Timmah Timmah Timmah Timmah. Timah. Timmah. Timmah Timmah. Timmah.

TIMMAH! Tim TIMAH! TiMMAH TIMMAH!

Timmah


tim......ah

Feeling freely fickle
Flicking fleas off follicles
Faking faces fool
Frightening friends to flee


Oh that I could just vomit
Splashing envy on the floor
Causing crises to implore
Savouring the gore
Inducing me to laugh
Giggling in the mouth
Crying unsurpassed

It is the thing which roams about
which make me so devout
Covering me in armour
Some organic shield
The front of which reveals
Blissful punishment

I should have been a pair of ragged hands
I should have fallen to demand
And be fulfilled
With ecstasy

On the backside of the wall there is feces and it stinks.

Bitter childish rant incoming. Is it just me or do people’s standards drop more and more as they get older when it comes to the perfect member of the opposite sex? When I was younger I had a perfect image of the perfect woman. Maybe not a physical one, but I knew she had long hair, made funny jokes, turned me on at just the right moments. She was just well… Perfect. However as we get out into the real world we never manage to find people who fit the image. So my question is, should one wait to find the good fit or rather settle for less? It seems to me that the more time passes, the more I become content with settling for an imperfect woman. This really hits at my romantic ego. I am a firm believer that there is at least one person out there who will just click the right way. We will be able to spend the rest of our lives together basking in the glory of our love. Someone who evolves with me in similar ways so as to keep the compatibility strong. However the last two women I was with broke all sorts of basic rules, and I find my standards dropping more and more for want of being loved and sex. This bothers me because no one wants to be alone, and I certainly wouldn’t want to meet the perfect woman without a bit of experience under my belt (That and strong sexual desire). In short, I won’t stand by and wait for it to happen. Plus I figure I boost my chances by going out there and testing the waters so to speak. The fact of the matter, however, is that with every failed relationship, with every unsuccessful approach, I feel like I can lower my standards.

I went on a date today. She called me out which I don’t think has ever happened to me before. I know I shouldn’t be ranting about a failed date on the same day but, anyways I got dragged into a CD store and lectured about how we have to buy CDs to keep the music industry going and how piracy of music is bad. I then stood for two hours while she listened to random music. At one point she sent me out to get some CDs for her while she was listening. Normally this kind of attitude would infuriate me, but I was getting a good vibe. I felt like all my lines were landing (Yah she was hot). We then went to a movie and she spoke the whole time without hushing her voice. I’m surprised no one bitched us. I hate it when people speak during movies. The evening ended with me offering to walk her home and getting a blatant “No I’m sorry you can’t.” I guess I’m bitter cause I felt I was making all sorts of sacrifices and it didn't pay. For once I totally didn’t expect to get bounced. It occurs to me just now that I'm being childish. Ohh well.

Relationships are about compromise. It’s the most important thing a couple needs to learn how to do. But dammit when I was younger I wasn’t going to have to compromise with The One. She was going to be perfect. I guess perfect love doesn’t exist. Somehow it makes me sad. I suppose that in many respects I’m still a child when it comes to these things.

Lube. Now I’ve had a million discussions about the pros and cons on the use of personal lubricant and it seems that nobody ever gets what I’m talking about. I conclude that this is mostly because most males I talk to, are still in possession of their foreskins, whilst us circumcised people are left with the hard hard calluses on our palms to achieve desired satisfaction. Some people use the right quantity of soap so as not to achieve a pee burn, some use baby oil, cooking oil, or saliva. Trust me on this guys, the eight bucks at the local drugstore makes most things obsolete. Use of over the counter lube makes life much better.

Now unfortunately most of my practical time has been spent on personal use of lube. On the other hand I do know from personal experience that lube is also handy (no pun intended) in the use of intercourse both vaginal and anal. Of course, I can understand a certain reluctance on behalf of males on the use of lube on a female for vaginal sex seeing as the man’s self esteem can be dragged into it. I don’t know about most guys, but I tend to measure my success rate by the volume of the squealing, and the turns on the faucet. However lube is also useful for greasing the rusty tap so to speak. Furthermore for all us condom users out there, a little lube on the inside of the condom makes for heightened sensations, and if you use spermicide, you lower the chances of both STDs and pregnancy.

And finally last but not least is the use of lube in anal sex. Now let me tell you straight up. Men do not produce vaginal lubricant or any equivalent thereof so when it comes to male anal stimulation lube is key, (unless of course someone knows something I haven’t figured out yet). But since most males are unaccustomed to having their prostate stimulated, men with foreskins tend not to know the wonders of lubricant. On the other hand women do produce some kind of vaginal slipperiness, however in my experience that is insufficient for anal sex on the woman. Lube makes it much easier. It’s hard enough trying to ram something up there without it.

Now as for types of lube. You can buy jelly, liquid, or some kind of Vaseline typish. Whilst each one has its merits it is crucial for all you condom users to know that Vaseline or petroleum jelly damages condoms and will cause them to break or leak. When buying a lubricant it is important to find something that is water based, or that specifically says safe to use with condoms on the box. I tend to find that jelly dries out when used in male masturbation, so I use liquid. This is something everyone develops a personal preference about. The other thing that bugs me about jelly is that it often comes in toothpaste shaped tubes. Wouldn’t want to mix up sometime when I’m groping around in the dark.

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I am a fan of gambling. I like the thrill of potentially losing or gaining money. Putting up something important on the line, there is a certain thrill to it. The pain of loss is acute, the thrill of the win is tremendous. Feelings which make you feel alive. Gambling is a drug, and an addictive one at that. Now I’m going to pass off perhaps as a spoiled brat with this post, so before I begin, let it be said that I am a spoiled child.

I used to play the lottery, but it’s not a thrill thing so I wont discuss it much here.

In my younger and more venerable years, I used play some card games with my mother and grandparents for cash. It is a fun family bonding type thing, so the concept of loss of money in a card game and fair play has been instilled in me for quite some time.

These days, there are two main gambling activities I partake in. Poker, and on occasion I go to the Montreal Casino to play Blackjack. Poker nights are fun not because of the risk involved, but more for the trash talking and the consumption of alcohol. Good friends, good beer, good buzz, good jokes. Poker must be played among a few close friends with plenty of verbal (sometimes physical) smack down. We generally play for no more than 10-15 bucks an evening which may seem trivial, but I must insist on some form of monetary compensation else the trash talk is worthless. All in all I like our poker system. The stakes are low, and when people lose they don’t lose enough to become resentful. The winners walk out feeling like winners. Everyone is happy and generally drunk.

Blackjack is a more serious and expensive form of entertainment. For one, I don’t like to drink when I play blackjack. The minimum bet is usually 15 bucks a hand, and I like to keep my wits about me. Plus alcohol might make me angry if I lose, but that’s besides my theory of gambling. When I go to the casino I do not go to win. I go to play and observe. My goal is to make my money last as long as possible or until I get bored. Rule number one, “the house always wins,” so lets be realistic and never walk into a casino thinking you’re going to walk out richer. Such fantasies are for delusioned romantics. Meanwhile I enjoy watching the people play, getting advice from older veteran players, watching the hot females gamble their boyfriend’s money stupidly, the prostitutes, the badasses with too much gel in their hair, getting bitched out by the old guy next to you when you hit when you shouldn’t, and “steal his cards.” A wide variety of people both friendly and retarded. The casino offers an interesting cross section of society. Of course there is a thrill and satisfaction to winning. But there is also a certain gain in just playing. However, the thrill is an expensive one (hence spoiled child). Walking in with 150 to 200 bucks a night is expensive, especially when you walk out with nothing. However just so no one gets the wrong idea, I’ve been to date only three times to the Montreal Casino in 3 years. I plan on going again soon, but I have yet to organize people. I prefer gambling with friends.

I realize that my philosophy on the casino frame of mind is a difficult one to have. Some of my friends refuse to join me on casino trips saying they don’t believe in gambling or that they don’t believe in their own ability at self-control. These are valid arguments and I’ll be the first to admit that a lot of evil has been done because of loss at the game. However so long as one is capable of knowing one’s own limits it can be a fun and harmless experience.

PS: Cheers to Hobbes for installing my message board. You may now freely trash me.

Went to Quebec City this weekend. Not like anything I had imagined, but then I'm convinced that I probably saw no more than 2 square Km of the city. Whatever, the old city is a lot larger than Montréal’s and well nicer, although that could just have been the weather. It rained, but I am of the opinion that a city under rain is as charming as a city under the sun. The rain has a certain charming quality about it even if you are the one getting wet. My parents are not of the same opinion however, but it mattered not. Our stay was brief, just two short days, but we saw the old city, some Picasso exposition (and yup, I still hate Picasso), and the Montmercy Falls (spelling’s wrong I think but I’m too lazy to check it). I also noticed many Canadian flags along with the Quebec ones, much to my surprise. The people were friendly. All in all I had a swell time.

Parents leave on Thursday, and I bought shitloads of stuff for a BBQ in their honor for Wednesday. MORE MEAT.

Finished the website with pictures. http://www.xeti.cc/the_admiral/

The weather is fine. The air brings promise of good things to come.

List things I did yesterday:

- Woke up.
- Masturbated.
- Defecated/Urinated.
- Spoke to The Minister of Communications. Argued about a video game we play. Settled
a misunderstanding concerning the game, which occurred the previous evening.
- Spoke to Dad who came home after dropping Mom off at a massage parlor.
- Received a phone call calling me out to a picnic on the mountain. Prepared bags,
waited until 12:00. Departed.
- Got to friend’s house late. No one home. Sat and waited for their return, which
occurred about 15 minutes later. Meanwhile Mister T was paging me.
- Called Mr. T and organized a meeting spot. Chatted with girls, fetched T, waited 45
minutes for his arrival.
- Returned to friend’s place and proceeded to mountain.
- Smoked up, played with my poi, threw the Frisbee (badly), ate food, played soccer
(lost), joked around, got tanned, succeeded a hyper loop, taught Lynn how to do a
reverse weave and spin on herself with it.
- Went home, showered dressed, relaxed.
- Went to The Bunny and El Dictator’s house for a medieval dinner.
- Saw the El Dictator’s mother.
- Ate good food.
- Drank crappy wine.
- Made arbitrary conversation, joked around a lot. Helped with dishes, took pictures,
ohh and did I mention I helped with the dishes?
- Went home, bade the parents good night.
- Worked on my online pictures gallery.
- Lent sleeping bags to the Minister of Culture and returned bowls to his wife.
- Masturbated.
- Went to sleep reading Transmetropolitan comics.

THE END.

Yesterday Mister T and I found ourselves downtown with a desire for socializing and consumption of alcoholic beverage. We checked out Upstairs real quick, but alas we were all alone with no band. And so because it was a warm day we went to Brutopia for a few beers. The place was empty, relatively quiet. There was some old guy on stage with a guitar playing some blues. Nothing special, but it suited my mood. We found seating on the terrace in the back. Nice warm outdoors, not crowded, we proceeded to drink. The conversation eventually shifted on my fear of approaching random people. I have this problem starting the initial “icebreaker”, but once introduced I am capable of following the lead and starting a conversation of my own. My greatest problem is literally the first five seconds where you make “contact”. From voice contact I can drive no problem. T is of the opinion that the best way to cure me of my aversion to “first contact” is to put me in a situation where I am forced to make that contact. T is a big fan of travel, and he envies me because I have the option to pretty much travel as much as I like, even though I don’t like to over-juice my parents. In his mind I should go someplace I've always wanted to go, but alone. Knowing myself, I know that I would rather experience new things with people I like, who are cool. Such is human nature. T believes that travelling to places alone brings people together and gives great opportunities to break ice, meet new people. He is correct, but I argued that such a situation wouldn’t benefit me because putting myself in a different country/culture, would automatically make me stand out and become more approachable because of my differences. About this time we were interrupted by a polish individual who happened to overhear T talking about a trip to Poland. T invited the fellow over to sit with us and we spoke of random things. I know he wouldn’t have invited him if not for our conversation, but it was cool talking to some random person and having a beer with him. The Pol wasn’t anything spectacular, and at the end of the evening I think I was relatively indifferent, but it was fun and the alcohol was good.

More people picked up guitars and played some Dire Straits. The night got cool. Around 2 AM we parted and went home.

After some reflection I’ve decided that random travelling would not solve my concern because I already have friends all over the world. What I desire is to meet more Montrealers and meet new people. This is almost solely in the aim of meeting some feminine counterpart/fun. I do plan on travelling this summer, but I still don’t know if I will go alone.

The woman at the counter was bored. Business was slow. There hadn't been a customer for hours. It was the same thing day after day, and yet she got paid to sit there, read her book, and answer the occasional problem that any idiot with a telephone or internet access solve, without making the trip downtown. Now most people couldn’t have been bothered. Most people would have jumped at the opportunity to sit there and get paid 15 bucks and hour every day to do nothing, but she disliked every moment of it. She had no hobbies, no people to call, no computer, just a counter, her sarcasm, and her imagination. Sometimes she would makeup stories about the people who came to ask her questions. Sometimes she would lie, send them off on wild goose chases, and think about possible scenarios which could occur. Most of them ended blandly. There was so little to be happy about, but it made her smile. She was not depressed, just bitter and bored.

One day she came in to work dizzy. She could have stayed at home, but there was nothing better to do, and if anything coming to work dizzy would break the monotony of her life. She dozed off from time to time, coughed vigorously, even managed to sneeze on a customer, which made her laugh. She spent hours that afternoon coming up with stories about what the man had done after yelling at her for sneezing on him. It made her smile, and she was happy.

The days that followed she felt nauseous, but every event became more and more interesting, she dozed and dreamed, she fell over once and laughed at herself. Her boss came over to her and said something about going home. But she was not happy at home. In fact she’d never been more amused in her entire life since the dizziness came. One day she stumbled and saw the floor rushing up towards her slowly. Shortly afterwards came the darkness.

In the center of the void she floated, and with time she found that she could control the darkness and make it not so dark. Eventually she became capable of creating objects, places, things. All sorts of things. And she delighted in the freedom which her new found power had given her. She created destroyed, laughed, cried. Everything was new to her. Eventually she began constructing empty vessels of human bodies with which she interacted, recreating the scenarios of her past life. Making the funny things in her head come true. It made her smile. Made her laugh. And she was happy.

Today I would like to reflect upon one of man's greatest hypocrisies. That of helping your fellow man in need. I grew up in some pretty nasty places torn with poverty. I have met people, mostly with good intentions, and positive outlooks on life. All because they don’t know any better and they appreciate what little they have because it is all they have. Living in first world countries with first world salaries, health care etc... We take so much for granted. Many people have no concept of true physical suffering and complain constantly about the boyfriend of some retarded chick too stupid to know he was cheating on her, or the bad boss with a stick up his ass. People commit suicide over not being able to achieve expectations of society, love, hate. But these people who live in fucked up Africa, these guys struggle every day, and at the end of the day if you are still alive, you feel it. There is hardly any suicide in third world countries because people there cling to life ever day, and value it more than we will ever know. We however, on top of our lofty perch of a leather couch with 100 channels, satellite, and TV dinners turn a blind eye to suffering when we see it. This is because we are ashamed and afraid. We know that the injustice and suffering exist everywhere, but we don't do anything about it. If we could just sacrifice 5 US dollars a day we could feed 10 starving people with it. My phone bill, is the equivalent to saving many lives in some parts of the world. The lubricant I purchase to masturbate is worth meals for a month for one man. And yet we do nothing, pretend the problem doesn’t exist, turn a blind eye, and bitch about the moron who scratched your car earlier that day. I have seen all of this and felt guilty, and hypocritical. I have been in the backseat of a Mitsubishi Montero with tinted windows and deliberately ignored looking at a starving child with a rusty tin can, torn clothing, begging, and genuinely hungry. And all because I am ashamed of myself and what I choose to keep.

I once had a friend who wanted to join the Peace Corps and go somewhere to help people. I admire those who take the path for they are better people than I and with good intentions, even most of them do it for the wrong reasons, however that’s besides the point. I told her that the best way if she wanted to make a difference was to go into politics and fight the war from there. Many of these places are plagued with rampant corruption, and although probably not whole problem, I believe that a great deal of the poverty which assails these countries stems from those who strip away what little the place has to begin with. I still believe that I gave her the correct advice, but I don't think that it is enough. With my future salary I would be able to feed, educate, and save thousands of lives. And yet I don’t, and no one else around me does anyway. But that doesn’t make it any more excusable. We are all assholes. We all have a duty to help those suffering around us, but we ignore it. Place the burden on others. We are all selfish, hypocritical. And I am the worst of them all for having seen real shit first hand, and not doing anything to change it.

It is funny how people who are closest to you often are those who are most easy to hurt and those who hurt you most easily. I see numerous examples regarding this. I find it somewhat paradoxical the way that it is those who are closet to you who are most capable of rendering you happy, and also most often, those who lead you into great depression. I look at people who I hardly know, and find out that they are in some shitty situation or near death or suffering, and I show some genuine interested in their well being for about 5 minutes (depending on how little I know them) and poof, they cease to exist as soon as the topic of conversation is changed. However I find out that someone I love has been taking mild shit about me behind my back, and poof, I become furious and obsessive for days (I’m not referring to any one incident just life as a whole). I also find it strange that those people who have done you wrong in the past, still have power to hurt after a long period of readjustment. I’ve been trying to hate some people for a long time, and whenever I face them I feel sadness rather than the de-constructive hatred, or constructive apathy which I want to feel. Loving someone can take such a short period of time, but getting over someone can take forever. I wonder if the opposite is true. I know one can learn to hate someone in a relatively short period of time, but is it as difficult to go to the opposite extreme and learn to love someone you hated quickly? I have had people I've actively disliked for extended periods of time and then had them turn into the best of friends, but have I ever known genuine hatred which did not stem from betrayal? I think not, but maybe I am naive. I wonder at the interpretation of this human feature. Is it that we are a social beast with a primal urge to love? Why is it that we become so vulnerable to those closest to us? Why has evolution bred this obvious and exploitable weakness among humans? Is it that we must be vulnerable to love? Does love make us weak? Does love imply vulnerability. I know that hate can. But then I am not convinced that love’s opposite is hate since there is a fine line between the two. The true negation of all feeling is indifference.

Ever notice how it is impossible to recreate a conversation/moment/memory which is past? I find that there have been many circumstances, in my life, of severe laughter/happiness which could never be recreated even given the exact same circumstances and with the exact same poeple. Its is no wonder however since the subsequent times round one is already biased due to previous experiences. Which isnt to say that the first experience is always the best one. Many times its the somewhere in the middle that it gets fun, like sex or pot, or somthing rather. Anyways the reason I bring this up is because I have been thinking about memories past and moments long gone which generally mark a period of time in my life which i associate with happiness. And most oftenly I remember one or two great moments which stand out and define the happy time. Were I capable of creating or recreating some such moments i might have found the key to perpetual happiness however such moments are impossible to anticipate, and difficult to recreate with the same effect as before. I play pool every friday, in a sense to recreate a feeling of relaxation and humor, however not all pool nights are good nights. Likewise I took a recent roadtrip to the far side of the province of quebec, but it did not rival the New York road trip. Life is full of these defining moments which become imortal unique, and untouchable. It is these moments which make life worth living.

Blogging. It is something which I have been considering for a while. I was talking to Ms. Carotte last night and she told me she blogged to improve her writing. It is a good reason and one which I have decided on as a good reason to blog. However upon closer examination of my motives I come to the realization that there is more to it for me than that. For all i know this could be a phase so maybe what I'm about to say could irrelevant in about 5 minutes, but right now I want to write because I feel like I have something to share with people. It's a complete ego trip knowing that for some small amount of time you are the center of attention when someone comes online. So in that respect my motives are purely selfish. When I post I will because I want people to know that I exist and in some way provide insight into how I feel about the world. Of course it is important for people to have the confidence to share their thoughts online, and there are several points in my life where I would not have. And so this brings yet another dimension into the equation. The challenge of it all. The fight against self esteem. Perhaps I write to prove to myself that I am as good as I think I am or better that what I think I am. And since my personal opinion of myself is biased and subjective, what better way to judge me than by exposing me and getting feedback from people. In conclusion, I blog because I want to improve my writing, challenge my self esteem, and live with the fantasy that sometimes everyone's attention hangs on these, my words. (No i'm not full of myself... really... i'm not).