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November 21, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — jessicawritesnow @ 11:05 pm
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Which came first the blackness or the colors? June 2, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — jessicawritesnow @ 11:38 pm
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My perspective curbed from blackness only by the glow colors falsely accused of fraudently adding vivaciousness to my step.

Colors help resusitate the black from its grave perspective. Colors help black become a spectator again; black watches as the colors do the fandanga manrango/a around it. Then the black dances with reverence at the behest of the colors. No one hears the chanting except the color and the blackness. Amen.

Hi restless and playful partiers! So, I used to party (you could call it that, but I did it kind of regular like hummm…everyday during most activites:-<$), but I figured out not to see royal blue, as in that awesome, beautiful J.Crew sweater I wanted, or a lavender sharp-such as the amethyst that I learned since is the sobriety stone (and thats not all). I never looked anyone in the eyes, hammered and high, or my vision blurred. Whoa, my eyesandmind ganged up on me, and instead of the normal two eyes I would see possibly eight eyes on a good night. Now I love hazel eyes more on the army green side, with jagged yellow strips (smaller than ever) on the iris. Oh my, I warn people and I look very closely. Sometimes I see colors and I cry. Everything previous looked Black or Gray. Except for myself. I have this blonde hair–one huge, fat blonde, eye sore, walking the mall (oh, not so much, any more.) or the alley. The tears, oh if only they shed from a source of oil, gas, oh you know, the shit that runs a car. A millionairesse. Huh. Never. I acclimated to poverty. I work to live. I count my nickles and deny myself pleasure to breathe in O2. Cable sucks. Yet, I’m not struggling philosophically. I’m not asking theological “it’s not fair questions”. I’m not really living too far above my means. We struggle, but I read the news. Oh my God, I’m not overseas living in Syria with a diabolical nutjob as the ruler of my country. I started to see colors again. My better half even wears orange. It didn’t require a social change. He used to wear only black T-Shirts. Me–I wear my heart I have with the small hole in it (Peyton Valve) blah blah, on my sleeve. Nothing I think I rarely hold back. (right now I’m biting my lip.) Hey, but out of the darkness, alone or accompanied, anyone is welcome to live, breathe and eat colors again in their life. No this is not about Jesus or Christianity. I’d consider Polytheism with seven gods–each a color of the rainbow–please don’t compare this with the Seven Deadly Sins unless you prepare a tutorial and are ready to teach it. NO bullshit here. I’m merely spouting off my chain of thoughts, course I’m speaking in code for you know who you are creepy vines.WTF>Have a good colorful day.   


One Flew Over, I Fell Off and Broke my Brain… April 19, 2012

I never flew off the next I fell and broke my brain.

“Must a man be reminded the inadequacy of the size of his dick by the size of the lady’s dick sucking him off” Rough quote from forced entries by jim carroll.

You know to hear a lovely “cuckoo, cuckoo,” during

each free blessed hour out of a beautiful authentic bird

outing–though very brief, but every hour, a time-keeper;

I can neither assert or deny that what effect on

other “clients” in the State Facility– the nervous

sordid wreck of the masturbating, hiding underneath

their beds, running in their skin suits into the day

room and/or lining up in the day room for a fire (setting)

drill )–  the sound “cuckoo, cuckoo”  I prayed  to my dog

would cause bi-sanity.  I only hope the sound drives the “techs”

cagey and batty as the eight hours or at least sixteen (double shifts)

cuckoo’s every day for yearsuponyears, til twenty–when they serve the

State’s twenty year employment package deal, and moon the client’s

upon the last footstep to freedom, instead of tinnitus because of an

awesome music career touring all over the world; the techs hear

“Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo,cuckoo, fuck you, cuckoo, cuckoo.

One last lovely thing, ah yes, they remember my shit eating grin from 2002-2004.

Cuckoo. ;>)


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