Well the Democratic National Convention is over, Obama has delivered his acceptance speech and McCain tried to steal the Dems thunder by announcing Alaskan Gov Sarah Palin as his running mate and the talking shirts at the cable news channels have described the action as they do.
What impressions were you left with?
Here're mine...
I'm kinda embarrassed to say so, but I find myself excited about Obama as the leader of my country...I know. Right? I can't help it...I find myself wanting to believe him. Of course one's expectations of honesty from a politition must be curbed lest one is tragically hurt by said polititions subsequent heinousness...and yet I want to believe. I've surprised myself by being inspired by Obama. At least he's saying the right things, as far as I'm concerned anyway. The changing of rhetoric is at least progress. I find that this man speaks of the things that seem important to me, domestically and globally.
The Republicans played typical political games by "allowing" the Dems their night, deciding to NOT "leak" McCain's Veep choice right after Obama's speech. Instead they waited til the next morning when the pundits were prepared to spend all morning lauding Obama's speech, thereby stealing the airtime from Obama and leaving the pundits handicapping the VP race and scanning their blackberries wanting to be the 1st to "report" that a flight was chartered in Alaska or who was still in their home state. It worked, so kudos to the little psuedo Roves for that, but it didn't change the fact that some 30,000,000 people watched Obama speak, many of which hadn't before or had very little.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
ParishInProgress
I have started another blog that will focus mostly on the fictional writing. The link provided will get you there. http://ftdparishnprogress.blogspot.com/
Come here for observations, rants and ramblings which, with the political spring abloom with pustulent blossoms, should be venomously flowing outta my fingers soon.
I also have some new recipes to lay down and some diary too maybe. So that'll be at some point this weekend and then reguarly posted....at least that's the plan.
But for fiction, go to the new site and for idiocy, come here. Peace out.
Finn
Come here for observations, rants and ramblings which, with the political spring abloom with pustulent blossoms, should be venomously flowing outta my fingers soon.
I also have some new recipes to lay down and some diary too maybe. So that'll be at some point this weekend and then reguarly posted....at least that's the plan.
But for fiction, go to the new site and for idiocy, come here. Peace out.
Finn
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Well,HelloThere
FIRST!!!! I'm FTD Parish, if it even matters, but I'm too tired to carry on the ruse. Finn Baker IS FTD Parish, my psuedonym. yada, yada, I'm gonna post as Finn but you know....ya know?
Now, after much too long of an absence, the postings continue. I've deleted the last several entries in the Junkies series as I have decided to go a different way with the story. Instead of junkie vampires from outer space.....I know, just sounds goofy doesn't it? But instead of heroin addict vampires, we're just gonna develope the characters we've met(Thomas, Dirt, Maya....maybe Buzzy and Bridge??) and some new ones as the story moves forward under a new title(I'll go back and edit the titles I've already posted with the new title later). I'll continue the vampire junkies later in their own story(with the junkies title), but not in this one. This story started out as a way to get to the vampires and ended up introducing me to people I want to get to know better. I'll continue the junkies series because I really like the idea for this story.....and my twist on their situation. But for now it's the same ol' story with a whole new title and direction. After that(and maybe during) I'm gonna play with the Idiot series some as I really like that isea too and am excited about it.
I'm sure everyone that I DID have reading this has stopped checking in long ago, but I'm still donig this for me.....and I guess, if you're reading this, for you. Good to be back. Type to you soon/
Now, after much too long of an absence, the postings continue. I've deleted the last several entries in the Junkies series as I have decided to go a different way with the story. Instead of junkie vampires from outer space.....I know, just sounds goofy doesn't it? But instead of heroin addict vampires, we're just gonna develope the characters we've met(Thomas, Dirt, Maya....maybe Buzzy and Bridge??) and some new ones as the story moves forward under a new title(I'll go back and edit the titles I've already posted with the new title later). I'll continue the vampire junkies later in their own story(with the junkies title), but not in this one. This story started out as a way to get to the vampires and ended up introducing me to people I want to get to know better. I'll continue the junkies series because I really like the idea for this story.....and my twist on their situation. But for now it's the same ol' story with a whole new title and direction. After that(and maybe during) I'm gonna play with the Idiot series some as I really like that isea too and am excited about it.
I'm sure everyone that I DID have reading this has stopped checking in long ago, but I'm still donig this for me.....and I guess, if you're reading this, for you. Good to be back. Type to you soon/
Sunday, May 6, 2007
TheJunkiesFaust #17(FTDParish)
I woke very disoriented, my heartbeat pounding in my ears, my vision blurry and flitchy. Underneath the pounding, I heard a buzzing and the wah wah's. A tell tale sign of the massive head rush. I tried to sit up, but barely got my head off the floor before the room started swimming and my vision turned red and pixillated....sorta. I heard a deep, rumbling laugh as my vision narrowed and darkened, I didn't even feel my head hit the floor.
When I woke next I was lying on a couch, a damp, cool cloth on my forehead, Marie sitting next to me, on the edge of the couch, holding my hand and looking into my eyes. How very surreal the night had been so far. I hoped it didn't get any more interesting as I gazed, I'm sure looking dumbfounded, into Marie's dark and mysterious eyes.
She smiled and I heard crystal clinking behind me. I started up, sending Marie hopping back so she didn't tumble onto her little, round butt. As I turned and Marie fought for her balance, the large man smiled as he poured some of the wine into three glasses.
I turned back to Marie who had already regained her composure and looked as unflappable as she had when I'd first seen her. How long ago had that been? How long had I been out?
"You've only been unconscious for about 10 minutes total Thomas," said the man who was now obviously my host, as he crossed to us and handed us the wine. I took mine with a thank you and let the thick and potent liquid slide over my tongue as I wondered if he could read my mind. Crazy. I shook my head....it cleared some, but I still felt out-of-it.
I tried to straighten up and think clearly, but it was hard. Fireworks were going off in my head and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.....the most incredible sound. And I needed some sun glasses, my eyes hurt. I took another drink.
I drained my glass with one lst big swallow and asked of my host...."OK, with all due respect to you and your little soire, sir, what the FUCK is going on here?"
"You're head will clear shortly Thomas and I'll explain everything. Until then please come over here to the window with me............Please Thomas."
I took several wobbly steps towards my host. As I approached the window, the scene below opened to me again. This time however, I didn't look down at a raving party, this time I looked down at..............
When I woke next I was lying on a couch, a damp, cool cloth on my forehead, Marie sitting next to me, on the edge of the couch, holding my hand and looking into my eyes. How very surreal the night had been so far. I hoped it didn't get any more interesting as I gazed, I'm sure looking dumbfounded, into Marie's dark and mysterious eyes.
She smiled and I heard crystal clinking behind me. I started up, sending Marie hopping back so she didn't tumble onto her little, round butt. As I turned and Marie fought for her balance, the large man smiled as he poured some of the wine into three glasses.
I turned back to Marie who had already regained her composure and looked as unflappable as she had when I'd first seen her. How long ago had that been? How long had I been out?
"You've only been unconscious for about 10 minutes total Thomas," said the man who was now obviously my host, as he crossed to us and handed us the wine. I took mine with a thank you and let the thick and potent liquid slide over my tongue as I wondered if he could read my mind. Crazy. I shook my head....it cleared some, but I still felt out-of-it.
I tried to straighten up and think clearly, but it was hard. Fireworks were going off in my head and I could hear the blood rushing in my ears.....the most incredible sound. And I needed some sun glasses, my eyes hurt. I took another drink.
I drained my glass with one lst big swallow and asked of my host...."OK, with all due respect to you and your little soire, sir, what the FUCK is going on here?"
"You're head will clear shortly Thomas and I'll explain everything. Until then please come over here to the window with me............Please Thomas."
I took several wobbly steps towards my host. As I approached the window, the scene below opened to me again. This time however, I didn't look down at a raving party, this time I looked down at..............
Saturday, April 14, 2007
TheJunkiesFaust #16(FTDParish)
"Someone like me?" I asked.
She nods and moves my head off her lap with her strong hands. It's not til I feel the chill on my shaved head that I realize how hot her thighs were. She stood, pulling me up with her. She led the way back to the window and stood ast my side with her arm around my waist, her chin resting on my shoulder watching me watch the party.
Now almost all the party goers were laid out, in piles on chairs, sofas and floor. Wherever they'd happened to be when the junk had come around. There were still lone stragglers standing here and there, some in small groups, watching the surfers and laughing with each other. Some jittery looking, like they were as hungry as Dirt when Maya'd been gone too long when they were out.
I looked at Dirt again. He reminded me of John Travolta............no really, stay with me. I'd seen Travolta on Inside the Actors Studio. He'd told a story of how he'd researched his role in Pulp Fiction as a junky. He'd talked with a recovering junky who'd told him to fill a bathtub with warm water and drink tequila till you were slobbering drunk.......And that's as close as you can get to being on heroin...............Well, that's what Dirt looked like. Like he was floating in a warm heroin dream..........Like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction when he was driving in his convertable.
The bartenders were coming out from behind there bars and new people were coming in from doors I hadn't seen before. The new people were all dressed garishly in one form or another like the others, but these were different somehow. I was still foggy from the wine but they seemed to have an air about them. Almost aristocratic in a way.
The music suddenly changed. A more sanguine, almost psychadelic, symphonic kinda thing accompanied by straight, white bright strobe lights on high speed flash. The upright partyers moved amongst the surfers jumpingly in the flashing lights.
The music changed again, and I realized it was being piped in to our little observatory. The music throbbed. The back beat that of a beating heart, the forefront of the music filled with whines and whorls of uncomfortable, electronic sounds. The light changed to a deep pulsing red.
I watched a tall Nordic looking woman in fishnet stockings, high heels and nothing else followed by a tall American Indian man complete with long braided pony tail and wearing a designer suit saunter up to Dirt and Maya. I watched in suspension as the Indian picked up Maya like she was a small child and gently carried her cradled in his large arms toward one of the doors under me. The scene was played out all over the room below me while the music thobbed unrelentingly.
As the last of the men carried their high cargo out of the room, the party changed again. Each reclining junky left had a fetishly clad person standing with them. The lights came on, the music stopped and every aware pair of eyes turned slowly, expectantly to the window which Marie and I stood behind. My skin crawled and an involuntary shiver ran through my body. What the fuck was going on here? A very quiet motor whirred as the window slowly lowered into the wall, exposing us to the creepy gazes of the fetishist below.
A pair of iron hands gripped my shoulders from behind. I tried to turn to look at my assailant but was held firm. Marie stood and stared, interested, on my side. I craned my neck and saw a very tall and very beautiful man smiling into my eyes. I was scared. I averteed my gaze back to the party floor below when my "host" nodded in that direction. I saw Marie out of the corner of my eye smiling at the man gripping my shoulders, hurting me. I felt his right hand release it's grip and saw him place his latrge hand on Marie's short afro, carressing it. He turned his attention to the people below, who were obviously waiting on something....on him.
In a voice that boomed across the expanse of the cavernous room, the tall man said with some reverence, " My people, meet Thomas." I watched as all the standing partyers gravely nodded their acknowledgment to me. I feinted.
She nods and moves my head off her lap with her strong hands. It's not til I feel the chill on my shaved head that I realize how hot her thighs were. She stood, pulling me up with her. She led the way back to the window and stood ast my side with her arm around my waist, her chin resting on my shoulder watching me watch the party.
Now almost all the party goers were laid out, in piles on chairs, sofas and floor. Wherever they'd happened to be when the junk had come around. There were still lone stragglers standing here and there, some in small groups, watching the surfers and laughing with each other. Some jittery looking, like they were as hungry as Dirt when Maya'd been gone too long when they were out.
I looked at Dirt again. He reminded me of John Travolta............no really, stay with me. I'd seen Travolta on Inside the Actors Studio. He'd told a story of how he'd researched his role in Pulp Fiction as a junky. He'd talked with a recovering junky who'd told him to fill a bathtub with warm water and drink tequila till you were slobbering drunk.......And that's as close as you can get to being on heroin...............Well, that's what Dirt looked like. Like he was floating in a warm heroin dream..........Like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction when he was driving in his convertable.
The bartenders were coming out from behind there bars and new people were coming in from doors I hadn't seen before. The new people were all dressed garishly in one form or another like the others, but these were different somehow. I was still foggy from the wine but they seemed to have an air about them. Almost aristocratic in a way.
The music suddenly changed. A more sanguine, almost psychadelic, symphonic kinda thing accompanied by straight, white bright strobe lights on high speed flash. The upright partyers moved amongst the surfers jumpingly in the flashing lights.
The music changed again, and I realized it was being piped in to our little observatory. The music throbbed. The back beat that of a beating heart, the forefront of the music filled with whines and whorls of uncomfortable, electronic sounds. The light changed to a deep pulsing red.
I watched a tall Nordic looking woman in fishnet stockings, high heels and nothing else followed by a tall American Indian man complete with long braided pony tail and wearing a designer suit saunter up to Dirt and Maya. I watched in suspension as the Indian picked up Maya like she was a small child and gently carried her cradled in his large arms toward one of the doors under me. The scene was played out all over the room below me while the music thobbed unrelentingly.
As the last of the men carried their high cargo out of the room, the party changed again. Each reclining junky left had a fetishly clad person standing with them. The lights came on, the music stopped and every aware pair of eyes turned slowly, expectantly to the window which Marie and I stood behind. My skin crawled and an involuntary shiver ran through my body. What the fuck was going on here? A very quiet motor whirred as the window slowly lowered into the wall, exposing us to the creepy gazes of the fetishist below.
A pair of iron hands gripped my shoulders from behind. I tried to turn to look at my assailant but was held firm. Marie stood and stared, interested, on my side. I craned my neck and saw a very tall and very beautiful man smiling into my eyes. I was scared. I averteed my gaze back to the party floor below when my "host" nodded in that direction. I saw Marie out of the corner of my eye smiling at the man gripping my shoulders, hurting me. I felt his right hand release it's grip and saw him place his latrge hand on Marie's short afro, carressing it. He turned his attention to the people below, who were obviously waiting on something....on him.
In a voice that boomed across the expanse of the cavernous room, the tall man said with some reverence, " My people, meet Thomas." I watched as all the standing partyers gravely nodded their acknowledgment to me. I feinted.
Friday, April 13, 2007
YourInputPlease
In recent discussions with Parish, we have happened upon a dilemna. Do we publish all of his completed works on this site? Do we effort getting him published? Obviously it can't be both. Why would a publishing house pay for content available free online? Where's their profit?
Parish has suggested that he contribute his work up to a certain point. If anyone who is reading his work wants to finish a story line they would have to pay for it. The problem I see with this is we leave people hanging with no payoff in sight. He's brought you to the party scene in The Junkies Faust. He has no publishing deal. Does he leave you hanging or does he spread his work across the web for free?
Your input please. If noone has an opinion then noone is reading this anyway so he saves his work and hopes to make a profit from it at some point. If anyone is interested in what happens next in the current or future story lines then we still have a dilemna. Do we give it away or tickle your fancy and hope to get a deal sometime. Do we tickle your fancy so much that you picket/stage sit ins/boycott publishers until they give him a deal? Your input please. And remember, no input is in itself.............input.
Parish has suggested that he contribute his work up to a certain point. If anyone who is reading his work wants to finish a story line they would have to pay for it. The problem I see with this is we leave people hanging with no payoff in sight. He's brought you to the party scene in The Junkies Faust. He has no publishing deal. Does he leave you hanging or does he spread his work across the web for free?
Your input please. If noone has an opinion then noone is reading this anyway so he saves his work and hopes to make a profit from it at some point. If anyone is interested in what happens next in the current or future story lines then we still have a dilemna. Do we give it away or tickle your fancy and hope to get a deal sometime. Do we tickle your fancy so much that you picket/stage sit ins/boycott publishers until they give him a deal? Your input please. And remember, no input is in itself.............input.
Gonnegut
Another death of an oven favorite. Hunter Thompson.....gone. RAW......gone. Now, Vonnegut.....gone. The bird has flown the coop....... http://www.vonnegut.com/
What's next? We gonna lose Tom Robbins? Wouldn't surprise me, even book lovers get the blues.
If you weren't fortunate enough to know Kurt's work or to have seen him speak, I suggest you go NOW and buy, borrow, steal ANYTHING/EVERYTHING with his byline. If you wanna hear him speak, he was on the John Stewart show within the last year, you could probably find that somewhere on comedycentral.com or something. Just do it.
Some said your work was simplistic....I say they were. Good bye Kurt.
What's next? We gonna lose Tom Robbins? Wouldn't surprise me, even book lovers get the blues.
If you weren't fortunate enough to know Kurt's work or to have seen him speak, I suggest you go NOW and buy, borrow, steal ANYTHING/EVERYTHING with his byline. If you wanna hear him speak, he was on the John Stewart show within the last year, you could probably find that somewhere on comedycentral.com or something. Just do it.
Some said your work was simplistic....I say they were. Good bye Kurt.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
TheJunkiesFaust #15(FTDParish)
The enigmatic beauty stood before a large window that provided a view of the party happening below. The tinted window let muted light staccato the room. I couldn't hear the music, but I could feel the thump of the bass in the soles of my feet and on the hairs on the back of my neck.
I crossed to her and she finally spoke. In an unnervingly delicate French accent, my hostess asked if I'd like a drink.
"Please." I tried to rumble sexily, but only succeeded in sounded conjested I thought. Without asking what I'd like, she swayed across the room to a stainless and glass bar and delicately picked up a wine glass that rang like an angel's bell when it clinked up against another glass as she raised it.
I turned to the scene playing out below me. I found Dirt and Maya still surfing their buzz in the big chair in which I'd left them. The pirate already off delivery his booty to the next happy recipient. "Avast ye scurvy dawg. Care to have your timbers shivered? Prepare to be boarded."
More and more partyers were falling out. Lounging and surfing. I noticed more pirates.........not people dressed as pirates necassarily, but all delivery their ill gotten gain....their ill boughtten booty. Some were pretty women in lingerie, some pretty girls leatherclad, one guy in a gimp mask, some dressed in late club kid, one nude man with a huge dangling cock being led around on a leash by a small Asian man wearing antique surgeon regalia. But all delivery seemingly free H to the masses.
"My name is Marie," she breathed huskily as she delivered my drink. A large goblet like wine glass only about a third full of a deep red wine. Pretending to know what I was doing, I stuck my nose into the glass, the opposite rim covering my eyes, and inhaled deeply the vapors of the dark red liquid. I smelled fruit, wood, clove and something I couldn't quite identify. Something rich and tangy....metallic. As I tilted my head back enjoying the "bouquet", the room tilted and swam. I had to step quick not to fall down. As I stood, feet splayed, and arms out, balancing, Marie said "Careful Thomas, that is a particulary strong and well aged vintage. One to be sipped...savored.....studied and enjoyed. Do you know wines?"
"No," I said. "I know what I like." And sipped the intoxicating liquid thinking that was the first time since my mom went nuts and killed herself, my dad and his floosie, that anyone had calld me Thomas.
It was warm, and thicker than I expected. It was beautiful in my mouth. Velvety, sending metallicy electrical jolts down the sides of my tongue. I let the wine slide down my throat and felt immediately flushed and heady. The lights behind my closed eyelids danced in ancient geometrical designs and four dimensional flowery starbursts.
She let a soft purry moan escape her full lips and glided toward me. Her hand found mine and gently guided my glass to my lips. Keeping it inclined, she insisted I disregard her earlier advice and I drained the glass. My vision narrowed, my pulse raced and roared in my ears and a fire like a gas explosion in slow motion spread through me.
When I woke I was lying on a thick fur rug from some animal I didn't recognize right yet, my head laying in Marie's lap as she massaged my temples, her timeless dark eyes holding mine through their fog.
"Why don't you do the free Heroin?" Marie wanted to know.
"I'd like it too much," I tell her. "Hell, I like that wine too much.......is there H in it?" I blurt, suddenly fearful they're trying to get me junked up.
"No. No heroin Thomas," she assures me in that delightful accent that washes over me bringing comfort and security in it's ebb.
"You know my name," I say as it occurs to me. I watch her sensuous lips form the words, "Maya has told us much about you mon cherie. You have been the subject of much debate in these circles these past few months.
"Why so?" I need to know.
"We've been looking for you...or rather someone like you, for some time now."
I crossed to her and she finally spoke. In an unnervingly delicate French accent, my hostess asked if I'd like a drink.
"Please." I tried to rumble sexily, but only succeeded in sounded conjested I thought. Without asking what I'd like, she swayed across the room to a stainless and glass bar and delicately picked up a wine glass that rang like an angel's bell when it clinked up against another glass as she raised it.
I turned to the scene playing out below me. I found Dirt and Maya still surfing their buzz in the big chair in which I'd left them. The pirate already off delivery his booty to the next happy recipient. "Avast ye scurvy dawg. Care to have your timbers shivered? Prepare to be boarded."
More and more partyers were falling out. Lounging and surfing. I noticed more pirates.........not people dressed as pirates necassarily, but all delivery their ill gotten gain....their ill boughtten booty. Some were pretty women in lingerie, some pretty girls leatherclad, one guy in a gimp mask, some dressed in late club kid, one nude man with a huge dangling cock being led around on a leash by a small Asian man wearing antique surgeon regalia. But all delivery seemingly free H to the masses.
"My name is Marie," she breathed huskily as she delivered my drink. A large goblet like wine glass only about a third full of a deep red wine. Pretending to know what I was doing, I stuck my nose into the glass, the opposite rim covering my eyes, and inhaled deeply the vapors of the dark red liquid. I smelled fruit, wood, clove and something I couldn't quite identify. Something rich and tangy....metallic. As I tilted my head back enjoying the "bouquet", the room tilted and swam. I had to step quick not to fall down. As I stood, feet splayed, and arms out, balancing, Marie said "Careful Thomas, that is a particulary strong and well aged vintage. One to be sipped...savored.....studied and enjoyed. Do you know wines?"
"No," I said. "I know what I like." And sipped the intoxicating liquid thinking that was the first time since my mom went nuts and killed herself, my dad and his floosie, that anyone had calld me Thomas.
It was warm, and thicker than I expected. It was beautiful in my mouth. Velvety, sending metallicy electrical jolts down the sides of my tongue. I let the wine slide down my throat and felt immediately flushed and heady. The lights behind my closed eyelids danced in ancient geometrical designs and four dimensional flowery starbursts.
She let a soft purry moan escape her full lips and glided toward me. Her hand found mine and gently guided my glass to my lips. Keeping it inclined, she insisted I disregard her earlier advice and I drained the glass. My vision narrowed, my pulse raced and roared in my ears and a fire like a gas explosion in slow motion spread through me.
When I woke I was lying on a thick fur rug from some animal I didn't recognize right yet, my head laying in Marie's lap as she massaged my temples, her timeless dark eyes holding mine through their fog.
"Why don't you do the free Heroin?" Marie wanted to know.
"I'd like it too much," I tell her. "Hell, I like that wine too much.......is there H in it?" I blurt, suddenly fearful they're trying to get me junked up.
"No. No heroin Thomas," she assures me in that delightful accent that washes over me bringing comfort and security in it's ebb.
"You know my name," I say as it occurs to me. I watch her sensuous lips form the words, "Maya has told us much about you mon cherie. You have been the subject of much debate in these circles these past few months.
"Why so?" I need to know.
"We've been looking for you...or rather someone like you, for some time now."
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
TheJunkiesFaust #14(FTDParish)
Slowly people started falling out and going back to the bars or their "surfing" friends on the couches.
I ordered another drink. Their best vodka on ice and put another $5 in the tip jar. The drinks were free, but I always tip good. What comes around, goes around.
I found Dirt and Maya sharing an overstuffed chair as an exotic, Persian looking fella dressed like a pirate sat on a footstool rigging up two blasts.......Step right up. No waiting.
While I watched, a small, very dark woman with seemingly black eyes, seductively floated up to me, staring up at me, using the back of her fingers to lightly caress my neck, shoulders and chest. She looked at me without any emotion showing on her beautiful, nubian face.
Her hips began to sway as she held my gaze prisoner with her fathomless eyes. As she raised her hand to my jawline to caress me again and I noticed, out of my peripheal vision, a small tatoo, similar to Maya's, on the inside of her wrist. I snatched her arm and twisted it to better show the tatoo. I raised an eyebrow inquiringly. She didn't fight me, didn't try to jerk away or hide it. She just held my gaze steadily and delved into my soul with those dark, dark eyes.
Before I knew she'd moved, she had disengaged her arm from mine and had me in an iron grip of hert own. I felt small and foolish....insignificant suddenly. She squeezed pretty hard once, but I just returned her steely gaze. She turned and strode purposefully toward a door in the wall I hadn't noticed before, hauling me with her. I followed willingly.
At the door, a very large Oriental man with tatoos covering his face, stepped aside and opened the door for my mysterious guide and myself without a word and without asking to see any wrists.
We went up a stairway parallel to the one we had come down earlier, stopping though at a landing and another door long before reaching ground level. She turned and looked at me, opened the door and entered, leaving me to follow of my own accord....or not.........I did.
The room was decorated with a mixture of luxurious antiques and state of the art electronics and gleaming, polished, stainless steel. The two decorative timelines seemingly divergent but curiously balanced and somewhat comforting.
I ordered another drink. Their best vodka on ice and put another $5 in the tip jar. The drinks were free, but I always tip good. What comes around, goes around.
I found Dirt and Maya sharing an overstuffed chair as an exotic, Persian looking fella dressed like a pirate sat on a footstool rigging up two blasts.......Step right up. No waiting.
While I watched, a small, very dark woman with seemingly black eyes, seductively floated up to me, staring up at me, using the back of her fingers to lightly caress my neck, shoulders and chest. She looked at me without any emotion showing on her beautiful, nubian face.
Her hips began to sway as she held my gaze prisoner with her fathomless eyes. As she raised her hand to my jawline to caress me again and I noticed, out of my peripheal vision, a small tatoo, similar to Maya's, on the inside of her wrist. I snatched her arm and twisted it to better show the tatoo. I raised an eyebrow inquiringly. She didn't fight me, didn't try to jerk away or hide it. She just held my gaze steadily and delved into my soul with those dark, dark eyes.
Before I knew she'd moved, she had disengaged her arm from mine and had me in an iron grip of hert own. I felt small and foolish....insignificant suddenly. She squeezed pretty hard once, but I just returned her steely gaze. She turned and strode purposefully toward a door in the wall I hadn't noticed before, hauling me with her. I followed willingly.
At the door, a very large Oriental man with tatoos covering his face, stepped aside and opened the door for my mysterious guide and myself without a word and without asking to see any wrists.
We went up a stairway parallel to the one we had come down earlier, stopping though at a landing and another door long before reaching ground level. She turned and looked at me, opened the door and entered, leaving me to follow of my own accord....or not.........I did.
The room was decorated with a mixture of luxurious antiques and state of the art electronics and gleaming, polished, stainless steel. The two decorative timelines seemingly divergent but curiously balanced and somewhat comforting.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
TheJunkiesFaust#13(FTDParish)
Dirt had already sold his car(making it a real pain in the ass getting to and from work, but what did they care about that), so 4 busses later we hopped off and walked the last 5 blocks to the old industrial park where the party was. Maya led us to an old, 4 story factory, which I came to find out later, once held the offices and machinary of an appliance factory.
Now, as far as I could tell, the building was empty except for 3 very intimidatingly large and unhappy, leatherclad men standing outside a large steel door just inside the outter door we'd just come in. They looked us over as the heavy outside door closed behind us with a thuddy clang. Kinda felt uncomfortable standing there being accessed liked that. I knew what women meant by feeling like a piece of meat then. After an uncomfortable silence, one of the men grunted something in what sounded Russian, or something similar to my untrained ear. Maya stepped forward and pulled up her stocking-like, flared and tattered black sleeve and showed him the tatoo on the inside of her wrist. My curiosity is by now, somewhat piqued.
The dumbest looking thug, and that was saying something, opened the inner door as his surly comrade buzzed us in. Rasputin much? On the other side of the door, a small, metal grate landing led to a rusting and creaky stairway the fell around a corner and out of sight. A bare low wattage bulb hung from a old and fraying electrical cord above us.
As we filed past Rasputin, he turned and closed the door behind him, shutting us off from ground level. Maya led the way down the winding, groaning stair with Dirt following behind, excitement pouring outta him and I came last, looking around, trying to stop the hairs on the back of my neck from standing up.
We came to another steel door on another grate landing, I still couldn't see any part of the room or rooms we were decsending through. The bulbs barely lit the stairs, they didn't touch the surrounding......whatever it was that surrounded us. Maya punched a code into a keypad in the wall and the door clicked open and swung toward us.
As soon as the door opened, we were assailed with thundering house/dance music, blacklight and the staccato of strobe lights. As we followed Maya through the door, the cavernous room opened before us. I didn't see one wall other than the one the door we just came through was set in. Only steel I-beam support posts as far as I could see. The visual effect reminded me of pictures I'd seen of military cemeteries in DC.
Colored lights flashed and disco balls shot beams of reflected light in a thousand different directions. The deep bass thudded into me like a hundred 4th of July fireworks going off in 10 seconds. But this boom didn't stop and recede. It bombarded you incsessantly, faster and stronger, shrill in your ears then gently massaging the back of your neck. Carresssing you, enticing, luring. Then the bass reverberated in your chest, then all over again.
People jumped and writhed and "danced" to the electronic, staccato pulse. There were bars scattered across the expanse where people of all age, creed and fetish swarmed for drinks. Where there wasn't a bar, or people standing or dancing, there were large couches and over stuffed chairs where people lounged, fucked, sucked, fired or rode the soft warm waves of their horsy rides.
We made our way to the nearest bar where we stood waiting, watching. The scene was extrordinary. People in business suits and latex and leather or dirty clothes...or nothing. Tatoos, piercings, facial scarifications, drag queens and even someone dressed as a cop....YYYYYYY MMMMM CCCCCCCC AAAAAAA-A!!!! Hell, maybe he was a cop, who knows.
The music stopped and silence echoed until, in unison, the room erupted in howls, yells , screams........desire. I could hear in the primal roar, a lust, a greed, a hate......frenzy....................animal euphoria. Young and old. Fortune 500 or homeless, all screaming.
I was surprised to realize I myself was screaming as hard as I could. My throat hurt from it. My soul ached from the desire. Dirt was screaming. Hungerin his eyes. He wanted fixed. Maya's mouth stretched as she howled at the invisible ceiling, whipping her heaqd back and forth, eyes wide open in unleashed, primal rapture.
The lights flashed brilliantly and the music hammered, instantly hard and insistant. The whole place thrashed and jumped to the electronic, New World tribal beat. Drinks hanging limply in flailing hands, forgotten, spilling on the floor and on me. Noone, I included, could deny the urgency in the music. We spasmed and gyrated to the computer generated sounds, the music fast, crunchy and piercing, demanded our conscioussness as we all, as one, worshipped at Baccus' alter.
Now, as far as I could tell, the building was empty except for 3 very intimidatingly large and unhappy, leatherclad men standing outside a large steel door just inside the outter door we'd just come in. They looked us over as the heavy outside door closed behind us with a thuddy clang. Kinda felt uncomfortable standing there being accessed liked that. I knew what women meant by feeling like a piece of meat then. After an uncomfortable silence, one of the men grunted something in what sounded Russian, or something similar to my untrained ear. Maya stepped forward and pulled up her stocking-like, flared and tattered black sleeve and showed him the tatoo on the inside of her wrist. My curiosity is by now, somewhat piqued.
The dumbest looking thug, and that was saying something, opened the inner door as his surly comrade buzzed us in. Rasputin much? On the other side of the door, a small, metal grate landing led to a rusting and creaky stairway the fell around a corner and out of sight. A bare low wattage bulb hung from a old and fraying electrical cord above us.
As we filed past Rasputin, he turned and closed the door behind him, shutting us off from ground level. Maya led the way down the winding, groaning stair with Dirt following behind, excitement pouring outta him and I came last, looking around, trying to stop the hairs on the back of my neck from standing up.
We came to another steel door on another grate landing, I still couldn't see any part of the room or rooms we were decsending through. The bulbs barely lit the stairs, they didn't touch the surrounding......whatever it was that surrounded us. Maya punched a code into a keypad in the wall and the door clicked open and swung toward us.
As soon as the door opened, we were assailed with thundering house/dance music, blacklight and the staccato of strobe lights. As we followed Maya through the door, the cavernous room opened before us. I didn't see one wall other than the one the door we just came through was set in. Only steel I-beam support posts as far as I could see. The visual effect reminded me of pictures I'd seen of military cemeteries in DC.
Colored lights flashed and disco balls shot beams of reflected light in a thousand different directions. The deep bass thudded into me like a hundred 4th of July fireworks going off in 10 seconds. But this boom didn't stop and recede. It bombarded you incsessantly, faster and stronger, shrill in your ears then gently massaging the back of your neck. Carresssing you, enticing, luring. Then the bass reverberated in your chest, then all over again.
People jumped and writhed and "danced" to the electronic, staccato pulse. There were bars scattered across the expanse where people of all age, creed and fetish swarmed for drinks. Where there wasn't a bar, or people standing or dancing, there were large couches and over stuffed chairs where people lounged, fucked, sucked, fired or rode the soft warm waves of their horsy rides.
We made our way to the nearest bar where we stood waiting, watching. The scene was extrordinary. People in business suits and latex and leather or dirty clothes...or nothing. Tatoos, piercings, facial scarifications, drag queens and even someone dressed as a cop....YYYYYYY MMMMM CCCCCCCC AAAAAAA-A!!!! Hell, maybe he was a cop, who knows.
The music stopped and silence echoed until, in unison, the room erupted in howls, yells , screams........desire. I could hear in the primal roar, a lust, a greed, a hate......frenzy....................animal euphoria. Young and old. Fortune 500 or homeless, all screaming.
I was surprised to realize I myself was screaming as hard as I could. My throat hurt from it. My soul ached from the desire. Dirt was screaming. Hungerin his eyes. He wanted fixed. Maya's mouth stretched as she howled at the invisible ceiling, whipping her heaqd back and forth, eyes wide open in unleashed, primal rapture.
The lights flashed brilliantly and the music hammered, instantly hard and insistant. The whole place thrashed and jumped to the electronic, New World tribal beat. Drinks hanging limply in flailing hands, forgotten, spilling on the floor and on me. Noone, I included, could deny the urgency in the music. We spasmed and gyrated to the computer generated sounds, the music fast, crunchy and piercing, demanded our conscioussness as we all, as one, worshipped at Baccus' alter.
TheJunkiesFaust#12(FTDParish)
So, three weeks later I was working construction. Nothing fancy, just house remodeling and whatnot. I carried shingles or two by fours or stripped out old plumbing, seperating the copper out and throwing the rest away. I swept and shoveled and ripped out old plaster and pushed a broom alot. It was hard work, but it paid well. We'd found an apartment and bought some used furniture from a second hand store.............
Dirt and Maya were firing by now. Started off, Maya said we'd just snort it, wasn't addictive that way.....right. So now they were firing....main line injecting heroin. It never costed me anything and they didn't eat much. They'd run out and Maya would leave for awhile after I got home from work. While Dirt paced around scratching his arms and whining, wanting her to hurry back, I'd use that time to try and talk Dirt into laying off, getting well and finding a job, but he just wanted Maya........and the smack. She'd come back a coupla hours later with a bag.
The last time Maya said she'd been invited to an underground party and she'd talked them into letting Dirt and I come. I wasn't sold on the party. Here Maya was disappearing all over the western U.S. and coming back with seemingly free drugs. How the fuck was she doing that? And what kinda people were we gonna be partying with?
Of course Dirt was all about it. He was already junked and he was very much interested in how Maya was scoring all the free shit. You know, just in case anything ever happened to her, he'd have to know where to get it.
No matter how much I argued, Dirt was adamant. I could stay home by myself if I wanted....or I could go out with them......maybe try to find a girlie to bring home........I hadn't fucked Maya since that first time she brought the smack home. I'd never even gone out since I started work. I didn't have much extra money since I was payin all the bills and I didn't like leavin Dirt alone with Maya any more than I had to. I felt responsib;e for the dick head.
Lately I'd been suspicious of Maya......I know, I know, but while it was coke............well, I like coke. Sure it was weird, but the whole fuckin thing was weird. So now, here we were, Dirt and me....and Maya. Like I said, I felt responsible for Dirt, and I didn't know how to get us outta this. I agreed to go to the party. I wanted to keep an eye on everything. And if I had a chance, I'd lose that fuckin bitch.
Dirt and Maya were firing by now. Started off, Maya said we'd just snort it, wasn't addictive that way.....right. So now they were firing....main line injecting heroin. It never costed me anything and they didn't eat much. They'd run out and Maya would leave for awhile after I got home from work. While Dirt paced around scratching his arms and whining, wanting her to hurry back, I'd use that time to try and talk Dirt into laying off, getting well and finding a job, but he just wanted Maya........and the smack. She'd come back a coupla hours later with a bag.
The last time Maya said she'd been invited to an underground party and she'd talked them into letting Dirt and I come. I wasn't sold on the party. Here Maya was disappearing all over the western U.S. and coming back with seemingly free drugs. How the fuck was she doing that? And what kinda people were we gonna be partying with?
Of course Dirt was all about it. He was already junked and he was very much interested in how Maya was scoring all the free shit. You know, just in case anything ever happened to her, he'd have to know where to get it.
No matter how much I argued, Dirt was adamant. I could stay home by myself if I wanted....or I could go out with them......maybe try to find a girlie to bring home........I hadn't fucked Maya since that first time she brought the smack home. I'd never even gone out since I started work. I didn't have much extra money since I was payin all the bills and I didn't like leavin Dirt alone with Maya any more than I had to. I felt responsib;e for the dick head.
Lately I'd been suspicious of Maya......I know, I know, but while it was coke............well, I like coke. Sure it was weird, but the whole fuckin thing was weird. So now, here we were, Dirt and me....and Maya. Like I said, I felt responsible for Dirt, and I didn't know how to get us outta this. I agreed to go to the party. I wanted to keep an eye on everything. And if I had a chance, I'd lose that fuckin bitch.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Conspiracy Theory
Having a mobile existance (Don't have time to explain in detail, but here's a synopsis: The song says 'The Midwest Farmers Daugterh's really make you feel allright' You just have to remember that their father's have loaded guns) I've come across either a far flung conspiracy, or something that will be a far flung conspiracy if the government ever reads this. Gideons!!! Basically, every hotel I go into has a copy of the King James bible by the Gideons setting there. It may be on the desk, it may be in a drawer, but it's most likely there. Suppose the powers that be put a recording device in each of those books. Audio, video, whatever they can do now. If this is true, suppose you and your wife rent a hotel room. The room is registered under your name. You get in an argument. You are then registered in some government system as biligerent. OK, lets assume that the recording device is set for specific words. Let's just say you were mentioning cocaine and FARC. Then you might get automatically labeled as a cocaine smuggler. In the government's opinion it seems to me to be safer to lock anyone up that COULD be a problem, than to let people bring up objections to Status Quo (SP). If ayone is reading this, I hope they understand what COULD happen in this country. Your rights are already being taken away. You USED to have freedom of speech. I don't know if you do any more. I've never before been brave enough to say Down With BUSH. Impeach if necessary. I will give Bush the credit I see due. If we were to pull out of Iraq now, Iraq would most likely go to hell. Our only logical course( as I see it ) is to send enough troops over there to beat the insergents down. I don't like that, but I see no other workable choice. In my opinion, we never should have gone to Iraq, but now that idea is moot. We're there. Lets send enough troops to beat down the insergency, establish at least temporary stability, and let the Iraq government take over from there. We can say Fuq Iraq, pull out now, and let it degrade into even more of a civile war than it is now, or we can stay, kill a bunch of insergents, and hope the rest of the Iraq wants basic stabillity
Tuck U Fu
Tuck U Fu
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
ThrowinTheDogABone
Hello all and sorry for the slackin. Parish has been on an extended vacation(soon to be over I hope) and I've been incredibly busy and even more tired(on top of being busy there's still the childrens to look after while I'm not working...when Mommy is working anyway). I'm not as confident in me being any less busy with spring coming on and with it lawns and landscapings to do, but I will effort getting Parish jump started as soon as he gets back. With that in mind, you're patience is appreciated and please hang in there, we'll have some content for you soon. Later
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Indiana politics
Earlier this week, both the Indiana House and Senate passed refferendum votes to honor the Indianapolis Colts for winning the Superbowl. Why in Hell does the government need to pass a vote to honor the winning team. Are they afraid that if it's not voted on and passed that someone will get pissed, but that if it is voted on, then nobody can say anything about it? What in the name of Great Cthulhu is your tax money being spent on.
Friday, March 16, 2007
MMMMMMMM.....Beeeer
Think you like beer? Maybe not as much as John Kita. Check out his article from men's Health magazine..............(http://men.msn.com/articlemh.aspx?cp-documentid=3872767>1=9212&su=hotmail.com/cgi-bin/hmhome)
I'll effort getting some of my own recipes containing beer up soon. Anyone brew their own beer? Wanna share a recipe?
I'll effort getting some of my own recipes containing beer up soon. Anyone brew their own beer? Wanna share a recipe?
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Hunger(FTDParish)
The vines were everywhere, crisscrossing this way and that, in every direction as far as he could see. Which admittedly, wasn't that far. Although there was a conciderable amount of light coming in from above. Judging by the weathered ends of broken off trees and the amount of foliage covering the skeletal remains of those trees, a big wind had been through here in the last 2 or 3 years, skimming the hill tops, bending and breaking off limbs and tree tops across an area 30 ft wide or so. He guessed the next hill looked similar to this, but as tangled as this mess was, he may never know.
The shear number of vines was incredible. And their appearance was crazy. All fuzzy and thistley with velvety leaves. Some with thorns dripping sap.....downright venomous. Some as small as spaghetti, some like drinking straws, and others bigger and even bigger yet. All young and green. Still others were ropy, gnarly, thick as a man's wrist and all ropy. Those looked so old they prolly had arthritis.
Something brushed his cheek. He swatted it away. Damn bugs. He was gonna be scratching bug bites for a week.
He crawled and climbed, hurtled and slithered through the tangled underbrush for what seemed like hours, but was prolly really closer to half an hour and he had prolly only made it a quarter mile. At least he wasn't getting eaten alive by bugs anymore. He hadn't heard or seen one in a long time. Come to think of it, the whole woods was quiet. No bugs. No birds. No squirrells. Nothing. No sounds. No sights. Nothing. Just trees, living and dead, standing and fallen. Trees and vines and briars.
He was bleeding from scrapes and scratches. He was cut and bruised. He was tired and hungry. And he was thirsty....so thirsty.....And he was starting to get scared. He couldn't see the sun for all the foliage and so he couldn't even be sure he was going in the right direction anymore.....
And he needed to find some water.....soon. His throat was dry and full of dust. That "woods" dusty, gritty dirt. The "woods" dirt that gets everywhere and mixes with sweat and burns where the bark has scraped your skin away. That "woods" dirt that chafes a person in all the places he doesn't wanna be chafed.
He needed to find the road soon. Or at least a creek where he could put out the fire in his throat and wash the dirt outta his eyes and off his face. His eyes were getting gritty now and the profuse sweating in this backwoods sauna was waterlogging his clothes making them heavy and the chafing all the worse.....He swatted another bug from his face.
*************************************************************
Well he'd been out here for several hours for sure now, the sun was starting to go down and he'd gotten here mid afternoon. He was very dirty, very sore, very tired and very shitty.
He wanted some cold water, some cold tequila and a hot shower followed directly by alot more cold tequila......and maybe a big steak. A big juicy, bloody steak. He wouldn't even need a knife and fork. He'd use his hands, just pick it up and tear into it like an animal. Incisors and canines gnashing and tearing while molars grind......Blood dripping down his chin and onto his chest. Grunting and growling if anyone got too close to his meat. Feasting.
He shook the steak outta his head and the sweat outta his eyes. He trudged on, swatting another bug.
*************************************************************
He noticed again that the woods were still. Hadn't seen, heard or seen any sign of any animal all afternoon. And now that night was coming he especially noticed the lack of insect noise. Dusk around here was filled with insect love calls. Alot. And loud. But now, nothing. Where were all the animals anyway? Not even seen a sign of an animal for hours.
He swatted another bug away from the welts on his cheek..........another bug!? There weren't any bugs........welts on hus cheek!? When did he get welts, as his fingers brushed the wounds. Must've gotten his face while he was in the briars.
Something brushed his face. He slapped at it and whirled just in time to see a hanging tendril pulling away from him in the waning light. He managed to grab another as it stung the other side of his face. It hurt his hand.
It was one of those thistley ones. And it was wet, wet and stinging. His hand and face were on fire and the fire was creeping up his arm. He let go and stumled backwards. He tripped in the tangled underbrush, falling on his numbing hand. He fell into a briar patch. Each thorn hurt like being stuck with a white hot pin. There was a roaring in his ears and his head was swimming, the woods spinning above him. It was getting dark now. Real dark, not the kinda dark people get in cities. Real dark.
He was in enormous pain now.....well, pain that was already receding, he was scared and he wanted to scream, but he couldn't. The vines were sending lightening bolts of pain down his throat as they continued to enter his mouth and slide down his wind pipe and esophagous, probing for his life.
The forest feasted.
The shear number of vines was incredible. And their appearance was crazy. All fuzzy and thistley with velvety leaves. Some with thorns dripping sap.....downright venomous. Some as small as spaghetti, some like drinking straws, and others bigger and even bigger yet. All young and green. Still others were ropy, gnarly, thick as a man's wrist and all ropy. Those looked so old they prolly had arthritis.
Something brushed his cheek. He swatted it away. Damn bugs. He was gonna be scratching bug bites for a week.
He crawled and climbed, hurtled and slithered through the tangled underbrush for what seemed like hours, but was prolly really closer to half an hour and he had prolly only made it a quarter mile. At least he wasn't getting eaten alive by bugs anymore. He hadn't heard or seen one in a long time. Come to think of it, the whole woods was quiet. No bugs. No birds. No squirrells. Nothing. No sounds. No sights. Nothing. Just trees, living and dead, standing and fallen. Trees and vines and briars.
He was bleeding from scrapes and scratches. He was cut and bruised. He was tired and hungry. And he was thirsty....so thirsty.....And he was starting to get scared. He couldn't see the sun for all the foliage and so he couldn't even be sure he was going in the right direction anymore.....
And he needed to find some water.....soon. His throat was dry and full of dust. That "woods" dusty, gritty dirt. The "woods" dirt that gets everywhere and mixes with sweat and burns where the bark has scraped your skin away. That "woods" dirt that chafes a person in all the places he doesn't wanna be chafed.
He needed to find the road soon. Or at least a creek where he could put out the fire in his throat and wash the dirt outta his eyes and off his face. His eyes were getting gritty now and the profuse sweating in this backwoods sauna was waterlogging his clothes making them heavy and the chafing all the worse.....He swatted another bug from his face.
*************************************************************
Well he'd been out here for several hours for sure now, the sun was starting to go down and he'd gotten here mid afternoon. He was very dirty, very sore, very tired and very shitty.
He wanted some cold water, some cold tequila and a hot shower followed directly by alot more cold tequila......and maybe a big steak. A big juicy, bloody steak. He wouldn't even need a knife and fork. He'd use his hands, just pick it up and tear into it like an animal. Incisors and canines gnashing and tearing while molars grind......Blood dripping down his chin and onto his chest. Grunting and growling if anyone got too close to his meat. Feasting.
He shook the steak outta his head and the sweat outta his eyes. He trudged on, swatting another bug.
*************************************************************
He noticed again that the woods were still. Hadn't seen, heard or seen any sign of any animal all afternoon. And now that night was coming he especially noticed the lack of insect noise. Dusk around here was filled with insect love calls. Alot. And loud. But now, nothing. Where were all the animals anyway? Not even seen a sign of an animal for hours.
He swatted another bug away from the welts on his cheek..........another bug!? There weren't any bugs........welts on hus cheek!? When did he get welts, as his fingers brushed the wounds. Must've gotten his face while he was in the briars.
Something brushed his face. He slapped at it and whirled just in time to see a hanging tendril pulling away from him in the waning light. He managed to grab another as it stung the other side of his face. It hurt his hand.
It was one of those thistley ones. And it was wet, wet and stinging. His hand and face were on fire and the fire was creeping up his arm. He let go and stumled backwards. He tripped in the tangled underbrush, falling on his numbing hand. He fell into a briar patch. Each thorn hurt like being stuck with a white hot pin. There was a roaring in his ears and his head was swimming, the woods spinning above him. It was getting dark now. Real dark, not the kinda dark people get in cities. Real dark.
He was in enormous pain now.....well, pain that was already receding, he was scared and he wanted to scream, but he couldn't. The vines were sending lightening bolts of pain down his throat as they continued to enter his mouth and slide down his wind pipe and esophagous, probing for his life.
The forest feasted.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
OutsideTheOven
As you know, I occasionally bring in articles from my travels across the web. Like Son Of The Father there last post. Well this time I'm gonna send you somewhere. While your there, leave the daddy a comment and tell him to post more often. His brand of humor and fiction is hard to come by.......and welcome @ TheOven DaddyO ????????
So, go see him at Snailtrax(http://snailtrax.net/) and buy your Snailtrax gear. And while I think you may be able take some bills from him on the golf course, I don't recommend you play cards with him. An analytical and Matthematical mind with the advantage of solid game theory and an incredible memory in a package wrapped up in astute observational skills means you(and I)lose our money. His fantasy baseball skills are just good enough to finish 5th 17 years in a row however(good enough to beat me the last 2 or 3 years though), I know, I know, statistical anomoly..........
So, go see him at Snailtrax(http://snailtrax.net/) and buy your Snailtrax gear. And while I think you may be able take some bills from him on the golf course, I don't recommend you play cards with him. An analytical and Matthematical mind with the advantage of solid game theory and an incredible memory in a package wrapped up in astute observational skills means you(and I)lose our money. His fantasy baseball skills are just good enough to finish 5th 17 years in a row however(good enough to beat me the last 2 or 3 years though), I know, I know, statistical anomoly..........
SonOfTheFather
OK so I was NEXT BLOGging again and came across this little commentary on a blog called FALLEN(http://xwhiteboy777x.blogspot.com/ ). It just seemed like exactly the kinda thing I'd write, so I pasted it over here.
Barabbas indeed.
The Son of the Father Enigma
If The prefix Bar means "son" and Abba means "father"...would the name Barabbas mean "son of the father"??? Yes...that's what it means. Matthew 27:15-26Now it was the governor's custom at the Feast to release a prisoner chosen by the crowd. At that time they had a notorious prisoner, called Barabbas. So when the crowd had gathered, Pilate asked them, "Which one do you want me to release to you: Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?" For he knew it was out of envy that they had handed Jesus over to him. While Pilate was sitting on the judge's seat, his wife sent him this message: "Don't have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream because of him."
But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowd to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus executed. "Which of the two do you want me to release to you?" asked the governor. "Barabbas," they answered. "What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called Christ?" Pilate asked. They all answered, "Crucify him!" "Why? What crime has he committed?" asked Pilate. But they shouted all the louder, "Crucify him!" When Pilate saw that he was getting nowhere, but that instead an uproar was starting, he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. "I am innocent of this man's blood," he said. "It is your responsibility!" All the people answered, "Let his blood be on us and on our children!" Then he released Barabbas to them. But he had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.My query...Did the Jewish people at the time realize they were trading Barabbas, "the son of the father" for Jesus, "The Son of The Father"?
OK, so that's what Jack @ FALLEN had to say. Now...............
Anyone wanna comment on other possibilities of why they would've coded Son Of The Father in there as being the man who was let go instead of Jesus?
I'll start..........Barabbas was a second identity for a high profile agitator.....and messiah. He needed to go througfh the streets unnoticed as the messiah occasionally.....so he gets identity #2, Barabbas and runs the streets at will undetected.
Now a wealthy businessman sympathetic to Yehosua's cause(Joeseph of Arimathea), has the connections and money to make a bait and switch. Getting the heat off Yehoshua AND providing a "death" for the messiah to come back from(Influece with Pilate's wifey who warned Pilate not to have anything to do with it? And with the priests in the crowd and people in the crowd to incite the "kill Jesus instead" bunch.). I wonder how much Barabbas was seen around after Yehosua jetted post Golgotha? And I wonder if beforehand, Yehosua and Barabbas were ever seen together? And the thief on the cross next to Yehosua, what was his name?
Isn't this fun? Who's got next?
Barabbas indeed.
The Son of the Father Enigma
If The prefix Bar means "son" and Abba means "father"...would the name Barabbas mean "son of the father"??? Yes...that's what it means. Matthew 27:15-26Now it was the governor's custom at the Feast to release a prisoner chosen by the crowd. At that time they had a notorious prisoner, called Barabbas. So when the crowd had gathered, Pilate asked them, "Which one do you want me to release to you: Barabbas, or Jesus who is called Christ?" For he knew it was out of envy that they had handed Jesus over to him. While Pilate was sitting on the judge's seat, his wife sent him this message: "Don't have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream because of him."
But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowd to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus executed. "Which of the two do you want me to release to you?" asked the governor. "Barabbas," they answered. "What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called Christ?" Pilate asked. They all answered, "Crucify him!" "Why? What crime has he committed?" asked Pilate. But they shouted all the louder, "Crucify him!" When Pilate saw that he was getting nowhere, but that instead an uproar was starting, he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. "I am innocent of this man's blood," he said. "It is your responsibility!" All the people answered, "Let his blood be on us and on our children!" Then he released Barabbas to them. But he had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.My query...Did the Jewish people at the time realize they were trading Barabbas, "the son of the father" for Jesus, "The Son of The Father"?
OK, so that's what Jack @ FALLEN had to say. Now...............
Anyone wanna comment on other possibilities of why they would've coded Son Of The Father in there as being the man who was let go instead of Jesus?
I'll start..........Barabbas was a second identity for a high profile agitator.....and messiah. He needed to go througfh the streets unnoticed as the messiah occasionally.....so he gets identity #2, Barabbas and runs the streets at will undetected.
Now a wealthy businessman sympathetic to Yehosua's cause(Joeseph of Arimathea), has the connections and money to make a bait and switch. Getting the heat off Yehoshua AND providing a "death" for the messiah to come back from(Influece with Pilate's wifey who warned Pilate not to have anything to do with it? And with the priests in the crowd and people in the crowd to incite the "kill Jesus instead" bunch.). I wonder how much Barabbas was seen around after Yehosua jetted post Golgotha? And I wonder if beforehand, Yehosua and Barabbas were ever seen together? And the thief on the cross next to Yehosua, what was his name?
Isn't this fun? Who's got next?
Sunday, March 11, 2007
TheHoneymoon(FTDParish)
Lightening flashed, splitting the night into jagged pieces, lighting the small room with strobe light effect. The pelting rain rang off the copper roof and thunder clapped and filled their world. They huddled together, seeking warmth and comfort in each other.
"What was that?" Sam whispered to the currently dark room.
Claire didn't answer, she just sobbed into Sam's shoulder.
Sam wished she would shut the hell up. Crying wasn't helping anything.
The room lit up again as the storm reasserted itself into their consciousness, making it impossible to think clearly.
Claire wished the lightening would stop. Instinctively believing it was easier to hide in the dark. Of course if it couldn't see you, you couldn't see it either....if it was coming.
The light was fading after the lightening flash. Sam's eyes sprang open as Claire's scream overwhelmed the voice of the storm.
A small spot on the far wall was glowing a sickly, swamp gas green color. The glowing spot grew........outward, into the room as well as on the wall. Sam recoiled as as features appeared in the glow and a rotting, deathy smell assaulted her.
Claire wasn't screaming anymore, her mind had shut down. She just sat there rocking, watching the thing grow more substantial as it entered the room.
The room filled with light and thunder as the storm raged against the old copper roof. Lightening flashed quicker and quicker so that now, it was light more often than not. Thunder peeled.
In that unearthly light from the storm,the sickly green glow waned and Sam closed her eyes tightly and opened them again. Again the lightening echo was fading and the room was getting dark. The decaying odor smothered Sam, she couldn't breathe. She coughed.
It materialized right in front of her as the darkness overtook the room. The last thing Sam knew was Claires throat ripping scream.
"What was that?" Sam whispered to the currently dark room.
Claire didn't answer, she just sobbed into Sam's shoulder.
Sam wished she would shut the hell up. Crying wasn't helping anything.
The room lit up again as the storm reasserted itself into their consciousness, making it impossible to think clearly.
Claire wished the lightening would stop. Instinctively believing it was easier to hide in the dark. Of course if it couldn't see you, you couldn't see it either....if it was coming.
The light was fading after the lightening flash. Sam's eyes sprang open as Claire's scream overwhelmed the voice of the storm.
A small spot on the far wall was glowing a sickly, swamp gas green color. The glowing spot grew........outward, into the room as well as on the wall. Sam recoiled as as features appeared in the glow and a rotting, deathy smell assaulted her.
Claire wasn't screaming anymore, her mind had shut down. She just sat there rocking, watching the thing grow more substantial as it entered the room.
The room filled with light and thunder as the storm raged against the old copper roof. Lightening flashed quicker and quicker so that now, it was light more often than not. Thunder peeled.
In that unearthly light from the storm,the sickly green glow waned and Sam closed her eyes tightly and opened them again. Again the lightening echo was fading and the room was getting dark. The decaying odor smothered Sam, she couldn't breathe. She coughed.
It materialized right in front of her as the darkness overtook the room. The last thing Sam knew was Claires throat ripping scream.
TheJunkiesFaust#11(FTDParish) TheUntitledSeriesNowTitled
We went to the Grand Canyon, Vegas, saw a Gwar show at the Speedway Cafe in Salt Lake City. We camped on mountains and rode a street car in San Fransisco.
I wanted to stay in Northern Califonia then. I liked the atmosphere and the nature. Some big ass trees....old, in Northern California. And I thought maybe the unease that had been building the last coupla days, the almost imperceptible pressure behind the eyes that I'd felt when I thought about LA, maybe it would get better with a stay in the Bay area and points north.
Dirt and Maya wouldn't hear of it. They argued that it would be fall soon and LA was 70' and sunny year round. It was more exciting there. Why I never could get them to explain to me, but they thought so, and I was with them. So, we eventually ended up in LA.
By now we were almost broke. We'd spent all the money we'd saved to get an apartment and live til we got jobs. We had enough left for a cheap motel room for about a week. A coupla bottles of tequila and a coupla burgers.
Just like every time we ran out, Maya left to go flash her tatoos around and see who saluted. I still wasn't pressuring Maya about the coke. I was liking it too much. All I could do basically, all over the West.........for free. Too good to be true.
We'd been smoking it since Salt Lake. Breaking it down and rockin it back up. Then packing it in a pyrex tube and using a butane lighter, we'd smoke it.
Maya'd been gone awhile. I was really wantin that pipe.
But Maya didn't come back with coke this time. This time she walked into the room, neon flashing behind her and tossed me the bag. I caught it. It felt too powdery. I looked at it. It looked like coke........ But somethin was wrong.
Maya threw herself down on the bed, exhaling sharply. She whined(a little theatrically I thought), "Couldn't get coke here tonight, so I got us some H", she said glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. Gauging me. Seeing how I was gonna react....................I freaked.
"Are you fuckin nuts!" I yelled, " Fucking Heroin Maya? Fucking Heroin? Really?"
Dirt freaked back. Jumping up, he screamed, "Don't you yell at her you fuckin prick. Stay off her ass. She's just tryin to help."
I yelled back, "You're gonna fuckin do it ain't ya?"
"Betchyer fuckin ass I am. And you will too. You need somethin as bad as us. You've smoked all the free fuckin coke she's brought, never bitchin about that, now you're gonna freak the fuck out cause she can't get you FREE fucking coke this time. Just FREE fuckin H. Shut the fuck up and do it," Dirt let me have it. I kinda deserved it, but H.............
I looked at him through my anger..........fuckin mutiny. He peered back, Maya looking on concerned.....real concern.
I put on my shoes and left. They could do what the fuck ever they wanted, I wasn't gonna get on the Hare-ON. Fuck no.
I talked the clerk into a half priced room since we'd aleady paid for a week and he had empty rooms. Half price better than no price. Right boss?
I crashed.
I wanted to stay in Northern Califonia then. I liked the atmosphere and the nature. Some big ass trees....old, in Northern California. And I thought maybe the unease that had been building the last coupla days, the almost imperceptible pressure behind the eyes that I'd felt when I thought about LA, maybe it would get better with a stay in the Bay area and points north.
Dirt and Maya wouldn't hear of it. They argued that it would be fall soon and LA was 70' and sunny year round. It was more exciting there. Why I never could get them to explain to me, but they thought so, and I was with them. So, we eventually ended up in LA.
By now we were almost broke. We'd spent all the money we'd saved to get an apartment and live til we got jobs. We had enough left for a cheap motel room for about a week. A coupla bottles of tequila and a coupla burgers.
Just like every time we ran out, Maya left to go flash her tatoos around and see who saluted. I still wasn't pressuring Maya about the coke. I was liking it too much. All I could do basically, all over the West.........for free. Too good to be true.
We'd been smoking it since Salt Lake. Breaking it down and rockin it back up. Then packing it in a pyrex tube and using a butane lighter, we'd smoke it.
Maya'd been gone awhile. I was really wantin that pipe.
But Maya didn't come back with coke this time. This time she walked into the room, neon flashing behind her and tossed me the bag. I caught it. It felt too powdery. I looked at it. It looked like coke........ But somethin was wrong.
Maya threw herself down on the bed, exhaling sharply. She whined(a little theatrically I thought), "Couldn't get coke here tonight, so I got us some H", she said glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. Gauging me. Seeing how I was gonna react....................I freaked.
"Are you fuckin nuts!" I yelled, " Fucking Heroin Maya? Fucking Heroin? Really?"
Dirt freaked back. Jumping up, he screamed, "Don't you yell at her you fuckin prick. Stay off her ass. She's just tryin to help."
I yelled back, "You're gonna fuckin do it ain't ya?"
"Betchyer fuckin ass I am. And you will too. You need somethin as bad as us. You've smoked all the free fuckin coke she's brought, never bitchin about that, now you're gonna freak the fuck out cause she can't get you FREE fucking coke this time. Just FREE fuckin H. Shut the fuck up and do it," Dirt let me have it. I kinda deserved it, but H.............
I looked at him through my anger..........fuckin mutiny. He peered back, Maya looking on concerned.....real concern.
I put on my shoes and left. They could do what the fuck ever they wanted, I wasn't gonna get on the Hare-ON. Fuck no.
I talked the clerk into a half priced room since we'd aleady paid for a week and he had empty rooms. Half price better than no price. Right boss?
I crashed.
TheJunkiesFaust#10(FTDParish) TheUntitledSeriesNowTitled
When I woke, there was light coming in between the curtains, falling across the orangy brown '70's shag carpet. The lights on each side of the little desk were on and Dirt and Maya had the big mirror unscrewed from the wall and were lining up huge gagglers.
That was the clicking I'd heard in my dream. Except in my dream, the clicking was thousands of tiny legs on cheap linoleum as thousands of roaches ate my dead body. But I was there, and I could feel them eating me. Tiny mouthful by tiny mouthful.
"Where the fuck did that come from?" I croaked, "we can't afford that. We've still gotta get there, get set up. Fuck."
They turned to me smiling. Maya with a playful look on her face, lips slightly pursed. Dirt laughs, "We didn't pay for it. It's free man. "
I looked on, stunned. Just woke up from being drunk and all strung out. Still groggy and half asleep, mouth tasting like old possum, layin on the side o' the road....ass. And I'm lookin at huge lines that we don't have to pay for? Straight up vapor lock. Stuck.
Dirt eventually has mercy on me and says, "Maya went out while we were asleep last night and got it."
I was still lost. Did Maya have money we didn't know about? Well, that would stand to reason. Sure she did. But judging from the size of that bag, I guessed that she didn't have that kinda stake. So how'd she get it? Rob somebody....maybe. Suck a dick...or more......maybe. She was fuckin us all across the west, what would she do for a bag that big? Was it really coke? Was it good? What was it? Two ounces prolly. Nuts. Fuckin nuts.
"Where the fuck did you get that?" I asked. "Do we need to pack up and get the fuck outta here?"
She just looked at me calmly....a little smugly, and said, "Chill man. Everything's alright. I didn't have to rob or kill anybody to get this. Noone's comin to look for us. If you wanna get outta here, that's fine. We could head up to Washington state or somethin......but we don't have to. Everything's fine man."
"So where the fuck did you get it?" I stayed focused while Dirt took one huge line all up one nostril in a mammoth, rip snortin blast.
She just held up both her hands, slowly twirling them at the wrist, flashing the tatoos there.
"Did you ever wonder what these are about?" She asked.
I shrugged and gave a little nod indicating I had.
"It marks me as a member of a certain organization. A club sorta. Like a fraternity for boys and girls, w/out the kegs and co-eds......for the most part." She continued with a shrug of her own.
"A gang?" I persisted, "you're in a nationwide gang?" I struggled to understand.
"Just let it go." she returned. "It's free, nobody's trying to kill us. We're cool. Let it go. Enjoy. Let me thank you for letting me ride with you guys."
Dirt finally looked up from the mirror long enough to say, "just ride it man, just be cool."
I shook my head, trying to clear it. Trying to get some perspective on what weas going on. Wondering if we were gonna have a big bill to pay as soon as we got there. Maya would go to the closest "clubhouse" and tell them we were here, turn in her voucher and pretty soon some tatoo'd Asian or car full of Cholos or maybe a coupla Shaft lookin fellas show up at the apartment and want to collect on the cola we've been doing all over the Northwest.
I just couldn't justify it. But I wanted to. I really liked coke. I really liked Maya and being on the road with her and Dirt. I knew there was somethn wrong, but I did it anyway. I got up and did a line on the way to the bathroom, all up one nostril. Thought I was gonna die. I could see the headline.....Indiana man drowns on own spit in grubby Colorado motel. Then I went and pissed.
That was the clicking I'd heard in my dream. Except in my dream, the clicking was thousands of tiny legs on cheap linoleum as thousands of roaches ate my dead body. But I was there, and I could feel them eating me. Tiny mouthful by tiny mouthful.
"Where the fuck did that come from?" I croaked, "we can't afford that. We've still gotta get there, get set up. Fuck."
They turned to me smiling. Maya with a playful look on her face, lips slightly pursed. Dirt laughs, "We didn't pay for it. It's free man. "
I looked on, stunned. Just woke up from being drunk and all strung out. Still groggy and half asleep, mouth tasting like old possum, layin on the side o' the road....ass. And I'm lookin at huge lines that we don't have to pay for? Straight up vapor lock. Stuck.
Dirt eventually has mercy on me and says, "Maya went out while we were asleep last night and got it."
I was still lost. Did Maya have money we didn't know about? Well, that would stand to reason. Sure she did. But judging from the size of that bag, I guessed that she didn't have that kinda stake. So how'd she get it? Rob somebody....maybe. Suck a dick...or more......maybe. She was fuckin us all across the west, what would she do for a bag that big? Was it really coke? Was it good? What was it? Two ounces prolly. Nuts. Fuckin nuts.
"Where the fuck did you get that?" I asked. "Do we need to pack up and get the fuck outta here?"
She just looked at me calmly....a little smugly, and said, "Chill man. Everything's alright. I didn't have to rob or kill anybody to get this. Noone's comin to look for us. If you wanna get outta here, that's fine. We could head up to Washington state or somethin......but we don't have to. Everything's fine man."
"So where the fuck did you get it?" I stayed focused while Dirt took one huge line all up one nostril in a mammoth, rip snortin blast.
She just held up both her hands, slowly twirling them at the wrist, flashing the tatoos there.
"Did you ever wonder what these are about?" She asked.
I shrugged and gave a little nod indicating I had.
"It marks me as a member of a certain organization. A club sorta. Like a fraternity for boys and girls, w/out the kegs and co-eds......for the most part." She continued with a shrug of her own.
"A gang?" I persisted, "you're in a nationwide gang?" I struggled to understand.
"Just let it go." she returned. "It's free, nobody's trying to kill us. We're cool. Let it go. Enjoy. Let me thank you for letting me ride with you guys."
Dirt finally looked up from the mirror long enough to say, "just ride it man, just be cool."
I shook my head, trying to clear it. Trying to get some perspective on what weas going on. Wondering if we were gonna have a big bill to pay as soon as we got there. Maya would go to the closest "clubhouse" and tell them we were here, turn in her voucher and pretty soon some tatoo'd Asian or car full of Cholos or maybe a coupla Shaft lookin fellas show up at the apartment and want to collect on the cola we've been doing all over the Northwest.
I just couldn't justify it. But I wanted to. I really liked coke. I really liked Maya and being on the road with her and Dirt. I knew there was somethn wrong, but I did it anyway. I got up and did a line on the way to the bathroom, all up one nostril. Thought I was gonna die. I could see the headline.....Indiana man drowns on own spit in grubby Colorado motel. Then I went and pissed.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
TheJunkiesFaust#9(FTDParish) TheUntitledSeriesNowTitled
When I came outta the bathroom, Dirt was asleep and Maya was gone. I immediately went to the bag and checked the money....all still there. I wondered if we'd ever see Maya again now that the coke was gone. Just then she unlocked the door and came in carrying a bucket of ice and a bottle of whiskey. She only had on one of my shirts and a pair of sandals....maybe underwear, but i doubted it.
She stood there holdng the ice and whiskey, smiled and said, "The creepy clerk dude gave me a bottle. Thirsty?"
I didn't even ask, just said that I was. As I towelled off, she put ice in two plastic cups and poured whiskey liberally into them. I sat on the bed naked, feeling good. Tired but clean. She brought me my drink and stood there sipping hers as she looked at me over the rim of the cup.
She finally drained the rest, filled it up again, took another drink and positioned herself between my knees. I drank the cheap whiskey as I watched her work on my dick. She was very good with her mouth. I sat my drink down and lay back and let her take care of me. She licked and sucked up one side of my shaft and down the other. Taking my head in her mouth and applying some suction while she twirled her head around and around. Drivinig me crazy with "the polisher" as she called it.
I came quicker than I thought I would given all the coke and being as tired as I was. She took it all and smiled at me as she swallowed it and took another swig of the whiskey. She took my cup and filled it with more ice and whiskey.
I scooted up to the head of the bed, she, climbimg over me, took up position on the other side. We talked and drank and smoked cigarettes. I remember asking at least three times, but I don't think she ever told me where she was from, or what her plans were once we got there. I told her my life story as I got drunker and drunker. I don't remember when I passed out, but I do remember waking up once as Maya opened the door, walked out and shut the door behind her.
My last memory of that night was wondering if I'd see her again. Boy she sure could suck a dick.
She stood there holdng the ice and whiskey, smiled and said, "The creepy clerk dude gave me a bottle. Thirsty?"
I didn't even ask, just said that I was. As I towelled off, she put ice in two plastic cups and poured whiskey liberally into them. I sat on the bed naked, feeling good. Tired but clean. She brought me my drink and stood there sipping hers as she looked at me over the rim of the cup.
She finally drained the rest, filled it up again, took another drink and positioned herself between my knees. I drank the cheap whiskey as I watched her work on my dick. She was very good with her mouth. I sat my drink down and lay back and let her take care of me. She licked and sucked up one side of my shaft and down the other. Taking my head in her mouth and applying some suction while she twirled her head around and around. Drivinig me crazy with "the polisher" as she called it.
I came quicker than I thought I would given all the coke and being as tired as I was. She took it all and smiled at me as she swallowed it and took another swig of the whiskey. She took my cup and filled it with more ice and whiskey.
I scooted up to the head of the bed, she, climbimg over me, took up position on the other side. We talked and drank and smoked cigarettes. I remember asking at least three times, but I don't think she ever told me where she was from, or what her plans were once we got there. I told her my life story as I got drunker and drunker. I don't remember when I passed out, but I do remember waking up once as Maya opened the door, walked out and shut the door behind her.
My last memory of that night was wondering if I'd see her again. Boy she sure could suck a dick.
TheJunkiesFaust#8(FTDParish) TheUntitledSeriesNowTitled
The rest of the trip was filled with days and nights of coke and weed, and laughing and sex. Maya was a gregarious young woman. Generous with her laughter, her thoughts and her sex.
Say what you will, but there's something to be said for leaving the only home you've ever known with no idea of what the future will bring. Doing drugs and having sex in the open air of the Heartlands and the Northwests mountains and forests. It's......... freeing. Liberating just doesn't seem quite right. It's freeing.
Had we driven straight through, which was the plan, we would have been there by then, but after we picked up Maya, I don't think any of us wanted the road trip to end. Not wanting them to, but knowing things would change as soon as we stopped moving. We just took detours, saw things and went places....wherever we wanted.
The coke had run out early a coupla nights after we picked up Maya. I think Dirt and I both, would have preferred to conserve a little. Neither of us wanted to run out before we got there, but we both wanted to do it with Maya. The coke and it....... and we did. But now we were out.
So there we were, in a little motel room in Colorado, just off the road, tired, strung out, dirty and outta wiffer. Maya took a shower while Dirt and I wondered what the fuck now? I suggested we just get some rest and get to gettin sometime tomorrow. Time to head there.
Maya came out of the bathroom naked, towelling herself off. Water, beaded, glistening on her perfect little body. Athletic, but still feminen. Dark complected. Wet, dark hair hanging down and over her shoulder as she dried it, perfectly shaped breasts swaying.......perfect.
I let Dirt take a shower first while I sat at the little desk and looked at the map to find the best way there. I thought if we left tomorrow afternoon, we could get there by late the following night or early that next morning.
Maya slipped up behind me and rubbed her perky breasts on the back of my head, her erect nipples lightly brushing my hair. Then her pulling my head back hard and between them. She pinched and pulled her nipples as I watched in the mirror in front of us. I was suddendly conscious of not having had a shower for two days. She didn't notice or she didn't care. She licked the back of my ear and kneaded my shoulders with her strong hands. The tatoos on her wrists flashing in the mirror.
I turned and kissed her untrimmed yet very small bush. Almost none at all. I grabbed her fleshy little butt and pulled on the little stainless ring she had in her lip with my lips. Stretching the skin. She pulled slightly away, stretching farther, and sharply, softly inhaling. I licked her clit, which was by now, protruding slightly past the ring. She gasped more loudly and thrust her pubis at me. I devoured her clit.
Dirt came outta the bathroom, also naked and drying himself. He watched while I used my mouth on Maya's pussy.
Maya came while Dirt watched, thrashing, grinding my face into her and grinding herself into my face, grunting and finally collapsing onto the bed laughing.
I smiled at Dirt and he told me it was my turn to take a shower. We all laughed. Maya giddy on the bed. Dirt rock hard, walking toward her. I got up and went to take my shower.
Say what you will, but there's something to be said for leaving the only home you've ever known with no idea of what the future will bring. Doing drugs and having sex in the open air of the Heartlands and the Northwests mountains and forests. It's......... freeing. Liberating just doesn't seem quite right. It's freeing.
Had we driven straight through, which was the plan, we would have been there by then, but after we picked up Maya, I don't think any of us wanted the road trip to end. Not wanting them to, but knowing things would change as soon as we stopped moving. We just took detours, saw things and went places....wherever we wanted.
The coke had run out early a coupla nights after we picked up Maya. I think Dirt and I both, would have preferred to conserve a little. Neither of us wanted to run out before we got there, but we both wanted to do it with Maya. The coke and it....... and we did. But now we were out.
So there we were, in a little motel room in Colorado, just off the road, tired, strung out, dirty and outta wiffer. Maya took a shower while Dirt and I wondered what the fuck now? I suggested we just get some rest and get to gettin sometime tomorrow. Time to head there.
Maya came out of the bathroom naked, towelling herself off. Water, beaded, glistening on her perfect little body. Athletic, but still feminen. Dark complected. Wet, dark hair hanging down and over her shoulder as she dried it, perfectly shaped breasts swaying.......perfect.
I let Dirt take a shower first while I sat at the little desk and looked at the map to find the best way there. I thought if we left tomorrow afternoon, we could get there by late the following night or early that next morning.
Maya slipped up behind me and rubbed her perky breasts on the back of my head, her erect nipples lightly brushing my hair. Then her pulling my head back hard and between them. She pinched and pulled her nipples as I watched in the mirror in front of us. I was suddendly conscious of not having had a shower for two days. She didn't notice or she didn't care. She licked the back of my ear and kneaded my shoulders with her strong hands. The tatoos on her wrists flashing in the mirror.
I turned and kissed her untrimmed yet very small bush. Almost none at all. I grabbed her fleshy little butt and pulled on the little stainless ring she had in her lip with my lips. Stretching the skin. She pulled slightly away, stretching farther, and sharply, softly inhaling. I licked her clit, which was by now, protruding slightly past the ring. She gasped more loudly and thrust her pubis at me. I devoured her clit.
Dirt came outta the bathroom, also naked and drying himself. He watched while I used my mouth on Maya's pussy.
Maya came while Dirt watched, thrashing, grinding my face into her and grinding herself into my face, grunting and finally collapsing onto the bed laughing.
I smiled at Dirt and he told me it was my turn to take a shower. We all laughed. Maya giddy on the bed. Dirt rock hard, walking toward her. I got up and went to take my shower.
SearchParty(FTDParish)
His fingernails were splintered. His fingers bled. Still he clawed at the stone.
There were bits of gravel and sand lodged under his nails. Jammed back past the quick. Still he picked.
He was looking for something...........couldn't remember what right now. His brain wouldn't work right. It was like a dream. Like thinking through molasses. Like waking up from a long drunk. Everything was distorted. Time didn't work right. Sounds didn't sound right.
And his fingers hurt...really hurt.
What was he looking for? He'd been looking, working for a long time. Day after day after day. He thought, through the fog, that he could almost remember where he was sometimes. Remember what he was looking for.
He shook his head. He had to concentrate. This was important, the most important thing in his life. If he could just remember why! He could almost sense what it was, and that was frustrating. Infuriatingly so.
Imagine all day, every day, not being able to remember your third grade teachers name. It was always on the tip of your tongue, always right there. You knew how close you were, but you couldn't remember. Ever. Every day, the same question. Every day the same answer. Every day the same feeling of impotence, of frustration, of impatience and inevitability. The same anticipation of success. Every day the same failure....the same surrender.
But today was different, he could feel it. The sun shown brighter through the reinforced glass. The birds sang louder and their song was clearer and more beautiful. The sky was bluer and the grass greener. His reflection in the glass was...........
His reflection! He looked at his reflection. He looked at his hands, the bloody fingers. He looked at the restaints on his arms. He looked around at the others in the room. Gaunt, dirty, shuffling, wasted. The other people like him. Drooling on themselves, unshaven, unbathed, unattended.
Unattended!! He pulled at the tethers and pounded his fists against the glass. He cried and tried to scream for help, but his throat was dry and he couldn't form the words right anyway. The meds made it hard......to think, to act. His mouth was sticky.
He cried and gurgled deep in his throat as two large men in white jumpsuits rushed into the room followed by a nurse. She flicked the syringe to get the air out. Squirted a little of the medication into the air. He saw it arc through the room.
He cried and tried to make them understand as they grabbed him. Their hands held his arms to his sides and they forced him onto his bed. A tether cut sharply into the flesh of his side as he stuggled in their grasp. But he was weak. He tried to make her stop. To tell her he had found it. Had found himself. But he couldn't make the words. His mouth was full of glue. He watched through bleary eyes as she reached towards him with the syringe. He sobbed and closed his eyes. He felt the warmth spread through his body. Felt his mind starting to fill with molasses. Heeeee.........................
There were bits of gravel and sand lodged under his nails. Jammed back past the quick. Still he picked.
He was looking for something...........couldn't remember what right now. His brain wouldn't work right. It was like a dream. Like thinking through molasses. Like waking up from a long drunk. Everything was distorted. Time didn't work right. Sounds didn't sound right.
And his fingers hurt...really hurt.
What was he looking for? He'd been looking, working for a long time. Day after day after day. He thought, through the fog, that he could almost remember where he was sometimes. Remember what he was looking for.
He shook his head. He had to concentrate. This was important, the most important thing in his life. If he could just remember why! He could almost sense what it was, and that was frustrating. Infuriatingly so.
Imagine all day, every day, not being able to remember your third grade teachers name. It was always on the tip of your tongue, always right there. You knew how close you were, but you couldn't remember. Ever. Every day, the same question. Every day the same answer. Every day the same feeling of impotence, of frustration, of impatience and inevitability. The same anticipation of success. Every day the same failure....the same surrender.
But today was different, he could feel it. The sun shown brighter through the reinforced glass. The birds sang louder and their song was clearer and more beautiful. The sky was bluer and the grass greener. His reflection in the glass was...........
His reflection! He looked at his reflection. He looked at his hands, the bloody fingers. He looked at the restaints on his arms. He looked around at the others in the room. Gaunt, dirty, shuffling, wasted. The other people like him. Drooling on themselves, unshaven, unbathed, unattended.
Unattended!! He pulled at the tethers and pounded his fists against the glass. He cried and tried to scream for help, but his throat was dry and he couldn't form the words right anyway. The meds made it hard......to think, to act. His mouth was sticky.
He cried and gurgled deep in his throat as two large men in white jumpsuits rushed into the room followed by a nurse. She flicked the syringe to get the air out. Squirted a little of the medication into the air. He saw it arc through the room.
He cried and tried to make them understand as they grabbed him. Their hands held his arms to his sides and they forced him onto his bed. A tether cut sharply into the flesh of his side as he stuggled in their grasp. But he was weak. He tried to make her stop. To tell her he had found it. Had found himself. But he couldn't make the words. His mouth was full of glue. He watched through bleary eyes as she reached towards him with the syringe. He sobbed and closed his eyes. He felt the warmth spread through his body. Felt his mind starting to fill with molasses. Heeeee.........................
Reflections(FTDParish) Revisited
The night was clear in it's intention to conceal.
Glowing amber waves.
Glowing ember ash.
Through the window I see darkness.
Through the window I see desperation.
Through the window I see me.
A death wish.
A goodnight kiss.
Single malt courage,
The flames dancing in amber.
Flaring ember illuminates my face.
Through the window I see darkness.
Through the window I see deterioration.
Through the window I see me.
Glowing amber waves.
Glowing ember ash.
Through the window I see darkness.
Through the window I see desperation.
Through the window I see me.
A death wish.
A goodnight kiss.
Single malt courage,
The flames dancing in amber.
Flaring ember illuminates my face.
Through the window I see darkness.
Through the window I see deterioration.
Through the window I see me.
Friday, March 9, 2007
TheDeepThroat
Ok, so if you've read my bio(or IAmFinn) you know I work as a bartender as well as being blogmaster on the most entertaining site in blogdom.....................well ok, but I am a bartender.
So I read this small article (http://msn.match.com/msn/article.aspx?articleid=6696&TrackingID=516165&BannerID=541888&menuid=6>1=9177) where bartenders give advice on picking up women. Now anyone who's been bartending for awhile sees hookups happen by the hundreds. Happens all the time. I mean that's why most people go to the bar right? I DID say most people. So there is some wisdom there if you're interested. Some of the suggestions aren't practical in places like Bumfuck Martintuckey(prolly not gonna order a young lady a glass of Cristal), but some are worthy. I'll let you decide which ones.
And while I'm at it, I'll give you a recipe for a shot that I invented that girlies like and they like ordering. First I'll give you the backstory of why it's here and how it got named.....
I was at work on a slow Friday night. There was a young lady in attendance that I was familiar with. She's attractive and intelligent and this night she was under the weather. Normally she's a beer drinker, straight outta the bottle.....good girl that. But tonight she was suffering from and slowly recovering from, a Respitory Infection....if she shoulda been out drinking is debatable, but there she was anyway.
So, she approaches the bar, we small talk a little. I comment on her xtry husky voice this evening, she explains the sickiness and says beer's not doin it. She needs a shot, but she's not a straight up kinda girl(no tequila, whiskey or whatever. she wants a fruity shot that isn't gonna kill her and will taste good, but will help her forget her RI(that precludes your normal girlie shots like snake bites or purple hooters or buttery nipples or the like). I suggest a jaeger bomb(1 shot jaeger and 1/3 can of red bull. drop shot glass of jaeger into red bull and slam) but she's not into jaeger. OK a challenge, I like a challenge. But.............
Even though it's a little slow, there are others at the bar that also need attending, so rather than standing there waiting for her to decide I say, "just let me whip you somethin up." She's a little hesitant as I start grabbing bottles and slingin liquor, but she sucks it down and smiles. She likes it.
She asks what it's called. I tell her I just invented it and I haven't named it yet, does she have a suggestion. She stares blankly, apparently while intelligent, she's not particularly creative. So I say, (imitating her froglike voice due to yon RI)"Let's call it the deep throat". She smiles pleased to have been the drive behind a new shot and it's naming.
Over the next several weeks she does all my pimping for me so that now the deep throat is a staple at my bar and girls love ordering it....."We'd like 4 deep throats" giggle giggle sly look. They also like making the guys order them for them so that when some strapping young lad asks if they would like a drink, they can make him come ask me for "4 deep throats for the girls.......and 1 for me".
Mix in stainless steal shaker, chill and serve 1.5 oz in chilled glass. Cost $3.50 each. Makes 10 shots. That ='s $35.00 take on about $15.00 worth o' liquor and mixer. That's $20.00 profit. And good tippage.
3 shots vodka
3 shots mailbu rum
3 shots midori(melon liqueur)
3 shots sweet and sour
3 shots cranberry juice
Enjoy and enjoy your prospect girl giggling as you make her order deep throats from the bar.
PS.......if instead of giggling she looks meaningfully into your eyes, leave with her now, you don't need to buy her any more shots!!!!!!
Finn
So I read this small article (http://msn.match.com/msn/article.aspx?articleid=6696&TrackingID=516165&BannerID=541888&menuid=6>1=9177) where bartenders give advice on picking up women. Now anyone who's been bartending for awhile sees hookups happen by the hundreds. Happens all the time. I mean that's why most people go to the bar right? I DID say most people. So there is some wisdom there if you're interested. Some of the suggestions aren't practical in places like Bumfuck Martintuckey(prolly not gonna order a young lady a glass of Cristal), but some are worthy. I'll let you decide which ones.
And while I'm at it, I'll give you a recipe for a shot that I invented that girlies like and they like ordering. First I'll give you the backstory of why it's here and how it got named.....
I was at work on a slow Friday night. There was a young lady in attendance that I was familiar with. She's attractive and intelligent and this night she was under the weather. Normally she's a beer drinker, straight outta the bottle.....good girl that. But tonight she was suffering from and slowly recovering from, a Respitory Infection....if she shoulda been out drinking is debatable, but there she was anyway.
So, she approaches the bar, we small talk a little. I comment on her xtry husky voice this evening, she explains the sickiness and says beer's not doin it. She needs a shot, but she's not a straight up kinda girl(no tequila, whiskey or whatever. she wants a fruity shot that isn't gonna kill her and will taste good, but will help her forget her RI(that precludes your normal girlie shots like snake bites or purple hooters or buttery nipples or the like). I suggest a jaeger bomb(1 shot jaeger and 1/3 can of red bull. drop shot glass of jaeger into red bull and slam) but she's not into jaeger. OK a challenge, I like a challenge. But.............
Even though it's a little slow, there are others at the bar that also need attending, so rather than standing there waiting for her to decide I say, "just let me whip you somethin up." She's a little hesitant as I start grabbing bottles and slingin liquor, but she sucks it down and smiles. She likes it.
She asks what it's called. I tell her I just invented it and I haven't named it yet, does she have a suggestion. She stares blankly, apparently while intelligent, she's not particularly creative. So I say, (imitating her froglike voice due to yon RI)"Let's call it the deep throat". She smiles pleased to have been the drive behind a new shot and it's naming.
Over the next several weeks she does all my pimping for me so that now the deep throat is a staple at my bar and girls love ordering it....."We'd like 4 deep throats" giggle giggle sly look. They also like making the guys order them for them so that when some strapping young lad asks if they would like a drink, they can make him come ask me for "4 deep throats for the girls.......and 1 for me".
Mix in stainless steal shaker, chill and serve 1.5 oz in chilled glass. Cost $3.50 each. Makes 10 shots. That ='s $35.00 take on about $15.00 worth o' liquor and mixer. That's $20.00 profit. And good tippage.
3 shots vodka
3 shots mailbu rum
3 shots midori(melon liqueur)
3 shots sweet and sour
3 shots cranberry juice
Enjoy and enjoy your prospect girl giggling as you make her order deep throats from the bar.
PS.......if instead of giggling she looks meaningfully into your eyes, leave with her now, you don't need to buy her any more shots!!!!!!
Finn
DreamMan(FTDParish)
The concrete was rough. Abrasive on her palms and knees. Bony hands seared her shoulders in vicious possession. Talons pierced the top of her chest.
The demon's doglike prick felt slimy, very hard and hot, sliding into her ass. On the outstroke, spiny scales flared and tore at her.
She screamed and felt the skin on her knees rip and the bone grate as the alligator skinned creature from the pit fucked her insides out.
Her eyes snapped open and the scream caught in her throat. She gasped for breath and groped for the light switch. Her throat was on fire, she reached for the glass of water she kept on the nightstand, and found it empty.
She threw the covers back to get up and get a drink and saw the blood.
The perverse laugh resonated through her mind as pain exploded from her core.
The demon's doglike prick felt slimy, very hard and hot, sliding into her ass. On the outstroke, spiny scales flared and tore at her.
She screamed and felt the skin on her knees rip and the bone grate as the alligator skinned creature from the pit fucked her insides out.
Her eyes snapped open and the scream caught in her throat. She gasped for breath and groped for the light switch. Her throat was on fire, she reached for the glass of water she kept on the nightstand, and found it empty.
She threw the covers back to get up and get a drink and saw the blood.
The perverse laugh resonated through her mind as pain exploded from her core.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
UnderTheBed ABedtimeStory(Finn)
I walked the walk. The walk to bed.
I'm not ready to go to bed I said.
The hallway lengthened, our footsteps boomed.
Time elongated as the terror loomed.
While we sleep, the monsters feed.
We lay there helpless as they do their deeds.
Our parents refuse to understand.
They're real life monsters, not the boogeyman.
They wait patiently in their world.
Watching the prayers of little boys and girls.
The prayers are finished, I'm all tucked in.
Lying there waiting for it to begin.
Covers pulled up to my eyes.
I see the darkness, the shadows lie.
The lightless corners hide their forms
With their claws and fangs and their gnarly horns.
Their ravenous lust tears away,
the fabric that keeps the nightmares at bay.
The way is open and in they crawl.
They need our fear. Young cries their siren call.
Their lurking done, the time is here.
Fiends stalk slowly, magnifying our fear.
We hear them coming, floorboards creak,
Clapperclaw clatter, the gnashing of beaks,
Hopeless advancement of the hellish freaks.
A car turns the corner illuming the night.
Most wonderful, magnificent, luxurious light bright.
The luminous benevolence come to dispel my fright.
My courage amplified to it's most brilliant, radient heights.
They're not creeping and slinking across my bedroom floor.
Or watching and waiting behind the closet door.
The nightmarish creatures of mythical lore.
This means the monsters were only in my head?
They're not in the closet.....................THEY'RE UNDER THE BED!!
I'm not ready to go to bed I said.
The hallway lengthened, our footsteps boomed.
Time elongated as the terror loomed.
While we sleep, the monsters feed.
We lay there helpless as they do their deeds.
Our parents refuse to understand.
They're real life monsters, not the boogeyman.
They wait patiently in their world.
Watching the prayers of little boys and girls.
The prayers are finished, I'm all tucked in.
Lying there waiting for it to begin.
Covers pulled up to my eyes.
I see the darkness, the shadows lie.
The lightless corners hide their forms
With their claws and fangs and their gnarly horns.
Their ravenous lust tears away,
the fabric that keeps the nightmares at bay.
The way is open and in they crawl.
They need our fear. Young cries their siren call.
Their lurking done, the time is here.
Fiends stalk slowly, magnifying our fear.
We hear them coming, floorboards creak,
Clapperclaw clatter, the gnashing of beaks,
Hopeless advancement of the hellish freaks.
A car turns the corner illuming the night.
Most wonderful, magnificent, luxurious light bright.
The luminous benevolence come to dispel my fright.
My courage amplified to it's most brilliant, radient heights.
They're not creeping and slinking across my bedroom floor.
Or watching and waiting behind the closet door.
The nightmarish creatures of mythical lore.
This means the monsters were only in my head?
They're not in the closet.....................THEY'RE UNDER THE BED!!
Monday, March 5, 2007
NoChildLeftBehind
Another Bushism like The Clean Air Act or The Save The Forests Initiative, both of which which I'll talk about some other time. But for now, No Child Left Behind.
Ok by now we all know W's strategy, give something a name that is the exact opposite of what he really intends(or is stupid enough to get shammed into believing by the evildoers in his administration. I haven't entirely decided yet. Stupid or evil? Evil or stupid? I guess it doesn't have to be one way or the other, he can be stupid and evil at the same time.) but sounds like exactly what the vast majority of us, as American citizens and taxpayers(read as his bosses) want.
Specifically today I'm gonna talk about something that our government has done....or not done, as the case may be.
Here's a link to an article which is an impending big part of my life. It concerns the day care system, which anyone who has children and jobs know, is a racket and monumental pain in the arse. Over priced. Under staffed. And now apparantly, if this article (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17384752/wid/11915773?GT1=9145 ) is accurate, under supervised by state governments.
This may be a state level problem , but as you know, W sets the bar for these crooks. And in my particular case, my state(Indiana) is run by a W cronie, Mitch Daniels who was a yes man and who was shortsighted and greedy to Paul O'Neil's truthfullness and fiscal responsibility in the early days of the Bush administration and their economic strategy meetings, before O'Neil was uncerimoniously dumped by the administration for having the audacity to speak his mind and give his opinion as Secretary of the Treasury. As a man who turned Alcoa around from near bankruptcy to world leader again. A contemperary and friend to then federal reserve chairman Alan Greenspan.
A coupla guys who know alot about economy there. But not "team players" as far as W's people are concerned. Now most of you know I don't care for big business and the federal reserve system any more than I care for government, but O'Neil is just a very good example how this administration thinks and acts. And you see Mitch as a W disciple.
But I digress, back to the kids...... A family can't be a one income family nowadays(see Reaganomics and now W's tax cuts) so a family WILL need day care. Or do like us. My situation is that I can work nights while the lovely woman in my life works days caring for the elderly in a home away from home setting. Noble, underappreciated and underpaid work(sorta like daycare and teachers. Real problkems in our societal makeup as far as I'm concerned). So we don't NEED day care, but we don't have alotta time together as a family. If I'm home she's working or sleeping and if she's home, I'm working or sleeping. So I even considered home schooling, but the kids need social skills too yes? So, day care is an option which we'll probably go with sometime this summer. Alas.
No child left behind indeed. No child that has a silver spoon sticking out of their mouths anyway. Thanks mega corporations, lobbyists and greedy and corrupt governmental representitives.
Finn
Ok by now we all know W's strategy, give something a name that is the exact opposite of what he really intends(or is stupid enough to get shammed into believing by the evildoers in his administration. I haven't entirely decided yet. Stupid or evil? Evil or stupid? I guess it doesn't have to be one way or the other, he can be stupid and evil at the same time.) but sounds like exactly what the vast majority of us, as American citizens and taxpayers(read as his bosses) want.
Specifically today I'm gonna talk about something that our government has done....or not done, as the case may be.
Here's a link to an article which is an impending big part of my life. It concerns the day care system, which anyone who has children and jobs know, is a racket and monumental pain in the arse. Over priced. Under staffed. And now apparantly, if this article (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17384752/wid/11915773?GT1=9145 ) is accurate, under supervised by state governments.
This may be a state level problem , but as you know, W sets the bar for these crooks. And in my particular case, my state(Indiana) is run by a W cronie, Mitch Daniels who was a yes man and who was shortsighted and greedy to Paul O'Neil's truthfullness and fiscal responsibility in the early days of the Bush administration and their economic strategy meetings, before O'Neil was uncerimoniously dumped by the administration for having the audacity to speak his mind and give his opinion as Secretary of the Treasury. As a man who turned Alcoa around from near bankruptcy to world leader again. A contemperary and friend to then federal reserve chairman Alan Greenspan.
A coupla guys who know alot about economy there. But not "team players" as far as W's people are concerned. Now most of you know I don't care for big business and the federal reserve system any more than I care for government, but O'Neil is just a very good example how this administration thinks and acts. And you see Mitch as a W disciple.
But I digress, back to the kids...... A family can't be a one income family nowadays(see Reaganomics and now W's tax cuts) so a family WILL need day care. Or do like us. My situation is that I can work nights while the lovely woman in my life works days caring for the elderly in a home away from home setting. Noble, underappreciated and underpaid work(sorta like daycare and teachers. Real problkems in our societal makeup as far as I'm concerned). So we don't NEED day care, but we don't have alotta time together as a family. If I'm home she's working or sleeping and if she's home, I'm working or sleeping. So I even considered home schooling, but the kids need social skills too yes? So, day care is an option which we'll probably go with sometime this summer. Alas.
No child left behind indeed. No child that has a silver spoon sticking out of their mouths anyway. Thanks mega corporations, lobbyists and greedy and corrupt governmental representitives.
Finn
Sunday, March 4, 2007
SeparationOfChurch AndState
A Christian country led by a Christian administration in a holy war against Islamic oil interest as a part of government of the corporation, by the corporation and by the corporation.
Ya know, even saying that we're a Christian country, W and his cronies alienate millions of Muslims, Buddhists, Mormons, Athiests, Occultists, etc.............AND they're wrong, see the list of non Christian constituants listed above.
Arrogant bastages. Anyway, I found these quotes by some of our founding fathers that give their opinion on the subject @ http://chicora.org/founding_fathers_and_religion.htm.......
Finn
I have examined all the known superstitions of the World, and I do not find in our particular superstition of Christianity one redeeming feature. They are all alike, founded on fables and mythology. Millions of innocent men, women and children, since the introduction of Christianity, have been burnt, tortured, fined and imprisoned. What has been the effect of this coercion? To make one half the world fools and the other half hypocrites; to support roguery and error all over the world . . . . The clergy converted the simple teachings of Jesus into an engine for enslaving mankind . . . to filch wealth and power to themselves. [They], in fact, constitute the real Anti-Christ.
Thomas Jefferson
It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods, or no God.
Thomas Jefferson
Question with boldness even the existence of a God; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason, than that of blind-folded fear.
Thomas Jefferson
I do not believe in the creed professed by the Jewish Church, by the Roman Church, by the Greek Church, by the Turkish Church, by the Protestant Church, nor by any church that I know of. My own mind is my own church.
Thomas Paine
My country is the world, and my religion is to do good.
Thomas Paine
Persecution is not an original feature in any religion; but it is always the strongly marked feature of all religions established by law.
Thomas Paine
Of all the animosities which have existed among mankind, those which are caused by difference of sentiments in religion appear to be the most inveterate and distressing, and ought most to be deprecated. I was in hopes that the enlightened and liberal policy, which has marked the present age, would at least have reconciled Christians of every denomination so far that we should never again see the religious disputes carried to such a pitch as to endanger the peace of society.
George Washington
. . . the path of true piety is so plain as to require but little political direction.
George Washington, 1789, responding to clergy complaints that the Constitution lacked mention of Jesus Christ
If they are good workmen, they may be from Asia, Africa or Europe; they may be Mahometans [Muslims, followers of the Prophet Mohammed], Jews, Christians of any sect, or they may be Atheists.... George Washington, to Tench Tighman, March 24, 1784, when asked what type of workman to get for Mount Vernon
. . . I beg you be persuaded that no one would be more zealous than myself to establish effectual barriers against the horrors of spiritual tyranny, and every species of religious persecution.
George Washington, to United Baptists Churches of Virginia, May, 1789
All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship. It is now no more that toleration is spoken of as if it was by the indulgence of one class of people, that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights. For happily the government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean [conduct] themselves as good citizens, in giving it on all occasions their effectual support.
George Washington
When a religion is good, I conceive it will support itself; and when it does not support itself, and God does not take care to support it so that its professors are obliged to call for help of the civil power, 'tis a sign, I apprehend, of its being a bad one.
Benjamin Franklin
These quote suggest that many of our Founding Fathers were skeptical of organized religion and felt there was no place in our secular government for any specific religion. Here are a couple of web sites that will provide more information:
http://www.freedomhouse.org/religion/
http://www.religioustolerance.org/++
Ya know, even saying that we're a Christian country, W and his cronies alienate millions of Muslims, Buddhists, Mormons, Athiests, Occultists, etc.............AND they're wrong, see the list of non Christian constituants listed above.
Arrogant bastages. Anyway, I found these quotes by some of our founding fathers that give their opinion on the subject @ http://chicora.org/founding_fathers_and_religion.htm.......
Finn
I have examined all the known superstitions of the World, and I do not find in our particular superstition of Christianity one redeeming feature. They are all alike, founded on fables and mythology. Millions of innocent men, women and children, since the introduction of Christianity, have been burnt, tortured, fined and imprisoned. What has been the effect of this coercion? To make one half the world fools and the other half hypocrites; to support roguery and error all over the world . . . . The clergy converted the simple teachings of Jesus into an engine for enslaving mankind . . . to filch wealth and power to themselves. [They], in fact, constitute the real Anti-Christ.
Thomas Jefferson
It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods, or no God.
Thomas Jefferson
Question with boldness even the existence of a God; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason, than that of blind-folded fear.
Thomas Jefferson
I do not believe in the creed professed by the Jewish Church, by the Roman Church, by the Greek Church, by the Turkish Church, by the Protestant Church, nor by any church that I know of. My own mind is my own church.
Thomas Paine
My country is the world, and my religion is to do good.
Thomas Paine
Persecution is not an original feature in any religion; but it is always the strongly marked feature of all religions established by law.
Thomas Paine
Of all the animosities which have existed among mankind, those which are caused by difference of sentiments in religion appear to be the most inveterate and distressing, and ought most to be deprecated. I was in hopes that the enlightened and liberal policy, which has marked the present age, would at least have reconciled Christians of every denomination so far that we should never again see the religious disputes carried to such a pitch as to endanger the peace of society.
George Washington
. . . the path of true piety is so plain as to require but little political direction.
George Washington, 1789, responding to clergy complaints that the Constitution lacked mention of Jesus Christ
If they are good workmen, they may be from Asia, Africa or Europe; they may be Mahometans [Muslims, followers of the Prophet Mohammed], Jews, Christians of any sect, or they may be Atheists.... George Washington, to Tench Tighman, March 24, 1784, when asked what type of workman to get for Mount Vernon
. . . I beg you be persuaded that no one would be more zealous than myself to establish effectual barriers against the horrors of spiritual tyranny, and every species of religious persecution.
George Washington, to United Baptists Churches of Virginia, May, 1789
All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship. It is now no more that toleration is spoken of as if it was by the indulgence of one class of people, that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights. For happily the government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean [conduct] themselves as good citizens, in giving it on all occasions their effectual support.
George Washington
When a religion is good, I conceive it will support itself; and when it does not support itself, and God does not take care to support it so that its professors are obliged to call for help of the civil power, 'tis a sign, I apprehend, of its being a bad one.
Benjamin Franklin
These quote suggest that many of our Founding Fathers were skeptical of organized religion and felt there was no place in our secular government for any specific religion. Here are a couple of web sites that will provide more information:
http://www.freedomhouse.org/religion/
http://www.religioustolerance.org/++
Saturday, March 3, 2007
TheDaCameronCode
If imitation really is the sincerist form of flattery, then Jim Cameron is flattering the hell outta Dan Brown.
I was just hittin the next blog button up top there(wonderful, wonderful thing) and happened across a blog called Israelity Bites. Seems pretty informational. I'll spend some time there checkin that out, but I digress........
Seems Cameron plans to air a 90 minute special sometime before Easter claiming he's found a tomb in a Juresalem suburb containing, I believe, 9 stone caskets which supposedly belong to Jesus and his family. Some of those being Father Joeseph, Mother Mary, Mary Magdelene, Jesus himself.....................and Jesus and Mary's son.....
Holy DaVinci Code Batman. But the thing that gets me is this self promoting piece o' shite is gonna hype the hell outta this and release it right before Easter. Now Lord knows I'm not above putting out some heretical thinkin here on this here blog....but I don't have the publicity machine that Cameron has and I don't intentionally pick right before the day that Jesus allegedly arose from the dead as the time to release an overhyped, 90 minute special trying to crush an entire dogma.
I would like to qualify this by saying I haven't talked with Jim lately.........so I don't know that this is fact, but if it is, what a dick. And all that being said I fully believe in his right to do it. And I eagerly await the show and hope it's not a Geraldo Rivera opens Al Capone's vault kinda thing. And it follows my personal beliefs more than the book. So it's not like I'm hatin, I even have huge problems with organized relgion and think, if true, it'd be good for the world, what still, what a dick.
I was just hittin the next blog button up top there(wonderful, wonderful thing) and happened across a blog called Israelity Bites. Seems pretty informational. I'll spend some time there checkin that out, but I digress........
Seems Cameron plans to air a 90 minute special sometime before Easter claiming he's found a tomb in a Juresalem suburb containing, I believe, 9 stone caskets which supposedly belong to Jesus and his family. Some of those being Father Joeseph, Mother Mary, Mary Magdelene, Jesus himself.....................and Jesus and Mary's son.....
Holy DaVinci Code Batman. But the thing that gets me is this self promoting piece o' shite is gonna hype the hell outta this and release it right before Easter. Now Lord knows I'm not above putting out some heretical thinkin here on this here blog....but I don't have the publicity machine that Cameron has and I don't intentionally pick right before the day that Jesus allegedly arose from the dead as the time to release an overhyped, 90 minute special trying to crush an entire dogma.
I would like to qualify this by saying I haven't talked with Jim lately.........so I don't know that this is fact, but if it is, what a dick. And all that being said I fully believe in his right to do it. And I eagerly await the show and hope it's not a Geraldo Rivera opens Al Capone's vault kinda thing. And it follows my personal beliefs more than the book. So it's not like I'm hatin, I even have huge problems with organized relgion and think, if true, it'd be good for the world, what still, what a dick.
IAmFinn(Finn)
I'm a wannabe guerilla ontologist
And a libational psychologist.
I'm fiscally conservative
And socially liberal,
Thirstingly curative
And grammatically illiteral.
And a libational psychologist.
I'm fiscally conservative
And socially liberal,
Thirstingly curative
And grammatically illiteral.
616
So, Tuck says that per some new translation, the # of the beast isn't 666, but really 616. You'll have to ask him where he pulled that out of, but it's been my experience that information supplied via the U Fu is pretty reliable. Whether or not the translation's right I can't speak of, but you can bank that U Fu found it somewhere in his travels....travels alot!
But let's just say that yon beastie has been afoolin us for the better part of a coulpla millenia.....wouldn't that be just like him?
But let's just say that yon beastie has been afoolin us for the better part of a coulpla millenia.....wouldn't that be just like him?
Friday, March 2, 2007
NotJustGeodesic Domes
A quote from Bucky Fuller.............
"The universe is unsimultaneously apprehended."
He's basically saying that no two people have the same reality tunnel because as I apprehend an event from my perspective via my sensory receptors and subsequently process that information through my nervous system, someone else is possibly apprehending the same event from their(a different perspective than yours) perspective, as processed through their sensory receptors and nervous system. Thereby making the same event "different" for the different inividual...............unsimultaneously apprehended.
A person cannot apprehend the entire universe at once.
No two entities can have the same reality unless they share physical space, sensory receptors and nervous sytems simultaneously for the entirety of their exsitence. So that everything they perceive is exact and they had the same set of historical experiences to relate what they are currently perceiving to.
Even a person with multiple personalities wouldn't have any two of those personalities having the same reality tunnel if their was a "present" personality and one or more "buried" personalities at any one time since having "buried" personalities would preclude every personality from having the same experience well to draw from.
Clear? Over....Out.
"The universe is unsimultaneously apprehended."
He's basically saying that no two people have the same reality tunnel because as I apprehend an event from my perspective via my sensory receptors and subsequently process that information through my nervous system, someone else is possibly apprehending the same event from their(a different perspective than yours) perspective, as processed through their sensory receptors and nervous system. Thereby making the same event "different" for the different inividual...............unsimultaneously apprehended.
A person cannot apprehend the entire universe at once.
No two entities can have the same reality unless they share physical space, sensory receptors and nervous sytems simultaneously for the entirety of their exsitence. So that everything they perceive is exact and they had the same set of historical experiences to relate what they are currently perceiving to.
Even a person with multiple personalities wouldn't have any two of those personalities having the same reality tunnel if their was a "present" personality and one or more "buried" personalities at any one time since having "buried" personalities would preclude every personality from having the same experience well to draw from.
Clear? Over....Out.
Commentary(FTDParish)
As mentioned before, I haven't had much time to keep up with this. However, anyone wanting to donate money for the recruitment of Satan, L. Ron Hubbard, or otherwise, I will be most willing to receive this modest (or not so modest) cash donation.
April Showers
Having just read FTDParish's newest story, it brings to mind a concept that has been brought up again and again in my life. That concept is that a god once worshipped never dies as long as someone still worships HIR. (If you don't under stand the HIR, see RA Wilson in various works). Basically implying that as long as a diety has a worshiper, than that diety has existence. When the modern day 'God' came along, that would have driven many pre-existing dieties to the brink (if not beyond) of non-existence. However, their basic archetypes still exist in our unconscience. Thus with belief, they could possibly be resurrected (a la Jesus?) Yeah, I'm probably condemned to Hell for thinking such, but if God can't accept the way SHe planned my thought patterns to manifest, then SHe hasn't planned the Universe nearly as well as HIR followers would have you think.
Ave Dementia
Tuck U. Fu
Ave Dementia
Tuck U. Fu
666
I'm sorry it's been so long since I posted. Filling the post of inscrutible oriental wisdom takes up a lot of my time. Not to contradict Finn but........ www might well equal 666, however, the most recent translations of ancient text puts the number of the beast at actually 616. Maybe that's WAW, or even WCW. And I would have to agree that anything that seems to relate to World Class Wrestling is indeed the work of the Devil. If that comes as a shock to you, get over it. It's as fake as organized religion. The minute you have to have someone else to bargain between you and (whatever you believe as god), your already screwed. You don't like my ideas, then firebomb Washinton, DC. I may live there, I may not. But either way I'll notice the effort.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
AprilShowers(FTDParish)
The wind rustled the leaves and a light spring rain misted the farm. He could smell the rain in the April breeze as he listened to the night sounds. It was late April, tornado season. Already the local news stations had had warnings, watches and what nots for storms, flash flooding and tornados.
When he was a small boy, his Mum woulda already had them all huddled in the cellar. She had been in a bad storm when she was younger than he was now. Her Poppa had died in that storm when he'd left the storm cellar to check on the livestock. So she'd been obsessed with storms all his ife.
Gramma had quickly followed close behind Poppaw up the cellar steps, Mum's older sisters following close behind them. Gramma telling the smaller children to stay in the cellar til she got back. They had an oil lantern for light and the youngest kids played jacks while the slightly older kids whispered amongst themselves and tended the babies.
Poppaw had died about halfway across the back yard, he lay there still smoldering. It was assumed that he'd been hit by lightening. And that's what the coroner put on the death certificate. But Gramma knew that lightening hadn't struck here. Nothing was smoking or burnt, nothing but him. The sherriff said it had to be lightening, so that's what all the official reports said.
Both Mum's brother's died within the next 4 years.
Matter of fact, he was the only living male left in his Mum's side of the family that he knew of.
Mum had told him stories....stories meant to scare kids on dark nights. Stories about the old ways, in the old days. And that's what he was thinking now as he struggled against the storm.
He wished he didn't have to deal with this right now. Wished his Mum was just batshit crazy and a stay at a home would be enough to remedy the problem....then he immediately felt bad for thinking like that. But the alternative was a real motherfucker. A drink, that's what he needed. A fuckin drink...big one....definately.
The wind whipped his hair and the rain stung his face and arms. The trees were swaying wildly in the heavy wind. Clouds churned overhead. The wind was picking dirt, small debris and leaves off the lawn and whipping them around, making it hard to see.
He didn't remember having draft horses, he had John Deere, but he knew he had to get to the barn and tend to them before they all broke their legs from jumping around in their stalls, scared of the storm.
He suddenly realized he was his Poppaw. He was running as hard as he could, but he wasn't getting anywhere. It was like he was running on a treadmill...... a treadmill in molasses.
That's when he knew it was a dream. It was always like that in dreams. Now he felt better, now that he knew it was just a dream, he wasn't afraid. Sometimes when he knew he was having a dream, he could wake himself up...................
"Ok......this wasn't one of those times", he thought as the weather battered him.
His heart was racing and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. The rain and dirt was still pelting his exposed skin. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wake up, or calm down. He knew it was just a dream....and dreams couldn't hurt you, but he was afraid...very afraid. He knew he shouldn't be afraid for the horses in the barn that he knew he didn't own. But he was. He knew he shouldn't be afraid of the storm, but he was. And he was afraid it was coming.
He didn't know what it was, couldn't remember the name his Mum's people had called it in the old country......but he could remember what the name meant. It translated roughly to the gatherer in the storm.
It was that gatherer that his Mum had told him had killed his Poppaw. Killed him because he had forgotten the old ways, because his children weren't learning the sacred rituals. Anciet ceremonies.
Mum said the old gods were jealous and vengeful. The matriarchal clan societies had made ritualistic sacrifices to appease these wrathful and punitive dieties until their societies had turned patriarchal and sacrifice had been replaced with ceremony.
He slowly made his way across the back yard. He was crying. Crying because of the stinging wind and the dirt in his eyes....and because he was very, very afraid now. Crying beacause he was realizing it wasn't a dream. An oppressive, blanketing fear soaked into his bones and the inevitableness of it all washed over him.
The barn was slipping away into the storm and the darkness gathered in the fields like a tidal wave. His legs were trembling so bad he thought he might fall.
His mind reeled as a patch of air condensed and grew thicker and darker right in front of him. It shimmered, not with light, but with the abscence of light, forming into an amorphous figure of pure maleavolent power. The darkness filled his vision as he sagged to his knees and thought that maybe lightening did kill his Poppaw as he watched the plasmatically electrical display beginning inside the coalescing presense.
His hair stood on end. An euphoric expression adorned his face and visible static electricity roiled over his body as he happily gave himself to the darkness. Just as he made contact with the now solid darkness, the euphoria gave way to an eternal instant of terror in it's basest form. The scream that started in his lungs never made it out of his mouth.
The spring night crackled with electricity for an elongayed moment. The rain stopped, the clouds parted, the wind died down and the light show ended. He lay smoldering in the back yard. The April shower over.
His sisters and his Mum watched from the back porch, hands clasped, murmuring the ancient words and drawing the arcane symbols in the night sky.
When he was a small boy, his Mum woulda already had them all huddled in the cellar. She had been in a bad storm when she was younger than he was now. Her Poppa had died in that storm when he'd left the storm cellar to check on the livestock. So she'd been obsessed with storms all his ife.
Gramma had quickly followed close behind Poppaw up the cellar steps, Mum's older sisters following close behind them. Gramma telling the smaller children to stay in the cellar til she got back. They had an oil lantern for light and the youngest kids played jacks while the slightly older kids whispered amongst themselves and tended the babies.
Poppaw had died about halfway across the back yard, he lay there still smoldering. It was assumed that he'd been hit by lightening. And that's what the coroner put on the death certificate. But Gramma knew that lightening hadn't struck here. Nothing was smoking or burnt, nothing but him. The sherriff said it had to be lightening, so that's what all the official reports said.
Both Mum's brother's died within the next 4 years.
Matter of fact, he was the only living male left in his Mum's side of the family that he knew of.
Mum had told him stories....stories meant to scare kids on dark nights. Stories about the old ways, in the old days. And that's what he was thinking now as he struggled against the storm.
He wished he didn't have to deal with this right now. Wished his Mum was just batshit crazy and a stay at a home would be enough to remedy the problem....then he immediately felt bad for thinking like that. But the alternative was a real motherfucker. A drink, that's what he needed. A fuckin drink...big one....definately.
The wind whipped his hair and the rain stung his face and arms. The trees were swaying wildly in the heavy wind. Clouds churned overhead. The wind was picking dirt, small debris and leaves off the lawn and whipping them around, making it hard to see.
He didn't remember having draft horses, he had John Deere, but he knew he had to get to the barn and tend to them before they all broke their legs from jumping around in their stalls, scared of the storm.
He suddenly realized he was his Poppaw. He was running as hard as he could, but he wasn't getting anywhere. It was like he was running on a treadmill...... a treadmill in molasses.
That's when he knew it was a dream. It was always like that in dreams. Now he felt better, now that he knew it was just a dream, he wasn't afraid. Sometimes when he knew he was having a dream, he could wake himself up...................
"Ok......this wasn't one of those times", he thought as the weather battered him.
His heart was racing and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. The rain and dirt was still pelting his exposed skin. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wake up, or calm down. He knew it was just a dream....and dreams couldn't hurt you, but he was afraid...very afraid. He knew he shouldn't be afraid for the horses in the barn that he knew he didn't own. But he was. He knew he shouldn't be afraid of the storm, but he was. And he was afraid it was coming.
He didn't know what it was, couldn't remember the name his Mum's people had called it in the old country......but he could remember what the name meant. It translated roughly to the gatherer in the storm.
It was that gatherer that his Mum had told him had killed his Poppaw. Killed him because he had forgotten the old ways, because his children weren't learning the sacred rituals. Anciet ceremonies.
Mum said the old gods were jealous and vengeful. The matriarchal clan societies had made ritualistic sacrifices to appease these wrathful and punitive dieties until their societies had turned patriarchal and sacrifice had been replaced with ceremony.
He slowly made his way across the back yard. He was crying. Crying because of the stinging wind and the dirt in his eyes....and because he was very, very afraid now. Crying beacause he was realizing it wasn't a dream. An oppressive, blanketing fear soaked into his bones and the inevitableness of it all washed over him.
The barn was slipping away into the storm and the darkness gathered in the fields like a tidal wave. His legs were trembling so bad he thought he might fall.
His mind reeled as a patch of air condensed and grew thicker and darker right in front of him. It shimmered, not with light, but with the abscence of light, forming into an amorphous figure of pure maleavolent power. The darkness filled his vision as he sagged to his knees and thought that maybe lightening did kill his Poppaw as he watched the plasmatically electrical display beginning inside the coalescing presense.
His hair stood on end. An euphoric expression adorned his face and visible static electricity roiled over his body as he happily gave himself to the darkness. Just as he made contact with the now solid darkness, the euphoria gave way to an eternal instant of terror in it's basest form. The scream that started in his lungs never made it out of his mouth.
The spring night crackled with electricity for an elongayed moment. The rain stopped, the clouds parted, the wind died down and the light show ended. He lay smoldering in the back yard. The April shower over.
His sisters and his Mum watched from the back porch, hands clasped, murmuring the ancient words and drawing the arcane symbols in the night sky.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Philosophisers
It's occured to me that I should probably explain why we like some of the authors that we do around here.
Robert Anton Wilson is one of our favorites because he teaches us to question our reality tunnels. My reality, based on my personal experiences and shaped by my nervous system, is different than yours.....or anyone elses. We see things differently...........and we only see things the way we do because our eyes have evolved to collect, arrange and deliver light to our brains which have evolved to sort that information the way they have. Some people are color blind. That is they can't tell much of, if any, difference between red and green let's say. So their particular reality at a stop light is not the same as ours. Their information gathering system displays the stop light to them differently than mine does for me. Learning this simple concept allows a person to realize that anything they think they believe unquestionably, that they have faith in, could be right, wrong, right and wrong or some varying degree of those. Nothing is as it appears, everything is permitted.....some of Bob's influences have said things similar to that.....namely Hassan iSabba, where the words assassin and hashish come from and Aliester Crowley come to mind.
Old Bob has recently left the building. Shuffling off this mortal coil........but his unique brain activity and his willingness to share with us will influence many of us for a long time. The following are some examples of Bob's thoughts........
On probabilty......Bob learned General Semantics from William Burroughs who himself studied dierctly from the mind behind General Semantics, Alfred Korzybski(spelling???), Bob eventually studied Korzybski extensively himself. General Semantics efforts to try and take the IS's out of everything. Things very rarely fit into an IS, rather things should be referred to as probablities. ex: That stop sign IS red. Well, as stated earlier, to someone with color blindness, that stop sign may very well not be red. So the best we can do is say that the stop sign seems red to me....or perhaps to put a probability % on whether or not it will seem red to any random person.......Essentially, things aren't black and white, but rather varying degrees of gray.
Bob quoting JR Bob Dobbs(the founder of the church of the subgenius. Who, by the way, Wilson says learned the secret of having "followers" or "disciples" from L Ron Hubbard in an elevator in Texas. Sometime in the '50's I believe), commenting on the intelligence of the American people........."You know how dumb the average guy is? Well, mathematically, by defination, half of them are even dumber than that."
The following is an excerpt from an interview Bob did with Paul Krassner in, I believe, 2005.........This just kinda fits in with some other posts I've made about the Bush family, so I thought I'd drop it on ya.
Krassner's question.....A dinner party was scheduled for March 31, 1981, the day after an assassination attempt on Ronald Reagan, which, if successful, would have elevated the former CIA chief George Bush to the presidency. The dinner was immediately cancelled. It would have been at the home of Scott Hinckley, brother of the would-be killer. Hinckley's father and Daddy Bush were friends and fellow oil industrialists. A PR firm issued a statement: "This horrible coincidence has been devastating to the Bush family. Our condolences go out to all involved. And we hope to put the matter behind us as soon as possible." Congressman Larry MacDonald was the only legislator who demanded an investigation, but his plane crashed. Whattaya think....coincidence or conspiracy?
I have to ask....devestating for the Bush family? What about that actor they hired to play the president during Daddy-o's first 8 years as president? And what about Hinckley's family. And what about Jodie Foster, who Hinckley said was the reason he did it...to get Foster's attention cause he was in love with her.....sketchy.
Wilson's response.......To me it looks at first like coincidence by about 75% probability. I mean, who would be dumb enough to use an assassin with such obvious links to his employers? But then again, the Bush Crime Family seem to think they can get away with anything, from S&L fraud to stealing an election in the light of day with the whole world watching. They must have an even lower opinion of the intelligence of the American people than I do. Maybe I should change the probability down to about 50%. I guess this does deserve further investigation, by somebody who doesn't fly in airplanes.
Anyone with more research gumption than me wanna comment on Jeb and W's brother who got busting during the S&L scandle? I'm sure he didn't go down, but any specifics? Anyone ever found out about Grand Daddy Bush's association with financing of the Nazi party? Anyone?
Philip K Dick died in the 80's just when he was about to recognize some real commercial success. Production on the movie Blade Runner was ongoing when Phil died. Since, he's had other stories of his made into very successful movies with very big name movie personalities. Blade Runner(Harrison Ford fresh off his success in Star Wars was the first, followed by Total Recall(Arnie Swartzengoverner), Minority Reopt(Tom Cruise), Paycheck(Ben Afleck) and most recently A Scanner Darkly, which didn't have the commercial success the others had but which is probably closest to how Phil's brain worked than the others which had gone through the Hollywood polisher more extensively. It wasn't for lack of star talent, that's for sure, A Scanner Darkly starred Keanu Reeves, Woody Harrelson, Robert Downey Jr and Winona Ryder. Phil had plenty more stories and ideas for Hollywood to exploit. And I'm sure they will. I believe that Phil's daughter now holds the rights to his works.
The theme for which he is most admired around here is the question, what makes us human? Best displayed, I think, in Blade Runner, the story from which it was based is titled Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep? The question specifically asked by Phil in this story is....if you have a fully functioning android, what's the difference between them and us. What makes us human and them not? Would a fully functioning android, which pointed out by Phil, would necassarily, not know it was an android(although that concept wasn't fully realized in Blade Runner. In the movie only one character didn't realize she was an android, the rest did.), have dreams, desires, a concious, etc. How would that android, that didn't know it was an android, differ from us? If at all? What is a soul? Would a fully functioning android be different than us? What makes us human? That's just a brilliant concept.
Another interesting thing about Phil was his writing process. He would hash out the entire story or novel in his head, maybe over several months or years and then get all geeked up and lock himself in his room and write til he was done, just sleeping for small periods or not at all. He had serious medical and health issues because of these intense sessions. When he finished his last novel(that got finished, he was working on a novel, The Owl In The Daylight, when he died), he actually experienced internal bleeding and various other maladies as a result of the process.
Phil was another author who forced you to question what you knew about the world....which is basically nothing.
John Shirley is just a dark, brilliant mind, who is good enough to share that with us. Shirley wrote the screenplay for The Crow, has fronted bands and has written songs for others, such as Blue Oyster Cult. His novels City Come A' Walkin and Crawlers, express his concerns about our continued and increasing technical advances and dependency. And the danger inherent therein. You'll also see that theme in Dick's work.
If you get a chance to read Shirley's collection of short stories titled Dark Butterflies, I think you'll notice some similarities to Parish. I don't think I'd be injury anyone's feelings to postulate that Shirley's skill supersedes that of Parish...and he'd be the first to tell you that, BUT, I do see a similar influence in style and content.
Mark Twain is....well, a little different in style and content than the previous authors, but they are all the same in that they all have incredible wit, are very highly intelligent and force us to ask ourselves questions about ourselves and our belief systems(belief systems, as referred to by Bob as BS, by the way). Twain, with his humor and style encourages one to look past the superficial to find the meaning.
I list Twain because he was one of my earliest influences. I give him the credit for building the foundation for my sense of humor. I encourage anyone who hasn't read Twain's take on Adam's(first man, like Adam and Eve) time in the garden, to do so as soon as possible. It's a hilarious. Twain also has some pretty interesting insights into the cultures and politics of his time......most of which are really timeless. They translate as well now as then.
And finally, HP Lovecraft. What can I say. A world as rich in history and intricacy as those Tolkein ever created.....well maybe not, but close. Tolkien rules too by the way. But I digress.....Lovecraft. An absolute freak. Cthulu, for the love of God. The Necronomicon....please.
Old Bob has said that there is one detective writer, Raymond Chandler and one horror writer, Lovecraft and everyone else is just doing them.....I have to admit, that while I don't have any insight into Chandler, I absolutely agree about Lovecraft. The horrific world he created finds itself into many, many works still. ex: did anyone see the monster that lived in the lake outside the Mines of Moria in the Rings movie? If that monster didn't come straight from Cthulu I'll kiss your ass. I'm not suggesting Tolkien used Cthulu, I'm not even sure about the timeline, if I had to wager, I'd say Lovecraft was around then, but I still don't know if he influnced Tolkien at all. Something I'm gonna have to study now I suppose. But for sure, Lovectraft influenced the design team that created that monster in the lake.....fer sure, yup.
So, I hope you see why we insist on calling them philosopher's instead of just authors(note, it could be argued that Lovecraft was more psychologist or maybe anthropologist, than philosopher(he pulled that world out of our collective subconcious, maybe even historic collective subconcious, see the peoples who populated Europe before, during and after the Celtic era), but I think you can find a fair amount of philosophisin in there too). Please check these guys out, from the links we provide as well as anything else you can google.
Finn
Robert Anton Wilson is one of our favorites because he teaches us to question our reality tunnels. My reality, based on my personal experiences and shaped by my nervous system, is different than yours.....or anyone elses. We see things differently...........and we only see things the way we do because our eyes have evolved to collect, arrange and deliver light to our brains which have evolved to sort that information the way they have. Some people are color blind. That is they can't tell much of, if any, difference between red and green let's say. So their particular reality at a stop light is not the same as ours. Their information gathering system displays the stop light to them differently than mine does for me. Learning this simple concept allows a person to realize that anything they think they believe unquestionably, that they have faith in, could be right, wrong, right and wrong or some varying degree of those. Nothing is as it appears, everything is permitted.....some of Bob's influences have said things similar to that.....namely Hassan iSabba, where the words assassin and hashish come from and Aliester Crowley come to mind.
Old Bob has recently left the building. Shuffling off this mortal coil........but his unique brain activity and his willingness to share with us will influence many of us for a long time. The following are some examples of Bob's thoughts........
On probabilty......Bob learned General Semantics from William Burroughs who himself studied dierctly from the mind behind General Semantics, Alfred Korzybski(spelling???), Bob eventually studied Korzybski extensively himself. General Semantics efforts to try and take the IS's out of everything. Things very rarely fit into an IS, rather things should be referred to as probablities. ex: That stop sign IS red. Well, as stated earlier, to someone with color blindness, that stop sign may very well not be red. So the best we can do is say that the stop sign seems red to me....or perhaps to put a probability % on whether or not it will seem red to any random person.......Essentially, things aren't black and white, but rather varying degrees of gray.
Bob quoting JR Bob Dobbs(the founder of the church of the subgenius. Who, by the way, Wilson says learned the secret of having "followers" or "disciples" from L Ron Hubbard in an elevator in Texas. Sometime in the '50's I believe), commenting on the intelligence of the American people........."You know how dumb the average guy is? Well, mathematically, by defination, half of them are even dumber than that."
The following is an excerpt from an interview Bob did with Paul Krassner in, I believe, 2005.........This just kinda fits in with some other posts I've made about the Bush family, so I thought I'd drop it on ya.
Krassner's question.....A dinner party was scheduled for March 31, 1981, the day after an assassination attempt on Ronald Reagan, which, if successful, would have elevated the former CIA chief George Bush to the presidency. The dinner was immediately cancelled. It would have been at the home of Scott Hinckley, brother of the would-be killer. Hinckley's father and Daddy Bush were friends and fellow oil industrialists. A PR firm issued a statement: "This horrible coincidence has been devastating to the Bush family. Our condolences go out to all involved. And we hope to put the matter behind us as soon as possible." Congressman Larry MacDonald was the only legislator who demanded an investigation, but his plane crashed. Whattaya think....coincidence or conspiracy?
I have to ask....devestating for the Bush family? What about that actor they hired to play the president during Daddy-o's first 8 years as president? And what about Hinckley's family. And what about Jodie Foster, who Hinckley said was the reason he did it...to get Foster's attention cause he was in love with her.....sketchy.
Wilson's response.......To me it looks at first like coincidence by about 75% probability. I mean, who would be dumb enough to use an assassin with such obvious links to his employers? But then again, the Bush Crime Family seem to think they can get away with anything, from S&L fraud to stealing an election in the light of day with the whole world watching. They must have an even lower opinion of the intelligence of the American people than I do. Maybe I should change the probability down to about 50%. I guess this does deserve further investigation, by somebody who doesn't fly in airplanes.
Anyone with more research gumption than me wanna comment on Jeb and W's brother who got busting during the S&L scandle? I'm sure he didn't go down, but any specifics? Anyone ever found out about Grand Daddy Bush's association with financing of the Nazi party? Anyone?
Philip K Dick died in the 80's just when he was about to recognize some real commercial success. Production on the movie Blade Runner was ongoing when Phil died. Since, he's had other stories of his made into very successful movies with very big name movie personalities. Blade Runner(Harrison Ford fresh off his success in Star Wars was the first, followed by Total Recall(Arnie Swartzengoverner), Minority Reopt(Tom Cruise), Paycheck(Ben Afleck) and most recently A Scanner Darkly, which didn't have the commercial success the others had but which is probably closest to how Phil's brain worked than the others which had gone through the Hollywood polisher more extensively. It wasn't for lack of star talent, that's for sure, A Scanner Darkly starred Keanu Reeves, Woody Harrelson, Robert Downey Jr and Winona Ryder. Phil had plenty more stories and ideas for Hollywood to exploit. And I'm sure they will. I believe that Phil's daughter now holds the rights to his works.
The theme for which he is most admired around here is the question, what makes us human? Best displayed, I think, in Blade Runner, the story from which it was based is titled Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep? The question specifically asked by Phil in this story is....if you have a fully functioning android, what's the difference between them and us. What makes us human and them not? Would a fully functioning android, which pointed out by Phil, would necassarily, not know it was an android(although that concept wasn't fully realized in Blade Runner. In the movie only one character didn't realize she was an android, the rest did.), have dreams, desires, a concious, etc. How would that android, that didn't know it was an android, differ from us? If at all? What is a soul? Would a fully functioning android be different than us? What makes us human? That's just a brilliant concept.
Another interesting thing about Phil was his writing process. He would hash out the entire story or novel in his head, maybe over several months or years and then get all geeked up and lock himself in his room and write til he was done, just sleeping for small periods or not at all. He had serious medical and health issues because of these intense sessions. When he finished his last novel(that got finished, he was working on a novel, The Owl In The Daylight, when he died), he actually experienced internal bleeding and various other maladies as a result of the process.
Phil was another author who forced you to question what you knew about the world....which is basically nothing.
John Shirley is just a dark, brilliant mind, who is good enough to share that with us. Shirley wrote the screenplay for The Crow, has fronted bands and has written songs for others, such as Blue Oyster Cult. His novels City Come A' Walkin and Crawlers, express his concerns about our continued and increasing technical advances and dependency. And the danger inherent therein. You'll also see that theme in Dick's work.
If you get a chance to read Shirley's collection of short stories titled Dark Butterflies, I think you'll notice some similarities to Parish. I don't think I'd be injury anyone's feelings to postulate that Shirley's skill supersedes that of Parish...and he'd be the first to tell you that, BUT, I do see a similar influence in style and content.
Mark Twain is....well, a little different in style and content than the previous authors, but they are all the same in that they all have incredible wit, are very highly intelligent and force us to ask ourselves questions about ourselves and our belief systems(belief systems, as referred to by Bob as BS, by the way). Twain, with his humor and style encourages one to look past the superficial to find the meaning.
I list Twain because he was one of my earliest influences. I give him the credit for building the foundation for my sense of humor. I encourage anyone who hasn't read Twain's take on Adam's(first man, like Adam and Eve) time in the garden, to do so as soon as possible. It's a hilarious. Twain also has some pretty interesting insights into the cultures and politics of his time......most of which are really timeless. They translate as well now as then.
And finally, HP Lovecraft. What can I say. A world as rich in history and intricacy as those Tolkein ever created.....well maybe not, but close. Tolkien rules too by the way. But I digress.....Lovecraft. An absolute freak. Cthulu, for the love of God. The Necronomicon....please.
Old Bob has said that there is one detective writer, Raymond Chandler and one horror writer, Lovecraft and everyone else is just doing them.....I have to admit, that while I don't have any insight into Chandler, I absolutely agree about Lovecraft. The horrific world he created finds itself into many, many works still. ex: did anyone see the monster that lived in the lake outside the Mines of Moria in the Rings movie? If that monster didn't come straight from Cthulu I'll kiss your ass. I'm not suggesting Tolkien used Cthulu, I'm not even sure about the timeline, if I had to wager, I'd say Lovecraft was around then, but I still don't know if he influnced Tolkien at all. Something I'm gonna have to study now I suppose. But for sure, Lovectraft influenced the design team that created that monster in the lake.....fer sure, yup.
So, I hope you see why we insist on calling them philosopher's instead of just authors(note, it could be argued that Lovecraft was more psychologist or maybe anthropologist, than philosopher(he pulled that world out of our collective subconcious, maybe even historic collective subconcious, see the peoples who populated Europe before, during and after the Celtic era), but I think you can find a fair amount of philosophisin in there too). Please check these guys out, from the links we provide as well as anything else you can google.
Finn
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
WhiteChickenChili
Like all recipes, you can tweak this to make it as spicy as you like. I prefer mild, so the recipe will reflect that.
2lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 large can chicken broth
2 cans chopped green chilis
1 can cream of chicken soup
milk
sour cream
1 large yellow onion
1 yellow bell pepper
1 orange bell pepper
1 jar sweet cherry peppers
1 can red navy beans
1 small can corn
shredded monterey jack cheese
tortilla chips
pepper
chili powder
Brown chicken. In seperate skillet, dice and sautee bell peppers and onion. On another burner start soup stock. Pour chicken broth, cream of chicken soup, chopped green chilis, sweet cherry peppers, pepper and chili powder to taste.
After onions and peppers are sauteed and chicken has browned and been cut up and all has been added to chili, simmer for awhile. After you feel it's been simmered enough, add corn and beans. Then add milk and sour cream to taste.
As soon as everythings hot, it's ready to eat. You'll enjoy a delicious chili, sans anything tomato yet full of color with the yellow and orange peppers, the yellow corn and the red navy beans. The longer it all cooks together, the paler the vegis will get hence adding them at the very end.
You've already let everything else marry together whilst it was simmering, now you'll have a couple different flavors outside the stock chili flavor.
Serve just like the spicy chicken tortilla soup. crumble tortilla chips into soup, sprinkle with cheese. Eat up.
Finn
2lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1 large can chicken broth
2 cans chopped green chilis
1 can cream of chicken soup
milk
sour cream
1 large yellow onion
1 yellow bell pepper
1 orange bell pepper
1 jar sweet cherry peppers
1 can red navy beans
1 small can corn
shredded monterey jack cheese
tortilla chips
pepper
chili powder
Brown chicken. In seperate skillet, dice and sautee bell peppers and onion. On another burner start soup stock. Pour chicken broth, cream of chicken soup, chopped green chilis, sweet cherry peppers, pepper and chili powder to taste.
After onions and peppers are sauteed and chicken has browned and been cut up and all has been added to chili, simmer for awhile. After you feel it's been simmered enough, add corn and beans. Then add milk and sour cream to taste.
As soon as everythings hot, it's ready to eat. You'll enjoy a delicious chili, sans anything tomato yet full of color with the yellow and orange peppers, the yellow corn and the red navy beans. The longer it all cooks together, the paler the vegis will get hence adding them at the very end.
You've already let everything else marry together whilst it was simmering, now you'll have a couple different flavors outside the stock chili flavor.
Serve just like the spicy chicken tortilla soup. crumble tortilla chips into soup, sprinkle with cheese. Eat up.
Finn
WarIsHell(FTDParish)
OK, so I'm not gonna get any peace until I post some more short stories. There's some real assholes around here if they wanna be. So, here's one for now and I'll drop some more on y'all periodically.
War Is Hell
The young soldier held his rifle close and peered through the darkness, but only right in front of him, he didn't dare look out across the killing fields. He could feel his heart pounding, could hear it rushing through his veins and he could feel a slight breeze cooling his skin. How odd, the smallest pleasures were the most wonderful things in the world at times like these.
It was so hot here normally, that any relief from the oppresive heat was like a personal favor from God. When he was on night watch, the young soldier invariably ended up asking God for a personal favor. A very specific favor. At first he wondered if he was crazy. If he had shell shock or something. He wondered if the stress had finally gotten to him.
Then he started watching the faces of the other young soldiers as they came off nightwatch. He could see it in their eyes and in the mannerisms. Sometimes he'd try to catch their eyes as they came in from the lines, shambling down the trench in the early morning light. He would silently beg them to tell him he was wrong, that he was crazy. They never did. They only asked the same of him. Noone ever talked about it, maybe that would make it too real. Maybe as long as they didn't voice it, it wasn't real, it was just a dream.
He sat in the forward trench, looking back at his lines. That wasn't proper procedure. But they would just have to live with it if they wanted him out here at night. He could hear the wounded crying. Maybe someone he knew. Maybe someone who'd done him a favor. He could hear some praying. He could hear the artillery being fired and the ordinance landing in a blinding flash of roaring death.........And he could hear them feeding.
At night they covered the dead like swarms of vultures. They were carrion. He averted his eyes when a shell exploded near enough to illuminate his field of vision. The officers had told them it would ruin their night vision if they looked at it. He didn't look because he didn't want to see them feeding.... ever again.
But he could still hear it....them. That sound would haunt him til his last day. he never would have been able to imagine those sounds. Flesh ripping, lips and tongues smaking, bones snapping, marrow being sucked and blood being lapped up and slurped out of muddy pools. But the worst was the sounds of their pleasure at doing it. Of satisfaction and appreciation of a good meal. Almost erotic.
He wondered if they were there at every war or if this was specific to this area...a local phenomenon. Didn't matter much he supposed, they were here now.
He thought often of killing himself. Of pulling the pin on a grenade, releasing the firing pin and clutching the grenade under his chin. Of just ending everything right here. No more getting shot at. No more officers ordering his friends out to get slaughtered....and no more feedings on night watch.
He would have done it, but he didn't want them feeding on him. He didn't want his body to lay in a field or trench or shell crater and be eaten. So he lived. He killed. And he took his turn on night watch and listened to them feed......War really is Hell.
War Is Hell
The young soldier held his rifle close and peered through the darkness, but only right in front of him, he didn't dare look out across the killing fields. He could feel his heart pounding, could hear it rushing through his veins and he could feel a slight breeze cooling his skin. How odd, the smallest pleasures were the most wonderful things in the world at times like these.
It was so hot here normally, that any relief from the oppresive heat was like a personal favor from God. When he was on night watch, the young soldier invariably ended up asking God for a personal favor. A very specific favor. At first he wondered if he was crazy. If he had shell shock or something. He wondered if the stress had finally gotten to him.
Then he started watching the faces of the other young soldiers as they came off nightwatch. He could see it in their eyes and in the mannerisms. Sometimes he'd try to catch their eyes as they came in from the lines, shambling down the trench in the early morning light. He would silently beg them to tell him he was wrong, that he was crazy. They never did. They only asked the same of him. Noone ever talked about it, maybe that would make it too real. Maybe as long as they didn't voice it, it wasn't real, it was just a dream.
He sat in the forward trench, looking back at his lines. That wasn't proper procedure. But they would just have to live with it if they wanted him out here at night. He could hear the wounded crying. Maybe someone he knew. Maybe someone who'd done him a favor. He could hear some praying. He could hear the artillery being fired and the ordinance landing in a blinding flash of roaring death.........And he could hear them feeding.
At night they covered the dead like swarms of vultures. They were carrion. He averted his eyes when a shell exploded near enough to illuminate his field of vision. The officers had told them it would ruin their night vision if they looked at it. He didn't look because he didn't want to see them feeding.... ever again.
But he could still hear it....them. That sound would haunt him til his last day. he never would have been able to imagine those sounds. Flesh ripping, lips and tongues smaking, bones snapping, marrow being sucked and blood being lapped up and slurped out of muddy pools. But the worst was the sounds of their pleasure at doing it. Of satisfaction and appreciation of a good meal. Almost erotic.
He wondered if they were there at every war or if this was specific to this area...a local phenomenon. Didn't matter much he supposed, they were here now.
He thought often of killing himself. Of pulling the pin on a grenade, releasing the firing pin and clutching the grenade under his chin. Of just ending everything right here. No more getting shot at. No more officers ordering his friends out to get slaughtered....and no more feedings on night watch.
He would have done it, but he didn't want them feeding on him. He didn't want his body to lay in a field or trench or shell crater and be eaten. So he lived. He killed. And he took his turn on night watch and listened to them feed......War really is Hell.
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