Written By: Anthony Douglas Gere
Music Provided By: SEMusic
Artistry Selected By: Main Ad Centre
All Material is protected by law under the
licensing of mcwhorter management
marketing manufacturing 2005
Any unauthorized usage and or its likeness
is prohibited by law.
Music Provided By: SEMusic
Artistry Selected By: Main Ad Centre
All Material is protected by law under the
licensing of mcwhorter management
marketing manufacturing 2005
Any unauthorized usage and or its likeness
is prohibited by law.
If Just For A Moment
By Anthony Douglas Gere
You know many that view me, see me as a passionate and romantic sterile type of
being. I am that in many ways, but there is also another side of me that maybe I
have been neglecting to show you. I don’t think I’ve done it on purpose, but maybe
I have been in such a controlled environment so long, I have forgotten about that
side of me that keeps me on the edge. I mean what kind of man am I, if I can
show you this or that, tell you about how I feel and don’t feel, and don’t share with
you the other sides we all have hidden in our closet? I mean do I dress nice,
yeah, educated, successful in my professional career and have seen the world
many times over, yes, most definitely. But I am also human, and have those
moments of destruction or reckless abandonment in wanting to explore, be raw,
dirty, nasty and more, like everyone else. Do I control them, well yeah, for the most
part, because I feel to fully expose yourself in that manner, you must first surround
yourself with someone or people that will not judge you or place an isolated label
on you when you venture down that road. It’s like when a guy takes out a woman.
When he shows up at her door, her make-up is perfect, she’s wearing her hair
just right, nails done, perfume smelling ever so right, but in all reality, that’s just a
part of her. Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy seeing women like that all of the
time, but are they really comfortable I say to myself. I wonder what she looks
like with no make-up, in comfortable clothes and not playing the part like in a
Broadway Show. But that is part of life we all deal with, a part of you, and why
can’t that be seen by those that view you? Why is it when we mature some
times, we forget or neglect the kid inside of all of us. I mean that’s the catch
22 in life. When you are young, you wanna be, act or look older, and when you
get older, you want to act, sound and look younger. You see this theory all
started when I was in the car last night, and calmly listening to some laid back
Moodsetter music in the player. I had the partition up, and my driver was more
than likely drifting into his own place of comfort while driving me back to my
hotel suite. As we approached a stop light, I glanced over to see who was
attempting to look inside my smoked tinted windows, to see if they could see
who was in their. My thoughts were that they were seeing if I was someone
famous, someone they could scream at the top of their lungs and celebrate
for some odd reason. Some one they can say they seen in traffic, and
wouldn’t you know it, that was just the case as they were summoning for me
to roll down my window at the end of this over priced buggy. But as they
drove off a few seconds before us, I looked down at the rear of the car, to
see what part of the country they were from in viewing their license plate.
Well as my eyes drifted, and I seen this bumper sticker that made me smile
and silently laugh to myself. The woman driving was a redhead, wearing
make-up that resembled a showgirl in Vegas, and a lace top that was
obviously a few sizes too small. The reason I say the top seemed too small for
her is that all of a sudden while slowly gazing down from her neckline to each
stitch of fabric to this avenue of cleavage, my lactose intolerant ass could only
think about being breast feed with milk, milk and more, milk as I seen the
Rocky Mountains, and I am in Rome.
By Anthony Douglas Gere
You know many that view me, see me as a passionate and romantic sterile type of
being. I am that in many ways, but there is also another side of me that maybe I
have been neglecting to show you. I don’t think I’ve done it on purpose, but maybe
I have been in such a controlled environment so long, I have forgotten about that
side of me that keeps me on the edge. I mean what kind of man am I, if I can
show you this or that, tell you about how I feel and don’t feel, and don’t share with
you the other sides we all have hidden in our closet? I mean do I dress nice,
yeah, educated, successful in my professional career and have seen the world
many times over, yes, most definitely. But I am also human, and have those
moments of destruction or reckless abandonment in wanting to explore, be raw,
dirty, nasty and more, like everyone else. Do I control them, well yeah, for the most
part, because I feel to fully expose yourself in that manner, you must first surround
yourself with someone or people that will not judge you or place an isolated label
on you when you venture down that road. It’s like when a guy takes out a woman.
When he shows up at her door, her make-up is perfect, she’s wearing her hair
just right, nails done, perfume smelling ever so right, but in all reality, that’s just a
part of her. Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoy seeing women like that all of the
time, but are they really comfortable I say to myself. I wonder what she looks
like with no make-up, in comfortable clothes and not playing the part like in a
Broadway Show. But that is part of life we all deal with, a part of you, and why
can’t that be seen by those that view you? Why is it when we mature some
times, we forget or neglect the kid inside of all of us. I mean that’s the catch
22 in life. When you are young, you wanna be, act or look older, and when you
get older, you want to act, sound and look younger. You see this theory all
started when I was in the car last night, and calmly listening to some laid back
Moodsetter music in the player. I had the partition up, and my driver was more
than likely drifting into his own place of comfort while driving me back to my
hotel suite. As we approached a stop light, I glanced over to see who was
attempting to look inside my smoked tinted windows, to see if they could see
who was in their. My thoughts were that they were seeing if I was someone
famous, someone they could scream at the top of their lungs and celebrate
for some odd reason. Some one they can say they seen in traffic, and
wouldn’t you know it, that was just the case as they were summoning for me
to roll down my window at the end of this over priced buggy. But as they
drove off a few seconds before us, I looked down at the rear of the car, to
see what part of the country they were from in viewing their license plate.
Well as my eyes drifted, and I seen this bumper sticker that made me smile
and silently laugh to myself. The woman driving was a redhead, wearing
make-up that resembled a showgirl in Vegas, and a lace top that was
obviously a few sizes too small. The reason I say the top seemed too small for
her is that all of a sudden while slowly gazing down from her neckline to each
stitch of fabric to this avenue of cleavage, my lactose intolerant ass could only
think about being breast feed with milk, milk and more, milk as I seen the
Rocky Mountains, and I am in Rome.
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