I spy you
thigh high
belly twist
and it's new
like a baby goose
all feathers and flap

tall, thin
with your
bicycle riding feet
and captivating hands
so quietly crept

I spy you
try you on for size
my size
small in some places
big in some places
hard and soft all at once

in my washing times
when pajamas come
warm from the dryer
with the comfort that comes
when cool skin
finds its sheath

I can fly
I can see angels
I know why you like me
I know what you see
When you spy me
Strange special
True for right now

The night was unusually hot for the time of year. Actually it was hot for any time of year. You know the kind of heat that surrounds you like a warm, wet blanket, forcing people out in the streets because it's too warm to sleep and to lonely to sit at home. Or in my case I was just to horny to sit at home in front of the TV.

I dropped a six-pack into my duffel bag, hung it over my shoulder and headed out through the door, not even trying to avoid my landlady. Fortunately she was not around, which saved me the usual threat of eviction if I didn't pay my rent first thing tomorrow.

Outside the door I turned left and left again and went into the little park where normally only dog owners and youth gangs go, but for very different reasons. Tonight was different, though. It seemed like a lot of people had the same idea as me. A vain hope that a few trees would magically provide a cooling breeze.

I sat down on a bench a little distance from a group of young people having a barbecue. Or at least they looked like young people in the dark and the mystical glow of burning coal. Or maybe it was the way they laughed. I couldn't care less. Instead I grabbed a beer from my bag, opened it and drank the first sip. God, how nice that first sip tastes. Almost so you want to throw the can away and open a new one just to get that first sip taste again. But only almost.

I didn't notice her until she was standing on the path looking at me. I have no idea where she came from. Maybe from the barbecue group, maybe not.

-"It's very hot today," she said.
-"Yes," I replied, "unusually so."
-"But it makes the park nicer," she continued, "a bit more life."
I nodded and took another sip from my can.
-"Do you mind if I sit down?" she asked.
-"Not as long as you don't expect some sparkling conversation," I said.
She smiled at me and sat down.
-"A 'no' would have been sufficient if you didn't want to talk to much," she said still smiling.
I shrugged my shoulders and sipped thoughtfully at my beer.
-"My only problem," she continued, "is that the heat makes me frisky."
I looked at her and tried to keep a straight face, but I'm sure she could see that she'd taken me by surprise.
-"Would you fuck me for 50 bucks?" she asked.
My jaw dropped a bit and I said:
-"I would if I had the money."
-"How about a blow job for that can of beer then?"
-"It's only half full."
-"I'll have to make sure that I don't get too thirsty then."
She smiled again, and I could tell that her smile was beginning to get to me. I looked at her slightly thin lips, wide mouth and perfect teeth and though about her offer.
-"OK, it's a deal," I said.

She took the beer can out of my hand and put it on the ground. Then she got down on her knees, undid my fly and got my limp dick out in the fresh air. She rubbed it gently with her left hand until it got hard and then put it in her mouth. I don't think it was the first time. Not the way she used her lips, teeth and tongue. It was the best oral sex I had ever had. I tried to control myself but I came so fast I even surprised myself.
-"Jesus!" was all I could say.
She spat the semen out by my feet and got up and sat beside me again.
-"That was so short I'm glad it was only half a beer," she said and smiled at me wryly.
I smiled back and dug another beer out of my bag. She laughed.
-"Does that mean you want me to go down on my knees again?"
-"No, I just had to do something."
-"So what should we do?"
-"Let's go back to my place. It's just around the corner and I have more booze there."
-"OK," she said.

We stood up and started walking in silence, without touching each other. As we walked out of the park she said:
-"By the way, my name is Sarah McDonald."
-"Henry," I said. "Henry Chinaski."

Copyright © 2002, Blondino
It seems as if this humble attempt at copying Charles Bukowski's style is not in everybody's taste. Well anybody's but mine so far. If you don't like it, could you please come with some constructive criticism. That's the only way it can get better. Thanks!

There is no incentive left.

Alright, I know how much you love this, but if you don't like rants, why the hell are you reading daylogs?

I have had the worst couple of days and I need to just get it off my chest. Talking about things always makes me feel better, but a big part of the problem is that no one I know wants to listen. My boyfriend and I barely talk anymore (at least not about deep things), and even my mother brushed me off tonight.

My aunt has been visiting the last couple of days. I don't like having someone in my apartment -- I'm an earlybird and I usually get up around six a.m. This doesn't work very well when someone is sleeping on your couch and you have to tiptoe around your place. I've been late for work the last two days. It really doesn't matter, my boss is in France for god's sake, but I still hate being late. It wastes the most productive part of my day. Then I lost my bus pass yesterday, dammit. Plus with my aunt visiting I've had no time for myself to sit and read and have quiet wrapped all around me.

Tonight I had to frantically run all the errands I hadn't had time for all week... laundry, bank, passport photos, getting a new bus pass for July and tickets to get me through to the end of June, since apparently people aren't decent enough to return someone else's stuff, even with their name and phone number clearly marked. Plus the psychotic woman that lives on my floor has had the laundry tied up since 5:30 or so, I had to invade another floor to use theirs. I had even asked politely, since I have only one load and have to catch a flight tomorrow, if she could let me know when she was done. I hate being rushed, and I've been feeling this way continuously for about three weeks now. And it's not going to stop yet.

Tomorrow: work, catch a flight to Calgary, my little brother's high school graduation the next day, along with frantically trying to get my passport application in.

But, you know, someone must be listening, so I already feel better.

The police here in Columbus, OH have been fairly notorious for being unpleasant to deal with. A few years back, the department was sued for by the Federal Department of Justice for alleged police abuses and racial profiling. A few specific incidents cited in the charges included a woman who was groped and verbally abused during a traffic stop and another woman who was attacked and nontrivially injured by a police officer after she attempted to videotape his conduct at her home. (For details, see http://www.njournalg.com/editorial/1999/11/martin_columbus_police.html and http://www.usdoj.gov/crt/split/documents/columbus.htm)

With that in mind, tonight I saw something I never expected to see: a smiling uniformed CPD officer bagging groceries at the supermarket.

We went to the Kroger at the corner of Karl and Morse because it's practically the only place we can drop off our recyclables at night. It's a bit of a drive from our apartment, and is in a pretty borderline area; just south of it you start getting into the 'hood.

So I wasn't surprised to see cops in the store. But when I saw the officer at the end of the line asking people "Paper or plastic?" I at first thought he was a security guard. But then I saw the gun, and the baton, and the badge. And the friendly smile.

My boyfriend asked him jokingly, "Is this part of the job requirements?" and the policeman shrugged and laughed.

"I get bored just standing around," he explained.

Imagine that. A bored policeman pitching in to help out a weary cashier in the middle of the night. And being right considerably more pleasant than most baggers I've encountered recently.

If this is a sign of things to come, I'm all for it.

In other news, if you're in the U.S., postal rates are going up as of this Sunday. It caught me by surprise; maybe some of you also hadn't heard. Mailing a letter will now cost you 37 cents instead of 34. This is the largest single increase the postal service has ever done, presumably because of vastly increased operating expenses in the wake of the anthrax scares.

I have taken much advice in the form of who could contact me durring recently appearing episodes of unpleaseantness. I have read the writeup on the E2 user survey and found it to be most enlightening. I also have been giving much thought about what exactly I wish to achieve using this system and it's services.

I guess that there has been a major problem that I have had was that I heard of the change of servers durring a long ago visit to http://everything.slashdot.org and was eventually referred here.

I spent a great deal of time majorly lurking the site and previewing the content. It was my reviewing of the content that made me deserious to really want to create my own content to rival much of the stuff that was there.

I have not read all of the survey results but most of the material is interesting. I read the entire introduction and the section 6 on newbies was most enlightening.

Also comments about the ideal of longevity of the site really makes my mind hard to reconsile with what is here. I don't know it's almost like the stuff that I remembered from high school creative writing. A great deal of that upset me. I like to think of writing as the only true form of totally free expression that is and can be timeless. What would aliens think of stuff that sounds like an amateur comedy act?

It is that impulse that makes me really think that there is something to be done. I really think that there would be a nice version of a free encyclopedia to be added if there could be a good agreement amongst the users as to what to add. Personally I think that there can be creative writing but it should be identified as such.

What does this mean for my work and place therein? Do you want to know what I think I LIKE A CHALLENGE

I like to think that everything that has happened in my life is some sort of masohistic test from god and personally I will make everything work or take the end of heroes and fall on my sword (as in Brutus fame). There is nothing that cannot be overcome witout extreme work. I went through Engineering Physics and it was hell but I passed with a decent grade. I perservered through Calculus. I went through hellish programming classes in my CS degree. Written papers and received decent grades. Passed hellish tests. Made my way under difficult problems in almost every realm of society: legal, moral, psychological, and I have come to something that I really wish to share with the readership.


This makes me have hope. I have thought of suicide over more (now) trivial ammounts of blood, sweat, and tears than this will entail but it's something that is giving me a long think.

Abraham Lincoln is my personal hero (for those of you not in the US check out the link to discover a little about this man or if the writeup is lacking just ask me about what I mean more fully). He was able to educate himself and raise himself in a background which was quite humble (even worse than mine) and even against the background of people who were more educated than he.

Anyone can play the game but it takes a really good soul to rewrite the game to the best of their ability. That is my plan. I will win my game through superior tactics against a background that is against the chances for success.

They (the E2 documents) say that a writeup has to be interesting and it has to be factual and it has to be emotively expressive at the same time. (editor's note: this is completely untrue.) Quite a formidable task. This means that there is a great deal of thinking about what one wants from the system.

It's almost like a good example of a Faustian Bargain (yeah I am sure I'm a dum dum just because I have spelling problems and such but I can have a full set of ideals like this). It seems that even high level users are complaining about such things I believe someone is even quoted in the document as saying that to rise one has to become an automaton. That is a bit chilling.

How best to change this little theory? I don't really know. There is a rather applicable quote which is about the power elite which (sorry don't have the book handy right now) states that people fracture into units called 'veto groups' which are basically ideologically inclined units which give individuals power against their own powerlessness. Collective security and such are the outcome. People who don't ally with a grouping which can settle their feelings of a will to power are out of luck.

In the presence of such ideas I have to believe that there are intense feelings (which I have personally felt) that ammount to fiefdoms. People need to have their power. If I directly challenge even a simple thing like why an issue isn't covered or take a position that someone dosn't like I am blasted. Then *my* personal rant button starts to get into play and then I have ideologically oriented conflicts out of the deal. This is bad form in a public forum which aspires.

What is the next thing that I have to deal with. It's probably the mix of formalistic language which can sometimes be employed and some quality of acerbic, cynnicism that I can't identify. It's like what would happen if Charles Dickens had grown up in the 80s. It's almost as if all the things I would like to say/be were stripped of their content and their essence was used for an aim that I don't totally support in some other veto group that I don't entirely like.

However that really isn't fair is it? I mean that can't be what the vast majority of patrons could believe? Is it? I mean not everyone is really like they sound: independently wealthy, cynnical, and uncareing now are they? As the document stated these people are human, they make mistakes and they engage in folly.

It would be wrong to think that everyone really is that. I mean even home nodes don't tell you the heart and soul of someone. That is a fact I will believe in. In a way a kernel of truth which is an axiomic statement remains as to what is good and bad.

Ok so what motivates my propensity to debate? It's thinking that people have an ulterior motive. If they say started to write a book, maybe *the* book. The only reccord of themselves as human beings which had to have more of a purpose than just being a diary what would be the defineing essay of their character? What would it be? In other words what makes them tick and what are they trying to express? What are they trying to say and *not* trying to say in their communications?

Unfortunately I assume that the combination of sarcastic, cynnical, non-trivial, and idealistic statements (which are not bad in and of themselves when taken in ammounts of moderated thoughtput) and the strucutre, and composition of some of these ideas when taken to form an idea seem to be both evil and cunning in what they are trying to achieve. It's good and all to think that let's say aliens will discover E2, or that somehow people believe that something without a neural network can suddenly evolve sentience and become the sum of it's parts or practitioners, or even that this is a good thing to create a jolly good time, as reasons to creat information but I think it's a good deal more compelx.

When you say create a short story, write an essay, or maybe choose a subject to do some visual arts work on (my sister is good at this I just reference this as the greatest act of dissipated acumen that is out there) you are chooseing to make a statement that could say include a nice hefty essay about intent, and motivation, etc.

It's this that worries me intellectually speaking because it makes for a grand old time of putting up the following scenario for general consumption: what would the world be like if this person was in charage and what would my life be if I was John Doe within it. Maybe this isn't fair but it's my personal barometer and sometimes when the world looks like some sort of dystopia of the proletariat it begins to make me get my own counter proposal.

So that is what I thought of when I was reading this and openly stated my own motivations.

On to what to do to deal with this problem.

Well I'm formulating a solution that looks good. I can tell you for example that I don't have a whole lot of abstract creativity when it comes to things artistic(I was never a good artist but I have good ideals when it comes to thinking so I think I'm not totally deficient.) Humor dosn't really play a large part in my life in a publically understandable way that people would understand.

That seems to be a minus point in my favor. However I have a passion for various things that deal with intellectual argumentation, and historical information so that does something right? In addition to that I have more than a passing association with CS as it is my chosen major. So I guess I could do something with that. I also have an interest in microbiology and with related fields.

Maybe if I get to know some more people a little more intimately I wouldn't assume that because they have odd nodes that means that the next book along the lines of Mao says... is coming out for a new book run.

In return I will suspend disbelief in perpetuity and use more of our friend spellcheck.net in the future along with whatever I can remember of long ago grammar lessons. I doubt that you all are souless minions of orthodoxy or leaders of some dictatorship of the proletariat. Of course when there is a stated verbotten flag for Getting To Know You Nodes I have little ability to just devine the answer.

So in conslusion for the day's remarks I believe that there is a good place for such information. I might just start with Abraham Lincoln from my notes or just about a non 100% fact filled analysis about him. I just hope that *that* particular node dosn't get eaten for uningenious reasons. Honest Abe and his beliefs are something I take very seriously and think of the most highly.

Aufwieterzehn, farwell, Da Svidanya, etc. Until we node again

--sincerly operation-phoenix

And as one noder noted this is indeed the end of the operation-phoenix show(tm).

I tried this morning remembering some fuzzy details of my last nightmare. The topic was related to 'war on terrorism'. But recurrently in the dream, it also appeared the word 'pretense'. At last, I achieved to connect both facts. I recapitulate:

Under the pretense of war on terrorism...

... Congress is passing bills which allow for more of the treasury to go to the wealthy and corporations.

... the Constitution is under attack. The Fourth Amendment is now in danger, as those in power may search one's home without a search warrant as required in the Bill of Rights.

... U.S. financial support for terrorism is being increased in Colombia, where although right wing death squads are officially called terrorists, they get their weapons and support through the military as they terrorize anybody who disagrees with those in power.

... the Federal Communications Commission is trying to allow for fewer corporations to own more media in the same areas for a total monopoly on news.

... the current administration and Congress are attempting to pass laws allowing for oil drilling in the Arctic, opposed by all of the major environmental organizations.

... censorship is being imposed.

... 'Fast Track' is being pushed in the Congress to allow the president to make trade decisions without consulting the Congress, thus bypassing the Constitution.

But in the end, who needs dreams?

This morning I felt even worse. My cold (and I'm beginning to realise that it is either a very bad cold or one of these perpetual Flus that make bi-monthly tours of London) is worse. It's not enough to keep me from work though. I hate taking time off sick and I don't remember the last time I did it. My attendance record at work, as at school and university, is probably exemplary. Exemplary attendance. Does not apply himself fully in lessons. When I change jobs I expect they'll make a point of my punctuality and reliability in my reference. That's great of course but it's not why I'm such a Good Boy. I just hate the idea of stealing whole days from my boss. Not that I particularly adore or even respect my boss or collegues. I do appreciate being in work though, especially in London and as a still-quite-recent graduate.

Last night I crashed really early. I took a glass of water, a glass of orange juice and a hot mug of tea to bed with me. This is my secret cold cure, although it's just commmon sense really, to stay warm, keep myself hydrated and take plenty of Vitamin C. As I don't have any Vitamin C tablets in the flat orange juice has to suffice. The warm underside of the laptop keeps my legs as hot as a good hot water bottle, though sadly does not have the same rubbery smell of security and safety. Some of my happiest memories of childhood are times when I was feeling ill. Mum would come and tuck me into bed with a hot water bottle before bringing a mug of hot tea. Being ill always makes me miss Mum. "Mum". It seems like a childish word, but "mother" is so formal, and after all, she was my Mum.

Just before I fell asleep I saw a spider above my bed. It was big enough to make me want to get rid of it, so I reached for the (now-empty) water glass and a postcard that was lying on the floor having recently been used as a bookmark. I never kill spiders, even though I don't particularly like them. I don't like killing anything really. Catching it was not easy, especially as I was feeling so ill, and my aching legs meant that taking that glass outside was a real effort. Perhaps that was why I forgot to let the spider out when I left the upturned glass in the garden. It wasn't until I had returned to my warm bed that I realised my mistake. Killing it quickly would have been prefereable to starving the thing to death, so I got back out of bed and painfully made my way back outside and released the arachnid. This time I made sure it was safely out and on the cold ground before turning around. I dropped the empty glass off in the kitchen on my way back to bed. I must remember to wash that glass before I use it again.

Tyrannical obsessive mind!

Oh why do you plague me so?


Stupid fucking brain, can’t control its outflow of hormone, which in turn effects my emotions.

Things I do to combat depression:
  • Watch the same movie over and over again, hence the Scottish accent…
  • Cling to females like they can protect me
  • Subtly hint to everyone what I am depressed about, often with them asking me “what the hell are you going on about?” and me responding with “nothing.”
  • Laugh constantly, in order to make myself happy

Laughing, believe it or not, is an excellent way to combat depression should you be in the mood for laughing at all. And I Laugh at anything; I sat there in class today watching “The Castle”, laughing my arse off at fucking anything I could. It worked to no surprise. I never thought this movie was funny before.

To think this all started with a girl…

Yes a girl…

But fuck all that depressing shit, I am laughing my ass off! OFF! HA-FUCKING-HA!

To think my problems are just the same as everyone elses. Phoey.

Destiny calls the shots in an evening drowned by prepubescent earthling snores, fertilized by dying children drying in the dawning sunlight of yesterday's dawn. I sit upon virgin rock sits upon white snow upon Earth on day one of attack one. Lightning comes first showering the sky against plaid window panes, breaking giving blood read pains and screams down lover's lane ending in a tidal wave of showering kisses.

Day two of attack one, where the eyes stop inside of communistic totalitarian tongues, tingling denial of destiny calling for another shot of tequila, "this one with the worm" he says as he grasps for the table in the sunlit foyer of a mansion room designed by two somethings from the south-north side of town. TV babies call from table right, singing songs about winning their war against the boarders who never did care along with politicians soaking their feet in cement paved walk on the sides alone again, and the lamp is going out.

Becoming day three of attack one, the amnesia wears off, first realisation of happening what: Did the earth sit still as it died away and dyed to black against monoleum marble coated deviled eggs back from days one and two?

Day three already and the people see no color and realize that there never was the color that they thought they saw. I still don't see the color and assuming that I am right, the color isn't to be seen anyway.

Day four sneaks right up and destiny calls the shots for attack two, affecting the minds of those left and roller skating down the street come legions and legions of lost mimes, painted faces black and white no colorr no color. Drowned in oil smells down what's left of the subterranean sewers where I lived so long ago and I wonder where did I ever go? and why still am I alive to tell the tale of day four or day three or day two or day one for that matter?

This journal of blood and tears that is for my glory and will be my selfish glory, Should I be ashamed of myself for what I write: Recording history as I see it while a pitiful man walks across the street in front of me and no tears no tears no tears I cry at the cat who can't find home perhaps the last cat i've ever seen and will ever see, wonder if store I could... milk I buy. Destiny buys the rounds for me this time, "deals to be made, people to hang" says he's responsible as...

Day five comes into play-- day five like a sty in the eye, the one that hurt us so bad that we black and blue soldiers walked the valley of doubt while children on-lookers prayed and hoped that we would be destroyed on our faces of fear and hope that when we were over, we'd be over like a-1 when steak is done nothing at stake left to save.

"I say my boy let me make you a deal" as he passes the drink too stupid am I to ask what could be in it and then I fall away into attack three: the betrayal and it being so dark and lonely in betrayal I stupidly scream out the classic "et tu Brute then fall Caesar" line as I am washed away before I get this last word out I slime across the paper and no one sees me again.

Day six, today.

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