I wonder about the secret people on the web... I mean the people who write personal diaries or journals or blogs or whatever as if they are real people living real lives doing real things in the real physical world and yet, remain completely anonymous and offer no way to contact them for actual proof of their existence as they present themselves in their very personal true-life diary or journal or blog or whatever... I guess it just takes time...

maybe I'll never get used to human fears...

I suppose I might understand the desire for anonymity on some level, but I do not think I seek such an allure... I'd probably have a lot more readers if I did stay more mysterious and not write as if I was in surgery and had to have bright lights on every millimeter of my existence, but then, that (popularity) is not what I am here for (in spite of my love of and for you, dear readers, and my insatiable ego-love of large-numbered stats that can be translated into massive popularity and fame and potential fortune and immortality and... mostly I laugh at my ego)...

but seriously, I ponder through the anonymous stories and secret lives on the internet... I wonder how many of the mysterious, seductive, controversial, or otherwise publically attractive web spaces are the creative efforts of bored housewives or idle rich folk or even poor struggling writers seeking attention for their words, but not for themselves (at least not consciously or directly or personally)... the puppetmaster thing, I guess... and I wonder how many of these covert web presenses are people not really wanting to hide or avoid the potential contacts, but genuinely afraid to be contacted as real people... or how many are obsessed with a need for privacy for other reasons, nefarious or wonderful... or how many are almost completely happy with their lives and relationships and just want something more that sharing their intimate lives anonymously with the world gives them...

and as I am pondering, I am wandering...

she (who was there, if you recall, at the start of the previous entry that wasn't and continued, in spite of the distractions of the overnight, to inspire my smile and intrigue as I perused her web world a bit more) lead me to her (who was also there in that ealier entry that wasn't, but was, if you follow) were both emailed (the latter with a request to use one of her photos, which is maybe the third time that that has happened, that I impulsively felt inspired to actually seek permission to use a photo, in all the years I've been on the web... I'll leave the intrigue of which photo of the many on her site for you to play with, since we're sort of on the subject of how much fun it might be to leave some mystery for readers on the web... hey, am I maintaining some sort of thread of continuity of thought in this entry?... am I awake?... mystery?... am I digressing into rhetorical questions in a tangential parentheses again?... am I attempting a humorous way out by asking the obvious?... ummmm)... yes, let's all meditate...

ommmmmmmmmm...

she might be laughing now, if she happens upon this entry... it has been a long time since I interacted in any way with a lot of my favorites from my first year or two here at DLand... have I really been here five years?... more?... wow... we've seriously digressed, haven't we?...

cuterati...

I have stolen the word for my personal language... she is a New Yorker, born and bred, so she'll understand a little theft (especially from another born and bred New Yorker)... after all... at least it wasn't a mugging... and at least I wrote an email thanking her... I think I forgot to mention the theft of the word though...

so like, wow dudes (balancing the NY with the LA cuz balance is good, right?)... two emails to two strangers in one entry (using entry as a measure of time can be quite imprecise, especially when multiple entries are being written at the same time, however we can say one sitting and sitting is no more or less precise, but just as accurate)... some of us use obvious ommision of personal details to enhance mystery and intrigue... some of us do it in other ways, like writing words that leave readers scratching their heads (or some body part) wondering, "what in the heck did that mean?"

or that, for that matter (what matter?... does it matter?)...

the point is, connections come from deep within and need no explanation once they are made, but to get made they require some sort of contact... eyes work best, I think, but words are sometimes all we have (as the BeeGees once said so well), so here we are sharing all we have... and I am writing an email and writing this entry simultateously, which is an odd experience for the thoughts overlap in places and this paragraph may pop into the email and something from the email may pop into this entry and yet, there's no intention of doing that, whatever that may be...

so as I was saying in the previous entry, while reading the post modern courtesan, we find her and further, we note that she's been writing a column for her local paper (I particularly enjoyed the way regrets were presented and applaud the editors for their irreverent seriousness... maybe they'll get an award {and someday, with your help, dear readers, where that previous award link now stands, a whole new official-looking awards page will be linked... ouesi... oueis... ahhhh}... I am serious... irreverently, perhaps, but still serious)...

and once again I get to thinking about the nature of the culture in which we live... so much repression... so much fear... so much ignorance... so much prejudice... so much insecurity... so sad...

I don't want to be sad today... in fact, I want to be filled with gleeful exhuberance and joyousness today... so I've decided that today is Christmas... or something like it... everybody smile at everybody you see and wish them good cheer and merry happy things... compliment them on their hair or their smile (if they smile back) or the way the walk or their clothing or something... offer to help them with their packages... hold a door open... give up your cab... spread your jacket across a puddle... do something that makes someone feel really special, like you love them or at least like and respect them a whole lot...

and thank people... call the people who sold you your car and thank them when car starts up... thank the crossing guard for stopping your car and protecting the children... if you don't drive, thank the bus or cab driver for driving well... thank the teachers for teaching, the plumbers for plumbing, the electricians for doing their electrical thing... thank the radio DJs for playing music... call the 800 numbers on product packages and thank the people who answer for answering... call your parents and thank them for doing it...

thank the perk people for cleaning up the park... thank the elevator operator for getting you to your floor in style... thank the telephone operator for giving you a number... heck, thank the recording... go shopping and thank the clerks and salespeople... thank the supermarket check-out person for ringing your up stuff and bagger for bagging your groceries... thank the manager for hiring such wonderful people...

thank the bakers for baking, the butchers for butching, and the barbers for barbing... thank the police for policing, the fire fighters for risking their lives... thank the people in white coats for coming to take you away for thanking too many people in a day... thank the nurses for treating you so well... thank the orderlies for keeping you safe and clean... thank the drug companies for making the drugs that the doctors give you and thank the doctors for doing their doctoring thing...

and when you convince them you're not actually crazy enough to be locked up because you're not actually dangerously thankful, but just extraordinarily appreciative, thank your god for this entry is over and you're free to go out and do as you please...

you don't even have to thank me J

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