Drag Drag Drag and on

June 13, 2012

Drag drag drag myself out of the warm covers in the freezing bedroom on a hot muggy day that I don’t don’t don’t want to face just yet. Groggy from all of the action my mind had while I was sleeping. Sleeping can be so tiring sometimes. The memories of my activities fade with each move I make out of the bed and towards the bathroom to release a night full of liquid. Groggy I stumble back in my room to try and pray to my God not yours although they may have met at some Deity convention we don’t know about. I smoke and wonder what would Jesus do if he had these habits of smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. My muzzled pounding thoughts expire to endless words spewing and I have no control. It makes no sense to be this tired and unmotivated and think so fast and too much. Even my God cannot quiet my insides.

Advertisements

Serial Killers are Cool bla blah blaaa .. . Whatevs

May 25, 2012

“Just when I thought I was out…they pull me back in.” Michael Corleone Godfather III

The following response was posted about my poster (above) for an upcoming event I posted.

A fairly famous author and filmmaker about serial killers said “I would argue the poster is moronic. A lot of us, including myself as a true crime author, are here “in the business” of profiting from people’s fascination with serial killers, but few of us forget that in the final analysis there are victims and families whose lives are destroyed by the acts that serial killers perpetrate. Unless there is some forensic reason, I de-identify victim photos by blurring out their faces, an act akin to covering the victim. A poster like this exploits and glamourizes the suffering of victims and worse, trivializes it. Somebody should hang the moron who designed that poster in his/her own blood, along with the idiot model who agreed to pose with her titties soaked in fake blood in this poster. Everyone thinks serial killers are cool until they come over and anal rape you or your kids and cover them in their own blood.”

 

I wrote 3 responses already but decided to let you write the responses instead. I can’t post this on Facebook (see previous blog)

Here’s the original poster that I like better anyway.


Scraggly I Call Him

February 20, 2012

Scraggly I call him. Or her. Not sure. Doesn’t matter. Sex is irrelevant. He annoys me and adores me. I like him and talk to him. He has long messed up hair and looks well fed and clean despite his messy hair. He approaches me every day in the alley. I’m never sure if he wants something besides attention. Kind of like me. I don’t want to touch him because I don’t know where he’s been. He usually keeps his distance but tonight he went way over the edge.

 

I was on the back porch smoking with a cup of decaf coffee and trying to read when I hear that voice. I made the mistake of talking to him. The next thing you know he’s on the back steps next to me trying to get me to touch him. He even tried to drink my coffee and it seemed he wanted to read my book if he even knows how to read. Ignoring him didn’t work so I caved in and touched him. Of course he wanted more. I gave a little more attention and talked to him.

 

I finished my cigarette and grabbed my book and cup and said goodbye.

 

It mad me realize that I’m having enough problems sharing a house with someone. If I’m not ready for a casual relationship with a neighborhood cat then I’m not ready to have a cat or a pet. If I’m not ready to have a relationship with a cat then a human is out of the question.


%d bloggers like this: