It’s Thursday already? The whole reunion thing really threw me off my stride here . . . Well, I don’t have anything to post yet; I’m still working through my reactions to the whole thing (but am glad I went). So in the meantime, I will leave you with the following links from a WWDTM show a few weeks ago:
1. ipanywhere.com
2. speedofart.com
3. penisland.net
4. powergenitalia.com

So, do you have any other examples of web sites with poorly-chosen domain names? The above are for 1. a pcAnywhere companion product, 2. some guy who may or may not be artistic, 3. a pen company and 4. an Italian company that makes batteries. I’m wondering when the Italian flea market site Pisa Crap will register their domain . . .

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I’m being buzzed by a fly — must be time to bathe again. Either that or quit wearing lamb-chop undies. Ew. Anyway, I need to get some work done and pack; I leave for the reunion thingy in a few hours. I’m guessing that there is a reason I haven’t talked to most of these people in the past twenty years, but we will have to wait until tomorrow night to figure it out.

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Sleep, that teasing slut, showed up late and left early last night. I will try not to pass out at my keyboard today, but everything is fuzzy and far away. I want sleep. Replacing sleep with chocolate and caffeine does not work any more. Am I getting old? On the plus side, my neck and shoulders have siezed up, so if I do start to nod off, the excruciating pain should wake me before my forehead hits the desk. Sure, there will be some awful screaming for the first few minutes, but it should keep me awake.

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The funk that has hung over me for the past week has finally lifted. Actually, both funks. It’s most likely coincidence, but not only do I no longer feel like a complete slug emotionally, but after bathing, I feel quite refreshed physically as well. I really need to work on this cleanliness thing.

It was a busy weekend — hopefully I will get it all down in the computer and not just on paper. Right now, I’ve got bits of conversations going through my head. Mixed in with Otto Zehm’s last words (“All I wanted was a Snickers”) before being murdered by Spokane’s finest is my son trying to explain a Lego toy to his cousin.

“Kyle! Hi! I think you forgot a Lego toy.”
mumblemumblemumble (I couldn’t quite make out the other side of the conversation, so I’ll just fake it here).
“It has a big gun that you have to kick after each shot and pull apart . . . ”

It’s good to know the boy listens even when I am not talking to him. He’s got the description of the 50 cal. down perfectly, at least as I remember it from my brief time with the 82nd Airborne. Shoot-jam-kick-swear-disassemble-unjam-shoot-repeat. It was always a little scary knowing that we were considered combat-ready with only three of seven of those buggers functional, and by functional, I meant at a point where they were able to perform the shoot-jam-kick. Not my problem any more, thankfully.

So what’s new with you, reader? The cat makes writing this difficult — pushing against my hand, purring loudly and drooling on the keyboard in a play for attention — so I think it is time to go. Hopefully I will get some pictures up, admit defeat on the whole blowing s**t up idea (the woman-wife refuses to drive me to the hospital when I blow my fingers off, she says) and type more drivel in. I love drivel. . .

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I believe pharmacists and health-care providers have a right to make choices of conscience, or moral decisions, about the care they provide, regardless of the medical necessity of that care. I also believe that, as licensed professionals, they should make sure that all potential customers and patients are aware of the potential moral lambasting and lack of care that they will receive from said professionals. To that end, I propose the following signs be required anywhere that health care and services may be made unavailable due to moral objections:
“Attention (potential) customers: Your care here will be dictated by our moral judgement of you. Should you be found wanting, whether by your actions or our misinterpretation of your actions, we will not supply you with the care you want or need. Yours faithfully in closed mind(s), xxx.” (the “xxx” should be replaced by the names and phone numbers of each person who objects to supplying said care) The signs will be large enough to be easily read by all (potential) customers who pass by. In addition, on the off-chance that a customer may miss the sign, all greetings (phone or in-person) should begin with the wording from the sign. I think this will clear up a lot of confusion and hardship on both sides of the debate.

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(although he DOES look better than the shrew who made his way through the pool filter system)

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I just discovered another dinner theatre nearby. This one’s cowboy-themed, plus it offers slow jazz. I want to go, if only to hear slow cowboy jazz. Well, it’s off to Spokane and Riverfront Park. Hopefully nobody in our party will be raped or beaten to death by Spokane police or firefighters. Ah, Spokane, we love you, brutality and all.

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Submission and emptiness abound within. I’ve found glory in the word, a voice my own. And yet I find I often plagiarize myself. A heart hardened and stale and dreams of toast. It’s often dreams we seek and sleep away our lives in hope of just one fulfilled. Spinning shimmers and cools in heat and love. A dove in flight or bees abuzz in fields or hive. It lives with will and pain forms aloft. It’s soft, this hope a blinding grope forward and back to the start again. Live in fear or live in hope or live in awe of all that is. It’s love and life and loneliness, only once would be stepping low. Befriend the ones we need to hear and hold to heart and shoulder spleen a wandering lust for chicken. I have not, nor ever will, it’s just too deep and dark and still and craving strike like hunger dawn upon the forest of my song. I sing for shoes; I am that strong to glance upon the blows and furnace of fury in tow below or not it matters little for friends to care to rot before the time is near.

How do I love? With countless things and deep-set pain upon the brow and sinew too. Hewed to bone it smacks against the ship the fate of all too soon. And so I reach an endpoint now and set aside the word for rest. A test of down, a system’s end I sleep I dream and wake again. If only it had fuzzy things that kept me warm when I had need, I’d hold it close and silence doubt and find the end and live without a thought too flat to hold my head and drift along a nodding path awash away ablaze with rest and in the end it’s one more page just one less page of life to fill with cream and memories and things we’ve done.

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As is evident by my self-centred writing style, I have few friends. I work from home for a tech firm several states away and do not spend a lot of time around others. I like it this way. There are a select few people with whom I talk or email, and yes, I like it that way. Several of these people I contact only through myspace, which as of today, really pisses me off. Today, myspace deleted me. Have I mocked myspace? Yes. Have I mentioned technical problems with myspace? Yes. Have I violated their terms of service? As far as I can tell, no. So why did the bastards delete my account? I haven’t a f***ing clue. Of course, it could just be yet another myspace meltdown and I just need to sit it out. . .

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Fire-soaked kittens ablaze with joy at play within and doubt is left to right the song we hear inside the loam, lost in time and face. A shoe is found, a shoe is lost, a shoe holds dreams and then is tossed. For some it’s hard to bless the cake, a lowly soap and sudless day in burning sky and burning lake I dream I see a moment pass and hold it tight but never ask what day is come and how to tell if life is lived ill or well as deep as this may be it crawls it crawls higher up my spine in tickling steps afright and near a moth or bug? Something that bites I’m sure I feel it start again upon my hip and then I’m numb. I fear I fear that it will be the death of my before I’ve done a damned thing that will live on in spite of who I think I am or even worse what I’ve become in sight of those who feign to care.

Get it off! I scream and run but cannot speak or move it’s far too late and I must sleep and dream of shoes.

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