I’m feeling nostalgic for my old life in the US these days. Exploring this rather unexpected shift given my anti-americaness and strong canadianwannabeness, I’ve been exploring the web site of my former high school. These feelings are sparked simultaneously from a recent trip to Venezuela where I saw one of my closest friends, and a recent visit from the first dude to befriend me in my old US high school.

I was quite the uber-dork back in the day. I shudder at some of the things I did, and how I thought they were cool back then. More than that, I cringe at how delightfully lame I was. I remember realizing my lameness when I hit around fifteen years of age, and set out to change my image. Sadly it was hard so I used the opportunity when I moved to Zimbabwe to get a fresh start, which I did. Several years later, and after experimenting with some things I’m not completely proud of, I am the proud shinning self-unemployed person I am.

Back in the days of my uber-dork phase I was infatuated with a female who I had known for quite some time. Eventually I worked up the balls to ask her out on one date, which really didn’t work out the way I had planned due to the uber-dork in me. My violent shift in abode left me unable to contact her. I believe the last time I saw her I kept the conversation superficial and simple for fear of making a genuine fool of myself. In retrospect this was probably a wise move. But as all people are prone to do, and because man is stupid and masochistic, whenever we get a bit down, or violently breakup, etc… one is prone to thinking of the past once again.

And then god gave us Google. Google is a wonderful thing cause it lets you put virtually any word, phrase, anything, and spit out results. So I found the female in question. She evolved in a much different way than I would ever have anticipated, in some ways interesting, in some ways not. It’s odd to me how people do that. Here I’ve had this happy and yet sad memory of someone long gone from my life, and watching them change into something completely opposite from what I had imagined is a strange sensation.

People often wonder what might have been when they lose a loved one to death. Since people cease to exist in your life after you move on, there is a similarity between actual death and falling out of touch with someone. When someone I knew, but wasn’t close to dies, it is a similar sensation to when someone who you were once close to, but eventually grew apart from and never saw again. Number 65 would say that people only exist when they know him. Then again he also thinks the universe revolves around him, although in spite of his mathematical endeavors he has yet to be able to prove this fact.

There once was a man who loved his wife very much. One day, she died, and a demon came to him saying that his wife could be restored to him in exchange for his soul upon his deathbed. The man so in love, so broken by his loss, accepted, and the deal was sealed. There was but one minor condition. The man could never let his wife know of the deal, and the truth forever kept from her. The man was returned to his wife and they were happy… for a time. Then one day, as most great adventures of our lives, the man and the woman grew so far apart that they could not stand being together anymore. It wasn’t that either was a bad person, but as life happens, we can but move with the current, or fight with futility as the tide drags us. The woman left the man, and eventually found happiness herself. She remarried and lived happily ever after never knowing the sacrifice of her first husband. The man realizing his mistake knew pain like none other, for not even in suicide would he be released from his torment. He repented and begged the Lord for forgiveness for tampering with the natural course of things…

Suddenly the man awoke violently and suddenly, trembling uncontrollably, and sweating violently. Shaking off the remnants of his slumber, he tried in vain to grasp the vestiges of that which had been but a vague memory or dream. And suddenly he knew great sorrow as he turned towards the empty spot in his bed and remembered that his wife was perished three days earlier.

Eventually he accepted his loss, and found happiness once again. He never completely remembered the occurrence, but he did know that whatever he had seen in his sleep on the second night had helped him recover. Many demons came to the man in attempts to find some grip upon which to drag him into darkness, but never did they succeed.
Needless to say I did not contact the girl. I don’t really have anything to say to her, and frankly I don’t know what she would have to say to me. Perhaps I will let the dead sleep.


EDIT: Number 65 insists that I point out that I misinterpreted his philosophy. In fact he is of the opinion that no one exists unless he actually perceives them either physically or in some other form. I therefore correct my earlier statement. I'm surprised anyone read this shit in the first place, therefore making a correction at someone else's bequest is a happy moment indeed.

I walked
I walked among people
I walked among people who walked
I walked among people who walked without purpose
I walked among people who walked without purpose or thought
I walked among people who walked without purpose or thought, and I realized
I walked among people who walked without purpose or thought, and I realized that I was
one of them.

I sought
I sought enlightenment
I sought enlightenment from friends
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words
I sought enlightenment from friend who spoke in words which hurt
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words which hurt me
I sought enlightenment from friend who spoke in words which hurt me very much.
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words which hurt me very much, and
so I turned
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words which hurt me very much, and
so I turned my back
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words which hurt me very much, and
so I turned my back to those assholes.
I sought enlightenment from friends who spoke in words which hurt me very much, and
so I turned my back to those assholes whom I once called friends.

I deluded
I deluded myself
I deluded myself into thinking
I deluded myself into thinking people cared
I deluded myself into thinking people cared about each other
I deluded myself into thinking people cared about each other, and this upset me.

Listen
Listen to me
Listen to me, please.
Listen to me, please, for this is very important.
Listen to me, please, for this is very important.
Listen to me, please, for this is very important.

You are a selfish piece of shit.

I have one asshole now.

Sounds

Bumping back, and rocking forth,
Bringing flinging feathers north,
Floating flying falling through,
Whisper winning welcome woo,
Why the warrior washes worry,
Wondering wasted woman wandering,
Woollen wasted waning wash,
Wearing Wednesday wallow wish,
Making merry mannerism,
Money mastered mystery,
Moaning mumbling mystic means,
Mustn’t measure memory.

It brings alliterations to life,
That which makes the weather strive.
To making lightly understand,
That which one must underhand.
The moment mining measurably,
The massive manly manning me.
And so I bring the melody,
To halt for that which mightily,
Is said without remorse,
And to illustrate my point I’ll use this horse.

Insert random ramblings here,
The dog I fear the end is near,
And valiant veering vagabonds,
To wander with within without.
Lacking lilies Lilith lies.
Inside the pride instils the bride.
And so believe I’ll end the tale,
For it entails,Then end.

I just wrote a poem, and I have no idea what it says, but I'll give it to you for every word was important, at the time it was laid down...

One of the more common complaints I’ve been hearing this past year is, “Why do all my relationships end like this! Why can’t just find someone decent for a change!” etc… I wonder if it has occurred to these people that unless you find the “one true love” thingy (assuming you believe it exists of course), ALL RELATIONSHIPS END, and usually in ending, they end BADLY. That is, of course, unless it was a shallow one and the separation doesn’t affect you. Those relationships which are the most intense usually end worse, more violently, and more painfully. To know great emotion, one must know great vulnerability. The more you love someone, the more it hurts when it ends. You can’t have one without the other since these two concept define each other. In the end though, statistically you’re fucked since EVERY relationship you have WILL fail unless it’s that utopian one that we all strive for (some of us anyway).

Something else, don’t feed me that “I’m going to protect myself better from now on” bullshit. Love is a beautiful thing which invariably must end. Bask in the glory of it, and make the most of the moment rather than trying to martyrise yourself like some over romantic drama queen.

True romance is not about suffering. It’s not about self imposed pain. It’s about being able to find beauty in all things, and loving it. It’s about being able to more fully embrace all emotion, both positive and negative (people place waaay to much emphasis on the negative).

That is all for now.

The thing that bugs me about strip clubs is that when I’m inside one, I can’t help but judge everyone around me and feel like everyone is judging me. Naturally for the sake of political correctness I try to treat everyone as individuals, I talk to the strippers, try and humanize them a little so that I don’t feel like I’m just groping random meat. I’m probably going about things the wrong way. I once asked a stripper if she enjoyed her job and she went on a five minute rant about how bad it was. I walked away feeling sorry for her, and a little disgusted at myself when I was clearly courteous, perhaps even friendly. Every now and then though, (maybe a couple of years or so), I feel the need to go back and remind myself why places like that bother me so much, and virtually every time I walk out with these startling realizations which I had reached only a few years prior. The first one is that trying to humanize a stripper makes me feel dirty. The second one is that if I am judging all the ugly guys around me as “pathetic” then I am probably also pathetic, not because I think I’m ugly, but because I’m at the same level as everyone else. Today I also reached the conclusion that the stripper probably also bundle me into that pathetic category, and that really bothers me. These women are ordinary girls, most of them in school, with hopes and dreams, and personalities. They have opinions, and egos. Some of them have crazy self esteem problems, and those who don’t probably have strong egos, not by virtue of being strippers, buy by virtue of having to do rounds and asking random guys if they want table dances. I’m sure that has to affect you in some way, walking around trying to sell yourself (Ha, wait until I hit the job market. I haven’t begun to sell myself yet). The few strippers I’ve asked say they really hate it. I also never found a single one who enjoys her job, and I’m sure that if I did find one, there is a decent chance that she is lying.

I think the worst part is how hard I am on myself. I could probably get over some random person categorizing me without giving me a chance to prove myself. However when one judges oneself, that is the hardest thing to face. Through the looking glass is man’s greatest enemy, and most vital tool to self betterment. Let’s see what happens in a year or two.

I wonder if prostitutes get more business on Valentine's day...

A few years ago I went on a date which basically went horribly, and despite what I considered to be numerous sacrifices on my behalf, I got blatantly rejected. I swore to myself after that, that I would never again compromise my dignity for a member of the opposite sex, regardless of the potential rewards. Years have passed and I find myself managing to keep this promise. I am both pleased and frustrated. By the way I hate “the game,” and its players.

She sits upon a stool and stares blindly into the haze before her. Her visage is that of empty feelings, as if a dried husk, a hollow woman, a wasted potential. She does not blink for she requires no blinking. She does not breath for she requires no air. She does not speak for she requires no communication. She does not feel for she requires no contact. She does not live for she requires no passion. But those around her would gape and stare. Many trying to unlock something which is not un-lockable, and those intelligent enough to notice no keyhole attempt to breath life into her, with promises of beautiful things. They throw themselves senselessly against this automaton of vision. But they know not that she serves no other purpose but to distract, for that is all she knows.

“I am not angry you know. I am… disappointed in myself. I thought myself more perceptive than to fall into an old trap. I’ll not compromise my dignity for a girl. I’ve been there and I hate myself when I do it, even if it means something more. It’s ok. I’m not bitter. I swear. Just… disappointed… Ok maybe a little pissed off. Fine angry. What the fuck man! Fuck the Game, and its players. You wanna play this shit with me you play by my rules. I make my own rules. What’s that? You walkin away??? You lose bitch… Fuck…” But he also lost there didn’t he?

“Don’t hate the player man. Hate the game.”
“Damn straight.”
“I hate everything. Because my life sucks”

“Dude, what a tard.”
“Yeah man real winner here.”
“Leave me alone.”
“You think your life sucks? What about that friend with the triple fractured ankle who can’t get a doctor to see her?”
“Touché asshole now get the fuck our of my face.”

Fuck you Valentine.

“There is something I want to know, and you’ve never given me a straight answer about this. Why did you dump me?”
“... I told you before. It kinda died for me. I started to feel different about the whole thing. It stopped feeling right. I can’t explain it completely it just happened I guess.”
“I don’t believe you. It’s been what, nine months now? You still think you don’t know? Tell me.”
“I’m serious. I don’t think about it that much you know. I just prefer to put things behind me.“
“Bullshit. You can’t keep anything inside and you’re a compulsive obsessor… I think you do know, and you don’t want to hurt me. I’m ready now. I’m over you. But I want to get to the bottom of what you couldn’t tell me. So I’ll ask again. What made your do it?”
“Many things.”
“Such as?”
“Well I’m not lying about feeling a different vibe. It’s just. Well. Ok it was many things. Ever since my relationship before you, I’d been on the lookout for someone else. You know being in love is a great feeling. I loved it. I wanted to return to it. I wanted to move on. So when we started going out, and everything was working out great I kinda rushed into it head first. I wanted to reach that stage again so badly. So I guess I kinda burnt myself out. Wanting it too much.”
“So you lied about being in love with me.”
“No I didn’t because I thought I was. I wanted to be. See I lied to myself.”
“Ok so what are the other reasons?”
“Well, see because I ran in blind I didn’t let certain things bother me too much. You were all over me you know. Always telling me about how awesome I was, and how you wished you could do half the things I did. I’m not special. I’m no renaissance man, and you kept putting me up on this pedestal.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes you did, and worse, every time you did, it was putting yourself down with that compliment. ‘You do all this stuff that I ‘cant do.’ Dude. And I even tried telling you about how that bothered me once, and you got all defensive about how strong you were and stuff. “
“Hey I’m not some wide eyed bimbo if that what you think I am.”
“No I never said that. I’m saying that you were trying too hard to appeal to me… Don’t you see? Look you came out of your relationship with someone that hurt you as well. You were constantly asking your friends to hook you up with someone. You wanted to move on. You made exactly the same mistakes I did!”
“No. I was really into you!”
“I’m not saying you weren’t necessarily. I’m saying I got turned off by the fact that you were trying so hard to make it work. Combine that with my realization that I was in a relationship because I had wanted to be in one so bad. I felt like I needed to get some time alone, get comfortable with myself.”
“Look if you wanted some time off that’s fine, but I was never dependent on you like you say I was. I wasn’t in awe of you like some god or anything.”
“Look. I’m not the only one who noticed it ok? Even after we broke up people were telling me how you were always trying too hard to appeal to everyone. But that’s not the issue. It just a way you were, and it bothered me ok? There is no right or wrong in this situation, it’s just a question of vibe and comfort. I disillusioned myself and you in the process. I’m sorry. But in my defense I think you also disillusioned yourself.
“… Ok fine. Anything else?”
“No that’s about it. I’ve been single ever since we broke up, and for the first time in my life I don’t have this overwhelming urge to find a girlfriend in everyone that I meet. I’m actually comfortable in my solitude. Sure I get lonely from time to time. Everyone does. But for once, I’m not obsessing. I’m not desperate. And I’m having fun!”
“So that’s it? You’re going to be alone for the rest of your life?”
“No. I’ve just stopped trying so hard. I’ll meet people, and eventually chemistry will act, a spark will happen, and something might ensue, just as it might break. Same as always really, but I won’t force the feelings next time.”
“So you never loved me.”
“I thought I did. And in my defense I think you did the same thing I did.”
“That’s not true.”
“Maybe.”
“…”
“You wanted the truth.”
“You’re such an asshole. I can’t believe I even gave you the benefit of the doubt when you dumped me.”
“Look you’ll think about it some. And you will eventually realize that I’m not a bad person. Misguided, young, naïve, but not an asshole. You taught me a lot about myself and I’m grateful. I have no regrets.”
“Always about regrets with you isn’t it.”
“I live my life that way.”
“…”
“…”
“So I guess this is goodbye.”
“I guess it is. Someday you will forgive me.”
“Perhaps.”

In the north, there is a little house in the middle of a wood, on a lake, covered with ice and snow. A small tendril of smoke eschews from a small protrusion perhaps about the size of a tin can of asparagus, or tomatoes. A soft wind sharpens the hint of a razor’s edge to the austerity, bringing the foliage to life as it shifts comfortably in its resting. It shakes the white powder onto the blanket at its feet, and with a great sigh falls into a deeper sleep. Such perfection is seldom witnessed by those who know how to appreciate the beauty of such moments.

If one should walk slowly and deliberately towards the man, made structure, one will hear the crunching of snow at one’s feet, as indentations are carved irrevocably upon the surface of mother nature; a testament to those who have passed previously. Footprints, sled-prints, perfect holes in the blanket where once a beer bottle resided, cooled by her breath. The path is worn and narrow, and difficult to navigate for the chasm between the two sides of ice was difficult to build in the first place. Passage through this place was obtained through the footsteps of those who have passed before, as if a quickening of erosion.
And as you reach for the golden knob on the door to the cottage, icicles fighting to grow one drop at a time as the warmth of the cottage feeds them fresh droplets of water, a smell of woodchips and tobacco fills the senses.

These two tidbits were stuff that I wrote recently under the infulence. I've come to the conclusion that my writing is a tad self indugent. Perhaps I will be trying something new instead of venting my melodrama. In any case here are the fruits of booze.

PS: Christmas pictures are up! Thanks Mom and Dad for the camera!


Because I didn’t have the balls, I called… I called my past. I called those who refused to listen to me, I called the Antman who was forgotten even through I tried to convince him that it was true. I called those who told me I was full of shit but in fact were totally wrong. I called those to thought that life was fraught with rejections from me, and those who couldn’t see clarity was false. I called to those who told me they would be ok with their significants to fornicate with others. But honestly I don’t believe this. I am not of the similar opinion. The same testosterone flows through our veins. That makes us the way it is. I am too inebriated to relate that which goes on in my mind. Too bad that I am misunderstood. Perhaps the Turkish girl was correct. I am but an innocent hypocrite in the darkness. Damn me. I hope that Mister Tucker will come and bless this entity like I did once a long time ago. Darn. Too bad. Rawr! I miss you, and though it seems to be meaningless, never the less I persist in thinking that alcohol is a beautiful thing, Damn the masses, fornication, and sex… I am the man. Worship me… Damn u. Love Jesus and stuff. Boooyah… I have a following. I do. Respect me whilst I throw up. Damn u!

Me
Damn Hiccups!


a few days later



I watch porno and listen to Ella Fitzgerald and its cold outside. In this moment I recall a drunken rant which I made once a while ago. I can only concede that since the mistakes were not as rampant on this, which I write in this very moment, I must not needs be necessarily be quite as inebriated as I was in the previous expulsion of emotion which I did make, I still need to make heads and tails of it. In the meantime, I got my love to keep me warm… skip song. This is a fine romance. This day I must have rolled a one hundred on the dice. Random encounter hello! I bring to you the meeting of someone random whom you’ve never heard of. Roll another dice. Ahh! It is feminine and attractive. Let us roll one more dice to determine how it goes shall we? Perhaps she would be a follower of the Deceiver? The Confuser of Ways? Wait a minute did the dice say I was this geeky??? Damn! No wait I’m not! Shit.. never mind then. “TWO MAGIC!!! TWO MAGIC!!! TWO BLESSSED!!! ARGHHHH!!!” “ Tchack! I’m dead!” Booyah.

A fine romance my dead duchess. Two old….. gamers? No. I say either. My very good woman… Porno! I’m watching porno! Ahh yes… booyah… bring it on people… I guess I could end it here but I don’t think that will be enough… checkout my pics site for there will be some cool stuff up there soon… either ither... Timmah…

cracked at 296 hours

Ahh let us embrace the sensation of testicles filled tight like water balloons wanting nothing more than to quench the heat of a hot summer day. Let us bask in the glory of unfulfilled desires which leave one empty despite the overwhelming fullness of it all! Let us take the air in a breath of freshness which the lungs are unused to knowing. Let us drink deep, the clear clear waters from which no fermentation can occur. Abstinence from sin is good for the body! And yet… it’s never been more fragile. Irony is a fickle bitch who’s sense of humor’s akin to mine. Damn you for turning the joke on me!

And somewhere in the distance someone is getting laid tonight. ZING! And somewhere in the depths of my being I know comfort, for I have beaten the odds. I have conquered myself. I am the Master of my domain! But why do I continue to punish myself so? What evil do I seek to cleanse with fires of righteousness?

A test! A game of chess against myself. Free beer! Self confidence! Mmmmmm sushi….. Mastery of one’s self! Freedom from the hand! Yeah that’s it! It’s a matter of pride… yes pride! I hold my pride in my right hand! … No wait…. I won’t do that! Not yet! Not until…. until…. What was I just saying? Second only to nature! Ooooops…

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

249 hours down… 519 to go…..Must……. not……. crack…. Arrrrrrrrrrgh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mister Prufrock’s frequent visits
Behind the curtain of the screen
Lost among anonymous keystrokes
The Internet
The Internet is for …
The Internet is for …

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks

Grab you credit card and start yankin!
Discreet billing.
No adult mentions on your credit card statement.
Mister Prufrock’s name won’t appear.
Mister Prufrock’s peers will never know.
They shall say, “What the hell is Cyberweb?”
“Who the hell is Prufrock anyway?”
They will never notice.
They will never understand.
The bank will think it’s web space.
And the Admin doesn’t care.
Neither does the girl.
Just a name in an anonymous channel.
That’s what you want isn’t it?

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks.

“No!”
“Damn she looks good.”
- Tehcamgirlsux has been kicked from chat-
“Any time now.”
- Hey baby stick it in jur ass! -
“Any time now someone is going to realize the brilliance of this.”
- Tehcamgirlsux has been banned from channel -
“There must be someone in here who will notice.”
- Hey I’m a girl and I love what you do -
- Ohh baby that was great! -
- Do you like girls? -
- I’m giving you a ten! -
Perhaps the girl?”
- Hey where do you live? -
- Close up please -
- I wish that was me right there -
“Maybe I’m just a retard.”
- Ok guy’s show’s over -
- Thanx babe see u 2morrow -
“But I haven’t finished yet!”

And in the room horny men come and go talking about how much the cam girl sucks

Beating the evening furiously
At one and two and three o’clock
With slippery hands
Coaxing out the last drop
Spitting frantically
Begging for release
And seeing it was a soft November night
Four o’clock in the morning
Sticky hands
Weary and alone
Curled into a fetal ball and fell asleep.

Withered fingers play melancholic melodies upon the keys of a synthetic surface, bringing forth emotions of stagnation and decay. The soul burns for retribution, demanding reparations for a life cleft in twain from an organic rot deep within a broken coccyx. Time hammers upon the anvil of destiny ceaselessly, irrevocably, and brutally despite those being molded from the fires of Hephaestus. It isn’t supposed to be fair. It matters not to the greater powers. We must need flee like ants evacuating a flooded tunnel, desperately seeking to rescue the seeds of its future. They will not know vengeance for the fall of their comrades. The child with the magnifying glass is too damn big!

I have seen my putrid flesh served upon a silver platter like tartar delicacy, cutlery laced with the blood of my rectum. I have inhaled the fumes as they purged the sickness from my flesh with the fires of man. It is an unpleasant smell. All the while I felt nothing.
Alas corruption cannot be destroyed so easily. It must make sense somewhere in the mysteries of the universe, for it happens. However, the reason of it all eludes me.

Powerlessness is a frustrating state, which when merely accepted can destroy the morale of man. A small part of me wants to fight the futility, like a duty to myself. Like a man plunging headlong to a lost battle, trying hard not to let reason deter him from his glorious end. A responsibility to his pride. To submit in the face of the flow of time, the universal healer of all things, is the surest path to self destruction. I will endure, even though I know I cannot win.

I don’t suppose, that I could impose upon you, good ladies, to cut me a tidbit of thread, weave the hole shut, and tie it off for me? You’d really be doing me a great favor.

Lying upon my mattress on the floor, my hairy chin propped up by two pillows, my hands extended in front of me, fingers dancing across the keyboard as if playing a complex tune with some foreign instrument. The net at my disposal, and the imaginations of a repressed individual having spent too much time upon the floor, for the seated position was inappropriate and uncomfortable. I feel my body degenerating in this enclave, several feet below the surface of the earth. From time to time I venture out into the bright sunlight of the world, only to return exhausted and nostalgic of the life I have left behind all those months ago, a life which I long to return to, one who’s reunion is certain and elusive. If my time down here in this prison like place has taught me anything it’s that I truly value more all the things which exist outside the fictitious realities of a computer screen and written word. I’ve learned my lesson Life. I know I’ve been negligent. I know I have to learn responsibility and purge the causal comforts associated with that which I take for granted. I must begin to regenerate and strengthen. I no longer wish to waste away upon the floor. My resurrection is at hand. It is time. Release me.

One of the first things I got into when I first plunged myself into the world of the internet was the IRC chat rooms. I must have been about 15 years old when I first entered one for the first time. It was one where people met to talk about Japanese cartoons. In time I made some friends and migrated over to one of the larger networks, EFNET. We spent hours every day talking about random shit. Then of course the older people all started traveling to meet each other, and eventually have sex. It caused a lot of drama. The most typical story would be one member or the other would be in an online relationship, travel to meet the person in question, screw like rabbits, and then the following morning whilst the partner was taking a shower, use their computer finding out, reading chat logs, that the individual was having cyber sex with about three of his/her friends in the channel. This would result in channel scandal, and members of the chat room would takes sides and eventually split off into two separate rooms, only to have the process repeat itself in some other parallel scenario. Being one of the youngest members, we just sat and watched all the drama. It was very educational.

In time, I got fed up with the constant repetition of it all. I considered on several occasions to go meet some people myself, but it never really worked out seeing as I was too young to travel alone to visit complete strangers. So I left.

Every couple of years since then, I stop and think about what happened to those people, and how the chat rooms would have evolved since those days. From time to time I act on my curiosity. I download a copy of MIRC and travel back to EFNET which is all but deserted these days. #cyberheaven, #17-25, #chathouse are completely empty save for #loonybin where the IRC bot Johnson still stands guard from an attack. Otherwise it remains lifeless with no sign on activity since the days we once hung out there.

Ella Fitzgerald

I lie of the floor trying to figure out exactly how I went from a three day long melancholy disposition to the beginnings of feeling better. Ive kept all of my wirtings up to now purely artistic, but that sort of thing isn’t satisfying enough for me to feel better sometimes when the mood hits me. I’ve kept from writing direct things about myself for fear of revealing certain aspects of myself which I am ashamed of. These are things which all human beings feel sometimes but I take it upon myself sometimes to conquer my emotions with logic and reason. I don’t like it sometimes when I get swept up by myself, and when I try and wirte about this it feels like I am reading the pathetic ramblings of an insecure teenager. I am in fact twnty five years of age and somewhat mature, at least I consider myself, for the amount of emotional experience I have felt. It is this constant expectations of myself to be able to conquer negativity through cold logic and indifference which makes it so hard sometimes. I’ve done things in the past which I am ashamed of. Rather I have dealt with certain situations in ways which, looking back made me feel childish. I suppose that when such childish emotions begin to take hold of me again I begin to hate myself for feeling a certain way, and as such nstead of trying to work my way thourhg it I’ve been repressing certain things from shame. This brings me down.

Being down is no crime. It hits everyone from time to time, and as such I feel no shame to tell people that im a little depressed. What is embarrassing to me is trying to admit to myself that the cause.

This is the third Halloween. About two and a half years ago I brokeup a relationship in which I had invested a great deal of emotional energy. The break came at a moment when I was already dealing with a great deal of stress. I was doing a boring internship at the Central bank of west Africa. The jobs sucked and I basically spent three months doing nothing. Not only that but I used to come home to an alcoholic mother with whom I used to have violent arguments. It was a very difficult time for me. My parents were threatening to separate, and I found myself ni a situation, far from home with no human backup. Then two weeks before going home I brokeup with this person, and later found out that our relationship had actually ended ni a blazing flame of lies and betrayals.

Thankfully despite the fact that were do share some of the same friends we hardly see eachother except when fair sized party comes around, and Halloween is a tradition which has not been passed up for several years. Every Halloween I dread seeing this person.

The first year she was there, but I was plastered drunk, and showing off a newly acquired skill as I spun chains with glowsticks attached to them, on the roof of the neighbor. It is a miracle I didn’t fall off the three stories.

The second year, the Halloween party took place at my house, and whilst she didn’t show up out of respect for my space, even though I did not implicitly invite her, I suffered from the same heartwreaching stress. That evening we lost and Xbox, an Ipaq, and a digital camera. It was a bad year.
Now the last few days I’ve been fearing the same thing. Ive been attributing the stress to a combination of my medical condition taking longer to heal than I would like, combined with random arguments with my father, but thinking back on it I think the stress was probably there to being with and these inconvenciences just aggravated the situation rather than being the actual cause which I was depseratly trying to put to it.

That being said I forced myself to go to this gathering even though a large part of me didn’t want to. I may have brought some people down in the process with my horrible mood, but I guess I knew deep down that this was something I had to do. Sure enough she was there and for the first time in two years I went up and said hello. I gave the two kisses and made about a minute or two of random small talk. I guess that was my way of saying… I don’t know what I was trying to say. Maybe just that it’s ok. I’ve finally let go of my hate. But if I did why was I so anxious? And why after the hour that I spent, when I decided it was time to leave, when I said goodbye to her again in the same way I had said hello. Why do I suddenly feel better? I know I’ve accomplished something important, but I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it will come to me in time. In the mean while it feels good to feel relaxed again. Until next year. I hope I’ll feel better next time round.

I know those to threw the party are going to read this. I’m sorry I had you guys worried for me. I know my reaons for being weird are childish.. But all selfishness aside the evening was a productive one for me.


I’m not going to reread this. I’m not going to edit it or spell check. I’d rather leave this is in its natural state.

Loosely coalesced droplets of water patter softly upon the surface of my cranium, gently massaging all the aches and pains within. A slight breeze cools the bitterness beneath the skin and calms it tenderly like a breath of fresh air re-instilling life into an asphyxiated personality. I do not attempt to fathom the objects which create the reality which I habitually interact with. No, my eyes are closed this evening, and I am all alone with the rain and cool airs. My lungs heave and release, just like the time before, and the time before that, but this time with recognition and symbolism that I had not noticed, or bothered to notice. I can feel liquid gently making its way in between the follicles of hair down my arms, down my chest, my back, my legs, my face. There is a great weight lifted, as if all the worries and troubles of the imperfect man are washed away from him. In a moment another great sigh as it pours off me into a pool at my feet. And in a moment, for just a moment, I can let go completely. It makes me think about how lightly I take my breath, my heartbeat, my shivers, the tiny itch in the bottom of my feet which is only a nuisance when I think about it, only for a few moments, and then it is gone again. It makes me think, how easily I lose sight of the undeniable truth. It is good to be alive right now, and forever. If God does exist I pray he never let me lose sight of this moment. Where everything in the world makes sense.

Inspire me o Lady of the Word! Allow me use of these thy gifts. Thy permission grant I plead. Homage to thee. Thou hast blessed the mortal man with pen, and paper, and keyboard. Thou hast given unto me sensitivity and life. Thou hast taught me love, and song, and desire. I plead unto thee madam inspiration to pay respects to thy divination. For with the words which thou hast granted me, I wish to make unto thee, a gift. And though these thoughts cannot unto thee do justice, I’ll do as best as I know how. And though I am incapable of depicting, exactly that which doth flow within me when feel the ecstasy, I’ll do as well as can be done with the very tools you instruct. And I pray thou dost accept my most profoundest admirations, for not a master of the art am I. But I do assure thee that all my being went out into it. And so I ask thee to guard that which I am about to give, a part of my soul. Cherish me, and I do give thee worship. So speak unto me o Muse! Fair maiden of dictation. Lay upon me use, thy everlasting inspiration,

Her name is Polyhymnia and She moves like grains upon the sands of perfection. Swaying in the wind like some gentle force of nature,
Upon some lost and lonely shore.
Undisturbed in silence,
Swimming softly to the beating heart of earth.
And as she passed to and fro,
All who behold her know
Peace.

She is the hope which Pandora did release.
She is the outlet,
The cure,
The means by which mortal man endures.
She brings respite to those who follow her,
The likes of which no mortal lover
Brings.
She is better than death.
She is release.
She is the most serene listener,
The soundest word,
The greatest love,
Desire,
Shoulder,
Friend,
Lover.

Her whispers have inspired passions in the most devout.
Her breath has robbed and bestowed the deepest romances,
The most bitter hatreds,
The most pure emotions.

Through her one can peer,
Deep within the darkest hearts,
And understand.
And with her one will jump,
And shout,
And laugh,
And dance,
And cry,
Without ever knowing why.

And yet ever elusive is she.
For not one to be caught is she.
Beyond the hopes and dreams of man,
Beyond imagination,
Beyond conceptualization,
Beyond that which man was made to grasp,
Beyond all we understand,
Beyond reality,
Beyond even me.
And yet,
I know her to exist,
In my mind her touch persists.
And I am scarred
Forevermore.

More elusive as is the questing beast,
Incapable of being caught,
For not even I can perceive her thought.
Though I may try,
With all my perfect imperfections.
I am blind unto her as a child staring hard unto the sun.
She exists not except within me.
And deep within my soul,
Close to my heart,
My mind,
Myself,
I’ll cherish her forevermore.

She is my light when there is darkness,
My darkness when there is too much light.
She is neither jealous nor demanding.
Granting only understanding,
And confusion.
I care not,
For what little glimpse I do perceive,
Doth suffice to drive nations unto madness.

I am her loyal servant,
And her lover,
And her brother.
She loves me in ways none other
Can.
For created her did I,
Just as she created me.
We are one and none.
We are bonded but apart,
But I exist and she does not.

I’ll spend the rest of my days seeking the most imperfect reflection in another’s eyes.