9/11

The Tribute in Light rose into the night sky, meeting the clouds above and forming an umbrella-like glow, almost as if the heavens themselves were sheltering the memory of 9/11. 

Hey Pop

It's been 6 years today since you passed away God damn do I miss your crazy ass. 

Story Time

I just got a copy of my background report for the Home Depot job. I know they don’t call on weekends, so I’m expecting a call after Labor Day. But as I flipped through it, something hit me, every single charge on my record has one thing in common: women. Ex-girlfriends, to be exact. And I remember every one of those situations like it happened yesterday and I'm like damn dude I sure have a habit of picking the "perfect" woman don't I! I was thinking with the wrong head at the time.

Positive outcome though it's been almost a decade since my last charge and I ended up moving up to Pottstown years later and actually miss the damn area, it grew on me.

So, pull up a chair, grab a drink, and let me tell you the story of how three women managed to get me booked. Each one had its own chaos, its own drama, and somehow, a little bit of me thinking I was smarter than I really was.

April 2008, age 25 – Dade City, Florida: Grand Theft Auto. A buddy of mine hits me up and says, “Hey, your girl Amanda’s in Florida visiting her family, want to pop in and surprise her? Have some fun in the sun?” I said, “Yeah, but how are we getting down there?” He goes, “I got a car.” I thought nothing of it, he had the keys and even the insurance card. So we drove all the way to Florida. Had our little fun in the sun. Two weeks later, we got pulled over and that’s when I found out the car was stolen. That was my first arrest. All because I wanted to surprise a girl who, honestly, was probably the worst thing in my life at that time.

August 2016, age 33 – Pottstown, Montgomery County: I went up to visit Jessica and her family. She has always been a weakness of mine since I first met her anyway I'm up there for a few days and then we decided to hit a bar for a couple drinks, we are in the bar for maybe 15 minutes and some drunk dude starts arguing with me over a seat. I tried to de-escalate, but he kept running his mouth. I went to walk away, and he hit me with, “That’s what I thought.” I turned back, told him not to say that again he won't like the outcome, he pushed me, I hit him, and then I left. (More on that later.)

July 2017, age 34 – Roxborough: By this time I was dating a girl named Lauren, who I got with after Jess and I broke up the first time. We’d been together about 8 months, living in her apartment that her daddy paid for. One day we got into a shouting match in her apartment complex over something so small I can’t even remember it now. Cops got called. She put on the show like I was threatening her, and I got booked for “terroristic threats.” Her dad owned a beer distributor in Jersey, had money and connections, so of course I got the short end. I took 3 years of probation just to get her and the whole situation out of my life.

But right after that, I found out I had a warrant back in Montgomery County from that Pottstown bar fight. Turns out the guy I hit was an off-duty cop. They extradited me back, charged me with aggravated assault. Luckily, Judge O’Neil heard me out, brought the cop in, and the cop surprisingly was honest. They dropped it to disorderly conduct with a year of non-reporting probation. I’ll take that over an aggravated assault any day.

So, to sum it up:

1. GTA in Florida, visiting a girl.

2. Disorderly conduct in Pottstown, visiting a girl.

3. Terroristic threats in Roxborough, living with a girl.

You know I'm starting to think that everybody is actually right when they tell me my life is a goddamn movie. It is what it is, c'est la vie.

West Virginia

Man, it’s crazy how you see something on Facebook and it pulls a memory straight out of the vault. I just saw that post about someone dropping everything to go on a random trip, and instantly it reminded me of one of the wildest times in my 20s.

So, back around 2005, Chuck hits me up like, “Yo Don, what are you doing?” I was just chilling, watching some TV. He was like you wanna go to West Virginia? I'm like why would I want to go to West Virginia? He says there’s this female I’m going to try out, she’s got friends for you to try out too, and I heard they got some good food down there. A couple hours later we were in the car, hopped up on “enhancements” and driving from Philly to West Virginia on a whim, all this when we could’ve just went up the Ave for a hooker and down South Philly for a cheesesteak. 😂 But nah, not us. We needed the adventure.

Now here’s where it gets wild, every time we cross into a new state, I’d pull out my piece and shoot at the “Welcome to” signs. Yeah, I know, reckless as hell, but that was my life back then. Eventually Chuck gets pulled over, his face caked like a powdered donut, I got my situation under my lap, and he’s mouthing off to the cop. I’m sitting there thinking, Bro, shut the fuck up, I am NOT going to jail out here in the sticks. Then Chuck looks in the mirror, realizes what his face looks like, and he goes ghost white, whiter than he already was. The cop comes back, looks us over, and just says, get out of here. I told him GO before Chuck could even put the car in drive. To this day I still don’t know how we skated on that one.

But the trip wasn’t done with us yet. Later, driving through the mountains, we both got sick as hell and had to pull over. Another cop pulls up behind us like, what’s going on? I told him, Officer, I’m lightheaded, nauseous feel like I'm going to pass out. He goes, it's the change in altitude. Happens all the time to people not from here. I saw your PA plates and figured that’s what it was. Super cool dude, no issues at all.

Meanwhile, Chuck’s flying down mountain roads at 100 mph, steering with his knee while doing lines. Holy shit, man. Looking back, I can’t even believe that was real life. But that’s the thing for most people, this would be the craziest story they ever tell. For me? Back then… that was just a Tuesday. 🤷‍♂️

The post that sparked this memory. 

BORN TO FLY

Upon the sky, a monarch soars, the eagle vast, whose spirit roars. A shadow streaks, a jealous cry, the brazen crow who dares to fly, and land upon that regal spine a pecking pest, a desperate sign.

It squawks and claws with petty might, to drag the noble bird from flight. But wisdom’s path the eagle knows: beyond the pain, beyond the blows. It does not turn, it does not fight, it climbs toward the sun’s great light.

Higher, higher, through silent blue, where winds grow thin, where skies are new. The air turns cold, the breath runs short, the crow’s weak effort comes to naught. With one last gasp, it starts to fall unnoticed by the eagle, all.

So let them peck, those envious souls who cannot reach your soaring goals. Don’t waste your strength in useless strife, on the petty battles of their life. Just rise above, and find your peace; let all their noise and malice cease.

For you were born to chase the sun, not wrestle with a squawking one. The sky is vast, the peak is high, and you, my friend, were born to fly.

9 Months Away

Palazzo Collona, Rome, Italy

The Creed of Knowing

Know LOVE 💜 † NO loneliness 🥺

Embody love and compassion, rather than loneliness and isolation.

Know JOY 😊 † NO sadness 😢 

Choose joy and happiness, rather than sadness and despair.

Know LIGHT 💡 † NO darkness ⚫

Seek light and understanding, rather than darkness and ignorance.

Know WHOLENESS 👌🏻 † NO emptiness 😔

Cultivate wholeness and integration, rather than emptiness and disconnection.

Know NOW 🔮 † NO past 🙁

Live in the present moment, rather than dwelling on the past.

Know TRUTH 😊 † NO lies 🚫

Embrace truth and authenticity, rather than lies and deception.

Know STRENGTH 💪🏻 † NO weakness 😦

Develop inner strength and resilience, rather than weakness and vulnerability.

Know 🇮🇹 SELF 🇷🇺 † NO other 🖕🏻

Focus on self-awareness and personal growth, rather than seeking external validation.

Madalina

Actually think I might be in love 😘 

The Day the Rain Got Personal

I should’ve known something was up when the clouds started looking at me funny. I had procrastinated all afternoon, debating whether I should walk to the store. Finally, I decided yes, now is the moment. I got dressed, opened the door, and took one single step outside. The sky must’ve hit a big red “GO” button, because instantly plop, plop, plop, raindrops. No warning. No drizzle warm-up. Just an immediate “and we’re live” downpour.

Fine, I thought. I’ll tough it out. But as I walked toward the store, the rain decided tough love wasn’t enought went full power mode. My shirt was sticking to me like I owed it money. When I finally got to the store, the rain politely let up. It was like it just wanted me soggy enough to squeak with each step. I came back outside, bags in hand, and guess what? Yep! Storm round two. The rain apparently didn’t feel its work was complete without a dramatic closing scene. I made it home drenched, staring at the now-clear sky. I swear I heard the clouds laughing.

Lake Garda (Italy) (Lisa Fernandoz)

 

Blackheart DMD

🖕🏻🫵🏻

Hit Hard

This picture stopped me in my tracks today. My Aunt Toni Beideman sent it over, one of the last photos ever taken of my dad. I’ll be honest seeing it hit me hard. There’s something about a final image that carries a weight no other picture can. It’s not just a face, it’s the last chapter of a whole story. A story filled with laughter, stubbornness, lessons, and love.

This picture isn’t polished. His hair’s a little messy, his body tired. But that’s him. That’s my dad. Even here, he’s looking straight at the camera with those same eyes that saw me grow from a boy into a man. The same eyes that taught me, without words, how to be strong even when you’re not feeling strong.

Grief doesn’t fade it just changes shape. And today, this picture brought all those memories and emotions rushing back. I miss you, Dad. Every day. I’ll carry you with me in every meal I cook, every lesson I pass down, every moment I stand tall. Until we meet again.

Only Dead Fish Go With the Flow

I’m not the type to just drift wherever life’s current decides to drag me. Nah. That’s for the ones who gave up, the ones who stopped kicking, the ones who let the world carry them without a fight. You ever see a fish floating down a river belly-up? Yeah — it’s dead. And that’s exactly how I see it when someone tells me they “just go with the flow.” I told my boy the other day, “Only dead fish go with the flow.” He laughed, but he knew I meant it.

Life’s got this way of trying to pull you under, keep you in the same place, or push you into waters you don’t belong in. The current is strong, but so am I. I’ve been swimming upstream my whole damn life — against poverty, against addiction, against every bad hand I’ve been dealt. And I’m still here. Still kicking. Still breathing. Still moving against the current.

I remember one time — and trust me, there’ve been a lot — when life tried to pull me under for good. It wasn’t some Hollywood moment with dramatic music and a rescue boat. It was real life. Bills stacked like bricks on my chest, people I loved turning their backs, and the streets whispering my name like they missed me. That’s the thing about the current — it’ll disguise itself as comfort. It’ll make you think, Just stop fighting. Just let go. Just float.

But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Because I’ve seen what happens when you stop swimming — your eyes go dull, your dreams sink to the bottom, and you’re just another body carried away. So I kicked harder. I pushed against everything telling me to quit. Every stroke hurt, every breath burned, but I kept moving upstream.

That day, I didn’t just survive the current. I learned to spit in its face.

Minor Reflection

I haven’t watched TV in almost 3 months. Haven’t touched my PlayStation either. I am seriously considering selling both my PS4 and PS5. Not because I’m too busy I just honestly don’t care for it anymore. TV feels like reruns recycled noise. Whatever’s on, I’ve probably already seen it. And even if I haven’t, it just doesn’t pull me in.

Audiobooks? Nah. Not my thing. I’d rather hold a real book in my hands. Feel the weight of it. Smell the paper. Turn the page. Let the story live how it was meant to be slow and real. The funny thing is, I forgot how much I love reading. Not scrolling. Not skimming. Reading. But the truth is my real go-to? Music. Always has been. I throw in my headphones, open Spotify, and get lost in the sound. That’s where I find peace. That’s where I feel most like me.

Maybe I’m changing. Maybe I’m just tired of all the noise. Maybe I’m craving stillness. Something deeper. Whatever it is I don’t miss the screen. Not even a little. Has anyone else been feeling this lately?

#Growth #PeaceOfMind #MusicIsLife #UnplugToReconnect #BookOverScreen #StillnessOverNoise

Robot

FIVE YEARS SOBER: A Letter to My Demons

My name is Donald Miykhoel Di Giacomo — but everyone calls me Donny.

I was born on April 9, 1982, in Luzzi, Calabria, Italy — a fact that surprises most people. I was raised in the heart of Philly, but life had other plans when my mother, five and a half months pregnant, ended up grounded in Italy during what was supposed to be a quick family trip. So, I entered this world somewhere between continents, between stories — and maybe that’s fitting. I’ve always lived in the in-between.

I’m a chef by trade, a father by blood and soul, a former undefeated amateur boxer (36-0, 20 KOs) who was on his way to going pro — until the first motorcycle accident changed the course of everything. But I’ll get to that.

Because today, I need to say something louder than I’ve ever said it before:

In two months, I’ll be celebrating FIVE YEARS CLEAN — no heroin, no cocaine, no relapses.

No shortcuts.

No handouts.

Just grit, pain, and a quiet, stubborn refusal to die before I truly lived.

People love to romanticize rock bottom, like it’s a one-time fall. I never hit bottom. I fell into an abyss — an endless drop, no floor in sight. But I clawed my way out and used it as a launchpad.

Now, I walk past the ghosts that used to own me — and they don’t even recognize the man I’ve become. That’s not luck. That’s warrior work.

It hasn’t been easy. I’ve stared relapse in the face more times than I care to count — especially recently. But I’ve come too far to go back. I’ve been through too much to start over.

Let me explain.

I grew up in Kensington — not the version they film for documentaries, but the one you survive in. By 17, I’d already been shot three times. I survived two motorcycle wrecks that should’ve killed me. I’ve been stabbed in the face with an ice pick. I’ve overdosed enough to know what dying feels like. I’ve buried friends. I buried my mom on New Year’s Eve 2010. My dad followed in 2019.

And yet — I’m still here.

I used to think all that pain was punishment. Now I know it was preparation.

Getting shot taught me to stay alert.

Getting stabbed taught me to stay aware.

Overdosing taught me that drugs are a slow suicide.

The crashes taught me that life curves fast, and you better hold tight.

Losing my parents taught me to love people while they’re still breathing.

For a long time, I wore masks. I performed. I tried to be who I thought people wanted. Arrogant. Untouchable. But the truth is, I was afraid to be seen. I wanted to be loved — but didn’t know how to love myself.

But I’ve always had a big heart. Always loved hard. And now? Now, I love myself too.

I’m a father to five. My oldest, Mearea, is 23 — and we’re rebuilding what I once broke. My youngest, Destiny Marie, is 7 — and she’s my light in a world that once felt like nothing but shadows. They are my anchors. My reminders. My reasons.

I collect toy cars the way some people collect regrets. Mine are memories in miniature. I still love old gangster flicks and Hollywood’s golden age. I’m an Aries through and through: bold, honest, stubborn as hell.

But more than anything, I’m this:

An In Between.

Not quite an angel.

Not quite a devil.

Somewhere between heaven and hell.

I’ve brought a little hell into the world. But I’ve learned how to offer a little heaven, too.

I’ve walked through fire — and came out forged, not burned.

Today, I don’t glamorize my past — but I don’t hide from it either. I’ve made peace with it.

And five years clean? That’s not a trend. That’s not a fluke.

That’s earned. Every damn day.

So yeah — I say it with my chest:

I’m not just surviving.

I’m thriving.

And I’m doing it clean.

#FiveYearsStrong

#SoberNotSorry

#BuiltDifferent

#InBetween

#SurvivingAndThriving

My Carry On

Time Flies

I just realized that in two months, I’ll be celebrating FIVE YEARS SOBER from heroin and cocaine. No relapses. No shortcuts. Just resilience, self-respect, and a refusal to die before I lived.

People love to talk about rock bottom which I never said I had, mine was more like an abyss a never ending bottom, but people talk about it like it’s a death sentence. I used it as a launchpad. Now I walk past the ghosts that used to own me and smile because they no longer recognize the man I have become.

Now don't get me wrong it hasn't been easy and there have been a lot of situations where relapsing crossed my mind especially recently but I've come too far to start over. 

This isn’t luck. This isn’t chance. This is warrior work. And I earned every scar and every second of this life I’m building. So yeah, I say it with my chest I’m not just surviving. I’m thriving. And I am doing it CLEAN.

#FiveYearsStrong

#SoberNotSorry

#BuiltDifferent

#Durviving

Damn Skippy

You Can’t Sell Me Dreams

You can’t sell dreams to someone who’s danced with demons in their sleep.

There’s a certain kind of pain you don’t heal from, you just learn to carry it differently. I've had nights where I didn’t sleep, not because I couldn’t, but because I refused to close my eyes and meet the things waiting for me there.

I’ve made a bed out of broken glass

and still rose, bleeding, with a smile.

People talk about survival like it’s some noble, poetic thing. But they don’t tell you how ugly it gets. They don’t tell you about waking up and wishing you hadn’t, or putting on a face for the world while silently screaming inside.

Don't whisper fantasies in my ear

when I’ve heard screams echo through silence. See, I’ve known silence that isn’t peaceful, the kind of silence that’s heavy, suffocating,

the kind that holds your head underwater while your heart begs for a breath.

Your dreams are soft. Mine were ripped from me. And I kept walking.

You ever lost something that wasn’t physical? Not a person. Not a place.

But something in you, the kind of loss that shifts your whole internal gravity? That’s the kind of grief people can’t see, so they assume you’re fine. And maybe you are. But not in the way they think.

I don’t chase the light. I am the shadow that learned to survive without it. I’m not looking for pity. I’m not here to inspire. I’m just speaking for the ones who are still carrying broken pieces but somehow manage to keep moving anyway.

So no, don’t sell me dreams. I walked through my nightmares and made it out the other side. I didn’t find peace. I became it. And I’ll never let anyone take that from me again.

The Terror of the Unknown: A Meditation on Death and Meaning

Real terror isn't the sight of death it's the anticipation of it. Not the blood, not the silence, not the last breath…but the knowing that we don’t know. The fear of death is the fear of mystery,

of closing a door we’ve never seen behind.

Death is the ultimate riddle. It’s the thread that ties every religion, every culture, every philosophy together. Some paint it as paradise, others as punishment. Some pretend it doesn’t exist until it knocks on their door. But no one escapes it. Death is undefeated.

And yet, we rarely speak its name with honesty. We joke. We whisper. We numb ourselves. But deep down, we know: Death is the great equalizer. The one truth no power, money, or belief can bargain with. We build legacies, raise monuments, write books, and have children all to scream: “I was here.” All to leave a fingerprint on time before it blows us away like dust.

But here’s the paradox: Without death, life would be unbearable. Without the ticking clock, there’s no reason to run. Without the grave, the sky has no color. We chase meaning because we’re dying. We create, we love, we fight, we cry because the end is always near.

Imagine immortality an endless stretch of time with no stakes, no urgency, no need to do because there’s no fear of running out. Life without death wouldn’t be freedom. It would be a curse. A pestilence of monotony, an existence without edges or shadows, a sun that never sets and never warms.

So we dance in defiance. We strive in spite of the inevitable. We live because we die. And maybe that’s the beauty of it all. Maybe death isn’t the enemy. Maybe it's the artist behind the masterpiece, the shadow that carves out the light,

the silence that gives music meaning. We don’t have to love death but without it we wouldn't really be alive

Shards of Me

My notebooks are the only damn place I can be completely open. Where my truth don’t need permission. Where the pen don’t interrupt. Where the paper don’t flinch. It just listens. Receives. Lets me bleed and turn the page.

I carry oceans of remorse. Not ripples, oceans. For the violence I caused both the kind I planned,

and the kind that erupted like fire from a cracked soul. But the real wound? I justified it. Gave it names. Causes. Wrapped that savage in excuses, folded it into a pocket I could pull from like a weapon, again and again.

And with that truth, comes days, not weeks anymore, but days, where I still can’t face the mirror. Because when I see me…I see him. That version of me. The one who would've shattered the glass, just to feel the cut. Just to bleed out the guilt in silence. But I’m learning. God, I’m learning.

That version of me, he’s a ghost. Dead and buried, but not forgotten. I visit his grave when I need to remember what not to become again. I carry his lessons like scars I refuse to hide. And every day I wake, I try to write a better ending. A better man. Today. Tomorrow. And beyond.

97°

O cursed orb that scorches from the skies, thy must thy wrath descend upon mine brow? Each step I take, my spirit slowly dies. Doth hell reside in Philly? Here? And now?

My garments cling like traitors to my skin, my breath doth boil within this fiery air. What sin have I committed deep within, to roast beneath thy glare so foul, unfair?

My sweat doth pour like waterfalls divine, yet still thou smil’st, unbothered by my pain. I’d sell my soul for breeze or chill or sign that life exists beyond this heat-blazed plain. So fie on thee, O Summer, cruel and hot dear sir… I like thee not.

In other words: IT'S FUCKING HOT OUTSIDE!

From Chaos to Clarity

I’ve come to realize that I need to distance myself from certain individuals—because their pessimism has been rubbing off on me. And I don’t like what it’s doing to my spirit.

When you spend enough time around someone, you start to adopt parts of who they are. And someone I’ve known my entire life is stuck in the past—glorifying the wrong things. I can’t surround myself with people who don’t want to grow. Who don’t want to better themselves. Who are still glorifying the streets, the dirt, the pain we caused.

I look back on the past—with Chris, with Chuck—and I wish I could go back in time and knock some sense into myself. That ignorance we flaunted was pathetic. It splintered lifelong friendships. It cracked our neighborhood wide open. And for what?

I don’t live in regret—but I am ashamed of who I used to be.

My mother told me. She told me it was cool to work a 9-to-5. That it was powerful to be able to sleep in peace, not with a gun under your pillow.

I used to laugh at the man coming home tired from a long day's work. Now? I admire him.

That’s the man I want to be. That “plain, boring” man who lives with integrity. Because I’m chaos crammed into a certifiable giggle—but I’m finally at peace with myself. And I want to stay that way.

It’s not cool to be a wannabe gangster.

It’s not cool to make people fear you.

It’s not cool to live for attention.

The truth is... I’m a quiet, shy, big-hearted person who will help anybody. And for years, I was scared people wouldn’t like that version of me. Well, now? If you don’t like who I really am?

FUCK YOU.

I was an idiot. A moron. But I’m not that person anymore. And I never will be again.

I’m thankful for the lessons I’ve been through—but I’m not glorifying my past. I’m not reminiscing about it. I’m not proud of it. I’m focused on today. On tomorrow. On being better.

Negative people? Stay away from me. If you don’t want to grow, evolve, heal—get out of my orbit.

I’ve been through hell.

And I’m not going back.

I wake up happy now. And I’m going to keep it that way. Nothing and no one will stand in the way of my peace.

The Year I Wasn't Supposed to Be In

Last night, I time-traveled in my sleep. Not through wires or wormholes — but through memory and mourning. I was in the year 2001.

And I knew I didn’t belong there.

Some part of me was wide awake in the dream. I carried the full weight of 2025 in my chest — every scar, every overdose, every bad choice, every woman I shouldn’t have loved, every moment I tried to die but somehow didn’t. I knew my mom and pop were gone. But in this dream, they were alive — and they knew. They weren’t surprised. They weren’t afraid. They just looked at me like love never left.

Then I was back in my old room on Somerset.

Not just a copy — the real thing. Walls covered in posters I forgot I ever owned. Drawers filled with long-lost hats, old jewelry, the 1,000+ DVDs I used to collect like treasure. Pants. Shorts. Games. Pieces of myself. Like the universe had held onto it all for me, waiting for me to remember who I was before the world broke me.

I tried to explain to my mom: “I’m not from this time. I’m from the future. I fucked up everything. I wasted so much. I lost myself trying to be something I wasn’t. A gangster. A tough guy. A man on fire, burning his own house down.”

And she just smiled — calm, warm, like she already knew. “You’ve come a long way,” she said.

And I begged her: “I want to stay. I want to do it over. I’ll get it right this time.” She touched my face, eyes full of something I can only call eternal. And she said, “One day.”

Then I woke up. Not in 2001. Not in that old room. Back here. Back in now. But with something new — or maybe something old — stirring in my bones.

Maybe it wasn’t just a dream. Maybe it was a reminder. That I’m still alive. That it’s not too late to make peace with my past. That some things — some people — never really leave us. And maybe I don’t need to go back to make it right. Maybe I just need to keep going forward — eyes open, heart intact. Because one day... might still be waiting.

🖤 Blackheart DMD 🖤

Hulk Hogan

OZZY

Just Me

Funny thing about perspective...People always say, “Damn, you’re a big dude.” And I just kinda shrug it off. Not out of pride. Not out of denial.

Just... I forget.

I’ve walked in this frame my whole life, 6'3", 300 pounds but to me, it’s not big, it’s just me. It doesn’t echo when I enter a room. It doesn’t cast a shadow in my own head. It just is.

You don’t notice the mountain when you are the mountain. You just wake up on the summit and call it Tuesday. But others? They see the climb. They see the height, the weight, the presence. They flinch before they know you’re gentle. They size you up before they know you don’t throw it around.

Maybe it’s a gift to be built like a fortress, but walk like a poet. To be capable of destruction, and still choose grace.

Some of us are giants on the outside but still feel small when we look inward. And maybe that’s the lesson. Not every heavy thing has to be loud. Not every big man has to act like it. And not every presence that looms is meant to threaten.

Sometimes? It just means I’m here. DMD.

Nerd Life

Street Tactics (1)

Modern Day Prostitution

Am I the only one that is getting tired of seeing on FB, IG, Tik Tok and all these other social media platforms nothing but sex ads to buy some modern day digital prostitutes naked pictures and or videos from OnlyFans?

Let’s be real: platforms like OnlyFans are modern-day prostitution dressed up in digital convenience. Women are selling explicit content to men they’ve never met, most of them older, perverted strangers believing they’re in control. But the truth is, they’re putting themselves in real danger, mentally and emotionally, even if it’s not physical.

They call it empowerment, but let’s not pretend it’s that simple. It’s exploitation disguised as an opportunity. These women are giving intimate access to their bodies for a monthly fee, often to survive financially, not because they’re building toward a future. And when you strip it down, it’s the same transaction that’s been going on for centuries just with a smartphone instead of a street corner.

The harsh reality? There’s no long-term payoff. Your body will give out. Someone younger, more attractive, and more willing will always be ready to replace you. What happens then? You’re left with no real skills, a trail of explicit content you can’t erase, and a society that’s quick to shame the very people it profits off.

There’s no retirement plan in sex work. No safety net. Just a temporary spotlight, and when it fades, so does the money, the attention, and the false sense of power.

And while we can criticize the women making these choices, we also need to look deeper. Why is this even such a viable option? Because too many people, especially women are boxed into a system where their value is tied to their looks, their sex appeal, and their willingness to sell both.

We should be asking: What kind of society have we created where this feels like the best option for so many? Whatever happened to human connection?

Reading Rainbow

📚 "Take a look, it's in a book..."

I grew up on Reading Rainbow.

The younger generation knows nothing about it except for they are out here flexin’ ignorance like it’s a damn badge of honor. Meanwhile, I was raised by LeVar Burton to use my mind and not just my thumbs.

Today’s generation avoids books like they owe ‘em money. They skim captions but can’t comprehend consequences. You got access to the whole world in your pocket and are still stuck in the comments section.

Some of us read for fun. Some of us read for survival. And some of us? We read people like books—and most of y’all are paper-thin.

🦋 “I can go anywhere...” — but only if you learned how to fucking read.

Growth

If you are still the same person you were 5, 10, 15 years ago—thinking the same way, reacting the same way, moving through life with the same lens then you haven’t just stood still… you’ve wasted time pretending it doesn’t shape you.

Life is supposed to change us. Pain is supposed to teach. Failure is supposed to refine. Every year you should peel something away or add something deeper. If you didn't grow in the time passed and you feel untouched by it, then you’ve either been asleep at the wheel, or too afraid to confront the mirror when it started showing something uncomfortable.

Growth doesn’t always come with applause. Sometimes it comes in silence, in dark nights, in choices nobody understands but you. But if you’ve lived 5, 10, 15 years and stayed the same, you didn’t survive the time you hid from it. Personally I’d rather be bruised by growth than embalmed by stagnation.

Peace Is A Choice. Not A Weakness.

I used to live with my fists first. I was the cannon everyone feared because when I went off, there was no cleanup—just wreckage. I hurt people. Badly. And I never flinched when I did. But over time, I chose peace. Not because I got soft, not because I lost my edge—but because I finally understood the damage I could do. The chaos I carried didn’t go away… I just learned how to chain it down.

But don’t mistake calm for incapable. I don’t like to fight—not because I’m afraid to lose, but because I know I can’t. There’s no competition when you’ve been bred in violence and trained by pain. I found peace in the aftermath, but if you force my hand, I will bring the anarchy right back. And when I do, I don't come to play—I come to finish.

Crazy Memories

Me and a friend were just having a conversation about Chris and Chuck and he reminded me of the incident that happened in my room on Somerset Street one Monday night that is so vividly remembered by me that I'm going to share. 

We called it the Icebox. My bedroom. I ran the A/C like it was keeping secrets frozen. Summer, winter, spring, fall—didn’t matter. You could see your breath in there while the block boiled in its own sweat.

One Monday night, me, Chris, and Chuck were watching Raw—Triple H just hit Benoit with the pedigree, and I swear that moment was seared into my brain forever, not because of the move, but what followed.

Chris, for whatever dumb reason, had his gun out. Just messing with the hammer. Laughing. All of a sudden—

BOOM.

He shot himself in the damn foot.

I jumped like I'd just been sniped, patting myself down like I expected to find a bullet hole. Chuck had black powder on his face like he just got hit with a Looney Tunes trap. He ran. I mean bolted out of the Icebox.

My dad caught him in the hallway—“What the hell happened?” I’m like, “I’m cool, but Chris got a new breathing hole in his foot.” Meanwhile, Chris is screaming “Oh my God!” like a scratched record.

And the craziest part? My mom was in the next room and didn’t hear a damn thing. God damn I miss them two bastards.

JUDEN

The Jump I Didn’t Take

The air was sharp and white, snow blanketing the world like silence that hadn't melted yet. I was standing on a rooftop—flat, industrial, movie-set style. Below, a fresh pile of powder looked soft enough to catch a body. Maybe.

There were voices. A camera crew. A group of girls watching from the side. It felt like a dare, or a challenge. Or maybe just one of those moments where the world holds its breath to see who you really are.

Someone behind me was hyping me up. "Yo, just jump! It ain’t that high. Looks soft!" But my feet? They weren’t moving. And in the dream, time wasn’t fixed—it was on a loop, waiting for me to make a different choice. I could feel it. I wasn’t just up there—I was somewhere between the now and all the what-could’ve-beens.

I looked down again. Snow looked soft. But I’ve landed in soft things that still broke me before.

Then he came—my boy. Loud. Laughing. Calling me slow. “You’re takin’ too long, bro.” He ran past and took the leap I wouldn’t. Midair for a second, then crack—his leg folded in a way that wasn’t meant to happen. He screamed. I didn’t move.

 

In this life, I would’ve jumped without thinking. That was the old me. Prove it or die tryin’. But in the dream? I stood still.

Didn’t matter if it impressed anybody. Didn’t matter if they clowned me. I wasn’t risking everything to look fearless anymore.

I woke up sweating like I’d actually hit the ground. But I hadn’t. Because for once—I didn’t jump. And maybe that’s why I’m still here.

Chris Haley

Today would have been your 43rd birthday. And it's Father's Day too - a double hit. You BAMF; you weren't just my friend, you were my brother since we were 5 years old. The real ones know what that name stands for, and you definitely lived up to every part of it. You showed me love at a time when I didn't even care if I lived or died. I still remember them words that made me look at life a lot differently, you said to me "I know you don't believe in yourself right now, but I believe in you". That hit me in such a way that I stopped being the grown ass man child I forever was and turned shit around. It continues to stay with me. I miss you every single day, bro. Happy Heavenly Birthday. Happy Father's Day. I hope you're feeling the love up there. Amore sempre. This picture was taken a few days before that I wish I could forget day.

Fathers Day

I don’t blast my kid all over the internet, but today I gotta speak from the heart. Destiny Marie if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here writing this. I wouldn’t be locked up either… ‘cause the truth is, nobody can cage me. I’d be dead. 💯!!

You didn’t just give me a reason to change you gave me a reason to stay alive. A heartbeat with a name. My purpose in a little pair of shoes.

Happy Father’s Day to every man who stepped up, and every woman who had to play both roles. To the ones who found their why in their child, tanto amore per te. #FathersDay

Kensington

Know vs No Updated

Know LOVE 💜 † NO loneliness 🥺

Embody love and compassion, rather than loneliness and isolation.

Know JOY 😊 † NO sadness 😢 

Choose joy and happiness, rather than sadness and despair.

Know LIGHT 💡 † NO darkness ⚫

Seek light and understanding, rather than darkness and ignorance.

Know WHOLENESS 👌🏻 † NO emptiness 😔

Cultivate wholeness and integration, rather than emptiness and disconnection.

Know NOW 🔮 † NO past 😥

Live in the present moment, rather than dwelling on the past.

Know TRUTH 😊 † NO lies 🚫

Embrace truth and authenticity, rather than lies and deception.

Know STRENGTH 💪🏻 † NO weakness 😦

Develop inner strength and resilience, rather than weakness and vulnerability.

Know 🇮🇹 SELF 🇷🇺 † NO other 🖕🏻

Focus on self-awareness and personal growth, rather than seeking external validation.

🤔

It's funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is so different.

Hey You

NO MORE CHAINS

Brokeback Billionaires

DARK

LOVE THE WAY YOU HATE ME

DMD BETWEEN

INTRODUCTION: I was born in Italy by accident, survived Kensington by luck, and became “In Between” by choice.

My name is Donald Miykhoel Di Giacomo—but everyone calls me Donny. I was born on April 9, 1982, in Luzzi, Calabria, Italy. The story behind my birth is this: my parents had flown to Italy for Christmas in 1981 to visit my father’s grandparents, especially my Nana. My mother was five and a half months pregnant with me at the time. Back then, international air travel was more lenient. What was meant to be a short trip turned into a long stay when Nana’s health declined. By the time things stabilized, my mother was nearly eight months pregnant and couldn’t fly. So Italy became my unexpected birthplace.

I’m a chef by trade—but that’s only one slice of who I am. I’ve got a soft spot for classic gangster flicks, and old cinema especially from the Golden Age of Hollywood (1930-1949). I collect toy cars the way some people collect memories—because, for me, they are memories. I’m an Aries through and through: bold, stubborn, and honest to a fault.

But above all, I’m a father. My oldest daughter, Mearea, is 23. I wasn’t there the way I should’ve been when she was young—selfishness kept me away—but I've come to know her now, and that means everything. My youngest, Destiny Marie, is 7. She’s a spark of light in a world that tested me over and over and at one point I thought was nothing but darkness. They are my anchors—my heartbeats.

I grew up in Kensington—one of the toughest neighborhoods not only in the city of Philadelphia but of that in the United States. By 17, I had already been shot three times and grazed a few more. I’ve survived two brutal motorcycle crashes—one that sent me flying, and one that left me bleeding in the street. I’ve been stabbed in the face with an ice pick. I’ve overdosed more times than I care to admit. I’ve walked through the chaos of addiction, violence, and street life and I survived. 

I lost my mother on December 31st, 2010. I lost my father on September 5th, 2019. I’ve faced enough drama and darkness to drown ten lives. And even though the world doesn’t owe me a damn thing (except maybe an apology for the bullshit), I’m still here. And I’m grateful. Because everything—the pain, the loss, the chaos—taught me something. It didn’t just break me down; it built me into the man that I am today. 

What I’ve learned from my trials and tribulations is when I was shot, it taught me to never ignore my surroundings. When I was stabbed it taught me to always stay aware. Overdosing taught me that drugs are just a slow fade into nothing. The motorcycle crashes taught me to take life one curve at a time. Losing my parents taught me that time isn’t promised and to love and appreciate those while you still can.

But I wasn’t always the man I am now. I was a shy kid once. That didn’t last long. I grew arrogant and reckless. I thought the world owed me something. I pretended to be something that I wasn’t. I craved approval, wore masks, and hid behind a false image—because I didn’t know how to love myself. I wanted to be seen, but I was afraid to be known.

Truth is, I’ve always been someone with a big heart. I feel deeply, I love fiercely, and for those that I consider to be friends I'll do anything for without question. Loyalty means everything to me. 

I'm just at a stage of my life where I appreciate every battle I’ve survived. I don’t try and hide or run from my past. I don’t glamorize it but I I'm not ashamed. It shaped me, but it doesn’t define me.

What defines me is what I self proclaim myself to be and that is an In Between. Not quite an angel. Not quite a devil. Somewhere between Heaven and Hell. I’ve brought a little hell into the world, sure. But I’ve learned how to offer a little heaven, too. Life taught me that duality is survival. That balance is power. I can move in crowds or walk alone. I enjoy people, but I don’t need them. I know who I am. And more importantly—I’ve made peace with it.

No Respect

 

Muhammad Ali Quote

Graphic DMD

Siranni

16 BALLS

Lick It

Drearydelphia

E A G L E S

Pretty Much

Luna Loaded with Egg

No Respect

 

SERIOUSLY

Colette (NEW Victim)

Thomas Jefferson

The Memories

Sad Truth

Unfortunately, there comes a point in life where you have to evaluate certain aspects of people's characteristics and cut ties with those who refuse to grow, even ones you've known for over 30 years. Another year older and another year the same; if you're not about growth and bettering yourself, I just can't fuck with you.

M&P15

ECHOES IN THE NIGHT

Love's fleeting whispers, a siren's call lures me in, only to leave me to fall into the shadows, where darkness resides a place I've grown accustomed to, where heartache abides.

In moonlit nights, I search for a ghost a fleeting dream, a love that's lost the city's whispers, a melancholy hue a reflection of my heart, forever true.

I've danced with solitude, a waltz so fine a partner that understands my every line no tender touch, no loving gaze just the echoes of a love that's gone astray. 

In this desolate landscape, I find my home a place where love's illusion is forever unknown I'll wander, lost, in this endless night a soul forsaken, without love's light

That's Right Pizan

AND EVERYBODY THAT LOOKS LIKE YOU!

What A View I Have

Janai

THE WEIGHT OF THE THREAD

In shadows deep, where worries reside, a life of struggle, nowhere to hide. Each week a battle, a weary fight, surviving the darkness, longing for light.

Paycheck to paycheck, a fragile thread, a constant tension, a heart filled with dread. Will bills be covered? Will hunger cease? Uncertainty lingers, stealing all peace.

The future unknown, a veiled abyss, each step uncertain, a hesitant kiss of hope that flickers, then fades away, leaving behind a more somber gray.

Dreams lie dormant, ambitions suppressed, beneath the weight of constant duress. The spirit yearns for a brighter dawn, but the darkness lingers, relentlessly drawn.

A silent scream in the dead of night, a desperate plea for a guiding light. To break these chains, to rise above, and taste the freedom of a life filled with love, not just survival, but purpose and grace, to find a safe harbor, a comforting space.

☝🏻

When it comes to people's passings I normally don't write anything about them especially when it comes to celebrities but this man right here had a profound impact on my childhood. My first ECW show was April 25th 1995 at 13yo and went to every show at the ECW arena from that point on & never missed. From the first time I saw Sabu he became one of my favorites. His feud with Taz was peak storytelling for ECW and was just WOW! Forever the TRUE hardcore icon. The homicidal, the suicidal, the genocidal #RIPSabu

Happy Mother's Day

THE SEPULCHER OF SELF

In chambers vast, where shadows crawl, a sepulcher, my heart's dark hall. Each echoing beat, a mournful chime, marking the slow, decay of time.

No living soul dares venture near, this fortress built of doubt and fear. The gargoyles weep, a silent dread, for the pale ghost, within it, dead.

A tapestry of cobwebbed dreams, where fractured moonlight faintly gleams. Upon a throne of bone I sit, a monarch crowned by what I quit.

The ravens call, a somber choir, their voices rise, then fade, expire. A macabre dance, the dust motes spin, a lonely waltz, where life has been.

And in the depths, a chilling sound, the turning earth, in endless round. A cosmic ache, a silent scream, the universe, a lonely dream.

Is there an end to this despair? A light to pierce the stagnant air? Or am I bound, forevermore, to haunt this self, and bolted door?

Influencer

About 15 years ago if someone was called an "influencer," it often implied a negative manipulation or control over others, perhaps in a secretive or even slightly sinister way. It suggested someone was pulling strings behind the scenes.

Now, the term is almost entirely associated with social media personalities who build an audience and then leverage that platform to promote products, services, prostitution through only fans, or lame scam ideas. It's become a mainstream career path, and "influencer marketing" is a significant part of exploitation and advertising strategies.

THE WIDENING HORIZON

A curious climb, a mental steep ascent, where understanding's light is keenly lent. Yet as the vista broadens to the eye, a boundless dark begins to amplify.

For knowledge is a paradox, a twist, the deeper draught, the greater feels the thirst. Each fact attained, a newly opened door, revealing halls unseen, and many more.

The scholar pores, through volumes late and long, and masters truths that once felt vast and strong. But in that mastery, a whisper sighs, of oceans yet uncharted in the skies of what remains unknown, a shadowed sea, where endless questions beckon to be free. 

So wisdom's peak, though hard and high it seems, but shows the grandeur of our waking dreams, and in that seeing, clear and sharp and bright, the vastness of our own unyielding night.

The more we grasp, the more we comprehend, the endless realms where knowledge has no end.

Hi Stella

CRIMSON CHAINS & WICKED GRACE

My crimson queen, with chains that gleam, a heart of thunder, a wicked dream. Your leather screams, a second skin, where shadows dance and lusts begin.

The stage your altar, bathed in red, your voice, a venom in my head. Each piercing glance, a burning brand, a dark desire I understand.

Your fingers fly, a wicked grace, across the strings, a wild embrace. The bassline throbs, a primal beat, our bodies pulse, a carnal heat.

Beneath the lights, a sweaty sheen, a savage hunger, raw and keen. Your smoky breath upon my face, a promise whispered in this place.

This brutal beauty, sharp and cold, a story in your eyes unfolds. Of shattered saints and fallen skies, reflected in your hungry eyes.

So let the feedback howl and tear, as tangled limbs confess our prayer. My metal mistress, dark and deep, into your wicked arms, I sleep.

420