjusts to them, I'll feel better. But, I'm not overly confident that that's going to be the case. I think this may be my new reality.
I keep a phone within reach at all times. If I walk from one side of a room to the other, I take the phone. Those who know me, know I'm not a phone person, but, you know, it's the new reality I alluded to.
I'm re-reading books that I love. Re-watching movies that mean something to me. I just watched "Manhattan" for the umpteenth time. Boy, that Mariel Hemingway breaks my heart every time...
Everyone says "Relax," "Take it easy," "Don't over do it," and they mean well, but with my condition, it doesn't matter what I do. When it comes time to happen, it's gonna happen. I have no control over it. There are really no steps to take to prevent an occurrence, to lessen the risk, other than the medication.
The new meds are making me feel awful. I'm tired, sluggish, dizzy, shaky, jumpy and I can't sleep or think clearly. I'm a mess. I'm hoping it's just the meds making me feel this way. If so, it could be that after my body adjusts to them, I'll feel better. But, I'm not overly confident that that's going to be the case. I think this may be my new reality.
I keep a phone within reach at all times. If I walk from one side of a room to the other, I take the phone. Those who know me, know I'm not a phone person, but, you know, it's the new reality I alluded to.
I'm re-reading books that I love. Re-watching movies that mean something to me. I just watched "Manhattan" for the umpteenth time. Boy, that Mariel Hemingway breaks my heart every time...
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Olonso (epilogue)
As the year ended, with Capricorn (Floyd), Amanda and D.CapricornC. (Debbie) gone, I shook hands with Mr.C - the man who, to me, seemed to know something more. He was a vegetarian, an actor, singer, pianist, dancer. He had lived in N.Y.C. He had the nerve to wear an ear ring (gasp!) in the early 70s in the backwoods of my home town. He was my teacher and my friend.
Mr.C said, "You were the prize." I looked at him, puzzled. "You were the prize in the Cracker Jack box." he smiled.
I only talked to him once since. It was when my father died. He called and it really helped me. I would like to see him again.
(Author's note:
I actually saw Mr.C several times after writing this. In fact, I saw him a couple of years ago, under rather odd circumstances - nearly 35 years after Olonso was written.
Mr.C once told me that he thought it was cool the way I spelled "Olonso." I thought I was spelling "Alonzo." I never confessed I didn't do it on purpose...)
Mr.C said, "You were the prize." I looked at him, puzzled. "You were the prize in the Cracker Jack box." he smiled.
I only talked to him once since. It was when my father died. He called and it really helped me. I would like to see him again.
(Author's note:
I actually saw Mr.C several times after writing this. In fact, I saw him a couple of years ago, under rather odd circumstances - nearly 35 years after Olonso was written.
Mr.C once told me that he thought it was cool the way I spelled "Olonso." I thought I was spelling "Alonzo." I never confessed I didn't do it on purpose...)
Olonso
Mon. 4/29/74
Dear Olonso,
This may be the last time I'll write you. I'm not sure.
I think I'll probably finish up the week with you and then stop writing you. Then maybe, after a while, I'll start writing you again.
I hope I can get my book ready to publish before March of next year. I have not been able to get up with Libra in order to get it together.
Well, gotta go!
J.N. Virgo
(Mr.C comments:
What book are you writing?)
Dear Olonso,
This may be the last time I'll write you. I'm not sure.
I think I'll probably finish up the week with you and then stop writing you. Then maybe, after a while, I'll start writing you again.
I hope I can get my book ready to publish before March of next year. I have not been able to get up with Libra in order to get it together.
Well, gotta go!
J.N. Virgo
(Mr.C comments:
What book are you writing?)
Olonso
Tue. 3/26/74
Dear Olonso,
Well, D.CapricornC. is moving tomorrow. I can hardly stand it. I will mourn D.CapricornC.'s death in my life...
...I have this book called "Poems of Moore"...
Dear Olonso,
Well, D.CapricornC. is moving tomorrow. I can hardly stand it. I will mourn D.CapricornC.'s death in my life...
...I have this book called "Poems of Moore"...
Olonso
Thur. 3/4/74
...that last poem I wrote really drained me...
..."Man and Magic"...
...Aries2 let me borrow his book "Fifty Years a Medium"...
..."Witchcraft and Magic"...
(Mr.C comments:
Jimmi,
The mind drains one faster than working in the fields all day, doesn't it?
Those books sound very interesting.)
...that last poem I wrote really drained me...
..."Man and Magic"...
...Aries2 let me borrow his book "Fifty Years a Medium"...
..."Witchcraft and Magic"...
(Mr.C comments:
Jimmi,
The mind drains one faster than working in the fields all day, doesn't it?
Those books sound very interesting.)
Olonso
3/6/74
Dear Olonso,
...is called "Man and Magic"...
I can't ever think of anything to write. This bothers me greatly...
(Mr.C comments:
Sometimes we feel drained and like a well, we have to just wait for the water to fill us once more.)
Dear Olonso,
...is called "Man and Magic"...
I can't ever think of anything to write. This bothers me greatly...
(Mr.C comments:
Sometimes we feel drained and like a well, we have to just wait for the water to fill us once more.)
Olonso
Fri. 2/22/74
...Capricorn is gone and I miss him...
...Amanda, who moved, sent me a letter. I got it today. I am going to write her.
...Sybil Leek... Aleister Crowley...
...Capricorn is gone and I miss him...
...Amanda, who moved, sent me a letter. I got it today. I am going to write her.
...Sybil Leek... Aleister Crowley...
Olonso
Wed. 2/20/74
...tomorrow is Capricorn's last day and one of the worst things that has ever happened to me...
...tomorrow is Capricorn's last day and one of the worst things that has ever happened to me...
Olonso
Thur. 2/19/74
The flowers of the field
The breeze constantly makes wild accusations toward them
unable to respond in battle, they just endure it.
The flowers of the field
The breeze constantly makes wild accusations toward them
unable to respond in battle, they just endure it.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Olonso
Tue. 2/12/74
Dear Olonso,
The other day I gave Libra Aries' key to find mine. A day ago, knowing that I had lost it on the football field, I found my key at home, where I had looked thousands of times. The key was right in front of me in a cabinet. I told Libra, but I haven't told Aries yet.
Well, I have to go. Good bye.
J.N.Virgo
(Author's note:
Here ends journal No. 2.)
Dear Olonso,
The other day I gave Libra Aries' key to find mine. A day ago, knowing that I had lost it on the football field, I found my key at home, where I had looked thousands of times. The key was right in front of me in a cabinet. I told Libra, but I haven't told Aries yet.
Well, I have to go. Good bye.
J.N.Virgo
(Author's note:
Here ends journal No. 2.)
Olonso
Mon. 2/4/74
Hello Olonso,
I've missed you.
Well, I've just finished a 4 page poem and I think I'll call it "(Worlds)".
We have a test tomorrow in Ms. Spiliotis' room.
Capricorn is going to move to Southport soon. That's bad.
Libra makes me feel so inferior that I hate to see him. But, I have to give him Aries' key to find mine...
Well, I'll leave you with this Aries/Virgo/Capricorn/Sagittarius saying: "Nothing has to be something in order to be nothing."
(Author's note:
The rough composition of "(Worlds)" was 4 pages, in rather large handwriting. I had been reading Thomas Moore and was astonished at poetry that was more than a page long.)
Hello Olonso,
I've missed you.
Well, I've just finished a 4 page poem and I think I'll call it "(Worlds)".
We have a test tomorrow in Ms. Spiliotis' room.
Capricorn is going to move to Southport soon. That's bad.
Libra makes me feel so inferior that I hate to see him. But, I have to give him Aries' key to find mine...
Well, I'll leave you with this Aries/Virgo/Capricorn/Sagittarius saying: "Nothing has to be something in order to be nothing."
(Author's note:
The rough composition of "(Worlds)" was 4 pages, in rather large handwriting. I had been reading Thomas Moore and was astonished at poetry that was more than a page long.)
Olonso
Thur. 1/10/74
...Libra said that he and G.LibraD. were at a charcoal circle on the grave of a girl who they think is trying to possess someone. Libra sat within the circle and G.LibraD. got real cold and started shaking and staring at Libra with a weird look in his eyes. He ran at the circle and tried to get in, but Libra held him off with some kind of force field. There were 2 bystanders and one had a cross, trying to be funny. He got scared and threw the cross at G.LibraD. I don't know what happened then.
J.N. Virgo
...Libra said that he and G.LibraD. were at a charcoal circle on the grave of a girl who they think is trying to possess someone. Libra sat within the circle and G.LibraD. got real cold and started shaking and staring at Libra with a weird look in his eyes. He ran at the circle and tried to get in, but Libra held him off with some kind of force field. There were 2 bystanders and one had a cross, trying to be funny. He got scared and threw the cross at G.LibraD. I don't know what happened then.
J.N. Virgo
Olonso
Fri. 1/4/74
Dear Olonso,
The earth is only a speck of dust
In the eye of one who knows it not.
As the green grass bends with the summer rain
The thought of you, I want to see you again.
As the snow gracefully falls to the brown grass below
I think of your life, very much as the snow
Falling to brighten a sky of dark grey
But then I turn around and you've melted away
Going to stay, forever and a day
Until you come back again.
(Mr.C comments:
Make copies of these, if you please, for me. Thanks!)
Dear Olonso,
The earth is only a speck of dust
In the eye of one who knows it not.
As the green grass bends with the summer rain
The thought of you, I want to see you again.
As the snow gracefully falls to the brown grass below
I think of your life, very much as the snow
Falling to brighten a sky of dark grey
But then I turn around and you've melted away
Going to stay, forever and a day
Until you come back again.
(Mr.C comments:
Make copies of these, if you please, for me. Thanks!)
Olonso
Thur. 1/3/74
Dear Olonso,
I had a vision, on the 29th of December, about Libra. He was reading something. On January 1st, I had another vision. It was a very famous man who lived sometime in the 1400's. He was reading as Libra was. Then I saw Libra reading again. I think he has been reincarnated.
On the 29th, I also had a dream of going to my uncle's house to borrow a "food tube". Looking in the cabinet that was pointed out to me, I saw a violin. My cousin said he played it. I told him I'd like to be able to play violin and he said that he knew. He said my friend (he said the name incorrectly, but I knew he was talking about Aries2) had told him. He also said that Taurus, Libra's brother, had been copying out of my journal. (You, Olonso!) He showed me some of it...
Dear Olonso,
I had a vision, on the 29th of December, about Libra. He was reading something. On January 1st, I had another vision. It was a very famous man who lived sometime in the 1400's. He was reading as Libra was. Then I saw Libra reading again. I think he has been reincarnated.
On the 29th, I also had a dream of going to my uncle's house to borrow a "food tube". Looking in the cabinet that was pointed out to me, I saw a violin. My cousin said he played it. I told him I'd like to be able to play violin and he said that he knew. He said my friend (he said the name incorrectly, but I knew he was talking about Aries2) had told him. He also said that Taurus, Libra's brother, had been copying out of my journal. (You, Olonso!) He showed me some of it...
Olonso
Wed. 1/2/74
Hi Olonso,
Today is the first day back at school after the Christmas vacation.
...Mr.C, why "Moby Dick?" Oh well, why anything?
...have begun to look at everyone and everything as a brother or a sister...
(Mr.C comments:
Did you write this before or after we talked?)
Hi Olonso,
Today is the first day back at school after the Christmas vacation.
...Mr.C, why "Moby Dick?" Oh well, why anything?
...have begun to look at everyone and everything as a brother or a sister...
(Mr.C comments:
Did you write this before or after we talked?)
Olonso
Tue. 12/18/73
Dear Olonso,
...got this book called "The Teenager's Realistic Guide to Astrology." It has all kinds of useful information...
Dear Olonso,
...got this book called "The Teenager's Realistic Guide to Astrology." It has all kinds of useful information...
Olonso
Fri. 12/14/73
...white form tearing rings from her fingers. The rings had belonged to the man's deceased wife...
...white form tearing rings from her fingers. The rings had belonged to the man's deceased wife...
Olonso
Tue. 12/11/73
Dear Olonso,
I have this library book called "Science and the Secret of Man's Past." It is a very good book.
I have a book at home called "Prominent American Ghosts." One story tells how this poltergeist...
Dear Olonso,
I have this library book called "Science and the Secret of Man's Past." It is a very good book.
I have a book at home called "Prominent American Ghosts." One story tells how this poltergeist...
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Olonso
Mon. 12/10/73
...I feel really bad about D.CapricornC. because of what Aries has been telling her. I don't understand either of them...
...I feel really bad about D.CapricornC. because of what Aries has been telling her. I don't understand either of them...
Olonso
Fri. 12/7/73
...I saw Amanda a lot yesterday...
I need very much to see Aries. Very much.
Should I see, to make more of a turmoil, or should I go through life blindfolded, ignorant of the things around me?
...I saw Amanda a lot yesterday...
I need very much to see Aries. Very much.
Should I see, to make more of a turmoil, or should I go through life blindfolded, ignorant of the things around me?
Olonso
Wed. 12/5/73
Dear Olonso,
Today we go to art class...
I love D.CapricornC. a lot...
I believe what Aries said about us needing a conversation.
Why go into details? I mean, it could go on forever. And why teach someone something that other people believe, the way they see it?
I don't care about completing things anymore.
(Mr.C comments:
Think about it. Sometimes I feel the same way, but I know I must complete things to complete my life.)
Dear Olonso,
Today we go to art class...
I love D.CapricornC. a lot...
I believe what Aries said about us needing a conversation.
Why go into details? I mean, it could go on forever. And why teach someone something that other people believe, the way they see it?
I don't care about completing things anymore.
(Mr.C comments:
Think about it. Sometimes I feel the same way, but I know I must complete things to complete my life.)
Olonso
Tue. 12/4/73
Dear Olonso,
"D.CapricornC."
The most wonderful person in the world
So full of love to give
Her existence, her living
Makes me want to live...
Dear Olonso,
"D.CapricornC."
The most wonderful person in the world
So full of love to give
Her existence, her living
Makes me want to live...
Olonso
Mon. 12/3/73
Dear Olonso,
I had a dream, over the weekend, about Aries. He was dead. Everyone I saw told me he was dead. I looked all over for him. Capricorn, who has always seemed kind of jealous of Aries, for some reason, told me that he was glad that Aries was dead. He said that he had gotten rid of someone who was always messing up his life.
I had almost gone crazy, when I saw Aries, alive, sitting on some bleachers at school. Wow, I was glad to see him! That dream was so real.
I thought about Libra and had an urge to see him, but I decided I didn't need Cult II.
(Author's note:
Cult II was Libra's "coven.")
Dear Olonso,
I had a dream, over the weekend, about Aries. He was dead. Everyone I saw told me he was dead. I looked all over for him. Capricorn, who has always seemed kind of jealous of Aries, for some reason, told me that he was glad that Aries was dead. He said that he had gotten rid of someone who was always messing up his life.
I had almost gone crazy, when I saw Aries, alive, sitting on some bleachers at school. Wow, I was glad to see him! That dream was so real.
I thought about Libra and had an urge to see him, but I decided I didn't need Cult II.
(Author's note:
Cult II was Libra's "coven.")
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Olonso
Fri. 11/30/73
Dear Olonso,
...I once thought of becoming a Parapsychologist, but...
I really don't understand Aries2 as much as I thought I did - although we are becoming good friends. D.CapricornC. also...
Taurus, your book (The Little Prince) is so simple but so meaningful...
(Mr.C comments:
Good.)
Dear Olonso,
...I once thought of becoming a Parapsychologist, but...
I really don't understand Aries2 as much as I thought I did - although we are becoming good friends. D.CapricornC. also...
Taurus, your book (The Little Prince) is so simple but so meaningful...
(Mr.C comments:
Good.)
Olonso
Thur. 11/29/73
Dear Olonso,
We practiced for our play today.
Floyd M. came back after 3 days absence.
Aries said that D.CapricornC. was trying to get me on her side against him. I don't think D.CapricornC. would do something like that.. What I think is really happening is that Aries is doing things that I'm against, and I thought he was against, and he is using D.CapricornC. as a cover-up.
Dear Olonso,
We practiced for our play today.
Floyd M. came back after 3 days absence.
Aries said that D.CapricornC. was trying to get me on her side against him. I don't think D.CapricornC. would do something like that.. What I think is really happening is that Aries is doing things that I'm against, and I thought he was against, and he is using D.CapricornC. as a cover-up.
Olonso
Tue. 11/27//73
Dear Olonso,
I don't understand Aries. He was so against things like smoking, drinking and drugs, and now I hear he is smoking again. He is also acting very immaturely.
Then there's D.CapricornC., who tells me all sorts of things that don't make sense. It's all so confusing.
Then there's Aries2, who is also confusing me...
Well, I can't begin to understand them until I understand myself - and I'm working on that.
J.N. Virgo
Dear Olonso,
I don't understand Aries. He was so against things like smoking, drinking and drugs, and now I hear he is smoking again. He is also acting very immaturely.
Then there's D.CapricornC., who tells me all sorts of things that don't make sense. It's all so confusing.
Then there's Aries2, who is also confusing me...
Well, I can't begin to understand them until I understand myself - and I'm working on that.
J.N. Virgo
Olonso
Mon. 11/26/73
Hi Olonso,
How I try to be cheerful! Don't you like the new composition book? I like it because it's green and that's my favorite color - because it reminds me of the Orient and the earth...
Now I realize the effects the stones were having on me and I'm glad I threw them away.
Well, Taurus (not Libra's brother), sometimes I guess Olonso IS you.
J.N. Virgo
Hi Olonso,
How I try to be cheerful! Don't you like the new composition book? I like it because it's green and that's my favorite color - because it reminds me of the Orient and the earth...
Now I realize the effects the stones were having on me and I'm glad I threw them away.
Well, Taurus (not Libra's brother), sometimes I guess Olonso IS you.
J.N. Virgo
Olonso
Fri. 11/16/73
Dear Olonso,
I just threw away something that had become a part of me. I guess it's good that I did, because my beliefs were changing because of it - like unconsciously. The item was the rock Aries gave me. I was becoming afraid of the powers of it, so, under the supervision of Aries, I threw it away. Although the other 2 rocks I carry don't mean that much to me, I'll throw them away, too...
J.N.
(Author's note:
Here ends journal no. 1.)
Dear Olonso,
I just threw away something that had become a part of me. I guess it's good that I did, because my beliefs were changing because of it - like unconsciously. The item was the rock Aries gave me. I was becoming afraid of the powers of it, so, under the supervision of Aries, I threw it away. Although the other 2 rocks I carry don't mean that much to me, I'll throw them away, too...
J.N.
(Author's note:
Here ends journal no. 1.)
Olonso
Wed. 11/14/73
Dear Olonso,
I have sought long enough, I now have found - although we could go deeper, Olonso. You know who we are talking about.
I haven't seen Libra lately. I don't really care to...
I want to see Aries so badly...
Capricorn confuses me. First he's with me, then he's against me. I worry about it a lot...
Dear Olonso,
I have sought long enough, I now have found - although we could go deeper, Olonso. You know who we are talking about.
I haven't seen Libra lately. I don't really care to...
I want to see Aries so badly...
Capricorn confuses me. First he's with me, then he's against me. I worry about it a lot...
Olonso
Tue. 11/13/73
Dear Olonso,
...Mr.C, what is your sign of the zodiac? I ask you even though you'll probably say, "I do not worship the stars, only the Supreme Being who created them and us." Does that not sound like you?
(Mr.C comments:
Taurus.)
Dear Olonso,
...Mr.C, what is your sign of the zodiac? I ask you even though you'll probably say, "I do not worship the stars, only the Supreme Being who created them and us." Does that not sound like you?
(Mr.C comments:
Taurus.)
Olonso
Thur. 11/12/73
Dear Olonso,
I guess I held on long enough. It IS coming to me.
"The Family" doesn't get together much. I hope we can stay together. Old ideas are disappearing and new and better ones are taking their places. I love our Family. That is, I love all of B.I.S. (Brothers in Search).
This part is dedicated to Mr.C: You're neither of the two - Leo or Libra - and, of course, you're not G.LibraD....
Dear Olonso,
I guess I held on long enough. It IS coming to me.
"The Family" doesn't get together much. I hope we can stay together. Old ideas are disappearing and new and better ones are taking their places. I love our Family. That is, I love all of B.I.S. (Brothers in Search).
This part is dedicated to Mr.C: You're neither of the two - Leo or Libra - and, of course, you're not G.LibraD....
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Olonso
Thur. 11/8/73 Don't read.
Fri. 11/9/73 Do not read.
(Mr.C comments:
a. Why can't I read these things? Maybe it can help us communicate.
b. When you finish "Moby Dick," I have another book I want you to read - "The Master Guide to Psychism.")
Fri. 11/9/73 Do not read.
(Mr.C comments:
a. Why can't I read these things? Maybe it can help us communicate.
b. When you finish "Moby Dick," I have another book I want you to read - "The Master Guide to Psychism.")
Olonso
Wed. 11/7/73
Dear Olonso,
We are really getting our organization going now. "The Family" really loves one another. The last thing (Oriental West) died within about 24 hours. I think it's great this time.
The world confuses me. I've turned to meditation. It makes me feel great with the world. Of course, it takes more than one session to...
I'm not going to say anything to Mr.C, but the name "Andrews" keeps popping up in my head, in association with him.
J.N. Virgo
(Authors note:
I meant to write "Don't read" at the top of the page.)
(Mr.C comments:
He was my next door neighbor when I lived with my family. We were close friends.)
Dear Olonso,
We are really getting our organization going now. "The Family" really loves one another. The last thing (Oriental West) died within about 24 hours. I think it's great this time.
The world confuses me. I've turned to meditation. It makes me feel great with the world. Of course, it takes more than one session to...
I'm not going to say anything to Mr.C, but the name "Andrews" keeps popping up in my head, in association with him.
J.N. Virgo
(Authors note:
I meant to write "Don't read" at the top of the page.)
(Mr.C comments:
He was my next door neighbor when I lived with my family. We were close friends.)
Olonso
Tue. 11/6/73
Dear Olonso,
I believe that A.D.K. hasn't found herself. I don't know. I'm confused!
Mr.C IS psychic... The "T" he wrote in my dream was either for Tom or Tony and the "D" was for David. Now I have to find out if this guy has curly hair nearly down to his shoulders and maybe plays in a band, or something.
(Mr.C comments:
Curly and only half down to his shoulders. He's and actor [show business].)
Dear Olonso,
I believe that A.D.K. hasn't found herself. I don't know. I'm confused!
Mr.C IS psychic... The "T" he wrote in my dream was either for Tom or Tony and the "D" was for David. Now I have to find out if this guy has curly hair nearly down to his shoulders and maybe plays in a band, or something.
(Mr.C comments:
Curly and only half down to his shoulders. He's and actor [show business].)
Olonso
Mon. 11/5/73
Dear Olonso,
The person we called Leo, we'll now call Aladeceus Demus Kentarius. She is a witch and I think Libra told me more than he meant to, then tried to confuse me by saying that she hasn't found herself, etc.
Then, there's this dude we'll call G.LibraD. I think he has mastered witchcraft...
Dear Olonso,
The person we called Leo, we'll now call Aladeceus Demus Kentarius. She is a witch and I think Libra told me more than he meant to, then tried to confuse me by saying that she hasn't found herself, etc.
Then, there's this dude we'll call G.LibraD. I think he has mastered witchcraft...
Olonso
Thur. 11/1/73 Don't read.
(Mr.C comments:
I think I'd like to read this - but I haven't and won't until you tell me to. Besides, have you read "Moby Dick" yet? Give us something in common to begin to talk about.)
Dear Olonso,
I like Mr.C, but I can't communicate with him. Mentally, he seems to know the things I want done and tries to block them. But, I know why and it's sort of fair. If he's trying to hide the fact that he's psychic, he's not doing a good job...
...blah, blah, blah.
(Mr.C comments:
I think I'd like to read this - but I haven't and won't until you tell me to. Besides, have you read "Moby Dick" yet? Give us something in common to begin to talk about.)
Dear Olonso,
I like Mr.C, but I can't communicate with him. Mentally, he seems to know the things I want done and tries to block them. But, I know why and it's sort of fair. If he's trying to hide the fact that he's psychic, he's not doing a good job...
...blah, blah, blah.
Olonso
Thur. 10/25/73
Dear Olonso,
I was told by someone that I had to find myself. I think I have, but I don't like being told, anyway.
...also called me paranoid. The same person, who from now on will be known as Libra, I used to think was great - but like a certain Leo, he turned out to be a bit fakey...
(Mr.C comments:
If I turn out to be Libra or Leo, please let me know. I'd rather not be a Libra or a Leo.)
Dear Olonso,
I was told by someone that I had to find myself. I think I have, but I don't like being told, anyway.
...also called me paranoid. The same person, who from now on will be known as Libra, I used to think was great - but like a certain Leo, he turned out to be a bit fakey...
(Mr.C comments:
If I turn out to be Libra or Leo, please let me know. I'd rather not be a Libra or a Leo.)
Olonso
Wed. 10/24/73
Dear Olonso,
Once again my life is changing.
I wish I could communicate with my teacher. I think he is great. i think he believes some of the same things I do...
I don't know all I want to know... must find out for myself.
I remember, a while back, I said I was going to find something more exciting to write about. Well, I haven't (in case you haven't noticed).
J.N.
(Mr.C comments:
a. Jimmi, I wish I could communicate with my students also. I wish WE - you and I - could communicate better. We shall try?!
b. When you can't think of anything exciting to write about, be honest and write about yourself - that's plenty exciting.)
Dear Olonso,
Once again my life is changing.
I wish I could communicate with my teacher. I think he is great. i think he believes some of the same things I do...
I don't know all I want to know... must find out for myself.
I remember, a while back, I said I was going to find something more exciting to write about. Well, I haven't (in case you haven't noticed).
J.N.
(Mr.C comments:
a. Jimmi, I wish I could communicate with my students also. I wish WE - you and I - could communicate better. We shall try?!
b. When you can't think of anything exciting to write about, be honest and write about yourself - that's plenty exciting.)
Olonso
Mon. 10/22/73
...bought a collection of classical albums. My favorites are...
I am beginning to look in detail into the things I do.
...I don't know. the world confuses me so much, lately.
Mr. C has one of the leading roles in the play "Funny Girl." He plays Eddie Ryan. I would like to go see it.
...bought a collection of classical albums. My favorites are...
I am beginning to look in detail into the things I do.
...I don't know. the world confuses me so much, lately.
Mr. C has one of the leading roles in the play "Funny Girl." He plays Eddie Ryan. I would like to go see it.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Olonso
Tue. 10/16/73
Dear Olonso,
Today we get our pictures taken.
"2"
The fire is burning high, beneath the step I take
The meeting on the way, I hear the screaming cry
The blood is on the ground, the wretches run around
Behind the bushes, where I am, I hear the name "Diana."
Through a window's view, one night
I saw around a candle's light
A mystic group, whose gathering pertains
To the grotesque Prince of Darkness.
Dear Olonso,
Today we get our pictures taken.
"2"
The fire is burning high, beneath the step I take
The meeting on the way, I hear the screaming cry
The blood is on the ground, the wretches run around
Behind the bushes, where I am, I hear the name "Diana."
Through a window's view, one night
I saw around a candle's light
A mystic group, whose gathering pertains
To the grotesque Prince of Darkness.
Olonso
Mon. 10/15/73 Don't read.
...still reading "Moby Dick"...
I wonder if anything has happened to Mr.C? He seems strange today...
...still reading "Moby Dick"...
I wonder if anything has happened to Mr.C? He seems strange today...
Olonso
Fri. 10/12/73 Do not read.
...bought this real far out book, "The Politics of Aristotle," a while back. I haven't had time to read it yet...
...bought this real far out book, "The Politics of Aristotle," a while back. I haven't had time to read it yet...
Olonso
Wed. 10/1/73
...All things are simplicities when thought with a simple mind
but when the brain is exercised, troubles and confusion we find.
I don't really go by this, even though I wrote it.
...All things are simplicities when thought with a simple mind
but when the brain is exercised, troubles and confusion we find.
I don't really go by this, even though I wrote it.
Olonso
Thur. 9/27/73
Dear Olonso,
...This dude I know is very smart and has ideas about things that other people don't even think about, but the people in the establishment think he's crazy...
Dear Olonso,
...This dude I know is very smart and has ideas about things that other people don't even think about, but the people in the establishment think he's crazy...
Olonso
Tue. 9/25/73
Dear Olonso,
My library book this week is about the ancient religion, "the craft", better known as witchcraft. It tells about...
My zodiac sign is Virgo. My astrological sign is __.* The largest star in Virgo is Spica...
(*I drew the sign for Virgo.)
Dear Olonso,
My library book this week is about the ancient religion, "the craft", better known as witchcraft. It tells about...
My zodiac sign is Virgo. My astrological sign is __.* The largest star in Virgo is Spica...
(*I drew the sign for Virgo.)
Olonso
Friday 9/21/73
Dear Olonso,
I have begun to like the teachers more than I did at the first of the year... I especially like to talk to Mr. C...
And now I biddest thee farewell!
Dear Olonso,
I have begun to like the teachers more than I did at the first of the year... I especially like to talk to Mr. C...
And now I biddest thee farewell!
Olonso
Tue. 9/18/73
Dear Olonso,
...I am 13 years old now and my friendships are getting better and better. Such is the case with Tom D'Arcy. He's kind of strange, but so am I...
So long!
Farewell!
Goodbye!
Dear Olonso,
...I am 13 years old now and my friendships are getting better and better. Such is the case with Tom D'Arcy. He's kind of strange, but so am I...
So long!
Farewell!
Goodbye!
Excerpts from my seventh grade journal (soon to be called "Olonso").
Thurs. 9/13/73 Do not read.
Dear Journal,
I think it's about time I gave you a name - like Olonso. Yes, that's a good name...
My best friend is Tom D'Arcy and he might - no! He won't move! We've been friends, but it has become more. Yes, we're on the search for the meaning of life. I don't care what people think anymore, we'll find it. If only Tom doesn't move...
J.W.N. Virgo
(Author's note:
Here I drew the symbol for our club "Brothers in Search." It's a drop of water with a circle inside and fire inside the circle...)
Dear Journal,
I think it's about time I gave you a name - like Olonso. Yes, that's a good name...
My best friend is Tom D'Arcy and he might - no! He won't move! We've been friends, but it has become more. Yes, we're on the search for the meaning of life. I don't care what people think anymore, we'll find it. If only Tom doesn't move...
J.W.N. Virgo
(Author's note:
Here I drew the symbol for our club "Brothers in Search." It's a drop of water with a circle inside and fire inside the circle...)
Excerpts from my seventh grade journal (soon to be called "Olonso").
Wed. 9/12/73 Do not read.
Dear Journal,
I think the teachers are getting out of hand, criticizing us and calling people names...
Well, I'd better go. I might get to do something fun today. (I doubt it.)
Goodbye.
J.W.N.
(Author's note:
I think the top line of this entry caught Mr.C's eye, because I saw him reading it as I walked past his desk. I went to my seat terrified. He called me back to his desk and he discussed the whole thing with me calmly. I began to admire him.)
Dear Journal,
I think the teachers are getting out of hand, criticizing us and calling people names...
Well, I'd better go. I might get to do something fun today. (I doubt it.)
Goodbye.
J.W.N.
(Author's note:
I think the top line of this entry caught Mr.C's eye, because I saw him reading it as I walked past his desk. I went to my seat terrified. He called me back to his desk and he discussed the whole thing with me calmly. I began to admire him.)
Excerpts from my seventh grade journal (soon to be called "Olonso").
Wed. 8/29/73
Dear Journal,
...I love to get into conversations with Tom D'Arcy because I feel like I'm exercising my mind...
J.W.N., himself!
Dear Journal,
...I love to get into conversations with Tom D'Arcy because I feel like I'm exercising my mind...
J.W.N., himself!
Excerpts from my seventh grade journal (soon to be called "Olonso").
Tuesday 8/28/73 Do not read.
Dear Journal,
I wish school would hurry up and end. Next year will have to be better. It can't get any worse. I know exactly what the teachers are trying to do. They are giving us strict rules because they had a bunch of mean dudes last year and they expect us to be that way.
...I would rather know Mr. C as a friend, not a teacher.
J.W.N.
Dear Journal,
I wish school would hurry up and end. Next year will have to be better. It can't get any worse. I know exactly what the teachers are trying to do. They are giving us strict rules because they had a bunch of mean dudes last year and they expect us to be that way.
...I would rather know Mr. C as a friend, not a teacher.
J.W.N.
Excerpts from my seventh grade journal (Soon to be called "Olonso").
(First day of journal.)
Mon. 8/27/73 Do not read.
Dear Journal,
I think school is almost prison. The 7th grade teachers are really over-doing it. All of these rules are ridiculous. I know the students shouldn't be running around driving the teachers crazy, but the teachers shouldn't be driving us crazy either.
I'm going to try to do something about these rules. I'm not going to throw rocks through windows or anything like that, but I do plan to lighten some of these rules...
That's all for now.
J.W.N.
Mon. 8/27/73 Do not read.
Dear Journal,
I think school is almost prison. The 7th grade teachers are really over-doing it. All of these rules are ridiculous. I know the students shouldn't be running around driving the teachers crazy, but the teachers shouldn't be driving us crazy either.
I'm going to try to do something about these rules. I'm not going to throw rocks through windows or anything like that, but I do plan to lighten some of these rules...
That's all for now.
J.W.N.
Olonso (preface)
I'm about to begin transcribing excerpts of a journal I kept in the 7th grade. Bear in mind that I was an awkward social misfit and that I was obsessed with the occult. I wanted, desperately, to believe in something beyond the day to day realities of our existence.
I had a teacher, that year, whom I greatly admired. He was young, hip and very good looking. Charismatic. Not long ago, almost 35 years after these writings, I saw him again, in a somewhat less than flattering light. I'd tell you the circumstances, but you probably wouldn't believe me. At any rate, after all these years, he was still a good looking man.
While writing this journal, I used zodiac symbols, appropriate to each person, as code names. As I cannot type these symbols, I will just use the words, as in "Libra" or "Aries."
My teacher, Mr.C, said something like this to the class: "I want you to get a composition book and begin writing a journal. At least a page a day. You can write anything you like. Now if there's something personal or anything negative or 'bad' you want to say, put 'Do not read' at the top of the page, and I promise I won't read it. But, I want to read at least 2 entries a week."
I have many wonderful memories of the 7th grade - and some very bad ones. It was a turbulent year for me - a shy kid in a little town full of rednecks. Maybe that's why I wanted to believe in Magick.
I had a teacher, that year, whom I greatly admired. He was young, hip and very good looking. Charismatic. Not long ago, almost 35 years after these writings, I saw him again, in a somewhat less than flattering light. I'd tell you the circumstances, but you probably wouldn't believe me. At any rate, after all these years, he was still a good looking man.
While writing this journal, I used zodiac symbols, appropriate to each person, as code names. As I cannot type these symbols, I will just use the words, as in "Libra" or "Aries."
My teacher, Mr.C, said something like this to the class: "I want you to get a composition book and begin writing a journal. At least a page a day. You can write anything you like. Now if there's something personal or anything negative or 'bad' you want to say, put 'Do not read' at the top of the page, and I promise I won't read it. But, I want to read at least 2 entries a week."
I have many wonderful memories of the 7th grade - and some very bad ones. It was a turbulent year for me - a shy kid in a little town full of rednecks. Maybe that's why I wanted to believe in Magick.
Friday, August 20, 2010
The trip to Fayetteville to see Rush. Pt.2 (Around '77?)
D'Arcy and Kim got into an argument over who was going to drive her mother's car. D'Arcy was pretty drunk already and starting to get a little physical. They finally agreed that Kim should drive up and, if he was in good enough condition after the show, he would drive back.
D'Arcy was in a bad mood, at that point. He turned the vodka bottle up and drank about half of it! Then he went to sleep. A long and deep sleep. He slept all the way up to Fayetteville, all through the concert, all the way back home (Kim had to help me drag him into my bedroom), the rest of the night and half of the next day.
The next morning was Sunday. I had left a note on the kitchen table telling my mom, basically, what had happened. To say that she woke me in a rage is a great understatement. She told me she knew D'Arcy was in my room "sleeping off a drunk." Then she told me to look out the window. It was snowing. Hard. I was going to have to get her wrecked car home in the snow!
I was mad at all of my pseudo-friends, mad at D'Arcy for being an inconsiderate drunk and not worrying about shit - and mad at myself for letting everyone put everything off on me, like they always do. Fuck them!
Pam, I later found out, had been a regular whore that night (I should've known). She messed around with me all night, but when I wasn't with her, she tried to mess around with Eddie. Eddie was cool as hell about it. He feels the same about her as I do now.
I had to wake my brother up, early Sunday morning, to help me tow the car home, in the snow. Therein lies a whole 'nother story. The car was sliding around on the icy roads and nearly slid into a ditch, at one point. When we finally got it home, it was covered in icy mud and filled with snow and liquor. It was a nasty mess!
Meanwhile, D'Arcy was sleeping. He started out in the bed, but during the night, he had rolled off onto the floor, without even waking. Boom. I let him stay there. He was spitting in his sleep and he even pissed himself. Lovely.
The radiator had to be taken out of my mom's car and repaired. Who paid for it? Me, of course.
D'Arcy was in a bad mood, at that point. He turned the vodka bottle up and drank about half of it! Then he went to sleep. A long and deep sleep. He slept all the way up to Fayetteville, all through the concert, all the way back home (Kim had to help me drag him into my bedroom), the rest of the night and half of the next day.
The next morning was Sunday. I had left a note on the kitchen table telling my mom, basically, what had happened. To say that she woke me in a rage is a great understatement. She told me she knew D'Arcy was in my room "sleeping off a drunk." Then she told me to look out the window. It was snowing. Hard. I was going to have to get her wrecked car home in the snow!
I was mad at all of my pseudo-friends, mad at D'Arcy for being an inconsiderate drunk and not worrying about shit - and mad at myself for letting everyone put everything off on me, like they always do. Fuck them!
Pam, I later found out, had been a regular whore that night (I should've known). She messed around with me all night, but when I wasn't with her, she tried to mess around with Eddie. Eddie was cool as hell about it. He feels the same about her as I do now.
I had to wake my brother up, early Sunday morning, to help me tow the car home, in the snow. Therein lies a whole 'nother story. The car was sliding around on the icy roads and nearly slid into a ditch, at one point. When we finally got it home, it was covered in icy mud and filled with snow and liquor. It was a nasty mess!
Meanwhile, D'Arcy was sleeping. He started out in the bed, but during the night, he had rolled off onto the floor, without even waking. Boom. I let him stay there. He was spitting in his sleep and he even pissed himself. Lovely.
The radiator had to be taken out of my mom's car and repaired. Who paid for it? Me, of course.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The trip to Fayetteville to see Rush. Pt.1 (Around '77?)
The trip to Fayetteville, to see Rush and Head East, was on. Eddie and I went to pick up Pam. After waiting forever for her to get ready, she finally appeared. We then headed off to pick up D'Arcy and Kim.
D'arcy and Kim wanted to go to the liquor store. Pam was elected to attempt the purchase, but the guy wouldn't sell it to her (we were all under-age). We noticed this black dude that was hanging around outside and we made a deal with him to buy it for us. He said he just wanted a pint for his efforts. He came back outside with a fifth of vodka and a fifth of tequila. I think he ripped us off on the change, but what the heck.
Next, we were off to the grocery store to buy Pina Colada and Daiquiri mixes. Eddie, of course, was drinking Mad Dog 20/20.
By the time we reached Riegelwood, we were all feeling good. Everybody had the munchies, so they wanted to stop at a convenience store. I had a bad feeling about it, for some reason. As we pulled up to the front of the store, Pam, who was sitting next to me (I was driving), knocked over a big speaker I had stuffed between the console and the dash. It fell on the brake pedal and prevented me from stopping the car. There was an ice machine in front of the store. We smashed it flat.
Everyone panicked. I threw the car into reverse and hauled ass out of there! The front fender was scraping the tire as we pulled down a back road and parked the car.
This is how things stood: There was liquor all over the car (the girls had been mixing drinks, you see). The right front fender was mashed up. The radiator was pouring. And here we were with all of this money tied up in the evening - alcohol, concert tickets, gas, weed, etc. - and no ride.
The 5 of us walked back down the road to a gas station (right across the street from the smashed ice machine) to use the phone. After some debate, we decided to see if Kim could get her mom to bring a car up and have someone follow her so that we could continue to the show and she would have a way home. After a long and freezing wait (it was one of the coldest nights of the year), Kim's mom came through. We stopped by the wrecked car to pick up the alcohol and, once again, we were on our way.
D'arcy and Kim wanted to go to the liquor store. Pam was elected to attempt the purchase, but the guy wouldn't sell it to her (we were all under-age). We noticed this black dude that was hanging around outside and we made a deal with him to buy it for us. He said he just wanted a pint for his efforts. He came back outside with a fifth of vodka and a fifth of tequila. I think he ripped us off on the change, but what the heck.
Next, we were off to the grocery store to buy Pina Colada and Daiquiri mixes. Eddie, of course, was drinking Mad Dog 20/20.
By the time we reached Riegelwood, we were all feeling good. Everybody had the munchies, so they wanted to stop at a convenience store. I had a bad feeling about it, for some reason. As we pulled up to the front of the store, Pam, who was sitting next to me (I was driving), knocked over a big speaker I had stuffed between the console and the dash. It fell on the brake pedal and prevented me from stopping the car. There was an ice machine in front of the store. We smashed it flat.
Everyone panicked. I threw the car into reverse and hauled ass out of there! The front fender was scraping the tire as we pulled down a back road and parked the car.
This is how things stood: There was liquor all over the car (the girls had been mixing drinks, you see). The right front fender was mashed up. The radiator was pouring. And here we were with all of this money tied up in the evening - alcohol, concert tickets, gas, weed, etc. - and no ride.
The 5 of us walked back down the road to a gas station (right across the street from the smashed ice machine) to use the phone. After some debate, we decided to see if Kim could get her mom to bring a car up and have someone follow her so that we could continue to the show and she would have a way home. After a long and freezing wait (it was one of the coldest nights of the year), Kim's mom came through. We stopped by the wrecked car to pick up the alcohol and, once again, we were on our way.
My heart (update).
What a drag! What a drag! What a drag these health issues are!!
I'm tired of talking about it. I tired of answering questions. I'm tired of trying to describe symptoms. I'm tired of obsessing. I'm tired of being tired. (I can't sleep.) Medications. Doctors. Hospitals. Fear.
The ICD technician suggested that since the device didn't register my last episode (Tuesday), maybe I just IMAGINED IT! She suggested that I see a shrink to be treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She said I seemed like a nervous person anyway.
If I imagined that last episode, then I must really be nuts.
The cardiologist allowed that it could be one of two things: either I IMAGINED the whole thing in a panicked state - or - the device didn't pick it up, for some reason. Before he could finish his sentence I said, "The device didn't pick it up. There is NO WAY I imagined that."
Anyway, they adjusted my ICD to read instances of "slower tachycardia" and I'm to start an additional medication that will help the current one I'm "loading." Then I'm to see the cardiologist again, at the end of September.
He said no driving for 6 months!
But you know what? I can't continue with my life on hold. I have to get back to work. I'm going to give it another week or so and see how I feel. If I feel ok, I'm driving my ass to work.
That's what I decided.
Period.
I'm tired of talking about it. I tired of answering questions. I'm tired of trying to describe symptoms. I'm tired of obsessing. I'm tired of being tired. (I can't sleep.) Medications. Doctors. Hospitals. Fear.
The ICD technician suggested that since the device didn't register my last episode (Tuesday), maybe I just IMAGINED IT! She suggested that I see a shrink to be treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She said I seemed like a nervous person anyway.
If I imagined that last episode, then I must really be nuts.
The cardiologist allowed that it could be one of two things: either I IMAGINED the whole thing in a panicked state - or - the device didn't pick it up, for some reason. Before he could finish his sentence I said, "The device didn't pick it up. There is NO WAY I imagined that."
Anyway, they adjusted my ICD to read instances of "slower tachycardia" and I'm to start an additional medication that will help the current one I'm "loading." Then I'm to see the cardiologist again, at the end of September.
He said no driving for 6 months!
But you know what? I can't continue with my life on hold. I have to get back to work. I'm going to give it another week or so and see how I feel. If I feel ok, I'm driving my ass to work.
That's what I decided.
Period.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
My heart (update).
I had another one of my episodes today. I'm just now starting to feel a little better. It wasn't small, but it obviously wasn't like the one I had in New Bern. I guess I panicked a bit when it happened, thinking "Oh no, here we go again." I did manage to call my sister, who came right over.
We don't have much in common, but I don't know what I would do without the help of my family. I owe them a lot.
After days of phone calls to various numbers, I've finally managed to wrangle a new appointment with my cardiologist in Chapel Hill. Instead of a month and a half away, I'll see him in 2 days. God, I hope he has some positive news for me. I hope he wants to do the procedure I've been told about.
We'll see.
We don't have much in common, but I don't know what I would do without the help of my family. I owe them a lot.
After days of phone calls to various numbers, I've finally managed to wrangle a new appointment with my cardiologist in Chapel Hill. Instead of a month and a half away, I'll see him in 2 days. God, I hope he has some positive news for me. I hope he wants to do the procedure I've been told about.
We'll see.
"(Worlds)" (Written when I was 13.)
Rotating circles
Spinning balls
The temptation of evil
The lure of love
The kindness of a friend
The emancipated hawk
The acrimonious call
The motivated watcher
The simple abundance of joy
The freedom of the wind
The view from a mountain
The momentarily made path
Made by the step of purity which is the youth
The look beyond:
The speed of the trout in his watery world
Then the contemplation:
Each drop of water an individual
Each a world within
Then the thought of other worlds
Worlds beyond the worlds within
The thought demolished in fear of complicating simplicities
Back to the world
My world of worlds
The breeze softly touches the flowers below me
And I feel it too
Not only with my body, but with my mind
Now, the wonder I feel:
The breeze - unseen, but felt
untamable, but heard
I go back to the youth
Finding his way into other worlds:
Life, love, manhood
The point is stressed in my mind:
Everyone has each a world
And, if this is true, where and what is mine
To search the dusty corridors of my soul
Finding my inner personalities
Chained to the walls of the dungeon of my thoughts
This I do in my world of the unknown
Is this the world in which I should live?
Learning of this while I live in another?
But which?
Taking part in each world?
But how?
There are worlds indiscoverable
The clouds fill in around me
Blinding me carefully
I am on my mind's tower
Looking out, I see
Fearfully, holding back
The sight frightens me
The indescribable must be discussed
I can't!
I jump off of the tower
I fall
I fly!
I pass the lark!
I stop
I have hit an immovable force
I must leave
The fire consumes me
I am in the valley of the youth
Am I him?
I am!
I walk, wearing a kimono
It reminds me of the wisdom of the Orient
I must not have attained it, for I am the youth
Or, have I, for I AM the youth?
Shining suns
Darkened hearts
The roar of the ocean.
Spinning balls
The temptation of evil
The lure of love
The kindness of a friend
The emancipated hawk
The acrimonious call
The motivated watcher
The simple abundance of joy
The freedom of the wind
The view from a mountain
The momentarily made path
Made by the step of purity which is the youth
The look beyond:
The speed of the trout in his watery world
Then the contemplation:
Each drop of water an individual
Each a world within
Then the thought of other worlds
Worlds beyond the worlds within
The thought demolished in fear of complicating simplicities
Back to the world
My world of worlds
The breeze softly touches the flowers below me
And I feel it too
Not only with my body, but with my mind
Now, the wonder I feel:
The breeze - unseen, but felt
untamable, but heard
I go back to the youth
Finding his way into other worlds:
Life, love, manhood
The point is stressed in my mind:
Everyone has each a world
And, if this is true, where and what is mine
To search the dusty corridors of my soul
Finding my inner personalities
Chained to the walls of the dungeon of my thoughts
This I do in my world of the unknown
Is this the world in which I should live?
Learning of this while I live in another?
But which?
Taking part in each world?
But how?
There are worlds indiscoverable
The clouds fill in around me
Blinding me carefully
I am on my mind's tower
Looking out, I see
Fearfully, holding back
The sight frightens me
The indescribable must be discussed
I can't!
I jump off of the tower
I fall
I fly!
I pass the lark!
I stop
I have hit an immovable force
I must leave
The fire consumes me
I am in the valley of the youth
Am I him?
I am!
I walk, wearing a kimono
It reminds me of the wisdom of the Orient
I must not have attained it, for I am the youth
Or, have I, for I AM the youth?
Shining suns
Darkened hearts
The roar of the ocean.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Zed Zed Omen doodle
The poem "Zed Zed Omen" was written at work, sometime in 1995, on a torn piece of cardboard. I was writing a lot of stuff at work, in those days.
Zed Zed Omen
Old Mr. Smith
He floats across the flag
He drags his leather bag
He pisses in the open
Then climbs into his coffin.
Although, it's not him I'm thinking of
But a computerized worm
A veritable bug
A hole within a pretty whole
A superman with a plastic soul.
If you have to shoot me down
Stand me up on even ground
And please look me in the eye
Then, if you must, make me die.
(Jim-Jim cried "COMPASSION!"
Full of rage and action
But Jimmi Blue just needs for you
To know he's through and through.)
Old Mr. Smith climbs out of his coffin
Greets the new day, begins his walkin'
"Every day is good," he says
But the consensus is he's soft in the head.
He floats across the flag
He drags his leather bag
He pisses in the open
Then climbs into his coffin.
Although, it's not him I'm thinking of
But a computerized worm
A veritable bug
A hole within a pretty whole
A superman with a plastic soul.
If you have to shoot me down
Stand me up on even ground
And please look me in the eye
Then, if you must, make me die.
(Jim-Jim cried "COMPASSION!"
Full of rage and action
But Jimmi Blue just needs for you
To know he's through and through.)
Old Mr. Smith climbs out of his coffin
Greets the new day, begins his walkin'
"Every day is good," he says
But the consensus is he's soft in the head.
Friday, August 13, 2010
My heart (update).
I had a hard time waking up this morning. I feel like I took a sleeping pill. Also, I have some body aches. Both of these things are in the long list of side-affects my new meds came with. Hopefully, after I adjust to the drug, I'll feel better.
I can't let myself dwell on the possible problems I may be facing. They're not pretty.
I can't let myself dwell on the possible problems I may be facing. They're not pretty.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
My heart (update).
I'll get over this. Well, not the heart problem - it'll just get worse - but this mood I'm in. Even the way I feel physically. Hopefully, the new meds will settle in and make life bearable. At least until they, too, stop being effective. But I'll cross that bridge yada yada yada...
I need a really good night's sleep.
When I see my cardiologist, he may suggest that I undergo a procedure I've been told about. I like the sound of it. I'll take the risk, if he thinks it's what I need to do.
I want my life back, such as it was.
I'm trying to stay POSITIVE.
I need a really good night's sleep.
When I see my cardiologist, he may suggest that I undergo a procedure I've been told about. I like the sound of it. I'll take the risk, if he thinks it's what I need to do.
I want my life back, such as it was.
I'm trying to stay POSITIVE.
World's worst best man.
I was supposed to have been best man in my best friend's wedding last Saturday. That didn't happen.
Friday, I took the day off from work and drove to his house in Greenville, NC. From there we went to New Bern, NC for the wedding rehearsal dinner. The wedding was to take place in New Bern. The plan was for he and I to go back to Greenville that night, then back to New Bern on Saturday.
Right after the dinner Friday, as we were walking to the door of the restaurant, I felt one of my "episodes" occurring. My dad used to say, his "spells." It was so quick and overwhelming that the next thing I knew I was in the emergency room in New Bern.
I ruined the rehearsal dinner and I missed the wedding. I'm so sorry.
I was supposed to give a toast at the wedding reception. I wasn't there. Here is what I was going to say:
Lennon and McCartney said it best: "All you need is love / All you need is love / All you need is love, love / Love is all you need." I wish Chuck and Melanie much love, good health and a long, happy, beautiful life together. To Chuck and Melanie!
I was going to get the gathering to sing the lines of the song with me. I'm sappy like that.
Friday, I took the day off from work and drove to his house in Greenville, NC. From there we went to New Bern, NC for the wedding rehearsal dinner. The wedding was to take place in New Bern. The plan was for he and I to go back to Greenville that night, then back to New Bern on Saturday.
Right after the dinner Friday, as we were walking to the door of the restaurant, I felt one of my "episodes" occurring. My dad used to say, his "spells." It was so quick and overwhelming that the next thing I knew I was in the emergency room in New Bern.
I ruined the rehearsal dinner and I missed the wedding. I'm so sorry.
I was supposed to give a toast at the wedding reception. I wasn't there. Here is what I was going to say:
Lennon and McCartney said it best: "All you need is love / All you need is love / All you need is love, love / Love is all you need." I wish Chuck and Melanie much love, good health and a long, happy, beautiful life together. To Chuck and Melanie!
I was going to get the gathering to sing the lines of the song with me. I'm sappy like that.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Scooter.
This is my dog Scooter. He weighs about 3 lbs. Can you see why I might be worried about him and long to go home and see him?
My heart (update).
Yes, my heart.
I'm on a modest mission. I've got things to say.
I've been typing today, trying to finish up "Brie Fly," even though I just got out of the hospital last night and am unhealthy and exhausted.
I have an ICD device in my chest. And I guess I'm lucky that I do. It literally saved my life last Friday evening. Literally. I would be dead right now, if it had never been implanted.
I've been in the hospital, out of town, for about 5 days. All alone. I can't begin to tell you the thoughts that have gone through my head. I didn't have a good night's sleep the whole time. Even last night, in my own bed, I lay awake thinking about dying, hoping that I would at least make it through the night. I feel like I have unfinished business that needs wrapping up. And I know, in a way I have never known before, that life is fleeting and your next breath is unpromised. You can go in the blink of an eye.
I re-read one of my favorite books last night, for about the 4th time. "Timequake" by Kurt Vonnegut. I read the whole thing, straight through. I felt it more deeply than I ever have. Kurt says that the purpose of writing is to make someone feel like they are not alone. That someone else shares your thoughts and concerns. He did (does) that for me. I love Kurt.
I had an idea, last night, for a book about a blog someone writes. Someone without long to live. And he has a friend, his one reader, who writes a shadow blog through his comments. In the end, the blogger dies and his friend has the last word via a comment to the last post.
I had a lot of crazy notions running through my head last night.
I'm scared. I'm scared to stand up too fast. I'm scared of being alone. I'm scared of sleeping. I'm scared of eating. Drinking. Loud noises. Bumps in cars. Electrical devices. Crowds...
I'm scared of being scared. (Panic is a killer.)
When I was in the hospital, I just wanted to go home. I worried about my dog and cat. I thought to myself, I don't care if I die, as long as I'm home.
I'm on new medication now that has all kinds of interesting side effects. Like turning my skin gray. And the doctor told me that until my body adjusts to this medication, I can't drive. Maybe for as long as 6 months! You see, I may very well have another episode and kill myself and/or someone else on the highway.
I don't know what the future is going to bring. I have no self confidence left. I'm a broken man.
I have plans for 8 or 10 pictures to paint. I have several of the best songs I have ever written (I think) in my head. When I go, they go.
I feel like I want to visit everything that I hold dear and beautiful. All of the music and film and books and paintings. Everything. One last time, maybe.
There's more to come on this subject. I think I'm going to lie down for a bit.
I feel a hollowness inside. I'm not just speaking metaphorically - it's an actual physical sensation.
I'm on a modest mission. I've got things to say.
I've been typing today, trying to finish up "Brie Fly," even though I just got out of the hospital last night and am unhealthy and exhausted.
I have an ICD device in my chest. And I guess I'm lucky that I do. It literally saved my life last Friday evening. Literally. I would be dead right now, if it had never been implanted.
I've been in the hospital, out of town, for about 5 days. All alone. I can't begin to tell you the thoughts that have gone through my head. I didn't have a good night's sleep the whole time. Even last night, in my own bed, I lay awake thinking about dying, hoping that I would at least make it through the night. I feel like I have unfinished business that needs wrapping up. And I know, in a way I have never known before, that life is fleeting and your next breath is unpromised. You can go in the blink of an eye.
I re-read one of my favorite books last night, for about the 4th time. "Timequake" by Kurt Vonnegut. I read the whole thing, straight through. I felt it more deeply than I ever have. Kurt says that the purpose of writing is to make someone feel like they are not alone. That someone else shares your thoughts and concerns. He did (does) that for me. I love Kurt.
I had an idea, last night, for a book about a blog someone writes. Someone without long to live. And he has a friend, his one reader, who writes a shadow blog through his comments. In the end, the blogger dies and his friend has the last word via a comment to the last post.
I had a lot of crazy notions running through my head last night.
I'm scared. I'm scared to stand up too fast. I'm scared of being alone. I'm scared of sleeping. I'm scared of eating. Drinking. Loud noises. Bumps in cars. Electrical devices. Crowds...
I'm scared of being scared. (Panic is a killer.)
When I was in the hospital, I just wanted to go home. I worried about my dog and cat. I thought to myself, I don't care if I die, as long as I'm home.
I'm on new medication now that has all kinds of interesting side effects. Like turning my skin gray. And the doctor told me that until my body adjusts to this medication, I can't drive. Maybe for as long as 6 months! You see, I may very well have another episode and kill myself and/or someone else on the highway.
I don't know what the future is going to bring. I have no self confidence left. I'm a broken man.
I have plans for 8 or 10 pictures to paint. I have several of the best songs I have ever written (I think) in my head. When I go, they go.
I feel like I want to visit everything that I hold dear and beautiful. All of the music and film and books and paintings. Everything. One last time, maybe.
There's more to come on this subject. I think I'm going to lie down for a bit.
I feel a hollowness inside. I'm not just speaking metaphorically - it's an actual physical sensation.
I'm still not sure about this.
Thus ends "Brie Fly," the journal of one Arthur J. Stanley.
It's a mess, I know. And there was some sexual content, not excessively graphic (in my mind), that may have made some readers uneasy.
Hey, you were warned...
It's a mess, I know. And there was some sexual content, not excessively graphic (in my mind), that may have made some readers uneasy.
Hey, you were warned...
Brie Fly (pt. 10)
ONE.
We are The Extremists. "Excess is best" - that's our motto.
Somewhere there are girls who love us.
We've been tossed into a perpetual spin cycle. Going in all directions, hoping we don't spread it too thin. That's a lie. We don't think about it - do we?
We are Maseratis in a traffic jam. Heads spinning. Power burning - exiting through our fidgeting fingers, our stomping feet, our wild, flaming eyes.
Excess is best. We deal in extremes.
We're sexual to the max - or not at all. Crazed, actually. Heterosexual, bisexual - it all gets you off. But some of it leaves you unfulfilled. That's ok. We leave that behind. We move too fast to have memories.
But, we do, sometimes.
TWO.
It's all unfulfilling. Every last course of action. Every friendship. Every concept.
I am unfulfilled. There is no hope for me. This is reality. I see reality. There is no fulfillment and I know it.
A few beers and a couple of joints and an old flame hanging on your arm, telling you how she's always liked you. She's drunk, on ludes and a user.
So, you hang around. So many mixed vibes and no place special to go. And no one special to be with. You think to yourself that you would gladly do your steady wrong tonight (she's away), but somehow, you can't let yourself go further than a "Hi. What's your name? Having a good time? Can I buy you a beer?"
You have friends in one bar or another. A few in a parking lot. Standing on the streets. Cruising.
At least it's not raining.
THREE.
Menial labor slices in and out of the overall flow. "Flow" is such a nice, soothing sort of word. Maybe it's a little less than "flow." It has a thicker feel to it.
I once had a dream. And, in that dream, I lay upon a bed - or, more accurately, half of me was on the bed, face down. My feet were on the floor.
I was naked. And so was my girl, who was completely on the bed, lying on her back. She stared down her body at me, wanting me to fuck her. And I wanted to, but I couldn't reach her in time - and I came on the bed, my dick rubbing on the sheets.
When I awoke, I realized that I had had a nocturnal emission. It was the only one I have ever been aware of.
FOUR.
My disposition changes with much regulation - up, down sideways. Sometimes, it floats in the gray middle. I call this "blah-ness." Real original, huh?
Creative forces come and go. Never very strong or clear. I have to pick through them and salvage what I can. And I have to do this fast, because once they come, they're on their way out. Like life: once you're born, you're on your way to death. Except, we don't return for another round. Or do we?
Atoms...Oh! Shut up! I'm no scientist! (But, I know what I like...)
Goethe said, "One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words."
God knows I try.
We are The Extremists. "Excess is best" - that's our motto.
Somewhere there are girls who love us.
We've been tossed into a perpetual spin cycle. Going in all directions, hoping we don't spread it too thin. That's a lie. We don't think about it - do we?
We are Maseratis in a traffic jam. Heads spinning. Power burning - exiting through our fidgeting fingers, our stomping feet, our wild, flaming eyes.
Excess is best. We deal in extremes.
We're sexual to the max - or not at all. Crazed, actually. Heterosexual, bisexual - it all gets you off. But some of it leaves you unfulfilled. That's ok. We leave that behind. We move too fast to have memories.
But, we do, sometimes.
TWO.
It's all unfulfilling. Every last course of action. Every friendship. Every concept.
I am unfulfilled. There is no hope for me. This is reality. I see reality. There is no fulfillment and I know it.
A few beers and a couple of joints and an old flame hanging on your arm, telling you how she's always liked you. She's drunk, on ludes and a user.
So, you hang around. So many mixed vibes and no place special to go. And no one special to be with. You think to yourself that you would gladly do your steady wrong tonight (she's away), but somehow, you can't let yourself go further than a "Hi. What's your name? Having a good time? Can I buy you a beer?"
You have friends in one bar or another. A few in a parking lot. Standing on the streets. Cruising.
At least it's not raining.
THREE.
Menial labor slices in and out of the overall flow. "Flow" is such a nice, soothing sort of word. Maybe it's a little less than "flow." It has a thicker feel to it.
I once had a dream. And, in that dream, I lay upon a bed - or, more accurately, half of me was on the bed, face down. My feet were on the floor.
I was naked. And so was my girl, who was completely on the bed, lying on her back. She stared down her body at me, wanting me to fuck her. And I wanted to, but I couldn't reach her in time - and I came on the bed, my dick rubbing on the sheets.
When I awoke, I realized that I had had a nocturnal emission. It was the only one I have ever been aware of.
FOUR.
My disposition changes with much regulation - up, down sideways. Sometimes, it floats in the gray middle. I call this "blah-ness." Real original, huh?
Creative forces come and go. Never very strong or clear. I have to pick through them and salvage what I can. And I have to do this fast, because once they come, they're on their way out. Like life: once you're born, you're on your way to death. Except, we don't return for another round. Or do we?
Atoms...Oh! Shut up! I'm no scientist! (But, I know what I like...)
Goethe said, "One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words."
God knows I try.
Brie Fly (pt.9)
I remember my mother screaming at me, when I was 13 or 14. I was cringing in a rocking chair. She was standing over me, a menacing tower. "You leave all of this psychedelic/schmychedelic/ESP/witchcraft stuff alone! It's the devil's work! You hear me?! The devil!"
I felt both ashamed and sorry for her ignorance. But, my actions would not be dictated. It's just that from then on I kept my notes, letters, books and notebooks hidden. My mother was satisfied. It kept the peace, but I hated the deception.
I went to a school that was so backward that when I brought a piece of incense to class one day, it excited everyone so much it became a fad. And Jameson and I, being the only ones who knew what it was and where to buy it, made a killing selling sticks. Everyone wanted it.
But, we were always starting something.
We used to protest the price of school supplies, when they went up. And the soaring price of lunches (up a nickel!). And the demolition of the old gymnasium. The workers were simply piling the remains of it - broken cement blocks and old boards spiked with nails - on the outskirts of the playground. We went to the principal's office with a broken piece of block and asked if he knew that this potentially dangerous refuse was being piled on our playground. He told us that he ran the school and that that was none of our business - and then he impatiently motioned for us to get out of his office. We stormed out, ready to lie in front of the bulldozers. But, our teachers talked us into a different course of action.
"Hey! Meditation man!" the screams would ring out. It was the loud-mouthed, low-class girl in the purple mini dress and white vinyl boots. We would be coming in from recess. "I saw you out there actin' like some kind of witch or something. Ha! Ha! Sayin' some kinda mumbo-jumbo. You putting a spell on me or somethin'?!"
Under my breath: "I tried to change you from a red-neck whore, but I see it didn't work..."
"What?! What did you say, meditation man?!"
I felt both ashamed and sorry for her ignorance. But, my actions would not be dictated. It's just that from then on I kept my notes, letters, books and notebooks hidden. My mother was satisfied. It kept the peace, but I hated the deception.
I went to a school that was so backward that when I brought a piece of incense to class one day, it excited everyone so much it became a fad. And Jameson and I, being the only ones who knew what it was and where to buy it, made a killing selling sticks. Everyone wanted it.
But, we were always starting something.
We used to protest the price of school supplies, when they went up. And the soaring price of lunches (up a nickel!). And the demolition of the old gymnasium. The workers were simply piling the remains of it - broken cement blocks and old boards spiked with nails - on the outskirts of the playground. We went to the principal's office with a broken piece of block and asked if he knew that this potentially dangerous refuse was being piled on our playground. He told us that he ran the school and that that was none of our business - and then he impatiently motioned for us to get out of his office. We stormed out, ready to lie in front of the bulldozers. But, our teachers talked us into a different course of action.
"Hey! Meditation man!" the screams would ring out. It was the loud-mouthed, low-class girl in the purple mini dress and white vinyl boots. We would be coming in from recess. "I saw you out there actin' like some kind of witch or something. Ha! Ha! Sayin' some kinda mumbo-jumbo. You putting a spell on me or somethin'?!"
Under my breath: "I tried to change you from a red-neck whore, but I see it didn't work..."
"What?! What did you say, meditation man?!"
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Brie Fly (pt. 8)
I remember a come-on line: "Hey man, did you like that joint I gave you?" "Joint" being the key word.
"You must have me confused with someone else."
"Oh, man, you look like someone I met the other day."
"Oh."
"So, what's happening?"
"Not much."
"My name's Don."
"My name's Arthur."
"I'm just messing around. Not much to do. Do you want to ride around some?"
"Yeah. Why not."
We met in front of an adult bookstore, late one night in the sleazy part of the port city. Down near the river. Coast Guardsmen on shore leave, hookers and gays were out. It was extremely cold and everyone moved a bit swifter than usual - bundled up to protect themselves from the frigid wind blowing off of the water.
I was wearing a trench coat. He was wearing something fuzzy, I think. Or maybe it was his beard that left that impression on me. He looked a bit like a rejected Muppet. As it turned out, he was in show business. He was an actor.
I had to get into his beat up old car from the driver's side. The passenger's door was crunched in and the window was covered with a sheet of plastic. Cold air poured in through the cracks, where the tape wasn't very secure.
I was nervous.
We drove down some back streets. He had a destination. He asked "Would you like to get into something?"
"That depends" I shivered - my teeth actually chattering. "Like what?"
"Sex" he said, looking me in the eyes.
"Sure" I said.
He drove on, turning up and down streets, in his '69 Chevy.
"How big is your dick?" he asked.
"It's adequate."
"I have a big dick." He spoke clearly.
We pulled into a vacant lot and began. He offered me some Rush. I hit it several times. He did have a big dick. He told me mine was very nice - that he liked it. Then he asked me if his was the biggest dick I'd ever seen.
"No." He'd asked and I'd told him the truth.
My answer seemed to set him back a bit. But, then he smiled and I felt better.
Any other conversation went like this:
"Well, Don, what do you get into?"
"Sucking" he groaned.
"Besides that" I smiled.
"Fucking" he answered quickly.
I laughed. "No, besides that."
"Oh, the theater."
"Are you an actor?" I was interested, but he only wanted sex from me.
"I act and direct."
"I've always wanted to get into theater...acting... even behind the scenes...but I've never really..."
"Oh no..." he thought, as he drove me back to my car.
"You must have me confused with someone else."
"Oh, man, you look like someone I met the other day."
"Oh."
"So, what's happening?"
"Not much."
"My name's Don."
"My name's Arthur."
"I'm just messing around. Not much to do. Do you want to ride around some?"
"Yeah. Why not."
We met in front of an adult bookstore, late one night in the sleazy part of the port city. Down near the river. Coast Guardsmen on shore leave, hookers and gays were out. It was extremely cold and everyone moved a bit swifter than usual - bundled up to protect themselves from the frigid wind blowing off of the water.
I was wearing a trench coat. He was wearing something fuzzy, I think. Or maybe it was his beard that left that impression on me. He looked a bit like a rejected Muppet. As it turned out, he was in show business. He was an actor.
I had to get into his beat up old car from the driver's side. The passenger's door was crunched in and the window was covered with a sheet of plastic. Cold air poured in through the cracks, where the tape wasn't very secure.
I was nervous.
We drove down some back streets. He had a destination. He asked "Would you like to get into something?"
"That depends" I shivered - my teeth actually chattering. "Like what?"
"Sex" he said, looking me in the eyes.
"Sure" I said.
He drove on, turning up and down streets, in his '69 Chevy.
"How big is your dick?" he asked.
"It's adequate."
"I have a big dick." He spoke clearly.
We pulled into a vacant lot and began. He offered me some Rush. I hit it several times. He did have a big dick. He told me mine was very nice - that he liked it. Then he asked me if his was the biggest dick I'd ever seen.
"No." He'd asked and I'd told him the truth.
My answer seemed to set him back a bit. But, then he smiled and I felt better.
Any other conversation went like this:
"Well, Don, what do you get into?"
"Sucking" he groaned.
"Besides that" I smiled.
"Fucking" he answered quickly.
I laughed. "No, besides that."
"Oh, the theater."
"Are you an actor?" I was interested, but he only wanted sex from me.
"I act and direct."
"I've always wanted to get into theater...acting... even behind the scenes...but I've never really..."
"Oh no..." he thought, as he drove me back to my car.
Brie Fly (pt. 7)
October.
"Good-byes" are hard to say and deal with, yet all things come to an end. I once said this to an older friend. Although he felt the total impact of what I'd said, he tried to explain that things did not always have to end so suddenly. I felt like this was just a muffled cry of unacceptance. Unacceptance doesn't stop the process - life goes on no matter who sticks his fingers in the gears. This foolish person is insignificant to the machinery. To the perpetual motion.
Life goes on.
I just have to remind myself sometimes.
I wrote that "good-bye" for my best friend. We were slipping further and further apart, and at that point, we were not even talking to one another. There had been no argument. We disagreed on nothing. We just weren't talking.
Jameson would stand there, peering nervously out the window, waiting for class to start. It was as if he had drank a tall glass of "uneasiness" and it had flooded his being. There was also the stagnant aura of pride.
I stank of it, too.
His thin form, his unruly hair, his long fingers poking through the blinds. Bending them to suit him - the voyeur. He was somewhat immersed in the spectacle of the ordinary.
"Good-byes" are hard to say and deal with, yet all things come to an end. I once said this to an older friend. Although he felt the total impact of what I'd said, he tried to explain that things did not always have to end so suddenly. I felt like this was just a muffled cry of unacceptance. Unacceptance doesn't stop the process - life goes on no matter who sticks his fingers in the gears. This foolish person is insignificant to the machinery. To the perpetual motion.
Life goes on.
I just have to remind myself sometimes.
I wrote that "good-bye" for my best friend. We were slipping further and further apart, and at that point, we were not even talking to one another. There had been no argument. We disagreed on nothing. We just weren't talking.
Jameson would stand there, peering nervously out the window, waiting for class to start. It was as if he had drank a tall glass of "uneasiness" and it had flooded his being. There was also the stagnant aura of pride.
I stank of it, too.
His thin form, his unruly hair, his long fingers poking through the blinds. Bending them to suit him - the voyeur. He was somewhat immersed in the spectacle of the ordinary.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Brie Fly (pt.6)
Dave half awoke when the soft music of his alarm clock invaded his dreams. He somehow knew that he dreamed a lot, but he could never remember any of them. It was another Monday morning in the big city and in the large modern apartment Dave called home. When he finally did get out of bed, he would probably want to shoot himself, like he did every Monday morning.
Dave rolled over from his usual sleeping position: semi-fetal, on his left side, facing the large window on the west wall. (Even though he had been single for some time, he still slept on "his" side of the bed.) And as he shifted, his left hand fell to rest on the soft, yet firm, round ass of the naked girl lying next to him. He was slightly startled at first - raising his head so that his chin touched his chest. But, as he dropped his head back onto his pillow, he thought that he couldn't imagine a nicer way to wake up. He carefully lifted his hand, afraid that he might wake her before he could think of her name.
Dave looked at his clock. It said 6:00. This puzzled him. He usually set it to alarm at 7:00. Oh well, he was awake now. He decided he might as well get up. He threw back the sheets and stood up - nude. He looked down at his feet. He stretched and yawned, smoothing his thighs down to his knees with the palms of his hands.
Dave walked groggily to the foot of his bed, where he stopped and stared at the sleeping girl. She had a perfect body, he thought. Maybe 38-24-36? She was lying on her stomach and her black hair cascaded about her shoulders and pillow. Her smooth tanned legs were apart just enough to allow Dave to see a tuft of her pubic hair. Also black. He stood there with a somewhat renewed fascination of the female anatomy. Softness and smooth curves: these were the concepts flooding his mind. He felt high. He tried to imagine how many times they had fucked last night. How many times did he get her off, he wondered?
The sound of water running is what nudged Dave back to the reality of daily routine. He shook his head and walked to the bathroom door, but he stopped short - perplexed! He hadn't even gone into the bathroom, yet steam was seeping from under the door. Before he could make heads or tails of this, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye: there were two more beautiful naked girls sleeping together on the floor on the other side of his bed! Now he was in a state of shock, but he didn't have time to figure it all out, as one of these strange women had left the hot water running. The bathtub was going to overflow and flood the place!
Just as he put his hand on the bathroom door knob, the door to the hallway opened and in walked the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Like the others, she was completely nude. In her left hand she held a ridiculously large double headed dildo. In her right hand, she held a cup of black coffee.
"Here you go," she said, as she handed Dave the coffee. He looked from her to the bathroom door. "Oh, that's Anna in the shower. She'll be out in a minute and we can get started..."
Dave rolled over from his usual sleeping position: semi-fetal, on his left side, facing the large window on the west wall. (Even though he had been single for some time, he still slept on "his" side of the bed.) And as he shifted, his left hand fell to rest on the soft, yet firm, round ass of the naked girl lying next to him. He was slightly startled at first - raising his head so that his chin touched his chest. But, as he dropped his head back onto his pillow, he thought that he couldn't imagine a nicer way to wake up. He carefully lifted his hand, afraid that he might wake her before he could think of her name.
Dave looked at his clock. It said 6:00. This puzzled him. He usually set it to alarm at 7:00. Oh well, he was awake now. He decided he might as well get up. He threw back the sheets and stood up - nude. He looked down at his feet. He stretched and yawned, smoothing his thighs down to his knees with the palms of his hands.
Dave walked groggily to the foot of his bed, where he stopped and stared at the sleeping girl. She had a perfect body, he thought. Maybe 38-24-36? She was lying on her stomach and her black hair cascaded about her shoulders and pillow. Her smooth tanned legs were apart just enough to allow Dave to see a tuft of her pubic hair. Also black. He stood there with a somewhat renewed fascination of the female anatomy. Softness and smooth curves: these were the concepts flooding his mind. He felt high. He tried to imagine how many times they had fucked last night. How many times did he get her off, he wondered?
The sound of water running is what nudged Dave back to the reality of daily routine. He shook his head and walked to the bathroom door, but he stopped short - perplexed! He hadn't even gone into the bathroom, yet steam was seeping from under the door. Before he could make heads or tails of this, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye: there were two more beautiful naked girls sleeping together on the floor on the other side of his bed! Now he was in a state of shock, but he didn't have time to figure it all out, as one of these strange women had left the hot water running. The bathtub was going to overflow and flood the place!
Just as he put his hand on the bathroom door knob, the door to the hallway opened and in walked the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Like the others, she was completely nude. In her left hand she held a ridiculously large double headed dildo. In her right hand, she held a cup of black coffee.
"Here you go," she said, as she handed Dave the coffee. He looked from her to the bathroom door. "Oh, that's Anna in the shower. She'll be out in a minute and we can get started..."
Monday, August 2, 2010
Brie Fly (pt.5)
The stench was unbearable and the sensation was indescribable as the creature's misshapened, battle scarred limbs wrapped around Evad and pinned him to the ground, with the strength of steel. Its deformed, blackened body rested upon Evad and all about him, blocking the sun from his sight. All he could see, and all he could sense, for that matter, was the dark shape that was his captor.
Thick, hot, foaming saliva dripped onto Evad's face, as the creature rammed a rough, hard appendage between Evad's legs and proceeded with a lewd mockery of the sex act - the lubrication being Evad's own blood. He screamed in agony while the hideous monster moaned and growled in ecstasy.
Evad knew he had only one chance of escape: the blade he had fashioned into the toe of his boot. He'd considered himself quite ingenious to have conceived and engineered the idea. Actually, it was inspired by two fighting tom cats - and just like a cat's claws, he could project the blade and draw it back in, by using his toes. The only problem now was he could not move his leg. It was underneath the main weight of the creature and, as he had no feeling in it, it could very well have been broken.
As the thing tried to kiss him, Evad turned his head and the burning kiss landed on his cheek. The creature, at this point, with horrible laughter, crude talk and putrid breath escaping its mouth, repositioned itself, seemingly to allow it better access to Evad's lips. This movement led to the freedom of Evad's right leg. The blood, once again, began flowing through his veins and the leg slowly came back to life. With his toes, he locked the blade into position - protruding from the tip of his boot. This was his chance. With all the power he could muster, Evad kicked the creature between its legs, driving the blade about six inches into its flesh.
The monster emitted a gasping scream and reeled back, falling, thunderously, against the rocky entrance to its cave. It shook and spasmed and roared, as thick red blood oozed from the gash, forming a puddle on the ground.
Evad tried to regain his breath. He was soaked with sweat and his heart pounded violently. He weakly raised himself upon his hands and knees and began his laborious escape. He feared it was all in vain. It seemed as if death was easing down his throat as he fought for air.
He tried to stand and walk. A stumbling exodus ensued for a few miles, at which point he began to feel safer in the knowledge, that being injured, the creature would not likely leave its den. After a brief rest, Evad began traveling again, long before the sunrise, leaving the creature in its cave, nursing its wound. Hopefully, it was a fatal wound...
Rubbish. It's all rubbish. It's very much the same old sword and sorcery shit that fills the sci-fi sections of bookstores and libraries. The type of unimaginative and out-and-out exploitative "literature" of writers who continue to publish trilogy after trilogy to the delight of their readers: pseudo-intellectual students and "hip" housewives. But, lying here, contemplating my problem, I realize that even the bastard children of Tolkien or Robert E. Howard are more creative - and their works more alive - than this thing will ever be.
What if the fantasy was different? What if I changed the station? Flipped to another dream network...
Thick, hot, foaming saliva dripped onto Evad's face, as the creature rammed a rough, hard appendage between Evad's legs and proceeded with a lewd mockery of the sex act - the lubrication being Evad's own blood. He screamed in agony while the hideous monster moaned and growled in ecstasy.
Evad knew he had only one chance of escape: the blade he had fashioned into the toe of his boot. He'd considered himself quite ingenious to have conceived and engineered the idea. Actually, it was inspired by two fighting tom cats - and just like a cat's claws, he could project the blade and draw it back in, by using his toes. The only problem now was he could not move his leg. It was underneath the main weight of the creature and, as he had no feeling in it, it could very well have been broken.
As the thing tried to kiss him, Evad turned his head and the burning kiss landed on his cheek. The creature, at this point, with horrible laughter, crude talk and putrid breath escaping its mouth, repositioned itself, seemingly to allow it better access to Evad's lips. This movement led to the freedom of Evad's right leg. The blood, once again, began flowing through his veins and the leg slowly came back to life. With his toes, he locked the blade into position - protruding from the tip of his boot. This was his chance. With all the power he could muster, Evad kicked the creature between its legs, driving the blade about six inches into its flesh.
The monster emitted a gasping scream and reeled back, falling, thunderously, against the rocky entrance to its cave. It shook and spasmed and roared, as thick red blood oozed from the gash, forming a puddle on the ground.
Evad tried to regain his breath. He was soaked with sweat and his heart pounded violently. He weakly raised himself upon his hands and knees and began his laborious escape. He feared it was all in vain. It seemed as if death was easing down his throat as he fought for air.
He tried to stand and walk. A stumbling exodus ensued for a few miles, at which point he began to feel safer in the knowledge, that being injured, the creature would not likely leave its den. After a brief rest, Evad began traveling again, long before the sunrise, leaving the creature in its cave, nursing its wound. Hopefully, it was a fatal wound...
Rubbish. It's all rubbish. It's very much the same old sword and sorcery shit that fills the sci-fi sections of bookstores and libraries. The type of unimaginative and out-and-out exploitative "literature" of writers who continue to publish trilogy after trilogy to the delight of their readers: pseudo-intellectual students and "hip" housewives. But, lying here, contemplating my problem, I realize that even the bastard children of Tolkien or Robert E. Howard are more creative - and their works more alive - than this thing will ever be.
What if the fantasy was different? What if I changed the station? Flipped to another dream network...
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Brie Fly (pt. 4)
Jameson and I had a preoccupation, grades 6th through 8th, or so, with witchcraft, esp, the supernatural, the occult. We read everything and conversed with anyone knowledgeable or interested. We felt that we were intelligent enough not to get pulled in by anyone talking bullshit. For instance, there was a local male "witch" who would invite young, impressionable guys over for dance lessons. He referred to his home town of Winston Salem as "Salem". Get it? He maintained that he was a reincarnation of Cleopatra. It's funny how it's always a notable historical figure.
Right on the spot, we began telling him of our "secretive coven" and our own reincarnations (Pope Leo I, Napoleon Bonaparte, Rembrandt, Jimi Hendrix...), taking cues from each other. It was a sort of spontaneous mesmerization.
But, who am I to talk about the witch and his dance lessons for boys. But, to be honest, I don't feel "gay." I think of myself as a normal guy and I'm debating with my emotions as to whether a few homosexual experiences makes one a homosexual. I mean, I still like girls. Bi-sexual? I dunno...
Looking through some papers, I just found some lyrics I wrote, years ago, to an imagined song. Well, if you really want to know...
"Stupid and Dumb and Fun"
So what? Huh? So what? I don't care! Huh?
Stupid and dumb and fun.
I'm ambitious, if you call that ambition.
I wanna do something
stupid and dumb and fun.
Who really cares? I don't! Huh?
You don't care that I don't? Huh? Shut up!
Stupid and dumb and fun.
I'm my own creation.
My girlfriend is stupid and dumb and fun.
Who really wants to hear it? I mean, REALLY?
Huh? You're a fool! Huh? Wow, man.
Stupid and dumb and fun.
It's me only revelation!
I wanna do something stupid and dumb and fun.
You don't like Rock-n-Roll? Huh?
You don't understand it? You don't know what it's like to be young?
Huh? Dead beat!
Stupid and dumb and fun.
Tell them you're no relation to the brat who likes things
stupid and dumb and fun!
I'm thinking that this is so very confusing. But, wait. It gets worse...
Right on the spot, we began telling him of our "secretive coven" and our own reincarnations (Pope Leo I, Napoleon Bonaparte, Rembrandt, Jimi Hendrix...), taking cues from each other. It was a sort of spontaneous mesmerization.
But, who am I to talk about the witch and his dance lessons for boys. But, to be honest, I don't feel "gay." I think of myself as a normal guy and I'm debating with my emotions as to whether a few homosexual experiences makes one a homosexual. I mean, I still like girls. Bi-sexual? I dunno...
Looking through some papers, I just found some lyrics I wrote, years ago, to an imagined song. Well, if you really want to know...
"Stupid and Dumb and Fun"
So what? Huh? So what? I don't care! Huh?
Stupid and dumb and fun.
I'm ambitious, if you call that ambition.
I wanna do something
stupid and dumb and fun.
Who really cares? I don't! Huh?
You don't care that I don't? Huh? Shut up!
Stupid and dumb and fun.
I'm my own creation.
My girlfriend is stupid and dumb and fun.
Who really wants to hear it? I mean, REALLY?
Huh? You're a fool! Huh? Wow, man.
Stupid and dumb and fun.
It's me only revelation!
I wanna do something stupid and dumb and fun.
You don't like Rock-n-Roll? Huh?
You don't understand it? You don't know what it's like to be young?
Huh? Dead beat!
Stupid and dumb and fun.
Tell them you're no relation to the brat who likes things
stupid and dumb and fun!
I'm thinking that this is so very confusing. But, wait. It gets worse...
Brie Fly (pt. 3)
As I sit here writing, I'm listening to The Mahavishnu Orchestra, an Eastern influenced, progressive, jazz fusion unit, backed by the London Symphony Orchestra. At any rate, it's not exactly top 40.
Another hangout for us, other than the cemetery, was a decaying 4 story brick structure, down in the woods, by the river, called the Packing House or the Slaughter House. It was a huge abandoned building, built around 1910, that was supposed to be a slaughter house, where cattle would be brought to be killed and packaged. I don't think it was ever completed. I shiver when I think of all of the nights we climbed those crumbling steps in drunken stupors. Sometimes, we would skip school and smoke pot from the top floor, with our feet dangling off the sides, where the walls had either never been constructed, crumbled or had been knocked down, over the years. One could see for miles in all directions.
As time went by, I began getting stoned more often, and attending classes. Although I was one of the 2 smartest kids in my school (Jameson being the other), I had failed once in the lower grades and again in high school. I was really a couple of grades behind, but the classes were mixed grades, so it didn't matter much.
I once laid out of my first 2 classes and got stoned with a friend. When I got to 3rd period, there was a lecturer. These are the notes I took:
"Do you take the newspar?"
"HBO makes it double."
She wrote on the board and her handwriting looked like Jameson's.
"Dope pays (sails) for itself."
"There goes that (schn-)fun!"
"I expect that's close. Can you come (any) closer?"
"Electricity is expensive."
Elmer spoke.
"I buy a lot of junk foods. I buy quick foods."
"People do use disposable diapers."
"A father, a son and 2 children."
"I was hard pressed that I..."
"All your cleaning things. Your paper goods."
"Zoo is not a if all you buy is food price."
"Back sliding."
"Lighk a snowball..."
Byy Johnny Shews."
"That makes the booyaowlll all evfen bigger!"
"I said, I didn't say."
"Most people are going to get married."
"Too late, right..."
Everybody can learn about a parent, but you don't learn anything about it at school."
"Little wrino!"
"Nmnomjonie read it, she knows!"
I'm remembering the aftermath of my first gay experience. I had to work that night. At work I felt light-headed and a terrible guilt flooded me. I began chain smoking. That's something I only do when I'm nervous. I couldn't believe what I had done. I felt I was perverted. Sick. Deranged. I was a queer. A faggot.
Another hangout for us, other than the cemetery, was a decaying 4 story brick structure, down in the woods, by the river, called the Packing House or the Slaughter House. It was a huge abandoned building, built around 1910, that was supposed to be a slaughter house, where cattle would be brought to be killed and packaged. I don't think it was ever completed. I shiver when I think of all of the nights we climbed those crumbling steps in drunken stupors. Sometimes, we would skip school and smoke pot from the top floor, with our feet dangling off the sides, where the walls had either never been constructed, crumbled or had been knocked down, over the years. One could see for miles in all directions.
As time went by, I began getting stoned more often, and attending classes. Although I was one of the 2 smartest kids in my school (Jameson being the other), I had failed once in the lower grades and again in high school. I was really a couple of grades behind, but the classes were mixed grades, so it didn't matter much.
I once laid out of my first 2 classes and got stoned with a friend. When I got to 3rd period, there was a lecturer. These are the notes I took:
"Do you take the newspar?"
"HBO makes it double."
She wrote on the board and her handwriting looked like Jameson's.
"Dope pays (sails) for itself."
"There goes that (schn-)fun!"
"I expect that's close. Can you come (any) closer?"
"Electricity is expensive."
Elmer spoke.
"I buy a lot of junk foods. I buy quick foods."
"People do use disposable diapers."
"A father, a son and 2 children."
"I was hard pressed that I..."
"All your cleaning things. Your paper goods."
"Zoo is not a if all you buy is food price."
"Back sliding."
"Lighk a snowball..."
Byy Johnny Shews."
"That makes the booyaowlll all evfen bigger!"
"I said, I didn't say."
"Most people are going to get married."
"Too late, right..."
Everybody can learn about a parent, but you don't learn anything about it at school."
"Little wrino!"
"Nmnomjonie read it, she knows!"
I'm remembering the aftermath of my first gay experience. I had to work that night. At work I felt light-headed and a terrible guilt flooded me. I began chain smoking. That's something I only do when I'm nervous. I couldn't believe what I had done. I felt I was perverted. Sick. Deranged. I was a queer. A faggot.
Brie Fly (pt. 2)
My friends call me Arty, mostly. Sometimes, though, it's Arthur. Or just Stanley.
At the ripe old age of 13, I was nearly accused of raping a girl at school. We were only kissing, in a class room that was occupied by about 4 kids. The rest were on the playgrounds. She got embarrassed, I guess, and the story started circulating around the school, until it got completely blown out of proportion. The principal took me home and had a talk with my dad. He said that he didn't think anything serious had happened and he confided to my dad that the girl in question, while only 13, looked like a sexy 18 year old. He suggested I not speak of the incident with anyone and let it blow over. The girl later apologized to me.
Around that same time, I was nearly shot by an older ex-con that was dating a girl in my class. This happened late one night, in a cemetery that was a hangout for us. The rumour was that he had actually shot someone before.
The summer of that same year, my best friend, Jameson, and I, began smoking pot. We both smoked our first joint with the same mutual friend, though we didn't tell each other. The friend told me about Jameson and, I guess, he told Jameson about me.
In the beginning, we had a tremendous fear, that if caught, we would be arrested, drawn and quartered, decapitated and have our heads hung from the London bridge. Later, we outgrew our fears and eventually, we were toking at school - in the bathrooms and behind the building.
Of course, we had our confrontations with the law. We were often hassled and the flashing blue light in the rear view mirror became a sickeningly familiar sight. We would often be fucked up on speed, beer, liquor, acid, wine, pot or Valium - in various combinations. But that was after we got our driver's license.
We were extremely lucky that we were never arrested (except once...) and we never got seriously hurt. Or hurt anyone else.
I began questioning the bible around the age of 13 and by the time I was 14, I was a confirmed atheist. Jameson said he was a leftist agnostic...
The bible, to me, was a jumbled collection of writings, thousands of years old, translated and re-translated and printed in god only knows how many editions. Even if there was anything to it in the beginning, I could hardly see how it could have survived. An amazing thing to me was how all of those Jews and Romans spoke the Old English language!
Talk about miracles.
At the ripe old age of 13, I was nearly accused of raping a girl at school. We were only kissing, in a class room that was occupied by about 4 kids. The rest were on the playgrounds. She got embarrassed, I guess, and the story started circulating around the school, until it got completely blown out of proportion. The principal took me home and had a talk with my dad. He said that he didn't think anything serious had happened and he confided to my dad that the girl in question, while only 13, looked like a sexy 18 year old. He suggested I not speak of the incident with anyone and let it blow over. The girl later apologized to me.
Around that same time, I was nearly shot by an older ex-con that was dating a girl in my class. This happened late one night, in a cemetery that was a hangout for us. The rumour was that he had actually shot someone before.
The summer of that same year, my best friend, Jameson, and I, began smoking pot. We both smoked our first joint with the same mutual friend, though we didn't tell each other. The friend told me about Jameson and, I guess, he told Jameson about me.
In the beginning, we had a tremendous fear, that if caught, we would be arrested, drawn and quartered, decapitated and have our heads hung from the London bridge. Later, we outgrew our fears and eventually, we were toking at school - in the bathrooms and behind the building.
Of course, we had our confrontations with the law. We were often hassled and the flashing blue light in the rear view mirror became a sickeningly familiar sight. We would often be fucked up on speed, beer, liquor, acid, wine, pot or Valium - in various combinations. But that was after we got our driver's license.
We were extremely lucky that we were never arrested (except once...) and we never got seriously hurt. Or hurt anyone else.
I began questioning the bible around the age of 13 and by the time I was 14, I was a confirmed atheist. Jameson said he was a leftist agnostic...
The bible, to me, was a jumbled collection of writings, thousands of years old, translated and re-translated and printed in god only knows how many editions. Even if there was anything to it in the beginning, I could hardly see how it could have survived. An amazing thing to me was how all of those Jews and Romans spoke the Old English language!
Talk about miracles.
Brie Fly (pt. 1)
I became an actualized bi-sexual the day I stopped patronizing one downtown adult book store, which had a sign on the wall that read "No gay activities in the movie stalls!," and stepped into another, that actually had gay films showing in 2 of their maybe 10 or 12 stalls. And these 2 stalls were upstairs, away from the others. The concept was exciting and the excitement created a turmoil in my stomach. I was nervous and jittery as I stood there inspecting the current attractions on the small billboard. I could hardly imagine what it would be like to see 2 hot, muscular men have sex with each other. I went upstairs.
Once inside the stall, I immediately noticed a hole in the wall - my first glory hole - and when I bent down, I could see into the other stall. I watched a man pull out his dick and masturbate. It was a little hard to believe.
Later, as I waited for the adjoining stall to be vacated, so that I might realize the demented pleasures it held for me, by way of film, a young man stepped out, cautiously, and said "Hi. Was your movie any good?" I told him it was pretty good. I was so nervous. We traded stalls. After a few minutes of viewing, he stepped out and knocked on my door. I knew what he wanted and let him in.
I kissed the young man with the short hair and mustache. He had liquor on his breath. And as passion overtook us, he unzipped his pants and took out his rather large dick. I was scared stiff (no pun intended), but I wanted it to happen.
I said something idiotic like "I'm not gay...I don't usually do stuff like this." He whispered "I'm not saying you're gay." And, with that ridiculous exchange, we got down to business. I must say, it all felt very natural to me.
Just remembering my bi-sexual "cherry popping" excited me to the point of masturbation - which excited me to the point of ejaculation.
By the way, my name is Arthur. Arthur J. Stanley.
Once inside the stall, I immediately noticed a hole in the wall - my first glory hole - and when I bent down, I could see into the other stall. I watched a man pull out his dick and masturbate. It was a little hard to believe.
Later, as I waited for the adjoining stall to be vacated, so that I might realize the demented pleasures it held for me, by way of film, a young man stepped out, cautiously, and said "Hi. Was your movie any good?" I told him it was pretty good. I was so nervous. We traded stalls. After a few minutes of viewing, he stepped out and knocked on my door. I knew what he wanted and let him in.
I kissed the young man with the short hair and mustache. He had liquor on his breath. And as passion overtook us, he unzipped his pants and took out his rather large dick. I was scared stiff (no pun intended), but I wanted it to happen.
I said something idiotic like "I'm not gay...I don't usually do stuff like this." He whispered "I'm not saying you're gay." And, with that ridiculous exchange, we got down to business. I must say, it all felt very natural to me.
Just remembering my bi-sexual "cherry popping" excited me to the point of masturbation - which excited me to the point of ejaculation.
By the way, my name is Arthur. Arthur J. Stanley.
I'm not sure about this...
I want to post something I wrote around 1979 or 1980, but I'm uneasy about the content. There are a few sexual references that are a bit graphic. I've been putting off writing this for some time now because of those references.
What should I do?
I'm worried that the inclusion of these posts will alter the feel of this blog. It does have a feel, right? Or is it a big rambling mess anyway? I thought about editing it, but that would either mean cutting out big chunks of meat, or watering it down until it lacks any relevance.
I often worry about being an artistic coward.
I've lived a huge part of my life on the edge and in the dark, dank dungeon. These couple of tidbits seem innocent to me now, having experienced a multitude of extreme incidents over the course of my life.
The character, Arty, who is relating these events, was about 20 years old at that time.
I'm going to just dive in, I think. Let's just see what happens.
Here goes... Ladies and gentlemen, "Brie Fly."
Warning: some sexual content.
What should I do?
I'm worried that the inclusion of these posts will alter the feel of this blog. It does have a feel, right? Or is it a big rambling mess anyway? I thought about editing it, but that would either mean cutting out big chunks of meat, or watering it down until it lacks any relevance.
I often worry about being an artistic coward.
I've lived a huge part of my life on the edge and in the dark, dank dungeon. These couple of tidbits seem innocent to me now, having experienced a multitude of extreme incidents over the course of my life.
The character, Arty, who is relating these events, was about 20 years old at that time.
I'm going to just dive in, I think. Let's just see what happens.
Here goes... Ladies and gentlemen, "Brie Fly."
Warning: some sexual content.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
