"You can't believe what you see on t.v." or Can you?

"You can't believe what you see on tv." Everyone knows that. So what's the best way to make sure people never believe something? Put it on TV. I asked myself "Why would those that own this country put their plans and their technology out there in such detail, on television and movies and music videos? I think that it's because we are taught to not believe what we see in movies and television and music videos. We are taught to be especially skeptical of those portrayals we see in fictional cinema, television and videos. Scifi, science FICTION, a genre that implies the fact that you shouldn't take it seriously in it's name. There are science fiction movies from the past that we can see are now essentially foreshadowings of current technology and occurences in OUR world. So why wouldn't we think that the current movies aren't? Except I don't think that these technologies are dreamt up just for the movies. I think that they exist at the same time that they are being shown to us in movies. Androids, mechanical death machines, time machines, underground government cities, space stations, weapons in space, moon colonies, and we all probably have a different comprehensive list of things stored in our imaginations. But what if you took them out of your imagination and placed them in your consciousness, researched them a little and found that they aren't fairy tales.
Are we being entertained by those things that will one day be what has enslaved us all?

Manchurian Candidate?

Terminator?

Deja Vu?

Men in Black?

Matrix?

Feel free to add to the list

I think that the best approach to parenting that I can fathom is to not give your child any excuses. I believe that by circumstance and nature we are all susceptible to making excuses for why we don't or why we can't do the things that we want to do. Whether it's a turbulent childhood or having been a victim of some crime or having to deal with emotions and make decisions on your own from a young age. If I can ever get past my own excuses and am ever able to have children of my own. I will raise them to have no excuses. Not being knowledgeable enough will never be an excuse, because I'd encourage them to read and learn from an early age. Not being skilled enough will never be an excuse because I will encourage them to take classes in what activities interest them from an early age. Any avoidable traumatic childhood experiences will not be theirs because I will constantly have their protection in mind, and I will always defend them. yeah I'll also teach them to not make excuses. Our creator gave us control of our selves. And we don't prepare our selves and our children to deal with life's uncertainties, there's no one to blame but ourselves. My mom isn't willing to take any of the blame for my unpreparedness, so I'm on my own, but my kids won't be. I know how to build strength of spirit mind and body now; it would have been nice to know when I was young and felt like doing shit. But my kids will be taught. I'll prepare myself for anything. And then I'll prepare my children.

Excuse me sir? Do you know where I can find a heart?

Where do our emotions come from and do they ultimately control every aspect of our lives?

As an emotionally intelligent person, I feel that I can listen to my intuitive heart and trust it will lead to me to a good place; but lately I just haven't been sure.



Is there a such thing as being too emotional? Why is it that whenever I tell someone I don't like something they assume I'm being too sensitive or passionate about something. Aren't we all sensitive to a certain degree? Why is it that some of us feel more than others? (Subconscious mind: you're more comfortable showing others what's inside you).



Maybe if I was hugged more as a child, I wouldn't be like this. Afraid to love. Are we born with the ability to love or is it just something we have to learn? I never felt any sort of love from my parents and this is why I grew up looking for love in all the wrong places.



It's funny actually, all this time I thought I was in love....I don't even know what that means or where it comes from.



He told me I had some sort of problem-or even a syndrome maybe. It hurts when he mocks me for being this way. What's wrong with wanting to be loved? What kind of emotions are we born with? Does every emotion have to be learned? I think so....

If that's the case, are emotions connected to the brain or the heart?

People expect me to dig deep and search for the voice within. I know she's there but somehow somethings blocking her and I can't seem to reach her. Once I find her, she'll know what to do and what places to take me next.

"I'm not sure if you know who you are."

Honestly, do any of us actually have a clue? Some people feel they should attach themselves to something in fear of admission to the unknown. Is being lost really such a bad idea? (Subconscious mind: not knowing is the only reason you fell short of love).

Since I've never loved anyone, where does my love go? (Subconscious mind: You've never had it; it's just something you've never learned how to do).

What's going to happen to me? Will I die alone? (Subconscious mind: No! But you must learn how to control your emotions in order to understand the sentiment of others around you).

Loving is learning not knowing........

He upset her so.
She sat down with her anger.
And. She ate 15 apples in one sitting.
She felt like she might die.
But. She didn't.
Grateful.
She drew a picture.
She entered it into a contest.
It won.
Her prize was.
An apple.

Why is creativity so satisfying?

I have an idea. Could it be because our selves don't exist without it. We are our expression? If we don't express ourselves, we don't exist. If we don't express ourselves what are we but simple machines. It is our inner ore that makes us beautiful. It can't be seen by the naked eye unless it is manifest somehow in the physical world. Art, creativity,

Our bodies are vacant spacecrafts. Or lifeless puppets; marionettes. I hate it when I make the mistake of acting as if my body and mind are a part of Me. They are not. They are material and I am not a material girl. Stop pleasing the body, stop coddling the mind.

My biggest and probably only fears are losing control of my mind and death by suffocation. Suffocation. Shareen said that she'd be cool with the earth ending in flood and I was like no, no fire. I can't stand the idea of drowning, or being trapped somewhere without air. I'm mildly claustrophobic, and feel incredible empathy for people who are choked or have plastic bags placed over their heads in movies. Being trapped, being out of control of my fate, having no choices. If anyone wanted to know what really gets me. That's what gets me. I'd never want my hands bound, or to be locked in a small space; a cell. A place in Africa where captured slaves were stored before being shipped out to sea had within it what was essentially a tomb for slaves. They'd be placed in this small stone room, and locked in without food or water or good reason, and left to die. They say that today there are marks left where people appeared to have tried to claw themselves out with their fingernails. Hmmm I just had a comforting thought that greatly threatens my fear. The thought was that, for those who believe that they are more than this body or this mind would have the ability to escape spiritually.
I was watching the first episode of Saturday Night Live circa 1975, and I started to feel trapped. Trapped in time. I'm trapped in a time where people are distracted and hateful and dead. I am one of those people, sometimes I manage some form of resuscitation but these times are relentlessly diabolical and lethal to the spirit. When I look at the past I see freedom, I see life, the farther back the more adventurous the life of the everyday person. True the level of pain, hardship, struggle and other nouns in this family were high in the times of the living but I'd take it. I swear I'd choose it if it would wake me and others up. Rouse us indefinitely. And I mean hardship, struggle and blatant injustice still exist, it's just not in our homes, on our televisions, it's not on our favorite channels.
I'm not in a place where I can travel spiritually, so I feel trapped. Trapped inside me, in my city and state, in 2009.

Sexual desire is not only an adult disease

I just watched this movie that dealt with the real as far as early sexual discovery. It was about a thirteen year old girl discovering sexual feelings and desires without education or council. It got me thinking about my own early experiences with SEX. I had sex at a very young age before kindergarten I had had sex with as many boys as I had fingers on one hand. They ranged from a few years older than me to one a year younger. I had no idea what we were doing. To me it was no different than our fun adventures roving the neighborhood causing mischief together, riding bikes or throwing rocks at the street lamps. It was fun, and it felt good. I probably liked the attention too. The excitement that I stirred in these boys. Yeah... I believe that it all began a little earlier. I'd get pleasurable sensations suddenly, I wouldn't ignore them I'd investigate their origins.This led to sitting on a stool rubbing myself against it's edge. My mother asked me what I was doing and I very innocently or ignorantly told her that I didn't know. She asked me why I was doing it, and I very honestly answered "Because it feels good". That's the end of that vivid memory. It doesn't seem right though that it should end like that. It seems like something else needed to be said. Why didn't my mother explain to me what was going on? Did I scare her? I don't blame her for that though, and I'll give it to her she always kept check on whether anybody was fucking with me. She'd ask "Did anybody touch you?", while she was bathing me. As ignorant or innocent or both as I was I would always interpreted the question as "Did anyone touch you without your permission." I'd tell the truth "no". And think to myself "they'd better not, because my mommy will be asking". A vivid memory of my post infant sexual exploits comes now to mind. I was in a towel after a bath and an older male cousin of mine laid me down and opened my towel he played doctor with me. When I experience the memory it feels so playful and not wrong. But when I look back from now I realize, hey, I was molested a little bit, WOW. Every girl every woman I've dated has been molested and it seems that those experiences have affected them negatively somehow. It makes me wonder if my early exposure to sex has affected me negatively somehow. Could it have something to do with the guilt I experience after sex or masturbation? Could it have something to do with my lesbianism? Probably not. Because all the stuff I did early on was consensual, I was aware of myself carnally, and no, I don't think, I know that I was. While there were times when I said no, like when the guys wanted me to come out to play hide-and-go-get-it. There were times when I said yes. Like the time a boy I really wasn't attracted to wanted to rub my vagina on the story time carpet. And then there was the time I wanted to play this kid's Nintendo Game. He said he'd leave my house with his game if I didn't let him finger me. So I said hey it's nothing new why not. Thinking back it's funny how, the ones who did get somewhere with me never talked, but the ones who got nowheres always did. There's actually a little bit of alot more regarding my sexual experiences before puberty. And you know what, come a little closer so that no one else will hear... "I'm glad that it happened that way." I said "I'm glad that it happened that way!" I dispelled my curiosities about sex very early on. I was masturbating in class in elementary school. By then I'd discovered what I liked and how to satisfy this body on my own; precocious indeed. I feel like I'd been immunized for promiscuity. I was way ahead of that teen pregnancy bullet. In my relations with admiring boys I always held the upper hand because I didn't have those mysterious tingling feelings that give boys power over young girls. I didn't need to go through that trial and error experience in my teens, I'd been there, done that, and found that I preferred satisfying myself, and later on found that I also liked attempting to satisfy women.
Was my innocence stolen; was it not well protected? It was not stolen. I was educated the best way that my mind can be educated, through experience. Innocence is not ignorance. That's my self consensus, until I have a daughter.

as i get older i lose more and more my empathy for people
it is chipped at like a huge block of ice
i sometimes fear that i will become someone without empathy
if that happens
then when i die
if i rob cheat adulter defame or deface
my greatest crime will still have been that I felt only my own feelings

I don't care If I go straight to hell for it,I hate ma mere.

I hate her. She's the opposite of everything I wish she could be. I despise everything about her. I have no respect for her. And what makes it worst, is that I feel a responsibility to her as long as I am around her. And many times in attempting to appease her, I've fucked up things for myself. I beleive that she wants me to end up like her. And I think that that's sick. To hold your child back is sick. The most triumphant words I've ever spoken to her were "You always ask me and Rakeen what we'd do without you, well I'm doing better without you" and I was. I was normal without her, here I am, back where It's easier but ironically more stressful. It felt so good to be away from her. I never have to even think about her when I'm away from her. When I don't have to see her face. When I don't have to smell the air fresheners and disinfectant sprays. I don't have to hear that loud screaching voice. I don't have to watch her pittiful half-assed attempts at change. There have been strangers that listened to me better than my own mom. My biggest fear, is succumbing to her power over me, and never doing anything with my life like her. Being a big talker but a coward like her. Yes maaming and yes sirring people in order to get what she wants. Making people feel sorry for her, in order to get handouts. Having complete disregard for EVERYONES feelings, yet being ultra-sensitive herself. I hate my mother. She smokes to keep from changing, to keep from having relationships, to keep from thinking, to keep from taking responsibility. I hate my mother. And my fear which is worst than my fear of becoming like her, is my fear of never being able to break down her defenses by gaining leverage through independence. If I can free myself from her completely then, she'll have to meet my demands in order to have a relationship with me. Comfortable free living is the vice that keeps me in her shadow, but one day, one day she'll pay. We always reap what we sow.

One ticket for Heaven please!

As humans we often torture our minds, hearts, and souls. I've plotted a million different ways to commit suicide but could never bring myself to go through with it. Is it because I love myself too much? Or maybe I'm afraid of where I might end up when I die?

I never imagined life could be so difficult. There's no one waiting with all the answers. What's even more frustrating is trying to find the answers within yourself. Is it really supposed to be this complicated? I wish I knew.

One would think it should come easier with age. The older you get the more you know; but getting older is about doing the right thing with what you know and making the right decisions.

So every decision I make will affect me for the rest of my life? Well, that's just too much pressure. I'd rather torture myself, and I do.

And I'm losing myself in the process......

If only I could talk to them, and tell them how I feel. I never meant for things to end up this way. She beat me, and tortured me in the most unimaginable ways but I loved her.


I can't see anything. There's no heaven, stars, or big white angels to come take me away. Just the darkness of my eyes and the bottom of the ground is all I see. Wait, something is happening. My body feels heavy. My muscles are tightening and my skin is shrinking. Oh no! What is this!


I notice her. The one who did this to me.

I can see my limp body lying in the coffin. I can hear them talking about saying how it was for my own good and I got what I deserved.

I feel cold. Then She came to me. How was she able to feel and touch me as I was and others were not.

She said that she felt lost without me.

"Without you, No one will ever really know who I am."

"Some people don't believe in you but everyone needs someone like you."

"Most people can't see you although they know you're there."

.

"Most people take you for granted because they feel they can get along just fine without you."

"I want my soul back."

Evil- force for nonsensical destruction
Evil has no real power on earth. I believe this because of it's absence in nature. It can't strike you down, it can't blow up your workplace, it can't instantly make you sick. It's only salvation is in it's ability to manipulate us ,through trickery, into destroying ourselves.

To take back our minds is to elimate evil??

EYES ARE ON THE FRONT OF OUR HEADS FOR A REASON??

She could only see forward.
She never looked back.

Whatever happened before instantly became the forgotten past.

She could remember facts and things
, but never happenings.

Every second she was reborn not losing experience.
She never knew regret or felt the need for vengeance.

She could fall and forget the pain, with a footing lesson gained.
She could be touched by love
and when it's imprint was gone be unstained.

She left rememberers, those grudge holders, those past revelers, those who numb their present and torture their future with gritty regret, in her wake.

She walked toward light and danced in the night.

Then lay down to sleep with thoughts dressed by Angels.

Slept with unpressing dreams.

Love and Hate

I was doing perfectly fine before you came along. What's the point of putting other people down? Maybe you don't like yourself. "I love myself, what you eat don't make me shit!" You say that you don't compare me to other people but what is it called when you feel I'm not doing as well as someone else. (Subconscious mind: He needs some sort of coping mechanism to deal with his imperfections).

So there's a higher probability that my brother will be more successful because he finished medical school? Where does that leave me? Should I not be offended by that?(Subconscious mind: You're easily offended by everything; you're very emotional and extremely insecure). Am I just a self-wallowing a piece of shit that decided to teach overseas and backpack through five third world countries. (Subconscious mind: You need to start believing in yourself) I'm incapable of being a daughter?Well maybe you don't know how to be a father to me.

Do I get angry because I love you or hate you?

I'm not sure what I feel when we argue. I can't even make sense of my emotions. You are forcing me to deal with things I'm not ready for. Talking with you is quite refreshing, and sometimes the love I have for you is a bit misconstrued. Maybe, I should withdraw from you emotionally. "Be very careful about the choices that you make."

You see, I could never look at you as a father, but only as a man. That's what troubles me. Our relationship seems parallel to that of a high school couple. (Subconscious mind: He's manipulating you're losing control).

I don't get angry because I love you or I hate you.......

I get angry because I don't know what to do with you.......

I get angry because I don't know what I want from you......

I get angry because I think I'm falling in love with you........

Is Androgyny the NEW Sex

IS ANDROGYNY THE NEW SEX?
Is the merging of the sexes into one new sex the next step in evolution?
Is it a glimpse into the future that awaits us?
What is broad shoulders and strong jaws on a woman preparing us for?
What is the increasing feminity in men preparing us for?
What purpose will the adrogynes have in the future?
Yes I know that people who blur the lines between male and female have existed always, but one has not always been able to go out into the public, in the day and night, and see several of these androgynauts in one place.
Perhaps it is but attitudes that are evolving.
Even so, might a logical thinker tell me why I was born with broad shoulders, no hips, big hands, and MUSCLES. In my preteen years I was often mistaken for a boy even with long hair. I was born an androgyne. As I get older I have simply become aware of the oddness of what has always come natural.
Could hermaphrodites be the prototype for what is to come, and could the increase of androgynes be easing the people into the acceptance of hermaphrodites? Could human kind be evolving into A-sexual beings, due to the deterioration of the male female relationship?
Is everyone on the verge of being born GAY?
wOMEN men Androgynes HERMAPHRODITES... what next?
AND PEOPLE SAY THAT THE WORLD IS ENDING, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! THE WORLD IS JUST BEGINNING, AND WE ALL HAVE THE POWER TO AFFECT IT, GET YOUR IMAGINATION IN THE GAME

A Breath of Fresh Air

"Hey baby why don't you smile, what you got to be so mad about?", a handsome man asked. "Hey baby what makes you think you deserve my smile" she flipped her artificial hair and rolled her eyes simultaneously then walked away like a woman with much to prove. Air payed her tab and tipped the barman. And like a chain reaction rolled off her barstool and followed after this woman. She caught her oustide the bar, and took her arm. " Hey what's the matter with you?" Air asks the woman. The woman looks at Air calculatingly. "No cutey the question is, what's the matter with you". "What make you think that you can take any part of me in your hands." Air gently released her arm. She stepped back from this woman, and without understanding exactly why, she crossed her arms behind her back. "Why'd you give that guy in there a hard time?" Air asked, this time in a more unassuming tone."He asked you a harmless question." The woman looked Air up and down as if she was deciding whether to tolerate her. Finally the woman spoke, "You got a light cutey?". " Yes I've got one." Air took the lighter from her pocket, in anticipation of lighting something for the woman. The woman opened her handbag and the scent of the sweetest fruits mingled with the pungent scent of marijuana, seeped from it. The woman pulled a joint from the bag and placed it in her mouth before closing the bag. Air then reached with the lighter to light the joint, but the woman took the lighter from her hand, then lit it herself. The woman then held the lighter out to Air. Air took it back. "Thankyou" the woman said. "What's your name cutey?", "Air". "Mmmm..." the woman exhaled. "A breath of fresh air." the woman said smiling. Air understood ,then, why recieving this woman's smile was a privelidge. Her smile was brighter than the neon motel sign that could be seen by Air in the woman's backdrop. "You think that guy's question was harmless?". Air thought for a moment, and for the first time since she was a pupil, was afraid to answer a question. Air didn't want to say what she thought. She wanted to say what she thought the woman wanted to hear, but she honestly could not imagine what the woman might want to hear. She had never encountered a woman quite like this and could get no read on her. And so Air answered truthfully. "No I didn't see anything wrong with the question." The woman smirked femininely "Perhaps he as you believe, did not mean anything bad, but you know what sweety I don't mean to allow anyone to tell me what my disposition should be." "Men think that a woman is supposed to be happy and smiling and pleasant to them all the time, as if they're something so special. They think we something to decorate their world." " I ain't no decoration boo, I'm a person, I'm a woman, and to tell you the truth, as a black woman in this world I don't get much to smile about. I ain't going to pretend I do either. Let them see how much they stimulate me. I refuse to give my beauty to those that don't even see me as a person, don't respect my feelings." " I ain't got much, but I got my smile," the woman pressed her finger to her lips. "I got my mind" the woman pressed her finger to her head. " And I got this" the woman pressed her finger to the crotch area of her long loose skirt. When the woman pressed against her skirt, Air saw the imprint of the woman's inner thigh, and looked up quickly in order to avoid arousal. Air then had to ask herself why she hadn't indulged. Air wanted to tell the woman that she was sexy. She wanted to tell the woman that her skirt was pretty, and her hair was complimenting to her pretty face, but she had a feeling that her old tactics would not work on this new woman. The mix of this woman's attitude, with her resolve, her beauty, her femininity, her sweet sticky smell, made Air drunk. Air felt entranced, and powerless. She wanted to fall to her knees and look up at this woman. Air being unused to feeling less than superior to feminine women became angry at this woman's power over her, and struggled to remain, in her place. This woman had put Air in her place. They talked and the longer Air remained in this unfamiliar niche, the more Air liked it, she realized that it was very natural. Air felt more like the animal that she was, standing there,tamed, in front of this incredible woman. The woman puts the half smoked joint out, opens her bag, and drops it in. She closes her bag, takes Air's hand, and takes off down the street pulling Air behind her. Air not used to being dragged behind a woman, but leading a woman wanted to yank her hand away, but her intrigue would not allow her. Acquiescing to this woman did not make her feel as uncomfortable as she'd expected, she liked it.
The woman led her down the dark city street. She spoke smiling to women that she apparenty knew "Hey mama!". The women that she'd speak to, looked at Air with curiosity. Finally they stopped. Air looked up to read the sign on the building they'd stopped in front of, but there was none. The woman knocked once paused then knocked seven times quickly. The door was opened by a tall gorgeous young woman wearing the prettiest sheerest dress, and feathers in her hair. Air wanted so badly to know the smell of this odd yet pretty woman. She inconspicuously leans in to breath her in as they pass. She smells like lilac and cigar smoke. Air is pleased. The place is filled with bright spirited looking women. Women with big smiles and pretty eyes, all of them. Air's first reaction is to resent her hand being held by one woman in the presence of many. But watching the interaction of the women with the woman holding her hand, she sees that the woman holding her hand seems most revered and respected. Air seeing this then is glad even proud of being led around by this woman of women. They enter a parlor, and Air sees the most attractive sight she's seen in all her twenty-four years. She sees among the throng of ultra femine women, some young handsome men, and women that looked like her, with hats and men's slacks, vests and shirts. These young men and women aforementioned, are vying for the attention of these women. They are fetching things for them, singing to them, lighting their joints, massaging their hands, feet, shoulders. Air sees one of them painting a woman, while instructing another woman on the technique of painting. She sees one of them listening intently, listening passionately to a woman speak. She sees one of them sitting at a womans feet, having her head stroked like a dog, clinging to the woman's legs. Air is amazed at the power of these women. They are able to bring under their control attractive men and women, men and women who appear to have the looks and charm to bring women under their control, though would prefer to exert their energy for the priviledge to sit at these women's feet. Once through the parlor. Air is led up some stairs. Then to a room. Once inside the room the woman locks the door behind them. She tells Air that she likes her. Air is more used to women asking, if Air likes them. This woman acts as if there was never any doubt in her mind that Air liked her, or as if it didn't matter to her either way. "I want to know things about you", she says to Air. "I want to know things about you too." Air responds. She's starting to feel a physical force pulling at her, and feels as though she could not liberate herself from this woman's orbit now if she wanted to. Air opens her mouth to ask a question. The woman places her hand over Air's mouth before Air can speak. "Don't you dare question me. Everything you want to know about me, time will tell you." The woman seats herself at a vanity, mirror. Leaving Air standing at the door. She proceeds to take off her wig, and wig cap. She pulls down her hair, and begins to brush it. It's long, dark with tightly curled curls in pillowy tufts. It looks soft, and Air wants to smell it. Air walks over and sits on the bed. She looks around the disheveled room, first for some clarity in this dream-like situation, and second for clues. She sees several different wigs, hanging from bobs mounted on the wall. "She's always changing", Air says to herself. She sees subtly unique clothing hanging from a hook on the wall. "She has to be different, but she doesn't need attention." She sees a black and white picture of an old, wise looking woman with a tired smile stuck to her vanity mirror. "This old woman is most responsible for the woman that she is, and when she sits down in front of that mirror, she probably wants to be someone that that old woman is proud to look at." Air walks over to where the woman is sitting. She stands behind the woman, and looks into the mirror. "Do you think that she would approve?", Air asks the woman, while looking at the picture. The woman smiles from deep inside. Air can tell that she touched something."You never would have made it this far if she wouldn't." Air bends to smell the woman's hair, she doesn't hide her intent. The woman watches through the mirror.

I WISH THAT SHE COULD SEE WHAT SHE'S DOING TO ME

"I wish that she could see what she's doing to me", this is what I said into the mirror every night, since she'd decided that she was all those things I'd been telling her she was from the beginning. Envision, experience in your mind, a woman beautiful as the moonless night is dark. Intelligent as soft clay, with a spirit that attracts all humanity. One can see why I didn't walk far away from her, even though she often forgot my heart in pursuit of other's. She wants to be loved and admired by all, not just me. I'm not enough and I accepted that. I think that she resents me for my simplicity. She tolerated my smile that needs no conscious reason. " What are you smiling about?" she'd say sometimes expressing her annoyance. I used to be big colorful balloons on the board walk to her, she'd smile aloud at my touch. And now, now that she believes so fully in her light, the same light that drew me to her the first time I saw her, I no longer possess any grandeur in her eyes. All this would have been fine, if she hadn't tried to hurt me. If she would have accepted me as I am. Accepted the way that I choose to be great. My progression in life is invisible off the paper. I asked her to look at what I write, but she'd be too busy. I didn't have to ask her where her energy went. I know that it went to other people.

I don't know if it was the constant request that brought on the severity of the affliction, or if it was just that last time I said "I wish that she could see what she's doing to me". That last time I looked into the bathroom mirror and traveled deep into space where dreams come from and wished with all the love and honesty that I have inside me. Maybe that last plea bought my wish, and maybe the tears that followed were my receipt.

Be careful what you wish for.

Day came after that night I traveled to get my wish. I woke next to the woman that I need. I lay in our bed watching her as she continued to sleep. She opened her eyes and saw that I'd been watching her and asked "Why are you watching me sleep, don't you have anything to do?". She turned away from me and lay there a few minutes longer, before getting up to shower. I would usually feel hurt by such a reaction to my loving her, but that morning I felt nothing inside as she assaulted my feelings. I thought to myself while looking at her back, maybe I don't need her appreciation anymore. Maybe this is the execution of my wish. I became jubilant with the belief that I could love the woman I needed without pain or drain. I met her at the bathroom door as she was leaving the bathroom, I kissed her. "Ughhh You haven't brushed your teeth yet!". I smiled realizing the absence of the usual sting that followed a reaction like that. I remember looking in the mirror to brush my teeth and seeing two tiny cuts on my lip. I wondered for some moments how I could have gotten them, but dismissed the query for the joy I felt at my relationship's miraculous new condition. I caught her as she was leaving for the day, I grabbed her around her waist and pulled her into me, without the usual fear of rejection, I looked her deep into her eyes and kissed her the way I used to when she held me in esteem. She looked suprised when our mouths parted. "Goodbye" she said with a smile of suspicion. I felt so good that day that I sat down at my desk and wrote like I hadn't written in years. I developed several stories that day, and even completed one.
That night we made love, and without the fear of her complaints about my lovemaking I lost inhibition and raised us up into that place where I went for my wish. It was wonderful. "You're too heavy let me be on the top, you should think about losing some weight." "Maybe if you got a real job you'd be more active." she'd say in between ecstastic moans. After she climaxed she asked me why I hadn't cleaned the house. I recounted to her with great excitement my day of utter literary productivity. She was asleep before I finished speaking. Again I didn't feel inside me the crush of disappointment. I held her that night, I hadn't been able to hold her without crying for a long time, and felt grateful that night to be holding her so easily. She felt better than I remembered. I started to doze off when I felt a stream of something wet and thick moving down my arm. I went to the bathroom. There was a huge gash in my arm, it looked as though someone had been trying to chop my arm off with a meat cleaver. I hadn't remembered hurting myself. But I had been so airy lately that I assumed I'd cut myself on something without realizing it. I worked on the wound with the first aid kit,and went back to bed.

"There's blood all over these sheets!" I awoke to her screams. "It's no big deal" I told her."I'll wash them today" "It's no big deal to you because you didn't buy them!". I usually felt small and inadequate when she asserted the fact that she payed for more than I. I felt nothing though, as I removed the sheets from the bed. I did however see another elusive cut on my other arm. As she left that day, I kissed her the same as the day before. " You think you're a lothario now". Her comment although condescending did not elicit an emotional response. After seeing her out, I went to get the sheets from the dryer. When I reached for the dryer door I noticed a bruise on the back of my hand. I began to become conscerned. I called my doctor to make an appointment. I got an appointment for that same day. "Your blood tests came back fine." "You are a very healthy person." he said to me, with conscern in his eyes. "Could there be something else going on here." "I'm not hurting myself if that's what you think." "Maybe you should go for some psychological testing". I laughed off his insinuation. I prided myself on my even temper and patience, I felt as though I was the most mentally stable person I knew. At home, later that day I wondered though, could I have finally snapped, then dismissed the notion immediately. I knew that I wasn't hurting myself. The phone rang, it was the woman I needed. "I'm going to be home late this evening." she told me. I told her about my scars and bruises, and what the doctor said. "Yeah well maybe you just need to be more careful, bye." She hung up before I could tell her that I was scared. I put the phone on the reciever and noticed yet another new scar on the back of my hand.
I stayed up that night because I worry about her when she's out late at night. I don't call her though because I want to give her her space, and so I stayed up until I knew that she was home safe. She came in that night completely sober, and so I knew that she hadn't been out with friends. "Where were you", I asked her. She looked at me with such indignation as though my question didn't warrant an answer. If this had happened before I was granted my wish, I'm sure the look she gave me would have made me wince with excruciation. Her expression then changed immediately to one of terror. "Baby your face." she said. "What about my face?" I asked before I saw the blood run down to the tip of my nose and drip off. I ran to the bathroom and there was a large diagonal slit in my forehead. The woman I needed frantically sought to bandage it. "I saw it. It looked as though someone invisible was cutting your face open", she said. I could feel her hands trembling as she bandaged me. When we returned from the emergency room that night, and lay down to sleep she asked me to hold her. And I forgot about everything. The days that followed that night were heavenly. The woman that I needed, had suddenly decided to appreciate me more. She thanked me for the small gestures of love, she praised me for what she could, and held back on putting me down. She came home after work every night. She even read my stories. The scars stopped showing up, and it seemed that all our problems were behind us. Till one day, the woman I need stormed into the house fuming. I was sitting on the couch writing, when she accosted me, "My car note hasn't been paid for the last five months; they towed my car while I was at work today." "Do you know how emberrassing that was for me? No you wouldn't know, because you spend all your time in a fucking dream world!" " I'm tired of trying to be nice to you, you haven't gotten any of those nasty cuts in days. There's nothing wrong with you, so don't expect any more pity from me. I bring the money in here, why are the bills not being paid!" I thought for a moment as to what could have happened, and realized that I'd forgotten to replace a canceled credit card on the online billpay. I calmly explained this to her without the fear that I possessed in the past. "You have one or two things to do around here. You're here all day, what was on your mind that you'd forget.?" "God what are you good for?" I felt nothing inside as she berrated me, but on the outside I felt a wetness in the back of my boxer shorts. After her tirade I went to the bathroom to investigate. There were several vertical cuts running down my back. She burst into the bathroom to tell me one more thing, and saw me looking at my clawed back in the mirror. I think that we both knew at that moment, that it was her that was causing these mysterious abrasions.

"I'm doing it to you", she stated astonished. My mind then flashed back to that night I'd stood in the same bathroom mirror wishing that she could see what she was doing to me. Be careful what you wish for indeed. One might have assumed I lived with a ferocious beast looking at my mangled body. And as I looked at my sad abused body I realized that she was not the,she, I referred to in my wish. I was the she. I saw for the first time what I was doing to myself. I decided that I was the woman that I needed, not her. I took my laptop and some papers. I walked out of the house. I never went back. I healed.

Doing something and seeing that it fails, you continue to do the same thing over and over is the best definition of insanity. Well that's it, I must be insane.

Black birds lead you to dark places.....

"Is it safe to swim in the ocean?" I asked him. "It's no problem for you my friend," he said.

His name was Coconus; and my boyfriend and I stared unflinchingly at the huge waves roaring across the cliffs wondering if Coconus could see what we saw. Why on earth did he think it was safe to swim in that mess he considered an ocean?



His skin was smooth and reminiscent of a facial scrub cleanser I once used while living in Vietnam. Whenever he spoke I could only focus on his eyes. They were the color of glass; not clear but foggy like it hadn't been washed for days.



We wanted to get high. "Oh, I can find you some magic mushrooms," he said. He returned in 20 minutes with a plastic bag full of wet grass. He kept a drunk personality and I assumed he never remembered much. He wanted us to eat the mushrooms with him so we did.



I wanted someone to explain the laughter. It didn't bother me but I wanted it to stop. I told my boyfriend I needed to walk around.

Gazing into the eyes of darkness, I stumbled across a giant bird. Coldness swept over me at once. "Most people feel cold in the presence of darkness," spoke the colossal creature. "Are you here to take me away?" I asked, and then I looked up, but he was gone.

Once I found my way through the abyss of solitude, I came back to see my boyfriend and Coconus drowning in oblivion. Their minds were lost but I didn't want to wake them. From across the room, I could see the giant bird staring at me. Rubbing my eyes for clarification, I thought, "How is this possible, had he followed me," "This isn't real; it's only a drug."

Coconus and my boyfriend began to dance and pray to the sky. It seemed rather interesting but nothing could take my eyes off the giant bird. His delicate, sensitive feathers occupied my mind with many things. Then, he began to weep. "Oh giant bird, don't cry, what makes you so sad," I asked.

He said he didn't understand why I had to die and that I was too young to walk with him. He felt bad for me because I had eaten the only poisonous mushroom in the bag.

HIDER

Sun beams float through the sheer curtains of the bedroom window.They are on the bed. And she is sitting on her hard metallic body. Her body wears only a pair of thin cotton orchid colored boxer shorts. Her small breasts cling to her metal chest, as if they know they are unrecognized and at some times even unwanted by her. Her steel legs stretching the length of the bed are still. From atop her she looks down into her stained glass eyes, and she sees nothing realistic, only what she might dream in euphoric dreams. She is amazed at the simplicity of the happiness her prescence, her touch, her submission, her intrigue gives, and almost can't believe it. When all of her is gone she probably won't believe it ever existed. Her still, lying metallic body begins to warm beneath she whom doesn't understand her. It is emotion that is warming her body, hot seething emotion coarses throughout her metallic body.Her aluminum hands suddenly raise to cover her face, like a child playing a game. Except her act is not a playful one.
She becomes frustrated with her hiding. "Uncover your beautiful face!", she says through clenched teeth, teeth clenched by anger's muscles. Her hands press tighter to her face, anticipating what would happen next.
She grabs the wrists of her alloyed arms, and pulls. "Stop being stupid!" she yells stiflingly down at her hidden face. She can't pry the aluminum fingers from her face. She begins to scratch at her alloyed arms. "Stop hiding from me!" she screams, finally projecting her full frustration. Her blown glass heart continues its steady beating.
She beats down on her metal chest."Let me in", she says not raising her voice this time, this time she's pleading.
This time the demand is sad to her, because her self wants to allow her aluminum hands to open and reveal her stained glass eyes, through which she can see her blown glass heart. Her self wants to, but a dilemna arises. The dilemna being that her self does not know how to explain her blown glass heart.
Many times,simply for the thrill, her metallic body has braved the rugged apocalyptic terrain of love with a formidable partner, and returned alone, blown glass heart in tact. It is believed by her that her blown glass heart remains undamaged, unbroken because her self keeps hidden her abstruse blown glass heart, and presents only her metallic exterior and delightful sparks to others. And here is she, looking past her shiny metallic exterior. Here is she searching and touching her blown glass heart!
It is just like life, to make something as dangerous as allowing someone to touch your most fragile part feel so inexplicably good.
Her self knows that if asked she would let her up, and she would likely walk away, but her self will not allow her to risk that either. Stained glass eyes covered, lying there inside her heavy metallic body. Her wits her knowledge her reasoning being rendered ineffective, it is as if the rules that have governed defensively her relationships in the past don't apply to she whom is now lying atop her, she who's beautiful head now lies on her metal chest, she who's cheek is pressed against her clinging breast, she who's lips lightly touch her skin.

It would be so Sad if I were Doing Bad

Things aren't so bad. I mean, I'm breathing on my own for one. I'm in good shape and seemingly in good health. I get attention when I go out which makes me feel confident. I love what whatever created me has done with me. I love what it has done with the person I love. I love what it has done with all it's creations if I think about it. I never saw an ugly sky. I never saw a closed sky, the sky has never hurt or dissappointed me. I never saw an ugly tree, or flower, or body of water. None of these have ever hurt or dissappointed me either. And I imagine that if I respect them, they never would. People aren't like that though. No matter how nice and respectful you are to a person, there is no guarantee that they will not hurt you. When you approach nature lovingly, it embraces you, I'm willing to bet always. But when you approach people lovingly the usual reaction is dismay.

Even so, I refuse to allow negative influences to make my life a sad one. I prefer it to be triumphant, If I'm able to do something REAL with my life after all of my follies, then I will have quite the inspirational story, which is something I would find extraordinarily useful. More useful than a million dollars, more useful than the latest iphone, more useful than all the memorized knowledge and calculating skills. YEah

Are we there yet? "How many licks until we reach the center of HEAVEN, mommy?"

How dare you condemn my brother for the path he has chosen? Who are you to say what he's doing is right or wrong? Matter of fact I think we'll all turn out better than you!

At least my brother is devoted to his family. Don't I deserve alittle more credit for not conceiving at a young age? At least our baby boy comes from a stable and loving home. I feel sorry for you. You say I'm not resourceful, but obviously I'm doing something right, I have a job, and a damn good one too.

Why do you even want me to live with you? (Subconscious mind: He needs you; he doesn't have anyone else). "I love you and I want us to be together forever." You need to be honest with yourself. (Subconscious mind: He can't face the truth). Until then, I should be on my own. I need stability. "Ask anyone, I'm the most stable person you'll ever meet." You're always putting other people down. I believe the way you treat others is a reflection of what you feel inside. You say you're joking but every joke has a ring of truth. "Baby, I don't mean to hurt you, I'm only kidding."

If you really feel that damn peaceful than why is there a cloud of negativity looming over your head? (Subconscious mind: Deep down inside he knows that he's a failure but he refuses to present himself as a vulnerable creature). My mother may not be as worldy as you, but she has worked damn hard to build a foundation for her family. She hasn't traveled to exotic places and could barely read 15 years ago but she's always gonna be there no matter what. Dad, I honestly don't know if I can say that about you.

I know that you love me and at times you care, but seriously,what are your motives? (Subconscious mind: You're the only person that understands him).What are you feelings deep down inside? "I don't have a relationship with any of my kids." "I don't have anyone; it doesn't matter whether I live or die." You're constantly trying to prove something to yourself and others.

You criticize their pain yet it parallels the anguish you caused from not being in my life.

You can't serve well two masters

I read this in the bible or somewhere, I forget where. But I think that it's true, and I think that it is my problem. I want to be good and innocent, and I do things that are good and innocent which build good energy. But then I turn around and do things that are excepted by society but that I know aren't neccesarily positive things. I justify doing these things, by telling myself that, everyone does it. But that doesn't make it okay. I know deep down that what I am doing, I am doing in front of spirits of those I love and respect. And I am doing what I am doing in front of an intelligent entity out there that has great influence over my life and the world I live in. And If I didn't block thought from entering my mind, I'd actually feel ashamed. It is lucky for me that those invisible forces that have such great control over my life are constantly forgiving, all I have to do is be good, as a show of faith that I can be good in the future, and they'll manipulate things favorably for me. But when I'm getting things straight with them, I inevitably hit a difficult patch. Something I need make right that seems impossible. This something is the negative influence that I have had on my brother. When I am not blocking thought, the regret and guilt of being a cold, unapproachable, at a time even sinister sister debilitates me. I don't know how to make it better, and so I go back to those things that help me to block thought. Television, masturbation, video games, once apon a time marijuana, and once even alchohol. I have found ways to beat so much of my guilt and regret, but to be honest I have no idea how I could fix things with my brother, and I am very afraid of trying. I once felt like the one missing relationship in my life was the relationship I share with the person I share this blog with. But I was wrong, It took reaching once again my to date zenith of happiness to realize that there is at least one more. My relationship with my brother.
If I could make well my relationship with my brother, then maybe my happiness would be invincible, nothing could destroy it. And at the same time I'm sure issues would be resolved for him, he'd be able to let go of the resentment that I know he has for me. And be able to love me the way I know that he does.

So you think I'm a hoe? You think I'd just lie down with anyone? Well, I'm not like you. Yeah, some punk ass motherfucker got lucky because I was horny. They didn't deserve me but I didn't know it then. I just wanted someone to love me; but it wasn't real love.

I wanted him to beat me. I needed to feel a different kind of pain. It lasted for hours. I told him not to stop; I perceived love as something painful. He urinated in my mouth and dragged me in the street. It wasn't real love but the only way I knew how to love.

He didn't want to kiss me down there. He said it was the smell or something about the way it looked. I can't remember. We only watched TV and talked about movies. He laughed when they called me stupid. It wasn't real love but the way I wanted to be loved.

Lonely like the way the ocean feels at night. Across from lonely I refuse to fathom. Left lonely because... I'm fucking up. Don't trust me because I can't trust myself. I wish that I could consistently be someone that I love. Unsure, not thoughtful, but always thinking. I don't fare in dark places, only light can save what I've earned.

Is it normal for children to have sexual fantasies about their parents?

Yes, because some parents' relationships with their kids are not parent-like. Some parents are more like friends to their kids.

If given the opportunity try human flesh would you?

I would be greatly curious to try it. No, for fear that I may like it too much. It would scare me to know that I really enjoy human flesh, I wouldn't be sure of what to think of myself. I wouldn't feel like a good person anymore.

Do you enjoy the smell of your own shit?

When my diet is more raw food, I revel in the naturalness of my shit's smell. But when I eat more processed food I am ashamed of the stark smell of my shit, and don't want to smell it.

What is your sex and your sexual orientation?And what is your favorite thing to masturbate to?

Lesbian female. I enjoy masturbating to men and women dry humping and attractive men masturbating.

Do you beleive in God?

I don't want to. But as I get older, I become inclined to believe in something very similar to the idea of God. But I think that the idea of God that is presented to the masses is a clever machination that I refuse to feed into, and allow to make me subserviant.

Is it normal for children to have sexual fantasies about their parents?

Actually I've fantasized about having sex with both of my parents. I don't find anything perverse about my ways of thinking. I believe everyone feels this way but may feel too embarrassed to bring it up in conversation. It's completely natural.

If given the opportunity to eat human flesh, would you?

I always thought it would taste like chicken. Sometimes late at night, when I'm really hungry, I think about cutting off a chunk from someones face and throwing it in the deep fryer.

Do you enjoy the smell of your own shit?

I enjoy shitting with the door open. I want other people to share this experience with me.

What is your sex and sexual orientation? What is your favorite thing to masturbate to?

Female, nympho, Fat women and old men.

Do you believe in god?

I believe in myself and the possibility of evolution.

Give me a Reason!

A short story that I read recently with a good friend of mine, made me think. Creative minds need to suffer. I could have done some research to support this theory, but I didn't. I didn't because I can simply speak from experience.
It is like my mind by default is bent on making me unhappy, frustrated, miserable. It is only through the exertion of great energy that I am able to act for the sake of happiness.When working toward my happiness, I am overwhelmed by a need to act to sabotage it, I am hounded by voices of advisors who seek to influence me to act destructively.
Is it a coincidence that, when I am at my most discontent, I am able to create the most satisfyingly beautiful writings, the most creative shit. When I am happy, my work is greatly uninspired. When I am evenly content, I cannot write nor develop ideas a lick.
Whenever I get what I want, I unconsciously act in a way to cause myself to lose it. I sometimes even give it away. Why? I have to ask myself, why must I give myself a reason to suffer?
I am my worst foe, because I know what temptations I am most susceptible to. I am convinced that it may take not even a lifetime but several lifetimes to build, through self analyzation, immunities to all of the temptations this world has to offer to my descructive nature. But am I willing to give up my ability to go deep and create?

KALEIDOSCOPE

She is pink tonight. I want to watch her. I hide in an alley across the street from her, and press myself against the building's brick wall. I peep around its corner, and under the white street light I see her, oooooo she's pink tonight. I was green in my coming to the spot. I now want to act red, and become red. To mingle with her pink, to merge with her pink, and set this night on fire, burn a hole straight through to the morning. I see us laying exhausted beneath the hole's flaming edges. The only thing that could stop me tonight is a woman who's black. A woman that is black can stop me in my tracks, for she is rare as a diamond that is black, and if I see a woman who is black, I will have to forego burning through the night, because truth be told I can act, but am not actually much red. Nor am I oft green. I am naturally blue. Most invariably blue. Women the air black, move me to my blue core. Women that are black allow me to be blue. I prefer to be my natural blue rather than a bold red, or an energetic orange, rather than a nieve yellow.
Look at this woman who is yellow, blocking my view of the carnally stimulating woman that is pink. I wish she would move her yellow from the woman's pink, because her yellow is ruining the feeling. By some cognitive power I manage to move the yellow woman, her phone rings and she walks away to take the call. I can see the lady pure pink again. Her phone rings. She pulls it from her oversized hanging bag. She says hello then listens for a long while. As she listens I notice her shoulders drop. I see her mouth fall open, her eyes intensify by several degrees as if she's tryng to understand something unfathomable. I see her mouth the word "but", before flipping her phone shut and looking up from wherever that conversation had taken her. Then the weight of her entire body shifts downward straining her sexy high heels. She's no longer pink. Damn! I imagine that someone has canceled on her , and I expect her to turn either red and burn through the night with a yellow, perhaps the yellow that had momentarily blocked my view, or another red, which would be something I'd like to watch. She doesn't change the way I expect though. Instead of turning red, she turns black. She turns black as the smell of pure earth after a rain. She had been playing pink, for no doubt someone who preferred pink women.I feel ashamed. Ashamed of my intent to feign red, and ashamed of my reluctance to be the blue that I am, and of falling lackidaisically into green. She whom I moments earlier had marked as prey, now made me feel unworthy of her. I immediately move from the corner of the building, now feeling silly and purile for ever having watched her from there. Tonight I am inspired to be completely honest. I cross the street with the stride of a blue person, and greet the black woman.

Daddy!

Papa was a stationary stone. Even when he was out on the road in his big ol' truck, I am inclined to believe that his heart was at home, he was there for us while he could be. When he'd return after days on the road in his big ol' 18 wheeler,he seemed so happy to see my mother and I. They'd get high and make love standing, while I basked in my wonderous three year old world beneath the sheets on their bed. I remember the smell of incense and sex.

He told me that if I ate too much candy, I'd get worms. "Worms, what's that?", I asked him. He told me that actual worms would start to crawl out of my butt. I was terrified, although I am not sure that I eased up on the sweets. One day he came into the house with a paper bag, when he revealed what was in it to me on the floor of our big barren house, I exclaimed "Oh shit". He told me not to say that.

I was walking with him home from the bus stop, I was looking down at the sidewalk as I walked. He said a bit impatiently that I should not walk with my head down, I should look up when I walked.

He took me with him when he went to coach an inner city youth football team. He was Coach Oliver. He'd brag to the guys about how fast his daughter could run. He'd tell them that I could beat the fastest of them in a foot race. I raced one of his players as we were leaving the recreation center for the day, and he beat me. I felt like I'd let my dad down, I felt horrible. Once my father took my brother and I to a football game, with his friend and his friend's son. He didn't have much money, and he gave me what he had to get a soda with his friends' son. He told me to share the soda with my brother, I don't think that he wanted his friend to know that he couldn't or wouldn't buy two sodas, I'm not sure. I and his friend's son walked around for a while after getting the sodas and I'd forgotten all about my thirsty little brother. When we returned to our seats on the bleachers, my brother reached for the empty can I was holding. A look of oops fell over my face and my father looked at me with anger drenching his own. I felt horrible. Once my dad and his friends took us camping. All of us, their offspring, were greatly excited. When we got there we ran around and played like wild animals, to be honest. Someone got hurt, a scraped elbow or knee or something. The men became frustrated with us and needless to say we didn't get to stay the night. They said that it was time to go. We were dissappointed, and I felt horrible. Once when I was out on the road with my father in his big ol' truck. I went back into the cab's bedding area. A canvas shade hid me from my father's view while he drove that big ol' truck. I found some pornographic magazines in a bag back there. I sat looking through the pages of these magazines. Naked black women, breast and bush exposed is what I remember. My father lifted the flap to check on me, and found me looking at his reading material.He got very angry, and told me to stay up front with him. I felt horrible for much of the remainder of the ride. There seems to be a theme forming here. Maybe it was best that my father was busted for drugs when I was ten. Maybe I was spared a youth filled with feeling horrible. Maybe it was best that he returned to jail the same year he was released when I was sixteen, to spare me feeling horrible for the guilt and pity I felt for him when I'd see him around or when he'd come by.

His parents died when he was young. He was the oldest of his brother and sister. He grew up really charming charismatic and popular, he was a football player. He met my mom on the drug scene in D.C. They had me. My grandmother never cared much for him. His youngest biological sibling, his sister was murdered at a gas station someplace. Someone slit her throat. People say that I look just like her. His brother, because of a hospital suite was able to afford college. He went on to make alot of money and travel as some sort of engineer. My dad because of drugs had to depend on his little brother for money alot. Money to pay the bills to keep his family sheltered, fed and clothed. My dad must have felt horrible.

My mom kicked her habit, but my dad would/could not shake his. She had a sister killed too, and demons chasing her of her own, but we, my brother and I, were enough to make her choose not to use a life consuming drug to deal with them. Why weren't we enough for him?

Truth Resurrected.........

Why do parents always feel the need to shield us from the truth? Well I finally reunited with one of mine after 10 years and I must say, that was some intense shit!

Dreadfully awaiting to punch in those ten numbers connecting me to the most important man in my life. Why was I so concerned with whether or not my alluring features would be interesting enough for him to look at? "You better lose that stomach if you wanna look like the girls on TV." Will starving myself for two and a half years be enough for you daddy?" "I just want you to love me, I just want you to think I'm beautiful." (Subconscious mind-You want everyone to think you're beautiful) Why does it matter what he thinks of me? (Subconscious mind-You can't respect yourself until you know he respects you). "It doesn't matter who I lie down with, as long as they love me, that's all I've ever wanted my daddy to do." "I probably won't find anyone as good as me, because honestly I'm not sure how good I am, daddy never told me."

10 years of hearing the same four lousy words uttered to me, "You have daddy issues." "Everyone wants to hurt me; why can't they all just leave me alone...AHHHHH!!!"

He should be the one trying to impress me after abandoning me for so long. (Subconscious mind- He doesn't know how to reach out because he's in love with you). "If I could marry you, I would, you are the love of my life, and I could never respect any other woman as much as I respect you." Now he's back -a new beginning. Should I just let him in like that? How should I know when I'm being too trusting or not trusting enough? (Subconscious mind-You'll never learn to love if you deliberately try to avoid being hurt).

"Daddy!"

The next day...........

So we officially got into our first argument today. Should I just shut him out now? (Subconcious mind-You need him; you don't have anyone). Our relationship is strange . What direction is he leading me in? Where is he taking me? "Do your friends know I'm in love with you?" "They don't understand our relationship; we have a very special relationship." (Subconcious mind- What if he tries it again, just like when you were a child)

Let's just put it out in the open, shall we?

Should parents who molest their children be given a second chance or should they be forced to live in exile forever? "I don't think he meant to hurt me, he loves me too much." What 's the difference between right and wrong? What the difference between ignorance and simply not knowing?

I ask myself everyday....Maybe it's all in my head, but at the time it didn't feel right and I was pretty tempted to speak up about it. But then, I realized I love him too much and I wanted him to love me back.

"Daddy!"

Wonderland

She's afraid of things that she don't understand
I tell her don't be afraid dear here take my hand
Let's step through the mirror into wonderland
Cause real life is supposed to be perplexing
It's supposed to make you wonder You're supposed to blunder
Real life is eye-opening is doesn't make you fall asleep
Real life is DEEEEEP
She can't see why I would choose paths untaken
She says what if you are forsaken
Real life won't forsake you if you live in it
Real life will embrace you if you believe in it
She says she doesn't understand why things have to be so hard why she never hears from god why people are so mean why her hard work is never seen
Here take my hand let's step through the mirror into wonderland
Through the mirror all negatives become positives the same things that made you scowl make you smile!
Would you believe that this is Real life, most believe that this is the fantasy, I beleive that that beleif is insanity
I have an idea give up your career and live here!

Dead or Alive?

Welcome Everyone! My name is Shareen, and truthfully I've been planning my death for a very long time now. Now I'm aware that some of you may reproach my morbid ways of thinking, but death actually seems like a happy place in my mind.



Living has brought so much comfort in such a vast world of the unknown, I'd like to think that I've achieved my purpose and fulfilled my destiny.



Most people daydream of walks on the beach and camel back rides, while my nightly illusions elicit random obituaries and images of people casting ashes of my body into the sea.



Is Living better than Dying?



I'm not sure but for now this where I stand. It calls out from below the depths of my consciousness and whispers something sweet into my ear.



"Are you ready," it says. "Come next to me and stand peacefully sound forever against the evening sky."

America in it's present and in its history is extraordinarily gothic-grotesque,mysterious,desolate
Psychology-Subtle tactical action or argument used to manipulate or influence another
Victims of Psychology- the American people
Hello my name is Tyana and I believe that I am a VOP(victim of psychology). "HELLO TYANA" says the American People."TELL US YOUR STORY". Well, It all began when I was a young girl. I was born into a family that emphasized showing respect. If you got being respectful down pact in my family, you were free to do and say anything that you wanted. It was in this environment that I believe I devoloped my independent personality. As long as my actions didn't hurt others nor myself in anyway, they were cool, and I was a free talking, free thinking, adventurous little sprout. "WE ARE LISTENING TYANA, LET IT OUT, WE'RE ALL VICTIMS HERE" Okay so this was the way it was till I was school age. When I went to school everything changed. I no longer was allowed to be autonomous and to be able to cultivate my own behavioral personality. No, teachers would force us to engage in their rituals of learning. They'd teach us behaviors, under the guise of maintaining order. I raised my hand whenever I wanted to ask a question for years after I was finished with school. They force fed us ideas, notions, subjective histories only to have us regurgitate them later in the school year on standardized tests. And if someone did exhibit a penchant for independent thinking and creativity in my school, they were sent to a "special" program, where "special" instructors would pay close attention to their abilities while not especially helping them to devolop them. And they were made to feel "special". I was one of these students. And I don't know about others that endured this type of situation, but I felt so "special", that I began to think that I didn't have to try so hard in the low standard classes at my school. With no one to push me, not even those "special" teachers, my mind never devoloped at its full potential rate. I'm sorry fellow americans, I don't mean to get emotional, it's just that I can't stand the fact that I allowed myself to be a part of their illusion in my most formative years. "IT"S OKAY TYANA, IT HAPPENED TO ALL OF US, YOU WERE JUST A CHILD, A CHILD IS NO MATCH FOR THEIR PSYCHOLOGY". When I think about how beautiful my mind is, how beautiful all of our minds are, I become disenchanted with my country, because even before my conception they deemed my mind unuseful and sought to stunt and mold it rather than allow it to devolop through learning methods that encourage students to think for themselves. For so long in school I simply hoped that someone, some teacher, some student teacher, councelor, or mentor would ask me what I thought, this rarely happened. And then when I got to college and someone did ask me what I thought, I didn't know how to tell them. "CRY, LET IT OUT TYANA, IT IS HEARTBREAKING, WE DON'T BLAME YOU FOR CRYING" Every one of us has something to contribute to the postitive peaceful developement of this world, damn it! Why won't they give us a fighting chance!