Tanning booth

 

Shallowness as a means of consumption as a staple of techno-lust. Otherwise known as indulgence.

I have an iPod brimming with marvelous music, a cell phone that replicates that purpose while connecting me to 150 of my closest compadres, a 5-disc DVD player operating as one of three steros in my living room, 4 other kick ass music makers spread around the place, 600 CDs, over 1,000 books, a piano, drum set and pre-CBS Strat, 2 kick ass computers, custom golf clubs, a closet-full of Joseph Aboud, Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren suits, beach access, Manhattan velvet rope access, women who show up unannounced weekend nights, rare counter-computer surveillance knowledge, a dominating command over the English language, folk hero status in certain states, a curveball, a closet full of plaques and trophies, cool scars, cache in bars, and the confidence to not have to lie to teeter upon a shakey story of self-confidence. Plus, no one to answer to.

Those are the things I don't tell people, lest I lose my refined status as a man of excrutiatingly deep thought. Which is true.

Boo-boo, boo-hoo bitches vs. breath-takingly bold brain-building

This thought occurred to me late last night as I settled into sleep:
You made it through another day. How useful is your mind as a result?

I'm not one to go through the motions without thinking of good and bad ramifications. But I'm not shy about raising hell when someone else is going out of their way to bother me, ramifications be damned. That philosophy has carried me into some difficult situations and some fierce conflicts. I sleep better at night though because I'm not going to let anyone fuck me over without making them think twice about their own ramifications. Consequense alights my mind. I want to spread the gospel if for no other reason to shut up all the petulant, whiny, pain-in-the-ass, feel sorry for themselves bitches out there.

Are you smarter today than you were yesterday? Or just bitchier?

Quantum Love

“Instead of waiting for someone else to reveal love, you step forward as the embodiment of love. Instead of waiting for the other person to come to terms with her anger, you step forward and be the messenger of peace.”
-- Gurumayi Chidvilasananda

Empty Sign

There's this thing on the side street next to my house that looks like it used to be a sign for something. Now it serves as a frame for whatever is behind it. I think it's kind of cool.

Snug as a hug in a tug

Occasionally I disguard the boxers and choose to wear the brief/boxers. Why? Just because I need to feel my balls snugged up in an elastic sack. It feels weird, but when I look in the mirror with them on I look like a porn star race horse. Something about large nuts and an eight incher. It doesn't last for long. I bail for the boxers so I can swing free. But it is fun to be gargantuan for a few hours or so. And that's not even with a boner. Only a semi.

Second hand

We are slaves to the flurry of every tic of clock-worked, gear-split seconds, as if there were no other way of measuring human performance besides time. What ever happened to the graceful sweep of the scooping longhand?