in the continuing saga of this current continuing saga, sadly, dt is a musician and I never got to listen to his or her music (that�s the sad part, that I never got to hear, not that dt is a musician) before he/she (not that he or she is a he/she) deleted his/her profile... and not knowing gender makes this whole pronoun thing cumbersome, ya know?... but I don�t think I was secretly hoping that he was an adorable girl who would fall in love with me, really I don�t... if you read on, you will see that I somehow inspired the rambling that seemed so familiar... sometimes I wonder if people are reaching back into my archives from the nineties and reposting my words just to play with me... obviously z0tl comes to mind, not that he did that, but it does sound like something he�d enjoy doing if I didn�t already mention it...

just makes the attempted confusion all the more challenging and meaningful (or meaningless) if it works... though if the words sound familiar enough they will probably be recycled right here behind the candoor, ya know...

so coming back to dt and me, it wasn�t long before I either received or spontaneously combusted into a private message and this is that:

I can't hear your music

because my computer is too old to play the myspace player... it plays mp3 files on occasion, so if you send me mp3 files I will listen if they play because you've intrigued me (even before you mentioned my name and invited a private message)... I love it when I follow someone for an interest other than love, sex, or romance - not that you aren't lovable sexy or romantic, but I find myself wanting to know more before any of the triad of primal forces that usually rule my world have awakened {surprising or not} if you can grasp the meaning of this thought stream)...

so I ask for more, or as you said, a whole lot more things... tell me? :)

ric
407-325-1482

nobody called, at least not yet... and of course I had that feeling again, like maybe I was reading an old friend who�s had more online faces than the man of a thousand of cinema years gone by... yes, I had to go and ask in dt�s public profile comment:

once again, as I did when first stumbling upon Quasar9 at blogspot, I wonder, is that you, z0tl?...

at once not too unlike and yet infinitely different than the query Margaret once made to thin air, but quite possibly more wanting of the truth...

it is only meaningless or obscure if you do not understand :)

surely this could be viewed as an exercise in narcissism, or at best, a desperate attempt to lure dt back into the communications (though whether he or she ever knew about this place of rambling is a completely unknown bit of knowledge and what�s more ridiculous, these entries will be lost in an upload of a couple of dozen entries that even my mother wouldn�t read (but then, I've never actually known family who cared to actually read me unless they were illusionary and far far away and making fantasies our of molehills or something like that, aye?)...

and then we went here (dt wrote):

On the semi-permanent stain...

I knew I wouldn't be able to let it go at that, and so here I am, not even 2 hours later... The semi-permanent stain. It inhabits some object of interest, one that must be cleaned regularly. It's bad enough to look ugly when said object is dirty, yet subtle enough to not look too shabby after the cleaning is done. The thing about this particular stain is that it will always be there to remind you that nothing used is ever perfect, and nothing perfect is ever used. Kind of depressing knowing that shirt or table will never be positively clean, and also a bright reminder that anything you do have that is clean will eventually meet little stain's cousin, Mark. Please, no humor after midnight. it's not even that late and I'm already having trouble with the will to fish these concepts out of the koi pond that is my mind. There follows a thought to this effect. The scene: I am invited. Terrific. I show up and feel the vibe: Here's something we've never done, maybe this time we'll beat Dave. I sit, calculating for no apparent reason. I either destroy, or I let them win. This destroys me, in every possible application. The most disgusting (did I use that word last time or did I delete it?) thing is that this leads me to search for something I can honestly lose at, and when I find it, I LOSE. And then I'm happy. Until I realize now I have to go back to winning. (or is it whining? or wineing?) And that sits at that. Graveyard shift seems to be doing more good than harm, which is odd because the movers and the shakers in this country are all up at 4am and asleep by 10, right? As my papou was so fond of saying, I don't know. Listen, if you're ric, thanks for the impetus, I needed to write these things. If you're not ric (and actually ric, too), my god why are you reading this? It will not help you. This is nothing but a subversive plot to invite insincere praise from a random selection of my peers. and if you believe that, you can contact me privately through myspace and I'll tell you a whole lot more things. If only I could get paid to spew like this.

now somewhere in the manic blogging and commenting and responding process, dt said something to the effect of "this is getting heated" and appeared to be enjoying the exchange as I recall a challenge to the effect of "can you keep up with me" though I would not swear those exact words were used... I laughed, thinking of how often I've thought the same thought and how to this date have yet to find anyone with an affirmative answer to the question...

it's only sad when it rains on bitter winter nights... ,br>
sometimes I am too sarcastic for my own good... or is that cynical?... irreverent, certainly, and perhaps that is what I meant in the first place so nevermind... in all seriousness, or something like that, I responded:

enough moments of that eerie feeling that can only be defined by the query, "am I reading myself?" and I'll propose we move in together the next time I am looking for a roommate to share life's expenses and therein afford us a better place on the salary of one with either a lazy work ethic or an anti-social aversion to responsibility or just a genius down on his luck, as they'd say in old movies... or her, for that matter, though they didn't say that much in old movies as it is a rather chauvinist culture, even today, and was a lot moreso back in the olden days of old movies, but a girl can dream)...

so instead of just sitting here watching the wheels as I wake from a semi-restful slumber, I sit here watching the koi pond that is your mind and wonder all the wonders of the universe...

maybe when the little stain is allowed to integrate with everything, either like the replicators of SG1 or the Borg of ST:NG or the spot on mom's dress that Thing 1 and Thing 2 worked so diligently upon, then everything becomes unstained again...

ironically, my computer screen is stained, uniformly, pinkish... the green seems to have gone leaving me with blue and red turned up as brightly as they can go, and if you relate it to the cones and rods in the optical nervous system, you might imagining seeing what I mean (and would that be seeing, then, as all sight is in the mind?)...

and then, rushing ahead of a myriad of other thoughts like the fastest fish in the pond for the moment, I wish to repeat this all in another writing space... would you want me to link to your myspace when I do (as I usually do)? or does your comment about me writing too much about other people suggest that you prefer anonymity?...

your input into my brain will form into several, at least, entries behind the candoor (if you don't know where to find that yet, just ask) and I hope that is ok with you... if not, I will merely take your thoughts as my own and continue the babble as if you never existed (as some ask me to do, fearing their privacy might be violated or some such event)...

winning and losing are the same coin and coins are to be played with like any other toy... the event of winning or losing is the end of a game, so neither is my goal... it is the game that remains my focus for that's where the fun is... this drives people who like things tied up in neat little packages quite bonkers, so they seldom choose to play with me... to each his or her own :)

the babbling fool in me loves the graveyard shift and spent more than a few years enjoying the nothingness of watching others sleep while playing mind games with myself in words... I do not have the luxury of such time these days as I work a day job now, but I am happy you chose a weekend to lay all this bait out here for me (can I get more egocentric?... sure I can, but we hardly know each other, after all, so I am not gunning the engines or opening the wings {conceit, that was pure conceit - ha! there goes the thin veil of humble modesty} and there is the head cold, runny nose, low-energy distraction to deal with, not to mention the fact that I just woke and have yet to clear the gunk out of the corner of my eyes {TMI, I suppose, but hey, I didn't get to the rest of the body yet, did I?} and so, I figure the answer is a responding yes, if we can remember the question :)

and Mark and Dave, I wonder, will they welcome me into their worlds too or will they be representations of moments past like, for instance, Amy and Gigi might be to me or maybe more like peripheral visions of the daily world like Rasputin and Precious are to me or could they just be random names used to give irreverent personality to this bit of babble?...

and the ultimate conclusion of the graveyard shift babble, if only I could get paid to spew like this, on that note, I smile and feel the connection and sigh as I move along to the next bit of writing you did last night (or whenever it happened, time zones being what they are)... my praise, believe it or not, is not insincere... it can be accused of being irreverent, to be sure, especially before eye contact is established, but never insincere... or as close to never as any absolute gets... cuz for all the ways I waste my time, I am not into wasting my time with insincerity... and now you know me a tiny bit better :)

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