...

We kissed in the rain. I don't quite know how it happened. It was almost as if I was in a dream. I remember a ridiculous conversation about dolphins. And then the next moment, my lips were on hers and my heart was pounding in my chest and my hands were wrapping around her waist and it felt good. We both kinda laughed. What the hell were we doing? It was ridiculous. But I didn't care.  

Man in the mirror

I look in the mirror and see a face that is not mine. His eyes follow my every move, his body doing the same as mine without a second delay. I lean closer to the glass, as does he, staring directly into his eyes. Fear grips me as the man smiles at me. "I know what you are." He seems to say. "You are me."

I push away from the mirror. It falls to the ground and shatters in pieces. I run away from the shards of mirror on the floor, but in the corner of my eye, I see him running through the window next to me. I duck dodge and weave, trying to find a place to hide, a place where he can't find me. Smash all the windows or glasses, the mirrors. Push away the reflective picture frames, running through the halls, hearing his footsteps pounding behind me. In my room I hide. I can feel him trying to find a way into the covers that tent over my head. 

"Let me in." He whispers in my ear through the fabric, sending a shiver coursing down my spine, fear washing over me like waves over a drowning man.

"No." I whisper back, pulling the blankets tighter over me. And there I stay cowering on my bed like a frightened child as he whispers in my ear, wanting in. Wanting to become me. Wanting to be me.

But I can't let him in. I can't. 

I can't.

.

The sexy beast inside of me is named Fred. 

Bad poops

Public restrooms have always fascinated me. For one thing, the amount of fecal matter that one human seems to produce is quite frankly, amazingly beautiful. How they do it is beyond me. The inability to flush afterwards though is an annoyance. Another thing that intrigues me is the urge to carve rude and insulting words (and or pictures) into the stall door or walls. Does the person do this to feel better about himself? That insulting a person when he is at the most vulnerable point is something that is appealing? 

The imagery is rather unessicary. For those attempting to be artists of the genitalia area, I implore you to use a better reference point. The one thats seemed to be used the most looks like a badly sharpened stake.

So as we all go about our time in the public restrooms, hopefully we learn to appreciate what we have at home. 

No left behind poops, no rude language, no ungodly stench. So next time you're on a toilet, think about life. It's a great time. Might not get a better place.

Music is my love

Seriously, if I could marry it, I would.

We all need a princess

Messing around again

 I began messing around with India ink, using a calligraphy pen.  The result was intriguing.

An attempt at sketching a kangaroo.

Hot.

The heat is something else.

I wake up in the morning and it clings to me like death to a dying man. The heat and the high humidity turn the air thick and sticky, turning just a simple walk to the car and back into a horrible nightmare. Water is drained fast from its cool storage, food is usually cold or warm. Soups have ceased to be made. Gone are the winter hats and mitts. We welcome the tank tops, the cutoff jeans and the sweat. Farewell winter and spring, hello again summer.

?

He's there. Always looking at me. I see him in my house, at work, every place I go he goes. He has been following me for three years. Never says anything. I can't see his face behind that mask. That mask which has three holes in it. I can barely make out his black eyes. They glint maliciously and cause me to back up a step.

I am scared.

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