I woke up at 7:30 am to a very loud bang, then the power going in and out.. then it started flickering violently.. and four mins later.. it went out. The dog was barking so i groggily started to stir and then heard fire-trucks, ambulances and police cars, so i look out the window and see them gathered around this car on the side of the road.. then it hits me... wow.. the ground is white.. its freggin snowing?!? WTF?? its 28 Octobre and its snowing!!! so i look a little more and i thought that it was the car that nocked the power out.. i was wrong.. he just went off the road. so now i become wildly exited and start shaking michael "hey! get up! you are never going to believe this..!!" he groans and acts anoyed until he gets up and looks out the window and goes "what the hell?!? " i quicky throw on my boots, hat, gloves and winter coat and i go frolicking out in the snow! :) :) it is just so beautiful out with the snow falling softly all around me. Mocha was very happy too prancing all over the place! the branches were creaking sounding like good ol' "widow-makers" as we call them here... the power came back on at 8:48 and then went out again at 9:14 until like 2:45 its been a cold day here with no heat. But Mocha and i stayed snuggled under the covers keeping each other warm.. and i spent the day laying there watching the snow fall.. :) :)
yeah that about sums it up. Timmy isn't coming back apparently because "it isn't appropriate, and it isn't safe" WTF?? i give up.. really.. done. i have no more fight left. this emotional roller-coaster ends here.
When you take the time.. the time to remember.. the time to be thankful.. the time to realize.. the time to take in the world around you and love it for what it is and stop trying to fix the things you can't change.. stop trying to save everyone... and for once focus on what you do have and what you already know to be good and true.. then and only then.. can you even begin to heal.. even begin to see things for the way they are.. "the forest for the trees" when you can finally let go.. you can finally be.
"If you want to be free.. be free... because there's a million things to be" so well put.. things are going good.. getting back to being me.. feeling better.. living more... because i am back to living free.. back to being able to be me... and thank you god for that!
"They danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I've been doing all my life after people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn..." - Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 1, Ch. 1
"I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was — I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds." - Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 1, Ch. 3
"Boys and girls in America have such a sad time together; sophistication demands that they submit to sex immediately without proper preliminary talk. Not courting talk--eal straight talk about souls, for life is holy and every moment is precious." -Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 1, Ch. 10
"Isn't it true that you start your life a sweet child, believing in everything under your father's roof? Then comes the day of the Laodiceans, when you know you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked, and with the visage of a gruesome, grieving ghost you go shuddering through nightmare life." - Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 1, Ch. 13
"Why think about that when all the golden land's ahead of you and all kinds of unforeseen events wait lurking to surprise you and make you glad you're alive to see?" - Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 2, Ch. 6
"I realized that I had died and been reborn numberless times but just didn't remember because the transitions from life to death and back are so ghostly easy, a magical action for naught, like falling asleep and waking up again a million times, the utter casualness and deep ignorance of it." - Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 2, Ch. 10
"Holy flowers floating in the air, were all these tired faces in the dawn of Jazz America." - Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 3, Ch. 4
"So in America when the sun goes down and I sit on the old broken-down river pier watching the long, long skies over New Jersey and sense all that raw land that rolls in one unbelievable huge bulge over to the West Coast, and all that road going, and all the people dreaming in the immensity of it... and tonight the stars'll be out, and don't you know that God is Pooh Bear?" - Jack Kerouac, On the Road, Part 5
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machin- ery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene- ment roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn- ing their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al- cohol and cock and endless balls, incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo- tionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook- lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer after noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook- lyn Bridge, lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind- ings and migraines of China under junk-with- drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grand- father night, who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep- athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in- stinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas, who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis- ionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla- homa on the impulse of winter midnight street light smalltown rain, who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire place Chicago, who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incom- prehensible leaflets, who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed, who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu- scripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose gardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may, who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword, who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman's loom, who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can- dle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sun rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake, who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver-joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses' rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet- ticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hung over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy- ment offices, who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steamheat and opium, who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion, who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery, who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music, who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology, who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom, who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg, who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade, who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccess- fully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried, who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinis- ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap- pened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer, who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas- saic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steam whistles, who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity, who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave, who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp notism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding in- stantaneous lobotomy, and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psycho- therapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia, who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia, returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible mad man doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East, Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rock- ing and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a night- mare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4. A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last fur- nished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrat- ing plane, who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intel- ligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet con- fessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head, the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death, and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.
What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagi- nation? Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unob tainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks! Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men! Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stun- ned governments! Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a canni- bal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb! Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose fac- tories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities! Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind! Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch! Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky! Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible mad houses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs! They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pave- ments, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us! Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American river! Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit! Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! De- spairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time! Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!
I was just looking through Andrew and Heather's pictures on facebook as they recently added me as a friend. Here i go again.. yes.. talking about the past again... somehow i messed things up.. somehow i went the wrong way.. i didn't go to St. Andrews in Scotland.. though i could have.. i don't have "flat mates" i don't have summers at the Yacht Club.. i don't have trips with friends on the boat for the weekend... although i have all this available to me. and have had it all available to me.. i just left it all behind for what i thought was a better way of life.. is it? is it really? or am i just as stuck up as the rest of them? i only thought of myself when i left.. am i just thinking of myself again? somehow my life seems darker.. drearier.. compared to the lavish lives they lead that i could lead.. but i shy away from it? why? maybe because i know its superficial.. that real life isn't roses and caviar... but it could be.. god.. where did i screw this up? where did i go so backwards? maybe i really should go home.. *sigh* i just don't know any more...
so i went outside... and i immediately smelt a fire.. a nice warm cozy fire.. this doesn't surprise me because it was 25 degrees last night. and 32 tonight.. so it is COLD! i am very happy about this though i love the winter. when i was younger i always associated the smell of fire to be "smells like pennsylvania" we never really smelt it in CT but when we came to see grandma and grandpa.. you always did. i started thinking about Vermont again.. and Johnny Seesaws..http://www.jseesaw.com/ if you want to look.. it is a very cozy restaurant we would all go to. best food i have ever eaten next to the Swiss Inn which is also there. http://www.swissinn.com/ which is another very cozy place. best german/swiss food i have had in a very long time. but as usual i digress... it reminded me of sitting at Johnny Seesaws next to that huge fireplace.. sipping hot-chocolate listening to the crackle of the fire and watching the snow falling softly outside. i remember when we used to ski up at Bromley Mt. (thats where the house was) i was obsessed with the one trail called "run around" it was a green circle trail.. which for me was silly because i am a good skier.. but thats not why i liked it.. the trail started at the top of the mountain. if you were to catch it on a good day when all the trees are iced over... and everything is sparkling and glinting in the sunlight... it's as if the world is made of crystal. i used to sit up there for a while .. just as the sun started going down... on my last run.. the sky would be a fiery read and the trees covered in ice would glow red..then i would treck back through the woods to the house. where we would have that warm dinner i spoke of earlier... some nights me and my father would sneak out and slead down the mountain... if i remember correctly one time on cardboard boxes lol.. we didn't remember the sleds. the mountain was closed and the snow cats would be out grooming the mountain. they would scare the hell out of me. but. it didn't matter we still had fun.... not sure why i am so reminiscent lately.. just seems to be happening lol.. and i am sharing it with you unfortunate people haha.
In light of all this current B.S. i find my self questioning why do i really care? why does this bother me? i used to be a person who nothing would even phase me for a second! i realized i have been on edge a lot lately. a real lot. and it just isn't me. it's time for a change. this life i am leading.. is just.. not right.. i need to remember my roots. i am better than all these morons, normally i would laugh and pity them. and you know what? i do. i can offer the world. if you don't want the world don't take it! i don't care.. be content with your mediocre life. but you will never know the love i have. and that is fine. it's your problem not mine. i have fought a good fight.. and now i am done. i am done being angry, i am done being stressed, i am quite frankly done giving a fuck. i am going back to me.. i am getting my life back that is all i have to care about right now. it is my goal to once in my damn life be selfish instead of selfless.. don't like it? well i don't care! i have done things for everyone forever. its only brought me pain and now its time for me. i will rise above. i am strong i have concurred and preserved before.. even in the sight of adversity.. and i will do it again. so back the fuck off... i am done with it all! go find another hand out.. someone else to listen to your sob story.. someone else you can mooch off of.. it won't be me any more. i know it sounds harsh but you should hear some of the words that come out or your mouths.. you should realize what you say to me.. what you expect from me.. and why because i have shown you kindness in the past? you don't care.. you don't care one bit about what i do for you.. you don't realize the life i gave up for half of you. and you never even thanked me. i didn't have to do any of it. not one damn thing. but i was there for all of you when you needed me and when i needed you it was stfu.. soooo to you i say good bye.. leave me alone! i am sooo done.
So apparently people want to play games. I really don't want to. I have no interest in this childish stuff.. they lie to a child's face.. they tell the poor chid we are doing this for your own good while taking away his freedoms. while taking away his privacy and the privacy of the people around him. if his friends wanted these sanctimonious fuck tards reading their myspace pages or blogs or twitters or what have you they would have added them as friends. Apparently they have serious boundary issues, and seriously it really disgusts me. who do they think they are? polly perfect? have they never done a thing wrong in their life that they feel the need to search through pages and pages of other peoples lives searching for some wrong another has done? do they realize what an utter disgrace this is? probably not. they probably have convince themselves they are justified.. yes david and trisha i mean you. you disgust me. your manipulation is utterly maniacal. pitting children against other adults is the most disgraceful thing i have ever in my entire life witnessed. you are of the lowest of life form. a bottom dweller. to mess with and confuse a child's emotions is just wrong. if you want to keep him that badly just tell him that... for Christ's sake just be honest with the boy. and be honest with us. we aren't fighting you on this. you don't have to go behind our backs and make a mockery of what we had. do the mature adult thing and grow some balls. i mean seriously. what are you 10? are we back in 6th grade? are we back to whispers and rumors in the classroom? grow up! and stop making us look like heathens. all we did was love him, we loved him before he lived in our home, we loved him as the neighbor kid we helped with his homework, (and not to nit-pick but we have love him for way more than two months!) yes we have made dire mistakes. non of which were intentional, and there is not a day that i do not regret them. the only important thing to me here is his happiness. if he is happier with you then so be it. and for real. this should be the only important thing to you. if he wants to be with us, give him that. has he not been through enough? goddamn-it! for once give the boy what he wants with out any bullshit! god you make me sick.
*on an added side note.. if you actually read this and are offended... well... hell you shouldn't be snooping in my shit.. so too bad.
Hi there nosey person! what exactly are you looking for? some juicy piece of dirt? some way to make my life even harder than it is? You take my one way of getting my emotions out and make it a bad thing. I hope sincerely that you are having a great time being a snoop.. maybe you should get a job with the FBI it seems more suited to what you do. Would you like to camp outside of my house to? You are more than welcome to if it makes your day. I am so beyond caring. But for real.. in all absolute seriousness.. you really, really, really, really, really, need to get a life.. perhaps your time would be much better spent doing other things. There is nothing for you here. Not to mention.. " Article 19 Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers." so fucking deal with it you stupid asshole.
Ok.. so i wasn't going to share this.. but i typed it for Steve so i figured the work has already been put fourth.. so fuck it.. ill share it with you all... that scum-bag had written me a letter from jail. trying to convince me that he did not touch the children, that he did not ruin my whole life, and could i please find him a lawyer? needless to say i didn't answer the letter and i don't think i plan on it. i should also say that i he sent it before they charged him with 87 counts of child pornography.
"I suppose i deserve most of what i am getting in fact it's hard enough to sit here and write this while i am still recovering from my first one-sided fight with my previous cell mate how do you tell a 300lb black man that you arent gay? usually face down. now i get all of eric's jokes you he and kitty were all spot on about everything...
All i wish for now is a fair trial ive writen to ask you if you could look around and/or ask your cousin if there are any pro-bono or pay-scale attorneys out here that would be willing to assist me in what should be an easy death sentence not even so much as for me as i have forfited my whole life but more for the family that i have alienated; danielle (his sister) will be okay but she wont be able to take care of them on her own as i am sure you know i was investigated by cyf for suspected sexual abuse and it was determined unfounded (before the 87 counts got handed down) i have never mollested "touched" abused taken advantage of or gotten intimate with a child i know i am going on no credibility now but i hope this report might spark just a little belief that i am telling the truth i cant address anything more bc of the risk that you may be sitting opposite me if i actually make it to trial beyond that will be the 20 and 1 civil suits on top of it.
still i have to try to appeal to you as you are the only friend ive had who is capable and knowledgeable there is no way i can do it while inside i can hardly ask mom and dad as i finally got two paragraphs from then a few days ago i broke my mothers heart karin i have no home to call my own lost are my family friends skill experiences creativity art and originality everything that defined me and made me who i am every night i catch more than 30 mins of sleep i relive and witness new possible devastation that i MAY have caused there is no information on the damage my tidal wave of destruction has caused yet. I am still paying every day every night, you'd think that having lost everything and having no value on your own life would be enough reason to not worry anymore but killing somone for killing another never brings that person back
all i have the gaul left to ask this world is for the chance to take care of my parents as they cared for me i was very serious about becoming an rn as you suggested that plan is forsaken (omg can you imagine!?!?!) i would have been good training but ill still find work and ill still be there for them
its hard to write a farewell letter, and it wasnt my intent. when i write my mind goes off on its own its a chance to say good bye which i wont be able to do for my few other friends there's so much left to say only so much paper lefft in the world of al the friends ive lost i regret loosing my oldest and closest friend things should have been different i always knew something would happen to take my life i always imagined it would be death i also thought it would've come a little later and not in the path of my best friend
the one friend ive made in this hell pit is a 56 year old that reminds me so of my grandfather he has Alzheimer's he wont remember me when he gets out next month very poetic given my final vicissitudes dad is allready 50 mom too this year the one comfort i have left in this world is this cheap $30 dollar-store am/fm radio and the classical jazz oldies and classic rock stations out while i watch the weather come over the mountains to the south its either this or the holy bible thats very popular here
i beg you one last tiem please karin what ever happens thank you for everything it was an honor and a pleasure growing up with you take good care of yourself your one of the few people this world needs
p.s. ready or not here i come... ha ha .. i wish... i really do"
soooo yeah... the balls on the mother fucker are amazing.. just amazing.. and talk about trying to play the guilt card. and he didn't even say one im sorry not one. he doesn't care. he is just desperate. and a fucking dick from fucking hell and he should be fucking shot.
the wind just had a strange effect on me.. i am laying here wishing things were different.. wishing that i had a fire place.. such a silly thing to wish for but i really miss the fireplace. I miss the warmth.. and the light glow that radiates around the room.. i miss how everything appears to be dancing with the flames.. a dance of both anger and warmth... no matter where i went there was always a fireplace, at grandma and grandpas, grandpa would fall asleep in-front of it after working on the farm all day and the clock would tick tick tick.. and it was all you heard except for the occasional crack of fire wood.. or grandmas chair creaking, in the basement there was a wood stove and i would think of any excuse to stay there by it, "mom i have to go dry my hair" lol.. then in CT at the fairfield house we had a wood stove and a fireplace in the family room too.. i would sit there as a child by the fire and the christmas tree just watching everything move like the world was dancing just for me. The best was in Peru Vermont.. at the ski house there was a huge fireplace. i would lay on the floor with my head on sugars furry belly with the flicker of flames dancing all around the living room. I remember eating at the dining room table with 18 other people.. laughing.. talking having a god time... they would then usher us children to the downstairs while they continued their conversation over wine and coffee.. laughing away to things we children could not comprehend. We would then curl up downstairs by the little red wood stove, reading books or listening to the juke box. but i digress... i heard the wind a little bit ago.. and it reminded me of the house in VT it reminded me of cold nights when you could just hear it ripping through the house.. and how i would cozy up more under my covers, in the blue room, the gentle night light creating a soft glow. and for a minuet i was a child again.. in my happy place.. how i long to go back there.. when things were so easy and care free.. when we did things as a close family.. i long for that laughter.. the warmth.. the sense of belonging.. and i ask myself.. what has changed?
* i would like to point out that the picture i added at the top is from Christmas at my parents house. if you click on it you can enlarge it. i was looking at it after i wrote this.. and i decided that it just further illustrates my point that the warmth is gone. look at the tree.. it looks so bare.. there are no logs in the fire.. just candles that have never been burned.. it looks thrown together.. i remember when we all used to put the tree up as a family .. maybe its a sad occasion now maybe people don't want to do it because it isn't a family thing any more. a friend of mine described the tree to me as "Like someone wanted to watch TV instead of putting that shit up, so they plugged it in, and threw them on and said there, it's done. Now STFU." it is quite possible given the way things have been going for my family. there is a lot of sadness.. a lot of heartache.. maybe people just don't feel like christmas any more.. like the magic has gone from this magical time. i know i don't feel the magic any more.. only sometimes.. someday i will figure out how to get the magic back.. someday.. bc i love my family no matter how it looks i love them, they mean everything to me.. and one day i pray we will be a real family again.
Dave.. you were my best friend.. the one i could run too.. you were always there for me.. you could always make me smile.. your words stick with me forever.. i don't know what to do without you.. and i don't know why you left my life.. please.. i just need some answers.. i miss you dearly.. you have no idea.. every day i sign into face book and i see your name.. and it breaks my heart. why.. just why dave? you left with not even a word. what did i do to warrant that? am i that bad of a person? i suppose this is just like my life though. i loose everything important to me. and you were very important... i will never forget you.. ever...
Goooodddddd i am soooooooooo tired... i just cant seem to not be tired.. I've been watching black and white movies the past two days to pass the time. its been great, i forgot how much i liked Alfred Hitchcock and i saw a few new ones i hadn't seen before. I still LOVE Paper Moon that movie never gets old. Well anyways.. i dunnoo..
It is absolutely amazing how some music can spark memories long since gone. I was listening to Galuppi-Parravicini- Concerto No. 7 (like half of you even have a clue what that is lol) and i sparked and interesting memory of me as a young child at C.B.T. *shudders* haha... well.. i had since forgotten those years spent in Ballet.. the pretentious CT snob way.. all children MUST be involved in extracurricular activities.. suited for their gender.. (funny isn't it? i know plenty of male ballet dancers.. but thats just me) I lasted five years there before i had had about enough of that... its just odd how music makes you remember... hehe
“In your life, you meet people. Some you never think about again. Some, you wonder what happened to them. There are some that you wonder if they ever think about you. And then there are some you wish you never had to think about again. But you do.”
How truthful is that? That sums up much of my life. Stuck in the past....
*on a side note.. i sent this to dave... he still didn't answer.. :(
so i haven't been sleeping well again, but at least i have company again for part of the night. :) and its actually someone with a brain. that is an utter miracle this day in age... or maybe thats because i live in pa? i dunno. anyways.. it seems that this Timmy thing is getting dragged on and on... so hope is fleeting... but not much i can do. think this is just seriously the year from hell... i really have no idea what's ahead, or how bad it is going to be.. or hurt for that matter... guess ill be content to be comatose at this point. its why i haven't been writing.. yeah avoidance. i have nothing good to say anyways. and as mother always said if you cant say something nice don't say a thing at all. haha.. crock of shit. well they are going on holiday on wednesday.. i wish i was. i would rather like to escape. Look at something different for a change. this house is getting old. very old. very fast. and i am quickly sinking deeper into depression. gotta do something! talk about feeling useless..
With the seasons changing.. one can reflect that everything must change.. and like the leaves that die every year and fall to the ground.. everything must come to an end to pave the way for new rebirth and new life to beginning.. my life needs to be reborn.. something needs to change.. something needs to give.. my dead leaves need to shed to bring new life to me.. new hope to my world of decay... something...
JOHNSON A. Dudley Johnson, born February 26, 1922, passed away Tuesday, September 23, 2008 in Palm Springs, Calif. Cantankerous, but loving to the end, Dud was a lifelong resident of Fairfield. As the son of Allen Apgar Johnson and Katherine Sturges Glover Johnson, he was a member of one of the founding families of the town. He married Phyllis Madaloni Johnson of Bridgeport in 1945 while a First Lieutenant in the Air Force. On one of his first missions flying a P-51 over Germany, it was announced the war was over. Dud joked that when the Germans heard he was on his way, they surrendered. He culminated his long business career becoming the International Marketing Director for Pitney Bowes in Stamford. His tenure at Pitney Bowes allowed Dud and his family to move to London, England and travel all over the world. Dud and Phyllis moved to Palm Springs five years ago to be near their son, Dudley (Dood) of Altadena, Calif. In addition to his wife and son, Dud is survived by his sister, Helen Frederick of Santa Barbara, Calif.; his sister, Kay Marsh of Keene Valley, N.Y.; the wife of his late brother Samuel Johnson, Sue of Williamsville, N.Y.; and his son's partner, Barry Schwartz of Altadena, Calif.. Funeral arrangements pending. (From The Connecticut Post)
Mr. Johnson was a very important part of my life. Growing up my grandparents lived far away in Pennsylvania (funny now that i live in pa but i grew up in CT) Mr. and Mrs. Johnson seemed to take over their role. My brother and I would spend every waking moment at their house. I stayed inside with Phyllis playing Go Fish or Russian Bank, she was quite fond of cards.. and cigarettes.. lol.. she always had the tennis game on in the background too. I must have drank all the snapple in their house! Mr. Johnson never missed one of our birthday parties.. i remember one year i told him to come down and my mom was quite mad telling me there probably wouldn't be enough cake.. i would have given him mine. We used to have little circuses in the trees at his house doing acrobatics and what not. He let us climb and play in them all the time. He was what a good neighbor was all about! I spoke with his son today, he said that he still has our pictures on his desk. It meant the world to hear that from him. I haven't spoken to them in a long time. He will be missed dearly, and never ever forgotten.
I am an ex-centric, artistic, empathetic and loving person. I try my best to help everyone out when I can. I am a pretty cal m person but I refuse to be walked all over. I think I can be interesting.. I hope you think so too...