"Honesty is Best"

I agree.
But as I do come here under an alias, and I do not post pictures for obvious reasons known to myself, it is hard to make friends, and avoid scandal that would come from the prying eyes of nosy relatives.

I simply do not have the free time to invest, and, I cannot afford the scandal that would surely sooner or later follow.

Read between the lines, there are people here I am interested in, and would like to have conversations with.

But I know, that when someone has a kazillion friends, I cannot compete for the attentions I would so very much enjoy from them, and the conversations that would be so very welcome by myself, will just not ever materialize.

I am flawed. I tend to be an idealist by nature,(Libra)...
Sooner or later, that dooms any friendships that I may develop.

I am not a hateful person by instinct, but if you read some of my posts, you will see that I do possess an ire that can be riled, if abused. I do not abuse others, and have no problems standing my ground when accosted by online game playing bullies.
That is the only time that you will see my dark side.

It would be nice to have someone to talk to and get a repore going with.
(?)spelling, repore(?).
It does seem that nice often gets trumped here, by the dirty games that get played behind the scenes in private pms among paid members and some of their friends, especially in any of the forums. By Jibb I swear, there is more gossip there than in a church street whorehouse.

I am known as being honest.
To a flaw. I will never be rich money wise,
because I am unable to steal.
The only reward of that attribute, is in my own piece of mind.
Money cannot and will not, ever buy that.
(I will tell you some junk, if you ask the wrong questions).
I do not make a habit of it, and it is always painful for me to lie.
And that, is as honest as a human man can ever be...

Time to sleep now.
I wish you all a wonderful and joyous day full of prosperity and gladness, health and safety.
(and throw in an orgasm or three, to boot)...

If she has an Adams apple...she is a he.
one never knows until the moment is ripe,
or was it, "the moment was past ripe"?
Like in Rotten Ripe.
What a letdown.

No Draggers!
,
or Rimjobs!

Yeeeuck...

Does anybody just get a hold of a pussy,
as it was meant to be,
anymore?

Does Not Matter.
(my nuts fell asleep so my mind must not be far behind).

I do not especially like the thought of a rim job.
I do not wish to give one to anyone.
If I ever catch somebody trying to give me one,
I think I shall bash them in the head.

I do not especially like cats,
So if I ever find myself in possession of a cat,
It's name will surely be Rim Job...

(next time you see a cat's butt, you will think of this)...
So mote it be.

I saw, I yawned, and now I am off to bed.
Dreaming of the woman who is so afraid to show me those soles covered in re-enforced toe hose.
Oh Well, Maybe one day.

Dreams, funny things to be sure.

Once, I dreamt of being alone in the woods. I remember that sleepiness came quickly over me. Before I knew it, I was out,
propped up against a big tree, and very much lost in dreamland.

It was not long until the wood nymph had secretly unbuttoned my shirt. She was placing small bites upon my bare chest, I seem to have awoke but I did not mind. The small bitings of the very tiny wood nymph was so very pleasing. She was so very delicate and pure of heart as she awakened me. Afterward, I found that a water moccasin had taken up refuge dangerously near the same tree that I was asleep at.

Later in life, after many a course and rocky road had been traveled, the tiny wood nymph came to visit once again in my dreams.

I traveled the long dirt trail to my favorite camp. It had been years since I had taken the time to make this journey. Once there, I was in shock to see that others had found my once most private place.

Where once was only the beauty of the natural wood, outsiders had came and erected shanty built cabins. Some made of slabs, others made of differently colored metals. It now had taken on the look and surreal feel, of an old hobo camp, complete with the trash that mindless people leave behind.

One shanty, even being directly on top of my most cherished campsite.
Oh Well, this is where I had came to escape, and this shanty would just have to do. I opened the door to the shanty and it seemed as if some old acquainted presence was in there. I remember the feeling of being insecure, inside that shanty.
I never even looked into the back room, but remember feeling there maybe something back there for me to protect.

Being spooked of the feeling inside the shanty, I decided to make my camp outside, on the ground, in front of the sick looking cabin. Unpacking my old 1978 GMC, and after my pallet had been laid, and a campfire built. I did find enjoyment at once again visiting my old special place. I enjoyed my favorite outing meal of fire roasted hot dogs on buns with mustard only, and the after treat of roasted marsh-mellows slowly heated over dying coals. Two gallons of home made lemonade was to be my hydration during my outing.

The first part of my cerebral journey was spent listening to the sounds of the night, lying on my back and watching the heavens for the old familiar stars and the occasional meteors that sometimes fell from the heavens in their own dazzling glory.
Oh the wonder of it all.

This was all that mattered. Nothing else took the place of this special time. And I had postponed this once too often, for sure.
There was no fear in me for being all alone, I had became used to that feeling years ago. I was content with being alone, and spent several hours lying there, watching the heavens, listening to the sounds of the night, especially the sound of the river that was only a stones throw from my camp.

But soon, tranquility was given over to curiosity. Who had built these shanties, and who else was near here besides me? So I slipped around to the next camp, and in finding it abandoned but with lights being on. I opened the door. Horror struck me. Inside were the bodies of two or three men. I did not wait around to count, as they had been frozen solid, and sawn in half right above their belts. There was an old Cutlass parked behind the shanty, and even more frozen and halved bodies were placed inside the trunk. I noticed that all the men were dressed similar to me. I found no live persons anywhere. And I was relieved at that somehow.

I made my way back to my own camp and noticed that my old GMC had been replaced with the old 1959 Fairlane that was my first vehicle in life. It was blue and white, with all the chrome and everything shining. For whatever odd reason, I was not worried, as I detected no living human at, or around the other shanty. I remember drifting off to sleep once again, on the pallet I had made earlier.

Sleep was not to be mine though, as I remember some shrill squeaky voices awakening me. I awoke to four skunks who had raided my cache of hotdogs and marsh-mellows. I jumped up to chase them off, when one of the skunks, (a long ferret looking skunk), spoke and said, You had better leave us alone, or we shall spray you. Then the skunks began chasing me, spraying and stinking the place up, but none sprayed directly at me.

The long ferret looking skunk, chased me around behind the shanty.
He said to me, the others will only spray you, but I will leave strips of stink on the ground, and if you step in one, you will surely regret it. Now being behind the shanty, I noticed that the shiny Fairlane now looked as if it had set under the trees for several years. It was covered in a green algae looking mess.

I also noticed activity over at the other shanty. The old Cutlass was being brought around the front, and having a wooden box installed around the driver's side of the interior. The rest of the Cutlass was then being poured with concrete.

I remember a sharp bump to the back of my neck, then cold, bitter cold. I remember hearing the high pitched whine of a meat saw. Then, I remember the small erotic bitings on my chest of the wood nymph of years ago. So very tiny but still with the beauty she possessed when I last saw her twenty years before. After she awakened me, she led me to the once again well polished 1959 Fairlane. On the first crank, the powerful engine roared to life. As I drove quickly down that old dusty trail, she disappeared out of the window.

Dreams are strange things. The tiny wood nymph left me not with feelings of sexuality toward her, but rather, feelings of desire for the camaraderie and companionship she gave to me.
I desperately wished to stay in this dream, only because of the friendship I had been given by this tiny wood nymph.

Dreams are surely strange things...
I hope you enjoyed this.

Not really.
Just getting older.

The hair line receded first.
The the eyes started to go.
But the body has held up pretty well,
still muscular and agile.
(most likely because I was not too bright in the books,
having instead to do blue collar work for a living).
I Do Thank God for that Ability.

So anyway, I started using a #1 clipper guide,
and also got permanent glasses fitted.

Now able to see,
I found the guy in the mirror was not bad to look at.
But still,
something was missing.

So I grew a mustache. Not a regular one, but one that drops down around the corners of the mouth. I am still amazed at how fast it grew and how full it has become.

Now, there is a completely different looking man in my mirror.
I actually am astounded.

I always thought I would dislike getting old.
Now I am able to embrace the man looking back at me.
(the one in the mirror, that is).

I can see the care in his eyes, the small lines of wisdom that came from his experiences, and although not handsome,
he is still possessing rustic good looks and an even eye.

But wait,
is it really a new look?

Nah, I am just getting a little older.
Maybe not as wise as I would have liked to have been.
But still, getting older is far less painful than I thought it to be.

The only shame that could overwhelm a good man,
is the shame of not living.

Circumstances do still alter all occasions.
And if occasion were a ship,
situation would surely guide the rudder.

So now, if getting a new look made me feel better,
I am still humbled by the eyes that look back at me.
The other fella and I,
We both know that we will never experience what we desired.
That the pillow that was held at night when we were still young, will never be anything more than just an ordinary pillow.

So everyday left will have to be lived.
Lest the shame of not living,
would most assuredly have to be borne
upon weakening shoulders.

(Nah, I'm just getting older.
It's not a mirror at all,
it was just an old poster for, "Breaking Bad"
Gotta get my money back for those darn Glasses.

Honestly,
You will read this.
And you will know exactly who you are.
I have followed your ups and your downs.
At times it was almost impossible to stay myself.
(but of lessons learned, quiet was totally imperative).
In not being a man of means, I could do little else but
wish, hope, and dream,
that somehow You,
would someday replace that pillow.

It was just not meant to be.
And that truly sucks.

A New Look,
Nah,
just getting older,
and more wordier...

I do, hope for you, and wish to you,
The very best of everything positive.

50cents.
Or a 50 cent piece, to be exact.
Some 45 odd years ago, I saw it on a neighbors dresser.
I had never seen one before.
It was much bigger than any other coin I had ever encountered.
I remember thinking I would probably never see one again.
So I took it.

Almost as soon as reaching home, regret set in.
There was no enjoyment in the stolen coin.
The realization of violating a neighbor, and friend's, trust.
The huge coin now became an extremely heavy burden.

I took it back, and owned up to my treachery.
I was told thank you, and also, to never come back around again.

When looking back on that time,
I realize I did get much more than .50 worth that day.
Never again would there be any enjoyment in anything stolen,
at least not for me.

Pap told me that money would be the nastiest thing I ever would touch. It did not set in right away.
It took many decades for me to come to know even a little of what Pap had said that day.

Strange are the things one remembers.

Today, I want for nothing.
I am no rich man, and money is only a tool.
I'll never be rich, money wise....
But still, I want for nothing.
Or, at least the things I might want for,
money cannot buy.

There is a place where one goes after losing their life's work, and realizing they are no longer strong enough to keep the young lions at bay.

For awhile, you almost seem alive, as thrashing about in your death throes. And you fight, just because that is what you have always done. But no matter, you slowly and certainly enter the state.

A place where there is nothing left to fight for. It all comes flashing in and you realize there were other paths you could have taken, but, no, this was the path, the only righteous path you could have chose, this path was laid out for you and you shall stay it.

After entering, you know there is no reconcile, nor recuperation.
You know that you have entered the time of space that has always been waiting to envelope you, to harness you, to make you realize that all is vanity, that all is lost, and all of your life's work will either be taken by thieves in white shirts, or will simply mold, rot, and be eaten by moths.

In the middle of your years, you know you will never behold the love of your youthful dreams. You are made to see the path ahead as if it were some torture from a wicked host. You know that yours is the burden to carry and it is a heavy collar around your neck, as you try to trudge on, like the ox you are expected to be.

A life of dreams, and rudely awakened from.
A state of realization that you will never hold or caress someone who would hold and caress you in equal delight. The interests of youth have long since faded into irretrievable memories. Nothing is able to relight that middle fire in your bosom, that so made you driven in your youthful fantasy.

Life has entered another door and passed on through, into a state of non being. There is no physician, no medicine, for this great trauma to your soul and spirit. There is only the realization that you were never meant to enjoy the idea of life that was once so ingrained and included into your youthful goals.

There is little use for pity after passing through this door. It seems as if down deep, you knew it all along. There is nothing left to fight for, no ideals important enough to promote to the masses, there is left only the very real state of a non being existence.

Sweat blood and more sweat accompanied by many tears, shall be your own companion through the rest of this journey. There shall be no kindred spirits, none who will or shall, ever comprehend the lost and forgotten yearnings that have bled out of your weakened and tired soul.

None who would risk being cast out, to provide you some salvation from this eternal hell of non being.

So this chapter, is written. It was seemingly by great design, and it has played itself out. Nature sometimes seems cruel, but there is no conscience in nature, and nature is to be held without blame. As for conscience, it is only found in the hearts of human beings.

My conscience is clean, but my soul woefully weeps without ever ceasing. The vanity, pride, courage, curiosities, ideas, remnants of any small dreams or goals, were all given up at the door,
before entering into non being.

Guard yourselves well, and well guard against slipping off the path to your goal, lest you also fall deep into non being and have none other choice but to exist all alone for the rest of eternity in the very hell of a non being existence, awakened from the dream that proved to be only fantasy. And infinitely never able to dream any such dreams again.