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
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
I will get at least ONE as I count to eleven
1, 2, 3…
And I like me too!
What the black guy
Say to the white guy?
They were getting their cigarette ON.
Why does crime “not pay”?
It does, its called taxes.
It pays for a line down the street. I hate waiting.
Its heavy. The street is, I’m sure.
What did the blind man say to the black man? Ray Charles is dead.
I think lace is lovely,
Silk feels sure.
My underwear is cotton.
My Depends are full of Ensure.
(Is that too much surity?)
So a white man stops a black cop who ran a red light.
Oh no he didn’t.
What does a golfer yell before a skins game?
No, he didn’t.
What is called when a footballer wears horse underwear?
A tea brisket.
Uh idk huh.
What do you get when your joke is a question?
Please, tell me. Please.
I suck right now, dam knit towels…
If you cut my head off, do you know what you’ll get?
You’ll get the death penalty. Not too brite, eh?
Know how to make it like an accident?
Okay, I don’t want to be your friend.
I would kill you first.
Oh, HEY, no- I love you dead.
Ah. Homocidal humour… is so SEXY!!
Imagine we joked about death.
Now imagine something that is NOT true.
I dare you.
Getting any “un-ideas”?
No YOU DON’T COUNT!
You over here.
Ignorance is not a “non-idea”
That is a hiccup
Who takes the time to
text he *Bip* …
to text *Bip*
Too much LOL
Uh too much
I am writing
like a rock star,
babe on the rocks…
Nine teen till nine in
I am not drunk. ?
.woul’dnt I be missplelling by noo
WARNING- this article contains war journalist photos out of Pakistan that have NOT been cleared. I run a risk of being an enemy to the state of Pakistan for publishing them here.
I will space this out some in case some of you are too horrified by what I show you.
A group can have a name.
It can be Taliban. It can be terrorist. Or Nazi. People who use violence and MAIM. They are sick:
They have a SERIOUS ILLNESS. Just as one must amputate a GOOD ARM because of a BAD SHOULDER INFECTION… so has Pakistan’s beautiful, beautiful adult men and women and children had to
And we wish it is peaceful and sweet.
I must show you hell, people.
Why? Because concealment is a type of lie.
In my mind I want to wash away fear… na na na na… like magic…
Anger is not your face. Your thoughts for others were spun in the mind basket that is unraveled on a picnic couch that is your gurney
Red, yellow, blue plaid
This man had Asian descent.
Do you see an Asian muslim?
I am a man and I say I see lips a woman wife would kiss, but- he is beyond tomorrow.
A body is sandcastle coming undone. No hug is felt. It proves we love when we agonize our love one cannot feel. We don’t need their velvet skin hush cold unfeeling.
We need them warm.
I did see these persons today while conversing with my bro, Shak, in real time. There are 1000s of like-pictures of REAL people. Citizens near Afghanistan where USA troops WERE ALL LAST DECADE!! This is NOT being reported EN MASSE except right HERE on my unworthy small BLOG.
My grandfather, me being “Andy”, hi there, not to be a morose SOUL… my grandfather died young.
You can see INDIA in this man’s handsome eyelids.
Its OKAY to look, to stare.
He really WAS alive this year.
Do not feel bad.
You cannot hurt anyone to look at him.
You CAN hurt him more by looking AWAY! Yes- because WHO now will LOVE his loved ones but YOU??
You on the internet? Mostly NOT!
But if anyone wants to make a life for a boy named Shayan who has a rare disease that is NOT communicable, please let me know.
My friend Shakeel does not know that I am asking but he has said it would be better for his son in America.
I have the disease and I am disabled.
This is called FUBAR.
Its also called FATHERS LOVE
Me to you
In front of the WORLD
I DO not give a hack what
I say YOU are The Best Father
In The World of the
Sunni Year “1435”
Although photos that are (obviously not photoshopped due to grating and specific heat burns from home made suicide type bombs)
they are not an
I DID receive the photos by choice to comiserate the experience with an RN bro of mine who works… AND lives… in Jamrud Bazar, a group cluster of shops in Khyber Agency.
I show you these men. Three. I want to let you know that these bodies belonged to men… all men HERE… who were husbands and fathers to children who had to say goodbye to them and feel the hurt of being disconnected.
Also, these men were killed violently. See that they ARE handsome, worthy of love, even as these are photos- you could probably see your own friend or family like this.
We are all made of stars and earth. When the stars call us home- you are assured that the form remaining is no longer inhabited. Some of what I call “small stars” of angel grace hold a human likeness to the cadaver which is truely not evil, but a GIFT to I.D. the body, person. Understand that.
You are seeing in all this post something so very horrendous that I want you to pray first or breathe before you step away and decide if this experience is for you or if you want to make a difference.
I tried to give this family a shot at the IV medicine I take but the CIA put a kabash on that. A kabash is like a schwarma only a kabash sucks. If YOU… YES, YOU… Would like to confirm this story, write me at
10554 se Main
Milwaukie, OR 97222
Ans 503 943 0465
Please do not terrorize ME and give my address to the CIA in Langley, VA. The government is not thrilled that handicapped citizens try to help people who are neighbors to Taliban bombers in war zones. Every phone call is tricky for Shak- Shakeel has been harassed and threatened with death and kidnapping.
I would like to announce this is:
Projekt: Dinner Out
(Get Shayan & Family out
Of the war-corner of Pakistan)
I am thinking aggregate
Let us make an offramp for just one family.
America USED Dr. Afridi.
Now pay back Pakistan, America… save the whole family of a man with the SAME NAME, but an RN not an MD. haha. Its simple.
And it would make QUITE a
It is NOT a secret.
I want my friend Shakeel’s family paid for… with money contributions that you all know how to MAKE tax deductable.
To have a rare disease in war hell is to much.
Write to me like you mean it. I will give you young Shayan Afridi’s address and you can help his family out.
Special honorable mention to my brother Zahid. “Watch Shakeel, my brother, as he watches all of his lion cubs. Bless your cubs too.”
This is a picture of God, broken. You can see this picture was a mover. A person. A living sculpture…
Zooooooommm-! * * *~ *°
Is that horses.. do not LOOK at the painter. They don’t give a CRAP about portraits. I mean, they will crap, but probably not in mid-air as the colon probably cinches up with a jump.
Do YOU cinch up with a jump? Don’t tell me. Don’t tell your priest. No, wait.. DO! They need a laugh.
Don’t mess with people at funeral homes, pleeease?? Do you know, they have to pretend there are not bodies in the joint. Or maybe that’s me.
I went to a mauseleum. True story- I know my credit here is NO GOOD, but its true. I visited gramma’s grave and I said, “See YOU SOON!”- meaning like FIFTY YEARS. Soon enough. I got shit to do.
So I told a funeral director THERE a joke about… Uh… dead animals. He laughed and was reluctant to enjoy the joke. I saw Harold and Maude and I finally got it. I guess.
Do you want to know the joke? Too bad!!
What do you need?
What do you call a cremated dog?
Oh, shit. I failed.
How are you?
If you answered 1, “o.k.”-
you are a contemporary.
Same with 2.
One theory says it comes from “all correct”…
Simplifying to phonetic with a spin it becomes oll korrect…
Then “okay”, “o.k.”
#3 is the predessesor.
As in “ALL (is) RIGHT
Kind of dumb?
THAT is the point.
I suppose saying “o.k.” is less annoying than “IDK”- I dunno.
Why do you not know?
I analyze my feelings to the marrow. I like to say I am okay (o.k.) if people ask because (A) I am alive.
There is no B. Or C. Or more, because I have a painful condition. It gives me sick ideas that I think are minimally offensive and maximally entertaining… to a low level of pro writer.
My ideas to me are hell.
If someone asks me, “What is on your mind?” And I say, “Oh I am so glad I am 40 and not 15 (I flashback less now).”
I endured a hernia for a year and at first the pain shot into my back.
It was more fantasticly awesome than a near death experience because of how very truly Auschweitz the pain was for the next 18 months. I have a level of autism spectrum disorder along with hereditary angioedema. I could not define or express my pain.
I freaked my mom out. Adults should have known better than to teach ANY kid that God sends unbelieving persons to hell. There should be a license for that. There isn’t.
There was a big emphasis that you feel good when you know God loves you.
Had a religion over my head.
Had a very finite way to deal with pain.
Had maximum pain. And I still do. HAE is an “8 everyday” pain.
Honestly, I redid my mind.
I figure with this eating me, Aesop’s lion with a thorn is me. My rescuer? Not a mouse.
Actually, I ransacked the old religion and put the man with a wood throne from 33 A.D. next to me. Crucified, we talk back to back for LIFE. I deserve what? That old argument of sin and scumbags is dead. I have needs and my sin is being pathetic.
You would never know what I feel if you met me. I am one of God’s best kept secrets.
As for you, are you o.k.?
If you donate a $1,000,000 love gift to my mini-series, ministries, menses- you would be a knuckle-head.
I don’t have that.
In Arabia they call my stare way to heaven “Isa Il-masaih”. I stare away like a goober St. Bernard… he drags me along the sea shore.
ONE set of foot prints the whole way. And kicks and tons of dog shit.
Are you suprised to hear a holy man say shit? I am not holy. Shit, man… HE is.
The military has an allowance of cussing. In the Lord’s army, I avoid fuck the f-bomb. I mean I avoid the f-bomb. Why? One reason. I don’t know what the hell it means. I am not speaking in tongues here. Every language of man is junk weight.
You ever frame a word that you have said?
I frame in my head.
I do not know how that works.
A scripture says
May God be true and every man a liar. I am bracing myself. Stellar order and mercy will come to me yet again.