THE NEWS:

As of a couple of days ago I now have a totally bitchin’ Mohawk, so I think it’s pretty obvious some things are going to be changing for me. Sometimes you have to let Eris borrow the car. You do. I knew that as a young man and am relearning it today. While my wife and daughter were visiting family in Florida this last week I had the privilege of going out drinking with some super-cool black dudes. And while yes that last statement might be considered just left of racist (On MLK parade day no less), I can report back that it was both something I’ve never done before and an extremely refreshing experience. Now as Mohawks go that’s neither here-nor-there – just another seemingly random thing I did. Also none of my new chums believed I’d actually get the nuts up to take on such an absurdly dickish hairdo, so surprising them was also fun. What’s important is the never done before bit. I’ve had a little taste of that sweet and scary confection this past week and had forgotten how delightfully addicting it can be. Sure a Mohawk on anyone in this day and age, much less a 30+ year old man (errr … Croation woman), is sound evidence of a butt-fucking dickface. I get that. It is after-all half, or even a good deal more than half, of the outrageously pleasing point. But this must be acknowledged: Mohawks look cool on little boys and anachronistic punk rock chicks. Mr. T has pulled it off all these years because he’s crazy and willful. No other reason. If you’re not a child or an already pretty cute young lady who just discovered the Sex Pistols, excellent chance the Mohawk isn’t going to be a good look for you. I’m saying stuff.

So that (to use a Richard Dawkins coinage that I hate ) is the meme,  chaos. I’m a month off course of the true Zodiac, but Pisces owns my (h)air with her whirling fishies anyhow. She being the many splendo(u)red sign of change, and the last of the always formidable water Nyads. It should be seen as no accident that astronomers, both modern and otherwise, placed these powerful discordian water signs out in the farthest reaches of our known solar system when naming things that circle our star while spinning: Eris and Neptune. Out by the celestial wild west of the Oort cloud’s cusp, frozen but free.

That’s some excitingly frisky nonsense I just typed. Much better than: ran 6 miles today in blahBblah and :65436763546 seconds. Foot hurt, used ice. Speaking of nonsense, perhaps now would be a good time to go into my daily (Meaning 3-4 times per. week – whenever I say daily it should be understood that this is what I mean) spiritual practice. Yes, I’m also a very lazy guru. A spiritual guide of extremely limited magic and motivation. Remember, the only Zen you’ll find at the top of the mountain is the Zen you bring up there. Which also happens to be true of anything else you might carry and any other similar ascendable peak: the only cheeseburgers you’re going to find on top of your house are the ones you bring up there. See? How’s that? Half a paragraph deep and I’m already dropping some insanely heavy wisdom. Try this little quote:  ”Don’t go looking for stuff where you’re not sure it will be. Instead, bring the stuff with you! That way you’re sure to have it when you get somewhere” ~Yosef Barbo Wow! I’m fucking nailing it today!!! That ones going in a book of quotations. Eat me, Winston Churchill! Get your fat, dead ass out of that tomb and enjoy the penis and butthole I’ve prepared for you in my underpants. Snarky dead cunt!

… but of course also a brilliant statesman. England did not become Germany Part Zwo, and that pompous dickface had a lot to do with it. Respect!

SPIRITUAL PRACTICES:

My current spiritual practice is very simple and rewarding. In fact, if you were so inclined to try it, you could literally start today without any extra preparation and probably have a pretty fun experience. Yes, I’ll describe it to you as if teaching it to you. While unlikely, the assumption is harmless. So this is what you’ll need for the practice, rapt disciple:

1. Between 15 – 30 minutes of absolute solitude. Good chance you’ll only need the low-end, but keep a half hour clear for safety sake.

2. A notebook and reliable pen or pencil.

3. A watch, clock or even cell phone; something portable that tells time.

4. A spot on the floor that you can sit.

That’s all you need. Easy, right? Now down to business.

The first thing you’ll want to do is assume the half-lotus on the floor spot you’ve previously selected.

Worried that you don’t know how to meditate? Don’t. Either nobody knows how to meditate or there is nothing to know. All I want you to do is sit in a position roughly similar to the clay monster above, with your eyes open (only slightly open if that is more comfortable for you) and your portable time keeping device positioned somewhere you can easily glance at it. While seated try hard to clear your mind of thought, but don’t get frustrated if that proves difficult. A good way to quiet a busy ego is to focus on breathing. Counting breathes can help. And even repeating something internally like: this is my breath going into me ’1′ this is my breath coming out of me ’1′ this is my breath going into me ’2′ this is my breath coming out of me ’2′. Sound tedious? Oh it can be, sometimes unendurably so, but you only owe 10 minutes to start so just try to relax into it. On a typical sit, if my mind and body prove responsive, I’ll lower my rate of respiration from around 12 per minute to 6-8, and my pulse will fall into the 50′s – even once or twice the high 40′s. I’ve also been able to disconnect my breath focus, but that took some practice so don’t worry about that out of the gate. None of that last shit is important actually, I’ve just recorded it for my own amusement. Ignore the bookkeeping, just focus on breath.

After meditating do your level best to get your notebook and writing utensil. Your mind and body will be slow to respond to these prompts, so don’t be surprised if it takes you a while. Once obtained, get back to your spot on the floor and write as fast as humanly possible for 5 minutes. This is called automatic writing, and it is probably the exact opposite of Zen meditation. There is really nothing procedural for me to teach you. Just try hard to lift your mental filter and pour out 5 minutes of handwriting as fast as you can. Everything you’ve got!

A couple of warnings:

A. If you’re doing the writing correctly your brain will put down some things without your permission, and some of those things you may not like. That’s just the way it goes … if there is anything to learn in the process it is within those dark secrets.

B. In all probability after meditation you will only be able to write at about half (maybe a little more) of your normal handwriting blitz speed. That can be very frustrating, but try not to brood on it. Any little hang-up like that can (not will, just can) pollute your output. You’ll catch yourself writing something like: whywontmyhandworkwhywontmyhandworkwhywontmyhandwork over and over again. Unproductive stuff. and if interest demands as much, you are of course free to do an automatic writing session without meditating first. You’ll find the experience much different, though no less rewarding.

So why do this anyway? Well, like the late great prophetic poet William Blake, I believe the entire point of a personal spiritual journey is to seek  the stuff people are made of, human fiber over the divine. I’m indifferent to the topic of god … or, no. That isn’t true. I’m very interested in god, it just doesn’t have a lot to do with my exploration. I believe that most people (myself heartily included!) have a limited understanding of who or even what we are – a troubling hypothesis on my part when considering how vehemently many in our world claim to understand the whimsy of our creator. However, unlike our lord, there are methods, or at least hypothetical methods, for discovering some knowledge of our inner-space. I believe my little experiment is just such a method and I’d like to offer a sample of my writing for your inspection.

Spoiler Alert: a large percentage of what is to follow will be utter Jabberwocky. I picked the most benign recent sample I could find, many of the others are highly sensitive and/or upsetting to virtually any and everyone. Also, to borrow Freudian jargon, this is really about gaining access to the Id while awake; ergo, much of what will be perceived gibberish to you is really something of a highly specific cypher to the writer (me). In other words, this example is a novelty. It can show you something like what might come out of you in this exercise, nothing more. Enjoy!

Automatic Writing: 01.14.11

What is automatic writing? The automatic, automatic? Is it coffee? Is it a coffee place? Is it a coffee and question mark place today? I am here on the floor. the carpet churns chocolate-colored snowflakes at me. I am on them as though falling. My notes are white against the milk chocolate spiral. I’m thinking in Tarot: King of Swords, Four of Cups. Penis and quadrilateral vagina. I have my watch and my coffee. I owe 5 minutes. This is thesis writing, automatically. I am on the ground and the pressure is slowing my hand. The pressure of gravity and an awkward body position combined.

I am a believer in the handwriting, the automatic handwriting. On a computer I would not be able to see how I’ve accentuated ‘ground’ and ‘vagina’. Also ‘accentuate’ and ‘a question’ have been altered. Though perhaps I just don’t write the word ‘accentuate’ free hand enough? It looks funny. Like a rolling centipede. questions!

So that’s automatic writing – 5 minutes worth a few days back.  nothing outlandish there … maybe 200 words, maybe less. Please give my experiment a shot and report back. I know you wont, but if you did I’d like to hear about it.

Alsoalsoalso, in closing and unrelated: two days ago I ran 17 miles pretty easily in 3 hours with a lot of stops (bathroom, coca cola). It was a great run and good confidence booster. That’s all you’re getting for fitness updates. Suck dog farts. Do it. If you don’t have a dog I’m sure you can borrow one. Grab that little beast, get to squeezing on his tummy, and play him like a squirming set of bagpipes. You’re a fart sucker, don’t let me tell you your business. Just get to work!

This blog is long and helps no one with anything. I am maybe 32 days from the Marathon … I’ll get back on that soon. Yes. That is my intention. Perhaps tonight even … perhaps not.

Good morning blogosphere!

Y~

Gym: This morning I did some nice lifting, felt strong albeit hungry and slightly dizzy from the new diet.

Bench presses @ 160 x 3, 190 x 3, 210 x 6 (like yesterday’s, this is really showing two small warm-up sets and one serious test set. Hit 6 reps at 210 lbs, certainly not the strongest I’ve ever been but it was hard ass work and I came by it honestly.)

Alternated Wide grip pull-downs (120 lbs.) and push-ups, 10 reps per set, 5 sets of each, minimal rest between. Did them as quickly as my tired, aging body would allow and derived a lot of pleasure from the raw self-inflicted misery. And I also did some other assistance crap that isn’t really worth mentioning. Oh yeah, and I hit my new favorite: Tabata Bike Heart Attack Machine!

This video sucks but if you’d like a visual of what I’m doing on the bike, well, here ya’ go:

Running: 5.5 miles in 51:31, which works out to about a 9:25 pace. Today’s goal was to run half as far as yesterday @ roughly the same tempo, which, despite some heavy legs, I was able to improve upon without too much stress. A good solid run. And an interesting statistical aside: my running for the last 6 days (one of which I simply didn’t run at all) totals to almost exactly 26.2 miles (a marathon) in about 4 hours and 15 minutes. So if in the next 44 days I can figure out how to condense that work into one single effort of similar length I’ll enjoy a successful race day! Sound impossible? Yeah, well, like you don’t know everything, so there!

Body weight is holding at a cool 205, and my meditation practice is no longer … umm … well it’s a practice again, so that’s good. Let’s move on to New Year’s Resolutions.

Resolution Solution!

My good friend and blogger, mommyk8 holds an excellent blog down right there. Right where I’ve turned her handle purple back a few words. Click that and you’ll read of an ambitious woman tackling many intimidating trials in the coming year. She’s done this sort of thing in the past and it always proves an entertaining chronicle. Similarly my brother in-law, good friend, and also blogging enthusiast, B.D.J. has decided to throw his hat into the circle and post an equally ambitious list of personal goals to be had within the next 360ish days. As you’ve undoubtedly noticed I have also turned his internet moniker purple, thereby showing you how to read what I read. So if I’ve turned just one drunken pervert or Ryan Reynolds stalker onto either of these fine blogs I’ll know I’ve done good work today.

Okay, so another reason why I’ve highlighted my good pal’s blogs here is to illustrate by way of comparison how pathetic and easily achievable my Resolutions clearly are. A good example: I’d like to get my driver’s license. mommyk8′s going to write a novel, master stand-up comedy, and knit both sweaters and caps for everyone she’s ever met in her entire life (you can hold off on mine until next November or so - pretty warm here in Georgia.). Jeremy on the other hand intends to become a yogi, run 100,000 miles, and eat nothing all year he doesn’t grow with his own two hands out of his family garden. Did I mention both these turkeys already have their drivers licenses?!? Yeah!

So it could be that none of that is true. I can’t be 100% at this point. I mean the people are real but the rest is hazy. Check the links out and get back to me. Anyway my resolutions, I’ve only got a couple so here we go:

1. I’d like to read some new books and write a few reviews on this thing here. This is something I’ve done before and really got a lot out of it. And yeah, let’s shoot for 50 books. A number is a number. They help sometimes, they do. 50 seems like a lot. Will I hit that many? Probably not. So what? 40 and 30 aren’t very sexy numbers. 25 is okay, but I’d hit that in my sleep. Gotta’ try for 50.

2. I’d like to get started on writing my own damn novel and post some of that up on this blog too. This is also something I’ve tried in the past, but with less success. I’ve done a little math on my prose output and figure a solid rough draft will take me about 3 (maybe even 5) years to put together, so that doesn’t make a ton of sense as a resolution. Still, numbers! Numbers are logical, they keep you on track, force you to face deadlines. Hmmmmmm? How about this: one new prose post (as in new fiction) per month as a show of good faith that I am actually working towards a theme (if for no one but myself). That seems reasonable enough.

I’d add something about writing poetry and reading it out on the town too, but I’m going to do that anyway. See it’s not really a challenge because I already very much want to do it and am fully prepared to skip out on other more important things to continue with it, i.e. feeding and bathing the child. You can’t make a resolution to continue doing something you already love doing. Drinking beer and watching conspiracy documentary films on Netflix wouldn’t make sense as a resolution, which is really sad because it’s awesome and easy to do.

3. I’d like to get Crossfit certified as a personal trainer. I don’t even know that I want to become a personal trainer, but there’s a whisper in my ghost and it’s saying I need to go and check this shit out up close. So I’m going to try. I guess no numbers for this one though … maybe sometimes numbers are shit? I don’t know. Let’s just say by 1.1.12 I should have already gone and taken the course or I’m an awful liar. Yeah, I’m comfortable with that.

4. The car thing. Yes. You can all find something new to bitch about behind my back (har har!). I will strive to drive!

So that’s all I’ve got for tonight. Rereading my resolutions, they’re actually pretty lofty – I mean except for the driving thing; nearly any brain-dead, dip-shit teenager can do that. One at a time they’re not too intimidating but all together they really represent a lot of work. I imagine that’s why we gravitate towards this masochistic little ritual year after year. It’s thrilling, even in failure it is somehow delightful to review these lists. I don’t want to get into it too deeply right now, but there is something excellently satisfying about coming up short on something (doesn’t really matter what) and knowing at your core that it was entirely your own fault. A sick warm rush, like crapping in the bath tub! You are guilty, and as your punishment you must now stew in that poop soup!

Good night dear readers. It is late. I must now sleep. Sorry if this is all nonsense but proofreading a blog post at 3 a.m. is an asinine chore that i will not be participating in.

cheers

y~

http://crossfitlove.com/2011/01/03/day-1-the-30-day-paleo-challenge/

the link should answer any questions you have about the diet pretty succinctly. That’s what I’ll be doing for the next 30 days, part and parcel for my fast approaching and perhaps well under prepared February Marathon. Will a strict caveman diet aid me in this great struggle or cost my dearly? Stay tuned for future updates on just that!

In other news, I had a real crap week of running. Totaled fewer miles all week than I’ll be expected to cover on race morning, so that isn’t encouraging. Here’s the rundown:

DAY 48: Friday December 31st

Running: 10k (6.2 miles) barefoot, best barefoot effort in a while. No music, no distractions, just me and several thousand foot falls. Thought a lot about form and turnover. Neither pushing too hard or too soft. A perfect run, and the only even adequate one I had for several days thereafter.

That evening I busted my ass wide open on one of the worst nights at the Pink House, ever! (both from anecdotal history lessons by coworkers and from my own limited personal experience) And subsequently got very drunk to bring in the New Year and beat down my job related angst. Good for training? Not at all!

DAY 47: Saturday January 1st

Did jack-shit for exercise and enjoyed a diet of Tylenol and antacids besides. I have nothing else funny to say … just didn’t do anything.

DAY 46: Sunday January 2nd

Running: 20 minutes of nothing, bullshit barefoot work. A lame effort with no good excuse behind it. Once again I can add nothing humorous or meaningful … I was very grumpy and did little.

Day 45/1: Monday January 3rd (Fuckin’ today, fool!)

First day of the Paleo challenge and my first night off from work in a long while. Was feeling good all day and very much enjoyed the clean eating. It is now 1 a.m., and I’ve had no serious cravings or difficulty with the restrictions. Also, I learned that sweet potatoes are Paleo; which proved an extremely welcome and satisfying addition to my evening meal. I’m sure you couldn’t possibly give a shit, but I promise you a steaming hot sweet potato is a huge step up from a cup each of raw carrot and fart igniting broccoli. Someday, when you begin your quest for a sexy midriff, you’ll heed this excellent if a tad boring diet advice and be well on your way to achieving my highly coveted and supremely sexy shirtless swagger because of it. It’s a dream you have, and a very unrealistic one, but not impossible if you do exactly what I say when I say it. This is solid gold, A+ shit I’m just tossing at ya’ for free. You’re welcome!

Gym: Nothing too insane. The usual crossfit warm-up that I like plus a few sets of Overhead Squats @ 70 lbs. x 3, 80 x 3, 90 x 5 (really two semi-heavy warm up sets and a max effort test. Very happy to hit 5 reps, I’m really pretty weak at this movement and that paltry sum represents a personal best.)

Also hit some leg extensions and leg curls, both @ 105 lbs, both for 5 reps and 5 sets, no rest between. Way too easy by the way, I’ll have to mess with that load next week. After that I did some other gay and very random crap that I didn’t even bother to write down – because apparently even me ‘in the moment’ thought it was lame – and hit another nice Tabata Bike session which are really starting to pay off.

Running: 10.5 (maybe even 11) miles in 1:41:53, and let’s call that somewhere in the 9:40-9:50 per mile pace. My target time was to go just slightly below 10 per., and I hit exactly what I was aiming for. Afterwards I did some very intense stretching and icing of the old ankles. Really took it seriously this evening and am excited to get a days worth of solid self-maintenance under my belt. Tomorrow I’ll attempt to keep that ball rolling, which reminds me: it’s tomorrow right now and I owe my anguished spirit a significantly neglected zazen plop down. No that isn’t street slang for scat play, it means I need to take 15 – 20 and get reacquainted with the higher me who’d just as soon skip watching every holiday restaurant goer in Savannah die screaming. You know, that guy.

So all for tonight! Tomorrow (hopefully) I’ll try to get some New Year’s goal type things up in this total-lack-of-reading-pleasure having bitch! Either look forward to that or suck a living cougars dick … either type, be it the famed and very dangerous mountain lion variety or an older but still attractive woman – actually, no, transvestite; because with the dick you’ll be sucking on my request we’re going to have to go she-male cougar – who has a predilection for much younger men, i.e. boys, i.e. you! Take your pick. Bring a male cougar to climax with your face and we’re square you and me. Done and done.

Sleep tight. Business is expected to lighten significantly this week at the Pink House, so with luck I’ll be able to cultivate a better attitude in correlation to its decline. Happy Fucking New Year whatever the case.

cheers

y~

Over the last three years you’ve been a friend to me and more when I’ve needed you most! We’ve logged over a thousand miles together, from sorrowful death-marches to a thankless job through brutal Maine nor’easters, to epic 20+ mile training runs for my first ultramarathon. I love you, now defunct Ipod. And while that testament isn’t very Buddhist of me, I make it anyway without hesitation or embarrassment. You were easily the finest personal music device I’ve ever owned. The idea of replacing you honestly makes me feel a little sick to my stomach … where do you go from here? What place is there for you now that your light might travel to? I’d like to see you providing the soundtrack pleasure (with my excellent playlist) for retired Commadore 64′s and first Gen car phones, perhaps somewhere North of Eden, or some new diagonal invented by the god of egoless toys; a magical place of anthropomorphic semi-obsolete cyborgs,  where you may enjoy all the smart phone virgins you can eat! I’m gonna’ miss you, ol’ friend.

DAY 52: Monday December 27th

4 maybe 4.5 mile run w/ 3 x 1 mile intervals. Miles went as such: 8:23, 8:32, 8:35. Jogged at about a 10 min. mile between intervals. Ended up working a little too hard between sets and perhaps not hard enough on the actual sets. All in all though not a bad workout.

DAY 51: Tuesday December 28th

5.25 miles in 48:38. Little irritated with myself after this run. Once again I failed to pay attention to what I was doing and ended up screwing my pace. Was aiming for a recovery run pace of around 10 min. mile, in hopes of being fresh for a longish tempo run later in the week. Instead I accidentally ran closer to tempo pace and ended up having semi-dead legs the next day. Booooh!

DAY 50: Wednesday December 29th

Gym: Finally got back into the weight room. Did a nice hard deadlift workout:

I hit these numbers: 135 x 5, 195 x 5, 225 x 5, 255 x 5!!! (very painful) The rest of the workout wasn’t interesting – pullups, abs, yaddayadda. Nice to get some blunt force trauma on the ol’ skeleton though.

Running: Barefoot 5k, 29:10. Easy peasy puddin ‘n’ pie.

DAY 49: Thursday December 30th

Running: 1 mile @ 10:30 pace, very fucking frustrating! Had intense foot pain and searched all around the park for someone to rape and murder for revenge. Hit the foot w/ ice and heat as often as I could for the rest of the day.

Gym: Ended up having a pretty good workout despite failed running attempt.

Dumbbell military press: 45 x 3, 50 x 3, 55 x 3

Plus pullups and dips for time, and a gnarly Tabata bike session. Also attempted another sad little mile on the treadmill, 9:40 pace, awful pain.

So that’s a eulogy and a couple of days worth of exercise. My bodyweight has held nicely @ 205ish, which is good considering I’ve been drinking lots of beer and eating many sweets at work. Not tonight but tomorrow, tomorrow I’ll update again on a fun lil’ diet challenge I’m entering and some other related New Year’s noise.

So until then suck a  duffle bag full of fat ones!

cheers

Y~

DAY 57

Recovery barefoot run. 20 min., 2(ish miles) Nothing fancy.

DAY 56

Long run: 11.5 miles, 2 hours flat. This run wasn’t what it should have been. I was aiming for 12 in 2 hours and came up a little short totally by accident. should i be logging a more significant long run at this stage of the game? Yes, If I didn’t have a 10 hour shift @ an extremely busy restaurant directly afterwards. Conservative distance, conservative effort; and I’m still healthy because of it. No regrets.

P.S. Ended up running a little slower than planned because I was enjoying some excellent tunes on the ol’ Ipod and forgot what my motivation was. Listened to two hours of Joanna Newsome while running and enjoyed every second of it:

DAY 55

Barefoot 5k (3.1 miles)/ recovery, 30 minutes. Was a little hung over from a bout of post work rage drinking, and sliced the bottoms of my feet up on some nice ice patches in the shadow of the Live Oaks surrounding the park. Felt like a fucking werewolf and maybe even howled like one. Hard to know for sure!

DAY 54

1.5 mile run in 13 min. Very busy couple days, but had to get something in for mental health purposes … in fact, yes, this was Christmas! Jesus I’m all screwed up. Seems like a 1,000 years ago at this point. Christmas proved to be the 2nd busiest day in Pink House history. The first being this last Thanksgiving. So yeah, work was a 9 hour-long soul crushing abomination. The devil fucked my every hole, rung me out, and re-fucked them all dry. What more can I say?

DAY 53

No fucking running at all. I took a shower and thought about the life I’ve chosen.

The week’s summary: 31 miles in 5 hours total. A little shorter than I’d hoped. Probably another hour of running on top of this weeks effort would have been best, but shit, all-in-all not too bad. In the next week I’ll aim for around 40 miles @ about the same average pace – call that 9:45ish per mile.

So that’s what I’ve been up to. I realize this edition of my blog is shit but my spirit has been completely broken by work. I’ll try harder tomorrow, scout’s honor.

y~

10 min. meditation:

1 cup of coffee deep, and perfect a.m. quiet. Went to my ‘no-murderous-rage’ place and remained there easily and without interruption. Pulse: 53 b.p.m. (low but not surprisingly so). Body Weight: 206. And yes, that was slightly troubling. I was somewhat cavalier concerning my history with rapid weight loss yesterday. Six pounds in two days isn’t exactly a medical emergency, but it is certainly something one should be cautious about.  Some possible ideas:

A. New diet is the likely culprit. Change in focus to more fresh, whole vegetables has thrown my usual electrolyte balance out of whack. I very probably have consumed vastly less salt than usual in the last 48 hours, and because of this have probably dropped a few pounds of water. Added to that a few more frequent trips to the thrown via same vegetable villians and we have a neat little answer to a 48 hour 6 lb weight loss.

B. Aside from the water and/or intestinal refuse weight, I’m possibly simply not getting enough calories. New diets – in an ironic twist – often breed low motivation for eating approved diet foods. Hence, though you may be hungry, the idea of eating 2 cups of raw carrots and an unseasoned chicken breast just isn’t doing anything for you. Neither A or B are serious issues, though they require a proactive hand. If simple weight loss was my goal I’d ignore the problem until i suffered more substantial physical side-effects. But performance is my aim. I need to run, run hard, and get well from these hard runs so that I might then run hard again later. None of which is possible if you’re in caloric or hydration debt.

C. So it’s a slightly extreme weight fluctuation … stop being a fucking girl!

Those are pretty much the three theories I have so far, and because during this training cycle I’ve decided to behave like an enormous pussyfart I’m therefore ignoring option “C”; and taking immediate action against A & B. How did I do this? I ate some bacon, munched several clementines, enjoyed a savory cheeseburger (no bun),  had many handfuls of salted cashews, and drank an 8 – 16 oz glass of H2O every time I was near a thing that could provide me with water. The result: felt fucking awesome all day and ran like a warrior poet (which just so happens to be literally who and what I truly am) this evening. Now if tomorrow when I wake the scale reads 202 I’ll probably have to go to the E.R. and see about getting the worms removed, but as of right now I have no complaints.

With that covered let’s move forward into my many extraordinary athletic feats performed this day. Oh, but first a short query to you my loyal readers. Something I’ve been puzzling over all day – Ahem!

Q: What is the relationship between fitness and health?  Seriously I’d like to know what you think. Is there a direct 1 – 1 correspondence, are they merely strong corollaries, or is the relationship weaker than that? Is it possible that the ‘fitness industry’ is a complete fraud when it comes to true wellness? The answer seems obvious at first, but really think about it. I know that I defame you often, intrepid reader, but I really do value your opinion. Any feedback on this topic would delight me. I’m honestly undecided at this point.

Gym:

Overhead Squats: 65lbs x 5, 75 x 5, 85 x 5

Machine leg extensions @ 105lbs: 5, 5, 5, 5, 5
Machine leg curls @ 90lbs: 5, 5, 5, 5, 5

Once again, those last two lifts were done in an alternating fashion w/ zero rest between sets.  Also managed another bike Tabata. starting to get the hang of them, though nowhere near as traumatizing as the treadmill variety.

Running:

Same exact run as yesterday only done almost 3 minutes faster. I’ll call this a tempo effort even though it wasn’t done at a true tempo speed. (For my current running level a good hard tempo run should be around an 8:30-[maybe]8:15 pace) So I covered 10k (6.2 miles) in 56:36. Call that a 9:00 pace, maybe a little slower. Not my best effort, but on heavy legs with howling dogs where my otherwise normal human feet should be? I’ll take it!

That’s all I’ve got for you. I can’t be writing short story length blogs ever fucking day. You get a fucking hobby, yeah, why don’tcha’!?! Here, please enjoy this music video at the minimum. I feel bad and want to give you something fun to at least look at.

p.s. listen to Larry Lelonde come in on the guitar at about the 0:15 point … jesus, it’s like he can’t even hear the other guys in the band. Maybe never even heard music before at all. They just found him in a cave somewhere and was like “come on guy who knows nothing, you’re the new guitarist for Primus!” If you had met me in 1993 I would’ve had a lot to say about this to you .

cheers

Y~

But Yosef … you’re not Italian? Why not a German Merman Countdown? Or something involving Croatian she-males? Wouldn’t that be more accurate?  My answer:

Yeah! That shut your stupid ass up!!! I’m summoning the awesome power of Sly Stallone! Eat it Gainesville Marathon, you are about to become my very submissive bitch!

So long story short(er): my ‘hit whoring’ days are over for a little while. The next two months worth of posts will be more frequent, very likely shorter, and involve almost no genitalia content. Exercise, running, bodyweight, rep ranges, miles and pace – that’s my new devotional path, stuff the global populace usually isn’t googling while drunk at 2:00 am. Boring, un-fun shit. You get it.

So before the joyless nitty-gritty a word on diet:

I’ll be using the Paleo method with as few cheats as I can possibly get away with. Actually no, Paleo isn’t exactly right. I don’t specifically really know what the Paleo-diet is all about. I have a general sense of it, and I’ve just taken that general knowledge and applied it like I know what I’m doing … come to think of it that’s how I approach a lot of things. I’m an autodidact with a troubled past and shaky mental health at best, I don’t do form and  structure. What do you want from me anyway? Basically this is what I’ll eat: meat, vegetables, fruit, nuts, eggs, some cheese and uhhhh maybe a little salad dressing if I absolutely need the flavor. It’s an easy diet. Bread, pasta and potato are the only food products I really miss. Oh, and I drink coffee and water, some tea and maybe a little diet soda if my sweet tooth is going fucking nuts.

So that’s that. If you’d like a little more real info on the Paleo-diet look here: http://www.thepaleodiet.com/faqs/ I got time to teach you how to eat right, fatty? I don’t. Make your own less than 10-minute internet search and pretend you’re an authority!

My philosophy on dieting is this: probably any halfway sensible plan will work if you can stick with it. Ergo, the important determining factor when choosing a diet isn’t promised weight loss but personal conceivable execution. I like Paleo, it’s easy for me, it works pretty well – you do what you like. Once, a long time ago, I used the Fat Smasher Diet by Dr. Ian Black. And that was super effective and very unpleasant. I lost nearly 50 lbs in 90 days; though on even days I’d suffer profound, torrential diarrhea, while odd days offered a bowel passing similar to what I’d imagine birthing a Janesport backpack bursting with stone age tools might feel like. So if you’re prepared to pay that heavy a toll to shed a few pounds, do the Fat Smasher. I’m not. I’m getting old. I don’t bounce back from those kind of digestive molestation experiences like I once did. Paleo is slower but it works just fine, and you never turn around after a #2 expecting to find a bowl spilling over with fresh butthorn gore.

Now on to the gross motor chronicle:

60 DAYS

10-15 min. meditation: Pulse a steady 60 b.p.m., ipso facto. Body weight @ 212. I meditate almost every day for something in the 10-30 minute range. It does good things for the brain and I’d recommend it for any and everyone. But who doesn’t already know this? Need a lecture on the oldest, battle tested spiritual practice in the world from me? You do not!

Gym:

Dumbbell standing military press: 40 x 5, 45 x 5, 50 x 5

Wide-grip Cable Pulldown w/ 110: 10, 10, 10, 10, 10
Body Weight Dips: 5, 5, 5, 5, 5 (before you start calling me a pussy, all reps performed alternating between exercises w/ no rest between sets)

Yeah, I know it isn’t a lot of lifting. Marathons are endurance events, guy. Shut your pie-hole!

Running:

1 mile @ 8:30 pace before foot pain. Gay bullshit. 10 minutes of hard intervals on the stationary bike followed by a bike Tabata that actually worked pretty well. I know, right? 1 fucking mile of running. Not a great start, Barbo! Way to suck a Cheetah’s dick on day #1!

Post-work/before bed half-assed attempt at something:

Iced the ever-loving shit out of my feet in the hopes of accumulating some decent distance the next day. Also stretched and did some choice ab bridge exercises. My usual time range: 20 seconds work, 10 rest. Figure 8-10 sets. Not awful for a late night,  garbage, mini-workout.

The Olde Pink House and my running aren’t getting along very well, but I’m being proactive and taking every available action to limit injury; which in my case would be ankle. I have faith in ice and mobility exercises, but, failing that, I’ll just have to rely on my inborn contempt for natural limitations and gut the marathon out anyway. Feet don’t tell the brain what to do! Chew on that knowledge, billion dollar field of Podiatry! Feet don’t have brains, only heads have those. Heads run the bone machine, faggot feet!!!

59 DAYS

Running: (all late in the evening stuff tonight)

Easy 10k (6.2 miles) in 59:15, which i think is like a 9:45 mile. Felt really good, minimal pain. Could have pushed a lot harder. Also did a 10 min. squat sit a la Kstar of the mobility W.O.D., see here:

http://mobilitywod.blogspot.com/2010/12/episode-120365-ten-minute-squat-test-4.html

I know I’ve mentioned it before but this guy is no joke. He’s helped me a lot and if you’re suffering from any odd aches and pains in your meaty bits I’d give him a try. Right now he has 120 videos up. I’d be willing to bet one of those has something for you!

10-20 min. meditation: Rare that I’ll sit zazen so late at night. The house was quiet and I could hear my pulse tapping in my head like a tin drum. I took a minute to muse on that: how people like myself have sat in the night without thought but for the tapping of their own heart beat ringing out from somewhere in the center of their body.  Common numinous turf. A nice quiet idea before heading off to the even larger one we all share in dream.

Pulse @ 63 bpm. Weight @ 208, -4 from yesterday but I wont count so much as an ounce until I see 206. I’m a dude, and a largeish one at that.  My weight bounces up or down 5 pounds every time I see a food item. Nothing special here. Also enjoyed a very nice round of stretching and ice to foot time.

So that’s a blog! Perhaps tomorrow (perhaps not for a couple of day) I’ll update again. The goal is to provide detail on every day leading up to the big race – more of this type stuff. I’ll try to put interesting things in it too as often as I can … but really though it’s all just exercise. Ahh … shit, I’ll do my best.

Anyway sleep tight. I’ll be looking for you in eretz-Nod, somewhere east of Eden in about 9 seconds.

Cheers

Y~

A couple hot points first:

1. If you’re one of the people who was at the poetry reading tonight and happens to be following up on what we talked about … how’s it going? Thanks for reading. Please leave a comment and/or some contact information so I can get back in touch with you. cheers

2. The official ‘Tongue’ blog site isn’t up yet. I know I promised a more timely update on this … As yet there simply isn’t anything to report. I’ll talk to Rushelle soon and figure out what’s up. Geezus!

3. I was drinking a little wine while I wrote this and haven’t edited the content at all. This is the first draft, and will be the only. I was trying to remember what it was like to just let something flow out, and also to have the courage to just share it without any real revision. I use to craft poems like that all the time as a kid, and it felt good to relive some of that tonight. As a result, however, you’ll notice the theme is a little helter-skelter. I flirt with having a point a few times, make some nice unkind pseudo-political judgements, tango with a militant response, and just kinda’ drop it all at the same time. One of my college profs use to call it ‘punk-rock poetry’ and I hated his douchey face and high-school guidance counselor cool guy swagger; but mostly I hated his spot on analysis of what i was trying so desperately not to be, definable! Such an awful, loaded label too: punk rock poetry. Next to Ska and White Power country is there a lower form of music? Don’t answer. I don’t want to know. My point is this: you will not be reading my finest work tonight. This was for fun. More Shock rock or Glam than punk. This picture of Ziggy Stardust will help:

Yeah, I like that better. Think about Ziggy. He’s serious and flirty and maybe not so serious and kind of intense and without question going to be getting some gay up on you and probably very high on any number of illegal substances and flexible and maybe a little under fed – that’s my poem. I should have just showed you that picture right away. It all makes sense now.

4. Watch this video and try not to cry.  Some of the cool cats at Pixar doing one of the ‘It Gets Better’ videos. Getting the message out to gay/lesbian/bisexual kids who are suffering through the most awkward period of anyones life with the added burden of an enormous and stupid social stigma. Honestly, I don’t know how there aren’t more suicides.

Anyway, it’s a theme I touch upon superficially in the poem. Besides that I just like the video. Fuck off already.

5. Ryan Reynolds, on the off-chance that you’ll ever read this blog, please know that I am very sorry. You’ve done nothing to deserve this … I’m probably just a bad person.

Okay. That should be it for housekeeping. On to the poem.  After the holiday I’ll try to do a post more like a general news update, but for now please know that I extend my best to you and yours. Harvest celebrations are about growing fat for the long brutal winter ahead. Attack the meal with gusto!

ODE TO RYAN REYNOLDS

Ryan Reynolds penis approaches, and we have been here before. Outside of CERN, the Large Hadron Collider, where they isolated anti-matter along 33 precision kilometers; and we joined into propellants both new and wild. Shirtless in life and science. There, where I see you and you me, completely. My Canadian Casanova.

And why should I hide. I’ve got two strong horns and four hard hooves, come see what i can do. You’ll catch me standing akimbo by the restroom door. I’ll either sing ‘The Crying Game’ or ‘Rock Lobster’ at nobodies favorite Karaoke bar. I’ll likely spill a cosmopolitan on your hipster Lacoste irony. The lonesome long-liver, ready to at last give up his life. Why hide?

I’m imagining a world where Bristol Palin and Scarlet Johansson fight for air in each others mons pubis - where the Kardashian sisters fuck themselves with broken machetes and fully loaded shotguns as part of a touring burlesque troupe; soon to grace a dilapidated art house stage near you. The trending topic snake eats its own tail and I’m safe with my Ryan, now and forever!

We’re rogue Astronomers by night. Seeking wobble in our celestial neighbors, participating in humanities great new search for Earth 2.0. By day we mount our trusty Clydesdale, Ferdinand. Ryan takes the reins and i ride sissy-saddle, arms snug against his white-chocolate midriff. We are shirtless, as is customary on our lover’s rides, and we chase the rising sun on our Basque beach by the secret bungalow we share. The particles accelerate and collide, but the world remains unharmed. Oppenheimer was profoundly off point. At least a bomb would have some dignity in it. We’ll all pass by exposure, a seething and ever-growing hunger for a softer sofa to fart into. We have taken Jung’s dream and turned it into soft-core parody. We are Twitter’s awful promise of pitiless, automatic and ultimately impotent telepathy. We’re another gay kid who took his own life wrapped in a cloud of dip-shits who pass the news along a numinous electric wire. We’re 79 modern nations, signed and committed to publicly sanctioned acts of violence and hatred, because the make-believe ghost in the sky still gets the final word on who and how we love.

Well Ryan Reynolds’ penis approaches and I will not waste time. I will take him into my mouth and anus, 50/50. I will ease his troubled mind of Miss Johansson’s stage infidelities. I will work him into a fevered scrotal clench and purge of chlorine flavored syrup. should I hide? From you? Let’s rendezvous after class instead, try one of those old fashioned hate crimes I’ve been hearing so much about. I’ve got two strong horns and four hard hooves, let’s see what you can do!

So maybe I don’t understand exactly everything I just wrote, but I know this: I’m not sharing my long-term fitness goals anymore! It just sets me up for disappointment and bad feelings. I don’t like it. Is there a counter argument? Something about the building pressure of a known commitment?Using anxiety and shame as a motivational tool? Yeah, that’s neurosis. Don’t be fooled. If you did the same thing to a small child you’d go to jail for abuse. Well, actually no, lots of people parent that way and there is no legal consequence whatsoever. You’re a fucking stupid dick if that’s your idea of love, and I’d personally like to see you go to county jail for at least a little while, but it isn’t going to happen. The world does not punish the pedagogues of shame and coercion. I’m not cynical enough to suggest we necessarily reward them greatly, but we don’t punish them. They are citizens of even standing. Our votes are equal in all objective matters. Sad but true.

So with that declared in my less than clear nonsense style, my brother in-law and I are planning to run a marathon on February 20th! You’re doing this right now: BWAAA?!? clenched fists at the eyes, ringing back and forth. Elbows flapping like the wings of an overstuffed seagull by the side of your head.

This is you!

Ha! Look at your face! Not an attractive expression. Yes, a little hypocrisy on my part, I know. I don’t feel good about it, don’t think that I do. Let me try to explain. Jeremy (that’s the brother, his blog is here: http://bdjruns.blogspot.com/2010/11/reflection-and-mileage.html he’s writing pretty much just about running. So I feel like I’m repeating myself a lot with the disclaimers, but if you’re not into that sort of thing … well … don’t feel obligated. Okay?) and I have been trying to coordinate a race together for a while, and for any and all variety of tedious reasons that you couldn’t possibly find interesting,  things just never really worked out. Well this February in Gainesville (The city he lives in, and that we are also not terribly far away from, and long overdue an extended visit) it’s on! Barring torn meniscus bits or a resurgence of the swine flu pseudo-epidemic we’re going to have our opportunity to suffer for 4~ish hours in cohort with Florida’s middle of the pack 26.2 enthusiasts.

Yes this all sounds suspiciously like a publicly stated fitness goal, and indeed – to use a much abused catch-all apology – it is what it is. I’m sorry, alright!? Look I still have a secret goal, I just also have this non-secret one too. I’m trying out both ways and like a good agnostic am committing only to the side that’s convenient for me in a given moment. Don’t be jealous just because your convictions aren’t as flexible as mine (I know exercises for shit like that. Stay tuned for a future blog where I promise shortcuts to spiritual enlightenment [albeit extremely painful shortcuts {that are actually more like long-cuts ~and the results can't necessarily be guaranteed * or maybe even it's a totally untested method but I've got some pretty good feelings about it?*~}]).

While on this topic I’d also like to state here and now that we are not competing against each other in the proper usage of racing. I’m going to train as intelligently as I know how, and run the race as hard as I realistically can; but it would be both silly and counter-productive for me to chase him. To put it flatly he’s just a stronger runner than I am, and for me  to try to close that gap in 3 to 4 months is just silly.

Now in the land of make-believe I’ll not only soundly defeat Jeremy but I’ll run this thing sub-3:44, putting Bush Jr.’s personal best to bed and proving in quantifiable (if somewhat abstract) terms – that any American regardless of Party affiliation can get behind – that I would have handled the 9/11 crisis with superior style and gusto. Not likely to happen. Also, if i had been president I probably would have surrendered to Afghanistan on 9/12. Why not? Christianity is just as retarded as Islam. At least we’d get some cool new pajamas out of the deal. Plus those guys live in an awful place and have been getting attacked by everybody for probably as long as groups of people have been beating up on other groups of people. Let ‘em conquer us, what’s it to ya? I’ve read the Koran, it’s short. Wouldn’t take any time at all to get those rules down, most of them are the same anyway.

In the land of truth-believe if I can crack 4 hours I’m going to drink 1,000 beers and eat a cow stuffed with potato chips! I’ll go home with my head held high for a sub 4:30. And really, I’ll sleep just fine the night after for just finishing. Not a lot of spark to get a solid rivalry going on, I know. Sorry to disappoint. I’m just not very competitive.

Pictured above is what you’ll find if you run a Google image search on ‘cow stuffed with potato chips’. Yeah I don’t get it either.

Run another search on ‘cowborg’ and you’ll get this logical yet upsetting image. What does cowborg have to do with anything? It’s late. I don’t want to talk about it.

S’ok, let’s recap. This blog is needlessly convoluted, time to knuckle down a well focused summary! These are the hot points I’ve discussed tonight.

Point #1: I hate goals and hate sharing them even more.

Point #2: Unnecessarily harsh judgement of what amounts to typical parenting tactics.

Point #3: “Hey, come here and let me tell you about my new goal. Yeah, I’d just like to share the same type of unsolicited personal information with you that I just got done bitching about.”

Point #4: My brother in-law, what we’ll do together and how we’ll do at it – plus some crazy crap about Afghanistan.

Point #5: Cowborg

Alright! Feeling pretty good about that summary. And in general, upon review, the content of this blog is better than I expected. Two more short pieces of bullshit and let’s call it a night.

1. Where are my fitness updates? Why they’re right here: http://www.attackpoint.org/log.jsp/user_8302 and thank you for asking! That link is my on-line running log. Nothing overly fancy. I don’t intentionally fill it with first-rate jokes like this awesome blog here, but if you’d like to know what I’m running these days that’s my personal journal. Although I don’t see how you could … enjoy?

2. What about lifting? Good question, me. I’m taking a month off of the usual powerlifting movements and working on some of my less-than beautiful mechanical issues. Here’s one lift I’m having a really awful time with, the Sots:

Just like that only I do it without the ball. I’ll probably get into all of the new stuff in a future post but right now I need some good sleeps. All for tonight super friends, be cool.

cheers

Y~

Had another great night at the ‘Tongue’ open mic poetry soiree held at our favorite local coffee shop, The Sentient Bean. Like maybe .2 people read my blog that aren’t looking for Ryan Reynolds porn, but fuck it, I figure it’s time to plug some local shit I dig.

Here is the Facebook page for the readings: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Tongue-Open-Mouth-and-Music-Show/161546833863733 I think that’s the only place you can get any info, internet wise anyway. These readings are MC’d by our  never sufficiently praised hostess, (and my favorite Savannah poet) Rushelle Frazier.  I’d send you a link to her Facebook page but that’s just creepy. Anyway, find her yourself! Why are you lazy? I think she even has a Youtube thingy with video of her reading some stuff. I heard something like that once … I don’t know … probably I should have done a little research before starting to write this. Why don’t I know? Because I see her read live twice a month, what would I go on Youtube for? Fucker! Fine. Start your own blog and show me how its done, smartass!

Jesus, some people.

So I read a short poem without any proper nouns in it at the reading, which I’m sure was annoying to almost everyone. As I mentioned in a previous post, most of the readers at this thing are cool kids who do the whole spoken word stage performance thing. That kind of sounds like a diss doesn’t it? Even using the slang word diss and insisting that it goes in italics, that too seems dissy or dissish – am I wrong? I’m not. There’s a smug tone hidden somewhere in this electronic transmission, I can taste it with my eyes.

Okay, addendum: I’m a bit older than the majority of readers and therefore jealous of their youthful enthusiasm and potency. Truth be told a number of them are very good performers, my preoccupations are just better aligned to more pretentious, artsy-fartsy fare, like the nounless no-point horse shit I diarrheaed on everyone Tuesday. That’s me. I know what I am. I like the stage, but I ultimately lean toward the page. Huh? Yeah, rhyme bitches! You can’t do that shit, only poets can pull off awesome word wizardry like that. That’s right, word wizardry, I alliterate too mother fucker! I’ve got all the tools.

So my poem. It doesn’t have a title, though I’m leaning towards Nemo (which I think is Latin for ‘nobody’ but I’ll be buttfucked by the devil if I’m going to check), yeah, let’s just fucking call it Nemo. Why not? I’ll post my most recent poem and one Simone (Simone being my 6 yr old daughter in case any of you intrepid internet wanderers started into wondering) is working on with the hope of possibly reading before an audience next month.

Side note: I use a couple pronouns and a few other cheat-noun type things, so please don’t bother trying to call me out on it. I made up the rules to this damn game, so if i want to cheat I’ll fucking cheat. Make up your own gay poetry game and go be a stickler for those rules all by yourself. See, I’m not trying to tell you how to be an asshole. Please show me that same courtesy. Thanks.

Side note 2: The second stanza is probably stronger than the first, also, there are only two stanzas. So it’s short. So read the whole thing, alright? All feedback (except the aforementioned left-brain noun baloney) be it negative or positive is welcome. No joke, let’s have it!

NEMO

behaving badly now, no matter why, no matter where – only kissing tells do tell to tell – we dress dressed among the very best – joined then cut to aggravate, to fabricate so fine some secret rigadoomed - for every or some – quiet calm now, expanding calmer – abbreviate – expand – abbreviate again – again, yes, again – tidal spiraling a dizzy ebb to buzzing gush, now hush – amputation undercover may capitulate some more – and tender tips to touch, for silent loss grows over and over, ever oh.

behaving simply if – if turning tours and churning plucks would pick – behave in being bottomless and thick – or softer siren sounding, softest still – and still, often offered always awfully thankful this – so may we go toward crinkled kissing bliss – go and maturate so simply great and grown – and may you penetrate the darkly serpentine slink – we drink – yes, cunningly we do – now so much and ever, ever more – groan in miniature and moan – once for napping, twice for oh!

PART #2

One week ago I wrote all those priceless gems for you, saved it (why?), and for whatever reason just never got back to it. I’m looking at it all now and really just want to delete it and start over. SIGH! I’m sighing loudly. Italics are useful. Okay it’s 2 a.m., let’s just muscle through. How about Simone’s poem? Huh? Yeah, you should like this:

The skies were in the sun
outer space is not a thing
the sky is low
I thought it was just a fog
but it was nothing
the sky was just low

and then I started to make a pattern
but then it didn’t work

The sky was too low
I tried to tell everyone
but no-one believed me

I start getting stormy, very mad
I remember I was a riot
I was complaining to be nice
for thousands of years I tried
but nothing worked
nothing … nothing … nothing.

Simone Ossian Kipp

In my opinion this is pretty middle of the road work for her; not her weakest piece but certainly not her strongest either (See: Probably alive I think Haunting, and her best to date). I don’t think you have to read between the lines too deeply to unearth a moderately damning critique of the adult world herein. She has little respect for the half-brained, mostly blind, giant Mongoloids that seem to rule over her; and yet is clearly frustrated by her own impotence for directing them better. ‘Nothing’ is the central word: from the delusional birth of the never-ending sky to the predictable result of an eon’s worth of ceaseless protest. Nothingness: no rule can reign. Truly, she is my daughter!

It’s horrifying sometimes. She’s like a gatling gun spraying down the natives with raw consciousness. Everything from shameful self-pity to wide-eyed compassion blasting through without fear at 600 rounds per minute, and I shrink from it because the intention is all too familiar but the verve has somehow left me. I don’t know. I muse. If you have children of your own, or even maybe a really close sibling, I bet you’ve had the experience of hearing your own thoughts coming out of their mouth. No, that isn’t exactly right either is it? It’s like a purer version of your thoughts. One without all the self-referential egoic masterbation, that mind. You overhear your own thoughts through them like a medium, and for a moment you can really, really see yourself.  An even if there is uglyness in what you see and hear, which happens  sometimes, it’s okay because it’s a pell-mell love gun that eviscerates you without judgement. Leaving the body surgery clean and ready to do better future work.

Well, if you haven’t had that experience I hope you do someday. It’s worth every shitty diaper, every sleepless night, every missed rendezvous with old chums, every disastrous blow to the wallet, all of it and more, a thousand times more. Basically I’m saying you need to have children, and if you already have them and can’t relate to my experience you should probably have more. Look, I have one, and I’m reporting to you now about the awesome magical bond that we share and that you are very sadly missing out on. You like missing out on super awesome things that promise to elevate you spiritually and fulfill you as a person? Fine. Was just trying to help a brother out! Good luck chasing dogma and money.

Okay. One last news update then enough. So in the week between the first part of this excellent blog and it’s equally fantastic second installment I actually had a nice talk with open mic host Rushelle Frazier. Well, it turns out she made a video recording of the last show, will very likely be recording future shows, and is in the process of publishing -right here on wordpress- a blog providing access to any and all ‘Tongue’ open mic poetry material. That’s kind of exciting! Sometime in the not too distant future I will be able to provide you with a link and you will presumably be able to watch me (as well as everyone else in the show {but mostly me}) read my excellent poetry to you from the comfort of your wireless connection. Not too shabby, right? This isn’t real yet, but yeah, maybe in a week? Sure, a week. This will happen in a week. That sounds believable.

I’m going to bed now. It is late. Look at this dildo chin strap and leave me alone:

Probably her daddy loves her every bit as much as I love Simone. And hell, why not? She seems like a cool chick to me. Goodnight!

Yosef