Golden Gate Lemming Drops

Mapo

Mapo

Mapo

South

Korea

Mapo

Bridge

Mapo

Has

Solutions

Railing photo memorial

San

Francisco

Bureaucracy

Blocks

An American

Sacred

Memorial

For survivors

For loss

For prevention

To decrease

Deceadant

Body

Scoop

What

About

Coast Guard

ptsd

??

I think

That what I think

Matters

Very

Little

So I web log

Weblog

Blog it

Today

For the 8th time

Not including city e-mails

To nice ol’ SF

That living photos

Permaposted

Would be

The greatest American not-blog

Logging life

Before

The deceadants appeared

Broke

Fell

Back

Up

Back

In

A Christmas home

A real heart wrencher

To a lost sheep

TO MAKE THAT MORBIDITY PEEL RIGHT OFF

Or do we enjoy

Autonomous autoviolent video

On YooHoo tuber?

I do not

Suicide is too “too”

For that Bay Area

I am guessing

A weird freedom

It would be cooler

To die

Of cancer

Cooler to challenge

One’s own spirit

To stick-with-ship

As it is

Everyone

Is getting

What they need and want

Insanity sugar coated?

Looney Tunes “Now I’ve seen everything”… Aaaaaaaaaaa… * BURST *

Bloat

Float

Ship cruise up

Scoop

Why not leave the fallen leaf

Like Autumn

Why scoop up biological mass?

120lb female

310lb male

167lb young male

110lb young female

Brady Bunch it

Why not have Mike Carol Alice Cindy Bobby Greg Marsha Peter Jan and Tiger all go over together?

Like the great accident in 1824 AD during the Great Depression

Casualties did not exceed what was expected

Yet now

They have

The bridge glory

Illusion of grandeur

History

Is natinally known

And seen

Help has arrived

From the East

I am Thich Quack Duck

The non aqueous non immolater Mayahana crimson lotus maybe-maker

I say YouTube: Mapo

Or we will never see a decrease

Or just “hope” elsewise

Never too late

No fear

No shame

Writing this kills me

Its so boring

And I am not sure jumping is ultimately bad

But for Coast Guard ptsd I write

Rice, Dish: Abramovic

1478065244264486734995 Abramovic therapy is to count them

I count an “all”

I keep an “all”

God bless bloody young babes and meaty ladies I go “gaga” for

I am spoken for- yet my sibling chivalry proceedeth in the romance of lotus, wine and thorns

And visceral CARING ladies of China wall-walk… where do they come from?

Enamoured ME

I Twittered

“EarthAndy”

Got.. Shut down

IDK why…

I’d crawl the wall just to see her 1/16 of a nano meter away, pass thru her vision of fleish as a Casper and… I don’t know…

Ask her to tango

She looks young

I’d like to discuss a few brands

Of mine

I’m not sorry

I am just

Performing wild and vividly and not often

The words I use are hell branded air anyway

I adore sangre essence

It IS IN MY visceral all

It is living messenger, liquid, warm, tacky, sticky… IN MY residence

Rice

Where did she pick that idea up?

It is white blood

Dry white blood food

You can eat a dry grain

It takes a while to simmer in your mouth

Essen

Toy

Person

Happy little maggot mummies

No wiggles

I am prone to auto-hallucination, knowing it is not fly babies

This HELPS, Marina

I have very bad ptsd

I have hereditary angioedema and at age 14- I bled internally.. my blood plasma in AGGREGATE entered my abdominal cavity circumcising my hara

Auto hara kiri non suicide hypovolemic shock

Phoenix in me flashing

Heart in spiral

Fear greater than pain

Sheer horror, luminous sibling…

You are part of my salvation experience

I love you

 

I Just Wrote The Most Amazing Piece

    And God let me overlap it as an e-mail to my local Police

It is raw grit heart without fart

I am not sure if it went to the city or what

I was suicidal this month, but honey (not my wife, all of you… well, her too), –

I am a writer

I am a writer

THIS IS publish

THIS IS publish

Take me to a book pub

I wanna guzzle a pint of Frost

I love you monkey-bootsers and chunky rankers

What the hell

Euphoria? More guiltless than a Gorbasm

I could live or die
Am I in trouble

Epilogue

In all seriousness, my consistant bp is high
Never say die… they say
I could be famous away
(Fame after death only)
But YOU were my fame all of you my eyes touched

I want to see Jesus

Those are the last words I would want Syntaxsinner to text-utter if he fell

My heart, rhyming still, beats like a chestnut bell.

I want a holly jolly xmas
O heaven

I will get at least ONE as I count to eleven

1, 2, 3…

A Shade Of Reality

    Yellower than the color of okra…

The life I can make
has unlimited potential

Her needs will require me to
not ascend

I have had to sluff winning cards

I am winning by choosing this kind of loss for now

She also is chronicly outspoken about our means being lackluster

I have wanted to jam a tuba in my ear to block the sound of words like – –

Bankrupcy

(3am, stressed, “we have no money!”)

Well, let them come for us. Kick us out.
I can have hereditary angioedema and live on the street and stay clean and sober, too.

I could die, too.

My family is like the Reagans.

Busy.

Jane Wyman was busy.

Mike Reagan went to boarding school as an adopted boy. Who in the hell gets to do THAT??
The future president.

Michael Reagan was molested and it was felony one. It happened in tandem with being away.
He is now a great talk show host survivor, man and father.

I had someone try to Jay Cee Dugard ME. I fought. Second degree sexual assault against me. The church I was with laughed it off. At times, yes, to my face. Nervous laughter. Ha ha ha. I am not there to hurt, kill, sue… to protect others.

My wife does not understand how this affects THIS MAN. And I have strength to last my emotional anti-aircraft shelter until Tuesday Next. And beyond.

Right this moment.

Now.

Its happening.

Life.

I am saying this to say now I am ready in this moment with all power to me to do well now.

Any reader can too.

How?

You do.
You will.
If you like my story,
do me a favor…

Tell someone else yours.
When you just cannot help it.

||||

Taste It, Touch It, Did You Not Know I Am True “Maroon”?

     All this time I have been writing, and no one asks or notices?

    

image

    Its in my art…

image

    My art is not magic.

    Have you all simply failed
    to notice my Gestatisch
    presence?

    You never meet me.
    A likely excuse.

image

    I shy from sunlight.

image

     Women look delicious. I do
     not say blasphemous
     words, do I? Well not
     before noon and supper
     feeding. Suppers.

image

     I don’t feed on good
         people.

image

     Well… if they are not going
to make it anyway. I know
that in United Kingdom there
  is a blonde- do NOT let her
   bombshell near you. She
    eats fruit, so she tastes
     like… a trap… hahah hah!

image

I read the small blood book and memorized it until it becomes my skin painfully breathing FOR me in times and I am wretched. I am of the night in the “I in I” of ME

image

   I drink crimson rain until I am a pain to no one. I take any food, drug, livestock broke in my hand from the store and even sweet drops of another’s blood so sweet ringin’ strange with iodine taste assembling my umbillical connection.

image

Låår Ies lives in the pit of my soulless soul heart and spirit turned sour- makes me sing of sweet viscerin, the dear illuminant beyond Rome’s oars aching, rowing forever.

    I am one of the most powerful and if you call me good, or if you call me evil, YOU will be cast OUT.

   Sound like I am mindlessly babbling? Then what are you hitting THIS sentence for? What is for all of our kind but a sentence of death? A single person- have you ever seen anyone 150 years old or more?

     No.

     In 150 years- you. Me.
All on Earth now except for trees, jellyfish and… that very persistant species of turtle… will be no more.

Secret

Do you want to know a secret?

Never take no for an answer.

No is not.

There is “no” and there is no “no”. It is an “un-“.

Ecclesiastes:
“Nothing cannot be counted.”
(I wrote this correctly. Hard to
do. For me. Yes its true.)

This may mean that a very serious buddhist student seeks nothing boldly getting “somewhere”.

Its open, not for noninterpretation…
But for misinterpretation.

We all misinterpret ourselves.

So knock it off.

I am probably ahead of you.

I say all kind of crapola talk to get you in here. Crapola comes in all colors. Race is beautiful. Crapola is our Crayola color LACK Wish.

And it is said, where my Isa gave his true blood drink to guzzle and not sip ninny hi ho in chapel… drink, chug the blood of the sweet lord as if he were unforbidden fruit…

Crosses belong in shit fields, crooked, empty, at zero dark thirty three A.D.

     Salvation belongs to people. Its gorgeoues. I am a vampire. I eat Jesus’s blood. Yum. Yum Yum.

     I do not put real sanguine to my lips. Gross. But I am gross anatomy, babes. And so are you. Woo hoo. Its nothing you have not heard before.

      I suffered today. But I bit my tongue. Figuratively. I had a terrible morning. But I hope you have a wonderful life if it just pleases you to know that I think Christianity is broke. But Christ was not christian. He was He-in. Like “He”. Oh forget it. You are all going to the big deep guzzler of hell. Kidding. Define ‘hell’.

Define, define
Detail, detail
True it up

     Do you think I am kidding?
Does a writer have the ability to love you? What if he or she helps you save your own life, kiddos? Then YOU did it.

As for eternity,
if you want to
know about
it…
stick around
forever.

||||

Taste It, Touch It, Did You Not Know I Am True “Maroon”?

     All this time I have been writing, and no one asks or notices?

    

image

    Its in my art…

image

    My art is not magic.

    Have you all simply failed
    to notice my Gestatisch
    presence?

    You never meet me.
    A likely excuse.

image

    I shy from sunlight.

image

     Women look delicious. I do
     not say blasphemous
     words, do I? Well not
     before noon and supper
     feeding. Suppers.

image

     I don’t feed on good
         people.

image

     Well… if they are not going
to make it anyway. I know
that in United Kingdom there
  is a blonde- do NOT let her
   bombshell near you. She
    eats fruit, so she tastes
     like… a trap… hahah hah!

image

I read the small blood book and memorized it until it becomes my skin painfully breathing FOR me in times and I am wretched. I am of the night in the “I in I” of ME

image

   I drink crimson rain until I am a pain to no one. I take any food, drug, livestock broke in my hand from the store and even sweet drops of another’s blood so sweet ringin’ strange with iodine taste assembling my umbillical connection.

image

Låår Ies lives in the pit of my soulless soul heart and spirit turned sour- makes me sing of sweet viscerin, the dear illuminant beyond Rome’s oars aching, rowing forever.

    I am one of the most powerful and if you call me good, or if you call me evil, YOU will be cast OUT.

   Sound like I am mindlessly babbling? Then what are you hitting THIS sentence for? What is for all of our kind but a sentence of death? A single person- have you ever seen anyone 150 years old or more?

     No.

     In 150 years- you. Me.
All on Earth now except for trees, jellyfish and… that very persistant species of turtle… will be no more.

Secret

Do you want to know a secret?

Never take no for an answer.

No is not.

There is “no” and there is no “no”. It is an “un-“.

Ecclesiastes:
“Nothing cannot be counted.”

This may mean that a very serious buddhist student seeks nothing boldly getting “somewhere”.

Its open, not for noninterpretation…
But for misinterpretation.

We all misinterpret ourselves.

So knock it off.

I am probably ahead of you.

I say all kind of crapola talk to get you in here. Crapola comes in all colors. Race is beautiful. Crapola is our Crayola color LACK Wish.

And it is said, where my Isa gave his true blood drink to guzzle and not sip ninny hi ho in chapel… drink, chug the blood of the sweet lord as if he were unforbidden fruit…

Crosses belong in shit fields, crooked, empty, at zero dark thirty three A.D.

     Salvation belongs to people. Its gorgeoues. I am a vampire. I eat Jesus’s blood. Yum. Yum Yum.

     I do not put real sanguine to my lips. Gross. But I am gross anatomy, babes. And so are you. Woo hoo. Its nothing you have not heard before.

      I suffered today. But I bit my tongue. Figuratively. I had a terrible morning. But I hope you have a wonderful life if it just pleases you to know that I think Christianity is broke. But Christ was not christian. He was He-in. Like “He”. Oh forget it. You are all going to the big deep guzzler of hell.

     Do you think I am kidding?
Does a writer have the ability to love you? What if he or she helps you save your own life, kiddos? Then YOU did it. As for eternity, if you want to know about it… stick around forever.

||||

Superstar Writers Ink…

     …until they climax.

     And the afterthoughts are pretty damn nice, too.

     Gee, thanks. I was kind of getting stuck on Act III and all turned ON… and then YOU showed up.

      Way to kill the feeling, friend. Thanks, but at the same time- crap!! Well at least you know you can be my cooler. Hey, you ever go to Vegas?

    What?? Oh, c’mon, Baby. Don’t take it so badly…