Salvation

Male Switch, 48, louisville, Kentucky

Male Dominant, 58, rochester, New York

Male Dominant, 40, Valencia

So, new story. I'm looking for a woman. I'm looking for a girlfriend. I take pride in my art. I love the sky. It's my favorite part of everything. I'm not quite sure how to spell favorite, but I'm pretty sure that, so far, I'm allright with it's exact Webster-specified spelling...yeah, we're on good terms now...it wasn't always like this. The room just tilted about 43 degrees. But it was just me. Sound waves and OBE's. Auditory shadows open a chasm, a patch. The gyroscope inside my heart, is spinning at a strange angle, I feel close to something far away, and she's an undiscovered angel. Facing a plunge, into the unknown, holding a grudge, against my Alone. To the isolated observer, of my planet of thought: Do not judge, only create. If newborns felt like demons, then we'd have no more war, we'd all be evil...all as one. The devil will have won the Holy war, and the word of gods death will spread afar. I'm left with choices to piece together my story, and I don't want to do it alone. I feel I need one, and only one, to be my muse, and I am hers: Art in beauty and carved in stone. Go forth and create, now, music-The Language of The Soul.

Bite my lip, and close my eyes, take me away to paradise.... ...Being my age in the nineties.... ...Being my age in the sixties... Fucking, the whole lot of my good-for-nothing, undermotivated, but wholly intelligent (mostly) and creative friends....I'm sick of them. I need to find a mate to run with. I want to work, save, get the essentials...then just go..travel anywhere. Sue me if I have dreams. I have a good imagination, and I like fucking stories, dammit. On a brighter note, I've taken some pictures down around the attic area over on 45th and Wordsworth Ave. The whole neighborhood is dead. Everyone is rotting, sucked in by the television. Not entirely hard to believe though, that the downfall of the greatest living nation was through brainrot via tele-nuclear waves generated by millions of idiots tuning in to American Idol at the same time. That combined with the rush of cellular energy used to call in and "vote" for the next big idiot who can sing exactly in the style of every other big pretty idiot allowed on that show. Somehow, I always knew that Seacrest and that shows producers were the antichrist in the form of creative, artistic-downfall of music....globally. All thats left after the intial blast was me and my records and tapes and cds running on various nuclear-citrus'. You see, after the planets initial destruction, the nuclear radiation ravaged every natural and living thing and made it something different. Now, citrus can power a motorcycle....extremely well. No gas either....crazy, right? Not that anyones around anymore. Just me. Me and the nightscreamers...

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