I am floating on Bergman again... for those who dunce know what to do, but would like to lissen to the man, well, easy:

go to my profile link and look for that little audio linc, and then simpperly click on it, and you'll download it into your computer. It's no virus, hunnsters, it's actually pretty good. For those of you viralphobics, this is REALLY a song-- and If I want to pass you a virus, I won't wear a condom, ok? Geez, Just kidding! I'm clean as a, er, whistle (hmmm, eerie no?)

I feel alittle at ease now, I just spent the day catnapping and blogging and also a little studying. I did the gym this morning but I didn't like it as much for once, cuz my mind was away... and it is looking out alot nowadays as oppose to looking in. So, giving it sometime to look in is always reassuring, I mean you don't know what you have until you checked, am I right?

Talked to my friend/s about committing suicide today:

How would you do it?
When?
Is it a statement you'll be making or merely the efficient greasy-spotting of yourself on a pavement?

I figured I;ll like to make a statement, and I always like water, maybe I'll go drown myself at the sea if I would do it, and I'll attach a water-proofed bottle with a little note in it.

Or maybe get myself immolated, and my ash compacted into little pellets so that these little pellets can be sent out to friends and subscribers of my blogg. It think that'll be cool.

My friend perfer to go at the moment of orgasmic climax. A Heart-attack.
the other just want to slit wrist in a hot water bath.
One had the awesome vindictiveness to go get aids and sleep with all of her Exs and people she doesn't like... whoa, remind me not to piss her off!

There are moments where I want to go screaming and crying like a baby... which is alittle counter-productive, but me thinks jumping off a building is classic, I think paradoxically, that's the bravest act, one should not be afraid to be afraid at the moment of death-- and is willing to accept the greatest fear-- that I may splitseconds b4 dying, actually change my mind, lol..... yeah, i maybe a masochist too, lol.

Ah death, why does any talk of her has to be taboo, or clinically mad?
If we can talk about living and retirement and sex and chocolate, why can't we talk about death?
It's a part of life, we can love it alittle, can't we? The great equalizer, that she is.

In a world where nothing is fair or absolute ( and there never was promises that it would be), I think she is the last possible one to hang my cap and neuroses on, she takes all irregardless, you gotta admire that kinda professionalism, yeah?

Maybe we can prepare ourselves for life, by learning alittle about death.

I always noticed that almost all the people who die, seems to harbour some regret and that they are afraid to let go. Those that do let go are by far the more interesting people sub group of citizentry. Life isn't just about living and running away from death. Life is also respecting the dignity that you live your death as well. go with alittle pizzazz, go with a bang-

-- oops guess that orgasmic death throes isn't quite as silly as I thought it to be after all, eh?

food for thought
chocolate for sex:

Self destruction is a luxury
Self preservation is a Necessity.
Life is you constantly writing post dated checks for your experiences.

Oh God.

I am teaching again.

-- this semester, that is.
You know it's becoming a nasty habit. I love to give it up but I can't
I think in a previous life, I was someone's mom who died with nagging on her lips.
EW.
I just keep trying to drown the fuckin wide-eyes in more info., cuz IT'S IMPORTANT!
I let 'em talk but they never say nothing, so I will just let them bull-shit their way all wrong.
Oh well. I should moonlight as some sorta S&M guy with a sk8bored and make'em pay me for teachin 'em Old English and Old High German and Latin and Medieval History in trivia mode, while I whip them and make'em lick my boots.

Ew. Damn I shouldn't chat with "D" quite so overmuch. Her vibes rubbed off on me this week, I got a major overdosage of whips, chains, comics and ethical-go green-biodegradable cleaning agents for dildos. She's awesome, and prolly the only girl I know who's a Grad student that works as a Dominatrix. Peeps who actually have a copy of the Georgia Straight might be able to locate her. She Ain't cheap, so she told me. I dunno. I remember "D" as the funky comic book GRRRL, and by the way, "D" if you are reading this:

"WHERE'Z MY JHONNY THE HOMICIDAL MANIC ISSUE#3, bEE-YATCH!??!"

(AND DON'T YOU GET ANY CHOCOLATE PUDDING'ED STILLETTOED FOOT PRINTS ON IT, I'M ON TO YA!)

Ahem.
Yeah, like I was sayin--
I am teaching again; it's awful fun, but I miss being just a student where I can workout more regularly, read mindless drivel and also watch TeeVee, and have the time to window drool at new books, cool boards and maybe stylin' threads. I still can't afford any (the moo-lah I make go straight back my tuition) of the cool stuff, but it sux if I can't even droool at them, y'know?

I haven't been downtown for over 2 months, folks, that totally sucks. I drape a gym towel over my board cuz I don't wanna face it in shame. Fuck. I hate being grounded. It feels like I am...well, grounded. (Duhhh...drool....hhuhuuhhh....). Gym time is minimal and when I am there, I worry about work, studies and all der shite.

Ah NEED a LYfe!!!
Come save me!
Lay yer hands on my kaboose and free me to ride my board!
Phuck. I wanna go out soooo bad.
but there's so much homework.

When did I become such a responsible turd?
Phuck- thank god most of my riding buddies don't read this shit.
else I'll lose all the street cred.

Phuck.

The trick is this:

"Focus"

But like all cameras of yore where we do it manually, we have relegated it to machines for autofocus. It's not too bad, they do pretty good jobs of it too. Unfortunately, we lose the ability to focus, and worse when we want to focus we let the machine handle it, and we don't even think about it. The process is lost to us skill-wise as well as cognitionwise.

Sucks to be us? Well maybe. I think it is nice to do it the manual way. Machines are kewl, but I like my hand on the steering wheel. I like to be alittle blurry somedays, and other days to get it really sharp. Some days I like to pan out, and other days just zooming into the little details.

The problem is, who remembers how to manual focus anyways?
I remember some, but I am learning from people who have forgotten how to fully focus as well.
so I get bits and bits of little truicks but not the whole picture.

But Focus you see, is just a trick.
It's the living that comes after, it's that capturing of that moment to get it just right, that really matters.

Focus is just the first step--

but it's a step we have yet to learn.

In the meantime, we keep taking all these god fucgly fotos, and we have to live with 'em, because my friends, we only get a roll in this lifetime, and we dunno if it is a 12, 24 or 36 exposures.

Luck of the draw, so focus for the shots ok?
Cuz we dunno when it'll end.

Oh yeah:
remember to take off the lens-cap too.

Ever wondered how jesus felt when he swing down from the cross, and had to slowly pull those nails from the center of his palms, and then hop along as he pulled the last one from his two feet, and then, geez how do you close your hands into fists, if ever?

Had a strange dream the other night, about the same scenario, lol... go read into it people, do your freudian and your Jungian and all that shit. The thing is that I didn't feel like I died it was just this really really nasty experience. I don't remember the whole dream, I just remember swinging down from that big monkey-bar, and pulling nails from the center of my palms.

Residual sensations: I still feel the burning pain spot in my palms when I woke up. Talk about creepy. I sat on the crapper and waited for it to pass-- I even went and put my hand in cold water. I don't remember wearing a crown of thorns in my dreams... heh... maybe I wasn't Jesus, just one of those sad arsed Mo-Fos who happened to piss off the Romans enuff to get that kinda treatment.

maybe I need a shrink, or I can psychoanalyze myself already. MArtyr syndrom, or guilt complexes or messiah whathaveyous. Ah Phuck it. It's all crap that our ego pull to make us feel very very special in a time when we obviously feel we are not. It's all bullshite folks, don't buy a single shiny silver pieces for it.

Judas:
=====

Do you think he deserve what he deserved?
I don't know. I mean JC definitely let him go along on his little schemes, and what is to say that JC didn't passively assent to that. I mean he had to croak for the world or it's gonna be one wasted trip, right? So, Jude did what he is supposed to... if he didn't do it, we'll are be rotting ( not that we aren't right now). Don't we have to thank the man?

Ah, Religion is full of contradiction, it's like the Atkins diet, full of commandments and strictures, all you do is eat protein and drink protein (This is my body, this is my blood), and You go through this crazy Zealot stage first, and then you slowly eased out of it to non-practicing Christian mode. Ultimately, you gain back the bagagge that you've lost, and sometimes, you even get fatter as a result. It's something you have to constantly maintain, and the founder of the movement is dead, tho' ppl still believe in him. Oh yeah... one other thing, for it to work, you have to back it with faith and hope....

but too much of this way of life will get you killed.

Went into a church recently,
it's a building and then, it's not.

It's amazing how it flips back and forth. I mean, it's like this humongous 'imaginary friend network': there is physically nothing in there, but people who are in on the game will see it like there is and interact with it.

I thought it was kind of cool.

The best part is, they sell you the unicorm conundrum:

"Once long ago, it existed, but it just disappeared, but someday, if you believe it hard enough, it will come back."

The sweetest thing is, sometimes if you are driving on the road at night, and you think you see the glimpse of white rear arse of a whitish horse of a neighbouring farm, you would think for an instant, "holy geez, is that a unicorn? Yeah... it gotta be it...". And that's how the
I THINK I saw a unicorn anecdote becomes I SAW a unicorn", cuz Faith not only could move mountains, it could also erase words, change alibis ( often into testimonials), and best of all perpetuate an event that never really happen.


Still:
What ever gets you through the day huh?

I am not against all this funny brouheheheh. I mean if the shit works use it. If we need to believe in a horse with an antenna jutting out of it's forehead, kewlies. I know guys who smoke pot and saw worse.

I buy the odd lottery ticket cuz It's fun. It's good to be able to buy a piece of hope. Not to say that we should all rush out and buy a ticket. If livelihood is a problem, get your head out of your arse and save your pennies, if $3 is gonna make a diff between starving or eating, go fill your bellies. But for those people like me who don't really starve but pretty much is still hungry from not getting all the food I want, then, $3 gets you through that extra mile, cuz I bought myself a week of hope or a month of hope-- depending on when the draw's being made.

For that small interim, I can imagine myself holding the lucky ticket and all material problems will disappear. It's a lie I buy, and I paid $3 for it-- because I can afford it. because $3 for a week works out to about 43 cents a day. Of course, the tricky part is not to buy too much hope, becuae when it doesn't pan out then you get stuck with a load of hope gone bad-- disillusionment.

Hope and Faith is like morphine, alittle can make a shitty experience better, like post-op recovery, but too much will cause an addiction.

Surgeon General's Warning: use sparingly please.