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A Keen Look into Tom Cruise’s Reason for Wearing Boxers instead of Briefs (“The Master” Teaser) Scientology tell me a story. July 24, 2012

"Poetic Chaos" by J Vicent Scapace

This piece entitled Poetic Chaos by J Vincent Scarpace–even a poem in the investigation of an environment wrought with misuse and abuse as a form of art my poem fails to find a poetic chaos beauty that reels in the bad and unforgiving notions.

I’m a cloned tomato,

poked with a needle

filled with a pigs DNA

to extend my shelf life

Thanks to my longer life

I relive the violation

over and over.

I’m a cloned cow– Wow now!

The corporations fucked with

my individuality,

my signature flavor—wiped out—

because I hear that they

mass produce me.

I face the butcher tomorrow–

Good—cause now I’m a suicidal cow.

I’m a mental case.

Addicted to drugs and booze,

an unlikely clone candidate.

My psychiatrist even instructed

me to not reproduce; to seek sterility

so not procreate and  birth weaker race.

Only geniuses and models

are clone candidates.

I’m a guru—shhh…no one knows.

The illness that plagues all of you,

is that you want more and better.  Now.

To cooperate with the environment

sounds spiritual to me–don’t mind casualties.

But, people insist on changing it instead

of adapting to it–this characterizes

the unrelenting selfishness of the human race.   Hopefully a teaser.


Scientology Tell Me a Story.

Cloning my good traits won’t make you a better and saner person. ha ha.


I love Spoken Word; Especially When it Bites July 12, 2012

Beginning of Time (SB Park)

The beginning of time (cavemen we call that time when…)this is not what I pictured if I ever imagined it at all.

Language-imagine a world where the starvation of a global language exists. Whoops, think not. Welcome to this blog. Yes I speak English. So far it rocks the roost. Not forever and a lifetime. I hesitate to guess the next best alternative, or acquisition. I assume many people fear a starvation of communication. Good lord, I never really baked myself in the idea of relative non-existence due to non attentiveness or unrecognition, because if I feel upset yes all know that tears mean most of the time, sadness, and a hug comforts sadness——but wait I say to my jackass self, I do know cultures including our own who follow a strict regimen of body distance and gestures that varies. Language is the most confusing system of corruption I ever actually said, “Bring it on, Ms. Language Bitch”. I majored in corruption and minored in the mass communication of the manipulation of the average consumers who allowed corruption to whiz over their heads. Then I concentrated in Creative Writing, an entirely different monster, nevertheless, a ride on the bullshit railroad, and for a living, if I ever become a professional Creative Writer, I can’t say that my goal is purely to entertain. I love to corrupt too. Of course with nonsensical ideas–I offer the match and the box–you my precious listeners–start the fire.


Revolution sounds better than War. STill we are at War and in a “Conflict”. June 26, 2012

This reminds me of my self-destructive twenties. I think I blow out a bong hit accidentally after I take a long drag off a cigarette. Everyone who wants to Talk Green, always under the table speaks fluently about “man, that last drag tasted like the herb that the Bible mentions.” I laugh. JESUS FREAKS!!! I SPEAKUS FOR JESUS! I started a revolution of my dumbass by dropping out off College (which I worked all my life to obtain a scholarship for–except my middle school years. I learned how to recriminate people in the best way I knew how during the most pointless years of my life (I learned Algebra 1 in 8th grade. hummmm.)

   Disturbed “Prayer”.  

I still thought that I was not the problem. Already resident of two rehabs and a very fancy “we know your nuts, but schedule is everything along with medication.” I rue the days I ever picked up a pill. I never ever had a problem swallowing a pill the Psychiatrists, the ER doctors, my drug addict friends…I’m not learning to ski uphill people. Pills were the bane of my existence. I never thought PROBLEM, until my dad and mother, he pitched and she hit a home run and I landed in another rehab. I detoxed. Never liked de-nothing again. Think about it. Put that de- in front of any word unless it sounds plain unnatural. Horrifying.

Well tomorrow my love and I are taking my father and his friend to Penn State Hershey Medical Center. I finally put into perspective for the assholes that his brain cancer needed attention ASAP. His appointment is with a Neurosurgeon and going into this I know that surgery and chemo are the only options. Just how much time will this “buy” my dad…no one knows but my faithful dog. I wish my dad would choose to say no to a third brain surgery, and no to chemo as well. Live your life just being you. My dad, he will fight like hell. I’m proud, but he battles the tall bony structures of death that loom over him during his nightmares where he runs like hell from death but not exactly towards life.

Negative feedback. I’m so used to that. But people, try to show the ones you love thru action, not words. A Revolution is an act of love. Not War, it’s an act of dissemination.


Cancer and a Serial Killer? June 21, 2012

Filed under: bloody hell,family,humor,life,Love,philosophy,Uncategorized — jessicawritesnow @ 5:29 pm
 this Serial Killer from my home state painted this fantasy picture.

Still looks like he wanted prison, just his own on a hill, castle style.

Arthur John Shawcross killed 14 victims and was also convicted for the manslaughter of two children. He carried out most of his crimes in the state of New York and died in jail in 2008.
His artwork differs from the other serial killers. It’s a fantasy landscape featuring a castle and floating planets.

CANCER…ANY AND ALL, IS A SERIAL KILLER TOO. IT DOESNT DISCRIMINATE .So if you go to any church of WTF denomination, if you suck on your binky and go straight to the crack pipe or if you shoot during deer season or shoot up during every season: pretty sure a train of goods always heading in your direction. My goodness god loves me or the dude puts up with me. One killer’s message on his art,- WTH-I thought this man probably wasted a lot of time stalking live people to anticipate the thrill of the kill–what an important representation of desire x perverted instinct = ecstasy (as fleeting as a breeze on a summer night, caused by a truck passing by on the road, while you walk on the path on the shoulder. )

He asked, “IS THERE LOVE AFTER HATE, IS THERE HEAVEN AFTER HELL, IS THERE A BEGINNING AFTER THE END?”  For a serial killer i almost think I smell a conscious he wants when he dies. IF something like grace hangs in the rafters (I’m sure some of the parents of the women he raped would love to see a woman named Grace hang him the rafters of a cult-like run religious organization who meet in a barn/ hall.)

Hope shattered–if it kills a person, could it save another. If it does both is it a serial killer/provider. Test theories of your own. It’s fun. Kick back I’ll give a link to some relaxing Leonard Cohen music. TFY–(Think for you)

YESTERDAY SUCKED ASS.      <frame width=”560″ height=”315″ src=”;hl=en_US” frameborder=”0″ allowfullscreen></iframe>


Remember the Flamingos that Decorated Our Lawns (“Our” includes the judgemental pricks who deny it) June 13, 2012

Filed under: bloody hell,family,humor,life,Love,philosophy,Uncategorized — jessicawritesnow @ 2:53 am
Tags: , , , ,
Time just is--now.

Time is a theory that man uses as a tool for strictly organization. I hate “Time”, because even down to the time my body becomes hungry for lunch, an afternoon nap, a shot of whiskey even my boredom–these actions can be attached to time. Nature and Time I believe oppose each other. Human beings become a more meddlesome force against nature every second. We will pay.

TIME-It races on Einstein hooves bought at Sears cause this county suffers from Poverty.I question photographers, who stop time on photo paper, and Manipulate it into dreams. Time strangled by a camera looses her texture, smell, hue realistic, and taste.Ah, yes Gourmet magazines report on envious fine foods, no longer, ever again, in the finest fire circles in the world–that food in the photo that brought to an entire crew a zesty, sweetness that crawled from the lips of one to another–it wilted. TIME-when I spot a vacancy inside my heart it’s time technology’s little pet that my heart understands.Because I’m finite, TIME folks no matter what, I can use the technology to track the fucker down,but no matter, TIME is the only promise I never saw broken. TIME speaks in truth at a speed that  may change–but how do I know whether it’s to torture me now,or to save time, and torture me later? What, save time?  Toooooo much time? Perhaps all at once? Okay…hey now!


Devil’s Dish June 9, 2012

Look into the truth under the adorement and see a woman bewitched by a purpose assigned to her by a man.

The devil loves a pagan–the word means simply means worshipping many gods…instead of one…and worship for other than social reason.

One man’s dinner is another’s devil’s dish–

A father waits with pride as his family sits for Sunday dinner,

Another man, he pretends to “Father” this broken home–

he rescued it (the home) from becoming degenerate. Cause he is it.

One woman kneels for seven years, one night at a time, to ask for

God to relieve her mind of the obsession of crime.

Another girl she laid on her back and prayed for seven days–

“Help me God to mend my evil ways.” On the eighth day she

walked away free, the other girl she put herself away for insanity.

Just so happens–the other girl seven years later learned about

the demon’s dish which tempted her–hasn’t tasted it since her education.

The not so fortunate girl on the ninth day–she always returns to her evil ways.

The Devil‘s Dish served her every nine days vinegar–pure piss and vinegar.

Pink Cotton Candy looks and tastes so sweet; until it’s to lure a three year old into the arms of a strange uncle pete. or not so strange. like your brother.

Parkinson’s disease I’d consider it a horrible disease, until M J Fox was diagnosed and spoke out for the cause. Pink what a pretty color–see how the devil works…Breast Cancer awareness five years later, at least, and please change the color to salmon!

I want pink back. What about Sleep disorders? It’s the Devil’s Dish when the sufferer has Medicare and the government won’t legalize crack.

Speaking of the government…yep that’s the mother lode the father of all humdingers. That’s the Devil’s Dish.


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