What to Believe

Stand still like a humming bird hovering over a flower but inside the flower the light vibrates.

Forget forsaken thoughts: remember the time that you didn’t remember.

Originality craves attention by being unoriginal.

What are the origins of your thoughts: whence comes this moment?

How do you decide what to do, where to go: what are your prompts?

It is easier to find the right words rather than writing what you think.

When you feel conflict with someone what dose that say about you?

What is conflict but a way to get to know yourself: say hello to the asshole within, he is such a rude prick or a silly cunt.

Shy of breathing we should do little else but because we have this capacity to express with pick our noses and wait. We never speak about what it means to be ourselves because who we are is undecided.

Writing is my way to find solace otherwise my thoughts are hateful. I rather not think with the voices in my head: I would rather make contact with the unknown revealing itself in print.

A continued dialogue with myself has evolved, an altered ego that stamps out this post. It’s not real, the exchange is arbitrary.

You live long enough you get to see the full show but you can’t leave the theater no matter how bad the movie because it’s your life.

There are moments which involve you in acts that (how would you finish this sentence: I couldn’t, some how i could not find any real meaning in continuing it; that happens, a sentence will evolve and because it has set up a thought, I usually follow through working to make sense of what it may come to mean).

Multiple threads to pick from, pick one that feels real and write where it leads. In some way I follow after what I write. There seems to be a higher order of thinking. I could be wrong. To even get this far has been a great effort because so much of what I think my writing mind edits out as cliche ridden.

It’s like I am unable to ever again to write like I had somewhere to go, it’s like that part of me has been bruised through neglect. 

I look back on my short stories and I think I can no longer summon that illusion that sustained me to write those stories.

And i lack real imagination to create something otherwise than what I live; no not so much imagination, but I lack the capacity to put it all together into something coherent. I dabble in writing like others dabble with pain pills, not knowing nor believing that this veritably leads to heroin. What is heroin, but a vainglorious way to live. I am addicted to writing.



In the dark she whispered I have a drinking problem

You to have to radicalize your thoughts around change, you have to mount an offensive against what is destroying you.


One has to see the world with new eyes.

Children see, we look. You look at me but you do not see me. You look for what you want and make my image conform to your prejudices, your predisposition.

Silence like a wave floods his being, his skull rings with its deafening sound.




Relationships either falter or expand according to the dictates of the bedchamber

Often, I wonder while in the throws of sweet connubial bliss whether other men share what I experience: a woman whom allows me to have my way when I want it whenever no matter the circumstances. She accepts me on my terms. It’s like we are solely mated to share bed time. I like it first thing in the morning, beginning the day with that tingling sensation, that proverbial carrot called her mouth following by the opening of her legs much like going from the hot springs to the cold water back and forth with a lot of clawing and butting and biting and chewing and licking.

With me the dominator, she not moving but moved by my propulsions; her willing to do what I want. Always edging me closer with me stopping at the gleaning, at the first frosting that crowns my tip.

Tauntingly close she brings me to the brink until I have to snatch it out of her mouth to save off coming; that would totally ruin it for me, a man whom feels coming is a moral conundrum wherein the ethics are too short sighted though come I do but only after weeks of continual sucking and fucking where some days are full on throughout the whole day. Every hole provides a different release when I do come. But I think I like coming in her mouth best, but there are time of coitus when coming seems chemical, that her juices instigated the releasing of my jisim. She says at times mine is thick, do I want such details.

With my woman she likes my whole hand up inside her nothing gets he juices going more than with we 69. These times are the best, more mutual because she is getting her fill; these elongated forays can last hours with her pleasure being so close at hand; which gives me licenses to take full range of her other orifices.

The fun becomes extending the act because she gets to a point where she wants to come, wants to diddle herself into climaxing which ends it for a moment. I let her get so far then I turn her over take her the full range of motion then let her again take it so far then I let her get on top with her hips becoming locomtive and there before me those jangling nipples that  can take the full grip of my hand, that in itself makes me nearly come that she can take me pressing her nipples into the wall and again bringing her to the brink only to change positions until I ask her how would she like to finish; which hole should I be?


More coffee please

You are killing me softly.

How can you say that when I give you the world?

Step outside what you find comfortable.

There is a real menace, a shadowed person that lurks, a friend to no one, an enemy unto himself.

Stop your babbling.

What is real is what we focus on and what we focus on heightens our reality.

A battle of wits.

You asked for it.

And you served it.

Together we fall; separated we stand.

Are you bonkers?

We have to forgive ourselves for not being who we would rather be.

Who would you rather be?

Someone not afraid.

Fear can decide for you things you rather not know about yourself.

No shit you profound son of a bitch.

Let me suck your dick; that always relaxes you.

True, I am a sucker for a good sucking and you do do it well.

And you love to milk it.

He feels his belly rise and fall with the soft portion of her cheeks resting there riding the spasms of his thrusting hips.

I want to come; can I ride you now?

Which hole?

My pussy.


A day in the life

We have this particular dandelion that only blooms in the morning, but that is not unusual in itself because that’s the nature of dandelions and its peculiarity is related to its purple blooms because we know too well the common yellow flowering along the highways or in open fields.

Having concluded my morning walk about wherein I look at individual plants, marveling at their beauty, struck through the heart, I stand and just look and then I move on until the next plant immobilizes my soul activating something inside me that just stands and stares and swims in their oceanic aura. The multiple varieties in which a plant may grow, some seem to spiral from the inside out much like a rosette while others climb with delicate tendrils.

Who we are is tied to our karmic past lives, or not but something seems to be consistent. I will relate something that occurred yesterday. We were to meet another family and I stood in the parking lot and I watched as a car took the necessary time to back into its parking space while this white car behind it had to wait and I remember thinking I bet they don’t like waiting and forgot about them and looked away when suddenly a horn was beeped it was this white car and I felt a little shocked even dismayed and felt a need to say something. So when they got parked, I simply offered up these words: it could have took the same time to roll down the window and to have said could you move.

Man oh man the onslaught of words that followed my words.

It was a older woman and her daughter with a nine year old boy.

Both ladies jump into me with words like you idiot you didn’t have to say anything, and they just barrage me with uncensored vindictiveness. They were both way overweight and the daughter was nursing one of those big gulp cups.

My only response was they should consider their words owing to the example they were setting for the child.

Ok, my part was my having the need to say something but boy did I not expect them just to be ready to fire into me.

Not in a million years would I have blowed my horn to have someone move, it would be way out of character. I guess in some way I would consider it rude. Which makes me think in some sense we as Americans we are really just a bunch of rude self-entitled people ready to bust into someone. I could have just not said anything, or stood there and made a protest of not moving.

This occurrence with a mother and daughter, both overweight and both equally willing to stand their ground mirrors that episode some weeks back where the mother and daughter with children both overweight responded heatedly to my comment that we have arrived early so as to reserve our seats.

Why am I experiencing this? what karmic similarities: overweight mother and daughter; daughter with children. In all my life, I have not experienced anything like these two episodes. Both times I simply communicated my thoughts and what these words unleashed seemed out of proportion.

Will there be a third episode? That bothers me because it makes me think just to be mute, god forbid I express my thoughts. I will just have to learn to hold my tongue which is not a bad thing in itself. It makes me think of that biblical phrase where if your eye offends you pluck it out. The last thing I want to do is to offend people. To be a man of peace takes restraint.