The Simple and The Complex

I'm scratching my hanging balls.

Yes, my itching all over my body jumps on me the instant that I wake up in the morning, and today I scratch my balls, but they hang, so scratching them is like juggling two grapes with your fingertips. Fuck it then, itch. I scratch other parts of my body, my shoulders, arms, legs. I get up and make tea. I haven't had the urge to make coffee in some time. Did I make coffee yesterday? I touch my chin with a finger and look up at the ceiling, trying to remember. Did I?

Maybe I need to read my own blog. I turn on my computer, look for people who love me to send me email. Nobody loves me today. Well, that's okay. I can still send out emails. I also work on my novel and watch the clock. Today It's.....wha? I could have sworn that it was 9:00am. The clock is reading 11:30. Fuck. I had a 11:00 meeting with Charliqua Lovebiscuit today. Shit. That's a bummer. Now the bitch will have to write me a note and mail it to me for my next meeting with her. Awww, she'll have to work a little bit harder in giving me a tough time. Well, too bad. I'll see her later. Besides I have to see Dr. A before seeing her, and now I can get this done. I'll see him this Friday.

So, I have time. I get dressed and hit the bricks, taking the street to the avenue and begin to march. I still my mind and keep it moving. I'm doing my thing in the cool weather, but it was not cold. This was not bad, expecially in the middle of December. I go downtown and back uptown with no problem. It's quite easy and relaxing to me now. I can't wait to add another ten blocks to my regimen next week. I want to keep the stress on the body for as far and much as possible.

I get home after doing a little food shopping and then I pass out on the bed. I sleep hard, very hard. So hard that I can't get up. I look at the clock, it's four O'clock. I nod, it's four thirty. Its too hard for me to climb out of the bed. I'm exhausted. I struggle. My body feels heavy. Very heavy. I take a shower and wash the kinks away, the hot water invigorating. I am feeling good when I hit the room again. I dress and get ready for my night.

Tonight Sweet D is supposed to be having a movie release of his life at the IFC theatre. A movie about drugs, junkies, recovery and redemption. It sounds good, but just because Sweet D is in it, well that makes it even more of a must see. Lu, our radio producer has invited me. She has extra tickets and I'm going to see the show for free. I sit behind my computer, not wanting to move. Even after my shower I wonder if I'm going. I play a mind game with myself. I just put on my pants, sit back down in front of my computer. Then I put on a shirt. Then my shoes. I am soon ready to go. I sit down behind my computer again and my bell rings. Huh?

I'm not sure that I'm going to answer it, but I get up and do. It's Paula. She motions to step in. She always motions to step in. I just crack the door and peer out. What do you want? "Hobobob, I have a problem with my computer and I wanted you to look at it." What? What the fuck? Everyone that knows me marginally just KNOW that I repair computers. Where did this come from. Igor? Shit. I'm sorry Paula, I'm leaving here in a few minutes. "It'll only take a minute." I nod, lock my door and enter into her room. The first word that comes to me is cluttered. There is a lot of clutter. A lot. She has a freezer on the side, a hot plate on top of it. There is a George Foreman Grill on top of the counter. She must like to cook. A wide screen TV on the table, and on a chair, a brand new HP laptop. Nice. I look at it and marvel. Brand new. She's having a problem with this....she shows me and it functions normally. "Oh well," she says somewhat embrassed. "This is a problem too." That too functions normally. Well, that's it then. I stand up off her bed. "Jeez, I'm telling you that nothing was working ten minutes ago, and then suddenly, it all clears up." That's alright. I've got to go. I slip out of her door and into mine.

I'm quick, grabbing my coat and gone. I barely make it to the movie and meet up with D2theL, Lu and OBSIDIAN in front of the theater and we go in and enjoy an entertaining as well as in places, disturbing movie. 'I'm Dangerous With Love" will be shown in this theater only next month. This was a sneak preview, and it was great. From there everyone went to the ALIBI bar for drinks and we stood around talking. The night wound down early, and all of the partygoers were thinning out. D2theL and OBSIDIAN left, leaving Lu and myself. We left Sweet D at the bar, saying goodbye and went to the Way. Lu went downtown and I Uptown.

I'm in my room again, safe, sound, happy. I check my email. Nothing exciting. I stay up until 3:00 in the morning, writing. Wishing that I could just find that magical opening to get into the writing world that so many other authors have found. To get my work out to the masses, and maybe have the masses return that love. To see if I can GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS HOLE. Dealing with WECARE and all the bullshit that you have to just to get by.

I want to be free of them MORE than they want of me.

One day I will. Remember the gutter where I came from. I'm not done yet.

Hobobob

I'm going to miss black underwear

I want to write now.

I want to get behind my computer and write. Especially this blog, once again. I'm back to something, I don't know what it is, but my mind is clearer than what it was days ago, last week, where it would not slow down. Where it would not focus. I woke up today and was focused like a hunter down a gun sight. Yesterday was such a quick day. Well, for an insomniac it's always like that. You get so tired during the day, your head nods.

Nods until you either black out or go to bed...for what? Two hours. A fucking nap. But if you think of it. Two or three naps can kill a day. The morning at 7:00am with a two hours gap awake between three naps, leave you with 9:00pm. Pretty fast day. A nap in the morning, another in the afternoon, and the night is already in the window. That shit is disconcerting. It's as if your life is running in fast forward and you're just there staring at it helplessly.

The sun sets, what seems like four hours after I woke, I take my pills almost one series behind the other. Am I taking my night dosage too soon. And then marches the night. For some reason slower, lonelier, darker, longer. I stand away from my computer, cup of coffee in my hand, in the middle of my small room. Small room. I read a New York Times article about the youth in prison, and how many of them have mental problems and that instead of therapy they locked up and forgotten.

I look at the photo of one young person in his terrible cell, and for the fact that he can't leave at anytime that he wants and take a 54 block walk, his jail cell looks more spacious than mine, with a window. What kind of shit is that? And for me, I don't walk out of the door as much as I would like to anyway. Am I bitching. As I stand up in the middle of my room in the middle of the night, in the middle of my mind, I have to wonder if I am or not.

I'm doing what it is that I'm always doing, polishing the vehicle of my life, my novel. The one thing that I pray will propel me out of my horrid existence. The slingshot of my life, propelling me back into the real world since a job does not look promising until sometime late 2010. That's if things start to get better. As I'm reading in the indicators, even the foreign countries are now foundering under the weight of the recession.

If they're not doing all that great, what does it look like for me? I shake my head. I'm in the more unwanted, unlikeliest, unluckiest, position in my life. It's as if I went drunk into a bar one moment, and finding myself in the middle of a gangbang the next. How the fuck did I get in this fucking mess? I trip over something walking in the door or something? Well, there's nothing left for me to do now but ride it out, basically. See who breaks who. And I tell you, I'm far from being broken.

That's what this new clarity does for me. It fills me with a new sense of power, of ability. I have a new mindset to fight. This is not the time to mourn. I was in worse straits than this. Worse. I was one fucked up individual. It's always darkest before the dawn. It means that I have to do something. I have to make energy to get energy. If I let these drugs make me complacent, then nothing will change in this life. Nothing. If I break free, tear lose, free my fucking mind, I'll be free to change my world. That's the way that I see it.

I see it that I'm crippled now, hobbled. I have to fight. Fight here, fight now, in this life, in this room, in this body, in this head. I have do fight in the microcosm if I'm to succeed. Any other battle, any other place, any other where is just a distraction. No more distractions. I have to get out of the hole that I'm in. I have to free this soul of mine, or I'll be here in this room, by myself, until kingdom come.

I fall asleep after editing into the wee hours of the morning and awaken with more energy than I have ever had. Again, the bane of an insomniac. You wake up with tons of energy that lasts only about two hours before it turns pale and you start to nod, eyes getting heavy, your consciousness swoons. You need the bed worse than an alcoholic needs a bottle.

Around sometime I get up and start my day, doing the usual and actually chomping on the bit to get the fuck out of the room to take my walk. I clear through my emails and and I finish at 11:30 sharp, jump in some pants and a shirt, slip on my jacket and flank out the door. On the other side, of the door, once in the real world, there is commotion. Maintenance is working on the apartments around me. I slip down the hall and coming the other way is Paula. Hey Paula. "Hey Hobobob, I'm doing fine, I just talked to the Box and they scheduled me for...." Oh gawd. She stopped, tears in her eyes, a grin on her face, a tissue in her hand dabbing her cheek. I stare at her, sorry that I left my room. I grit my teeth, this is going to take awhile. "...they talked to each other and they agreed to give me bereavement counseling. Lisa, you remember Lisa right?" I think, no. I don't tell her this though. Hell yeah, I remember Lisa! "Well, she has agreed to give me three sessions," she smiled brighter, her eyes teared more. "Isn't that good news." Oh yeah, Paula, it's great news. Good gawd, she's going to be in pain forever I fear. Didn't she just spend a stretch in Bellevue? Didn't they tighten her up a little. Get her over this hump so that she could function. For some reason I fear that this is just a cry for more and more attention. She'd better calm this shit down before the freaks in blue are called on her ass.

Well, I've got to go, Paula. I'm late to do nothing.... no... late for an engage- ment. "OH, okay Hobobob, I'll talk to you later." Not if I get my Black ass into my room first. Lord I'm so glad that we never built the kind of relationship where we knocked on each other's door for shit, or I would be pulling my hair out now. I slip away from her and head downstairs, hit the street, cross to the avenue, Broadway, and start to march down the street. I march, keeping my eyes on the concrete sidewalk, moving smoothly, weaving around the murder babycarriages, the slow old people with pushcarts, the oblivious women on cell phones, the bums on the sidewalks begging for Christmas handouts, tourists milling about in the middle over everything, holding up traffic as they stare up at the tall buildings, sidewalks narrowed by Christmas tree and fresh vegetable vendors, all in my way. Before I knew it, I was at 72nd street. by the addition of three more blocks, it will be a total of six more (going and coming) making my entire walk 60 blocks, taking a little more than an hour and a half to walk. I take on the other three blocks down to 69th street and then back up. It felt like nothing. I was doing the thing, growing stronger every day, getting more and more energy. I am proud of myself.

I do some food shopping and head upstairs, hoping not to run into Paula again, and get into the room. After unpacking I walk out to take a leak. There, down the hall, is the Italian screaming woman. The last time I saw her she was speaking to a small army of Brooklyn Detectives. Prior to that she was standing in the middle of the hallway, dressed in nothing but lace underwear and shelf bra with a gorgeous body, yelling down the stairwell after her man. Now she was dragging the ominous black garbage bags out of her room. Meaning that she was moving. A inquiring man was standing nearby, watching her labor with her large black bags. "What happened?" "My fucking boyfriend cost me my apartment!" She cussed. "Him and his drug dealing." I wonder. If I had a man that was dealing drugs out of my apartment, HE WOULDN'T BE MY MAN FOR LONG. Simple logic. Why are you making excuses to the cops as to where he is and isn't. Tell them that it's over and never come back. You have nothing more to do with him and you don't want them to cost you your apartment. Simple. What the fuck is wrong with you, and how can you blame him about something that belongs to you? You cost yourself your apartment.

I'm pissed because I won't be able to see her in sheer black underwear any more. That's a fucking bummer. I go use the bathroom and leave them to their conversation. I go back into my room gratefully. And call it a night. Tomorrow I have a big day. I'm going to the movies and hang out with friends. I'm a little out of sorts, I need to get my act back together. I have to reinsert myself into society.

I'm going to stay up late tonight. I'll write you sometime tomorrow.
And blog up this post.

Damn I'm going to miss her in her black underwear.

Hobobob

Keeping the Pen in Motion

A sense of clarity.

I feel that the world has gotten just a little brighter, a little clearer. I feel that I am present in the now all of a sudden. I'm also itchy. I scratch so much. It feels that bugs are crawling on my skin, everywhere, including my balls. Have you ever had to scratch at your balls when your outside and wearing pants (well I hope you wear pants outside). It's pretty embarrassing.

I am free in my mind even though I still can't sleep. I got rotten sleep Friday night, slept and had two Mornings Saturday. And then took a shower to scrub away the bugs from my body. As I climbed out of the shower, the sensation soon returned. Oh well, so much for that shit. I packed my backpack, my baby's basinet with everything that I normally carry and then with my baby, my laptop. Hoisting it on my back, that bitch was heavy. I mean, really heavy. Damn! I'm I THAT out of shape that my backpack, my lifelong burden is now too heavy to me? This is incredible how fast the body can deteriorate.

I have got to get back into shape. I'll take off from walking today, Saturday, because I have the SHOUT OUT, but Sunday will be a different story. I'm going to get out and git-er-done. I head out, hit the Way and head downtown to OTTO's. I'm not in a hurry, I leave on time, the trains are in a fucking hurry. They rush me down to the last stop so fast that it made my head swim. I sat in the subway station because it was way too cool outside to stand and wait for Cyndi Lauper to open up. I watch the legs go by, slacks 60%, spandex 30%, beautiful stockings in short dresses, 10%, yay!!!

I soon leave the Way and head down the block. OTTO's is open and I stroll in. I am the first one in the house, which makes me feel good because I can get things done without interruption. I set up the stage, and the lighting before the first person walked in. OBSIDIAN soon came in as well as the bulk of our audience, so I got the show started, being the first one to read to open up the Open Mic. I read a poem and a limerick. Not the one that I wanted to read. The one that I read was....

There once was a kid named troy
who found out he had a new toy
his gonads were fine
he would play all the time
And troy stayed a happy young boy

The one that I did want to read was....

There once was a girl with foresight
Who dreamed of a pussy so tight
Alas she was loose
Until she used lemon juice
And got the tightness just right

Well, maybe next week. The SHOUT OUT took off then. Our feature was on the money, the poets did a fine job with their contri- butions. It was just an all around good show that made you feel good when it was over. I was grinning, and it wasn't because of the two beers. I pack away the stage as another band came in, obnoxiously setting up around us, moving our shit out of the way and piling their shit around us. I just took my time, getting in their way, stepping over their shit, catching their cabling with my shoes for laying it all around me. We were only two minutes late and these fuckers act like we were a half hour late.

Fuckers.

My brother and I stand outside in the cold New York night, shooting the Breeze with D2theL and I was invited once again to the next Mbiti ceremony. I'm really going to have to go, just to see what it's like. My brother and I retire to Starbucks for a few cups of the bean, and then I head home to check my email and find rest. I don't get any. Within two hours I am awake but I decide, stupidly, that I I just laid in bed I'll drift back off to sleep. Instead I toss and turn until the fire alarm goes off. Shit. I smell smoke. Let me get up. If there is a real fire, I want to pack up my back pack with a change of clothes and walk out the front door and never come back.

Outside there is the bitter smell of smoke and bacon grease, but no real sign of any real smoke. I go to the bathroom and take a leak. Then I return home, eat some dinner, sit down, and email actually comes through for me. I read, write and then crawl back into bed. This time it sticks. I float off, right away.

In the morning, just a few hours of sleep, I hear the rain pounding the ass of my air conditioner outside of my window. What fucking luck is that. Not only has it been cold recently it also has to rain? Damn. I WANT to put the time into exercising an the weather has turned into my foe. What kind of shit is that? Is everything going to be against me? I shake my head. I just can't win.

Another day....

Hobobob

With Serious Limitations

Forgive me if my posts are wandering all over the place. My thinking is rambling. It's all over the place too. I am not getting the right amount of sleep so I think that it's affecting my thinking. It's hard to concentrate. To focus, and the write this blog takes a lot of focus. I apologize if I am rambling on or not making any coherent sense. Blame it on ABLIFY withdrawal.

I can't do anything as of late. Write e-mails, work on my novel, work on my blog. I can't seem to do a damn thing but think. Deep rambling thoughts, like building bridges across deep ravines, huge clocks with amazing inner workings, women engaged in all manner of sex. I'm all over the place with my thoughts. I can't get it together sometimes, and when I do it happens immediately after a nap. I have a few hours of clarity before shit starts getting strange in my head, and there you have it, women giving handjobs to men blowing fountain-like loads!

Everything revolves around women. I don't know. My brain has been doing things too, thinking abstractly. A thought just suddenly came to my mind. I am seeing a tow truck towing away my car up in New Jersey. Just hooking it up and towing it off to some abandoned garage, where some fortunate cuss is just going to give her a fluid change, fill her tires with air and drive around in it as if it was his. Fuck that. Why not just give the damn thing to Big K and let her pay me whenever she can? Better than to let the car sit there and languish. That's my aim now. Get the car out and into her hands before Christmas. I fear that the car will be towed by the New Year.

I send Big K and email to let her know of my decision and she is overjoyed. In fact, it feels like a Christmassy thing to do. I feel good about it. I think I've saved us both a lot of aggravation. Now to get the title. Something that I have been sitting on from time immemorial. It's just that I thought it would take her some time to raise the funds, so what was the fucking hurry. Now I'm going to git-er-done.

I'm sitting alone in the dark now scratching here and there from head to toe. Another side effect. Man, this is turning out to be a hard run. I've got eight weeks of this shit, back and forth, awake, insomnia, scratching, numbness, paralysis, rambling thoughts, wild mood swings, a gamut of shit in store for me. I've already fucked up on a few e-mails and pissed people off at me. That's not good. But I hope they understand, I am not exactly myself.

I edit my book, long and hard. I get it done. Not that I'm finished, but I beat the shit out of it, finding continuity issues, character flaws, so on and so forth. I didn't make an appointment to go see Dr. A., I'll do that in the morning. I work until I get tired, which comes around 2:00am and I shut down everything and crawl into bed. I fall asleep easily.

I awaken, the last images in my head is that of scores of women giving fellatio. Wow. Have all the years that I have been watching porn creeping up on me with explosive speed? Interesting though, I don't wake up with a morning glory. It is as if my interest in the act being done by so many women at one time was merely a clinical one. A doctor from Master's and Johnson's reviewing the data coming from an experiment and not a man in an audience, with his pole in his hand.

I get behind my computer, turn it on, read email, write poetry, edit my Novel. At Eleven Thirty I slip out side. It is so cold it makes my balls rise into my body. I zip up my coat and head out into the street and then down Broadway, marching. I am literally blasted by the cold, which tries to take the hat off my head repeatedly. The women are all bundled up, heavy coats, wool or courderoy slacks, scarves, hats, hunched against the wind. I am bored quickly, I make it to 72nd street even quicker. It is easy, fast. I have no problem getting there. I walk back and it is the same, I'm on 96th street in no time. I laugh. My body is getting stronger faster than I thought.

I go into Duane Reade and deal with a real Dragon Lady behind the counter in the Pharmacy. A real prize of a woman. At first, she was pretty nice to me and efficient. Now, whenever I see her, she is standing around, even after seeing me, she finds something important to do, which is just standing there making me wait. This infuriates me, but I deal with it. I know that if you are tortured by something that someone is doing and you show it, they'll only do it every time they wish to cause you pain. If you act like it doesn't bother you, they'll move onto other constructive things.

Fuck the Dragon Lady. I'm sorry I put her in my blog. That would make her last in the minds of fellow human beings. She needs to be forgotten off this earth as fast as possible. I go home after getting an ACE wrap about bandage for my right ankle which is beginning to show some signs of weakness. I want to shore it up BEFORE problems start with my walking. I'm not as young as I used to be.

My doorbell rings, someone knocks. Hold on. I get dressed. It's the exterminator, he sprays my room good. I like this. I shut the door. I then crawl into bed and pass out. I wake up, my arms are heavy, my legs wont move. That damn walk takes more out of me than I care to realize. I am spent. I get up and get back behind my computer, surfing the web, doing email's, wasting away a perfectly good life. I am invited to the teenager party again. Young people. I think of going. 'Nessa says that she will be there, my brother OBSIDIAN is going, it sounds like fun. Maybe I'll get my ass out on Sunday and hang. Maybe I'll find some hang out partners. People that can get me out of my room every once in a while.

There is a tremendous scuffle outside of my door, heavy things are sliding across the floor, something bangs upside my door. I get dressed. Open the door. Nothing is there. I scratch my head. Take a seat, get undressed, get back online. Then there are men talking, broken English. I can't make out what they are saying but something heavy is being dragged across the floor in front of my door. I get up and get dressed, go, open the door, nothing is there. The entire floor is empty in both directions. I blink, go to the bathroom. There is something heavy sliding down the hall, men talking. I have my dick in my hands, taking a leak. I push harder, pushing out my urine as fast as I can, finish, rinse my hands, snatch open the bathroom door, the hall is empty.

This is too uncanny. I go to my room, get undressed and the noise returns. Someone is calling someone stupid in front of my door, tools are being used. I don't move this time. Then heavy things. I still don't get up. I ignore it. I dig deeper into my Novel until I get tired and crawl into bed. I know it's only 6:00pm. I'll only sleep until 9:00 and then I'll be up until 7:00am. I guess I'll finish this post then.

My body is that fucked up.

Hobobob

A Foul Ball In Center Field

I wake up feeling like shit. Half of me wants to stay in bed, the other half of me wants to check my email. It's late afternoon. Yesterday I awoke at 7:30am, made a little breakfast and sat down and started firing off my morning emails. Suddenly I looked at the clock on my laptop only to find that it was 7:30 in the evening, not the morning. Wow, what a brain trip. I was expecting the sun to rise behind me any second, and instead it just stayed as dark as ever. Good thing that I found out the time or I might have thought that it was the end of the world. That or just rainy.

I should be tired right about now. Last night I stayed up late on IM with Big K and we rattled on about everything and anything. But suddenly she vanished off the screen, not to be heard from again. So I shut down my system and crawled into bed, dropping off to sleep quickly. It took no time to claim me.

I wake up to First Morning at 5:30am and get up, getting online. After booting up my system, I head for the bathroom to take my leak, then read email. The rain is falling hard outside of my window, banging on the air conditioner. There goes my walk for today. I don't even own an umbrella.

Online I find two invitations. One to an Mbiti ceremony. My brother and D2theL are regulars at these events, partaking of a drug called IBOGAINE. Basically, this one drug, a powerful soporific, cleanses you of your vices. It literally causes you to no longer need to drink, smoke, take drugs, marijuana, nothing. You are totally cured of any addiction that may ail you. Wow. I think I'll pass.

No, it's not just that I don't want to clear myself of my addictions. I like the few that I still have, and they are a few, but I don't really think that I want another drug in my blood- stream. I look behind me at the line of medicine bottles that I have to use on a daily basis and I pass playing Michael Jackson or Heath Ledger. Enough drugs is enough drugs. I shake my head on that one. I want to go and hang out with my brother and D2theL but the temptation is too great for a drug addict like me. I can't help but to join and partake, which for me, could be deadly.

The second was forwarded to me by my brother. A party at a friend's house. I am not really into a party mood this weekend. Not that anything is wrong with partying, I'm just not in the mood. Well, I'm never in the mood for parties, but you know how that goes. Like I was told by my brother, I was more outgoing when I was homeless. Well, yeah, because I was always outside. Now I'm always inside, and frankly, I'm loving it. Strange right?

After my First Morning, I get up for Second Morning and look out of the window. The rain has stopped falling. I am overjoyed. I really do want to walk today. This will make my second day on foot to 72nd street. I really want to give this fat on me a run for it's money. I think I can walk it off. I am really going to fight against this fat now. I can sit around growing more and more depressed the fatter and fatter that I get, or I can do the sensible thing and walk the shit off. This can be done. Melt it down.

This morning I do the same. I get out by 11:00am and take that damned walk to 72nd street, and do you know something. It's faster and easier. I blew it off like nothing. Although it's not like walking it in the summertime, like I could have done, it's all bundled up, women are wrapped tight in coats and jackets, jeans or woolen skirts and heavy spandex. There is nothing to see. No lively bouncing, bra-less tits. No short skirts showing off long legs. No tight pants displaying puckered cameltoes. Nothing. Ho hum. It's just a walk. Although the jeans with the nice round asses are out. That's the only consolation.

I am not hurt by this. I stride on to the Duane Reade and they've fucked up my prescription again. Stupid asses. They drive me up the wall. These poor people with their sorry assed computers in the back, can't get anything right. On top of that, their pharmacists are dunces. One day, through outright stupidity, they're going to give someone the wrong medication and these motherfuckers are going to die. I just hope that the motherfucker isn't me. I mean, I don't mind if I unwittingly take a medication that stops my heart and kills me. So what, big deal. But I my case, I'm just that unlucky that it will only blind me, or make me deaf in one ear, or cause kidney failure.

That's fucked up isn't it. Being maimed by medication. Well I take this nap when I get my tired ass home. I can barely stay awake and sleep for about twenty minutes, waking up feeling like shit. That's how the drugs have been affecting me. I sleep only about two or three hours at a clip, sometimes as short as twenty minutes. Four or five of them a day, the rest of the time I'm up looking at the walls.

This morning I awoke and my hands were like rubber, numb and I couldn't move them. How fucked up is that? Numbness in the extremities is one of the side effects so there is no need to be alarmed. It didn't freak me out. It annoyed the shit out of me. I couldn't use my hands for a good ten minutes. What kind of shit is that?

Well, now night has fallen. I have a full cupboard of food. I was getting a little sparse there. Especially with the fucking coffee. I need fucking coffee to perform. I'm not saying that my current state of Insomnia comes from coffee, because both ABILIFY and WELLBUTRIN side effects are insomnia. Chances are it's them. Gimme my mother fucking bean.

I'm up now....
I'm up now for a long time. There will be a long night ahead of me, going to bed either at midnight to wake up at three in the morning. OR STAY awake until 7:00am only to wake up again at 9:00am. Ugh.

I miserable.

Hobobob

So Fucked Up, I'm afraid

Now you know I have to make a comment.

I'm walking 52 blocks today...yeah, that's right, 52 fucking blocks. That's not talking light shit either. I marched all the way down to 72nd street and back. It was pretty cool and breezy today too. All of the New Yorkers were bundled up, so there were no hot legs, cleavage or bouncing tits to be found during the entire walk, but there were a few shapely asses in jeans. Nice. I think I'm going to pace up and down this way every day at around 11:00 to drop the pounds. I wonder if it will work? I remember how much weight I dropped from just jogging, maybe this could be my low impact replacement?

There is a knock on my door early this morning, It's the inspectors from HUD I believe. Some state agency. Roberto is standing outside my door, stating that the inspectors are here. He is deadpan as usual, completely without life, almost as if he died two years ago and is ambulatory only by the use of a robotic armature, and toothpicks holding open his eyes. He's just that lifeless. I step out of the way to let a mature man walk in, the Superintendent standing behind him. The man walks into the center of the room, looks about, points to my sink full of soaking dishes, and mumbles. Wha? I ask.

"Don't let your water overflow," he says. I and he chuckle mirthlessly at his joke. He leaves after I sign a ton of papers and I close the door behind them and hurried up to get undressed. Hey, this is the last of my retread clothing. I don't want to stink them up. Jeez, when I get some money I have to do laundry.

Doc A.'s Secretary sends me an email. Do I know any passwords? She's trying to do something, most likely install something, that needs a keychain password. Those Keychains are something I never really understood on Apple computers. Well, she thought I had the password... nope. Do I know where to find it? Maybe his blackberry is around? She found his Palm Treo, but can't get into it. I spend time at Palm, looking to get technical help, and get the answers to unlock the Palm keypad to search it for the password. Now, sorry, too busy to do that now, got other things to do

Oh, well, okay.

I read the news today and my heart drops.

"Woman Who Made False Rape Charge Is Guilty of Perjury
Article Tools Sponsored By
By COLIN MOYNIHAN
Published: December 7, 2009"

Already the title causes me distress. I hate crazy sex. I hate when sex gets out of hand, and over and above that, I hate when men are charged for rape on flimsy assed evidence. It's my impression that there are a LOT of men behind bars, with their reputations ruined by forever being marked as a sexual deviant simply because a woman wants to get back at them for some reason.

Now dont' get me wrong. I'm not talking about those women who are raped and have the evidence to prove it. NO. We're not talking about those. I'm here specifically talking about bitches like this one, who got a man put behind bars behind LIES, and FLIMSY so called evidence. Those crackpot bitches are who I'm talking about.

"A woman who in 2005 falsely accused a man of rape, leading to his wrongful conviction and imprisonment, pleaded guilty on Monday to two counts of perjury. The woman, Biurny Gonzalez, 27, acknowledged in State Supreme Court in Manhattan that she had falsely testified under oath before a grand jury and during a trial when she asserted that the man, William McCaffrey, had sexually assaulted her."

Alright, we're talking FOUR fucking years ago, this INNOCENT man languished in jail because this psychopath falsely testified under oath. What the fuck do they think that this fucking oath shit is all about? An oath nowadays shouldn't mean spit if you ask me. Come back with fucking facts to back your shit up...or guess what??? Your word doesn't mean squat! The shit didn't happen!

"Mr. McCaffrey, 32, an interior contractor, was convicted of rape in 2006 and began serving a 20-year sentence. But this past spring, Ms. Gonzalez recanted, first confessing to a priest that she had lied, then telling prosecutors. “You know that the testimony you gave was false?” Justice Charles H. Solomon asked her. “William McCaffrey did not have sexual interactions with you by forcible compulsion?” “Yes,” Ms. Gonzalez answered."

Notice another thing that will piss me off later...20 years in prison for rape. But that's for later. Now, I think it's pretty stupid asking the bitch does she realize that her testimony was false. Even for the record. She knew it was false four years ago.

"The seeds of her false story were sown about 5 a.m. on Sept. 18, 2005, when Mr. McCaffrey approached Ms. Gonzalez — who then went by the name of her husband at the time, Peguero — and her friends outside a restaurant in Inwood. Court papers filed by Mr. McCaffrey said that after he invited Ms. Gonzalez to an after-hours party, he got into a parked car, where she was sitting with a friend, and they drove off. Mr. McCaffrey and Ms. Gonzalez later went to a parking garage and transferred to a friend’s van to continue to the party."

Rule number one guys, I don't care how cute or hot she looks: DO NOT PICK UP CRACK- HEADS!!! This dumb fuck invites this bitch to a party and gets into a car with her and can't tell she's got problems? Damn, that's why I call hungry for some pussy. I don't know who this friend with the van was, but by this time you'd think our hero her could have figured something out? Do you? Women are human. They don't act this way and that. They act like themselves...damn near at all time. Very few are good enough to hold up a double personality for long. Maybe this one was, and that makes this guy one of the most un-luckiest men on the planet. But mostly they show strains in their personality. Stress marks, like cracks along the sides of their thought processes. What I'm getting at is that our fucking hero was probably so damn drunk himself, and a hard on down to his ankles that he couldn't see the car accident that he was chasing after.

"They turned back after Ms. Peguero got a barrage of cellphone calls from friends, court papers say. The attendant at the garage testified at the rape trial that some of Ms. Peguero’s friends showed up and got in her car with her, “yelling and hitting each other.” The fight was so fierce that one of the women kicked and broke a window in a car, according to court papers."

NOW! This is the shit that I'm talking about. The bitch has a Thundercats fight in her car, with someone throwing kicks that can blast out a car window. Have you ever tried kicking out a car window? That shit is not easy because it's made out of safety glass. SAFETY GLASS. Some one was taking and getting an ass whipping in that car. Now if that was me, I would be heading for the hills. But no. It doesn't say that he did that does it? Instead this dummy takes her somewheres and fucks her. He actually drills this walking court case after all this shit. Without a condom. Why do I say this? Because 90% of the evidence that a woman brings to court involving rape is DNA. Bites, blood, semen. Anything that places you at the scene of the crime, and the scene of the crime is her body, mostly her pussy. So this fucking idiot, our hero, being so hot for this bitch nails her sorry ass, and in the process makes himself a sorry ass.

"The next day, Ms. Peguero accused Mr. Mc- Caffrey of threat- ening her with a knife and assaul- ting her. The court papers said she in- vented the rape to cover for the fight. Last year, a DNA test showed that bite marks on Ms. Peguero’s arm and shoulder the morning she reported the rape could not have been made by Mr. McCaffrey — the genetic material lacked a Y chromosome, meaning that it could not have come from a man. Mr. McCaffrey was released from prison in September. He is waiting for a judge to void his indictment and conviction, which could happen as early as this week."

So, she invented to rape to cover up the fight from her husband, eh? What probably happened was that her husband poled her later that evening and found his dick covered in cum, or worse, like these crazy bitches like to do is kissed, or allowed her husband to go down on her, and she tasted slick and salty (I didn't say exactly where they collected the sperm now did I? Sperm is known to survive in the mouth for quite awhile after swallowing). He went nuts and tried to kill her, so she told him this rape story. It looks like he didn't believe her ass either, because he left her manical ass. Later, it took this guy three years to get a DNA run on the saliva in her shoulder. Three years. He spent three years....well four, but he was exonerated in three...keeping his asshole from becoming a turnstile in Macy's while the courts fucked around with his evidence that was already collected. Can you believe that?? So let me tell you, if you get fucked up and sent to jail like this, you've got years in some of the most fucked up prisons. WATCH OUT FOR FUCKING CRACKPOTS!!

"Ms. Gonzalez was scheduled to be sentenced on Feb. 9 and faced 2 1/3 to 7 years in prison, though Justice Solomon has the authority to impose a lesser sentence. He warned Ms. Gonzalez, who lives in Union City, N.J., with her husband and two children, that although she is a legal resident of the United States, her guilty plea could result in deportation to the Dominican Republic, where she was born. A religious reawakening prompted Ms. Gonzalez to admit her misdeeds to a priest at St. Anthony’s parish in Union City, her lawyer, Paul F. Callan, said."

Now...I'm seething mad. I'm boiling over. I'm hotter than a ho with gonor- rhea. This bitch, if convicted gets 2 and a third to 7 years in prison??? You mean a woman can accuse a man of rape and lie, and only get a little more than 2 years in jail. Whereas rapists get 20? Is that fucking reasonable? Don't get me wrong, I mean, rapists should get fucking life, but are you telling me that people that LIE about rape shouldn't get life too??? This fucking guy already did 4 years in jail for doing nothing except fuck the bitch. AND they are looking to lower the sentence for her? What the fuck for. This crazy bitch deserves 7 and 7 more on top of that, or at least 4 for every day he spent behind bars. If they had steeper sentences for this shit, maybe bitches will think twice before lying 'under oath' which means shit. I don't get the fucking justice here. I just don't get it. Just because she found god, she can get away with lying to the court? Deport the bitch forever, let the Dominican Republic deal with her from now own. Let her roam free in her natural habitat.

"On Monday, Ms. Gonzalez declined to discuss the case as she left the courthouse clutching the arm of her husband, Julio Mejia."

Must be one sorry fucking dude to marry this walking shit. I guess when he gets a mouthfull of cum after kissing her, he'll realize that he needs a divorce. OH and for all you horny heros out there...do yourself a favor. Wear a condom.

I feel for them all.
EXCEPT for her

Hobobob

Feeling Like I'm Failing

I can't focus.

I'm stressed out. I'm really stressed. My life is moving too fast for me. I hear bells ringing in my ears. I'm going mad. Is it because I've stopped taking these stupid pills? I don't think so, I just think that the world is suddenly moving at a blur and I can't handle it. I'm wondering what is wrong with my body.

My feet are peeling, and calves. They're all peeling. They are dry and peeling, looking like leprosy. After a shower they are worse. I'm using vaseline to keep them looking normal. Now, my toe went numb. In fact I've been waking up with both hands numb and paralyzed in the morning. I can't move them, they hang like meat for ten minutes until I get the familiar pins and needles and motion returns slowly, almost every time I wake up.

Now, two of the toes of my right foot went numb. The big toe and the one next to it...I think it's the index toe. Both said 'goodbye'. By the end of the day my big toe came back, my my index toe is still numb. I can move it and all, but it's still numb. What's this about? That damned medication. I'm starting to get half life effects from it. Let the mother fucking games begin!!!

And now the racing thoughts. I'm certain that this will get worse before it gets any better. But this is just the way that it'll have to be for now. I'm not getting this far to go back. No way. I would rather it be this way, with the crazy nightmares that will no doubt come up, and other wacky side effects. Hey....I should look up withdrawal symptoms just to see what to expect! Well come on everyrbody, join me on the explorer train as we go through the rough and tumble world of ABILIFY and WELBUTRIN withdrawal symptoms!

Choo choo!!

"Although Abilify is not addicting and is not likely to be abused, the brain may need time to adjust after you stop taking the medication. Potential withdrawal symptoms include insomnia, hallucinations or delusions (symptoms of schizophrenia), and mania or depression (symptoms of bipolar disorder). These Abilify withdrawal symptoms may not improve with time, as they may be symptoms of the underlying disorder (schizophrenia or bipolar disorder)."

Ha ha ha!! So basically other than the INSOMNIA which I currently have, I'll have my old symptoms back which were the reasons for my taking them in the first place?? Well that's comforting. I was crazy before, so I'm going back to crazy again. Well, this is the only thing n my favor. That I won't go back to hallucinations and delusions and mania and depression because I'm off the juice. I'm no longer a raging alcoholic. I see that I'm having a little problem with all of the above though, they should not be too overwhelming enough for me to go back. ABILIFY seems to cause as much as it relives.

"The main withdrawal symptoms are the recurrent manic and depression attacks. Other withdrawal reactions include: * emotional withdrawal * poor rapport * passive apathetic withdrawal * difficulty in abstract thinking * lack of spontaneity/flow of conversation * stereotyped thinking."

Well, I have that to look forward to. Some shit huh? Well, none of that yet. So ABILIFY is not too bad. That's pretty light shit, as long as I don't see cockroaches the size of buses go by, or long dead family members pull up chairs and want to talk. Don't laugh, I saw a real to life Blonde woman who was lost in New York City. That bitch vanished.

Well, lets right this corner of the bend, through the tunnel to WELLBUTRIN land. Let's see what the withdrawal side effects are of that mother....

"Wellbutrin withdrawal symptoms can occur at any dosage. A Wellbutrin withdrawal symptom can begin within eight hours of a missed dose and can last from one to eight weeks. The particularly nasty withdrawal symptoms can easily last beyond eight weeks."

"Obviously, the best way to avoid Wellbutrin withdrawal is to avoid Wellbutrin."

That's pretty comforting. Avoid WELL- BUTRIN, with nasty withdrawal symptoms to last beyond eight weeks. Whoo hooo!! Well, lets go inside this funhouse and lets see what to expect!!!

"Over 50 different symptoms have been reported with antidepressant withdrawal, with dizziness nausea, fatigue, headache, gait instability and insomnia the most common. The lucky ones will experience only minor Wellbutrin withdrawal symptom effects. They might even blame their Wellbutrin withdrawal symptom list on the flu. For others, the Wellbutrin withdrawal symptoms are debilitating."

OH, what good news. Insomnia again. No wonder I haven't had a good nights sleep in days. No flu yet. Maybe I'm one of the luckier ones. 50 different symptoms? I wonder what the fuck are the fifty. It's hard to imagine that so many things can happen to you from one drug if you're not one of the luckier ones, and I'm never one of those.

"Wellbutrin Withdrawal Symptom List:
Anxiety, Dizziness, Fatigue, Muscle and joint pain, Jolting electric "zaps”, Tingling sensations, Vertigo, Gait disturbances, Restlessness, Tremors, Visual hallucinations, Headache, Insomnia, Nausea, Vomiting, Diarrhea, Blurred vision, Sweating, Fever, Abdominal discomfort, Aggression, Sleep disturbance and insomnia, Nightmares, Vivid dreams, Flu symptoms and , general malaise, Anorexia, agitation, Irritability, Confusion, Memory and concentration , difficulties, Chills and hot flashes, Crying spells, Suicidal thoughts, Lethargy, Weakness, Myalgia."

FUCK! I have to say, I've already had a bunch of these mother fuckers. No shit. I'm serious. This is freaky...but nothing about numbness and peeling? That's not good. Can that shit be from something else choosing and opportune time to rear it's ugly head? That's not good. I've had the 'zaps' they are funny. Tremors. I was trying to drink some water with a wildly trembling hand recently and when I got it to my mouth a 'zap' made me throw it in my face! Ha ha ha! I can find humor in anything. Hmmmm, Nightmares? None of that shit yet, not like when I got off the LUVOX. Yes, a lot of this shit I already have been through. If it doesn't get any worse I'm good.

When I see Dr. A. next week, because he's on vacation this week, I'm going to find out about the other symptoms. They could be from something terrible, like diabetes, which I'm already borderline. The reason why I thought of it just now is because of my father, who has diabetes. He's always moisturizing his feet which are always peeling. This would not be good. Survivable. We Hobos have been long diagnosed with Diabetes, and we've seen and learned at an early age what one has to do to prevent problems from complications. If this is my in my family line to step up to the plate, then so be it.

We can't live forever....whooo hooo, last stop on the Withdrawal Train. I'm done. I'm going to go back to editing my books....oh yes, it's 'bookS' now. I'm editing the prequel to my Novel written years ago. That's a gift to myself. If I sell one, possibly I may be able to sell the other. Who knows, it's time to dream.

I've got some things to work through. I've got to deal with some things coming up. The checks are all in the mail, so to speak.

That's just the way it is.

Hobobob

Don't Want Any Jail Pussy

Dayum!!

Bitches be crazy. I mean wildin'! Bitches be losing their minds. I wonder what the fuck is going on with a lot of people today. Especially some women. Some women should get off with murder sometimes BECAUSE THEY ARE FUCKING LEGITIMATELY CRAZY!!! You are wondering, what the fuck are you cranking on about Hobobob? Well, this has to be looked at under the hobo microscope. YAHOO News, LOCAL, December 6th, 2009: NEW YORK (CBS) - An innocent life was targeted in a twisted plot, as a Brooklyn woman is charged with trying to kill the baby of her husband's mistress – starting before the child was even born.

Alright, first of all, what bothers me is that this fucking shit had to happen in MY city. Are we saying that we have women this bizarre, in this great city of mine? Secondly, this crazy bitch is from Brooklyn, my home. Is Brooklyn FILLED with crazy people? Lord knows, I'm one, but I always hoped that there would be a few of us that would be normal! She makes me dread the borough.

Kisha Jones, 38, sits in a jail cell because, police say, she was obsessed with "the other woman." Jones lived with her husband, Anthony Jones, and their four children in East New York. In September, police say, Jones found out that the other woman, 25-year-old Monique Hunter, lived just three miles away. Jones then found out that the other woman was seven months pregnant.

Here is another thing. I know you're having a hard time processing the fact that your husband is fucking, and apparently drilling so much that he knocked up his mistress (the crazy fuck is not even using a condom?), but are you tell me that Kisha is still crawling into bed with this miscreant? I know it doesn't say that she is, but it doesn't say EX-husband either. Now she's thinking murder right? Why not murder the motherfucker who cheated on you?? He's sleeping in her bed (unresolved) and she's forgiven him? She's accepted this as one of his proclivities? Are you kidding me? So now, this son-of-a-bitch with a wandering cock is sleeping peacefully in bed, while his smoldering wife of four kids Kisha, is creating designs on...who? The turnstile bitch that's got her legs spread open in front of her man?

Obviously she is a wanton woman with weak legs because she is sleeping with A MARRIED MAN. NO matter what his excuses are. HE'S MARRIED. I see how Kisha could snap. I really can. Remember I was cheated on too, and I had designs in KILLING THE FUCK out of my Ex. Fuck her man though! He was just some bitch with a fucking hard on that she was putting in her hungry assed mouth. But damn, this is my wife, what is she telling him that has him banging away on her? Same with this. Kisha let her husband off the hook, who is she mad at now? The woman, Monique? Okay, I can see that too. Kill'em both. Get the gun and start fucking blasting away! Knock 'em flat, push their wigs back. I can dig it.

BUT THIS CRAZY BITCH BLAMES......!

Police say Jones stole a prescription pad and filled out a phony prescription, left at Kings Pharmacy, for a drug called Cytotec that induces early labor. "If it's not done in a medically supervised fashion, or the doctor doesn't know that it's being administered, it can cause uterine rupture," CBS 2's Dr. Max Gomez says. "It can be very dangerous, both for the baby and for the mother."

She goes after the child!!! What the fuck does the child have do to with this?? At first it looks like she is after them both, doesn't it? It looks like the child was just collateral damage, doesn't it? Firstly do you know what the fuck Cytotec is? Do you? Fuck if I did before this article. Where the fuck did this bitch get this medical advice from? Was she a doctor? Then I notice at the end of the article it says "she'd been in and out of jail." The underprivileged schoolhouse, that's what I like to call it. The entire Black Population in Brooklyn is being enrolled in school by the local police, that's one reason why I had to flee Brooklyn in the 80s because the cops there are nuts. They are quick to toss your ass behind bars for the slightest infraction. The jails, errr I mean schoolhouses, are filled entirely with Blacks. But that's another gripe.

The district attorney says Kisha Jones then called Hunter from a doctor's office, so the doctor's caller ID would appear on Hunter's phone, and disguised her voice. She reportedly told Hunter to pick up the prescription and that she had to use it immediately so her child wouldn't get Down Syndrome. Hunter went into early labor and gave birth prematurely the next day at Kings County Hospital.

How in the fuck is this woman making phone calls from Doctors offices? How is she getting her hands on prescription pads? She must work in the medical field, around doctors where she can slip around and do all of this. Maybe she even learned about Cytotec from them? NAAAAAH! DON'T YOU BELIEVE IT. This bitch was one crafty motherfucker. Like they say, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' that's what this shit is. But what I still don't get is why her man didn't wake up one morning with NO DICK! Shit, let that shit be me!! I would wake up with my cock in my breakfast cereal. This bitch goes after a mother and child! And I shouldn't say MOTHER, because:

Police say Jones didn't stop there. She then had two bottles delivered to the hospital that supposedly contained the mother's breast milk, but the hospital told the DA that they instead held poison.

Now we see who she was after to knock off. Not her straying dick husband, not the hoochie-mama who's got her ass up in the air, noooooo. She goes after a FETUS! She goes after the lying, conniving, sneaking around her back and fucking her over, FETUS! What the fuck?! Really, what the FUCK is going on here?! Am I missing something? I mean, clue me in here. This BITCH IS CRAZY! AND she's from BROOKLYN! The whole fucking mental defective mess of them are. Fuck, I am completely floored. I still don't know how the hospital caught the poison laced bottles of breast milk. Somebody was suddenly doing their job. I see the doctor with the prescription pad, the doctor with the phonecall, and the pharmacy sure as hell weren't. They should really be charged with complicity to this damn near murder.

Police are looking for the man who actually delivered the poison to Kings County Hospital meant for the baby. They say it was not Jones' husband, the father of the child.

The most disturbing of it all is that there was a male accomplice. Who the fuck is this? She convinced another thinking human being to help her with this wild plot? Impossible. She probably fooled him, telling him that it was normal breast milk being delivered. Because the alternative would mean any number of things. One that there is another nut loose in Brooklyn. Two, she may have forgiven her man of shit because she herself was grabbing her ankles for this guy. She is just as bad as the bitch that she DIDN'T try to kill.

I hope that there isn't another accomplice in this shit, because it bothers me. This is what my entire post is about today, this crazy bitch. Sorry. And do you want to know something?? When Kisha pleads insanity how many of you out there thinks that she'll get it. Yeah, if this premie dies in the hospital emergency room she may spend the rest of her life behind bars (I wonder, why didn't she think of this prospect beforehand?) while her children will be without a mother...or maybe she didn't see it this way, but there is a happily ever after for Anthony and Monique, who can now make a nice little love nest, and raise their five children together in blissful harmony.

I bet she'll think of that outcome for the rest of her life, while she's eating all the jail pussy she doesn't want.

Hobobob