Sticks and Stoned 4

Clearly, this one is not targeted at more sensitive readers. Fortunately, that does not include anyone who still reads this blog. If you have stumbled into this, sorry. Navigate away if you are disturbed by phallic humour or images.

Right. That's what I thought, too. This is a sequel to the previous post.

Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, let us get on with the entertainment.

Geometry themed, uh, erotica might not sell now, but it will be the biggest thing in the year 7515, and then on. But there is a lot of time before that happens, so I suppose you can put your pants back on, now.

Sticks and Stoned 3

Okay. This is wrong on several levels, as usual. Plus, it now has hover text. ( Yes, that thing that pops up when you hover the mouse over the image.)

Let me know if I should stop.

Conversation

Friend: "You are really good at this, you know."

Me: "What? Life?"

Friend: "Yeah."

Gotcha

Sometimes when people reach a certain stage of sophistication, they like to pretend, at the very least in their own heads, that they have forever been in that state of sophistication.

That they have never been naive and daft and that they have never listened to Bryan Adams while they were growing up.

Year ender post, 2009

A year just like any other.

But also a year which heralds several logical ends and beginnings, and perhaps for the first time, some material for essays titled "My Goal in Life".

There is much to be said, as always, and therefore I shall not start. Oh, darn. I failed.

It was a year of dark miracles.

A happy winter to you all. Also, love.

Suffer, toil, and take care.

Mutation (And Other Stories)

Life is essentially that pause when a passing girl, a stranger, with a strange man tagging along, looks right into your eyes, and you have a moment. And then suddenly you realize that it is what propels this world, amongst other things. It is desire. And then in one quick flick you know that how little it takes to change something ordinary into something singularly aesthetic, like a step into dance, like a drawn breath into song. All it takes is that wildly tossed hair, glossed lips, a pretty face.

Desire is a cruel friend. It binds people and things with barbed wire and gossamer. Then you smirk subtly at each other during that one moment of infidelity, as her man glares at you.

Where would we be if it were not for secret desire and other sins morsels of fuel oozing out of our being, like maple syrup on a stack of pancakes?

Life is stepping into a place, and just knowing in your gut that the last song they'll play before you step out is the song that has been chipping geometric shapes inside your head all week. And then that song just trickles out of the sound system when the waiter brings the cheque.

Predictable unpredictability is an awkward comfort. Also, all other variations.

Trigger

I would write more often, but I don't want to crib.

Stuck in the middle of a curious, preordained and a new kind of defeat, I'm counting my days backwards. Sometimes, and not infrequently, it is a good thing that all things come to an end. Wish me luck. I'm twitching to hit the restart button. Only, the restart button seems to be at the end of a long maze.