This is nothing new for me to write as I speak in the now. I think I’m going to make this about “being real”. The above photograph is of me in a small market (large West Coast chain) called Trader Joe’s. I took this picture to try to look cool, like Bill says in kill Bill 2… Trying to look cool. I sat with the toilet lid down… I sat on the toilet wearing slacks, blazer, Turquoise stone bolo tie worn off the collar.
Matrix style sunglasses, hair colored. If you were to see me as I am now and I would put a Longshoremen’s Hat on my head, you would see a man that looks like an imam (Muslim pastor) possibly because my beard is now 2 inches long, 70% white like the teenagers at my alma mater high school – 70% white. I am white. Technically Arabic is white. Did you know that? That is a funny thing about the world.
I have always had the ability to be a master of disguise with no international agenda and perhaps an imagination greater then the cartoonists it came up with boo-boo bear. So I guess the topic I picked is me. I’m not ashamed- I’m going to make this interesting. The worst thing I ever did is… Just kidding! See? Already interesting.I’m serious about making this interesting though.
Me. My name is Andrew Harrison. My born legal name is Andrew and then something else. I thought with such seriousness about changing my last name that I did. It’s like going from Orlando Magic to the Chicago Bulls- instead of being a poof of magic YOU’RE A BULL. Neat and concrete. I don’t know anything about psychological sciences concerning identity and name changing. I was nuts before and still am. Oh well!
I spent so much time bullshitting. Yeah in life and writting blogs too. Syntaxsinner is one and there is one other before this one I got some notice that the blogger the year 2013 “liked” my blog Zaphanathpaneah17. That did not give me a euphoric high… I don’t know maybe more like it made my literary Cessna fly with squeegee clean windows and the orange sun came through while going over Alaska instead of Kansas.
I don’t know how many different kinds of writing there are, and I really don’t care… but I’ll tell you as a kid I never really cared for that trick that chubby kid to do with the stomach to make it look like a flopping face. I don’t have anything against BBW fat people. I’m a bigger guy and actually its not fat. Oh and not muscle, either. It’s a surprise I keep to myself and a thorn to my super powers of compassion and stuff. I do not look absolutely hideous but I DO have a rare blood condition where I get internal bleeding of blood fluid, not blood- all the time in my gut. Long story short I look like for Flintstone with the beard on the Hanson with a bowling ball beer belly in the front like I’m four months pregnant as a man. I play it off like a NOT-alcoholic beer drinker with spare tire fat from jolliness drinking beer.
Wake up, folks. Not you. You. Heh heh.
The truth is that I had to quit drinking. Pretty much. It didn’t help the pain and I found the right meds for all of that shit, but I’ve had near death experiences- none of us make it. Just kidding. Seriously we don’t. Just kidding, relax!! I get edema in the abdominal cavity like hare kate. Look up HAE. It causes pain to the nerves where one gets a gut feeling. “Pain” is the word I could use over and over but that’s just a very dark black pen- pain comes in a pallet of various colors. I’d say a rainbow of pain but the word rainbow is used by special interest groups that I don’t have an interest in. Poor rainbow in the sky. Even Ronnie James Dio put it like this:
it’s like a rainbow in the dark
So I’ll use that. That’s what warms me as I face death whether tomorrow or 30 years from now. I won’t use the Pink Floyd prism. It’s got to be misty like a grapefruit. And within. Electricity. Maybe. It’s turbo in me. Messianic transformer is zapping my thoughts this week asking how do you think you would kill yourself and I told him. I said HOW they did not seem to hold it against me. I think I am being used for suicide research in Heaven’s lab for a better tomorrow. Who am I, Hellboy? I told the Angels. Or if you will, the voices in my head that are not wrong ever. I live in Oregon, human, age 41, sane. Be afraid? I’m human not angel. I am possession of El. El Shaddai. NOT cool. That is Jesus’ Father. Is there love? Yes! Am I hurting? My skin is warm all over right now. I am a powerful man alive! Whoa! My post!
my post is toast…
jesus as end-game zaphanathpaneah
Do you wish to continue?
5, 4, 3, 2…
(I am a top motivational speaker “runner up”. I cannot RUN and I am not UP TO SPEAKING. Oh well. Thank you for reading, but only if you are human.)