I'm back in the saddle again. No more writer's block! I think this is a really unique peice and I loved writing it. C4C everyone!!!! Cheers.......

The Room Meant For Sleep

Sometimes, when the moon hangs lower than usual, and my head lays stuck between the black air of the room meant for sleep and my dead grandfather’s pillow, I listen. I sometimes listen to my heart breathe. My heart seems to have different speeds for different moments and a position for every second marked on the face of my fathers watch. Back and forth, side to side, backwards and forwards, but never upside down. For only the hearts of the guilty beat that way. And so in this position I know my heart could never lay. Mama says not an ounce of guilt hides within in me, but that I am littered with bits of ignorance left behind by cowards too scared to claim them. Sometimes, if you listen in the right places, you can hear distorted beauty ooze from the cracks in the floorboards of this room meant for sleep. The sounds of the birth of a child, bad men sharpening knives, the evil crackling of a dying house fire and then the sound of hushed whispers, twigs snapping beneath naked feet. Charcoal colored children sifting through wet grass, broken cupboards, splintered wood, and cracked glass, hoping to recover body parts of family members. A finger, a toe, anything at all would be fine.

This is the reality that returns every summer to the sharp blackness of the room meant for sleep. Mama swears she’d never seen nothing like I seen when she was little. Mama waves her finger. She swears that too much thought can ruin a boy’s sense. She swears too much of anything makes a boy senseless, then guilty.

I lay awake in my little room meant for sleep touching my face to the bars of the cool iron bed frame. It is these cruel summer nights in the mountains that I think forbidden feelings. I let the things I think of be spooky beautiful. I let my mind run wild and free, something my mountain boy body will never do. I let my ears do what Mama says that God made them for. I waste my summer mountain nights searching for the right places to listen. The right things to hear.

Listen to my covers here.

"Some even claim that I'm a terror, a dictator and they're right." - Lou Reed


This is beautiful.

There's a special sex move I do called the Charizard.
It's where you light the girls pubes, then put it out with your cum and run around the room flapping your arms screaming, "You don't have enough badges to train me!"