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Western Center, Propaganda, nymphomaniacs
The photographs below are of the Western Center in Canonsburg PA. The place is being remodeled so that it can be the administrative offices for the south Pointe development.
I was told it was an insane asylum at first. After digging further, I found out the Western Center was first a reformatory school than a home for mental handicap people.
In the nineties, the place was shut down and the patients all moved without the relative’s notification to other homes so that the Western Center could be closed. Police prevented some parents and relatives from interfering and all the relatives and parents could do is watch as their children or relatives were carted off to other homes.
The area around the old buildings was wet from all the rain so I did not get close to the building and workers were there which made me think I might be told off for taking pictures.
The area had tons of dog crap around it too so people have been around walking there dogs. Seriously, I had to be very careful because there was at least one pile of dog crap for every foot.
I heard a comment from someone that made me sad for the human race. After hearing that Senator Ted Kennedy had a brain tumor, this person was happy about it; this is the same person who falls asleep listening to Fox News. Have another cup of Kool-Aid®.
Texas seems to have a love affair with Fox News. It seems I cannot escape the propaganda. I need to find some independent thinking anarchist nymphomaniacs that is what I need to do, and then things will get crazy.
I think a woman should start up an independent thinking anarchist nymphomaniac party and I will vote for them every time. Yes I will drink their Kool-Aid®. Maybe I will start a cult with independent thinking anarchist nymphomaniacs as my followers. The only problem with that is independent thinking anarchist nymphomaniacs do not make good followers.
Something cool:
Special ALT Characters
travel haunted abandoned nymphomaniac political party imageLabels: abandoned, arkansas travel, haunted, image, Nymphomaniac, political party
Traveling
I read a headline about a famous actress being in a video of a drug den talking about sex. Why the fuck is this news? I really do not care about the shit so I stopped reading the news. I wish every damn one of us had more exciting lives so that we would not want to pry into other people’s lives.
Since I am from south Louisiana some people who have never meant me seem to think it is OK to call me a coon ass. I find it racially derogatory plus I am not a raccoon’s anus. It was at work, I wonder if the person realizes that they could have been fired for that.
I am in hill country PA. The hills are emerald green and I enjoyed walking around, up and down the hills after my workout. It is cool in PA today so the walk was brisk.
Hopefully I will get a chance to take pictures of the old mental institution before I leave.Labels: travel
Je Crois Entendre Encore
I hear her voice as if I am in the lobby of the Ventanna in Houston. Her eyes are seared into my heart. I have no idea why this woman haunts me; I wish I felt the silky touch of her hands again.
Her smile makes me happy but I have not seen that smile in a while, nor have I seen her beautiful eyes, but I still hear her voice.
I hear her in the night when I wake up in the morning hours just so I can miss her. My dreams are haunted by her yet I do not wish to appear a stalker. Women who remind me of her make me lonely. I would love to comb her hair.
When she walked with me to show me the apartment, I thought there might even be a God. How else can such a being be; it cannot just be synchronicity. Her smile warmed my heart; her eyes let my spirit live happily, her voice made life seem good
I have not seen her since September of last year yet I remember her, I remember her smell, I remember her eyes, I remember her smile. I still hear her voice saying hello. I just cannot let her go.
Inspired by Placido Domingo’s “Je Crois Entendre Encore”
proseLabels: life, prose
Cow Tipping
The moon was jumping over the cow not the other way around. Who ever wrote the cow was jumping over the moon must have been on some weird shit causing the person to lose their grip on reality. Not that people actually have a grip on reality.
Anyway, the moon was jumping over the cow when some kids came by and fucked everything up because they were cow tipping. Now the universe throws out some really bad karma to those who fuck with it’s stupid species.
Especially when the stupid species give people things like footballs, sofas, hamburgers, and milk. The universe gets really pissed when a relationship seems to be one way most of the time and the givers are fucked with.
Sure cows sit in pastures all day eating grass. But, can you imagine what kind of stress a cow must go through knowing that one day they may be eaten at Wendy’s, that hot and juicy sluts place, or continually have some farm hand molest their teats with machines or rough leathery hands.
Luckily, for the cows the cows are stupid and are probably oblivious to what is going on in the world. Except for those really smart cows who advertise for Chic-Fil-A. By the way Chich-Fil_A started out spelling Chic-Fil-A, Chic-Fille, to sound chic, however too many French people kept calling them asking why the fast food restaurant only served female chickens? The feminist thought Chic-Fille was misogynist.
Anyway, back to the scene of the crime. The kids had just eaten chicken at Chich-Fil-A and decided that eating one of the universe’s creatures just was not enough fun for the night so they went to fuck with another of the universe’s creatures.
Now the farmer who owned the cows was at home getting drunk. His wife had left him, his dog had died, and his truck had a broken transmission so he decided to get drunk and write himself a country music song.
He had much more to be pissed off about. His mom and Dad were very young when they had the farmer. And since the husband’s last name was Tone they figured it would be really cute to name their first son Earth.
There Farmer Earth Tone sat writing a country music song because he was bitter about life when he heard his cows yelling which to us would have sounded like a loud moo. Farmer Earth, who had been sitting at his kitchen table in his brown boxers, put on a green shirt, slipped into his brown pants, and grabbed his gun.
Farmer Earth ran outside and started shooting. The kid’s laughter went to shouting and crying, to the cows it sounded like crying and shouting, and the cows started laughing, which to the kids sounded like harassment.
Luckily, Farmer Earth only had bird shot in the shotgun shells so the kids really were not hurt just scared. The birdshot did sting the kids and gave them a super scare. From then on the kids suffered from posttraumatic stress disorder and when they got drunk would tell every one who listened about the night Farmer Earth went crazy.
The cows were pretty shaken up too but only PETA gave a crap about the cows. The cows became insomniacs they were so shaken up emotionally. Because the cows were shaken up, it took Farmer Earth hours to milk them because the milk had turned to butter.
This brings us to the moral of the story. Cow tipping makes butter.
short story tipping fiction short storyLabels: cow, fiction, short story, tipping
Pervert alerts, random stuff, haiku,
[Pervert alert] I wonder a lot about UFOs. You know, Universal Female Orgasms.
Irony: I saw a skinny person running this morning as I walked to work. His T-shirt had an Eskimo Pie logo on the back.
I baked Mahi Mahi in a white wine sauce. The recipe only called for a cup of White wine. I do not drink white wine so I poured the whole bottle in with sautéed garlic, onions, tomatoes, and kalamate olives. A little black pepper, salt, oregano and cayenne pepper topped it all off. Best damned Mahi Mahi I have ever eaten.
[Pervert alert] Summer is coming I can tell because the skirts are getting shorter. Seems women in Cow town lose the winter boots for high heals and high upon the thigh skirts in the summer. I like that.
Prairie dogs are not dogs but you have to admit they are a hell of a lot cooler than squirrels.
I thought of a million funny things today to write but have forgotten them all. I bet people around me did not forget the sudden hysterical laughter coming from me as I walked down the hall, down the street, in the elevator, by myself in my jeep, at the bank…
Wanted: Female nudist to live in my apartment to brighten AND LIVEN things up.
I was supposed to write something very deep and meaningful right here.
Wanted: A highly intellectual and passionate being who posses’ a silky tunnel and two baby feeding devices to spoil and pleasure constantly. Must have a high tolerance for sexual pleasure and constant full body massages. Do not worry I do all the cooking. Mahi Mahi in White wine sauce?
Philosophy is someone’s opinion on life. Politics is someone trying to make you live by their philosophy.
I think we should begin a petition stating that everyone in the world should wear silk pajamas to work. My philosophy is turning political.
I see two trains outside. One is going north the other south. I have wondered what it would be like to jump on a train and wonder around like a hobo. Have you?
Little flowers bloom
Spinning earth flies through vacuum
Little flowers cling
To all who possess a possession one truly possesses one must think when the possession is lost yet death does not occur to one that the possession that was truly possessed was not the possession one should have possessed about in their life.
We may lose all of our possessions yet we are still who we are. Who we are is not about possessing things but who we are is being no matter what we possess.
Likewise, if we hold on to our ego like a possession we lose our self to the possession, we do not see who we truly are, and our possession gets in the way. To lose the ego is not losing one’s self but disallowing the ego from driving us, that way we can be as we truly intend to be, not how our ego tells us how to be, not like society tells us how to be, only then can we be free.
haiku philosophy sexLabels: haiku, philosophy, sex
The Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells Texas
Memories haunt this place. The memories seem to caress your face as you walk up the steps to look inside what was once a place for people. Empty now it is except for memories, walking up and down its stairs, gliding around through the halls, clinging to the walls like pictures in old picture frames.
Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells, Texas
The ghosts took this one:
I could have sworn I took several more pictures of the place. Maybe my camera was malfunctioning. It is an old camera. Maybe I got too close to the ghosts. ;-)
Photography hotel abandon building ghost history Texas mineral wells image travelLabels: abandon, building, ghost, history, hotel, Photography, texas, travel
Humpty Dumpty Jam
I returned to the scene of an accident that happen many years ago. The scene was when an egg made himself into a ground omelet. I went back in time to visit the place where Humpty Dumpty had his great fall. Now why would an egg climb on top of a wall is beyond rationale thought.
Then again, I did climb mountains before. But sitting my ass on a wall when knowing that I tend to roll is not too smart. Which makes me believe that Humpty Dumpty was a stupid mutha fooker.
Of course the king’s men could not put him together again. Have you ever tried to glue an egg back together in a suit of armor? That shit sucks. As far as the myth of the horses helping that is so much horse shit. The stupid ass horses tried to eat Humpty.
The cops and robbers (lawyers) showed up trying to find out who was at fault. The cops wanted to jail someone the robbers (lawyers) wanted someone’s money. Humpty just laid there all broken up and shit in the grass. I was getting hungry. I noticed my hunger when I realized that as Humpty lay in the grass he looked like an omelet with onion tops on it.
I headed down the path of no return. Basically because the troll that took the toll had such bad breathe you never wanted to see him again. But I digress. As I walked down the path the ghosts of Johnny Cash and Miles Davis appeared. “Hey you want to jam?” they asked.
Well of course I always want to jam. So we headed to the middle of no where in the universe. It would have been a long walk but the ghost of Elvis showed up in his pink Cadillac. The show off said, “Step inside ya’ll.” So we did because it was a long ass walk. Elvis just tuned up his pink Cadillac so his hyperactive dimensional space drive had us at the “All the Time in The World” space bar in a shake of a lamb’s tail.
We sat and drank some suds. This kid was playing some low down blues on my favorite instrument, which I happen to play myself, the trumpet. That is when I noticed the trumpet playing musician was the ghost of the young Louis Armstrong. He was playing some Storyville blues. Mad poignant it was.
Louis came up to the table and took a seat. That is when his ghostly appearance took on a more mature look. We sat and talked for a while about the past. That is usually what one talks about when talking to ghost.
One of the robbers (Lawyers) who was at Humpty’s ground omelet scene, stopped by the table and asked if I would be a character witness in a lawsuit. I told him I had way too much character to be a witness. That is when this bombshell of a lawyer stopped by and told the robber (lawyer) that she would sue on my behalf if he kept fucking with me. Women just love me.
It was getting late and I promised a ghost from the past I would ride home with her on her motorcycle. She was a go-go dancer from the late sixties and always made her ghost look hot for me. I rode home; she dropped me off at my eighteenth floor window, which have no locks. There I saw my self doing some Zazen.
I chilled for a moment at the edge of reality.
prose short story
fictionLabels: fiction, prose, short story
My last love
Where are you my love?
Have you died?
Have you gone?
By the way side
Have you decided
To hide your beauty
Have you died
Is it my tears
I am trying to hide
Is it the grief?
That gives me
No relief
You see you are
Gone now
I have no smile
I am so alone
Now that you
Are forever gone
I love you so much
But I cannot touch
Your sweet skin
I cannot smell you
I cannot wake up with you
I cannot walk through
The sweet morning dew
Without you
You are gone
I am alone
That is life
So I kissed you last
When you lie
In your last bed
So pretty it was
Pink and grey
I heard the mourning doves
We all cried
When you died
No one knows
How much I lied
That I was OK
But you died
I love you so
Your memory
I cannot let go
But good-bye
I must live my life
Your memory
Is giving me
To much strife
I wake nights
Remembering you
I miss your skin
‘I miss your touch
I love you
Goodbye my love
love poem poetry deathfictionLabels: fiction, love, poem, poetry
Goodbye
Goodbye,
Is it any wonder why that I leave you after such a short time? It seems I was really never happy nor was I pleased with my predicament. I shall admit my predicament was more my fault which was reaped from unintended circumstances.
The universe was nailing me with bad karma and I allowed it despite my being innocent. Life’s fandango fucked with me a little while. Yet, I overcame and adapted. Now I have left you during the evening hours hauling ass in my Jeep, with the last items I left in the apartment, so that I can unpack and chill with a beer and without cigarettes. Glad I do not have to pay two rents anymore.
I never really knew you because I was too broke to spend nights in your streets greeting people who I would meet with a bitter persona. Oh yea man, I was bitter and beat by the bad Juju that had permeated my existence. Now it really was not as bad as it sounds, a song of my life would have only been a mildly sad blues or country music song.
It is just luck kept passing me by making my spirit sigh with all the disillusionment that was going on with things. Things were not really bad but things were stuck in a rut causing a mind fuck of immense proportions…ya dig?
So I left you and moved to a cooler city one that is much prettier and laid back. I almost did not look back after handing in my keys with glee but you see there is something or someone still there bothering me.
I wrote a poem long ago. She rocked my world then and her memory still does so, in a way I have never known before. Yet I was too bitter and angry to flirt; now her memory will end up as ashes to ashes dirt to dirt. Seems I was too lonely and hurt to notice a rose in the garden. Her memory haunts me.
Something else about my second weekend in the new city. After drinking half a beer, after getting dizzy in a bar, after hitting my head hard on a floor, now from what I know was an ear infection aggravated by a blood pressure spike, I was told to give the cigarettes and cigars a hike, and since March thirty first I have been nicotine free. I can breathe and I love to breathe.
Now I am even doing my old Zazen in the morning. Dammit I can mother fucking breathe. I can smell the morning air I can smell a woman’s hair as she passes by me walking the streets of the city. I can mother fucking smell and taste!
So goodbye. I am not going to lie that something hurts. A city that I never learned, a woman that I never was able to know, a habit that was the epitome of bad, only one of these three makes me sad.
I do not miss the old city and I do not miss the nicotine. When I went to pick up the last of my stuff and hand in my keys I was almost lost. I have never felt like I belonged in the old city and in fact it was easy for me to get lost. It normally is not easy for me to get lost no matter where I am.
When walking to work breathing in the sweet morning air Friday morning I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke and it almost made4 me puke up my ham and cheese omelet.
I can still see her beautiful smile in my dreams.
Goodbye
goodbye life non fiction biography
Lover's Spring Haiku
Lover’s dance entwined
Spring abounds in deep passion
Flowers bloom outside
Gentle rain breathes life
Germinating seeds come forth
Baby’s cry is heard
Young life has began
Young spring many hues of green
Spring brings happiness
haiku poem poetry springLabels: haiku, poem, poetry, spring
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