I spent most of the weekend vegetating, bouncing from watching the football playoffs to listening to Precious talk about life (which seems to be my only contact with a life I've got these days outside of my work in the psych ward and in the soaps {pure evil does not seem to attract friends or fans or a love life much, so don't let my lack of unfukd status fool you [I know, I am a persistent (or is that pathetic) pain in the giblets]... maybe it's cuz I hang out with happily married folk and people in love and a couple who are competing for how much booty call they can get, but sheesh}... life is welcome behind the candoor, really it is)...

wow, that turned into a long sentence...

it was supposed to be the first part of a sentence (before the parentheses started) that lead into (after the appropriate comma, of course) my explaining that I was not at the computer reading and writing much, however I did stop by to sit and click on random links at random intervals for random moments every now and then and left random notes wherever I went...

well, most of the places I went...

as smash said in his answer to #25 on the recent survey going around (that I am cleverly avoiding since I have recently lost my mind or any sense of decorum when it comes to answering questions or providing personal information because I've provided so much personal information on lists and surveys in the past few months that I think my mind, in it's insatiable desire to create ever new and unique ways to be redundant and say/write the same thing {because I've got no new news in life to talk about} in as infinite a number of ways as possible that I've run out of ways to discuss myself without offending most everybody), my least favorite place to be is anywhere I am not wanted...

but on the other hand, Groucho Marx had an excellent point about not wanting to be a member of any club that actually wanted him to join, so perhaps that's why I keep mention it...

and that other thing...

maybe it's this sort of obscure referencing (which makes total sense to me, but probably has most people, if not everyone, scratching their heads and possibly even shouting inconceivable! without having any idea as to why) is what keeps most people from responding to notes or comments I leave in their world (no less in mine)...

s'ok, I understand how challenging it can be to reach out to someone (you've seen my insecure moments, right?)... I'll just keep being me and spontaneously saying hello and hoping for smiles anyway (cuz I'm incorrigible, even in the face of my own massive insecurity tsunamis)...

cuz it's fun...

everything would be so different if I was in love with someone who was in love with me and we shared our lives every moment, ethereally apart and sensually together, but alas, everything is not that way (a much much better more positive less insecure more carefree less stupid more clear, aware, sensitive, and articulate less selfish, arrogant, egocentric, and abrasive way), so thanks for coming and putting up with the roller coaster of flippancy and irreverence and if you do, thanks for finding the humor and caring I put into it...

so until I find the one who brings the music back to life, I shall continue doing what I do (whatever that is to you) and hope that I am not doing any harm without knowing it and hope that you might mention me in other places so that maybe the one I seek might read or hear where you mention me and come check me out and find that I am the one she seeks too...

ever the hopelessly hopeful romantic...

yes, it's all about the search for the one (candora knew from the start, entering diaryland... it is fundamental... I suppose I was a lot softer back when I began, maybe more hopeful and eager to please... maybe, as an old poem that I lost in my memory and have not been able to find on the net said (I believe it was called When A Man Has Been Alone Too Long or perhaps it did not use the passive voice), I have been alone too long...

eewwww, icky unpleasant thought...

maybe I need some time to myself (but if I get that selfish, I mean, write as if you are not even out there, would you feel neglected or offended or leave like everybody else does?... should that matter?) to regroup and rant or rage or cry or mock or laugh or do whatever it is I must do to remember the music and myself all by myself (don't wanna be, all by myself, anymore... oh how pathetically amusing to me)... I suppose such a sudden disappearance would play right into my character in Smash's soap (which would help those who want to doubt me or suspect me of nefarious deeds out a lot, eh?) and there's some altruistic (however warped) justification I can sell with all the other bulldinglings I tell myself about why I am still alone and how nobody understands me and how it doesn't matter and how I'm not one of the in crowd and how I am so offensive and how nobody understands me I said that, didn't I?) and how redundantly repetitive I've become and how mindlessly cavalier I appear and how no one takes me seriously and how poor-me poor-me waaa waaa waaaah all the way home, but I'm no little toe, after all, so maybe I'll just laugh with you at me (or alone, like the cheese, at myself) cuz I find myself very funny sometimes, even, when I am not sure if I am serious and don't want to offend me by laughing at myself when I am actually subconsciously trying to slip some serious into my consciousness...

huh?...

maybe I should just start again (could we start again, please... where did I put that amazing technicolor dreamcoat, anyway?)...

suddenly, as if nothing else matters but the flow of the words wherever they may lead, it appears to be a rip-off of Post-Secret, but it offers a threadless single comment-like atmosphere for people to write their most hidden secrets (or just go for shock value)... the phenomenon of anonymity on the internet has interested me from the beginning... perhaps I should start yet another diary or journal or space on the web where nobody knows me and I just ramble on and on to no one (Beatles, anyone?) or even to myself, if I still have respect enough for myself to think that I'd be interested in my deepest most hidden secrets (or if I'd even tell myself anymore)...

and then I wonder, did you ever think "let's all get together and write an encyclopedia" and think "hey,. what a really great idea" and then realize "well, we're already doing it... it's the Wikipedia!, ha ha ha" with mental quotation marks?...

me too...

and then, when I wonder what we're doing here, I know the answer is as diverse as infinity and there are as many answers as there are diaries, journals, blogs, and web pages (even considering that some of us have more than one diary, journal, blog, page, etc, there's still a different reason for our creating each of the different diaries, journals, blogs, pages, and etceteras that we might create, even if we don't think about it much)...

I wonder how much other people define themselves, I mean, how much time and energy and thought and feeling and data and essence and analysis and poise and passion and intensity and calm rational reasoning and above all else, honesty do you put into defining yourself?...

sometimes I think maybe all that time is wasted cuz that time can be used to live, to share life, to make love, to experience people and places and things outside of the self...

sometimes I think that maybe the waste is trying to live and share without knowing exactly who you are and why you are and what you want and how you want to be with as little doubt as possible...

anything is possible in a relative universe...

and maybe it is all in our minds, all this, all that, all I am, all you are, all that is around me, all that is around you, all in the mind...

so what do you really want to know?...

I really ought to check my email more often than I do... I used to go days, even weeks without checking... such avoidance is typical behavior of someone suffering from PTSD and I probably did, maybe do, but who cares, that's not amusing or interesting because it's whining and redundant meaningless yesterday-living and yesterday-living is a pure waste of time unless it is for just a few moments to bring someone intimately up-to-date with all that makes one who one is today and who's doing that around here anyway...

but I missed An Albatross (from Philly... I wonder if cutething has heard of them... maybe not, Philly is not that small a town) who is described by Thrasher Magazine as "A crude concoction of vaudeville melody, schizophrenia, metal, self-destruction, soul, noise, fast, quick, and short." and Alternative Press wrote "The kings of whatever this genre is!" and somebody else said "known for their grindpunk meets progrock supersound (think Yes & The Doors meets Napalm Death) and absolutely ape-shit live show"...

sounds like I could fit right in, not that I'm a king of anything except the kingdom in my mind, but at least until I get over myself and stop playing this nobody-loves-me game with myself (oh I know you love me, but you're not here, are you... and you know what I mean so why am I explaining?... maybe for the rest of you who might not understand what I mean... then why don't I explain better?... maybe cuz if I did, it wouldn't matter or maybe what matters is not having to explain here) I could (fit right in)...

the trouble is that the email came 2pm on a Friday afternoon and the show was that evening and I didn't see the email until the following Sunday evening, which would make it quite difficult to make the Friday evening show...

A: what's the difference between an online diary and a kiss?

B: A kiss requires lips.

I remember the day I set out to be pathetic because the cool kids didn't want me and I wanted to be wanted somewhere by some people... the whole fitting in and belonging feeling seems to be quite the essential human need and in my exploration of human needs I found the power of the need to be virtually overwhelming...

luckily it remained virtual...

and now, just in case you thought I was turning over a new fig leaf and leaving the lust for porn that consumes me in the absence of actual sensual intimacy or a sex buddy or even a daily physical hug behind for lent or something, the obligatory smut...

it could be that the reason girl on top is my favorite position is because I've become fat and lazy, but then, I could just present myself as fat and lazy to keep from becoming swamped with superficial proposals for marriage or sex because you simply can not resist my naturally buff body (and look ma, no steroids)... or it could have nothing to do with my body at all, it could be that after losing the most profound deepest love of my life I subconsciously shut down any pro-active passion and welcome passion passively but fear investing much of myself and therein do not become the aggressor in a physical relationship and hence, the preference for girl on top...

of course I could have simply given up on girls and turned to boys (which might appeal to you, you tease), but then, I might have been way beyond gender in my sense of loss and simply shut down on risking reaching out physically, on wanting physically, and gender didn't matter or else all this could just be another of my babbling mind games...

but do you really know who's mind I am playing with when I am playing with a mind?... I mean, I might say I am playing with a mind, but that might be how I am playing with a mind when I am not really playing with a mind and then, even when I really am playing with a mind and even allude to the possibility that it might be your mind I am attempting to play with (it's impossible without your permission... you do know that, don't you?... well if you aren't sure, then maybe it's not... scientists are still debating that one), maybe I am actually playing with someone else's mind and just playing with your mind by suggesting I might be when I am really not...

yeah, I mean, what if?...

could be I have always been playing with my own mind and letting you in on it without letting you know and therefore you let yourself get caught up in it when it never had anything to do with you in the first place except for what you imagined in your own mind play with your own mind...

A: So whattcha been up to?
B: Sitting around watching football and getting fat.

now you see why I don't do screenplays (or even dialogue)... I mean, who do you think I am, anyway, smash or cutething or some romantic screenwriter LA or someone who has sex with young sheep?... and I'm not from down under, after all, but sometimes wish I was... they seem like they have so much fun down there... I mean, they have cattle!... they even have tiaras...

ultimately, you will take seriously what you want to take seriously and laugh at what you want to laugh at because you have your own mind (I hope) and decide for yourself what is serious and what is funny, what is meaningful and what is nonsense... you will believe what you want to believe (cuz I told you to) and as long as we remain exclusively in written words, it is mostly illusion based on hope and faith and trust and the truth is, even the trust is based on hope and faith...

but that's not just cuz of distance and lack of voice sounds or facial expressions or body language because if you are honest with yourself then you know that even in your bed, in your head, in your body, it matters only as much as you want it to...

do you know what you want?...

maybe it's this sort of direct questioning (which makes total sense to me, but probably has most people, if not everyone, remaining silent and possibly even shouting run away! run away! without having any idea as to why)...

unless, of course, lyrical and movie references make sense and you can pick up on the patterns of symphony within the words and then...

everything would be so different...

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