ok, so how many entries does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?... or, on a mildly more serious note, how many entries can pile up in a WORD file before the file becomes too big for this old computer?... so far the file is more than 500K, however big that is, and still growing... and in an only semi-related query we ponder, how many days can go by without an entry here in this once proud (well, egocentric, at least) daily diary?... and in another semi-related note that is more related to the other semi-related note, how many entries can be uploaded in a day and ultimately, the real question is how many entries can be wasted in a day since I�d be willing to bet that the last entry of the dozens of entries I upload will be the only one that gets any sort of readership or comments...

but maybe a few of you will actually make the time to read all of the suddenly appearing entries and for that, you and those mentioned herein are blessed (and I am eternally grateful)... yay then, let�s all be fools and shall not forsake me oh my darling... I am still listening to her mix and I found a way to download all the mp3 files so I have them on my computer for that fateful day when I have a cool little mp3 player on a computer that can play mp3 files while I do other stuff like ramble on like this... and speaking of someone into music, at least, I was pondering what it would be like to really be involved in music again and of course certain people come to mind...

cuz you see, I promised dangerspouse a dozen or few entries dedicated to him and all he got was this damn comment:

I love you cuz I have to make everything ok, or something like that... sure, you add me and I shrink up like a scrotum in an ice bath, but I am basking in the glory of being added you your illustrious list, really I am... and soon there'll be a dozen or two entries dedicated to you, or at least a few dozen entries that have been waiting for me to have time to upload cuz, for better or worse, I do still write almost every day... and you, you don't even have to write, you get people who hate you to write entries for you... that is talent... well, I hope you enjoy your good fortune and keep your balls in the air...

I should probably point out that we should read nothing into the reference to male anatomy, especially since I really was thinking of juggling in that last line, sort of like keeping your powder dry or something... the man is amazing, after all, even if we don�t let on to who he really is (he�s not Howard Stern, ok?) and if you don�t read him you�re missing out... speaking of hissing out, I dearly miss the wonderful writers I dearly miss because I haven�t had the time to do any reading in so many weeks that I�ve lost track...

but here we are, or I am, writing again... a bit more each day until we�ve put together all the thoughts from all the days we missed... of course if we count all the entries in the RealTime� blog and the other new writing spaces (you can find the new ones and many others listed in that RealTime� blog I just happened to casual mention in passing with no ulterior motive cuz I�d never think of suggesting that you might want to follow along with my bouncing life in RealTime� in briefer entries that attempt to reduce the babbling and stick to the fact or life as I experience it in RealTime�...

refreshing my memory recently over at myspace, I found Susie Cool has a few sites... I met Susie at one of her first live performances at a local club (The Lost and Found)... she's a folkie from the old school with some new twists...

and so I go to work each day and try to keep in touch with myself by writing and still give my attention to the people I love and the rest of the world and there doesn't seem to be any time left for me but I've got to take me seriously or no one else will... and the car needs an oil change and a check up and the house needs a cleaning desperately (constantly) and the laundry is piling up and I've got to fix my bed and there's still more stuff to sort through and throw out or put away and there's the stuff in storage to move down here and there's bills every month to remember and there's trying to motivate myself to remember that life is better when I am in better shape and there's the trying to keep the computer from crashing and all the big little things like eating healthy balanced meals and bathing often...

so many balls, so few hands...

and all I want to do is make love surrounded by music that inspires sweet dreams of sunrises and beautiful days spent laughing together all the way to the sun goes down and then all I want to do is make love immersed in music and magnificent sunsets that blend into the feeling of endless nights in each others arms... if I could choose just one ball to have and to hold, to toss and to catch, to roll up the mountain and chase down the other side again and again and again, this would be it... if I could have only one dream, one day, one moment, this would be the lifetime for me... and maybe I am just a dreamer... but I'm not the only one... and I hope...

just then, for no apparent reason except to toss a few more random balls in the air, tude spiders qurl read...

and as secure as I may appear (and can be) in the end I am sure of just one thing and that is that I can be sure of nothing for everything changes on both sides of perspective and perspective itself has an infinite number of sides (and is there really an infinite number in the first place?... or last place, for that matter)... confidence is a mayfly buzzing between the ears oblivious to doubt as if this moment is all that will ever be...

and this entire diary was written as a real life in black and white account (or from another perspective, a complete work of fiction) based on another moment, not that moment, but a moment of false security in which confidence is a pretense and the absence of doubt is a self-delusion only exposed in those rare moments the writer glances up from his hunched shouldered squat in the chair to realize the position and feel the spinal pressure and all the years of waste going into the moment of awakening to catharsis as if a blind man can see for the first time all over again...

before falling apart, however, pause for distraction in the brilliant light of others, the curious mind of Quasar9 and the playful enlightened smile of the Red Monkey and the questioning silence between Lydia's laughter and the stunning stares and random music (almost left behind by fortune) and visions of hope in a glancing blow from the winds of chance and just believe in love...

till tomorrow...

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)