get into the business of making porn, i don’t care what the content will be, as long as I can write the titles.

“Seven winds froth solidly the beetle”

“Wonder at Soulless Matrimony”

“Seppuku is for Lovers”

More people should be interesting enough to hit on.  I remain dejected.

Most (good) blogs are topical, or can actually expand on issues throughout – mine is purely egotistical, just to make no mistakes.

Black dome light on its way.

Room is clearer – actually have some decent walking space.  I need to get a little more organization (and get a load of car parts out of the closet to make space) and it’ll look like a manageable bedroom.  Then, seduction!

The issue of internet dating comes up, and I can’t find myself against it – even if I don’t participate.  I never tried; never used to try, anyway.  My first experiences were being completely strange, expecting I wouldn’t be around to matter.  I remember the first… it was preternaturally sweet.  I remember her, and the taste, and the awkward intimacy as I descended to contemplate her.

I agonize over the scent sometime.  Perhaps that’s where I stopped; never again going much further, for I was satisfied there.  The best experience starting, one can’t find a way forward.

I wish I could remember the exact words I used later to describe that.

Sadly, it’s become perverse; used against me.  How can I retain the original intention?

…of being what?

Well, first, I sit here drinking. An unenviable habit, perhaps. I am compelling myself to seek it out and wash in it for a while, contemplative. At what point do I begin to say ‘problem’, rather? I am almost to the point of budgeting for it with each paycheque. It is not any rotgut, yet is any better than the other?

This, the lagavulin 16yr Scotch, may not be the choice of every, yet I finish it alone. I’ve found it somewhat harsher in taste than expected – definitely ’smoky’. I attempt to discern hints of… anything, really, in the amber aromatic, yet cannot find a single clue. Intoxicating, certainly. I think I will go further afield for the next bottle.

The fluid in the glass, at close examination, is more viscous than thought; the eddies are positively immobile. Trapped eddies around a cube; forlorn.

If I thus plan out my alcoholic purchases, am I sane? Broke? Admitting to a casual defeat at the hands of that which is meant to bring my faculties low?

For – let’s be serious here – this is seen by few, and fewer still of these can distill my thought as easily as can this rather maudlin purchase of expensive spirits. To hold it in hand and ramble at length on its qualities and effects is, quite admittedly, self-serving, neurotic, and sublime.

-break here-

-a sip or two-

I think of home, and where that may be. What, of my many residences over the years, would I most call ‘home’? I can’t really name one – all having been sullied by some idea along the way. I feel that, with that in mind, I shall make my stamp upon the next most indelibly. I shall scar it and make it mine.

Someone at work, said that hydrogen peroxide, was lately found to help cause scars. It may heal, but at the cost of some surface appearance. And I think – it was one of the favourite tools of my mother, long ago. How many of my own surface abstractions do I owe to this? Small yet permanent affectations upon my skin that never heal. For all that I never had any major contusions, I had myriad scars, in various places. Shin. Groin. Belly. Arm. The back of my hands. Forehead. What have I surrendered? Nothing, perhaps… they are areas of tiny contemplation that leave only my imagination ground fecund.

Three days off, I said, I said,
Just three days off.
I was small when time began,
tall I grew to become a man.
In all the time, she had no hooks in me,
and never I in he.

So, we’re watching youtube.

The reason, today, is explanation. Weird Al is coming to town. The kids (both) like enough of his music. I’m showing them that his music, and his videos, are in most cases parodies of other artists’ songs.

We come across ‘Fat’ so I pull up the original – ‘Bad’ by Michael Jackson.

The daughter watches intently for about 3 minutes, and then asks…

“This is by Michael Jackson?”
“…uh, Yes.”
“Then why is the star played by a girl?”

She was offended that we found her words hilarious.

So, if I’m single, what shall I do?

I have a car – and plenty of plans.
No house – but plans, again.

Are they exclusive? Does it matter? I feel left by each and every person behind me. I’ve got a couple of kids, and they should be around, but it’s not the reason for their existence.

I’m not particularly charismatic.
I’m especially not social.

Focus on self? Release from material possessions to focus on self? Or lose self in the pursuit of a meaningful existence… reason, before all others.