LIFE

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MEG AND DIA!

ORLANDO?

WHERE IT BEGAN


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ONE. . . WHY
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o O ( ALTERNATIVE MEDICINE ) O o

CONVERSATION WITH GOD

MEANING OF LIFE
FORWARD THIS ENTRY
INTELLIGENT DESIGN

(SEE WHAT THE POPE SAYS)

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ABOUT ZOOPLA

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HELP THE RED CROSS
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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
comics
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REFERENCE LIBRARIES

questia
wikipedia
gutenberg
internet public library

itools references
movie database
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
straight dope
something awful
glossy news
eric conveys emotion
odd todd
cracked



CULTURE

the superficial
darwin awards
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
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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


2005-01-02 - 6:36 p.m.

party on, precious readers


pretending I still go in for drunken debauchery, I decided to stalk some of you Dlanders for the new years eve celebration thing (next halloween, maybe I'll haunt you)... our journey through decadence begins by clicking on a banner and finding your faithful writer fondling, I mean, reading about her right breast... naturally, I immediately clicked on the pictures link hoping to see these veins of which she speaks for myself, but alas, there were no pictures... still, I lusted a little...

I then slipped under the covers of my subconscious to find a favorite cutething who talks to god still throws wild parties at her house where people seem to feel free to pass out and have their picture taken incognito-like so I imagine myself (and other beautiful people of DLand) sprawled wasted on her floor, or my floor, listening to them expound profound and silly (simultaneously) while somebody is sensually is whispering sweet nothings, or somethings, for that matter, into my right ear...

Peter Pan dreams:

. o O ( when I grow up I wanna be a dirty old man ) O o .

wait, the party is just starting... suddenly he shows up with a new manuscript and a big bottle of something he cooked up himself and somehow she helped him wake up from the dead (mostly... and are we degenerating into ego masturbation once again?... rhetorical questions R us?... somebody tell me to get a life, please... Rodney Dangerfield accent optional... loving grin preferred... uh-huh, you know it... mock me if you love me but remember, that's a fine line to walk so if you don't have the talk {true heart} then bring it not, bring it not, bring it not {depart}, but if you've got the groove to know how to move then show me what you've got, what you've got, what you've got {and start}... ummm, ok)...

and what's in the mind dump today?...

there we are at Macaroni Grill and a waitress with a dynamic smile and beautiful face and wonderful body (excuse me whilst I wipe up some drool) who remembered me and told me so right up front... unfortunately, there was a big shiney engagement ring on her finger (happy new year lucky fellow), so we settled for oral gratification of the special combination spaghetti dish I create with crayons (half of which remains in the fridge for later, yum) and there is a brain/body begging for sleep (so I slipped a few hour nap in a couple of hours ago kind of in the middle of the last link-filled paragraph, so maybe I did slip into ego masturbation after all) and there's college football (good games, close finishes, none of the teams should have lost but somebody has to) and there's chocolate (ahhhh, chocolate) and Code Red (I should probably be paid for mentioning that brand name so often... are you listening Pepsico?... bzzzzzzz) and did I mention sex (and getting back to the gym and optimal physical condition and sensual pleasures) and there's the conclusion of The Dark Tower series (read it if you love reading and strange challenging long and winding anything-goes stories), maybe a cop-out and maybe the only perfect ending that could have been for all those thousands of pages and there's base Maslowian concepts nagging at the corners of the spirit and this loveless life (romantically) and all the girls I've loved before and the euphoria of living another day, another hour, another moment and the depression of living in this beautiful world as part of a suicidal species and there's the music that's missing and the music that's returning and the slow-jaw drawl of the announcer and the stuff in storage and life in storage and heart in storage and the stuff lost and the life lost and the heart lost and the gifts that arrived from you wondrous Dlanders and LJers and other onliners (thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you) and the magic of the mind and all of you and a whole lot more once I wake up (and when you wake up?)...

I should probably throw a sleep party, but I seem to be sleeping too deep for much sleepwriting lately so I'll just continue this surface stalking pretend party and let the dranken debauchery continue... dranken?... yeah, we're getting in the spirits... hic...

so where were we?... ah yes, making the most (or is that least) of the attraction of being a wanna-be old pervert (oh really?... well, how can I not, really) and continue (eternally) enjoying a great (grand) self-mocking sense of humor, I hope... my immortal would be nice...

I was seduced by Andrew once again, erudite banner maven we are, and spent fifteen minutes downloading codec 130 just so my old little laptop could see his new year's movie, which made me hungry even though I did not understand it even though he did explain it, which only goes to further the cause of drunken debauchery in it's own waffling way...

the Twilight Zone marathon has been going on for thirty or so hours and even though I've seen most of them, they are still some of my favorite shows... at least some of them are... and the note deleting marathon continues as well... I wonder if a script could be written to get my computer to tell the Dland server to just keep repeating the same few keystrokes over and over as the page is loaded... seems logical and repetitive and that's what computers do best... but not having the computer script writing knowledge, I am stuck clicking delete and then clicking to return to the edit notes page and waiting for the Dland server to download it over and over and over and over and... and Raspy is sitting over on the couch farting... I think I've counted four so far... he's such an appealing guy, deep down... really...

I think I'll open a window...

and the note-leaving marathon continues as well... so the fingers are very busy multitasking as fast as the computer can handle the key strokes and the brain is nudging them along while noticing the episodes on TV and did I mention that I am clicking on every banner than comes along (except those new BS commercial site banners that want to download spyware and invasive crap on our computers which really makes DLand quite a bit less safe and comfortable than it used to be which sucks since I pay to be insulted by the flashing idiot ads, but I've refreained from complaining until now pretending they were not there... like trying not to smell my roommates gas...

denial is amazing, huh?...

and that would be seven... we need a fan...

but then a banner comes along and says something like:

"write till your ink be dry, and with your tears moist it again, and frame some feeling line that may discovery such integrity." ~ William Shakespeare

and then comes a dream that makes me wish I was still back in school because I'd swim to get to that experience if I had to (ok, swimming might be a bit suicidal, but call it a metaphor or simile or whatever and maybe you get what I mean)... it's a shame that these wonderful banner clicks are now tainted, but I guess Andrew is entitled to make as much money as he can and if he thinks it's time to cash and sell out, so be it... if he's smart he's already started another competing diary/journal community or few that all the Dlanders will slowly migrate over to as DLand sells out because there'll be no commercial tricks slipped in between our own creativity there... and then, after a few years of being the place that is pure and uncommercial, there too we can be sold out... it's called free enterprise... get the people to like your product and then milk them for all they've got until they realize the price has gotten too high and have another product in the wings to win them over and save their money and so on...

erp...

and the marathons continue, though we switched from the Twilight Zone to the college football... I think I'm about halfway through deleting page two of the notes (and I've been at this for at least eight hours, though intermittently writing here and leaving notes and watching TV and whatever else I'm doing)...

one thing I have not been doing nearly enough is reading gump... every time I head over to the hood, I feel stupid for not getting there more often because I feel so good when I read... there's just the right amount of irreverence and seriousness (for my eyes and mind) to be sweet for me (and you know what kind of sweet teeth I have... insatiable)... now I'm not quite going as far as saying gumphood is better than chocolate... I mean, only true love is better than chocolate... and only when it's true... and maybe wild passionate sex with the right person... but I should resolute to read gumphood more often for my own selfish reasons... it's good for my health, especially my head...

and in my pathological determination to get as much of this (the note deleting and happy new years notes) done today (who knew), I have discovered that two of my favorites, who happen to be one person, have suddenly disappeared and I demand to know why... or at least to know where to find her or how to reach her... after all, I am not demanding passionate sex or even cash, just contact so this happy new year that was carved just for her out of expensive rosewood and mohagany (it was a crossbreed tree, ok?) can be delivered to it's rightful recipient rather than get lost and lonely (not to mention dusty) up on the shelf of my imagination... yes, cat, I mean you... how can I possibly continue stalking you, however poorly I may be or am at it, when you just up and disappear?... I mean, sheesh...

there are others who've slipped away into the night (or daylight) and then there's a few who've locked up and didn't leave a key under the mat (or in my notes)... but I persevere to continue to complete my appointed task no matter how many walls I run into... knock knock... who's there?... me... so there...

you may have noticed, if you're observant (or bored enough), that I added some new playthings to this diary (lower left)... the first is some sort of linkage tracking spider that goes out and searches for all the sites that link this diary and lists them... the second is a kind of blog listing that you join if you want to and if you join, you get listed here and if you put the code on your site I get listed there... I think... and then I checked out weblogs.com, but I could not figure out just how to use it...

so I continue to almost blindly leave my happy new year notes, no time to stop and read the latest entry, not even sure it the person is still updating, or alive, even... but occasionally someone else's note compels me to look at the diary entry and I feel foolish as the words "merry happy new year" seem so superficial and out of place as the entry is so excruciatingly painful or full of despair and I wish I could just hug or hold you and tell you everything will be alright... and I pause to shiver as I wonder how many people found insensitivity in my well-intended and completely sincere wish for their happiness...

. . . o O ( sigh ) O o . . .

I stumbled into Mr. Grey's New Year's Eve and might have nodded off a few minutes (or thought I did, time plays tricks) as the deeper emotions stirred and when I woke, I felt the residents of the land of the mostly dead pulling me into a pity party that seems to have no end when I started writing this note:

I think it's Tanya Tucker who sings "I've Learned To Live"... the song comes to mind (with others) as I read your words.. I understand too well... the waiting for the letting go is the hardest part of relationships... never again, I said... I'm not sure I meant it though... eventually numbness settles in, mostly numbness, that is... logic calls us fools, but the heart does not care... or is it ego... that questions is a turning point... and as much as I remember and believe I understand, it's always so unique, so isolating, so confusing... the best that can be done is sigh and wait for the letting go (and a Melissa Etheridge song)... convincing myself that she was not the one, not really, that my judgment was faulty, that I was wrong... that my soulmate is still out there, not her, but someone closer to the right one for me... someone who will understand the waiting, the confusion, the excrutiating madness where pain turns numb and doubt becomes all that is certain... she'll wake me up inside (song... is that hope?)... no, not her, not the one who's gone, because the one who's gone was not the right one for me... if she was, she'd still be here... no matter what I did (is it madness to laugh at such folly?)... and perhaps a prayer sings me to sleep as I pull the last shreds of hope for happiness over me like a blanket, invisible and almost useless, but it's all I've got... someone will understand... the right one... someday, somewhere... another song... and imagine feeling again... being understood... being forgiven... forgiving myself... being hugged...

and I signed it, hoping against hopelessness perhaps, from candora, hoping the fact that I was the writer of both diaries was not lost on Mr. Grey, or anyone... perhaps it was denial, perhaps it was the quasi-consciousness that comes from a cat-nap of undetermined length during a writing session/project that continues non-stop for more than two days... in any case, a feeling of that's just perfect and Charlie Brown's smile (if you can ken this) and the conclusion of the seven volume epic The Dark Tower (bless Stephen King's almost casual genius, may his escapes continue to loop through my mind) came over me (feeling, remember?) as I read the next entry Mr. Grey was gifted to bestow upon us and these words followed:

and my first thought was 'may I still have such passion (and such potential for pain) when I turn 83'... of course before that I must have subconsciously come to the logical assumption that I would turn eighty 83... there's my fool's hope that it's never too late to heal and start all over again... still a virgin heart, no matter how it may look (scars?... what scars?)... your healing is beautiful (that's what humor does)... your deep breaths and painful memories are milestones, another checkpoint passed, are we still breathing?... yes... that must be good... tomorrow is another day... tell me another story, Mr. Grey J

again, I sign candora even though others seem to simultaneously want (or is that warp) and not want (going both ways again?) to have a unique say in the matter...

I could just say I dunno and continue, but we know better (oh do we?)... and so I won't, I think, but still continue anyway...

and from the file labelled what in the hell am I doing here? comes the following rhetorical question and appartly completely unrelated informational aside... did you know that cock-fighting was made illegal in the state of Florida in 1985... that just seemed to fit in to this semi-segue as the last of the day's football games end and the news calls for attention... where's the remote... ah, that's better, back to The Twilight Zone marathon... "the rest of the book, To Serve Men, it's a cookbook!" (ooooo eeeeeee aaaaaaah, and thank you Robert Klein for enhancing the sound fx and tying it to wonderful memories in my brain)...

we are up to the notes you left during Hurricane Charley, in case you were wondering... is that about halfway through the notes?... somewhere on page 3, perhaps... and I see notes that bring goose bumpy smiles and I wish those moments of closeness we felt along the way were connected with a handshake, eye contact, a hug, and some time in space chatting and giving them the chance to become more visceral in our memories... for as wonderful as imagination can be (and this entry is so much an example, for me at least, of the parties thrown in my mind when I am mostly alone in intimate time and space {I mean, being able to smell a roommate's farts might be considered sharing intimate space, but somehow it doesn't count if you know what I mean}... and the laughter continues to build... madness or healthy good fun?... is there a difference?... well, I suppose there can be... does it matter?)...

. . . o O ( caring is a verb, love is in the details ) o o . . .

did I mention I am compiling my very own personal birthday calendar and I would very much appreciate you sending me the date (keep the year to yourself if that is the only reason you hesitate to send the date, ok?) so I can put you on my calendar and send you belated birthday wishes...

thanks...

this entry is probably fodder for a half dozen entries, at least, so far, but I shall upload it as it is (I think), if only to give you an the unfiltered and unedited experience of what comes out of thin air and passes through my mind into my fingers sometimes when I am dancing on some ethereal planes beyond explanation or reasoning or logic or even the social norms of good sense... and throwing a party in my mind... if I am ever committed (and have access to writing utensil, preferably a keyboard), this might be the slivers (very slivery, and tiny bubbles) of what might emerge given the luxury of relatively infinite time and, perhaps, a semi-private room...

the best thing about being in a position where no one takes you seriously is that you can let your mind wander where it will go and come up with any thoughts or emotions or experiences without having to explain or justify or defend them to concerned citizens or even family... imagine life without conformity...

if you know what I mean...

meanwhile, it is time to break out the Belgian Milk Chocolate... the party must go on because, well, that's what a good party does... the best ones are still wooping it up when you wake from your nap, ya know?...

we are up to her telephone number... I must work up a good prank call for her one of these days... don't feel left out, you'll get one too, eventually, if you let me know you want one... and while, in this seemingly endless entry, I am mentioning (and linking) note-leavers rather randomly for one reason or another (like I love the picture she has up at this moment), though there does not necessarily have to be an obvious reason for loving a writer, ya know?... every one of you who left me a note (or who inspired me to leave a note for you this weekend through banner or hook or crook or whatever), will be part of the special New Year's weekend edition of and this is where I wandered this week, a segment of my ramblings I know you all must look forward to for it's infinite diversity and possibilities (or at least for the repetitiveness that pauses the meandering babbling, not to mention the escape clause inherent in the linkage) and yes, I might be mocking myself, but I'll leave it for you to judge if you wanna...

seriously, I am trying to list every page I visited this weekend and I left a note (or something) everywhere I could... so if you see a lot of notes in my notes, don't think I am amazingly popular like Eric or Bobbie (who's long since gone on to his own domain), I'm just receiving responses from kind people who hopefully feel the sincerity in my merry happy...

some of you are writers that consistently amaze me (want an example?... ok, here... and of course I left everyone else out so you can all feel like you amaze me cuz you probably did and really, like I tell myself, what matters most is that you amaze yourself once in a while... for what good is masturbation without the occasional orgasm?...

wait, there's something that comes to mind now... where's the book?...

"You are the grim, goal oriented ones who will not believe that the joy is in the journey rather than the destination no matter how many times it has been proven to you. You are the unfortunate ones who still get the lovemaking all confused with the paltry squirt that comes to end the lovemaking (the orgasm is, after all, God's way of telling us we've finished, at least for the time being, and should go to sleep). You are the cruel ones who deny the Grey havens, where tired characters go to rest. You say you want to know how it all comes out. You say you want to follow Roland into the Tower, you say that is what you paid your money for, the show you came to see.

I hope most of you know better. Want better. I hope you came to hear the tale, and not just munch your way through to the pages to the ending. For an ending, you only have to turn to the last page and see what is writ upon. But endings are heartless. Endings close a door no man (or Manni) can open. I've written many, but most only for the same reason that I put pull on my pants in the morning before leaving the bedroom--because it is the custom in this country.

And so, my dear Constant Reader, I tell you this: You can stop here...

~ Stephen King, The Dark Tower

that is on the first page of the Coda, the final chapter of the thousands of pages that make the seven volume saga of the Gunslinger the work of pure genius (or madness) that it is... I dragged my feet finishing the book... I carried the book, which is no lightweight, to work for weeks... more than ten weeks, according the the library... I read the first five hundred pages of this seventh volume in three or four sittings in the first week or few... and then I realized it was supposed to be coming to an end and I allowed work and card games and talking to people and TV and writing and sleeping and everything else come first... I just carried the book around and glanced at it now and then and smiled, knowing the final few steps of what felt like an endless journey were approaching... anticipation, for me, is the sweetest part of the fruit of creativity for it is the part we can control, tease ourselves with, and prolong as long as we wish... almost...

one of the people who read this book in a single week has been asking me if I finished it for months now... she does not understand how I can not finish it and concludes that I must not be a true lover of love the written word as she believes she does... I smile and say I will finish the book when the time is right and not before... she looks at me with a look that says she missed one of the most essential points of the long story, perhaps the main point...

Aerosmith said it well in Amazing:

life's a journey, not a destination

and Harry Chapin captured the thought well in Greyhound:

it's got to be the going, not the getting there... that's good

and I imagine others have said it well, if not better (and I welcome anyone who's walking with me through the garden {or town} of this thought {the moment} to send my words you've found)... and Stephen King has joined the top few favorite flowers in this particular garden as well... this thought, that the moment is what matters, is the core of what this life, for me, is about...

ah, epiphanies (or would that be epiphanys?... whatever), moments or revelations are so wonderfully wonder-filled (and sweet) fruits (or chocolates, mmmmmm) to savor on the journey through the garden... and while sharing these moments with someone who was flying beside me would bring this moment closer to the ideal, this moment is the ideal solitary moment... I so dearly hope and wish for you to reach it on your own...

. . . o O ( and so much is not in the words ) O o . . .

and Rasputin just woke, so I switched over to ESPN to catch up on the games we did not see and after a couple of farts (I don't know what he ate this weekend, but he's a real gasser at this party, a real gasser), he went back to bed so we're back to The Twilight Zone for background input and those occasionally magical chills as the supposedly impossible seems possible...

"it's the cemetery!"

the think I like most about The Twilight Zone and other science fiction type stories is how they play upon the line between epiphanies and epiphonies...

and the note project continues and continues to inspire (and some of the inspirations are awaiting time for email or the phone or in person sharing... I have a list of six people I actually want to email asap, which is amazing in itself and a whole other story that is still not yet soup)... and some lead to almost resolutions (though I seldom use any sort of ultimatumish goal methods of motivation and I have an rebellious instinct too stubborn to respond to most such methods)... but I do dare myself to fail by putting some wishes or wants into words and perhaps sharing the words publically here will motivate me past the self-imposed barriers I've placed in the way of certain methods of communication (regular readers of this and my other writings hopefully know what I mean and the rest of you can ask or wonder)... anyway, what follows is one such potential motivator, but I share it here (or so I tell myself) more because she deserves the recognition I attempted to place in the note:

one of my few intentions that may be called a resolution is to find time to email you again, for your energy and spirit is an elixor (of course the first reason is self-interest, being the honest altruist I am) and you say I have something like elixor to offer of my own (it is good to believe that)... what I admire most from my vantage point is the way you teach through the written word, the way you create a path to an enlightened thought, the way you present the opportunity for epiphany for anyone who might open their mind and read/walk along... your gift as an educator deserves all the reverence and praise I can bestow in words and my wish for you is that you appreciate yourself as much as I and others do... and my wish for the world is for there to be more sage educators like you willing and able to give us all the gift of thought... merry happy new year, dear teacher... may this year bring dreams to fruition and more dreams to reach for... I am honored to consider you friend

and as I smile to realize I have reached page 4 of the notes, that note above brings me to contemplate the words we use to describe (or define) relationships (and how well I wrote about this in the past in words lost in storage or betrayals, alas, and yet, those very experiences will redefine the perameters of such definitions)... for what do we know, what do we mean when we use the word friend (and there's another entry to be written... or more precisely, found behind the unfound door)... few words are truly unconditional, though I suppose any word can be...

I avoid literary intimacy when it turns one on one...

and that warrants further exploration, though it might wait for another entry to happen... for now, I suffice to say that I prefer to keep my intimate literary sharings public... odd as it might seem to many, if I allowed myself to fall in love through words again, it would probably have to be in a public forum, like a diary... hmmmmm, aye?...

and perhaps this is a related thought... I am remembering (reminded by notes) that a long time ago I visited ravyne and fell in love with the volume of information and commitment and creativity and diversity of interests... I, my child inside, wanted to be adopted and applied for adoption in my own odd way and was accepted... and then I wandered off as any foolishly wayward child might and almost never called home...

deep in my psyche there are lots of logical reasons for my behaviors... ultimately everything is a sigul, a rose that sings a siren song, a maze that allows only the one into it's true center... kapish?... and simply (if the previous point can be simplified), words on a computer screen, or words on paper, for that matter, are accepted very conditionally because I have experienced outright lies and manipulations and usery by trusting words on computer screens and words on paper... now logically I know everyone is unique and I know that because one or a few or even a hundred people use and manipulate and lie and betray, that does not mean everybody does... but there's no way to be sure, is there?... so I've decided not to risk it... trust takes time in space... and heart (patience, forgiveness, compassion, passion, understanding, and intangibles)... and believing I actually know someone personally, no less intimately, does not even begin to have validity for me until a person is an actual physical presense in shared time and space...

. . . o O ( so long ago... was it all a dream? ) O o . . .

I dream of knowing you all, some of you I dream of more than others because your words and my image of who you are inspires me more, but it's still all a dream... those of you who've spoken to me on the phone have added your individual audio to the dream and therein become more real, but still, real is sharing time in space... and we've not done that...

so when I call someone friend here in this world of words and ideas, it is your words I call friend... it is my respect for the words and ideas a person shares online, admiration and in some cases, reverence... I treasure some of your minds and the feeling your words inspire in me... the memories you wake up... and I get a feeling of wanting to know the person behind the words, wanting to share more, wanting the person to be more real... but I do not trust words alone to be real... the feeling I get (when I look to the west?) is a hunger to share the energy in the words and the potential mutual understanding that might come if the writer and I actually met and shared time in space...

so look at the moment we share, here and now, in words... you read what I wrote... I am off somewhere else doing something else with someone else or by myself, probably not thinking about most of what I've written (though I am always thinking about meeting a soulmate, the one, and sharing everything {happily ever after fairy tale?... well, it's my head... what do you dream about most?} in time in space)...

and now I think about the words I read...

all of you, some of you, I feel the tears your words inspire... I feel the joy... the hope... the wonder... the inspiration... the feelings I feel are real, visceral, physical world experiences for me... in the moment I am reading and feeling the feelings, they are my feelings... you may be anywhere doing anything... you may not be giving the words you left online a second (or first) thought at the moment I am experiencing them... at the moment my tears fall or laughter releases or epiphany lights up the universe for me... different time, different space, different thoughts, different feelings, what are we actually sharing?...

timeless ideas... timeless emotions... wonderful, beautiful, sometimes painful, but impersonal... ideas are impersonal and emotions are illusions, for when we look around we are not seeing each other, we are not sharing the moments, the experience, each other... we read and feel the memories and emotions within us...

facing the physical reality of time in space is something I do daily and it is one of the primary purposes I started this diary... I fantasize and lament and believe in dreams and what I can not touch in other writing places... here I bring myself back to daily life, life in black and white... it keeps me grounded... it reminds my romantic (addictive) heart that words are wonderful tools for communication and creativity but actions are what is real and the words are the illusions... words represent actions, actions are the things we actually share...

we can act, that is take action (as opposed to pretending, which is what many do) online by leaving notes and expressing specific appreciation and respect... the actions of typing the words and putting them out there where someone (you?) can find them is what gives the words meaning... if the words remained no more than thoughts in our minds, that would be where their meaning and realness would end, right there in our minds...

and that brings us back to notes again (oh really?)... and giggles, serious giggles too... while I accept words online conditionally, that is, I will do my best to remind myself not commit to any meaningful physical world risk (material or emotional) via words online, that does not diminish the power I can give the words I read... the power in the words I write is completely up to you, each individual reader, to find... I give enormous emotional and psychological power to the positive words I read...

of course that, my perspective, may be skewed... I choose not to empower negative words... I choose to believe what I want to believe... but then, who else should?... I believe we each create ourselves by choosing what we want, what we believe, and most of all, what we do in this life... that is the idea we become, the concepts we actualize, the illusions we believe in, the things we do... and the more consistent we are, the more true our actions are to our mental constructs and chosen beliefs, the more secure our identity and more believable we become...

so one person can believe they can hit .370 and 60 home runs and another can believe they can lift weights and win a Mr. Universe contest and another can believe he can be elected governor (and when belief in self is strong enough, some can do more than one thing successfully) and another can believe they can train animals and another can believe they can talk to god... those who believe strongly enough and more, live their beliefs in their actions consistently enough, they make their beliefs physically real...

and here in our online world, we can (and some do) the same thing... some live online relationships and imagine that's satisfying enough for them... some enjoy cyber sex... some live for promises of getting together tomorrow, whether tomorrow is next month or next year or further into an undefined future... some write grand plans... and it is an individual choice to believe in the words shared... to turn the ideas represented by the words into physical emotions and actions...

for me, the words remain words, representations of what can be, what might be if we follow through in the physical world... and as I continue to follow the path of my notes and plant new notes for those who's words have touched me, I come to a beautiful writer who frequently touches my heart with his words (and from the look and tone of his notes, I'm not the only one)... his last entry for 2004 sorta flowed along this path I've been wandering through this long and winding entry (adding depth) and leads me to smile about mutual inspirations who deserve all the praise he gives in his entry (and others give in their notes to her... at least I think it's her... well, it's one or the other and they're both deserving and so modest that each would probably point at the other as the more deserving, so I stick my tongue out at both of them and giggle)... ummm, anyway, this next note is the note inspired by this entry (it might make more sense to read his entry first):

ah, prejudice under the guise of holiness is precisely the deceit described as devil's work by the same people who choose to judge for their god rather than live the best life they can and leave the judgments to their god... sometimes I think most people who buy into organized religions have been fooled by the very evil they seek to escape... but then, I don't know and don't pretend to know... I do my best to keep true to my ideals, to do no harm in my actions, and to share love as honestly as I can... most of all, I strive to stay open to learn and understand... that way even those who'd attack me or condemn me or judge me based on whatever can be heard without being empowered... we each choose whom (and what) we believe in and empower to have a real effect on us... so I think that the fact that you allowed some one to help you reawaken your heart and rebuild your confidence in yourself is a beautiful thing and demonstrates a wise decision on your part... and your entry is a fitting tribute to her (if I'm right in my guess about who you meant)... merry happy new year to you and may this year be the beginning of more of the best years of your life J

and this side thought pops up just now... I include notes I write when I think they might give you more insight or information about who I am... sometimes my ego thinks a note is good, but then, self-praise is not something to get too carried away about, so I try to leave ego and self-judgment out of it... I hope to find feedback that adds perspective to my writings and choices...

and we are on to page five now... I have been clicking non-stop (occasionally watching part of an episode or play now and then) for days... I estimated the deletion might take weeks and it would have if I did not spend almost forty eight hours non-stop at it this weekend (when I get an idea, I'm dangerous)...

some of the notes are bringing tears to my eyes because I want them so much to be more real in the physical world, that is, I want to know the person (you?... ah, the irony of this word, as, at this moment, in vastly different ways, neither of us know who you are)... who understands?...

sometimes I just wish anybody in my physical world would be interested enough in reading and writing and care enough to want to know me so they choose to read all I write and give me meaningful eye-contact feedback...

I'll change channels now before lonely laments dig in too deep...

I think I drank 96 ounces of Code Red this weekend... and I ate a seven ounce chocolate bar... and I finished deleting the notes up until the notes left in this past week... phew... I've got to be at work in a few hours, so a little actual sleep would be very wise... and a shower...

there are so many snips of what may be (feel like) profound thoughts (epiphanies) scattered throughout this entry... and perhaps I am fooling myself (ego) or reading more into what is not written that is there... maybe the illusion I have of myself is inaccurate... these are the questions (doubts) that rise from logic when one is alone too long...

and there are whole entries (essays) and songs (rhymes) wanting (crying) to come out, creative expressions and explanatory notes and autobiographical information calling to me from somewhere (a place for us?) in my mind (out there?)...

and there is you... what can I say to you, precious reader, that might convey the meaning I find in my mind, meaning you allow me to find... how can I represent the power I give you, the passion you can inspire, the magic I can feel... how to say thank you...

may you allow yourself to find something in these words that inspires a moment you can value, meaning you can comprehend, and something you can hold on to in your life...

and may we share this gift...

party on...






. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
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