That look was devastating, crushing,demolishing i wud say....the very look in her eyes made u feel like a felon, a criminal for the crime which was not commited and then she would raise her hand and keep it on her mouth and have a hearty laugh...and make u feel like a clown....:P

The brain she possessed ....GOD ...it was strange she wud presume things which were far from being true.......nd then she wud go round the town narrating stories(in which u play a leading role) in such a realistic manner that evrybody would trust her nd u would become the star attraction of the town.......nd after all controversies are created u feel like jumping off a cliff...ask mah dear friends if u don't believe it,they hav had it all..   

Believe me ...she would go on laughing the whole day without ne reason and suddnly many questions will spring in your mind..Why is she laughing??Is she laughing on me??What have i done??Have I done nething wrong?? so on and so forth...... i tell u man she was d worst nightmare u could ever hav....

She is the assassin,the slayer,the hungry brain sucking creature who will take away ur life.The nxt time u see her ..pls pls stay away....!!!

This morning I woke up thinking I was on the phone explaining to my mom how my laptop had been stolen from my backpack. I woke up, I looked at my desk, and I got out of bed unable to sleep.

A few days ago, I woke up grabbing my neck because I thought a huge bee was stinging me. It was miserable, and now, I just want to never think about that feeling again, but I keep going back to it.

Thursday morning I woke up at 4:30am and didn't get back to sleep until the next night, but cannot remember the dream which caused the awakening.

I don't like them the least bit and I am hoping that putting them out here will somehow help me away from them.

Michael

but not seeing, fixed
but wandering.

she’s everywhere but here,
seeking refuge where i don’t exist
or where i am dead

or just a twig
she feeds to the flame
blue with her wrath.

she has mastered the contours
of my anger and i still grope
along the fence of her defense.

isn’t silence sweet?
then why the muteness
my voice has summoned drown me now?
where is the shore
of this imploding sea of silence?

how can a clever plan fail?:
trap her in a minor encounter
where even her faintest meow

is enough to unlock her lies
and the torrents of diatribes
i have long nurtured.

but how can i bear her empty stare,
her frozen gaze that sets me ablaze?

o, how i seethe seeing her lips smirk

Coming hot off the heels of Dario Argento's second film in his "Three Mothers" trilogy (over 20 years later), the auteur has finally brought The Mother of Tears to the big screen.  Despite previous efforts showing either a lack of passion or merely being chem-free, the final Mother film does feel like a return to form that has not been seen since The Stendhal Syndrome or maybe even as far back as the chaotic Opera.

It must be said, however, that part of the charm in viewing this film was that it was my first Argento experience in the theatre. From the opening credits to the abrupt, human soup conclusion, I had a smile on my face.  I have read many reviews from Argento-philes who hated this film. Why? I have no idea, considering this is the most Argento-like movie in years that was actually made by Argento. Is it scary? No, but what Argento movie is?

His films are our nightmares. Rhyme, reason, and logic have no place throughout the duration of this or any Argento film. It is fetishistic, irrational, and brutally, hilariously violent. Suspiria, the first Mother film, saw a helpless victim escape, only to jump into barbed wire and have her throat slashed. Inferno, the second Mother film, saw a helpless man being stabbed -- while being devoured by rats -- in a random act of Argentoverse. Here, we have pretty much all of the above and then some... Babies are thrown off bridges, one's own entrails become a murder weapon and part of their demise.

We also have Argento's muse, his daughter Asia, playing the heroine Sarah. Asia Argento is not so much of an actress as she is a very strong presence to fall in love with. Again, there is a perverse quality surrounding the film, not just in violent spectacle. It's been done before, but again Dario's camera lingers on his own daughter in compromising situations -- in the shower, in romantic situations. His camera and work as a whole addresses desire in totally bizarre ways.

If Argento is to learn something from himself, it's that desire deviating from "normal" is consistently punished within his films. In his landmark giallo, Tenebre, a source of desire in flashback form is played by a transsexual actress. She is murdered. Likewise, in the same film, a lesbian couple is murdered in their home to the sounds of Goblin's wailing score. I wonder how he would treat incest.

In his past films, Argento's own hands were filmed as the murderer gearing for his or her next kill. Let us hope in certain ways, Argento knows how to keep his hands to himself. In terms of future releases, let us hope that in other ways his hands keep doing what they are doing.

It is 8 AM and I have logged onto the internet to infowars.com to take in another few hours of hysteria. Some would say, "Oh, the sky's falling, is it?" Well, without heed I gobble up the goodies as on this day in particular my personal hero was on the show. David Icke.

Some of you may have no idea what David Icke is all about. Well, let's just call him a conscientious objecter (much like myself). As of the time of this writing, David Icke is currently running for election in the Brittish Parliament. "How could a silly old Brittish sod capture the imagination of an American youth?", you might ask. Quite simple, my dear reader. By standing up to authority and pushing back against a corrupt system meant to enslave us one and all. So, here I sit...a 27 year old American male with a degree in Web Design Services listening to an ex-brittish football star gone conspiracy theorist waxing intellectual on the ins and outs of the oligarchical powers that be and what's more...finding a home in the veritable mess of information.

But why is it so easy for me (or anyone for that matter) to take a stance of anti-establishment when all of our lives we are programmed to believe that the establishment is there to protect and serve us all? Well, it might have a little something to do with the fact that we were ever programmed at all. Think about it. From the tender age of 5 (6 depending on your birthday) we were ripped from the loving arms of our family and sent to "schools" (The Public Fool System Mrs. Mary Elizabeth Croft would call it) and we are indoctrinated into being subservient to the very people who ripped us from our family. This has all the earmarks of a cult. One of the ways in which cults are able to control their subjects is by alienating them from their family and coercing them into believing that the cult is their new family and will take care of them and that if they only believe what the cult tells them, that they will prosper whereas if they do not then they will fall into despair and ruin. So, the powers that be ensnare us at such tender young ages to introduce (more poignantly indoctrinate) us to the program. Thus, having alienated us from those who are meant to protect us from harm and stand up for our rights we were effectively left to our own limited wits and merits to defend ourselves against adults who were indoctrinated successfully long before us. Think of the hypocrisy...We are made to swear undying fealty to a flag that represents a country which has made clear the seperation of church and state and in the very oath we swear there is a reference to that country being "under God". That doesn't seem to be a very independent stance on the subject. Now, I personally do believe in God, but let's assume for a second that I were an athiest. My logic for being an athiest may be that when asked "Why doesn't God answer the prayers of the starving children of the world for food?" the answer might again logically be that "God is imaginary, hence he cannot answer prayers because he doesn't exist." Of course people can argue this until they are blue in the face, but it's very sound reasoning. God may well be imaginary as there is no real proof of his existence. And so, this all makes a case for there being a contrived attempt at mentally doping the masses with patriotism and religeon in one mind-numbing package. How can one be of sound reasoning and rationalize swearing allegiance to a country that believes in a make-believe man in the sky who watches us at all hours of the day and is preparing to either send us to the penultimate torture factory (Hell) or the penultimate Playboy mansion (Heaven) upon our time of death? This all beggars belief if you are an athiest. In a country that insists on being percieved as free from the tyranny of religious persecution yet insists as dilligently on indoctrinating us into a state religion it is quite understandable that there would be dissent. It's blatant hypocrisy. And so, we have gone back to the beginning to find the why of the situation. Why do people dissent? It is because at some point, usually in adulthood, we realize that we've been bamboozled along the way. We then begin to see that the American Dream that we've been spoonfed since childhood is turning into an outright nightmare with no escape.

*I'm walking into a large room... conference room... tables are white, chairs are white. People seem angry. This is a work conference. As I step around the table to where I'm supposed to sit I see bibles sitting on the desk. The manager of the group is new, she is very religious and wants us to start each day with some kind of prayer and reading from the bible. Several people stand, outraged... this is not their religion and they can't be forced to practice something like this at work. The manager is arguing her point - very angrily - and is also telling us that to help the budget we all have to help model the clothing they sell. We have to buy the outfits and pay for all the expenses, and provide the photos to her for ads. She is standing a few feet from me. I stand up and say "You can't make us do this, it's not legal." She turns quickly to me and says "What did you say?" I cup my hands around my mouth, lean forward a little so I'm right in her face and yell at the top of my lungs "I SAID YOU CAN'T MAKE US DO THIS! IT IS NOT LEGAL! BY THE WAY I QUIT... BU-BYE!" and I smile and wave at her. By now most people are yelling about quitting or talking lawsuit. Frustrated, she walks around the row of tables, picks up a 32oz. cup of soda and throws it on the desk... it explodes everywhere. She storms out of the room. I pick up my drink and take a sip, saying to my coworker... "sorry to leave you in a lurch, but that thing with the drink? That was awesome to watch."
I walk into the courtyard of the building, not sure what I'm going to do about a job. I circle around and see a man who looks like the actor John McGinley. I tell him what happened with my job, and ask what I should tell S.. he says he might know someone who can help. He is sitting on the other side of a bench in a courtyard... there is a large planter box with a shelf between us, so he has to lean over the shelf to face me while I'm talking to him. I'm standing on a brick path, I don't have any shoes on, my socks seem to be rather soaked through from the wet pavement and occasional puddle or bit of mud on the path. A very important looking man in a suit walks up, along with another man. They speak with JM for a few minutes, then he introduces the man in the suit to me. He shakes my hand oddly (not holding my entire hand, just the first two fingers... but it's the way he shakes hands in general) and says "Great to meet you! If there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to ask," and he nods towards JM and walks away. JM looks at me and says "See? What did I tell you?" I reach my left hand up and put it on the side of his face, leaning forward so my forehead touches his, and I say "have I told you lately that I love you?" He chuckles a little. "Thank you," I say, "that will make things a lot easier."
We are supposed to be going on some kind of vacation, I think we are at a hotel with a pool. We can't find a place to put our stuff... all the lounge chairs are taken. I take the lead, with S and O following behind me, to walk along the head area of the lounge chairs. They are pressed up against a wall and we can't walk in front of the, so we are balancing on the tops of them holding on to the wall as we walk. I see several towels, people have left cell phones plugged in to charge along here... some people complain as we walk by, but most just let us pass without comment, it's the only way to get to where there is room at the other end of the row. As I walk the people seem to change a bit... one of them is the boss from the job I just quit. She starts to say we can't step on her chair, so I just narrow my eyes at her a moment, step down off the lounge chair and walk a clear path around behind it (it was pulled out from the wall anyway, so there was no need to balance on it) As we come to an empty lounge I put a couple things down and turn to look back... we are no longer near a pool, but have just walked along the heads of several hospital beds running the length of a long hallway. Somewhere in the middle of the hallway is a TV, most people here are watching Star Wars (episode 5 I think) I look on the floor to my left and see a girl who should be in ICU, she has several tubes running into her body. She is laying on a pile of blankets, but not mentally aware enough to be watching TV, she just stares at the ceiling and rolls back and forth now and then. I look towards the row of beds and see an old man... he looks dead... there is a tube running to his nose and around his ears... he is very pale, almost blue... doesn't appear to be breathing... his eyes are open wide and staring off into the distance. I can't see his body either... I look again to see if that is blood I see coming from his neck and the head jerks a little, his eyes blink and he turns his head to be facing towards the ceiling instead of me. I look for S because I want to tell him this doesn't seem like a great place for a vacation after all.

I actually did start to fall asleep around four, and was immediately kicked awake by a nightmare. If I can get my heart rate down maybe I can go back to sleep.

I am attempting to run a life line through my tank top, slowly. It's harder than one would think. On the plus side, I've learned three things from all of this, namely: (1) do not "make up" ribbing patterns, (2) using lifelines and placemarkers is a helpful habit, (3) yellow goes smashingly with teal. I am sure one day I will be a good enough knitter to make up ribbing patterns on the fly, but that day is not today. I'm going to leave the life line in, even after I rip back to it and resume knitting. And I'm going to use a small binder clip as my placemarker (yes, I am cheap).

Speaking of cheap, if the weather cooperates, I will get to have my first day of my summer job this evening. I am a little nervous about my still-swollen left foot, but I am excited about the responsibility I will wield. Embrace power, I shall.

The Red Sox lost to the Tampa Bay Rays last night, 4-5.

I felt horrible last night, and this morning, but when I got off the bus at work I felt great. I'm a bit sleepy now (I incorporated brownies into my breakfast), but my mood is still good. I think I no longer like being in that apartment, and so negative thoughts and opinions creep in more easily to my head than their positive counterparts.

One of the things I feel good about this morning is that I hand washed my entire outfit. I am really proud of myself that my clothes smell and feel clean, and are pretty dry (certainly, dry enough to wear). I like doing things with my hands, and having something to show for the effort expended. I've been thinking about a career change for a long time; maybe I could get into carpentry or something. I don't want to quit my current job until I find something, but maybe I could take a week off sometime and explore the possibility of working with wood. At the moment, I can't thinking of any other directly manual job that can pay pretty regularly, if not well.

I'm still sticking to my real world/fake world thing, though.

~ 848am

*Creatures come from the oceans... they make people kill themselves... the suicides then turn into more creatures (something like zombies, but they no longer look human)  I see these beings come out of the ocean... they look semi-transparent (ghosts?) and 3-4 times larger than people.  One wraps his hand around a man... I can see the man through his hand, he is not struggling - it's as if he is simply following the directions of the being... he smashes his head repeatedly against a brick wall, crushing his skull further into his brain with every blow... until he finally drops to the ground dead... then rises... morphing into another creature.  I'm in a garden, there are raspberries but they are not growing... I see where the flowers were but the berries haven't formed.  This is a sign that the beings are around... I have time to grab one bag of stuff and then I have to run away.

*I'm walking into a building - it's a facility that hosts parties for kids... large warehouse kind of place divided into games (like skiball and video games) all in a Disney theme.  S is talking to someone he owes money to... he's being pressured (mob?)  I ask how much he owes and he tells me $300.00... I flip open my purse to get the cash out, I don't understand what the big deal is.. it's only 300 bucks?

It all started, innocently enough, about a year and a half ago, when I went out for a few drinks with a friend.  It was a grand ol' night, and we got good and drunk.  Walking back to my abode, however, we noticed that there were firetrucks on my street.  We hurried towards them with curiosity, until we were almost there, and we noticed that the firetrucks were at my apartment.  This immediately sobered me up, and I felt an incredible sense of doom surround me.  My worst fears were realized when I got to the front and saw my door broken down, and firemen with their hoses inside my apartment.  I was further crushed when I found out that the fire, by some unlucky accident, had been confined to my room.  When I saw the damage I was floored.  Everything I had was gone, and it wasn't so much the loss of possessions that hurt--although there was that--it was the loss of many irreplaceable items.  (Fortunately, the fire wasn't my fault.  It was a freak electrical fire caused by a lamp, and faulty wiring).  I finished out the night by punching a brick wall until my knuckles started bleeding.  That was the first kick in the balls.

The next kick was when I found out that even though the owners were going to get insurance money, that they were unwilling to pay for any of the items I lost--which probably amounted to five thousand dollars.  Not only weren't they going to pay, but I later found out that I ended up paying for the clean-up of the apartment, because I left my burned possessions there (mind you they told me to leave everything I didn't want there, and it would be thrown out when they started to repair the apartment).  So in the end all I received was a refund for the week of rent left on the month.  That was number two.

A few months later, just before I moved to New York, I found out that the owner was suing me for over nine thousand dollars.  She claimed that her gorilla-insurance company inspectors had decided that the Fire Marshall was incorrect, and that it was my fault, and that I owed her the cost of all the repairs.  Luckily, for me I have legal insurance, so even though I am a man of modest means, I had lawyers who backed me up, and got her to back down.  That was number three.

Today, over a year and a half later, I received a letter from the owner's insurance company.  They are now suing me for over eleven thousand dollars--it's amazing how the amount keeps going up and up--this is fourth, newest, and hopefully the last kick in the balls.  Thankfully, I still have my legal insurance, and now I am represented by one of the best firms in NYC.  I don't know if I will have to pay, or whether I will have to go to court, but I do know, that I am sick and tired of this issue.  I still haven't recovered completely from the fire, and these bastards keep finding new ways to try and stick it to me.  It is in situations like this where the common man can feel insignificant and powerless.  It is also in times like this where I can begin to understand why people go postal and react in violent ways (note I do not feel violent, but people can only take so much.  Eventually even the smallest, most docile dog will attack when pushed repeatedly).  I still retain some hope that this will work out smoothly, and that maybe, perhaps, I may have the last laugh.

This next part is violently graphic in places.  If you're not prepared or undesirous of continuing, please wait for the next post...hopefully soon!

My acquaintance Scott (not related to any of the other Scotts in this blog) was driving a blue vehicle, seemingly an old Duster like the Paynes' (who lived across the street when I was little) used to own.  Anyway, he was driving this blue Duster up a cobblestone street, similar to Peterson Avenue where I lived, only I don't think it was Peterson.  Anyway, Scott is driving and my wife is in the front seat and I'm in the back.  And as we're driving up, a non-descript young white male whose face very much reminded me of the 1950s propaganda posters from Russia, or China...a very "worker of the world, Communism-lives" kind of character is strolling down the street in the opposite direction.  He's wearing a black pleather coat, shorter than a trenchcoat, but about thigh length.  Anyway, he's strolling along and as he's passing the car on the driver's side, he whips out a shotgun, pumping it once and blows a hole in the door/window and Scott.  I saw the muzzle flash and I SWEAR I FELT the impact of the the explosion as Scott is blown across the bench seat and glass goes flying everywhere.

The next scene is me holding Scott's head as he is bleeding all over the place, screaming at my wife to drive as she looks at me in horror, desperately searching for the gas pedal while non-descript worker dude starts following the car holding the shotgun.  At that moment. I woke up.  My pillow is wet with drool from screaming "Drive!" in that mostly asleep state where nothing comes out the way it's supposed to and I'm sweating and shaking from the vivid imagery that has shaken me, LITERALLY shaken me awake.

I don't know where that image came from, but I do hope it never comes back.  I've fired a shotgun, once, and I understand it's power.  After I fired it, I knew I desired never to have to fire one again in my life.  I just can't imagine the images in this nightmare.

I'm sorry to have wakened you.  I'm sorry I'm awake myself.  But I had to tell somebody.  I hope that I can go back to a normal night's sleep now.  You try and do the same.

See you in the funny papers!

p.s. U really thought I was dead??

Hello Saints, Sinners and Cowardly in-betweens,

I know, I know-I've been away. well, not really away, but preoccupied. It's extremely sweet to know that though I'm out of sight, I'm not entirely out of mind.

And yes, it's gonna be a hodgey-podgey post, once again.

FIRST thing I MUST answer for you. It seems that some are having problems with the Box.net player, right? here's the deal-DON'T waste your time on the player-just download it-it's easier and that's the way I meant for you to listen to it. Besides, I'd hate to distract you in the middle of your 'corporate' world or something. Download it, take it home, dim the lights and then listen to it-it's much nicer that way, I think. [Dimming the lights is optional, considering that most of the pieces are  quickies-you can leave the lights on, don't you think?]

In my last entry, I told you about my plans to record, right?

It didn't go well. Not well at all. Bastard crickets, Manic dogs, and Lonely trains are to blame for the most part. I've done nearly nothing online for the last four days. Sure, I've installed new antivirus software and I've defragged and I've organized my messy hard drive. I've even checked my emails a few times (I have 8 active email addresses, guys- so it isn't as easy as it may seem), but other than that, I was sitting in front of the monitor with my best intentions-and an invisible cricket. Maybe my brain freeze could be down to the fact that I've been having a miserable time with sleep, again. I loathe sleep and yes, I know, we MUST sleep. trust me, I've been  lectured so much over the last week, and really over my whole life, but it doesn't make sleep any easier.

When I was 5, I began to worry about going to sleep. I had scary nightmares, usually about Frankenstein, which led to my fear of  all 'green creatures' , especially The Incredible Hulk and The Jolly Green Giant.  I would make excuses to stay awake: tummy troubles, hunger, a last chance ever to catch Planet of the Apes on late night TV. Usually these excuses didn't work, so then I was left with the only thing that made sleep possible-sneaking off to my grandma's room and having her tell me stories until I nodded off. Of course granny's stories were usually about things like nuclear war and the little red button. This led me to believe that at any moment, Jimmy Carter could spill his coffee and while he was cleaning up his mess, he'd accidentally push the red button. Perhaps this led to my aversion toward coffee (It smells like skunk juice!), who knows? She was also fond of the infamous stories of why little girls needed to be good because the Devil, just like Santa, was always watching and he'd send one of his demons to get me if I was bad.

This was the sort of thing I was supposed to fall asleep to??

In response to her Devil stories, I'd boldly say: "No grandma, the devil won't get me, because Jesus will protect me...I'm going to marry him one day." This didn't seem to please my gran nor my mother. By the time I was 8, I would respond with :" Good, let the devil come. I need to ask him something about Santa Claus anyway." Around this time I learned to play Solitaire, and began telling everyone that I was playing the game against the Devil, because for some reason I really believed I was. If I won three out of five, I saved mine or my grandma's soul. If I lost, I'd give him my mother's or my stepfather's useless soul. I wasn't intentionally trying to shock or gamble anyone away, it just came effortlessly. After the Devil threats wore thin and we became such gambling buddies, my mother began using the Boogie Man as the big threat to make me sleep. Whenever she heard me stirring, she'd sing out:"Better go to sleep, 'cause the boogie man's A comin'". Of course this never did the trick-instead, I'd toss and turn, and sometimes turn on the muted tv (searchingfor a Planet of The Apes movie, no doubt), and my mother would then yell:" Did you hear that? the Boogie man's comin' to get'cha now!"
....(Now, do you really need to ever ask why I'm a bit dark?)

Sometimes I'd be brave-sitting up, watching the door for the Boogie Man's shadow. Though most of the time, I'd wrap myself mummy-style until I slowly suffocated myself into dreamland. But dreamland has never been pleasant. Not ever. If it's not my nightmares, it's someone else's nightmares, meaning I'd wake up screaming things like: "There's a little girl with a red sweater on and she's sinking into the water, we have to help her!!" Blame my sleep problems on the Boogie Man and the Devil; Grandma and Mother; On my control issues or even too much TV.  Regardless, this is what Morpheus gives me every time I attempt to rest my weary tangled head. So I do what I can to avoid sleep: catnaps, soldier naps, caffeine... Regardless, I hate sleep. By the way, some time between 6 and 9, I saw a clip of Jerry Lee Lewis madly banging away on the piano, and the phrase Boogie Woogie , so my Boogie Man became a  jumpy white guy with flippy hair that played piano like crazy. Even now, I'd rather not watch J L Lewis footage in large doses.

I've met some very kind people over the years that have made an honest effort  to help me find safe sleep; From the Freddy Krueger style-"watch me as I sleep and wake me at the first sign of a struggle", to "could you please sit right beside me and slowly turn the pages of this magazine until I drift?" (People turning pages makes me oh-so-sleepy sometimes.)

Then there were the countless hair-playing efforts,(and you know how much I love those) and even having my 6'6 -380 lb. transey roommate sing a dreadful song from the his bedroom about a horse named patches' at 4 in the morning . For some reason, he didn't mind, and as a matter of fact, he had a song he'd sing in the morning to wake me too-and it wasn't in the least bit annoying like the terrible 'Good Morning Mr Sunshine'.

Do I have a Motley group of pals? You better believe it, Sunshine. Luckily for you, there's room for more!

There were also several storytellers, but unfortunately, these particular storytellers never told very good stories and would easily become rambunctious, so  I had to kick them out. I even resorted to quick naps while someone played video games on the couch next to me, (so I could keep the sleep/wake door ajar.) It's not fun to be such a sleep deprived weirdo, and I wish i could just do it, fall asleep and dream sweet dreams or sleep a dreamless death sleep; Perhaps we'll try again in a few hours, but I have feeling it'll be another futile attempt, and I'll spend hours with my headphones on, doodling stick people  in my sketchbook instead.

I ventured out there again yesterday. I know on a Saturday of all days, but I did it anyway. It'd slipped my mind that this was the weekend before the 4th, so there were billions of firecracker crazed idiots and I had to work hard at giving them my sweetest "I'm really trying to not kill you because I'm wearing a white blouse and blood's such a pain to remove-so get your smokebomb asses out of my way" smile. As always, I got a lot of smiles in return- from the old gals, who needed a bit of help reaching the pickles and finding the instant potatoes, that is. And just as I had predicted earlier to a friend, there was indeed a poor, confused man standing in front of the Feminine hygiene products, mumbling to himself and crumpling his wife's sweaty, little list into a ball.  And though this was the kind of khaki shorts-wearing fellow [my sincere apologies to you khaki shorts men] who's name is Skip and would have pulled my hair in high school-just to make sure it wasn't a black wig, I still stopped and smiled and he bashfully ask for my help. I not only found exactly what his wife wanted, but also suggested he buy bulk so he'd save a bit of cash and she wouldn't need to send him back for at least 6 months!  He was quite pleased because his wife just loves a great deal. Oh, Don't we all?

Yesterday, My niece, Sophia kept me company while the local hellbilly deluxe crowd stormed Big Rex's Firework Stand. Apparently $175.00 for 45 seconds of boom and sizzle is 'effing worth it man'.  I asked:'Why not have  an orgasm instead? It's free and you can do it again and again-and did I mention IT'S FREE?" No one answered my question.

My niece and I discovered not one but two butterflies in the parking lot, beside our car; one a bright yellow with tiny onyx eyes, the other a rich suede- brown-the color of the perfect autumn leaf. This was quite  a find-considering the pyro stampede. we placed them gently on a napkin and then noticed that the yellow one was still moving ever so slightly-so we sang a very somber Adoramus Te, because I remembered it from High school chorus and it was the only Latin-y song I could think of.  Once we'd sent him off to the wildflower/butterfly pond in the sky, we said a prayer and a couple of nice things about him. But it was difficult because we hardly knew him, so Sophia said something like : "Oh beautiful butterfly, like the sun with wings you have fluttered and lived. Now you are dead. You were beautiful and you still are. fly away my friend -fly forever." Four year olds give beautiful eulogies, they should be asked to do them more often, I think.

So we took our dead pals home and just as I was planning to add them to my collection, Sophia asked if she could begin her own. This was a very happy moment for Auntie La La, and I proudly showed her how to hold them so you didn't damage their wings. But as I was passing on my dead butterfly wisdom, her father, the hobbit I've mentioned once before came up and flicked our beloved yellow friend out of her hand and screamed "No Sophia, we don't collect Dead animals!" Now listen my Angels, if anyone ever tells you that I have a temper that's beyond my control, you'll know they're lying, because I could have and perhaps should have sent him to the land of munchkins, but instead, I kissed her on the cheek and collected our now tattered "Dead Animal" Later he approached me with a Firework nearly half his size. He was boasting that it was a steal for $50.00, and 'he couldn't wait until Friday'. I tossed a smile toward his vile, hairy hobbit-feet, and wondered if anyone would notice if I tied him to his rocket and returned him to The Shire Friday...

That's it-I'm too tired to really be awake, to be alive, even- as I'm sure this silly post proves . Nitey-nite~13

Summer's are hard for me now. I used to love the carefree feelings that came with the warmer weather and summer sunshine. Now, I dread the thought of summer. I abhor the fact that I have to send my child to a place that she hates. I loathe the heat and humidity that will surely whisk my only child away from me for weeks on end.

I have been instilled my whole life not to use the word "hate" without a heavy heart while saying it. In my house growing up, it was quite nearly a mortal sin to use the word hate. In other words, if you said "hate" you ate soap or felt the sting of belt leather across your ass, and that was on a good day.

It is quite ironic to me that I can say, with a light heart, and even a smile that I hate Haley's bio-dad.  A word that I can say about nobody else that I have ever met in my life.  There are many people in this world that I dislike, but only one that I hate.  I can say that in all honesty.  If it were anyone else that I hated I would be shameful, but to hate him just seems right.

I can even fantasize about all the horrible ends that he should come to.  It's fun.  I've been doing it for years, even while I was still married to him.  However, now, I can be more vocal about them.  Sometimes, I'll just casually mention to Paul that I was lost in thought.  He'll then ask what about, to which I reply "Oh, just thinking how nice it would be if Jeremy had a sudden heart attack and dropped dead."  Paul just grins at me and goes about his business.  He's used to it now.  It's always worse around this time of the year.  Not only do I fantasize about how he'll die, but I do it alot more often right before Haley goes with him.

I won't sugar coat things.  I do wish he would die.  I know it's unlikely, but that doesn't stop me from wishing for it.  I can think of a whole host of acceptable deaths for him.  None of them are nice or painless.  I tend to go for the painful deaths.  If he were on fire, I would offer no water.  If he were starving, I'd offer no food or drink.  If he were suicidal, I'd buy him a gun to shoot himself, all the pills that I could find that he could overdose with, a rope to hang himself, a knife to slash his own wrists, a can of gasoline (expensive death, even!), and of course, a match.  I'd send it care package style.  With a bow.  A nice bow to thank him for doing me this great service of offing himself.  What a great day that would be.

However, under all my hatred, I can't fathom actually having to tell Haley that he's dead.  So, while I wish him ill for my own reasons, I hope that he lives so that I never have to explain it all to her.  That still doesn't stop me from wishing that he would just go away already.  I can explain to her that he went away.  That would be easy.  I don't think she'd mind too much.  I think the "wound" of having him abandon her would be more like a scratch and would heal with nary a scar to show for it.  If he would just sign over his parental rights, Paul could adopt her.  I'd even be so nice as to sign away the back child support that he owes me.  Then, we could all live happily ever after and I could stop wasting my brain power on wishing him dead.

A girl can dream.

So, amongst all of this, I will be miserable for the next 5 weeks.  I will shed many tears.  Haley will call me and shed many tears that I won't be there to wipe away.  She will beg me to come get her, save her even.  He will not allow me to.  The court would have no mercy and put me in jail if I went to get her without his approval.  I would probably spend 90 days in jail and he would end up having her that entire time.  So, I will stay home and shed my tears and try to be strong until I can get her back with me.  I will remind of the good things that she'll get to experience, even though every word is like a sword to my own heart.  I will not let her hear me cry, but I'll sob the second I get off of the phone.  Five weeks can sometimes feel like an eternity.  To a mother who is forced to be torn from her child, five weeks is forever+eternity+a day.  A nightmare that I would wish upon no mother.

A couple of weeks ago, on June 14th, an earthquake which is now officially named the Iwate-Miyagi Nairiku Earthquake struck in the Touku region of Japan. (You can find more information about the earthquake and it’s aftermath here).

They ask for everyone’s cooperation in raising funds to aid in the recovery of the misfortune.

It is a really good and nice idea for Nightmare to do this, they're really thoughtful! If I can, I would go to their live to support the fundraising as well, but I'm travelling to Vietnam instead~ heeeh xD

But, what I've been dreaming the past few days were too detached from what I want to dream of. The worst part in nightmares are when someone dear is lost. You always end up crying even before you wake up. Your eyes fill with tears and your chest bursts with pain. But the only memory of the dream is that someone dear is gone, or missing, or went away. And you can only hold on to the flimsy memory of teardrops on your pillow, which in a few minutes will fade and be dried out by the sunshine.

I turned towards the door as I heard the knocks. I don’t know how, but I knew who was behind those doors. I called out loud , “Come in, I am almost awake”. As my friend came inside, It only added to my confusion. Not only did I know who it was, but I was shocked to remember a foggy image of the sequence and conversation that followed. Still I kept silent and continued the animated conversation.

But how is that possible? I wondered. Soon my friend left and I decided to take a stroll. May be a walk would refresh me, I thought. But it proved me wrong.

As soon as I stepped outside the same eeriness engulfed me that was consuming me so far. I was not able to come to logical conclusions and I was not able to keep track of time. I was still wondering why, as I walked. Everything seemed to me as if it had already happened. Was I seeing the future? Did I suddenly become an oracle? And why the hell am I not able to recognize many colors?

I walked along. Cars and buses flying besides me. Where was I? I looked around. And there, far across that road, I could see the temple I knew. The lights were bright and I walked towards that direction.

Was I walking or flying? I was not sure. In fact I was suddenly not sure of anything. Everything felt cold.

I could still see the old coconut tree near that temple. And for some reason I knew I was not to go near the tree but I couldn’t help it. I walked nearer and nearer, as if it was calling me. Something was dragging me. Soon enough I was there, right beneath it. Waiting, waiting for something to happen as my instinct told me it would happen. And in a flash it just happened. The big coconut fell right on my head. It was sudden jolt and I woke up. It felt numb as I looked around.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Nombre the WORLD

Intérprete Nightmare

CD the WORLD ruler

Escucha http://es.youtube.com/watch?v=vMsVaIP38gg

Descarga http://www.mediafire.com/?x3um3wcyjrt

Prometimos una revolución en la oscuridad que se expande.
Una flor diabólica que crece del amor.
no puedo dejar interferir a nadie más
en lo que seguramente pase ahora.

El futuro presagiado por los frutos.
La ciudad que olvidó la razón.
Ahora, transformaré esta perversa, negra realidad,
en un sueño, una utopía.

¿Por qué? ¿Por qué soy un salvador roto?
El "fin" que todo el mundo deseaba...

Prometimos una revolución en la oscuridad que se expande.
Una flor diabólica que crece del amor.
no puedo dejar interferir a nadie más
en lo que seguramente pase ahora.

Algún día te mostraré
un mundo reluciente, brillante.

¿Por qué? ¿Por qué soy un salvador roto?
El "paraíso" con el que todo el mundo soñaba...
Prometimos una revolución en la oscuridad que se expande.
no puedo dejar interferir a nadie más
en lo que seguramente pase ahora.

Algún día te mostraré
un mundo reluciente, brillante.

However my precious little laptop - or toshi to those that bask in his electric blue glow - failed to give me any sort of heads up that the ghost in this machine had had enough. All I got was a garbled screen of random letters and symbols, which I can only assume was a garbled message of help, before the screen went black leaving me staring at my own munch-esque slack jawed and fear riddled reflection in the now defunct and darkened screen.

After attempting a number of well-recognised hardware repair techniques - turning it on and off repeatedly, shaking it, lightly smacking it and finally begging - I tearily admitted defeat tucked my precious under my arm and sulked down to my local computer place. At this point I was still confident that the problem was simply user ineptitude and that all was needed was some of humility on my behalf and a friendly computer technician willing to humour me.

However, my precarious optimism was shattered within minutes of the technician running his deft hands over the keys, and grimly declaring that my precious was in fact D.O.A. As I tried not to cry like the techno baby I am, me and my dead-give-away-shaky-voice feebly enquired what toshi’s fate was to be. Clearly an experienced operator, the lovely technician very gently and kindly informed me that as my laptop was still under warranty it would need to be sent to Melbourne for a re-build, turn around time; 12 weeks. This was the point at which I swear my little heart almost stopped, and the voice inside my head screamed loudly, “12 whole weeks?! Twweeelve weeeeks! Eighty four days, are you crazy?!”. Mustering all the maturity I possess, I managed to give the lovely technician a weak smile and thank him profusely for his help, before riding home morosely, wondering how I was going to survive the next few months.

Fast forward four months and my precious toshi has been returned to me complete with brand spanking new hard drive, and after multiple “discussions” with my ISP, I’m finally plugged back in to the global village. The trauma of the past three computer less months and my rather unhinged response (of which I’m going to share more with you next post) is still a raw but increasingly distant memory and life is moving on in some kind of a direction, with a change of season, a change to my job, and serious plotting afoot for a change of Masters program.

My lil’ Vespa has had to be garaged for the rest of winter, as it turns out that not being able to use my frozen feet and fingers to change gears and brake is somewhat of a hindrance to my riding experience! Instead I sit on the crowded 267 watching the sun trying to break through the low hanging cloud still lingering on the hills, and listen to the Clash sing about packing in your job and following your dreams, which always gives me a little zing of pleasure and a goofy grin as I silently contemplate how I can turn the daydream into a reality.

Perhaps the only aspect of my life that hasn’t really changed in the last three months has of course been my reading habit, which I’ve continued to feed, trucking through my ever growing TBR pile. Like clockwork, I’ve had a book attached to my hand and head buried between the covers. My TBR pile keeps growing and growing despite my intentions to spend less! I can’t wait to share some of my more memorable reading experiences with you all in my forthcoming posts! Similarly, I’m also super keen to catch up on the reading adventures of everyone else out there in blogsphere, find out what you’ve been reading, giving props to, debating about and pondering over. So... if y’all don't mind I think I'll now slink off and catch up on the blog goss! ciao!

We were in our house (which wasn't the same house that we actually live in, but suspension of disbelief is pretty strong, in my dreams at least), and it was night time turning into day. My husband and I were about to leave to go somewhere, and I was worried about needing to take Hunter out before we left (all quite plausible). I think I was putting on shoes or something, and I looked down at my knees. I had what looked like spiderwebs or cotton puffs in little mounds on my knee caps and the surrounding area - there were two on each leg. I thought it was just some fuzz or something else that was easily removable, so I wiped at them. Turns out the mounds were the protrusion of something sinister going on inside my leg, and the removal of the white wispy material produced hollowed out sacks within my knee area (like how your eyeball is only partly visible, and if it were removed, the whole eye socket would be visible). Oh, it was so gross. The one on my right knee cap was the worst: when I removed the fuzz mound, it produced a huge cavern within my knee, and I could see only what was left of my knee's insides (even in my dream I had to look away!). The fuzzy stuff had been a fungus that was eating me alive and I hadn't even noticed. I called to my husband and he picked me up to carry me to the car and he called 911. As he carried me away, I could tell how fearful he was about what was happening to me. I worried for Hunter, as it was definitely time for him to go to the bathroom and I wasn't sure when we'd be back.

I woke and immediately felt for my knees, which were, thankfully, intact. Phew. Safe again from the stuff of nightmares.

Basically, it was all wrong from the start. It wasn't held at a church or a beautiful outdoor venue- my entire dream wedding was held within the banquet room of some hotel. Eww. Totally not me. And the colors were very reminiscent of the wedding in Steel Magnolias... ("My colors are blush and bashful," -'Her colors are PINK and PINK'.) Don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of all colors. It's the artist in me. All my life I've never really had a favorite color because I could never decide- (but that might be more about my indecisiveness than about colors...) Anyway, I just don't see Pepto-Bismol pink as a color option for myself.

I apparently was so swept up in the craziness of the day that I never got my hair done and only had makeup on one side of my face. WTF? I know this wouldn't happen in real life but OMG. I looked like hell. And then, for some reason or another, my 3 close high-school friends/bridesmaids never showed up- which in my dream I didn't realize until the next day. How could I overlook that? There was a reception and I had alot of fun, we drank and danced the night away. E and I looked at each other at one point and giggled and said, "We did it! We're MARRIED!" That was probably the best part- feeling that relief that I can't wait to feel a little over 9 months from now!

And then it seemed that the dream fast forwarded far into the future, but I later realized it was really like a day or two after the wedding. I was back waiting tables at some crappy restaurant, serving some seriously rude customers who all kept gawking at the fact that I had gotten married so young. (Excuse me? I will be 25 when we get married- do people even consider that to be really young? And why the hell was I waiting tables? I have a perfectly good BFA in Graphic Design!)

I can't believe the wedding nightmare fairy visited me last night... I never thought it would happen to me. Hopefully it's like lightning, and doesn't strike the same bride twice. All in all it was terrible and I hope it never happens again.

Did any of you have terrible dreams involving your wedding?