|It’s crazy, but I can’t see or say what I am thinking.
A unique way to win the day. Useful prognostication?
I don’t complain_ when the being here is for_
Someone, I think is very understanding of the other side of the dime.
Why that particular coin? It used to be that Mercury strided there.
50-50_So as a matter of order_ In the e-business of finding myself.
Non-sequential executive orders for the foil of this page are ordered up.
As to the future of now. There is only the present breath and whisper of note.
Whatever became of the famous one eyed beast that stood at the gates of Hell?
From work, in the course of the day, I went on_ and read your claim.
I have never thought that…Does that give you confidence?
Running for the lights now…I must go. Know all is well.
||< << >> >||
|The contemplation of dimes makes me gag, TR. They are too small. Buttons also bother me, and zippers, and women’s jewelry, and men’s. I am without chains, rings, miraculous medals. When I pray the Rosary I do so without the benefit of the beads because I have never liked handling small things, or even thinking of small things. In college I had a girlfriend who wore gigantic earrings; they were acceptable – perhaps tolerable is the better word. It is a peculiar quirk of mine. The effect that small things have on me is much the same as the effect of seeing someone’s spit, or vomit. Jewelry that pierces the flesh is trebly disgusting. Many are the young people I cannot look at without feeling that nausea rise and begin to gag and hack. When it comes to coinage and buttons, and zippers, I have learned to demonstrate over my revulsion by simply using them automatically, without thought, but given a choice between grabbing a dime or a quarter I will use the quarter and instruct cashiers to “keep the change.”
Yes, it’s fascinating that the WT knew that about me – about my peculiar reaction to small things – and not that other thing which seems on the surface to be so much more important. But why should it be? No – it seems to me as irrelevant as a person’s skin color. Who cares? One ought not to be engaging in sexual acts outside of marriage, anyway. (I know that many do; I did myself, and have paid for it with a life in shambles). So, what possible difference can it make if a man happens to fancy men, or a woman fancies other women? I have known many people who are afflicted with same sex attraction. This is not a detail that I should know about them unless our friendship has reached a level of sharing confidences. It is certainly not something to define oneself by, no more than being heterosexual is a subject for bumper stickers or tee shirts. In other words, Who gives a crap? But it was nevertheless amusing to discover that someone who seems to know me so well was laboring under such a stark misapprehension about me.
Why does a black man declare that his skin is “black,” or dark, when anybody can clearly see that by looking at him? Why does a “white” man do the same? – Beginning some statement with, “As a black man, I…” or, “As a white man, I…?” I’m so utterly disinterested in hearing the expression of “group-think,” of bovine thought, of the herd mentality. Say what you have to say “as a man,” not as a “black man” or a “white man.” I can clearly see your complexion, and I don’t give a rat’s ass.
“As a man” – yes. Notice I didn’t say “as a person,” which would seem to exclude women. Why? Because the difference between men and women is real; we think in entirely different ways. Men of different races and cultures have more in common with each other than with women of their own races or cultures. The differences between men of different races is so superficial that it’s boring. It bores me. But, the difference between men and women – that opposition that sustains the universe – is ALL the difference in the world.
Now, if one tries to assert that his “sexual orientation,” or predilection, rises to the superficial but observable level of race, claiming minority status as a result of something which cannot even be observed by others, what insanity is that?
The devil understands the strategy “divide and conquer;” he invented it.
||< << >> >||
|Ah! John, Without venturing far_ I am going to “…attack, attack, attack.”
This is and isn’t_ in response to your correspondence with me, because I began my silly little_ whatever it was…talking about dimes and slots and childhood memories and polio. All very dear subjects to peruse, but not really the point. I was over-cast as the villian of smallness (My wife has been cutting me to pieces for a few days), and I have no trinkets to respond with. I was more stuck, when I started, than before I began. It was the nature of the moment in history, when a small little man in mountain town, washington_ wanted to get back to work on his treatise of verisimitude and quirks. I am not a perfected modeler. I am not even trying most of the time, but I do care that the facts is the facts.
When I said that ‘craziness’ about the dime. It came back to me. I lived outside Lovettsville, Va. on a farm called ‘Bolington’ and we used to go into Mcleans store and buy things…Penny candy, and I would end up with some dimes and they were invariably shiny and new. I think we got the tiny slot card books across the street at the tiny post office. It just dropped in…
Just off work and ‘things’ with the large female in the family are not on an upswing right now. I think it is her new sleep medicine.. She was off work yesterday and half of today, and yet she is so tired as to be the great hoard of bitter. Not pleasant. I have never done well with the artificial,”your going to pay_ for my bad attitude” atmosphere. I’ve been working outside in the rain…more fun.
Last night, after she had had a particularly bad day with son and architect, and the other house thing, she was attack, attack, attack.
That in itself is enough to make one feel something is afoot.
Our government is the Vietcong. they just diasappear, when there are real problems. They want their victory parade, but they want it earned on race and gender and sexual orientation. All the things you said are true and I agree and I hope we are copasetic about everything, including small jewelry and chains, nose rings and grills. It’s amazing what folks will wear. I went from a wife, who is a clothes horse. Hours it took…exaggeration, but a long time. To one who__
I know….I will get over this. My wife, who won’t wear any jewelry or adornement. Every Christmas until the most recent one…I would buy clothes and jewelry and she would take it back. I sound stupid for doing/saying it, but I thought it was some OCD thing or something. Her practice of not letting me select anything for her was beyond hope. She’s always telling me, that when I buy something_ that this or that looks better. We shop for price and durability, but always quality. Same as most everybody. Sometimes Walmart. Down sizing series…coming up…right? I look forward to it…if that is still in the works.
With the price of gas $4.16 at out nearest station and just under #4.00 down the road…things will certainly change. How fast is this trap going to be set. There are some crazy ideas out there. People are talking…
I just made myself a nice bowl of cereal. We have guests coming for
John, If I could say it better right now, I would_ try, but given time and circumstance… My motivation is to just get it done, and hopefully convey a result that is somewhat satisfying. I read every word that you write. I hope that is what I am working toward.
I am a modeler of what I see. I am a kinesetic omniscient observer operating on true beliefs.
Still: I really need my own moat. I still let the world bother me. You are right on John. Tell WT, I said so. She is good for you John, and now she may know better about what it was that brought her to that conclusion. She probably couldn’t understand_ why you weren’t attracted to her. She sounds dynamite, and that’s the way you always talked about her. I am out for now. Life prepares me for the play.TR
||< << >> >||
|I was just rambling, TR. Your mention of dimes got me thinking along those lines. That calls to mind a song lyric: “We don’t have half the thrills that the march of time does” Vs. “We don’t have half the thrills that the March of Dimes does.” Who remembers the March of Dimes? Do they even exist anymore? Perhaps they are lost in a sea of philanthropy.
It appears you are having your happily ever after just like folks do. That’s OK. It’s a soldier’s right to complain.
Gas prices? The subject bores me. We sit on top of the largest oil reserve in the world and play childrens’ games with windmills, and then can we honestly complain? No, it’s all rubbish. These kids want a good spanking.
I could never please my wife with the presents I gave her. They were always wrong. The more thought I put into the selection of them the more wrong I was. On the other hand, if you were to give me a gift, I don’t care what it is – a stuffed toy hot dog, a book I’ll never read, a pair of tweezers – I’ll be so grateful that you had thought to get me anything at all. I get all weepy when people give me gifts. At one point, because I used to drink Guinness, my wife took it in mind that any and all promotional items advertising the beverage would be appropriate gifts, and thus I became a collector. I’ve no complaints. As a child I never knew what to give my mother because she, like me, needed nothing, wanted nothing, and so I started her on Irish china. Did she want these things? No, but she loved the kid who gave them to her.
I gave Elizabeth some hand lotion that I knew she would like, and some soap I knew she would use, and a hundred dollars, and maybe incense like the type I burn, and sundry other small things for Christmas. She was over the proverbial moon that I should think of her. How could she not know I find her attractive? Am I that good at concealing it? Perhaps I am; who knew? I keep business in business. No amount of lovey-dovey is worth money to me. Meanwhile, whenever her husband gives her trouble (as invariably they do – all part of that happily ever after) I keep my big mouth shut as though I were in possession of the exact location of the Ark.
Oh I am sick to death of husbands! I hear nothing but complaints – why? I wouldn’t mind hearing a man belonging to one of my women friends being praised. I know in most cases they are fine men and good husbands. I might have been like that myself, if someone had caught me a few years ago, but I’m a curmedgeon now.
Somewhere out there is a woman for me – I keep hearing that from well-meaning chumps. But they’re ALL for me. What matters to me is looks, nothing else. Politics, interests, blah blah, who cares? Woman talks and… why? I suppose they must talk about something. But, when it comes to finding someone ‘like’ me, well, there isn’t such an animal.
What else? I dunno. I’ve got to get back to work.
||< << >> >||