You are MINOR THREAT! You are intelligent,
energitic and DIY embodied. You don't take any
crap from anybody, but are willing to accept
anyone in the underground. You love to exchange
new ideas and are well respected in the scene.
People like you because you started it all, you
are passionate and you are great at what you
do.


WHAT D.C. HARDCORE BAND ARE YOU?
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We met on a Friday. I swore you would save me. Something with the way you looked at me from cross the room and pretended to hide when I looked back. I would like to think that the attraction was, at first, more than physical. Later that night you told me that you were in a phase - something to do with redheads with large asses. I remember the first words you ever said to me "Are you American?"

I asked you for a cigarette, although I never smoked. You asked me if I was playing a game on my Palm Pilot. In reality it was just a distraction, I was bored, could you tell?

I remember how excited I felt. I thought I had met someone different. Our conversation was so electric. We ran through encyclopedias of history in moments. Yet, our real connection wouldn't be fully understood till the next morning.

That night I brought you back to my place and we played MP3s all night. That was back when Napster was still around. I had probably 3 - 4 thousand MP3. We probably downloaded 30 more that night.

In the morning I wanted to play you a silly little song a guy I met lifetimes earlier had sent me (I think he wanted to fuck me). Instantaneously the correction was found.

Shocked, but still not enough to base a relationship on. Stranger things have happened, after all, yet we felt that it was somehow unique.

I remember saying, "WOW! In all of NYC, I met YOUR roommate."
In retrospect, it wasn’t really significant.

I remember that other man. The one you dropped me off at the Barnes and Nobles to meet. He told me quickly that I looked nothing like my snapshots and let me go. I didn't care. I had you. The one who I had met in the oddest of ways. The one who WAS admiring me from across the room. The one who listened to me. The one who didn't try to fuck me although I childishly brought him home. The one who....(must I say it??)...loved me.

Yea, I loved you too, but as they say love is fleeting.

In the end, we crashed, just like my hard drive. I lost all of those MP3 and I lost you. I think I miss the MP3 more.

Speaking in strictly metaphorical terms:

Itch of the scab....opening the flood gates....

guilt
guilt
guilt
guilt

(GUILTY!)

“Can you just die already?” he thought, almost outloud, at the worse time possible. His mother had been lingering for sometime, three, four, maybe five years by now. The first year shook him to the core. He started to act out in class and pick fights during lunch break.

“Poor boy!” his teachers would say, always making excuses for his poor behavior, but never attempting to offer guidance to a young man till fit to deal with what life had dealt him.
________________________________________________________
I killed that baby because I didn't want to change diapers anymore. I was 12-years old at the time and now, thirty years later, I feel as if I should have known better.

“I killed that baby with my power of thought,” I confess to my mother on her deathbed.

“You killed what?” she questioned, “Come closer dear.”

“The baby! The baby!” I screamed.

My mother died that evening.

__________________________________________________________
My emotions have great intensity (sometimes difficult to understand)

Later on, after the "incident" is over (if you will) we may experience guilt over something said (that we clearly remember) whose time, space and significance is long gone (in the heat of the moment).

Go back to that place (in your mind, soul, writing, space) and try to understand the context in which it was expressed.

After that you may be able to rid yourself of the foolish guilt that has been part of you for so long.....

"Ow!, the truth hurts", she screamed.

"Yes, dear little one, but only the truth shall set ye free", replied Jesus.

"If truth makes love last longer, why do lies make my love stronger?"

The plan was nothing sort of mad genius.

Get a rich heiress to fall madly in love then murder her - the prize her $50 billion inheritance from the proceeds of the sale of African diamond mines that her great grandfather had bought a hundred years ago for two hundred bucks and a few quarts of fresh milk. It wasn’t a matter of luck; rather it was a matter of being at the right place at precisely the right time.

Hell, the bitch didn't even know where South Africa was. "Is that were the Africans in South Beach hang out?” she asked once, half jokingly, over cocktails at the Delano. From that moment on, his contempt for her grew with bridled furry. He had graduated top of his class from Harvard and was accepted as a Fulbright at Oxford, but he found himself here, surrounded by transparent people, sipping $20 Manhattans at noon.

Her demands for sex were unmerciful. "I want to feel 20 again!", she would scream, as she shoved his head deeper into her decrepit pussy - diseased with the stench of old age and the memory of a myriad of lovers. Hell, she had more casual sex in her 40 some odd years than the average Hare Krishna.

Her best friend was her plastic surgeon - truly the only man happy to hear her voice on the other line. She spent more on chemical peels every year than most people spent on their mortgage over 30-years.

Art dealers loved her because he taste was limited, but her pockets deep. "Oh really, he was featured in Art News?” she was frequently overheard saying, "You sure the price is going to increase?"

He had been studying his mark for sometime. She was so self-involved that she didn't question why a man, of his background with his lack of social connections, would have such an intimate knowledge of the socialite life she was part of, but more importantly he knew enough about her to have been considered the leading scholar on all things her.

"I have had many suitors throughout the years, " she bragged when they first "bumped" into each other at the Prince of Jordan's yearly holiday hunting retreat in Amman. To her, he was yet another adoring fan and a worthy companion till she got bored. To him, she was his meal ticket - a way to make his dreams come true even if it meant having to fuck that rancid witch for sometime.

....to be continued....

create your personalized map of europe
or write about it on the open travel guide

I'm looking out for the two of us.

create your own personalized map of the USA
or write about it on the open travel guide

create your own visited country map
or write about it on the open travel guide

Isn't technology great?

....but I still can't find a date!

Is saying that we are in love enough to satisfy us (even for a moment)?

At what point does the reality of "personal arrangements" get in the way of this "feelings"? Feelings exist in vacuums without any necessity for time, place, space or truth. People just screw things up.

My conclusion, unrequited love is best.

Hey boy, it’s springtime (almost) let’s fall in love (call me).

I was just thinking...and this may be giving u more credit than is due....I am glad you were the worst mistake that I made....because in the end it wasn't that bad.

Maybe you took everything from me (including some of my self respect) but I didn't kill myself like you wished I would (and expressed) countless times.

Remember when you demanded I get a life insurance policy if I killed myself? Fucker! They don't pay out life insurance for suicides.

I hope your little angel picks up on this blog, too. Or maybe you can sit together and laugh about it. Honey, I read the letters that he sent you...he said the same things to me! Ha. The only difference between the letters he sent you and me was the date on the top of the letter. He takes a good talk, but his walk is a little weak.

I remember the first time i met your mother and she sat me down telling me how much of a fuck up you were. YOUR OWN MOTHER! It was hilarious (in retrospect, of course).

Anyway, I hope that new laptop, digital camera, printer...hmmmm...whatever else you have....is worth enough to save ur soul when it's time to burn in hell

The iPod is great, thanks. Apple Computers called. LOL.

Like the song goes...WORDS, WORDS PROMISES, WORDS

Perhaps you are right, you never really did make any promises to me, but fuck to come back later and use it against me? God damn you!

The big joke is that you will never be happy until you realize what a fuck up you are. Ohhhh so slick...you fucked a few people over got a few bucks out of it...wow...what a winner.

Your problem is that you will never grow until you sit down and realize how much of a fuck up you are without blaming others for your problems.

I know what you have been up to lately....sweet! I also know your papers are up for renewal in September...SWEETER! Good luck convincing the government that you should be allowed to stay here.

They say that the best revenge is a good life...I would rather live my entire life in poverty knowing the truth than a moment in ur world of disillusions.

See, the biggest problem is that when I speak out about this (about you) I sound like I am a bitter fucker. No one was there but you and I when you told me how horrible of a person I was...and I kept staying for more. WHY? You did NOTHING for me. Ever. You didn't even put a smile on my face. Rather, I was your emotional hostage. The only reason I stuck around for as long as I did was because I was sucked into your fucked up world of terror. You are an emotional terrorist of the sickest kind.

I hope someday you come across this, read it, shake your head and say, "FUCK THIS GIRL IS PHYSCO!" hahaha. Silly, you are the insane one.

Don't worry....it's all taken care of.

Motherfucker!
Seriously, I have spent the last few months hoping, praying..that I didn't hate you anymore...BUT I DO!

OMG! you are such a fucking idiot. Part of me wants to say..forget it..forget it...move on! But HOW??

Goddamn you! You have always lived in your own little ivory castle..fucking everyone over.

I can't believe i was sucked into your nightmare for so long.

I have every word, every picture...I have them all.

Hi K

I read my logs; I know when you visit. I actually think it is really cute that you do. I wish you would call me and just forget about this silly website. You know my number, I have given it to you many times before.

***waiting patiently for you***

PS: My request for a phone call is in no way a request for romance. Your love is one I could not handle.