New Years EVE

Happy New Year to the whole world. Not that the whole world reads my blog.

" If you were coming in the Fall , I'd wind the months in balls and I'd put them each in separate drawers. " - Emily Dickinson.

My New Years wish;

I hope that I have my own house to live in.
I hope I have my freedom.
Not for a day or a year.
For the rest of my life or until I want to move on my own.
I hope this year is great to everyone. 
I hope this year ends all war and hatred all over the world.
I hope I lose weight and not for a day.  
I hope I get healthy and happy.
I hope I never let anymore sh'theads into my life again.
I hope I never get raped again.
I hope I live in a clean place that is decorated the way that I want.
I hope I do not have a reason to cry at all.

Skin Deep

   

Skin Deep

I can feel this.  
It cloaks me.
I can feel it inside of me.
I am listening to Phil Collins and
lighting candles.
I ran out of reasons to give a shit yesterday.
I'm so irritated by this that it burns.
I' m just trying to relax.
I lay in the cold floor and try to not think about it all.
No rest comes. I'm alone and broken up inside.
Sick of this and pissed at that.
Pointless as it is.... 
AS tiring as it can be...  
I never fall asleep on time.
Not until I'm expected to be awake.
Then before I think I'll die of exhaustion , 
I am happy like a bipolar whore.
Only I'm not a whore and I'm not bipolar.
I just have more then one thing going on in my life.
How anything could matter that much, I'll never know.
I never got to the point of that either.
Just like before.
One more thing to add to the list of things that will tare me in two.
Some times when I pray, I wonder if I bow my head 
out of the weight on my shoulders.
Or
If I am just doing what I'm told.
As shameful as I get, You'd think that I'd be regretful
 or that I would want to cry myself to sleep.
I do not think that anyone regrets something that makes them happy.
Especially when nothing else does.
They have an epidemic for sale.
Everyone answer my phone.
They took all my desire away.
It is not right that you found it.
Not when you have no other intentions then to break me.
It is okay to love someone new.
I'm just getting sick of starting over.

What does that feel like?

Probably like crap.  I wish that the rules that you pay for with your taxes applied to reality.  It is annoying to put up with crap.  I keep seeing all these horrible things in the news.  I cannot believe that stuff like that goes on in the world.  I still feel like crap.  I am trying to eat better. I have no idea in the world why life cannot be halfway fair. I get that it is unfair but every day to just punch you in the face like that.  It is so wrong.  

Someone asked me if  I wanted a Victorian home to live in the other day. Not because they had one to give. They wanted to know if that was what I was looking for.  I love those homes but not exactly.

I just keep getting dumb people bothering me.  That guy has a woman in his life who wants to cry wolf.  Too late for that, the whole world got to see her bs story on Face Book.  

What is going on in my life.
SAME SH'T 
Different Day.  - From Dream Catcher

Am I supposed to fall in love with someone.?  
That is a dumb question.

The Star of Jacob

I do not know what to write in this one.  I have learned a lot about my nationality and I have different ideas then I once did in childhood.  I have a made a lot of friends all over the world and I wish them a happy new year.
So I do not know what to say.

Happy Holidays.
Merry Christmas.
Happy new year.

I hope you enjoy winter.  It does sugar coat the world and make it beautiful in a snow globe way.  The world is never that pretty.

Life is very short but it is the longest thing that you'll ever do.  So you should enjoy it as much as you can.  No one should be unhappy.  

I do not know what to put in this one.  So here is some winter warmth.

                                                         Best Winter sweets
                                         Apple cream.

To make Apple Cream;

In a large pan you will put a layer of vanilla wafers .

In a bowl, you will put 24 oz of cream cheese.
A spoon of butter.
Four cups of sugar.
A spoon of Honey.
A 4th cup of Irish Whiskey
A table spoon of cin
A table spoon of ginger
8 OZ of Whipped Cream

Blend all of the bowl together.
Pour the creamed mixture over the crusted up vanilla wafers.

On the stove top take six green apples and peal and dice them up.
In a large pan on the stove put 2 sticks of butter and let it melt.  Put a cup of Brown sugar in the butter.  Let it melt but not burn.
Put a 4th of a cup of heavy cream in the butter mixture.  Let it heat a bit and then 
Put the apples in and stir them up.
Once the apples have been covered and have heated up.  Pour the whole lot of apples into a non stick pan and heat them up in the oven until they are forkable.  Then put them over the cream cheese cookies.


Winter Cake
A red velvet cake that has been made in rounds.

Pour white chocolate over the rounds and then layer them on top of each other.  Take cream cheese icing that you make or buy and put it on the the cake.  Do not put ten pounds of frosting on any cake.  No one wants a mouth of shaving cream.  The crust is not the pie and the frosting is not the cake.
Take chocolate shavings and sprinkle them all over the cake.
Then take pomgran fruit and pour it over the top of the cake.

By the Diver's hand

                                                              By The  Diver's Hand
                                                           A   Fictional  Short  Story 
                                                                             BY;
                                                                Jessica   Singleton

                                                              

                              I meet the same people in my own reoccurring passage.  I never remember them .  They do not care if I know who they are.  Their only plan is to make me their victim over and over.  They seem to enjoy watching me dye by their own hands.


Date BonDay was a pilot that worked for a private a man who owned a plane.  The very wealthy man only needed Date for his private ride when it suited him.  Date was paid well enough but he still had a side job.  The job was mostly gambling and drinking.  It paid at different times and it did not pay at others.  But it was his part time life choice.
Date's home was an apartment that over looked a lot of brick buildings in a big city.  He wanted a vacation but he knew that he could not afford it.   His roommate was a cat named spike.  Spike got his name because when he got the itch the cat would use his claws to be a dj on the furniture.  There was a leather couch in the living room, with a picture of Frank Sinatra hanging above it.  The TV was a box set that looked like it crawled out of a horror movie.  The bedroom was a mattress set stacked up and a fan.  Above the bed hung a picture of a piece of Escher art.  A book shelf sat in the corner.  It's shelves were lined with Patterson, King and Clansey and Dickens books.  The lower shelf was cluttered with CD's.  Run DMC, the Beastie boys, Aerosmith, The WHO,  Springsteen, Billy Idol , Joy Division  and Led Zepplin.  
There was a lamp on a suitcase that sat by the bed.  In the closet there were his clothes and a trunk.  The trunk held all his personal papers and photos of the past.  It was a day that could pass away without mention.  It had a been a long year. Something had to happen.  There was no point in getting drunk.  That would not take a load out of anything.  It would cost money and then leave like a bitch.  He'd have a shot gun headache and still have to get up for work.  Mr. Boss man needed no one to fly him anywhere.  He usually did not take his own plane. Not unless he did not want the trip on the tax papers.  He went commercial when he wanted to do business. That way he could put the tab on the client.  
That is when the big idea of a sneaked in free vacation came to Date.  He had that plane to himself.  The boss man and no one else would notice it missing.  Why not just barrow it for a day and go to the cost?  That made sense to Date at the time.  It really did.
So he made his plan.  Boss man would be leaving for a few days next month.  Date would be in control.  The house staff for boss man would be out.  No one would notice it.
So the next month came and Date took a flight by himself.
When he hit the jungle area near a private area, he brushed up against some poisonous plants.  The breaking of the leaves drugged him...  The vents picked up on the fumes.  
And Date got high.
Date wanted to take a short cut.  He flew over the ocean.  Then he realized that he was caught up in a tree.  In reality outside of his drugged up state, he was just positioned over the ocean.  Then he heard the odd noise from behind him.  He turned around, it was his boss.  
Big fat Riper boss man walked up to sit by Date.  The boss man looked odd. His skin was rubbery looking.  
Are you sick?
No why?
You look odd.
That is when the tree broke.
The plane hit the water.
They sunk down into the darkness.
When he turned over in his seat, Date realized that his boss was not a human but an octopus who wanted to kill him.
Date had turned into a little girl.
Then he realized that he was in hell.
He was on fire.
But he was not really on fire.
He was drugged up and he had water in his nose and that burned.


                          Two days later;

They found Date at the bottom of his boss's swimming pool.  He got drunk on 50 year old scotch that belonged to his boss and he tripped on a cord and fell face first into his boss' pool.


                                                         The   End  

                                   

The Trust

The Trust



Shades of pink faded.
And now your love has blushed away the day.
You'll never be here again.
Forgotten in time but not today.
Today you are everything.
Everything that is never mine.
Just like everything else.
It rushes in and leaves with the tide.
Everything that was carved into the ground now invisible to my eyes.
Nothing replaces the trust.
Nothing like Vodka and blush.
Pushed away from me now.
Nothing within reach can fill this void but 
it can take away the time, that it takes to forget the trust.
Broken Memories flying out of control on strings up into my pink sky.
Swirling around in circles like children set free on playgrounds.
Out of my control and drunk with pain.
They'll dance all over your face of photos.
I try to understand how to remember but I have no way back to where I was.
Now I just don't trust anyone.
I abuse them from a distance.
I push at them with what I have for you.
When I'm not giving them what you should own by now.
I do not understand why if you're going to break it in that many pieces.
If you'll just damage me that way,
why you did not finish the job.
It made it that much more hurtful and wrong.
Not that I want to die.
I think I'm already there.
I just don't understand why I trusted you so easy, when there was never a sign that you even cared.

Pencil

If there was a song for today- It would be Red Rain or Hard Candy Christmas.  Do not ask me why?  You will not get an answer.  I should prove that I'm me.

Washed of this.

Put me down inside of that place that only you seem to know.

You seem to be the only one there.

I hate climbing out of this.

I push it out of me.

I ignore it until it burns my eyes.

I just fall over inside and crawl out alive.

Back in my dream, you'd think I would not get lost.

As many times that I've been here.

But it always feels new.

Like I do not know what this is.

Right in front of me.

There you are.

There you go.

And I just can't let this go.

I am fighting it hard.

I'm out of breath and I'm losing time.

My head is a pendulum and your hands are in my way.

Brought down and pushed out.

Just like my own feelings.

I cannot deal with them when they touch me like that.

I'm molested by my own private hell.

Wash me father.

Take it all away.

Make me Hallow again.

Take what he is away.

My prayers are silent films and my hope is a child on a milk carton.

Tremble by Jessica Singleton a fictional story

               

                                                                  Tremble 
                                                                        By;
                                                          Jessica  Singleton
                                                          A  fictional  story 


                                                                                                                                                                           

                                  

A fact is something that can be proven.  An opinion is just free to have and share. An opinion does not have to comply with norms of society.  But paranoia is the opinion that puts you on medication and locks you up in  an asylum.

And all it was, was my own opinion. 

Now I'm locked up inside.

They say that you are the only owner to your mind's door.  So no one can unlock that door but you.  When you dream at night, it does not appear to be that way. You can't seem to shake the way it all seems so real.  

He was tall and thin. He could sing like an angel.  But his mind was a coloring book that looked like a scribble war conducted by insane children.  

They kept him in the padded room. In the morning he was taken for his shower and then he was allowed to eat his breakfast in peace.  No one came to visit him. 

When ask how he felt or what he was thinking, he would never answer those questions. He would sit around talking about the balloons.  Not a circus or a party. No reason for the balloons but he had to talk about balloons.

I had worked there at the state ward for two years, when I first met him. I did not think anything. He was not scary to look at. He did not stink. I did not know him. I just did not get it.  I assumed he must have some childhood memory that  had to do with balloons.  It was not my job to give the patients therapy. So I never ask.  Balloons did not seem that interesting to me at the time. 

Part 2

Jim was walking down a long hallway to no where.  He saw the door finally. It had a big old skeleton key hole. Light was coming out of the key hole. Same dream as the ones before.  He walked to the end of the hallway.  Jim stood in front of the door and he did not try to open it again.  Something about that door scared the hell out of him. He could not remember what it was about that door that bothered him.  He just knew that the door kept something. Something that could not come out to play.

Welcome to hell.

This was the first time that he heard the stepping noises.  Now someone was walking on the hardwood floors on the other side of the door.  He did not know why but he did not move. He could move but he did not.  Something was getting itchy in his head. Like a bad taste in his mouth. He knew this feeling. It was like when you have to start over on something that you  had already done before. You already put a lot of time into. It makes your brain itch.  

The feeling had come home. 

Now he knew this did not make sense.

He was not doing the walking.

But he knew the one behind the door.

He knew how they felt.

Then he saw their eye ball looking out of the key hole. 

It looked like a woman's eye.

But when the person moved, they were not a woman and they were not human.

That made Jim nervous.

That thought again.

I have been here before.

But he was still lost.

Then he woke up.

Jim was sitting in his padded room again.

He noticed that the walls were not padded anymore.

The room was dark except a light coming from the window. There was an old chair sitting next to him.

Jim stood up to stretch his legs. When he heard the orderly coming down the hallway. That sound was always the same. The keys jingling and the footsteps. 

When the orderly came into Jim's room, he gave him his nightly medication.  The green pills made you sleep. The red ones helped you calm down.

But Jim was not sleepy.

All they let him do was sleep.

This was not a life.

This was a cage of regret.

This was like being mocked.

Jim pretended to take the pills.  He was sick of sleeping. It is not like they'd check on him in the middle of the night.

Once old nurse man was gone, Jim took the pills out of his mouth.  But that is when Jim realized that the orderly did not comment on the changed room.  The pills left a different after taste in Jim's mouth tonight.  It was like a cough liquid that had aged so much that it was lethal now.

He threw up in his floor.

Those pills they tried to give him, once exposed to spit or wet from his mouth, they seemed to expand.  They had a balloon effect.  The pills turned into balloons.  Then they exploded in thin air.  What came out of them was a liquid that ate up the floor. Thank heavens they did not do that to his stomach.

Jim saw something that the orderly left in his room. It was his medical chart.  The chart did not have the usual history of the patient.  It had a list of things to do.  It was instructions on how to make balloons. Not normal modern day balloons but vintage balloons that were made from the bladders of dead animals.

That did not make sense.

Why did the hospital do this to him.? This was a hospital not a circus.

The event took place three different times before Jim saw his padded room again. He kept telling all the orderlies what happened that night. 

He even begged them to move him to a new hospital.

No one cared.

Then one night Jim woke up to the balloons again.  Only this time the door to his padded room was left open. He walked out of the room.  That is when he found himself in the same hallway as before.  This time, when the eyed creature was done looking out at him, it opened the door.  Jim found himself standing face to face with himself.  The part of himself that made him that way.

It was hard to know that part of himself existed.

Once he faced the truth, then he stopped going through the dreams.

Jim got better and he moved into a room that was not padded.

The darkest part of me stays in it's own company.

So no one can see it

So no one can hurt it.

The End

One Golden Pearl by Jessica Singleton ( A fictional Story )

                                                                 One  Golden  Pearl
                                                                   A  fictional  story
                                                                               by;
                                                              Jessica  Anne  Singleton
                                                           

When I was a little girl I threw pennies into water fountain gardens. I closed my eyes and I made a wish that no one else could know about.

Now I'm an adult and I contain my own water fountain.

I make my own fate and I do not wait on things that never existed to begin with.

Part  1  

The  past of me.

My first memory of my grandmother was when I was three years old. She was getting ready for church. She had pin rollers in her hair. She had a tea cup on her dresser and she had this pretty bottle of perfume that smelled like flowers.  I was playing at her feet. My grandmother wore a pearl necklace that belonged to her mother.  It meant something to her.  No matter what I did, she was always there for me. My parents worked to much to raise me. So I spent most of my time with my grandparents.  My grandfather loved football and pipes. My grandmother always knew just what to say to make me feel welcomed in their home. They made me feel like I had a home too.  One Sunday when it was my birthday, my grandmother let me wear her pearls.  She said that I looked like her younger sister who had died in their childhood of the scarlet fever. After church, my grandmother took me out to eat.  We had restaurant cake. It was chocolate and it felt like heaven. I had no friends yet. I was to young to play outside much on my own. Then my grandparents took me back to their house.  When we got there my grandfather came out with three boxes.  One had a Barbie.  One had a Madame Alexander Doll and one had a pretty new dress.  The new dress was cream colored and pink.  It looked like a dream.  I was so happy.  When I was 20 years old, I was in my last year of college when they finally passed away. My grandparents never saw me graduate college. My parents did not have time to come to my big day.  I went out to eat alone and I had restaurant cake by myself. I majored in Design.  I got lucky with  getting a job. I worked at a big company.  And that is where my story starts.

Part 2

I went to Star Bucks after work. It was a cold November afternoon. I do not know why but all day at work, I just could not get warm. So all I wanted was something to warm me up inside. That coffee shop is like something out of  The Wonka Factory. It just taste like heaven.  I wanted to look at the mail that was in my purse. So I sat at one of their tables and I looked through a few envelopes that came. Mostly bills and bank statements. The rest was junk. This odd man came in and he was talking on his cell phone. He was not cussing anyone out but he was loud enough for everyone to hear him talking. It was annoying. I do not know why but I just did not want to hear him. So I got up and I left with my drink. I do not have a problem with noise. I just found myself annoyed to no end by his scratchy voice and his pointless  conversation.  It is odd because when you're at home and people are at your house, you leave the room to talk on your phone. Even when you know the people at your house, you do not want them hearing it. But people go in public around complete strangers and they talk as loud as they can. But it did not make me laugh. I had one of those long days and I got away from all those loud people at work. Only to go into public and get to hear the most pointless conversation amplified up to concert levels. I was not mad. It is not like I was going to take out an add in the local paper. 

I took the transit home. 

My apartment is rent to own. It is one bedroom. The view is not great. But it is home. I do not live in a bad area. I just do not live on Park Ave.  I decorated my own home with art and color. I like winter a lot. It reminds me of the good parts of my childhood.  My boss had a new job for us.  It only came to our office because my boss's wife is the editor of Movement Magazine.  Movement magazine is a fashion magazine that empowers women. It constantly shows off what clothes can do in photography. In the sense- A PICTURE says 1000 words. Examples;

A vintage picture of women standing in line to vote. Then a line of women in other countries hoping to get a bowl of food. Because they live in a country that is undeveloped.  In the women's right to vote, they are turned out if they are not in Sunday's best.  But in the third world, they cannot afford shoes.  It takes all they have to buy a piece of bread to eat. It moves people. 

Movement decided that they wanted to finally do a charity event.  So they want to pay for 10 inner city girls to go to college.  Our office is in charge of everything from decorating the room that will be used for the party.  We have to start now. The party is in January.  They start and pick girls their 11 th grade year in high school.  That way there is time. The night of the event, the girls get a make over and a custom dress made just for them. I then get a memo from my boss saying that I'm in control of the whole decorating event.  How does that work?  I call a Hotel that is big enough to have a dinning room slash ball room that can seat 100 people comfortably and then I set up the menu for the night. Hotels have kitchens to cook in but with an event like this..... You have to hire out for the cake and drinks.  The dresses that the girls are going to wear are the worst part. You have to get the girls to meet you somewhere in New York.  Take them to a dress shop that takes sizes in the store by a TAILOR.  Then you cannot just buy them a dress.  The reason, the magazine snubs it.  Why?  They do not advertise for unknown designers.  So you either find a person in the phone book who can sew or you get to pay millions for a name brand designer to make the dresses. The budget for the night is tight. There is not millions for that.  So today I FIND out that I get to make their dresses.  You cannot make the dress until their senior year in high school. Because if the girls grow then you wasted your time. You will start over with the whole dress. The publishing house that owns the Magazine is using this event to show off their 50th anniversary and all they have done for NEW YORK CITY. So next year when the event actually happens, it will not only be for the girls but for them.  The colors of the outside of the magazine are dark red.  So the Editor wants all of the girl's dresses to be done in dark reds.  Besides doing all this, I get my usual work load to deal with. That sounds about like it is.

One big headache.

My mother is a photographer who lives in England.  I do not keep up with her.  My father lives in Washington.  He is a doctor.  He is always doing charity work over seas.  So I do not see him either. 

I spent my Thanksgiving with friends.  We watched silent films and went out for pizza.  I got a new book at this store that only sells vintage books. Emily Dickinson is my idol.  I love her work. I am not her and I'm not obsessed with her.

I found a Hilton hotel that is huge.  They let me buy the room for the night in advance.  I called a cake company that can make a gold cake.  I even found a fabric store that sells great material for dresses.  All the dresses are a different shade of dark red. I never realized how many colors of red there was.

Time flew by and then it was January and it was the news years eve ball drop. I was at home sewing and watching that rocking eve thing on TV. I had take out Chinese.  That golden ball reflected off all the glass windows and it looked like a wish.  It reminded me of throwing pennies into water fountains in childhood and then making wishes.

The next year,  when it was January I had everything done.  But then the night before the event, I realized that I forgot to buy me a dress.  Everyone has that one thing.  I owned one pair of shoes that would work for the night. I had a pair of pastel blue Prada Shoes.  But no dress. There was no time to buy one. I also did not have anything in my closet that would work for the night.

Then I found my mother's old wedding dress. It had enough material to cut up and make anything out of.

The material was old vintage silk.  I had my grandmother's pearls but the string that held them had long since broke.  

I had this broken chandelier that hung in my living room.

So what can you do?

My apartment turned into the easy bake oven version of put it together and hope it works.

I CUT the dress to look like a one shoulder Greek God's dress.  It was backless.  I took some of the Crystals from the Chandelier and a few of the pearls, then I made a few different strands of pieces.  They swung down the back of the dress. Like a backwards necklace that acted as the buttons of the dress. That made it easy to get out of without breaking the chains.  The pearls and crystals hid my bra. I had to wear strapless due to the shoulders.

The front swung in and the material stopped when it hit the top of my right shoulder.  I put the remaining pearls on that part to hide the stings.  It looked like a vintage broach.  I wore my baby blue shoes and I put my hair up.

I met a lot of people at the party. They liked my designs and they bought them off me. I made enough money off my dress alone, that I could buy my own home and buy whatever I wanted to furnish it.

My life got better and everything worked out.

The END

The inside of my jewelry box a poem by me

The Inside of my Jewelry Box by Jessica Singleton

The color of Valentine's Day cards
wrapped around a purple sky.
Dusted in my moonlit day dreams.
Swept me away in a fairy-tale. 
I did not cry today like I did yesterday. I did not wake up.
And it kept me alive.
I did not want to die.
It's embrace calmed me from my mirror.
That is not my release.
My release comes from within.
And it sings me to sleep.
I wake up breathless.
I fall asleep in fantasy and I don't want anything to happen to these keep sake boxes.  
Because as unhappy as I was before, would only echo inside of whats left of me.
I know I should push it away while I can.
Something like that will belong to anyone else the day that I wake up.

Pitch Magic Marker I dyed my hair again

I dyed my hair earlier today. I went with black but I left a strip of the old. Just so I can show that I'm still me.  I went out to pay on my storage unit today. It seemed to go normal. I stopped at the Arvest bank that is in Dewey just in case. I had the cash left over so we went by the Dollar General Store that is in that town. I needed soap.
I really do not have anything to say.  I am sick and tired of people telling me that I should wait to get my life back because they want to dick around some more with their stupid employees. It is not my fault that they want to play Russian Roulette with my life. Find a new pig. Hell they have enough whores to go around.
I am sick of this.
Let them all go to jail.
I am human and I should be treated like a human.
I do not have to eat off of a silver platter but I am not going to eat out of the dirt.
Here are pictures to prove my hair is officially dyed.

And the wind outside is walking through your window

Does it take less time to yell then to just try?
Who knows?
CAUSE I doubt anyone takes the time to count the seconds when they live their life.

I went out today to apply for an apartment.  I keep hitting the walls with this. This time almost sounded like he was being honest.
He was okay I guess.
I am not a happy person.
It is not because I suffer from Depression.
That is a sideline to a bad paragraph that I have never edited. 
I doubt I'll ever get around to finding a cure for that.

I am not a smoker.
Now I smoke sometimes.
I know it is bad.
I do not feel well.
I do not like the way I feel.
No I will not kill myself.

The day only brought on a new reason to not speak again.
I have no reason to talk to them.
They are assholes anyway.
I do not care.
They look for reasons to make me apologize for something that I never did.
What were you thinking?
I think now what I thought then, you are an asshole.
Write that down and shit on it.

The play list for today would read like a good menu.
1. A boat lies waiting by David Gilmour 
2. Patients by GNR
3. Come Undone by Placebo
4. Sometimes by Depeche Mode
5. Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin
6. Land of Confusion by Genesis
7. Red Rain by Peter Gabriel 
8. This Celluloid Dream by AFI
9. No Sleep Till Brooklyn by Beastie Boys
10. UnHook The Stars by Cyndi Lauper
11. Victim of Circumstance by Joan Jett
12. No need to argue by The Cranberries
13. Harvester of Sorrow by Metallica
14. Working Class Hero by John Lennon

If I wanted to dedicate a poem to the day that I keep having it'd be;
Tragedy by JS

If this was a picture, it'd be a red balloon handed to a kid with razors for fingers. Happy fucking Thanksgiving.
I am thankful to God in heaven.
But ON THIS SHIT HOLE EARTH, 
I am NOT thankful for a damn thing.
So fuck em all.

Hatred in the shad of pitch

I never stopped caring.
I never learned how so many let it go.
I'm sorry to the parts that are hollowed and broken.
And know that nothing will fill this void.
Not now and not tomorrow.
It takes more then I what I have to forget.
So I push every moment in front of me.
Spoon full of medication.
Squinted eyes.
And I still feel it when I close my eyes.
That is me there.
This is me now.
The same.
But less willing.
by ME Jessica A Singleton

Someone asked me if I cared the other day.
Do I care about the issues that do not revolve around my head?
How could I not.
I just don't think that there is a reason to talk to the people who did this.
They do not care.
They are covering it up.
So Why should I tell them if it hurts.
This happened almost 10 years ago.
Now you bring it up once, I've had time to heal.
It is not over and it is not fair.
What can I say?
You are the problem.
You caused the problems.
You stitched it all together.
You did this in vain.
You are to blame.
But you force it upon me.
Then you mock and black mail me with nothing.
Literally.
I have to get out of bed.
I have to clean myself.
I have to eat.
Then when I do not deal with the struggles of this.
I have a set of lungs too.
I have to breathe.
And you act like because you wanted to violate me now, that I should stop my life to talk to you about the past.
I don't have much of a future.
I don't have much of a present.
I live on other people's needs.
I have no one to turn to.
No one cares and if they do, they sure do not know how to make me feel that.
I feel alone not lonely.
How do you think it feels.????
I really do not think I want to make anymore time for you.
You 've taken up enough of my time.
P.S. I took another pregnancy test the other night.  The results are that I am not pregnant.
I got some boots with feathers.

Scars of Yesterday a short story by me Jessica A Singleton

Broken down sitting at your feet,
I know you'll see me down cause
there is not a moment when you're not watching me.
I have little respect for you.
You might notice this and it pisses you off more.
And I cannot take much more, so I blink and breathe in and then out.
Then I apologize for your mistakes.
I take it all on likes its mine alone.
Thats about how it will end to.
I know someday you'll find your own time is wasted and gone, but until
eternity finally wakes up, then I all I have is the scars of yesterday.
They wrap themselves around me.
Taking away any part of me that is still visible.
So I look like a giant road map.
Am I left without the ones that I loved forever?
I know the answer to that leaves me looking the other way.
All I have left is the scars of yesterday.



There is a lamp that has been burning bright since 3 AM.  That is when the insomnia kicked in.  I thought at that hour, a bathroom break and a sip of water would relax whatever part of me wanted to go to wake up.
The witching hour is the moment when the doors open from this world to the next.  But like the unsettled spirits of the world, I was up for good.
I did not find rest.
I even tried breathing exercises.  No luck there either.
What I did find though was a box full of pictures that made me remember yesterday.  Everything that I thought that I'd put away.
Every life is a life.
The moment it begins to breathe on its own.
No life should weigh less then any other one.
I read a magazine and I counted the socks in my sock drawer.
Alone is silent but it is familiar.
It is weird to be around anyone for longer then it takes to say hello.
No one was ever there.
But I promised myself that I would get past this and someday it would be fixed.
I hate most of Hollywood.
Watching movies does not please me the way it once did.
Now I just want to avoid anything that reminds me of yesterday.
But once I awoke, I got a call and I got into a new apartment building.
I have no idea why that helped but it did.
I got so lucky.
Then I got my life back.
I never had problems sleeping again.
I was not treated like dog meat either.
The End

Chinese character in line a poem by me

I have no idea if I want to blog all the bad stuff in life. It is not the time. All I will do is use the F word.

So I will write something that is from a good part of me.


I do not know what to say.
It is kind of early.
Not because it does not mean anything.
and not because I do not feel anything.
I do not want to wake up someday and realize that it is gone.
I keep making myself forget you.
I am so afraid that I'll just bother you.
Mostly because all I do is linger around you.
I do not mean to.
I don't get to keep anything.
It has always been taken from me.
Plus I can see the rarity of what I found.
It is not on sale.
And no one has had a chance to see it yet.
I'm one person and I'm so broken and paranoid that even if you did not run away,
I'd wear you down with time.
Like a wind up toy given that runs out of time from wear and tare and someone growing out of it.
I don't mean to sound like I need to be patronized or bandaged.
This is not your fault or your job.
If you could see all the chips in the glass and all the glitter on the ground, then
you probably would not think about how pathetic that this sounds.
I just almost met you.
and I'm sorry that I did not meet you before.
Maybe you could have seen me all brand new.
You're shiny and you feel perfectly around all my cracks and scars.
You don't bother me and you don't hurt me.
You seem to interest me.
and I think that if you ever wanted to , with the way that I already feel, you could break me in so many pieces that I'd never be on a shelf again.

A glass of the past. A fictional story by me Jessica Singleton

                                                          A  Glass  Of  The  Past  ;
                                                                       By;
                                                          Jessica  Anne  Singleton
                                       A fictional story that will never happen anywhere.


Once upon a time there lived a man who loved art and design in all aspects.  He was a very wealthy man.  He was always building a new home and then selling it before he could live in it.  Then one day he wanted to try something new.  So he bought an old Victorian house that sat on a Virginia Country landscape.    The house was just beautiful.  But because of the time that it was built, there was no in door plumbing and he had to re do the whole house.  He took his time with the house. Just to make it picture perfect.   When he was working on the house he saw that it had a grave yard behind it.  It was a private family plot.  The grave yard sat by a white pumpkin garden and a white rose garden.  He had most of the graves moved in town.  But he forgot the one on the edge.  It was the grave of a ten year old boy.
Once the house was finished, he wanted to throw a Halloween fall party for all his friends. Once his friends saw how lovely the house was, he'd tell them that it was for sale.  
The night of the party, the man had a 1920's theme and everyone was dressed up in flapper costumes.
During the party, the man was looking out the window.  Everyone at the party had commented on the rain.  The rain was a frosted fall mist that made the world look like something out of a snow globe.  He saw the pumpkin patch.  He hated that pumpkin patch. He told those workers to get rid of it. But they did not listen.  That made him very mad.  He was drunk.  He had been drinking red wine all night.  Before he could stop himself he walked outside to the wood shed.  He grabbed the first ax that he could.  He ran out into the driving rain to hack up the pumpkins.  Then he looked down and he saw blood all over the place. The roses and pumpkins were bleeding blood.  When he bent down, he saw that the blood was wine. He'd thrown up all over the place.  It was on his bow tie as well.
He walked back into the house. He went to the tiny bathroom inside of the office he made.  When he was in there he looked up in the mirror and he saw the reflection of the room behind him.  There was an older man sitting at his desk. The man had grey hair and he was going bald.   The man was not in the right costume for the evening.  He looked a few hundred years before the 1920's.  The man was drunk and he did not want to make a scene.  He had so many friends, heaven only knew who this older man was.
The older man was writing in an old leather bound book at the roll top desk.  
The older man looked up at him and he said in a soft but stern voice;

" Sir, I believe it is time to settle your debt.  You own me 5 dollars and 79 pennies. I will take that price now."

" If you are looking for five dollars then you are so cheap that I'd think you did not deserve it. Why do I owe you five dollars? "

" Sir, this is my home.  It has been in my family for two generations. That out back there, is my pumpkin patch. My wife wanted a rose garden. My boy is ill and he wanted pumpkins. My boy died last winter of scarlet fever. So the gardens wall in his final resting place. I will need money for the seeds and replacement of destroyed property.  Your debts mean no more to me then your insults. "

" Here if it is that big of a deal. "
Then he threw a hundred dollar bill on the table.  The older man stood up and he said;

" I do not need that price , hell boy you did not hack up my home. "

But the younger man walked out of the room.
He went back to the party.  A few minutes of looking out the window and he had to go to the bathroom to leak out all that wine.
This time he went to the hallway bathroom. 
When he was in there he could smell roses again.  He turned and he saw the vase that sat on the counter. It had fresh roses in it.
They were bright red and bright orange. The garden only had white roses.  That is when he was going to walk out of the bathroom.  One of the party goers were walking in to the bathroom.  It was a woman.
She put her hand to her mouth and nose.  

"Oh my what is that horrid smell? "
It was The flowers.
They both looked over.
They were white roses after all but they were covered in red wine and shrimp throw up.  The smell in the bathroom was too much.
They both left the bathroom.
He apologized.
When he went back to the party, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
It was the old man again.
The old man handed him the hundred.
The younger man looked over in the mirror and through the view he saw the old man did not exist.
But the crowd had turned into vintage people that did not exist either, just in a reality kind of way.
So he looked out of the mirror and just at the room.
His friends were there again.
That night he went to bed.
He awoke in the middle of the night.
There was a thin ten year old boy standing at the end of his bed.  The boy had a blank look on his face.
Then he raised the ax that was leaning against the end of the bed.  The boy began to laugh hysterically and he threw the ax at the mans head.
It split open like a pumpkin.
When they found the dead man, the police took finger prints off the ax.
It had not been used for some time.
It had the finger prints of a child that died over one hundred years ago and the man who bought the house.


                                                                          The End



Happy Halloween everyone.

Happy Halloween

                                                      Have a dark and safe Halloween to all.


I love the fall. I also love Halloween. It is such a fun time of year. It is my favorite Holiday.  I do not have anything good to say. I could write a story.  I think that is what I will do.  I will wait and put it in here later today, that way it is proven that I wrote something.

Blue Violet Magic Marker Hair Dye job again

I dyed my hair again.    I put two different colors of blue on top of the blonde job that I did the other day.  I left the roots and the bangs blonde.  It is a regular blue color and then a violet blue color.  It reminds me of those Rainbow Brite dolls that I like.  My finger tips are blue too.  I do not have much to say. 
The quote for today is ;

S . S . D . D . =  Same Shit Different Day.  It is from a movie that I like called Dream Catcher.  That is not about this but it will sum up everything that I am feeling right about now.

I read all those William Blake poems that I bought.  He was good at what he did back then.  I guess I respect him.

Blake is not in my top five favorite authors but he was great.  I will give him that.  I wanted to clean my room.  Meaning I will finally fix my bed and spray it.

I would like to not think about it right now if that is okay.