Sometimes when I am down and out I can escape into my thoughts and dreams. Sometimes more often then others. But when I am there doing the writing bit it helps me feel better. I will be the first to admit that I am not going to be a bestseller. But I don’t do this because I want to be a bestseller. I never really thought of myself as an author. I write because I like it. I like to make up stories. I do have the hardest time to get what is in my head to come out of my fingers when I type. And I do have lots of ideas, some are crap but others are, to me, quite entertaining. I love taking my characters and putting them in times and places I would never be able to go. I live through them, feel through them, love through them. Writing is a high I would think better then drugs, because it is a drug. And it is free therapy.
Casper, Town of Needles
Casper, the town of dreams. The town of nightmares. The town of a thousand dreamy nightmares. All who stalk the town with hatchets and sledgehammers, thanks to dingy dope filled needles.
Casper, the town of psycho clowns, and the tiny midgets who beat them. The incorporated town with one streetlight by the post office. One gas station, four bars, and three liquor stores.
Casper, the home of crackheads who don’t give a damn. The town of a million children running around the dirt roads with bare feet, runny noses and head lice. The schools filled with teachers who would like to give a damn, but they don’t live in Casper.
Casper, where no one dares to stop. The cops don’t even wink an eye or turn to look. The town where everything runs illegal, and the oldest sibling of six is trying to buy her baby brother some diapers with twenty food stamps.
Casper, the town of forgotten dreams. The dream, when I grow up, leaves you when you turn ten. The cruel streets are harsh to play on. The drugs are real. The threat is real, but the psycho clowns are only in their heads as the dingy dope filled needles play along their skin.