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2004-04-24 - 12:00 a.m. linkers I suppose I shall just continue to blather on about this or that until one of you let me know I've struck a chord or come across something utterly irresistible to your response mechanism and you simply must let me know somehow no matter how long the notary silence lasts for that is me, incorrigibly delicious (even if you find a bad taste in your mouth {or anywhere, and for those especially amused [or offended] by the exquisite candor that emotes from my fingers, holy shit batman, can I ever fill a bowl} from time to time {after time} after I go down, double entendre not included, nor are batteries so buy your own vibrator Miss oh so young and beautiful sacrificed on the pillar of souls with red-handed stuffy guys as I await receipt of volume five, at the very least, and candidly {with biting playfulness few might see or feel as intended} make due with the non-fictional account (more to the point, seek On Writing, and remember the face of your face, or your father, or whomever you find inside when you face from whence you've come) of the author's life as he remembered it and wrote it down in that sort of literary telepathy that writing can be for the time being)... sheesh, go figure I'd open this entry with such irreverent babble that tests the waters of your tolerance, huh?... but there are some who do let me know I exist (and am even appreciated and respected and, eeek, loved) and it is to you wonderful people that I dedicate this entry... a public personal thank you in my own rambling free-associating way for the personal sharing you give me, for linking me as a favorite, and for the diaries you keep drawing me back to even when I am straining to find time to breath life into my own written gardens... for you, dear readers, dear linkers, dear friends... from the in case anybody really wanted to know pages... rising gradually (as anything worth remembering does) on several of my variety of lists of things to do as soon as possible in this life, the list of things to buy, the list of people whom I wish I knew personally, and the list of people who journal who I wish would know me personally and write about me cuz I'm their friend and worth writing about, at least, is here... and from the giggling treasures of the people who inspire me by their sheer sentimentality (and knowledge of the inner laziness that smiles zenly at us all, most especially grinning at me, as one who knows the bittersweet delight of still having Christmas lights and stuff hanging around past the Easter season), comes the splendor in the grass of she who knows how to properly use the word Oy... and from the garden of darkness and delight found only be delving deep within the heart where any love song and especially any sad song can be heard as personally writen about this life as experienced by me in my memory comes the haunting refrain played out in words by a stranger who sometimes knows me better than I might if I knew myself... then, when suddenly seduced by the youthful vigor occasionally thought long lost in the back of my mind (or spirit), perhaps by propriety or the rules of the road or age old lies, whichever come first, I reach beyond the prejudiced world to connect with my ageless counterpart in spookly similar feelings from different hues in the spectrum of life to find a fellow time traveller lost in the wonders of the universe (and heart) and gradually, as I am, learning to love every minute of it... and then there is something like a vacuum absorbing my secret soul every time I visit and read the enigmatic scribbles in letters and symbols as I am so reminded of the dearest parts of my heart and someone who once and always will live there, even if that memory person only lives in memory for the longest time because of loss of contact and I just dream of reconciliations and reunions and forgiveness and the happiness shared within the mirror of trust that was once whole and is now shattered into an infinite number of pieces that still reflect the truth caught in it's reflections when it was whole represented in the profound simplicity of another rare gift of a wish was a friend who could share eye contact and be mutually known better even through the stammer now inspired by the awe of similarity I feel oozing up in sparkling shivers from deep within my psyche and past in reading this (I want to swallow a rainbow that will lift me above the depths of my imaginary tears)... some of the oddest laughter appears in the air around me while I am reading, in a state of secure jealousy, at least until I find my own mate (cuz she makes hers seem so dang interesting sometimes I want to read his diary), about the life and times of one more bold and beautiful (and that rare sense of apparent fearlessness that may or not be enhanced by internet anonymity but is definitely fun and heartwarming) diarist I'd like to call friend (in red or any color) who appears to know the wonders of such diverse things and chicken brains and genitals and tells us all about it here... as many of you know if you've read here before, one of my favorite diarists (and hopefully one mutually called friend) is the epitome of dichotomy as he lives the life of a wandering minstrel (whether he looks it or not) and puts magic in prose and poetry in between long road trips that pay the bills life levees on a family man... sometimes, when he is low, I wish I could inject the faith and confidence back into him that he inspires in me... not just because he deserves it, but because if I could mean something real to him in his life, my night would have one more star to look up to that I could not just wish upon, but reach out and touch... I may be a madman across the water at times, but when I tend the roots of my experience here at Dland, I find the sparks and inspirations that kept me here and cared enough to follow me around in my various incarnations (or are they divisions of labor in some sociological theory sense?) so here as in other places I am deeply moved to be able to thank and appreciate the life and creativity (and timeless connectivity) of this girl who writes from the infinite and presents her own unique sense of eternity in slices of life that raise my spirit even when I forget how to do it myself, so blessed am I that the likes of such an artist soul remains... sometimes I read words that inspire me to wonder if I wrote them and that is the most exciting kind of haunted feeling I can find, even more than the thrill of being mentioned or the gift of being respected enough to be quoted, which are both precious experiences for me... I find all three powerful forces coming together here and wish I could bounce around the same room as the writer who inspires the appreciation and excitement and goofy pleasure that she deserves... from deep within the angst and traumas of life's most challenging experience I see a light shining and that it occasionally, even for the briefest moments, shines on me is a reason to celebrate this life... there are those times, late into sleep or just before waking, that it feels as though dreams are more real than the real we experience through our waking senses each day... this is the feeling that comes when I read the stuff that dreams are made of... the truth thrusts out from the first words as no one really knows anybody, but the pleasure of life may be in the getting to know or at least in the trust that comes from believing we are getting to know another being who understands the separateness of this physical life and the hunger for sharing it (and I wish all your wishes come true)... and even deeper, that sense of perspective that comes from understanding each person sees things through their own eyes and perceives not so much what they see, but what they feel (which is often more what they want to see than what their eyes bring into their brains)... sometimes, it is so simple that all we can do is sigh and sometimes, it is so real we can barely catch our breaths... what you see there is up to you, but I think you should... touching me more personally (as I wish everyone on this page and many others would, but then, so goes my insatiable hunger to share life, love, and the universe in these moments when I feel part of everything because I can happily ask "aren't we all?" knowing the answer is yes) is one I hope to share a view of the beach or walk through a park or audible conversation one of these days cuz I read myself rambling through her words (and understand bubbles too well) and that is always fun and comfort not just cuz I love me and feel comfortable with myself but because I can recognize a friend in the words that feel as close to the words that come from my fingers at times... and as always when finding such comfortable reading, it is the differences that excite (or intrigue, and even, as only friends can do, could possibly annoy with a smiling respect at times) even more... sometimes a gift comes through the internet that touches the heart and soul with realness, with tangible recognition and proof that someone really is out there listening, reading, and paying attention... for the boxes in the mail, the music, the books, the little things you know I adore and the big thing, the love in your heart that you share so openly, innocently, and wonderfully, there are no words to thank some people enough... and the best blessing of all is knowing they know... and receiving actual gifts in the material world reminds me of the pleasures I felt when I had enough to share and that leads me to wishing I had more tangible gifts to share, especially when missing the regular updates of someone I've come to care for through words (and not just cuz there's positivity for me there, but surely it helps to stroke my ego, nyuck nyuck)... I look forward to updates and even more to a return to more frequent entries... and the most recent addition to my dearly appreciated linkers (and hopefully readers) is a mugwhump who unknowingly became part of an eerie moment of synchronicity (those fractions of seconds when more than one apparently completely diverse threads, once separated by space, time, and experience, cross over each other to wake and connect as if they were meant to or even as if they were always there, just never noticed before... it's a long story that passes dinstinctly through a suburb of Toronto, but it's the kind of thing that has me glued to the floor anticipating more and holding my breath wondering if I should... explaining might take forever, if it were possible... sometimes, someone might understand the words that may never come... and then there is a dear friend in words from my sleeping LJ world who is one of those uncounted treasures, someone who can live through her own challenges and rise above to send positivity to a friend even when she may feel like there's no positivity for herself... if you only knew what a few of her words mean, she'd have no doubts about her worth and power in this world... maybe it's happened to you sometime... sometimes I read something that makes more sense than I can absorb at the moment and sometimes I just enjoy the yakking, but then, I am strange like that and I sometimes I get both feelings... for that, thanks are not enough... immortalizing in entries such as this, maybe, but not just thanks... and all of ya, thanks anyway... all the more... I raise a half full glass, a wonder-filled bowl, and a heart full of love to toast your being alive and sharing a moment of your time and self with me... for all my silliness, irreverence, and enigmatic ramblings, I send you a hug from the center of my soul... and with a wink of conspiracy that we hopefully will continue to share, a smile... no shit...
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