"...jelly -fish...."

Fear to me is frightening because I grew up in an environment of chaos where my parents were constantly in a state of dissonance between themselves, society. My father hated my mother because she attempted suicide and failed. This action caused a "4-f" classification against my father; therefore he could not go off to fight in this courageous war, WWII. He hated me because I was the child being carried in "mommy's" womb.3/29/42. That being said: Society's social fabric welcomed me with open arms. I had every opportunity that anyone could hope to have; yet I failed at every one of them in one way or another. This I know to be true: if you are not socialized within the your family of origin than you could end up lacking in the skills needed to get along with others, as you interact on the many social stages that are need to facilitate society. Simply said, you are limited in life when you can not walk among those who know how and when to change their understanding of the task at hand, defining themselves in a way so that others in contention can connect with you, your needs. As for me, it mattered not on what stage I was anguishing, I lost because my mind was up my ass over whose authority I "should" acquiesce too. I also had a problem with the devil because I was tempted by drugs, their false promises of perspicuity, acute awareness to knowledge, "my way or the highway." The only problem with it was that I was the one who was always on the way down the highway. But Society continued to offer me opportunities; therefore it gave me the false delusion that there was some merit in the way that I processed information. For example, imagine this scenario:  Let me attempt to fill in some of the 'blanks,' as regarding said subject, GOD. So the first and only piece of evidence I came to believe was that of the 'jellyfish." Yes! I came to this conclusion because, as you know, the 'jellyfish' is the longest surviving vertebra in the ocean waters  of the world. That means it has been around longer than anything else inhabiting within Nature's waters. It has no brain because it is a brain, just like your brain does not have a brain, it has your head. Therefore you are a jellyfish caught up in the pool between your ears. Am I right, you sometimes fell like "jello" as the congress of the US believes that they find their sitting President, Trump? I should say, as a caveat,  my socialization lacked proper schooling between kindergarten & high school. Also Being Irish catholic in my my day meant that you could be processed through social advancement toward industry's labor pool. Nobody ever thought that I could have been consequential in any meaningful way. How about you; what do you think?


               

...heart's ....

I'm a male 'lesbo'. Now, I didn't start off that way. I was a 'hetero' male, even though my environment was robust with sexual innuendo. You know!  you have to have a feeling that there is more to life than there seems to be. When this occurs the only thing to do is allow for your feminine other to take control of the psyche. Now! you have duel control of self, two ways in which to scratch that itch -with no name. Imagine: It's like what happens when you are young and slender, convicted of a crime, sent to prison where you become one of the he/shes servicing the needs of the Alpha males in lock up. You got there because maybe your prosecutor was female wearing her 'strap on' prison style; its function is to fuck over on you because you would not cop a plea; or otherwise, she was working her Alpha side of power. Girls do it too. It's not just men who wheel their power in a negative way as we see portrayed across the air ways, today. Just ask anyone who works in the service industry; as I did, especially if there was a contract needing her signature, show me what pleasure is all about, this is her mantra: give me what I want when I want it. Those kitty cats want to get you gone -back on the highway. Sidebar: "reading between the lines" - in this story, you sold her husband on the idea of pleasure for the wife -your silver tongue got him into "time sharing" as a romantic way to spice up life.
       

..."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.      

Dream merchant

I just got a cochlear implant in my left ear. Now! As of this moment, and for the next thirty days, I'll be going down the up staircase. My hearing is 75 years in the making with all of its circuitry going from neuron to neuron as it gets sound sifted through language, music, nature, etc. etc. etc. for understanding. In the world of one hundred percent, my handicap is eighty two (82). This means I'm getting eighteen(18) percent right when interpreting what you might have said. So! Over the next six months my cochlear implant will put me on the pathway for regaining my losses due to sex, drugs, and rock & roll. Therefore, I'll be better at interpreting your projection's vocal expression. I'll be able to recognize what you articulate, not necessarily understanding its meaning because it's convoluted or incomplete. I'll hear your letter string, handicapped only by your accent, if any. Meanwhile, my brain has to adjust itself to the pieces being implanted within it. Just like a good soup, it's best when you let it mature over night in the refrigerator allowing the ingredients time to coalesce. If you want an excellent stew, you allow it thirty(30) hours to commingle in the refrigerator - whereas it takes your brain thirty(30) day to habituate to the cochlear implant. Than I will hear sounds long forgotten from those who were out & about with me as we flirted with our aspirations -dreams forgotten because it was just too difficult to put up with their or my idiosyncratic natures. So now with this new technology my dreams to interpret your uniqueness has given me hope to understand the patterns of integration, new dreams to fuss over.       
              

"...fantasy's unfurling....!

We all have fantasies that we live with daily while looking out the window.  I had one come to fruition just last week; it lasted for about a day and a half. And then! I was like a balloon without a string, again.  My fantasy of having my own slip on the Ashley River, for the boat yet unattained, came out of one of the tragedies brought about by Hurricane Irma, 2017.  This is the situation: I'm living in my condo & my neighbor is living in his ten million dollar home next door. Yes! we are side by side with a 10ft wall between us; it's very friendly. Well! His one thousand foot long dock on the Ashley River was destroyed by Irma. I had been looking at his dock, with regret for my neighbor for the past couple of weeks; yet, it did appear to me that there was an opportunity for me in this situation. So I jumped the gun by attempting to put together a group of my neighbors, each contributing twenty thousand dollars to this venture to rebuild the dock for the neighbor with no cost to him so that we could build into the dock's reconstruction five boat slips for our own fantasy of "outing and about-ING" on the Ashley.  In my fantasy, he would have to be insane to refuse such a serendipitous offer of neighborly comradely, helping one another in our time of need. He would take the deal, he had to take the deal because I convinced my neighbors that it was a done deal. All they had to do was give me their money; and that I would give them their fantasy of having their own slip for their fantasy boat on the Ashley. I went to bed with my first "hard on" that evening, it usually happened in the morning when I woke from my night's slumber, still raging from my fantasy of having a slip on the Ashley for my fantasy boat yet attained. Than it occurred to me that he would have to be a fool to take this offer because he was selling his ten million dollar home on the Ashley and of course anyone who could afford to purchase a house on the Ashley could afford their own expenses as far as restoring their own private dock not encumbered by neighbors like me. Holly shit! I messes up again.
             

...a penny's worth....

Fear is a 'fickle nickel' when one is attempting to taste the unknown. You Know! What is a nickel worth in the overall balance of the moment, not to much. But! When its a 'fickle nickel' brought on by some errant thought seeping up from the murk of your understanding. For example,  I spent five(5) years of court-ordered probation living at 22 Bennett St. My job during that probation period was boarding house manager for 22 Bennett St. You see, 22 Bennett St. was a boarding house; it had as many as 10 to 15 occupants at any given time. Charleston is a college town where people come and go and all they need is a safe room to occupy while on their temporary side of the times. You know! Cheap housing is the difference between being able to do some thing or not. 22 Bennett Street was black market housing - therefore it did not exist in the mind of the judge who said it "can't be counted if its not on the books" If it's registered as a single home than that is what it is even if you say differently. It's a 'fickle nickle' when the judge makes a senile decision because off her ebbing mind, as she did in my case. My 'fickle nickle' cost me sixty thousand dollars because of this decision. OK! it's a 'fickle nickle' when it causes you so much stress that you attempt suicide.