fausts_dream

I eat alone at the cafeteria table. They all have their cliques, bonds formed in combat, flight school, or among banks of computers at top secret government sites.

I eat my steak well done, there would be blood soon enough. Still it seems a shame that there is no one at the table for me to tell jokes. I tell an excellent joke. Later these men and women will brag about the revered operators and medal winners they work with on the operation and how many lives they save. None will brag about having worked alongside The Man from Amarillo. It matters not, I am compensated well for work I enjoy.

"Are you almost ready?", the suit asks. I pop the rest of the cheesecake in my mouth. "Allow me to prepare my tools."

The subject smells, not the honest smell of a working man's body odor, that particular scent of fear.

Some in my profession like to utilize sleep deprivation and withhold food. I like my subjects rested and fed and knowing that mere minutes ago they had a life worth looking forward to.

I stroke the brown young man's curly hair, it is healthy and full. My own bald pate, horn rimmed glasses and lab coat presenting kind of the iconic media image of what I am.

The young man looks strong, he might last for well over an hour.

"It will begin soon, they say I'm a monster, I am not wholly so, I would like to see this proceed with as little pain and bloodshed as possible, but that is your decision not mine."

He spits at my face, I just smile. The guards knock him around, I am not impressed, they would knock me around too, if they thought they could get away with it.

"You will be tempted to say whatever you think I want to hear to make me stop, once it begins. Unfortunately for you we have some details already, which only the truth will satisfy."

"The other men on this mission have years of very specific training. I wish I could claim such impressive credentials, I inherited a certain something...my father was something of an artist and a scientist of pain and suffering. And my mother taught me a lot about the limits of human endurance."

I stroke the young man's hair again. "It's the little things you will miss, the ability to walk to the bathroom to take a piss instead of just pissing wherever you happen to be and the piss staying there, cooling and stinking, until someone changes you."

"One last chance, you see there's nothing to be done about the outcome. And no one, absolutely no one, will know or care how brave you were. There's a young very well trained man who will come in here and get your information, I will leave with my little toolbox and no one will ever know."

He spat again, I put up my hand to prevent the guards from hitting him.

"I see, unfortunate. Which is your dominant hand, the right or the left? After I turned 8 years old I had something of an obsession with fire"..I mused to no one in particular, as I opened the top drawer.


,

LJ Idol Poetry
Guns without Music and Eeyore Girl

Days or decades they abandon their post
Surely I'll give up the ghost
Nothing to do but shit my pants
And gasp the words "Free at last"

To grubs the glory mine

I don't believe in streets of gold
Or flowing robes of wealth untold

Marble halls to mark the time

When that nearing ship has sailed
I know that I won't feel compelled
To trod the boards and shine

To flatter women, salve my ego
I never was anybody's hero

It's just chemicals, sunblind

Or make alliance with such men
Who thrill to see me fall again

Cause it's not them in the slime

4000 religions come to terms
But I expect to feed the worms

And be useful one more time

Like this rhyme

Aha, Si. Eccolo, eccolo e arrivato.

I'll be honest with you. I fully expected to be dead by now. I remember a scant three Christmases ago making decisions about which Christmas specials to watch on my shitty 2 inch phone screen, since it was going to be my last Christmas. (For the record I decided on Scrooged, Bad Santa, It's a Wonderful Life and Miracle on 34th St). It's a good list if you're a peculiar son of a bitch and I certainly am.

My uncle decided to sell the house where I was living and I ran out of couches at one point ended up in a homeless man's rehab. All my worldly possessions stinking and reeking in a black hefty bag.

This place is called The Wheelhouse, and if you call asking for a bed, the answer is always no. What is required is that you go there with clothes and just pull up a spot on one of two vaguely comfortable couches and refuse to leave. Guys will read the AA big book to you and if you refuse them then you'll never get a bed. At 11:00 at night the residents there will make you a pallet on the floor. They will feed you three times a day, the food is donated and can tend toward the weird I remember,in specific, boudin kolaches donated by a local donut shop and one week where we were short on donations we ate turkey neck soup three times a day.

They don't take your cell phone until you're actually admitted into the facility which generally happens at a 7:00 p.m. AA meeting (one of 3 daily mandatory AA meetings)(You are usually admitted anywhere between 2 days and 2 weeks from when you plop down on the couch) But of course if you're spending a lot of time on your cell phone before admission you will never get a bed...see the pattern emerging. You are "chipped in" which is to say you receive an Alcoholics Anonymous newcomers chip. When you get the chip you also get a bed which means you immediately have approximately 70 roommates, many of whom are in various stages of withdrawals from various substances. My drug of choice was booze but if I'm to be honest with myself my real drug of choice was more... Anything that would change the way I feel, be it cocaine, gambling, women, whatever.

One of the more charming attributes of the Wheelhouse, is there are constantly more folks seeking beds than there are beds, so unless you're very strongly motivated to stay they will do their level best to move you along.

One of the techniques is called a "wood ride" where they will punish you as a group for some offense. Other punishments include taking away your toilet seats so you have to hover, because unlike the rest of the world where men are trained to put toilet seats down at the Wheelhouse toilet seats are supposed to be left in the up position. But the wood ride was probably my favorite punishment... You sit at a long table and read the AA Big Book at SCREAMING volume. You read every word as written usually for a couple pages and then it's the next man's turn. I learned early on, not to do anything that would single me out like saying Roman numeral 23 instead of X-X-Eye-Eye-Eye. A well-rounded liberal arts education is just going to mark you as someone who perhaps needs a beating. The idea of the wood ride is to make you so angry you voluntarily leave and give up your bed. The longest wood ride while I was there was 9 hours of reading and screaming.

Chores and reading the Big Book are the only way to spend your days, conversation is limited to the Big Book that first 30 days. I made 60 days sober inside, but they regulate your sleep and limit it fairly strictly and I had enough money to get a hotel room, funny how they'll deliver a bottle straight to a hotel room these days.

I tried to return to the Wheelhouse drunk apparently there was nudity involved I'm not sure I want to know the whole story.

After that I was a rehab hobo for a while including a place called the 24-hour Club which will let you stay for upwards of 10 days... Also you're forced to spend all day in the Big Book there as well.

I eventually found myself in a Christ-based sober living house. Where I paid a program fee of $575 a month. It was not technically rent because renters have rights and we had none. I had a 9:00 p.m. curfew there for over a year which was 2 hours earlier than my very strict mother had placed on me when I was 11.

I managed a year and 8 months sober before a recent relapse, but I am still here I have arrived at this place and this time, I'm not sure what the next step is for me I just know I don't want to face alcohol withdrawals and turkey neck soup on the same day again.

Maybe that's enough.

For my favorite musician, KB

************

I was in agony, in a hospital bed, morphine barely able to take the edge off. Surrounded by flowers and gifts and hand written cards by half of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. My daughter Magnolia had come, and was holding my hand. Nothing else mattered, only that, eased to the pain a little. The light grew brighter, then shrank to a pinprick.

I woke in a sea of sunflowers. A 5'8 man with a wisp of a goatee, brown skin and brown eyes, passed me a joint. "You assholes, think of sunflowers as weeds, but I always loved them, what the fuck do you people know anyway."

"Am I?"

"Dead? Yes, and thank all my favorite stars. You were stubborn as fuck, wouldn't leave until your daughter made up her mind to come see you. I didn't nudge her, I saved you from a heroin overdose when you were 31, I don't make a habit of intervening twice. You're lucky you didn't try to shoot that much smack when you were 27, there is something about that year in human life... Well it's a secret your mind wasn't made to understand. Pancreatic cancer sucks. I was willing to pull the plug months ago, but I'm glad you saw her.", the Man smiled at me, when I noticed he wasn't a man at all, She was a sour looking Asian woman in her early 60's.

"Are?"

"Your parents here, of course they are. You guys made up that hell stuff from whole cloth. I have to put some dudes in time out for a while, but I have a seat saved for Hitler at the dinner table, sometime around 2141ish, you know, depending." She produced her own joint from her blue jeans and sparked it up.

"I think your second wife Angie, will want to live with you when she gets here if she doesn't find someone she vibes better with in the meantime", now he was a solidly built, Hispanic construction worker.

"I have so many questions", I said.

He fixed me with a smile, "And I will send Gabriel to answer some of them, he wants to know if he can sit in with you guys on trumpet when the last couple of you guys get here anyway. That guy is better than Google, but as far as his trumpet work goes, he's no Miles Davis. It low-key pissed him off when I made that guy"


"The guitarist and songwriter for A-Muse finally gets to play the big room. While we're waiting on Angie to get here I've got some big news."

The third song on your fourth album, "Saving Susan", it's a pretty good tune. So good in fact I put it in the Canon.I even do a cover, it's real high quality stuff man", now he was a fat, aging Italian guy.

And when He sung my song I heard it again for the first time, and all the pain and misery, all the fighting and the chaos, all melted away.

Saving Susan is forever. And so am I

"It is not known precisely where angels dwell whether in the air, the void, or the planets. It has not been God's pleasure that we should be informed of their abode." Voltaire

"VEGAS BABY- WOOOOOOOOOOOO!" 50,000 Batchelor and Bachelorette parties.


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Azrael stood outside the room, trying not to get too close to anybody and inadvertently give them cancer of the balls or something. I raised an eyebrow at him, I insisted on this stop. When you are going to hell, literally, there are no guarantees of a return trip. 

"Thank God, you're O.K., Raul." and he was, His flesh was as warm as ever, no instant greying of hair or claw marks near the eyes, Zeke hadn't shown him his true form, there is that to be grateful for, at least.

"He...He wasn't human was he...and that voice, that voice from the security guy. He wasn't human either." Raul was holding his drink like a nervous father would hold his newborn.

"There is something human in Zeke, through a glass darkly. The other guy, not so much. You've been in combat, Imagine the best soldier ever, but his tour is something like 250 million years"

"Hannah, what the hell are you talking about. That doesn't make any sense. None of this makes any Goddamn sense."

"You know I hate that word, Raul. You shouldn't play with things you don't understand. Except, you have to now, no way around it. You resisted Zeke, I felt it. You must really love me, and I love you too, but it doesn't come naturally to me, I am not a creature of free will, if I forget that then I could easily become like Ze....the demon you encountered." Was I going to do it, did I dare. Yeah, I was, in for a penny.

It wasn't a lingering kiss, or a massive exercise of power. It just undid a little of what was done when another angel had pressed their finger to his lips when he was born.

I instantly felt a pain worse than the worst migraine headache; I thought I was being capital P Punished, but it wasn't that.

"Wow, that was great you have never kissed me like...wait....all these things in my head are they tru...Hey are you o.k.?" Raul said, worriedly.

"I will be O.K., something happened. Someone gave hell's loosest cannon, how to translate this to your nerd brain, someone gave Anakin Skywalker a shiny new lightsaber, and the nuclear launch codes." I didn't know what happened, but it can't be good, can it?"


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"Every Angel is terrifying" Rilke

"Bury me an angel God, I need some inspiration." White Zombie- Supercharger Heaven

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As I began to materialize the object was coming at my head at about 200 miles an hour. My reflexes are better than human but to have hands soft enough to catch it coming in that hot was without breaking the bottle, impressive, I don't care who you are. O.k. well maybe not to the guy who threw it. A Bud Light, the official beer of hell, just as Trump fans and beer snobs had come to suspect.

"So, tell me Zeke ol' buddy, ol' pal, do you have any tips for how to fight Michael in case I ever have to do it again.", he said.

I could have used any of a baker's dozen names for him, but I went with my favorite, "Well Luci, I just hope you don't crap your pants, cause I almost did.", I smiled at him, and he started to laugh.

Luci's laugh was musical like the laughter of children. Makes you want to forget what he is, you do that at your peril, I should know, I did it once. Once. The Christians would insist there is no real merriment in it, like everything he does is sinister, it isn't like that, would be easier if it was.

"Sorry your little mission got interrupted. Maybe it's time for me to visit the Senator as Nevada kingmaker, Moe Diaz."

As Moe Diaz, Asmodeus...Luci does love his wordplay, hey it gets boring in hell, even for him. I just facepalmed, it's one of my favorite human gestures, like I say, boring.

"Don't worry, Hezekiel, I am sending you right back up. Michael didn't try to bind you or anything. But I need to ask your permission for something." Lucifer looked into my eyes and my blood turned cold, he didn't ask any ones permission for anything not even The Other Guy.

"It's just a courtesy. Zeke, I have a chance to take out a top 25 American city, with Heaven's blessing and I am gonna take it.", he looked serious now, that's not comforting either.

I was shocked, "I haven't been New Orleans guardian angel in a long time, do as thou wilt".

"Sometimes, you really are as dense as you look Zeke, it's not The Big Easy, hasn't that place suffered enough, it's Vegas, but, and this is the part that makes it, at least tangentially your business, I get to take out it's guardian as a throw in. I know this is gonna make you feel some kind of way, so I am willing to throw you a cookie. Whatdya think?"

"To destroy Vegas, you would have to destroy Haniel, she would do anything to save it" I said carefully, he was talking to me like it was a negotiation, but he doesn't lose those, and we both know it.

"You don't need my permission but if you want my goodwill for reasons of your own. I want two things.", I said, my heart in my chest.

"I'm listening" and he was.

"If an angel has to die in Vegas, my hand on the sword. Haniel picked a fucking mortal over me, and like you said, it makes me feel some kinda way. She is my age and power, so I want you to boost me so I can do a clean job, also there is gonna be a power vaccum, with Vegas gone, I think New Orleans is gonna be the next big thing, and I want in. Why would He allow this, you know there is gonna be a Pray for Vegas movement, Sin City is going to be Saint City, it's dumb it makes no sense. Haniel has been cleaning up the mob influence, Vegas isn't that bad anymore" I hated asking Luci questions but I had to this time.

"Things are strange. I mean we have all been pretending to be cool with the fact Azrael lost his mind when Bergen-Belsen was liberated, and I haven't heard from Him, since Covid, this is so ham handed, I think it's Michael." He looked at me with utter seriousness and I felt in my heart he couldn't be lying, felt it in the innermost fiber of my being, so he probably was. "How much of a boost and for how long, a thousand years." As much as you will give me, I will meet your price, and I only want it for a month."

"A MONTH, that's an eyeblink" he smiled that serpent's smile. "O.K., you're a rock star, I am not giving you enough to go toe to toe with Samael or Uriel, certainly not Michael but you could hold your own with a garden variety Archangel, maybe Novalis. Are we sure you are just hunting poor Haniel?"
"Just Haniel, and a little personal power for me.", I said, I don't mean to brag, but tell me when someone else has the balls to lie flat out to the Father of Lies.

Actually, I was going to meet with Haniel right here, the dissonance of her presence here should create static for prying ears, but first a stop by my old stomping grounds to see a Voudon Priest.

If someone messes with Las Vegas, Nevada they deal with her. And if someone messes with her, they deal with me. Laissez les bon temps rouler.

Just as I left, I heard a voice behind me, "Oh Zeke....Give em' Hell", O.K. now I am terrified.

* Housekeeping

Zeke and Hannah will return if I do, as Hannah goes to Hell. It wouldn't be my first choice of for a date after so many years, bold strategy Cotton, we'll see if it works out for him.

The prompt this week was simply too "on the nose" for me to do anything else.

In the past, in keeping with my villainous persona, I have railed against "trigger warnings" and I still think it can spoil writing for the rest of us if we know what is coming. But my goal with "my story" is to help people someday, and I can't do that if I start out hurting someone. This entry features a suicide attempt, animal neglect and very frank talk about late-stage alcoholism *


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How do you make an introvert out of an extrovert (and I am a true extrovert, not an introvert/extrovert which seems to be all the rage nowadays). I would add copious amounts of alcohol and shame. I know, TV and movies have taught you alcohol makes introverts extroverted mostly to comedic effect, and that does happen. But on the "this is serious" end of drinking all those Dudley Moore/Amy Farrah Fowler expectations are thwarted.

There was always an element of drinking at home for me, even when I could trust myself to drink in bars. I am not a Rockefeller and 7 nights a week in "the club" would be prohibitively expensive, when I got to the stage where pissing myself and verbally fighting were part of almost every time I drank, "taking it to the house" seemed prudent.

I was unemployed at this time, and never set an alarm, but I woke up at 6:45 religiously, it was long enough to throw on some clothes, sometimes comically seasonally inappropriate ones (on one occasion suit pants and a t-shirt with shoes on the wrong foot, frequently shorts on the coldest days of the year, whatever I could grab quickly) and go to the corner store.

I started drinking then, about 7:10 A.M, and I stopped between 2 and 3 A.M when I passed out. Part of this was during Covid, part of it was not, the difference was only if I wore a mask when going to the beer store or the liquor store. Either way I saw no one, but my wonderful dog Dixie (Ava was nearing the end of her life at the start of this, but that is too dark, even for me...She had Cancer and I couldn't really afford vet visits, I did what was my best at the time). Dixie is a blue heeler (eventually she was taken away from me, the day I was evicted) but at this point my love potato was working full time to keep me mentally afloat. (As opposed to literally afloat, my brain was swimming in so much alcohol it was pretty pickled).

My days consisted of a lot of pacing around while listening to loud music (rock and alternative mostly but my Spotify list seems like it was selected while drunk, for some reason, even now that I am not.) Watching good movies, reading good books and making bad conversation with people that loved me, usually via text or especially Facebook Messenger.

You see, even though I was so hammered, all the time, that sex would have been a pipe dream and even er, self-service was a demeaning, humbling chore...I felt compelled to start up sexual conversations with any woman in range, and with Facebook friends as far away as New Zealand, it was quite a range. Most of them used the unfriend/block method to eliminate this pest, and it became a game with me to see how many friends I had before I started chatting vs how many I woke with the next morning.

One day I got tired of it and decided to kill myself with Benadryl, why Benadryl, sure...I probably guessed it wouldn't work and would maybe get me attention, oh internet thought police. I also had already taken all of my aunt's slightly expired Vicodin and Hydrocodone and everything else that might get you "high". Anyway, I don't recommend Benadryl in the 250 plus pills dosage, it leaves you completely aware but paralyzed, or it did me, your mileage may vary, but I am confident it will be a nightmare. Dixie lay on me for hours, keeping my fraying mind from dissolving entirely. This is where the dramatist in me would say "Inject some humor, you have to get up off the audience's chest at some point if you want them to not be numb to the horror" very well, the TV was on "Everybody Loves Raymond", I lost the ability to walk and it was some kind of TBS marathon. I HATE that show, to see it now, would provoke a trauma response. I guess it could have been worse, Fox news existed then as now.

Eventually I broke the TV and found myself watching a 2-inch screen most of my days. The days I didn't drink, due to finances or some misguided return of morality, were, if possible, worse. My blood pressure shot to 200 over something and my tinnitus forced me to the couch crying at almost exactly 4 p.m. my body was convinced that it was drink or die and my survival instinct was strong.

Blue Heelers are an active breed but mine was reduced to love and worry, long walks became me letting her out the door and hoping for the best. When they evicted me, she was taken by animal control to a shelter, then her own rehab. During early recovery, someone told me she had found a family with a child, I hope that is true. It feels true, she is such a great dog someone would want her.

I don't know how I got out of this. I just had no other moves, I had to die, or I had to stop. Enough people cared enough to help me somehow, get to stop.

O.k. so FINALLY here is the hope part. If you are like me, no, you will never get to "drink like a lady or a gentleman" again, it's over, it's probably been over a long time. And the withdrawals will absolutely kick your ass like it has never been kicked before, I recommend medical supervision, God has many names, among them Valium and Ativan.

The good news is the Withdrawals end, you don't get to get a righteous buzz anymore, but sometimes you get to catch a ballgame, or a play, or do some work (paid and unpaid), meet other people like you who actually understand. You get to connect with something better, regardless of your religious beliefs. I even kissed a girl (and like Katy Perry, I liked it).

This entry is dedicated to the wonderful Dixienne Consuela Donuts, I would not be here without you Dixie, I love you, wherever you are!

I glance at my compact mirror. Pretty bleak stuff, still I must admit I look good for my age. How old am I? Well, I was never fascinated by dinosaurs as a child, because I predate them, but for that matter I was never a child. Vanity is sin, anyway, advancing self-will over God's perfect will. Sin will make you fall. Take a lot to kill me, but falling is always a moment's carelessness away. It's a chance I take. I have been working these streets a long time.

If God allows Las Vegas to live, he owes Sodom and Gomorrah an apology. Someone once told me He considered doing something about Vegas, someone who might know, but it isn't my job to speculate. I work two jobs actually; I am spared the traditional womans second shift as wife and mother. It isn't absolutely mandatory in this century, so I eschew it, hard enough being a Vegas homicide dick and an avenging angel of the Lord of Hosts. I have a boyfriend, a U.S Senator, some important men need to be encouraged. But you have to get it just right, you can fall that way almost easier than anything else. Happened to a guy I knew once, fell for the wrong dame, literally.

No wonder I have bags under these baby blues. Rollins has the guys securing the crime scene, and it's bloody as fuck. Like something a wild animal would do, the first officer on the scene was pretty shaken up. Doubtless I have seen worse, but I put a handkerchief over my nose anyway, this body has its limits.

Rollins pushed a donut into my hands, raspberry jelly, one of His finest creations. I am a double stereotype, so I take it with the white icing. "It's a fucking slaughterhouse, Hannah.", Rollins said. My actual name is Haniel, close enough for gubbment work. "At least this monster has excellent choice in victims, word from vice is this place was about to be brought down for human trafficking.", Officer Daniel Kelly said. He was young, but passably discerning and connected, I was walking the scene, our monster didn't terrorize any of the tween girls, or the madam, just a handful of sleazeballs and their security.

"Our man seems pretty strong", I said. Kelly wretched once, losing the Chinese lunch he took with his mistress. I don't judge the kid, but I worry. I popped the remnants of my donut in my mouth, I probably shouldn't do it with this charnel house stench around, but I am pretty basic when working a case and I forget what looks weird to humans.

I was starting to think our killer wasn't a man at all. Looks like he just reached in and pulled out what he could get his hands on. Ribs, internal organs, intestines, whatever."

"He left a note" Rollins said, "Doesn't mean anything to me, can't make heads or tails of it." I put on a pair of gloves and read the worst possible news. "It's gibberish, let's take it back see if the smart guys in the computer room can figure it out." They can't, it's in the angelic tongue but contains an intentional falsehood, lies can't be expressed in the angelic tongue. It says Haniel, my brown eyed beauty, come play with me." My eyes have always been blue, the number of them I have is variable, but always blue. This was written by a demon, but one who spoke the angelic language. So not cobbled together in hell from sad and broken humans, an actual fallen angel.

And I have a depressing idea of who it might be. Remember I said someone fell for the wrong girl, well...he kind of took a fall for one to maybe save her. It's complicated don't compare yourselves to us, complicated I tell you. I get out my cell phone, "Raul, pick up the damn phone, look Senator, call me, there is something important you need to prepare yourself for. Call me"

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The speech was a success, all that was left was a hot shower and a cold beer and maybe the Knights vs Avalanche on the boob tube. Raul Alarcon was central casting for a young Senator, a young widower with a square jaw and a military hero background. He had been a Navy Seal, from the mean streets of Rancho Charleston and as such was prepared for anything. Except perhaps a demon from hell.

"I hope you don't mind Senator, but it was such a nice day I skipped the elevator and went ahead and climbed up the side of the building, I didn't break any glass or anything, didn't want to generate any bad press.", the thing once known as Hezekiel said. "It's 110 degrees out and we are on the 22nd floor", Senator Alarcon replied when he was able to speak again. "Clearly we are used to different climates, Senator."

"Thats a pretty silver cross, did she give it to you, Senator. Oh no, it doesn't work like that, the cross does nothing, it's the faith behind it and you have precious little of that, doesn't have to be the white God either, a Karankawa medicine woman almost turned me with an animal bone and her faith in Pichini, she let me go because she would rather the missionaries spend their time fighting things like me and leaving her people alone."

"Your body man is sleeping Senator, I am being nice and gentle, until the life of the party arrives. Can I get something out of your mini bar, Senator, it was a long climb up?"

"She said "I'm fine, I'm o.k., cover up your trembling hands"- Fall Down- Toad the Wet Sprocket


"You don't have to sell your body to the night." Roxanne- The Police

Professor,

Such a riddle, little girl lost. So many men have known her, so few know her. We know her, don't we Professor.

Your poems have crossed a line professor. It's shitty imitation Charlie Baudelaire, Professor. Not even in French, French classes up everything doesn't it Professor. (Imagine that, a literate pimp).

You trouble her sleep, Professor. I ease such nightmares. Did she give or sell these panties to you, or did you steal them. She shouldn't have done that, if the former, that's exactly the kind of thing nutcases like you obsess over. Besides, I held them to my face, nothing unique, just like any other woman.

This is your only warning, Professor.

The Pimp

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M. Forspennend

You have helped her in this life. But I am going to escort her into a new one, one where your brutal services will no longer be needed. It's all cutting meat, but you are a butcher and I am a surgeon. I left this letter for you at your mother's house. I trust it finds you well and happy.

I also trust you know this is your sole warning.

Professor G.S

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Professor,

Men like you are her business. She takes her pleasure with women in her personal life. I have been with her, of course, but in order to insure a dogs loyalty you have to feed it. But you don't feed it too frequently or it gets fat and unwilling. I am very willing. The more we correspond, Professor the more convinced I am, that you are her death, and I am yours.

The story is writ by who finds who first. I think the time has come for us to meet. I will bring my black driving gloves and have something for you in my pocket. No, not a firearm, nothing so crude as that. You speak of butchers and surgeons perhaps we will see who's education proves more relevant.

The Pimp
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Detective Oliveira...Amy,

It is awful that you had to shoot both those horrible men. It was surpassing genius how you framed the scene.

Come see me tomorrow night. Your bravery should be rewarded, I know just where to start.

All my love,
Roxanne

I will be playing this mini season of LJ idol. Hope to see you there.

It never existed, you know
The America you would have us take back


Homophobia buried them in closets
Sexism kept them working in the home
Racism kept them to their communities
and denied us all their light

We hit them and they stayed silent
We glowered and we raged
For did we not want to see

Did you think we could hoard all the power for ourselves forever
The irresistible advance of progress
The inevitable backsliding
When we are afraid of a black man in a suit

I haven't crunched all the numbers, but angry white men
and people who insist all children MUST BE BORN,
but then stop caring about them
Doesn't sound like a winning coalition
America is getting more colorful
Even brighter than your ruddy cheeks

Stranger danger
Spousal abuse
Drugs and alcohol
Nothing new under th' sun

There is only so much income inequality a society can bear....
Unfortunately, we don't know the exact amount...
Til after the revolution

Perhaps the inheritors of this society , Will be merciful
Or perhaps heads will roll
This phantom you chase, it's all in your.....oops, there it goes