I Still Do Not Want To Write


       When someone you know really well has a stroke or brain damage, they take a quantum leap from one person to the current person.

      Generally, over time, we change. A stroke can be like hitting a brick wall and losing precious elements of a relationship to the point where you have to choose to be in love with the new person. I think it IS that drastic. Suddenly they only know you are the same and suddenly you only know… nothing. Everything changes. Yesterday my wife who has done our bills is forgetting major and basic things.

     I asked her how the bills are done two years ago, to write it down in case something happens. Then one year ago, at 44, she had a stroke. Family is oblivious, unlearning, and all they see is her like usual. I, on the other hand, asked her to say my name a week ago, for example. My wife didn’t know my name.

      Worse yet, she said, over and over, “You are becoming someone else.” Sure I am. Another husband for another wife- her. It is hard to say what essentially is the same. The disconnect feeling is unfathomable. Its just statements like, “You are someone else”… that can lead to some choice one way discussions where I go on to my closest friend who I’ve confided in about how she fell 2½ years ago and what that did. Her father was there and it was an accident involving his van. He was 80 then. He didn’t call 911… so I told her a weird thing.

      I said, “I’m angry at who he dad used to be, because dementia has since worsened his memory and all. I get accused of being interested in and hitting on other women. I don’t do that. If I so much as say to a friend, “You look nice”, it is very random, but it can be used on me and magnified x30. I say things publicly because once you hide something, especially a friendship where you CAN communicate with ease, that would in my heart and mind be and unwise place to gain strength.

      So I’d rather just sink with the ship. I chose a woman. She tells me if I have problems, talk to this woman or that woman because she trusts them. From what I understand, even if she is broken, I have an emotionally viable relationship with her- my wife. The kinds of things I want to talk about involves everything. And if she tells me talk to someone else, does she no longer understand that I believe a bond with a female that excludes her isn’t right to me.

     Why am I being pushed in the direction of emotional infidelity? To me it is like saying, “After I burned my face, you can kiss someone else. In fact, I have a list of people that you can hold hands with.” Its a nightmare. I could tell her I see it like that, but also she gets confused by what I say I feel from cognizance destroyed. This is my ethic to be careful like this. I hear emotional straying lead to more anger & feeling of separation and relational death than a singular physical straying. That is in recent polls of women in relationships.

      So it can only be mindlessness that prove where my heart is? I must be blessed to find that I really do love my wife. Oh, and she made her hair blonde, so while I depressed trying to figure it all out, I am going to bed with a blonde. Same person. How convenient. People change every 7 years anyway. Every atom in your body changes. I might as well learn what it all means. I’m not going anywhere. I’m still depressed, but reality doesn’t need to mystify. So what? Usually men’s wife have strokes at 65, 75, 85… what’s 44? It’s difficult. But I wouldn’t write if I fuckin’ gave up. The computer would be off and I’d be smoking again and drinking. Not hard alcohol. I just think I’d rather feel everything, then say, “Screw the past”. Here’s to the future and Pandora’s box of more hopes and dreams concerning other things that I also will have to accept as effemeral beauty in a world where Love’s blessing are muchly bound from me it seems. But I… I am. I exist. I’m unstoppable and the joy is hushed but I hear it.

      Also, with this I’ve mentioned before, I’m disabled. Its hard as hell. I’ve been sick all week. And I don’t know how to ask for help. My mom is in a healing cult. She told my wife negativity about going blonde. I wanted to kick her for saying that, but- uhh. It is kind of like I wished we were accepted. And loved.

I Don’t Feel Like Writing Now

      Sometimes I want to break my “diet” regiment, too. Its healthy to write. Interesting things come out when I feel this much pain and I end up thinking and writing differently. I think writing comes from the body.

My body now

      I have tendon pain, excruciating. It makes me think of when I was a kid feeling “Western guilt” from the 1980’s commercials with starving Ethiopian children. They really were in trouble, and while a donation made doesn’t necessarily reach them only and 9 year olds don’t write checks generally to Save The Children, I liked Sally Struthers and felt less happy about my toys. Not in a bad way. But I thought, with having only seen my grandfather at a funeral, “yikes”. 

      I have seen 3 bodies, all friend or family, ages 21, 75, and 75. Well it is not something to dwell on. They only SEEMED like they were still their. Sorry if this is a bummer, but the body lives and is not meant to stop. What I saw was a complexity of how a snake sheds its skin or when no one lives in a house. They aren’t there.

      I don’t feel conflict, say over Uganda’s child labor as it is all their own military’s fault. Uganda can change that. The kicker is that the children mine for a mineral that is totally crucial for all cell phones. So I think of the product very soberly, as well as anything not made in the USA because maybe little hands made it. I’m not for outsourcing but strangely it is an All American way.

      I don’t spend time remembering much except the life of Andreas, Boppa or Mary, my mother in law. Andreas died accidently. After 20 years, I finally wrote my friend Jason and said, “Say… I’ve worried for like decades… are you okay?”, because Jason tried to save Andreas from drowning.

      Jason wrote back, “No that’s okay. I feel really over it. I felt lousy for so long because it was my idea to go swimming.” (It was a hot day. They went after work.) Jason continued, “I had a very lucid dream. I was standing on the water. Andreas stood above the spot where he was lost. Andreas said, ‘It wasn’t your fault, Jason. This was meant to happen. Don’t feel bad’. And since then I’ve felt free to talk about it.”

     I’m glad he had that dream.

“All Are Equal… But Some Are More Equal Than Others”

        Is that not eerie to read. It’s from “Animal Farm” regarding soceital equality and the pigs want subtle upgrades and power. Its generally true of a White or “whitened” college grad who feigns interest in global equality. Out of gravity, things fall White. White is an attitude and commitment to classmanship, which is far from Klansmanship, but class war brought about action from Siddhartha the Buhdda and 3 others to find the inner equal ground of all, and that externals do not reflect the inside.

       I have a friend from Kyber dist. in West Pakistan. Bombings in the past there- ONE killing 19 people he knows including his uncle. He is in my international support group for a rare disease I have. IN THAT FACEBOOK GROUP I was discussing  with Shakeel his son’s health. It included details of the violence. Our attacks are stress connected.

       A member from UK said, “Uh… can you please discuss this elsewhere”. So let me see… I’m 39 talking to a Pakistani, mild manned Sunni Muslim, married, 5 kids, poor… and I make $1100/ month for my wife and I… I have been attacked twice, one man tried to kill me. I have to endure the PTSD. Helping people is the opposite shape of my scars.

    I am attracted to people who are poor and hurting or facing insurmountable odds. I’m good at this than a funeral director only I REALLY DO want friendship. I feel numb, but I am real and I feel. This is an intense feeling to see the hurt. I see what I picture and the more I know the more accurate to truth I see. Their boy could really be in serious shape. Its not an entire friendship to online communicate, but it can be very helpful. I think of stories where someone is in rubble and the fireman says, “Hold on, we are coming!”.

      My duty, which I feel is a priviledge, is to say, “Hold on.” But I’m not allowed to say “help is coming”. So Shakeel said to me, “What do I do? I need no food or water. I need to know how to do this… it is all not stopping.”

     I said to him 3 days ago, because the fear of troops is NOW (10:25PM now is 10:25 in the morning there): “Shakeel, God loves you.” (universal understanding we have regardless or religion. Its easy for anyone to feel totally forsaken). I said to him, you can only do as much as you can and I can tell you ARE doing all you can.” I asked him to be knowing he was strong and that a weaker feeling does not mean its over. The next day he says (2 days ago)- “I can be strong because of you. Thank you.”

     It has something to do with no usual pity, listening and checking in. I don’t have a lot of friends in America because I feel I don’t belong here. I live here. But my life is very different. I guess I’m a blank white guy. I can be colored into many molds of people. I’m essential comfortable as a chameleon and every color I like.

      As for the woman from UK who was dangerously close to appearing to “ethnicly cleanse” the Facebook site, I let her know that I was establishing a relationship outside the group, however the group mustn’t have a “third world” vs a “first world” version and that the FOUNDER of the 300 member group lives in Tel Aviv and gets bombed… so everyone needs the right to speak as their life actually happens.

     My friend being Muslim with a 1:50,000 disease… it shouldn’t MATTER. ⅓ of us die. Shakeel’s mom in 1984. My dads dad in 1959. We usually die in our 30s… or live a full life. I am 39. Shakeel is 32… the same age as my grandfather when he died.

       So hearing about bullets and bombs is unsavory? Imaging LIVING it every day. My Muslim friend from Kosovo lost all her friends. The Muslims there are white and are (or were)  killed by other whites.

      The concept of equality is a lot for show. It usually has little to actually to with real authentic love or charity. Its made into a rule- a declaration that all are equal. What accomplishes an uplift of all is humility, outreach and uplift. We are all of equal value. But I see my friend not valued… then I rebuke the others and reject them- all those who ignore the poor foreigner. I value their life worth, but would do nothing to express human mercy & affection for a woman or man devoid of it.

     And Thomas Jefferson’s ghost is telling me, “Bravo, bravo” for defending a race, a religion, and an outcast and winning, one again, with A thru Z and without firing a gun. I am so angry as I am about freeworld racists and the abandonment of all the Arabic people after 9-11. I wish people knew its racist to be anti-Arab as 1,000,000,000 men, women and children are in that culture.



Bordeom Analysis: Super Accurate


     This is the official flag of boredom. The most exciting part is the blue grey stripe that alludes to another world else the flag represent boredom everywhere. No, boredom wants to let you know there is hope but not lead you to it. Thanks a lot!

Boredom example

   I am watching tv and feel dull pain. I count my breaths. I am uncomfortable and feeling a Je ne se qua sensation of “hungry? not really?”. I breathe again. The movie on tv has a slow plot, no humor, no action. I breathe again.

Boredom intervention

    Unimpressed, I found doing the dishes was fun. I rinsed a few to prep for the dw. Then I threw away something. There’s my violence. Screw you, piece of paper on the sink. To HELL with you… forever.

Boredom subsides

    I take my night pills out of a wine glass empty clean standing on my work counter. I wash the annoying necessary gravelly do dads down with tap water in a half-full pink fluorescent 32 oz. tumbler.

    Yay. I’m not bored. I just finished the last thing to do for the day. Yay.

               (Crickets creeking)

The Prince Of Power


There is a special clothing
Made of magic thread
If you wear it, you control
The Living and the Dead

The clothing is evasive
So run and jump inside
The clothing wants to know you!
Be friends, and play! Confide!

It will tell you stories
Some are grim and make you wince
For part of the clothing is
The skin of a perfect magic prince

He wore himself quite well
He taught the people “Don’t fear death”
For this he was cut into pieces.
And now his ghost wants to be our vest.

Its quite alright, he’s from another world
He came here to share his money
His wealth is his very flesh
And we can wear “God”- isn’t that funny?


There are so many of us. If we could see a joy in life to be kind and not say God’s name, I think we could have, in a parallel but perfected universe a tall father like a god and play… all races… remembering that we have a family forever. I think I’ve lost at least one friend per year.

      As I get older, I laugh in soceity. I am closer to Father in the above, a realist, a husband, I love kiddos… man! Y’know what? I hold high hopes for what the (creator) will do in the future and reveal himself either when I die (BIG BIG HELLO!) or maybe overtaking the Earth some day in intervention. Its hard to predict. But I am Pro-human peace! God is realistic, orderly and protective! Our war is our disobedience and he WILL intervene if highly provoked. God is patient though and lets us run the planet. Its weird. I don’t understand. But I want to meet God. It seems like anything unknown is hard.

Tackling The Issue Of Suicide Unabashedly


     There are many ways to commit suicide. Why is it called “commiting”? This makes it sound criminal. Truth be told, a “commitment” is what killing self could be… one “commits” to an irreversible act. What a concept that one can self destruct.


    This is not a topic to take lightly, but as a mortician pops a body on a table, I am, as a previously once suicidal person- expose it and dissect it areverently. Causuality- this is the belief things will happen and are fixed. How is a suicide not a choice?

    Okay- any number of you out of one million (61 follow me, so DON’T) will inevitable be a victim of autohomocide ie you will die via a reflex based on plan and forethought. You will be feeling “in control”, not “depressed” in a moment to five minutes of deliberation. Like you choose to punch a man in a bar, you will be filled with a skittley feeling of “do” option. Unfortunate gun in hand, you will aim and fire and inflict an effect. Then you will stop living.

Do not

   Do not kill yourself.


    Why do people choose to die and do it? Well, they have resolvable issues but do not SEE a resolution. They learn how to. I looked up “suicide method” on Bing and here is a kudo for humanism on Bing- the first articles are strategicly placed so as to wall in “jumpers”. The first articles are tricky and say “How To” then give readers 6-9 reasons why not to! Those are non-judgmental and effective convincing one has reason TO suicide to address.

     They do not say what to live for. This is not greatly effective. Rather, tools to avert are laid out. Good net planning. So did you know the internet does have hidden purposed safeties? It does.


     Frustration to put oneself out of the picture. Hide yourself in a box. No. You can do that alive. Why destroy yourself. Failure of man has already been proven. We do not need more evidence.


    You’ve had to tough through life. We need tough people alive. Your life has value. I’d say the average person is worth $100,000 per year in all their activity such as giving your seat up for grandma on the bus. Even criminals keep cops working and paid. If you are a royal pain you keep us sharp but you will not be suicidal- you think you are a gift. Which reminds me, we all contribute activity. Noone is useless completely.


      Suicide is a complex event. It has a cure. The prevention is recognizing causes and making it hard for ourselves to be alone in our thoughts… if possible.


Z.U.A.: Zeitgest Undercurrent Ascertainable



     I have designed a dress based on hip accentuation. I predict this design will come out in the next ten years. I have not seen it out on the market, however.

      If everytime I had an idea and went to market it, I would mentally crumble. I feel a demand for this accentuation like a manufacturer senses a decade where cars need to be safer. This dress is breast evasive and I see women tending to want hip ammo.

      How it can be without myself designing it is Zeitgeist motion. Slob bell bottoms won’t be back soon. A-cut is reminiscent of 1920 flapper cuteness. I like necks. My wife knows I study women in behaviourisms, movements, emotions. My EQ is topped out. A simple geometric section even asymmetric- especially actually is a reference to “I am soft here”, tantalizing, provocative and puritanical.

      Since I sense a need and America alone has almost 100 million adult woman, I will wait and see when designers “get it”.
I could be wrong. But if I were a New York designer with a name this would be Spring 2014 or 2015’s “cute throw on” easy.

     I have other body-linear designs that just crack the bat I have in stock. I’m not distressed to not be a player.

     But I’m telling you- flat fabric hip accentuation has an 80% go in ten years from somewhere with a short lifespan trendwise like grunge music. So ladies, get ready to shoot from the hip. Or better yet, run with it, make it and prove me correct. I’d like to see that bit of fabric crinkle on stair climbs, kneeling, showing nubility and fruitfulness, myself.


Star Chunk: Episode I- The Blood Chunk Moon Invasion Redux


I have fought wars and fought hard. I have seen chunk. In the year of Glarg, I invaded the Chunk Moon. We set out.


Chunks were taken out of our ships. They were ruined! But we cruised on.


We came across a ship on fire sending a distress signal, “We are peaceful. Help!” Whatever.


My assistants Buzz and Squatmaster cracked a few jokes. When they went to the restroom, I jettisoned them.


I am Lord Dorkface, warrior lord of the Aquaworld. I take no prisoners- unless I eat them.


Our forces landed on the moon.


But it turned out to be a unicorn fight ring. We won millions. Yay Pegasus!


But we nuked the place anyway.

Well… my crew cut my head off. The only reason I can tell the story…


…is because I am in a fish tank. Just a head. And I get computer time. I AM… Space Chunk.

What If God Ceased To Be God?

His powers would fall on others by delegation. People would inevitably be immortal out of necessity. If we merely pretended God died, we might as well say there never was a god, pretend to be autonomously immortal and authoritive and claim his silence means death. The illusion would wear off as we die and we’d call memory immortality.

     All the while in all probability any human language is below God and though fluent, he would not speak it now any more than one would bark to their dog. Dogs aren’t fools. You speak, ie English, to a dog and the sway of your voice lulls their trust. We do not see God. Okay. What about mountain winds and the gift of breath umbilical to his spirit. I think “we”- soceities, kill God. That is, ideas of God. To no avail. We, I, You, Us are invited to enjoy life. Go see a movie. Go for a walk. Breathe. Dream. You are like your Real Father.