tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-274939872024-03-14T03:52:39.638-07:00belly button lintrandomly-generated flecks of dead skin bound to more randomly-generated flecks of dead skin found only in the deepest crevices created by my very own
Inny Bellabuttny.Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.comBlogger175125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-4494022610251967232018-09-18T00:18:00.001-07:002018-09-18T00:18:11.664-07:00Cyberpunk<p dir="ltr">Transparency: My Interpretation of a Selection of Billy Idol's Music<br>
**************</p>
<p dir="ltr">Here I stand, atop the crest of what once was a thriving city, brown skin darkened and sunburnt, blue eyes scanning walking paths and roadways for signs of life no longer existent. The future imploded into the present, sixteen months ago, as the crow flies. Sixteen months, to the day.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Nearly five hundred days ago, the First Edict came down. None but those who agreed to implantation would be allowed to walk freely. Women, men, and children - natal and reborn - mowed down. To the left and right, forward, to the side, and kicked backward, carcasses of the dying and the dead littered the barren landscape. Handfuls escaped - mere handfuls out of billions - and of them, thousands were unable to overcome the combinations of noxious, black billows of strychnine and burning rubber, seeping through blood-bathed doorways and pucture-resistant window sealings that offered no barrier against the diamond-sharpened steel projectiles piercing through the moonlight. Preppers were caught unprepared. The unprepared died almost instantly. Lucky bastards. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I escaped through the underground tunnels buried deep below what used to be the primary seat of the Most Favored Nation. A diplomatic missionary, working in futility to avoid the inevitable chemical-laced cyber assaults. Tomorrow, they said. We'll work on that. Tomorrow. And tomorrow, they came. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Once the Nanos entered your cyberspace, that was it. Despite the safeguards, no living being was safe, no water or food unsealed fit for consumption, no air - even filtered - fit to breathe. All that was left were the military rations and freeze-dried victuals meant for astronauts and aquaformers, deep below oceans and disintegrating coral reefs. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Disinformation had convinced the populace the tunnels were fictional. Even at the highest levels of government, officials and ministers scoffed at the thought that such could exist. They died with laughter in their throats, unable to utter, "God," in the midst of their wretched gurgling and paralyzing gasps. Lucky bastards. </p>
<p dir="ltr">I had not agreed to be implanted. A line in a long-ago movie had said that death was more desirable than slavery. By blood and by choice, I became a member of that thriving culture, whose members could now be called a race - since most other ethnicities had perished, as the Nanos continued to spread their poison.</p>
<p dir="ltr">Religion had been abandoned and banned, just before the Nanostorm. That had been the first to go. Except among the fearless and dying, there was to be no religion at all. I had long thought that the root of all evil was religion, not money or the worship of it or other idols. The worship of religion had been the cause of every evil wrought by every descendant of Protogene and Mitochondria. Humankind had turned religion into an idol unto its own. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Blue eyes crying in the rain, how long had it been? Losing love and hope, and heaven, too. This vast dustbowl of sniper wind and rattling stones, water unseen in reefs and riverbeds for four hundred ninety three days. Remembering when the moon danced its final bow, just before the birth of the day exploded in my eyes. Once a ripening force for hues and blues, the explosion threatened to tear the very corneas away from my irises. I can still see, though. There is still some life within the science and technology that replaced my dilated and blackened eyes. At least I kept the blue. At least, they left me the blue. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Confession is good for the soul. I stole my lover's heart. I ripped it out with such force that the very vessels that kept it beating wilted in my dusty grasp. I could see the shape of things to come. I stopped my love's heart before my lover's eyes could see it, too. Am I making up a lie, you ask. Why would I? Would lie not, eventually, become truth - tearing apart the world it knew? No. I would not. No more murder, not of things past, nor of things to come. But I cannot stop the eclipse of emotion that turns light to night, faster than it ever did before. </p>
<p dir="ltr">When I came to this place, I knew the evil that lurked within. As if evil were a shadow, tangible only to the naked soul. But in order to believe in evil, in order to wage war against evil, one must break the Second Edict. And one mustn't do that. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The Second Edict, No Religion, was - not unexpectedly - not well-received, for all temples, churches, mosques, icons, stars, signs, statues - all of them, gone. It came, in fact, before the First. Like words on pages of ancient texts, reordered, so as to appear in false ascendancy. It is not the order of things. </p>
<p dir="ltr">Destroyed by fire, acid, demolition, implosion - certainly, explosion - gone. All outside structures and relics used in corporate religious ceremony and service, gone. Homes, raided. Books, burned. All gone. Like the Templar Knights, anyone found with any item related to organized religious expression were given two options: die with it or die without it. Where any two were gathered, they died crying out to their god or goddess or whatever-gender deity. No animal sacred. No ritual, left unbroken. Natural beauty had been destroyed, as had sacred stone structures and intentionally-carved mazes. Religion, as it was known before the Second Edict - which had come before the First - is dead. Does it matter, now which came first? Six hundred and fifty eight days without faith may as well be five hundred days with dead water. It is still gone. No evil, no good. No <u>religion</u>. Shangri-la is dead. </p>
Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-21295034069791678792018-09-08T12:20:00.002-07:002018-09-08T12:20:20.247-07:00Nine YearsHow can it have been nine years since my last post? Nine years.
A divorce
Another marriage
A terrible, terrible loss
I feel it and him, to this very day
A near-divorce
A reconciliation
A grandson
50
A lifetime
Love, hate, anger, despair . . . certainly, joy. Some, yes. Uncertainty. Fear. Life. Death. Accidents. Education. Tax evasion, theoretically.
Life.
Can't wait to get started again. A new one. But, this one, Sis
This one
Will always be here
For youRuach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-66909743071509520542009-12-05T12:13:00.000-08:002009-12-05T12:22:34.973-08:00Bob on a T, and not the crossin kind<p>So yesterday, I saw Bob on a Christmas tee-shirt in the mall. Now, what was I doin' in a mall, you say? Well, nothin' spritely, just me and my lover-dee-do walkin' around and enjoyin the silence of nobody knowin our names. Sweet times . . .</p><p>Oh, didjall know that me and my first Honey was back in the saddle again? Prolly not, cuz see seein RBD on a tee and havin just said about my blog to my lover-dee-dee a coupla days ago made me member that I ain't been here in a bit. So we are, and it's awesome, to say the least . . . almost a year y'see, and she gave up everythin just to come home to me. Sweet times . . . yea . . . sweet times</p><p>Soz anyhoot, we were walkin thru the mall and I see Bob on a Christmas tee, and I near busted my britches I's laughin s'hard. "BOB ON A CHRISTMAS TSHIRT!" sez I. And as I come round the kiosk, the boy inside is near bustin his britches, too, cuz he knowed he got CAUGHT! BUSTID by a BOB-KNOWER! We wuz both laffin and laffin and nobody knowed what we was laffin about, ya see, so when we looked round at all the peoples lookin round at us, we just laffed even harder still. </p><p>And as I walked away, nearly outta sight, I told him I'd wish him a Merry Christmas, but then he'd just put Bob on it anyway. But that's alright, sez I, Merry Christmas anyway, and have a good night!</p><p><br /></p>Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-64956395316446244432008-12-22T11:52:00.000-08:002008-12-22T11:53:18.720-08:00Love and Babies1. They always come at inconvenient times.<br /><br />2. If they waited until we were ready or prepared for them, they would never get here.<br /><br />3. When you least expect it, something magickal and beautiful arrives, even before the anguish and pain from just a few moments ago has had a chance to subside.<br /><br />4. They grow and change too fast for us to keep up, and too slow for us to not be impatient.<br /><br />5. Most importantly, they are both gifts from God, and if we do not treasure them, they will be gone before we know it.Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-25491139558599486972008-10-29T08:46:00.000-07:002008-10-29T08:53:48.482-07:00Wonder, Grace, and the Great Gilly HopkinsAh, Gilly! The child who spent most of her inner energy wishing for stability, while her actions indicated that she wanted otherwise . . . How often have we each encountered those very same conflicting emotions – and reacted with similar results? We wish for someone or something upon which we can depend, yet our behavior often suggests that the opposite is true. The answer would seem simple: That upon which we concentrate most is often what unfolds in our lives. If we concentrate most on what we do not want, then that is what Universe will send our way. In some circles, it is believed that Universe does not know the difference between I-want and I-do-not-want; Universe only knows where each person’s energy is being directed, and so sends those things or situations that have attracted the most attention. Gilly put most of her energy into pushing away what she did not want, rather on embracing than what she did want. Of course, for most of her life, she did not know what she truly wanted; like most of us, since she knew more about what she did not want, she put more emphasis on that, rather than on finding ways to attract what she did want. It is no wonder, then, that when her heart’s true desire came in the form of Mrs. Trotter and the people in her world, Gilly did not recognize the gift she had been given. Has this not been true of each of us at various points in our journeys?<br /><br /><br />Like many of us, Gilly truly wanted dependability in the midst of contingency. All of life is contingent, even in the best of circumstances. A stray bullet, an errant driver, a well-timed bolt of lightning . . . any of these can disrupt and end life as we know it. Within the tiniest fraction of a moment, the life that we thought we knew and loved could vanish, leaving each person to face the choice of whether to pick up the pieces left behind or to start anew from nothing at all. Was this the choice, we sometimes wonder, that God faced? Was there some cosmic Big Bang where the inhabitants of a world similar to this blew themselves up, leaving God with a choice of whether to pick up the pieces and begin again, or to start anew with a voice in the midst of a void? The essential nature of life, from which we often run, would seem to be the very simple fact that none of this has to be as it is, right in this moment. All that we think we know could dissolve, and the dissolving disillusionment that follows is part of a process that most of us seem to fear and try to avoid at all costs. That is where Gilly – and we – make our most telling mistake: We begin concentrating so much of our energies on (avoiding) contingency that we fail to recognize and embrace the dependability we so earnestly desire from within. Desire, like love, is static until we focus energy on it. In other words, until desire becomes a verb with which we imbue with energetic action – showing, seeking, discovering – it can only remain a word on a page, sometimes less than a fleeting thought through the mind. Until we put our hearts and souls into living the dependability we so desire, into – in Gandhi’s words – becoming the change we wish to see, we will continue to attract that which gets the most attention: the chaos of contingency.<br /><br />The key would seem to lie in embracing contingency as part of life’s process, thereby freeing us to focus our energies on becoming the dependability that we seek in the midst of the chaos. How can one depend on one’s faith, if one does not concentrate one’s energies on being faithful? How can one depend on God’s love and grace in times of trouble, if one does not concentrate one’s energies on being loving and grace-filled in the midst of the chaos that others experience? Rarely does God’s grace and love come gift-wrapped in a package that falls on us from outer space. Most often, God sends love and grace through other people in ways that can only be recognized from within, first. In order for grace and love to be felt from within, it would seem that it must come from within, first. This is the lesson that Gilly – who represents each of us children of God – learns late and, of course, the hard way. She, battered by her frequently broken heart, does not recognize that she has arrived at the home for which she has most longed. Life’s contingencies have ripped the rug from under her so many times that in an act of final desperation, she rips her own rug from under her own feet, and must live with the consequences that she has created. Fortunately for Gilly – and for us – the story does not end there, for in doing so, Gilly ends up in the home of the one living entity who helped create her, just as we will eventually return to the Home of the One Living Entity who created each of us. The wonder of it all is that for the many times we get lost and lose ourselves, we make it Home at all. It is enough to make one wonder whether God has installed the Spirit as some sort of homing device, so that no matter how lost we cause our souls to be, they return to the One who is never lost, but only hidden deep within.<br /><br />Gilly Hopkins is great, indeed, as is each of us. Through her story, we can interpret our own journeys. For, is it not so that each of us goes through many foster homes – places that were dependable only for a season – before we finally reach Home? Is it not so that when we feel tossed aside by contingency, we become confused into thinking that contingency created us, and so we must also become contingent in our own interactions with ourselves and with others – and with God? Is it not so that after a lifetime of creating contingency, we forget what true dependability really looks like, and so, looking through our human eyes leads us to fail to see it when it does arrive? And, is it not so that it is only after we have propelled ourselves from the embrace of true dependability that hindsight can finally show us what we have missed, and that it is only then that we begin to realize that we must put energy into becoming what we want to have, instead of putting that energy into not having what we do not want?<br /><br />When you are hungry for eggs, it is pointless to reach into the refrigerator with only the intent of not grabbing the bacon. For when your only intent is to not grab the bacon, sure enough, it will be the bacon that leaps into your hands first; the eggs will never even have a chance. Likewise, when dependability is what we seek, it is pointless to reach within Universe, with only the intent of avoiding contingency. For if we reach within Universe, with only the intent of avoiding contingency, sure enough, it will be contingency that will leap toward us first; dependability will never even have a chance.Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-6379296999220604232008-10-19T16:54:00.000-07:002008-10-19T16:57:51.960-07:00My Story: DepressionIn August 1985, at the age of 17, I discovered that I was pregnant. Young and inexperienced, but with a pretty good sense of self, I decided that I was neither ready nor willing to be a mother. I wanted to have an abortion, but parental permission was denied. I considered adoption, but the closer I got to having my son, the more I realized that I would not be emotionally strong enough to give him up. Over the years, I have had friends and beloved ones who have had abortions, and because I know that it is such a heart wrenching and soul searing decision, I admire them for the people they are and I think that their strength in the face of what had to be the most difficult decisions they have ever had to make is to be both commended and respected. I did not choose to not have an abortion; that choice was made for me. Like any medical procedure, I believe that such decisions are best left to the people directly involved and their primary medical care providers. But this is not a story about teen pregnancy or abortion; it is a story about depression.<br /><br />Sixteen years after my son was born, I suffered a devastating emotional breakdown. A strong woman, I suddenly found myself unable to cope with living in the world I had created, and so I called my mother and begged her to allow me to come live with her. It was 2001, and it would be the first time since my son was very small that I would be living under my mother's roof. The intergenerational factor notwithstanding, I had also come out as a lesbian – something that my mother had come to believe would surely send my soul to hell. It made life difficult, to say the least. But this is not a story about being a lesbian; it is a story about depression.<br /><br />A few months after moving into my mother's house, I secured a job working as an administrative assistant at a non-profit organization. This organization provided educational opportunities for healthcare providers in the fields of obstetrics and gynecology, so that they could keep their training and licensure current by earning needed continuing education credits through coursework and practical experience. The nonprofit also advocated for legislation that reinforced a woman's right to make her own pregnancy termination choices, should such become necessary – a position that I highly respect and value. As I progressed within the organization, my job became more specialized, and I began work in the area of membership acquisition. Part of my responsibilities entailed reading the journal articles published by members of our association in various medical journals. <br /><br />Several factors came into play, between November 2001 and February 2003: a new living situation, a new job, a child who was angry at having to move in his junior year of high school, falling in love, getting kicked out of my mother's home for being a "practicing" lesbian, moving in with my new lover, a chance encounter that led to PTSD flashbacks from childhood and adult sexual traumas, and intense therapy to learn coping mechanisms for all of those situations. When I read an article by one of my association's doctors, detailing an abortive procedure that required the insertion of a needle into an unborn's brain and literally sucking the life out of that fetus before inducing its forced expulsion, I began having panic attacks every single day as I walked into the office. While I am strongly supportive of a woman's right to choose, discovering the details of this specific procedure caused me no end of heartache and regret. In the end, my then-partner encouraged me to resign my position, as it had become clear that along with everything else, a complete mental and spiritual meltdown was imminently approaching. <br /><br />The whirlwind hit with a force that I had never encountered before. Nightmares, daymares, flashbacks . . . emotional imprisonment. My mind was no longer a safe place to be. Over the next two years, I would watch myself slowly slide into a chasmic abyss from which there seemed no escape; I turned from a confident and self-assured woman into this near-agoraphobic child that I hardly recognized. I dared not look in the mirror, for fear of coming face-to-face with what I had become.<br /><br />I had a few saving graces during that time. <br />• My then-partner did not abandon me, even though promise after promise remained unfulfilled. For instance, I had promised that if I were allowed to quit my job, I would keep the house spotless and have dinner on the table every night. It was understandably disappointing and anger-inducing when many days, I felt triumphant if I could just get out of bed and wash the dishes. There were many arguments during that time, but hindsight has revealed that we were both doing the best we could while struggling with and against each other – and our selves – in very unfamiliar territory. <br /><br />• Another saving grace came in the form of our choir director, and by extension, our church itself. Our choir director became my rock, my anchor. She saw into me in ways that I kept hidden, even from my therapist. She held me when I wept, and she taught me how to be strong again, through the most gentle and firm ways imaginable. She was actually the first person I encountered when the flashbacks began, and from that moment, she made me a priority in her life. At 2:00 AM, when the nightmares kept me awake, I called her and she helped me go back to sleep. In the middle of the afternoon, when I grew silent and withdrew, she called right at the moment when the walls started to close in on me. And she recognized my penchant for isolating. So she got me to use my administrative wizadry to help her keep our music ministry – and her office – organized. I was SO GRATEFUL for a reason to get out of the house, out of my own mind's prison, and to keep functioning. If I needed to not be there, she understood and supported me. But when she could see that I had too much time on my hands, she filled my hands so that my mind could heal. She became my first mentor in the ministry, and she will always embody those qualities in a mom that my own mother was unable to provide.<br /><br />• By extension, my church is also a saving grace for me. After much encouragement from my then-partner, I underwent training to become a deacon, and just the opportunity to be surrounded by people who take care of people – and to be of help in taking care of every one of them – provided me the opportunity to be cared for, myself. I think that this can occur in any situation – a hospital, nursing home, church – anyplace that provides sanctuary and care of others is such a healing place to give and receive the gifts of love and grace. When I started ministering to the needs of others, I found my own needs being ministered to, as well. And as I say "ministering", I am not just speaking of the classic meaning of ministry – in a church – but of the overarching meaning: the caregiving, the support, the doing-for-others-ness that occurs when I give freely of myself, not expecting or wanting any sort of payment in return. I find a little bit of me in the people I help, and I have come to accept that that is not selfish or co-dependent. It is interdependent. My health does not depend on whether they need me. My health depends, in part, on my own willingness to use my gifts to help myself to help others to help themselves.<br /><br />• My therapist was and is a saving grace for me. In those first few months, we saw each other three times a week, every week. She was another anti-agoraphobic agent. I had to get out of the house to see her, which meant riding the bus and train for up to two hours each way. My MP3 player and I got very close in those first few months, and I still keep it in reserve for when I have to be in the city, riding public transportation. Probably the most important thing my therapist did for me is twofold: First, she gave me homework for every day between our sessions; and second, she put the responsibility for my recovery into my own hands. It was my responsibility to put into practice the tools and techniques she taught me; it was up to me to journal or draw or talk through those events that, when locked away, only ate at my soul and at my life. It was all up to me, and I have no doubt that if I were still seeing her three times a week after six months, she would have recommended me to another therapist. Her goal was that I get better, and her level of professionalism dictated that if I weren't showing signs of progress, then she would have suggested I continue my treatment elsewhere. That inspired a level of trust within me that I had not felt in a very long time.<br /><br />I would like to say that I am completely depression free now, and that all of life is rosy and happy, every moment of every day. That would be a lie. A very wise friend recently told me that "health is a choice." It is a choice that I have to make every single day – and, to be honest, sometimes I have to make that choice moment-by-moment. I still battle my depression because like my sciatica and pinched nerves, depression is a chronic disease that – left untreated – will eat away at my core, and will eventually erode my sense of self, my relationships, and my life. That same wise friend says that, "depression kills, but with a very long and slow timeline." If I am not careful, I will not see that it is destroying me until I look around and see the destruction it leaves in the wake of my life. <br /><br />I am definitely on "happy pills"; Zoloft has been a Godsend. But Zoloft alone is not enough. Without the care of my therapist, the love of several dear people, and my own willingness to push myself beyond what I thought were my limitations, I would still be locked in my own home, a prisoner of my own mind. But the most important thing I think I did was that I let go, and I did what I was told to do. I stopped struggling, stopped giving my therapist and my friends and my beloved ones reasons for why I could not, and I made the decision to just get up and do what I was told. I discovered that because I stopped trusting my parents' abilities to act in my own best interests, as a very young child, that I had a lot of trouble picking the right people to trust in, as I grew into an adult. Of the many people I have chosen to be in my life over the last 40 years, only a very small handful have proven to be ones that I want to grow old and die with. But then, that handful is not the handful that I have chosen; they are the ones whom I have encountered at the very most unlikely of times and have stuck with me, even when I did not want to stick with myself. (There is a lesson in there, I am sure of it.) But once I decided to just do what I was told – to trust the love of my therapist and my family-of-choice – a whole world opened up to me, and I have not regretted a single moment of this new ride that I am on. The beginning was hard and shaky and there were times when I got off, threw up, and then got right back on again. And there are still those upside down moments, backward turns, and major upheavals (spiritual, emotional, and spiritual) but I still do what I am told, especially in those moments when I have to admit that I do not know what I am supposed to do. <br /><br />I had to decide that I wanted to be healthy. I still have to decide that I want to be healthy. Part of that decision is realizing that I do not always know what is best for me – that most times, it is the people who love me who know what is best for me. Someone looked in and found a place where I could come, just as I was, to work on my outside while I and my therapist worked on my inside. Someone encouraged me to push myself when I thought I was too weak to even want to get out of bed most days. Someone cared about me and did not let me keep playing those self-destructive tapes that drove me to kick myself while I was already down. Someone showed me grace and love, and showed me that I had grace and love to give, when I thought that that I had none and deserved neither. The people in my life were not just there for me. They were there with me – pulling, pushing, encouraging, cajoling, and forcing me to see things and do stuff that my mind would not allow my heart to admit I wanted to do. Of all of those, I thank God most for the parts where they pushed and forced me, because if they had not, then the pulling and cajoling and encouraging would have only netted moments of laughter – rather than the life of joy that I am privileged to be an active participant in. <br /><br />I still have to choose to be healthy. At least now, though, it is not nearly as hard a choice as it once was. My mind is a safer place to be, and thank God for the amount of work that it takes to make sure it stays that way.Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-63925108809090597262008-07-15T17:28:00.000-07:002008-07-15T17:49:44.426-07:00Top Ten . . .Reasons Why I Like Hangin Out With God<br /><br />1. God talks back. Sometimes. <br /><br />2. God's got the single parenting thing down to a science.<br /><br />3. Hangin out with God means that <strong>I</strong> don't have to be the center of the universe.<br /><br />4. It doesn't hurt my feelings when God laughs at me.<br /><br />5. I don't have to vie for God's attention.<br /><br />6. God never breaks a Commandment. <br /><br />7. God doesn't hate or kill. God lets US decide - and live with the consequences of - what we hate and what we use to kill ourselves. And each other.<br /><br />8. God doesn't care what I wear to class or what my hair looks like or whether I have brown, pink, golden, or brick-colored skin. <br /><br />9. God loves what God makes. No exceptions.<br /><br />10. God never needs God-Time.<br /><br /><em><strong>WAITWAITWAIT . . . There's more . . .</strong></em><br /><br />11. God <em>gets</em> slack.<br /><br />12. God is not Bob. God is not dead. God is God.<br /><br />13. God is the only Thing that justs . . . everything.<br /><br />14. God makes me smile, probably about as often as I make God laugh.<br /><br />15. If I put on an alb and I'm talking out loud while walking alone down the street, nobody will even suspect the insanity that lurks within. That's cool as shit!<br /><br />16. Playing in the Presence of God is a helluva lot more fun than crying in the absence of man.Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-48109111949770339372008-07-07T00:06:00.000-07:002008-07-07T00:24:49.190-07:00We're M.I.Dunno, actually . . . I've so gotten away from writing as a whole. Not just bloggin but poetry and love letters to MyLover. Songs . . . I haven't written in so long, it's almost frightening. I wish I could say that I knew the moment it began, and actually I do, but can't meaning won't . . . <br /><br />So I am, now . . . writing, that is. Of course, Greek starts next week, so it'll be interesting the direction that my writing takes over the next month-and-a-half. Stuff just coincides . . . <br /><br />I've got emails to return, and ooh that is QUITE the bit of crow to eat, although I'll be feeding it to myself. My people are amazingly understanding: they let me know that I've been lax, but then they also let me know that they understand why. However, their understandingness doesn't let me off the hook. On the contrary, it drives me to keep myself right there on that hook 'til I have paid them my debt of kindness. <br /><br />So many interesting things happening lately . . . A 3.5 for my first semester of Seminary. Some might say that this isn't a 'real' grad school, but I dare your average business major to take a walk in some of MY homework, and we'll see who has the more challenging courseload. Almost anyone can 3R - repeat, recite, and regurgitate - but few are willing to delve deeply into their soul's matter and live within its spiritual constructs. It is fun, though - imagine, a career where I can pick my own bellybutton lint, examine it and that of others, and share the whole experience in front of a roomful of forty to four hundred of my bestest friends. Weehee!<br /><br />Gonna turn forty soon, speakin of which. I like that, and I'm grateful for that. Got a sweet grrl, an awesome kid, and as much family as I allow myself to be open to. I'm fuckin tired right now, though, so syonara, sweet dreams, and caviar.<br /><br />Cheers!Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-26950525330590076722008-06-27T22:31:00.000-07:002008-06-27T22:37:03.569-07:00shortso like this friend of mine . . . sweet girl . . . gits shot in her house . . . shot dead . . . then they set her place afire . . . she's home alone . . . and i'm fuckin insane with insanity . . . hard sayin God bless everyone no exceptions . . . <br /><br />what if you wanna make an exception<br /><br />wwJd<br /><br />if he was alive, he woulda drove a chevette . . . dya think he woulda pimped out his ass like ppl pimp out chevette's . . . would he've gave it some zebra stripes and a boostin ass sound system with humongous woofers and little tiny tweeters and a kickin ass . . . well would his ass've kicked ass, ya think? shit . . . J in a chevette . . . or maybe a chevelle, yanno? like black interior with a yellow and white paintjob with red stripes and a rainbow I-Love-You sticker?<br /><br />just wonderin, yanno, cuz it ain't right . . . shit just ain't cool.<br /><br />annyway, i need a bath. i'm all sweaty and sticky and all that, but i just kinda needed to vent, inbetween squidbillies n razzapple buzz and shit . . . just needed to trip before i get wet . . . well, hell . . . gettin wet's nice anyway<br /><br />cheerios<br /><br />rubluRuach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-14056202641620425362008-05-25T11:23:00.000-07:002008-11-13T11:01:25.896-08:00Shiny Girls Finish First<div><div><div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4ZuaGo0GIBWBacXQ-a__C52BapXOMY8jkV4dBXMLWpHKBeXkYvsov7i22KuAWNlrH8mHq8uPdngNMQmIIEkNcADUywRXNAW1Ro9l9_pDOCijI3eUgLKki7d2OusaDGgP2lzHDg/s1600-h/Lookout+052508.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204384191310320258" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4ZuaGo0GIBWBacXQ-a__C52BapXOMY8jkV4dBXMLWpHKBeXkYvsov7i22KuAWNlrH8mHq8uPdngNMQmIIEkNcADUywRXNAW1Ro9l9_pDOCijI3eUgLKki7d2OusaDGgP2lzHDg/s200/Lookout+052508.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div>Yeah, I'm pretty cute. Everybody says so and you can only hear a thing so many times before you start believin it. And who'd lie to a dog, right? Right.</div><div></div><br /><div>Ok, so check out the shine on my coat there. Glistening in the sunlight, yeah? Well, it might be pretty and I might be cute, but getting me to look like this did <strong>not</strong> make for a very cute morning. It all started so innocently . . .</div><br /><div></div><div>Mommy got up, a little earlier than usual, but that wasn't a big deal. She sleeps like I sleep - whenever, wherever, til she's gotta go wee. So as she trekked her way to the echosystem, I got up and stretched . . . so tem<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IRYioNdUQPFWNcAfnV5nVmMZljZT9TTg__2Eujly4nCTjjcq4ULQXVjnZp5HWmwQW1qcB0ONdi9KDiVcWMeRDfj5cIVVU-2vqzz6kAxWOTm8RLNgjblg0-gfLs8B7Yym-3trzw/s1600-h/C+Shine+from+above+052508.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204386819830305426" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-IRYioNdUQPFWNcAfnV5nVmMZljZT9TTg__2Eujly4nCTjjcq4ULQXVjnZp5HWmwQW1qcB0ONdi9KDiVcWMeRDfj5cIVVU-2vqzz6kAxWOTm8RLNgjblg0-gfLs8B7Yym-3trzw/s200/C+Shine+from+above+052508.jpg" border="0" /></a>pted to try to get out of my harness again, but I'm still smartin from yesterday's Houdini display. You'd think she'd be proud of a puppy who can get out of any kind of binding, but nooooooooo. She rips me a new one every friggin time! I'm all like, "Look, Ma! No hands!" But then I don't sit right for the rest of the day. And those looks . . . Shit! 'S'enough to make you feel two legs short and three feet shorter. If you've ever gotten a Mommy Mad Look, you know <em>for sure</em> that you <strong>never</strong> want to get another one as long as you live! </div><br /><div></div><div>So imagine my surprise when Mommy calls me over and takes off my harness <em>herself</em> this morning! I shoulda known somethin was up. Too late, she was leadin me by the collar . . . <em>that's</em> when it hit me! B-A-T-H time! Ooooh I tried to resist, but that damned tiled floor! Never can get a grip! But it does make my butt and pawnails slide a lot, so that was a plus. 'Til Mommy did the unthinkable. To hear her tell it, sixty pounds is a LOT when it plops up against a human tryin to share my bed. Well, okay, it's <em>her</em> bed, but only cuz I let her get in first. Anyhoot, so when I plop on, she acts like she's tryin to move the weight of the world. Apparently sixty pounds isn't really that heavy when it's B-A-T-H time, cuz she scooped me up and had me in the tub before I could even yelp right. 'Course b<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqp-URRk6cgEzxVG-d28tOzS6ppM24dFuLRV3T4CpsH6q4MLLGNpbyj70spprdS3anMiMF6PvRUPf5IKpLeIMccR3a-MCXaKLHWX-DMDUBe5O20tGjlAEtqeDm0VQ4ncf3EwHpA/s1600-h/Shiny+052508.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204389190652252834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqp-URRk6cgEzxVG-d28tOzS6ppM24dFuLRV3T4CpsH6q4MLLGNpbyj70spprdS3anMiMF6PvRUPf5IKpLeIMccR3a-MCXaKLHWX-DMDUBe5O20tGjlAEtqeDm0VQ4ncf3EwHpA/s200/Shiny+052508.jpg" border="0" /></a>y then, I didn't even want to yelp anymore. What was the point? It was all downhill from there anyway.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div>The waterspewerthingie was already spewin, and I've gotta admit - that water was warm and tasty! No additives, no preservatives, just straight from the spewer. Yum. Next thing I know, I'm all wet. Head to tail, just friggin <em>soaked</em>! Even my nose got wet. And I was shakin' and pantin like a bitch in heat!! Scared off my arse, I was! And then came the bubblystuff. It was <strong>cold</strong> at first! Made the hair on my tail stand up! Then Mommy rubbed in and the bubbles came. Now normally I like bubbles, but these smelled funny and tasted like yuck when one landed on my tongue. ILCH! The only nice part was that Mommy sat on the side of the tub with her feet inside where I was. I know it was just to help keep me in place, but it sure was comforting and I loved it that she got as spewed as I did! Heh heh . . . I think my shakin helped with that, but don't tell her that.</div><div></div><br /><div>Second round of bubblestuff'n'spewrinse wasn't so bad. By then, I was pretty used to it. I was SO friggin glad when it was over, though! I got dried with a clean towel and Mommy laid out my blankie on the floor so I could dry off my belly and soothe my wounded pride. She said I did really good, though. Yay! </div><br /><div></div><div>All in all, it wasn't so bad. We went outside and I've gotta admit, the wind sure felt nice next to my clean skin and coat. And I'm all shiny now too! Wait til my uncles and boyfriends see me! They'll love all over me even more than normal! I hate B-A-T-Hs, but I can always stand more lovins from the two-leggeds!</div><div></div><br /><div>Peace out, Dudes! Woof!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXStbMbPwc2GEENOmemJ0bL2ahPWNqxCCWPukdAeULghQW3iQ7Yz4Uvw5ALfR6vdnyA9rli3R5v0ReTTmgUlFdzJAL4p2wBQ1MPIZ2aO-2-pQwQJE1WYGnI1vA2xgmVUYBlWCIIg/s1600-h/FurShine+052508.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204392403287790274" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXStbMbPwc2GEENOmemJ0bL2ahPWNqxCCWPukdAeULghQW3iQ7Yz4Uvw5ALfR6vdnyA9rli3R5v0ReTTmgUlFdzJAL4p2wBQ1MPIZ2aO-2-pQwQJE1WYGnI1vA2xgmVUYBlWCIIg/s200/FurShine+052508.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /></div><p align="right"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvQLVZbE26Ykfwyv08A5cm7Rt_Jv-3CDuW_WjJ7uyRzYX9_HlgaWaGoKu1ep_rF4J-TsBbvZFHvv3Q49NBVRqjuwFGgSfZg_4dhsLQsSFs9bBSHhyphenhyphenzT0p31o3rWA3MC2vDJu4Jw/s1600-h/FurShine+052508.jpg"></a></p></div></div></div></div></div>Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-87181463991025989822008-05-21T22:27:00.000-07:002008-05-21T23:05:35.891-07:00BPhoCedso here i am, nearin 40, here for bout . . . mmmmm 4 months, give or take. and i'm the BPhOC. 's'right folks, i BPhOCed . . . daily, almost. and what a freakin sideshow it is! BPhOCin AY! <br /><br />so here's the first installment . . . rough draft, very much preliminary . . .<br /><br /><br /><em>secret<br /><br />Eternal Chasm of Strength, I do not breathe but that I yield me to Divinity. Show me now, be seen, breathe a command, create a moment, signify and send forth Your Breath - She Your Servant, Your Command. My life, my joanna, abides . . . </em><br /><br />This Book seems to start off beautifully, does it not?<br /><br />This one verse yielded 29 pages of <em>just one</em> set of Greek-to-English dictionary definitions. These are definitions from <em>one</em> book! No wonder my friggin books cost $500 per semester! dayum!!!<br /><br />but hey, it's a worthfrigginwhile investment! my ass has sorely been whipped this term, and yanna . . . i'm lovineveryminitofit. <br /><br />time to get started on somethin else new . . .<br />hasta, peeps!<br />RxRuach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-12550859720745696052008-03-04T22:06:00.000-08:002008-03-04T22:13:53.065-08:00just wonderinif i'm still bein read<br />been so busy<br />damn blog's been all but dead<br />craziest damn thing<br />happened late one night<br />and i'm tryin to figger<br />what's wrong and what's right<br /><br />i wanna write a bluez song<br />ain't got no smoke to bear<br />i wanna write a true song<br />all the wrong words in the air<br />i wanna write a love song<br />but i can't open my wine<br />i wanna write a blood song<br />ain't got no blood that ain't mine<br /><br />ain't that crazy<br />craziest bluez u ever heard<br />ain't that crazy<br />bein shaken and not stirred<br />ain't that crazy<br />done lost my fuckin mind<br />ain't that crazy<br />can't even open my own wine<br /><br />i wanna write a bluez song<br />ain't got no smoke to bear<br />i wanna write a true song<br />all the wrong words up in the air<br />i wanna write a love song<br />but i can't open my own wine<br />i wanna write a blood song<br />ain't got no blood that ain't mine<br /><br />ain't got no blood that ain't mine<br />can't even open my own wine<br />no broken glass<br />no not this timeRuach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-74519282714522783022008-01-18T22:50:00.000-08:002008-01-18T22:52:01.017-08:00<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uaARZQhEs5Q&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uaARZQhEs5Q&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-70533147024915874922008-01-15T15:52:00.000-08:002008-01-15T16:17:47.782-08:00Lost in LXTROk, so I've been here in Holyville for just over a week, and I've been getting lostlostlost drivin on the roads here. First because people in this part of PA drive like fuckin MANIACS! And I mean that in the nicest and most Christian way. But FUCK!<br /><br />For instance, I'm on a stretch of road where 55 is the speed limit. I'm in the slow lane cuz . . . I get lost to easily to be in the fast lane most of the time. But I'm doin 60 (or 65) in the SLOW LANE. And doofball idiots are riding so far up my ass that when I fart in my car, they say pee-you in theirs. I tap my brakes. Softly. Then so hard that CGirl thinks she's gonna go slidin off the back seat into her water bowl. No luck. Assholes apparently like to ride the assholes of others -- asshole fetishites they are, after all. So I do the only thing I can do. Stop. Right there. So suddenly that they hit the horn only because it's the only thing they can do to keep their heads from doing it for them. I laugh my ass off. They give me the evil eye as they go around me. Teeheeeheeee . . . dumbasses.<br /><br />Or how about on the highway, where the speed limit is 65 and I'm doin 75 in the FAST LANE. Ya think my ass is asshole free? Nada chance. I wish I was gettin more O outta people stickin theirselves up my ass like that, but as it stands -- or sits, as the case may be -- I have to be content with slowin all the way down to 55 and grinnin like I just got laid when they give me the evil eye as they go around me. <br /><br />^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^<br /><br />SO, as a new denizen of Holyville, I've been gettin lost a lot. Even got lost tryin to get outta here to go get my kid and take him back to school.<br /><br />Ok, side note -- that shit ain't NEVER happenin again. Love him dearly, which is why I'm gonna LOVINGLY stick his ass on a train and LOVINGLY wave at him as the train pulls bye-bye. IF I'm in town when he arrives/departs. Or IF he's in Holyville visiting when it's time to go back. Mama's too old for that, and <a href="http://frogspondlight.blogspot.com/">Froggie</a> ain't gettin no younger neither.<br /><br />Anyway, I digress . . .<br /><br />So I figure out today that my drivin ain't worth shit if I'm usin a map, but if I've got TBTs, I'm good to go. So I print out my first TBT, so I can hit Wally World. See, my FiyaGrrl done turned me on to kosher baloney and hot dogs. (See what you done did, FiyaGrrl?!) <br /><br />Ennyway, so I print out Wally World TBTs, and lo and behold, I make it there and back in under six hours!!!! This is truly a day for rejoicin! Right? It's a 20-minute trip -- but LostGrrl here has been turnin it into six hours on the road, only the first three of which are actually fun. (Ask CGrrl, next time she gets to blog. She'll tell ya the REAL DEAL!)<br /><br />So I'm thinkin Yippeee, right? No KoBo at Wally's, but I can do the TBT thing really really well! So I print out a TBT for Weis . . . darling little LXTR chain that seems to be a favorite of my fellow Holyville denizens. It's actually CLOSER than Wally's and one of them did have my kobo last week . . .<br /><br />And two hours later . . .<br /><br /><br /><br />LOL I took a detour. <br /><br /><br /><br />It was a axident . . .<br /><br /><br /><br />See . . . this is wha ha happen<br /><br /><br /><br />K, see so Weis didn't have any kosher bologna, so I started on my way back. But then I saw a GIANT. And I thought, 'Hell yea! They'll have it!' Another round of disappointment, though . . . No kobo to be found . . . so I pulled out of the parking lot . . . and turned the wrong way. Not having expected to even SEE Giant, I didn't print out turn-by-turns from there . . . Sooooo . . .<br /><br /><br /><br />I ended up driving all the way back to Weis before I figured out, 'Hey, I should be on 462 WEST, not EAST. So I drivedrivedrivedrive til I get to a safe spot to make a yoUie, drivedrivedrivedrivedrive back down 462 West, and then make the ten-minute trip home . . . <br /><br /><br /><br />AND STILL NO FRIGGIN KOBO!<br /><br /><br /><br />(((((AAARRRRRGGGHHH)))))<br /><br /><br /><br />Ok, I feel better . . . <br /><br />I'm safely back in Holyville. Maybe I'll wait til after our field trip to Phily before I hunt for KoBo again. <br /><br />Ah well, I did get lots of KoDogs . . . they is YUM too. My FiyaGrrl knows how to feed me, just right. Now if I can just find more KoBo to keep my new habit going . . .Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-62084667677844271062008-01-11T09:46:00.001-08:002008-11-13T11:01:26.201-08:00CGirl's Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUmJTgimAO7x7U0BSBTiLYQRyMj2t5QzVW3b7Mn1KpBZBKpiSXUxOSo4xq3rNMEZHVUIrISqVzQY99MTa0T3Pugdq2OMraH0OVFx8IpOg7QnbG4Qcw-kmz1O9OYQQp_EVwXNLCQ/s1600-h/Callie+LTS+011108.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUmJTgimAO7x7U0BSBTiLYQRyMj2t5QzVW3b7Mn1KpBZBKpiSXUxOSo4xq3rNMEZHVUIrISqVzQY99MTa0T3Pugdq2OMraH0OVFx8IpOg7QnbG4Qcw-kmz1O9OYQQp_EVwXNLCQ/s320/Callie+LTS+011108.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154281025176679826" /></a><br /><br /><br />Well, just so you all know, I'm pretty happy up here too. Mommy's in class for three hours a day, so I get the whole house to myself. I watch movies and listen to music, and I bark for about five minutes every morning after she leaves for class. Sometimes Mommy admonishes me to shush, but most times, she just takes it in stride that that's just part of me being . . . well, me.<br /><br />So, I go for two or three walks a day, plus long drives. The long drives are mostly because Mommy gets lost when we're coming home from wherever she drives us to. The good news is that she actually likes getting lost -- but I've gotta tell ya, after about six hours of getting lostedness, I'm really ready to just get home and into some serious pee-and-nap time. Mommy can just stop in some gas station -- but me, I'm pretty picky about where I pee. It's gotta be near home, otherwise -- in the words of Morgan Freeman in Shawshank, "I can't squeeze a drop." 'Course, Mommy's pretty picky too, but I've got picky down to a science.<br /><br />Speaking of home, though, here I am today, hangin out on Monk Walk. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2Ngn518F2bsmSNW5AltkY9e8pXd61ovHi407Uxc5sjIOlgm60-lsHRYQHeaCeccXPmgkKZyyxQ7c6TT5lT3nqyUzcE2ZussZMt7QjPvCh5dLHZOwjXR3RgJN5V0MXrgxjUg95w/s1600-h/Callie+LTS+MonkWalk+011108.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2Ngn518F2bsmSNW5AltkY9e8pXd61ovHi407Uxc5sjIOlgm60-lsHRYQHeaCeccXPmgkKZyyxQ7c6TT5lT3nqyUzcE2ZussZMt7QjPvCh5dLHZOwjXR3RgJN5V0MXrgxjUg95w/s320/Callie+LTS+MonkWalk+011108.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5154278237742904706" /></a><br />I like Monk Walk. Mommy can grab a smoke and I can say hi to all the two-leggeds that come my way. That's one of the coolest changes so far. Before I moved here, I used to be scared of EVERYTHING and everybody. My tail would go <em>immediately</em> between my legs and I would just cower everytime I went out anywhere or anytime anybody came near me. Now, I just growl a little -- and, hey, if you know me then you know that my growl means nada -- but my tail just wags and wags until my whole body is doing the wag-me dance. I just wanna know EVERYBODY, sniff their hands -- but Mommy won't let me sniff their butts. She says it's impolite to two-leggeds cuz they don't like having their butts sniffed. Oh well, they'll adapt. She says that soon, I'll have many more four-leggeds here, so that'll be really cool. I like the kitties across the hall, but I don't think they're used to the C4s like I'm used to the F4s. I think that they think that all C4s wanna do is chase and scare the F4s, but that ain't so. Ah well, they'll adapt.<br /><br />Anyway, I think Mommy needs to do some laundry and unpacking cuz there's stuff EVERYWHERE. She told me that we're getting a new bed tomorrow AND two used chairs and a coffee table next week. WOW! All new furniture stuffs for me to hang out on while Mommy is in class. <br /><br />I think I like it here. The H2s are really friendly and patient, and I don't get so scared of their cars and trucks like I did in that big city I used to live in. I get to run around on grass a lot, and when Mommy says, "Go say hi," I really do wanna go say hi. I like wagging my tail when H2s approach, much more than walkin round with it between my legs, and EVERYBODY smells either like F4s or C4s -- which really makes it easy for me to want to say hi. PLUS, I like the small town life. Livin is easy and except for having to share the bed, I like hangin out with Mommy most of the day and all through the night.<br /><br />Well, I'd better jump off here so Mommy can go do laundry. <br /><br />Have a good weekend everybody -- and to all my C4s out there . . .<br /><br />WOOF, Dude! Peace out!Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-70382973513294102032008-01-08T17:56:00.000-08:002008-01-08T18:14:32.367-08:00'Tis official . . . I am . . . a Seminarian. A Punk Preacher. A Mystic Minister. <br /><br />Somehow, this seems a bit twisted . . . Rychus, yet . . . <br /><br />Five books. One class. Three weeks. Five frickin books. Thick little fuckers too. Glad this is the short term and I get a break at the end of it. LoverGrrl, I dunno which of us is travelin to see whom but I've been feelin the urge to merge every second since our last mergickal moment . . . ain't never been so whipped in my life and I dunno if livin here in Holyville's done upped the ante, but before you came along it had been SO long since I'd touched . . . SO long . . . since . . . I'd wanted . . . I can't wait to give you me and have you . . . over and over again. <br /><br />Hooray for Holyville, yea?<br /><br />So, the new space still needs to get unpacked but ltlCgirl is havin the time of her life . . . so excited to be comin out o'her shell that she sacks out from the fatigue of finally bein a friendly four-legged and I just hafta shake ma heayud and laff my ass off at her. Til, of course, she decides that under-my-butt is the best place to keep her tired-from-runnin-EH-VA-REE-WHERE toodles warm at night. LtlShit, she is, but that's what I get for fallin in love with the ears that go poinkpoink when she's all happy and jumpin round like the Banshee she is.<br /><br />LOVE bein in my own space. LOVE FUCKIN IT. My shit. My peace. My quiet. My noise. My newfound thug music love. (Yea, it's a fuckin hoot . . . <em>go gangsta . . . keep poppin . . . rock witme let's git this bitch poppin . . . go gangsta . . . git rockin . . . like back when tha nigga was clockin . . . </em> Fuckin Ay!<br /><br />Tho lately, with the final projects from . . . well, here in Holyville, I'm guessin they're from UpThere . . . loomin on the horizon, it's been more Yanni than Gangsta -- I gotta figure out what I'm doin cuz three weeks ain't shit, knowhadeyemean? <br /><br />Pretty up here in Holyville. Think I'm gonna love it for the next three years. My space. My shit. My life . . . and MyLoverGrrl . . . It's a fuckin hoot, ain't it just?Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-21816142073570886392008-01-03T21:32:00.001-08:002008-01-03T22:04:55.813-08:00Where am I this eve?Hell, I dunno . . . somewhere suspended between passion and rage. Sometimes it feels as if I live within that suspension -- as if something waits to trigger my rage as soon as I feel an inkling of passion. <br /><br />My Passion, she is my Light and Life, my Laughter and my Longing. Spending our first Yule/Christmas/Solstice in the warmth of her home, in her city and in her arms, . . . this was so much a loving learning time for us. To learn how to interweave passion and patience into our day-to-day life, balancing the Es and the Es within the braid that holds us together . . . <br /><br />MyPassion, do you know how your loving me as you do arouses within me the desire to love you all the more? Do you know, PassionateOne, how my desire to love you all the more makes me long and ache for you, even moments after your truck pulls away and my plane leaves the air strip? LoverMine, I miss you . . . so very much. Selah.<br /><br />The rage that awaited, anticipating my return from your arms . . . it is becoming, more and more, less than the nothing that it can only aspire to be. I think that is, perhaps, the problem -- that something that what was once actually something to me is quickly fading into less than nothing with every aggravation that it is responsible for bringing into my life. As in Merlin, when things become forgotten, they . . . cease . . . to . . . exist. They become angry, irrational, writhing and grabbing onto whatever shreds are left dangling in the wind. <br /><br />I used to be that wraith. Happy New Year to the one who showed me that I'm better than that.<br /><br />And Happy New Year to YOU, MyPassion, MyFiyaX2. This year is only the beginning of what I have in store for you, LoverGrrl . . . only the beginning . . .Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-84758282310486690962007-12-14T16:01:00.000-08:002007-12-14T16:20:54.429-08:00It's all about the OEver had one of those Os that was so intense that u felt like u coulda gave birth to it and named it BobbySue or some other such absurdity in the midst of singin 'Our God Is An Awesome God' and 'The Only Time' -- as in NIN -- and u felt like a three month old tryin to crawl but not even yet masterin the whole rolloveronyertummy trick? <br /><br />FUCK!<br /><br />Yea, literally.<br /><br />So eye woke up this mornin with this slickwet fantasy in mah head and in case u want a hint, LoverGirl, here ya go: TS. Now, of course, only u n eye no what that means, so eye no that u no that just typin the tee n the ess -- oh, es -- churned things up just a bit 4 ltl RuBlu heeyah. C now whatcha made me go n do . . . now eye gotta go take care o'this b4 ix drops m'dang van off. U no, Fiya, that we still gotta christen her -- the van, eye mean -- rite n proper . . . whoowee FiyaX2n2Mo . . . betta make sho we not by no gas pumps, no whaddeyemean? <br /><br />Mymymy . . . the things eye think about when eyem sposed ta be workin . . .<br /><br />Leven mo days, My Fiya . . . jes leven mo . . .Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-31172457695039498862007-12-12T14:06:00.000-08:002007-12-12T14:07:51.351-08:00Stay off the sidewalks, Kiddies!Rublu's done gone'n'got'er license!!!!!! <br /><br />Oh and if yer one of the ones that's done pissed me off recently . . .Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-13454019072049791422007-11-20T10:37:00.000-08:002007-11-20T10:40:20.434-08:00And then I woke up . . .My Braxtin, <br /><br />I miss you, Baby . . . like the sand misses the rain, I've missed you this morning, over and over again. <br /> <br />I just wanted to tell you . . . that . . .<br />I miss your eyes<br />I miss your smile<br />I miss the way you move<br />I miss your voice coming from just in the next room<br />I miss your whisper, so close to my ear<br />I miss your arm around me, in the night and in the morn<br />I miss holding you close to me and feeling you hold me close to you<br />I miss watching you walk<br />I miss your hat on backward<br />I miss sitting directly across from you, deep in conversation<br />I miss seeing your whole face light up, when you smile and when you laugh<br />I miss seeing the depth of emotion in your eyes, when you speak or hear of sad things<br />I miss feeling the heat of the fire, when you become enflamed with rage . . . and desire<br />I miss touching your face, anytime and everywhere<br />I miss the way you smile at me, in those moments when only I can see<br />I miss feeling you watching me . . . and hearing the change in your breathing when you realize that I'm only acting as if I don't know<br />I miss feeling you watching me . . . and hearing the change in your breathing when you know that I know just what you're feeling as I watch you, watching me<br /><br />But mostly . . .<br /><br />I miss being able to see your love for me reflected in your eyes when you're looking deep into my soul, and you're saying, "I love you. I fuckin LOVE YOU."<br /> <br />You are my world, My Sweet Lover . . . you are the delight in my heart, the churning my soul, and the light in my eyes. I miss everylittlething about you . . . and I can't wait until I can feel you next to me once again.<br /><br />Your AngelRuach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-15832946564056438782007-11-19T22:25:00.000-08:002007-11-27T21:52:25.610-08:00<iframe src="http://www.7is7.com/otto/countdown.html?year=2007&month=12&date=25&hrs=23&ts=24&min=55&sec=0&tz=local&title=When%20She%20Puts%20Me%20To%20Bed&lang=en&show=dhms&mode=r&cdir=down&bgcolor=%23CCFFFF&fgcolor=%23000000" width="250" height="365" scrolling="no" frameborder="1" style="width:15.6em;height:22.8em;overflow:hidden;"><a href="http://www.7is7.com/otto/countdown.html?year=2007&month=12&date=25&hrs=23&ts=24&min=55&sec=0&tz=local&title=When%20She%20Puts%20Me%20To%20Bed&lang=en&show=dhms&mode=r&cdir=down&bgcolor=%23CCFFFF&fgcolor=%23000000">When She Puts Me To Bed</a></iframe>Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-1316366987442769412007-11-19T22:07:00.000-08:002007-11-19T22:09:11.019-08:00I am troubled<br />Immeasurably<br />By your eyes<br />I am struck<br />By the feather<br />of your soft<br />Reply<br />The sound of glass<br />Speaks quick<br />Disdain<br />And conceals<br />What your eyes fight<br />To explain <br /><br />~jim morrisonRuach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-44222205275878680422007-11-19T22:05:00.000-08:002007-11-19T22:22:02.029-08:00beloved,<br />this is what it is<br />to be beloved <br /><br />when words prove inadequate<br />held against <br />a touch of your lips<br />the softness in your eyes<br />the sweetness of your belly<br />breathing in time<br />with me<br /><br />lovedbe,<br />this is what it is<br />to be lovedbe<br /><br />when the drum of your heart racing<br />drowns out all but the music<br />that captures in my heart<br />the way you look at me<br />as if i am fine art<br /><br />you touch me as if i were beautiful glass<br />that you are afraid you might shatter<br />if you<br />touch me too much<br /><br />you arouse in me things that i<br />had long since forgotten<br />or never knew could <br />exist<br />out here in reality<br /><br />you <br />maketh me to lie down<br />in green pastures<br />no<br />that is God<br />showing up once again<br />within a beloved<br />lovedbe<br /><br />i have loved<br />but i can not be<br />anything but loved<br />when i feel you watchin me<br /><br />i have loved<br />but i can not be<br />anything but loved<br />when i feel you wantin me<br /><br />i have loved<br />but i can not be<br />anything but loved<br />when your smile caresses me<br /><br />i have loved<br />but i can not be<br />anything but loved<br />when you reach out wantin me<br /><br />i have loved<br />but i can not be<br />anything but loved<br />when i am your<br />lovedbeRuach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-45718769749337883432007-11-12T17:56:00.000-08:002007-11-12T17:57:07.573-08:00<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4Jn6jN_8kUI&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4Jn6jN_8kUI&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object>Ruach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27493987.post-6211583023166822872007-11-11T19:50:00.000-08:002007-11-11T19:51:28.099-08:00Fannin the flames, I become lightheaded from the heat I've helped<br /> create. Fire tender, I love the sound of the rain & the wind in the<br /> trees . . . SelahRuach Xhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06734835763662131602noreply@blogger.com0