I am alone~ Contending with joy stealer s and I’m winning!!

I am much alone in my ability to keep my values of love & gratitude~

fortified in the well-doings for others. I am questioned in my integrity, yet never proven a liar- which is hard to maintain for I am human and prone to mistakes, I grow weak, tired, I stumble, I lust, I rage, I rave, I live.

In the living, I learn how to be alone and relish it.

How can anyone argue with me because I aim to accomplish my work from before the sun rises and before it sets?

Because I seem to move when others would not? It’s not my job to know the mind and hearts of others but when I do, it’s further not my job to correct them.

The conviction of their mistakes should release apologies as readily as I demanded of, yet instead, they are human and share contemptuous bards. (Words of no account).

I am not wrong in my work, yet I receive harassing calls from my mother to stop all of my work, she has yet to say what she will do if I don’t, but again I know how far her ire will take her hands, after they are set against me. After reviewing my last set of articles, I can understand the harassment, It was good! Yet she is the kind of person that can’t applaud the achievement of others. Never has.

On top of this job, there are others, and in such places I am asked if I am making things up, “Are you taking your work seriously?” As if four the past four years I have not been solely engaged in what I determined to be important to me. “Am I making it up?” It is such a disrespectful question after I consider all I have been through and have yet to share. It is fine if people don’t believe you. Let them keep it to themselves, no they have to call or write you with words filled with hate and threats to have your publication canceled. Thank goodness for America!! Where we have the freedom to write and gather groups as we desire.

In silence I am alone to carry the contempt they have for me. Ignoring it merely to move about the day and encourage my own spirit. Feeding myself on what? The few good things I’ve done. If I lose my current job, I’m on the streets again. For a while. Risking going back to prison, and I am sure it won’t happen again because the wings of joy have carried me so far to safety, but barring not having been found guilty of a crime, why should I lose my joy; my peace and security?

Envy? Misunderstandings? Things getting lost in translation? I am not in jail right now. I am still working and still I have art to make, yet alone I must celebrate my good fortunes.

Those of you who know me, I’m sure are pleased I’m not in jail; don’t mind I wake up at 5: 30 am to smoke a cigarette before I set to work on the cares that are set before me? In the midst of these duties when I’ve not stumbled through exhaustion, I can illustrate a line and appreciate my quite moments with art that pleases me. Yet this life I lead could all end; as any life, as you well know; all of my troubles, worries and the condemning voices, (That call themselves my friends), could turn around and rend me for no other cause than an inability to acknowledge that they need me more than I need them.

What keeps me humbled upon this realization, what bridles my tongue and keeps me patient and quite? I will not be the one to made the enemy of those I call my people. They may not want me, may hate me, may decide that it’s best I was not around, and they co do better that I, what I believe myself willing to do; I will not be the one to say, “I’m done.” They will have to get rid of me. When they do, I’ll be freer to live/Fly or Fall/ Upon my own choices:

https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/no-fear-of-falling

That is always worth the contention and strife brought to me by people who can’t stand to believe what I say. LMAO!!

Lets try this out, next time someone calls you a liar, ask them: “Are they keen on denying reality?” Meaning do they make it a habit to take what they see, and if it is displeasing, presume it is a lie? You know that would make them crazy and immature, because the world is not a rose petaled forest: it is bedded with earth, sod and I’m down to it. What is before me is the truth and no matter the vomit they choose to return to and eat; I am no dog to be abused.

I rest well knowing that all of my work is produced in a time better than where I came from. Yes, I am alone, and with or without those whom claim to have an interest in my future, none would have power over me had not my father in heaven given it to them. I am in the Lords, hands. In the good and bad. How can we ever be discontent and desire the end of men/women if we carry words of such potency? If we know we can be alone, in the middle of nowhere and still be cared for, what fear should overcome us to where we no longer know who our friends are? (None worth talking about)

I had to bring these things up because a time will come, when some will say, ‘It did not happen,”

“I was misinformed,” “They never said they would not pay you for their labor for the next 8-9 months and have no future plans for your immediate comfort.” “They never said, I don’t need toothpaste, soap, boots for the winter, coffee, and inquired often and I told them to shove off.”

They will call me a liar and my contempt, silence, and will to live, beyond their decrees of me, will supply my sufficiency.

I write this because it is my story and I have a right to. It must be written and I laugh at the idiots who try to tell me what to say as if I don’t have a 1^st Amendment right. (I only regret I did not write about the last 12 years or prior to 2007 and most of the “Great Recession,” of 2008 as it is dubbed. There is a lot of good material to pull from there and that time.) They beg silence of me if it makes others look bad. I write this because no one can speak for me. No one can say for me, “Your pretty lucky to have lawyers that willing to fuss over you.” Most don’t have anyone fussing over them and so easily discourage the accounting and find no use to dance with the spirits that dance with them.

I am alone~ Contending with joy stealer s and I’m winning!!

In times when I am walking a precarious line between forced confinement and freedom, incarceration and the ability to roll in the wet dew if I wish to. When the threat of losing my job, peace, and comforts are near and one wrong decision tips the scale out of my favor, I find I never dream of my own escape. I never wish for reprieve but walk through the crucible of my own creation, knowing some truth, experience, understanding, wisdom and fortification of my spirit will arise from it. Making true the phrase: “What does not kill you, only makes you stronger!”

When bad things happen because of our own bad judgment, one offended another or take too much upon themselves, or are to be judged, sentenced, and denied social gains or grace for a season;

ostracization from the main-street market, we tend to call on GOD, a god, or some spirit animal, or ancestor to guide us beyond the precipices that have entrapped other men. Some pray to no one and are better off for it, they walk through dark places in their lives alone: much better not to ask for anyone to assist in a trial with the law. As previous skirmishes with authority figures that invoke some ‘higher power,’ no god comes to the aid of mortals. They wait for more serious matters to call upon you. Never for trifles.

The Criminal Justice System is an institution I highly respect. I wanted to be apart of it and never seek to manipulate for my own gain. It is the brother to the Constitution and as royal and consecrated as the laws that dictate I am free in most respects to dream my dreams without condemnation and publish them without fear of reprisals. So if I am caught with my hand in the cookie jar and have abused my freedom in the sight of those that can interpret statues and clauses as well I, I do not ever argue for my sake alone, the presumption of our present laws and the application of them. All I ask is for the ability to fix what is broken, never to leave the work of restitution to someone else and to remember the act of restitution is rarely performed by needless incarceration. Unless my stay in a local or state facility is so paramount, there is no other form of currency desired to appease a glutenous beast like the legal system and money will not heal the wounds of the afflicted?

(We have been too fearful of a nation to try it out.)

In order to do my work effectively I need an hour from 10 am-11 am, an hour before the sun rises and an hour at 6-7pm as the sun is setting, those hours I devise content for readers and gain insights for myself. I can find a space of quite and really in a short while hear from an inner knowing what is coming around the corner of the river bend of life. https://www.newgrounds.com/art/view/adventvoice/flowing Preparedness, and industrial ability, I have always thought to be the hallmark of manhood. Women never need to know this trick because of the men who are willing to do it for them; it’s a bad day when you see women putting their heads to ground in hunt of gain because there are no men to do it for them. The present women in my life I’ve subjected to categorization for my own benefit, having only focused on the “Strange Woman,” “Head-Hunter’s,” “Teacher,” “Lustful,” “Femme Fatal,” the “Bruha,” and my notions of the “Pure Woman,” the appealing and alluring, having yet to be illustrated, the strong and independent woman, for fear of merely drawing Supergirl, Wonder Woman, and Powergirl, that and having merely appreciated me and don’t shoot bards of hate at me for being a man; I’ve found few can understand why I need several hours out of the day to read, write, and produce colorful expressions of my life for a distant and unforeseen audience.

After writing, “Black Amethyst,” I was sure it was for my son. My next book and sets of illustrations I think will be to my generation, addressing the issues of their education and how misguided they were in the arena of men.

Considering myself to be a man’s man.

I am not surprised that my mother desires to contend with me about my art work and the written content. There are months that fly by and I won’t hear from her, yet when I do, the reminder, constant and determined is there, that she indeed has the ability to hamper my ability to work, by bringing authorities (Cops, FEDs, The FUZZ) anyone against Art of my brand or stories that inspire a moment of heightened sexual desire.

I did not always begin this way, but when stories of men, threatened by the implication of a matriarchal system refused tp spur a conversation, I decided I would just talk about my past and or the things I would like to do or see done.

I have to be careful not to share too much or devise such blue prints in code because of those who can’t just disagree with a conception, but desire to imprison people for participating in sub-cultures.

No, I never expected my mother to be over joyed with my works. No woman honestly, yet the women in my life that do support my work, how envied they are of my mother, for I show you more love than she can ever dream of holding from me. Not because she won’t support my work. Not because of differences of opinion. Because if she could, she’d lock me up again: at the moment I still have a few doors open to me that give me room for plausible deniability, yet can you imagine the implication of her ire? The’re locking people up in America because of their written content: is against the constitution, there is no way around this issue, people can argue about the deception of identification: they’d have to outlaw the use of pseudonyms: They can stress their morals, and morays, yet none of that eliminates the right to produce anything we want in a ‘free nation,’ (I have to stress this because it will be lost in the jumbling of justifications) I can call the author of stories about Evolution, as a Christian, a liar: but I can’t take away his/her right to write nor lock them up because they illustrate pictures of a naked cave-woman to prove their point.

Sex Offenders are already denied Double Jeopardy protections, they are denied many things but to deny them the right to publish even if it is of a sexual nature, would promote a precedent in America that would hold the ink of many we don’t agree with.

It is not going to happen.

Still it is unnerving to consider that anyone would seek to attack an individuals right to free speech. The sequestering of my account of life and values would begin with the outcry of my mother and who she conscripts to aid her. I suppose it is fair to say I begin to stress the importance of what we are legally allowed to do in America as a people. Things change upon the whim of the loudest mob; what was presumably legal 10 years ago will suffer an wrungout change 10 years later through the constant prattle of amendments to legal codes. Reducing a perfectly legal action into a virtually illegal one committed upon one’s own risk and only through the invasion of privacy could it ever really be unearthed.

People are screaming about the right’s of publishers/platforms. Who has the right to censor or not, who has a right to determine what’s constructive and what’s malicious? This argument has done little to stop the shadow banning or lawsuits of publishers, held liable for their accepted content.

In a desire to indulge my fancy and draw in peace I have to accomplish my work at night, when all of the prudes are sleeping, dreaming of being with someone that will make them cum,

Foreign Languages

After sharing my stories, my personal stories, with a few people I felt needed to know something about me in aiding them in trusting me to take on the job as someone’s ‘care-provider,’ though I am anything but qualified for this job:

There are times I wonder if it was my own mother, would I be considered any less qualified than those who have diploma’s and are paid 21 dollars an hour?

After sharing pieces of myself, I was compared to ‘Forest Gump,’ and the scar of such an accusation still haunts me. It was a movie that codified mental health issues and sought to insinuate that WE are all, as Americans, suffering from a handicap: especially if we can not empathize with the less fortunate or refuse to.

I remember my mother suggesting I had a self-esteem issue because of the number of times I have been to prison or lack of monetizing degrees behind my name. Because I’ve not held down a job- a basic 9-5 since high school.

The truth is I don’t have a self-esteem issue. I vehemently repell any idea that I am mentally handicapped like ‘Forest Gump,’ because I chose to care for an elderly woman until she dies.

I hate that I am not in my sons life: but I did not desire to aid in the stigma of black boys growing up without their fathers and the poverty, resentment, and reduce in life-span, due to these terms forced upon them by the selfish: She chose that, when she pushed me away.

A lot of people pushed me away with their negative ideas and since none sought to impart something positive, I decided not to remain in their circle and because I’m not the million-dollar-man from selling my soul into ideas I can not agree with upon my death, because I seem to be waiting to die, there is something ‘mentally handicapped,’ about me that I never came to terms with.

I am not waiting to die: ( I have to let this be known, cause someone will read this out of context), I just refuse to invest my money and time into ideas that are not profitable, or based on color-codes, the deficiency of one’s creative spark, degrades my guild to that of thieves or inauthentic, and wastes everyone’s time with issues that make anyone feel small or unappreciated.

I remember my father and how much he

hated what I considered art. I have mentioned this before in older letters to you all, but I think it is fair I mention this here. He personally felt, Pieces of art similar to that of “Bad Guy,’

‘French Connection’s,’ ‘Apt-1012,’ and a lot of our cult favorites, were produced by people with mental handicaps. So artists like https://twitter.com/NestHarpy https://twitter.com/rins_titties https://twitter.com/lewdua https://twitter.com/boltcity https://twitter.com/amykibuishi https://twitter.com/Kimdraws would have all been considered retarded to him.

( NONE OF THIS SUPPOSITION IS TRUE MIND YOU)

For me growing up his words were like that of GOD! I honestly felt he had a hand in creating me and should have a hand in forming who I’d become. So when he felt what inspired me to create was nothing more than the attempts of the simple minded seeking to be applauded for their half measures, I of course chose to stand alone and far from his negative influence. In doing so I become the advantageous voice for those who are like I and refused to be marginalized, by those that lack imagination. Deem it a sin or crime to dream, and I weave with relish, when I know those that were against me, read my works, see my art, and have to reconsider where they stood on life’s issues. At least I can only hope they have chosen to reevaluate themselves opposed to always looking outside at others and seeking to control what is not theirs or vicariously feed on the creative vibes and drain them to nothing.

I feels good to know I have spent my time well and pushed out three stories in these past 4 years. Ready to work on a fourth but not before I complete “French Connections,”

It’s a story I have been working on long before I began Dream Weaver’s tales. It was never supposed to be a long story. You could say it has a lot of influences from “Please Teacher,” by

Shizuru Hayashiya

Which I read as a boy and really enjoyed. The major differences in my story and theirs is one was set in high-school, the other in University. Mine has a lot of interracial moments, the other was highly Japanese in setting and culture. Where is it taboo in most cultures to date your teacher, the Japanese “Please Teacher,” nearly made the relationships that developed seem incontestable, where as mine does not shy away from the nature of taboo. It is hard to justify most of the actions of the characters in my story and so I feel I really kept to the notion of taboo. ‘Please Teacher,’ as a manga was very soft, and the anime even softer when it came to the explicit and I suppose the author never wanted to make the story about sex alone, thought it is about a students fantasy driven life, with teachers, so I never understood the need to hold.

I certainly did not hold back and never intend to.

“French Connection’s,” is built off a University kids dreams about his teacher and how it played into his personal life and times nearly cost him the comforts afforded a college student with real dreams. Dreams that for most American’s are never realized and I hope by the end of it I can share why these things happens and how it is the fault of the institutions and not the denizens of a building, wing, or sector of zoned streets. Though that might be too much to ask of such a fun-loving comic.

In ‘APT-1012,’ I took pot shots at black social life, I do the same in ‘Bad Guy,’ but with ‘French Connection’s,’ I was really hoping to avoid a lot of political, social justice warrior issues, and just focus on the fetish of a student being involved with a teacher. It did for a long while come off as a social epidemic, the number of teachers caught in a compromising relationship with a student. So much so Jenifer Lopez made a movie about it herself, “The Boy Next Door,” that title makes me chuckle all the time.

It is a world built when things were simple. If you liked a woman, you said it and if she liked you, she’d have the freedom to do something about it. A time when relationships, friendships and caring about one another had nothing to do with money, GPA scores, SAT scores, degrees, what school you graduated from, what your last job was, or the hundred other things people ask each other on the first date and are expected to ask as if that proves who someone is or that they won’t disappoint you when hard times come. They will come you know. That is life. Filled with good and bad moments and we should not always be looking out to blame others for our issues, Nothing wrong in discussing them though.

B.A. White and Cheryl, really don’t have issues or problems like we consider problems, there is little for them to overcome because it was already cared for by the time they met. That is why the story is great, at no time will race be an issue or the reason or motivation for their arrangement, just lust and passion.

I don’t think a mentally handicapped person can devise such a story and illustrate it as well as I have, retain the memory of what life was like in those moments and impart it to the world. The more and more I consider my worth I find there is a wonderful ‘French Connection.’ I will be exploring it.