I awoke this morning to an awareness that I no longer have a beguiling Temptress.  I live in the midst of a thoroughly sex-oversaturated culture and am temptress-bereft?  wtf.  Ulysses had his Sirens.  Samson had his Hedy Lamarr, I mean, Delilah.  Even Bill Clinton had his Monica.  Glenn Beck may be right: these could be the Last Days.

Chinese auto-translation below is seriously faulted:  how could they not know who Hedy Lamarr is?

I have this day, for the first time in a long time, seen my world for exactly what it is and not as a composite of its somewhat reality and what I seem ever to yearn and desire it to be.  To do so, I forcefully (by an act of intrepid self-will ) extracted myself from the calculations of all earthly passion and imagined myself the Fonz.  Yes, the Fonz outdeities the Wizard, for the Fonz never hid behind a sliding curtain and orange obfuscating smoke.

The forces of evil are weakening.  I know so because they are now again whispering above the level of sublimity in my psychic-awareness realm.  Thus, this morning towards dawn yet in the hold of lucid dreaming, I heard the evil ones' chattering.  "He has nothing to gain, therefore he'll soon conclude he has nothing to lose.  Of course, he has everything to lose.  But he will, in errant desperation, grow reckless, fuck up again, and embrace his fulminated ruin."   Well, that just pisses me off.  What do they mean "He has nothing to gain..."? 

To quote Groucho: "I have nothing to lose but my chains.  I have a world to win."  Groucho and John Lenin: what a dynamic duo.

The following is, in my estimation, a brilliant autotranslation into Chinese of the above:

Good morning.  But who's to blame?

I am moving.  Far, far away.  At least it seems.  But I am unmoved by all the commotion I am creating.

Yet I am moving.  Going to finish a beer and back up the Budget truck and resume hauling all this baggage screaming to accompany me.  I have today, tomorrow, and Monday to complete the task.

Ah, what do the Taoists say?  "Never carry excess baggage."

Okay.  Time to get started again.

Following is an automated translation into Chinese.  In my estimation, it sucks.

很感人。至目前为止，已为期不远。至少，它似乎。但是，我为之所动所有commotion我创造的。

不过，我很感动。去完成一项啤酒及背部整个财政预算案的卡车，并恢复拖这一切行李尖叫陪伴我。我有今天，明天，周一才能完成这项任务。

啊，做什么道士，说什么呢？ "从来没有携带超重行李费。 "

好了。时间可以重新开跑。

There is a disconnect between this, all this, and myself in real life.  A developing, broadening disconnect.  There have been signs suggesting such for a while, but they were signs that I chose to ignore since they were indications that appealed more to my emotions than my reason, more to feeling than to knowing.  But last week I could no longer resist acknowledging the rift as the true dimensions of its extension and  the rate of its expansion came clearly to me in a vision.  And that’s precisely it: visions.  I am being whelmed over by visions once again.  They come especially as I run, alone, in the cold, at sunset in the cemetery (which I often refer to as Dreamland).  And with the visions are voices or, perhaps, just a single voice.  It’s hard to distinguish whether the whispers are from a lone warbler or are a blended chorus provisioning themselves in unison.

Last Thursday while running, a whisper: “It’s a lie.”   Altered reality, heightened perception ensued.  Before I could respond with unmoving lips “What’s a lie?”,  the vision.  Kicked-in.  Kicked down the door of unknowing.  I ‘saw’ things even as my heart protested they couldn’t be true.  Dark things.  Things that must and have already begun to change my life.  Yet in this vision there was also hope, of sorts, I suppose.  The voice (or another voice? voices?) whispered: “You are a king, you know.”  That while running between row upon row of graves.  Goosebumps.  Immediately my gait lengthened, my back straightened, my eyes searched everything everywhere, and the pain, the pain that has chronically accompanied me on these runs for pretty much the last 9 months, went away.  What did I see?  A pair, two brothers, both Norsemen, running the very same ground as I was upon.  They were ancient yet alive, shaggily-clothed and running in a snowstorm.  Intrepid they were and disregarding of all comfort. And then I realized …  they were running through the winter!  I mean literally that: I discerned their intent to ‘run through’ the cold and darkness of the grisly season unstoppingly.  Suddenly a shift of vision.  I lost track of one of the ancient ones.  And I ‘became’ the other one.  I saw myself as I ran as the lone brother that was left.  Left behind.  Left afar.  Left to run.  Through the winter.  Unto Spring.  And then the feeling of being a genuine king flooded my consciousness.  And an enlightenment followed: I, in visionary embodiment of that ancient Norse king, have been left to seek.  Simply seek. 

Chinese translation follows:

I am tired of things 'Xanga'.  Make no mistake: I am not tired of using Xanga, I'm just tired of thinking about blogging about Xanga itself, its features, its quirks, its failures.  I am tired of 'Recommendations' that are Xanga-centric.  I am tired of contributing to Xanga's Xangacentricism.

So. I will now leave the discussion of all things Xanga in my past.  I will leave such things as an ever-more distancing characteristic of my former blogging atavar, the one who was destined but had not yet discovered its portal to next becoming, its dream door to a beatified and numinously more expressable life awareness.

Simplified, automated Chinese translation:

There really are no 'new' usernames or accounts on Xanga.  All of the names/accounts, from the very moment of Xanga's creation, were anticipated, pre-cloned, and just awaiting a request for use.  Don't believe me?  Well, here's test.  If you believe your account was created after the year 2002, then go here.  You'll discover not only that it existed even back then but that it was being celebrated in a most amazing way.  And for those xangarelics with older accounts, go there anyway: I bet you missed the celebration the first time around.

Either a Chinese translation of the above or a bunch of question marks (?????? - for non-compliant browsers) follows:

Watch yourself.  See your blog-energy grow.  See it emerge and latch onto your ISP.

Then you come, like the movie Groundhog's Day, to Xanga, again and forever again. 
By 'Favorite Bookmark.'  Or by typing the URL in.  Or by recursing browser history and selecting the unresistable destination....Xanga.com.

You arrive at The Login and, if you're not already addictively 'Remembered', you unnaturally type in your username and password as pittance-part of a mindless ritual in compliance with a well-crafted, will-forfeiting cyber-seduction.

Then... you are IN.  As I am IN.

And we become Xanga.  We ARE Xanga.

It's all just our pleasant prison dream, you know.  What's your xanga inmate number?  I'm a recidivist with no hope of parole and that's why i'm digging a reality tunnel out of here.

Wipe your hand.  Across what?  Your face?  My face?  My Space?  Your Xanga?  Your ass?

The actual world and its saving words will always be more directly just between you and me.  It really is just you and me.  Or, cetainly otherwise, you and someone more real than me.  You and someone more-immediately-imaginable-to you,  much more deserving of you, and much more worthy than this old oz-straw-stuffed me.  (It happens all the time, ya know. )

Tired to hell of this binaried and surrogately-internetized part of your routinized life?  Want to escape this Xanga Penitentiary?

The cell door is open.  It has always been open.  As open as your mind.  And here's the most amazing thing: we can continue blogging  as sure as the posted inmate in my and your Xanga prison bed is just a Shawshank Redemption puffed-up pillow. waxed-up face, and contoured blanket-blog made to resemble our imprisoned zombie-xanga-personality.

Thus may we become true friends and laughingly fuck-off this blog intermediary ding-a-thing.

{Chinese auto-translation follows.  If you see just ??????s, then you don't have the Chinese language browser plug-in!  But don't worry.  English still rules!)

flesh will drop from your bones as sure as mine.  i promise.
who's  first?  who will really care just years from now?
then you and i will be the same.  whether i as a poor slave
(of my own naivety of capitalism) or you
(as the mistress of your own self-directed soul)...we'll stroll
in the end, post co-temporal, into eternity, not alone, but as bone.
dog-gone bone.  so suck on that.

Xanga - watch-out.  Sean is kinda upset...

...knowledge-sharing struck as comments on sean's post :

... and tell-tale Footprints in my Universal Inbox:   

Anonymous browsing appears to work.  Sometimes.  Sometimes it obviously doesn't.  I don't use it.  But web-application glitches that compromise purported security offerings strangely fascinate me.

Or is poor sean just singularly damned?

Experience can and often does inform inspiration.  For instance, last night I sneezed so hard that I farted at the same time and I immediately coined these interrelated functions a "fartchoo" .  Yes, a fartchoo.  Feel free to use the word whenever you accomplish the deed.  Today, I Googled "fartchoo" and only found one suggestive but not clearly explanatory instance of it used as an exclamation on a Chinese web site.  Such a use, in my estimation, does not constitute declaring a new word and demonstrating its utility with a precise meaning.  Right?  So next time you fart and sneeze at the same time, shout "fartchoo" (instead of "achoo").  And think of me.

Clear sky aftersun.  Star bright.  Erotic light.  First astro-fixate I embrace tonight. 
Thus the cosmos seduces me climactically (and willingly).
And my microcosmic moment of self succombs (irresistably).
Think PEZ dispensing.  Imagine 'Crack is a happy sound."  And "Who is the Funny Man?  I'm glad you asked that question."
Then the moon smokes a cigarette.
What does one do when on realizes that one's soulmate is dischronological?

"Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible
then marriage would be possible-
Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover
so i wait-bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life."  - Gregory Corso

I woke up to footprints but no bunny tracks on my blog.  I knew this blog-thing wasn't real. 

I used to feed the Easter Bunny when I was a kid (maybe 5 or 6).  Every night, in the days leading up to Spring, I'd get a carrot from the icebox and take it out into the outer hall (I lived in an up-and-down with a common hall) and leave it in a small box for the Bunny.  And, every morning, I'd rush out of bed and into the hall and find that it was gone.  Oh, the magic and mystery of that feeling of assisting a higher creature with fulfilling its springtime destiny.  One morning, however, either I rushed out of bed a tad bit earlier or the carrot caretaker was running a bit late. Because I found my mom dutifully disposing of the carrot.  With this discovery, there was no shock, disillusionment, sense of betrayal, hurt, or disappointment.  I was simply joyous.  My mom was power beyond the Easter Bunny and I'd no longer have to worry about avoiding bunny crap in the hallway.  Also, the task, which had become onerous though I remained dutiful to it, of putting out carrots every night had mercifully come to an end.  And we'd save money henceforth on otherwise spent carrots.  Those were my kiddie thoughts as I hugged my Mom and laughed and laughed at my own departing naiveté.

Nope, no bunny tracks on Xanga. *holds back crocobunny tears*   Though I did buy an Easter basket for my daughter yesterday and left it just outside her closed bedroom door this morning while yet she slept.

I died today.

It was a good thing.

Rebirth is always exciting.

Happy Springdom come.  Nature's will be done, on earth as it is under flood waters.  Give us this day our weekend forecast.  And forgive us our mis-forecasts, as we forgive those who forecast against us.  And lead us not into a tornado alley, but deliver us from more snowflakes.  Amen. 

 More personal freedom online is good as long as it doesn't hurt anyone, right?

So recently, Xanga enabled Online Status to track us while we are actively online and give notice to all other users of such.  The online indicator consists of a graphic appearing next to your online identity.  Some have said that it resembles light bulb:

  But if you enlarge the graphic a little bit I rather think it looks like an...

 alien zombie?

In any case, John, in his infinite wisdom, immediately decided to provide an opt-out and make this real-time tracking a provision at your personal discretion.   Kudos to John: greater freedom not hurting anybody!

But what makes Xanga sometimes fun for me is providing myself even a greater freedom than Xanga can design.  So, quite harmelessly, I've devised a way to indicate that I'm ALWAYS online.  Anyone visiting can verify that I am ever-zombified.  How?  There are endless ways and my particularly simplisitic technique will absolutely bore all you technophiles out there.  But, essentially, I run a program (ClickWhen) that just keeps clicking on the refresh button (double-green arrows) on the IE toolbar of my private page.

Granted, this means that you have to stay logged-in somewhere and prevent the screensaver from kicking in.  But ever so easy to arrange if you have a spare 'puter online dedicated to cyber-housework. 

So now there are 3 options for Online Status:  1) Opt-in normally and get lit-up while online; 2) Opt-out and never shine (stealth-mode); or 3) stay opted-in but implement an automated activity so that the Online Status bot keeps your light shining . 

Why might you want to pick Door #3?  Why, indeed?

1) To keep the candle burning?
2) To provide a shallow cyber-alibi for your activity while otherwise up to no-good?
3) To fool others who will naively interpret the fact that you're lit-up as a matter of your personal active involement online?  To deceive for deception's sake?
4) To wear-out your stalkers who MUST stay-on to figure out what you're doing as long as you stay-on?
5) To demonstrate that Xanga's new toy provides no reliable intelligence whatsoever about your activity?

Yep. No reliable intelligence whatsoever. I could appear to be "ONLINE"  while enjoying a night's worth of uninterrupted sex at the same time. Status: ambiguous.

Though that's not likely since we all know that Xanga is better than sex.

If you're not dead at this very moment, it's a certainty you're going to die in the future.  Right?

But I've been bluntly told a lot lately and have even heard angelic voices whispering most distinctly:

"You have no future."

No future?  Then I'm never going to die!

Look, guys, you can't have it both ways.

Perhaps hermits don't.  Perhaps misanthropes don't.  Perhaps those medicated out of their minds and no longer in touch with their souls don't, either.

But most of us seek some acceptance from others in who we are and what we do and what we feel.  My challenge—all my life—has been to stay sensitive to this 'acceptance affinity' and not just say 'fuck the world' and seal myself safely away forever from such external feedbacking / reinforcing / at times, life-confirming appraisement . 

That has not been an easy homework assignment.  You see, I have all my life gotten an endless parade of 'persona non grata's in not so many words.  In fact, in no words at all. 

Has silence ever spoken to you?  If so, I hope such moments have been moments of precious inspiration as you might encounter on a warm summer night, stretched out, perhaps, on top of an old picnic table in the backyard, opening yourself unto that magical interaction known only between heaven's scattered stars and you.

So I have danced under a full moon in the silent land of the dead.  And I have run endless miles in a cemetery dreamland privy to the peaceful wordless dreams of forever.  And I have at certain times in my life remained actually and conceptually wordless for days at a time and have gloried in such an existence unmediated by words. I have known such silences.  And they have been blessed.

But I have been continually assailed with the 'other silence', too.  The silence that would detest but instead saves itself the energy and never does ever bother itself to say:  "Go away."  "Never come back."  "Begone."  The unspoken 'persona non grata.'  The silence that deadens.  It is a curse, perhaps, for some of those who open themselves unto a gift of psychic knowing.  The 'others' see you coming.  And often, in dread, turn silently away.  If not immediately, eventually.

But that silence that deadens—the never spoken but seemingly intended 'you are not wanted'—that has haunted me for so much of my life has seemed to have lost track of me lately.  It has now failed itself forever, I do believe, and faded into my nothingness.  So long dead silence, I, and hopefully my still receptive heart, will miss you not.

Say, it's only a paper moon
 sailing over a cardboard sea,
But it wouldn't be make-believe
 if you believed in me.
Yes, it's only a canvas sky
 hanging over a muslin tree,
But it wouldn't be make-believe
 if you believed in me.

Don't argue or settle, outside the true compass of your soul,  for the bestest of  the luckiest luck, the greatest of transmutating  miracles, or the magical once-in-a-cosmic-kalpa opportunity.  Life, ordinary life,  is so much, so much reclaimingly more than these almost irresistable percolative (yet passing) numinousities .  Hey,  Just, simply instead, be you.  For once.  And for all.  Just be you.  Settle down.  Assume a warrior's stance and take a good look-around.   Embrace the externally-characterized, sometimes enemy-demeaned and sometimes unappreciative others' under-rated characterization of your 'ordinary' life.  Granted, it is, most likely, a rag of uninterpretable, outwardly-disjointed discontinuities.  Yet, it is, at the heart of hearts, and unbeknowst to all such unworthy moment-worshipers of such samsarically delusional outwardly-viewing nows,  a micro-internally and macro-externally golden (beyond-all-elemental transmortal  expressions) most genuine instance of one's evolving, ever-glorious more always becoming self.   Just be this single, ever-unique, love-destined, truly inexpressible (though it's often just gobs off fun to spend some heart and intelligence contemplating the inner clown expanding innocence of)  You.   Screw!   But (not?) you!  (With my love, as it is possible for me, only because it is possible for you) surge forth ever true.  And when you refreshingly and with joy-beyond-assail find your true self (again and again and again), kindly on some perfectly warm summer day, remember me kindly.

For at that point in your spiritual growth and awareness, I'll probably need a whole heap of some kind of buddying.

To loathe blogging for fear of sounding pathetic.

To avoid commenting in order to conceal inner disassociation.

To suspend the suspense of seeking what here can never be found.

I have passed through these portals.  The passage has drained me, yet I'm still hungry. 

I think I'll eat lunch now.

"Back on the subject of mercury, and of cyanate salts in general, did you know that mercuric thiocyanate was the chemical used to make Pharoah's Serpents (snakes) for a long time?  Picture all these kiddies, and all these parents who didn't want their kids messing with "dangerous" fireworks, all gathered around a couple hundred grams of burning mercury compounds." 

    - found this while reading about mercury fulminate on the internot.

There is so much of a highly personal nature going on in my life right now that I'm at a loss to speak of it.

Meanwhile...Xanga, in the news:

NEW YORK & HONG KONG & SAN DIEGO - (Business Wire) Xanga, the most visited social network in Hong Kong^a, and CSL, the largest Hong Kong mobile operator, announced today (Feb 21) that they have launched Xanga Mobile to CSL customers through Intercasting’s award-winning ANTHEM™ platform. For the first time in Hong Kong, CSL customers will have direct access to Xanga through a dedicated mobile application.

The Xanga Mobile on-phone application allows CSL customers to keep in touch with friends, upload pictures directly with their handset’s camera, post to their Xanga Weblog and more under one easy-to-use interface, with all screen pages optimized for mobile use. CSL is offering one-month free Xanga Mobile service to its customers upon subscription. The monthly service fee is HK$20, which is inclusive of all data charges. The service is supported by selected handsets and CSL will also pre-install the application software on its popular handsets to make Xanga Mobile available right out of the box.

In addition, the messaging features of Xanga’s website will be fully connected to CSL’s network through text and multimedia messaging soon.

“CSL is dedicated to providing exciting mobile entertainment to our trend-setting customers,” said Christina Teo, Chief Marketing Officer at CSL. “We are delighted to become Hong Kong’s first mobile operator to launch Xanga Mobile. The advanced Xanga Mobile application is ideal for bringing the online social network to handsets.”

"Our Hong Kong users blog and network like crazy on Xanga's website. Now they can use their cellphones and Xanga Mobile to blog and keep in touch, from anywhere on the CSL mobile network,” said John Hiler, Chief Executive Officer of Xanga.

Suffering overloads and there seems to be no escape.  How soon before madness entirely overwhelms?    I talk to myself almost constantly anymore.  And even I often don't pay myself the courtesy of listening to me.

'Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh.' (t.s.)

To get lost in a book, a book, a book.  To get lost in a book that never closes and never ends. 

Keep on writing.  Don't stop writing.  May punctuation be your compost and your words push forth like 'flowers floating out of the ground.' (e.e.)

It turned out one day many years into the Xanga adventure that eProps were no longer enough.  So on that day Xanga created Stars. (Think: the Book of Genesis.)  Soon, however, Stars will not be enough.  So what's next?  Half-moons?  Green clovers?  

Xanga should create a XangaCereal with toasted eProps, sweet caramel Stars, Mini marshmallows and TRUE honey badges.   mmm.   delicious.  You could eat XangaCereal all day long as you serially comment on one post to the next.

***

The Universal Inbox is interesting in that you can sometimes anticipate a subscription post in-the-making by observing that a particular person has posted pictures first. Often, shortly, thereafter, the post follows.  Could you imagine any way to use that intelligence to your own benefit?  Or the the poster's detriment?  Or the poster's benefit?!

***

Xanga is also using the Universal Inbox (UI, or XangUI) to advertise sponsors.  That Xanga survey thingy is periodically popping up amidst all the other subscription-driven and comment-driven alerts with a time-stamp of "sponsored" next to it.  One selling point of Xanga LIFE subscriptions was to dispense with the advertising.  Well, they found a way to re-introduce it to us LIFE-ers.  One sponsored ad once in a while is tolerable, I suppose.  But if they become too frequent,  I will ask Xanga to rename the UI the Sponsored Inbox.

***

No, there are no illegal aliens in America's Xanga.  Yeah, some Americans probably think of it as 'theirs' because its offices are here in New York.  But, if anything, we and other English-speakers are being quietly assimilated and may soon be tolerated as the 'oddities-out.'.   Someday Xanga will be so inundated with Chinese blogs in Chinese script that Xanga will need to provide an "English-only" filter just to create an illusion for us English-speakers of continuing familiarity. Don't believe me?  Look at the recently posted sometime: Chinese character blogs often exceed English blogs in number. (I just looked and 8 of 10 were in Chinese script.)   It's just a matter of Xangatime before they assume their rightfully dominant totally Featured position.  (statistics are from Alexa.com)

***

From Xanga's Search...Thank you very much, my numerous adulants:

So much for things Xanga.  Though I do suspect this: if you use the word 'Xanga' enough in a post, inevitably members of the XangaTeam come a'visiting.  Time after time after time.  It makes me wonder if there isn't a threhold trigger use of the word Xanga that puts one on their "Check-It-Out" list.

This could be my last post.

Then again, it could just be the next post.

What it is not, is beatifically (beat, as in beatnik) inspired poetry.

My Muses have entirely abandoned me.  I haven't  written of an inspired grasp of the eternally promoting feminine live-in-the-moment since the last time I lived in the moment.  And it's been so long that I could easily imagine that I've forgotten when that was.  I am so Muse-bereft that I'm starting to think that the Sirens ( I now hear them ever-vescently) of many past odysseys are hot and sure and rapturous Muse-type hookers that could poetry-start me for the puny phallic cost of my eternally-dedicated rapture unto them.  Rapture.  Lose control.  Yeah, go ahead baby, blare your Sirens and flash your best e.e.cummings' emergency lights all the way to the horizon limits of your inescapable all-consuming undiscriminating pitch (, pitch black)holes. 

I am like unto a heat-seeking missile cast into the absolute-zero vacuum of a pointilistically-brilliant yet beyond-humanly-imaginable someday Golden Eternity.  At least, I have left here-and-there-abouts here - and somewhat there about.

Saint Valentine is the name of several martyred saints of ancient Rome.

(Perhaps, wrong name at the wrong time?!)

I am not a Roman.

Although not a teenager, I don't consider myself ancient.

I am certainly not (and never will be) a saint.

And I am trying to avoid being martyred at great cost.

Damn it, isn't there a better role model to emulate today?

According to Xanga :

badges are given to the best of Xanga...Only our best users are being chosen and you can only get it if you're a hardcore Xanga user."

My Conspiracy Charge (where I play both prosecutor and judge):

Right.  Do you buy that?  Many getting the TRUE badge are surprised and skeptical (though most pleasantly) of this claim.

I'd rather have you think about the business end of this.  Xanga Gear is new!  True Badges are new!  Coincidence?   No.  They go hand-in-hand.  Truth be told: True Badges are little scratch-n-sniff enticements to get xangans to layout bucks for the real Xanga Badge available exclusively on Xanga Gear.  I can almost hear it now: "You got the Badge, now get the Gear!"

 ...and "Hardcore Xanga users wear Xanga Gear!"

Having ultra-subliminal hearing is a mixed blessing.   I don't like to diss Xanga at all.  But I feel that those who didn't get the TRUE Badge and feel slighted about it should understand the TRUE marketing that's involved with this seemingly elitist gesture.

Personally, I earned a chestful of medals while a sergeant in the military.  I got badged-out, so to speak. Finally got tired of medals/badges and left the military.  And no graphic badge awarded now as a marketing ploy is going to make a difference to me one way or the other.   

john, Xanga CEO, in Xanga's defense (in comments):

steve, i'm going to be open with you. i think we've sold two shirts total. gear isn't a high priority for us. it's something we added because people asked for it, and it was pretty easy to do. if you'd like to prove me wrong and buy a shirt, you can increase our gear sales by 50%.

regarding the rank thing: it's true, we have created a badge. but unlike the LIFE badges (which have been very popular), you can't buy these... you can only earn them by using the site. i'll be posting about true soon - i want to change some wording on that help page about them first tho.

I, as judge, deliberate and come back with a verdict:

*takes pity on the poor xanga gear sales report*  ok john, i didn't know how bad things were.   i'll let you work out the LIFE Badge PR thing without any more criticism from these corners.  i'm satisfied with your answer and moving on.  hopefully this post will popularize your gear and lead to more sales.  *slams gavel*   case dismissed.

I, as prosecutor, mumble my disappointment as the court clears:

i can't believe what a wuss that judge is.  he must be tight with the defendant.

I leave you with the most famous badge quote of all:

"Badges, to god-damned hell with badges! We have no badges. In fact, we don't need badges. I don't have to show you any stinking badges, you god-damned cabron and ching' tu madre! Come out there from that shit-hole of yours. I have to speak to you."

-B. Traven's "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre"

Once upon a time in xangaland when the firmament was first coalescing (late 2000 and on into part of 2001), you could read and comment on every xangan's post(s) every day.  It took about a half hour to do so.  Such was the territory of xangaville.  Because it was all so new to everyone, it was captivating.  Because of its worldwide embracing scope, it was demographically exciting.  Because of its still manageable small scale, it was entirely conquerable and knowable.  Everyone could  know everyone.  And many did.  And there were a lot of 'firsts', too.  You could be the first to say, or do, or use your blog in a never-before-used way simply because practically nothing had been tried before.  So I became the first to embed a live webcam in my blog - which then soon became a live mobile webcam where I traveled about and solicited comments while yet in my car or, on a few occasions, in Dreamland cemetery.  It was xangadelic.  And I was the first, also, to embed a xanga group chat on my site -  it served to bring quite a few early xangans together into the first "realtime" group contact with one another.  Bigtime xangapartytime.

Reminiscing.   What memories have you of the way "things used to be" in xangaville that are now everlost in this xangacosmos system?

I have my moments.  Infrablue moons when I see the world with more clarity and in more detail than almost anyone else alive.  No brag, just piercing clarity, in indescribable detail.

Such was the case this morning when I came to the realization that vengeance would have been mine.  Except that I had already preempted its necessity.   I recently took care of some bad guys and never even gave them a chance.

Yes, "Vengeance would have been mine," proclaims the pre-nascent hero-in-waiting.  Pre-nascent heroes-in-waiting are pretty strange: they punctuate, with rare moments of unparalleled clarity and detail, their otherwise bane pre-emergent cachedooms of psycho-encrytpted pregnant latency. 

Don't just look.  See.  And imagine.  Imagine all the people.

Hackers are currently littering Google's Blogger site with phony blogs -- some containing malware, pornographic images, or pure spam.

"Google Blogger is being used as a malware delivery mechanism," says Ken Steinberg, CTO and president of Savant Protection, who discovered the attack while working on his own blog this morning. The attackers apparently are automatically generating the blogs with scripts. The blogs come with nonsensical names and content that's obviously been generated using English-compliant engines and keyword focuses, he says.

"They've upped the game. Mostly [blog attacks] have been through comments or postings," he says. Steinberg noted that some of the fake blogs were using malware-insertion techniques: "One of the more common ways of inserting malware is using overflow techniques found in movie [viewers]... When you click through a few of these blogs, up pops images set to auto-load -- some are images, some are movies" that can infect a visitor with malware, he says.

  -darkreading.com (one of my favorite daily reads)

hrmmm.  Blogger.  And Xanga is free of this??

Sometimes a dream is all you have.  Sometimes it's all you need.  An instance...

I woke up this morning from the lucidest of dreams wherein I finally got to meet a once-upon (and would-have-been) xanga-lover touch-to-touch.  Many details, mostly sentimentally personal or cryptically symbolic, preceed what I'm about to relate.  But it is our final scene of conscious dreaming that left me fully awake and re-organized this morning:

As we got up to depart from our luncheon date, I accidentally spilled my mostly-undrunk cup of coffee on my sweatshirt.  Instinctly, I jumped up, whipped the sweatshirt off, wiped myself down, and found myself then standing bare-chested and face-to-face with xanga-lover.  Realizing that this, though our first, would be our only moment, we passionately embraced.  I felt her arms wrap around my shoulders as we pulled close to one another.  I felt her feeling me.  Her hands outstretched and gripping my shoulder-blades were commanding yet calmly reassuring.  And then we kissed goodbye.  Taking a step back in parting she said "See ya, Whiskey."  I had never had a nickname before in real-life and was surprised by it.  But I accepted it and said "And thus I am, your Whiskey..."  And improvised "forever ready to whisk you away."

So long, my whiskey-lover.

Hot damn.  This morning, I feel like the President.

You may ask, "How do you know what it feels like to be the President?"

Because, once upon a time - and this is psychically corroborated, the President felt just like I now do.

Hey, what's happening?

I haven't blogged this much/so frequently since I was vanquished by my last demon-lover-to-be.  It is bless-ed to be back and demon-free. (What do you expect?  I am watching "The Charmed Ones" this morning and am so inspired.)  Would you, too, like to learn to be demon-free?  Just resolve to take the silence of departed friendships-relationships as an instructive lesson for all of life, that is, non-personally.

Self-illumination of the darkness is the gate to all mystery.

I am studying Chinese again.  And I will, once again, start speaking to myself in Mandarin in the shower.

In 10 years, English language websites will be outnumbered and outranked 10-1 by Asian websites.  That's an inference from a prediction that English and European internet users will be outnumbered by Asian users by 10-1 in ten years.  And China is the biggest part of those 10s. 

Ancient Chinese emperors never believed that they would or even desired to conquer the world.  They never had notions of conquest like Alexander the Great.  There were once great Chinese naval fleets outpowering all of Europe's, but they never had a design upon ruling the seas.  But the ancient Chinese emperors did have a vision of assimilating everything foreign to their own ways.  The Chinese character for the word 'China' actually means 'center' - like an arrow striking the center of a bullseye target.  They traditionally viewed themselves as the center of all things and all forces.  And to that center, all would eventually return.

Besides global warming, we are now entering a rapid period of assimilation to all things Chinese.  And so I have decided to re-center myself and return studiously to my Chinese studies.  If nothing else, I'll be prepared to blog on all those new Chinese social networks that will be blossoming like a thousand flowers in the Eastern Spring of days to come.

I just imagined that it would be interesting to have an 'auto-post' that would automatically collate all of one's comments on others' posts for a particular day and make them available at day's end on one's own post for others to read.  This would let a fellow reader follow one's own reading/commenting trail through Xanga.  Thus merely commenting around would keep you 'posting-active' and serve as relief for the notorious 'to post or not to post' xangxiety.  Of course, this 'auto-post' would be an option since it would be brutally honest in revealing all of your blogging activity.  Just think of everyone who would want to know whom you're visiting and leaving comments for - and why you didn't visit and leave a comment for him or her.  ha. 

Another venture into more blogging openness would allow one to make the "Footprints" of others on one's site viewable by all one's visitors.  Of course, Xanga could then provide you the ability to footprint those who view these "Footprints" and the option to make that list public, too.

The ultimate measure of blogging openness would be a chip implanted in the blogger's brain that would record how many times a day that particular blogger thinks of Xanga and then automatically updates (wirelessly? bluetooth?) the count to a xanga-thought counter on his or her Xanga site.  This would be especially interesting in those cases of bloggers who don't seem to comment or post much - or who don't comment or post anything at all anymore.  You'd could come to my site and see that I haven't updated for over a year.  And then break out laughing when you observe that my xanga-thought counter hits triple digits every day.

It's my birthday.

And the bad news is that I'm sexually broke.

The not so bad news is that I seem to be financially stable at last.

The little bit better news is that I'm spiritually re-energizing.

And the wake-up-and-smile news is that I'm intellectually revamped.

But if I'm revamped, that means that I've already been vamped before.

Like I said, I'm sexually vamprupt.

Who cares bout that bad grade on my life-tap report card anyway?  I don't. 

So I'm vamprupt and I won't graduate from life with a perfect 4.00.

An imaginary 3.99 maybe is possible... and that is the Trinity, after all, plus Mother Mary with slight negatory baggage.

(To explain: CG Jung believed that 4 was the perfect number.  And that the Trinity (of Catholicism and whatever other past and future meta-pagan sects) was perfected by the Goddesshood of the Mother.  So Mary with baggage is a fraction less than 1?  Or maybe report cards and the additive principle are imperfect cognitve assessments?  Or maybe the Trinity strives endlessly for integerhood like Sisyphus pushing his rock up the hill.?

Is Goddesshood even a word?

I miss my mother.

Who said/sang: "Don't worry.  Be happy." ?

Answer: A very wise soul.

Joyous is the day of radical personal spiritual revamping that results in recovery of one's individuation-amidst-all.

A bit of CG Jung coloring tossed-out in my reflection above.

I've become something of a xanga cold case.  Put my blog in a box on a shelf.  Come back in about 10 years and exclaim "I wonder what the hell ever happened to notforprophet?!"  ha.

I'm pretty damn content to be doing nothing this evening.   I'm empty-handed!   What a great opportunity to recount my fingers.

My indoor house temperature has hovered pretty consistently around 65 degrees this season.  The warmth from my laptop on my lap is, at this very moment, an added comfort.  Also, I'm brewing kiwi-strawberry tea as I type and anticipating the enjoyment of the buckwheat honey soon-to-be-added to its imminent hot-consumable assistance.  Tea-aid.

It is true that the gods recently tried to drive me mad with an intent to destroy me.  But this propensity to drive another mad turns out itself to invite a form of madness.  And, apparently, my resistance to being driven mad has exceeded the gods' abilities to avoid self-affliction.  So now the gods are all mad.  And I'm pretty damn content to be doing nothing at all this evening. 

it is another day yet.  sometimes it is difficult for me to comprehensively conceive of the days upon days calendarically-arranged.  i now sit gazing into the morning sun.  i toss away my focus on things anthropocentric.  biocentric, mine is just one perspective balanced with the many.  i am envisioning spring.  yes, i see the world once again emerging, dancing with irrepressible life energies.  although this vision will not endure through the next snowfall, it will return again.  and stronger - as day leads to day...leads to days.

Some think I'm transparent.  I suppose that I would, too, view myself that way were I removed from myself to some transparent proximity.  Such as the Andromeda Galaxy.  You know, there's little obfuscatory Dark Matter between it and our Milky Way.

So...why is our Way so Milky anyway?   I propose it is because our sector of the universe is infused with an overabundance of female energy.  Milk = fecund female byproduct.  Hence, milky correlates highly with the female presence.  Carlos Castaneda (as expressed in the Art of Dreaming) claimed that 99% of all the entities (both organic and inorganic) in the universe, on the average, register male in gender.  And the female presence is a severely pronounced generalized minority almost everywhere.  Except for a few places here and there.  Like Earth.  Where the feminine principle is in glorious abundance.  Yea for Earth!  Feminity: Earth's most precious cosmic commodity.  Which, of course, makes it a superatively tradeable commodity on the intergalactic markets.  But perish that thought.  Let's just enjoy who we are.  And what we have.  As long as we can.

This is a just silly post.  To prove that I can be silly, too.  I'm just a silly nobody. 

"And the greatest man is Nobody."  - Chuang Tzu, totally transparent chinese taoist.

Please hold on tight to your New Year's resolutions.  Because I don't want them running loose and chasing me down the street.

Some think I'm cryptic.  I suppose that I would, too, view myself that way were I removed from myself to some cryptic distance.  For it's the distance between each and all of us, and not us,  that's cryptic.  We?  We're all just beautiful, eternity-destined, microcsomic mysteries yearning for greater participations.  "...movers and shakers on whom the pale moon gleams."

The man of Tao remains unknown. Perfect virtue produces nothing. "No-Self" is "True-Self."  And the greatest man is Nobody   - Chuang Tzu, the master, most cryptically-distanced deer-whisperer there ever was.

And sometimes it is time for non-action.

Merry Christmas.

Perhaps I am too sensitive, too overly sensitive.  There's this long-lasting feeling of having been left in a loveless ever-deepening abyss.  It's a feeling - just a feeling.  But it is all I have. And though from this abyss I have called out, like Echo my voice has seemingly faded away to near nothingness. Thus I have grown withdrawn socially - and bloggingly unfrequent.

I know.  That sounds too syrupy, pathologically sentimental, and overdramatically unmanly.  But I had to post it.  To set it up.  To knock it down.  To overcome.

Fuck it.  I've wasted too much time.  I've wasted much-too-much time over the last couple of couple years.

It's time for action.  Let my words henceforth bear witness to such action.

the unreachable storm has found a name: unintimacy.
yet yearning is yearning.  and yearning will be.
until all rebounds to the fundament: eternity.

In a study published recently in the scientific journal "Evolutionary Psychology," 59 percent of men and 66 percent of women said they've been in the position of being attracted to someone -- until they kissed the person.

"At the moment of the kiss, there's a very complicated exchange of information ... that may tap into underlying evolved mechanisms" cluing us in on whether we're genetically compatible, explains Gordon Gallup, co-author of the study and professor of psychology at the State University of New York at Albany. "A kiss can be a deal-breaker in terms of whether a relationship will flower or flounder, so to speak."

Yeah?  So what does it mean when you kiss your pet??

And what if your pet is a flounder?

Have you ever kissed a flower? 

I have.  Or maybe (memory is so fuzzy) it was just a girl with a flower's name.

It is better to have lost and loved than never to have lost at all.

Think not about it.

Then be happy.

For there is no winning, no losing.  At least, none that ultimately matters.

But love.  Nothing else remains forever manifest.

I simply wish there were a weblog entry editor that was circular in shape and swirled round and around with every word written sailing irreversibly inward toward the center of a whirling vortex to disappear and reappear automatically and immutably posted.  No editing.  Not taking back.  Black-hole blogging.  Give it up.

But it isn't so.

Further confirmation that my wishes are but wishes.

Just some reflections along the way...

I have finally re-learned how to enjoy sleep.  The art of sleeping was something that I lost while still a young child.

If the importance of today as a turning point in my life were dramatized on a global scale, you'd observe the North and South poles flipping their polarity: simple and easily-observed effects, readily-grasped as geo-monumental, yet having subtle and not well-understood long-term ramifications.

If you are a smart investor, you'll determine just where the few remnants of recreational ice and winter weather will yet persist about 40-50 years from now and invest in that ultimately-lucrative, forever-more coveted, future winterland resort.

What if I had the power to merely utter a word as an incantation and and bring it into realization?  I might well chose to utter "Harmony"  - secretly hoping and praying that I would not stutter on the first syllable.

Today's not yet over.  Perhaps there will be more reflections yet to come?

Don't worry - I'm not going to jump.

*jumps*

Well, I landed okay.  So don't worry anyway.

Actually, I just fell to Earth.  Like a man.  Like an airplane typically falls to Earth.  Except most people call that a landing.  But a landing is just a controlled fall.  So the difference between an airplane disaster and  a "you can now unbuckle your seat belts" is not the act of falling, but whether appropriate control is expressed.  Well, we know what's appropriate when it's a matter of a technology-devised wing approaching Earth.  But what of a man who has been soaring through unexplored reaches by means of heretofore undocumented, unchronicled psychic/psycoative means?

*jumps again*

You see.

So answer me this: How many of you have ever heard of an "entheogen" ?

Make love.  Leave war to me.

I had forgotten that I was a wealthy landowner (xangamnesia) until I searched Google for 'notforprophet' and found this:

Praise the all-knowing, never-forgetting Google!

A man has got to know his own intrinsic worth regardless of anything someone seems to know about him, regardless of anything someone claims to feel about him, regardless of any love truly professed that might do whatever true loves does to so soothingly postpone the raw coming of deep, individuating complete self-knowledge.

To any and all that have ever expressed or otherwise conveyed any love for me - whether publicly or otherwise, I now realize and here share back that I have failed in what such love yearns for as symmetrical and requisite completion.  Mea ultima culpa.

But all's not lost!  The world remains vulnerable to any and every earnest, exquisite attempt at self-quest: at self-reinvention.

And so I have become nobody.  And thus I strive to become again someone at least worthy of being the devoted servant of the least of the least ones still worthy and loving .

I rarely visit Dreamland anymore.  And yet I dream.  Dreaming other dreams.  And better ones.