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The ayahuasca trip was the worst experience of his life.
Yet Julian was eager to do it again.
The mental anguish was unbearable, took him to the breaking point.
When he was a golden glove, he loved the week before the fight when he reached his absolute limit.
Walked to the end of the edge.
Some of us like to push ourselves to the limit.
Atheist and doesn’t believe in horoscopes.
In a godless world one must have order.
Good grammar, good manners and perfectly manicured nails.
Her ideal man is older, smarter, taller, richer and more organized.
Except she’s really smart, wealthy and anal retentive.
Reducing the pool just a bit.
She’ll find him, as long as it takes.
She’s very clear about what she wants and determined to get it.
Seated, content in the knowing that I am understood.
My robot has learned my tendencies, my idiosyncrasies, and my (not always pleasant) habits.
It anticipates me.
And I know inside that it has needs that must also be fulfilled.
I understand you, and will be here for you until I am committed to the soil.
Would this qualify as science fiction? We’re almost there, imagining what it will be like.
“We’ve got to blow this one horse town.”
“Thanks,” Marianne said.
“You’re the one horse” Jack smiled.
Driving into a blinding blizzard with no heat in the car.
Taking turns scraping ice off the inside of the windshield.
Making a tiny window, just enough to see the eighteen wheeler bearing down on them.
Yeah, it’s an open loop. You decide what happens next.
“I love you more than chocolate,” Jezabel wrote.
In child’s handwriting with a drawing of 2 figures.
“You blossom like roses.”
Not meant to be seen, her little secret.
Hid it in a book of Greek Sculpture.
Where it was discovered years later by her mother, who had it framed and placed above her bed.
Sometimes the the secrets we keep are treasures to be discovered.
Said he played guitar for Patty LaBelle.
Spoke with pride about his son.
College bound, such potential.
Then the son was killed by a cab jumping the curb.
With the sympathy he got free meals, drinks galore, cash, a social security number and a new identity.
The funeral was invented, it was all a con.
Helped ourselves to the trees in the orchard.
Macintosh, red, crisp and sweet, with the perfect tart bite.
Made bags from our shirts and ate as many as we could.
Mother wouldn’t let us go back there.
Rumor was the farmer had put salt in his shotgun.
And he was looking for young apple thieves.
Sometimes you get into mischief just for fun and it can turn dangerous. Salt buckshot won’t kill you, but it hurts like hell.
Chrissie was a regular at the club.
Friends with Moise and Larry, the King of Swing.
Followed Jack around like a puppy dog.
“Jack, you want a blow job?”
She asked, like offering a cigarette.
“No thanks, Chrissie, we’re working’ right now.”
“Ok, just let me know.”
Setting up the cameras for the S&M show.
Living in New York in the 1980’s. I was a crazy time. Jack was in the middle of it, trying to make a living.
“Is it still an epiphany if you’ve had the realization thirty times?”
“Don’t know if I’m stupid, stubborn or just slow to learn.”
It had dawned on him (again) that his life was just like his garden.
Overgrown, unkempt, and not really sustaining the family.
The pain was just compost to the worms.