You stupid busybody cunt

Is this the super secret uber public diary journal you're talking about, Jess? Too bad you interpreted EVERYTHING the wrong way. What's that? Oh yeah, I never linked you to this! Hah! How curious.

I want to suck your cock messily, choke myself on it, drink your cum

Why do I want to suck cock so much more when I'm drunk? Why does silly, messy sex seem an unadulterated pleasure, instead of a task for which I must prime myself, and even then not reach full success? I can only conclude that sobriety itself is a form of intoxication. I sincerely don't want to get all Freudian in this bitch, with all that id/ego/superego bullshit. But I can surely say from experience that I have better sex when I'm drunk.

When I'm sober, there's a certain amount I cannot relax. I WANT to, god knows, but I can't. It's not that I won't, it is seriously that I can't. I have neuroses piled atop insecurities x10, so maybe this isn't surprising? I wish it were. (<-- lol english subjunctive yussss) Intoxication from alcohol has its own limits, so it's silly to depend on it (aside from the fact that I don't WANT to have to depend on it). I'm just WAAAY too guarded to fully give myself over to anyone in sobriety.

I imagine that making that choice would be that much more thrilling if I were.

:(

(It doesn't help that I am a kinky cunt and my bf is pretty vanilla. I mean he pulls my hair sometimes and holds my neck, but the very manner of his actions say "this is an effort for me". He is not a natural dom. Which is okay. I love him and have never been happier with anyone else.)

God has no soldiers.

Dear Tushar,

I wanted to write this to you last night when our discussion was fresh in my mind. Right now, I just have a sort of emotional state to go off of, not really a lot of specifics points to make, so please forgive me.

First off, I just want to clarify: I was wrong, and I'm sorry. If that wasn't clear before I want to make it clear now. In lieu of explanation, I'd like to offer (honestly) that I'm so used to being on my own, in private matters, that it's not yet second nature for me to think twice: Does this affect the other party involved? I am very open regarding some things (and closed in others); too open, some might opine; whatever the case might be, I am in many ways a solitary person and am accustomed to communicating with others suchly. It's bullish ignorance that made me act the way I did, so I'm sorry. I don't have much to offer in the way of Bolden, except that I was very drunk. Not a great excuse, as it both points out a symptom of a substance problem (changing personality under influence) AND shows thay my coping mechanisms for dealing with big, new cocks issues are haywire (more on that later).

Second point - I'm pretty damn grateful that you are (so far eehnnnhh) willing to not only put up with my shit, but educate me about it in a constructive way. I don't think I've ever genuinely wanted to please someone more than I want to please you. When you communicate something to me (and part of the reason I'm attracted to you is because of your honesty and lack of passive aggression), I take it seriously and try to learn from it. I know I am remedial-level in the subject of relationships, but I hope I'm proving to be an apt pupil.

Slightly relatedly, I'm still not sure how I feel about the actual act. Odd, I know; I was entreating you fairly often, and god knows I've wanted to do it for a long time. I just feel... fuck, the problem is that I don't know how I feel about it. For sure I feel much more changed than I did when I lost my va-jay-jay vir-gin-gin (but I didn't feel at all altered by that so the bar was not high). I think I might feel slightly "dirty", though I'm not sure. The actual act was, as I said, enjoyable. Anyhow, I'm still working through shit in my head about it. So how do you feel?

(Unrequited) Lurve,
Christina

I just had what I dearly hope is a false epiphany. I was watching the 2004 version of Peter Pan that my bizarre coworker lent me, and at the end when the children come back, the father greets them stiffly... but of course you know he's just slightly stunted: really he's ecstatic to have them back. Michael asks, "Did you miss us?" and then comes Mr. Darling's breakdown that of course he did miss them. What was unfortunate was that at that moment I suddenly remembered how my father left me behind a few towns over when I was about 11 and I wandered, sad and lost, for hours. This jarring memory combined with the grossly sentimental family reunion in the movie caused me to burst out crying, thinking over and over that my father doesn't love me. And this remained! Through the entire denouement I KEPT crying despite myself, halfway ignoring the entire resolution of the fucking thing. Now, I'm bothered twofold: (1) Yes yes, I know he loves me, and for years, he's evinced this in a much more meaningful way than my mother has (2) Why should I fucking care? If our "rapport" during my childhood convinced me he didn't, why would it bother me so much, why would it even be a revelation? HOW MANY PEOPLE LIVE WITH WORSE PAIN AUUGHGHGHH I can't stand feeling sorry for myself

But yeah I really hope "myfatherdoesntloveme myfatherdoesntloveme myfatherdoesntloveme" isn't a real epiphany. I just wish it didn't feel like it was. I have stifled my tears to that end (as you can tell from the fact that I'm now doing that "HPHPHP" thing every time I attempt to take a deep breath).

my dad doesn't love me ;_;

korean dog

Tonight I ate at the relatively new Korean restaurant down the street, "Ttowa." It was a place specializing in dumplings and it was SOOO good. From there, though, I got to looking at details about the history of Korean cuisine online, and of course I came across the consumption of dog. This issue is sensitive for me (cultural relativism) normally, but I'm drunk now, so every slight emotion takes on a maudlin turn. Not to discredit my actual emotions: I seriously cannot handle the concept of eating a dog. And that's not only because I love dogs with an unreasoning adoration; I mean I could never eat a cat either. But seriously, the idea of a dog being raised and slaughtered for human consumption? It makes <0 sense to me. (While we're on 'cultural relativism', this might be because Western society never eats a secondary consumer except if it's aquatic. Who knows.)

Anyway, of COURSE I started looking up the lives of Korean dogs (apparently there are pet breeds and a group designated for food; let's ignore that they're all actually the same species) and I DON'T FUCKING CARE THAT YOU WANT TO INTRODUCE LEGISLATION TO VIEW THEM AS LIVESTOCK AND THEREFORE ENSURE RIGOROUS INDUSTRY STANDARDS INSTEAD OF KILLING DOGS PEOPLE GOT SICK OF, I JUST DON'T WANT YOU TO KILL AND EAT DOGS PLEASE I WILL BEG YOU. I'm sure to a horse-lover this is the same issue (tbh when I look at a horse I am astounded by the sentience and propensity for bonding, I'm just not personally familiar enough).

SO: I look up two terms, "nureongi" and "hwanggu"

Now I am absolutely sure that I want to, at some point, adopt a Korean puppy bound for slaughter. How fucking GAY is this sentiment, not only practically but emotionally? I'd just torture myself with thoughts of the ones I didn't "save." Anyway, the beautiful intelligence shown in these pups' eyes is causing me tremors, just like previous dog phases I have gone through (Irish Wolfhound, Carolina dog, etc.) but with more of the unhealthy petfinder.com mentality.

Also, I MIGHT be convinced that Chalie is part Jindo.

a word dump

from an old profile:

It may, after all, be the bad habit of creative talents to invest themselves in pathological extremes that yield remarkable insights but no durable way of life for those who cannot translate their psychic wounds into significant art or thought.
Theodore Roszak, "In Search of the Miraculous"

a story from work tonight i posted on /fb/'s wall:

This story is dedicated to Brand Cook.

This evening at work, I went to take my customary 15 minute break. After helping a bevy of customers that night, including a very smelly Bulgarian guy who tried to ask me out clubbing because we had spent twenty minutes talking about shittons of eletronic artists we knew/liked, two miniature people (they weren't midgets, they were just very small and with sped up sounding voices) who bought that Stone Cold Steve Austin action movie, and a friendly black guy who is mentally challenged and who huffs loudly while listening to music, I was going to relish those short 15 minutes of respite.

I grabbed my book (a short non-fiction work about sociopaths, which I spied on a display table and picked up because I'm fairly certain Willy Christie is at least partially sociopathic) and went to a quiet reading area in the store. I sat down opposite a Negro gentleman. After about three minutes of reading, two faggy emo-ish teenagers shuffled up, laughing stupidly about a book they had. I don't have anything against teenagers - I'll even sell foolish ones Fall Out Boy albums with a smile - but I HATE disruptive people. Anyway, they were guffawing and falling over one another - I actually gave them a longer glance than usual because I thought they might be gay - when the fat one said, "Move over, I wanna sit down and have it NOT be totally gay HURR HURRR."

Their book turned out to be something cleverly entitled "Pot Culture." So they sat together in the comfy chair, chuckling and talking with one another about their no doubt many and varied experiences with OMG WEED. "See that's the ettiquette" ... "Yeah I want to use a carb like that, next time I guess" ... "Oh dude it was so funny haha" ... "Yeah this one time we did this, and used vodka instead of water, it was sweet" ... At that last one I finally got fed up and said, "It's called a smoother when you do that." The Negro opposite me immediately let out a surprised laugh (WE MAY ASSUME HE TOO IS A TOTAL BADASS AND SMOKES MARIHUANA!), while the teenfags just stared at me not knowing how to react. I continued, "So if you guys want to go somewhere in the store where it's okay to have a conversation and not this quiet area, that would be awesome."

They got up, looking uncomfortable and unsure, and started walking away. Then the thin one made some courageous zing about the water I was drinking and had dripped on my shirt. Well fair's fair I guess, I let him have that one. The young Negro gent laughed again and made a remark indicating his surprise. I said, "Well I work here, so I guess I kind of feel entitled." He was like "Dang, remind me not to have a conversation around you," laughing. We went back to reading and I finished my break in peace. Then I went back to work and had an awesome conversation with my coworker about using lavender and rose flowers in desserts.

[fin]

Shortbus

I just watched the John Cameron Mitchell movie "Shortbus." Jason burned it for me. I didn't know anything about it prior to watching (except what Jason implied, which is that it was sexual).

I can't remember the last time a movie made me cry that much. Maybe "Dancer In The Dark"? But that was five or so years ago. (Plus that movie is simply artfully aesthetic'd meldrama.) Anyway it was a great movie, with a somewhat weak climax/denouement, but still pretty wonderful. Here are some things that made me cry:

James is a sad beautiful character. I identify with his inability to be permeated by love, his tender guilt, his wish to cease being, his care for an SO who loves him deeply and whose love he can never receive. I identified really, really strongly with the stalker guy-- I'm not a voyeur or even a stalker, but he is perenially outside looking in (self-imposed?), pathetic, possibly loathsome, wishing really hard at love. Watching him made me sob like a retarded faggot. (Why did I need to put that in there? "Look ego, I'm still an offensive badass") I didn't really identify with the main character of Sofia, as I'm not new agey, Asian, or anorgasmic, but I did identify with her intense yearning watching the Beautiful Couple; in that pedestrian way of "That's so beautiful, why can't I have/experience/be that"; but watching them fuck almost broke the fourth wall, because I was pissed off that, yet again, the pinnacle is Beauty. Also the orgasm thing-- No one else has ever given me an orgasm. This is almost totally because of me, though; I'm not willing to have someone waste their time experimenting on me. I can't bear to be under pressure or scrutiny (how sad that I see me-focused sex in that way).

The first moment that made me well up was pretty telling-- I can't even remember which character it was, but two people were kissing. The kiss broke momentarily, and the one person watched the other person's face, which was in a state of total relenting desire, of vulnerability. This is what truly terrifies me. I can never be truly vulnerable in front of anyone. I have a lot of leeway-- I don't mind learning new things, being first perceived as stupid, making an ass of myself being ham-handed or clumsy; because in those circumstances I still have a core Me to come back to, and that's always protected. But that fear of rejection and ridicule, so intense that it's almost a phobia, never permits me to open myself to love. I can give love, and I can receive most kinds of love, but I have never made myself love-vulnerable to a person. I've come close-- obv. Alex, and actually Michael too, in a malformed kind of way. At least Alex is a fundamentally good person and we were both stuck in shitty situations (Venn diagram'd).

I'm pretty happy with seeing Tushar. His lack of any sort of romantic/sexual pressure, and esPECially the fact that he accepts me without dithering about femininity, combined with the fact that he actually does like me, is exactly what I need. There is a chance that he could be the person to change my heart about how men can't feel love-- To have someone explicitly say they like your intellectual curiosity, without it being forced or overly emotional, is one of the most genuinely flattering things I can imagine-- though if it had been said flatteringly I would have cringed and crept away. Maybe sexually we're not a WOWEE 100% MATCH DINGDING (the quick-answer in my head has always been "I need some miraculously talented omniscient Ubermensch to show me the ways, make me come, and leave"), but I like having sex with him, I like blowing him, I really like laying around together joking and touching. He almost made me cry a few times (not that he knew this) when he touched/held me like I have been craving for over a decade. Maybe he'll slowly get sick of my "plz srsly don't worry about making me cum lol" schtick. Not too quickly though or I'll feel PRESHAH. Good lord I feel so sorry for every human who gets ensnared in my awful labyrinth of a mind.

my one friend has a unique way of experiencing music. she only likes music that directly pertains to her immediate experiences. it's so weird! when i met her, we were both incoming freshmen to college. she was a ska/punk girl-- dyed hair, wacky clothes, all that. (actually that summer we met by chance at a weezer show-- she was a HUGE fan at that point.) after about a year and a half or two years, her focus changed: she no longer wanted to have such an immediate breadth-- she studied abroad both in brazil and india within a yeah of one another. we'd both studied a variety of languages up until then, but she got very into romance stuff (whereas i had a broader yet shallower focus). IMMEDIATELY she shifted from her former interests (deal's gone bad, mustard plug) to new ones (manu chao [whom i had introduced her to actually!], mestre suassuna). so for at least a year, all she listened to was brazilian, indian, and especially capoeira music. she had started doing capoeira. i still hate capoeira to this day, although i really shouldn't, simply because of her interest. you see, i viewed her shifting alliances as an affront to the established friendship we had had. anyway, after a few years of that (during which she recovered her old hard drive and was shocked and amazed to see how much ska she had had, as though it were a surprise from ancient history), she made friends with a new group of people, the townies of our rural-ish college town. now she listens to "old-timey" music-- zydeco, bluegrass, ragtime, anything turn-of-the-century-americana like that. luckily i was interested in all those before she was, or else i'd probably hate them too. i take music so seriously and personally, and she doesn't realize how little the actual music matters to her, only the social situation surrounding it, that i see it almost as an insult. no, definitely as an insult; i just wish that weren't the case.

anyway, that's my entry for now. love you.

I want to be attractive so that the use of my body could bring someone pleasure :(

I refuse to even think about the damage to me that might have been undone if, many years ago, someone made known that they wanted me.

loneliness my companion

I feel so gut-wrenchingly agonizingly lonely. I want to curl up, rake my nails over my skin, tear my hair out of my scalp, rock back and forth, keen slowly, stab things, cup myself because no one else will hold me. I keep crying. I'm so lonely. It's acute now because most of the time I am (pretend to be?) just horny but now I am craving love and affection. Jesus Christ I want someone to hold me so so badly. I haven't had a best friend in over a year and I can't keep going on as if that's not affecting me. I have no external validation and a pig-headed idiotic will that I shouldn't need any. I can't even imagine believing that someone is fond of me, let alone being able to accept physical contact without panicking. Even Jimi, those months ago, made me cry when he wanted to kiss me, and I never lusted after/Loved him (loved him yes not Loved him). And he was so kind and tolerant, and I had known and trusted him for years. Even as I desire affection I believe it impossible. I really, really wish that weren't the case. I wish I could believe in something resembling love but when I hunker down and consider it it seems too implausible. I recognize its existence everywhere else but cannot graft that idea into my own emotional landscape. Am I alone in this?-- When I watch people interact lovingly I either assume without malice that it's a charade or boggle that there could be such a communion between two people. My lovely schism: m/f interaction must be non-sexual/romantic/loving, either as friends or as porn. How happy. I want someone to hold me and fuck me and love me but I can't conceive of that happening or of me accepting it if it did. I am too suspicious of trollery. GUESS WHAT JOKES ON YOU YOU TROLL URSELF FAG. This was supposed to be a cathartic release of anguish and instead it turned into yet another pointless, circuitous, needlessly pedantic, looking-at-it-from-many-angles-but-guess-what-you're-in-a-hall-of-mirrors-so-all-
your-data-is-irrelevant polemic that no one else could wade through. Fuck. Well at least I'm not shivering and crying anymore.

"My brand of brutish happiness does not appease many people."

Just came to me

Very marginally relatedly [adverbs galore!], I strongly gender-identify as male. With self-calibrated gender quizzes, I routinely test around 75% (0% being female and 100% being male). I can't tell how much of this gender identity happened after I started being conscious of it, o what a conundrum. This train of thought is branching out into dozens of tendrils, and I don't have the inclination to pursue each of them at this moment in time. Lovely dendritic imagery there, don't you think? Even if I got my metaphors crossed. lol misfiring axons. At times I think it would have been nice to remain unaware of this maleness paradigm beneath my skin, but probably that's just because it's all wrapped up in my sexual painful issues, which I often lament but really actually need to learn to deal with positively and effectively. However I don't think the desire to just coast and be is all bad, concerning this issue. Anyhow skipping back a bit it's not just "oh I like to swear and read sci-fi" or something, not just a collection of actions and possessions coalescing into a persona; it's an underlying core consistency, one that makes me regularly identify with males and male issues (though I of course retain femininity-- not makeup femininity but emergency contraception femininity; not dizzy girlishness but an ability to appeal to raw weakness and not a blustery front). Okay now my mind is starting to slither down those aforementioned myelin sheaths so I'm going to leave this alone and continue cleaning my room. I need fresh air desperately.

part of my dysfunctional sexuality

I can't get off to things I find attractive. When I masturbate, I masturbate to revolting, painful, hardcore porn. I enjoy this and don't think it's a problem in and of itself. The problem comes in when I'm in a good mood and also want to fap, because I know that watching a man fuck a woman's face will indeed get me off, but it will also make my lighthearted spirit dissipate. The problem comes in when I can't masturbate to amateur couples enjoying realistic sex because it just makes me very sad (that it's not me in that situation). The problem comes in when I read/watch literature/films that turn me on on a variety of levels, visceral and cerebral, and can't imagine bringing myself off with that passion.

Masturbation doesn't come naturally to me. Sexual interest, hungry longing, all of that is me, but I didn't masturbate until I was nineteen(!). Even then it was just something I thought I should finally do. It doesn't make me happier, less horny, lower-strung, it's just an activity. I remember reading sex scenes in books when I was about thirteen, and feeling my cunt get hot and my clit throb... and that's about it. I read and reread these passages, enjoying how they made me feel, but that's where it stopped. (Sometimes I tried to put my hand down my pants quickly to see if I could feel myself throb with my fingers, but I guess it was an electron-like problem of observation because I never was able to catch myself.) Mentally, I've been enmeshed in the world of pornography for years-- I bow down in humble thanks, internet-- but my problem is that I have been trained by convenience (and possibly circumstance) to react Pavlovianly regarding arousal. Watching eighteen men come on a woman's face (I felt my clit get hard just writing that) turned out to be a convenient way to get off, so I used it; but I've never been a person to just explore myself and masturbate to anything interesting, so eventually I became utterly reliant on the context of hardcore degrading porn to get off. If this were only a part of my repertoire I would take no issue with it, but as of now it's worrisome to me. I also wonder: Do I just have no curiosity to explore myself, or is it an actual aversion? I just feel lazy, because laying there for fifteen minutes squishing my g-spot around and feeling no change in arousal is fucking boring.

Just as I never received any positive attention from the opposite sex at the age where it would have done me good and helped me consider the possibility that I might be attractive to someone, now my insane intimacy problems prevent me from letting someone else make me come. How have I had sex with [x] people without experiencing an orgasm? Well fucked if I know, I enjoy myself anyway. Some have tried, but after a while I sort of wave them off and we resume having fun. I'm concerned that I may not be *able* to come with another human being, just as at this point I am not *able* to come from things other than hardcore porn that arouse me.

Hmmmmmmm.

Today I got hit on twice at the bar! What the hell! I've never ever been hit on before. I mean where someone comes up to you out of the blue and the sexwooing attempts begin. One time it was some fat drunk guy and the next time it was a pair of guys offering to play cards with me and Karen. Who knows, maybe having a lesbian with you is a good luck charm. I'm not all aquiver with delight or something, I'm just befuddled (~52% pleasantly). I wasn't even wearing nice clothes or anything! Hmm, the only variable that actually changed was that I plucked my eyebrows (on a whim while stoned). MAYBE SEVENTEEN MAGAZINE WAS TELLING TRUTHS ALL ALONG. I think it'd be odd for a guy to see what the fuck is in those magazines. "They tell you how to pluck your eyebrows with a diagram with angles?!" Oh you ought to see how many cosmetic products pertain only to eyebrows. And this is coming from a person who never wears makeup or even blows dry her hair. (Shit, which sounds worse, blows dry or blow-dries?) Can you imagine how much brain power the average middle class American girl spends fussing over her appearance? I mean hey, maybe I'm less attractive and less accessible because I don't give a shit, but christ, I'm okay with that tradeoff. Anyway this became a good-natured tirade, but all I meant to mention was the hitting on. A first! And don't you dare mock me because it was totally undesirable. It's just kooky! Oh also I forgot, I lied and told the first guy I wasn't single. He just up and asked, and I remembered how my prior honesty had bought me an extra five acutely uncomfortable minutes of being cajoled by the middle-aged black man in the record store in St. Louis, so I just lied and said no. He left pretty promptly. The fat guy, not the black guy who wanted my number despite me being from a different city.

It's so weird! This feeling of possible desirability. Kind of like... eating a taffy apple when you are a kid and have a loose tooth. A new feeling, and kind of like you're maybe doing something wrong, but suck it up kid, really when that tooth is out you can justify it, it's not a grown-up tooth after all.

Weissman's last day

Today was a very wonderful day. Just got home. Last night I had gotten massively drunk at Choad's and wound up molesting Blacks, to my sober chagrin. I also walked home at one point with my finger in my pussy. What the fuck. Anyway, Dan came over in the afternoon shortly after I had woken up to drop off replacement alcohol. We wound up spending the whole day together. First we ate some of my tasty red lentils. Then we biked all over beautiful central residential Urbana, with old houses, lush ground cover, and tall trees. I took him to the garden and gave him a detailed tour; then we laid between the tomatoes and the hops and chatted lazily. Then the Ukrainian woman came out with a dog she's been puppysitting, so I got to meet little Elvis. As Dan and I continued, we came across Carle Park. We searched the pavilion for high schoolers' entertaining graffiti ("This pavilion is janky!") and talked about trees and continued. Then we met two more doggies in someone's front lawn-- a little adult dog of unknown breed and a young Sheltie who was quite the attention whore. We stayed for a long time. Dan is really good at constructing complicated power dynamics verbally wherein he creatively insults dogs, and though I realize it's only to bother me because the dogs do not understand, he still succeeds in making me angry (and then lol).

Then we decided to pay a visit to Julie, because we were trying to check if her current apartment is the one we're looking to maybe live in together next year. Oo exciting! Anyway, on the way, we saw yet ANOTHER dog tied to a tree. He was a little Jack Russell, and though he was initially kind of hostile, he warmed up to us immensely and had fun leaping all over us for at least an hour. He was a funny little man. I was concerned, because though he clearly had enough shade and space, there was no food or water out there. We went to a nearby Jimmy John's and I got a cup of water for him and was happy when he drank it.

As we were biking back to Dan's to get his bike light (we were then going to bike to Chevy's around the North Prospect area), we ran into Weissman. Yay! We told him our plans but he was not down for a franchise meal (what a gay nigger). Instead we settled on Woori Jib. It was so tasty! Dan had bbq beef, Weissman had cold spicy noodles, and I had Dolsot Bibim Bap; we all split an order of mandoo. Then we went into Rentertainment and got a bunch of good shit. Weissman was hilariously astounded when I told him that I *could* fap to hentai. So of course we got Night Shift Nurses (Yakin Byoutou). They were playing J Dilla in there. Fun. When we exited, there was a woman sitting on a bench with a tiny Boston terrier puppy. He licked my Korean-tasting finger and was very cute.

Afterwards, we went to check on the Jack Russell again. He was still there but very soon his owner came back-- turns out he's from the Nabor House right next door. He was kind and said we could come play with Scotty any time. Sooo the rest of the night consisted of various lazing activities while Weissman was packing. He leaves for Chicago tomorrow and Peru on Tuesday. After a while there he will pop back to Urbana but then be off to Antarctica for months. I don't want to make this entry any longer by expounding on why I am jealous of him. Anyway-- first Dan and I watched Gummo. It was good. Then Weissman came back from his house with a dish of brownies-from-scratch and a carton of raspberries. We voraciously and sloppily scarfed this down. Then it was time for Night Shift Nurses. Surprisingly Weissman was a lot more into it than Dan, who plopped down on the couch a while through to doze. I was farting around on internets while we watched, but Weissman and I still had a great time lolling at the "protagonist's" lecherous facial expressions and tactics (rape through extortion every time).

He expressed disdain for my 4chan-obsessive habits so I left the computer and went with Weissman to climb the roof. We scampered all about it and it was fun. Then for a long time we were leaning over the porch trying to spit on the people having a party down there. Well, more to get their attention; they're quite nice and I talk about porn and Mastodon with them. It was super nice just to chill with Weissman for a long time. Even after all these years it's still so hard to resist the urge to touch him. I'm such a physical person and I fucking survive on hugs. God I sound like a tremendous faggot. Anyway, it was still nice. Then we were drumming on some pipes in the roof and heard animal noises from within. It was super wacky and he went to go get Dan's bike light so we could see inside. Turned out it was bats! Bats in the roof! Who spread their wonderful wings! What a great discovery.

When we finally went inside, Dan had gone to bed. I stuck around internetting while Weissman packed/dicked around. He told me more about his stay in Munchen, google-mapped his dorm, and found videos of the people who "surf" on a canal in a nearby park. In turn I showed him a video of two furfags in fursuits bouncing around anthropomorphically-playfully on their bed. Anyway we had a really nice time and the conversation was great-- neurological disorders, Japanese sexuality, high school yearbooks. I also showed him the Vice article by the girl who sells her panties and shit and everything to slavering freaks for BIG MONEY.

When it was time to go, Weissman had plopped down on the floor. I covered him with a sleeping bag and said that since it was acting as a physical barrier I could hug him. To my complete shock he just waved it off and was like "Ahh, whatever, c'mere" and fucking hugged me. I didn't act crazy but inside I was touched and astounded. He finally views me as human and not female. Well maybe only at that moment. But I teared up just a bit while I was riding my bike home. I'm really honored and I'm going to miss that motherfucker.

All right, it's bed time and this is much longer than I anticipated it being. Here's to a fantastic day! Good night.

Dear Alex

Dear Alex,

Until recently, when I thought about you, I'd get heartsick. I'd get nauseous, feel empty, rock back and forth, sob, all that. So I was glad when we finally got together last Saturday. Even though we didn't end very well, we got a lot of things out and clarified. I did feel shitty that my life has become even more dreary and yours has seemed to get a bit better. (I say "seemed" because by appearances you have withdrawn from almost all of your friends, are slowly estranging your family, have willingly become brainwashed by a girl, and all that. But from what you say about it, the outlook appears positive.) We ended on a bit of a sour note, as I mentioned, but I felt at least a little hope-- of course we can never be best friends again, but the intermittent contact of an acquaintance felt good to have secured, and also to have that line of communication open for possible future enhancement, if we have both healed sufficiently.

However the email I received from you shortly after I got home betrayed to me your true character. Too much of a pussy to say it while we were face to face, you are choosing to cut off all communication with me. What's worse is that this is at least partially motivated not by your own desire to heal but rather by your girlfriend's anxieties. I was aware that you had sunk into her personality a la Ikari Gendo's hand into Ayanami Rei; each reminder was a sharp pang, and this one of course was immensely worse than the others. You are a coward. You say you are healing but so far that has consisted of running away from almost everything that has defined your past, culminating in an actual running-away to where all roads lead, NYC. And Manya's Jewish vagina. And instead of allowing me to heal, you've supplemented my still-suppressed misery with anger and hatred. (LOL ur turning me into a Sith lord lol) The vibes of scornful pity I sensed were really the icing on the cake. Thank you for adding an abandonment complex to all of my other neuroses to which you have been exclusively and exhaustively privy.

I hate you. Of course, I still love you. But I really, really hate you.
-Christina

OH jesus christ this should not go in the same post but i am so incredibly lonely i feel as though i will shatter/melt
oh what happened to my friend he's not there anymore don't you remember the memories you fucker conversations about gigantic asexual angels and bugbots and baking bread and brazilian jiu-jitsu and tigrinya and animats and acm you know it wasn't all drama it wasn't all lonely nights clinging to each other like baby rhesus monkeys remember the time i felt your aura haha why did you go away you horrible person you're a different person such a drastic schism there is no better way to make even the parts of me that i was okay with feel completely worthless i know i hurt you too i know you agonized and even before that you felt rejected and humiliated and you suffered a lot in private which i feel even worse about but please please don't leave me alone i have no one else but great news i'm starting medication aren't you happy you fucker

TRACTS of land

TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land TRACTS of land Just thought I'd let you know.

Engrish and some thoughts

Ohana

The person can drink sake for the following five reasons. First of all, for the national holiday. Moreover, it fills with the nectar. Finally, for reasons. Next, to heal the dryness of the place. After that, to refuse the future.

~ ~ ~

A while ago I was told by a Persian that it's not "Per-SEH-po-lis," it's "PURSE-po-lis." This has made me feel awkward since, because every other person I come across says it in the former way.

~ ~ ~

Added to my list of things that I like: The sound of a silkbound book sliding onto the shelf between other volumes of its series.

cheese crystals

What is up with them? Sometimes when I buy a kinda aged/hard cheese (like those mediocre "Irish" cheese in the fancy cheese section at the big grocery store, where the cheese is always expired), it has very small crunchy crystals in it. First I thought it might have been a symptom of going bad. But unless a food is obviously rotten to the core, I usually either salvage the good parts or, if I'm not sure, eat it anyway. I don't think this approach has ever failed me. Anyway, I really wonder what those crystals are and what causes them. Precipitated salt when the cheese has been sitting around for a while after the aging process? I dunno. Halp please.