Ok...no idea why this page is goin' up, probably 'cause I have no life...but then again, I don't know. Anyway...the first story was written early one morning. It was a weird mood, and I'd thought about waitin' to write it, then suddenly I jumped out of bed, got a piece of paper, a pen, and wrote 'til 3a.m.

One night, as I was lying in bed listening to "Iris", by the Goo Goo Dolls, I began to "daydream"...

I went and got high one night, while my love was with her other man, the man she could not bring herself to hurt by telling of our love. Somehow that night, while out with her best friend, we ended up at her house. As we sat on the couch and talked, he suddenly looked at me and asked, "So...are you the 'Mike' she has been tellin' me about?"

You see...she had told him about her "affair" with me, but not of how close we had become. As I sat quiet in thought, I looked at her and then said, "I don't know." Then looking at her I asked, "Am I the 'Mike' you've been talking about?" She looked at this other guy, replying, "Yes...this is Mike." As I sat and waited for all his tension to rise, he started screaming, "Oh..SO YOU HAD TO GET YOURSELF A FUCKIN' POTHEAD HUH?!?!?" THis had caused me to climb to my feet and yell back in frustration, "I'm not a God-damned pothead you fucker! The only reason I did it was 'cause I knew you were gonna be here! GO BACK TO HELL ASSHOLE!" Then suddenly, I had charged and slammed him against the wall, then, somehow, we had ended up in the middle of the front yard, punching and brawling. Then it got still...

From the distance behind me, I heard a voice, a familiar voice, HER voice, and, even though she had only yelled "MIKE!", it had sounded incredibly beautiful. I rose to my feet..as I stood, I could feel teh blood on my face, but it didn't matter, 'cause when I turned and looked at her, I could feel the tears falling from my eyes. I slowly walked to the end of the curb, sat down, and began to cry.

In the real world, the music was at the end of "Iris", where it gets louder and more dramatic...

She had come running from the porch down to me, where we hugged tightly, never wanting to let go, and she cried along with me...and I knew, I just knew...that things would be good...

Ok...so that last story was A LOT shorter than it looked on paper, and after reading it over, I realized I write funny sounding, and have crazy thoughts at 2 in the morning, but that's ok 'cause shit happens. :-) The next story was also written while I was in a weird mood. It's about a 70 year old mans life, but, again, when I read it over, I realized that it was written in a form of describing how my life has been in the past year, in some way, it fits.

The sad man walks along the lonely road. If he could only change the past 70 years of his life, where would he be? Would he still exist in this God-forsaken Hell called life? Or would he be in a paradise? Some place he could call his own, no worries, no fears, no stress, no pain. A place where the birds flew above with nothing to worry about. Where they wouldn't be shot for their feathers. Where the wolves could run freely, without being killed for furs. What if he hadn't commited the crime, the crime that landed him in jail for 5 years? Maybe with the knowledge he could have learned from college during those years, maybe with that he could have created the cure for AIDS, or found world peace, but instead, he sat in a jail cell crying for freedom, and reading random books of stories and poetry. He had written some poetry himself, although it wouldn't do him any good, it all burned when he commited the crime. Freedom, finally released from jail. With a record like his though, he had a hard enough time trying to hold down a job, much less go back to college. He remembers those times well, the late night bar-hopping, the whores and sluts that he would fuck and not give a damn about the next day. The occasion heroine shoot-up that started, but only to turn into an addiction that he couldn't control. The thoughts racing through his mind at that time....suicide, murder, rape, sacrifice...something to release his anger from his body. The long and painful road of homelessness soon followed. Nights on the street spent with no sleep for fear of being murdered, or robbed of his most prized possession, a half empty bottle of cheap wine, of which was bought from the last few dollars he had. Daytime was spent in a fear of being kicked out off of the parks benches and hauled back off to jail, ahhh yes, another time in jail, maybe that was in store with the way he was headed. Out of the fear of bein' arrested, he spent the rest of the day bumming for money, hoping someone would spend him more than a buck, than he could go buy himself another cheap wine. Food was of no importance to him...he would die without his wine anyway. He had once known what a "good" life was, riches had flowed from his family, limo-drivers, maids, servants, butlers...but now that he really needs help from his family, where are they? Where did all the "loving" bastards go? They left him after he finally did what he had been wanting to do for 18 years of his life as a child. Where could he go to get away from all his problems? How to leave homelessness? Then, a brave soul comes from the depths to help him. A brave "female" soul. She sees him on the streets one day, and realizes how handsome of a man he is under all the dirt and grime. She asks him to come back to her place for fresh clothes, a nice warm bath, and real food. He gladly goes, hoping that he will have his nightly perverted fantasies filled. They get back to her place, he's unGodly excited about tonight. She points him to the shower, grabs some nice clothes for him, a pair of khaki pants, and a short-sleeved button up shirt. He figures out how to operate the shower...he takes a nice warm shower. He then finds the razor and deoderant she had left out for him. He shaves the beard that had been growing for 2 years off, it always bothered him anyway. He walks out of the bathroom feeling much like a new man, except that he knows he will be back on the street tomorrow morning. He searches the house over, noticing a picture of a man in a marine uniform sittin' on the nightstand next to this ladies bed. But tied to the corner was a black ribbon. She was, obviously, a widow. He found her sitting in the family room...waiting for him patiently, something no one has done in a long time. She gets up and leads him back to the kitchen where he smells the sweetness of a roast in the oven. She pulls it out, it's been smothered in nicely cooked vegetables. They sit down to the table where two unlit candles stood. She pulled out matches and lit the candles. "My God...this is an angel sent from Heaven..." he thought. After dinner, they talked. His perversions of this beautiful woman turned into a sweet melody that he held for someone who wanted to take the time to help him out...and probably help him back onto the street when he wakes in the morning. Boy...was he wrong. He only awoke in the morning to see her sitting in the chair opposite his bed, staring at him. Their eyes connected...he got up, walked over to her, grabbed her hand, and kissed her lips. The kiss was slow, sweet, and he enjoyed touching her soft lips...maybe there was something there. And as it turns out, he COULD get back on his feet again. And he could...he got a job as a salesman, and was able to go back to college, although halfway through his life, now was better than never. He seeked drug and alcohol help programs. He was clean, and climbing the wealth and success ladder and record standards. He was now married to the angel that helped him. But...there is a downside to all of this. The wealth. Though it helped keep him off of the street, and made "everything"perfect. Everything except the hold he had on the angel. One more late night at work, and she would be off...forever gone. If he had only known sooner that the fights over her spending too much at the grocery store and to buy clothes would only do nothing but chase her away. And the day she left, he will remember well...for all that he could think was, "Fuck her! All she wanted was my money anyway!" And now, sad and lonely, he walks the road....alone. As he looks back, he would give the millions of dollars he had, just to hold her one more time, the only woman that cared for him not for the money, but for the love that they had shared...the love he will die without.

I know I know...this all sucks and has no point, but..ya know what? It's my site and you can't stop me, and I don't care if ya think I'm a terrible writer, it's my way of releasing emotion. The next one is a fucked up poem I wrote one night while online and thinking (of course) about everything...

I can tell what you're thinking by this point, and the answer is "No.." Not all my stories or writings are depressing...just most of 'em...this next one is fucked up, but I don't give a damn 'cause right now it's EXACTLY how I feel...