(and I know you are at there– thanks for reading by the way. Leave comments below if you have something to say).
On the previous post I gave you a few images that looks really strickingly similar to the moon. Heres the story behind them.
In all honesty, I’ve already received encouraging feedback. However, I am not certain that will always be the case, depending on what I say. Again in my attempt to be honest with myself and everyone I might have to dance a little bit.
So, last year both Christopher and I had experienced a bad Christmas. This was single-highhandedly the most depressing Christmases you can imagine. I remember spending a lot of my time in out apartment. No real decorations or exchanging of gifts had occurred because we had changed living situations in Salt Lake City three times already things were not quite stable. Both of us had gone through two jobs— and they were meager jobs. Consequentially, we were really coming to the end of our rope with what sort of mishaps or bad-luck we could endure. Now, since my hours were cut back at the job I had, meant that I could no longer afford our really cheap rent.
I believe it was on the day of Christmas that I spent much of my time repairing an imac that was given to us. After it could not be fixed by her friend the Computer Guru of the Trigger House. (more on the Trigger House later with media). The story goes over this imac that if it could be fixed, it could be had for FREE! Well, considering we only had my netbook, I wanted the damn thing. Having the item in my possession, I found out that the previous attempts by another to repair the Mac had all but made it really difficult for me to repair the thing. I muscled my way though it anyway, identifying that the fans do not cool those earlier models very efficiently. After pumping the fan speeds to a relatively high, and noisy level, the thing ran like a dream!
I guess you could just call it the natural order of things, by my acquaintance who had gifted us the computer (because I fixed it) demanded its immediate return. My response was a little less than eloquent. I believe I re-told her how I got it and if she wanted to pay for the repairs she could have it back–which was refused— so I basically told her to fuck off.
Now why everyone thinks the police are their friends, I’ll never know, but she threatened to go that route. With that in mind I was NOT going to allow myself to be relieved of this imac or what it could provide me, so I saved the documentation proving I fixed it and quickly sold it off to the highest bidder, so that I couldn’t be relieved of any benefit of my efforts without compensation. Despite the fact I made it clearly known that we were no longer friends, this girl continued to talk to Christopher and act as a wedge between him and I. (She was not the first to do this, nor the last) Everyone it seemed either wanted to be with Christopher himself, get Christopher away from me, or hook Christopher up with a friend. You can imagine how after a while I might get really pissed off. In response to these many attempts I demanded solidarity in our relationship and wanted him to never show any kind of discord between us in public. Either way, this girl, whom we shall call Amanda (I think that every girl should be Amanda), knowing what a poor situation we were in, made attempts to get Christopher to leave me to live with her, another guy and a little twink with whom Christopher was supposedly supposed to get together. This kid was really young, was rumored to be just recently cleaned up from methamphetamines, arms torn up as if they went through a cotton gin and was from Pocatello, Idaho.—!?! Of course after discovering this I was like WTF?!
Lacking the money to pay the rent and the money to leave, Christopher and I had to think of a plan: Good old Craigslist. I am going to allow myself to go off on another tangent. If ever there was a resource for those in need it was the internet. More specifically, that resource is Craigslist. At one point or another we were in need and posted for something as little as someone getting us food and low and behold we were given $400 dollars right off the bat, no questions asked, no favors needed, and no introductions needed. This kind of human kindness is really a hallmark of some of the kindness that Christopher and I discovered all over America.
You never know how much good there is out there in people until you are dead broke and in need of assistance. In all candor, it really is heartwarming and inspiring. Well such kindness was crucial to finding our way to Seattle.
We in order to leave quickly we arranged for a ride out to Seattle. It was in Seattle that we were to start all over, again— with a friend of mine. So we arrange for a ride on Craigslist and are fortunate enough after a couple days to have found one going to Portland, Oregon.
On our way: It was a couple days after the New Year that a guy named Rob, in similar age as Christopher and I, who had come to our apartment to pick us up. A couple comments on escape. It had only been when Christopher and I had left the Trigger House that we had left in an honorable and halfway respectable manner. The two or three previous escapes had included, eviction, a drunken pedophile with guns, and escaping a wholesome home where we had taken care of two of my favorite kids. This was another one of the times where it seemed as if we had to quickly steal away like thieves in the night. As we had quietly packed up the night before, as soon as Rob came we quickly loaded up his Ford Explorer and made our way to Portland. From Portland Christopher and I would decide how to make our way to Seattle.
As fortune might have it, we were not able to decide much. About two hours outside of the vehicle hit some ice and was quickly recovered. That would have been alright if not about three seconds later we hit more ice, over which snow, had fallen and the vehicle which was going at about 40-50 mph, without loosing any speed, went completely sideways and impacted with the start of a guard-rail, flipping three times and rolling before coming to a halt on the rocky outcropping about twenty to thirty yards from the road.
A kindly woman named Diane, who was behind us and driving a Chrysler-300 (and who has a damn sexy daughter) witnessed the whole accident. She quickly stopped, called authorities and tried to see if we were alright. I would not have known it, but we were all out cold for about five minutes. Fearing we were dead she kept calling out to us and eventually I woke up to find the explorer upside-down, with me dangling from the seat belt like a puppet. Fearing for both Christopher and Robert I asked if everyone was alright myself (I couldn’t hear Diane). I heard no immediate response.
With dread growing inside me, I called out again–only more frantically. I was not in the position to turn and see Christopher, I could see Rob, who appeared to be asleep. Without another answer I yelled. Then movement from both Robert and then they both said they were unhurt. I was OK, but a little bit stuck–and a little bit pumped with adrenaline. I started struggling frantically to get out of the car and had to calm myself before I wound up actually injuring myself.
Without too much difficulty Rob forced one of the front doors open. Luckily Christopher had not been impaled by the skis in the back. He made his way to the front and out of the kicked door. Struggling to free myself with a little more patients I was able to crawl out of the Explorer. Looking at the sight outside, was one of the most disheartening sights I’ve ever seen: keepsakes, clothes, and our dwindling possessions strung out all over the road…
(to be continued)
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My Name is Justin. Most people to whom this is going out will know me. I am currently an unemployed DC-Resident living in the rougher parts of Baltimore, Maryland; albeit the wonderfully historic neighborhood known as Reservoir Hill. In fact, I have been waiting for the Ghosts of DC / Baltimore to do a piece on this neighborhood. Considering what I know about it, I may blog it for him and spare Tom the research.
As of August 29th I am 30 years old and what I can tell you is that while I have probably lived by many accounts and comparisons an extremely fulfilling and experienced life thus-far–forgive me, I’m going into a Disney-princess-moment– I feel very unaccomplished, unsatisfied, and in many ways cheated. With that being said I am my own worst critic and conscientiousness has never strayed too far from my fore-thoughts.
Now, The Juice Concerning my Blog: I am not certain as of yet how my thoughts will shape and organize my story, but I will be telling you a story of Life, Death, Lies, Sex, Fun, Discipline, Danger, Love, Romance, and Hate insofar as the few experiences that have just happened to cross my mind and I am going to try to be as honest and transparent as I can. The difficulty in this is that I have lied to people I know and trust for one reason or another. I will explain of myself in every detail that I can and let you decide. I will say this: Some of you know a bit of the story about which I will relate in the next 30 days but NONE know of it ALL or the intimate details, except for Christopher.
A quick revelation being that I am a former heroin-opiate addict. Not so very shocking in this age–such is the times we live in-and many of my friends know about. At the times many of my friends discovered it, I made no secret of it and often went through the practice of keeping syringes somewhere within my apartment. One might ask “why?” The short answer being, for the very reason a diabetic might carry them around: Convenience. Another question may be as to why I made no attempt to hide it.
The fact of the matter is, I did hide it in many ways, however, after the Death of my boyfriend, Nathan with whom I had shared nearly 7 years together, I no longer had it in me to fight for pretenses: They simply became unimportant. The fact that I had hidden it before very may have been a mistake that had the potential to make for a different outcome other than his death. His death is something that still burdens me to this very day. Returning to my indiscretions when it came to hiding my own drug-behavior: I know it is and was a dangerous practice. It is a dangerous drug and when bought clandestinely the potency can change to a degree from one day to the next in such a manner that I have once awoken on the floor from a very “standard dose,” feeling EXTREMELY lucky to be alive without intervention. But I was physically addicted, unhappy, and inconsolably in pain.
When you are ill for a fix of opiates small little delays really only serve to piss you off. To remove these little delays really seemed to make my day go much better. Unfortunately, I was not happy, but fortunately there were people such as my friends– my real friends– that didn’t care. They would check up on me, and visit me, call me, invite me out, and be there for me–regardless of how many times I didn’t pick up the phone they always found the way to my door. Although I was in a bad way I felt very loved and very protected: even valued. This is yet another topic to be re-visited.
I have a twin brother, whom I partially detest with extreme malice and love with a great desire to protect. It seems to me that my brother has difficulty in being an individual. While we are both genetically the same as far as genetic makeup we are very different. One such difference he has always seemed to have difficulty in dealing with is the fact that I am gay, and he is NOT.
Now, I say that he has difficulty in it for a number of reasons. The first one being that he asked my sister, shortly after I came out to both her and my father, whether or not that made HIM gay. Wouldn’t by the age of 19 you have the slightest inkling on a predominant attraction to one sex or the other? Sheesh!
In turn, he takes some enjoyment in spreading some of the silliest and most ridiculous lies about me. More on that: while my brothers ability to be convincing has nothing to do with the content of the particular lie, but a combination of the persistence with which he lies and the ability to be aware of certain channels of communications. He knows, for instance, that I have little contact with a patriarch of the family. For those of you who haven’t guess it, my father. I call him a patriarch because he really has two families, a neglected one, and one which was a little more planned. Well, since my brother is aware that my Dad speaks to his mother and they speak to each other, whatever my brother tell either my grandmother or my father will be exchanged, and maybe with more family members. My poor sister always stays out of it. She’s just tired– and who could blame her? My brother and I bicker like some old married folk sitting in their rocking chairs waiting to die at the raisin-ranch where they’ve stayed the last twenty years. So, when my brother starts the grind at the rumor mill some of the most ridiculous and unbelievable shit can be said, but since no one is there to refute or deny it (and I certainly do not care enough to pay it a thought) these ideas about how terrible and odd I am start coming back to me in whispers. They usually just make me look so deviant that my brother is a rising start in comparison– even tho he is as stagnant as a swamp–but more on that later. It was not until recently I put an end to damn near a year full of lies and deceit which my brother had begun to infect my mother’s side of the family with–a part in which I take much joy and happiness in because my mother, and my sister are the only family I really consider, outside of that bumbling fool I have for a twin. who really does shame me.
For the two reasons I outlined it is apparent to me that he has problems standing out as an individual. Let me know if you think I’m wrong and then I’ll just throw more stories with proof to win my point.
Before I conclude, I am as yet undecided in how this blog will unravel itself or how I will end it. In fact, I don’t know how it all will end. It has yet to be written. But be that the reality of it comes or yet another ill-fated mishap should befall me, I shall faithfully and dutifully blog until my end or the end (of the blog). Tomorrow I’ll start with my life in the Capitol.
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- Loyal friend of Diana who will help guide Prince George (telegraph.co.uk)
A Playing of Pun during a Game of Prose. Tweeting tactfully concerning a Lorde and a Billboard (See more on this Tweet below). Seeing as she wrote the recently popular song, “Royals” it is no wonder that Billboards is tweeting her, although I believe it is an unverified Billboard account so I shall have to forgive shortcomings as they are tweeted, or as tweets are ignored.
It seems to me that the Song Royals may be alluding to crystal-meth usage. While I am not a versed user of amphetamines I see striking similarities in what I have heard about and occurring themes in the song, especially those themes hinted in the music video.
In light of NaBloMo (that’s National Blog Month for the uninitiated), a friend of mine has posted a quick-spit of a post on his Facebook concerning it. Since I am– at present– available for such an undertaking I will with the greatest intention apply myself to blogging in a consistent manner for the following month, if not longer. Since he shares my name sake, I acted in a manner which I hoped would inspire a contest. This particular blog posting will have to suit as a test blog so I can fiddle around with word press and get to know it a little bit more insofar as blogging goes–as of yet it seems fairly similar to website hosting without some of the fancy-flavors and customization.
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(I haven’t survived some of this without a little help)