jessicawritesnow

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My father is a Man made of Copper November 9, 2012

Delirium is real.

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0014988/ 

My father is a man made of copper. He is valuable, and useful no matter if his head is bandaged or he is in a hospital bed bitching about anything–yesterday when I called him he answered the Phone.  My Dog loves me, because he said “I’m on the port-a-potty taking a shit can we talk later? ” I never wonder where my strange and disturbing perception of life originated. Candid is my nemesis. Any how, I pulled this link from Public Health site about delirium. My dad’s tests for that will be modified for “I’m not right in the head” tests.

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I Have a Feeling a Better one than Last Night… November 7, 2012

Image

at the age of 20 (me) I looked so much like this, when I saw the image I saved it. Listen, not pulling a fast one–I’m old now. twenty plus 18 years…the dog never stops chasing my heels.

You know, I’m proud of the junkies from the dirt path up to the junkie with a pretty habit cause I know they voted. No one ever asks about more services (social) for the knocked up crack heads or the pill poppers. Who fights for them? Grossly underpaid and very stressed out social workers who need new office chairs because while the addicts lost their weight and a real live dead skeleton would weigh more, social workers (my mom for one) worked hours and years and decades and now have the asses of, ummm,oh yeah inner tubes I use to swim on as a kid. They deserve compensation and a damn good reason why…yo no se. I voted around 8 pm. Father had brain surgery on Sept. 13, 2012 and he arrived to his house last week, well, he fell and broke his femur  My awesome husband drove me to the hospital in York PA (an hour and one half drive)–my dad is a fukin bionic man. 7o years old,  three brain surgery’s, prostate cancer (in remission) and I think it all started with a hole in his lung (I never said  he was the Marlboro Man). He retired from his job of 20 years just this past August.  Hope everyone is well. Thank you for reading my blog. If any of you know why a vagina’s and ass hole resemble one another–kind of in holes and out holes, really make my day and put your spin on things. Go Prez!!!

 

Engage in some. (So I don’t feel like I must) October 10, 2012

Labor

I push the rock up the hill,

so hard it falls down the other side.Image

Slowly, I walk up the hill,

and down the other side.

It looks the same–another hill.

Once more I push the rock up the hill,

so hard it falls down the other side.

I struggle to walk up the hill,

then down the other side.  Great.

It looks like a mountain this time.

Another hill piled upon another hill.

Again I push the rock up the mountain,

so hard it falls down the other side.

Now I’m crawling up the mountain

Then my old bones tumble down— I ache.

As I lay weary and tired…sleep descends

upon my ragged body…I dream of

cumulus clouds puffy and mountainous.

I lay there asleep  in a ball.  The rock rested.

Seriously, What the hell is the point?

.

 

Impressed? Will the Real God Please Stay Seated? October 3, 2012

Drinking booze at 13

( and loving the illegal’s), 

Cool, chill, Hank is all thrills.

My muther father Bukowski heart me.

what a physical thrill to instill.

Ambien, Lunesta, Ativan,

a sleep managed by man.

Luvox, Effexor, Welbutrin,

the doctor’s guess as good as mine.

Lithium, Depakote, Tegretol,

am I rock steady yet?

Serequel, Zyprexa, Risperadol,

I’m 400lbs. but I’m not hallucinating.

Methadone, Morphine, Oxy,

opiates that increase the pain, mental.

Oh what the hell, if meds didn't work.

Just another day in hell.

I’ve taken more meds than this in my lifetime.

I’m still insane and searching for the right feeling of fine.

 

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.

http://www.jessicawritesnow.wordpress.com

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.

 

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=”http://www.youtube.com/embed/videoseries?list=AL94UKMTqg-9D0EnTkiR5PRGsnOVCQTI-i&amp;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!

 

 
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