I'm a guy who writes like Kerouac, Ginsberg and Burroughs; twisted, fucked up and stoned.
I like thinking the things I write will make sense to somebody beside myself. If it's today, tomorrow or after I'm dead in the ground, I really couldn't give a shit.
I feel love is an amazingly beautiful thing, but the pain from love can be just as beautiful.
I find myself, from time to time, wandering aimlessly around the garden of Chicago known as Grant Park, pondering the idea of who Grant actually was.
I think if everybody in these United States grew a pot of marijuana on the front stoops of their homes, dealers who push the shit to the youth of the country would go out of business, the coppers would give up trying to arrest/ticket everybody for having the illegal substance and the money-sucking-cancer-causing-fuckers known as CEO's of the tobacco industry would quit lying to citizens, raping us of our cash and treating us like the dumb fucks they know us as.
Grow pot to make it legal!
I'm a loving, caring, nurturing guy who will fight to my death for the woman I love; if she realizes it or not.
I'm also a doctor-proclaimed manic depressive. But they don't call me that. They call me a person affected by bi-polar disorder. Guess they made the name a little less depressing so I didn't off myself? Though, at the moment, I am not depressed about a thing, but if I were, I'd have a good fuckin' reason for it.
I have a great family with parents who still love each other, a brother and sister who have given me great little people to call my niece (maybe nieces?) and nephews, cooler than shit aunts and uncles, pretty swell cousins (most of which are married to pretty swell people, wait, I think all of my cousins are married...I might be the only first generation cousin who isn't married...will I be depressed about that doc? Fuck no.) and a whole-helluva-lot more second cousins that I can in no way, correctly name.
I've had many critters as pets. I like calling them my friends who never have, and never will, back stab or fuck me over. Lets see if I can name all of them; Sheila the sheep dog, Bo the shi-tzu (he was about 13 when he died of old age and about the size of three, maybe four shi-tzu's put together...may have been the water in the country which made him so big), Buttons the shi-tzu and Bo's girl friend, Skunk the shi-tzu and offspring of Bo and Buttons' first batch of pups, a crazy ass Aussie Blue Healer named Bandit who chewed down the cherry tree in mom and dad's backyard, Kodi (short for Kodiac Bear) the beagle (he too was old, 14, when he died of old age and was a helluva lot bigger than what was expected of him. I wonder why that country water makes my dogs grow so damn big, but didn't have the same effect on me growing up? I should be like, 6'8...269 lbs...and playing for the Bears) and Neuman, the giant gato who lives with me in Chicago.
I've had my heart broken, crushed, cursed at, defibulated, danced on, stung, cracked, spit on, laughed at, blackened, burnt, shocked and torn from my chest all as results from love. Do I want to give up on love? Not a chance.
I feel that trying to forget someone you love is like trying to remember someone you've never met.
My birth certificate says I was born February 4, 1978, but I was born the day I met her...was alive and well when she loved me back...and died a little bit the day she left.
I'm a nice fella who always forgives his enemies, but I never forget their names. The enemies of my enemies are my friends.
I am crazy. I hear it all the time from the people I call friends and those I don't even know, but I'm just fine with it. Being crazy is what keeps me sane.
I'm a guy who can tell much about a person by the words they use, by looking into a persons eye and by the people they call friends. Tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you what kind of person you are.
I'm a guy who feels that America will never be outdone by our enemies and America will never be destroyed by those full of hate for us. We can only lose our freedoms and powers to ourselves.
I'm a guy who may or may not like what's going on in Arizona with the illegal immigrant stuff. Way too many illegals have come from Mexico and other places to do the jobs that Americans refuse to do because they feel they are too good to do the work. But as Robert Orden once said; "Illegal aliens have always been a problem in the United States. Ask any Indian."
I like thinking the things I write will make sense to somebody beside myself. If it's today, tomorrow or after I'm dead in the ground, I really couldn't give a shit.
I feel love is an amazingly beautiful thing, but the pain from love can be just as beautiful.
I find myself, from time to time, wandering aimlessly around the garden of Chicago known as Grant Park, pondering the idea of who Grant actually was.
I think if everybody in these United States grew a pot of marijuana on the front stoops of their homes, dealers who push the shit to the youth of the country would go out of business, the coppers would give up trying to arrest/ticket everybody for having the illegal substance and the money-sucking-cancer-causing-fuckers known as CEO's of the tobacco industry would quit lying to citizens, raping us of our cash and treating us like the dumb fucks they know us as.
Grow pot to make it legal!
I'm a loving, caring, nurturing guy who will fight to my death for the woman I love; if she realizes it or not.
I'm also a doctor-proclaimed manic depressive. But they don't call me that. They call me a person affected by bi-polar disorder. Guess they made the name a little less depressing so I didn't off myself? Though, at the moment, I am not depressed about a thing, but if I were, I'd have a good fuckin' reason for it.
I have a great family with parents who still love each other, a brother and sister who have given me great little people to call my niece (maybe nieces?) and nephews, cooler than shit aunts and uncles, pretty swell cousins (most of which are married to pretty swell people, wait, I think all of my cousins are married...I might be the only first generation cousin who isn't married...will I be depressed about that doc? Fuck no.) and a whole-helluva-lot more second cousins that I can in no way, correctly name.
I've had many critters as pets. I like calling them my friends who never have, and never will, back stab or fuck me over. Lets see if I can name all of them; Sheila the sheep dog, Bo the shi-tzu (he was about 13 when he died of old age and about the size of three, maybe four shi-tzu's put together...may have been the water in the country which made him so big), Buttons the shi-tzu and Bo's girl friend, Skunk the shi-tzu and offspring of Bo and Buttons' first batch of pups, a crazy ass Aussie Blue Healer named Bandit who chewed down the cherry tree in mom and dad's backyard, Kodi (short for Kodiac Bear) the beagle (he too was old, 14, when he died of old age and was a helluva lot bigger than what was expected of him. I wonder why that country water makes my dogs grow so damn big, but didn't have the same effect on me growing up? I should be like, 6'8...269 lbs...and playing for the Bears) and Neuman, the giant gato who lives with me in Chicago.
I've had my heart broken, crushed, cursed at, defibulated, danced on, stung, cracked, spit on, laughed at, blackened, burnt, shocked and torn from my chest all as results from love. Do I want to give up on love? Not a chance.
I feel that trying to forget someone you love is like trying to remember someone you've never met.
My birth certificate says I was born February 4, 1978, but I was born the day I met her...was alive and well when she loved me back...and died a little bit the day she left.
I'm a nice fella who always forgives his enemies, but I never forget their names. The enemies of my enemies are my friends.
I am crazy. I hear it all the time from the people I call friends and those I don't even know, but I'm just fine with it. Being crazy is what keeps me sane.
I'm a guy who can tell much about a person by the words they use, by looking into a persons eye and by the people they call friends. Tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you what kind of person you are.
I'm a guy who feels that America will never be outdone by our enemies and America will never be destroyed by those full of hate for us. We can only lose our freedoms and powers to ourselves.
I'm a guy who may or may not like what's going on in Arizona with the illegal immigrant stuff. Way too many illegals have come from Mexico and other places to do the jobs that Americans refuse to do because they feel they are too good to do the work. But as Robert Orden once said; "Illegal aliens have always been a problem in the United States. Ask any Indian."
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