060105 We were just stoned piddly-boys getting wistful off the resin in our old grandpappy's pipe. Smoke and drink, boys! he used to say. He played music loud, he belched, he fried bacon and left the grease to congeal. He ashed on the stovetop. He gave us the shake and the resin. It was all we needed. Yes, I'm doing resin hits and reflecting on my sexuality. So sue me. Pretty soon I'll have another gin and seltzer. So sue me. Then I'll probably have a smoke. So fucking sue me. The worst thing about resin hits is, they don't really work. I think I'll go watch some more old Red Dwarf instead. Fuck me, fuck me. Oh, won't somebody please just fuck me utterly senseless, fifty guys fuck me fifty times in a row, and fifty girls with strap-ons too, and their cruel faces spitting on me, utterly senseless so I don't have to listen to me any more. 060105 later that same day I'm queasy, bleary, snuffly, aching; my love handles jiggle; I can't smell right and I probably DON'T smell right; I've wasted most of my week alone, and I'm still behind in my class; every time I belch I want to puke; and along the side of my nose inside is a boil -- or a gin blossom? -- the size of that car that sat there, hood up, blackened, old, in the middle of the middle lane of the highway this morning, while everybody struggled to find the quickest way to get around it and get going, on to wherever it is we were all going before that derelict piece of junk that could be us next time slowed us down and made us put on our brake lights one right after another. As I passed, I got a glimpse of the car's erstwhile driver. He was just sitting there. Just sitting there. I don't feel so good. But this is helping a little bit, don't ask me why: talking to the fish at Esriel's cafe. The sun warms the morning wood-work. Just waiting for people and bicycles to start wheeling in. hjjjjj Okay. Okay okay okay. Got to write this ficking Othelloo bullshit I've been pooting off for three daze. Gaze. Raze. Faze. Laze. That's right, I've been too god damn busy lazing about. But now, I do it. I'm in a cafe. I have black juice and brown flecks and a lepping orange ignition. The only thing unfun about this is I can't just not do it, or just do whatever. I have to write the bullshit. But that's Okay. Okay okay okay. Okay. So I'll finish it tomorrow. Morning. Before work. Okay. Am I trying to be a failure, or what? What the hell is wrong with my gumption? 060305 As long as passion still flows, even if deeply, needing some probing or seducing to issue forth, I'm still alive and O-kay. As long as I still sing and move to that groove, you know the one I mean, as long as I still finish a line and go "HA!", then I'm still kicking. In the presence of passion, such laughable details as talent, skill, age, even sex, are no more threatening than vanilla frosting on a chonk-lit cake. Yeah. 060605 It's okay to make a fool of yourself. At least you will have made SOMETHING of yourself. 060805 Why I want an open marriage, to be able to talk about Cunnyhol, be gay, be free, be myself, whatever -- is i want to share all those things with you. I want to be alive with you, the spaceship couple, you know. I want to express things I think you understand. I want us to know secret things together. I want us to have secrets to reveal to each other. And yes, I do want to forever be your little bitch, your sweet baby, your shit boy too. I don't know why I do. I just do. Love IT while you've got IT. (You can love with or without IT, but still....) 061105 Omsatigo. Omsatigo wakes up lower-case in the post-pre-Esriel's-New-Cafe era if anyone's counting. Eleventh generation after, you know, after that one thing the ancients did. He is lost in Npydyuan (and this was back when Npydyuan wasn't that big). Oh my, Omsatigo. We have a lot of work to do, old boy. and beats the rhythmstyck hump two three hump two three over andover a gain I generally look at porn when I'm feeling lonely in here. 061405 Happy Fag Day. Most people, when they hear the term *teh-dsa,* think of the mad-scientific, ultra-bio-fractally disingenuous game of ytrr. You know the one I'm talking about. Pronounced "tree." There's seven suits (or eight). You can start a tree from any seed, the trees grow, they can have battles, whatever. You know. ytrr. But did you know *teh-dsa* is not synonymous with *ytrr?* Nor is the former merely a subclass of the latter. In fact, the two entities are distinct (if not discrete), and each has its own convoluted history and future history (and so on). They are, at this time, in this place as we know it, symbiotic. 061605 A sin is anything you wish you hadn't done. Hindsight is the only prophet. 062905 I want to be submissive to a woman, not to a man. I mean, sure, a man if it's part of the whole picture with the woman. also the same thing dotting out across white space i lookbehind me at the lookbehind drive see how it's hummin stick my thumb in the hole that says ouch! and smiles shell out another script for omsatigo, letivogo, and me A062905 If I kiss her feet every day whether I feel like it or not, maybe she'll become the handsome prince... with handsome riding crop perhaps? feminine, stern, aloof but with a hot liquid center that melts in your mouth like so much hot shit... Time to smoke and look at smokin porn. So bartender, I says. Give me one of your Regular Cigarettes! What TrinityVA failed to recognize in her entry on Female Superiority's being a bunch of crap, is, people create fictions all the time. It's how we travel and live. For her to find theirs invalid seems hypocritical. No really, I'm going back to school because I want snotty teenage girls to ridicule me. I love girls and women. Absolutely. Flammably. Insensately. Fer real. That's beyond all notions of gay, not gay, or any of that other crap. They're just one of the things I love. Most "submissives" are manipulative "dominants." sez You. All these beautiful women all over the aer. Makes me feel so lucky to have a family to go home to.