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 | ((LINK))Damn Miranda--Sonar Warning! 
What I want for myself, and everyone else on the planet, are psycho-sexual experiences that, way more often than not, bring joy, affection, intimacy, pleasure, loving communication and touch, warmth, laughter, perhaps an orgasm or twelve, contentment, bliss, and maybe even a few moments of ecstasy into our lives. Love, as someone once said, comes when manipulation and definition stops.
I want these experiences, these feelings, for any woman I'm fortunate to be with, and the person she's fortunate to be with (that would be me), whether a relationship lasts for a few hours, months, years, for a decade or for a lifetime.
~ Joani Blank, paraphrased
_____________
I will go anywhere and talk to anyone for answers to questions, absorbing what I find useful and after satisfying questioning my Self, will disregard anything that seems irrational. *Shrugging*
With freedom, I’m simply compassionate, empathic, pragmatically optimistic, friendly, hedonistic, fortunate man-hoe, a humor-finder, and Unafraid of taking risks.
Welcome to the Well.
If you can imagine a place where everyone is encouraged to listen to and value ideas and comments made from perspectives that are different than yours, then you might also concede that we can all share in a gracious atmosphere here at the Well.
Breathing Deeply is a requirement in here – drama/bad theater Unwelcome; all else, optional.
____________________
Essential, these; they are a vital part of Who I Am: ((LINKS))The Covenant (Reprise) [post 896665] 
Draw freely; come.
Peace
DOXOS/DOXFAM
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What Do We Hear?
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Sep 26, 2005 1:03 pm
2870 Views
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'When we are afraid, can we hear anything beyond our fear?
Fear of loss, for example, tells us what is precious to us. If we see past the fear to this message of preciousness, then it has given us a gift.
Yet the...fear of loss is one of the two great causes of human suffering. If we can let go of clinging to what we desire -- if we can let go when it is time for the wheel to turn -- if we are able to move on -- then our own suffering does not absorb our attention.
Might it not be more helpful to fear what Gestalt therapists call the unlived life? To fear not being alive enough to die?
To fear missing out on all that potential rich experience which lies between our neurotic boundaries and the real limitations we face as humans?
Be not afraid.'
from Linda Weaver Horton
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Ybor...
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Sep 26, 2005 11:06 am
1924 Views
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"Learn from the earliest days to insure your
[philosophies] against the perils of ridicule;
you can no more exercise your reason if you live in the constant dread of laughter than you can
enjoy your life if you are in the constant terror
of death." ~ Sydney Smith
I like the New World Brewery (great pub!) in Ybor City, which is a part of Tampa (sorta like a mini Bourbon Street at its best). I go there oftener than any other place in Ybor, b/c it's laid back, comfortable, love the tropical courtyard, eclectic mix of older residents, service industry folks, live music geeks, young professionals, and their brews (Rogue Dead Guy Ale in particular.)
I like being around an eclectic, easygoing mix of people that can kick back relax, talk, laugh, and make friends. Every so often they'll have a live band. And oh, they let you bring your dog, which is too cool, especially since mine really likes to sip Dogfish Head brew. Not My fave, but there's no accounting for taste.
This past Friday, after a while, the coed group I was a part of that gravitated to one another talked mostly about [what they thought] relationships, expectations, communicating styles, and finally BDSM were all about.
The water was wide between our ideas.
Interesting listen.
I'll think on it some and maybe get back.
Disconcerting, I say...
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You...
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Sep 20, 2005 5:03 pm
2302 Views
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A few things others have written to me (bless them one and all  ):
I always feel like youre challenging me.
You talk in riddles.
Youre pompous.
Youre lying.
You're making that up.
You take yourself too seriously.
You always have to see it different from everybody else.
Youre so full of shit.
Youre a strange brotha.
You're not black.
You like to live psychologically dangerously.
Youre so vulgar.
Youre arrogant.
You know so little but know it so perfectly.
You turn things around.
You're one self-righteous fuck. (I like this one.)
Youre a firm believer in covering your ass.
You really think you're something, don't you?
***
Okay.
Could all be.
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I Write for Me, Others, A combination, or ... ?
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Sep 20, 2005 4:44 pm
2231 Views
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Maybe I blog/read blogs because...lessee now, like spearing thought fish in a mental stream:
It's fun.
I like writing.
I like reading.
I like interaction.
I like other's points of view.
I get to practice broadmindedness, and frequently do with some of what I read.
I like seeing how others respond -when they're motivated - to my occasionally unconventional/annoying/ (self-righteous? /arrogant/boring??)ideas and viewpoints.
I like offering more insight that the lil' blunt tool that our alt profiles afford.
I like seeing if I can fill a niche that anyone can recognize or appreciate.
I like the conversations they can create...the secrets, exploring, fantasies, minutia, imagination, creativity, and self-disclosure...
Because ~ as distasteful as some of these notions are to me (runs counter to how I like seeing myself), maybe:
-I want attention,
-I want to share what little I know,
-I want to learn what I can,
-I want to see if I can insert myself into the cliquish-feel I sometime sense on here...
-I want to see who if anyone will relate to what and how I write,
-I have a massive black-hole ego that wants corroboration of my pseudobrilliance, though, I hope not.
Maybe for no reason I can name.
Maybe because I can.
Because on my initial entry, foulmama predicted I could addict myself as well.
I still dont know for sure...
and don't care [as much as I could.]
Peace.
[Originally in reply to a (blog vkindmaster) post]
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C'mon! Christ Chilled Out Often....
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Sep 20, 2005 10:44 am
2145 Views
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I happened across a compelling entry
[blog Under] by (subgem).
She was wrote about reactions people in her area were having concerning the Under God ruling in the Pledge of allegiance. The unconstitutional ruling of including/saying Under God in the pledge in public arenas disturbed/aroused many [Christians.]
I dislike any type of dogma, intolerance, or extremism. Time and again when immovable tenets arrive, too often, intellect gives up the ghost.
I like to avoid all so-called 'organized religion(s).' As with any, its adherents apparently choose and decide which tenets they adhere to and which they dismiss or minimize. As glaring examples, the Klan professes to be Christian, and terrorists of another kind in West Asia claim to be Muslim or Jewish.
Separation of state and church, particularly in our democratic capitalist republic still seems the best idea by far. By far, I feel none of us would want a government ruled literally by any religions laws in total...
Subgem wrote, "If you have faith do you then have to relinquish any ability to question, wonder, logically deduce reason or by any means really learn about all that is around you..." Seems so.
Yet, I while unsure about other religions, in the same breath, Xtians are directed to search for truth in all things. Too many believers seem to do what is expedient.
Someone is to have said, [Religion is an insult to dignity. With or without, we'd have good people doing good things and bad people doing evil things. However, for good people to do bad things, it takes religion."]
I'm looking around - watching, listening - seems true.
I let people's religions alone if I can; as long as it doesnt screw with me or mine. That would be good to do.
People's religions could let me alone; that would be good as well.
Peace.
For Real...
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When we are most sure and arrogant, we are commonly most mistaken
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Sep 20, 2005 8:45 am
2501 Views
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Mood: Leonine
Sometimes we erect walls not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down." ~Anon.
+++
"Dead people don't grieve, far as we know and believe," Great great Aunt Cate, who would take care of me as an infant, said at the supper table after we had buried Dad's grandmother, Lula. Aunt Cate was Lula's sister and Dad's last living aunt. The way I heard it, Lula, my paternal great-grandmother, had been born a slave, and was around 100 years old, they figured
[Figured, because few knew when anyone colored was born in those days with rare exception. They were property, not viewed as actual 'persons' with freedom, self-determination, birth certificates, and birthdays to be recorded, remembered, and celebrated-]
and had raised Dad from when he was 4 until she died; Dad's mom had died of flu that same year.
They had all asked the Idiot's Question then as well for too long as Aunt Cate saw it. So, when Dad, still gripped in paralysis over his grandmother's loss six years earlier commiserated for what must have been the ten thousandth time, [And I can hear Aunt Cate: "I told you a trillion times, not to exaggerate, boy," with a twinkle in her eye.
Jay? You gon' have to move on along, son. Got stuff to do - a wife and son of your own what needs you. So, then - I say put it in a place you can cope and deal with it, or you'll die sorrowing. Move on while you can, now, cause dead people don't grieve, far as we know and believe."
Aunt Cate was through with that, and coincidence or not, so was Daddy's grief - as least as it had been. Thoughts of his mother from that day forward were more and more a source of comfort rather than of pain.
After Grandma Lula passed on, [they sang "Get Away Jordan" (with Jordan being pronounced "JER-den") at the funeral] Cate became the new matriarch of the family, a position she held with dignity and good humor for the rest of her life. Therefore, it was no surprise that when I was born, Aunt Cate volunteered to be my nanny during the day while Mama worked. Aunt Cate was my nana for most of three years, and helped to give me some of my first lessons in how to be a person.
Self-assertiveness was one lesson I learned beginning from when I could understand rudimentary English up until now; I heard her say:
"I ain' gah' DO it.
I ain' got to think like you do and
I ain't got to do it like you want just 'cause it suits you.
I got sense, too, and ~
I ain gah DO it..."
A trillion times.
She meant that when she said it. To continue talking to her after she had made up her mind was like a dog trying to resurrect the dead, or converting an outhouse to Christianity, or something else just as impossible. Often, folks would try to change her mind as a form of entertainment; most times, Aunt Cate would oblige them and play along before saying, enough, now.
Although every now and again, she could not take a joke, things being the way they were for the Colored in America. We all learned to recognize this impatience at once to keep our feelings from being hurt for her sport.
Ten years after Grandma Lula drew her last breath, Aunt Cate left for the Upper Room as well. Before we could recover, Aunt Vera died from a car accident on Christmas Eve two years later. Ve's eldest sister, Cora had asked in my mother's embrace, "Bessie? What are we going to DO?
Mama responded with a tighter hug and said, Listen to me, Cora, and something else I could not hear. Whatever she said, it caused Aunt Cora to draw back and regard Mama's face with a weak, but nonetheless evident smile. Aunt Co told me what Mama said to her years later.
This time, as with all others, as if amnemnotic to a chronic extreme, we asked the Idiot's Question yet again - over and over - as if we thought that by asking it enough times, through persistence, passion, and pissivity, God, Jesus, or Somebody would break down and tell us what we thought we needed and wanted to know. As if, by knowing, we thought we would miss these heaven bound souls less. Or be happier quicker. Or be all right sooner. Something. I cannot explain. We just had to ASK.
However, we remembered what Aunt Cate had said (and was 'through with') though, Move on while you can, now, 'cause dead people don't grieve, far as we know and believe.
Moreover what did that saying mean, anyway? I never knew. I guess she could have meant that dead folks were all right weren't sad and didn't miss where they had left, and we ought to move towards being all right like that, and to get on with our lives, what was left of them, as well. I never asked her, so who can say?
Ultimately, the dead may in fact not grieve, and are at perfect peace. However, we that still live sure know the dead are gone. For me, that was the worst, I think, that I could never get over how gone they were.
They were just so - gone.
Yet, we moved on. We stumbled on and tripped on like spiritual drunkards.
Time Passed.
After awhile, it was incredible how Time did what we could not. Time showed mercy, allowed us good feelings and positive things we neither earned nor deserved. Time helped us to laugh again, more often than not led by either Dad or Mom.
Even so, we could not help but observe that Death liked our House and our family. He had an excellent time whenever He came 'round. He came round a lot, and He always took one of us on a one-way journey.
One day, He took Bessie. He invited Mama one day, and she left.
Bam!
Just like that.
He came back, but Mama never did...Dad was never the same, and I - their son, Junior, Two Well...I began to change.
What was the world (my world) coming to? I did not know then, but I may have a better idea now, because some weird spatial/perceptual things that I could not identify- things I could not name (inside my head?) were happening. Behind my eyes, there were irregular buzzes and pings. There, in my Mind, where the mental rivulets of hope and the emotional torrents of tragedy converge, images of dying and being born hardened, softened, and became clearer and indistinct all at once. I had always been empathic; yet, this was more much more than that. I did not know what in the merry hell was going on. In fact, whatever awareness I had thought I had concerning anything - was nothing.
What was the world (my world) coming to? I cannot be certain, but I have a clear-cut suspicion now...
+++
We can close your eyes to the things we do not want to see, but we cannot close our hearts to the things we do not want to feel. ~ Anon.
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"So We Plow..
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Sep 19, 2005 11:41 am
2261 Views
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...said the fly to the ox...
"Writing about the unholy is one way to write about the sacred." ~ Barker
+++
I am as certain of one thing as I am of my firstborn's name, and that is, if you wanted to go crazy, ask, "Why?" A good many of us do; Mom and Dad were no exception.
Whenever you asked yourself, others, the dead person, and God, "Why," either you got well-intended yet tired expressions, or in Gods case, often nothing you were ready to recognize for answers.
It was as if He was not ready to tell, was not going to tell, you were not told, and that was the way it was. No one had to like it.
Maybe a spiritual embrace was what we got instead of words, who can say? In fact, if He was to tell, there is no guarantee we would want to hear His rationale, or would understand Him were He to speak.
It would be easy - easy to imagine ourselves failing to recognize that He was communicating with us. If we did hear, and stayed sane at the same time, it is just as imaginable that we would be unsatisfied with the knowing.
Often, we humans can be that way. Would the absolute knowing, or having the gift of Divine Rationale, help us, comfort us, the way we believe or hope it would?
I don't know.
We tend to hear what we want, believe what we want to, and to desire immediate gratification when and how we want to do it. I feel we like being that way.
Mom and Dad concluded that, "Why" was The Idiot's Question.
In such a dialogue, God might ask where WE were while He was making the world, our advice, invaluable. He could have concluded that in retrospect, He ought to have made us first, before creating something out of nothing, so He could have gotten Creation just right. These feelings seem to arrive whether we embrace a religion f any kind - or not.
Such an exchange would have also proved Voltaire dead wrong, as in - sometimes a problem not only resists sustained thought, but leads to a robust headache to join the unsolved problem.
In that light, they felt it was better to ponder some questions in brief, and after we satisfy our need to analyze or complain, to do something about ithem if we culd, or go on ahead and let them fade away unasked out loud.
This advice is priceless while having the empty, pissy, self-absorbed attitudes that are essential parts of betrayal, bewilderment, anger, confusion, and bereavement - especially grief.
After all, grief does tend to take care of itself without much help from us. Although clichéd, time will heal. If Time does not, for the stubborn among us, Death will for sure.
Death will heal every pain we have, and do it with a glad heart. One way or another, we will get over our grief children, and the sun will still rise, and the world will still turn, even with our loved ones not walking about in it. Death will get those diehard mourners over their grief...
+++
I could be praying into a dead phone...or watching nodding emaciated corpses...
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Dark Life and Hideous Good Cheer
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Sep 16, 2005 8:44 am
1946 Views
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There once was a young man from Lyme
Who couldn't get his limericks to rhyme
When asked "Why not?"
It was said that he thought
They were probably too long and badly structured and not at all very funny. (Anon
+++
Sometimes when reading Goethe I have a paralyzing suspicion that he is trying to be funny.
~ If children grew up according to early indications, we should have nothing but geniuses.
~We are never deceived; we deceive ourselves.
~The intelligent man finds almost everything ridiculous, the sensible man hardly anything.
~~Everything in the world may be endured except continued prosperity.
~To be pleased with one's limits is a wretched state.
~There is nothing more dreadful than imagination without taste.
~There is nothing worse than aggressive stupidity.
~One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.
~A man can stand anything except a succession of ordinary days.
~Men show their characters in nothing more clearly than in what they think laughable.
(von Goethe)
It is impossible to imagine Goethe [or Beethoven] being good at pool or golf (Mencken)
++++
This weekend will be good, indeed.
It's my hope for aeveryone...
Peace 
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To Bid Hail and Farewell: More Recollections
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Sep 16, 2005 8:20 am
2280 Views
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"There is only one optimist. He has been here since man has been on this earth, and that is "man" himself. If we hadn't had such a magnificent optimism to carry us through all these things, we wouldn't be here. We have survived it on our optimism. "
~Edward Steichen
Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh, Shaw said.
Okay.
++++
As Mom and Dad often declared in one variation or another, choosing joy was not an option. They felt that everyone had a duty to entertain happiness, to the extent one could.
Noteworthy, because God knew they each had reasons to choose sadness. In the past ten years, the hearses had refused to stop rolling, and the deaths of our significant family and friends was as frequent as April rain ~
Too often sitting in the family pews,
riding in or following the dreary limousines,
trailing glossy, flower-draped caskets down long church aisles -
questions, faith, grief and anger fighting for supremacy -
the tears flowing over tormented faces.
For over a decade, hearses kept showing up with stubborn, gleeful, regularity. We thought that maybe the funeral director was making a living off of our family alone.
The truth was that Death had become a loyal, uninvited, and unwelcome acquaintance with us. After a while the obtuse bastard felt He was a friend, able to make Himself at home, and behaved accordingly, like a drunk who keeps coming back for one more goodbye hug.
As unfortunate as the circumstances were, like with anyone who belonged somewhere, one had to open the door whenever they came around, welcome or not.
Death liked our house and our family.
He had an excellent time whenever He came 'round. He came round a lot.
He always took one of us away on a one-way journey. Wherever He took them must have been beyond compare and spectacular. None ever came back, called, or wrote. On the other hand, maybe they just werent able to return or communicate.
However, Death was nothing if not conscientious; He never failed to leave us with at least a keepsake of our dead ~
a likeness of meat and bone,
a less than perfect countenance, as still as stone,
garish make-up applied,
soon to waste away,
hidden for all time, and
articulate nevermore.
++++
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Not Looking Back is Unthinkable...
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Sep 14, 2005 10:39 pm
2367 Views
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"Great fleas have little fleas
Upon their backs to bite'em.
Little fleas have lesser fleas, Ad infinitum.
And the great fleas themselves, in turn, have greater fleas to go on;
While these again have greater still, and greater still, and so on."
~ Augustus De Morgan
[The first poem my mother, Bessie taught me]
++++++
Drawing From the Well; Snippets of Memory
In the beginning, my earliest memories were of my mother, Bessie. So often, she would be laughing at one thing or another, the tinkling sound bathing everyone within earshot as if it were melted cheddar.
My daddy, James, Sr., was always nearby, his booming, choked laugh in perfect counterpoint to her bubbling brook giggles over this or that, the mirth infectious to anyone listening.
Once every month, my parents; friends gathered and played a loud-talking, laugh-filled series of Spades games. Daddy was the self-proclaimed �God� of Spades for three reasons.
One, because he made Mama quit by beating her and then talking about it so until she quit and left the room in disgust;
two, because he won often, and
three, because he knew it irritated whoever heard him crow, 'I'm no longer the King - now, I'm the absolute GOD of spades�, all the way to the bone.
Pop turned an otherwise simple, luck-of-the-draw game into a spectacle. The majority of the fun was trying to beat him with his good-natured, calculating, shit-talking self. Many tried to beat him and failed; in Spades, luck was often better than skill. Daddy seemed damned lucky.
Therefore, one Saturday each month, their friends would come to
lay down their gauntlets,
touch the 'hem of his opinion', and
have their butts whipped by his hands.
This was fun for all, and good food, good drink, good conversation, and laughter ruled. However, my parents needed no justification to laugh; it is just that not choosing to was an unthinkable alternative as they saw it.
As long as the hilarity neither cost someone else their sense of self nor hurt anyone as a result, they saw it as seasoning for the soul. Oftener than not, they made themselves the butt of their humor, just to be safe.
They were glad to be alive, in their right minds, and together...
++++++
That's enough.
Everyone should have a familiar place where they feel comfortable and loved.
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