Altering from the recent trends...
So -- for awhile there I proclaimed my LJ to be something of a current events update "Hey check this out" type of site. Yeah, I think that lasted what, 24 hours? Then it became a, "my brother got married, come look at the pictures," picture whore site. Now- sadly, maybe for some, it has become yet another avenue for me to vent certain things that may or may not need venting.
In all truthfulness and sincerity, I can say that nighttime is hell for me. It's the time of day when I get extremely open, honest, contemplative, lonely, nostalgic, and most importantly HORNY! Yay, the H-word. We all know it, we all love it- I'm just saying it. So, regardless of the stigma that is associated with such a word, I seem to find inner peace and connectivity when feeling this way. It's our most primal urge in life- to procreate. Or as the current generation refers to it as- fucking. I, on a good day, (as today is a good day) can resist that primal urge and thus that excess blood, as it seems to do, goes straight to my brain for extra functionality for extra sensitivity to the trancendentalist approach. Whatever.
In short my theory: Get horny, resist fucking, become philosopher. Or philosophizer depending on your grip with comic misrepresentations of words. I prefer philosophizer, it sounds more fun, plus, anytime I can use a Z- I do. Z just doesn't get enough attention as an equal-opportunity employee of the alphabet. Therefore I use it whenever I can, regardless of its qualifications.
With that said, my first inspirational quote of the night- If I were a rapper, I would name myself: "Ol' Dirty Bachelor." I mean- it seems fitting right? Some day, I will be one of those old widower-type men who spend their days smacking waitresses on the ass and talking to their friends about the glory days and how many women they ... ahem'd. Problem is- I doubt I will ever qualify as a widower considering I will never have a widow to have die and thus become a widow-er. So- I want to be old, perverted and have all my STILL married friends call me the Ol Dirty Bachelor. I think it's catchy. Then, I would just have to come up with witty and clever rap lyrics about geriatrics or Naples, Florida.
Anyhoo- next up on my topic of deep conversation- Dreams. Why is it, then when you really want to have one of those hot, crazy, sex dreams that involve hot wax, the ocean, a big fluffy bed, and Gwen Stefani or Laetitia Casta you end up getting a blank slate in the morning. Yet, when you are lonely, sad, and heartbroken, you get emotional, realistic, mind-FUCKING dreams about your ex-girlfriend you never fully got over.
I'm not bitter or anything, and this is strictly a hypothetical. Yeah.
Moving on. Then the next night, you get some crazy dream where you are flying a carnival ride-type plastic mini-plane around the globe, you end up in Munchkin land, play golf with the head munchkin, and fall off a building into a pile of leaves that your older brother raked up for you, only to discover that the leaves are actually dollar bills and you are a millionaire that can buy anything and everything you have ever wished for. Only to wake up to find that you can't fly, you suck at golf, munchkins don't exist, your older brother would be more likely to hit you with the rake that rake something for you, and you're extremely poor to boot.
Life, ladies and gentlemen, does not ever, in any way, ever equal the goodness of dreams.
I think that explains why I sleep so much. It's easier to dream, and especially more fun. My favorite is when you figure out you are dreaming and then you can start making people do stuff- like the guy you hate in the dream- you can totally make him just dance a really stupid jig and fall on his ass. Oh- those are the nights. Those are the nights.
Another realization I had- everyone should add stage directions to their conversations on AIM or even in real life for that matter. Wouldn't it be so much more dramatic and effective instead of caps lock or italics. I think arguments would go so much better. It would almost be like cybering but not gross-like. I think those weirdo cyberers are on to something with the written pantomiming. I mean picture it.... (squiggly lines go across your screen)
Man114882: I can't believe you cheated on me! (As he closes both eyes really hard trying not to let the tears come rolling out. Purses his lips, and hits his closed fist on the table. He turns his head slowly from her- he can't bare to look at her.)
Woman98003: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I mean- I thought we were on a break? (She pleadingly says with both hands cupped in front of her. One tear streams down from her left eye. Another follows closely behind from her right eye.) I really want us to be together. I mean- it's not like him and I did anything really, we only kissed! (Her voice cracks as she tucks her bottom lip into her mouth and bites it. One hand wipes each tear from her face individually as the other reaches to grab his hand.)
Man114882: I thought you two did more than just kiss? (He looks confused, now staring into her eyes.)
Woman98003: No- who told you that? Is that what this is about? (She shakes her head, her free hand above her eyes in a visor-like fashion holding her forehead.)
Man114882: Yeah- one of your friends told me you and him did all kinds of stuff. (His face starts to drop as he realizes the fault of his trusting of other people.)
Woman98003: We just kissed because of that mistle-toe. That's all, I swear. (Both hands now cupping his. She sniffles once and bends down to gently kiss the top of his hand.)
Man114882: I'm sorry. I love you- I do. And- I know this is crazy, but I only want to be with you. Screw this 'break,' I hated it. I just missed you the whole time. (He slowly puts his hand on the back of her head and draws her in closer. He kisses her on the forehead, on each eye, on each cheek, on the nose. They giggle. Then he kisses her slowly on the lips. As they draw away both with eyes still closed..) I love you.
You see?! Isn't that much more effective. Granted a lot of the ( ) stuff can't happen in an online conversation, but the message is conveyed. Action, ladies and gentlemen, is what drives this play we call life. Isn't that all life is really- just a series of moments that build our character- idiosynchrasies that define what it is to 'play' us. After all- we are all just defined by the characters we play.
Could you play me? How?
Here's a last minute thought- the mood section of this entry is "Indescribable," Yet, by describing my mood as indescribable, isn't that describing? Don't think about that too long, you'll have an aneurism.
In all truthfulness and sincerity, I can say that nighttime is hell for me. It's the time of day when I get extremely open, honest, contemplative, lonely, nostalgic, and most importantly HORNY! Yay, the H-word. We all know it, we all love it- I'm just saying it. So, regardless of the stigma that is associated with such a word, I seem to find inner peace and connectivity when feeling this way. It's our most primal urge in life- to procreate. Or as the current generation refers to it as- fucking. I, on a good day, (as today is a good day) can resist that primal urge and thus that excess blood, as it seems to do, goes straight to my brain for extra functionality for extra sensitivity to the trancendentalist approach. Whatever.
In short my theory: Get horny, resist fucking, become philosopher. Or philosophizer depending on your grip with comic misrepresentations of words. I prefer philosophizer, it sounds more fun, plus, anytime I can use a Z- I do. Z just doesn't get enough attention as an equal-opportunity employee of the alphabet. Therefore I use it whenever I can, regardless of its qualifications.
With that said, my first inspirational quote of the night- If I were a rapper, I would name myself: "Ol' Dirty Bachelor." I mean- it seems fitting right? Some day, I will be one of those old widower-type men who spend their days smacking waitresses on the ass and talking to their friends about the glory days and how many women they ... ahem'd. Problem is- I doubt I will ever qualify as a widower considering I will never have a widow to have die and thus become a widow-er. So- I want to be old, perverted and have all my STILL married friends call me the Ol Dirty Bachelor. I think it's catchy. Then, I would just have to come up with witty and clever rap lyrics about geriatrics or Naples, Florida.
Anyhoo- next up on my topic of deep conversation- Dreams. Why is it, then when you really want to have one of those hot, crazy, sex dreams that involve hot wax, the ocean, a big fluffy bed, and Gwen Stefani or Laetitia Casta you end up getting a blank slate in the morning. Yet, when you are lonely, sad, and heartbroken, you get emotional, realistic, mind-FUCKING dreams about your ex-girlfriend you never fully got over.
I'm not bitter or anything, and this is strictly a hypothetical. Yeah.
Moving on. Then the next night, you get some crazy dream where you are flying a carnival ride-type plastic mini-plane around the globe, you end up in Munchkin land, play golf with the head munchkin, and fall off a building into a pile of leaves that your older brother raked up for you, only to discover that the leaves are actually dollar bills and you are a millionaire that can buy anything and everything you have ever wished for. Only to wake up to find that you can't fly, you suck at golf, munchkins don't exist, your older brother would be more likely to hit you with the rake that rake something for you, and you're extremely poor to boot.
Life, ladies and gentlemen, does not ever, in any way, ever equal the goodness of dreams.
I think that explains why I sleep so much. It's easier to dream, and especially more fun. My favorite is when you figure out you are dreaming and then you can start making people do stuff- like the guy you hate in the dream- you can totally make him just dance a really stupid jig and fall on his ass. Oh- those are the nights. Those are the nights.
Another realization I had- everyone should add stage directions to their conversations on AIM or even in real life for that matter. Wouldn't it be so much more dramatic and effective instead of caps lock or italics. I think arguments would go so much better. It would almost be like cybering but not gross-like. I think those weirdo cyberers are on to something with the written pantomiming. I mean picture it.... (squiggly lines go across your screen)
Man114882: I can't believe you cheated on me! (As he closes both eyes really hard trying not to let the tears come rolling out. Purses his lips, and hits his closed fist on the table. He turns his head slowly from her- he can't bare to look at her.)
Woman98003: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I mean- I thought we were on a break? (She pleadingly says with both hands cupped in front of her. One tear streams down from her left eye. Another follows closely behind from her right eye.) I really want us to be together. I mean- it's not like him and I did anything really, we only kissed! (Her voice cracks as she tucks her bottom lip into her mouth and bites it. One hand wipes each tear from her face individually as the other reaches to grab his hand.)
Man114882: I thought you two did more than just kiss? (He looks confused, now staring into her eyes.)
Woman98003: No- who told you that? Is that what this is about? (She shakes her head, her free hand above her eyes in a visor-like fashion holding her forehead.)
Man114882: Yeah- one of your friends told me you and him did all kinds of stuff. (His face starts to drop as he realizes the fault of his trusting of other people.)
Woman98003: We just kissed because of that mistle-toe. That's all, I swear. (Both hands now cupping his. She sniffles once and bends down to gently kiss the top of his hand.)
Man114882: I'm sorry. I love you- I do. And- I know this is crazy, but I only want to be with you. Screw this 'break,' I hated it. I just missed you the whole time. (He slowly puts his hand on the back of her head and draws her in closer. He kisses her on the forehead, on each eye, on each cheek, on the nose. They giggle. Then he kisses her slowly on the lips. As they draw away both with eyes still closed..) I love you.
You see?! Isn't that much more effective. Granted a lot of the ( ) stuff can't happen in an online conversation, but the message is conveyed. Action, ladies and gentlemen, is what drives this play we call life. Isn't that all life is really- just a series of moments that build our character- idiosynchrasies that define what it is to 'play' us. After all- we are all just defined by the characters we play.
Could you play me? How?
Here's a last minute thought- the mood section of this entry is "Indescribable," Yet, by describing my mood as indescribable, isn't that describing? Don't think about that too long, you'll have an aneurism.