This is my Candy Condo; I’m a witch who might eat you.

“I was born to love magic, all its wonder to know…” – Nick Drake
Got lost on someone else’s blog today, so lost that I fully expected to see a house with graham cracker shutters and chocolate bar shingles, a “stone” garden out front piled high with gum drops.
Eat-it-up wonderful by artist Sun Wahyu.

Eat-it-up wonderful by artist Sun Wahyu.

 I’m thinking about blogs and all the different forms they take… how in a way, in the right circumstances, they can become gingerbread houses in the fairytale woods. If you examine the architecture you can see the secrets inside. So many blogs are the fort in the bushes or the crawl space in the basement. The place where you go to connect with who you really are. In a way, I was wishing that mine was like that — desperately emotional, startlingly intimate. But then I’m startlingly intimate all the time, no one’s really startled anymore. Least of all, me. Do I fit into this community? Or do I stick out? When I go out poking around, should I leave a bread crumb trail?

We are here, on this planet, with one another and wow that’s magical! But if you are like me and always pointing out the magic, well, that’s not always a welcome intrusion into the day-to-day importance of cell phones, ipods, computers and the making of money to buy these machines. I’m machine-friendly. Kinda. I love a boy who is part robot. It’s not a bad thing. I think we are co-evolving with machines in ways we don’t even realize. We are co-evolving with everything and everyone. Our loved ones, our allys, even our enemies. Everyone. I never knew that day, 8 years ago, the day I met my doggie, my Prince Nakula, the power his gaze would have over me. I’m not the same person that I was. His beasty royalty has changed me. So machines… machines aren’t the devil. Look at Diego Rivera’s paintings! The spiritual and the mechanical can coincide within the crossed wings of a dragonfly. With the right mindset. Which is, at the very least, not to lose sight of the magical aspect of the machine.

Rockefeller's an ass for depriving NYC of this pure genius.

Cellphones, ipods, laptops…. these are communication machines. Are we communicating with them or are we hiding inside of them?

Is the ibook replacing the “I”?

Are myspace friends replacing real friends?

What is happening with blogging? Are we connecting with strangers in lieu of our loved ones? Or are we just connecting and that’s enough? Does the net (blogs, myspace, facebook) just give us a better chance to find our tribe members? To narrow down the search? Or is it just making it easier for advertisers to find us? As we sit in wait in our quirky niches. I gave in to myspace last spring after the RobotBoy round about double-dared. He thought I’d enjoy the photos and the blogging and the little notes passed like valentines. He was right, which riles. I show off piks of my ink and am inundated with tattoo ads. I confess to a glamour fetish and espouse the psychic importance of pageantry; extolling the virtues of crowns, feather head-pieces, gold lame, glitter, wigs. So they hawk toupees. I love the circus with a suspicious fervor, as though I spent a former life as the bearded lady who fucked the mer-man in the wee hours in our carnie wagon. I could care less about a cheap hotel stay in Vegas.

A-ha! I caught you! What are you doing here, in the wee hours, in my sticky web?

Did I just see you take a bite of my licorice-woven welcome mat?

Did you just devour my butterscotch doorknob?

Alphabetfiend is a trickster fox in the fairy tale woods.
 
** After an exhausting search of gingerbread images, I finally found the above image that had the sort of dizzying eerie exciting mood I was after, artwork by another “blogger” (of course! it would be.) Sun Wahyu of “Secret Society for the Sleepless Sleepwalker” … wow… what a name! I’ve definitely got my third eye on that secret society and you should too. And of course it would be called a secret society. All the better to make my point with, my dearie, said the wolfish grandmother to Little Red.

27 Responses to “This is my Candy Condo; I’m a witch who might eat you.”

  1. gammaword Says:

    Interesting post — and very funny, too, about the advertisers. I’m not sure what’s happening with blogging in general but my experience (both as writer and reader) is that it’s a very strange mirror. Reminds me of an episode of Lost In Space (yeah, well…) where there was this entire world behind mirrors…one or two of the crew fell behind a mirror and couldn’t get out. The blog writer is looking in a mirror, primping or doing god-knows-what, and on the other side is this whole other world that can’t be seen, the readers who are looking at you looking at yourself. They may press their faces right up to the glass. It’s that closeness/distance combination that’s so compelling. To be intimate but unseen.

    I also think it’s about these niches that we claim, these bits of psychic real estate we establish. I mean, we do that in real life, but there’s no way to find others who are in the same tribe very easily, geography and social convention being what it is. So in that way it seems we’re evolving a sort of psychic Google capacity aided by the machine — the ability to quickly see into another’s psychic workings without getting all bogged down with “hello” and “nice day, isn’t it?”… All in all it’s a good thing, methinks… didn’t always think so… still struggle with thinking that physically-colocated connections are “truer” than online…Second Life is a mind-fuck (from the outside, anyway — have not done it)…but also have experienced connections online that somehow transcend online-ness, that is, they have a physical reality, too…strange stuff…

  2. alphabetfiend Says:

    I’m still very much a newbie and feeling my way around. My Bot convinced me to try myspace and within days I was reconnected with old friends, many of whom I loved intensely but had somehow lost touch with. So that was emotional and then one of my dearest had been in a horriffic car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury… so that’s one of the main gifts the experience gave me, now I’m able to be there through the long arduous healing process. My theory that myspace somehow keeps you from real friends has crumbled. Tho I still believe that it can be problematic. And I really liked the blogging which surprised me. It seems obvious being a writer and for over a decade friends have been trying to get me to do a blog and I scoffed. Wish I hadn’t. I think it’s the word — “blog” — it’s not very literary sounding. It’s been a fun challenge to try my hand at a new kind of writing (blogging is very much its own kind of writing) about subjects I’d normally never write about like entertainment news or politics. Not ontological anarchy trickster politics but the real american politics that everyone else cares about. Which will probably bore me to death after the election. I hope! We’ll see. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the candy construction, one frosting-spackled wall at a time.

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  4. gammaword Says:

    Before I understood what you meant by “fox trickster” I was noticing how your writing has this surprising quality to it, meaning, it surprises. You turn, you take odd angles, you look at what’s stuck underneath the tabletop, you throw in little word explosions…unexpected and challenging in a playful way. Something about your comment has been percolating, though, and I hope this isn’t too boundary-crossing (though I guess that’s fair…) — why are you writing about subjects you’d normally never write about? Or, put another way — is this the real you or the blog you? I don’t believe that you can’t — as a writer — be startlingly intimate because you’re that way all the time and “no one’s startled anymore.” I think you’d be surprised how many outside your circle would be startled. So write about entertainment news and politics, but don’t forget the other stuff!

  5. alphabetfiend Says:

    Oh, I guess I didn’t express myself clearly. Normally, in my work, I am very intimate and very startling (literary fiction is my baby, magical realism.) Startling in the sense that strange things can occur at any time. A ribcage can open and release a dove. But that kind of writing comes so easy for me. Why am I writing about subjects I’d normally never write about? For the writerly exercise of it… to build a new muscle and see it bulk. For the challenge. For the change. Just to see if I can. But without losing a sense of magic. Is it possible to slip “tricks” into a piece about a television show? Can you discuss a painting while spreading trickster seeds? One of my posts has had over 2000 views in 3 weeks and at first I was bummed cause there’s not even that much to it but then I re-read it and saw the trickster in there and had to grin — ear to ear — because that’s 2000 trickster seeds. It’s no Lewis Hyde piece of genius but it’s trickster seeds that went out to people who weren’t looking for that. Sneaky seeds. What could be more tricky? I don’t mean huckster but I can see that you get that. I’m in mad love with this comment. Thank you so much. What an amazing gift.

  6. alphabetfiend Says:

    No, it’s not always the real me b/c I’m not that snarky or jaded as I can sometimes be when discussing politics … or maybe that’s me when faced with the politics of the day. But normally I don’t care about politics this much. The ludicrous idea of Palin as VP, the election coming up, the dire straits we are in… it’s got me worked up. Normally I bail on political conversations. My kinda politics is more subtle… a psychic or spiritual thing. This being non-fiction (basically little articles) frees me from having to “convey myself.” Every one’s bone death tired of me anyway! But then I read your blog and I can feel what a LIFELINE it is, or a TUNNEL you are digging. That’s intense. Definitely not a writer’s exercise. It’s much more urgent than that. But the trickster in me wants the secret to hurry up and be real. To piss on the couch and shatter the china. I don’t have children so I probably undervalue domestic bliss. Of course! Duh. I just realized why you fascinate me — you are a man standing at a crossroads. The crossroads is the trickster’s domain. I bet you have a lot of trickster energy in your life. Has Hermes snatched your cell phone? Has Ecru been playing peek-a-boo? Be on the look out and when it happens, remember: BE IN ON THE JOKE. That is, laugh yer fool ass off! Unless… oh my… maybe it’s me! Maybe I’m the mess-maker here… in which case I hope yer the one wearing that ear-to-ear now.

  7. gammaword Says:

    You’ve flummoxed me a bit, spun me around, oh messy mess-maker fox trickster. But that was happening when I first found your blog, before the crackling and snapping superstrings, the dead cat, the hair, the — Ecru? Are you kidding me? I can’t even *find* that one…this comment will be jumping around but you will understand, it’s a blitz of impressions & associations from all your comments and more, apologies if it’s a bit mad…I like “crossroads” so much more than the cliched “mid-life crisis,” thank you for that, sends me into dusty boots worn long ago, teenage no-care boy listening to Clapton’s “Crossroads” on Wheels of Fire, heading for a fall…the cat burial reminded me of an earlier dog burial, my childhood lab, black dog in November suburb ground, me digging at the numbness, digging pain, laying my parents’ divorce in the hole and shoveling, shoveling, and here I am digging again… maybe gonna do that to my kids? Yes I looked at your myspace page, yes I admit to boundless (boundary-less) curiosity, a cat crossing into danger…you and I are so completely different…maybe. You are doing your job, you unsettle, unseat, dethrown. You are used to it, used to the startled look, the surprise, the looks askance. Me, I read the eyes and I run, it comes from having been uprooted more than once, the new boy introduced to the class, the staring…and i build tunnels, foxholes…you are fearless, laughing…I’ve read myths but you, you have great long hot baths in them, you drink them, you’ve shared the bread and the wine with the original authors…I write but you — **write** — uncanny tumescent incandescence…I nurse my revolutions as though they will never be ready for the enemy, you come wearing a glitter camo body stocking carrying large bazooka shooting feather pillows filled with live chickens, knowing the enemy R us and we all love a good roast. I know you — you are the other side, the way in, the crossover, the Van Gogh behind the velvet painting…and I have perhaps said too much in your candy condo, or not enough, my tea is getting cold and I must go but I will come back because you left the door open and I like candy.

  8. alphabetfiend Says:

    I’m a freak for Starry Nights, so thank you. I once licked it when the gaurd wasn’t looking. The painting hangs in my hometown, across the street from my old apartment which was haunted when I moved in, and now that I’m gone is haunted BY me. I am shined by the Van Gogh compliment although it’s true that I wouldn’t have minded in the slightest had you called me the velvet painting. I woulda instead said “Thank ya thank ya very much.” I once owned a store called “Velvet Elvis” so I see the charm in that kitch, of the glamour (velvet) that hides the anguish (Vincent.) I am running off to the film fest but wanted to pop off a thank you for … wow, there’s not even time enough to thank you. I’ll be back too, via toadstool-fueled broomstick. Which reminds me — I am in the middle of pimping my page for halloween cause I’m a holiday dork. I tried to do it with finesse and fun but be forewarned — my myspace page is as haunted as that old apartment right now. It’s spooked! I’m not normally so “goth” in my self-presentation. It’s all real and true, certainly, but it’s not my everyday thing to be so so ghosty. I’m sure there are those who would beg to differ. If you see this jot a few lines so when I come back I won’t feel as shy for talking too much… box after chatty box. What do you mean you can’t find that one (Ecru?)? Ah, elusive Ecru.

  9. Ah, too funny…first thought best thought –I originally wrote that you are the velvet behind the Van Gogh but thought it sounded possibly insulting…should’ve known better!

    I saw your myspace page before you changed it — the transition makes perfect sense.

    Ecru — I don’t know what/who that is and everywhere/way I search i just keep getting that damned color.

    Rereading my comment…hmmm…maybe I got too comfortable in your candy condo, starting to speak in tongues again…best thought of as a little gift, a little curio…oh i don’t know. I just don’t know how I would respond if i were you…i have not explained myself here…or rather, this is just a single facet. Ack. I need to go do some work now.

  10. gammaword Says:

    There was some stuff that I actually wanted to say in English before I went off on the dusty boots thing and whatnot…will make another attempt before too long. Meanwhile…you didn’t REALLY lick that painting, did you? It almost doesn’t matter — the image is pricelessly funny.

  11. alphabetfiend Says:

    Yes, I really licked it. I’m synethesiac and at the time, it seemed like I needed to lick it in order to “see” it. But it was just one respectful lick! I didn’t slobber over it. DON’T FORGET TO SAY THAT STUFF! You wanted to take your comment back for a while there, huh? Oh nevah mind that, it’s not a comment it’s a mere curio. If comments could be edited, all those Eshu’s would be fixed up already. If I can’t take back mortifying misspelings, you can’t take back… what ever it is you want to take back.

    Do you want to rip my glitter camo bodysuit from my clutches? No! I love it! Do you want me to hand over my feather-pillow bazookas? Too bad! Mine! All mine! You gave them to me and I’m keeping them.

  12. alphabetfiend Says:

    If you think you were too kind, maybe pumped me up too much, don’t worry — Eshu already fixed that and good.

  13. gammaword Says:

    I won’t forget to say that stuff, can’t. But I’ve got a doomline to deal with (due Thurday midnight) and can’t focus adequately on anything. Doesn’t help that I keep coming back here like a stray.

    I didn’t want to take anything back. On those particular items especially. Just didn’t want you to misconstrue, which would have been easy. It was more the solipsistic quality that bugged me — dancing in the mirror, caught on film, a little self-therapy for all to watch. Did not want you to feel that I was dumping deep darkness on you (the stuff about me) for you to do something with. I wasn’t but, you never quite know how someone is reading something. It also seemed presumptious the degree to which I seemed to be saying I know you, as though you are a myspace page and not a mercurial magical being like all of us. Duh. Of course not.

    But when I get going in this sort of muse-mode things just come out of nowhere and I’ve learned that, well, they aren’t really ever from nowhere, so I let them be. But I’ve also learned that sometimes it happens that when I’ve laid my very favorite slobbered-up chew toy in someone’s lap it can sometimes evince that funny conflicted look that says, yeah, I want to play, and no, there’s no way I’m gonna touch that.

    So enough on that. Thanks for tossing it back.

  14. alphabetfiend Says:

    Best metaphor ever! I’ll be quiet. Go work. I’m going to see a bollywood cartoon love story. Yay!

  15. gammaword Says:

    Ok, I will tell you what I know. Recently I’ve been “letting things in” at some psychic/spiritual level, and I think you know what that means. Living in the zone where strange (string) synchronicities occur regularly, where even a red hand-truck is infused with meaning, where everything signifies and nothing is what it seems. And then you snuck in — and while it’s important to focus straight ahead so as not to squash the squirrel in the road, it’s the sneaky stuff off to the side that tends to whack us and good. I see that you live in that place where myths, dreams, animal totems, magic, and love are all intertwingled, and you live it out loud. I’m totally impressed by that. Drawn to that. But also — what? Fearful? It’s hard to walk to the Halloween side for me. But that in itself — fear — draws.

    You have to understand where I’m coming from here: I don’t know anyone with a tatoo or untoward piercings, my clothes are boring suburb clothes, my house is orderly and big, but — but I’ve been where you are, at least in my wild dreams. I’ve been reaching for that place recently, doing some psychic dumpster-diving, reclaiming broken toys, vaccuming out the shaman’s room. I don’t know if the fox is about to take a crap or not; I feel that maybe it’s me who’s bearing down. You say that the fox trickster in you wants to hurry up the process, piss on the furniture and break the china — I prefer an unfolding, a slow but tectonic shift — not glacial, but I have a personal antipathy towards waste and breakage and glass shards, especially if it involves children cutting their feet. But I see that it may not be up to me entirely. There is movement. I leave myself open to the creatures of the air, of the earth, of the night. You might predict what will happen from that. I like hearing your predictions, don’t mind being challenged — need that, actually.

    Oh and on another note, did I mention —? Not to pump you up all over again just to have Eshu show up again, but — it’s partly *what* you write about, and partly about *how* you do it — I find your writing deliriously wonderful. I said that once but either you’re bringing more of yourself into the blog lately, or I’m seeing more. Sometimes I get into this thing where I think I’ve “seen it all,” that nothing could possibly surprise me — but you do, constantly. Delightful stuff. Usually leaves my head spinning a bit, or — my finger on the globe, never sure if I’ll end up in Iran or Boise when it stops. (BTW, you can’t imagine how many times the words “freeky-deeky” and “redonkulous” clattered around in my head the other day).

    I guess I’ve said what I wanted to. Mostly. I’m never quite done but I’ve chatted up this comment quite enough for now so I’ll go. Maybe I’ll haunt one of your other postings now.

  16. alphabetfiend Says:

    OK. That’s wierd. I was in the middle of writing you, way deep in the middle, and it all just disappeared. Arg. Maybe I was saying the wrong stuff. Now I’m at a bit of a loss as to what the right thing might be. …. I was a child who stood in broken shards. Literally. I thought I was omnipotent and could stop them from swirling into ineveitable chaos. It always kills me when Dr. Phil says, “Never ask a child to be involved in adult situations.” I was in the thick of it, always. I put myself there. But I had to be there. There were too many times when my quick thinking saved the day. So I’m probably the last person who should even suggest shards. It’s the right thing to want to protect the tender soles of your children’s feet. You are so right. I mean, my screen disappeared when I tried to say more than that. But there will come a time when you want to share your brain and your soul with them so doesn’t “living out loud” come into play then?

    It’s not about tattoos. Until recently, I had no ink — just one tiny crown smaller than a quarter that was meant to be like a note I jotted to myself. That this has happened to me is one of my life’s surprises. I never expected it. I didn’t get any major work until after I was 30. My first major piece was the image you’ll see at the corner of this comment. Because it was just too perfect. I met a talented artist and imagery that compelled. I always thought it would take away from the lovely of my skin but instead I felt it tied me in even more. I’ve written about it in my other blog if you’re curious. I have no piercings. Well, two little ear holes I got at 10 years old which have never healed up. Yes, I used my tattoos to tell a story to myself but they’re not integral to my being. Not yet anyway. You’re talking about landscape when mindscape is really the issue.

    You’re at such a juicy place? Don’t you wish you could share it with someone or is this enough?

    Though really, truth be told, it’s none of my damn business. I have a habit of sticking my nose where it don’t belong. It’s not my china to shatter.

  17. gammaword Says:

    Interesting. You maybe imagine that one of my cat-lives be snuffed by hearing the “wrong stuff”…? Ah, how so very tantalizing of you to dangle that little mouse in front of my nose! So you blinked — is it presumptious of me to say that it’s not like you to edit yourself? Or did Eshu do it for you?

    At any rate — some of the china is just downright ugly so it’ll go. I can’t protect my kids from everything. Not healthy. There’s a balance to be struck. You sometimes look at your childhood shards and feel thankful? You wouldn’t be who you are otherwise, right?

    I know it’s not about the tatoos. I was not clear. But it is about living out loud, and you’re right — kids need to see that. I thought a tat is just mindscape on the landscape? And yes of course I’m curious about yours — though I’d never get one myself, I’m fascinated by the desire to do so. Up to you though.

    And then there’s the sound of hammer on nail head — “don’t you wish you could share it with someone or is this enough?” I don’t know how to answer that so it must be a good question. I think the answer is that I’d love to share it with someone but — ack. Dunno about that “but.” Wish I could share it with M but I don’t see that happening. Which complicates. I don’t have a ton of faith in being caught jumping off the trapeze, part of the problem. Oooh, a trust issue? Nah. I’d just rather set up the nets myself, that’s all — but I do need to start jumping a bit.

    Is the blog enough? It’s really, really helpful, and as I’ve said, it’s my little sanctuary…by itself it’s not enough though. It’s what I can pull forward and make loud enough that will count. We’ll see.

    Hmmm. I’m thinking I should start paying you by the hour here. Maybe I can rent space. I’ll be first in line for your book, at least. (You ARE writing a book, aren’t you?)

    peace

  18. alphabetfiend Says:

    The computer (Eshu?) did it for me! I’ve been irritated for days at the things said then unsaid. One of the goodies was about REDONKULOUS clattering around your head. How perfect! That it’s even in my head is crazy enough. How un-literary of me. It think it’s the “donk” like a BONK on the head. And like a big ole booty — bedonkadonk. Ever since I became Plush D my lterary vernacular has gone all to hell. A hip hop alter ego will do that. I wrote a what-if scenario whereby you bust out with a big fat “REDONKULOUS” over dinner. I’d like to be a fly on that classy wallpaper! That was one of the goodies that was lost. But it may have been for the best. As it is I’m sorry if I’ve been unkind about your life and your situation. I think you’re right to think about your kids and their needs. As to your question… I do feel thankful for my childhood. My dad once said that he wishes he had made it work with my mom because she was a member of his tribe and he had no idea rare that was and how lucky he was to find her. I agree. I think they shoud’ve put their substantial energies into fighting FOR one another rather than battling each other. YIELD. They should’ve yielded to their love. Even after they broke up, there was lots of chaos. Although, we still spent holidays as a family. At Christmas she probably misses him the most. They never made other families outside of the one they built together (6 kids. I’m the oldest.) Did you ever see American Beauty? That movie brought me a lot of peace b/c I felt that, of all their fuck ups, they never lost their true selves. What my parents gave me was themselves. Nothing was ever off limits. When my dad died very suddenly at 53 (so young!) there was nothing un-said between us but plenty more to say. We often spoke on the phone for hours a day, the summer before he died we went for sun-rise motorcycle rides together. He KNOWS me, I KNOW him. I had total access to his being. He was shy about his regrets so that was my only surprise afterwards, going through his stuff. I have dreams where I rush up to him and start telling him, “Oh how I love you, let us count the ways, blah blah blah” and he stops me and says, “I know. You made sure I knew. I lived knowing. I know now.” I guess that’s what I was thinking about when I told you that whoever or where ever you are you are their father. Security is great, it would’ve been cool to have more of it but NOT if it meant having less of him. Not if his gorgeous crystalline brain was only dancing in cyberspace. That brain! How I loved that man’s brain! I could write a book about the beauty of his brain. That has taken me farther than anything else could have and it’s what binds me to him still. I’m not implying that you don’t give yourself to your children. I’m thinking about the future, about conversations we had that started at midnight and went on until 10 am because we were waiting for the bookstore to open. Jumped into the car, carrying on the whole way, jumped out of the car, tore through the bookstore after the book he hadn’t read for years and then off to breakfast where he read his favorite parts over toast & eggs. You have an AMAZING mind! If you’re keeping yourself a secret from M how will you reveal the secret to your kids. Won’t she notice when you go tearing out of the house in search of a book? Won’t it hurt her to be left out? Will it be wierd for the kids when they know you better than she does? That’s assuming you figure out HOW to share with them what you can’t share with her. About that — what would happen if you asked M out on a date and just laid it all out? Implored her to come dance with you? Shared your hopes & dreams about growth and mindful connection? Made plans together about how to go about that, had some tantric sex, did some opening up? Maybe write love letters back and forth or read a great book together. Woo her! Give her a chance to reveal herself. The way I see it, you almost have to do this before you do anything else. Especially since you say you’d love to have that and with her. If you TRY TRY TRY and she doesn’t go for it then at least you’ll know you really tried and she won’t be totally blindsided if you decide you need more. You’ll be saying “Look, I’m on this path… I’m surprised to be here but here I am. Will you walk with me?” If she says no and you keep walking, she’ll have had some say in it. She’ll know what happened and why. At worst. Best case scenario — you fall in love for the first time. Just an idea.

  19. alphabetfiend Says:

    As to tats … what’s up to me? Getting them? Sharing them?

    How often do you come to the candy condo? I am wondering if someone else is hanging out. If our chatter has attracted attention. If so, don’t be shy! Feel free to join in. Throw yer 2 cents into this jar fulla pennies.

  20. alphabetfiend Says:

    I just read my comment to RB finishing with the question, “That’s constructive non-homewrecker advice right?”

    He shrugged. “Sure. … It’s kind of a tall order… it’s hard to get all that even if you’re on the same wavelength.”

    So maybe I can already see your reply… exasperation on where to fit all that in while trying to raise kids etc stc stc, or what if she rolls her eyes at “mindful connection” or “tantric sex” cause it does seem rather twitty via words…

    and then there’s the vulnerability and the net you didn’t build and trust/lack thereof…

    don’t you need to know if she’s gonna roll your eyes at your soul? (Assuming you’ve made time and space for the sharing. Even “soul” sounds twitty while loading the dishwasher.) Someone has to be the one to yield. Someone has to put on the redonkulous cape and save the day!

  21. gammaword Says:

    Man oh man. I’m chewing on all you said. Several super-sized meals there.

    Thank you. Not a polite ‘thank you’ but a real, honest-to-god from the heart full-on gratefulness thank you. I need to chew for a bit but just wanted to say that. I’ll post on my blog about some of this because it’ll probably be getting a little lengthy for a comment (and I hate this little comments box, it’s so stifling), and will post some back here, but it might be a day or two. (Context: i work full-time, i’ve got the kids, and i’m doing a degree program in computer science at Harvard that sucks up many of the wee hours — and these blog explorations have become in some ways more urgent than any of it right now. You can imagine my time is limited. There are comments you’ve made that I still haven’t responded to, at least not directly, but I appreciate every single one of them. And I do NOT at all — not at all — feel that you have been unkind about my situation. Far to the contrary. Nobody has any right to expect the amount of kindness you have sent me already — it’s such a gift. Please know that I don’t take that lightly).

    As to the easy to answer stuff — I only come here to either write a comment or read yours, so if you’re getting traffic, it’s probably because the number of comments attracts attention. (And my hits would probably show up as coming from my dashboard). So, yes — anybody wanna leap in to the bucket? As for tats — I was referring to your comment about having written about yours on your “other blog” and I was just saying that if you want to share that it’s up to you (i don’t know which other blog you’re referring to — would it be obvious if I were to think about it?).

    btw — maybe it’s obvious from what I write about but I don’t think I’ve ever actually mentioned tantric sex, but it’s sort of been there in the back of my mind ever since I started the blog. funny you should mention it.

  22. alphabetfiend Says:

    Yes, very obvious were you to think of it.

    And yes, obvious that you are reaching for something more and that is a good way to reach. Personally I’ve always been too lazy to learn.

  23. gammaword Says:

    Tantric sex: tried it a few times with MH but my problem was not laziness so much as the inherent difficulty of reading a book while steering a small boat over a waterfall.

  24. alphabetfiend Says:

    Well, it seems like once you study it then you can put the book down and GO TO TOWN so to speak. I’m in a dorky mood, probably not the best time to talk tantric. I got really interested in tantric sex back when I had an obsessive crush on a man I called my Indian Love God… not just because his chai-tea skin made him the ideal foray into tantric sex but also because we had this crackling connection. The day we met he took one look at me and uttered the word “kismet.” But jumping-of-bones would have been hugely naughty so much so that it was impossible. sigh. In the height of my Indian Love God fervor I had a “friend” who’d just returned home from ren-fair camp and she asked me in this sugar-coated ick voice, “Have you ever had tantric sex?” and was I like “Noooo,” you dumbass, you know damn well because I’ve been blabbing about it for weeks, about wanting to with the ILG and she purrs, “Oh. I have.” It was all I could do to not wrap my hands around her throat and strangle her. You don’t get to go off to ren-camp and screw some geek in a tent and call that tantric sex, having never cracked a book, knowing nothing about it. I think it’s a process, a pursuit, a STUDY. That said, I believe in it as a possibilty having experienced things that veered in that direction.

  25. alphabetfiend Says:

    I KNOW you didn’t mean it this way but I felt a bit like the blabbermouth chickadee getting her wrist slapped for taking up the busy man’s precious time… I was off-put even tho it’s just me and I KNOW it … so I didn’t say what I should’ve said, what I meant to say, which is don’t feel obliged to be in a conversation that crowds. Cause I really am just a blabbermouth and over-wordy writer chick! Also I’m new to blogging and internet etiquette in general. I’m feeling my way in the dark. I wont take it personally. In fact I have a consciousness about real life vs cyber life.

  26. gammaword Says:

    Ack! Last thing in the world I wanted to convey. I don’t feel crowded at all. The only reason I said that was because I didn’t want you wondering where I’d gone, or thinking that I didn’t care to answer or talk…so much to the contrary. I’m chatty, too, if you hadn’t noticed. With a cyber conversation you don’t get those normal cues about the other person, so I wanted to convey a sense of the rhythm you could expect because there’s nothing like lobbing a good one across and……waiting. Zzzzzz. Is he dead? You drop a rock into the well and — there’s no splash! I probably should’ve said it differently — after I posted it, it bothered me and it felt misaligned.

    (btw, i adore chickadees — “fur real”).

  27. […] is fitting considering that I met G*Word after we took bites of one another’s gingerbread houses. Which is different than “brick house” as in “she’s got a brick […]

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