The Leap

Sometimes one has to just trust to fate and fling oneself into the void. For some of us, that’s easier. Fall back and trust hands will catch. Close eyes and trust others to lead in the dark. For some of us it’s harder, we think too much. Second guess. We look beyond and under and […]

Sometimes one has to just trust to fate and fling oneself into the void.

For some of us, that’s easier. Fall back and trust hands will catch. Close eyes and trust others to lead in the dark.

For some of us it’s harder, we think too much. Second guess. We look beyond and under and around, we ask, is it right? Is it good? Are people to be trusted?

Who are you, and what do you want from me?

I’m not a great planner. I tend, in general, to be impulsive. I tend to do things on whim. There’s no gratification, I always say, like instant gratification.

But I’m also not one who trusts easily, who does things on faith. Let’s double check that, I say. Are you sure? I second guess and think too much. I question and consider and re-think.

Sometimes one has to just do it. Just go. Just make a leap, and hope for good luck.

Sometimes one has to trust for no reason, do things for love or passion or just because.

It’s not easy. It’s not easy to open. Bare the throat. Drop the shield. All defenses gone, cut the safety line.

Is that freedom? True freedom? I don’t know.

Just once though, I would love to be there. To live in a place and a time and a situation where all the walls drop down and souls are laid bare.

Take my hand. Close your eyes. Jump with me.

The warrior with his weapons taken away

Ever have one of those days where all you can think is red-hot haze? Those are the days the animal in you needs to hunt. Those are the days where we go out and drink and fight and fuck. Kill or die, rape and pillage. I can see my ancestors, celtic warriors, franks, danes, visgoths, […]

Ever have one of those days where all you can think is red-hot haze?

Those are the days the animal in you needs to hunt.

Those are the days where we go out and drink and fight and fuck. Kill or die, rape and pillage. I can see my ancestors, celtic warriors, franks, danes, visgoths, all those party animals who sacked rome again and again. I can see, sometimes, how simple a life it would have been. My axe, my spear, maybe a war club, nothing but white-hot berserker rage to fuel me, that and maybe some crude fire-water, some foul-tasting, sour mead or ale. Sweep in, screaming and roaring, over-whelm my foes with my fury and need to kill and crush, rend and tear.

Then bloody and battered, a captured wine bottle in my hand, I find the treasure, the prize won. The women await, for a different kind of violence.

Simple. Kill or die. The winner takes the prize. The most powerful, most beastly, gets the choice of the spoils.

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Cupid’s Day

I wish I could find a tape, or a torrent, or a script, or something, for the criminally overlooked show Cupid‘s Valentine’s Day episode. The show itself was brilliant, and hardly anyone watched it. But this episode managed to verbalize something; the difference between the storybook, candy-hearts and hallmark cards valentine’s day and a true […]

I wish I could find a tape, or a torrent, or a script, or something, for the criminally overlooked show Cupid‘s Valentine’s Day episode.

The show itself was brilliant, and hardly anyone watched it.

But this episode managed to verbalize something; the difference between the storybook, candy-hearts and hallmark cards valentine’s day and a true celebration of physical, carnal love. This show captured that thought with humor and intensity.

Because the love expressed in hallmark cards is a load of crap. Another holiday based on purchased sentiment and trite, meaningless exchanges of printed paper.

Love is physical. Love is carnal. Love is sweaty, and red-faced. Love hurts. Love is about bodies and sensuality and pleasure and caring. It’s about passion and desire. It’s about fucking, and making love, and kissing, and biting.

A day that celebrates love without sexuality is meaningless and empty.

Forget St Valentine, some pointless martyr of dubious authenticity. This day, any day that claims to celebrate love, should celebrate Cupid, Eros, Aphrodite, Venus, a hundred others. It should celebrate the real love, the physical love, the outward manifestation of the gut-wrenching intensity within.

Love isn’t lacy and pretty. Love isn’t tidy and easy and neat. Love isn’t contained on a candy heart or a paper envelope.

Love bleeds. Love aches. Love is a knife, not a feather, a bruise, not a red crayon.

Love is what moves us and drives us, sustains us. What brings us together, drives us apart. People kill for love, die for love.

Celebrate this carnal, physical, real love. This day, or any other, choose your own. But chaste kisses and paper do not celebrate the love I’m talking about.


Now, with all that said, let me further note that for two weeks I’ve thought this Valentine’s was a tuesday. I of course then planned to do my shopping for pointless cards and candy hearts on monday, being that spontaneous, last-minute kind of guy. So of course, I’m late as usual.

Ah well. Better late than never. Even for vapid, pointless gestures.

Best Pals

Remember way back when we were kids and the idea of best friend was so important? When you’re ten. Twelve. Fourteen. When you’re a kid or a teenager. When you’re at that Stand By Me age. When does that stop being such a big deal?

Remember way back when we were kids and the idea of best friend was so important?

When you’re ten. Twelve. Fourteen. When you’re a kid or a teenager. When you’re at that Stand By Me age.

When does that stop being such a big deal?

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Here There Be Monsters

I awake to a new year this morning. I feel, as I always do, some vague sense that things should be different. That the world outside my window should look fresh. Reborn. But it never does. Last night’s, yesterday’s issues are still there to be handled, no clearer, no easier, no more manageable. Yesterday’s joys, […]

I awake to a new year this morning.

I feel, as I always do, some vague sense that things should be different. That the world outside my window should look fresh. Reborn.

But it never does. Last night’s, yesterday’s issues are still there to be handled, no clearer, no easier, no more manageable. Yesterday’s joys, also, are still as they were.

But I want a fresh start. A slate wiped clean. Tally the score and see how we did, start again and hope to do better.

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Thankful For

This could also have been titled ‘these are a few of my favorite things‘. Things for which I give purely lascivious thanks: Women who shave. Women who love me. Women who are not afraid to talk about it. I’m thankful for every woman out there who takes off her clothes and lets someone take pictures, […]

This could also have been titled ‘these are a few of my favorite things‘.

Things for which I give purely lascivious thanks:

Women who shave.

Women who love me.

Women who are not afraid to talk about it.

I’m thankful for every woman out there who takes off her clothes and lets someone take pictures, that I and others like me might enjoy such beauty.

I’m thankful for masturbation. It’s sex with someone I love.

I’m thankful for the taste of pussy, the feel of breasts in my hand, the curve of a beautiful ass against me.

I am thankful for the beauty of a woman’s orgasm.

I’m thankful for love, for romance, for unexpected connections with people far and wide.

I’m thankful for friendship and for people who listen when I need to talk.

I’m thankful for the words “I love you“.

I’m thankful that people read this shit.

This holiday is a trite, silly thing, but under it lies rites of the equinox, harvest festivals, libations to the gods. Today it’s about pilgrims in absurd hats (puritans — not people who should be celebrated, but instead reviled); it’s about turkey and cranberries, and stuffing.

So I do not, as a rule, give thanks this day. I see no gods, revere no higher power. What I have, I worked for, made, or was lucky to find. But sometimes, some ways, the universe provides; against great odds, things line up and go your way. That is what I am thankful for; the small bounties, the little things that make my life oh-so-much better.

It’s been an interesting year. Outside, in the great big world, there are bad things happening. Government, war, hate, stupidity. A moral crusade, in which I am most certainly the enemy, though my enemies don’t yet know it. But here — in the small places, the little space that is my life, it’s been a year of great bounty. Truly, I am thankful.

Taco Flavored Kisses

I’ll fill all your wishes with my taco flavored kisses! South Park viewers will know where that comes from. You ever encounter a food item that you just think, this is fucking wrong? Kraft “Mexican Style Taco Cheese.” Yeah, it’s cheese. That tastes like tacos. Ewww?

I’ll fill all your wishes
with my taco flavored kisses!

South Park viewers will know where that comes from.

You ever encounter a food item that you just think, this is fucking wrong?

Kraft “Mexican Style Taco Cheese.”

Yeah, it’s cheese. That tastes like tacos.

Ewww?

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Far Far Away

The sort of day when I don’t to be here. Not any specific here. Here work, here home, here the simple boring mundanities of real life. I’m picturing a sailboat. A tropical sea, sky. Wind and sun and freedom. Rum. Fruit and fish. No clothes. No people. Two of us. Three of us. Whatever. Tan […]

The sort of day when I don’t to be here.

Not any specific here. Here work, here home, here the simple boring mundanities of real life.

I’m picturing a sailboat. A tropical sea, sky. Wind and sun and freedom. Rum. Fruit and fish.

No clothes. No people.

Two of us. Three of us. Whatever. Tan and sweaty, smelling of the sea and the sun, coconut and lime. Smelling of each other.

Water and sun and the breeze. Sound of tropical foliage. Flowers. Birds.

There. I want to be there. Anywhere.

I want to sail a boat with nowhere to go. Watch a beautiful girl sleep in the sun. Make love in the sea. Sleep and live with a rocking that leaves me feeling wrong when I step on dry land.

Nut brown; clothes feeling wrong, when they’re needed. Nothing that needs a plug or a cord, nothing with a screen, nothing with a keyboard.

Where am I? Why would I care.

When will I come back?

There would be no back; only here, now. Smell, taste, touch.

I shall sit and draw a map that leads to nowhere. X marks any spot. Close your eyes, drive a dagger in, that is where we shall sail.

I can smell the rum already.

Choose your disaster

Someplace like here n California?”No, you have earthquakes there, I’m scared of earthquakes”Huh?It’s funny…. My house, built in 1933, didn’t sustain more than a few cosmetic cracks and some water damage from fish-tanks that slopped but didn’t fall…. Compare it to the death toll from hurricanes in the Caribbean this year; again, not that much…. But it was just so weird to me today to describe this little, nothing quake, interesting only because it made a weird sound, and to have people respond with fear…. Still, I have a hard time imagining choosing this train of hurricanes that are lined up like an arrow pointed to FLA over a little rock and roll.

You are just a dreamer,
and I am just a dream.
You could have been
anyone to me.
Before that moment
you touched my lips
That perfect feeling
when time just slips
Away between us
on our foggy trip.

You are like a hurricane
There’s calm in your eye.
And I’m getting’ blown away
To somewhere safer
where the feeling stays.
I want to love you but
I’m getting blown away.

    –Neil Young, ‘Like a Hurricane’

Something woke me up last night at 3:30 am. I’m not sure what. Some premonition, some fore-shock.

At 3:32 am a small earthquake struck. Small as in 3.4 on the Richter scale. Nothing really. A few seconds later there was another, the same magnitude.

These were interesting because they were loud. The first sounded like a car being slammed into the side of my house twice – BOOM! — BOOM!. The second started with a quick-swelling rumble and the a side-to-side shaking. I’ve never heard such a loud quake.

I got up and looked on the USGS web site and found they already had info; these guys are good. And then I understood why this seemed different; the epicenter was less than a mile from my house. This baby was close.

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