Soul-Mates Day__25OCT14

19OCT14: [eleven-forty-five a. m.]

I am today the only one in this HUGE, VAST, and GREGARIOUS Universe who is celebrating the first Soul-Mates Day.  It is Sunday; and, oh! If Every Day Were Sunday. . .In Ascencia this is possible.  Every day can be a Saturday or Sunday__a long endless weekend in Ascencia.

Next year, on the nineteentyh of October, everyone in this Huge, Vast, and Gregarious Universe is celebrating the second Soul-Mates Day.  It is a Sunday as well; and oh! If Every Day Were Sunday. . .D18

All of this creative effort on October 19, 2014, makes this a fifty-eight hundred dollar day today__a hundred bucks for every year that I have been on this journey.

[I, TC Newell, today want to transform into a different persona:  Gregory Gregarious, showing you, not telling you about the Art of Transitional Thought].

And, if you were to ask me, where were you?, I would tell you the truth, and say that I was taking a few days getting my head screwed on straight again.  I have been trying to remind myself not to strive and despair.  Yet all along, I have been dreaming of placing my left hand under your head.  My right hand is embracing you.  I am giving you the upper hand, while you lie with me on the grass.

You mean the world to me.

I wish you prosperity

And I see you working for it.

But I think all you know is Adversity!

In these trying times.

I dream of the day when you say, do you live me?  “Yes, I have for months.”1026

“When did you know you first lived me?,” my Soul-Mate asks.  “The night you were laughing at somebody else, and I looked your way because I thought you were laughing at me?”

“I had to assure you that I was not laughing at you.”  And, after shrugging his shoulders, and while standing fir and tall, with a look of confidence on his face, he says, Oh, that’s all right!  You can laugh at me.

Soul-Mates Day__24OCT14

My Soul-Mate is the Lad with the B-B-Bubble Azz,  Hey you!  I got my eye on you!  I am looking for you, and I want to put you on my Vision Wall.  You and your brother.  You are the ones who fill the prescription and fit the description.

You are asking, How do I fit the description and fill the prescription?D12

The Prince and I are not going to tell you__we are going to show you.  In the house-boat studio, your laughs and your voices are works of art.  You have no idea that we have been here listeing to and watching you.  Even Big John__no brain, all brawn.  You laugh all you want in my studio, even if you come across as an artificial azz at the J-O-B.

Prince Nehemiah says he is about to roast a checken in the oven.  That means two things.  He is about to earn two hundred dollars today in MagicLand [on Picasa], or his on the look-out for you, do you not see?  And you know, too, that I am indeed on the look-out for you.  You look like you can play wide-receiver for the Jets.

“Look here!,” says Nehemiah.  “Emo-Lad is checking out Fisti-Girl!”

The Prince and Me show__not tell__that it is okay to be silly together.  Soul-Mates do that for one another.  My Prince knows exactly how to dress for me__how to man-scape for me, and I never have to ask him or tell him.  He always implicates himself.  Even when they are ready to write him off, he writes on.  He is free from all resistance, as he shouts out to all the performers and fight-dancers, “Electrify yourself!”  And together, we create the Adonis Boost!btah3

With my tongue, I moisten the Adonis’ six-pack abs and his smooth, shaved inner-thighs.  Or could this be one of the Spark-Plugs?  I am always ready for this Fight-Dance Troupe to begin skicing us with their third fists.

“More like the first, second, and third fists!,” says the Prince.  “We have sculpted them totally smooth and naked, to the point where we can lick every muscular ripple on their bodies.”

Today I do not tell anyone where I am going__not even Prince Nehemiah.  I am hoofing it to Sporaticus to see for myself what TC Newell does with his Napoleon sculpture, his Latin-Lads, and all of his down-low, lowdown and dirty.  Meanwhile, Prince Nehemiah is taking a journey into MagicLand or on a field-trip to Camp Sporaticus to show us all of his demonic dreams.

Mario now plays Blessed by Sir Elton John as the Prince and I begin pulling names out of a hat of those who auditioned on this two-hundred dollar day, where we all discover the multifaceted as we sit back, relax,  watch and enjoy.  btah7


Soul-Mates Day__23OCT14

My Soul-Mate has developed and created this LegFetish Universe, and then he creates me.  He is a man’s Lad.  He reminds me that when the system runs down, I want to have everything written down, or typed in black and white.D19

“Who-da-fuk is this Alphonso!,” shouts Nehemiah knowing that Alphonso could be the next Nehemiah.  “Who’s this It’s Impossible you’re always yappin’ about?  Who-da-fuk is dis Alphonso!”  And I know Alphonso will go in the Prince’s Nehemiah Nine because he can visualize my response.  “I ain’t perfect, shit!”

“And that is what makes you perfect,” I whisper in his ear before gently tugging on the lobe.  “Your mistakes are works of beauty.”  Take advantage of your mistakes.  Your mistakes are works of beauty.

My Soul-Mate tells me that the impossible cannot happen.  Me & My Prince both say the impossible cannot happen.  The “sound” of his voice, like Frankie Valli’s voice, intrigues me, as he mounts a new vision of himself thinking and growing rich with me, as I am holding Napoleon Hill’s book up while I sleep.  This is all happening here in the house-boat studio workshop.

I hear you thinking, “Pffft!” so I am either writing badly or I am just too much for you.  B-b-but__whatever you do, do not walk out of this theater.  Henrietta Heron is attacking me for fixating on Emo-Lad and on me calling him that because she in on some politically correct funk and accuses me of being a racist at the same time.  She does not realize that my specifying race is to envision a University of Diversity campus in Ascencia.  I am specifying with “labels” because labels specify diversity.D15

My Emo-Lads are strapping, strapped, with crazy hair and good and bad hair days.  They have fantastic leg muscle definition.  They are like me.  They are writers and they are fighters.  They fill the prescriptions and fit the descriptions, and they can play Prince Nehemiah.  And I, Gregory Gregarious, have always had an eye on them.




Supra-Hero Soul-Mates-[2]


Gregory Gregarious Productions is opening up a Night club, with visions of Desk-Top Icons and magazine covers hanging on the walls, where everyone wants to play Prince Nehemiah, and I am pulling, rooting, and tugging for Alphonso McAuley to be on the next cover of Thrilling Times.  I know I am either going to turn him on or turn him off to the idea.  Yet he is on the next edition.  Why not?  Let us go for broke.  The Prince is including him in his Nehemiah Nine video on Creativity Now!  Henrietta Heron likes me today and writes in her column, “This is homoerotic art!  And why not?”  But, you watch!  Tomorrow, she will hate me when she sees our visions of models who let their legs do all the speaking for them.

“This is Rad, man!  This is Rad!,” I hear his voice on my cell phone.  “We can either ride this out and flow or we can just let it go.  I’m itchin’ to get that itch again.”

“We take it one sentence at a time,” I gently tell him.

Meanwhile, Prince Nehemiah hands a note to me.  Norman Rockwell will be joining our Master-Mind Group.  Why not?  Let us go for broke.  And, I could have sworn I saw a kid at the museum the other day who looked just like Charlie Parker.  Yet when I walk closer and closer to him, I could tell he would say, no way!  I don’t see it!

“Yo!,” says Nehemiah.  “Look at this Latin-Lad.  He can develop and create a LegFetish Universe!”

“And he can create me!,” I respond.6

It is time for auditions at the studio on Third Avenue in Ascencia.

“Yo!,” shouts the Prince.  “Turn it off!”

“What?,” I say.  “The electricity?”

“Henrietta Heron is antagonizing you,” says the Prince.  “She says, ‘Turn it off, Greg-Greg!  You’re so off the beaten path.  You keep thinking the impossible, that you’ll get his legs when he’s so much more than a leg model.'”

“He is the glory in Glory Road,” I whisper gently.


Supra-Hero Soul-Mates


My Soul-Mates are not inhibited, and they are willing to show the lady side of the lad.  We all groove to Mario as he blares Tom Jones’ She’s A Lady over the Hi-Fi Stereo.  As I watch my Readers Theater Troupe and my fight-dancers audition, I remember my own mediocrity with the trumpet and piano.  So my Soul-Mate, my Lad of the House-Boat, my Supra-Heroic writer and fighter, consoles me by offering me his ARC:  Admiration, respect, and consolation.  He is too much to so many, and he is just enough for me.

Now Mario is blaring some Bill Withers scat over the stereo.  Bill Withers’ spirit and music is always here.  After listening to his philosophy, the only thing I want to know is, was working at IBM that bad? 

After all, I worked at some prestigious corporations, too.  PEZ.  AT&T.   American Airlines.  Mario turns up the volume on the stereo:

Tell me Tony

Tell me Tony

Tell me why you wanna get high enough to die!. . .

Would ya put on da rock and pat ya foot,

don’ stop,

would ya put on da rock!1020

And upon hearing this music, I see visions I can only add and never take away.  I can either turn them on or turn them off. 

On the fringes of the house-boat studio, I see performers rehearsing fight-dances.  But I am not overlooking the magic among the ones in the middle of the floor, standing quietly, watching and listening while standing, as though they were standing on empty checkerboard squares.  When I hear Bill Withers blaring through the speakers, I have to sit down or I fall down.   Imagine how my parents felt when Still Bill blared through the hi-fi speakers on Christmas morning, nineteen-seventy-two!


Happy Soul-Mates Day! – [Part Two]

1025My Soul-Mate whispers in my ear, “I’m so intrigued by your multi-faceted visions of yourself.”  He and I have thought and grown rich together.  Many people are saying that I am fixating on Tuffenuf, dressed like Peter Pan without the green tights.  I am not getting tired of any of his visions.

And I am not getting tired of seeing Dolphin Girl.  Damn!  In a Fight-Dance, she punches like a man!  She is this sweet and petite Fisti-Girl.  I cannot describe her top, so I let Rema show me__not tell me.  Our next female character, Yin-Yang is getting beefed up because it is time to beef up the girl who is swimming with the dolphins, who is ready for her Real Prince.   Classics-2

Our fashion designer, Rema, walks into the room.  “I am designing Robin & Wonder-Girl shorts,” he says.  “Dolphin Girl, who punches like a man, is wearing shredded, thigh-high, white denims!”

My Supra-Hero Soul-Mate steps up and stands by me side by side after someone in the audience yells, “You Radical!”  He begins to create visions destined to warp__age__yellow, sort of like a nineteen-seventy-one photo album.  My Soul-Mate is as nostalgic as I am.

Again, he grabs me by the collar.

Prince Nehemiah

Now you start writing!




Happy Soul-Mates Day!


Truth is, I have many Soul-Mates.  Some, like Levi, I have had to get out of my system.  Meanwhile, my real Soul-Mate is finishing up his New Vision Vision Wall.  If we are not careful, one of my other Soul-Mates become a virus in our system.

My Soul-Mate is the one who fight-dances anybody who walks into our houseboat studio, who is not careful or considerate, and rearranges anybody’s Facebook and makes him into a Spacebook.  He is the one who is guarding my intellectual property.  When I go, he is there for me.  He is the one who lives with me, guarding my intellectual property, fight-dancing in bright orange short shorts adorning his smooth legs.  During the last seven years with him, he has given me beautiful visions!  Some of which include myself.  He could walk into the house-boat studio dressed as a Detroit Piston if he wanted.1028

“Which Piston is this?,” I ask him.

“Dennis Rodman,” he answers.  Someone like that might be my real Prince Nehemiah.  We are celebrating on October nineteenth, Soul-Mates Day.  And together, my Supra-Hero Soul-Mate and I are journaling and journeying through the MagicLand of Ascencia.

I am at the peak of my writing, walking through Gregory Gregarious’ doors.  It is time to write about my Supra-Hero Soul-Mates.  It is time to write about me and the things I live for.  My real Soul-Mate transforms into “Dr. Crop” in the Soul-Mate Month of October.  Another Soul-Mate, has a Bubble-B__you know__B-Bubble azz.  And he grabs me by my collar and tells me, “Now you start writing!”  And my response is, “I am beginning to describe the single stills of performers and characters.  I am at the peak of my writing.

“I am tired of you.  I want to see some new faces, unless you can come up with new faces.”


Soul-Mates Day in Ascencia: 19OCT

1027I am coming down the home-stretch of this journey.  We are into October, which has always been my favorite month.  In Ascencia, October is Soul-Mate’s Month, and the nineteenth of October is Soul-Mates Day.  Have you found your Soul-Mate yet?  This is where this book begins:  Coming down the home-stretch of this journey.

Have you found your Soul-Mate yet?  I have!  And who is this guy, you ask.  He is the one licking my knees as if they are ice-cream cones.  He is the one who tells me, “You shut up, you lil shit!   You are the one who started this bit!”  He is the Desk-Top Icon who is fulfilling my dreams.  My Soul-Mate has fans and admirers staring or glaring through the sliding glass door windows of our house-boat studio.  He is the one who gets Broadway and Hollywood__even Las Vegas__catching onto Gregory Gregarious.  That is me.1016

By the end of this year in Ascencia, I am writing, producing, and directing Supra:  Heroes, Stories, and Styles in New York.  I am doing this six months out of the year.  And the other six months?  I am in Las Vegas, writing, producing, and directing the same title, yet the much more homoerotic version.  My Soul-Mate is the one who tells me, “You’re the star of the show!”

“Lad,” I respond, “I am.  So are you!”  He is the Soul-Mate of my dreams and fantasies, who would fight-dance for me if he found out that somebody was tampering with our tools.  He is the one who delivers the knock-out punch and says at the same time, “You need ta step off!”  and then he helps me get our webcam working again.1021

He is the one who is with me for twenty-five years, who has always been my creative collaborator__my Supra-Hero Soul-Mate__my Play-Mate, as I become his Special Guest Villain on his television show on which he is the Supra-Hero.  I live to see him in his forties and fifties, with his salt-and-pepper hair and his smooth, golden cream muscles.

He transforms into a middle-aged Adonis as we have been together for twenty-five years.  And I am still looking the age I was in nineteen-eighty-three__twenty-seven__when my chronological age reaches a hundred and eight.






White Denim__5


PEZ shut us down!, I say. Now we shut them down! And we become protagonists who bring it to the table against the antagonists.

Tuffenuf steps up.

Don’t mind getting food from the trash. My heart breaks as I watch my protégé searching through a trash can for food, so I distract him and begin to shadow-box with him.

I say, We’ll do a whole lot of leg-work and whole lot of Fight-Dancing. Tuffenuf watches me as I knock some guy silly with my inner-thigh slaps. My protégé yells, “How do you do that!”

I’m gonna teach you slight-of-limb deception; and then, the other Supra-Heroes can’t keep their eyes off me.

I am admired from afar, as they all hear slap! slap! slap!

and watch me sitting on a dumpster as I’m slapping both sides of a bad guy’s face with my inner-thighs, smearing olive oil all over both sides of his face. I am shattering this villain with his own paradigms.  Levi paints my inner-thigh punches.  I suggest to Tuffenuf to put on short pants to emphasize the size of his thighs.

And he thanks me for my advice, and says,

I am unstoppable today! You now have me spiritually ready. Thousand dollar day today! I am ready to pack a punch and walk the walk to go further.

And farther.

He smiles at me as I flex my biceps. He loves when I do this. I tell my protégé, “I’ll deliver four quick blows to Incognito.” And he says, step aside and let me deliver the KO.

Through good times or bad, I know Tuffenuff will be out there somewhere. When the evil forces are paying just a little more attention to me than they should, I know he’s the kid just around the corner. When the villains are sending out bad messages about me, Tuffenuff will be out there somewhere, ready to knuckle down, buckle down.

White Denim_Part Three

Que whispers in Tuffenuf’s ear:1011

When I am hoarded and hidden away like someone’s money, I tend to lose my soul.

People pass by me with fixated gazes on their gadgets and gizmos.

I would rather be in the woods, plush by mighty trees and green leaves. I would volunteer to pull every weed from those trees until the dirt hides my finger-tips.

The sights and smells of autumn leaves

leaves a memory in your heart and soul.

You look up to me as a genuine mentor, who instills in you the essence of a big brother, who does not force you to follow, think, feel, or even say the same things that I do. A mentor cannot be heartless and soulless, demanding so much from the Universe. Watch as I find a better way.

Tuffenuf responds, “I’ll deliver your punches when your heart and soul are empty.

I love manual labor. I love to use my muscles. I love splitting


just as TC Newell loves sledge-hammering a wedge in too far, needing to figure out a way to get the wedge out.

I admire Que, watching him cut all those logs down to size.


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