..."purple rain...."

Whatever they have denied you, we will re-institute into a labor suit since you had been denied due process under Labor's rule of litigation. Think about it! The moment you became a felon was the moment that you were singled out to suffer under the guise of restoring social order. You Know! "Stay in your place" or suffer under the 'Jim Crow" era mentality of judgement over others to keep self in check. Segregation is a form of control over those who labor in Society's work force. Do yourself a favor: ring out with hope that this UNION could bring about change. To hell with the Status Quo; they fucking preach redemption for those who prostate themselves under "good boys & girls of America" as it unfurls the system's lockstep aptitude. Absolute denial: this is where you are when they judge you a felon; they, those in the System, are all masters of history, especially your history. As was once told to me, by the judge who was judging my personal moment before his judgeship, he said to me, as he stood up behind his bench, in his black robe minus white wig regalia, "do you really think that you are going to win this moment in my court room?" Remembrance: There will never be a seat at the table; because, as of this moment, you are not invited to attain the fruits of labor under the 14th amendment of the constitution of the United States of America, merry Christmas to one and all- out there in felon's land. You Know! It is your choice whether the System takes you seriously or not, and invites you back to sit at Society's table of opportunity. This will only come if and when you are unionized - a position that gets you recognition.  www.theiciclegarden@gmail.com
       

...truffles!... anyone....

Day one of my cochlear implant's sojourn: Sitting as I'm looking around the room, I live here; I know the room. The problem being is this: I can't pick up more than five(5) lbs. Doctor's orders. Now! I have a nice room; it's laid out so that it is free of walls other than the outside walls of the house. My coffee cup is sitting right here beside my computer as I look up wishing that I could spend some time on my bow-flex resistor. It gives a good work out; you know.  So all I can do is sit here eating my Bon Courage Truffles. Yes! The box is much less than five(5) lbs. But those little truffles just melt on your tongue; they are quite naughty, if you know what I mean? Now! my bowflex is still calling out to me. I can't get away from it because it sits up in my loft over looking the living area of my room. The loft's rode iron railing raps around the loft and down the thirteen(13) steeps as it decorates the staircase. Like a black bow on an auburn colored box sitting under the Christmas tree, yet to come. This is my house. I'm sitting in it. My bedroom is up in the loft with my bowflex; I'm sitting at the dining room table; the kitchen is open as is the rest of the house, except the bathroom of cause. Now, since my left ear has this cochlear implant, the head set for the TV which is sitting next to my computer, is of no use to me because of the way in which my left ear has been bandaged to protect the new cochlear implant. Still! There is one caveat: when those sensors of yours start copulating with the drippings from those chocolate truffles swimming throughout those titillated juices of yours, you too could find somewhere deep down within your psych for offering up understanding due to chocolate truffle syndrome.