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last---past---next---now



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(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)
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real doll (p)
(the ultimate self-indulgence)

(or it could just be a typo)




PROMPTS
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(make it real)

PO BOX 780398
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send me some music
your favorite music
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last---past---next---now
�2006 Candor Communications


2008-11-28 - 3:19 a.m.

napped and woke (obviously)


ok, so this is a repeated redundancy repeated rhetorically repeatedly, obviously, but the fact that only one or two people read my multiple mind-dumps around the web on any regular basis (in spite of my multitude of linkages and subtle-as-a-brick hints and directional arrows and neon signs, aye?), the foolishness of depriving you, dear readers, of the ridiculous babbling going on elsewhere must come to an end, which may mean i shall attempt to find time to insert hundreds of entries into the archives here, though the odds of such time-finding are minimal these days, but someday, in that elusive and titillating someday, perhaps, in that great perhaps, who knows, in that ultimate who knows...

of course my form of regurgitation is additive, so the second reading is worth your time if you are addicted as i am to babbling (or you just simply love me and can't get enough, in which case, please hold the applause until the babbling pauses (you can obviously find something to do with your hands until then, right?... and if it's really good, do write and tell me about it... better yet, turn on your camera and that way you don't have to stop to write)... and all those who look at the title and assume repeat don't know what they're missing, aye?...

meanwhile, i supposed the word napped, being in the past tense, infers that i woke, unless of course the word is used in such a way to state i did not wake from my nap, such as napped and never woke again or died while he napped, which could make the claim of obvious inference an assumption, but then, we are bored if we are slicing the language that thin (grammar nazi in the house?)... did anybody say obvious inference?... assumption! assumption!...

ok, obvious wins that round, making the score: assumption 642,830,278,477,295, obvious 3...

almost as lopsided as the current national debt thanks to the bush league president we sucked off for eight years, but that's another pornographic story for someone who gives a shit about politics and world affairs and since i've gone tv-less for three months now, i can proudly say, with reverence and sincerity and credentials, fuck-it...

or fuckitol for the geritol bunch...

for the g-rated version of this entry, head over the RealTime blog where all the babbling action has been for the past two years or so (just in case you wondered, or missed me, even)... or else be too lazy to click or too busy to read for hours on end and just hang out here and overlook the offensive words, if they are offensive... there won't be too many of them, i mean, after all, i am obviously not as articulate as smash or his band of aristocratic cohorts...

yes, well, obviously i am awake again (again with the obviously, is anything really obvious?)... even more to the point, i am bored... a dream woke me, which makes the second time in recent memory, probably the second time this year and longer, and it was another less than pleasant dream, another violation of personal space and privacy situation... in this case, i don't think the evil empire was involved... a homeless guy with obvious (ahem) provocation issues was using a similar physical passive aggressive approach as the guy in the other dream that woke me a week or two ago... in either case, it was legal battery, however the police tend to overlook it and respond only if the victim reacts in a more aggressive manner, which most victims of passive aggressive physical battery do... the law is so chauvinist and warped for man's preferences and weaknesses that it's virtually worthless unless severely violated... but that's another story, obviously... i wonder if the concept of the dream is borne of repressed memories of some childhood abuse returning to haunt me... r/o ptsd?...

who knows if i am serious... your punishment for not being right here next to me is you may never know cuz i may never tell... until i tell, obviously, but then, sometimes i just don't want to tell cuz it's more fun to keep secrets... there's got to be something to make it worth it for the one to actually want to be next to me instead of living life somewhere else and just being the one ethereally, right?... oohhhh. am i getting like some sort of serious or heavy or deep tonight or something?...

whatever, it's night time now and my circadian rhythm wants me to stay awake all night and do something fun... since the world is pretty unanimous about sleeping all night (except where commercial incentives are present, like vegas, for instance, not to be too cynical about humanity, or to continue to be, perhaps), i am alone again and from the human standpoint, naturally... thank you gilbert o'sullivan...

yes, so it is night and i just woke we've established that, i suppose, so i suppose it is becoming obvious?... obviously?... i thought i might sleep through the night, but that dream woke me (and it is an extremely rare second time in the past month, so maybe it really is time to get my head shrunk?... but who could possibly handle that task around here, or anywhere for that matter... the line forms at the door, for anyone who cares to attempt the vast feat) and i want to share, play, do something fun, party, or something like that... but i am alone, again, as usual for this century, so i write...

speaking of writing, did you see my latest quotable personal bio-wisdom?...

it's at the bottom of (e)thereal and balances the concept of the patheticness of the life online syndrome with patheticness of the vegetative tv zombie syndrome and offer's my alternative, neither... i fill the web with words when all the world's asleep cuz no one stays awake with me (peter, john, james, or anybody, ya know?) and rather than sleep more than necessary alone, i do what i love to do nobody is around, i write... it's the next best thing to sharing, after all (obviously?... well, it is obvious to a writer, and i don't mean just published writers, i mean anyone who knows or has felt the draw of words {get it?... draw words?}, the urge for literary expression, the compulsion to turn thoughts and emotions and ideas and the ethereal into words, to write... maybe it's something in the social genes or maybe it's a synaptic loop {modern medicine will be called it a disorder or disease one day when writing falls out of favor} or some other explanation that would make sense to those who require rational reasons for everything, but for those of us who write, we know we don't have to know or understand, we just do it)...

the written language is a relatively recent phenomenon, after all... i mean, just a few thousand years, probably much less, and along about four hundred years ago languages were still developing and expanding (in terms of vocabulary) in europe and the printing press for actual mass publication of writing was invented in the last thousand years and as far as this usa english i use, it's what?... probably less than a century old, so we are pioneers creating written language as we use it... heck, my peculiar brand may be something historians will refer to as a major change (downfall, perhaps, but then, who knows if my self-mockery is merely humility hiding genius that even i have yet to recognize, even as i snicker and nyuk, aye?... narf) in the written language of humanity, or at least for usa english... the rictionary is but a few decades old, after all... but there i go with those darn delusions of grandiosity again... silly boy, the rock's been perched up there for a hundred thousand years...

so anyway and all that, i just came by to wave hello in case you were up late too and wanted to talk (really?... i mean, that's all?... come on now)... seriously, i mean anybody, not just the one...not that i want to talk on the phone, cuz my brain definitely wants to play much more than the phone can offer, so if you call please expect me to be playing something else on the net or in physical space while you are on speaker... the phone is definitely too restrictive for the hands and especially if i must hold it to an ear... so i continue to send out these messages in bottles... the smaller bottles are in the other blogs, this is the babbler's diary, in case you haven't noticed... we start at gallon jugs here... but i continue wave (thank you waterboys) to send out these messages cuz i'll never know when some nearby neighbor stumbles across my babbles and decides it is finally time to knock on the door, even after midnight...

...pause to anticipate the eerie chills of a knock... . . . . .
click here for part two and find out what happens






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