dim bulb in a dark world

Ah, so here we are again fair reader-- you and I, you with your tawny port and me with my yerba mate, with a shot of matcha in it. Ah, let us sit down for this fine repast of extra sharp, white, Vermont Cheddar Cheese, aged no fewer than three, long years, and let me tell you a tale.  I'll just stoke the grate and trim the wicks first.  So, once I met a girl.  She was a girl I at first thought didn't even notice me.  Though I noticed her.  I new I was substantially older than her but given my social handicaps I thought little of the age difference.  She finally noticed me and in a charming way, asked me out.  I was touched.  This began a romance which I naively thought had much to offer.  But loyal companion, I must tell you, I always believed love and respect would win the day.  Nay.  Apparently it is as easy to fall in love as out and no sooner was I in than, I assure you, she was out.  And thus is the way of the world.  Suffice it to say that I think I have learned something.  I just am not sure what that is exactly.  Tragically this girl is still in my life and I still have a world and a sea of feelings for her.  Ah well, with mistreatment and time I will move away from those feelings.  I want to keep her close and prove to her that I really can have a different sort of relationship. I don't know that I really can. It is simply a question of time.  But when I see her pert insistance and feel her heat I want so much to feel her above and below me.  I have been here before but this is far worse. I know what I am losing, I know what I missed out on my whole life.  Why can't friends engage in bodily pleasure? I not know, nor do I care.  Celibacy and monkhood again for me.  Now, where did I put my hood?

Man I got nothin'. . . so much for livejournalin'. . . .

As I wandered about the park I saw a mother black-bellied whistling duck pondside with her pups --all stripey and cute-- and thought about how much I miss my dear mom.  Mom we could use you now. . . .

So, as I sit in front of my old favorite genealogical library, and contemplate the tempo  at which the rich seem to be destroying the  city of my birth with their horrible facades and canyons of  ill conceived developments, I see a tiny  patchy  calico male, leap out of the viney groundcover (spellcheck doesn't like that one) and pounce on a pigeon. With  his prey secure in his tiny maw he meanders off to skulk under a car, shadows concealing the work that must be done before he can enjoy his canny efforts.   Ah, the enjoyment is in the stalk, and the leap, and in the supreme confidence in physical prowess that only a cat possesses. Were it that we all had such confidence in our skills.  Soon I will post a story (short of course) to the omikuji_projectabout cats. Hopefully it won't suck too much.

It was been a rather sombre week for me.  Valentines day is a bitter reminder of my own failings as a human thing. Ah well, Surf awaits tomorrow.  Offshore winds and cold water will wake me up to the magic of the world.

I was reading yuki_onna 's latest entry and began to reflect on my own need to become both truly awesome and more than I seem to be.  My life has been similarly filled with terrible things and I am expectant of further crap coming down the pike.  Then I look at what I haven't done in my life and my general lack of motivation.  When I do become motivated life throws another mountain in my direction.  Far worse has been my inability to find a woman I can truly find myself spending any amount of time with. Of course have I been looking? Have I even tried?  I look but I have failed at every turn.  Every girl I truly wanted is a like a mist or worse-- I have been wholly rejected.  This sometimes leads one to self-reflection.  I usually just feel monstrous.  I don't really know what will happen but I am certain my misanthropic tendencies and my lack of tolerance for B.S. socializing under the influences of pedantry and alcohol won't win me hearts.  I am broken.  I wasted almost every opportunity for physical closeness by some sense of honor and my own naivete. Then, when I do finally find someone doom is all that results.  Actually that isn't quite right-- there was only ever the One.  I am not delusional enough to think that much good would have come from it.  So, I go on.  I guess I should have paid more attention as the genius of youth still possessed me.  As I experience more and more tragedy and change is all around sometimes I think a hug would save been from the dire loneliness.  Then I see a kitten and touch a paw, cry a bit, realize I have reaped what I have sown and carry on.  It just gets old. So Cat, thanks again for providing another line of inspiration.  Your work, and your concrete humanity encourages me somehow.  I really am starting to be a bit overly fanboyish-- alas, 'tis my fate.  More to come.

Unfortunately this whole journal idea is probably folly on my part, but I will endeavor to write something worthwhile at some point.  So I begin with a statement of my own internet ignorance.  I am ignorant.  With that out of the way I must make it clear that I am of a generation which did not grow up with text messaging, and I do not value it.  I say this because I view the desire for people to constantly interact with their fellow humans to be quite scary.  So let that be my basic operational bias and forgive me for my misanthropic tendency.  As an anthropologist (I assign myself that title even though I don't work in the field) I am fascinated by humans but I can only take people in small doses.  I know how annoying I am and seldom want to torture people with having to endure my presence for o'er long.  This  is about all I can muster for now.  I must confess the only reason why I am really even here is Catherynne M. Valente.  I have finished reading Orphan's Tales Vol.1 and am about to start Vol. 2, and I am completely in love with her work.  She is truly inspiring and has an ancient wisdom trapped in her genius.  Rest assured people she is truly genius (and djinn) and history will ultimately bear this out.  It is interesting how I somehow link her with Fritz Leiber's Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser tales which I truly love-- even though these two come from wildly different literary worlds.  I ramble. . . Thanks Cat for allowing this old bruised and battered curmudgeon a glimpse of the possible and for tolerating my awful fanboyishness!

Gods love spell check!!