there is no you

and my dying moment
lasts forever as well

it is my heaven
it is my hell


in realizing my-self
i came to know

that there was no more

for me to know

Waypoint

Roaming outdoors in the nude is an experience I'd suggest to everyone capable. Just existing, bare, in the midst of all of that space and my quiet neighbors and those beasts busy calling out to their kind, and some greater presence (the nature of which I cannot yet fathom, one that I believe is ever-present though, outside of exceptional experiences, rarely sensed) - just being there allowed me to experience time at a whole new pace, either identical to or, at least, less far removed from that which is natural, relaxing, reassuring.

Note to self: Don't neglect to drop a fantastic post about Mike (directly following the puppy and proposition post).

A Puppy and a Proposition.

Today, I was driving along highway 62N in Texas, and I saw a lady walking along it. I assumed she was a hitchhiker, as she was walking a major highway in between no apparent civilization. She introduced herself as Kay, and rode in silence for less than a minute and asked, "do you date?"

...Time passes. Things happen. Maybe I'll fill in this blank...

I held Kay's Boxer puppy - or her limp, expired shell - in my arms, feeling more than tasting the saliva between my lips, fluid which transferred there from her dead muzzle as I tried to breathe and massage life into her still-warm body (was it warmth of sunlight, or of her now-ebbed life?). I paused a second to wonder whether I'd think I was a bastard if I'd noticed myself caring rather than not about the soiling of my pleated trousers onto which feces had transferred from her now-non-governed bowels.

All of the preceding took place after having a great conversation with some guy whose office I stopped in to in order to update his virus definitions. I searched a bit for my purpose in this complex organism (yes, "organism") that we call "life."

I returned to my hotel directly after leaving the tragic scene of the dead puppy and her owner mourning her in the cluttered yard of her pitiful trailer. As I left my rental car and approached the building, I noticed a man hurriedly snuff his cigarette in order to match my arrival at the entrance. Upon arriving at the door after his brisk walk over, he feigned ignorance that it was unlocked, asking "Oh, is it open?" He followed me to the elevator and briefly affirmed that the third floor, the one I'd selected before his fully boarding the elevator, was his. He hesitated to exit the elevator, which I allowed him to do due to my suspicion of him, which was all thanks to my prior observations; he then faltered in the hallway, picked to go right rather than left, and paused to look back at me twice - the second time, he saw me as I entered my room, and his stride gained confidence. He cast no further glances back towards me. I received a call a few seconds later on my room phone; it all wound up with me being propositioned and questioned at length (and volunteering more information than I was asked for) about my sexuality, openness to a sexual encounter with the caller and her boyfriend (which I in no way accepted or lead the forward caller to believe I was interested in), having her deny that the man I'd observed was involved with the call at all (despite my accurate description of him), and hung up on me as I stated that I was open to having some coffee or a lunch somewhere, as I was free the next hour or so.

In both situations, I felt little more than amusement, but I continue to harbor hopes that something meaningful will, eventually, hit home.

And all of that occurred prior to a wonderful bonfire, smoke, and lounge out upon the roof of some pretty cool folks who I've only spent time with twice. The fire took place immediately after accompanying them to their orientation/introduction course to a major financial institution's "financial education" business - selling financial confidence like Kirby vacuums; sure, they're great vacuums, but some one's still got to sell them.

Introspectively-wrought revelations abounded.

Chose escape. Why?

The reason that I am so prone to 'zone' is this: as a child, I made a choice based on what I had come to know of the world, that nearly all of the positive experiences that moved me most, the meaningful and beautiful relationships and adventures - each of them took place in a book I was reading. I had a yearling, and a faithful dog, and black stallion; I lived on the ranch, or in the castle, and I was able to do right, and to have the satisfaction of seeing the fruits of my righteous labors.

In that common reality, though, I knew only loss. Everyone and everything in my life seemed to be a disappointment or, if anything else, a higher perch from which to fall from at the next one.
Which existence was I likely to choose as a child?

Well, I chose it, and I'm left as an adult to traverse the wilderness between this wonderful, carefree world which I made my home, and that one. I must resist the draw, the fear of leaving this safe place, only to climb towards a more painful existence - one that, when I am trapped within it, transforms me into a son, a brother, a cuckolded husband, a father, and a friend whom others rely on. I don't feel ready to be any of those things.

I believe in the evolution of love, and not its death.

I believe that the utmost expression of faith is to live and act as we feel we should, rather than as we think we should.

Bitter. Sweet.

The only time that the hurt swells is when I get caught up by the detachment that used to serve as my defense; it allows me to create a moment, flawlessly woven, from my memory of you, by my longing for you: I'm pouring a glass of orange juice and, suddenly, I feel you behind me; I feel your presence in the tingling along the entire length of my spine, and know that, if I turn, I will see you there.

I do turn around, though, and I see what I knew was there before those wonderful seconds that convinced me that I would see you - air, space, and the kitchen floor.

The relief of web logging.

Lemming just had a realization, as his head touched the pillow and the sheet he pulled glided over the skin of his shoulder to lay cold against his cheek...

.............. pause .............. then the realization:

this is a wonderful reversal of journaling. Instead of the writer being known, and the contents private, the contents are known, and the writer is anonymous. Go web, go.

Re: Re: The "Welcome Hat"

Vetoing an idea of mine because it's "nerdy"? I know I mask it sufficiently well, but I'm a nerdy guy. You'll come to realize that, with the whole interest in theoretical mathematics, philosophy, computer jockeying, and myriad other pursuits that definitely qualify for the label. I'll stick one on there until I've had my fill of conversations prompted by its presence; that, or I'm tired of it. Maybe we can get a "nerdy" pin, too

You can't wield that plausible-future-based pish posh on me; you haven't been voted into office yet (you're one vote shy). Check my newest self wall-post on facebook, and you'll understand why it's IMPOSSIBLE for me to accept the veto. Overruled!

Or, in order to avoid extended deliberation, perhaps we could embroider it on there. Black or tan thread would be nice.

The "Welcome Hat"

I want a "welcome" button for my hat; in that way, people may realize that it is, in fact, my "Welcome Hat." Yeah; it rests on the doorstep to each conversation, if someone chooses to cross that threshold. I so rule.