from the Tap of All Earthly Powers
i have poured a drink of Mortal Bliss
into a Cup that Quenches All Desires.
the only question that remains is:
do i drink alone?  or would you like a sip?

not only do i not need you less , i want you ever more.

yet, where once i had you simply, by desire,

as pure immediate imagined covet of mine,

now, not you or i (of fault) have interjected this punctuating

somewhat chasm (time is the fool,

money is the proxy) measureless

-ness where, but for a  multisense of devotion, much (unless all) is lost.

and except for the faithful transmit of a promise

of the devour of a kiss to be fulfilled,

world’s are topsied

and only shells abandoned to shores are tossed.

"There's glory for you!"
   "I don't know what you mean by 'glory,' " Alice said.
   Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. "Of course you don't—till I tell you. I meant 'there's a nice knock-down argument for you!' "
   "But 'glory' doesn't mean 'a nice knock-down argument,' " Alice objected.
   "When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less."
   "The question is, " said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."
   "The question is," said Humpty Dumpty. "which is to be master—that's all."

Blog fluffer : a blogger who habitually bloats the blog with copied quotes and anecdotes from the internet with little or any value-added, i.e., a cut-n-blogster .

Find the tick.
Light a match.
Blow it out.
Burn its butt.

Pour a drink.
Make a toast.
Knock it down.
Never the last.

Own your world.
Salute the tree.
Take a pee.
Zip up stuff.

Build a fire.
Shoot embers up.
Questions, the owl.
Don't answer it.

Lay flat down.
Stare at the sky.
See that star.
And get high.

this longing, this passion
has confounded all direction.
I turn and turn and turn
and yet remain enwrapped endlessly
by the lusty fragrance of your mystical bloom.
and all I seek is found
in every glance returned.
so thus entranced will I accept
your sweet surrender.
and by hearts' intent
fall freely into you.

Where have all the voyeurs gone?

Answer: Hong Kong.

Ever visit Xanga HK? 

http://hk.xanga.com/

It seems that nobody there ever or nearly never comments on a post.   It's all about the "views".  Everything ranks blatantly on views.  And Xanga HK actually pimps "Top Contributors" in a way they once did long ago (1999-2000) on the U.S.A. site (www.xanga.com) but eventually abandoned because it was considered by CEO-type John to be too competitive, contentious, cutthroat and destructive of the social community.  The rankings of old on the U.S.A. site were based on eProps.  Who had the most eProps for a post, who had the most overall, who had the most for a week, etc.  Seems in HK that "views" are the new "eProps".  And the culture there perhaps suggests that it is not so polite to comment as to simply view?  Commenting does not come easy to HK--perhaps commenting suggests an actual intimacy rarely established and so rarely shared?  Or maybe HK is so mobile that most participation (reading) is on small portable viewing devices where it is difficult to comment?  Well, whatever the reason, it does seem strange from the Xanga USA perspective where the view:comment ratio runs around 15:1 whereas in Xanga HK that ratio seems somewhere around 1000:1 . 

Another thing about HK posts is that they ALL seem to start with what almost seems like a HUGE obligatory graphic at the top, but often with more graphics to follow.  There seems to be a weighting of graphics and words in HK posts that is reminiscent of Ancient Chinese art where the calligraphic element was required and attended the creation but could never upstage the visual aspect itself.  And so, Xanga HK seems like a living posting museum whose primary function is display visuals to be viewed (along with the poster's descriptors) rather than thoughts or feelings to be openly shared and discussed.  In short, Xanga HK is picto-centric, Xanga USA idea-centric. 

I like warm rock
that trembles with your weight
as I press against your bones
in the moment of our need.

I like the cemetery rain
that dissipates the crowds
yet leaves us clinging in passion,
then washes the lust off.

I like the errant fragrance
of blossoms blowing in the breeze
that then touch upon the ground
as gently as you take me on your knees.

I like the moment of impulse
that shakes the whole damn earth
when you appear for me just so—
as innocent as birth.