if it was easy

   would it be worth it?

learning to read

free thinker

fall for me

...grey skies & rain today. The cold tendrils of Winter have started to reach out, seeking purchase. It's grip will not latch permanently for a few more weeks but you can feel it in the air. Autumn is the best time for us. Warm days, cool nights. The shadows have changed as the sun has slowly slipped from it's Summer path directly overhead. The days are shorter, the air is less dense. There is a sense of urgency amongst the wildlife. Geese are everywhere. Honking delta's overhead, flocked in numbers in freshly harvested fields. We can snuggle. Once again, I can press my cock against the cool soft surface of her ass. I can cup her breast and softly roll a nipple betwixt my finger and thumb. She will purr and push against me and fall asleep. Autumn is the best time for us...

sleep

close your eyes

dream

breathe

fill your senses

exhale

the sun is a light bulb

The sun has burned away the clouds again. It's getting ready to sear the earth for yet another day. I think this is the third day in a row where temperatures have peaked above 26C. It's too early for this.
Day eight. I wish the nights would revolve as quickly as the days. Sleep evades me, keeping just out of reach, like a hummingbird at a flower. I miss her breathing, her warmth against my arm, my shoulder, my thigh. The absence of voices hang between these walls and presses down like a blanket. Television does nothing to dispel the loneliness. 

Music calms the waters of my soul yet leaves behind little ripples of emptiness. Her distant voice is the shore of my longing.

12 steps - 8. amends

Should I make amends for all the things I've done?
For all my sins & transgressions;
should I get on my knees and ask for compassion?

To spill forth my penitence upon her soft white breasts.

Worship at her temple.

ignorance II

"What the hell do I want to go to a place like Mombasa?"

"I'm sort of scared about going out there, but the wife is really nervous. I just see myself in a pot of boiling water with all these natives dancing around me."

-Mel Lastman, (former) Mayor of Toronto

strange days.

It has been a strange month. Winter has not been able to wrap it's cold arms around this city. The snow that fell as the new year unfolded with the turn of the calendar page, has all but melted leaving behind patches of brown tinted grass. Like a sleeping cat that does not like to be woken, the lawn is slowly turning green. It just does't seem right. At this time of year, the world should be monotones of white, grey, ash and brown. Now colour has grudgingly made an appearance.


It's not even cold. I remember January as the desolate month. The frigid month. After all the excesses of Christmas has been packed away for another year. After the reality of our carelessness and reckless over-indulgence has set in as evident by the expected rise in health club memberships and suicides. After all the credit cards come calling and the number preceding the decimal point in your bank statement seems to be missing a digit or two - January is forsaken and somber. Like a drunk who has just woken up from his last bender. Days so cold when plumes of steam belch from car exhaust pipes to hang like shrouds in the air so brittle I feel I could reach out and snap it. Some call it global warming, some call it a natural cycle. It's difficult to argue with either. But between the pestilences, the wars, the poverty and famines. Earthquakes, floods, volcanic eruptions and disease. There is an impending sensation that things are building up to a climax. Strange days indeed. 

ignorance

The question is, in a society run by sex due to porn how do we raise up our sons to respect women when women are viewed as objects of lust? How do we teach our daughters to respect themselves when their views of themselves are physical and if they do not look a certain way and submit to men and their fantasies?
-Brandy Creekmore (How pornography harms society)

spit or swallow

We must forever question

our values

our morals

our purpose

our beginning

the end?

or is this the start of a new adventure

Which direction should we set our sails

Campinas, Brazil - Day 54

It's raining. Humidity levels are approaching 100% saturation. In the grayness of the morning the red rooftops have taken on a flat hue. The balcony's in the building across from here weep dark gray tears against the concrete. My skin is clammy. My hair curls against my cheek and my forehead. The time between myself and The First can now be measured in hours. I am jittery with anxiety. My body ticks like a grandfather clock. Thoughts jump from room to room, bouncing off walls in the recessions of my mind. To hold her, to breathe in deeply her scent, to run my hands across her bare back, to caress her face, to kiss her lips, to squeeze her breasts until she gasps into my ear.

yearning- Brazil day 29

touch of bare skin on skin
her scent, her smell
her taste
the wisps of her hair against my face
on the pillow
my cock nestled into her ass
in the morning
my cock hard inside her
her mouth
her hands
her lips

the ugly truth

Over sized sunglasses on ugly people are like 17" chromes on a Lada.


No matter the glitter, you just can't hide the faults

random thoughts

If you think obesity is overrated, 2 million Americans weigh more than 550 lbs. You don’t need statistics or studies to prove this. Take a trip to your local Costco or Wal-Mart.

May was masturbation month. Did you know:

• John Kellogg (yes that cereal guy) was against masturbation. He was among several Christian advocates that pushed for routine circumcision of males to deter masturbation.
• In 1879, the Spermatorrhea bandage was invented. It kept the penis tightly bound making it impossible to have an erection.
  
• In 1994, former Surgeon General Jocelyn Elder was dismissed by President Clinton after she stated that masturbation “is something that is part of human sexuality and its part of something that perhaps should be taught.”
  

Slogan on the back of a windshield repair company van - "I luv gravel trucks"

2 reason why Chrysler is in the state that it's in:

1. Replacement alloy rim for 2001 Neon - $400
   
2. Replacement rear brake flex line for 2001 Neon - $365
   

Why do we always blame the the Koreans & the Japanese.

12 steps - admission

I was wrong.

There was no excuse.

In a flash of a hundred splintered pieces

Was realization

that this could not be thrown away

Or dashed against a white wall.

clean canvas

McDonald's claims to have a fresh cracked egg in every Egg McMuffin. What did they use before?

It is -18C. Wind chill factors are flirting with -30C. The cold has wrapped itself around the house and reached it's icy tendrils into the bed. I have managed to warm a small section under the covers with precious body heat. It's comfortable as long as I don't move my legs.

Tonight will be different. Tonight she will warm my bed for me. I will smile at her squeals as I do my rounds around the house. There will be hair to nestle into. Skin of her neck to breathe into. Soft breasts to cup. Nipples will prod gently into my palms. She will snuggle tight against my chest. I will press my cock against her ass and dribble on her. Marking my territory.

After two weeks, her skin will be white, pure, unmarred. Like a fresh canvas for an artist, she will lay her body before me for my perplexing creativity. Understood by so very few, accepted by less yet, I will perform and she will indulge.

For I am hers and she is mine. Within the darkness of my mind, she will hold the candle and we will dance, the dance macabre of perversions and the deviant. Flickering shadows bound forever, together.

pigs in zen

I'm feeling a little disgruntled. Like a pig that's lost it's voice. Sugar doesn't help. Neither does the Vaseline.

Yesterday, I turned on the TV so that I could turn my self off while I went about my morning ablations. As I flicked through the selections looking for something suitably mind-numbing to dress by, I noticed that certain channels were not working. So I did the most technical thing a person can do. I reset the satellite receiver. Then I turned on the TV and sighed in dismay as the channels still displayed it's invaluable error message that only acne-faced kids with multiple acronyms following their names can decipher - Error: 002. Then I checked the signal strength. A green bar and a deafening tone that scared the Jesus out of the cat, screamed that it was at 97%.
Great. This helps. A lot.
So I did the next best technical thing I was capable off. I went outside and stared at the satellite dish. Maybe if I glared at it long enough it would reach out and touch the thing-a-ma-jig that supposedly circles the earth a zillion miles away and send that all important signal back to my receiver. I have to practice my telekinesis a little more. I think I fell asleep during that class.

Plan C. Go online and chat with Preston H from Brno. It went something like this:

me: Hello, a few of my television channels are not working. I get most, but a few of the specialty channels are blank.
Preston H: Hello and thank you for contacting your [Almighty, Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Satellite Television Provider] can you press and hold down the power button please.
me: I already did that about 10 minutes ago
Insert long pause here. Seems that my answer did not compute with Preston H's Problem Resolution Procedure flow chart
Preston H: do you have an error code
me: Error 002. I checked the signal strength and it's at 97%.
Insert another long pause. Now he's flipping through pages furiously
Preston H: let me access your account.
another long pause. So long that I had time to think. And then it struck me. Last night, I powered off the second satellite receiver in the basement. The one with the authentication card in it. So I run downstairs, power the box on, turn on the TV and Presto! we have contact!. I run upstairs, check the chat window, still no response, reset the second box, and Voila!!! we have a signal. Return back to the laptop
me: The channels are working now.
Preston H: That's good. Thank you for subscribing to [Almighty, Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Satellite Television Provider]. Is there anything else I can help you with today?
me: no

I want Preston H's job. I want to look at a flow chart with arrows that say If, Yes, No. I don't want the 35 + emails a day. Or 2 hour conference calls with Action Items, Power Point decks & spreadsheets with embedded macros. Nor the 10-11 hour days for 5 days a week just so I can have the weekend off. I do not want accountability, to-do's, BAU's & DOU's. I'd like to take Change Management and Incident Management and de-briefs and place them in a rocket to space. Powered by synergies and deliverables. All I want is to follow the arrows, like paint-by-numbers or follow the dots until a clown face appears in all it's grinning glory.

Just like a pig in zen*

©Jane’s Addiction

of lists & listlessness

I am listless. I need a list. There is a temporary injunction against order in my life.
I scrubbed the toilet, the bath tub, the sink. I got down on my knees and wiped the ceramic floor. I vacuumed, fixed the vacuum cleaner, replaced three old electric outlets with new black ones. I've shoveled the driveway and the back yard terrace. His hair was white as snow. It's a biblical reference to purity and light. Why do these ecclesiastical thoughts pop into my head at seemingly the most curios times.

I swept the hardwood floors, cleaned the furnace air filters and the litter box. I went shopping for groceries, but since I did not have a list, I wondered up and down each aisle like a misguided grocery ranger staring at each item with a mixture of suspicion and awe. Why are there so many different types of cream of corn? Have you seen the selection of yogurts? I am convinced there is a dairy conspiracy. Are we being milked?

Mr Grey Pants is a purring, vibrating hot water bottle. It's cold outside. It is cold inside too. The temperature outside is plummeting like a hawk towards some unfortunate prey. It warmed up enough to melt most of the snow off the roads. But now the wind screams like a banshee in heat as it tries desperately to claw it's way between the crack in the door frame. It's the same wind that's driving a cold front, flogging the air mercilessly to sub-zero temperatures. I suppose I should get up and fix the door it but it's not on the list. Besides, the cat is too comfortable.
But not as comfortable or warm as her presence. I call her my shadow. Shadows exist only in the presence of light. A light that shines simply when the phone rings at odd times and her voice breaths hello.
I have to make an appointment for an oil change and cancel another appointment. I have a blood test some time this week. I forgot to pickup cream for coffee and razor blades. I need a list.

12:24

I cannot shut down my mind. Like an old black & white reel, jagged fragments of my day spool in an endless loop. Images crackle and jump accompanied by snippets of conversations and random thoughts.

It is as quiet as death and dark as a womb. The silence so complete that the only sound is the soft rush of air from the furnace through the floor vent. The drapes billow outward, the fabric quivering ghost-like along the warm draft. It reminds me of the days as a little boy, playing hide and seek. Secured by the innocence of a child, I believed that I had blended into the curtains, despite the fact that my feet were still visible. I would stand as still as I could, trying to control my panting, with the damp heat of my breath washing back onto my face. My chest would hurt. The hurried anticipation would slither down to my crotch and I would almost cry with the insane urge to pee. Sometimes the soft touch of the curtains across my face would give me an erection, my small cock pushing urgently against my shorts. Embarrassment, stirred with passion would flush over me as I hear my sisters footsteps approach.

Then the fridge starts up again, it grumbles and rattles to life in a violent penetration of the senses. The sound annoys me. It has interrupted a rather interesting segment of the movie in my head. I am straddled across the chest of The First. Her breasts cushion my buttocks like a velvet cushion on a throne. Her eyes are closed, her mouth thrown open. Stroking my cock against her shimmering tongue and lips. The drone of the vibrator undulates from loud to soft adding a harsh soundtrack to the degrading performance being acted out in the dimmed light of this bedroom. I start to get an erection again, this time my cock is bigger and harder than that of the little boy in the curtains so many years ago.

I reach between my shorts to stroke myself and turn over. The bed is cold. As frigid and lifeless as a morgue. The sheets are stiff and unwieldy as if they were brought inside from the crisp winter night outside. My erection softens almost immediately, hastened by the emptiness and indifference of the empty bed. Loneliness is enveloping. Solitude a quiet companion until she returns. It never used to be this way. Once upon a time, solitude would comfort me like the arms of a friend. But her constant presence has been a familiar practice. Like wriggling your toes. Her laugh, her voice, her scent. She is a habit I am unwilling to break. A customary routine that is part and parcel of my day.

1:17