Until two people meet, there are certain things to which they cannot mutually consent.

Although love is not one of them, dying with each other is.

Tonight: the Great American Presidential Rebate
(or why I want my money back already)

 

1)      It is as closed as Maoist Communist China was to dissent.  Nader anyone?  Hell, I wouldn’t mind getting up there myself and saying a “howdy-do” to all of you.  But No-o-o-o.

2)      It is not  technically a 'debate' at all, but merely a pre-staged presentation of joint unilateral position statements.  Really, it will simply be a bifurcated hearing.  And if each candidate were wearing earplugs it wouldn’t change the presentation a bit.

3)      It will offer no surprises.  Bush will say that although terror is a great danger looming in the world, things are great and getting better: Stay the Course!  Kerry will say that because terror is a great danger looming in the world, things are bad and getting worse: Time for Change!  Money back, please. 

4)      If there were any chance that Bush might say: “I know things suck in Iraq.  Many of our soldiers, including generals in the field, are demoralized by the retrogression.  And I’m to blame.  But I’m going to make it right starting tonight.” or that Kerry might say: “Democrats, and specifically liberals such as I, have lately been BIG Government-BIG Taxation-paternal welfare state enthusiasts stifling genuine individualism as a venerable American trait.  It’s time for change and I will lead my Party and America away from that pitiful legacy starting tonight.  You'll see.  And I promise to try harder myself to be more personable, too” , then I might watch.  Include self-addressed stamped envelope.

5)      #3 and #4 above basically are saying the same thing with different spins.  So will Bush and Kerry.

6)      Some will watch for the same reason that many watch Nascar races or go to air shows: hoping that the ‘other candidate’ crashes and burns.  I hope they both crash and burn.  But the format of the Rebate let’s them fondle themselves with Vaseline.  Coat yourself in enough Vaseline and you won’t burn very easily even if you do crash.  And you definitely won’t get friction burns from short, repetitive piston self-stroking.

7)      There won’t be any instances of product placement and so no intrigue in looking for them.  If Bush were to stand there sipping from a can of Pepsi and Kerry from a can of Coke, then I’d watch to see who would be the first to burp.

8)      At least if they would have some commercial breaks where innovative PR people could amuse us with fresh, Super-Bowl grade comic relief advertisements, I might watch.  Of course, during the Rebate itself I’d be at the fridge snatching up critical snacks.

9)      It will all play better in news stories tomorrow.  And getting the distillation thusly will take much less precious time.

10)  I’m too heterosexually horny to watch grown men play with themselves and self-chuckle as they experience sloppily effusive auto-orgasms in their minds.

I think the news media is undergoing Hurricane-Withdrawal Syndrome.  They had such a good string going.  All the reporters in place.  Able to turn rookie hurricane-reporters into seasoned vets in just one summer-fall.  Getting the stance down to stand up against the thrashing, tackling winds.  Developing hurricane-resistance muscles in parts of their bodies where they never even had an inkling of muscle before.   Knowing when to invoke the buzzphrase “eyewall” and attempting to predict the conjunction of “eyewall’ with “landfall” with the precision that an assassin might bring to a target in a scope.  Getting so cocky that they could cast contemning aspersions upon curious residents venturing  out into true force winds (to see the hurricane and  the spectacle of them!) even while they stand there like idiots themselves wearing red and waiting for the bull to charge.  Yep, they have the hurrifunk DTs while they yet hope against welfare for yet another storm to swing by, hit Florida, and make it an all-time record-breaking year.  For then they can boast not only that they ‘Survived 2004” AND “Defied the Eyewalls” but that they were the Ringleaders of the Greatest Hurricane Circus of all time.

 

 

Now, these reporters seem really to take tremendous pride in confronting the storms and avoiding a knockdown wind swell.  But I'd really rather see them, or at least one once, swept up, knocked down, and spanked to the ground -or- smacked up against the side of a roofless garage  while still hanging on to the microphone and groaning a surprised “ohhhhhh”.  What, after all, is their rational for acting like participants in an episode of Jackass?  Well, they claim, getting flogged by the storm is the only way they have to convey to audience America the true ferocity of the menace on our shores.  Really?  Well, what if they just hung piñatas out and kept the cameras on them and we could all wait for their limbs to be torn off and the goodies to spill (and fly!)  Or they could strategically position an ensemble of wind instruments in harm’s way and we could gauge by the pitch of sustained notes the magnificence of the hurricane-jazzman’s squeal.  Heh, but what I'd really like to see is the adoption of a convention whereby these reporting hurricane-defiers dress in tear-away wardrobes that are rated precisely for various windspeeds.  Thereby when the wind reaches 70 mph, their parka gets torn away.  At 80 mph, shirts depart like kites taking flight.  At 90 mph, slacks are stripped of all seams and voyage like vagabonds hopping a train and disappearing into the night.  Left then only in underwear, at 100 mph, stripped nekkid, bare.  At which point they can then be tossed bars of super-sudsy soap (watching them try to catch them will be illustrative of nature’s fury, too), suds up, and we can all marvel as they become our heroes: true death-defying living bubble blowing machines.

I'm being asked with increasing frenzy and frequency if I'm going to vote in the coming presidential election.

Yeah, I'm voting.  But not for Busch (beer) or Kerry w(h)ine.

A little known fact about the Earth is that we have 12 moons.

 

Really.

 

The Wolf Moon, the Snow Moon, the Worm Moon, the Pink Moon, the Flower Moon, the Strawberry Moon, the Buck Moon, the Sturgeon Moon, the Harvest Moon, the Hunter's Moon, the Beaver Moon, and the Cold Moon.

 

Hey, this is the night of the Harvest Moon.  What’s so special about the Harvest Moon?  The Harvest Moon lingers around sunset for several days, affording farmers this time of year extended light to complete harvesting tasks.  (Technically, throughout most of the year, the moon rises 50 minutes later each day. But, at this full moon nearest to the autumnal equinox, it rises only 30 minute later each day—providing enough light for several days for those interested in stretching tasks into lingering illuminated dusk.

 

(I just read all the above stuff here.  And paraplagiarphrased it.  Ha.)

 

Oh yeah.  And at a distance of only 4 Harvest Moon's from the Earth tomorrow the tumbling Toutatis—a HUGE PHA (potentially hazardous asteroid)—comes a'flying by.  It actually flies-by every U.S. presidential election year! (4 year orbit)

 

 

No other known HUGE asteroid flies this close to Earth.  Scientists are reassuring us that this PHA poses no threat for "several centuries". Phew!  But look at that sucker: you know someday it's going to stomp on us.  Yep, that boot was made for impact.  And that's just what it'll do.  One of these centuries this rock is going to nuclear winter..      " 

I get visits from hundreds of newbie-type xangans everyday.  For the longest time now I've wondered: "What gives?  How did they happen to stumble upon me?  Who's sending them here?"  It's not like I'm usually on the Featured Content list.

Most of these stumblers (which I've, in the past, called drive-by bloggers) never leave a mark.  They look...and go away. (Don't ask me how I know, I just know.)

But occasionally they come out of the blue and crash-land with a comment, such as:

o damn click cancel and end up here O_o thats fucked up
Posted 9/26/2004 at 6:35 PM by shecamethroughthebathroomwindo 

or..

hmm ok, first of all i was defending her in a stupid situation like this and my comment was merely a joke, adding jocosity to this nonsense fight which might i add you brought up for no reason, so before you have the nerve to call me "immature" i would think again of you im'ing her calling her stupid lame cut downs to try to make yourself feel superior and arrogent to the situation muchless signing off before she could say anything to shun what she had to say, so if you would like to humor me again with your juvenile remarks be my guest, because you are the laughingstock

ps. im not her sister
Posted 9/26/2004 at 1:34 AM by plastic_love    and...

whoa wrong xanga

ignore that
Posted 9/26/2004 at 1:42 AM by plastic_love 

Well plastic love must have come through the bathroom window when I wasn't looking because, when I encountered these comments, I had NO IDEA who they were or what they were ranting about.

But then a *light* lit up in my battle-scarred head. And following platic's link above back to her Saturday post , I found someone apparently flaming her in her comment box by the name of  JadedxSeptember .  Now if you click on JadedxSep, you'll go to her site and be presented with a pop-up alert (you've all seen them-this ones says:"x Enter All Monsters, Let Us Twist Another Faery Tale x") and it gives you the option to click "OK" or "Cancel".  If you click "OK" you proceed on into the blog, and if you click "Cancel" you're supposed to be returned to your originating page.  But if the alert code is badly written and has no coding for a return (as is JadedxSep's and many, many others'), you'll be redirected on xanga to http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=undefined .  And from user=undefined, you'll automatically end up here (you can click to simulate)!  heh 

So I've been getting hundreds of hits daily from all over xanga by merit of unknown xangans clicking "Cancel" on malformed alert pop-up boxes.

Mystery solved!

I’m now wearing the bubble-type no-see-through sunglasses that the Terminator wore to hide his facial damage.  I only wish that they were the original Terminator sunglasses.

My right profile is unblemished.  I now totally understand actors/actresses who adamantly protest close-up shots of anything but their photogenic ‘best’ side.

 

When I woke up this morning I looked in the mirror and remarked to myself: “But I don’t feel like a Klingon.”

 

As of yet, I’ve frightened no children in public. But then again, very few children, living ones anyway, hang out in the cemetery where I’ve established a hermitage.

 

I would run a few laps in the cemetery, as is my normal habit, but one look from any by-passer would assure her that I just crawled out of a grave and might impel her to whack me to put me back in my place.

 

Though I did some ‘work’ yesterday and the day before, I decided to pamper myself today and lead a life of wounded leisure.

 

Why is there never any ice in ‘iced tea’ that you buy from the store?

 

Does anyone have a recipe for goldenrod tea?

 

How did I get off the topic of my temporary transformational deformity?

 

Hey, the Circus is in town this weekend. Maybe I’ll go just to let the circus freaks have a good laugh over me.

 

“Oh, stop it!”  I can hear someone out there protesting “Just stop it!”

 

Okay. A blog-post has to end some way.

 

*So far frejaluna (broken camera fund) has only gotten 1 pledge of $5 for Hellraiser photos of me.  4 more pledges of $5 or 1 pledge of $20 and I’ll post the pics.  And if the $25 sound barrier is not exceeded, I’ll still post the pics for private viewing to all generous contributor(s)—and maybe have an extra surprise in store for them, too.

I took a tumble in the dark  Tuesday night and spent the night in the hospital.  It seems they were concerned that I had broken my neck and wanted to keep me immobile until they could process tests.  While I messed up my skull pretty badly from a head-first dive, it was the immobility and the hospital’s refusal to give me anything to drink that was ultimately unbearable.  Pure torture.  Fortunately, my daughter’s boyfriend, along with my daughter who drove me to the hospital, snuck me a soaking washrag that I could suck on: washrag water never tasted so good.

 

Good news: I didn’t break anything.  Bad news: I look like a western hostage in Iraq that militants tried to behead but, in their pure stupidity, hacked in the wrong place.  Well, you motherfucking headwhackers aren’t going to get another chance: my head’s still on, and curiously enough, I think my thinking now is even clearer, my cogitation more cogent than before.  In fact, since the fall, my vocabulary (outside the ER room where they had to close the door on me to protect children-patients from my curse-laden protesting rants) has become biggie-enhanced! Heh, using the word ‘fortuitous’ now seems plebeian to me. 

 

I decided to take the rest of the week off (though I went into the office late last night for a special project that my boss, this morning, informed me was “excellent work”) to spare my colleagues their incredulous looks and their total loss of appetite for lunch.  I’ll spare all of you, too, pics of myself (at least the left side of my head) since I don’t want any casual drive-by blogger to complain to the xangods that I’ve violated Terms of Service for offensive material.   Unless…

 

 If someone wants to donate at least $25 to frejaluna’s  broken camera fund, I’ll post a currently-snatched Hellraiser photo of myself here.  (She’ll have to confirm the donation, first, however!)  Come on...at least one of you wants to see me brutally gruesome.

:simple non-response

go to the shore

climb under a shell
(quite vacated, but not too old, still glistening)

and pretend to be a simple sea creature
waiting to be tided back to safety.

 

:complex non-response

 

run

around like you’ve swallowed the sun

swallow the sun

drink whiskey to extinguish it

thus know

the birth of a black hole.

It's the most gorgeous day of this summer here yet in northern Ohio.  In the warm and plentiful sun, one can yet become drunk with photonic inundations and still tease a tan into a more golden glow.  In the deep, cold-blue crispy shade, one can clearly discern the shake of fall to come, and  imagine the shiver of startling days and weather not too far away.  It’s perfect no matter whether you’re a sun worshiper or a conspiring fiend with Fall.  Welcome all!

 

You want a photo of it?  Hell no—no pics.  I’m too busy lazying in the grass sucking up drunken photons with my back to an obelisk. 

 

Well…maybe.  Let me finish my beer and look around…

 

*finishes beer*

 

*snap*

 

 

*snap*

Hendrix, baby!

I’ll lay a claim: I’ve got the oldest blog on xanga.  No, not this one *here*.  This one was created on Day 2 of xanga going ‘public’ at the end of 2000.  I’d even wager a good sum, say $500, that mine is older than yours.

 

Wanna bet?

 

*puts my money down*

 

Put your money down now!  Okay.

 

Jewel: 10/1/1998  —2 years before Xanga ‘as we know it’ even existed. heh.

 

So technically, I’m the oldest blogger on xanga. 

 

I’m so old that I even invented the term ‘xangarelic’ wayback-when and applied it to myself!

 

I’m so old that others from the ‘first days’ come around here, now and then, not to read and comment but just to see if I’m still blogging.  And believe me: I know.

 

Let me assure the latter that I’m no longer blogging.  I quit a year ago.  And  if you’re just driving by to just see if I’ve updated lately, fuck off.

 

These are my ‘writer’s blocks’.  If I think about ANY of them, I’m stymied.  Especially

‘Target Audience’.  If I think about any of YOU while I blog, I’m fried.  (If, however, while writing a post, I happen to psychically envision *you* while I writhe in cosmically-tossed passion, that’s another thing…)  Give me no purpose.  Embrace disorder.

 

Shatter paragraphs.

 

                                    Disjointed starts and fits.

 

The-sis? 

No, The-sisn’t!

(Although I do

            Like QU)

 

Die a demon’s death a thousand times.

(I’ll knock your block off if you don’t give me a dime.)

 

Hiccup.  Are ‘nature’ and ‘mature’ the(sis) only 6-letter words that end in ‘ature’?

 

I got the code.  I got the ‘naughty’ code—I know who you are!

(You got a cold?)

 

I have you cold.

What’s the most common injury incurred while blogging?

 

Who wants to speak Chinese with me?

 

Did anyone notice that I dropped-off the face of the earth last night?

 

How did I miss this site selling “sacred intoxicants” for so long?  The lophophora diffusa is very psychoactive but may or may not be (the literature is mixed) psychedelic.  But reportedly, the trichocereus pachanoi is both psychoactive and psychedelic. And purchasable online. Heh.

 

How important would living in a sunny climate year-round be if you had a ‘darkening’ visual impairment that permitted you only to see the sun and no other natural phenomena?

 

I know that there are ‘hurricane hunter’ planes (WC-130s) that fly in and out of hurricanes, but how about a well-fueled hover pleasurecraft that would just stay in the calm eye and move with it, not to collect data but to marvel at the magnificence and spectacle of the storm and its destruction while enjoying calm relatively cloudless days and nights even as destruction (the evident eyewall) swirls all around?  Hey, what if it turned out that residing in the low-pressure eye for a protracted period was a panacea for mental health ills?  Or even if the panacea was ‘riding the eye’ while munching on San Pedro (t. pachanoi)?

what's with the seven miles.
seven seven seven.
pfffft!
c'mon...drop it to six and a half just ONCE.
a little variation on the theme.
double dog dare ya
  -LuckyStars

Okay. No 7 today.  7point5 instead.  21point5 for the weekend.  Aren't "double dogs" the hounds of hell?

As you can see above, running leaves me totally exhilirated. 

Enough of that.  The weekend's over. Time to abscond to tomorrow.

Just finished another 7 mile running tour of Dreamland.  Brilliant sunshine and summer-like heat.  Although there was a 911 memorial entailing high pomp and extensive regalia occurring simultaneously at Pres. Garfield’s monument nearby, I felt strangely apart from all of it and ran as if alone in the desert on a never-ending highway. 

 

 

 

And why shouldn’t I?  There is this never-ending highway, you see.  I catch a glimpse of it from time to time.  Normally, it’s traveled only by ethereal whispy-wayward sort of characters appearing from nowhere and vanishing over the horizon into never-again.  Well, I’ve decided, too, that I’m going to follow it unflinchingly someday never-endingly.  Just as Immortal as can be.

It’s a fucking marvelous day in the warrior-neighbor-dream-hood where I’ve run 7 miles and thrown my prosaic cares away (if not for one day short of forever, at least for today).

 

It feels more like summer than it has all year.

 

 

Beastly, I peer into the glorious distance in restless search of adventure, wealth, pleasure, and booty.

 

Mr. 'won't-you-be' Rogers, I salute you.

things of beauty never cross my mind anymore:

glance, glaze, impact, imbribe, assimilate, overwhelm,

passionately take,

but never cross—

…never mind.

no need of intellect

(to mediate the immediate)—

i’m sensuously aloft

impetuously soaring (as if) divine and feeling

(more than ever)

that you are and I am

yours and salaciously

and impellingly you

you are mine.

I've now got your whole world in my hand.

"He's got the whole world in his hand..."

Free: any internet-.jpg pic to your cell phone.  Pix2Fone .

(Since the xanga logo is a .gif, I had to modify it.  here .)

Okay, so I  have made my xanga password non-public again.  Thank you all very much for not hijacking my blog.  Thank none of you for not posting in proxy.  Also, the buried treasure is no longer buried in my back yard--I re-buried it in the park today.  Moreover, though my ATM pin is still '9606',  the card is no longer under the mat at the entrance to Garfield's monument in Lake View Cemetery.  The spare key to my car in the magnetic box is no longer under my front bumper--it's under one of my neighbor's bumpers, but I'm not saying which neighbor or what bumper--front or back.  The single key to my heart (out there) still works--but I've moved the lockbox from my right ventricle to my left. ' X' no longer marks the spot since I poured a bottle of Mr. Clean on thus discussed spot and irradiated it with UV for 2 hours and now the (out, out damn) spot is gone. And--this is only for the Trickster and Faerie Death to appreciate--I died quite in the never-middle of yesterday, so just keep going about your funky business and forget about lil' ol' me.

Google's blog service Blogger is now providing audioblogging for free.  That's right: call up from anywhere in the real time of your most depressing moment or your most exciting life's high and record with a blog link for eternity (or at least until the internet falls into neglectful disuse). 

My first audiblog  was March 1, 2003, but I had to pay for it back then.  Comic Tom Green is BIG on audio blogs and features his, along with standard written posts, here.

Here is how easy it is, step by step, to audio-copy  from your Blogger blog to your Xanga blog, thus, in effect, bringing easy and free, if not entirely automated, audioblogging to Xanga:

1) Get a Google Blogger blog, heh.  www.blogger.com   Follow directions.

2) go to http://www.audioblogger.com/step1.php  and sign up for Blogger audioblogging. Follow directions.

3)  call  661-716-2564, SPEAK! and... Follow directions.  heh

4) go back to your audiopost on Blogger, 'Edit HTML' and 'copy' the whole code.

5) come back to your Xanga, click on 'Edit HTML' and paste the code. That's it!

After initial setup, steps 3) thru 5) are all you'll need to do to post free audioblogs to Xanga.

In other news...

I went to the slave market this morning and there was a helluva sale going on but unfortunately I had forgotten my wallet at home...

Here's a pic of me just prior to my last alien abduction...

Bastards all...

When you're feeling down just reflect on the fickle fate of this onion?