Promise S Letters From The Road To Astroworld

In 'The Road to Astroworld,' a haunting narrative unfolds through a series of letters sent by Promise Goodday, a woman confined to a mental institution for a tragic act. Addressed to her childhood friend, Lakeisha Ann, these letters unveil a harrowing twenty-year journey within the confines of Rust Hills, a place marred by drugs, questionable therapies, and unspeakable abuse, including the torment from an individual she cryptically refers to as 'Big Fingers.' These poignant missives serve as a searing, yet occasionally darkly humorous chronicle of Promise's life at Rust Hills. As readers delve into her correspondence, they must ponder whether escape and redemption are attainable in the end. And, nestled within the recesses of Promise's heart, lies the enigmatic Astroworld—Is it a tangible escape or a whimsical dreamland guiding her on 'The Road to Astroworld'? Excerpt: Dear LaKeisha Ann: I think Big Fingers is a woman, or at least has had woman hands transplanted at the ends of his bull shouldered arms. I mean his fingers know my snatch better than my own fingers. They don't fumble. My Charlie the pussy Doctor, fumbled and was very clinical with me. But this man gets to the heart of the matter as he strokes me. And in my moaning I forget about the purple wounds on my ass that he has inflicted. Love, Promise Dear LaKeisha Ann: Lord, lord, if I were a beast, I would rip Big Fingers's heart out and eat it. You would think this man was on a period the way he swells and bellows toward the end of the month. He sent another girl to the infirmary. He beat Collette because she forgot how to spell her name. She wrote "'Let'" on her medicine sign-out sheet. She didn't really forget how to spell her name, but you know how it is to be seventeen. You wake up one morning and decide that you want a new name. Big Fingers told her to write "Collette Smith" on the form. She insisted on 'Let.' His blistering coaxial cable did not make her change her mind. If she dies, I hope death does not rob her of her spirit. I will buy her a tombstone and have "LET" chiseled into its granite face. Love, Promise PS. What's new with you? Dear LaKeisha Ann: we had a bad storm here yesterday. The rain battered the windows like a shower of fists--mens' fists. I screamed at the men. Girl, I screamed at them and cursed their Mamas. They started up the bus to drown out my screams. But, baby, I out-screamed their buses. finally they sent in Big Mama to point her finger at me. I came close to biting her finger off at the root, and sucking her until all that was left of her was bitter and dry. But I didn't bite Big Mama. the rain, I woke up in shackles. I think Big Fingers shackles us girls just so he can get a chance to touch our pussies. When you come out here, I'm going to introduce you to Big Fingers in case you're in the market for a husband. kiss them grandbabies. Love, Promise

Embark on an extraordinary voyage to Astroworld with Promise as your spirited guide. In this collection of tales, you'll witness the fascinating tapestry of humor and heartache woven into her epic journey towards a place of true happiness. These stories are just a glimpse of the incredible adventures awaiting you in "Promises Letters from the Road to Astroworld" and the enchanting novel "The Road to Astroworld." Prepare to be captivated by a world where laughter and tears dance in harmony, beckoning you to explore the full tapestry of Promise's extraordinary expedition.

1987 PEN/Discovery Prize Winner selected by Joyce Carol Oates. In the sizzling era of the New Edition, when icons like Prince and Michael Jackson reigned supreme, Hattiesburg, Mississippi was a picturesque, mostly crime-free town. But all that changed in the mid-1980s when the shadow of gangs and drugs descended upon its streets. Still, even in the midst of chaos, love can bloom. Meet Della, a young teenage girl whose heart becomes ensnared by a member of the infamous "Folks" gang, known as "Cheeseburger." However, Cheeseburger remains oblivious to Della's infatuation, while her schoolgirl innocence and boundless imagination lead her into a world of daydreams where they are madly in love. Yet, her imagined romance is as fickle as her emotions. On some days, she despises him, the gang, and the very ground they walk on, aligning herself with her mother's concerns. But, as she candidly puts it, "Then I saw Cheeseburger's arms and fell back in love with him." Embark on an emotional rollercoaster of unrequited love and hate as you follow Della's gripping journey. This poignant story, a 1987 PEN/Discovery Prize winner personally selected by the renowned Joyce Carol Oates, will immerse you in a world where love transcends the boundaries of circumstance and danger, ultimately revealing the profound impact it has on Della's life. Excerpt The week that I wasn't in love with Cheeseburger I called him and them other boys dogs, and Mama seemed happy with me. We talked about what a shame it was them thugs, from up north were comin' down south, bringin' that dope with 'em, and breakin' into people's houses. Everybody on the block was gettin' burglar bars and bad dogs. Hattiesburg was hirin' more police. It was just a shame, me and Mama agreed. Then I saw Cheeseburger's navel and fell back in love with him. And Mama started fussin' at me 'cause I was a girl and not a boy. She said I was drawin' them nigguhs to her fence like shit draws flies. My Mama said that to me. And no matter how much I looked like I was ignorin' those boys (I really was ignorin' ol' Polo Mack), she fussed more. Even when they didn't paint the moon and stars on her fence, she fussed. Please enjoy other stories included with this awarding winning piece.

Prepare to dive into a world of enigmatic intrigue, where the lines between reality and absurdity blur, and where truth is stranger than fiction. If you've ever questioned who's really in control—the government or the citizens—this book is your thought-provoking journey. In these pages, you'll encounter a cast of unforgettable characters, each with a story as unique as their names: Mabel Sanger, who ran out of time; Gusta, who died from the generosity of others; and Thomas Jefferson Roosevelt, desperate to send an unusual clock to a Senator. As you navigate this surreal landscape, you'll find yourself pondering the ultimate showdown between Civillains and Psyclopians, a conflict that will challenge your understanding of power, identity, and society itself. In a narrative that seamlessly blends the ordinary with the extraordinary, you'll uncover tales that will have you scratching your head and wondering if the author might have been on to something. Imagination is a powerful force, and within these pages, it's unleashed to its fullest potential. Can you decipher the hidden truths that lie beneath the surface of these bizarre stories? Join us on a mind-bending journey where the unexpected becomes the norm, and where every page holds the potential to make you question the world as you know it. Are you ready to explore a world where imagination knows no bounds and the quest for understanding never truly ends? If you are a fan of George Orwell, you will love this book. Excerpt: As Mabel Marie bounced through the smoky doors of the LaSalle Building, a cicada landed in the uppermost region of her tall hair. And when I say tall hair, I mean Texas-sized hair with blond locks where the bees get lightheaded flying in and around the hive. A mute in a tattered coat and missing his fingers on his right hand, except his middle finger, pointed and sputtered at her head. He sprinkled Mabel Marie's blue suit coat with spittle. She reciprocated with a rude gesture. His face turned purple, and he stabbed at her furiously with his one finger. "You too, buddy," Mabel Marie said as she continued down New Hampshire Avenue. She dug in her handbag found a wad of Kleenex and dabbed her sleeve. She looked around as she crossed Constitution Avenue. The man stared at her. Mabel Marie kept on down the street. She wondered whether the Director was somehow mixed up in this nuttiness. He was the kind of man who would stoop as low as a Texas rattlesnake, Mabel Marie thought. Excerpt: As Mabel Marie bounced through the smoky doors of the LaSalle Building, a cicada landed in the uppermost region of her tall hair. And when I say tall hair, I mean Texas-sized hair with blond locks where the bees get lightheaded flying in and around the hive. A mute in a tattered coat and missing his fingers on his right hand, except his middle finger, pointed and sputtered at her head. He sprinkled Mabel Marie's blue suit coat with spittle. She reciprocated with a rude gesture. His face turned purple, and he stabbed at her furiously with his one finger. "You too, buddy," Mabel Marie said as she continued down New Hampshire Avenue. She dug in her handbag and found a wad of Kleenex and dabbed her sleeve. She looked around as she crossed Constitution. The man stared at her. Mabel Marie kept on down the street. She wondered whether the Director was somehow mixed up in this nuttiness. He was the kind of man who would stoop as low as a Texas rattlesnake, Mabel Marie thought.

Ebenezer Jenkins' Christmas in Chicago Explore the soul-stirring and humorously sharp reimagining of the timeless classic, 'A Christmas Carol,' through a lens that is both unique and satirical. Join the lively storytelling duo, Madd and Dog2020, as they narrate a version that is sure to captivate even those who are not typically drawn to the Christmas spirit. Step into the world of Ebenezer Jenkins, an unapologetic miser, and entrepreneur who manages the unconventional Glad Wrappings Funeral Home and Barbecue Joint. Here, irony is as abundant as the barbecue's flavor, offering you the chance to savor your uncle's renowned ribs in a posthumous celebration. Ebenezer Jenkins, a steadfast Christmas cynic and averse to charitable acts, finds himself entangled with an unlikely partner: a crafty individual known as the "Serial Nutcracker." This pint-sized accomplice is infamous for attempting to physically relieve men of their wallets, albeit with limitations due to his stature. Nonetheless, his mischievous exploits inadvertently earn him a notorious reputation and provide his targets with both discomfort and amusement. This twisted tale introduces a cast of eccentric characters and dark humor, offering a fresh and uproarious perspective on the beloved holiday story. Prepare to be entertained and to contemplate the true essence of the festive season. Excerpt: On Christmas Eve, snow, as delicate as lace panties from Victoria's Secret, graced Ebenezer's window. People, burdened with Christmas hams and bags of yams, stumbled along broken sidewalks. Some carried toys, lovingly purchased from the Wall of the Mart in China. Others indulged in cheap vodka and fruit punch, embarking on merry renditions of Christmas carols. Their melodies intertwined with snippets of old-time Gospel songs. Swing low, silent jingle bells, As Mary weeps, all ye faithful come, A rumpa dump rump, a rumpa dump come, Oh come, ye to precious lord, Taking my hand to Jerusalem, A rumpa dump rump, a rumpa dump come! "Dead cats!" Ebenezer shouted at the carolers outside. They dispersed, but a sudden thump and a loud yowl echoed at his window. When he peered out, he was met with the lifeless gaze of a Persian cat, frozen to the ice on his window.

What are these poems about? That's a common question one asks of the poet. I think they are about the truth, unvarnished and raw. The praises speak for themselves. Why all of this bark stuff? What does a dog do when he wants your attention? He barks. What does a dog do when he senses danger? He growls. What does a dog do when he wants his belly rubbed and his ears stroked? He whines and snuggles close to you. In Bark Too you will experience the dog in all of his ways. Some of his words will make you back off and some will make you go to your refrigerator, pull out the cucumber, and...well we want go there. Breeze through the sample and take a chance. Woof! These aren't "gay" poems. These poems are about huMANity.

Warning! Despite the title The Last Supper, these are not religious poems. These poems embrace the intersection of the Sacred and the Profane. As readers know, at that intersection lies the forbidden. These poems are forbidden to you if you are easily offended, if you read the lines but not between the lines. If you cannot embrace shades of gray, you will not like these poems. The author apologizes in advance for the lack of roses and limericks in these poems. These poems are not for children, little old ladies, or Church Mothers. However the church is in these poems. You might get a whiff of the 80's in these verses. Ronald Reagan may be dead, but his legacy lives on. Nothing has changed much in corporate America. Greed rules. AIDS steals away our young men and women. From the poem's title, The Last Supper, came the mantra a young man recited as I fed him his last meal: A sip of water please/A little string beans/Wait now, you're rushing me. Don't rush through these poems. Take your time.

With hard work and good luck, David "Big Nose" Calloway navigates Houston's Jim Crow era and civil rights achievements to become a member of the once segregated Walnut Grove Country Club. There, he meets Jonathan Knapp a fellow businessman. Jonathan tries hard to befriend David. However, David remains aloof and distant. Will Jonathan's anger at being rejected send him on a quest for revenge and expose a secret both men share? Excerpt: The leg was good luck to David. It kept him out of the army during WWII. Army Doctor smiled at the big black shirtless boy thick as a chifferobe. Then he smiled at David's bulging crotch. "That nigger is packing a sack of walnuts there!" David stood with his pants around his ankles. The doctor nodded at his left leg big as a phone post. However, the doctor's smile vanished, when he looked below David's right knee at what looked like a gnarled piece of hickory. Still, the Old southerner steeped in a belief that Negroes were workhorses, made David walk and jump. He squeezed the good leg with his hand, massaged the good strong calf and then the weak one. He measured the leg from crotch to ankle, wrote down the numbers on a chart, and studied the chart marked with other men's numbers. He sized up David's withered leg next to a scrawny white boy's good leg and told himself he didn't see much of a difference. Get it Now!