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I AM A 27 YEAR OLD GUY FROM FLOYD CO KY AND EVERY GIRLFREIND THAT I HAVE HAD CHEATED ON ME OR WAS SUCH A LIER .WHEN THE CHEATED ON ME THEY WENT TO GUYS THAT TREATED THEM LIKE CRAP!!!I WAS JUST WONDERING WERE ALL THE GOOD NICE SWEET SEXY GIRLS ARE AND WHY U RUN FROM THE GUYS THAT TREAT U GOOD ????

Granted, I haven't been here long, but...not impressed with the selection of males on here.

I did a search for guys within 50 miles of me, good span of ages, and got six pages of results. In those six pages I didn't find a single guy that interested me enough to write.

I hate to say I'm being too picky, because my requirements aren't many:

1. Have a picture. You can look like a space mutant, I just want to know that up front.
2. Be able to form a sentence.
3. Show a little originality!

The only thing I can think to do is resign myself to the possibility of a longer distance deal, and search farther out. I really don't know.

I was on my way out through the door yesterday when a reflex reach for my car keys in their designated section of my handbag came up empty. My heart sank. I had tidied up the house, clean sweep from room to room which means I no longer know to the millumeter where everything is and a quick scan of memory did not see the orange tag of the keys on any surface. I did the obvious.

Checked the pockets of what I wore last time I drove the car. Checked the yard just to be sure the car was there for either car or keys without the other is useless and I had told my sister she might use it if I didn't need it. Went downstairs and checked the car, stopped by my mother's place in case I dropped them there on the table with the newspaper. I searched. And searched again. My sister brought her eyes up also to help me look. When I found myself opening the freezer I realised I had no choice, the garbage must be checked because I have been known, when carrying in groceries to drop the keys into a bag for later retrieval. And I had thrown out all the emptied bags, filled with the results of my marathon clean up session.

Thirty smelly minutes later I had no keys. I also, finally, had the start of panic throbbing in my skull, dancing in my rib cage. So I showered once again, reclad myself in controlled corporate suiting as if that could make a difference, just having faith that I would actually be leaving,and scanned the room. And there, hanging in an insouciant curve on the doorknob, was a pair of blue cargo pants just like the cargo pants I wore on the last time I drove and had already checked. The keys were in the pocket.

I just gave myself a serious brainfreeze! Mango sorbet, soft and succulent , icy cold and golden, so sweet sliding down my throat then my! the instant and exquisite pain behind the eyes in perfect tempo with the ice cold shock behind the lungs on the way down; and now, pulse pounding, I want to do it all again!

Pain is an odd thing. If unseeing, you touch something hot or something severely cold, nerve endings just react, they cannot tell the difference and both will blister skin. Hypnosis can suppress the skin's reaction both in feeling and in injury while pain consented to is an unending pleasure. So is it all a judgment on our part? Emotional pain is still another story. Today should (I hate that word) have been my youngest sister's birthday. She died at thirty-five, aneurism in the brain switching off the lights instantly, no one at home. A brain freeze pain then nothing.

Five minutes ago I was down stairs installing a new internet connection for my mother and as she leaned into the light I saw her skull beneath the skin and her aura filled with greys and black and then it cleared. So I came up here to lose my self in sweetness and in cold, to hold the moment close and memorable and to feel pain shocking through my nerves, an anchor into life.

I have a choice, renew the flavour on my tongue more slowly this time or wash it away and have a cup of tea with a boring chocolate biscuit not even big enough to pose a threat to my waistline...or I could see what happens if I follow mango sorbet with a hot tea chaser, will I even notice if I burn? Life is always sweetest as you wander along the razor's edge unflinching. It only cuts and maims when you stop moving. Or that's my take on it.

I stretch and gaze at the ceiling through the mesh of pale green netting. When I first came back home every mosquito in the neighbourhood sent out an email...Fresh blood! Now two years later, I only get bitten when there is a crowd of them or during the day by those pesky dengue carrying critturs with white banded legs.

I still share my bed with piles of books, of magazines I use to coax my mind to focus, or sometimes to direct a dream to solve an issue I am struggling with. The knowledge is all there, just sometimes the pages seem stuck down a little. I prime the pump with words and concepts borrowed from others and let the miracle go to work.

I watch the ceiling and wait for thought to start, to find the flavour of the day. To settle my soul back into flesh - how do I know if I am alive? I am awake and when I sleep I dream or live a bright alternate life of conversations and impossible tasks accomplished, sleep is only rarely the dark well of unconsciousness I know from anesthesia and I believe my soul immortal so if at night I just change one state for another how do I know if the flesh will move come morning? It is always a moment of wonder when I feel that breath, that movement, that tiny ache or irritation of the skin as I rejoin the world of day.

The bed will move no more, I found a weakened brace that let the corners of one end splay just enough to shift the balance and position, a tilt that slid the mattress in fact but not to casual view. Details and attention hold the key to much in our quotidian patterns woven moment to moment in our doubts and exuberant discoveries, question and answer that lead and lead to more questions if we dare.

I get out of bed, feet split by sharp knives of arthritis on their first touch to earth, sweet agony that lasts an hour, maybe less. All the bones I broke and cracked while dancing make me pay and I pay gladly for the joy and passion that I drowned in daily over many years. I wander from the bedroom to the bathroom, hand through hair grooms my head, toothbrush wet and pasted, tap turned off, and I brush on the way to the kitchen to fill the kettle. The feral cats look up from the chaise and stretch in flirtatious curves, their daily dance for breakfast, squeezing their eyes closed in kitty kisses to seduce me. Already done, but their self serving affection for me is a welcome balm against the waking spirit.

I shall go to work today, the clamp of illness has eased its grip around my ribs and when I say good morning to the cats I do not croak. Yesterday it was four hours before my voice held a shape with any certainty. So, I am well and will shower soon, exchanging simple cotton casual for corporate black over a flash of sea shadowed turquoise and ballet flats in pewter.

My first cup of tea has warmed its way down, around and hunger stirs, demanding my attention. And I must feed the furnace of my being to support the words growing in the channels of imagination waiting to be born here or there on paper, to be spoken out loud and carried to some waiting ear, somewhere.

This is a question for men (white men in general)but anyone can answer it for me. I am just curious about something, we r all on here for a specific reason and that is to find someone true and real to find to be apart of our lives correct? Some of us r on here for just other reasons but the majority r really trying to find someone loving, so how come some of u never list black women under ur choices for race? I look at some men's profiles and I get so hurt and discouraged because race isnt important to me but when i see a white man's profile and he list every race except straight black but he will say mixed race im like confused.Maybe I am taking it wrong but when i read a mans profile and he seems to be all that i am looking for in a man and i see under his ethnic choices for a woman i see everything but black what am I supposed think? Can someone explain it to me, I mean what does it mean by mixed, u r willing to date a mixed race woman that could mean many types of mixed woman but what about just a regular black woman? This is why I am getting so discouraged with the whole dating thing or even trying to find anyone because if u r alone and loney and someone genuine takes an intrest in u but u turn them down because they r missing 1 out of 10 of the characteristics ur looking for and u never give them a chance to get to know them how r u ever gonna know if that person could have been the one for u? Maybe someone can shed some light on this for me or clear it up a lil better for me. Thanks for listening

On this day 53 years ago, I was born to my parents.

In heaven I was talking to God, he asked me if I wanted to come down to earth and live a life with other souls. I told him yes, I would just love to do that. So he sit me on his knee and showed me, what my new life was going to be. He showed me my parents, my brother , showed me my children, my grands and how things were going to be in this life. He also showed me what my purpose was. Then he sent me off , I ended up in my mothers womb, I was there for 9 months growing, kicking learning from the angles. The day came when I felt the first pain, the one that was going to send me out into the world. As I was going thur this Jesus came and held my hand, telling me everything would be ok. I saw a light a bright light as I was going thur the tunnel to earth. First my head, then my shoulders, then the rest of me. I was quickly taken away and put in a little bed. It was cold, and I could hear voices around me, I was so confused I cryed. I remember looking around seeing all these faces, and there was one that I knew, it was my mom. They handed me to her and I seen tears of joy running down her face. Oh now I know how it feels to be alive, and how I felt loved...

So Happy Birthday to me.....
And to anyone who was born in July.....

It is strange how time can make you change! I mean 2 weeks ago I was crying in my milk, missing him. I hated being alone......well NOT ANYMORE, I love it. I do miss having attention, and being kissed and touched. But doing things on my own accord, in my own way, because it is just me is AMAZING.

I want to live it up now! Here in Singletown, where you are the mayor, I want to go on dates and be free! I want to meet people and do WHATEVER i want, and here in Singletown you can! There are no rules, no regulations, NO one i have to worry about embrassing. Here in Singletown life is good. Although at times I walk to the border and gaze out on Marriageville, but I don't miss it as much as I thought I would.

Here in Singletown...I am me. I can be myself, say what I want, wear what I want, be who I want to be. Here is Singletown, life is free!

I remember New York amazed me in so many ways when I first moved there. I found it hard to believe that one could not buy codeine without a prescription when here in Barbados its OTC. Of course in NY they don't have flowers of sulpher and tallow candles on their pharmacy shelves either. Mix flowers of sulpher with ponds cold cream and use on tinea versicolor; tallow, you heat and pour over splinters or sea egg spines to help draw them out, although one can use vinegar on sea egg spines, it will dissolve them eventually. I had to take some esoteric ergot for my migraines where codeine swallowed at the onset of the aura stopped them in their tracks. Acupuncture works even better.

I also sought in vain for Friar's Balsam in NY. A dark aromatic liquid that you pour into boiling water, turning it milky like a fine latte, although no latte ever smelled like that, next you hood a towel over your head and the steaming bowl and inhale deeply. I used to ponder the possibility of actually cooking my lungs in my efforts to clear them and one side effect is the inadvertent facial you give yourself in the process. Then there is the aftermath: the actual purpose of the performance to clear the lungs of congestion. And let's just say it works. Really well.

This morning my breath will not carry sound above a croak from my larynx at all, a minor disaster for one whose job involves the audible spoken word. My lungs wheeze and moan like bellows with a puncture and there is pain and weight that sits on my upper chest, an evil toad with heavy clawing feet. I avoid allopathic treatments as much as possible; after all I am as biotic as the germs that plague me from time to time so anti them is anti me as well, not a reassuring picture. So I will bathe my lungs in near scalding vapours, open nasal passages with salt water, boost my immune system with garlic and cough and spit my way to renewed vigour and health.It will be an interesting morning.

Something very strange, last night when I went into bed I hit my leg on the corner of the bed...strange because this is the first time in two years that has happened. Anyway, I completely forgot about it until it just happened again. This has completely driven any thought of sleep away so I have to coax myself back to the edge of the abyss and what better way than to ponder upon a nonsense here?

Now I have a double scrape on my left leg just below the knee that will probably become a bruise as a result of the second impact. This time I looked closely and the whole bed has moved..very odd since I am the only person who lives here and usually the only one who comes in here as well. It's a solid bed that sits flush with the floor so my first thought that I had a really restless night and tossed and turned it awry is illogical and probably impossible.

The second thing is that the mattress does not appear to fit any more which is why there was an exposed corner to flay my tender flesh. The mystery of the incredible shrinking mattress. It is not really a huge problem, I shall simply pull out the bed skirts and put them on which will eliminate the unbuffered corner and arnica will take care of the bruising. I just would like to know how it moved; if the mosquitos are trying to turn me into take out it becomes a real challengebecause I am not sure even the magic of white lavender will repel those suckers!

Of course there is a winnie the shit (I'm a grown up now and will use grown up words) and another bear my mother insisted on gifting me. She loves stuffed animals. And there is Shrek, a gift from my NY boss. It was his treasured possession and he gave it to me so I cannot very well dispose of it however if any or all of these stuffed creatures have succumbed to "Chucky" syndrome they will be banished! But it seems unlikely. I also think I would have noticed an earthquake, not a regular phenomenon here unlike Trinidad. The fact is the bed is moved and I don't know how or why.

And I don't think it really matters very much in the greater scheme of things but it is a puzzlement.