Naming the Woman --okay, it's really a link now... Abandon all hope Ye who’ve entered here. Enter here instead. posted 08.01.03 I’m Still Here (as of yet) Burningbird had some delightful quotes. I am posting two segments here. Thinking about people who love art but don't necessarily love nature -- I wonder if sometimes an artist isn't more of a translator than anything else, interpreting the beauty of every day things for those who can't see the beauty any other way. The artist is inspired to create art to inspire others who cannot be inspired by that which inspired the artist. and… I picture van Gogh, half mad, which is worse than being fully mad, pacing about at night because he can't quiet the demons long enough to sleep. In one breathless, immortal moment, he lifts his head and looks out over the sleeping town below, and at the stars blazing in the heavens above on this crisp, cool night. In perfect clarity, he sees the glory of the stars, their truth, as they burned themselves into his soul and hence to his art, so that he may show those below him what they miss in their sleep and their sanity. I dunno. I kinda reveled in those trains of thought. Dang, but I dig her. I must be sick and wrong, mustn’t I? But at least I’m not as warped as this woman. And hopefully Ann isn’t either. Or maybe I should be hoping that she is? At least I’m not a carnie worker. Though I may have a bit of a closeness to this guy. the following, however, isn’t..
posted 08.27.03 Moving ag’in? I may be packin’ my proverbial bags and hikin’ to a new locale in the not to distant future. Depending on whether I am technically savvy enough or not. We shall see.
posted 08.26.03 Touching the Dead A few years back, I went through a stint where in a very short time I was a pall bearer for three funerals. One was my great-grandmother. Another was the grandmother of my at-that-time girlfriend. The other one, because it just became too much for me, was some person I cannot recall. I didn’t have to be a pall bearer for Rick. I did, however, get to peruse through his home earlier. It was an odd sensation, going through the belongings of someone who would never see them again. What would people think of me were they to peruse my worldly effects? I doubt a complete stranger would really care. Yet, I cared. I have peculiar things. I have a computer hard drive that would confuse anyone with its contents. I have books that range so far and wide that the normal person would just pass them by were they in a library book sale. I don’t really have all that much that takes up space in the outside world. Well, I do have a nearing 2 ½ year old, but that’s another story all together… I picked up a slide rule that had belonged to him. This tool, it made my fingers tingle when I touched it. I am NOT a person who is comfortable with numbers, I would am indebted to them for what they have given me.
A soft flame flickers in the oil lamp beside me. It tells me that I should head off to sleep very soon.
posted 08.24.03 Requium for an Unknown Man He was a man I have never met before, and now I never shall. At least not in the here and now. I learned a great deal about what other people thought of him. But what do I think? What do I know? What do I feel? I will make the pastor’s faux pas and call him Rick. His memorial service was in a Methodist church, and was very moving. At the risk of sounding mystical, he was there with us beyond the urn of his ashes that stood silently on the altar. When my girlfriend, his sister, stood and spoke of him, she mentioned his listening to crickets at night. Soon after that, one solitary cricket began to chirp from just outside the window of the sultry hot church. It was a plaintive chirring, as if to say, “Yes, I am still.” I wish I had met you, Rick. I think, from the things that people remembered you by, that we have more in common than either of us realize. posted 08.23.03 Obligatory Title KIPlog still completely blows me away. Its author remembers my (way longer than two years ago) first attempts at a web presence. I wonder where it is that I stand on the rainbow spectrum of blogs and weblogs. I’ve always seen this place here as mostly a journal with links that amuse me, but I’m not edumikated enuff to really know what it is that I am doing. I have never saved things. I am a discarder of the things that I create. Some people, though, have saved my stuff. I wish I could make her life easier. I am a weblog Cats really scare me. Silhouettes intrigue me. I’m glad, though it looks beautiful, that I am not proven to be insane. This image just astounds me. I wish I had a brain so I could fathom this stuff I saw via KIPlog. I used to be a sign. Now I am just a signified. I am profoundly curious about anal sex, so this is rather interesting. I liked gin, when I used to drink that kinda liquid. I wonder if there are gin nicotini‘s. Some people would give an arm and a leg for a good vacation. Marriage may be a scary thing. My eyes may be bigger than my stomach on Thanksgiving, but is my eye bigger than my brain? posted08.20.03 this may not be me
I'm thinking at the moment about pictures. I too thought my face between your thighs - your penis in my mouth - would make a fantastic photograph. And right now I see many images of us together: my legs over your shoulders - both front and back - calves at your collarbone. A shot you'd take from above: your straight hard penis enclosed within the soft curves of my dupa. More shots of our legs entwined. Your face half-buried in my hair. I would like, too, to take candid shots of you just as you took them of me. I too saw myself in new ways in the photos you took yesterday, and despite my one disparaging comment I found them quite beautiful. I hope we allow ourselves to have a large number of photographic "sessions." I had the same notion about bones and other "props" and would - well, I'd like to explore lots and lots of areas with you. You are truly beautiful, and yes, I am beautiful, and we can create quite a lot of incredible images, of and with each other, together. We can do amazing things, auftn, my lover, and we will continue to lead each other and ourselves to astonishingly beautiful heights. I would love to have a picture of your hand around my breast, my nipple between your fingers. Your hand on my thigh. My hand on your chest, my fingers around your cock. My lips to your knee. Your toes in my mouth. My foot in your hands, the sole pressed to your cheek. My legs wrapped around your shoulders, ankles crossed behind your neck. You over me, inside me. My face nuzzling your scrotum (god, how I love to smell that soft skin). The tender erotic curve of your hip. Your penis at the laugh-line that connects my nose to the edge of my smile. Your beautiful, beautiful face. My leg resting diagonally from your hip to the opposite shoulder, your beautiful strong arm resting across the top. So many images. But there is more than our physical beauty to discuss. You in the bath ... floating candles ... Me in the bath, with food-coloring in the water.... Stop now. More to discuss. You are right, I do need to learn to accept more help. It is so difficult for me to ask so much. You do *so* *much* for me, auftn. Already, and always. You do so much. I know you want to do more. And I want to do more for you, too, but you ask nothing of me. And we have different approaches. I think I would be bolder if it weren't your Mom's stuff I was messing with - I would have cleaned your bathrooms but I didn't want either of you to think it was because I was somehow offended by the conditions. Last time I was there I cleaned the coffee pot - I figured that was a good mild helpful way to start. I put away toys, somewhat. I'm just so timid there still, that you end up doing so many things when I am your guest, but then when you are my guest you are so comfortable fending for yourself (and both of us together) and finding easy good helpful things to do. And some not-so-easy good helpful things. I guess I just need to be less timid, both at your house and in asking you to do helpful things at mine. These are unusual times, though, so I asked even more of you this weekend than I normally would. But all I really wanted was to be with you. To be still, to be able to stare at you, be able to touch you. I know it must be boring and sometimes I try to fight it but just sitting with you, touching you, means so much to me.... It's so diffcult to tear myself away and do something practical. In the midst of The Vanessa Incident it was so wonderful to rest my head in your lap and feel your hand on my shoulder, thumb and fingers giving strokey massage.... It was several minutes of plain old joyous stripped-bare love. It's getting to be time to go, but I should mention that if you need to pick up lilbear on Saturday, I should probably not join you this time. Don't write that in stone, though - I'll leave the final decision to whatever general family plans arise. If you find out that your trip will definitely be Saturday, go ahead and plan on it, and if I can make it I'll let you know in time. You should have reminded me, love, yesterday, that we had agreed not to say that nothing was wrong if it wasn't true. I should have said, I feel icky but don't have the words for it yet. I'm sorry I forgot that agreement. I tried the body pillow last night. It helped, but it ain't you. Not even close. You are right, my love; someday we'll work out a way. I hope someday isn't too far in the future. And I hope we have a very, very long future. I need you, my angel. I need you to love me and buoy me and need me and I need you to join me in a tangle of legs and arms and lips. I love you, auftn. posted 08.18.03 Nature Is a Whore So, I’m at work today, as is normal for people my age, I suppose. I don’t know if I ever mentioned it earlier, but the reason I got hired on at this job is because I am replacing a younger and more virile lad who, being younger and more virile, is joining the military service in some capacity or other. Anyway, I sit across from him at present. He has a boom box at his desk and listens to cds most of the time. For three days straight, he listened to something by a band called “Everclear.” On occasion he breaks out a disk from a box set by Frank He managed finding an 80s station that came in pretty well. Eventually, Money for Nothing came on the air. This began a short conversation about Mtvs first video. I, of course, had to right him in his confusion as to what video played first. Then I had to tell him that I had, when it was a new release, a copy of the album back when there was vinyl. It all just made me feel old and tired. So what am I doing now? Listening to Nevermind.
I’m truly a lost cause, aren’t I? Just so y;all know, I could have passed high school chemistry if Google would have been around to do my calcu-la-matin’ fer me. I still like Google Really, I do. posted 08.14.03 Sturgeon Moon Coming soon, to a sky near you. Next stop, Harvest Moon. posted 08.11.03 Metaphysical Breakdown posted 08.10.03 Hello is what I am doing here real? Maybe it is just a re-telling of a dream. posted 08.08.03 One day I will no longer be here. I will leave lilbear to fend for himself. The thought of this bothers me. But not so much as the idea that I would live without him. FHOs brother died not too long ago. I don’t know what to do with this.
posted 08.06.03 Supplemental divinity She’s the best thing to happen to me since la Lune, the river, and the train as it calls out its movement through the night. Chirr. Chirr. Somewhere out there in the “literary world” is a concept of the pathetic fallacy. I went to the Perry Farm with a couple of special people this weekend. It was, for myself at the very least, a gentle little outing. This is the town that I did the latter half of my childhood growing up in. The Perry Farm wasn’t even here when I was reaching my alleged maturity, but it's here now, and I like that it is available. As I drove there, I was absent-minded. Did I bring enough for lilbear to drink? Was flaxen well enough to spend much time out and about? How many stops afterward was I going to have to make to get the groceries I wanted to pick up? I drew nearer and nearer and then I asked, when I saw there were hiking paths along the way, if she and I could maybe walk along them someday. She said that we should. None of this has anything to do with the “pathetic fallacy.” Taking a walk along a path I’ve never been on, even though it is in the place where I grew up is not literary in any way, shape or means. Yet and still. She and I… we have places neither one of us has gone to. They are places that are very close to where we both grew up. We have known each other from a proto-childhood and grown up together from there. Now, though, we are both at very different places. Yet we are still on the same path. It’s a path, though, that frightens me. I will admit that. I am scared, sometimes. I am scared a lot. I don’t let on, because that wouldn’t be me. I crack wise when “things” get thick. When it is time to say good-bye, and I don’t want to, I may put up a big ol’ strong front, but it is only a stretch of landmines on the no-man’s-land that are waiting for the bees to find. posted 08.03.03 |
|
