there are times when I feel so dang alone in this world because no one shares the intimacy of this life I claim to live offline... claim, I say, because living is sharing caring and secrets and truly being known and knowing someone, growing together, whether as best friends or best friends with physical pleasures included, being without an best friend in the physical world sucks, especially if you've known the feeling of living with one (or more, lucky) before... I love Raspy and his daughter is not named Precious here casually, they are as much family as I've got but it's still not where I've been cuz we don't share the way I know sharing to be because we're not into the same things (it's the music and words and running around like lunatics 'till dawn and water and theme parks and road trips and workouts and intangibles that are missing) and he works so much he barely has time for any sort of life anyway... it's not that I am a eunick or am beyond horniness or too cultured to admit it (you must not have read some of my more visceral {did somebody say perverse?} stuff if you think that), it's just that the trust matters most and trust does not come from sex, it comes from sharing secrets of the heart and mind and soul (or whatever it is that uniquely identifies each of us as you or me)...

so anyway, I come here to whine about loneliness and let all the pathetically insecure feelings (like I must be unloveable since I've lost at love and nobody... you oughta know the song by now... those of you've who've heard it from your own hearts breathe a precious kinship into your notes or emails or phone calls that blow gently on the kindling of hope still occasionally {oh the drama, occasionally, no less} flickering in dreams and far away places like Planet Candora and even older worlds {what?... you want links?... how would that be consistent with the unloveable feeling, I mean, if I thought people would click and read and love me through words then I wouldn't be genuinely feeling unloveable, now would I?... am I mocking myself?... a-hem} and maybe, just maybe, in our hearts... but how to believe it when only the walls respond to the cries in the night and their silence claims hell is frozen, not burning, and have I depressed you enough yet?)...

but this is a thank you...

oh yes, you see I am not feeling the pathos too much at the moment... I am feeling giddiness... the oft recycled giddiness that comes of Fridays when I give up the daily (or nightly, in my case) grind and let down my hair and scare people away (maybe I should cut it all off and conform to the norms of appearance so more people might approach or at least not look away uncomfortably?... what a sad world to think that might be the only viable option for meeting people... but this was meant to be an irreverent tease amongst cleverly places metaphors that express the simple freedom of inhibitionless Fridays, so pay attention, ok?... I did use the word grind, after all... who knows when the word bump might slip out and then who knows what might pop up next) and bounce around the world a bit...

so after an extra 90 minutes at work, I headed for the gym and did some upper body work and then settled for the treadmill because the step cycle had a waiting line... since I goofed off this week I was surprised to find I lost a few pounds so after a good workout and a shower, Rasputin and I went to his favorite place to eat, Longhorn Steakhouse... the body craved protein... and then we wandered around the outdoor mall a bit, checking out movies playing at the theatre and fixing some confusion with our cell phones at the cell phone store and then stopping at Blockbuster to rent a couple of DVDs... we watched Cold Mountain first and the highlight of the film was a seriously kick-ass thunderstorm that blocked us out twice and set off the fire alarms (so we were outside on the landing watching the storm and meeting our neighbors for a little while until the painful screeching of fire alarms (that sound a lot like those plant-baby things in one of the Harry Potter stories) in the apartments were turned off... then we watched the end of the movie... and the film reviewer says: Nicole Kidman has a very sweet body...

what can I say, the story didn't do much for me... I mean, I liked Old Yeller better, ok?... and Frosty the Snowman, for that matter... this was too predictable and done way too many times in way too many ways, animated, claymated, and before... maybe I just was not in a sentimental enough mood (loneliness creates a layer of cynicism sometimes, ya know?)... truthfully, I adore Rene Z, which is why I gave it a thinbs up when Raspy picked it off the shelf... and she probably deserve the award she got for it, but the story was still way too overdone... she did have a great line about rain though...

and the storms outside continue to be the best entertainment for me today... remember, it's uninhibited Friady, remember... reckless and bold, just like standing barefoot in a puddle holding a metal railing on the third floor landing (did I mention doing that during the intermission?)... fire engine sirens keep crying through the howling winds, but off in the distance mostly... ah, but what a wonderful sky the world provided today...

on goes Hurry Up Sky by Jen Chapin as I impulsively reach for her Open Wide CD simply because it is closest to the big green chair (probably no coincidence) and with her husband's standing bass and her vocals (that's all there is to making beautiful music on this CD) it so wonderfully fits the mood of lonely hope and fading storms and watching the world rush around through rain stained windows... and I pause to put my would on ice and I ponder human sacrifice... feeling alien, distant, abstract...

but this is a thank you...

yes, for your notes and emails and calls... first of all, the truth is I am more detached than I may appear in my personal ramblings... the vulnerability is real, but I have this way of detaching from myself that baffles people (including the doctors of the mind when they have taken the time and been given the right to probe)... so most weeks the most endearing and deserving emails (or voicemails) might be secretly treasured somewhere deep inside of me, but the moment of reverence ends when I finish reading or listening and I distract myself with the details of life in immediate spaces because the sincerity and potential closeness offered in words from far away places scares me... I mean, what if you're the boogieman or something?...

some thank you, huh?...

ok, what I mean to say is this week I broke through my self-containment fields and allowed myself to be inspired to respond to some words (and again I tease myself and you wth thoughts of sharing the secrets that came out in emails, but will I find time to edit and upload?... who knows) that reminded me of how important your words are to me... though most of the time I do not directly respond, they are a lifeline that keeps me afloat and hopeful in these dark days of loneliness that often end in despair... when I surface from my fantasies and illusions I realize that I am a walking talking test of patience and that is probably the primary reason I am alone in this world these days (what?... take responsibility for myself and my life in this world?... how rude... blastphemous, even)... I challenge every accepted believe by simply claiming (and apparently living/acting as though) I do not need them... in fact, I may even believe that I genuinely need nothing when I carve my way through the rhetoric to the bottom lines of my undertanding of my being... that's why anyone can comfort me and the blues call my name and truth is the moment you find it the moment is gone...

egads, philosophy, what is this entry coming to?...

beneath the irreverence is cynicism and beneath that is seriousness and beneath that is more irreverence and there are a few or many other layers beneath those that beg exploration and yet there's some sort of jailor slamming doors, mostly silently, and I turn away nonchalantly (though that is just a frozen pretense left over from my time spent in hell) presenting yet another irreverent thought or emotional story that leads away from the deeper sharings that might have been... and I claim that is because I want eye contact and a touch before shedding all the onion-like layers and crying like a baby... cuz I don't want to be doing that crying for manna in the wilderness routine because it's been done before and I am unique... I go my way... and nobody knows...

hey what is this, anyway, confession?...

no, it's a thank you (are you getting it yet?)...

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