LOVE...it's "just a must" -needed.

OK! When you blog as I do, you meet the truth along the way. You get comments from those who read what you write:  "I liked your writing. I connected with it at every level. You don't have to be a felon in the good ole USA to be treated like an unimportant member of society. You could simply B me." by DJ  Also, in particular I might say, I love his word string on himself: "I am the utter embodiment of what men fear most, love, sexuality, anger and intelligence.I am not a mad dog, but I do bite. I question, is my dog just like me, or am I just like my dog? I have been a WMD." by DJ.  So, what is the truth? Well it could be that that "depends on what the meaning of 'is', is." We all remember our hero: Mr Clinton, a true Mr! Anyway, The reason that I'm calling for a felon's union is so that the felon is not crucified. The world knows that the felon is and has always been crucified because the church wants to be able to offer "redemption." That is to say: if you recant for your sins. Now in my case all the testimony was perjured; I have nothing to recant because they lied. The witnesses lied to the jury, enough said. It is the same labeling as the German's did to the Jews -on your physical body or on your social body- it's the system of numbers to readily identify you. Such as the number stamped into my US passport. It's why Homeland Security embarrasses me each and every time I go through customs. So, THEBLACKMARKET.me is forming a political movement so as to be assured that the felon receives their 14th amendment's rights of equality. OR! Buy back the felons rights to happiness with an annual income guaranty, like social security or a pension. You should be paying the felon's family a compensation because it is the System's policy to create a lower cast of citizen. Someone has to stoke the furnaces of power: Think! Who stoked the furnaces of Rome's bathhouses in the days of Cesar? It has always been about Rome, all roads lead to "Rome." It is the power of the inner circle. For example, if each felon only filed their #number, in my case it is -161696-. I'm also listed as 666. It must be love. Only, I just wish that they would wear leather because it might just help to "turn" me on TOO.  Anyway! the e-mail for the any inquiry is: BALANCEINCR@Gmail.com or BALANCEINCR@ME.COM  Well believe me if every felon joined up and participated in some fashion to any one of our offerings. The number is in the millions which could translate into political power. It is what I am looking for, power. Remember Spartacus the felon formed out of slavery; also, he raised an army which made its point known. Since you have already been under the pressure of the "down low." This rapping of the soul by policy - this distortion of sexuality; this torturing of the brain. This is the "policy" that is on the table. Join with me and register your comment via e-mail and place your position on the table. Remember! If you are one of millions you can believe that you can be one with power.
   

Sucking it out....

There was this "moment"  I'm not defining it only recanting it. It was in my mind a responsibility because I was the moment. Let me paint a picture, you're in the bay on a sail boat; there are maybe several hundred sail boats anchored in the bay, plus one or two major toys were there as well, big boats. You leave your boat and motor off to some cove forming around pleasuring your essences with alcohol and music, doing that dance that only they can dance to -you know what I mean. OK on the way your mind observes the lay of the bay according to the lay of the boats at that moment. Now, because they are boats they bob and sway around their anchor line. This shifts the boat's position so that it can be at any spot within its radius around the anchor. So that, when you are returning from your journey through the evenings offerings, you are "fucked up." But, you get in your dingy anyway and dingy into the unknown -unless your boat is lit up in some very original way. This is when you panic because you are just not used to this shifting of remembrance; because, it is not like going from the pub to your home. Like the shifting sands of the Sahara, nothing is the same as it was when you left the boat earlier,  including yourself. And, now I'm on the boat sucking it out -another bottle of beer. I get this quiet "firecracker moment" where I needed to light up like the glow worms. So, I got out my flashlight; played out the copulation by blinking the flash of the flashlight, like the lighting up of the eggs. My friends who were "lost" were now "found" because my copulation guided their way home. Fucking A! Now -if the truth were know- I believed I had a maternal moment; knew that I had to play out the "Paul Revere Ride"  -one if by land and two if by sea. I had to rescue the children for they were out sinning again, I was so fucking jealous.  I picked up my flashlight; aimed it at the morphing shipwreck acting as a bar, sending out quiet flashes of "quiet firecrackers" so that they new that they were safe. 
 

Yes! Mann...luminaries.

Reality is on the rise; it is still passing me by; I cannot get a good handle on whether I'm happy or sad about this situation. So what do you think about this reality based conundrum as far as your state of mind is concerned? Right! You do not give a flying fuck because reality has nothing to do with the way you process life's ins and outs. You are a member of the solipsistic mind set; therefore, you do not give a shit about how others might view their world. Others are either with you or they are against you which just could leave you as usual in the dark. Right? For example, it is better for you if you keep in lockstep with the prevailing christian dogma of -kill the prick and let him find justice in the fluffy white world of the religious right's picture of St. Peter at the pearly gates of heaven. Yes, St. Peter will put the final stamp of innocent or guilt on those of whom you chose to judge. So that you can in your carefree way continue to battle as the Shiite and Sunni Muslims do in the quagmire of the Middle East. Yes! Also,  maybe you are one of those Sunday drivers who just loves to drag traffic during the week day's rush hour traffic hoping to drive someone crazy enough to go home and brutalize their family because of your christian sense of order. You just love to stir up the shit around you so that others will know that you are the one who truly understands the meaning of life. The meaning of life as far as you are concerned, or at least in the sphere of your range and domain. What am I saying: You are the new John Phillip Sousa leading the band to the cords of "onward Christian soldiers" marching the fucking populace into the bowels of the toilet bowl -Right or Wrong. But you could think that It is the orgasm's stage: You know -"what you get out of it." What do I mean by this? OK! Imagine this picture as if you were there. - I'm on the bow of this 50.5sail boat anchored in a cove of magical " quiet firecrackers." the night was dark; the sky was full of stars; the waters were alive with  copulation in the form of glow worms lighting up the bays' waters with their eggs and sperm. The female float by the boat in a florescent light exposing her form, she is laying her eggs. moments later the male comes into play and he sprays the eggs with his sperm and they all light up just like at the 4th of July; the rocket goes off and it explodes with a spray of color and noise. In my story: You could not hear the "copulation"there is no noise. You can see it happen because the water's of the bay are black in tone and the light is seen against the dark. but the explosion is there. all the eggs light up and create their very own unique light show -quietly.  Now if only you too could be silent so that others could observe your moments of awareness. Charming idea to consider, what do you think about it?

Hell's heaven....

Good morning ya’ll.

So! Here I am at the marina, the Moorings on the island of Tortola.  All I have to do is wait for the captain to show up. Yes! It is 11 am; he will not be here until 5pm. So if you throw in a few curve balls in the form of alcohol whatever’s; then I’ll be on the water, out on the high seas again. Who gives a flying fuck anyway? Right! You don’t; most likely your neighbor does not either. So who does?  The only one that I know of is the captain, Captain Fred. Because -when he is not on the boat- he is just another husband. Usually this means that he could be considered just a common stowaway. But, if you will, please do not tell Fred, OK.  Also, this island is just so not clean. It smells of pollution. Yet, at the same time, this is where you pick up the sailboat, hopefully the mosquito does not know that you are in town; for, they are lethal this year because they are carrying some ugly shit. They say it is just as bad as dengue fever from Africa and South America. Believe me when I say this; this is just not going island, Mann.  So you will have to “pray” for me, OK. Please address your prayers to the Devil at 666 deep-six way on the isle of persuasions where you go one step over the line and sweet Jesus does not give out time share tours. So, for example, I’m out in the middle of  the Caribbean -some place that I know that you wish you were here too. Yet if you knew what I knew than you just might not want to be here; anyway, that is how I feel at this moment. I’m not out here with a clean slate. I’m out here with others who -because of what they think- undermine my sense of being. Yes! There is always someone who wants to take the wind out of your sails –so to speak.  Fuck I’m out on a sailboat with my wife’s confessor; she gossips all of my wife’s shit. Anyway, life is Heaven's hell so why not enjoy a hellishly good time?  For you see Mann, "that which is life's is ours yet, yours alone." For example, while sailing about, I came upon this dock on the island of Jost Van Dyke in the British, VI. There I entered Foxy's  playground. Yes! I also enjoyed a pain killer or two. Yes! I met the legend. Yes! This is the call of the Island according to Foxy; he knows because he is a legend in his own time.
      

I'm no "Virgin"

The only way that they will know is if "you get angry." Otherwise you will not have any political leverage, meaning -social capital. For example, when I was leaving the British Virgin Islands yesterday on my way to the U.S. Virgin Islands, I had to pass through customs twice, going both ways, in and out. I had to follow the law, even if they did not.  It is homeland security at its sweet-spot - They can and will fuck with you. I have been going through this process for the past 25 years. What do I mean: Homeland Security came into play.  When we got off the boat from Tortola, a British Virgin Island,  the customs officers pulled me out of line and told my wife to wait. They nearly give her a heart attack. She has to drag all of our luggage through customs by herself; they could not give a fucking ounce of compassion for another person. Meanwhile, they place me in solitary confinement and observe me through their two way mirror; this could take up to an hour or more. Yes, during this whole process, my wife is sitting down on the floor, not knowing if I'm coming back out of isolation or going to jail for not registering my presence to home land security -so that we can continue on our way back home. Now they finally let me go, but before I leave they ask me if I have any questions. I said, "after 25 years you just might get the point." He said, "It is our policy"----which I took to mean -  to fuck with the felon. Anyway, I reconnect with my wife who is in tears, scared our of her mind. And she and I leave and go to the airport in St. Thomas, where we have to go through the procedure all over again.  We go through customs again and Yes, the customs police played the same game all over again. He pulled me out of line again and to tell you the truth, as far as I'm 'Fucking' concerned they threw my wife right back down on the fucking floor because it was "their police." Give me a fucking break, their policy. Let me tell you something, you grab an hour here -than an hour there, one plus one still adds up to two; there, I sit in this catch 22-position with out any constitutional rights -welcome to fucking America and the policies of Homeland security. Now please, if you will -drop your pants, bend over and spread the cheeks of your ass so that homeland security can take a sniff.

Dock -side not Dark -side.

She did it again. It is the truth. She always finds a great little nest when we take a vacation -whatever. I'm now dockside on the island of Tortola, British, VI. This place is like so cute; I'm going to like this. Our nest is over looking the Moorings, a cluster of sail boats where in two days hence I will rendezvous with friends and sail out of the harbor to who knows where. Road Town is just too developed for me. No Mann! I'm no island Mann here. But, the most unique thing: they did not fuck with me as I went through customs. It must be the islands, Mann. Otherwise, Interpol just loves to crawl up into the crevasses of my -undies. For example, last year clearing customs on my way to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico they kept me tied up in the terminal so that they could make sure that there was no way for me to get to the free drinks at the reception stand for your favorite time share tour. Fuck! I really do love taking those walks through la la land with the Dream Merchant. Anyway, for the next two days I'll be resting, reading away the truth of life's charade. Yes! I do not wish to be disturbed. Tell me a good tale my Mann; I'll share my space with thee. But first let me tell you what happened on the way out of town. I was in Charlotte Amalie on the island of St. Thomas in the US Virgin islands where I met Anna. She is the one who gave me the corn -rows and beads. I became a big hit even among the locals. I think it is because I chose to mimic their ways. But, you never know -I might just be the newest lead in trending. For remember now, I'm in my 70's on the way to the other side of midnight.  

Corn rows

Yes Mann... I'm in the islands. Mann! You see, things happen to you when you get here. Well it's an island thing they say.  It is some thing like this -You want to sell all of your shit and start over fresh. Like Mann! Life: It is here and not there; give that shit up, bend over and touch your toes, feel the freedom of not being someone else's prey. It all starts when you step off of the terminal in the harbor into the waiting arms of Freedom: I call it the "black pearl" for it represents freedom won from the revolution. It is set in black beauty - its horn rings out and call for freedom. Will you answer the call and go Island, Mann? You know! Do the island thing for a while, try it on like a suit of clothes and see how it fits, Mann. Will you than sell all of your shit back on the main land; dive in as only you can.  Or will you be held back from spreading your wings because of some perceived sense of loyalty. As for my self, money rules because I have expenses as well as responsibilities. Otherwise I'll take the 70foot sleuth in the harbor tomorrow, thank you. But! This is not about me; it is about you. For example, if you calculated your value in time instead of dollars where do you believe you would get the best return? Finding the inner you: exploring possibilities that you have not yet dreamed about or returning to the waste land of your responsibilities. As for me,  I'm moving on to Tortola for a couple of days in the British Virgin Islands. Than sailing for a week -in and out of the many playful beaches and coves that the winds will share with me, tasting, toying out the secrets of going island, Mann. Side Bar: For me the dream is waking up in the morning with my hair in corn rows and my braids woven with beads. Yes! Mann.