also know as the sept, we are, behind the candoor, members of what might be called a tribe, even a cult, but henceforth all those who enter and choose to remain shall be known as the phratry (aka the sept)... exciting, isn't it?...

well, it's a compromise for me, a breakthrough even, because it unifies me with the theory of relativity and the human condition and the biological species homosapien and chocolate pudding, not to mention the infinite universes...

understanding is moot, being is everything...

so be here or be there or be somewhere else (it's all the same), the difference is what you acknowledge and accept... acceptance is trust, resistance is futile, however quite effective at undermining the underpinnings of the underlings under the, ummm, lings...

make it so...

as an aside of sorts, just to let you in on the secret happenings behind the candoor in order to seduce you into comfort and trust because who else would tell you these things, really, I just got through cleaning the bathroom (it was not only time, but a visitation by a poltergeist made immediate cleaning a necessity just moments ago, yes, in real time, you see, or at least read, oh I'll tell you all about it)...

I was nonchalantly standing there releasing my bodily fluids into the bowl (they always sneak up on your when you're nonchalant, you know) when the toilet seat started falling into a closed position...

I was completely alone in the room, in the apartment, in fact...

now my razor sharp mind instantly returned from it's daydream about pork fried rice stock prices to realize I had a decision to make...

do I engage my lightening quick reflexes to catch the seat, therein avoiding the splatter of the stream on the seat and floor and walls, therein risking an inadvertent stream missing the bowl in my split second bend to catch and re-raise the seat...

or

do I throw the emergency stop switch in my urinary track, therein risking valve failure (and the ensuing mess) and possible pain or permanent damage to the tubes or prostate or something or do I simply continue daydreaming (nonchalantly, of course) as if I had no awareness of said poltergeist�s mischief...

I decided,

to catch the seat...

this mission endeavored toward success with the help of my nimble fingers cleverly attached to my handy hand, assisted by my trusty arm which ever so deftly extended, empowered by lightening quick reflexes, to catch the mysteriously falling seat, therein preventing stainage to the seat...

unfortunately, the poltergeist also had assistance...

liquid is as liquid does...

so I regretfully report that in spite of my valiant efforts, though the seat was saved, several milliliters of bodily fluid did come in contact with the rim of the bowl as the angle of flow was set askew by my bending at the knees, a necessary flexing to allow my hand to catch the seat and just before shutting down the emergency valves, there was a bit of ricocheting wildly in random directions outside of the bowls sphere of influence...

obviously the poltergeist was a clever demon, devious, in fact, and set upon me with a predicament that required a multi-level strategy risking life and limb, or at least some tubage, in it's mad attempt to get the bowl or me in trouble...

but luckily, ever since alcohol consumption ceased in excess, I've had good relations with the bowl so we negotiated an amicable settlement wherein I cleaned the bathroom and it flushed...

and now, after thoroughly washing my hands and showering and rubbing every inch of skin with a poofy or loompa or whatever those things are called, including the secret cracks and crevices and behind my ears, which obviously endears you and the lucky folk linked in this entry (sweating, shuddering, or squirming with secret desires to be one?...

well, which is it?...

come on, you can tell me, don't let my obnoxiously overt ego fool you just because it's showing the bare round curvatures of it's nether regions), we start today's entry...

finally...

so I confess, I love Jes (some girls have all the luck)...

I mean, she is just so lovable... she's squishable... if I had some sort of drawing program and knew how to use it and had any kind of drawing talent at all and wasn't such a dorky wimp (hey, I need some excuse), I'd enter her Valentine's Contest... maybe if everybody goes and tells her how much I love her she'll notice me (if I laugh at myself, will you not pity me and therein ignore this plea?... how does this sort of thing psycho-persuasion thing work, anyway?... the phratry want to know!)...

stalker?...

no really, she's got this adorable writing style and I'm totally seduced... it's kind of a cutething thing all over again... shades of the one and only nebulous wonder of the world and anybody who was around a few years ago reading my candora (sung to the tune of My Sharona) would understand... Annie would understand (and be laughing at me but good)...

but brilliant!...

anyone who knows me well (and there's nobody, really, at least not anymore... yeah, I'm such a sad sad story) knows that in the face of pure honest genius, I am totally seduced... I mean, totally... and as appealing as the shore line at sunset (or sunrise), brain stimulates me even more than brawn, or soft tissue, even...

though eyes link, lips lust, and love lingers in the whispers...

there can never be a portrait of my love for nobody can paint a dream, ya know?... and sometimes you just want to push up a skirt ever so slowly and lose yourself in the sweet bliss of a lover's kiss...

what the ? ?...

I know, suddenly the heart drops to the crotch and to balance the wisdom with the willies, we turn to the insight and instruction of the grand puuba, for perhaps he has the magic that might have been had we met in some timeless wonderland (maybe they know), but lust is strong in this one and not even the puuba can keep me from my appointed rounds...

certainly quirky...

but simply profoundly truly, this is how I live...

somewhere deep inside my mind I recall soft simmering lust but share it not today for I have lost the will to give my trust and yet I would to one who knows the passion seen within my eyes when I look at the one who knows the passion deep within my thighs long lost and sleeping ecstasy in search of some infinity awaiting now's eternity and what will be, oh what will be, when you finally come to me, oh what will be, oh what will be, when you finally come to me...

sweet dreams are made of these (yo, phratry)...

meanwhile, shifting from groin to heart to cranium as suddenly as a rainbow appears to the naked eye, Z0tl is doing something really exciting with his genius and I have only shreds of clues as to what it is (something about computers, I hack) and I wish I knew more so I could help or even be his stoodent ass, but I tried and I am just not worthy or knowledgeable enough to hack into his student records at the university (which may or may not be encoded into this photo (or another) and who doesn't love a secrets and a building mystery, aye?), so I am left out, unnecessary, discarded before I am even possessed (just like my application to join the unfukd, alas), in spite of my continued devotion to the cause (what?) and thinking too much, I am udderly useless (I couldn't even turn the internet back on after inadvertently shutting it down, damned disabled F11 key!)...

whatever you do: remember to learn...

and...

(and don't panic)...

* it turns off the internet

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