hello barium!

just chugged my 8oz for tonight, going to slurp down the rest tomorrow before i get to the hospital, so my insides will glow, and my pretty new gastroenterologist can see them.

i am cold and furious. i have a headache and feel the grossness of that contrast in my stomach. think about it moving through the rebus of my man-made insides.

listening to "The Knife." yeah.

i believe there is a way out of here without pain, without involuntary hospitalization, without any further bloodshed.

always having to escape. it's nobody's fault but my own.

creating a scrapbook for my grandmother. she is 97 and i will get to see her this weekend, for the first time in like, 8 years.

now i'm listening to the Magnetic Fields, one of my favs. "Abigail, Belle of Kilronin." one of the most beautiful love songs i've ever heard.

gotta run.

out, out, out

i'm in the teeth of the beast. that's different from the belly.

the teeth are sharp. they are formidable-looking. strong jawed beast, like an alligator with red ruby eyes...the special alligator they save for people like me. i just never saw his face this closeup. i'm just used to that familiar damp darkness inside the belly, and navigating among the intestines until i made it home again.

HOME IS NOT HERE. i need to leave. i need to ask for help. i need to survive.

i'm listening to "Rasputin" by Boney M. gotta love that story.

leave me alone. don't push me. for i'm a beast too.

The Ballad of Robot Boy and Me

you're going to have to pay for this one.

Purgatory Lake and Purgatory Lake Redux (for Becca)

Purgatory Lake

(for the residents of the Carpenter's House, Summer 2001, Glassboro, NJ)

We all live at Purgatory Lake
Where the loudspeaker crackles
And scrapes at our dreams

If by some chance
the muddied waters should rise
Would they wash away the corrosion
in our eyes?

No one pities the receding shores
No one cares to cross the infected borders

In plastic beds we flounder
and thrash in netted sheets,
a lost swell of sleep-warmed breath beside us

Today I heard the radio and pretended
I was on my way to the sea

Keep your head down, for goodness sake!
Don't forget you live
at Purgatory Lake.

JLR 2001


-------------------------------------------------------

sometimes i go back there, in my mind. i remember the enormous carp we tried to catch, but just wound up feeding, wonder if he's still there. i wonder about the children who grew, who left a great chunk of their childhood there. i wonder about Miss Dot and Miss Corbett and Mr Terry and that time i started running, and they told me to stop. i think about the church ladies, who were so good to me, and always let me sit in if i wanted to. i think about my september 11, in the middle of group therapy...you know there's something on when the therapists look scared.

luckily...thankfully, i was medicated. heavily medicated.

sometimes i go back there when a relationship fails, when i see that i've gained a lot of weight again...but all i have to do is think of my suggestion for a Housewarming Gift for Shonda (a dildo).
i feel sad when i remember that day with Cheryl and Dawn, but i'm hopeful when i think of the last time i saw Cheryl at the Shopping Center, and we gave each other a hug.

certain songs...like "Bohemian Rhapsody," make me think of Lisa T. or, "Minute Man," makes me think of Candy. cleaning the bathroom always reminds me of Charlotte. and of course, no big boobie joke was better than Rodney's: "You look like you're smuggling a couple of Mexicans under that shirt!"

Tina's baby was the worst-smelling baby of all, but boy, wasn't he cute? would anybody remember "SUUUPER DUMPER?" besides me and her?

wake up! ladies, it's time to get out of bed!

who could ever, ever forget the wolf spider near the foot of my bed? Candy was compelled to turn on the light for some reason, and BAM, there it was...the fattest, hairiest spider i've ever seen (outside of a pet store). it was a good thing we de-spidered the back.

jen! jennifer!! WAKE UP! OUT OF BED! i don't care if you don't want to go to group today! if anything, there are hot guys there with drugs...jen, i don't care what you did in the past, you know i loved you the best i could....oh, jen..

and jeremy? at the Hotel? how could i ever forget you?? you pop up all the time, silly boy.

nikki, you have 3 kids now. i remember when you turned the heat up to 90 degrees in my apartment. i remember your pretty eyes. i try to remember the good stuff about you.

hold my hand, don't let go. don't act like you don't matter. the dope fiends, the crack cleaning, the alcohol breath, the cigar burn on her beautiful face....the food...ugh...the food....trips to the laundrymat, waiting an hour outside acme for brenda and Ro to come back...the drawings i did, the holiest of holy 4th of July. every little thing. every little thing.

more to come.

missing NAMI

in 15 minutes, every tuesday for 9 weeks, i would be on my way to my NAMI meeting.

it's over now, done. i have a certificate that says so.

chances are, if i can get to the next group-thing, i will. but something tells me i have to, am inclined to, am responsible to do more for my community.

i keep strange hours. i like the night-life, baby. can't wait to find something good to do.

ty steve, walt and jennifer!

32 Again

ok, i lied. i like drama. i mean, i must like drama, since i create so much of it.

it's not an emergency. more of a "Spiritual Emergency." my face is not falling off, i am not on fire, i do not have leeches or smell like rot. i am lucky to have a home, but luckier to be able to appreciate it.

the chaos, then, is not a reflection of my mind. what's outside is outside.

then again, what you want to be close, what you would long for, seems so far away sometimes.

distance changes things.


"...you know that we are living in a Lithium-Ion world,
and I am a Lithium girl."

there's no point in hating yourself; chances are someone already hates you creatively and exhaustively enough to balance out the compass.

can you see me?

"i don't wanna marry you"

the big pink balloon that lived inside my chest is now completely deflated.

that is to say, the whoopie cushion that nests below my sternum and between my chest has been farted to its extreme flatness.

i don't like drama, especially in my own life. but it is an emergency that i get out of here. i tried hard, but it looks as though i can't live or thrive here. nobody's fault but mine, i'm told.

to all of his myspace spies: your job is done. don't take an interest in me or my life any longer, please.

to him: it's just a crying, crying shame.

atom
where's that thrump in your heart?

adam, if i ever knew a timeless wellspring of love
it is your beautiful bride as the wedding began

the face of woman-child
stepping down from an ages-old
pyre

that's what i would think was holy. if anyone were to ask.

i've been lucky enough to attend 5 weddings in the past 2 years; greater than i've ever been to in my entire life.

2 were in california. cool, huh?

there are certain things i remember about each one: the cake...the house...the guests besides the ones i already knew...family members in town from different parts of the universe...

anyway, i dunno why i'm thinking about weddings. probably cuz someone close is getting married sooner or later. marriage works for a lot of people. i'm sorry if i ever dissed anyone for doing that whole song & dance. and the last-name? who cares. i am a woman of the people. i embrace people's families joining together. duh.

just don't be surprised if i don't give you anything good; no, couldn't scrape it together to get the Tiffany & Co. soup tureen on the registry. if anything, i will bring a smallish can of bunny turds, and some Toast-Chee crackers while writhing hysterically in a bra-less Mod Squad number.

don't be shocked if i beat my chest indiscriminately at your wedding; especially if it's a classy affair.

i'm a sucker for the whole bar arrangement at most weddings. as i understand it, everyone basically drinks as much as possible, for free. i'm so down. no wonder people crash these affairs! clos du bois!!!

as for drugs, i will be heavily medicated, equipped with a cotton drool-bib, or a reasonable facsimilie. this stuff is the boooomb. did i ever have a personality? will i ever have one again? YOU decide! yes, you. meanwhile, hands off.



i hope the boy i have a crush on reads my blogs.





i don't think i want to meet gandhi...if anything, i'm pretty clumsy.

let me build a bridge

"tierra del fuego"
shifting;
i wonder how
to send the rain
to that land.

i know i'd have to
blow it forward
around the world,
maybe picking up speed
over the ocean
gathering winds

i stumble
over earthquaked land
i would like
to collect their tears
in the gathering winds
to put out the
tierra del fuego

but i can't move
much further than an inch
prison in the middle of the jungle
which children are mine?
"where are my children?"

and do they know it's a holiday
will they know it's xmas-time

are these my bones?
where is my leg?
what happened to my reflection
in the lake
leading to the rivers
of bones
up the coast
to the oceans
leaking down my face
to the tierra del fuego

beyond the tierra del fuego
a band plays sad, romantic songs
crosses a bridge
over a what used to be a river
and is now clay

"where are our mothers?"
"where are our brothers?"
our fathers and children
swallowed in the big volcano
past the fire in the air
where the fire is tucked now
into the land
into gold

rings through my ears
who gave you that gold?
child, who gave you
that gold?

they spoke of cities of gold
on the TV
on the crisp pages
of histories provided

but i've forgotten the metals
that jingle in my pocket
that i've pushed through
cartiledges

instead, the taste of smoke
lives in my head
forever
it's burned!
it's all been burnt to the ground!

napalm and palm trees
cypress, up like roman candles
i would run to swallow the flames
i would dump
pristine snows

i would wring
your tear-soaked garments
in the delta

oh, if i only could.

The Rash

worse than loneliness is being misunderstood, mislead, and lied to. even worse is the feeling that you somehow brought this on yourself.

i am going to be 32 in a matter of weeks, on turkey day. every so often, it falls on that day. i find it intimidating...a mental picture of myself being carved into and served as part of the feast. which further leads me to "Hotel California," where they "stab [me] with their steely knives but they just can't kill the beast." haha. good comic book material. even better; the persecution complex.

anyway, where was i going? i guess that i always knew (but was seldom warned) that my path wouldn't be an easy one. i feel like the girls from my class on facebook that got married earned another last name like a merit badge. granted it's just part of a system which never accepted me anyway. i was afraid of being left out in the cold. i still am. and not because of lack of love...or lack of intelligence....or sensitivity, or any of that. i just wanted...SHELTER.

reminding me of "Stranger Song" by L. Cohen:

"It's true that all the men you knew were dealers
that said they were through with dealing
everytime you gave them shelter..."


so. i look forward to being me some more, making my own decisions, choosing the right path for myself and not having to drag around an ounce of extra weight.

sorry.

life's got its betrayals for all of us. i want to be crystal clear in my intent to be fair, compassionate, and not to betray myself, first of all.

i feel i am one step closer to love. love is a way to live, not a means to perceived merit badge. love is the main ingredient in my punkin' pie. happy thanksgiving.

alcatraz

sorrow brings me nearer
to you

but what about the happy times?
do we not deserve these to share too?

bits of broken glass:
sharp
renegade
explosion
revolution
wedding
accident
release

release.

job

if i could have a job, it would be:

a. an artist. a working artist who gets to be inspired and be with other artists.

b. a writer, see above.

c. something...someone...who helps...somehow. kind of like the relationship i had with tony. when i lived in NJ, without many friends, he brought me treasures from the dumpster, and i listened to him talk all day long about his life, the craziness and coolness and ugliness and...the secrets. he felt safe telling me his secrets for some reason. he would do insane things like eat blackberries from a tree and get carted off to the hospital for bowel distress. he brought me all kinds of xmas things, b/c he loved xmas more than anything. he brought me a painted elephant (he painted it himself) and jewelery and oatmeal and weed. and then i moved back home with my mother in PA, and she wasn't too keen on me talking to some old weirdo on the phone. i finally escaped by train to CA with theo on Election Day...and days later i found out tony died.

so the point is, i want to be someone's friend till the end. well, i sometimes want to be everyone's friend, but i know i can't. i want to believe i can help and heal.

tony was that guy who did maintenance and cleaning at the mall; he was the cleaner at Chuck-E-Cheese...he was a lunatic and a drug dealer and a fearless truck stop worker during the gas crunch in the seventies. he couldn't read but taught me how to see things without words better than any professor. he did hazardous jobs before OSHA was on the scene.

he saw me when i was crazy. several people did. but he never judged me.

so...should i head for the nearest nunnery?

dead people don't write blogs

i guess i'm finally ready to post a blog, something from my own head.

i bought a necklace today (ty uncle dave & aunt j.). it's a real scorpion in glass. i felt pretty badass wearing it. i would totally wear it to a wedding. teeheee! no, seriously. it's that dramatic. little black/navy dress material.

exhausted. did some halloweening at local bar, some sexy chick costumes. i got a glow-in-the dark bracelet from wal-mart for a dollar. it was like the "children's miracle network" or some shit.

how long?
o how long till i leave the planet
on a pinkish rocketship
to the stars?



i can hear you
when i breathe
i can hear you
when i cbreathe

breathe,
whom do you hear?


maybe it's your ma
maybe it's the tv
maybe just the wonderful wind
sailing thru your lungs!

maybe you've made yourself ill
when you need strength


(i will breathe for you)

thank you

"let your love cover me,
like a pair of angel wings.
you are my family,
you are my family."

--dar williams

uncomfortably numb

wow, i thought that last post was sure to bring some comments. like, "awwww! puppy!" or, "that is the same exact kind of parrot that you have, jamie!"

well, like green day would say, "i blog alone."

just don't believe what they tend to say about me. that's all i wanted to impart this time. my bf is the most popular guy on the east coast and i'm fading away.

!

what is war

oh man, this is going to be a tough one.

war is something we live with every day in Philadelphia. Ironically.

war is one homeless lady stabbing another in LOVE park.

war is gas going up, rent going up, forcing the nuclear family to shift its borders.

war is a mental illness. it's a personal war for stability and an external struggle for acceptance, acknowledgement, survival, and balance on mysterious medications that we only really know by word of mouth.

war is fear. fear of going outside to get the mail. fear of opening one's mouth, fear of raising one's hand to be counted.

war breeds heroes. heroes come in all shapes and sizes. all different uniforms.

war is being under the influence, way too much.

war is silent and loud.

war is closer than you think, sometimes.

war can be romanticized, but is never ever romantic.

war is in my blood. my father is a vietnam veteran. i miss him.

war is the holocaust. can anybody honestly say that it didn't happen??

war is a book in the bookstore where i used to work. war is several books.

war is the opposite of "peace."

hungry in america

i'm hungry. was totally spoiled with pizza and 2 whopper juniors yesterday, and now i expect him to wrangle us up some dinner. i'm too much.

i'm trying to feed myself with other things like cigarettes and information and music.

not sure about the gas situation today.

"i would like to own your photograph. the angels cry to have your photograph."


is it possible for someone to trigger an unraveling in someone else's mind? what if that unraveling turned into a blessing after years and years of discomfort and bellyaching and stuff? would she recognize me? if she were a knight, which chess piece was i that day, on the other side of the board?

i guess if i could choose, i'd have been a bishop. they're always fun to use and there's often another one to pick up where you left off.

i don't believe i'm so hungry anymore.

our love was always so incestuous. holding hands was like, way too much.


do you need me, old friend? are you counting on me to give you my blessings? i already have. i know you will feed us on that day.

Thank You for Reading My Blog, Would You Shake My Hand?

i wish i could get paid to be a psychiatric test-subject. not drugs or clinical trials...just writin and crying sometimes and being way too fucking honest.



how would it be the best: to love, or demonstrate a welcoming disposition?

love, or politik?

(cousin ron, i love you, and vicky and david.)


i am at my wits end. we are on our last box of pasta again, with several packets of ramen noodles and a creature inside me crying, "OUT!"

it took the obvious homosexual route a step further: it were as if there were a woman inside me, being trapped inside, and my flesh is the "closet" i need to come out of. some sort of pupa or something.

i will cry for every last one of you. i will take you all home. it's going to suck a lot, but you know i know what to do....and that i love you.

meanwhile, i WANT eric bogosian.

sensitive-artist-type problems on drugs

i painted a painting yesterday, what the fuck. where did the inspiration for that come from? like, the shape looks like a (face/penis/body/tree)! hm, the colour choices are interesting.

no instead it is invisible. less concerning than a photo album. "who are all these people? do they matter to me?"

fuck. shit. art for art's sake, art for artist's sake. why not burn it.

nobody has time for artist, off-the-wall speculation. whose eyes. whose eyes can see me in there, in that second version of "wave" started off as a pretty solid creation, for someone who hasn't painted in over 6 months.

what a luxury. muses, come quickly.

this is a robbery

things that are making me bitter right now:

1. facebook. it's bittersweet, really...but mostly bitter. the white upper-middle-class upbringing produced a crop of yuppie parents, who seem to be breeding urgently and furiously as they scatter themselves and the air that they breathe about the united states.

i'm glad they find joy in their own reflections and their miniature flesh-and-blood stanchions of innocence.

of course i can't tell any of them about the devastation. i can't even write about it, because it's a huge joke. i'm talking about MY devastation, that makes me the paranoid space-cadet i am today. my personal devastation, which i am desperately trying to learn from and become more compassionate because of, hopefully.

it might lead me on the fringe again, the fringe that passerby's don't see, won't see, pretend not to see. just tell me to get a job, i dare you.

so yeah, facebook...i guess i'll always be pushing the boundaries of my own morbid curiosity. paint me a picture of your fantastic, wealthy and genetically superior lives. and then, paint me more. and more, until you're fucking exhausted.

(on the plus side, i do have some real friends on there, thank heaven for them...)


2. trying to quit smoking yesterday and suffering awful withdrawal symptoms (worse than before, i swear) after only like, 20 hours clean. how the hell do you DO this??? i'm drooling as i type! (and yes, i've smoked since then. in case you were concerned.)

i think what gets me are people who can bum cigarettes when they drink or when they're around smokers, but don't crave the nicotine when they're alone. it really is an addiction and it makes me sick, and even sicker to know that some rich guy is taking the last dollar from my pocket. why am i PAYING for it? is that just the kicker or what??


3. bitterness itself makes me bitter. sugary-ness makes me bitter, too. i wish i could control my emotions perfectly.

emotional diabetes?

4. i wish i could--and WOULD-- paint. the only thing holding me back is the physicality of opening up my supply box.

the dead don't paint; only the living. i have 2 hands enough, i have arms enough. i even have room (for a couple of weeks). still i feel a little nauseated at the prospect of painting alone, and people seeing me paint and wondering what is wrong with me, and thanking themselves for being normal.

kiss the gravel

how come some people
get to sleep
through the poverty?



i touch, see, smell, taste
the textures of

non-faith
un-hope
self-pity

pretty soon
i am flagged as a toxin
to somebody else's way of life


in the way.


i went to a viewing today,
he was a delightful artist.
he had a long run.


his creations surrounded us; drawings, paintings, amazing wood work and even furniture.

i thought of each hour that went into the intricate wood joinery, what inspired some of the abstract drawings and paintings. i was thrilled by the photographs lining the room, surrounding the mourners as we made the circuit.

it made me want to stay awake a little longer, i guess. ride out the night (as always) until dawn. speculate what i would like to leave behind, and then precisely how much time i might need to complete these objectives.



minutes, minutes, munching away at life. men seem to understand time better than women. well, that's not true. but men have seriously huge watches sometimes. i have a men's watch now. it's part of my proto-renegade-sociopath rebellion, in addition to my big, gross ear-gauges. you wouldn't believe how many people are grossed out by them. i don't get what the big deal is?


oh well. what's me is me. but i can't stand the "me"-ness of it all! it's like, my ego is soooo clinging to my skin like a nylon stocking...and pretty soon i'm disguised, a stocking on my head, robber-style. what a horrible feeling. breathing through the stinky old screen; constricted by what i've constructed.

this is serious. this is also ongoing.


back to soap scum and water stains. none of which are mine. well, some. and dishes too.





i will be going back to the bathroom pretty soon. i would like to be buried with several rolls of toilet paper.





how does earth become consecrated? what i mean is, how can we account for "sacred" versus "non-sacred?"

the strong silent type

i've got this huge, aching burning spot, right inside of me, just under the boobies, kind of nowhere near the solar plexus.

i am scared because i've made the journey this far before, and i felt like it was all deja vu except that i am just a tool right now, a total tool.

breathing is cool.

[submerged for how long?]

yes, your honor. i will agree to life in your submarine. (could it be the yellow one?)




not this time, i'm afraid. you gambled your life away. again.



something about honor. your honor.

land in rain

what i thought i was supposed to do was
come home
and get caught in some butterfly net
so i did.

home though is nothing more than
a certain arrangement of chemicals,
certainly not an individual or individuals
not a structure

more of a stricture,
points of no return established
crawling with seams
that don't rip but more splinter


my best friend
dances on the inside of Sleeping Sickness
this time;
i can't bear another hour.

plenty deep i've dug myself...

get rid of me

blogging may be the route of all evil (according to patton oswalt) but i'll do it anyway. not taking up much space, not hurting anyone (intentionally).

depressed as hell. watching "the piano" on tv, the ultimate killer chick flick. want something to cry about other than me. every day brings on the possibility of going back to square one, fighting again, having to re-direct my placement in this world. it sucks.

i hope my gratitude comes across as sincere, as i believe it is. i can't find comfort tonight at all.

inspiration and hope seem far away. i look down and see my arms out in front of me. i look through the veneer of my eyes and see lots of little shit floating around. i feel like i might explode from guilt or fear or just heat inside that doesn't want to leave.

we don't dance

somebody bought us a thunderstorm today
a nice, lazy one at 2 in the afternoon on sunday

everyone else's lives sure look good.

i can't wait to dance at somebody else's wedding
because we
sure don't dance
and
dancing with myself is a-ok


sky roars
rain pours


i don't even mind the Great Mystery, now!
i just want to know where i belong,
what i can do, how to navigate
why i'm not dead and what i can do about it.

(which is all wrong, but oh well)

i'm wasting time

my mind's in knots

i've been eating croutons for the past 3 days

omitted and be-shitted

i'm a trove of telescopic fury
which rhymes with allegory
but isn't.

i break still
on every bough
i've been falling since i can't remember.

what's safe

is maybe a special pen in my bag
and my hands have the memory

hearing his phone go, *ding*

being slightly fluid
like sap
down the side of an old tree

i won't give up

unwitting soldier in the war without a name

too hot for myspace

what happens when speaking becomes the only way out?

writing gets scarier, for one thing..

some milky weirdness in my eye,
left over from a star

i couldn't sleep at all last night.

...and a future?

there are some days when i feel like i'm just on a different trail than the people i see around me. i can't seem to fathom the simple pleasures, the variations, the ability to use my speaking-voice, the ability to know what's going on and why.

today is one of those days, when i feel so in the dark. i hope i am treating this feeling properly and not exploiting anything. i don't think i am...exploiting, that is. i'm just trying to unravel it by typing, sometimes it helps.

"i am a scientist, i seek to understand me..."

it's lonely. i'm not going to panic.

i feel like my friends are avoiding me, for whatever reason. not always sure i have friends, although that's one of those "nonsense" things where i know i do, somewhere and i'm the one who has to give back, and not fuck it up.

i hope i am doing "science" a great big favor by extending out my loneliness, by stretching it out to examine exactly why i'm not a good fit in the society that surrounds me. i'm overwhelmed by jealousy sometimes. i try to focus on "talent" but it only gets you so far in a world made of steel vultures.

i know shame will get me nowhere. i know that i need to come down from this tower pretty soon. my footholds have to be just right. i fall so fast sometimes. i hope it matters, or will matter someday.

Biggus Dickus

...i'm not really going to write a blog about big dicks. just thought it would be funny to call it "Biggus Dickus."

i have a sore in my mouth, under my tongue. can't sleep, bored beyond any sensible means. i can usually find something to do in this state but (and by no means does typing this shit count) i'm coming up dry.

haven't been home for several days, forgot how to function here around other sick people. (if you spend enough time with non-sick people, and you are sick, do you feel better? if a=b and b=c....)

terribly thirsty.

It Makes You Sick

Welcome to another family-friendly episode of:


"It Makes You Sick."


[still accepting theme music submissions]


It Makes You Sick.

"Anger."

"anger."

"It Makes You Sick."

("i'm a rageoholic! i'm addicted to ragehol!!")



What else makes you sick?

"Bitterness."

"...bittnerness?"

"and other sick, bitter people. pfft."



I'm on the mend. It's the best you can do these days, even as a celebrity or a political politician.


"Too much of anything."

...Makes you sick.

between therapists

i'm so tough.

i wrote a horrible blog on m.space about how much i hate m. how mature am i? i haven't grown since high school! no wonder no one wants to hang out with me, i am SUCH a cultural foible! no WONDER!

but the arrested-in-development get tough, if nothing else. no more punching baggery for this little one.

maybe cali is glad not to have me around. maybe that's why i left. i'm a loser, from sea to shining sea.

forgive me, all those i hold dear. forgive me my myspacery. it's a harmful place if you let it. i watched what it did to someone else.

but here i am back at blog-land or whatever. it's not that i'm lonely--i'm just between therapists, i think. again. i'm gonna have to cozy on up to someone else pretty soon.

god forgive me, i ask upon the computer. forgive my jealousy and my rage and...everything else. forgive my judgmental-ness.

no, this is not bullshit. i'm under the influence of chemicals. it's just happenin'.

my confidence is shot. wish blog-therapy was as guiltless as it seems. it always catches up to you though. cool on my little island .

it's like -20 degrees outside tonight. wtf?

Sleeping In My Memory

does anyone know pain? supposedly people do, and they conquer it over insurmountable odds, and that's what makes them so damn special, huh.

has anyone else dated a criminal, or at least a con-artist? has anyone else been incarcerated as many times for not taking a tablet marked, "Life?" does anyone understand? is anyone else this naked?
am i really this deep?