Drive-by Flogging   
04:44am 07/11/2002
  Wil was not bisexual, he was either straight or gay. He was quite clear on that point, and would brook no contradiction. The fact that he switched between straight and gay according to some force not quite as regular as whim was of no significance. He scoffed at any attempt to average his opposing tastes. Technically he was correct, but I'd be damned if I'd ever let him know I agreed with him. Debating the point was just too much fun. Wil was one of the coolest people I knew in Atlanta, and one of the reasons I was sorry to watch events unfold that led me from that place. But that's another story. We were good friends, part of a rather unique little group. Sociologically, we were our own sub-sub-culture, artisans of suffering and lust. Domination and submission were toys and tools to be used and enjoyed. We trained and decorated the same mental demons many spend years overcoming. Good times. Good times.

The Chamber, an S&M dance club that employed most of our circle in one capacity or another, was the center of our dark and cozy little world. Most of us had other jobs for money, but The Chamber was what we "did". I was a bouncer there, and occasionally produced leather goods like restraints, whips, garments, and of course, the occasional flogger. Will was one of the performers, like most of us, earning a living through torture and violence, staged for the benefit of the club's patrons, but by no means "faked". Of course, there were theatrics involved. It was, after all, a "show". However, the paraffin filled crock pot was unquestionably hot, the crack of Mon Cheri's bullwhip across a bare back could hardly have been faked, and the welts raised thereby precluded the possibility of any trickery of the stage.

That's perhaps what made the shows so good and the club so popular, that the performers were not "acting" as such. To them, the common nightmares of suffering and terror held no horror. Pain, lust, and domination were normal parts of their daily lives, practiced and tuned like musical instruments. Those aspects of the mind abhorrent to society held no mystery or fear for us. Giving up your ego brought freedom, not shame. Binding and controlling another's body brought trust, not pride. No matter which end of the whip you were on, you knew that a friend was at the other end, and that your positions would be reversed in days or hours.

I think it the height of irony that they were some of the most sane, stable, and well balanced people I've ever known. So many of the mental troubles common to modern humanity are based in the fear, repression, and misunderstanding of the very aspects of human nature their livelihood was based upon. So completely were the "monsters" of the subconscious used, trained, and displayed that any problems therein were dissolved as a matter of course. For example, if Thirsty had been beaten and abused as a child, any demons born of that would be hard pressed to wreak any havoc upon her when she made her living through staged but very real violence with her friends. The whips, floggers, and straps were quite authentic and were used both by and on her, always with mutual trust and respect, as well as a healthy does of playfulness. What, then, could her demons do against her? They were used and appreciated, trained and cherished as parts of her being which gave her kinds of freedom and strength many will never know. She had not defeated or beaten her demons. She had accepted and mastered them, made them hers to use and enjoy, no different than her taste in music or her skill at poetry. (Well, her poetry wasn't that good, but who am I to talk?)

Although we liked to pretend that we were better than the rest of the world, it was not so. We had our own issues and troubles. However, those were mainly in dealing with society. Most commonly, we'd forget that our way of life was unusual and sometimes frightening to the "straights". There were several times when innocent horseplay in public got the cops called or got us kicked out of restaurants, bars, and on one memorable occasion, a police station. But that night is a story unto itself, for another time.

Will was one of the "old men" of our little clique, having been in this scene for better than 4 years. He was in his late 20's, well built and handsome. He was one of the most outgoing people I've ever known, having discovered that there was no fun to be had in dignity. He could usually be counted on to make things interesting at a moment's notice whether you wanted them interesting or not. He was never cruel, but sometimes his enthusiasm got the better of him, resulting in minor wounds and major chaos. He was not especially gentle, but never malicious. That day we were both pretty manic, and the day felt right for mischief. We were in my van, attending to some errand or another in Buckhead, an upper-middle class commercial district of Atlanta. Offices by day, over-priced and polished clubs by night, it was a cultural and spiritual vacuum seldom entered by our ilk. Although I don't recall the name of the street we were on, it would be safe to say it was called "Peachtree" something-or-other, as ALL streets in Atlanta are Peachtree.

We were discussing the finer points of a flogger I had finished earlier that day. (one of my better pieces, if I do say so myself) It's handle was made of studded black leather strips woven and knotted around a slim steel eye-bolt. This gave it strength, durability, and weight for balance. The handle ended in a knotted pommel, symmetrical and solid. There was similar knot at the top, concealing the eye, and helping to support and anchor the tassels. It had a full tail of 24 tassels, each 30" long and 3/8" wide, dyed red, fuzzed, and forked at the ends. It was fairly heavy but well-balanced, awkward for a novice, but a thing of beauty in the right hands. I was certain that it would have a long and full life at the Chamber.

Wil was admiring our new toy as we rode along, getting a sense of it's heft, feeling the tassels and inspecting the weave of the handle for any flaws. (he found none, ::grin::) He was pleased with it's construction and appearance, which meant a lot to me as he was very critical of half-assed or poorly made "frou-frou" toys. He appreciated the fact that it was solid and heavy, obviously made to deliver a solid blow. He also liked the forked ends of the tassels, but if you don't know what those are for, my telling you would do no good. He gave himself a few experimental whacks on the thigh, and then inspected the tassels closer. I had used thicker leather than usual for the tassels, and only lightly fuzzed them, making them heavier than they looked. He was impressed with the flogger, and I was unabashedly proud of myself. This latest creation was truly a work of art. I was pleased, Wil was pleased, the future was bright, and life was good. We made a right hand turn, merging with the think afternoon traffic, directly in front a fat delivery truck and behind a tiny BMW driven by a blonde mannequin, recently escaped from Burdines.

Then, like the avatar of some complacent yuppie god, "He" appeared about half a block ahead. A prime example of the upper-middle class we so gleefully despised, well dressed and proper in every respect, he stood on the sidewalk with his back to us, clearly the master of all he surveyed. We were awed by the sudden beauty of the moment, the zen perfection of the idea that revealed itself to us. The plan was conceived, worked out, finalized, and put into action in just under 2 seconds with nary a word passed between us. The focus of this day's mischief, our sacrificial lamb in twill and cotton stood before us, ripe and ready, cell phone held lovingly to his cheek. His back was to us, and his mind was obviously elsewhere, probably at the other end of the invisible phone line, in the office of some weighty and inconsequential corporation with a favorable profit margin. Wil turned to me with that famous precursor to mayhem, his patented "I'm about to do something really stupid!" look. (imagine the face of a hyperactive 7 year old all hopped up on sugar, passing through the gates of the Magic Kingdom in a flat trajectory). I grinned, nodded, and gently let off the gas pedal.

And so it began in earnest. By happy coincidence the sidewalk around him was empty. Good. I've always had a soft spot for innocent bystanders. I'm not too sure about Wil, though. Anyway, I eased the van closer to the curb as approached. Wil rolled his window down, and leaned out a bit with the flogger hanging lazily from his hand. I remember the gentle sound the tassels made as they were flicked against the door by the wind. We were about a foot off the curb, closing the distance, coasting quietly. Our yuppie friend had paused there, looking for all the world like a JC Penny ad, hands on hips, looking boldly into the future, positively glowing with upward mobility and secure in his rightful place atop the food chain. His hair was perfect, his suit fashionable and well fit. All was clearly well with his secure and interesting world. Damnit! We were closing too slowly. The anticipation was too sweet, agonizing and almost unbearable, but haste would spoil the poetry of this moment, so we coasted gently, while he waited for us, content and clueless.

At about 40 feet out, Wil shifted position slightly, and raised his arm behind him against the van's side, bringing it to a level just above subject one's shoulders. In that last second, I swear I could hear his voice, thin and irritated, obviously talking to someone bound by etiquette to be polite at all costs, probably exacting payment from them for a time when he'd had to be nice to a prick. Yuppie karma, I guess. He was facing away from us and his head was slightly turned to the right, cocked into his phone. We drew even with him, and suddenly the anticipation was at an end. The sun shone. A gentle wind swayed the captive trees in the median. Somewhere a horn honked, and Wil had swung.

His arm twisted and flicked out from the side of the van, with a mass of eager red tassels at it's end. He didn't put too much force into the strike, we didn't want to actually damnage reason's martyr. Wil's arm swung, and the flogger danced away in a truncated arc, blurring outward towards the well groomed and irritated fellow. He suspected nothing until impact. There was no warning, no hint of what was coming, no inkling of the impending crisis until it was well underway. Until the tassels engulfed his entire perception in stinging crimson chaos, he had utter faith in his knowledge of the location and dimension of the well lit divider 'twixt reality and nightmare. For the first fleeting instants, as the narrowing arc of red closed around his face, I wonder, what did he think? Did he think? As the solid mass of tentacles engulfed his head, cutting off all sight and hearing and reducing the city around him to merest trivia, what thought was foremost? Was he afraid? Did he feel angry? Shocked? Naked? What? As his day, his plans for the evening, and any other focus his mind may have held was rendered to vapor, did he call to some god, reach for some anchor? I'll never know.

Wil struck, and we did not slow in the least. His strike was the acme of speed and grace. It was simply beautiful. The flogger reached out, grabbed the irate consumer by the head, and was then pulled away as rapidly as it had been sent. In passing behind his head, the leather wrapped eyebolt pulled the tassels along after, as it was meant to do. The tassels in turn, held for the briefest moment to the head they were pressed against, spinning it like a poorly balanced top, as they were meant to do. The head remained attached to the body, as it was meant to do, imparting it's spin thereto. The end result was that the yuppie was turned about as we passed behind him, so that when his turn stopped, he was facing the direction from whence we had come and we were, as before, behind him and unseen. As his turn was stopping, the flogger was disappearing back into the van, to rest once again in Wil's lap. Even if his eyes had been open, he could not have turned fast enough to catch sight of the flogger, or anything out of the ordinary about the white mini van moving away with the flow of traffic. But his eyes were closed.

As we were pulling away from him, he began to mount his defense against whatever the hell that had been. His left arm came up to cover his head, the gold on his wrist glittering prettily in the afternoon sun, but there was nothing there to defend against. His right hand clutched the phone and flailed about him at random, but there was nothing there to hit. His battle was short and one sided, although I doubt it could be called a victory. Then he seemed to realize that the attack was not being pressed, and opened his eyes. By this time, the truck was almost past him, and we were too far from him to matter. He tried to look in all directions at once, and did not too shabby a job of it, from what I saw in the mirror. He was crazed, terrified, panicked even, but uninjured. As we moved away, his frenzy abated as he satisfied himself that there was nothing in the immediate vicinity to threaten him. (As if that had mattered seconds before) The last I saw of him, he was looking at his little phone like he had no idea what it was, and no-one had stopped.

What happened to him afterwards, I'll never know. How he dealt with the experience depends on how tightly he holds to "reality". Paradoxically, the more sane and rational he is, the harder it will be for him. He will not forget that something happened. But what? All he knows is that: out of the blue, something happened. It was red, it was fast, it stung, it spun him around on a sidewalk in downtown Atlanta. It came from nowhere, and returned hence before he knew what was happening. He saw nothing but a glimpse too brief and close to focus, then his eyes were shut until it was gone. A memory of shock, pain, violence, and chaos with no cause and no consequence is all he'll take from this.
There will be no answer.
There will be no explanation.
There will be no reason.
There will be no understanding.

Reality is now to him like a lover that strayed. He'll never be able to forget. His trust will never be as it was; there will ever be a doubt. Unlike a lover, Sanity will offer to make no amends. She doesn't need him. Reality made him no damned promises, anyway. Logic is starving today. If he holds these things precious, if he built his life or himself on them, what now? Now that this foundation has been cracked? What now?

What would you do?

...

Are you sure?		  
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Depression doesn't matter.   
03:55am 06/11/2002
  Damned depression. The worst thing about it is that there's nothing to be "fixed" that would improve the situation. I'm one of those bipolar fuckers, but I don't really mind. I can deal with the downs, and I really enjoy the ups. So I'm not interested in having myself smoothed out.

I'm depressed. I don't wanna get out of bed, everything that sucks is foremost in my mind, and the positive things seem less important. There is nothing for me to "get over", my chemicals are just fukt right now. I used to try to deal with it, try to address it and try to alleviate it. But then I found a better way to address the issue. I ignore it. I just act as if I weren't depressed. That's not the same as denial or pretending I'm not depressed. I am depressed and I know it, but I see no reason to allow that to prevent me from dealing with things that are more important than my mood. So I feel like crap, so what? I can still do everything I can do at other times, I just don't feel like it. So I ignore that I don't feel like it, and do it anyway. It still sucks, but it's only my feelings that ache, and it will pass no matter what I do or do not do. My job is more important than my mood, as are my friends, my kids, even my dirty dishes. Come to think of it, most things are more important that whether or not my bitch ass is all comfy with the world. My mood does not affect those things that I do give a damn about, so I would be selfish and foolish to give it any greater consideration than them. Perhaps this is the best way to deal with depression. No drugs, no treatment, no therapy, just fucking ignore it and wait for it to go away, as it will. In the meantime, let it starve, and do not give it any energy that would be better used in other endeavors. I think this is the best way to deal with it, by not dealing with it. But that doesn't make it suck any less.		  
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Sacred night of wind and flame.   
08:53am 30/10/2002
  Chaos is setting to burn within me, from too many quarters to list, and must be given rein in this coming hallowed night. So art must sit idly by and yield way to life, as it should be. Something of a vision quest, something of a brawl, this trip shall be a crossroads. I would like to write it's origin here, but time grows short even now. I can hear the wind picking up, writhing and gathering, gaining focus and power. The gentle demons in their way prepare therein, as I prepare in mine. Soon we shall draw near against each-other, in the dark and in the light, and one or the other must be brought low. I hope I have strength enough to master them, I cannot abide their creeping chill any longer. Whether by victory or defeat, this siege at last shall end.
As it should be. As it ever was.		  
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Preview of coming distractions   
04:06pm 18/10/2002
  Poor yuppie. Just some random member of the upper-middle class; you know the type. The ones that come equipped with a brightly colored tie and a beige bedroom; the sort of team-playing, socially correct pillar of suburbia who would walk down a sidewalk in downtown Atlanta, with the flow of traffic passing by ignored and invisible, just 2 feet to his left. The sort of upwardly mobile professional that said important sounding things about the "Johnston account" and the "Mandel Report". But most importantly, above all else, he was the sort of self-assured fellow that would never suspect that he was but seconds away from having his world-view shaken like a magic 8-ball by nothing more than few ounces of dyed leather at the business end of a swing-and-duck combo issued with surgical precision from the passenger seat of a white mini van. He was to see the mini van a few seconds after the fact, but he would not really notice it, and would never suspect that it had anything to do with the brief and savage attack on his person by a mass of stinging red tentacles. Tentacles which appeared from nowhere, grabbed him by the head, forced him into an abrupt about-face, and then returned to whence they came, all in less than one tick of the gold watch on his wrist. I don't know if it was actually gold, but I do know that I admired the way it sparkled in the sun as he flailed madly, trying to fight off an assailant that was gone before he started swinging.


In retrospect, it was cruel and insensitive, and I am appropriately ashamed to have been such a willing and eager party to it. However, no physical damnage was done to the bearer of the power tie. I've often wondered how he handled it, how he dealt with that semi-second and the ensuing memories. In truth, all he'll ever know about it, he learned in the bare majority of a second where the tassels met flesh. Sadly, he'll never realize the singular honor that is his, as the target of the world's first and, to my knowledge, only "Drive-by Flogging".		  
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Don't Drink and Spin   
05:20am 12/10/2002
  I had a good time tonight at the Venus Room, but there is nothing special in that; I usually do. What made tonight worthy of note was the guest DJ, a friend of Dino's. He was quite enthusiastic, enthusiasm which likely was due, at least in part, to the not inconsiderable amount of alcohol he had obviously partaken of immediately prior. There were a few blunders, like suddenly losing all volume a few times, but the ensuing good-natured shouts of dismay and advice (It's the little triangle button! The green one! With the little triangle!) from the dance floor served to restore the music in seconds. He played remixes of familiar songs, and I for one, loved it. Well, aside from his habit of suddenly ending a song 30 seconds into it if he found that it did not suit his fancy at the moment. All in all, it was like having a very happy and hyperactive 7-yr-old running the booth. I personally hope he comes back. But perhaps a wee bit less tanked.  
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Fun with spam   
02:29am 06/10/2002
  Here's something I had almost forgotten about. I got in a bit of a fight with a porn site that spammed me. It was just a difference of opinion, some objections we both had. They objected to being reported to spamcop, and I objected to them spamming me. I had a great time playing with their (ahem) legal department. Anyway, it begins:

They wrote:
Dear Sirs

We received a spam report from you and we would like to know why. Your reference appears to be as below:

http://spamcop.net/w3m?i=z66816865za9004d1e6ce6e70f5bf41f5ccb1d9e07z

At no time have we ever distributed spam. Your notification was distributed to one of the providers of our servers and therefor must be considered libelous. We formally request an explanation for your actions and a written retraction. Failure to provide the aforementioned within a period of 7 days of this notice may result in further legal action.
Yours faithfully;

J Carmichael
Legal & Copyright
SW Entertainment



I replied:
Dear Spammer:
In your email you wrote:
++Begin second unsolicited email from publicsluts I've recieved++
At no time have we ever distributed spam. Your notification was distributed to one of the providers of our servers and therefor must be considered libelous. We formally request an explanation for your actions and a written retraction. Failure to provide the aforementioned within a period of 7 days of this notice may result in further legal action.
++End second unsolicited email from publicsluts I've recieved++

Yes you did send spam. Do you think that email address publicsluts@kires.com was used because I like your site so much I want to advertise for you? I used that email address so that any spam you sent could be easily identified. If I want to recieve email from someone, I give them my actual address, not one that is unique to their website. I've also processed this second piece of spam through spamcop. If you really want to go to court over this, please feel free to "Bring it". Hopefully, you'll realize that spamming just doesn't make for good business practices, and not waste my time further.

Sincerely;
Kires


They wrote back:
Dear Rev. Kires McCollam

Thank you for your response. You received an e-mail from us because you added your web address to our mailing list. This was clearly explained to your when you doanloaded the sample movie at our website and gave your e-mail address to obtain the password to unzip it. The e-mail you were sent clearly included an unsubscribe link and if you have wished to not be notified when a new movie was added then you should have used this link or even e-mailed us to tell us. If you enter your e-mail address at a web site asking for information from that site then you cannot complain that the response is spam.

Unless we received a retraction of your report, we will have no further recourse than to seek compensation for your slander through the courts. To this end we will allow 7 days from this notice, 7th April 2002, before proceeding. Can you also confirm that your address is as below:


Kires McCollam
101 NW Ave I
. Belle Glade
33430
561-996-6765

Thank you for your assistance with regard to this matter.

Yours sincerely

J Carmichael
Legal & Copyright
SW Entertainment
Frejgatan 13
114 79 Stockholm
Sweden



I got positively childish:
Dear J Carmichael:

++ The e-mail you were sent
++clearly included an unsubscribe link and if you have wished to
++not be notified when a new movie was added then you should
++have used this link or even e-mailed us to tell us.

Much spam includes an "unsubscribe" link. A link labeled "unsubscribe" does not preclude the email from being spam, as someone in the "copyright/legal" department really ought to know. You should also know that these are commonly used to verify an email address, and if used will only serve to increase the amount of spam. I do not use "unsubscribe" links in emails unless they come from a company that I believe would actually unsubscribe me on request. Besides, I have found spamcop to be a much more effective means of dealing with spam. I look at a lot of porn on the internet, (and by "a lot" I mean "heaps and piles". I had to get a DSL line to handle the bandwidth I consume looking at porn. Truely, it's insane the amount of porn I look at, but then, everybody's got to have a hobby, I guess.) and I've yet only found one site that I trust not to spam me. It's not yours. The naked women are really nice-looking, but you're policy of spamming people that are just there to browse does somewhat decrease the allure.

++If you enter
++your e-mail address at a web site asking for information from
++that site then you cannot complain that the response is spam.

I did not complain that the response was spam. I complained that the unsolicited email sent several months later was spam ... because it was. If you're going to sue over this, you really should get your facts in better order, or you could be really embarrassed in whatever court handles internet disputes between our 2 countries.


++Unless we received a retraction of your report, we will have
++no further recourse than to seek compensation for your slander
++through the courts.


There will be no retraction, for several reasons.
First, because your email was unsolicited, which makes it spam.
Second, There was no "clear explanation", as you are claiming.
Third, you have now threatened me, which changes things.

++To this end we will allow 7 days from this notice, 7th April 2002, before proceeding. You can "allow" as much or as little time as you like. No need to wait seven days. Please free to, as I stated previously, "Bring it".

++ Can you also
++confirm that your address is as below:
++ Kires McCollam
++101 NW Ave I
++. Belle Glade
++33430
++561-996-6765

I confirm that that is the information currently on file with my domain's registrar. Congratulations on knowing how to perform a "whois" lookup.

--
Kires _kires@kires.com_

"Nya nya nya! pbpbpbpbp! neener neener neener!"


I never recieved a reply. I was kinda hoping to get sued, over this, though. I'm sure it would have been interesting.		  
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One down, plenty to go.   
04:33am 03/10/2002
  Well, I finally made Hephasto my bitch. I backed him into a corner and Mao'd him into oblivion. Then I owned Diablo's ass in a disappointingly easy fight, and that was that. The game is DONE. Funny, I feel like I just woke up from a regrettable one night stand, ashamed and sticky. Oh well, at least now I can get on with my life. The Adams Family theme industrial remix is coming along slowly but painfully, and my apartment could stand a good cleaning. Things to do, things to do. Tomorrow's out, because I have to go over to Ft Meyers. Hopefully, I'll have enough time after getting home from that to get a shower before going out to get my little groove on at Respects. Of sleep, there shall be none. And I have to go start the process of getting my next car, a newer 280 ZX, to replace my dying one. White and shiny she is. No, there will be no pictures. I will _not_ be that guy that posts pictures of his car. As cool as it may be, it's just a car. I see no reason the appearance of one of my possessions should be significant enough to post. Oh yeah, and there's more layoffs coming for my company. Woo-Hoo! According to the latest news, our Japaneese masters are planning to commit hari-cari on just under half our peeps, company-wide. I've heard that we've got the Bobs coming around in a few weeks, playing "justify your existence" with the various departments. If I'm one of the short-straw people, I hope I get one of the reach around packages they were handing out last time like consolation prizes from the wheel of fortune. Dare to dream.  
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Uncertainty   
06:37am 30/09/2002
  I'm new to this whole online journal "thing", so I'm not quite up to speed on the etiquette involved. Why am I stating such an obvious point? I'll tell you, since you asked. (If you didn't ask, then don't read the rest of this entry, it just isn't fair) I'm wondering, when someone comments on an entry of mine, and then deletes said comment shortly ater I reply to it, is that an insult? I'm not sure. What do you think?  
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Damn Diablo   
05:47am 30/09/2002
  For the past few days, I've been playing Diablo II (the tool of the DEVIL) and working on an industrial remix of the Munsters theme. So far the Munster remix is coming along better, but Diablo II is by far more addictive. At the moment, I'm trying to get past Hephasto and am getting fucked like a girl scout in Leavenworth. The score's something like "MrHappy-0, Hephasto-6". MrHappy is my barbarian character, BTW. I know it's something I'm doing wrong. I wade through the regular monsters and demons on that level like it ain't no thang. Once all the underlings and bitches are done, I go back and recharge everything, mend the armor and weapons, and get all healed up. Then, with all MrHappy's stats at full, magical weapons and armor all glowing and humming, I go charging into battle and, in a matter of seconds, I find myself cock-slapped into oblivion. ... damnit. Maybe I'd have better luck with my 25th lvl Necromancer, Tinkerbell.  
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Pain v/s Pleasure paradox   
04:31am 22/09/2002
  I'm not a masochist. Really. There's a distinction to be made, and none too fine of one, between deriving pleasure from pain, and enjoying the things only possible thereby. I do not derive any pleasure from pain, except perhaps from the satisfaction of knowing that I will learn from it, and be made stronger and/or wiser. I do cherish the things pain has taught me, and would not unmake that trade, were it possible for me to do so. Likely yet another example of mental or psychological deficiency on my part, but so be it. I have something of a love/hate relationship with pain. I've studied it, experimented, wallowed, fought, accepted, and finally, I think I understand it. This leads to something of a paradox. I wish to learn and grow, more than I wish for almost anything else. I know that pain is a good teacher, the best I have found yet. I believe that there are, that there must be, other ways to learn. If I accept that, it follows that since I have not yet discovered or deduced them, I am simply too stupid or inattentive to do so. In terms of growth, I find myself faced with a choice. Do I pursue pain, which I know from past experience will teach and strengthen me, or do I devote my time to finding some other, more positive path to enlightenment? I have found but one so far, and it hurts. I am tired of hurting. Moreso, the main thing I have learned from pain is that it is bad, and the things it has taught me have all been along the lines of "don't do this". So I now know many, many things not to do.
Great.
But what I've been seeking this whole time is what TO do. I've had pleasure, and plenty of it, but it has never taught me anything, never made me more able to accomplish anything. In fact, it has done the opposite. Pleasure has always brought me weakness and failure. It stagnates and erodes both my character and my being, until something in me rebels, destroys the happiness at its root, and I begin to grow once again. At least this is how it has always seemed to me. I readily acknowledge my own fallibility and foolishness. I have not lived a long time, although compared to most others my age, I have had many lifetimes worth of experience. I have found that good is good, and bad is bad. But have also found that pleasure is a poison, and that pain a teacher. So I am confused. Do I pursue what is good and poisons, or what is bad and brings growth?

Life is filled with pain, and neither life nor pain should be shirked or hidden from. Life is driven by passion, lust, agony, searching, longing, failure, and a thousand other painful things. But it is LIFE, and is therefore supremely good. How can so much bad stuff work out to one of the few things I know to be good? I do not understand. What am I missing?

Pain leads to knowledge, wisdom, strength, and power. It also leads to sympathy, caring, and understanding. I know quite well that suffering sucks, so I take great care to protect those I hold dear from suffering, but is this cruel of me, in the long run? I do not know.

Pleasure leads to, according to what little I have seen in my short time, a slow and stagnant death of the mind and spirit, even a weakening of the flesh. What can one learn from, or grow toward, with no pain?

If it hurts, it can be healed. And what is growth, if not healing? Healing is more than a return to zero from a negative. Healing from a wound makes you stronger than you were before the wound, and so is positive. But is there some other thing that can make such improvement, without the need to be injured beforehand? Is there something that can "heal" without harm? Perhaps that thing is love? I have felt love. I still do. I do not understand it, but I do know some things about it. First of those are that it cannot be understood by anything as fallible as mankind. Second is that it cares not a whit for anything I think I know about it. Perhaps that is what heals without harm. I do not know, but I hope to find out someday.		  
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Happy truth and me being a retard   
04:04am 15/09/2002
  I had something of an epiphany earlier tonight. As they are wont to do, the concept revealed itself as I was lighting a cigarette. Maybe someday I'll figure out why these things always seem to hit me while I'm lighting up... Anyway, I realized suddenly that I've been acting much like a foolish and spoiled child for a hell of a long time. So, once I got done laughing at myself for being so great a mo-mo, I spent a few minutes wondering at both my supreme blindness, and the marvelous simplicity of this wonderful fact that had finally bitch-slapped me into acknowledging it. It is unfortunate that many details and much of the history of how I came to this must be omitted for reasons that must also be omitted, but I think the idea can be conveyed. BTW, this idea applies only to the things that hurt or annoy me, not anyone else. There is no silver lining or meaningful positive basis for any hurt I've caused someone else. That shall be treated as an absolute. I'm not sure why, I'm not one much for ethics, but I'll not play as fast and loose with anyone else's well-being as I will with my own. It think that's 'cause it's just wrong to ante up with some else's stake.


And now, on to the point.

Basically, it hit me that I've got no reason to be upset or sad, or less than happy. What I found so very embarrassing was the sudden realization that the very things I was suffering over, the very things that caused pain and misery were themselves, by virtue of their very existence, proof positive that my life is much better and enjoyable that I had noticed. For instance, I was (and still am) irritated by ignorant customers (I do technical support for a big webhosting company, in case this is ever read by someone that doesn't personally know me) that refuse to RTFM, and demand to be stroked and hand-held through the most basic of procedures, like FTP or how to get their email. This irritation is not pleasant at all, but it would not exist were it not for the combined existence of several very happy circumstances to which that I have not been giving proper notice.
1. I have a really good job that pays well, that I am good at, and that in many more ways than I'm likely to admit, I enjoy.
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I had something of an epiphany earlier tonight. As they are wont to do, the concept revealed itself as I was lighting a cigarette. Maybe someday I'll figure out why these things always seem to hit me while I'm lighting up... Anyway, I realized suddenly that I've been acting much like a foolish and spoiled child for a hell of a long time. So, once I got done laughing at myself for being so great a mo-mo, I spent a few minutes wondering at both my supreme blindness, and the marvelous simplicity of this wonderful fact that had finally bitch-slapped me into acknowledging it. It is unfortunate that many details and much of the history of how I came to this must be omitted for reasons that must also be omitted, but I think the idea can be conveyed. BTW, this idea applies only to the things that hurt or annoy me, not anyone else. There is no silver lining or meaningful positive basis for any hurt I've caused someone else. That shall be treated as an absolute. I'm not sure why, I'm not one much for ethics, but I'll not play as fast and loose with anyone else's well-being as I will with my own. It think that's 'cause it's just wrong to ante up with some else's stake.


And now, on to the point.

Basically, it hit me that I've got no reason to be upset or sad, or less than happy. What I found so very embarrassing was the sudden realization that the very things I was suffering over, the very things that caused pain and misery were themselves, by virtue of their very existence, proof positive that my life is much better and enjoyable that I had noticed. For instance, I was (and still am) irritated by ignorant customers (I do technical support for a big webhosting company, in case this is ever read by someone that doesn't personally know me) that refuse to RTFM, and demand to be stroked and hand-held through the most basic of procedures, like FTP or how to get their email. This irritation is not pleasant at all, but it would not exist were it not for the combined existence of several very happy circumstances to which that I have not been giving proper notice.
1. I have a really good job that pays well, that I am good at, and that in many more ways than I'm likely to admit, I enjoy.
<<On the most basic level, the money this job provides me with is a good thing, and more important by far than the irritation from one of our window-licker clients>>

That single comparison alone is enough to swing my feelings about my job WELL into the positive range, but there's more. Many more, and while I'll only mention a few here, my point is that the positive and negative aspects of my whole employment situation are not remotely balanced. The bad things about the scene are all in the category of petty frustrations. While the cool parts are really cool. But most significant is the fact that each of the negative aspects are directly dependant on a much more meaningful positive one. I wouldn't be frustrated if I no longer gave a damn, if I'd "gone cold". I would not be angered by unfair QA scores if I didn't know that I actually did better thatn they said. For ythe record, I do make mistakes, and I have no objections taking a beating for something I actually screw up. I would not mind not knowing the answer to a question, or how to fix some broken thing, were it not for the pleasure I take from finding the answer, returning to service that which was defunct. Each new question, new problem that comes teaches me something new or reinforces something already learned. As I learn more, I can handle bigger problems, which in turn teach more. It's something like a vicious cycle, but in a good way. Sadly, it's one that I've been badly neglecting as of late, but that shall be remedied in short order. For my last example, although there are many more, I would not mind at all the failings (few and far between as they are) of my self and the other third shift trolls were it not for the knowledge that they are few and far between, and still we are the most knowledgeable and productive group of techs that this company has. That's not positive thinking or pride. That's objective analysis of the facts that we make fewer mistakes and get more done.

And that's just my job.

Other things that piss me off or make me sad or otherwise bring some shadow to my day are also, too a fault, dependant on something more profound and positive. Well, maybe not ALL of them. I'm not cool enough to use words like all, never, always, etc. Just the one's I've thought through so far.

It's not "balance". That implies some kind of equality, and it's not at all equal. The joy outweighs the pain. The pain is usually the result of the cessation of a source of happiness, and so does not actually pass neutral into negative. So it's not even bad, just less good. I used to HATE those flaky fuckers that go around saying, "it's all good" because I knew that "it" was most definitely not "all good". Some things just suck, and that was that. But now I'm not so sure. Damnit, I hate it when my comfy, cynical little beliefs are threatened, especially when it's me doing the threatening. Maybe I'll describe the weird fucking dreams I've been having since this realization hit, maybe not.


PS. This entry took me a few days to put together, and in the interim, I told a few people about my "wondrous and profound" new discovery. Uniformly, they gave me a rather blank look, and said something like, "Yeah, I figured that out years ago". Fuckers. Why didn't they tell me about this when I was so busy kicking my own ass for those 2 years. Even that frustration loses it's sting, when I notice that without that, I'd not be nearly as strong or empathic as I am now. Damnit! I can't even be pissed about that anymore. I'd go sulk, if I had any desire to, lol.
  
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Rather burn than freeze   
05:23am 10/09/2002
  Life is for living. Someday I'll die, and I choose to believe that when I do, I'll go face my maker, and tell him about my life, what I did, why I did it, and so on. Basically, I'll tell my life's story to god when it's over, and I'll be damned if it's a poor story I'll tell. (Yes, that's a double entendre)

Being an idiot, I don't know much, but one of the things I know is that the god I believe in won't be impressed if I take the whole world he made, and ignored most of it. That would be dumb and insulting, like sitting down to a great feast, and slowly sipping your glass of water while the other revelers enjoy themselves and fill their bellies. The host would be insulted, you'd be hungry, and that's all. This applies to all things, but especially to emotion, and the highest of all things, Love. I've been hurt terribly by love before, who hasn't? But I remember how good it felt before the fall, and not being dead, I know that I may someday feel that again. Those memories of bliss and fear are still painfully sweet in their contrast to the present, but I'll never let them go, because they are supremely good, and it would be a betrayal of more than myself to turn from them. It is a dream, bright and shining, more pure by far than I'll ever hope to be. Maybe it's foolish. Hell, probably it's foolish, but I have no problem with being a fool. So I am a fool to hold onto a dream that burns me and may never be realized. So be it. I'd rather burn than freeze. I'd rather be a fool that one of the walking dead. I've felt pain, and I've felt pleasure. Agony of the flesh and of the heart, and sublime bliss that flowed through me like a symphony. I've also felt the cold emptiness of safety and distance. I've felt the horrible void that is a lack of pain and of hope. I was a fool to recoil thusly for those years, and I'll never go back to that place devoid of all, simply because horrors are one of the things missing. I can be hurt, I'm sure I shall be. I am afraid of being hurt, and I do not want to be. But more frightful to me by far is the notion of not being hurt, of not feeling, of becoming one of the walking dead, safe and numb, who will never play the fool over another or a dream, who will never let their precious and worthless walls slip for fear that the world might get into their life and wreak organic havoc on their fragile little illusions. Hurt is not the worst thing. Death is not the worst thing. Life without life is the worst thing.		  
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Back to the salt mines.   
04:40am 08/09/2002
  Just coming down off a 3 day weekend, and coming back to work is "not" fun. I had a really good time Wed and Thurs nights, then I got a chance to recover from that fun on Friday night.

I danced my ass off. I have no idea if I dance well or properly, but I do know I have a great time doing it. Funny, I could never dance till I got to a really self-destructive place. I was always too shy before that time to dance in public, but once I had something to _really_ be ashamed of, something that gave me cause to seek out annihilation, something as petty as stage fright just didn't seem to stack up anymore. I'm glad that when I finally got my head out of my ass and came back to the world, I still didn't give a damn if I looked like an epileptic chimp or not when I got my little groove on. I'm lucky, I think to have kept a lot of good things I earned or found or whatever in that time. I searched for destruction and found freedom; I searched for truth and found beauty. I'm not sure what that means just yet, but I think that someday I will.

But anyway, back to something like the point, eh? I don't go to clubs for the socializing. I'm not much of a people person, and I get nervous in crowds. I have a much better time when the club is dead. When a club is dead, I've got the dance floor to myself, my requests get played more, and I get my drinks faster. I dance for much the same reason I get pierced, for the rush. With dancing, amphetamines find their highest and most noble purpose, to push me past what my body is "able" to, into the magical place just the other side of that line. It's something like rolling, but without the brain damnage, that place just the other side of your body's limits when your muscles stop screaming and seem to say, "Ok, you win, let's go." I stop getting hot and start to get chilled, probably because I'm overheating. Either that, or I'm just plain nuts. Either way, I'm having one hell of a time with it.		  
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Regrets and Hopes   
07:33am 03/09/2002
  I miss her so very much. I know, as I suppose I did all along, that all things must one day end. I just didn't think it would be so sudden, or so painful. I can't help but remember the good times we shared. It never ceased to amaze me how well we fit together; how, at times, it was more like we were one, and the product was greater than the sum of the parts. I know I'm lucky to have had the time I did with her. Few people ever find a partnership like we had. It is so very rare that 2 can become as one so completely and so powerfully. It was almost mechanical, the precision with which we worked together. As a team, we were unstoppable, the grace and power were like a dance even in the most common of pursuits, such as a trip to the store for a pack of cigarettes.


The troubles we had seem eager to fade. Neither of us was perfect, and we did let each-other down on occasion. But the problems were always fixed, and no lasting harm was ever done. Until the end. Until that last day when everything went so horribly wrong, and in the blink of an eye, it was over. As much as it hurts to recall the grace and power we shared, the harmony of thought and motion, it's worse by far to know that it could be again, that all that was forsaken could so easily be regained. It doesn't have to be over, but it is, because I simply won't go back, no matter how much I miss her, no matter how much I want to be with her. It's because she's just too fast, I'll never be able to trust her again, or myself with her. Being with her was intoxicating, and there lies the danger. As much as I long to feel her heat again, to hear her growl as she surges against me, I know it can never be again. If I had no ties to bind me to this place and to those dear to me, I would rush to her again. I would never forsake her, until death claimed my flesh. But I do have ties, I have sons that need their father. I hate that I have to make this choice, but I would be a poor father and less than a man if I chose her over them. But I'll never forget her as long as I live. I have those memories of grace and power, and the scars from lessons I'm lucky to have survived. But maybe there's hope. Maybe one day, after my sons are grown and gone to their own lives, I'll seek out another like her. Maybe when my debts are paid and I am free of these obligations so dear to me, I can once again know the joy of that power and grace. Maybe someday I'll get another bike.		  
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My new hobby, and unrelated homicidal fantasies   
12:16am 02/09/2002
  So, I've decided to start keeping this journal thing again. I admit, the decision wasn't entirely my own. I was inspired by one of my co-workers, Spring. Her journal is here:

Connected - an online journal.

Well, I've finally moved, and the place I live now is an efficiency apartment in Pompano.
("Efficiency", apparently from the Latin word for "box with a sink".)

I like it there so far. It's small. It's dark, I can keep it as cold as I like, and the neighbors leave me alone. I've got my bed (pile of blankets) in one corner, my computer in another, and my ... well, that's about it.
The only real problem is the lawn maintenance crew. I would love to feed them to their wood chipper, but they would be replaced by others, and besides, there might be witnesses. I'm not sure, but I don't think "they woke me up" is considered adequate justification for slaying a gaggle of "landscaping engineers".		  
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I understand some things.   
03:49am 13/05/2002
  It is said that time heals all wounds. This is not the case. Time is not infinite, neither omnipotent nor absolute. Time does not move. Rather we move through it, falling together. All external things are stripped away by the first wind. Our words, actions, beliefs, and even our thoughts are torn away like gauze in the gale.  
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Universal Language (the)   
12:59am 20/03/2002
  I heard it said that love is the universal language. A language is a commonly understood method of conveying idea(s) from one person or group to another. What one person calls love can and usually does vary greatly from what anyone else would call love. The words can be bent into similar shapes, but the inherent difference will remain. Some see love as power over someone or something, some as something that will "save" them. Some have learned that love is violence and shame. Some see love as a force, some as a way of life. Personally, I see love as the reason, the answer to "why?". There are many other views. The point is that it's different for everyone. We will never agree on what it IS, never mind what it means. So I say that love is not the universal language.

As far as I can tell, there's only one thing that fits the description of a universal language. Pain.

Pain is universally understood. Regardless of background, upbringing, attitudes, or beliefs; everyone understands pain. Furthermore, everyone understands that pain means "you shouldn't do this". People can, of course, choose to ignore the message, but all understand it.

This was just a random thought. Seemed worth writing down, so I did.		  
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