DADDY sez...

"do no harm"... yeaaaaaaaah.

I'm pretty sure just about every person running the so-called path of enlightenment thinks about these things: How to go about doing the right thing, and all the other lessons of higher mindedness. Me and most everyone I know probably OVER-thinks it all a fair bit too much.

The trouble is, I'm pretty sure what truly short-circuits us has nothing to do with thinking or not-thinking. Crossed emotions and things jumping out from the pre-conscious areas are what tend to throw the wrench in personal and collective flow.

Thinking gets so easily steamrollered, instantaneously and without warning. The Fear hits and you see white.

No matter how much knowledge we acquire about doing what's "good" and "right", them little demons come barking out of nowhere to put the whammy jack-fuck in the works. They're crafty that way.

"Do no harm", huh?

Is solitary confinement, sitting in a cloister in the mountains meditating on world peace gonna do a damn bit of good for anyone except for the meditating dill-wad convinced of the not-harm he's doing?

Is "doing jack shit" considered doing-no-harm? If that's the case, then my friend who plays X-box all stinkin' day every day and dicks around on MySpace continuously... he's the greatest American Buddha ever. He's "holding space" for all us poor motherfuckin ambitious retards.

Someone give him a fuckin' bowl of rice.

How about my own personal modus operandi: Being a retard assclown like almost ALL of the time. It mostly results in the spreading of amusement, but sometimes scares the shit-fuck out of a few who aren't quite emotionally or mentally prepared for it at the moment. Do I notice? Fuck no - too busy bein' an assclown. Do I care? Yeah, but what am I gonna do?

Cuz not-being-an-assclown is simply NOT an option.

I am me. I am crazy. Just because I do a fine job perpetrating the illusion of intelligence doesn't mean I'm not 100% fucking insane all the fucking time. How do you think I got so "intelligent". I'll tell you a secret: I been practicing the ruse since I was about 2 years old. The "intelligence" is just a cover story for the deepest, blackest of fears.

Cranked it up hard at the age of 6 when I realized completely and undeniably, in a crystallizing moment that is still very vivid to this day, that everyone around me (all adults included) was a shit-scared know-nothing clueless fuck who were all just making it up as they went along (and doing a piss-poor job of it at that.)

To this day, no epiphany has been more powerful or more transformative for my life. No soul-crunching 3-letter psycho-mimetic substance, no comatose heart-stopping NDE death-ride into the dark night... NOTHING since (and there's been more than my rightful share or NOTHINGs) has come even remotely close to that infinite moment of clarity.

Thus: the non-stop assclownium. I been dead forever and still looking for ways to live. It gets ugly sometimes.

Even so, I "try" to do no harm. At least that's what I think, but action ends up being so scattershot non-linear.

As much as I consciously attempt to follow the "do no harm" credo, every once in a while electric fucking fire jumps right out of my skin, following it's own imperative - ignoring all conventions of politeness and reason, shooting from the black core of Ur-space, tagging some poor soul right in the kisser or bread basket. The path of least resistance for FIRE tends to also be the path of maximum damage/effect.

Oops. Fuckin' sorry. The well-practiced veneer of civility doesn't always contain the fire. Someone got burned... again, 3rd degree and still smoking.

...and the flames continue to shoot.

Almost smoked my computer monday. It spun down, shut down, made funny noises and spit out some burning plastic epoxy smells out the back. It restarted fine, but I immediately shut it down for the night to give it a rest.

Tried to cook some rice. The rice cooker stopped working. Gone. Broken. It took one for the team.

All hail the Salton Rice Cooker/Steamer Christ for dying for my sins. "A young kitchen Appliance dies so that an old Macintosh can live" ...enabling my continuing Prodigal wayward ways of spreading a swath of disruption straightaway through my universe of delusion.

So, yeah, I smoked Red's rice cooker with my animus. Only got 3 uses out of it. Nice job.

I've been told (by my oldest friend) that my "evil" has killed every computer I've owned. That there's only so much evil these devices can pass before they just can't take no more.

Red says that I'm not evil, but I create evil on my trusty Laptop.

Mm hm, I don't see the distinction.

Now I could use my super-intelligence to do good. Maybe create the next Magic Bullet super drug, or find a cure for cancer. But, really, is that doing NO harm? Place such actions into the larger context of history. Super-drugs eventually lead to stronger super-bugs: viruses and bacteria that can't be stopped by anything. Shit that eats your skin clean off. Cures of any kind just result in overpopulation, famine an other undesirable effects down the line. What good deed doesn't eventually go unpunished?

So if doing good can lead eventually to negative consequences, is INACTION the only way of doing no harm?

And if inaction is the way, why bother thinking or doing at all? Shouldn't we then be watching as much TeeVee as possible?

I read Do No Harm and all I can think is: What is 'harm'?

Really. Whatthefukk?

Today I'm all in a funk about the unintended results of my assclownium... rolling into 'fuckit' mode. I know the pattern.

here's what I'm telling myself: You're gonna piss people off. You're gonna be an asshole sometimes. You're gonna get your feelings hurt, and hurt other people's feelings, too.

whatever.

Some days you'll feel happy. Other days you'll feel bad... maybe even REALLY bad. I guarantee you won't have all of only one or the other - both kinds is the rule. And always in retreospect, you see it all as good.

whatever.

You ARE going to feel ugly sometimes and once in a while feel like a Super Model. And even if you do look weird as fuck (and you know you do), there will be at least one person who thinks you're the most beautiful person on earth.

There's a slim chance that that person won't be drunk and/or really high at the time. In which case: they're bat-shit fucking crazy, so avoid them.

whatever.

some days everyone will seem beautiful. other days you'll be glad you don't carry a gun, as you shiver to the bone at the annoying unwashed sea of humanity pressing in closer at the edges..

big whoop.

you'll unintentionally intimidate most everyone by the simple act of being, but a few people will hang with you. But even they will be frightened by you sometimes.

so what.

And no matter how much good or evil you consciously or unconsciously emanate outwards, you eventually are gonna die.

So fuckin' get over it.

KNOW that you're gonna do harm some times. KNOW that you're gonna do no harm other times.

Time's a wastin' and there's too much fun to be had than to sit here sulking.

Fuckin' whatever, bitch.

(at which point the voices-in-my-head got into a blouse-ripping, stiletto-heel-breaking cat-fight for calling me bitch.)

i sit here on this free internet connection at the L.A. Library with that odd amorphous just-penetrated feeling.

my fingertips buzzing numb.

my body craving chocolate once again. the fire needs a feeding. chocolate is it's "coal".

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 12:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

yesterday was so fuckin wacked. Not in a big over-the-top way. Just in the normal "this is how it is, how it's always been and probably how it's gonna stay" fucked up way that somehow, for the day at hand, had lost much of it's luster.

Had to wait 'til now, after midnight, to finally vomit it all out.

Tweaked on some web design stuff in the morning. Felt pretty good. Went to make sure a cat was fed. There is something about certain cats that induce Deja Vu and other non-linear outside-of-time mental states in me. This particular cat's "Jedi Mind Distortion Field" was quite strong. He's all big n' fat n' mellow, curled up on a chair, 'holding space' for the universe.

I think he's a Buddha.

The one thing I was set to do was that photo shoot with Miss Diva-licious: the shaving thing. I planned on going to do some tech grunt work in the morning, but was so dog-tired I decided "fuck it, I'll do that tomorrow and go back to sleep right now"

Which is exactly what I did.

Woke again at noon. Showered. Called the Diva-licious FurBurger, left a message. Gathered up the mini light kit, hit the fuckin road.

Was about to stop by Mr. Brown's house, decided to swing by my parent's house first. What occurred set the tone for the entire day.

I'm foraging around their fridge for snacks when out of the Ether a very familiar Schizo "domestic" psychodrama breaks out in the place, all singing and dancing.

Continuing my Snacktastic ritual, almost as if I'm a fly on the wall or invisible.

I'm like the Air (that is, if the Air was capable of blithely going about snacking while Rome was burning to the ground.)

It all seemed so clinical to me. I thought, "why is this woman going off on this man?".

Oh yeah, that's what they do. It's their "thing".

Snacking completed, I faded out of that Scene - jumping from a microscopic repeating loop of paranoid schizophrenia back into the Continuum.

FurBurger calls. turns out "her friend came to visit" this morning, or as she put it, "my period started... and it started WITH A VENGEANCE".

Aaaaaagh! Too much information. She then proceeds to up the ante by telling me 2 or 3 more nuggets of Female plumbing ephemera that I didn't need to know. I can't relate them here because I think my mind has actually BLACKED OUT THE DETAILS. It's all blurry.

Yes... BLACKOUT. What a plethora of alcohol and every drug known to man has failed to do to my mind, Miss Diva-licious has managed to achieve with a few choice words. Nice job, Honey.

Kudos.

Photo shoot postponed. The day is open.

Fade in (or out). Mr. Brown's house. Nobody home. I let myself in and begin uploading content to the Internet. Much little tweaky Alchemy in the queue.

Over the years, I've set up more than a few Wireless Access Points at various places around town (which I have access to) and have access to a few additional ones.

I forage for Access as needed like my ancestors throwing nets into the surf when they got hungry for fish. This works for everyone, as it tends to keep me in circulation, always at hand to banish the Demons of Chaos from their silicon-based slave boxes.

If I were to put a number to it, even at my lowest professional rate, I probably give away upwards of $10,000 in free technical services each year to my friends and associates. Ah but it sometimes costs to be a God. Nothing but time, baby. Only time.

As I ran around with Mr. Brown and his various errands, listening to the machine-gun half-thoughts speed through him. Rapping about stuff, calling people on the cell, the incensed rage about the same domestic stuff I've heard from him any every other Married Guy since the beginning of time, I thought "Fuck, I gotta stop hanging around with crazy people."

Yes, the Inner Hermit started talking again.

But I know we all got our 'crazy' going on, full effect, all the fuckin time.

"Being crazy" isn't so much the problem. "Causing crazy"... now that's some fucked up shit.

I've seen fuckin' madness jump the fire-line between people. From others to me, from me to others, between 2 or 3 motherfuckers standing right there in front of my fuckin face - all below the conscious awareness of the effected persons. That is some scary shit. Yeah. Fuck that.

I think of Red and how she sometimes talks about being nuts.

You know what? Actual fucked-up-in-the-head motherfuckers - They never talk about shit like that. They think they are the most sane human(s) on the planet.

Yeah, she ain't crazy. Hypersensitive maybe. And she's got a penchant for drama, sure.

But crazy by my personal metric: "unconscious living and consistent spreading of chaos and strife"... no, her crazy is fairly tame. Don't tell her though. Everyone needs their time in the drama spotlight. That's what makes it all fun and good.

Anyway, I had so much psychic goo on me by sunset that I had to take me another shower. Wash away the madness in the heat and steam.

It sorta worked.

Went to Mr. White's house. His crazy loud kids didn't seem so crazy anymore. They were LOUD, yeah. But everything was... in balance.

There were candles burning, six of them. Very relaxing. We watched a VHS of some "Modern Marvels" shows. Yeah, we're geeks. There's nothing more fascinating than Engineering Disasters or Mega Ships entering the port of Rotterdam (on the hairy edge of potential DISASTER.)

I'm at Red's now - writing this.

She's down the street watching that cat I checked in on earlier; spending the night with him.

I hope he teaches her some of his Buddha ways.
------
Note to self: Bite the bullet, pay for Wireless Broadband.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 12:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Mr. Brown said today, "The doctor told me I need to lose some weight. So I got a haircut and now I look skinnier."

Went to Long Beach so he could get some running shoes with orthotic arch support inserts at some special show store there.

Yeah, that's pretty much the highlight of my day.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 07:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I love chocolate. I'm sure you like chocolate, too.

I LOOOOVE chococlate!

When I was like 7 or 8, I got a monster-sized Hershey's Kiss for my birthday. It was like a pound or two: bigger than my fist, not as large as my head.

It all went down something like this:
mom - "Where's that chocolate?"
me - "I ate it."
mom - "All of it??!!"
me - "um.... uh... yeaaaah"
mom - "OH MY GOD! It's GONE! It's been only 5 minutes!!!"

Yeah, I just now killed the last of a bag of Hershey's Kisses (for breakfast.)

Sorry Red, I know that was the only food in the house. I'll replace it with something that doesn't cause harm to EVERY INTERNAL ORGAN of the human body.

Just taking one for the team, is all.

and for some reason, Burl Fucking Ive's "Holly Jolly Christmas" is stuck in my head.

That fat bastard!

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 11:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

So, the stills shoot got cancelled today. I'm actually kind of glad cuz I am freakin exhausted.

Mental fatigue is always the harshest for me.

Miss Diva-licious is going through a rough patch: reverberating in a "breakup" phase. She made the mistake of telling me that she's all unshaven, legs n' pits n' all.

Now I'm fixated, nay, OBSESSED with doing a pre-photo-shoot photo shoot on monday of her shaving.

Aaaah, think about it. How many times in your life do you shave? Of that, how often do you take pictures of it?

For almost everyone: like NEVER!

It would be soooo bitchen. Maybe smoking and eating an apple while doing it... yeah, yeah...

Oh oh. I'm gettin' a chubby.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 04:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

on sunday, My Crackhead Distortion Field was cranked to 11.

Here's my personal metric for normal functioning: If I know where my keys and my wallet (and my cell phone) is - everything's Jake. And I'm not so much concerned about the keys and cell phone part of the equation.

I had travelled around town: to South Los Angeles, Redondo Beach, Lakewood, Torrance, Mar Vista... over 9 hours doing stuff and then I noticed my wallet was gone.

It was after midnight when I discovered this, and couldn't remember when I had it last. Disturbing. So I slept, figuring it would show up.

And it did appear this morning. I never put it in my pocket after putting on my clothes (??!?!).

I NEVER FORGET MY WALLET. Never, never ever. 9 hours of gone and not noticing don't add up.

Here's the thing: I'm pretty sure the catalyst for the event was the distraction of a few harsh words. I'm not saying I didn't deserve the words; I'm sure in many ways I did. Why I'm not beaten daily with pillow sacks full o' hard-cover books by everyone who knows me is an ongoing unsolvable mystery.

But that emanation thing: the flow of positive and negative energy has a tangible effect. Words heard, wallet forgotten, minor freak out. Some connection there.

Been an avid student of late regarding Energy flow and the use and abuse of Power. (You might say it's an obsession.)

The Yoga practice is a real eye-opener. The way my aphasiac/synthethist mind metabolizes the Yoga experience is to expand it and see EVERYTHING as yoga. Snacking, technical assistance, design, programming, driving, conversation, drinking beer... all collapse into the Yoga model as the Yoga model expands into everything.

Even the "white kids" (who are almost like children, only much louder) have turned into some fascinating iteration of expression, worthy of attention-immersion. They elevate the practice of Simultaneous Screaming to an art form. They practice that art often and with total commitment.

I noticed in myself a little cluster of attachment with Mr. Brown's wheel-spinning career-destroying ways. What is that I heard about the definition of Insanity? something like "doing the same thing over and over, but expecting a different outcome".

I'm a little masochistic that way. Making myself gaze not just at the effortless and obvious beauty, but also at the business-as-usual desperate ways of being that I find (yes: JUDGE) to be more grotesque that any Nazi-type atrocity. Those things I have little or no control over in the lives of others around me, and the things in my own life I pretend to have no control over.

Gazing, unblinking; seeing if it's possible for all of it to be beautiful. Almoooost there.

And speaking of beautiful. "Confused & Experimental's" girly production unit, "Dance Good. Damn It!", did their piece tonight. And it was fabulous; burlesquey cheesecakey Busby Berkeley-rific. And FurBurger, she LIVED into it like she was born for it. I'd say she's the reincarnation of Betty Page except Betty Page ain't dead yet.

I even accidently added a "First Act" at the beginning. I stood on a bar stool trying to turn the overhead 'Busby Berkeley' camera on. It was confusing me, showing no indication of being on and the stool sort of bobbled on 2 legs which scared the crap out of the audience.

Though I had just downed a Newcastle, I was pretty confident in my balance. So while tweaking with the camera looking for life, I simultaneously played with the edge of balance of the bar stool so that the legs in front of me kept jumping up and down, threatening to collapse backwards and throw me to the ground.

Inside I was laughing so hard, wondering if anyone was getting that I was doing it on purpose now. Sweet. Dangerous as fuck. But sweet.

Abusing an audience: a worthy pastime.

Anyway, the Chimpies kicked ass (as usual).

But what really rocked was this Improv duet with Meg Wolfe and her friend whose name I forget (sorry.)

Holy Crap it was good! So fuckin' funny. Most experimental dance pieces are all "dancey" dance or artsy fartsy and vague and shit, so my Caveman Brain tends to wander - thinking about more interesting things like how an In n' Out Double Double burger would really hit the spot right now, or how nice it would be to masturbate while listening to Christian Banjo Music.

But their experimental/improv piece kept my attention. It was Transcendentally Hilarious: Super crazy retarded good, like hiccuping while drinking Coke with Pop Rocks in yer mouth as two cats lick the bottom of your feet.

Sorry, I just don't possess the language skills to describe how amazing it was. But take my word for it: MEG FUCKING WOLFE IS A FUCKING GOD!

And her little friend, too.

Plus... she's hot.

REALLY Hot. You know, the kind of hot that don't know how hot it is which makes 'em even hotter.

Yeah, THAT kind.

Even hotter than Greg. You see, Greg knows he's hot and ain't afraid of telling everyone all the time so basically just needs to be slapped sometimes. The big homo.

But you can't never bring yourself to slapping him because all other humans on earth are far more slap-worthy.

I'm sleepy.

And hungry. Probably because I only ate 4 meals today.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 01:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

There's about a half dozen various semi-related things: Perception of the Magical, vulnerability, openness that transcends simple Tolerance, passion, my feelings about particular individuals, my laid-back irresponsible ways, the short-term annoyance n' long-term goodness of Pain, etc.

But they all sort of blur and peter out; the words stop cold. Can't sustain the narrative. Delete File.

All blurring and boring because "It" feels good. It all feels so good.

The expectation of more hard work just ahead. The current running and jumping; making things happen, living volition hard and focussing intent tightly - all within the spirit of ease. The knowing that there surely is more pain and loss to come, cuz that's just how it is. The good times now. My "Inner Asshole" always lurking beneath the surface. All that.

The feeling is so very good.

I was thinking about the stew of good and bad choices I've made: that which serves and that which continues to not-serve me (or anyone else).

The simplicity of the metric struck me: I am who I am today due to the choices that have been made, same as always. Whatever may come, both pleasant and otherwise, will likely emerge from that same model. That and the little wild-card of strange Luck.

But I can't claim it is all because of will and control. That is just a part of the illusion. In a perfect Solipsist Universe it would be. But, NO, not here. There is more than just my shit in play here.

But we were talking about ME, weren't we? How does everything else effect ME? What has all this on the OUTSIDE have to do with ME?

Hmmm.

There are those who "make" my life through the simple act of being. I have so much of a connection and affection for these few, that they actually feel as if they are a part of my soul. Like they've given and continue to gift me with those lost and forgotten pieces of myself.

And that's why I do what I do; why I am the way I am. Yeah, in the past I've made some blind fucking blanket declarations and vows to the Universe, but in The Shape of Those Few I find the strength to live into those abstract declarations. I see the why.

As much of a man as I can manage to be ("in my worthless irresponsible life", saith Alex) has much to do with the way they see me. And the way I live into that.

I see in their eyes a reflection of I, and inside of that process, a growing creation. And it feels so damn good.

I do what I can to hold on to that slippery sand, knowing full well that it flows of it's own volition. Still, it's good when it's there. Soo good.

That is what lies beneath the layers of emotional mask.

By your presence, I am become the kind of man that I was meant to be.

To you few (and you know who you are), thank you.

Thank you for being.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 03:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

a random partial listing of things I love :

1. Books
2. a motorcycle rolling with me on it.
3. animals who DON'T constantly jump on me. Except Reo. Reo can jump on me; he's cool.
4. pie... no, cake! . ..no. pie ...okay, both cake AND pie but not at the same sitting.
5. pink panties.

6. good chocolate (as opposed to bad chocolate.)
7. cartoons, even really bad ones sometimes like Scooby Doo.
8. the sound of voices. But only somewhere below the "Threshold of Pain", so certain things like small groups of children screaming simultaneously, and Nascar Fans and anyone else whose voice is louder than the throttled-up engine of a Jumbo Jet are excluded.
9. Black panties!
10. the sound of particular voices. (listed separately because there are those few who are able to induce in me an instant hard-on.)
11. Mental Masturbation. But if my brain starts growing hair, I'll stop. I promise.
12. Umani Ramen from Umemura in Gardena.
13. Computers when they aren't fucking up.
14. Building stuff.
15. shooting guns at Coke cans while imagining myself as Bi-Polar American Action Hero, John Rambo.
16. young swarthy fat boys out behind the trailer.
17. WHITE PANTIES! {"meh... LITTLE ELVIS! myeh."}
18. Newcastle Brown Ale.
19. the total eclipse of the sun.
20. the sight of rockets shooting through the sky
21. Wanderjahr.
22. My Glorious Little Chimpies.
23. Yellow Curry at that Thai place in Glendale.
24. a perfect Yummy Day.
25. observing the process of Quality in action.
26. black stretch-fabric "video Ho" shortie shorts. {"mmmppph"}
27. most iterations of Porn.
28. napping.
29. all my teachers. (6.5 billion of them and counting. i've personally only met a scant few so far within this group.)
30. Fire!
31. soaking in a bathtub full of hot water.
32. helping.
33. writing.
34. her.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 11:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

a lazy hazy thursday, March just creeping in. but feeling more like October.

yesterday's morning shenanigans, afternoon DaveSansNancia Yoga and evening's chilling with Kev - it all melds together.

What was it, two, three days ago listening to Mr. Pink vent a little? Being the Ear, the still small voice, the helping hand.

And the Accidental Yogi, Mr. Brown: The Stalin Boddhisattva. That fierce super-clenched control vortex; sands of power not just slipping through his fingers, but flying out in all directions. How is it that one can be hated the most by the many he has helped the most? Irony incarnate. Listening to him vent heavy, lost in emotion but also somewhat self-aware. At once sublime and amusing. Was that earlier today?

Mr. White, the chillest of chill. It's as if everything outside that door is rebuilt by the animal and machine Sprites by just hanging here for a few hours trying to kill that unkillable cornucopia of Newcastle. We talk shop: engineering, technical and sociial. He came up with THE MOST ingenious hardcore info-control idea I have ever heard, and wasn't even aware of it's brilliance (until I pointed it out, of course.) Trip.

a perfect Yummy Day(s)

And what DAY is it again? Actually enjoying the presence of just about everyone?! it occurred to me that I am on the upswing, and I stopped a moment to hope.

Hoping not for the impossible permanent state o' grace, but hoping for a little pause. Not a big one; just a little slower than usual.

a pause before the swing goes down; before it burns away yet again. leaving me here flickering down - watching it all disappear.

And another thing occurred to me: That this is not so different from FurBurger's acceptance-rage-acceptance-rage thing, differing only in frequency and amplitude. Instead of the surface or dominant cycle being measured in minutes and hours, mine are measured in weeks and months. Same thing, different speed. The inside forming the outside in it's own image.

is it merely the trailing after-effect of getting good yoga
or a culmination of all that has come before?
yes no yes no yes
probably not
don't know, don't care

it's just a good ride, it is. Even when the cold's to the bone and every stand of trees round every bend pass by like an endless film loop, and you don't think there will ever be another small town appearing, and you're only HERE, with that here being nothing but whistling wind, exhaust roaring, bone chill and evergreens. In that moment beyond the moment beyond the hundredth thought that this will never end...

a place named Ely appears, or Hot Springs, or some forgotten always-dying college town named after some dead tribe whose name you can't remember anymore

there's an old lady who will rent you a room for the few hours 'til twilight

and when you wake, some gay guy will be buying the really old unused cigarette machine from the lobby (but paying a more-than-fair price which she will not refuse.) Because times are always hard here in the middle, and sometimes they're even harder. You look at him in wonder and awe for thriving so well in a state so Red. HE wouldn't rain fire on the red man (and woman and child) huddling in the cold and wet draw; their clothes and body parts collected as souvenirs by the Carnival rabble of the Good Sons of Liberty. sure he wouldn't.

you can barely stand, but you can still ride

and you got some more road to go.

searching for that thing that can't be found. it might be somewhere near this giant forest that will be a pile of black cinders three years from now. it might be at the end of this train ride south, or on that airplane jump to the random city you've never seen

welcome to The Funhouse. there are things to see and be.

i am on fire.

I AM FIRE. looking at me.... licking at you

burn

to the ground

it's like I'm 5 again. Jumping around in the surf, hunting for the perfect collection of seashells. Not caring if anyone thinks I'm a big retard. Because I know I am, and besides: the perfect collection is right at my grasp. just one more. no, one more.

my eyes are closed. the warmth of the sun baking right through me; deep into the marrow

i lay on the beach at the southernmost tip of Babylon, fondling in my left hand the coarse sand and seashells i've found, and I dream into being

a life worth living in a world that deserves to live

and i will sleep no more forever

(Was that a fucking blog entry? whathefukk??!?! )

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 02:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I am the Pied Piper of Panties!

Went around today spreading the Love: giving out Monkeylicious Panties to all the badass Ladies and Grrrls.

Joy and Lovingkindness spread throughout the Land.

Milk and Honey flowed like water... the children sang their praises: "Shri Hanumanji, You be the Funkiest Spanktastic Pimpalicious Monkey-Man ever!"

Who's yer Monkey?

Ya Goddamn right, baby!

P.S. - Tomorrow I'm gonna do the Valley up proper.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 07:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I been on a seemingly accidental trip of a deep study of Archetypes; an incursion into the building blocks of the self. I say "seemingly accidental" because the nature of such a study brings with it the artifact or illusion of synchronicities and perception of meta-patterns.

I question whether such things truly exist in the objective universe or are simply generated in the mind of the observer. And then I remember some old Theosophist saying that there is no objective universe. Okay, whatever.

So let's be messy and just shift gears for a sec.

I had the most non-sensical 'lucid' dream yesterday morning. Okay, LATE morning.

Woke up for the umpteenth time, opened my eyes. The clock showed 11:57am (see interrupted sleep-pattern theme in various other posts.)

Rolled on my back. Passed out. Somewhere in the blur between here and not-here I was thrown into this acid-trippy visual display, the funk-ass 4D shit it usually requires heavy doses of some substance to induce. From my lower belly region, a deep resonating sub-bass buzzing emanated which filled this universe. The music I heard in my ears was some shit I never heard before, and right now have no distinct recollection of it - those details are blacked out. And it felt as if I was being tossed around physically like ant in a zero gravity wash cycle: all spin and inertia and directional changes, no sense of UP or Down.

That all is a poor description because these so-called elements were meshed together in a singular melding and morphing aphasiac stew of which I suspected I was only barely aware of.

And it was all so very pleasant, too. A continuously rising multi-sensual polyphonic vibration; a climax that kept on coming.

So naturally I stayed there a while. It kept going and going and going; a rising tide.

Now... Here's the weird part (as if that ain't) :

While this was happening, I had this dual awareness of the sensations of my physical body, or rather "a" human form because what I'm about to describe didn't actually happen here in consensus reality.

Anyhow, in this dual awareness, it felt as if someone was fiddling with my feet. Moving the toes around slightly and pushing their fingernails into the outside edge of the tips of my big toe and first toe (on both feet.)

I had the vague suspicion that the "aphasia funhouse ride" was somehow related to the toe thing. Like maybe one was causing the other.

I know it makes no sense, especially the dual perception aspect. I didn't think we could pay attention to 2 things, so complete awareness within dual modes of perception is... uh... not explainable really. But that's how it was.

After an eternity of this rising "energy" wave... riding this giant wave (or IT riding me)... I skipped swiftly back to consciousness, both energized and a little beat by the experience.

Took a few seconds to get my bearings. I could still feel the after-impression of something sharp having been pressed into my toes. Shuffled around, turned my head and opened my eyes.

It was 11:57am. Not one single minute had passed. I became instantly MORE confused.

Well, I was planning on going off about Archetypes and how all patterns and Models break and can therefore be transcended... Lilly-esque Meta Programming Bio-Computer crap...

got sidetracked. Sorry.

Oh yeah: Ally's yoga class kicked ass, as did Red's birthday. She needs to maybe not eat so much cake. Sugar IS an evil drug: the White Death. Yoga's a good drug.

Then again, without sugar we would not have had such a beautifully Blog-tastic Tuesday.

I got to hang with Beefcake for a bit. He's actually gotten even more lean and waifish since I last saw him.

I'm still the King of Waifishness though. He'll have to wait his turn; bide his time until I'm old and fat. Wait, that's not gonna happen: I have the Ever-Sexy gene. Poor Beefcake.

It's 9am. time for a quick nap.

Posted by A hunk a hunk o hot brown lusciuosness at 08:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)