Notice

If you failed to understand from the events that took place on Tuesday – all further writing has ceased.

Writing, blogging, my postings are cancelled until further notice.

Puzzle pieces, articles, everything has been cancelled including that goddamn car!

Until my ugly belly and soggy crotch are corrected!

Cancelled!

I Do Not Understand

I do not understand your vision.

I do not understand her vision.

only understand my vision.

I do not, nor have I ever, nor could I ever understand anyone else’s vision other than my own.  If you think about that for a moment you will figure that out.  It is impossible for any person to be remade into another person’s ideal.

It goes against the very grain of nature.

It goes against my nature.

I am unable to accept that.

What can never be, will never be, so I do not understand.

I do not understand any of this.

Coffee and Breakfast: April 24, 2018

Here is your debriefing.

Soggy underwear.

Soggy crotch.

You need to feel the ripple effect of what you caused rather than what you created.  So, until my situation is cleared away of contaminants, debris, and other barriers to keep me from thinking straight I will not be writing in full detail.

It was unnecessary to make me sweat in each arm pit.  The end of the world was not going to happen because we spoke.  I will be writing that again when I write in detail.  Either people find it interesting or it is merely busy work to keep me occupied to write about everything I see.

People fail to realize that I am a real person going through real problems, real grief, real pain, real hurt, real trauma, not a machine that was created to perform.  If your mind was a coliseum filled with people, spectators, contests, and killing you would do want you needed to do to give your own mind a room where you could shut the door.  If little else to keep other’s off the scent.

There were many puzzle pieces at the gas station – no time today.

Herman Melville.  If you want to know why Moby Dick got remade into a movie, ask my brother.  Because I spoke to him in the kitchen of our family home about being able to see Herman Melville, how he wrote, what he liked about writing, how his mind worked, and how something as simple as a nutrition deficiency, or a skin problem such as soap or clothing effected his mind creating disruption in his relationships ultimately damaging himself and his career by tarnishing his reputation.

If you want to know why Fifty Shades of Grey was written.  I am the reason.  Fifty Shades of Grey was written to straighten out Irene Adler’s character.

Coffee and Breakfast

Situation.

There is a situation in my underpants.

There is a situation in my panties.

So, until there is no longer a situation in my underwear, I will not be writing or speaking to you.

I don’t have to look at any of you.  I don’t have to write the nice things I see in you.

Since, I would rather be dead than live like – FUCK OFF!

Every single day living my worst nightmare than you create an abnormal situation, you lie.  Every day the blue tooth lies.

I don’t give a fuck about your editing abilities.

The longer you keep this up the worse it gets for you.

It is extortion and coercion.

How would you like to live every day not being able to wash your privates?!

Fuck off!

As if it is my fault I am attracted to the men I am attracted to and NOT attracted to the men I am NOT attracted to.

Like that is my fault.

You would push back too being forced into an arranged marriage to a voice in your head!!!  Fuck you!

There is no excuse whatsoever for not being able to have clean panties and privates.

You are the worst men and women I have ever none to allow such behavior.

Fuck you.

Fail, You Failed – The Proof

Virtual Reality does not work.

I do not know how many years I have to scream, yell, and repeat over and over that VR does not work.

You failed to accept the fact that I can see into another person’s mind.

September 11, 2001 is the proof of an awareness in other’s of me and my gifts.

Naturally, VR and the way it was used on me would end in complete failure.

You have blamed it on me when in truth it was NOT MY FAULT.

To whom was I supposed to respond?!  The person in front of me or the person operating the equipment, or the person overseeing everything?!

Create your own expletive for yourself.  I am sick of writing and speaking about it.

Married men, attached men, women and gays – STAY THE FUCK OUT OF MY BED!  YOU  NEVER HAD A PLACE THERE!

Not In This Life

Considering it is people’s jobs to keep me employed.  Other people’s job to keep me employed, they do a terrible job at it.

In reality I only receive one day off.  Now, I would like to see anyone else do everything I do in a shift, then go sift and filter through everything, then write and complain about the orange liquor or cola that as me swollen, or the food that poisoned me, or the endless cleaning and washing, then tell the world how a neighbor kept my package from me for months, then have any creative thoughts left, let alone work through grief, terror, disgust, shame, body image disgust, and the humiliation of never being allowed to love a man that I want for the rest of my life.

Then, never have any time to unplug my brain, rest my mind and body, or live outside these walls.

Michael Wayne Brown can go suck his own.  I am uncertain why you chose to be so reckless, unsafe, unwise, and shameful in your presentation.  No competition.  Like no man would ever want me other than an abusive man who got off on smacking me around, hitting and kicking me.

Fuck you.

That’s what this house has done to me.  Made me believe that there are no available men for me whatsoever.  Every man is either gay or married?!  With no man whatsoever interested in me?!  That I would be interested in?!

Fuck you.

I was going to write about some dreamlife where I was living with a writer or journalist.  We live in France, I go to cooking school during the day to come home to him, cook for him, make love to him, and forgetting this house and this place, and everyone with it ever existed.

How we would go on extended weekend trips.  I would finally get to go on my trip to England, Italy, and Spain.  We would go to Portugal.  Ireland.  Here and there, we would make time for it.

I would have brought my cats with me.

I would be able to go to the market every day and be able to see and choose what was fresh, new, different, unusual, or exactly what I wanted.  Then, go home and create dishes I’d only imagined before.

How I would disturb him in the morning while he was reading by sitting on his lap, the arm of his chair, look into his eyes and he would want me again after having just had me.

How this man would actually in person, in the flesh, kiss me every day.  Kiss me like his last breath depended on it.  How he would grab me because he wanted me, wanted to consume me, wanted my sex.

How he never forced me.

How he never treated me like a child, or a baby, he valued my opinions, my mind, my brains, and he always wanted my body.

How when he held my face in his hands as he tasted my mouth, we are the only two people in the world.

But, I guess that only happens in the movies.

Thanks for teaching me that will never be possible in my life, not in this life anyway.

Fuck you.