How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?

How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?

Tears are the measurement of emotional pain.

Love teaches various hurts via the trials and tribulations of a new and advancing relationship

Deeply, madly and truly.

I have been alive 61 years, 6 months and 12 days. I have had my heart demolished and my soul spilt into the gutter more times than any person could withstand.

One of the top priorities in my daily prayer sessions is my six plus decades of begging the Creator for a day, one meager 24 hour time slot, where I do not hurt or cause hurt to someone else.

The two cancer diagnosis,

the stroke,

the abscess from Hell,

the following septicemia battle.

Top that off with an exploded spleen and by the Lords of Donegul I swear you will have a uniquely, traumatic story to tell.

By estimate I can safely say I have cried an Imperial gallon of heartbroken tears in the past 5 months. Or so it seems. Either way it’s suffice to say I cried an enormous quantity of tears.

Of which, ninety-nine percent I have no knowledge why they come.

This causes me to lose a little more of my already drained genetic interpretation of manhood.

I am trapped in the gray brink of Darkness. As I try to get into the Beacon of Light I slide increasingly deeper into the Dark.

I am afraid of THAT darkness. Nothing good can come from within it’s demonic fog.

Definitely not the tears. They are tears of a 61 year old man. One who lived a tragic but full life.

My being raised in the latter 50’s and 60’s gifted me with a learned, but unwanted red neck rampage attitude towards a relationship.

Sprinkle that with the chauvinistic and bigoted attitudes of that era and you will see how it did my young pubescent self no good.

I left my father’s home at the age of 12. I have never slept in my Father’s, nor my Mother’s, home since. This alone should show testimony as to the dancing pool of hormones and rebellions in my mind.

I didn’t cry then.

I never cried.


Not through the beatings.

The tortures.

Nor the loveless foster homes.

I definitely was that boy. The one who WON’T cry.

I am crying now, though. I do not know why.

I am just crying (again).

I was lonely most of my life. The “Stranger in a Strange Land“. The boy who refused to cry. No matter what was hurting him.

To put it in layman’s lingo:

“I have been lonely since October 5th, 1957. I will be even more lonely come October 5th, this year.”

I have been battling personal demons all my live long days. I have never shed as many tears in a few week period as I have shed these past five weeks.

This causes me grief. Greatly.

I developed insomnia – seems to have patterned itself into four days of being wide awake and one day of rest. Leaving my mind to ask,

How many tears does it take to fill a broken heart?”

I am a starving author – (literally)

That calls for a weakened physical state and a mind full of swirling emotions. All of which give the Dark entranceway to the control room of my LightHouse. The demon tries his best to win, but each prayer are bullets of Light.

Especially since I have had to fight the Demon of Suicide 24 hours each day since my beloved spleen exploded and left me crying in the rain.

My last few posts show how I have crawled backwards.

I am trying to bounce back. It’s hard. I am not sure I want to be here.

I fear not Death. Not in the least.

Sad to actually say that.

I would not try suicide. Since my brother committing such I was quickly schooled on being a survivor.

Also, August 22, 2002 I succeeded in killing myself. After a four hour battle in my basement to revive and to stabilize my body, I now sit here before you.

Poring out my inner thoughts and my broken moments. My soul with all it’s hidden secrets would lay before you.

A guess would be that one who cries this many tears is depressed beyond depression. Sad beyond sadness.

Yet, it’s a truth.

I cry still.

I wish I knew the real reason.

I am tired. So very tired.



Emotionally I am the sinking of the Bismark.

I am done venting on you.

I am too old to be crying.

Yet …….. I am crying once again and even still shall I cry forever more.

My only regret is I know not THE REAL REASON I have this half full bucket of silent tears.

Perhaps the 2 stage 4 cancers?

Maybe because I am single.

Or maybe my loneliness.

Or because I am realizing that I am not considered as Maria’s “man“. That we aren’t on any channel.

To be officially known as her “man” would be an honor. I would be the happiest man ever.

But, the Darkness has prevented that.

It may very well be that I am dying.

Any how …

I am crying real tears.

Perhaps even the tears of a clown.


I will be seeing my beautiful Irish Guardian Angel soon. If the Creators and the Cosmic Muffin are kind.

Life is kicking me bad still.

I wrote a blog about what’s happening now.

I started New Year’s walking all night. Froze two toes, one finger. 

Oh, and had a bad heart attack.

I am in stage C of congested heart failure. No treatment for it. 

Stage D you go into palliative care, I don’t do palliative care.

I don’t do wheelchairs or walkers either. I will never get in one of those carts. I don’t want to wear a stolen ‘pleather‘ cowboy hat from Dollerama. 

If I cannot walk I will crawl. And when I cannot crawl I will tumble. 

I’m ready.

As the Jews and my religion, Natsarim say “Hineni” – “I’m ready my lord”

The greatest songwriter of all time and the greatest poet ever to live, Leonard Cohen, whose last song,  the theme for the fantastic show ‘Peaky Blinders’ was “If You Want It Darker“. Explains this well. 

I’ve done a DNR and a Will.

I gave all my body to science.

The med students will have a ball looking at all my implants. I am the first Bionic Hippie.

I have more metal than a modern car. Lol. 

I forbid a viewing or a funeral.

They give your ashes back in a year. Keeping some parts they want.

Funeral isn’t necessary.

Most who show up will come inside for a New York minute, then go outside to smoke joints with no regard for the families of other ascended live ones laidto rest.

There will be my birth family who never speak to me because I have been an Asshole and an Embarrassment. 

Like I would change from being the only “unwanted” child born to my father. 

I am fine with their shunning and bigotry. 

Just odd that in sixty years of life I only spent at the most five years around them. 

Majority of the attendees are happy they have a reason to get smashed and fight with their spouse’s and families.

Others will use my ascension as a reason to justify the chemical addictions.

You know I’m not lying. 

All my years in prison I had two visits from my father. 

One which embarrassed the hell out of me, he brought my 77 year old Nanny who I hadn’t seen since I was a teen working with my Uncles at the Brockville Fertilizer Plant. 

Those visits were in the first six months. I was there for years.

Never a single letter from my immediate family.

My cousin Penny kept me sane with weekly letters. 

Wish I still had them. I love her for the letters. 

We were also unwanted kids. 

We were in the same fosterhome for two years. My last foster home before I started my street life and Heroin.

My loved ones can meet at a decent bar, gag down a shot of Wray & Nephew’s and then drink and toast my death.

For I will have ascended to my final space/time continuum and be toasting back with my Sparkle Angel, my Irish Queen,  My beautiful Sheena Eve and all my ascended friends and we will be sending all of you Light, Love and Peacefulness.

My beautiful Sheena Eve – my Irish Guardian Angel and my Queen

The only tears should be because I am not there to make inappropriate jokes and/or comments. 

I love you all. You can cry EIGHT tears now. 

One for each life I’ve lived.

I would be very happy if my truest love could be there. 

She does not drink or do drugs. She drinks only Tetley tea and smokes Pall Mall XL Reds. 

So make damn sure they have smokes and Tetley tea bags and milk there  for her .

Or I will send my Shakie back and he will slap everyone but her. 

Then I’ll light her a cigarette and make her tea for her myself.

Bear in mind I’m not giving up. 

I promised my Terry I would out live her because I know my death will hurt her deeply. 

I would never hurt her.

I do hope I live long and I will ascend the day after her so as I can bring a smoke and a hot tea to her grave. Then I’ll ascend knowing she is ok.

But, the Creators and The Cosmic Muffin are having fun with me presently and right now I am in very bad shape.

From experience I know I am not doing very well.

So if you want to offer my prayers to YOUR GOD I am ok with that. 

Pray my beautiful Terry lives to be 105.

For then I will die on my original death date at the age 112. The day after my love. 

If not, my son, Dakota is to check on her daily and help her when she needs such. No questions asked!

I’ve only met one truly unique friend like her. She is a gem in a pool of Rhinestones. A very rare gem – one of a million. 

If I had been Blessed to have met her back when I was released from the penitentiary my life would have been drug and gangster free. 

It was ‘love at every sight’.

Most of all, RESPECT MY WISHES or I shall send the “Shake” version back. 

Not too many people liked Shake.

Definitely not my two ex wives.

I DON’T believe they liked him. 

I divorced the first one in 1981. 

I guess I should get to divorcing Number Two, we have been seperated for around ten years now.

But, you cannot spend 32 years with someone and then stop loving them. Only a soulless person could do that.

I have as much soul as Otis Redding

(Ha, gotcha – you thought I was going to say Otis Driftwood. Didn’t you?)

Or I could save money and let her be my widow.

Only the Cosmic Muffin and The Creators know their plan for my five personalities. “Baby Boo Boo, Dann, Shake, Unkz and of course ‘LightHouse’

Oh and buy my books. I priced them very cheap. The profits will go to Dakota.

Then you all will know and understand ME.