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2005-05-09 - 1:40 p.m. vastness this odd little community, this DLand, full of depth and superficiality, home to virgin princesses and lonely housewives and a few working fools who just stumbled in on a coffee break and somehow got stuck here... we create a style, a literary personality, a box we label and perpetuate... I wonder sometimes how I would write, appear, be, if I started all over again in a different place, with a different name, from a different perspective... how are you? I wrote that somewhere sometime recently and was feeling deep and heavy and ever so clever at the time... those moments used to be the norm in my head... and in those moments I laugh (rather pathetically) at the shell that contains me at the moment... these days... in the current time stream... in this space... around... I hear this is fun anybody ever notice that Mulder's apartment number is 42? sometimes I wonder if I spend too much time writing, too much time online, too much time alone, too much time in my mind... and then I remember that I am not alone in my mind and I smiled when I wrote that because it made so much sense at the time and it still does on a whole different level and the most amazing thing of all is the only way I can express myself to you is to fog all the windows and speak through a very large fluffy towel, but I expect less than six hundredths of one thousandth of one percent of you to even begin the comprehend even a fraction of the understanding the distorted words so clumsily convey, so nevermind is the most coherent concept you may ever receive in your brain from mine... on the other hand, the perpendicular reasoning collectively closes around the window of opportunity like a claustrophobic pickle barrel dancing randomly on the rapids just above the falls and if there was a creator of everything then rapid distillation of the microcosmic nucleotides connecting synapse after synapse bridge the gap between the quantum flux of the time space continuum and what we, as humans, call the event horizons of infinity and eternity... and it just might work for you too... but how many of you truly wish you could just stick your thunb out and travel the universe?... get in line... live like you've got 12 minutes left... and the laughter in the halls of Diaryland tonight (or today, depending on when now is) comes from the fact that I felt like I reach some profound peaceful happiness in the splendid euphoria of hippiness and nothing... and then deeper depths of dippiness conflume to bring nothing... and then, finally the daily whininess of kvetchy mundanity and fatigue falls out of my brain and pop, the notes flow... timing is relative, I know, but so very odd too... and then, the mice came to completely distract us from wherever we might have met in a previous or future life, should there be or have been either, no less this life, wherever and whenever that may be... it was last night that the previous entry (of mice and such) was interrupted by Steinbeck and the bible as Precious sought an assist with a school paper... her first commentary based on a preset comparative analysis... transitioning from do what you're told middle school to think for yourself college in a highly accelerated high school program is a lot to grasp... the concepts of literary analysis are still mostly Greek to her, but she's brilliant, so she'll catch on quick... quickly, even... and so last night we played with: relate the biblical telling of the story of Cain and Able to Of Mice and Men... a few hours were spent searching online for helpful sites that I emailed to her and I racked (or is that wracked?) my brain to explain the ideas I was finding... the best laid plans... and then... fun on the phone for a little over an hour... crossing from online words into email into phone conversations (preparing for the next step, the in person meet-and-greet) is more fun than a barrel of monkees here we come... walking down the street... we get the funniest looks from... everyone we meet... hey, hey... more fun than a barrel of monkey hay, aye?... or half a bee, even... the cells inside my head that loosely call themselves a brain relate happy happy joy joy to the rest of me... it has been years since I welcomed a new friend (by the definition of the word deeper than any other) in this life offline... and a writer too... maybe the bridge back to me (or is that to forever... I must read Richard Bach again... and James Redfield... and of course, others)... and what have we been smoking? (Santa Clause?)... Casper had a lovely girlfriend, almost... the world asks for nonsense, so we provide Animaniac sib-philosophy (siblosophy?) and the nonsense most call horse sense is that more sense is made from books written thousands of years ago in metaphor and allegory than in blood curdling strangers who appear as normal as and Tom, Dick, or Harry walking down main street enjoying the parade, but secretly suck the ethereal life force from your unaware bodies when you dare confront the true purpose of propagation and pointed sticks or what goes on way above our unsuspecting heads in water towers... and there you are, blessed be you all... such specialness you inspire in the most tenderest corners of me... tobe con tinued... space... the next frontier... and that's final. so you return for a second helping and find there are seconds available but then you wonder, what if you did not return, would there be seconds and if there were and you never knew, would you wonder what you missed or be blissed by ignorance and imagination lacking the missing links (oooga boooga?)... when you can answer every question, what then? and what now? the Virgin Prunes play If I Die, I Die in classic Post-Ono Yokoloquialisms (vocalotion, as opposed to vocal locomotion, infused with primal scream therapy, or just primal screams if you don't have a degree or shingle or head to hang your hat on)... as naked pagans wrap their legs around trees and each other while children cling to their bussoms and backs, we laugh at your clothing clad forms afraid of your own flesh and senses, rather than pity or fight your ways, as you condemn our freedom, that same freedom that you demand we die for, but fear to exercise yourself... hump this: if you stuck all the gold in the world up your ass you'd be rich and could afford the powerful wheelchair you'd need to get around... is this where you got off? is this where you got lost?... we separate the wheat from the chaffed thighs, the pretenders from the pure, the fearful from the frightened, the followers from the few free friends... in the vastness of the universe and time, how many have you trusted unconditionally?... how many have you called friend?... why would you let one end?... in the vastness of infinite possibilities, how many meaningful connections have you made in your lifetime?... do you ever wonder if you are the only one?... listen... do you want to know a secret?... do you promise not to tell?... come a little bit closer... whisper in my ear... tell me what you know... tell me who I am... is your third eye blind? cara mia, Jay and the Americans never had it so good...
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