LIFE

IN
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last---past---next---now
( FEATURED OTHERS 'n STUFF )

MEG AND DIA!

ORLANDO?

WHERE IT BEGAN


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ONE. . . WHY
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CONVERSATION WITH GOD

MEANING OF LIFE
FORWARD THIS ENTRY
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ABOUT ZOOPLA

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FAT MAN WALKING
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last---past---next---now



SITES I SEE A LOT
IxQuick Search
Google Search
itools references
movie database

Giga-Quotes

Harry Chapin Lyrics
SSA




OLD AND NEW READS
(WISH I HAD MORE TIME
TO READ and EXPLORE)

mother jones
utne reader
common dreams
the progressive
mediate
the other side
orion
harper's
rolling stone
reel classics


fallout shelter
the memory hole
song meanings
truth out
wil wheaton
bugmenot
global news matrix
break for news
are you generic?
neil gaiman
h2g2
daily kos
the truth laid bear
reason
capitol hill blue
boing boing
nobody here




SITES I AM CONSIDERING
SEEING MORE OFTEN

3Hive
metafilter
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REFERENCE LIBRARIES

questia
wikipedia
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itools references
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Giga-Quotes
rare-lyrics
all musicals




AMUSEMENTS

Diaryland Times
home star runner
hell
hell too
sinfest
ill will press
the guide
purple
despair
maximum awesome
86 the onions
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something awful
glossy news
eric conveys emotion
odd todd
cracked



CULTURE

the superficial
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this is true
urban legends
news of the weird
church of the fsm
the onion
god checker
faqs
fark
iGod
post secret
webby awards
meetup
the white house
ragged trousered philosopher
the smoking gun
the defective yeti
landover baptist
evil bible


COMMERCIAL CRAP (AND PRON)

(Note: pron is porn worth a look for amusement much more than passion, so if you see a (p) next to a link, be aware naked people may appear if you click it, m'ok?)

beautiful agony (p)
(a turn on or a laugh?)
real doll (p)
(the ultimate self-indulgence)

(or it could just be a typo)




PROMPTS
(IF YOU KNOW ONE LET ME KNOW)


Unconscious Mutterings
Friday Feast
Wednesday Whatevers
Sunday Brunch
Monday Madness
Thursday Threesom
Saturday Questions




(make it real)

PO BOX 780398
Orlando, FL 32878

send me some music
your favorite music
old or new
blissful or blue
let your message come through
and I will love you forever



last---past---next---now
�2006 Candor Communications


2004-06-11 - 11:09 p.m.

does having a BS make you full of shit?


and I wonder, what does it mean to you, these words, and me... are these words me?... can a person be compared to words?... what is a person?... can a being be compiled in symbols and concepts and bytes?... and what if enough semblance of a living, breathing, feeling body can be expressed in these things we call words to represent who I am enough to give you a key to me, a real mental image of who I am... can I be trusted to be accurate in my self-expression, my self-appraisal?...

perhaps those who know me best should be asked these questions... but then, no one knows me best today, that is, no one knows me intimately in the physical world, no one can adequately compare the expressed me in words with the me defined by my actions in this life... if my words hold any wisdom, are they reflective of my actual life experience... how do my actions compare with my words?...

I consider one specific concept for comparison... I write of reaching out, of touching each other, of sharing unconditionally and honestly and completely and intimately and well, sharing... that would seem to require opening up, responding to questions, continuing to pass words and information and touches and sharing between myself and others... I write of intimacy and my longing for it, my aching hungers to be known and loved, to know and to love another being... to become one, in so much as that might be possible in this physical life, with another person... and yet do I actively engage in activities that might fulfil that desire?... do I allow others to come close enough to approach intimacy?... do I allow sharing to continue when intimacy is possible?... how am I to answer these questions, if I can judge the answers for myself?... has the criteria for the accurate answers to these question been tested?...

ummmm (hiccup), perhaps a bit of background into my mind (perspective) might be useful here...

when in school, I deliberately chose to squeeze (and it was a squeeze, what with working more than full time and fitting 157 credits into four years) additional science credits into my workload so I would graduate with a science degree as opposed to an arts degree... my reasoning was simple, first, I love to learn and enjoy school and enjoy sciences... second, I wanted to be able to say I have the official piece of paper that adjudicates my ability to BS, with honors, no less... had I completed my graduate studies for a specific degree, it would have been for more S, or MS... and I've always perceived the anagram PhD to stand for Phull of Dung, to complete (or at least continue) the metaphor... it was never any pure disrespect for education or the quest for knowledge or even meant to be a slight of the education system directly... my choosing to perceive the honorariums and titles of the system of supposedly higher education with a sarcastic bite was mostly to remind myself that humility and humor must be an integral aspect of my perspective no matter how lofty my dreams or successes might be or become in my journey through this world... ultimately, the most true truth of all I will accept as truth is that no matter how right I believe I am, I can be wrong and the more right I believe I might be, the more wrong I might be... so every question that leads to an answer is seasoned with what I hope is a healthy sprinkle of doubt... every answer I find and choose to believe in is strengthened by the acceptance of (and therein preparation for) the possibility that such belief and ultimately everything I know could be wrong...

so I come to the questions asked in this entry with this (above) perspective in tow, a perspective that I consider part of my core personality, one of the defining aspects of who I am and I hope it keeps me wide open for any possibility...

so now where were we?...

I reach out my hand, open and hopeful, battered and bruised, still strong and secure in spite of mistakes and trauma that, in recent years, altered (not irreparably, I hope) the purity of my vision and faith in myself... I find occasional gifts pass through my hand, wonderful surprises from afar, from relative strangers becoming new long-distance friends... but for the touch that matters most, another hand, my hand remains empty...

I reach out with my eyes and find uncertainty, insecurity, doubt, and much blindness... I see so much turning away that I am no longer certain of what I see (or if it is me or what causes it, the turning away) and have strong doubts that I will find what I seek in this life on this planet... I have allowed time and gravity and myself to bend and break and conform and reduce potential so much that I am not sure I am able to actualize myself anymore in this physical body... I wonder if that is a result of being alone too long, of not sharing any sort of confirmation (and wondering why I would accept needing any when I know I do not need any, just a game my mind plays to reduce the boredom, perhaps)... or perhaps it is the ultimate failing of my being in this life...

and here I have words, I present words, and perhaps I express myself... and in notes and other forms I receive words... and occasionally I receive email that asks for more, but I am uncertain as to what more email can offer... what more can be presented in words that is not already presented here and in many other pages pages pages (hiccup)...

words, outside of this body, are my primary home... there was a time when I trusted words shared unconditionally, but that time is gone and may not return in this lifetime... as magical as words can be, giving birth to the infinite possibilities of thought and the expanse of feeling that can come of thought, words can not fill a hand with the flesh of another hand, words can not embrace the body with the physical comfort and love of another being...

my heart is full of love, my mind is full of facts, my hand is empty...

there was a time when I knew the embrace of love, when the spiritual infinite was present in my physical sharings, when there was unfathomable security within my being...

a wonderful time...

and then there was a time when I was content accepting the complete separation and isolation of being in the separate bodies as we exist in this life... a time when need was no more than an extension of conscious desire...

a beautiful time...

and then there was a time when I could leave consciousness behind and lose myself in the hunger for passion and sharing flesh, when I could fall in love to such an extent that I accepted it was out of my control... mind games, forever...

an amazing time...

and then there was a time when I could and would and did make my home within the trust felt in another body... I believe that was as close to actualizing true love as I could imagine or know... it was so much more romantic and unexpressable that words make it seem to my reader's eyes...

an exciting time...

and today I am alone, lonely, isolated, and reserved...

a contemplative time...

do I hide online in words?... do I avoid physical contact by spending so much time at my computer writing what is supposed to be my life and my desire to share?... do I accept an empty hand in order to feign fulfillment through words alone?... am I my own worst enemy?...

is all this a joke?...

erp...

maybe I just have a lot of gas to pass (or too much laughter inside for my own good)... maybe there is no one in this world who can or will experience life from a perspective close enough to that which I know as mine and me... perhaps that is, as was once proposed to me by an intimate in the flesh after the physical sharing ceased, for the best... being an outsider affords one a unique perspective upon which individuality is forged... individuality is the logical goal of separating from a common source of energy and consciousness... and yet, the call of the full circle, the return to the source (or at least reaffirming the connection consciously, if not physically), is compelling...

maybe Odo would understand...

you read my words and I thank you... you send me your words and I seldom find words that can express my appreciation for your praise and more, for your sharing of yourself in your words... you are gifts, in many forms...

my hand remains open and empty, often aching for the touch of understanding, acceptance, reassurance, respect, and so many words best summed up in the word love...

my mind remains open and full, always surprising me with a bit more room for more, always eager to explore and hoping to share beyond the limits of current knowledge and belief...

my heart remains open and full and yet, insatiable and expanding and somehow finding more energy (again, perhaps best called love) to share... a heart, though broken in many ways, always wanting to mend and to believe in the purity and innocence and passion of unconditional trust and, when not working to actualize altruism, often fantasizing about romance we can call true love...

a perfect song and more, take it, Max...

it is a lonely time for me, and perhaps I do undermine my ultimate goals, but my words continue to flow, my mind continues to welcome, my heart continues to embrace... and my hand remains open...

and hopefully, just in case I am right, it is not all bs...






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




see me - - - feel me - - - touch me - - - heal me


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the moment

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