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2016-12-09 - 10:12 p.m. A Moment of Forever This is strange, at least a strange feeling for me. I am quite used to strange, but this is strange even for my strange conditioning. It is strange even that I use the word strange so many times already in this entry and I don't even want to put the word strange in the title. I will wonder what I will entitle this entry until a title comes to me, but for now, I am here to babble, to reminisce, and to feel strange. Ordinarily, when I stop in here at DLand, it is a brief moment of passing along some parts of babble I've written elsewhere that is enhanced with some DLand memories and assorted sundries. The last entry here was more a journey through a few of my favorites (and I emphasize the word few because I left out many who deserve to know they {yes you} are among the writers I call my favorites and not just cause I fell in love with you {Nebby and cutething and... oh, there I go indulging ancient fantasies again... I'll stop the list and thank goodness I'll never grow out of that lol lam laf} but for so many reasons, real and imaginary) and coming back here I find I undermined satisfying my own love of attention and appreciation by not checking the notes you left. I have no way of knowing just when you left your notes, whether they were before or after the last entry, so it is an awkward foolishness that brings me to say thank you in this generalized babbling way, rather than individually through your DLand notes. That's one of the drawbacks of DLand notes and why I had comments for years while I was here more regularly. I discontinued comments when I realized I was not coming here enough to warrant paying for comments, but I do miss our conversations here. If I was not currently unemployed and on a strict budget, I'd consider paying for comments again, but for now I'll be cheap and try to remind myself to come back a few times over the next few weeks to check on notes. Is that why it feels strange to be here now? Rhetorical questions used to abound in the babbling I left here, if you recall, but I am not here to explore the reasons for the strange feelings or even to explore the strange (though I will give credit to my old friend in the tin foil hat, Zappo for assisting in this strangeness tonight {and deep inside parenthetic asides, we twits cast spells of magic and paranoia for the trepidation and amusement of our respective imaginary audiences} and use the nickname, Zappo, not to reference his affinity for emulating an alien Marx brother {or Winnie the Pooh character, even} but to enhance his own paranoid essences {and essential bodily fluids, speaking of strange love} in this catch-22 reference that shall now suddenly and without any further fanfare, abruptly end) strangeness that envelopes the mood as this entry attempts to open and blossom and consume your attention like an exoticly innocent flower. Just remember, the Russians are not just hacking emails, ya know? I will make an effort to not resort to pandering for cuteness in this increasingly ridiculous attempt to apologize for not responding individually to your notes and lavish gifts (PO Box 162843, Altamonte Springs, FL 32716) that you sent through the post or my pay pal account (contributions to the keep the car and survival funds are always welcome and needed now more than ever because in real life, I am currently unemployed and an active job seeker {and redundantly repetitive as ever} so feel very free to pass along any winning lottery tickets or job opportunities that might be mutually beneficial... perhaps we should not reference my babbling as a job skill for most jobs though, but I'll leave that to your discretion and now, somehow, I will find my way back out of reality because being jobless and potentially homeless can be so depressing for those who do not enjoy the freedom of living without possessions or a permanent roof or being a roadie for an indie band or something like that) because you know how much I love you without public fanfare, falling for teddy bears, or obscenely poorly produced but meaningfully adorable and truthful lyrics in singing cat videos. Right, so where were we? My patron (of the arts and sciences) woke and stopped my the door to this room to enlighten me on the success of his presentation on 3-D printing techniques that enthralled his audience last night (which I can only imagine was at least as scintilating as his presentation on fractals that he gave at last months Nerd Night here in town so I give him a big hand for the abundant knowledge he shares). He's a bit of a modest genius and, like me, one of the most generous people I know (which is wonderful as I am staying here rent free for a couple or few months, at least, and the added value of his brain in eclectic conversation enhances the experience and provides delightful distraction from the mundane chore of scouring the internet for prospective income opportunities) and can be credited (or blamed) for the brief incursion into offline reality we recently experienced here in this strange entry into the strange strangeness that we strangely stumbled into upon waking just a few strange moments ago. The Maharaja, as I call him (his real name is Swami, but we don't use real names in the blog world to respect privacy and modesty and all that legal accommodation) waves a smiling hello to all of you and wishes you peace and enlightenment on your journey through life and the strangeness that befalls you. Noting the notes you left, I also note that my attention span is fractal enough when I do return to this place and so, I beg your forgiveness for neglecting to use passwords to locked diaries in a timely enough fashion and implore you not to leave them in the notes, but rather send them in other ways. In this paragraph, and perhaps beyond, we shall explore ways that are more secure, if more personal, and provide you with a plethora of options from the safety and obscurity of anonymous comments on any of a hundreds of more blogs to directly inserting the secrets of your soul into my mouth with your tongue (well, that might be a bit too personal even for me, but we deal in extremes from time to time in making a point here, now don't we?). Perhaps we should move on to another paragraph to provide the possible communication of secrets as this one may be tainted with a grossness some of you wish to leave behind. Those of you not appalled can send your smiling and open mouthed photos to the address listed in the next paragraph or few. So, to communicate your secret user name and password designed for my entry into the intimacy of your chastity, or blog world, you may choose any of the blogs listed here (providing the links work) and leave a comment anonymously or with your name and I shall find the comment (there's always hope) and find my way into your blog to catch up on your writings and sharings because I really do miss you despite all the casual nonchalance of irreverent teasing going on here. Alternatives for communication with increasing personalization (and expediency, if a prompter connection is your wish) include going directly to my current daily brief blog (or for more words and fun, the babbler lives! and welcomes you) and commenting there (because seldom does a day go by without my checking in there) or sending a snail mail with or without a return address to PO Box 162843 Altamonte Springs, FL 32716 or for less anonymity, an email to me at candoor @ gmail dot come or sending a text to 4 0 7 3 2 5 1 4 8 2 or calling and risking actually hearing a live voice (that might even be mine... or leaving a voicemail) and who knows, you might even ask for a physical meeting where you can hand me the user name and password in an encrypted volume of Ulysses or Waiting For Godot (I'll likely not read the former, just for your further edification) or secretly slipped between bills 41 and 43 of a large stack of hundred dollar bills cleverly hidden in a large head of lettuce or cabbage in an ornately arranged fruit salad basket delivered by a clown in a gorilla suit with a yellow top hat and a necklace of seven partially ripe bananas (which would distinguish him from just any clown in a gorilla suit wearing a yellow top hat who happens to be stopping by) singing the song that plays at the end of The Princess Bride while nodding and winking (in which case I will promptly offer you dinner at the best restaurant in town with an option for continued frivolities on into the night or for as long as we can stay awake... I'm a generous soul, remember?). On that note (whatever note it might have been), I shall remark patronizingly that it is good to see Dangerspouse is still at it, riding again and amusing us with his antics, loving battles with his NewWifey(tm), wit dryer than burnt toast, and impulsive soup recipes (among other assorted sundries). Someday, I shall be a proper fan and drop him a round of applause. On another note, we all mourned the passing Uncle Bob, but does anybody know where the author went? Did any of us consider asking? Does anyone have the time to search through notes to find a clue? Talent like Bob's should not be wasted. Well, he's on Facebook. Anyone reading his last entry, still available without subscription, can do it. Just follow his instructions and forget you ever knew an "Uncle Bob" while you are there, even if you have one yourself. All you have to do is figure out which Facebook account is his. Good Luck. I am quite sad that HissandTell was locked up. It was probably just a matter of time, given her antics. See my apology to locked-up DLanders above. Or in the previous entry if you are a glutton for punishment. I hope StepfordTart is well. I wonder if she knows how Smash is these days, or any of his victims. He was a kind butcher to us all, chopping us up with great finesse in his other diary. I wonder how I turned out. The award of Dland Dedication still goes to Raven72d. I never asked if 72d was short for 1972 December or something else, like a shoe size or, no, that would be ridiculous. Anyway, someday I still want to hang out over a cup of tea, or sandy beach, or somewhere mutually comfortable to express appreciation for years of reading and to apologize for all the years of reading I didn't do. It's like that for those of us who write as prolifically as we do, nobody can really keep up completely unless they are in love or incarcerated. May Raven have at least one from column A. Some people are persistently gone and dearly missed and who knows what they may be doing. I mean, a decade has passed and it seems that Mcearstix is still trying to make out with that turtle. Ok, so there's a whole lot of people I love to read left out of this one. Still many I left out of the last one too. Et Tu, locked, Jonathan? Feel free to slander me obtusely in notes or put a sticker of a dead bunny on my front door. That leaves a lot of options for you, Moonbaby... wink wink nudge nudge). The ways to reach me are all over the web (and my diary) for any good stalker. Even for some inept ones. So back to the shameless self-indulgence of writing about me, I found myself wandering back in time and suddenly babbling at DLand (behind the candoor) for a while a day or few ago, but never finished as the body got wonky and distracted me or the muses or all of us involved in this madcap adventure you are reading. After a bit of a serious scare a few days ago, I've been self-medicating with chocolate while trying my best to hold down calories and stimulants on every other level. It may be working, though the weight loss program may be suffering. If I make it through the "holiday season" still under 200 pounds, I might consider that a success on some level even though I know I can and should do better. If only I had some external inspiration and energy in my face now and then. Sigh. I've always been such a stubborn DIY project. So what else is new? Last night and today I've been indulging my music loving brain cells and they are so happy to be awakened, if it is tentative and temporary. I sang a bit with Elvis, one of my early singing teachers (along with Barbara Streisand, Andy Williams, Justin Hayward, John and Paul from the Beatles, Leslie Gore, some Broadway stars, and a whole lot of others). That felt good, though it pointed out how out of shape this body has become, especially the abs, diaphragm, the lips, tongue, and vocal chords. I spend hours wandering mytube on youtube adding songs to the soundtrack of my life (which is even more personally biographical than the video me, I mean, in case it matters and you were interested in getting to know me and delving deeper into my psyche and heart and loins or any of the above (please state your business at the first portal) for oh, the inspirations to be found there. After a day of enjoying music and other videos on youtube (as opposed to mytube or other soundtracks of this life I vaguely call mine), waking my voice and heart and that part of my mind that longs for the dream, my quest, my truth, I suppose I can't help wanting to fall in love again. It is a simple hope that keeps me out here waving at you. It's just the way I am. Every now and then a song from one of my personal therapy mixes (cassette tapes lost in Toronto) come back to my memory and shake me inside ever so well and sometimes, they take me back and just blow me away. Sheesh. Yeah. So anyway, shifting to distraction because it is available, she is still just so much fun ya know? Or I could say whatever. Deep inside there is a show. In which we are together. I don't know what this means to you but it could be everything, or nothing if you want it to be nothing, a random melody. I have no idea where those links I just linked will take you, but if you clicked and smiled I'd love to know. I'm vulnerable tonight, so I won't wake you. I don't want to be told it's time to go. This could be such a sad song... or a love song... if you make it so. All we can do is all we can do. Hope life is smiling for you. Narf :)
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