Mystical Confessions
Axel of the North!
time coming, a task I've grown to dread. Hollywood may want to pay
attention as this does involve a few of your own.
Mother actually bothered to write me a physical letter, warning me not
to write out anything to the world of a "magical" nature. She is right
to caution me, for obviously the mundane cattle who populate this
country aren't exactly well-equipped to appreciate my kind of soul.
Sure, they enjoy their Hollywood movies, but not necessarily the real
people. I wonder why I'm not taking mom's advice?
Maybe it's because she's an emotionally abusive, perfidious kike of a
mother and has destroyed the primal mammalian program to look to mom
as an emulatable example and guide for behavior?
I hope I can still write to these newsgroups, after AT&T drops all of
Usenet around the middle of the month. It would seem that Motzarella
has the Jewish calender and some of my posts were anti-semetic... so
perhaps this correpondence is tinged with the possibility of finality.
Which is sad, as I am, quite simply, the Greatest Internet Paedophile
the World has Ever Known!
On that note, I'm currently eating a beef-strip salad with lettuce,
fresh onion, tomato and jalapeno pepper with fresh basil and cilantro
topped with a 2-yolk and olive oil dressing with freshly ground white
peppercorn and pounded garlic. Ah, delicious and nutritious.
Yesterday morning I finished pulling meat off a chicken carcass and
used the reduced stock from that project to make some yukon potatos
with carrot and onions. It had oregano, rosemary, thyme, pepper, touch
of basil (dried), sage, cayenne, fennel and garlic powder. Oh, and
homemade grass-fed ghee Fuckin' delicious. I wish I had some
beautiful girls so I could truly wonderful things in their beautiful
mouths...
Day before yesterday sliced and marinated the chicken breasts with
oyster sauce, coriander (the spice), allspice, cinnamon and a touch of
cumin, extra sugar and of course a little extra salt. It's still
marinating in the fridge; wonder how it's going to turn out. I've
gotten bored of regular poultry dishes and want something different
from the shrimp powders/pastes. My thyroid is functioning fine the
iodine content of the shrimp flavorings, I've gotten a touch of
insomnia from overstimulation of that fun gland.
So guess what I did last night.. err... early this morning? I got back
from my wonderful walk in the parks, and, recuperating from drinking
some rum went back out to my local urban park with a little Peterson
pipe and smoked a bowl of aged, gourmet tobacco. I must have been
tired from the work that day (30,000 extra people in downtown for a
convention)) and the exercise and of course the barbituate because I
woke up about 3 hours after hunkering down with the pipe. My anus
feels fine and I still had the pipe in pocket.. along with my keys.
Jesus Christ... that's the first time I've done that (other than
sleeping in a run-down construction/junkyard-like area). But
seriously, sleeping on a park bench on the highest hilll in a public
urban park at night, especially when there's thirty *thousand*
strangers from all over the world in town. Thankfully untouched (to my
knowledge).
Now that's one of America's top predators right there, folks. Still
not a good idea, though. I got away with that one. I've encountered
enough wayward, hostile vagabonds to know not to sleep at the top of
the hill. Woke up at 3 a.m. ("whouh?"), went home and watched some
Comedy Central and had a hard-boiled egg and went to sleep. Woke up
dehydrated and with a dry mouth that still tasted faintly of tobacco.
Oh well, it's off to work.
Axel of the North!
Well, I just had to go out into the park today. It was awful, OMGawd.
There was a youngling and she was testing her powers and everything.
Her father, thankfullly, gave her the hug and quick rub and face
kissing that was needed, and, considering her testing of the two young
(one pre--adolescent and another just pre-preadolescent) and my own
little world of needs and aesthetic induglences. Oh gawd, it's
starting again. Oh, yes, how she acted out everything, her dallliances
and plays out to her exclusive band of witnesses (which almost
strictly included me...). They are good, playing out their witnesses.
Quite good. Hmmmmmmmm. Yes.
Ohhhhhh... extremely wholesome softball plays and divergences...
ohhh... so good. She was starting her use of power over her peers and
paying attention to the guy "out there" who was sincerely outside of
her usual sphere of influence. Gosh. Still put in that spot. Oh well.
I get to be beyond that spot. I try hard enough. At one point, a 4 and
a 7 year old (estimated ages) were crossing a field very close to the
aforementioned softball fields. They were eerily drawn to adjust their
trajectories and speeds within such a fine degree to the point of
ultimate convergence that disturbed even I, the self-proclaimed
Internet Paedophile, to the point where the conclusion was that the
Universe was trying to heal Itself. I mean it. It was around the prime
light hours, on the weekend, and they were totally alone and the
fields were barren (relatively). So there we were. It was spooky, how
closely we were tied together, by sympathetic means. Oh, gawd, now
I've said too much! It's as if we were tethered by an elastic band, so
tightly that we were meant to meet, beyond my willl. I changed angle
and pace, to specifically avoid them, but they kept conspiring to
counter-act every action on my part to prevent our meeting. But to no
avail. Which is why I say it was eerie and how my experience of it was
creepy. It's just too much, G-d.. too much...
But by now you know how far it can go. I knew this one evil sadistic
whore who regularly consumed dairy goods such as cottage cheese as
part of her regular diet, who, upon my resumption of the allowed
dairies on the blood-type diet (motzarella cheese, farmer's cheese,
feta cheese, etc.) would exhibit enough of an immune system reponse
that she would purchase anti-histamines and other immune
system-related products to quell her (?) immune response. That's a
major sign of psychic-bonding, if you want ta know...
I just hope I don't experience the birth pains and whatever may
follow. That would be very bad. Ughhhhhh.. I would hate to go too far
out. Please spare me, powers that be.
Ya know, I really like to be proficient with my arsenal of cutlery.
I've got some stainless or stain-resistant german cutlery, but those
are nice for sacrifice against the evil, evil polymer
bacteria-unfriendly cutting board(s). along with the Chicagos... I
prefer to spare my one Tojiro DP (7" gyuto (japanese version of a chef
knife)) and supposedly high-carbon steels (VG1 line of calphalon's
"Katana" line are apparently rather stain-resistent, to say the least,
despite thei warnings and cautions.) and super-stainless (VG10 )3.5"
paring knife and 8" generously-bellied traditional european chef knife
from Shun's Classic line.
Oh my G-wd, did I just say too much? Uhgh! I mean.... UGHH!!! I have
cut up so much stuff up so fast it is not funny. I mean it. I mean.. I
*nice* it, well, you *know* what I mean... dammit.
I've got a cheapo yet well-deliberated purchase of a double-sided
(coarse/fine) Chinese aluminum-oxide artificial oil/water/whetstone. I
have a DMT 1,200 grit 6"x2" diamond tablet. And let's not forget the
4,000-8,000 synthetic sapphire whetstones from Spyderco., just for
those obsessed with understanding the limits of fineness these cutlery
steels may achieve as mass-produced products.
Oh, if you want to know the Calphalon "katana" line is a 5.5"
honesuki, 6" gyuto (chef knife) and 7" Santoku. I've got a 7" Wusthof
stamped silverpoint, a stamped hot-drop forged 7" santoku Henckel's
(international); calphalon contemporary 6" chef knife, meat cleaver
and paring knife, A rada peeler and 6" fish fillet knife. A
Dexter-Russell 8" fillet knife; a six dollar set of kudamono, bird's
beek and paring knife set from henckel's (int'l); a 3" paring, 5.5"
utility and 8" chef Chicago set (a "steal" until I understood the
quality of the steel, but satisfactory fodder for the evil plastic
cutting boards). I also have an Amcutco 10" chef knife (massive, even
if stamped) and a 25 dollar chinese cleaver (probably for more than
just vegetables (numba 1)...). The 6" chef and 3.5" paring Wusthof
full-forged knives round out my collection, there may be a few others.
I know I have three out amongst the people, at the moment, but I
cannot bring myslef to call out all the details. All I know is that I
sharpen them periodically for free, without any guilt-trip. I guess I
actually like to evaluate and then heal them.
Yeah, I'm a blade man. Do you have a problem with that? Well... I
guess that's understandable, considering....
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>On Tue, 07 Jul 2009 17:11:07 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
>
>
>Well, I just had to go out into the park today. It was awful, OMGawd.
>There was a youngling and she was testing her powers and everything.
>Her father, thankfullly, gave her the hug and quick rub and face
>kissing that was needed, and, considering her testing of the two young
>(one pre--adolescent and another just pre-preadolescent) and my own
>little world of needs and aesthetic induglences. Oh gawd, it's
>starting again. Oh, yes, how she acted out everything, her dallliances
>and plays out to her exclusive band of witnesses (which almost
>strictly included me...). They are good, playing out their witnesses.
>Quite good. Hmmmmmmmm. Yes.
Yeah, that was an interesting day. I'd walk along, fairly cheery,
watching the people playing, and their kids playing catch or something
and I'm walking along and the kids start to almost.. follow along with
me and then their parents call them back. It's like they're going to
follow me, just, up and leave whatever area. It's weird, man. Makes me
feel conspicuous. I'm not baiting yer kids, I'm just a feeling human
being. Makes me a little nervous. It's intense, man.
But it's not all bad. One time, this one girl (10-11) wearing a wife
beater leaned forward and sexily showed me her... uh.. cleavage. But
what was interesting was that her chest looked just like a young
boy's. And I'm like "Whoah. Uh, I'm not exactly a priestly kind of
guy, I'm really more of a rabbi, if ya get my drift! I don't really
get turned on by that." But I didn't let myself because I was on the
job (which is why I was in the home in the first place). Yeah, that's
right, people of Springfield. I enter into people's apartments and
houses and everything. Kinda scary, huh? Later Sexy Girl was in a
dress she'd apparently very recently outgrown, unbeknownst to
everyone. I think I might have been the first to discover this. I was
not made aware of this exciting fact until I saw her sit down on the
computer chair and start to play a computer game. She shot me a funny
expression. I saw her at that computer and imagined her on the
internet, searching around on the internet for people like ME! *That*
kinda turned me on. Seeing a little girl like that on the internet,
squirming around in excitement. I couldn't say anything, just allowed
myself a slight smirk and the eyelids may have grown heavier. I dunno,
I may have smirkily pursed my lips and shaken my head subtly. She was
most pleased with herself.
There's no malice in them, when they do things like that, so I find it
endearing and adorable. It just feels safe, emotionally. It's when a
stranger walks up, comes in real close and intense and starts
searching me out, then starts with the questions. Kids are intense,
man! They become little interrogators, one question after another. I
have to submit to their powerful will and scramble to answer all their
questions as best I can. And they can't be sated, answering their
questions just brings on an even faster flow of *more* questions, then
I'm looking around to see where the hell their parents/guardians are,
they shouldn't be left at the mercy of an internet paedophile, that's
dangerous, that's just playing with fire, man. I'm tellin' ya...
But I have reason to suspect some of them, however young, are really
not so innocent. In fact, I think some of them may know me from these
here internets. Like maybe an adult passed some post along for them to
review. Actually, I think some of you beautiful little girls are
downright manipulative. I just wish I knew which ones knew me from
before, from an internet post, from the ones who are tuning in and,
acting like little undercover police detectives, are doing a little
investigating. This one a while ago, but fairly recently, she was in a
group of kids, actually, and she was the beauty of the bunch fo' sho'.
Well, I'm ringing them up and of course I'm diverting my eyes from her
somewhat, 'cause I don't want to start flaring out, energetically
speaking, ya know, not blood circulation-wise.. <cough> Ahem! This one
was, like, 9-11, I don't know, and I certainly didn't ask. There were
two adults in the bunch, couldn't have been more than 6-8 kids total.
Fairly manageable, just a small frozen treat group on a warm day. But
this beautiful girl, ohhhhhhh.. whether she knew me or not, she got to
know me pretty quick. So I didn't look at her, after the first few
glimpses. So she inches up to the counter, head under some electronics
at the counter, and she leans in a peers up at me with these big,
beautiful eyes, silently imploring. Oh, it haunts me. This haunts me.
So I'm not looking, I'm *not* looking, right? But of course my mind is
just freaking; peripheral vision transfixed. I don't know if my
anxiety was visible, I hope not. So then of course she has to step
back and give me a clear view of herself at a three-quarters from the
rear, then she slowly tilts her head back, turns her head toward me so
I can see more of her face and wipes at her hair lightly and then
frames her face with both hands.
Oh, you got me good, girl. Good for you. Good for you...
Very intentional. Are you well practiced? Hmm? Or just curious? Do you
really wanna? You *know* I do. Don't play with me. I don't deserve it.
Frozen Treat Girl (agony to have to watch that (fuckers!)) had a cozy
set-up. Okay. But you're pre-pubertal. Does she know about the
hormones in the semen? Are you parents/guardians aware of the
endocrine system, and that most likely (I can't see how it wouldn't)
the potent anti-depressent, fertility-enhancing benefits of the
absorption of these hormones through whatever mucous membrane is found
acceptable would function as an endocrine disrupter, most likely
prematurely pushing them into puberty, increasing their chances of
developing some of the major diseases epidemic in this civilization.
'Cuz that's how I think about it. Right here in this newsgroup we had
some frank talk about steroids. Well, steroids are like hormones, and
they give cells some very powerful instructions and alter their
behavior. If you really want me to I can't do everything with that
girl. And if you've got some other action going on, some other
convenient arrangement with some other lucky bloke, I hope you guys
kept reading me and are aware of my concerns.
I wanted to see something on this topic arise, perhaps from the
prosecuting attorney (JMW) or someone else, even just someone
knowledgeable about steroid use to pipe up and say something from one
of my posts. Nobody said nuthin'. [Whitaker morph] Fuck 'em, screw
'em. [/morph] What a disappointment. Really. With all those people
watching, grown adults in a discussion group that clearly has raunchy,
in-your-face attitude and meanness and niceness and concerned, helpful
people.. with *fitness* right there in the name, health and fitness
and nobody even stepped in to bring up the real issue of the potent
hormones and the possible negative effects if child "abuse" were to
occur. It was mildly disheartening. It kind of stayed in the back of
my mind and kept me from being more active in this group when it was
more interesting and lively.
So that's how I feel, and that beautiful girl was just tormentation
for a lonely, haunted soul. If you gals know me from the internet,
your entrance, silence and stunts don't help my paranoia, I'm somewhat
cognizant of the rules of entrapment and I don't want to be the guy to
make things happen, it's dangerous. I have issues with trust. They
hurt me; I'm damaged goods. I just wanted a safe environment, I have
security issues. Ya know, I looked at the science, I looked at human
history, I see what all these troubled people are screwed up from, and
what makes others happy and fulfilled. I don't let social mores decide
how I feel about things, I see more subtlety and complexity for that,
and what the fuck has society shown me of itself? Is this place
healthy? Is this false, chaotic American pseudo-culture a healthy
environment for us to timidly accept? [Whitaker morph] Fuck 'em. Screw
'em. [/morph] It's MY goddamn street.. and I should be it's king! That
one guy with his bevy of beauties lived in in my own building.. so
close, sooooo fucking close. Why, I bet if I were a creepy creeping
creep and crept up to his door I would have the kinds of memories that
would make me morph into a shaved-bald Marlon Brando and utter: "The
mewling! The mewling!" That's probably what I'd become.
I've got some sad news to report: I've lost another one. She got
deoderant and a shaver. I hadn't seen her in so long... I missed the
last of her true girlhood. I am not pleased. Now she's a smelly, hairy
tween. Yuck. A smelly, hairy, bloody-assed teenager. Ewwww. OMG, that
is, like, SO totally grody! Ahhh.. I'm just bitter. She was so cute.
Oh well. Bring on the cum! I'm sorry. The internet, being what it is,
made me say that last part.
Oh fuckin' well.
Axel of the North!
them into flavored jell-o. First time I used 15 oz pears in light
syrup with lime jello, and now I've done apricots in raspberyy jello.
They were both pretty darn good and being refrigerated foods are
great, fruity carbs for summer. I should have added fresh ginger juice
to both. Why, why do I make myself suffer so? Some people are just
masochists, I guess.
I cut up this 6 pound chicken a few days ago; fabricated it in a jiffy
of course. I found the yield on the thing a bit small. I haven't had
the breasts yet, but I finished that carcass and all the meat I
deboned off the legs and arms to offer very few meals. I could maybe
stretch it to two and a half meals. We'll see how the oyster-flavored
sweet-spiced breast strips turn out, but I ran out of those long,
wide, fun pad thai noodles. I'll have to get them tomorrow after work
but they take longer to re-hydrate and I think they'll miss the first
carb-up after work-out (perhaps the work-out's wind-down can be one of
my favorite hobbies: asian shopping*). I could never use a fork for
the wide noodles, no way. I'm chop-sticks all the way. That's a very
fun and enjoyable way to eat a carb-rich meal. Gotta wash my face
after eating it though.
*that's when I shop for asians... uh, grocers. asian grocers.. for
food...
Right now I'm scarfing down the plain chicken with collard greens,
fresh onion, tomato and basil and parsley (kind of a mixed cooked/raw
salad). I cooked oregano, thyme, basil, savory, anise and garlic
powder (+salt) into the pre-cooked collard greens. Topped with olive
oil, of course. Having pre-cut and pre-cooked collards reduces the
complexity of the cooking process by one step, which is nice. I can
make a lot at a time, usually a chore because of the sheer area
collards demand for slicing and dicing (yes, I *do* know the trick of
de-stemming them and then stacking and rolling and then cutting
through into strips and then cutting across the strips). I have a
small cutting area, but the exciting news is that my really big
cutting board is now fully oiled, beyond a doubt (didn't want to take
chances) and so now I can tackle such tasks with more abandon (which
means freer use of the big Shun 8" supersteel chef knife!). I wish I'd
had some portabellos/criminis to add into the mix, maybe I can get
some interesting (and cheap!) dried mushrooms at the asian grocer.
Got some yellow rice (turmeric) goin' on the range rigtht now; it will
hold me over until I can turn into a noodle-head (last of the
chicken-stock and herbed potatos in ghee is waiting at work for
tomorrow). I think I'll also get some New Zealand or Australian lamb
while I'm out there. And there's is very well-priced. I've got some
lamb right now, and it is very well tenderized and herbalicious (love
that lamb with rosemary). That last lamb steak only lasted two meals
(I was hoping for 3) but I've been SO hungry lately. It's crazy!
But where was I? Oh yes.
Mystical Confessions
I was asleep. I should have stayed that way for a few more hours. But
I woke up. Didn't need to pee. I had... ideas. I had... mildly
prurient.. thoughts. I happend upon finger cots. I'd seen finger cots,
knew what they were, but never had them or used them. I knew their use
this time. Hard to return to slumber.
The next day, later, in the evening, They Came. She was very young,
only about 6 or 7, I dunno, I'm no expert ('cuz I have so little
experience with them (which is a *good* thing!)). He was kind of goofy
looking, or maybe because he was bashful at the time. She was wearing
bunny ears. She was SO happy, totally enchanting. She was a true-life
enchantress. Incredible. I think she was shimmering, I don't know. I
was too caught up in it all. They got some finger cots. Yeah, I know
what this was. That was one *extremely* well-treated Enchantress. Very
hygienic, that's good, you're setting a good example early, I like
that. That's important. Bravo. Good for you.
They broke the law. They broke the law, officers. That's illegal.
That's wrong! I HATE THIS!!!! Do you even know what law they broke?
(you officers are such dumbfucks, you never know, you never get it)
That was CRUEL. Cruelty to poor, suffering, innocent little 'ole
internet paedophiles like myself (and a Jewish virgin at that,
absolutely disgusting!). How dare you. You people really are
shameless, aren't you? How dare you put those bunny ears on a girl as
enchanting as that? That's the law you broke. It should be illegal to
have anything overtly bunny-like on a girl, even a little one, of a
certain level of beauty and charm. And that goes for slippers, too,
Rabbi. And with a long shirt and no bottom, not even underwear. You
killed me! You fucking killed me!
That was one of the happiest children I've ever seen. Wow. A real
victim of abuse. Yeah, I've had a few teachers. Ahhhhhhhh. You guys
are killing me. Jaaa... you betcha. She's my Finger Cot Girl. You know
how Lisa Kudrow's "Phoebe" from "Friends" (hardly watched that one)?
How one of her songs is "Smelly Cat"? Well, one of my theme songs is
"Finger Cot Girl". Seriously. I've yet to work out the lyrics but I've
got an acoustic guitar and have plenty of basic skills and even
classical (sight-reading) experience. I could do it. I could do a
"Finger Cot Girl". It would be easy to belt one out. It's just one of
those projects I never got around to working on.
So you can see there's a few things burning inside my Soul, right?!
Well. You guys haven't heard the story of the Orgy Mommy. I think,
since going through a 3rd-party to access usenet newsgroups is iffy
and changes my power to post unimpeded by dingbat fuckwads is looming
ominously near.. that I should tell you about poor, safe, loving,
horrific Axel's travails with the Orgy Mommy.
Well, time to head south again! Until next time, this has been Axel
Bid-Eastern on "The Wild Courier" on MWTR, Mid-West Talk Radio!
[broadcast fades from the collective mindfield]
Axel of the North!
two of her kids and herself with an overdose of Seroquel, and
succeeded in killing the autistic boy. She laid out the plan to her
gulllible, ignorant children as a journey to "Neverland", a direct
reference to Michael Jackson's ranch. Supposedly one of the kids in
the neighborhood witness the elder sister admonishing the autistic son
for mentioning it to her, can't reveal your journey to Neverland, ya
know. Kids can buy anything, and work with it, and for it. They're up
to the task, if you set it up in the right context. Isn't that fun?
She only managed to kill the autistic, not her daughter (for some
reason spared the eldest daughter completely). Hmmm. Delightful. I
remember those kids running along after me, for some reason, called
back by their poor parents. A few times there was a lone child,
playing a little game of "track the stranger" out there, in the wooded
areas. Just me and the kid, hiking along and trailed by a little one
for their own personal amusement. Hmmm. I'm observing as one who is
looking to understand the differences between people and their
interactions.
There was once a story in the local newspaper of a guy who had
apparently gotten on the good side (the *extreme* good side) of a few
boys and they made litle trips into the bushes, with a digital camera,
to immortalize their glories. He got caught. Yeah, that's fun.
INVULNERABLE
I was with my grandmother, from my mother's side, the psychiatrist.
Grandma Ruth. No parents or siblings, just us. I was effectively alone
in that men's locker room, at that public pool (by my recollection it
was not the rec center with all the blacks (an interesting and
enlightening experience on its own) but the public pool at the nearby
high school building).
He was 40s or 50s, alone, like me (so lonely). He was well-practiced
at it, that much I understood. He offered to help me wash my
genitalia. I did not dismiss or accept, simply observed his behavior.
He took my demeanor as tacit acceptance, which was just fine. He
touched my private parts (made very public in this public shower room)
and had a smile on his face, which soon turned into disappointment and
then a slightly pained expression. Perhaps my dour demeanor affected
him? Maybe the purity of my young mind bore down on him? I don't think
he had a good day, that day. I think he felt with renewed strength his
patheticity, perhaps all the things society makes of men like him, the
perversity, the predatoristic nature of a failing, lame, unsuccessful
lout who preys on the young for his own meager kicks. Or maybe he was
just desperate, in the desperation of his twilight years, to
experience the youthful vigor of a little boy's orgasm, straight from
his fresh sex organs. Or maybe a commingling of both was experienced
(whoo hoo hoo... ugh.. gotta get this glove off!).
No. He did not expect to have a bad day. But he did. And *so* young.
Physical pleasure is one thing, but the undercurrent, the substrate of
consciousness beneath it all, is so much more... isn't it?
EXTREMELY VULNERABLE
I was enraptured with my aunt's breasts. They were full, firm, and
beautiful. I was a breast-fed jewboy, and had within all the primal
urges of a fully mammalian human boy, with all the concomitant
miseries to follow. She was a nurse, yet had enough problems with
alcoholism to rend her life-path into a half-way house, wherein she
spent a small part of my boyhood having a few stays in my own parent's
house (inherited from Professor grandfather's tenureship as the
resident sociology professor (head of the department! no less! (which
makes him an authority on everything forever... (until that fuckin'
kike dies, of course))). During that time I managed to have a few
cuddle-fests with my aunt, trailing up and down her body, frolicking
about, dwelling here and there.. wherever I could get away with. You
see, everything I was doing was "bad" or mischievous, not condoned by
anyone and certainly frowned upon. The negativity pervaded my
experience of the whole matter, and discolored my subsequent
experiences of similar activities for many years afterward. I wanted
to linger at her breasts so much, to return home to that place of
ultimate comfort. And I experienced that shame and guilt so
intimately, always dissuaded by the weight of her mind. Marked deeply
by that awful time...
I think Joseph Chilton Pearce's "The Biology of Transcendence" is a
great modern text for understanding many aspects of American life, and
human development in general. I think he's right. I do believe he is
not in an insane asylum, despite his account, in the earlier chapters,
of his telekinetic experiences as a young man. Very interesting, our
human potential.
THE ORGY MOMMY
Called me up. Can we hang out? Sure. Parked nearby. Brought a bottle
of light wine. Some conversation, admittance of virginity. Not trying
to deflower me, says she. I might as well toke up some marijuana, to
boost myself and bring her in closer. Why not have a glass of wine she
had partaken? Okay. So we eventually get to massage. I helped her off
with her shirt and bra, she laid down on the folded futon (not couch,
just a futon on the floor of my extremely non-metrosexual apartment).
All of this while I was so sick I couldn't go in to work. Was it true
illness, or just an immune system overreaction to the rye bread I had
eaten the previous day? By my boss's account I can't possibly feel
(and know) my own immune system, so I must be ignorant of this (he
confronted me in front of many co-workers with a very hostile and
contentious attitude, daring me to speak when the backlog of
pharmaceutical journals in my memory banks only validated and
elucidated upon the understandings available from the blood-type diet
I had explored and enjoyed so very much over the years...). So there I
was, sick from.. well.. whatever. Certainly not from anything I could
understand. But it was an internally ugly experience.
The symptoms of my illness, like many others, was more from a result
of the havoc wreaked by my own immune system combatting the offense,
than any genuine invasion or damage being done. The disasterous
"cytokine storm" of SARS fame and such... but I was in misery, and put
out for the long-stretch, as it would turn out. As she laid out before
me, her soft body prostrate, awaiting my loving touch. "I'm just a
big, fat.." No. I knew. I knew already. I kneaded her tissues and
understood quickly she was a true mesomorph, with a vey ideal and
lovely layer of soft fat over her muscles, the extra layer of fat only
women have. She had a very nice body, full hips and big, full breasts
and all the thickness (strength) and size a man of my length could
ever want (only 2 inches or so shorter while standing).
I had seen her family, she had a few kids, a few boys and a few girls,
some of whom were freckled but all were beautiful. They smiled, shyly,
while I surveyed them. The husband was subdued, in the background. I
don't really need the internet to encounter these folks, ya know.
There's plenty of reality to go around, folks. She was a
super-reproducer, a mega-woman. Just think about reproducing with her
and POP!, mystical meiosis and another one's on the way. Except for
the operation.
I was to love her, without conditions, and I did, as best I could. I
stroked her and massaged her and caressed her, though not so much her
face as I would have liked to. We kissed, lightly, but not
passionately (I've not been much of a mouth-to-mouth kisser). It was
over as she had to return to her family.
What strikes me is how, early on, I had offered her a single draw of
the Tarot deck I had, which had not been shuffled in many months, if
within the year. She cut it (as I had suggested) and drew a single
card. It related accurately to the life issue she had already honestly
expressed. It was not just relevant, it was poignant. I found it
uncanny, in spite of previous experiences, how close it had become to
confronting her motherly issues, especially as a single one-hit card,
as I was used to multi-card layouts. It is not that I am superstitious
or overly religious so much as that I understand, acutely, how order
can arise from chaos.
The next day, a weekend day, she called me again and we resumed our
relationship. The specifics evade me but at one point we went to a
nearby health food store/co-op and procured groceries. She felt her
mortality, her lack of youth (but she was still young), and
un-trendiness (it was a very trendy place). I didn't care about any of
it. We returned to by abode and resumed our pseudo-love-making.
At one point she offered to bring a daughter, but I declined on the
spot because I was very anxious over the issue. During that next
session she recounted an event when she and various other mothers
attended to their children, and she kissed her girl and described how
the other mothers indirectly shamed her for her sensual interaction
with her daughter. I also recall her saying at one point "You should
be a priest!" Ohhhhh. Oh g-d. And that was the crux of the matter,
ultimately.
I massaged her so much, I massaged her breasts from behind too much,
I'm sure to the point of boredom on her part. She had wonderful
breasts. I'm sure she didn't feel any shame about her body, despite
her unapprovable thickness (true mesomorph, folks) and fatness (true
feminine softness) because I had no qualms with her body. The third
time, when she devised that I should lay with her completely naked, I
kissed her all over, as usual and was confronted anew with the
prospect of kissing her all over completely. But I still couldn't kiss
the space between her thighs, so paranoid and neurotic over the
ever-present viral threat was I... oh... I have suffered so much, not
even so much the general dissatisfaction of my female counterparts so
much as the lingering, recurring memories of their thighs and bellies
and un-kissed/loved pubises that it pains me to think that I will
(not) do it again. This is such a sad and dangerous world. It hurts.
She didn't even have that many lovers, probably only one. And still I
couldn't. Even though it wasn't discussed, the whole situation pretty
much presented itself. It hurts. I could have cum inside her, without
a condom. That was where it hurt even more. That I wouldn't even have
to engage in the extraneous action of pulling off the condom and
feeding her my love, to avoid pregnancy but still giving her all the
loving essence of the physical product of our lovemaking. That I could
just ejaculate inside her body without worry. And I gave it up. All of
it. In my mid-twenties; I just let it go.
Horrible. Silent horror. Because she was with a man who was not her
husband. Because she offerred a daughter as accompiment. Because they
were an orgy family, which I had read. And she wanted me to be with
her boys. Ohhhhhh... my prostrate gland. To be plugged away at from
behind while I concern myself with the equally paedophiliacal task of
attending to her daughters, genitally, manually or orally. That's what
I gave up. Just let it go. Not easy with it. We didn't even argue. Can
you understand the absurdity of that argument? I don't want to be a
priest, I just want to be a rabbi! Ridiculous.
On our last visit, though we disrobed and enjoyed each other's bodies
as much as our (my) condition would allow, she offerred me that
contact in our future, a future date. This was when she had gone
completely naked and laid with me in that state, which caused the most
conflict within me, for obvious reasons. I declined, effectively
ending the "affair" (didn't exactly have sex with her, did I?) and she
turned to the wall in this miniscule efficiency, finding whatever
privacy she could, and began to cry. Unable to conceal it, she turned
and appealed to me. I was cold and adamant on the point, and we had
concluded our "relationship".
Looking back, I can see I took inordinate time with massaging her
breasts, as her nipples had grown insensitive with repeatedly
breastfeeding various human beings, I knew I had treated her,
physically, with much love and attention and didn't have guilt over
what we had had together. I felt I had missed out of many wonderful,
beautiful sexual experiences. And that I had denied her. But she was
an Orgy Mommy, and I thought she had more than enough on her own,
especially in comparison to me, who was basically destitute in this
aspect of life.
I remember finally breaking down, as I langoursly kissed her
beautiful, curvacious belly, crying and unable to resume the kissing
rhythm. She eventually said: "Oh... Axel!" There wasn't much there,
she didn't really understand. She just kind of let it be. I could tell
there was something lacking in her, she was deficient in something.
You see..
The second time we had met, in private quarters, she had taken off my
pants and underwear with the fervent intention of fellating me. I had
made it known to her that I was still quite sick (which I was) but she
insisted. Moving on, determined to take things to their inevitable
conclusion(s). So she began sucking me, and apparently enjoyed it,
making all the sucking and gagging sounds (to make me feel better) but
I knew after a while eventually she wasn't really into it. I could
feel her ennui turn to full annoyance, wondering why I hadn't cum yet.
I experienced all of it, how unromantic, she had no business fellating
me. It was her own agenda, and a weak-hearted one at that. This was
not love-making. She made a comment, asking me why I hadn't come yet,
marked by her dissatisfaction. We finally discontinued our oral sex
session, with mutual disappointment. I didn't want to look at her. We
just held each other after that, which of course was much more
satisfying (at least for me) than the other activities.
That was the culmination of our combined situations. She cried, but I
think I should have been the one crying, as I had the most to lose,
and her the least. I just didn't want to do the boys. What does it
matter, huh? Oh... I think it matters... ultimately. It matters very
much. It's a hard take, in the end. As we shall see..
Axel of the North!
and wimmin. (misc.fiends.wimmin)
Destroying a 14 pound turkey carcass. Already has the turmericked
yellow rice so can't make that with the bones (stock). These carcass
scraps work nice on the yellow rice with spring onion, tomato and
coriander (the leaves, not the spice). Broke open into the second half
of the 3L can of olive oil. Mmmm. Delicious, topped with some shrimp
sauce, of course.
On Sun, 12 Jul 2009 20:30:14 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
wrote:
>So I see in the local news there was a mother who attempted to kill
>two of her kids and herself with an overdose of Seroquel, and
>succeeded in killing the autistic boy. She laid out the plan to her
>gulllible, ignorant children as a journey to "Neverland", a direct
>reference to Michael Jackson's ranch. Supposedly one of the kids in
>the neighborhood witness the elder sister admonishing the autistic son
>for mentioning it to her, can't reveal your journey to Neverland, ya
>know. Kids can buy anything, and work with it, and for it. They're up
>to the task, if you set it up in the right context. Isn't that fun?
>She only managed to kill the autistic, not her daughter (for some
>reason spared the eldest daughter completely). Hmmm. Delightful. I
>remember those kids running along after me, for some reason, called
>back by their poor parents. A few times there was a lone child,
>playing a little game of "track the stranger" out there, in the wooded
>areas. Just me and the kid, hiking along and trailed by a little one
>for their own personal amusement. Hmmm. I'm observing as one who is
>looking to understand the differences between people and their
>interactions.
Hey guys. Anyone remember that one woman who adopted a pair of Chinese
sisters? Then she went to the hospital (was on medication) or a
clinic, reported having suicidal thoughts. Then of course they don't
tell the local precinct. How long was it after that when she attacked
them with a knife and a hatchet? I remember the quote: "I'm a bad
mother!" while she attacked them. One was in serious condition, the
other faired somewhat better. Jeeeze. It just goes to show.. you can
do *anything* with children. Personally, I can think of a lot of
things, and I do mean a LOT of things I would like to do with a pair
of Chinese sisters... but taking edged weapons to them and attempting
to kill them while saying: "I'm a bad internet paedophile!" is most
likely NOT one of them! "I'm a bad lover!" Well, yeah, duh, I think
we've already established that, kinda goes without saying, eh?
>
>
>
>THE ORGY MOMMY
>
>
>Called me up. Can we hang out? Sure. Parked nearby. Brought a bottle
>of light wine. Some conversation, admittance of virginity. Not trying
[snip]
>
>I had seen her family, she had a few kids, a few boys and a few girls,
>some of whom were freckled but all were beautiful. They smiled, shyly,
>while I surveyed them. The husband was subdued, in the background. I
>don't really need the internet to encounter these folks, ya know.
>There's plenty of reality to go around, folks. She was a
>super-reproducer, a mega-woman. Just think about reproducing with her
>and POP!, mystical meiosis and another one's on the way. Except for
>the operation.
>
>I was to love her, without conditions, and I did, as best I could. I
>stroked her and massaged her and caressed her, though not so much her
>face as I would have liked to. We kissed, lightly, but not
>passionately (I've not been much of a mouth-to-mouth kisser). It was
>over as she had to return to her family.
The first massage, our first time together, when it was my turn to lay
down and get the back massage, she quickly pulled my pants down, so
that I was in my underwear with legs entangled. That did not establish
a sense of trust with her. I was quite the weight trainer at the time
and I guess she just had to have at my gorgeous, jewie glutes. A part
of me was turned off by the surprise. I just had to hide the coldness,
or dissatisfaction, from showing with this mommy.
One thing to mention for this sad tale: I never really sensed any
hostility or violent urges while we were together. What hurts is the
memory that one time she quickly brought her hand up to my face while
we were standing and I kind of blocked it as I thought she was going
to hit me. I was aware she did not have those shifts, like some of
these other females (not ladies or women, actually, they're more like
"females" in a dry, distant way, watching my species if you will). So
I was embarassed at my immediate reaction and that it also betrayed
the fact I'd accrued some "hits" during my "love life".
>
>Horrible. Silent horror. Because she was with a man who was not her
>husband. Because she offerred a daughter as accompiment. Because they
>were an orgy family, which I had read. And she wanted me to be with
>her boys. Ohhhhhh... my prostrate gland. To be plugged away at from
>behind while I concern myself with the equally paedophiliacal task of
>attending to her daughters, genitally, manually or orally. That's what
>I gave up. Just let it go. Not easy with it. We didn't even argue. Can
>you understand the absurdity of that argument? I don't want to be a
>priest, I just want to be a rabbi! Ridiculous.
>
>On our last visit, though we disrobed and enjoyed each other's bodies
>as much as our (my) condition would allow, she offerred me that
>contact in our future, a future date. This was when she had gone
>completely naked and laid with me in that state, which caused the most
>conflict within me, for obvious reasons. I declined, effectively
>ending the "affair" (didn't exactly have sex with her, did I?) and she
>turned to the wall in this miniscule efficiency, finding whatever
>privacy she could, and began to cry. Unable to conceal it, she turned
>and appealed to me. I was cold and adamant on the point, and we had
>concluded our "relationship".
At one point, I had surrendered to my futon (which was open for guess
what reason) and spread my legs (like a frog laying flat) and just
flattened myself onto the mat, arms folded over the top of my head.
Silently asking her to just leave. That she was free to go. I wasn't
mean to her, exactly. I was just curt and somewhat callous, just
wanted her out. I couldn't deal with it,
>
>Looking back, I can see I took inordinate time with massaging her
>breasts, as her nipples had grown insensitive with repeatedly
>breastfeeding various human beings, I knew I had treated her,
>physically, with much love and attention and didn't have guilt over
>what we had had together. I felt I had missed out of many wonderful,
>beautiful sexual experiences. And that I had denied her. But she was
>an Orgy Mommy, and I thought she had more than enough on her own,
>especially in comparison to me, who was basically destitute in this
>aspect of life.
>
>I remember finally breaking down, as I langoursly kissed her
>beautiful, curvacious belly, crying and unable to resume the kissing
>rhythm. She eventually said: "Oh... Axel!" There wasn't much there,
>she didn't really understand. She just kind of let it be. I could tell
>there was something lacking in her, she was deficient in something.
>You see..
I knew something was missing. I felt uncomfortable because I knew I'd
end up liking her girls more, and she had quite the womanly body. I
was conflicted. I think I let her down, I think I let everyone down.
She obviously wasn't getting something important from her own hubby.
And maybe she tried to foster something with her kids, but usually how
it works out is if the mom is lacking something like that she may not
be able to coax what she needs from other people, even her own family.
Her family might not have it because *she* was lacking, mothers are
the center of the family in a way.. (which may be an understatement
for the really good ones). Maybe I should have tried harder.
>
>The second time we had met, in private quarters, she had taken off my
>pants and underwear with the fervent intention of fellating me. I had
>made it known to her that I was still quite sick (which I was) but she
>insisted. Moving on, determined to take things to their inevitable
>conclusion(s). So she began sucking me, and apparently enjoyed it,
>making all the sucking and gagging sounds (to make me feel better) but
>I knew after a while eventually she wasn't really into it. I could
>feel her ennui turn to full annoyance, wondering why I hadn't cum yet.
>I experienced all of it, how unromantic, she had no business fellating
>me. It was her own agenda, and a weak-hearted one at that. This was
>not love-making. She made a comment, asking me why I hadn't come yet,
>marked by her dissatisfaction. We finally discontinued our oral sex
>session, with mutual disappointment. I didn't want to look at her. We
>just held each other after that, which of course was much more
>satisfying (at least for me) than the other activities.
I don't know if she "got" me. At that point, considering. I was more
the slower moving softcore serpent kind of guy. I liked to relax and
being nice and tender and affectionate. She really didn't understand
how I was not releasing myself to shift into a higher gear, into orgy
lust mode. She wanted to go there, but worked towards it in awkward
ways. I don't think she was very worldly. Ohhhh.. Woman. What have I
given up?
>
>That was the culmination of our combined situations. She cried, but I
>think I should have been the one crying, as I had the most to lose,
>and her the least. I just didn't want to do the boys. What does it
>matter, huh? Oh... I think it matters... ultimately. It matters very
>much. It's a hard take, in the end. As we shall see..
I'm not exactly a very exciting paedophile in real life, am I? There
are other things in my life that are exciting.
The major non-personal point I'd like to make is that although she was
technically a criminal (of sorts), and wanted to help introduce me
into a world of.. well, I'll let you determine for yourself what kind
of a world she wanted to help me enter... even though you can make
many negative associations or classifications on her, and her kind,
the one thing that stands out clearly is that she was the most
non-violent, harmless woman I'd ever held in my arms. The flinch/block
is particularly sad. That she knows I thought she was going to hit me.
Not being very obedient and not acting on nonverbal
requirements/demands, not engaging in the game of obsequious lies,
etc. got me into some trouble with the "ladies". But of course they
also feel me very easily. I was ground down bad growing up. They just
react like fucking animals. Their souls are weak. They'll re-enact my
emotional past, just take all the bait, whatever loose strings may
trail along before them, any little spark of activity in my neural
fields. They'll just pounce on it. They're pussies. They don't have
enough of an independent mind, or don't want to control themselves..
too indulgent.
The Orgy Mommy was too self-indulgent, in her it was to pulling pants
down before a massage and going down too soon for me on the next
occasion, not in tune with me. But I guess I wasn't like the other
males in her life. She was obviously not.. qualified to rehabilitate
me, which is what it is, or should have been, not some guy in his
mid-twenties having a conspiratorial liaison with an orgy mommy.
Rehabilitation, not sexual escapades, which is how it seemed to be
presented, from the mother's angle/agenda.
Beyond legality, which by that time had been scorched off my soul by
the burning fires of orthodoxy (naturally), I had been turned off to
her family through sheer emotional disconnect. My true needs were
emotional, to be sought on the physical plane as physical touch and
nakedness was a part of that, as was kissing, but not exactly the same
as what she had in mind. I wasn't at that place where my genitalia was
a tool to be used by both (or more) parties, with the whizzbang
fireworks and [splorg!] such. Wasn't looking for it, wasn't working
for it, it just didn't factor into the relationship. I wasn't
consciously withholding from it other than not desiring the discomfort
of having an erection that wasn't being used (I easily grew erect when
we touched bodies, what a surprise, even if I was sick at the time).
When someone has deep emotional needs, if they are deprived on that
level and let things slide for too long, I suppose the nature of a
person's sexuality may change.. or subside. Something.
I remember on the occasion when she fellated me, didn't exactly ask
permission for it or discuss it with me before hand, which irked me...
just before that additional level of anti-intimacy (that's what it was
for me) she was softly kissing my belly. Now, remember, I'm the guy
who'd gotten sick, quite sick, the day after eating rye bread. The
illness was probably not just a reaction to a gluten-grain (when I'd
been clean for *so* long, which may have led to a pronounced
auto-immune inflammatory response) but a contributing factor to my
miseries, I was truly ill. And here I was, lying down, relaxed, with a
sexy mommy kissing my belly which made me feel sooooooooo much better.
That was the most pleasurable experience she gave me. It was just
plain old belly kissing. Those kisses on my aching, inflamed guts. It
was so good just then and then she ends it by fellating me, which,
physically and emotionally, at that ill time, was a decrease of
pleasure. It was disappointing.
So that was my first blow job. It was not a good one and there was no
happy ending. I didn't even get to kiss and fondle her girls. Dammit.
Axel of the North!
Over half a decade ago, that's when the Orgy Mommy began and ended
(uneventfully).
Consider how much time those concepts had to to incubate. Think about
that. Think about that for six years or so. Then you can read this
post.
I was to go on a sojourn into the large park, might as well see a
friendly neighbor, someone I know, someone I.. trust. He got a new
glassware waterpipe, and I really should try it out. Gourmet, potent
cannabis was in the screen, placed in the well-crafted glass bowl. So
I took a good, long, loving inhalation of the shamanic herb. Not used
to it. Vulnerable to it. Big Mistake.
Trek out successful, of course. The exercise was most decent, dudes. I
mean, i know, it wasn't as exciting as it could be, but, man, it was
good.
I was quite satisfied (or so I thought) and I got caught up in a
little three-way between myself, a 40-50 year old what-seemed-gay man
and a pre-teen kid. They must have seen it. You see, I was just
unlocking my bycicle (don't read anything into that) and existing as
my Self when They Descended.
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>THE PREDATORS
>
>
>Over half a decade ago, that's when the Orgy Mommy began and ended
>(uneventfully).
>
>Consider how much time those concepts had to to incubate. Think about
>that. Think about that for six years or so. Then you can read this
>post.
>
>I was to go on a sojourn into the large park, might as well see a
>friendly neighbor, someone I know, someone I.. trust. He got a new
>glassware waterpipe, and I really should try it out. Gourmet, potent
>cannabis was in the screen, placed in the well-crafted glass bowl. So
>I took a good, long, loving inhalation of the shamanic herb. Not used
>to it. Vulnerable to it. Big Mistake.
I think this is where the trouble actually started. Had I known I
don't think I would have gotten so far out; didn't know the potency.
>
>Trek out successful, of course. The exercise was most decent, dudes. I
>mean, i know, it wasn't as exciting as it could be, but, man, it was
>good.
For hard workouts cannabis will reduce my determination, but for
leisurely walks I will spontaneously forge ahead into full fartlek
mode, because I'm more enthusiastic. It's that factor, with strong it
lightens, with light it invigorates. It doesn't make somnolent zombies
out of my kind, which is part of the objection to its illegalization.
It just doesn't make sense to us. Alcohol and the commonly inhaled
nicotine are worse and pointless, spirituallly, compared to cannabis.
I'm dismayed, actually ashamed, that the governor overturned some
legislation that would legalize the use of this herb for terminally
ill patients. I mean, really, you'd deny cannabis sativa indica
(without the indica its just hemp, a different plant) to the people
who wouldn't support an underground drug industry if they went through
fully legal means? Great. What a dick.
Hey Al. I remember. "I like 'em young! I like 'em young! I like 'em
young!" and then communicating the virtues of having glasses vs. bare
eyes with all those hostile forces flinging themselves at your eyes.
like a kind of protection system. (ugh!) You earned yours, man. You're
smart enough, you're good enough, and... goshdarnit.. we like you!!
A very short look of mild distaste, of dissatisfaction after the
re-iterations?
>I was quite satisfied (or so I thought) and I got caught up in a
>little three-way between myself, a 40-50 year old what-seemed-gay man
>and a pre-teen kid. They must have seen it. You see, I was just
>unlocking my bycicle (don't read anything into that) and existing as
>my Self when They Descended.
>
I should go back. I was walking along the trails, getting fast-walk
exercise. A leisurely day off.. when I returned to my bike the older
man and the kid, for some strange reason, went to either end of me.
The boy from behind and the man in front. I was feeling a little
exposed and vulnerable, didn't want them to know what had latched onto
my cell receptors.. (it wasn't exactly anandamide). The boy was
getting on my case because he assumed I was riding my bike on the
walking trails, I told him I had only used it for transportation. In
the process of unlocking my bicycle the man leapt to my defense, but
the boy was going with his attitude. So they were involved in this
conversation and I was somewhat anxious to get out as I was stoned and
the sexually suggestive theme was mildly embarassing as they
encroached on my body space (which was expanded due to.. an expanded
mind).
That's when.. the car parked. Out came a tall, beautiful woman and her
daughter. I immediately recognized her satisfied smile as she surmised
the situation. Uh oh. I don't know about this. Eventually the gay (?)
bicyclist and young boy departed. The Predators closed in. The
daughter inquired about my folding baskets on the back rack and I
demonstrated how they opened and closed and locked, showed her the
problem when they are open but empty and the bottom bounced up and
becomes loose and and metal parts start flapping around, colliding
with my heels. She learned what courier tags were. Her mother was very
pleased with the interaction.
I've noticed that people enjoy watching their children interact with
strangers. Building sociability, language. Some birds (ducks and
geese) will bring their children over to me, the children are
constantly aware of their mother's attentive gaze and looking to her
for approval or disapproval. They have a firmly established
mother-child bond and learning from them by example. Most of these
mothers seem to trust me quite a bit. They let their children get
extremely close, sometimes it was only my discomfort that halted their
approach. They're so lovable and adorable and the mother just beams
with pride, she's in love with them and wants to share how wonderful
they are with others.. even people of a very different species. That's
the context from which these things occur...
Something interesting occured at several points during my interaction
with the mother and daughter. I looked at the girl, while I was
showing her the baskets, and also kept eye-contact with the mother.
She was pulling my attention to her chest, clasping her hands to her
breastbone and occasionally bowing slightly. I took it as an
encouragement to go on, as I was informing her daughter of the
disadvantages of the baskets. I don't know exactly at what point
things had gone overboard, but at some point, I, fully vulnerable due
to cannabis consciousness, had surrendered to the beauty of the young
girl. I was only aware that I had betrayed myself, physically or
psychically, I knew she knew (the mother). It's really when, looking
back and forrth, my mind inevitably began its comparative analysis. It
was during this short span of what was supposed to be discrete mental
processes that the display of consciousness was to occur. And that
was the end of it. I gave up. That was it. It was over. Forever. No
more. That's fine. Everying's gone.They were almost exactly the same.
So that was it. I suppose I could accuse the mother of Vanity. But
then I know that vanity is definently His favorite sin. But it's not
mine. For sure. I was taken. In the movie "Taken" I had no idea, about
"Lenny". (and it's an interesting and beautiful response to the
fancy-ass martial arts crap) I was switched onto the mother and she
was bowing more deeply and her daughter finallly delved in and, her
hanging arm momentarily pressing her face in against the glory of her
breasts and her daugher said, "Ohhhhhh.. It's like getting milk!"; how
they met, so well. I was taken. There is no doubt. I just lost it. I
might have made lightness of the asian boy scout troop #100 but
seriously, these are the predators.
I know all about neighborhood alerts. You, Jon Reger, cautioned me,
wisely, very wisely, against what may occur with my kind of evil,
awful, horrible kind of man. But seriously, I'm a level 99 sexiness
defender, not a level 2 sex offender! But I thank you for all for your
cautionary vibes. I will reveal, in time, what the axual permissive
displays of my own government body(s) have decided is appropriate for
me, in due time... keep in mind the lineage is unbroken...
You werre axed so callously, immediately. It's heartless, isn't it?
That's corporate power, buddy. Do you want to know what my experience
of it was? I'll tell ya. It was me witnessing, in my dream memory, you
in the Oceannairie's kitchen showing the double-sided cooking of the
end-process of an ocean-lover's dish in their kitchen. It was about
the extravagance of the kitchen, in the end. I had the sense of
distaste regarding the whole experience, and that was what was brought
back to me, in communicating your axing. Just bring to mind the
exposition of local servable food industry, that's alll. That was a
peudo-dream state. And there his is and then about a week later he is
gone. An unfair axing of a news announcer. Oh well. I guess that's how
it goes. He was the only one from that News Center that actuallly
cautioned me against what may happen between a community and its
disgustingly, awful, horrible, evil, awful awful evil people. Or not.
It may be all just a minority of bad people unfortanetaly affecting
another people. We'lll never know. I've got to know the long-draw
tobacco community, and claw in the young super-market community. Oh
well, let's hope my herbal advice has some leverage, eventually...
Axel of the North!
Axel of the North!
provider carries MFW. Lucky you. It saddens me that a large ISP like
AT&T (Axel's Telepathy & Teledildonics corporation) would drop an
information and community-rich, albeit archaic, part of the internet.
I'll be in the quoted text, I had someone over the night of The End of
Usenet (at least in my paranoid mind) and I was distracted for the end
of the last post (and he brought some Bacardi over and it was a somber
yet celebratory mood).
On Wed, 15 Jul 2009 04:44:25 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
wrote:
>On Tue, 14 Jul 2009 04:54:42 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
>wrote:
>
>>THE PREDATORS
[snip snip]
The mother saw it all. She knew. She was waiting for it. I don't know
if they knew me, I guess the internet persona precedes me, sometimes.
I've gotten big. I backed off for several years, but the writings
remain and perpetuates itself (I guess) through others. My weakness
was in that comparative analysis, going back and forth, seeing how the
daughter was almost a clone of her Creator.
>was the end of it. I gave up. That was it. It was over. Forever. No
>more. That's fine. Everying's gone.They were almost exactly the same.
I think that's everyTHing.
It seemed like an easy story, lazy. That's the impression. It was
brought into my mind I'm sure by someone..
>exposition of local servable food industry, that's alll. That was a
>peudo-dream state. And there his is and then about a week later he is
And there HE is, and then about a week later he is gone.
>gone. An unfair axing of a news announcer. Oh well. I guess that's how
>it goes. He was the only one from that News Center that actuallly
>cautioned me against what may happen between a community and its
>disgustingly, awful, horrible, evil, awful awful evil people. Or not.
>It may be all just a minority of bad people unfortanetaly affecting
>another people. We'lll never know. I've got to know the long-draw
>tobacco community, and claw in the young super-market community. Oh
>well, let's hope my herbal advice has some leverage, eventually...
So, Jon. I should tell you. Since resuming regular posting in this
newsgroup (tried to truly appreciate something before it was gone) I
feel I should continue, because there is some ultimate end-goal.
I was delivering on a regular basis.. packages to the government
building in the local downtown area. But at some point my thoughts
were drawn to enter into that building.. I was being called in. This
went on for a few days and so I decided that I had to check it out. So
I went into that government building on my own time, way too early for
my regular schedule, if there was any security footage of me in that
building that day they would know I was not there on my employer's
behalf. I wandered very briefly, as if led by some invisible will, to
a part of a wall that had a story, a short story. A story about a
woman called "Precious" who had a child and was homeless and lived
alternately in my local park and in a cave on the Mississippi. This
was a fictional story, perhaps known only to a few but certainly to
me, as it was based entirely on my more paedophiliacal posts in a very
small and unobtrusive part of the internet (google can't touch it).
They called me in and had their humorous little story. Okay. Then,
mysteriously, a suggestion... "go to the basement". Huh? Okay, if I'd
been led that far... might as well go all the way, right?
I take the escalator down to the basement and wander around. It
doesn't take long for me to find the photo-essay behind the
underground hallway's display case. There's a picture, in black and
white, of a young girl, nude, on all all fours bent all curvy and
sexy, obviously playing under the photographer's mind, feeling
extra-sexy. It wasn't pornographic, but it was technically quite
illegal. The way she arched her back, she felt very activated, I'm
sure. It was set-up in the proper context, the nudity served to
accentuate the socioeconomic disparity amongst people, helped drive
home the idea that this girl will have inadequate nutrition, education
and parenting. It was slightly depressing, to see that beautiful young
girl in the vibrancy of her youth, knowing she'd get less and probably
suffer, developmentally, for a life-situation she had no choice or
control over. It was illegal, but obviously within the spirit of true
law. There was nothing wrong with it. There are exceptions to a
literal, or technical, interpretation of law. So there was a photo
that was extremely illegal right there in the government building
itself. The point was made, especially by the nature in which I was
called in to see both the story and the photo and its own story (true
life).
I'm not above the law. But some laws just don't seem to apply to me.
I'm sure there are others who are the same. There are obvious
exceptions to some laws, because beyond the literal interpretation of
the law there is the spirit of the law, and the spirit of the law
trumps the technical application of the law because those in
accordance with the spirit of the law are behaving closer to True Law,
and that is aligned within the all-encompassing Reality itself.
I seem to have an unofficial pedophile's license. "Drawn Together" was
right, or maybe they're in on it. (the guy with six arms may be seen
as a Seraph, even though the legs are the fourth set of limbs the idea
is there, and a reference to the first page of Vladimir Nabokov's
"Lolita"). Some Jews producing a cartoon that closely resembles my
humor and inclinations. You tried to heal me, and in some ways you
did. It was a good effort and you gave me a lot of laughs. I just wish
I'd had access to cannabis when I watched your 3 seasons of animated
entertainment. I should have been stoned. The visual humor, the sexual
content, the absurdity. Dammit.
There is so much to tell, and yet, so many secrets to loyally keep. In
the end, I want people to know that my local government is cooler than
most, and better than many of the people it serves, in principle. I
don't know of any secret societies (though I can now easily imagine
their existence) or conspiracies but it is obvious that Minnesota is
not for stupid-ass simplistic Christians who are high on the guilt and
shame trip, which is ultimately quite disasterous for human
development, as so well written in books such as "The Biology of
Transcendence". The governor still refused the terminally ill (the
terminally ill!!!) from lawful access to cannabis sativa indica. Wow.
Not even individual licensing. You lookin' for a presidency? Pure
ambition, very little wisdom. Whatever you're looking for, you
probably don't deserve it.
Richard
You are the sound of one hand clapping.
Axel of the North!
prison. Anyone who knows my personality and powers of mind knows I was
ALL OVER that guy! I worked him good. In spite of their being a whole
nation watching those sad, ugly details emerge I do believe I could
wrassle him up somethin' fierce. I don't konw for sure but there was a
number left on my caller ID.. M Vick.. interesting area code.. hmm. I
am left to wonder if it really was him or if it was someone with the
right equipment who left a false number on my caller ID. I DO know
that there is an elite network that caters to the rich and powerful
and relays or finds those interesting internet personalities on the
internet for their clients. I was all over that Vick guy. Dogs are so
loyal, so eager to please if treated right, so protective and
wonderful. Beautiful animals, our first domesticated animal, a true
partner. They really helped us ascend to true dominance over the
animal kingdom, they helped give us the throne. We should treat them
better. I liked inviting him to my next birthday party, telllimg him
it would be great if he could bring one of his losers so we could all
watch him kill it with his bare hands, his big, powerful, professional
football playing hands. I fuckin' ate him up. Welcome back to society,
Michael. You are officially invited to any of my birthdays. I am
eagerly awaiting your next call. (if that was you, if not than I
appreciate your monitoring me so well (psi-policing) and ability to
deceive with electronic devices)
Now that THAT is out of the way...
It's not like you swore me to secrecy, Rabbi....
MYSTICAL CONFESSIONS
"I am a GOOD man."
I was a young man. I cannot claim ignorance. You can see by the
writing where my focus is, what my angle is. I had some very
interesting perspectives to work with as a child, then, growing into
adolescence and finally maturing into adulthood... I had immersed
myself in some very interesting read material by the age of 11, the
fifth grade, in my alternative school. I engaged in an independent
study in fifth and seventh grades. Parapsychology. The supernatural.
It was not dabbling, it was a true calling. I think we all know at
this point that it was a need, necessary for my proper intellectual
and spiritual development. My parents would lie to me, intentionally
obfuscate my spiritual awakening. They were threatened by my expansion
into the subtle realm of the mystical.
I was not ignorant. Young and fiery from all the frustrations and
deceptions and disappointments and betrayals... I hated him. I
remember how he visited my school, my alternative education school, a
relatively unique school which allowed the students greater freedom
and growth (in potential) than the other ubiquitous, standard public
schools. Fucking politics. I couldn't have been older than ten. Maybe
eleven. He entered and it was all feel-good PR, his entourage
destroyed the feeling of the audience of students who attended this
school everyday, it was all show for himself. The purpose was clearly
to boost himself. Years later when I learned the district had turned
back some of the money offered it... given the state of disrepair and
need for basic educational materials... in a school that went against
the grain. A school that had an influx of at-risk kids, mentally
defective kids... the alternative education school that held so much
promise for intelligent children, self-directed children... eventually
became a dumping ground for kids who got in trouble at other schools
or were obviously incapable of utilizing it's unique learning
environment. And where was he then?
So there I was, a young man, alone (SO lonely!) in his apartment..
consumed with fiery rage, a rage which was to be affixed on him. I was
angry about what I saw of this school that had so much potential, but
was relegated to be a dumping ground for the districts problems. You
did not help us. You used us to bolster your ratings, senator.
I was to feel and perceive the inclusion of my favorite Rabbi, who is
the "master" of my soul, and the co-creator of the only woman I made
promise to marry me. Chassidism. Mysticism. Mad for power.. and mad
with power. Well, you've definently got the power, kike. There's no
doubt about that. You watchin', officers? I hope so. You watch. You
watch and learn. Learn what REAL humans can do.
He and I and the senator had a nice little "teleconference".
Telepathic conference. He was worried, the senator. My kike of a Rabbi
was apparently pulling my strings (again). I was angry as Hell. I
hated him. I mean, I really, REALLY hated him. He was quite conscious,
quite aware. He knew. He protested, he felt convicted of crimes, and,
in that worried state of mind, truly conscious of the world around
him, said in righteous protestation: "I am a GOOD man." I will
forever remember our teleconference. This was the three of us, all
Jews, and my anger towards the Rabbi was directed to the senator, for
that night. But it was enough. I had a dream of a double crash, it was
very distinct, two separate stops, or disasterous jarring collisions,
in that dream. I was aware of being in a metal box, two huge crashes.
What a strange dream to have.
Remember when I commented on schizotypal brains and how those two
hemispheres have more coordinated co-processing because of the extra
dendritic connections in the corpus callosum and enhanced activity of
the frontal lobes? Maybe some of that has involvement in the
pre-frontal lobes, eh? Remember what I said about real-life
politicians, what they really do in a room full of people? Hmmmm.
Google archives may "do no evil" but they sure do allow for the
deletion of one of the most important people in America today. Isn't
that interesting?
Not less than TEN hours after that emotionally abused young man's
dream Senator Paul Wellstone died in a small airplane crash. It
wasn't until more than a month after his death that this emotionally
disturbed young man learned that the aircraft had impacted with the
earth twice during the crash. The pilot was of questionable quality,
often making excuses to make the co-pilot do the real work (take-off
and landing) and skirting his tasks with the marked proficiency of a
man who knows he's not up to his job.
That was a hit. I'm not saying that in a CIA/remote-viewing/psi hit,
as accuracy, I mean that was a hit in the mafia sense. There was
someone of inadequacy in perfect position for the job at hand, the
weather was right (or wrong, if you object to his death), and here is
the confession of the guy who was in on the whole ordeal. This was a
hit. Totally unprosecutable. This civilization is ill-equipped to
prosecute our kind. Completely above and beyond any of these laws. I
feel used. A fool. That was the first death of a human that I know can
be directly attributable to me.
There are more.
Axel of the North!
Axel of the North!
as long as I have lived and worked in the downtown area. She's in her
forties now. During the first 7 years or so we didn't have much
interaction, just some talking. She likes to workout, a cyclist. She
has a nice body, sixtynineability is a go, folks. Big boobs. She was
fishing around, set a few lures out for me. She bent over one time, at
the display case, made some sexy anal-sex grunts. She could command
her nipples to erection. Showed off her belly, just enough fat to be
curvy and soft, but no gut at all. False modesty. She advertised her
body, became talkative. I liked her. I told her where I lived, and she
lives on an adjacent block. We both live and work in the downtown
area. But something was wrong
She came to my building, after shopping at a trendy, feel-good market.
She had been drinking. She was inebriated, and embarassed herself by
being too loud when I came down to let her in (my building has a foyer
and intercom system). I apologized for my disgusting non-metrosexual
apartment. She showed off her clunky, tasteless new jewelry. Blah. She
was hungry, I knew she was hungry and had some uncooked turkey that
may have belonged in her stomach. But she wanted to see the dangerous
objects that populate my apartment. She got to hold some of them, but
I wouldn't let her touch something as delicate or precious as a
straight-edge razor. She managed to wave my VG1 seven inch santoku
about, and crash it into my lamp. Nice. When she understood that I
wasn't going to dedicate myself to feeding her her hunger eventually
won out and she decided to leave, upon exiting in my head "a sneak
attack" and then she said "A sneak attack." Yeah, I think we're in
agreement.
A while later when she understood that I was unwilling she brought her
boyfriend in. He was a goofy, fun guy. They were both bikers. I'd sold
him condoms before I knew who he was with, so had past knowledge of
their relationship for reference. She was with him the entire time,
just investigating me as an easy fuck on the side. She was fond of
asking me how I was doing, with her boyfriend. Her intonation let me
know she wanted me to be in pain. She held herself above me like that
a number of times. This cunt enjoyed my suffering. There's a lot of
them. She grabbed a part of my body to make me feel bad, after I
caught her lying about her age, when she mentioned she had an upcoming
birthday. She didn't keep track of her lie. When she told me what
birthday it was all I said was "Oh, extra fun!" It was a sensitive
issue, and then she grabbed part of my body.
She very recently shopped around for some items and made a point to
face me and bend forward, offering me a perfect view of her sumptuous
breasts. I just remember all her stunts and evils and know I mustn't
allow her to see any reaction that could be seen as positive reception
of her little displays. I'm not just cautious, I'm wary. I actually
wanted to be good to her, that feeling alone is something to avoid.
POWER
There was a new employee, of course I had no forewarning of her
introduction into my life (they like to keep me in the dark). Her name
is Lewdmila, a Belarussian beauty of magnificently generous
proportions. Ohhhhhh. Lewdmila. She was sixtyninable, folks. Maybe 2-3
inches shorter. She was wide, very generous hips, big boned, with a
pleasantly wide, beautiful face and those big, sad eyes I'm a goner
for. Oh, g-wd, those big, brown, beautiful, soft, sad eyes. She had
pale skin and dark, black hair. My favorite combo. Big breasts. Just
turned 21 shortly after her entrance into my convoluted, horrific
life. She presented herself differently to people. First warning.
Those discrepencies cannot be ignored. She wanted me to think she was
a stay-at-home kind of girl, not a party-goer. I have plenty of
experience with the Russians, they have an imcomplete and
unsophisticated misunderstanding of American culture. They are
simplistic and.. to be frank.. quite crude. This was true of Lewdmila
(hence the mispelling). I'm a Lecter, aren't I? It's terrible. But you
just don't know how terrible it is (yet). You were right, Anthony.
It's a Chaplin. I've delighted my WWII-era Russian immigrants that I
deliver to with the Charlie Chaplin-esque physical comedy, Russian
Jews I serve so loyally. My Russian Jews. I possess, on the astral
plane, a "Chaplin"; and if I were to attempt to shave it off it would
sprout back, Homer-style, within seconds. And I will elaborate on that
point in due time, people of Springfield.
She was a crude, true sledge hammer of a woman. With that crude iron
sledge hammer she hammered down on me the obvious beauty of her
breasts. Within the first week she, slightly demurely, displayed the
full glory of her decolletage with one strap off-shoulder, just before
closing. The first thing of course, in my abused mind, was
"dangerous". Uh oh. We have a sensitive Jew with a full-bodied, crude
Belarussian beauty (sans green card). Uh oh. During that first week
she allowed her scent to be inhaled. Maybe she didn't shower for a few
days, whatever. I got the animal scent of her body and it was very
good. I can't actually have any doubts about my sexuality, given what
I know about the pheromones. I was the young kid explaining the
concept of pheromones to my peers in elementary school. I may be prone
to desirous affections towards my one and only sexual kryptonite,
those adorable asian boy scouts (troop #100, 10x10, a very mystical
number, mind you... !) but I know, beyond a shadow* of a doubt what my
true biological calling is. Yeah, maybe I want to engage in hours of
"kissyface" with a few asian boys, but it's not because of their
masculinity.
*beware The Shadow, the Shadow knows, the Shadow *always* knows!
She had a pissy, spoiled personality. She had logged on to her Russian
beauties account on her Russian dating website and I had her member
number. She had to leave the station (the front register) and forgot
to close the internet browser window. So I got her account numbe and
read her whole profile and saw her e-mails. All I did, after that, was
correct her English, I didn't change any of the in-depth sexual
preferences (though I was extremely tempted!!!). I helped her out. I
got her member number and very lightly chided her on it, because it
was obvious she was shopping for a convenient husband to remain in
Glorious America.
My Russian (Belarussian) Princess required many things, which I was
disinclined to provide. Dark Jewish Princes don't take well to the
non-verbal requirements of Belarussian princesses. You know that
fable, "The Little Jewboy that Couldn't"? It's about a jewboy, and he
has various strictures on his soul, something most people can't
understand. I remember a line at the end of the story: "I think I
can't I think I can't I think I can't I think I can't." Yeah, turns
out he couldn't. She used her body as the only bargaining tool. But
she did have a kind of crude adorability.
I learned some Russian, just for her. At one time, and I timed it
perfectly, after she was cast out of her usual workplace space (for
being too chatty in an irritating way) and forced to clean the shelves
of this workplace.. dust and spray-cleaners.. resting on her folded
legs, on the floor, I said a sequence of words (phonetically) that in
Russian mean "Shut up, bitch!" I rehearsed this, but it wasn't needed,
I speak those few words I know so fluently the Russians assume I speak
the language. Having learned one or two classes in Spanish and French,
and obviously vocally and linguistically talented... how could I not
get it? I have all the subtleties of intonation particular to the
language as well, and have the tonal range to bring it all together.
I'm fuckin' awesome! She freaked! Could not stand to be within 10 feet
of me after that, for a day or two. She was beautiful and endeared
herself by her prissy personality and immaturity and crudity. I loved
that Woman. Which of course made it worse for both of us.
She required that I act in certain ways, and I was unwilling. She was
probably acting under the undercurrent of feelings that prevaded her
existence under my presence, because she was a sexually attractive
woman (to me). I like them full and womanly. She outweighed me. She
was quite wide, I had smelled her true scent (her fault). She got to
wear shirts that showed off her breasts. Like the New Orleans Whore,
upon relieving her of her post at the front, she bent forward for an
uncomfortable length of time and revealed her cleavage for poor,
deprived Axel to endure. A big, fucking sledge hammer of a woman. Very
crude, crude iron slamming on a sensitive Jew. There was one time that
stands out, she got off work and in her personal time, certainly
entering her vehicle (lived in the 'burbs, spoiled foreigner) and
driving when she came down on me, sledge-hammer style, with oral sex
concepts. She was rocking my unfortunate schizotypal Jewish mind so
fucking hard that I'm quite sure I was bleeding out fellation
vibes/experiences out to the public I had to serve. I wish I had a
card: "The phenomena of mind you are experiencing is a creation of
another party, these thoughts are only 2nd-hand. I have no ambitions
of fellating you. My apologies if you feel misled." Because they
fuckin' get it. I'm obviously WAY out there. I *had* to read through
the literature and make sense of it, intellectually. Isn't that right,
Rabbi? Oh... I felt your ominous, evil emanations. You had true doom
and gloom working for you. You used it to intimidate and coerce
people. Politicians, bigwigs, probably also the police. You got them
all in your pocket. It's the very same emotional force that ruined my
desire to love your very beautiful 7 and 9 year-old daughters. Too
threatening.
I'm sorry, back to the Belarussian Beauty. I never got to tell her she
was a duplicitous (clever) dog woman. I had that sequence of words at
the ready. No. She actually had her ex-lover, who must have been her
true lover (at least, at the time) travel from their native land to
present himself to me at the workplace. He was about her height,
obviously Belarussian and very reasonable (a clerk is a made-expert at
judging another ape-mind's quality on first impression,
unfortunately). She even presented her ex-lover. Wow. I am
*completely* fucked. I had exposed her to true jewish humor (she was
not privy to it, having confessed to feeding a Jew "ham", which she
did not understand was un-kosher for Jews). In fulll charismatic humor
I guess I gave her biting Jewish humor, and loved her, however
caustically, with that kind of mind. Within the company of others,
other women, at the workplace, she finally got it. There was a big
deal made of the litte baskets that contained the orders, which I had
to deliver, with plenty of attitude, made into an "issue". She had to
process these orders, and put them into my delivery roster. I had
placed the emptied baskets and pushed forward the last of the work for
her, at least in regards to me. In the past I had left her baskets to
transport herself. I asked her if there was a "problem". She said no,
and then I replied: "Good. Keep it that way." She was obviously
angry, heated, more than willing to be angry towards me. All the other
females in the workplace knew this as well, they all contributed to
the mind-field. We all knew my Lewdmila. Oh, Lewdmila. You're so big
and beautiful. I wish I could have loved you. I would have licked your
labia forever.
She didn't have much of a gut. But she went on a green tea program of
some sort. She had a big, beautiful body with big, beautiful breasts
and very little gut. She was a Belarussian princess. I could not
partake, because of my own strictures. She never even tried to learn
about me, as a person. Big no-no. But I learned about her. I
eventually leanred, through those tenuous quantum links, why I would
tilt my head back and grimace as I did, with that emotional force,
just like she did at the end of those work days. That feeling of
loneliness. That was real. I understand that now.
She added to it. My regrests, I mean.
Axel of the North!
as long as I have lived and worked in the downtown area. She's in her
forties now. During the first 7 years or so we didn't have much
interaction, just some talking. She likes to workout, a cyclist. She
has a nice body, sixtynineability is a go, folks. Big boobs. She was
fishing around, set a few lures out for me. She bent over one time, at
the display case, made some sexy anal-sex grunts. She could command
her nipples to erection. Showed off her belly, just enough fat to be
curvy and soft, but no gut at all. False modesty. She advertised her
body, became talkative. I liked her. I told her where I lived, and she
lives on an adjacent block. We both live and work in the downtown
area. But something was wrong
She came to my building, after shopping at a trendy, feel-good market.
She had been drinking. She was inebriated, and embarassed herself by
being too loud when I came down to let her in (my building has a foyer
and intercom system). I apologized for my disgusting non-metrosexual
apartment. She showed off her clunky, tasteless new jewelry. Blah. She
was hungry, I knew she was hungry and had some uncooked turkey that
may have belonged in her stomach. But she wanted to see the various
POWER
proportions. Ohhhhhh.. Lewdmila. She was sixtyninable, folks. Maybe
2-3 inches shorter. She was wide, very generous hips, big boned, with
a pleasantly wide, beautiful face and those big, sad eyes I'm a goner
for. Oh, g-wd, those big, brown, beautiful, soft, sad eyes. She had
pale skin and dark, black hair. My favorite combo. Big breasts. She
was a real heffer. Ya know those black-and-white colored cows? With
the big cow eyes? And the udders, useful for so much dairy? Yeah. Just
turned 21 shortly after her entrance into my convoluted, horrific
life. She presented herself differently to people. First warning.
Those discrepencies cannot be ignored. She wanted me to think she was
a stay-at-home kind of girl, not a party-goer. I have plenty of
experience with the Russians, they have an imcomplete and
unsophisticated misunderstanding of American culture. They are
simplistic and.. to be frank.. quite crude. This was true of Lewdmila
(hence the mispelling). I'm a Lecter, aren't I? It's terrible. But you
just don't know how terrible it is (yet). You were right, Anthony.
It's a Chaplin. I've delighted my WWII-era Russian immigrants that I
deliver to with the Charlie Chaplin-esque physical comedy, Russian
Jews I serve so loyally. My Russian Jews. My refugees. I possess, on
to close the internet browser window. So I got her account number and
read her whole profile and saw her e-mails. All I did, after that, was
correct her English, I didn't change any of the in-depth sexual
preferences (though I was extremely tempted!!!). I helped her out. I
got her member number and very lightly chided her on it, because it
was obvious she was shopping for a convenient husband to remain in The
Glorious America.
probably acting under the undercurrent of feelings that pervaded her
did not understand was pork and un-kosher for Jews). In fulll
charismatic humor I guess I gave her biting Jewish humor, and loved
her, however caustically, with that kind of mind. Within the company
of others, other women, at the workplace, she finally got it. There
was a big deal made of the litte baskets that contained the orders,
which I had to deliver, with plenty of attitude, made into an "issue".
She had to process these orders, and put them into my delivery roster.
I had placed the emptied baskets and pushed forward the last of the
work for her, at least in regards to me. In the past I had left her
baskets to transport herself. But one time I carefully collected all
the baskets and put them away myself, a simple, easy task but in these
high-charged emotional relationships.. From her issues I made it an
issue.. and understanding her bullshit emotional worldI asked her if
there was a "problem". Upon finding no baskets to return she said no,
and then I replied: "Good. Keep it that way." I said it in a mean
way, laced with all the humor and love a Jewish comedian can muster.
She was obviously angry, heated, more than willing to be angry towards
me. All the other females in the workplace knew this as well, they all
contributed to the mind-field. We all knew my Lewdmila. Oh, Lewdmila.
You're so big and beautiful. I wish I could have loved you. I would
have licked your grand expanse of labia forever.
She didn't have much of a gut. But she went on a green tea program of
some sort. She had a big, beautiful body with big, beautiful breasts
and very little gut. She was a Belarussian princess. I could not
partake, because of my own strictures. She never even tried to learn
about me, as a person. Big no-no. But I learned about her. I
eventually learned, through those tenuous quantum links, why I would
tilt my head back and grimace as I did, with that emotional force,
just like she did at the end of those work days. That feeling of
loneliness. That was real. I understand that now.
She added to it. My regrets, I mean. I don't blame her for it.
Black men were very fond of her, they were open and honest in their
sexual appreciation of her, I think her vibes were very complimentary
to herself. She was the great white hope, an exotically white,
ultra-white woman from a very white country. But big, with booty, wide
booty and big boobs (which contributed significantly to her ego
problems). At one point she was so angry with me she couldn't stand my
presence near her, she floundered and asked, in broken English, why I
was even near her (obviously needed to know how the deliveries were
going, when I could collect them, when I could leave to deliver them,
etc.). She hated me being near her. Her hatred was the other side of
the coin, the love coin. I dropped all pretenses (with me there are
very few anyway..) and told her flat out that I loved her. She dropped
her tensions, facially, glanced at me to appraise my emotional state,
and dropped her own emotional baggage (which was considerable at the
time).
I owned that woman, without effort. I had about a decade on her, and
she was looking for permanent citizenship. I never took advantage of
her, but in retrospect I had *way* too much power over her. I have too
much power. This has been a continuing problem. I never looked for
power over her, never had designs on her. I was always willing to help
her, I was always willing to correct her English and help her
assimilate into America, with no hidden agenda. She gave me problems
for correcting her, lightly and without any trace of scorn of
irritance. She created the sexual subtext, which I did not contribute
to (other than an obvious yearning which was unavoidable, especially
for an emotionally-abused virgin). This was the workplace, a touchy
issue where sexual matters are concerned. She was emotionally
volatile, totally unsafe. She was a sexually-charged, dangerous,
prissy, uncompromising woman susceptible to all of my "charms". Very
much under me, as most woman unfortunately are. I do not like how far
underneath me they exist, how weak and unindependent their
consciousness is. She was a generous ideal, a big, bountiful woman.
One day, at closing, with door locked, I opened it for her and as she
left I told her to "break a leg", it is an old expression, in my land.
The next day she does not show up for work because she broke her leg
at her other job (security). The injury apparently prevents her from
working at my workplace ever again. I lost my Belarussian princess.
She looked in distaste, askance, at my forelimbs one time. I know I'm
small, stunted, malformed growth and development. No one in this group
mentioned that it may be more than just protein deficiency. Retinol.
Protein and retinol deficiency. She made a comment, put on the task of
pulling some things apart, that I was weak. "You are SO weak!" She
couldn't, the boss couldn't, challenged I couldn't but the kinetic
forces involved would have me endangering myself. I am a proven
power-athlete, predominantly type II fast-twitch musculature. I've
probably got knock-out power in both hands (ambidexterity is natural
when you cultivate the life skills I have). I can obviously move up
and up and up in the weights when I train and eat properly. This
stupid fucking Russian cow had no idea, nothing, completely vacuous
whore-mind, no appreciation at all for any of my potential. No
interest in me as a person, not the slightest. It was all about her,
her glory. All the oral sex effluvia, and it *was* effluvia, was all
about *her* glorification. Complete fucking whoredom. I was
incredible. Putting my head through the fucking ceiling, lifting and
pulling that much weight, trudging on for hours and hours effortlessly
in the real world. Preceding modern science by multiple years, FOR
multiple years. Proven. A made man, by science and religion. All of
it. [Milton morph] ALL OF IT! [/morph] I have proven G-d genes (the
reason for this assertion I will divulge at a later time). Fucking
whores. Stupid fucking whores. No appreciation. No appreciation at
all.
David
"Axel of the North!" <ale...@ypo.com> wrote in message
news:4a63232a...@news.eternal-september.org...
Did ya fuck her?
Axel of the North!
indiigestion sleeping on that stomach as I had brought my 8oz.
stainless steel flask filled with pirate water to a nearby park and
enjoyed all the wonderful, well-adjusted, well-to-do suburbanites
playing volleyball. Ahhh.. the beach.
Woke up today all dehydrated and slightly groggy. I've got to stop
that, even if it was the weekend. Not good for me. Had a great time,
though. Magnesium citrate and adequate rehydration quelled the
cramping quite nicely, I like nutraceuticals.. I"ve learned quite a
bit, just living. You people should have been nicer to me, I could
have shared a lot with you. Shame on you.
Felt like I had adequate protein, the indigestion helped delay the
protein-intense bottomless pit that is my usual cave-man metabolism (I
wasn't kidding about knock-out power (for my weight-class), I'm a
fucking cave-man). I opened up my pantry, pulled out the medium rice
"sticks" (they're really noodles/rice ribbons) and soaked 'em. Put
some crab paste (crab meat, crab fat, soya bean oil, garlic, fish
sauce, pepper, FD&C Yellow #6 (WTFs *that* doing in there, oh yeah,
it's gook food) mixed with olive oil and some rendered chicken fat and
added extra cayenne pepper powder and chopped up some fresh basil and
parsley (didn't have coriander on hand but that would have completed
it). Competently chopped up the broccoli (like to reduce the stemmage,
split the florets for fast, effective cooking, sharp blades make for
quick, safe prep-work). Let that mingle, added extra salt (alcohol
usage allows for additional electrolytes). I didn't add ginger but I
should have, added more garlic, in powder form. Eventually put in
about 700 calories of medium-width rice noodles and viola! A fuckin'
awesome asian-inspired carbohydrate repletion. Estimated 1,000
calories. Man, I love myself. This just gets easier and easier. By the
time I made that meal I was not groggy. Quite well and feeling better
by the second. Look at me, I'm a fuckin' gook!*
*gook = good + cook!
On Sun, 19 Jul 2009 14:39:48 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
wrote:
>There's a cunt I'd like to talk about. She was in the neighborhood for
>as long as I have lived and worked in the downtown area. She's in her
>forties now. During the first 7 years or so we didn't have much
>interaction, just some talking. She likes to workout, a cyclist. She
>has a nice body, sixtynineability is a go, folks. Big boobs. She was
>fishing around, set a few lures out for me. She bent over one time, at
[snip snip]
>
>She very recently shopped around for some items and made a point to
>face me and bend forward, offering me a perfect view of her sumptuous
>breasts. I just remember all her stunts and evils and know I mustn't
>allow her to see any reaction that could be seen as positive reception
>of her little displays. I'm not just cautious, I'm wary. I actually
>wanted to be good to her, that feeling alone is something to avoid.
I remember during one of our conversations.. I "heard" during a brief
lull "I want to suck you..." in a very sweet "voice". Awwwww. I'm
gettin' all misty-eyed, here. What they just don't understand is that
appeals with sex acts are counterproductive to someone for whom sex
acts, without friendship (trustworthiness) are empty offers that are
indicative of a person who is most likely not a good prospect for an
intimate relationship. They just.. don't.. fucking.. get it.
>POWER
>
[snip snip]
>
>She was a crude, true sledge hammer of a woman. With that crude iron
>sledge hammer she hammered down on me the obvious beauty of her
>breasts. Within the first week she, slightly demurely, displayed the
[snip snip]
>My Russian (Belarussian) Princess required many things, which I was
>disinclined to provide. Dark Jewish Princes don't take well to the
>non-verbal requirements of Belarussian princesses. You know that
>fable, "The Little Jewboy that Couldn't"? It's about a jewboy, and he
>has various strictures on his soul, something most people can't
>understand. I remember a line at the end of the story: "I think I
>can't I think I can't I think I can't I think I can't." Yeah, turns
>out he couldn't. She used her body as the only bargaining tool. But
>she did have a kind of crude adorability.
>
Actually loosely translates as "clever dog woman bitch". People will
help me out with Russian sentences. This.. is what I like to do with
difficult women!
>
>Black men were very fond of her, they were open and honest in their
>sexual appreciation of her, I think her vibes were very complimentary
>to herself. She was the great white hope, an exotically white,
>ultra-white woman from a very white country. But big, with booty, wide
>booty and big boobs (which contributed significantly to her ego
>problems). At one point she was so angry with me she couldn't stand my
>presence near her, she floundered and asked, in broken English, why I
>was even near her (obviously needed to know how the deliveries were
>going, when I could collect them, when I could leave to deliver them,
>etc.). She hated me being near her. Her hatred was the other side of
She called me retarded, too. She just came off as cute, I couldn't
take her seriously after a while.
>the coin, the love coin. I dropped all pretenses (with me there are
>very few anyway..) and told her flat out that I loved her. She dropped
>her tensions, facially, glanced at me to appraise my emotional state,
>and dropped her own emotional baggage (which was considerable at the
>time).
>
>I owned that woman, without effort. I had about a decade on her, and
>she was looking for permanent citizenship. I never took advantage of
>her, but in retrospect I had *way* too much power over her. I have too
>much power. This has been a continuing problem. I never looked for
>power over her, never had designs on her. I was always willing to help
>her, I was always willing to correct her English and help her
>assimilate into America, with no hidden agenda. She gave me problems
>for correcting her, lightly and without any trace of scorn of
that should read "or irritance".
>irritance. She created the sexual subtext, which I did not contribute
>to (other than an obvious yearning which was unavoidable, especially
>for an emotionally-abused virgin). This was the workplace, a touchy
>issue where sexual matters are concerned. She was emotionally
>volatile, totally unsafe. She was a sexually-charged, dangerous,
>prissy, uncompromising woman susceptible to all of my "charms". Very
>much under me, as most woman unfortunately are. I do not like how far
>underneath me they exist, how weak and unindependent their
>consciousness is. She was a generous ideal, a big, bountiful woman.
She would require, at various points during the day, that I look at
certain parts of her body. And if I didn't, I would be punished. I
think this can count as a form of sexual harassment, given that it's
at the workplace. What do you guys think? It's her fucking show. And
if I don't appreciate it, well, I've got to pay. It was ridiculous.
>
>One day, at closing, with door locked, I opened it for her and as she
>left I told her to "break a leg", it is an old expression, in my land.
>The next day she does not show up for work because she broke her leg
>at her other job (security). The injury apparently prevents her from
>working at my workplace ever again. I lost my Belarussian princess.
I think it was her way of telling me that she would no longer work
there because of me. Well, now she gets be a security guard and reign
down her mighty Belurussian fury on all those poor black men, with a
nice big niggerknocker of a nightstick, even. [frisks whiskers with
clawed hand] One time when she was simply entering her vehicle a
random black man tried to enter her car. They'd talk to her, linger
about.. always in search of the exotic Great White Hope. So mean. So
conceited. Clever dog-woman bitch!
They just destroy any attractiveness. And they just don't get it. This
feminine mystique, the feminine allure.. this mysterious feminine
intuition.. is a fucking lie. They don't have it. It's posturing.
There's nothing there. They don't even understand how they ruin it.
They don't even care. Little girls are better people than they.
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>I think it may be time for the mystical confession. It's been a long
>time coming, a task I've grown to dread. Hollywood may want to pay
>attention as this does involve a few of your own.
MANDY
Not many of you know this, well, only one of you knows about her (Sue,
Mrs. VP "Stairmaster" Sue), but I thought I'd divulge our tentative
beginning, brief middle, and miserable end.
Mandy was a beautiful woman, of the same general proportions as
Lewdmila, but obviously not as big and a fake blonde. She had very
large, sad eyes (which as we all know I'm a total goner for). I asked
her easily what her ethnicity was, at one time. She told me some part
of Hungarian. I told her I was a quarter Austro-Hungarian, from the
Jewish side. After a while I actually asked her on a date, casuallly
(but not too casually) and she replied, without rejection, that she
had a boyfriend. I took it fine. I simply inquired lightly and had
established that I was interested in her, as a person.
The next occasion she entered and had only business with the back
register, not mine (or went to the stamp machine). She gave me quite a
look, on her quick way out. Confidence. Ownership? Maybe, maybe not.
But the "I got you" vibe was evident. I knew she had to deal with
issues of corpulence, even though, like Lewdmila, she had no real gut.
She was just a wide-hipped, big-breasted, soft-all-over woman of large
bones and generous proportions (wide face, wide everything!). A
jewboy's dream cum true. She was feminine, but not made for grace. Not
graceful, but truly representing the bluntness and crudity which I was
to learn is the hallmark of many women (at least in comparison to
sensitive, well-attuned men).
>Now that's one of America's top predators right there, folks. Still
>not a good idea, though. I got away with that one. I've encountered
>enough wayward, hostile vagabonds to know not to sleep at the top of
>the hill. Woke up at 3 a.m. ("whouh?"), went home and watched some
>Comedy Central and had a hard-boiled egg and went to sleep. Woke up
>dehydrated and with a dry mouth that still tasted faintly of tobacco.
One of America's Top Predators then began to refer to her, only
in-line, as "Fatty McFatty". If words are cheap than... Oh well, there
goes the neighborhood. I hate to even begin on what this is going to
be. Butt we're all along for the ride... my anus is itching, and it is
only from one chicken breast of fried, soy-fried chicken breast from a
frozen, coated avian body part*. (commercial, wheat, various forms of
corn, etc.).
*poultry
I would call her that, as an encounter, and eventually had to fight
against its use. Ever to to not think about flying monkeys? So it
would erupt again, only this time as an unwanted intruder into the
stream-of-consciousness whole type of thing...
Ya know, I've dwelt at the top of that hill, and let the oratorical
dispaly present itself. But I've also not just knelt, but grasped from
behind the trunk of our trees, and had an interesting experiences(s?).
All this within the harmony or dispharmony (or pure neglect (or
performance-artist-esque focal-point attention and/or adoration)) of
the entire crowd of humans. Or some awesome hacky-sack encounter with
a group of younger people, in front of the group. I couldn't give up
the hacks. I should link to this in another post. It's just too much.
She grew pained expressions. I saw her grow through it, a mental
trigger of sorts, to be in its throes. Society made her a victim; she
was a victim of society. And I.. didn't help her. That is my guilt and
shame. For.. even though (or *if*) she had a lover, paramour, suitor,
whatever... I had opened her wide enough that I was a spiritual
criminal of sorts... even though not intentionally.
I think it may have kind of devastated her. Don't know for sure but
she left soon afterwards. Afterward. Really. If you read me right I
sound like a dry James Callis, Hugh Laurie and even.. okay, you
cowardly intercom-using neighbor.. Javier Bardum. Fine.
So there we have it.
Natalie Tittmeier.
('cuz it's all about her tits; she got no wits)
She began working at my workplace. Nineteen. Right? She was working an
informationally-rich job. Would occasionally come out, certainly not
wasting her time, and procure her goods. She was a customer/co-worker.
She would certainly not be wasting her time, so I was certainly
professionally proficient and subservient. Why get in anyone's way
(the art of peace is wise in basically all ways..)? Best to help them
along their way, axually.
She was a red-head, not a splotchy, freckled mess but a straight up,
pale-skinned red-head; not an exactly beautiful face but a very
beautiful body; truly sumptuous. Ohhhhhh. I hated it. The whole
experience. It probably appeared on my countenance as an unconscious
pining, upon the frow. Who knows? Not even I.
Of coarse she felt it. Like, ummm, duh.. But her only action was to
present her decolletage in a very well-hugging dress, which only
accentuated the most wonderful curves of her body known to all
mankind. No words spoken; few ever were. And so it was. I didn't know
what her experiential realm was. I couldn't relate. She appeared
again, an apparition of my worst subconscious fears.. At the end of
our transaction she whispered, even if someone were near behind I
doubt they'd hear it, "queer". Dropped as hateful as possible an atom
bomb of a word to achieve optimal effect. Thankfully, she was fired
soon afterward, due to an inability to keep up with the workload or
some other matter.
I saw her filled with pure eros with the actor, Nathanael Thiessen (or
whatever..), who was working at my workplace at the time. I think he's
from Wisconsin. He diminished me, degraded me. Asserted I was
unimportant and.. if not defective than... ineffectual. Not spoken, of
course. Oh fuckin' well. But of course he had a girlfriend, and
Natalie was not sated. (or whatever, I couldn't discern between a
sexually-active woman and a non-sexually-active woman at the time) But
she was still hungry on men, even after that.
I was very glad she left my work-space/work-life. She was a painful
presence in my life, how I felt, self-conceptually, just like a Sarah
as the same last name as the male actor in this post. They were
hurtful in their use of mind, even without knowing the full extent. Or
maybe they did? Because I could bridge the gaps so well? They all had
a real hard time, didn't they? The ones I had some emotional
relationships with?
--
"Hospital nutrition is the worst, and is designed by Registered Dieticians,
who are the most ignorant group of "professionals" one could possibly
encounter. You'd like them."
David Cohen in m.f.w. on 11/09/06
Axel of the North!
She was young. Tall (69 is a go!), with long legs and an ass and big
boobs. The ridiculous thing was how much of her cleavage she showed
during the cold winter months. It was obvious she was man-hunting. or
simply needed a lot of attention. It always struck me as pathetic,
wearing revealing clothing in the cold. She'd come in and just stand
there, with a weird expression on her face, waiting expectantly for
any attention. I made it a point to avert my eyes from her obvious
hotspots as I didn't want to encourage her. I'd had enough of all
these simplistic whorish women and knew even if she was a young one
that she could turn on me the same as many of the others. So this went
on for months, she was usually in on Saturdays. When it got warmer,
one time she came in just as the business was closing she left just a
minute or two before locking the doors. When I went to lock the door
she was around 10 feet outside, legs spread and bending forward, like
some yoga pose, showing her ass to me. Ridiculous.
The last time she came in she brought her half-smoked cigarette, to
show she was an adult. Wow. Impressive. She balked at me, just
expected me to say something to her. Totally dumb, presumptuous whore.
She couldn't have been older than 18, 19, maybe 20. She was well on
her way.. expects that revealing her body will magically lay out a
path before her, strewn with men pleading, begging to provide for her
and serve her. I believe she will easily meet many men who will say
just the right words, hit just the right buttons in her primitive
mind. Press the right buttons and *bingo*! The legs spread and they
can masturbate using her body rather than their own hands (which is a
nice change of pace).
Now, with experience, I should feel grateful she didn't lash out at
me. She was still young and relatively harmless. She looked down, kind
of depressed sometimes. And inhibited, not able to do anything. Very
meek. But part of the rule for non-engagement with the enemy is
because they are always looking for non-culpability in their tiny
little world. Is this.. As Good As It Gets? Remove rationality and
accountabillity and I can arrive at an approximation of the female
mind? Maybe not an absolute truth but it would seem to be mostly true
for many of the average women I've found in Midwest America. Looking
for a way, a reason, an excuse, justification to act the way they want
to act, without actually being responsible for their actions or for
the consequences of their actions.
I find it repulsive. I find the displays of their bodies to be
primitive and gutless, but also a warning that they are using methods
that allow them to preserve their non-culpability, so as to give
themselves the freedom to lash out when they feel like it. I feel it
is a trap. Sheer lack of communication, unwilling or uncaring enough
to not even talk to me. but with expectations heaped on me following
their little displays. They won't even be a person, basically just a
body. A fuck-body, that's what they've advertised of themselves.
I wrote that, with minor alterations, this morning. Now let me tell
you about what happened at work today...
Duet
There were two of them. But before I get into this I want to share
something of whatever insight I may bring into this sordid, crude,
caustic forum of buff men seeking to get buffer (unless you're here
for the miscellanea!). I've had duos before, at 20 in Shinder's (a
book/magazine/porn store) or various places.. and my current
workplace. I have the theory that women have just half the courage of
men, such that the average woman has about half the courage of the
average man. When they strike up collusion with another, become a duo
they finally attain, with their very female social thinking
(co-processing) an entanglement that yields a functional courage, such
as that of a man's. (one (1) person)
Sexism or Realism? Hmmmmmmm. That's a lotta XP! Perfect line for a
pedestrian, right, people of the North? And I know about our governor,
and how she was used. Yes, and I tasted well of it. I had had earthy
and pungent, but not the sweet. And you provided that, ohhhhhh.. yes
you did. And it was wonderful. Though those who may feast on your
fresh carcass may enjoy your tumultuous travails (the mother cannot,
physically, completely control her children and the primal urges can
be fierce in those who were made to l-ve) I will be forever in debt to
our Minnesotan accent and the RNC at Minneapolis' own convention
center. I one-eightied many a guest of our fine city, from the
convention. Totally downturned, the people for the RNC entered. I
"one-eightied" them by showing or instructing them to the "terrorist"
section, which was a simple end-piece of one of the *ten* or so
aisles. They immediately brightened and held me in special awe (for
the most part), and became the very name of the act I have created
here. We have a person who can not just read, but write, and with such
thoughts thus written, respond anew to their true wants and needs. I
have a unique set of skillz.
Enough of Palin. Empress Pae-Lin. They would have destroyed the world,
so I don't care. Totally misguided, clueless, incompetent, evil
Republicans. Back to the duo. I wrote the first part about 3 days ago,
and when I went into the duo was 2 days ago, I had written this post
up till now as multi-part because I was busy with other
projects/tasks. Now I see. I felt better than my usual self the day
the duo met me, most likely becuase of them. A tall, conventionally
beautiful slender woman and a shorter curvacious woman. They were
amped up, but no scent of alcohol on their breath. It was a simple
purchase, a pack of cigarettes. But made a big deal by my two vagina
friends. Holding up her credit card, processing, much flirtation and
small talk amongst us. You got a bead on me? You trackin' me? Hmm? Do
you know me? It isn't even that they may know my internet reputation.
They could have been something that walked in off the street. The
curvacious one held a part of my body that is not comfortable for me.
She held it a few seconds after I revealed my discomfort (I'm sure)
with my eyes. What do you think you're doing? I've had pairs of women
before. I've seen them make-out, lightly, in front of me, as if it was
enticement. You're more into yourselves and each other than me, for
sure. I don't care. Women, when so dysfunctional as to be unable to
procure even a whore-fucker of a man, will resort to other means... so
I don't care.
At least you were kind to me. Recommending a raise, however loudly, to
the owner of my business. That was nice. It's... not like I don't want
to cum all over your faces, after all. I *have* been on the internet
an awfully long time...
Oh, and, uh, as a side note, I just want the guy who needs batteries
for his digital camera to know that I... have a kind of penis, thanks
to the great medical industry of our wonderful, glorious America, that
is way too easily identifiable. It's a foursome. Me, him, his
daughter, and a well-powered digital camera. That's our first date,
Axel-style. That's the 21st-century, folks. A 21st-century romance;
that's our first "date". I don't even have to have my face in any of
the shots to be identified, thanks to the medical establishment.
There's enough scarring and stitch-marks to make me out easily. So
even digital imagery is a no-go, mofo. Sorry, but Axel is a very
private kind of paedophile. Private parts are very private, especially
in Axel's World.
Whew! That's a little more information than you needed to know,
don'cha know? Ehh? EHHH? Delightful, isn't it? Me, possible strippers
(definently club-goers), willing fathers and under-age girls, the
accompanying digital equipment... Ohhhh.... we've got it all! In
Axel's world child rapists are children who rape adults. In Axel's
world child molesters are children who molest (adults or their own
level). In Axel's World....
HULTMAN
Wow, did you see the last episode of "Hultman"? Man, that show's a
fuckin' classic already. With it's hip & trendy intro sequence with
the weird mouthy oral sex sound effects and snappy slappy bass.. do
you remember the classic episode when Axel is dating a Brazilian woman
and he becomes dissatisfied with her because on their date in the
'burbs she wouldn't have sex with a horse, which totally ruined his
wild expectations of her (as a Brazilian) and then she became
dissatisfied with him because he wouldn't "do" the farm children ('cuz
she knew he was an Internet Pedophile). Man, that was a great episode.
That guy deserves his millions.
"I used to have lower back problems when I didn't deadlift regularly. I
haven't had lower back pain for six years now and it's all due to
deadlifting and squatting." -John Hanson, October'06
Axel of the North!
[Milton morph]
"'Scuse me, mom, did I leave my athletic shoes under yo-ah bed?"
[/morph]
OMG.So I've got a jar of finely ground shrimp (wet, must be
refrigerated) and dry shrimp powder and the shrimp sauce (like nuoc
mam only from shrimp (divine!)). That and a new addition: "salted
shrimp". It's roughly ground shrimp (visible tiny shrimp bits) and it
was three bucks for a measly 250g (about a cup). But it tastes great.
Got a bunch of small, medium and large rice noodles. Walked through an
alleyway, don't know why, but found an almost full bottle of grade A
maple syrup near a residence. Wow. Okay, I'll take it (hope it isn't
poisened). I'm a gook, for sure. Heard some ideas from "the splendid
table", reminds me to incorporate these limes and hot banana peppers
and garlic and some sugar into my saute paste for the next meal (got
plenty of coriander and parsley and basil for cooking/salads). Man, I
love the farmer's market. Live like royalty on a budget.
Treated myself to some black angus chuck roast. Braised it long with
some tomato paste, leeks, onions, carrots and some garlic powder and
various italian herbs & spices. Fuck the celery, mire poixs are great
but seriously. Don't need those stalks. Tender, moist, fatty and
buttery smooth and delicious. Ugh! My inner-jewish-mother goes ugh! Oh
my g-wd. Left some of the vegetable-rich sauce in the pan, added some
olive oil and finished the meal with a heaping helping of soaked
vermicelli-style rice noodles, added some fresh, coarsely chopped
coriander and basil and viola! Delicious carbohydrate second course.
I bought this purple kale (rare for me), two bunches of the greens,
well, uh, purples, from three beautiful little asian goddesses. I
liked the youngest, she was 3-4 and done up in jewelry and tons of
make-up, nice and completely fuckin' whorish. Always like to see that.
They were having an adorable argument together when I approached and
appraised their produce. I wanted to take them all home and lock them
up in my dungeon, oh, wait, I don't have a dungeon, which is probably
why I didn't abduct them. Oh well. There's one last thing I'd like to
divulge in my difficulties with the Asians....
[Ludlow morph]
"Read a couple of my posts and you'll be making love like angels for
weeks."
[/morph]
It all started with the objectification and hypersexualization of the
Japanese girls in their school-girl uniforms. It was unavoidable, as I
became acquainted with the likes of Sakura (first met her in Street
Fighter Alpha 2 Gold) and had procured much delicious pornography on
these here internets, as well as having watched the standard anime
cartoons (Sailor Moon, anyone?).
So obviously, dwelling within the magnificence of the maelstrom of
mind that is my Self... I arrived at the logical American response. Of
course, there were consequences... It's the uniforms. But.. it's that
one.. last.. embellishment that makes me most vulnerable. Why. Why did
you have to. How could you, Springfield? The bandanas.. how they wore
them as scarves.. with perfect knots, I'm sure. Ohhhhhhh. It conceals,
thereby eroticizing their delicate, beautiful little asian necks. It's
the bandana scarfs. That's.. where I break.. (that and some of them
are incredibly gorgeous, of coarse.) It just makes me go so Kissyface
Kraaaaaaaaaazy.
Mea culpa, Minnesota. Mea culpa. It was the second one, about 11-13? I
dunno. Not a single blemish on him. Pervection, ur, I mean,
perfection. Perfection! That's what I meant to say! Really, honest!
OMG-WD. That guy was too much. That's quite a confrontation. You win,
beautiful young asian boy. Congratulations. You.. win. [Captain
Hultman cape flaps gently in wind.]
The thing about a few of the beautiful little girls, though. In
relatively controlled (or should I say uncontrolled because we were
effectively alone? i guess that distinction is up to you...) settings
they've scanned me, sensed plenty of things in me, I'm sure.. They'll
inhabit their bodies in a new way, getting slinky and sexy and just
moving... differently. Ugh! They can be so freakin' seductive! I
mean.. ugh! They come in close and put on a little display, sometimes
using hypnotic (to a limbless reptile) head motions and.. well.. just
doing stuff, okay? Jeeze, don't give me the third degree. Sheesh!
Don't look at me like that. I can tell how you regard me, you know.
Not that I even have anything to be defensive about. So... my little
enchantresses will oftentimes approach coyly, eventually coming in
close, craning their necks. Oh g-wd. Quietly thrilled... exhilerated,
they are emboldened by the undercurrent, the substrate of consciouness
I may.. sometimes.. unwillingly provide. Sometimes, when they get too
close the squad car sirens will.. uhh... go off. Funny thing is..
there are no squad cars nearby, and yet it's so loud! Sometimes
they'll laugh out loud as soon as it happens. They're always very
happy about it. Who doesn't like becoming The Exalted One? They can be
merciless about it, though...
Axel of the North!
That's right, it's me, your favoritist internet poster.
It hurts, to think that people can get their fix of precious sunlight
before or during their sojourn to the workplace, alleviating their
seasonal affective disorder. I like SADness, it helps push people into
depression.
Yesterday woke up and had a simple 2 granny apple smoothie. Later (too
much later) made a pound of recently thawed ground beef from a new (to
me) farmer at the farmer's market. Done it up nice with the Italian
herbs 'n spices. No onion or garlic, just used the powdered variety.
Held back and only had 5-6 ounces of the ground goodness. One
tablespoon of olive oil drizzled on it, it's bed some lettuce and
fresh onion. Forgot to include the tomato. I went to the library and
took out "An American Crime" (Catherine Keener & Ellen Page
(yumzers!(just kidding, haven't seen it yet)))). I hope it's as good
as MY dungeon fantasies!
Having seen it... I've thought of a lot of things to do with a
beautiful girl shackled in a basement, but I certainly never thought
of doing any of *those* things! Shame on you, America. Shame on YOU!
Surprised myself a little when I went out to a newly re-configured
weight-room setup at a gym I hadn't been to for awhile. Surprised
because I didn't stop for a re-fuel at the soul-shrieking madness,
that is. I grimly surveyed what was to be my new home for a while.
Hmmm. I guess that AMP pill was kicking in because I had a very nice
work-out. Working out some.. issues.. and.. feelings.. There was trim,
Skin-Hugging-Tights woman near the mirror who was apparently
concentrating on toning and strengthening her midsection and
groin/thigh region (Bad luck with that, BTW.). Awwwww.. I'm so mean..
Back to the gymnasium wimmins (and it *was* a gymnasium, with dividers
to deflect errant balls). There was this gung-ho couple talking about
anything and at times providing very active verbal encouragement for
each other. She seemed to look up to him for encouragement. It was on
her face. Lucky guy. I didn't feel seething jealousy erupt from deep
within my dark, black, kike heart. I applauded myself for my
"progress" and then realized it was because I had already
subconsciously dismissed her as unacceptable. Yes, I realized she had
tatoos and was therefore rendered Untouchable. Mea culpa, Minnesota. I
guess I haven't made that kind of "progress" afterall...
New old gym is near a nice lake. I'm going to have to go out on those
expensive roller blades I bought a couple of years back. I get to be
meals-on-wheels, as one female comic put it. (a sign hung on both
sides reads "Jewboy: Goo to go!" with an asterisk and in smaller type
at the bottom " *No, there is no missing D, it's goo." Just ask Eva
Mendez, she'll tell you all about it (isn't that right, Seth?)!
Ahhhhh.. Hollywood. We've been through so much together. But now I'm
OT, aren't I?
A CLUE
Poor Edgar. I didn't even bother to look him up. No privacy B.S., just
not bothering. I lightly played with him, as dark humor. I shouldn't
have. I had already played lightly, darkly, humorously, with Mr.
Wilson. Disastrous results. It only took a week or so, for Edgar, he
plunged off the 16th floor. Quite dead, that one. Mr. Wilson was more
fortunate. I should have known. I didn't recognize it with Mr. Wilson,
but I should have known what I was doing with poor Edgar. You see, his
last name was highly suggestive of the Nazi regime. So I, a Jew (?),
lightly played off his name. Now, in retrospect, I shouldn't have, not
even with humor. But it's too late, now. He's dead. Not the first, of
course. If you're my kind, you'll understand. Just a delivery boy, not
The Devil. Just a delivery boy. So now he's dead. Unintentional, not
prosecutable, especially in this civilization. Hell, it's not even
acknowledged as possible. So now you have a clue. You can't say you
weren't given a clue.
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>I think it may be time for the mystical confession. It's been a long
>time coming, a task I've grown to dread. Hollywood may want to pay
>attention as this does involve a few of your own.
It xtarted with a line, a bit of a generalization but still very true
in most respects. Unbeknownst to me at the time it included a
reference to the name of a restaurant he had recently eaten at, which
of course could have been a complete coincidence. One line, my mind
also touched on him specifically, as an individual.. late that
Saturday night.
The next morning I can easily describe as the scariest, most
horrifying Sunday morning I've had, especially considering my
consciousness was un-altered by exogenous substances. The emotional
energy was powerful and clear. He came through like a direct line, a
direct feed, very high bandwith on the innernet if you know what I
mean. The power was more than palpable, it was impossible to ignore,
impossible not to feel. Someone was very disturbed. No hallucinations
on my end, but, laying on the futon mattress I would close my eyes and
the intense, vivid closed-eye visuals were like being shunted into a
full-fledged REM dream state. Very powerful. It was like some kind of
drug-induced trip. Is this self-incriminating? Am I at risk of being
labeled insane, by those who judge themselves fit and qualified to
evaluate and judge my sanity? Who talks like this? Who bothers to
write these things? Why does it matter?
I saw what was to me, in my mind, Chaya, my "beloved", my "wife". She
was partially submerged (or should I say merged?) with this black goo.
It wasn't passive, inert goo. No. I thought someone was sharing a
vision of Venom, the super-villain from "Spiderman 3". It was like
that, the foul, black darkness of something.. most likely the
darkness/evil of our own humanity, that's how I interpreted it. Chaya
was a dark, negative thing in my life, not so much by her own activity
as an individual in my life so much as what she represented and all
the emotional associations that were tied to the concept of her, what
issues and concepts she represented and what that confrontation was to
me. But maybe it wasn't her. High bandwith, startling, chilling
visuals. But the innernet is an imperfect vehicle for communication,
as I have learned.
There was more. There usually is. But why bother to write everything.
Since July my keyboard has been "timing out", being 8 years old like
the 'puter it's connected to, it occasionally fails and loses
connection in the port on the back, requiring a replugging. The typing
process has become more laborious so I can't waste much time (unlucky
you). My scary, nay, horrifying openly conscious dream state, or,
rather, at this time it would make more sense to describe it as a
fully-conscious nightmare state, was sustained for several hours. Very
disturbing. Could not turn away. This was some major shit going on.
That much was obvious.
It would come in hard, abate for awhile, then resume its intensity.
Something awful. Sunday was awful. You see, for me, as far as
loneliness and one's emotional relationship to that vague sense of
"the world" and the passage of time and what one would expect to be
able to enjoy of life.. if things were okay.. during the seven day
cycle of our weeks.. my worst times are the night of Shabbos (Friday
night) and Sunday evening and night. For some reason not Saturday as
much as the other times. Those are my worst times. It was all of
Sunday, certainly more frought with an everpresent feeling of horror
than any other Sunday. The feeling persisted into Monday, pretty bad
considering I was working that day and couldn't escape it. These
intense and prolonged episodes, with a few intermissions, extended
into Tuesday. At that point, in the morning, I'd decided to finish my
light 3.2 beers and play some video games, a first-person shooter set
in the pacific campaign of WWII, killing lots of 'bots in a
multiplayer game. Killin' Japs 'n Krauts with glee. I do these things
for recreation.. only this time.. I know I did it to escape and
preoccupy my mind, my incredibly ordered, non-delusional mind (as if
there were additional safeguards in place to protect my mind from the
standard delusions of "the others") from the unfolding horror within.
But I had to go to work. While at work I ate my lunch, which was my
own food as it usually is. Somewhere towards the end of the meal I
experienced a huge flush, waves of heat spreading across my body.
Strong and powerful, hollow bones, terrible feelings. Like some kind
of a panic attack, without the panic, a flushing not entirely
dissimilar to that experienced from an overdose of niacin. It was
visible, someone commented on it. It wasn't my food, I made that
myself and had never experienced this kind of reaction. I also had
major feelings of anger welling up; I was more than annoyed or
irritated, I was mad. Why? For what reason? I usually feel good,
better after one of my meals. What explanation could there possibly
be? I'm having these visions and thoughts and feelings, now the
symptoms have become physical. Am I sick? Am I crazy? Mundane,
conventional answer is obvious. Axel doesn't live in the mundane,
conventional world of Regular Nothing Nobodies. I have a natural
equanimity for these sorts of things, so while I didn't know what was
happening I didn't let it get to me. And good thing, too, because
emergency rooms cost a lot (medical establishment is comprised of
thieves before anything else). The quiescence of these horrible
feelings, chronologically, helped me arrive at the final
understanding.
The very next day I see in a newspaper from New York an article, the
first of many, of the death of a human being I've never met (in
person). Interesting estimated time of death. A number of drugs were
involved. The guy couldn't feel good, apparently. Not good enough,
anyway.
Axel of the North!
magic trick: I'm gonna make (help) this celebrity disappear!
On Sat, 07 Nov 2009 13:10:14 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
>On Tue, 07 Jul 2009 17:11:07 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
>wrote:
>
>>I think it may be time for the mystical confession. It's been a long
>>time coming, a task I've grown to dread. Hollywood may want to pay
>>attention as this does involve a few of your own.
>
See? Magic!
Wanna know what my favorite name for a Jedi is? It's Luke! Seriously!
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>And now, for your education and entertainment, I will now perform a
>magic trick: I'm gonna make (help) this celebrity disappear!
>
>On Sat, 07 Nov 2009 13:10:14 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
>
>
>>On Tue, 07 Jul 2009 17:11:07 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
>>wrote:
>>
>>>I think it may be time for the mystical confession. It's been a long
>>>time coming, a task I've grown to dread. Hollywood may want to pay
>>>attention as this does involve a few of your own.
>>
>
>See? Magic!
>
>Wanna know what my favorite name for a Jedi is? It's Luke! Seriously!
For the first draft, the impromptu draft, it goes far more sinisterly,
because there is no actual adherence to societal norms, however
unprosecutable it may seem...
The Day the Earth Stood Stiller
I would have had him, had it not been for his Jedi of a brother. But
because of his brother's sensitivity he was saved. It was just a
little dark humor, the day he broke. I didn't press on him, just
touched on him a little, using a reference to one of the movies he
inhabited. Dark humor, too dark. And so he dit it. The Royal
Tenenbaums. Royal.. Ten.. Too much, it builds and stays and then..
pow!
Joker
I don't know what may have been riding his back, but it was there. He
must have met with some bad people.. probably lifers. Some genuine
human darkness to become a part of. Inspiration for his DC movie
character. He could instill a sense of genuine fear, some awful evil
that pervaded and disturbed those he touched upon, the blessings of a
man who realized the darkness and gave it well to those he deemed
worthy of those depths. It was the drugs, however so many drugs.. they
were the destablizing agents in a chess champion's nightmare of a
life. Deepok Chopra, a celebrity in his own right, from a
professsional's point of view.. only admitted that a colleague of his
had a telephone conversation with him. His colleague did not notice
anything depressive about him. Of course not, you idiots. You simple,
stupid, bumbling idiots. You couldn't even get past the first,
precursory stage of the relationship. How were you to determine what
he was experiencing? He couldn't even establish a real relationship
with you, your kind, your industry. It was more horror than
depressive. Take it from a non-professional, fuckwads. He read what I
wrote, probably here and whatever Mary-Kate saved from
alt.binaries.pictures.olsen-twins . Then, as a confidant and a fan of
what is possible.. he layed into me, hard. That's how I'm in a
position to write as I do, here.
So then it's left to us unprofessionals. It was you, Mary-Kate, that
led him to me. Because of the evils and failures of their kind it was
left to me as the last (in retrospect) bastion of balance and sanity
for him to consult/console himself within. Not quite so easy when it
comes to a person's last shreds of sanity, is it? Now you know what
it's like to be me, cunt. Now you know..
He had a good mind, a strong mind, a powerful mind. He had proven
himself in the intellectual ring, made it to the big league and
accrued millions of dollars for his performances. I got to experience
and perceive his private performance, what turned out to be a final
act. I couldn't help him. I can't say it was perfect communion, but he
was powerful enough and I am what I am so.. I couldn't help him. I had
nothing. There was nothing, no positive experiences to draw from to
offer any hope or salvation. I couldn't help him. I abandoned him. I
did. Not a single word spoken to each other in the real world; just a
collection of safely anonymous phone numbers from things like street
pay phones left on my fucking caller ID device. Just a bunch of calls
from New fuckin' York. That was the last week of his life, the final 3
days being the worst. If he'd just called, from his own line. He
couldn't even leave his name in my caller ID. But he had every right
to be paranoid, 'cause we all know how ravenous the public is for the
plights of our most popular people, the semblance of a royal class
that lives above our own meager, unsatisfied lives...
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>On Sun, 08 Nov 2009 23:11:24 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
>wrote:
>
>>And now, for your education and entertainment, I will now perform a
>>magic trick: I'm gonna make (help) this celebrity disappear!
>>
>>On Sat, 07 Nov 2009 13:10:14 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
>>
>>
>>>On Tue, 07 Jul 2009 17:11:07 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
>>>wrote:
>>>
>>>>I think it may be time for the mystical confession. It's been a long
>>>>time coming, a task I've grown to dread. Hollywood may want to pay
>>>>attention as this does involve a few of your own.
>>>
>>
>>See? Magic!
>>
>>Wanna know what my favorite name for a Jedi is? It's Luke! Seriously!
>
>For the first draft, the impromptu draft, it goes far more sinisterly,
>because there is no actual adherence to societal norms, however
>unprosecutable it may seem...
>Joker
[snip snip]
>He had a good mind, a strong mind, a powerful mind. He had proven
>himself in the intellectual ring, made it to the big league and
>accrued millions of dollars for his performances. I got to experience
>and perceive his private performance, what turned out to be a final
>act. I couldn't help him. I can't say it was perfect communion, but he
>was powerful enough and I am what I am so.. I couldn't help him. I had
>nothing. There was nothing, no positive experiences to draw from to
>offer any hope or salvation. I couldn't help him. I abandoned him. I
>did. Not a single word spoken to each other in the real world; just a
>collection of safely anonymous phone numbers from things like street
>pay phones left on my fucking caller ID device. Just a bunch of calls
>from New fuckin' York. That was the last week of his life, the final 3
>days being the worst. If he'd just called, from his own line. He
>couldn't even leave his name in my caller ID. But he had every right
>to be paranoid, 'cause we all know how ravenous the public is for the
>plights of our most popular people, the semblance of a royal class
>that lives above our own meager, unsatisfied lives...
>
Rhianna Lyn Brodin is a sadistic whore.
My authority is beyond comparison. Rhianna Lyn Brodin is a sadistic
whore. If the words accurately depict the human being they are
referring to, then they are not wrong. These are accurate descriptors
of a human female. Rhianna Lyn Brodin has proven herself, as a woman
observed over literally years by another, to be a sadistic whore.
Rhianna Lyn Brodin is more than just an individual, Rhianna Lyn Brodin
is a representative of many, many human females. She represents
sadistic whoredom. This is anti-humanity, not humanity. It's like
saying she's a "woman", which would be making all women whores. I will
not insult the entire gender of my own species by saying Rhianna Lyn
Brodin is a woman. I know better. Time to clarify the differences,
fuckers: Rhianna is not to be included under the all-inclusive term
"woman"; Rhianna is to be distinguished as different from "women",
Rhianna Lyn Brodin is a human female who qualifies under the word
"whore" because she IS a whore. I, me, as a human individual, am a
humanist. Here's a little wisdom and knowledge for your betterment, as
apparently you are in great need of enlightenment: humanism
automatically includes both subsets of feminism and masculinism.
People who have an inherently superior moral sense will instinctually
recoil from the idea of these whores, be they female or male, being
equated as an example of their gender. No. People with superior moral
sensibilities have to take a stand, and this is my stance.
THE TELEVISION
Ya know, I've watched the T.V. since I was a kid. One of the more
interesitng memories that for some odd (not) reason persists in my
consciousness is the memory of a man who was tragically secluded from
the rest of humanity who, at the end of the movie, walked across the
surface of a body of water and poked the tip of his cane through the
water's surface. I saw that movie. I remember it, however young I was
when I saw it.
The sense of horror was more than palpable, it was impossible to
ignore. It was horrible. Horrific horror. Three days. Most people
can't last longer than three days, anyway, so this makes sense (if
there even *is* any sense to be made of these things..). My
television, a Magnavox television of modest proportions, was purchased
months before poor Mr. Ledger turned to me for help. I used the
physical button on the front of the television to turn it on and off,
until the button broke. It broke in stages. It kind of sort of worked
for quite some time. Despite its malfunctioning button, this
television did not turn itself off and on as if by its own will.
Shortly after Heathcliff's death I entered my apartment and saw the
television's screen on, active, quickly shutting itself off before I
could even reach the front panel or remote controller. It turned
itself off within a second of my entrance into that soul-shrieking
isolation that is life in my private cell. A week and a half after his
death I awoke, in the depth of the night, which is also known as the
early morning hours, with that same distinctly palpable sense of
horror, I opened my eyes and awoke with that truly terrible sense of
ominous horror and seconds later was treated to my television turning
itself on. It turned itself off before I could even make the motion.
One and a half weeks after he died, physically. I'll leave it to you
to figure out how many days, exactly, it was after his physical death
that he visited and shared his own intimate commentary on humanity
with me.
Who is the new Joker? Well... it's not like I haven't been making
jokes from the very beginning... Direct descendence. Unbroken lineage.
It's not just a DC comic-book character anymore. This is reality. This
is the truth. Undeniable, uncompromising truth. There is no way out of
this mess.
Axel of the North!
This is Friday the 13th, only there isn't any Jason to murder the
whores. [sniff] Oh, Jason.. where are you when we need you most?
Friday, the night of the Sabbath. I have no goddess to worship. What a
surprise. Only now we are beginning to learn exactly what kind of
heart I have and what its ultimate consequences can be. I would like
to share a special insight I've had: seeing the effects of my
continued existence and participation in this universe it has dawned
on me that there may be more innocent people alive and less tragically
dead (by suicide or murder or accident) if I were to take a gun and
point it at my chest and pull the trigger and put a spinning piece of
metal right through my Jewish heart. But not to worry, I'm simply
stating a fact, I'm showing you I'm reasonable and can acknowledge
unflattering truths.
I went to the Young Women's Christian Association facility this night.
Didn't want to go home. Too lonely. I did some light weight training
but I really went for the dodgeball. Haven't played dodgeball since I
was a young teen in high school. My first throw and I got someone out.
Arm's not conditioned for throwing, ripping its own tissues. Bothered
to bring swimwear and used the sauna and whirlpool. Ya know, my
fiends, I don't mean to brag or anything but considering what kind of
newsgroup this is I don't think it's entirely off-topic to discuss my
locker room misadventures. I don't mean to be mean or incite any
painful envy some of you guys may have after reading this but I really
have to say... my penis can get really, *really* small. I'm not
kidding, folks. This isn't just your average erectile tissue, this
thing can contract and *shrink*. I think it's just dandy that the most
publicly naked moments when I'm at my barest and most vulnerable is
also when my penis is practically guaranteed to be at its most
diminutive state. Sorry for any discomfort I may have caused you. Life
sucks and we can't all be awesome. Yeah, I know your jealous.
Powerful Bout of Hate
On considering the difference between sanity and insanity (that's
actually not the entire spectrum) I am often brought to recall a very
interesting mental phenomena I experienced many years ago. While
sitting in my apartment my mind was drawn to the concept of a heavy
metal band whose compact discs I had not heard in a long while. I
didn't really question why my mind was drawn to this heavy metal band,
but for some reason my psyche was filled with a terrible, truly
powerful feeling of hatred towards them. While the feelings were
strong, I ended up searching, intellectually, for some valid reason
for this powerful surge of hatred. I came to the critique that plenty
of their songs had conveniently safe, vague lyrics. It was a sure
sell, easy pop-culture product that won't alienate the consumer.
That's all I could come up with. Wow, that was some powerful hate.
Why would a young man suddenly hate with such fury a heavy metal band
he enjoyed enough to purchase multiple CDs of? Just sitting, alone, in
his apartment. Surely this may be a sign of something else, something
bigger, possibly the symptom of a developing mental illness. Certainly
cause for concern.
The next day...
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>
>Powerful Bout of Hate
>
>On considering the difference between sanity and insanity (that's
>actually not the entire spectrum) I am often brought to recall a very
>interesting mental phenomena I experienced many years ago. While
>sitting in my apartment my mind was drawn to the concept of a heavy
>metal band whose compact discs I had not heard in a long while. I
>didn't really question why my mind was drawn to this heavy metal band,
>but for some reason my psyche was filled with a terrible, truly
>powerful feeling of hatred towards them. While the feelings were
>strong, I ended up searching, intellectually, for some valid reason
>for this powerful surge of hatred. I came to the critique that plenty
>of their songs had conveniently safe, vague lyrics. It was a sure
>sell, easy pop-culture product that won't alienate the consumer.
>That's all I could come up with. Wow, that was some powerful hate.
>
>Why would a young man suddenly hate with such fury a heavy metal band
>he enjoyed enough to purchase multiple CDs of? Just sitting, alone, in
>his apartment. Surely this may be a sign of something else, something
>bigger, possibly the symptom of a developing mental illness. Certainly
>cause for concern.
>
>The next day...
Dialling up and logging on to my ISP I find, at the ISP homepage
(didn't bother to change it) that there's a news article about a
gunman who apparently killed one of Pantera's former bandmembers.
Turns out that he shot up and killed one of them, and another
miraculously survived multiple gun wounds. I see later in a little
cable station's video story the sad tale of an ex-Marine with mental
health issues who apparently couldn't handle the end of Pantera as a
cohesive band. A little interplay between the main singer and the rest
of the band.
It's not like I was a big fan. But I clearly developed enough neurons
devoted to their own being, purely in the phenomenal world, to become
engaged in a very intimate display and interaction of mind, at least
enough to determine and experience the source of the disruption of
Mind I actually *was* a few nights ago. So, in retrospect we have a
very interesting understanding of the events that unfolded, despite
our non-involvement and relative distance to the whole situation as it
occurred. Don't we, fuckwads?
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>I think it may be time for the mystical confession. It's been a long
>time coming, a task I've grown to dread. Hollywood may want to pay
>attention as this does involve a few of your own.
snip snip.
>Now that's one of America's top predators right there, folks. Still
It's kinda funny and it's kinda not.
Catchyercoatl
Wanna know what's worse then got-yer-goat? Catch-yer-coatl! Yeah, now
you know who I am. You're my very own personal Road Warrior. You know
how bad it is when someone gets your goat, catching your coatl is much
worse. Made a killin' off the torturous execution of our favorite
Jewish Messiah, then made a movie about those delightful mesoamericans
in "Apocalypto". Well, turns out these are kind of apocalyptic times
and Catchyercoatl is one *badass* God you don't want to mess with!
Man, you guys really know how to party with style. I mean, really. As
if the booze and the coke weren't enough, two hookers in the back? Now
that's a party! I'm envious. I think part of it was all these people
working him over, the general populace, they probably made whatever
antisemitism that existed in him worse. It seems there are plenty of
people who seek entertainment and satisfaction in watching our
entertainers entertain us outside their professional work. There's
plenty of little people, commoners, who are jealous of your fame,
power, and of course the money. I swear to G-d I was only having fun
with my little Road Warrior. I was fond of him, I even liked him for
whatever antisemitic sentiments he may have had, because I felt
mistreated by a number of Jews.. and.. having been born into the Jews
and being "one of them" on the "inside".. from that perspective I
didn't blame him for any moral failure on the issue as vague as "The
Jews". So I took on that green body armor again, sans hoversled,
opened the mouthpiece and became Rabbi Esau ala Green Meanie and
descended on our unfortunate Road Warrior and proceeded to dole out
some classic dark humor. It was the very day I did it he was caught
speeding with the hookers and.. of course the drugs. The number one
destablizing agent that makes bigger-than-life people with functional
minds vulnerable to some little Jewboy.. always those damned drugs.
I think there might be a lesson here... hmmmmmmm. It was from a place
of good wit, a healthy wit, no ill-will. Even though I'm Jewish I
don't *have* to be evil, just a natural presdisposition for it. We all
like to use our "talents" at some point. The comments he made, while
he was being arrested.. about the Jews being the cause of all wars.
Well, I think that's more the drugs talking then him. But that's
pretty darn close to what I was "saying" to him.. where the dark humor
was from. He proved himself, a display possible through the media,
affording me the perspective that he was sensitive and intelligent and
perceived the communication of others from far away. It's possible to
become very wise with that kind of mind.
I have catered to just about every kind of pleasure man has been
inspired to have. I'm a FAN of MAN!!! I'm a humanist.. possibly the
last humanist... (Is there a fireplace burning in here? Can you see
the firelight on me face?) That's right, lovely people of
Springfield.. I'm your favorite little angel. Appointed the high task
of presiding over.. earthly affairs. And I love my Road Warrior. I'm
sorry I fucked you up, I'm partially to blame for your last highly
publicized road warrior adventure. Feel free to blame the jews, or,
rather.. a jew. That and the drugs and your own indiscretions what
with those fun-lovin' hookers 'n all.
Axel of the North!
underhand for the first time, like in softball. Tried it fast a few
times out to the people as we warmed up for the single most important
thing i was doing that week. dodgeball. i had lifted weights a few
hours before and did a grocery run on the bicycle. those collapsable
baskets sure cum in handy. (i got a fourteen pound turkey for 37
cents/lb! ten pound bag of potatoes for $1.88! three pounds of yellow
onions 99 cents! pound of unsalted sweet cream butter 99 cents!) the
bike ride before the workout.. the workout.. (stiffs and seated
low-rows and some general shoulder/upper chest work) the bike ride to
and from the grocery/gym area.. that was a lot of exercise. primed for
dodgeball, as if it was for the last time. that kind of feeling. at
least now i have something to look forward to on a friday, rather than
the darkest night of my soul's week-cycle.
underhand felt awkward, but i was well rewarded with the confirmation
that it was a surprisingly efficient way of converting perceived
effort into kinetic energy. I was able to zing the ball very fast at
an upwards angle that would fly past a few of the them, going
obviously farther and with nice speed than if thrown overhand
(baseball pitch), beyond the difference in angle. i wasn't a part of
any of the warmup throwing couples or small groups. i wazn't a part of
this social scene. they were clearly outstide my own economic group,
anyway. so my little zingers sailed past them and i'd have to
apologize for throwing it across the gym. i was near the wall, facing
the entire playing field and the ball had about 1.5 times the maximum
distance possible during game time borders. my problem was accuracy. i
was inspired by an individual i'd witnessed the previous week (my
first time, my adult dodgeball-hymen was broken last week!). she threw
a kind of sideways underhand and was very effective. she threw the
hardest of the females, which is why i classified her as the alpha
female of the group.
the alpha female of the group, as far as regulars go, intrigued me.
she had large shoulders (and pecs to match (i think, because of the
mammary situation..)), thick limbs and a generous chin. in my
imagination she was standard issue russian athletic (for obvious
reasons) stock of some sort. as if krysia's own legacy hadn't made me
permanently.. vulnerable to these kinds she also had a wicked-awesome
individual throwing style i couldn't shake. not many people were using
that throwing style effectively in the game (warmup was warmup). so i
experimented with the few opportunities that arose during the warm-up
period. i was already shooting some hoops and rebounding for an
african dude. we were the big, hard, mean basketball bouncing around
while everyone else was slapping it up with the dodgeballs.
the first time i used the new, conventional underhand throwing
technique (not going for her signature side throw) i
courageously/foolishly charged the line and threw it hard and fast!
fwop! some words of appreciation were uttered (thank you), i quickly
and cowardly ran back to relative safety. i caught a few balls, some
of them good throws, got hit by a few. i didn't prey on the weak this
time, i even hit one of the most dangerous power players. and i got my
alpha. she had gotten too close to the line.. after throwing her ball
i ran at her (was already dangerously close) and she either turned
away as i threw or was in the process of turning from throwing the
ball and about to run back. anyway, i got a solid thwump on her big,
strong, womanly body (*so* empowered!). i should have said "I've been
meaning to tap that ass since i first played against her." but the
organization might not have interpreted me favorably (they're too
empowered with PC-ness).
On Tue, 07 Jul 2009 17:11:07 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
wrote:
>I think it may be time for the mystical confession. It's been a long
>time coming, a task I've grown to dread. Hollywood may want to pay
>attention as this does involve a few of your own.
there are more. not just hollywood, i mean...
>Yesterday morning I finished pulling meat off a chicken carcass and
>used the reduced stock from that project to make some yukon potatos
>with carrot and onions. It had oregano, rosemary, thyme, pepper, touch
>of basil (dried), sage, cayenne, fennel and garlic powder. Oh, and
>homemade grass-fed ghee Fuckin' delicious. I wish I had some
>beautiful girls so I could truly wonderful things in their beautiful
>mouths...
"make" or something, maybe I was forgetful in a 1-pass edit late at
night. that's probably the word i was looking for. i don't konw.
anyway... talk about the ultimate sicko! unless of course, you think
about what I'm axually talking about.
>Now that's one of America's top predators right there, folks. Still
eep. now don't take this too far, as far as my own personal axshuns
could go. [hey, phonetically it worx, rite?]
Trigger Man
I like holding other men's pistols and, getting the feel of them,
proceed to blast away with their big, hot loads, their tool bucking
furiously in my experienced hands. Yeah! I've even disassembled them,
cleaned them of their oily sheens and applied some tuf-glide for
microscopically-bonded glide and corrosion resistance (okay so that
last sentence wasn't so hot..). If it was good enough for the Coast
Guard.. I like to see how different they are. The weight, how they
point in my delicate hands. I know a guy who has a MN CCW, we went to
an indoor range together. After 3 cylinders of 38 special from his not
even 2 inch snub-nosed titanium hammerless revolver.. ouch. I've shot
a lot of guns. I like guns.
A political group took me to an indoor range, out in the 'burbs. This
one guy brought a very nice assortment of pistols. Most of the others
only had one pistol. This guy had a case of over 5 on any given range
meet (he had more). During the time I was shooting with some of these
beautiful, lethal instruments of doom and destruction I asked to
borrow a pen to mark my holes (on the paper targets..) from this
leather vest wearing guy who was a Marine or something and had some
kind of germanophile thing going, he was into S&M. Anyway, he gives me
this fancy-looking pen (just a business pen) and I thank him.
During my fun on that range, sometimes walking out of our designated
lane and watching other people shooting their guns (you know how the
big ones can attract attention) I walked by a young black man. There
was nothing obviously different about him. In my mind there was a
powerful arising of the word "nigger". I was niggered up, really angry
and bubbling up without provocation. I was actually trying to quell
this awful idea, but knew it wasn't me fighting any internal issues.
No.. I figured out pretty quickly who it was, and wanted to soothe and
heal the poor guy. I guess he was niggered out of his freakin' mind.
It was from a place of empathy that I was sad for him. Well, it was
persistent. Not good. At some point the pen disappeared. I'm usually
not the kind to lose pens. I know there were boxes of ammo, paper
targets (used and unused) and various gun cases and stuff lying around
but I swear that pen mysteriously disappeared as if by its own will.
About a week later that gun store and indoor range was robbed, at gun
point. They took the money and the guns. Guns, guns and more guns.
Great. Just great. I wonder... where did that pen go?
--
"The brightly shining mind is never absent but is
colored by the thoughts and emotions that people
put upon it. If you were to see the luminous
freedom of this mind, you would cultivate it
before any other, keeping it free from all
attachments."
-Anguttara Nikaya
Axel of the North!
ago:
"Liberation Gone Wild"
by Kristin Tillotson
Current ads for Svedka Vodka feature a fembot made of steel, sporting
a curvy backside and a come-hither posture. "The future of adult
entertainment," reads the tag line.
There's something deeply disturbing about these ads. It's not the
animatron with the blank, moldable expression; she's merely a
video-game version of the inflatable sex dolls guys get at stag
parties. What's so unsettling is that the tag line could very well be
right.
Thirty-odd years ago, women across the United States burned their bras
and carried picket signs advocating free love and the ERA. Today, many
of that generation's granddaughters are getting breast implants and
Brazilian waxes, and their idea of sexual freedom is flashing and
making out with each other for free in "Girls Gone Wild" videos.
When Erica Jong and Nancy Friday exhorted 1970s women to throw off
Victorian mores like so many petticoats and pursue their own
guilt-free sexual pleasure, they can't have envisioned that porn-star
biographies would become bestsellers, or that teen girls would be
taking pole-dance aerobics classes.
From hip-hop culture, where the boys drape themselves in long sleeves
and baggy pants while the girls wear the equivalent of sequined
Post-it notes, to he retro chic of Playboy and the proliferation of
lad mags such as Maxim and Stuff, nearly every subcategory of
post-feminist pop culture has seemed to work against the
de-Bunnyization of women. When protests arise, young eyes glaze over;
the naysayers are sooo uptight and out of touch.
The overall effect is a sort of psychological plastic surgery on
attitudes, one that places a higher-than-ever premium on the way girls
and women look while at the same time narrowing the parameters of what
constitutes beauty to an almost cartoonish standard. If today's
independent woman can take or leave the male gaze, why do Olympic
athletes at the top of their games pose nude in men's magazines? Why
are a growing number of women paying thousands of dollars for the next
frontier in body alteration, painful vanity surgery on their genitals?
"It's a feminist's worst nightmare," says Ariel Levy, a writer for New
York magazine. "She wakes up 30 years later and abortion rights are
being threatened while porn stars are the new role models."
Free to be Raunchy?
Levy, 31, has written a book on a topic as prickly as its hot-pink
cover "Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raucnh Culture"
is a collection of investigative pieces that takes the author from a
spring-break Florida beach where giggling college students lift their
shirts for video crews from the popular "Girls Gone Wild" soft-core
empire and backstage with the women producrers of Comedy Central's
erstwhile Juggy-fest, "The Man Show" to interviews with teens and
20-somethings on their attitudes toward sex.
When girls try to act like the boys, she concludes, the results can be
more limiting than freeing. In her view, sexiness has succumbed to a
commercial shorthand.
"It's part of the job description of being female, to couch all their
success and intelligence into this kind of porny sexuality. Raunch and
empowerment are not synonymous."
Levy, who is 31, says she's no prude: "My point is there's too much
inauthenticity, and we're embracing that. We hold up Paris Hilton as
our most sexual celebrity, though she says herself she's not that
sexual. If society buys into the idea that the ultimate in sexuality
is the stripper or porn star--a woman whose job it is to fake lust--
it shows they don't value real female sexual freedom and pleasure. And
it undermines the fragile progress toward gaining authority that women
are attempting."
Feminist Disconnect
Levy said the most troublesome trend she observed was the effect that
the mainstreaming of porn is having on teens and preteens. In video
games and on MTV, glammed-up stripppers and "hos" are featured
characters. In 2003, girls between the ages of 13 and 17 spent more
than $157 million on thong underwear.
"The girls I talked to have this sense that it's about having big
breasts, being as hot as possible, putting on performance," Levy said.
"They haven't existed at a time when 'ho' wasn't part of the lexicon,
when feminism had a potent presence in the culture. It's been a punch
line or a punching bag."
In the book, Levy quotes John, who wrote the sexual-liberation '70s
classic "Fear of Flying," as saying, "I would be happier if my
daughter was crashing through the glass ceiling than the sexual
ceiling."
Feminism today is more often associated with Andrea Dworkin, who
called all sex a form of rape, than with Gloria Steinem, who was sex
and pro-sex, but never made that her most important quality.
In the 1990s, young third-wave feminists "took back" offensive terms
and their own new brand of hip, bold, sexuality, illustrated in such
girl-power vehicles as BUST and Bitch. Those magazines retain a
healthy skepticism toward popular culture even as they celebrate many
of its women-driven aspects. But other outgrowths of sexual freedom
seem to have become less about self-gratification than male
gratification. The website Suicide Girls was founded as a titillation
for alt-rock boys, showing suggestively posed punk and Goth girls who,
with their piercings and tattoos, don't fit the Playboy mold. But as a
recent article in City Pages pointed out, the site is now run by men.
Levy doesn't necessarily find fault with please-'n'-tease routines:
"It all depends on how and why it's done."
Laura Libby is a former stripper who now performs as Ophelia Flame
with Lili's Burlesque in downtown Minneapolis, which has found a niche
putting on retro shows that emphasize the old-fashioned "sell the
sizzle, not the steak," she said. "The intention behind Lili's has
always been to encourage and empower women. We have a range of body
types, ages and ethnic backgrounds. We showcase women as individuals
rather than trying to fit into one class or offend just for shock
value. That's not to say we don't like to push the envelope. We had
one performer do a striptease to 'I'm a Woman' when she was 8 months
pregnant. She was beautiful and it was very funny. I think it's the
right balance of traditional feminine glamour that exudes strength and
respect."
Libby's castmate Gina Woods (the one who danced pregnant) says it
saddens her to see "girls acting out in ridiculous, embarrassing and
harmful ways, like in the 'Girls Gone Wild' videos. It's most likely a
bad mix of alcohol, hormones and a need for attention -- but whatever
the reason, the joke is on the girls, not the guys. It's not that
dancing and nudity are immoral; it's their obvious desperation."
Then there's the chew-'em-up Diablo Cody approach, which requires
higher degrees of wit and fearlessness than the average mortal can
muster. Cody is a Minneapolis writer and rising media star whose book
on her experience ("Candy Girl: A Year in the Life of an Unlikely
Stripper") is flat-out funny and refreshingly devoid of moral
conclusions. But she's not recommending her turn around the pole as a
career choice: Being one of "hundreds of girls on the floor at some
clubs, all reduced to begging dogs for an army of smug little
emperors" eventually left everyone feeling "like creeping crud,
regardless of how much ego they projected," she wrote.
Do as I say, not as I fantasize
For Levy, it's no surprise that an atmosphere in which pornography is
being mainstreamed can thrive under red-state political domination.
"Foreign reporters often ask me how it's possible that this is
happening alongside such a conservative administration, and when 80
percent of the schools teaching sex education advocate
abstinence-only," she said, "People vote for their ideals, and for
many people that's different than their own behavior. If you have a
repressive society like ours right now we can all manage to turn our
attention to gay marriage. If you have a country this panicked about
that, you can't say we're libertine hedonists."
Eli Coleman, director of the University of Minnesota's Program in
Human Sexuality, also sees contradictions in the current
sociopolitical climate.
"We can hardly talk about contraceptives in the schools and yet [young
people] are being bombarded with these incredible images," Coleman
said. "They need to be educated about the whole effect of
oversexualizing bodies and losing a sense of what it it to be a person
and feel good about themselves. There is exploitation involved, not
only of the [subjects] but of the viewers."
Levy has been criticized in reviews for being selective in her choice
of interview subjects; the "Girls Gone Wild" mentality is hardly
universal among today's young women.
But she still provides enough unsettling evidence to put us on pink
alert. As she writes in the final chapter, her book is not about the
sex industry. It's "about what we have decided the sex industry means
... how we have held it up, cleaned it off and distorted it. How we
depend on it to mark us as an erotic and uninhibited culture at a
moment when fear and repression are rampant."
In other words, futuristic fembots aren't the enemy. The attitude that
they should be the norm is.
ATP*
> This article was in a local newspaper about two revolutions of the sun
> ago:
>
>
> "Liberation Gone Wild"
> by Kristin Tillotson
>
>
> Current ads for Svedka Vodka feature a fembot made of steel, sporting
> a curvy backside and a come-hither posture. "The future of adult
> entertainment," reads the tag line.
>
video of the offensive behavior....
Axel of the North!
As I've said before, I have many teachers. They aren't just men who
have sex with willing married women, or the rich and famous and
powerful, or even those close to me, by whatever happenstance.
It was a normal Saturday workday. Working relatively early in the day,
fucking around Friday night was not an option. The day started early
and without a hitch. Things were very normal.
Something Happened
At one point I had a great deal of extremely violent, savage feelings
of killing my "wife". My wife is Chaya, the most beautiful woman in
the Universe. She is my Orthodox Jewess, my divine Shekinah.. and I
must worship her. Only this time, before the end of Shabbos I had to
murder her viciously, repeatedly, and take gratification in her
extremely bloody execution. It started in the afternoon, before the
workday ended. Very interesting. This horrific murderous complex in my
psyche persisted, uncomfortably, well into Sunday noon. It was very
powerful and beyond a doubt a significant difference in my psyche.
What reason could there possibly be for such a dramatic change in a
young man's emotional world? Is this insanity, an imbalanced mind?
The following day, after Sunday's murderous rage had abated, what's in
the local newspaper? Well, isn't that interesting... a particularly
viscous, bloody, truly savage edged-weapon murder of a pedestrian late
Saturday night. It was apparently quite awful, as far as murders go. I
have no idea how close he came to me. No idea. He may have entered the
establishment, or not. He may have looked me in the eyes as I thanked
him for his purchase, or not. I don't know. I know he came near, and
shared himself very personally with me in a major way. Yes, I have
many teachers. That was powerful. It is possible to be beyond sanity,
and experience some truly disturbing states of mind. The opposite of
insanity is not sanity. Regular people don't have it, that much I've
seen. Guess what the polar opposite of insanity is?
Oh... I murdered my behated, my *true* behated, so many times.. I'm
thankful, on this holiday. I'm thankful for the experiences afforded
by these circumstances. I appreciate the clarity and deep learning
possible from such people, however disturbing they may be. I
appreciate the knowledge and wisdom possible from these experiences. I
want to understand why. I'm exactly what law enforcement wants, I'm
exactly what a dedicated psychologist or psychiatrist wants to operate
with. I can't claim to have the talent or ability to divinate the
locations of kidnapped people or buried corpses.. but I sure know
something real about the living. Oh, I get it. I get it for sure. And
I don't like whores. No fuckin' way. But I can give thanks. I can be
thankful. A redeeming virtue..
Axel of the North!
O.K., fucker...
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>Brutal, Bloody Edged-Weapon Slayer
[snip snip]
>As I've said before, I have many teachers. They aren't just men who
>The following day, after Sunday's murderous rage had abated, what's in
>the local newspaper? Well, isn't that interesting... a particularly
>viscous, bloody, truly savage edged-weapon murder of a pedestrian late
>Saturday night. It was apparently quite awful, as far as murders go. I
I once purchased a karampit, a curved edge knife, short, easily
concealable with a hole for the pinky (or pointer finger in a
non-traditional grip). A concavely curved blade edge, mind you, not
your typical drop point knife. It was typical 440 stainless steel;
soft, regular stainless, not a murder weapon. It would lose that
crucial sharpness for effective cutting and stabbing work just being
shoved through the clothing. So it's not like I have any intention of
murdering anyone (though sometimes I'd sure like to...) Yeah, I'm a
blade man, you gotta problem with that?
I've made a few strikes against a large piece of a roast, lamb or
beef. On the boneless portions and the ribbed sections, just to see
what it's like. At room temperature, to simulate body temperature of
the respective mammals. I was inspired by a few videos from a
self-defense guru with various kinds of knives tested out on cardboard
targets and sections of culinary corpses that approximate
attack-damage against a human body. So it's not like I'm some kind of
an uninformed maniac with a lust for unwarranted destruction of
animals/humans. It's just an intellectual inquisitiveness, I want to
know not just what I've got to work with so much as what could be used
against me, that's the pressing need. Still..
Not to Worry, Guys!
I was trailing behind her, getting closer. She heard me approach,
looked back. That was *quite* a look. I was.. thinking thoughts.. in
my imagination.. I was carrying it, just to see how it felt, how it
shifted in the pocket. That was *quite* a look! I'll never forget it.
Who knows.. maybe she felt an astral thumb under her own
consciousness, felt it casually thumbing that thumb stud. Hmmm. I have
a hard time not revealing myself.. I'll have to work on that... I am
*very* thankful for these experiences..
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>Brutal, Bloody Edged-Weapon Slayer
>
>As I've said before, I have many teachers. They aren't just men who
>have sex with willing married women, or the rich and famous and
>powerful, or even those close to me, by whatever happenstance.
>
>It was a normal Saturday workday. Working relatively early in the day,
>fucking around Friday night was not an option. The day started early
>and without a hitch. Things were very normal.
>
>Something Happened
>
>At one point I had a great deal of extremely violent, savage feelings
>of killing my "wife". My wife is Chaya, the most beautiful woman in
>the Universe. She is my Orthodox Jewess, my divine Shekinah.. and I
>must worship her. Only this time, before the end of Shabbos I had to
>murder her viciously, repeatedly, and take gratification in her
>extremely bloody execution. It started in the afternoon, before the
>workday ended. Very interesting. This horrific murderous complex in my
>psyche persisted, uncomfortably, well into Sunday noon. It was very
>powerful and beyond a doubt a significant difference in my psyche.
>What reason could there possibly be for such a dramatic change in a
>young man's emotional world? Is this insanity, an imbalanced mind?
There are apparently Buddhist schools in Japan which, by their
history, were the foundations of the internal, or, soft, martial arts,
training institutions for, ironically, the assassins. These were the
real-life Ninja schools. These schools now serve, today, as the
training ground for professionals who have been successfully
incorporated into the American (i.e. U.S.) penitentiary systems.
There are men who are trained and paid for to accurately determine
when the prison populace are going to revolt during their lunch
assemblies. Not hollywood, not fantasy, not fiction. When fact and
fiction meet, that is the best stuff of human potential. They help
prevent the deaths of both convict and guard. This is written of in
Buddhist-oriented magazines. The authors are not locked up in insane
asylums, and I expect the same.
You're a piece-of-shit whore-lover, Officer Woodies. That's what
capacity you have served in, without reservations, without genuine
guilt. You are a goon and a bully of a cop and a hyperexcitable kind
of pseudo-criminal ape, a hypersexual and hyperviolent ape. You
deserve that extra "E" in your name, because you serve truly morally
bankrupt sadistic whores, and that is a proven fact. Congratulations.
>
>The following day, after Sunday's murderous rage had abated, what's in
>the local newspaper? Well, isn't that interesting... a particularly
>viscous, bloody, truly savage edged-weapon murder of a pedestrian late
>Saturday night. It was apparently quite awful, as far as murders go. I
>have no idea how close he came to me. No idea. He may have entered the
>establishment, or not. He may have looked me in the eyes as I thanked
>him for his purchase, or not. I don't know. I know he came near, and
>shared himself very personally with me in a major way. Yes, I have
>many teachers. That was powerful. It is possible to be beyond sanity,
>and experience some truly disturbing states of mind. The opposite of
>insanity is not sanity. Regular people don't have it, that much I've
>seen. Guess what the polar opposite of insanity is?
Anyone care to come up with a name for a higher ape who knows that
sanity is not the other end of the sanity spectrum?
David
I always look forward to your posts.
Tell me a little about yourself so you dont remain an enigma wrapped up in a
conundrum
Axel of the North!
wrote:On Tue, 07 Jul 2009 17:11:07 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the
North!) wrote:
>I think it may be time for the mystical confession. It's been a long
>time coming, a task I've grown to dread. Hollywood may want to pay
>attention as this does involve a few of your own.
[snip snip]
[previously posted in "Unappreciative Taking" in M.F.W.]
>I had an interesting encounter with a deer. And then a more
>interesting re-encounter with her.. out there.. in the woods. She was
>concerned. I zapped her with anxious energy, I saw her before she
>smelled me. I was leaning, trying to relax, maybe I was at the time
>but saw her approach (I don't even remember if I heard her coming or
>if it was one of those spontaneous head-whippers) but I saw her get
>the smell and when she got it she looked and saw me as I made a
>gesture to be spotted. She stood there and regarded me for what seemed
>a long time but was only a few seconds. I recall not thinking about
>killing her, as it was near huntin' time and then of course think
>about the deer hearts I've eaten and how I really enjoyed them. Then I
>wondered if she would in some way know.. like some real-life
>blood-hounds. I then thought about her heart and what it really is,
>and how my own emanations have been.. obviously.. uhh.. they really do
>show emotions, don't they? Sensitive and alarmed, she hiked up.. her
>shoulders in a way that kind of resembled the sustained tensions in my
>own back/shoulder musculature at the time. I said "sorry" and hoped my
>voice would help communicate as we were literally working with face to
>face watching.
>
>My godness these electrostatic precipitators sure act up now and then,
>don't they? Is this ordered, structured air? Like the structured water
>scheme? Hmmmm. I've noticed the coincidences can be very interesting.
>When the what is supposed to be random snapping acts up.. coinciding
>with.. perhaps a human feeling energies and having thoughts and
>feelings and stretching body parts out and breath work and emotional
>twists and turns.
>
>She trots off, not too hurried but doesn't want to hang out with me.
>So I'm out there fartlekking around, especially near the hilly top
>where I'm having a fartlekkin' great time, working through my
>emotional problems. Yippee ho hum I run into her, she's in the bushes
>directly facing me, there was a turn in the trail and if I hadn't seen
>her I would have been within, gosh, less than 10 feet. She was in some
>bushes but pretty close to the hiking/jogging trail. She wasn't even
>moving, then she just turned her beautiful face to face me more
>directly. She was very calm, quietly regarding me. I felt better and I
>don't think they have much fear of us in these areas where huntin'
>isn't an option. They have those big, beautiful, dark eyes. I wanted
>to eat her up. I don't mean that in the culinary sense, though. I
>wanted to get closer and closer, she was so beautiful. She was
>special.
But I didn't tell you of our re-re--encounter, which was 1-2 days
after (I can't remember clearly, it was so long ago..) our first
double-encounter. Oh... so special... how thankful could I possumly
be, I mean.. given the circumstances?
>
>How often does one encounter predators in parks as expansive as Wirth,
>yet still relatively close to the metro area? I think I was spotted by
>two of them ("Two always there are, a Master and an Apprentice." you
>should hear my Yoda, it's fucking awesome). A mother and her daughter.
>Wow. Out in the wild, for sure. But that's a whole 'nother post.
>
>--
>"Eating with the fullest pleasure-- pleasure, that is, that does not depend on ignorance-- is perhaps the profoundest enactment of our connection with the world."
>
>- Alice Waters
>chef & food activist
On Sat, 28 Nov 2009 18:34:17 GMT, "David" <forg...@yahoo.com.au>
wrote:
>
>"Axel of the North!" <ale...@ypo.com> wrote in message
>news:4b115ea...@news.eternal-september.org...
>> On Thu, 26 Nov 2009 21:12:35 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
>> wrote:
>>
>>>Brutal, Bloody Edged-Weapon Slayer
[snip snip]
>>
>> Anyone care to come up with a name for a higher ape who knows that
>> sanity is not the other end of the sanity spectrum?
>
>
>I always look forward to your posts.
>Tell me a little about yourself so you dont remain an enigma wrapped up in a
>conundrum
Don't worry, the House of Biltong is Strong..
>
Ya know what's fucked up? How my classy lady.. may not be given the
bandwidth and regard she deserves. I am, obviously, a Very Classy Guy,
but I don't think she is given the classiness she deserves. That
should change. @ ease, officers. You just back off, unless.. that is..
you *want* deer ticks.. I'm a really classy guy...
I've noticed that these people, my own species, I mean.. are given
certain licenses, certain legal "rights", that allow them certain
societally-approved hunting licenses. We can kill them with various
assorted weapons.. crossbows, compound bows, solid-slug shotguns,
high-powered large-game cartridge hunting rifles.. or assault rifle
rounds.. we give them certain times out of a hunting season, for their
respective weaponry, all fully licensed and ordained, officiated by
the local government, very nice and tidy and civilized. But...
..to be continued!
P.S. I liked the first "Brothers", the Danish film. I found it
extremely interesting (and by now you know how much I like Xtreme
things, on these here internets (axually usenet newsgroups is like a
totally 'nother realm of informational access, and is designed under a
very different system then the htttp and blog and twatter and whateva!
crapola goin' on)). Connie Nielson is, like, SO much my half-sister! I
*love* her, I need to cum all over her *so* much!
Axel of the North!
Steak, bacon & eggs. I also had some of the last batch of banana
bread, which had plenty of eggs and ground flax. It goes beautiful
topped with some lingonberry jam I got at Ikea (nice to know they're
involved in some child-labor fun!). I threw in an Ergopharm AMP pill,
had a cup of coffee. Oh, and a strong dose of rhodiola rosea bulk
powder. It smells of maple syrup and it helps me.. taste like maple
syrup (and make more of what tastes of maple syrup). G-d I love the
internet.
Went out on the walk, started to feel good on the drugs. Started
picking up sticks, broken off branches and even loggish branches..
throwing them around, selecting targets or making goals to throw in
between targets. Love the drugs, love the boost, I swear there are
some psychoactive effects.. really feeling awesome in the bod, or
maybe it was the rhodiola? I know I had a mild estrogen-blocker/killer
and probably had some natural testosterone elevation because of that
in addition to the drugs. Starting to have a lot of fun, ran out
farther into my old fartlekking haunt, maybe wishing to meet that deer
woman again. Saw groups of cross-country skiers practicing with their
poles, small jogging groups of them. I was the lone guy with the
backpack fartlekking a bit, on and off the trails, throwing shit
around. I did some really awesome stuff, as far as strength/power and
accuracy, uncannily accurate sometimes. Man, I was so awesome today.
Drugs are conducive to awesomeness, apparently.
Brought some special home-made banana bread, ate that alone in the
woods. Got treated to some hail, just tiny pellets but at least it's
the thought that counts (I luv you too, Minnesota..). Easy to stay
warm when you're in the mood to dash across the terrain. All the
manual water pumps had their handles removed exactly a week ago so had
to bring my own water bottle, which hampers the fart-factor somewhat.
I can fartlek with a pack on back. Also had some swimming trunks and
towel.
Hours of walking/hiking and fartlekking and throwing stuff around..
went to the gym. Worked out even more strenuously. Had to have a
whirlpool/sauna session. Saw there were multiple young-to-teenage
girls in the whirlpool. Not time to take a whirl in a pool just yet,
jewboy.. so opted to walk around the upper level fo the gym on the
running track to bide my time. Finally couldn't stand it any longer
and went down and changed and showered. Middle toes were cramping up,
probably dehydration from the ergogenics.. the.. performance enhancers
(raw haw haaww!!). Drank a whole bunch of water, walked kind of like a
cripple to the lifeguard, explaining what I'd done to my body and what
was happening as a result.
The Suffering
There Were Two of Them. Not that it mattered or anything. Not like I
was carefully observing *everything* they were doing in my peripheral
vision. Intensely. All the Time. 'Cuz if I did, if I was.. well, then
I'd have to admit to being a total sicko. And I'm not sick, quite the
opposite, I'm really (REALLY) healthy! They walked past, to the deep
end in the edge lane nearest the lifeguard's post. As I showed a
comical walk, looking like someone with a neurological illness or
physically screwed up in a non-rehabilitatable way. I felt like such
an uncool (and old) guy. Walking all retarded 'n stuff. Explaining
what was happening to the lifeguard, not that *they* needed an
explanation. I didn't care about them, you see. They didn't matter,
their regard for me didn't matter the slightest bit, I'm not even
looking at them. Of course, very quickly into the introductory
conversation with the lifeguard the older one (early teens for both I
think) raises herself partially up on the edge of the pool, leaning
forward at a sumptuous, revealing angle to display her bikini's
decolletage. Not that I noticed. Okay, maybe my eyes were magically
pulled to momentarily see that, but it was not by my will that it even
occurred. She had no reason to do that. It functioned no purpose.
'Cept for the obvious. I wonder if the lifeguard even noticed. They
were pale white, with dark black hair. They spoke.. spanish or
porteguese or something. They start so young. So fresh, so beautiful,
so pure.. they're already getting a bead on me, gonna practice their
"craft". That's what they do, as soon as they can get a reaction they
start refining their craft. So they start as young as possible. I hate
it. A larger woman, a big woman, not really that fat, either, enters
and quickly wraps a towel around her generous, voluptuous figure. The
adults are good at drawing attention to themselves through a
self-conscious display with the towels. The girls don't bother with
towels, especially the slender ones. They just like to stretch out in
conspicuous ways to garner more attention. I eventually used the
whirlpool and the sauna, where I again had to undergo the excruciating
knowledge that I was sitting just feet away from two exquisitely
beautiful, totally illegal underage girls(the same ones). I glanced
briefly through an article about scuba-diving in bull shark waters..
thought glumly I could use a shot of bull shark testosterone.. finally
shut my eyes, unable to bear the sight, however peripherally, of my
two luscious beauties. Oh.. dear.. G-d.. Why me?
Have You Met My Wife?
I stayed in Milwaukee, when I lived in the attic of my grandmother's
house (a psychiatrist), a house my mother and aunts and uncle lived
in, growing up with those delightfully dysfunctional professionals for
parents. Q: what do you get when you have a reproducing pair of jews
as a professor and a psychiatrist? A: more fucked up Jews. That's the
life-phase when I met, or, returned to my "wife". My divine Kikinah.
Suspicions.
During the time in Milwaukee I worked in a HFS (health food store) for
about nine months. It was a good, wholesome educational experience.
Got exposed to cooking with different foods, became acquainted with
the superior quality and prices in the bulk section and the
drastically reduced price-by-weight of the aged produce wire mesh
bags. Learned to make some more good home cooking and save some money.
There were a few female customers that stood out. One was a woman I'd
met on a rare trip out to a Target store (no department stores on the
East Side, long bus ride to another part of Milwaukee). Just prior to
entering the Target store I was walking along and head-whipped between
houses to discover a very energized dog, looked like the fighting
variety. Taking in the energy I gave a big huff and a start and he
bounded off excitedly. I worried he'd come after me. But back to the
woman. I'd seen her, after exiting the store with my new gloves. I saw
her enter her vehicle, she was an attractive woman in her forties. I
took special note of her, don't know why. I just knew that I wanted
her, somehow. Very single at this time, very lonely, freshly turned
twenty one or just about. For some reason was drawn to eat at a fast
food place just down the road on my way to the bus stop for the return
trip. Lo and behold, there she is, sitting at a table, alone. Maybe
the spirit-energy of that wired dog inspired me, maybe he was that
day's spiritual teacher. I don't know. In retrospect it sure felt like
it.
I did something uncharacteristic. I went up to her, plopped down after
asking for permission with the tray of food. Talked to her for awhile,
discussed where I was in life, what I was doing, living situation..
and her own place in life, what she was doing, her living situation.
I'd been to those parties, high school teens clustered together in one
part of one room, unable to venture outside the safety of their peers,
rockers, goth/punks, jocks, miscellaneous all co-mingling in a party
house. Weed and beer passed around casually. A keg was usually
provided for everyone's psychological well-being. I was used to that
kind of scene. No beer. Just a young man on his own without parental
supervision having an innocent conversation with a 40-something single
female defense attorney. Grandma liked "Ally McBeal", which was a
popular show at the time.. might as well make her proud..
I wasn't exactly confident, but, I was kind of forward in my approach,
asking to sit with a complete stranger in a fast food establishment,
very conscious that the nearby diners were fully aware of the
circumstances as they overheard the dialogue. I kind of had balls at
the time, I guess. She wasn't condescending, just.. thought I was
cute, not to be taken too seriously. And I *was* young. Very
inexperienced, quite a virgin. It wouldn't be until about 10 months
later that I'd have my foreskin cut off in an adult circumcision.
Still had phimosis of the foreskin. Extra-fun, but then I'm an extra
fun kinda guy (isn't that right, fuckers?). She kindly, gently let me
down, not really dismissing me completely but letting me know I'm not
in her league.
The next morning, during those early morning hours I was treated to
one of the most wonderful, loving, prolonged dream sequences I'd ever
had. I'd shared a little of my Theory of Mind with my defense
attorney, she thought it was cute, being in her forties and having
lived through more. But I'd already read plenty of parapsychology and
psychology. I knew enough. She descended on me, in our dream bed. She
hovered over me, pressing her beautiful breasts into my face, letting
me kiss and lightly suck her nipples here and there. It was very nice,
very intimate, very affectionate and loving. Very softcore, she was
really good. It was just what I wanted. She delivered *exactly* what I
wanted from her. Wow.
Later that day, working as a nothing-nobody cashier in the health-food
store/co-op guess who walks in? A little liquored up but not
irresponsibly.. wearing some very high heels, elevating her bosom,
revealed so well in her business attire, up to face level. MY face
level. She was almost as tall as me, the heels made slow-dancing a
ga-ga goo-goo kind of prospect. Mmmmmm.. breast-fed jewboys are
particularly vulnerable to these kinds of women! Even in their forties
they are kind of lame, timid. Weak. I kind of grinned when I saw her,
I hoped she didn't take it as a smug attitude. But I feared she took
it too personally, and too negatively. She went to another cashier, at
the opposite end of the open lanes. An ugly girl. She got into a
friendly, animated, short conversation with her, practically charmed
the pants off my co-worker. I was slightly miffed. I experienced that
prolonged dream very clearly, and somewhat lucidly. She was the
creator of it, I was along for the ride. I knew. Oh, yes, I knew...
I just wanted to be her lover. A lover, any kind of lover she could
have agreed to let me be for her. I wasn't some cocky, arrogant,
unappreciative young asshole. I may have been twenty or so, but I'd
already read several books on sex and sexuality,
relationship/communication type stuff, effective communication, stuff
like that. I didn't just have stupid, half-formed ideas from dry
texts, I was capable of understanding the essence of the concepts and
seeing the implications, drawing from plenty of negative-examples to
illustrate the efficacy of a more healtful, functional approach. I
would have been her very own personal jewboy boytoy. I just didn't
want to be a boytoy in a degrading or insignificant way. If I was
sleeping over, whatever we'd been doing the previous night, I would
have gladly and loyally massaged her so much, really poured my heart
and soul into doing it as well as possible to prepare her for the
upcoming work day. I would have made her breakfast as she showered
(she'd *have* to shower after a night with *me*!). I would have been
SO good to her. If only she'd made some kind of genuine effort, if
only she had reciprocated on some real level. Maybe there was some
discomfort about the age difference. I don't know. But I wasn't an
ineffectual coward. Or unattractive.
The last time I was at a party house before moving to Milwaukee (from
Minneapolis) a young mother (early 20s, like me) I'd never seen there
before got to talking to me. We shared her concern that her young
child was living in an environment with lots of second-hand smoke,
this being discussed while we were inhaling Marlboro's in already
thick air with plastic cups being constantly refilled from the keg.
When we sat down she sat down.. scooted up to my hip. I was
immediately extremely aware of the softness of her child-bearing,
womanly hips. Oh G-wd, though I wasn't exposed to the idea of not
spelling out G-d's name (the Jewish one, the Christian god is too
stupid to hold in any kind of holy or reverant regard) it went like
that when she pressed her hip into mine. I tried to maintain my cool
but I'm pretty sure she saw me have to process through that.
They know what they're doing. Whether they be young teens or young
mothers or forty-something professionals. There was another very
beautiful, extremely beautiful woman, I should say, who stuck out in
my mind during my time working as a cashier in that health food co-op.
She was a red-head. Not the freckled kind, the supernaturally
clear-complexioned pale white beauties with outrageously red hair
kind. She was almost exactly my height, which as we all know is too
tall for the male. She was gorgeous. No imperfections. Just gorgeous
all over. Perfectly proportioned. Crazy. Too good to be true. I saw
her in line, and of course she felt her self-perceptual world warped
into how I felt about her, purely on a physical, primal level. She
seemed to have taken it in, another sensitive person. She quickly took
a liking to me, at one time basically blurting out what she did for a
living and the exact address of her workplace. She did it in the odd
manner of someone not accustomed to making an advance towards another.
Sometimes very beautiful women are locked up inside, almost isolated
by their beauty, perhaps because they aren't used to being the
outgoing type, the initiator. So sometimes an attempts may come out in
odd ways. But something else was wrong. I had.. suspicions. Maybe
because it seemed too good to be true, so that it probably wasn't.
Low self-confidence? Maybe. You should have seen her. She was just too
fucking beautiful. It was insane. I had met Chaya, briefly, seen what
she'd grown up to become at age 20. She was very beautiful, too. A
little jewess of a woman, very well proportioned, beautiful backside,
well balanced, real breasts. Incredibly beautiful eyes, the most
beautiful eyes in the world. Crazy insane lips. I wasn't kidding in
that yahoo group when I wrote about her lips. Just to see her lips is
to go mad. Like some psionic trap, haunted by the memory of her beauty
which lingers in the mind.. to eventually drive others into the same
madness. Oh, Chaya. What did you do to me? And that big, healthy
forehead.. those well-sized frontal lobes of hers.
[to be continued]
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>Ahhhhhh.
>
>Steak, bacon & eggs. I also had some of the last batch of banana
>bread, which had plenty of eggs and ground flax. It goes beautiful
>topped with some lingonberry jam I got at Ikea (nice to know they're
>involved in some child-labor fun!). I threw in an Ergopharm AMP pill,
>had a cup of coffee. Oh, and a strong dose of rhodiola rosea bulk
>powder. It smells of maple syrup and it helps me.. taste like maple
>syrup (and make more of what tastes of maple syrup). G-d I love the
>internet.
Today had chicken with adult bok choy (as opposed to baby bok choy)
and broccoli in an oyster sauce base with cinnamon, cumin, touch of
coriander and ginger & garlic and cayenne with poultry fat and ghee.
Served over a stock-rich rice. That was supper. Ate the last of the
banana bread before the pre-dinner weight training and sauna therapy.
Gnawed on some steaks and had some lard-rich mashed potatoes out 'n
about.
>
>Went out on the walk, started to feel good on the drugs. Started
>picking up sticks, broken off branches and even loggish branches..
>throwing them around, selecting targets or making goals to throw in
>between targets. Love the drugs, love the boost, I swear there are
>some psychoactive effects.. really feeling awesome in the bod, or
>maybe it was the rhodiola? I know I had a mild estrogen-blocker/killer
>and probably had some natural testosterone elevation because of that
>in addition to the drugs. Starting to have a lot of fun, ran out
>farther into my old fartlekking haunt, maybe wishing to meet that deer
>woman again. Saw groups of cross-country skiers practicing with their
>poles, small jogging groups of them. I was the lone guy with the
>backpack fartlekking a bit, on and off the trails, throwing shit
>around. I did some really awesome stuff, as far as strength/power and
>accuracy, uncannily accurate sometimes. Man, I was so awesome today.
>Drugs are conducive to awesomeness, apparently.
I like throwing the sticks that are large enough for real heft, the
kind that are solid enough to shatter on impact when they hit a tree
dead-on, right in the middle of the projectile. Whether from dry
brittleness or wet mold softiness, I like it when the stick shatters
into many pieces. It's incredible, the kind of accuracy. Sports
psychology.. I've read of cybernetics (not to be confused with
Dianetics), visualization, self-hypnosis, buddhist or buddhist-like
performance psychology, I did it as a child fashioning my own spears
and bows and arrows out of unshaped, uncured wood with small, simple
hunter's knife. I was allowed to roam about, for miles in the city,
for ours all alone. I held my own life in my own hands climbing up
trees into precarious situations.. steep slopes under the cliffs of
the Mississippi, onto the roofs of buildings. Never had the feeling of
invulnerability that I've read of in pop culture of our adolescents,
why 18 year old make willing, courageous combat soldiers. Not true for
me, I confronted my own mortality on my own terms long before 10. It's
good for us, good for our development. It's good to develop
coordination and strength and health. It's life-affirming and builds
character.
>
>Brought some special home-made banana bread, ate that alone in the
>woods. Got treated to some hail, just tiny pellets but at least it's
>the thought that counts (I luv you too, Minnesota..). Easy to stay
>warm when you're in the mood to dash across the terrain. All the
>manual water pumps had their handles removed exactly a week ago so had
>to bring my own water bottle, which hampers the fart-factor somewhat.
>I can fartlek with a pack on back. Also had some swimming trunks and
>towel.
>
>Hours of walking/hiking and fartlekking and throwing stuff around..
>went to the gym. Worked out even more strenuously. Had to have a
>whirlpool/sauna session. Saw there were multiple young-to-teenage
>girls in the whirlpool. Not time to take a whirl in a pool just yet,
>jewboy.. so opted to walk around the upper level fo the gym on the
>running track to bide my time. Finally couldn't stand it any longer
>and went down and changed and showered. Middle toes were cramping up,
>probably dehydration from the ergogenics.. the.. performance enhancers
>(raw haw haaww!!). Drank a whole bunch of water, walked kind of like a
>cripple to the lifeguard, explaining what I'd done to my body and what
>was happening as a result.
No cramping the day after that. Had two AMP pills instead of 1 with a
cup of mediocre-strength coffee. Habituation or do the AMP pills,
intended for double-pill doses have abstemious caffeine content?
I know how to return good energy, even on the animal level. Like
making a swift shrug, jerk and a twist action with the legs, hips, and
shoulders, temporarily nullifying my body weight, a kind of mini-jump,
twisting around and landing, facing the dog directly, huff and
assuming an almost martial art at-the-ready stance . Just a
spontaneous quick movement. That dog bounded out and then away like a
coil of pure energy, just exploding. Probably in his prime, loving the
feeling of his own raw power.
It isn't arrogance to understand that one's Self has plenty to offer
another. Not much of an agenda if the intention is one of a symbiotic
nature; pretty fucking easy to have a clear conscience. It's not
arrogance, just confidence from being self-assured.. from a very
wholesome place. But many mundane midwest American women don't seem to
have the relationship model, can't recognize it.. or refuse to, in
someone uncomfortably younger. No.. have to continue with the ugly
mundane female-ego, something not based on reality.. just social
learning or referring to stereotypes for cues. It's during the subtle
interplay of minds that the truth can win out. It's interesting..
allow for what is going on, without buying into the illusions created
by others (who themselves may be the victims of others or society in
general) and watch and wait and see if they can cross the void that
has been created.
>The next morning, during those early morning hours I was treated to
>one of the most wonderful, loving, prolonged dream sequences I'd ever
>had. I'd shared a little of my Theory of Mind with my defense
>attorney, she thought it was cute, being in her forties and having
>lived through more. But I'd already read plenty of parapsychology and
>psychology. I knew enough. She descended on me, in our dream bed. She
>hovered over me, pressing her beautiful breasts into my face, letting
>me kiss and lightly suck her nipples here and there. It was very nice,
>very intimate, very affectionate and loving. Very softcore, she was
>really good. It was just what I wanted. She delivered *exactly* what I
>wanted from her. Wow.
Maybe she tried to cross the void, that's one thing the
non-temporal-spatial properties of the dream-world actually *are*
well-suited for. But to respect the reality we can create with our own
bodies, bodies which are controlled by our minds (or *should* be,
anyway) I simply wait for the other to bridge that gap with their true
actions in the true reality. If words are cheap (and for most people
they are) than what are thoughts? It isn't that interactions of mind
aren't true, it's just they aren't *as* true as real actions in the
physical world, and certainly can't be held as accountable for mental
activity as for physical activity. Is this As Good As It Gets? Is an
effective approximation of the female mind simply to compare it to the
male mind and remove two things, rationality and accountability? That
looks like misogeny to me, and it only takes one example of a quality
female mind to see it can't be true of all females. I use the word
whore and I use it well and appropriately. Now that the medical
establishment is watching (thank you, Officer Woodies, you
hyperexcitable bully goon of an ape (have you appreciated any of this
ultra-realistic, ultra-true recounting of the subtleties of true
reality? An evolving picture of true cause & effect to help people
realize a more realistic and moralistic understanding of the
consequences of our actions, physical or otherwise? Can you appreciate
it? I think you need to be ambushed by a couple of Predators to help
set you straight, Officer...)).
SUSPICIONS
I didn't talk to my Divine Shekinah incarnate much. I remember the
first time I met her, as adults. She was coming down the stairs.. so
beautiful, I was dumbstruck. My mind flipped through the dreary, dusty
comics of my childhood when we played together. Such a short time but
strong feelings that welled up from a childhood and adolescence of
deprivation, tinged with the shame and guilt inevitably accrued from
living in a crude, paltry version of "culture" that was the midwest's
gentile population during the 80s and 90s. Where the public schools,
even an alternative school setting that was without the prison-like
atmosphere that pervades many hapless children's formative educational
experiences (or should I say the institutionalized semblence of an
educational system so well discussed in cable TV's premier "fake" news
program), functioned as a sort of pseudo-insane-asylum, a crockpot of
cultural neuroses.
Encountering a beautiful Jewess like my G-dess, the jumbled mess of
sexual desires, tensions and complexes.. that kind of turmoil caused a
very conflicted state within me. She was so beautiful if I'd had
access to a product like Ejaculoid during our short time together.. I
don't know if I'd have enough money for much else on a small budget!
But we didn't talk much. The most we talked was when her parents were
in another state (using their precognitive faculties to amass more jew
money in Nevada, no doubt).
I wonder if she remembers my question, the only heavy question I
asked.. the question I was sure to set up in the proper context, the
question she answered with: "Just don't kill anyone." (and with
*that* particular intonation..) I wonder if her Rabbi of a father even
knows what question I asked her. The father who insulted me,
questioned my sexuality and insulted my intelligence several times.
She didn't go to public schools like the rest of the females I'd met.
She went to shuls. On more than one continent. Well if a women is
given an education that is not only above standard public schools,
from a selection list of schools that is multi-continental in scope,
than wouldn't I be right to lightly inquire to learn about her mind? I
wonder if that ego-driven father even talked to his daughter about
that question, if it even arose in conversation. Or maybe they just
assume they're better and right and holy and don't have to answer to
others or even discuss it. I did ask a very important question and was
careful to set it up properly in the right context to let her know
what I was really asking. And this egomaniac of a father, a
presumptuous asshole who already broke the law of the land with a
marriage of my Jewish grandfather to another woman before my gentile
grandmother had passed away, never even bothered to explain anything,
a man who doesn't have to answer to others. But certainly felt free to
insult me.
I played with their two youngest girls (7 & 9) and fell in love with
them too quickly and easily, being a lonely young man in a new city.
Ohhh.. it was wonderful.. and terrible. But few interactions with my
G-dess. We were nervous and I had that awful non-retractable
foreskin.. probably considered even more unkosher than a functional
uncut penis. And I could respect a people's religious values, in spite
of not respecting me and my family. I didn't have to lower myself to
their "holy" level. I had issues. Sexual issues (as ingrained sexual
mores and personal problems) and moral issues and the added weight of
anxiety towards the other whose mind, whose feelings and regard for me
had importance. But I *did* talk to her and asked her a very important
question which was pertinent to my issue with her parents. Not asking
for something as overidealistic as perfection, just looking for a
modicum of decency. Not unfair at all.
Something very interesting happened during that stay in Milwaukee. I
was sitting on the front steps at the sidewalk at grandma's house.
Just sitting and watching. My G-dess was walking on the opposite side
of the street, returning to her house while I looked and longed to
lick and suck her full, beautiful, succulent earlobe (yes, I was even
sexually attracted to her ears). But it was a calm and empty state of
mind soon after that, a natural cessation of thoughts as I simply
observed her beauty. "28" the number mysteriously arises, unbidden.
That's odd. Sometimes random thoughts can randomly arise at random
times. Seems incongruous with the situation. Schizophrenia?
Schizophrenia has been known to begin in early adulthood. Didn't
attach too much importance to it, but the thought stood out and I
remember it to this day.
[to be continued]
Axel of the North!
My muscles are recovering nicely from the ape-fest in the outdoors.
Nice to have the hard snap of the musculoskeletal system to prepare
the muscles for contractile action different from plain old
strength-training.
Just now made my second finely ground fatty turkey bread of the
season. This time I used 1 pound grnd turkey with about 2 1/3 cups of
organic brown rice flour, 1/4 cup granulated sugar, finely diced
collard greens (unknown amount, already cooked), onion and garlic
powders, sage, oregano, thyme, basil, cayenne powder. Seasoned with a
half and half mixture of potassium and sodium chloride (mmm, nothing
says lovin' like potassium chloride (unless you're on certain
prescription medications..)). Also mixed some yolks in for richness
and extra fat. Probably not enough saturated fat to satisfy on a hard,
long hike but.. we'll see.
While that was cooking I brought back to a boil the reserved dirty
black cook water of the batch of black beans from yesterday. Threw in
garlic and onion powders, salt, cumin, cayenne powder and 2 other
dried ground chiles. Poured about a cup and a half of that onto about
two cups of cooked frijoles negros in the blender. Poured in some
olive oil for texture and to tame the heat. Delicious, should make an
easy spreadable topping for plain rice or even play with it on the
turkey bread. Ahh, turkey bread. I like being able to make a
self-contained meal that meets my macronutrient needs on a basic
level. Plenty of fat, protein and carbohydrates. Being able to take it
on the go, especially in this weather, is very empowering. I like
that.
So for a long time the common nutritional advice was always to caution
us against the saturated fats and all this media stuff and cooking
shows talk about reducing the sats. A month or two ago I see on a
morning news show some cooking/food related segment and they say it
has been "discovered" that some of these fats aren't actually so bad
for us and can even have special appetite-satiating effects that allow
us to naturally eat less total calories (as long as that is our
intention (you can still eat like a pig if you try)). That's where I
want the turkey "bread", cooked into more of a brownie, no chocolate,
a thick, unleavened.. turkey/fat/powdered starch dish. Something very
filling and low volume.
So today is "Top Chef" day, Bravo apparently can't keep from airing
half a day's worth of "Top Chef" episodes every time it's on. That's
nice. Ya know.. The Secret Underworld has it's own cable channel
(whose identity will remain unknown). Yeah. It's called "Bottom Cook".
It's a great show, IMO even better than the crap they air these days
on regular cable. In "Bottom Cook" they are obviously not successful
professionals.. more like bottom of the barrel low-lifes who are
usually at the bottom of any hierarchy. They're aren't the chef, or
"Chief" of the kitchen, they usually mope along cooking under the
orders of others, and accomplish many other less glorious chores.
They're just cooks. Usually a motley assortment of nefarious
characters you wouldn't want working near (or for) your family (or
maybe you DO*). This season looks pretty strong, I liked today's
slow-fire challenge: to cook several dishes to satisfy the needs of
the special guest and her kids, an ultra-female super-reproducer of
eight with a four-year age-range (I think it was 5-9 year olds). I
like how some of the cooks get burned for trying to get too fancy in
their presentations. The judges seem to be looking more for hearty
foods that plop unceremoniously onto the tableware than anything else.
That and cooking on a budget, you should see the kinds of budgets
they're forced to work with! It's a crazy show! But I wonder about
some of the stuff that looks to be happening just off-camera.. I
dunno, man, looks pretty suspicious. It almost has an aire of..
something risque happening just under the surface! Kinda shady if you
ask me..
*Ja.. you betcha!
Axel of the North!
I only went to one prom. Freshman prom. It was Open School, an
alternative k-12 school that was innovative in past times. It became a
place to dump problem or at-risk kids, not the open-ended, interactive
education it was originally intended to be. I was there for
kindergarten, 1st grade and 4th through 10th grades. Second and third
grade was at Mississippi Magnet school, which pretended to be a school
focused on the arts.. but what I found out as a young person was the
highly structured environment was actually non-conducive to creative,
artistic expression and development. It actually served to thwart
creative potential. That's what happens when unimaginative adults get
to run the show. They are spiritual inferiors to the children they
preside over. I began taking out books in second grade, most notably a
book on controlled substances (i.e. drugs). This was several years
before the D.A.R.E. program had begun. I read books on my own time,
personal time. Second grade. Think about it. Good luck.
I was an early developer, grown to almost full adult size by 14, 15
years of age. Successful at athletics, a great long jump from
stationary position at that school's version of the Olympics. Good at
throwing, good on accuracy, excellent burst strength. I remember one
of the few times I got to quarterback on that asphalt field in Phy Ed
class. It was a perfect spiral whipped out at a perfect velocity and
trajectory to my intended teammate. He was so fucking stupid and
witless that he caught the football nestled naturally right into his
chest and was so baffled at the perfect athletic performance that he
literally stopped (he didn't have to change his direction or speed to
catch it) dead in his tracks and got tagged by the other team.
I got good "grades" (no alphabetical grading system) almost all the
time, especially in courses I enjoyed (same was true of the few
college courses I took) and was above all the cliques. I drifted in
and out of them without attachment or awkwardness. There wasn't much
of the judgemental above/lower kind of social posturing within me. I
knew how to take things lightly. I had the natural inclination to
extend that ease towards others. It's the self- deprecating humor that
sets everyone at ease. To create an all-inclusive field-vibe where
adolescents felt safe and accepted, allowed to express themselves
freely and openly in a constructive way.
What Is Cool?
The dork factor. Without "cool" clothes or vehicles or hanging on
females in those social situations that often arise as adolescents
mingle about in those in-between times. The dork factor, whether put
on or simply what one is at the time, to laugh and play freely with
one's peers. No one *has* to act cool, no one has to be cool.
Everything's cool, everyone's cool. Gratis. That is true coolness.
People who try to be cool aren't necessarily cool (they often aren't).
People who *are* cool without effort are what coolness actually is.
And that was me, it wasn't put on, it wasn't a false fabrication of an
intellectual regurgitation to a perceived idea. It was just a natural
state of being.
So I went to my freshman prom, walked there as I recall (it was within
two miles of residence) and held in the quaint gym which also served
as the cafeteria. Music blaring, regular pop crap with a rhythmic beat
to dance to. A simple dress shirt and tie and dress slacks, informal
office attire, nothing special. Once I entered into that prom dance
room...
Shiloh
She was an athletic person. I'd known of three of her siblings who
attended this K-12 school. A much younger brother, two older brothers.
Her brother Mike had some kind of nasal deformation that rendered his
voice into something ugly, he was a classic bully kind of mind. It
would seem their family was very casual in physical abuse, if not
outright abuse than certainly their behavior was reflective of an
abusive nature. So she was a tough female with a very physical
mindset, an athletic, no-nonsense kind of burgeoning young woman. I
once used my linguistic and impressionistic talent in front of her,
impersonating her older brother with uncanny accuracy. She was
speechless. I was.. talented from the beginning. I didn't think about
her much, we shared a home-room one year, but though we had plenty of
interaction nothing sticks out in my mind about her. She was the kind
of woman who was physically combative, needed to assert herself
physically, whether to put others off-balance or attain dominance. But
something was different about her on prom night.
As soon as I entered that dance room of a gymnasium.. quickly surveyed
the situation.. there she was, casually leaning against the wall. She
came forward, approached me and without pretentions asked me if I
would dance with her. She was unexpectedly beautiful, not
characteristic at all. This was not the Shiloh I'd ever known. I
didn't really understand, I hadn't looked her over in years. We were
both fifteen. She was wearing a tight-fitting black dress and placed
both of my hands on her hips. We danced to the indistinct pop music,
she let me lead as I came to grips (pun intended) with her flared
hips. My newly-found receptivity to her developing body was obvious
and without b.s. After her there were a number of other females who
found me acceptable for dancing. Once several females were seen
dancing with me the others had no issues, I danced with a number of
young women, both individually and groups. After a few the rest were
not as personal, I had been officially deemed acceptable as a dance
partner. I remember a woman who saw herself as above the common
culture, a self-proclaimed feminist who was "raped" (or whatever) as
her initial sexual experience by an inappropriately older male, a
woman who assumed the posture of Kali, as a mistress of life & death
and took abortion of her fetuses as personal empowerment and
re-appropriation and control of her reproductive potential. She led,
and I was ignorant of the fact until she mentioned it.
Various female faculty (teachers) fawned over me that night,
re-iterating the idea that if they could attend high school all over
again they would be with me as their boyfriend. It was reassurance of
my fragile adolescent ego and evaluation of what I actually was, as a
person, in those early stages of adulthood. They wanted to leave the
indelible impression in my psyche that they knew what I was and
supported my overall perspective on how to regard others. That's
coolness. Beyond generational values and social posturing, they wanted
me to understand that I was what made people feel acceptable and cool.
An all-inclusive coolness. *That's* cool. That's the polar opposite of
the whore-mind. Shiloh broke the ice, we were both unconventional. It
was by her feminine grace that I was made acceptable from the
beginning. I danced with more girls than anyone else, by far. That's
exactly how it works. Coolness without effort.
As if there were any question about sociability or competency. As if
there was any doubt. Keep watching, there's more in store...
Axel of the North!
>whores. [sniff] Oh, Jason.. where are you when we need you most?
>Friday, the night of the Sabbath. I have no goddess to worship. What a
>surprise. Only now we are beginning to learn exactly what kind of
>heart I have and what its ultimate consequences can be. I would like
>to share a special insight I've had: seeing the effects of my
>continued existence and participation in this universe it has dawned
>on me that there may be more innocent people alive and less tragically
>dead (by suicide or murder or accident) if I were to take a gun and
>point it at my chest and pull the trigger and put a spinning piece of
>metal right through my Jewish heart. But not to worry, I'm simply
>stating a fact, I'm showing you I'm reasonable and can acknowledge
>unflattering truths.
You could say I'm having a ball...
I neglected to mention that Shiloh had a face that was a sort of mask,
something I'd seen in light masks from other cultures. She had these
rhomboid eyes, awesome rhomboid eyes. Very asian, very exotic. The
slight curvacious twists at the ends of the inner/lower and
outer/upper edges of her eyes were quite lovely, completely different
from anything I'd ever seen before (or since). She was gorgeous in a
way so exotic that defied explanation.
I saw her, once, during my attendance at a regular high school. It's
not like I didn't appreciate Open School, I did, it's just that I
didn't want to bother with their program for full-fledged graduation.
I wanted to experience a regular high school with a regular
curriculum. She was on the track team, because Open School was so
small it had no teams of its own, of any sort. She was in jogging
pants and shirt. She was so beautiful, in her full athletic gown,
transformed in my imagination from that prom night, she might as well
have been in a wedding gown. My very private, personal athletic
adventures in the lightly forested areas available to a bicyclist's
urbanite are the dwelling place of the dreams of a man who yearns for
a woman of equilavent athleticism. Don't think I don't understand the
essence of the Cheetah woman's romance. If only more women were like
her.
Ironically, the regular high school that was to be the last 2 years of
public education were in a prison-structure of a high school that was
right across the street from the historical (local government
sanctified) farm house that was my residence from 10-16 years of age.
My family moved away from that farm house in a transition summer to
another home. What a strange change. Even stranger was the fact that
the historical home was sold to a few people, one of whom was a
grade-school teacher for the aforementioned alternative school! It had
a very well-sized backyard and a traditional carriage house (for
horse-drawn carriages). The carriage house was leaning slightly,
slightly dilapidated and obviously ailing. It was later torn down as a
safety hazard (which made sense).
There was a very informal crabtree orchard. Despite the official crude
wooden fence of a garden there were clear spaces for play and a
mini-apple orchard. My family's modest foray into the world of
daycare, in addition to a desire to create a nice space for my younger
sister (6-7 years my junior) resulted in a little playground structure
as well. Mowing the lawn, a chore relegated to yours truly, along with
raking, was very much a chore. I remember my sister made almost as
much as me, as far as allowances go. My parents were teaching me an
important lesson about economic inequality at an early age.
We never made appropriate use of that crabtree orchard. They weren't
bad apples at all, just took a little more work because of their
miniature size. I should have had more teenagers over for apple
parties or something. We, as a family, could at least have harvested
the dropped apples and turned them into something good more often. Oh
well. Less than a decade later I would forge very healthful, wholesome
personal relationships with real, local farmers for personal diet and
nutritional needs.. dietary explorations which would prove invaluable
to my intellectual and physical life.
Axel of the North!
There once was a boy, not yet even a man (13) who inhabited an
extended family's cabin, however temporarily. It was in a well-wooded
coniferous forest. The sweet smell of sugary sap leaking from their
wounds.. the fresh scent of pine. The beauty of the two colors of
common lichen excentuating the beauty of the land. With rocky terrain
thus colored, who could not be enamored with the beauty of Mother
Nature? Moss. Dead fallen trunks populated by fungal structures. Who
could not fall in love with the many levels of life growing on any
viable surface? Only a soulless nothing would remain unmoved. Hulk. He
remembered. He had Aaron Jay Kernis playing in his consciousness
before seeing that movie. He saw a movie with a soul, going deep into
the human condition. A very personal experience.
There was a pond. An artificial pond formed from a simple concrete
structure. It was fed from an underground source and either gradually
leaked through the lowest point of a crack in the rim or by
evaporation. The bottom was dark with a thick layer of leaves/needles
and other disgusting organic matter. The surface was riddled with the
corpses or still dying bodies of various woodland insects (mostly
furry moths). There was an inflatable craft bought under his
supervision with his Jewish professor of a grandfather. It was a
simple bouyant craft, with no true paddles provided. It was casual use
in that pond with a makeshift paddle, in preparation of use in the
adventures provided by the natural, modest, free-flowing creek not
less than a half mile away.
At one point the boy attempted to disembark from the inflatable craft,
making the mistake of exiting from the rim and not the little
multi-step shaped structure that was the "dock". This pond once held a
few trout, whatever other uses were lost in the vagueries of time in
that family. The boy made a mistake. The sides were very steep, too
steep to attain adequate purchase for pushing off and forward and
upward. The body of the boy was thrust above yet backwards, not
forward to the safety of the dry rim of rocks imbedded within the
concrete.
Through a very curious instance, similar as temporal perceptions go to
going for an extremely conscious inside shot surrounded by opponents
in a basketball game, with time expansion and true revulsion at the
prospect of plunging into those disgusting depths, however relatively
shallow.. the boy was catapulted out of the pond, comfortably over its
border. When the boy inspected, with gradually dawning amazement, his
lower pantslegs.. he found denim dotted only by a few drops of
moisture. Curiously un-soused, he was left to ponder the significance
of the event for many years...
Axel of the North!
About 11 years ago I was invited to a Halloween party. It wasn't a
company party, just a co-worker bringing me along to one she was
invited to. She was the sample girl, Jill. She was a sweet little
woman with what I remember were bright, clear, green eyes. She had a
very German last name. This was during my time living with grandma and
working at a health food store/co-op. Jill was very skinny, she was
eating an almost no-fat diet and not eating enough, her mind was very
weak as a result. She seemed stupid, but from what I learned
experimenting with fasting and vegetarianism I found out how much, for
me, I could be weakened, mentally. Though my time with her was before
those dietary explorations I intuitively recognized she was in a
self-imposed weakened state. I don't know if she was anorexic or had
dysmorphia. She just didn't eat enough. Her brain was starved for fat.
Jill and I were transported to the party by one of her old high school
friends. I recall in the end there were four altogether, all old high
school friends. I wasn't the last picked up, though I was the closest
to the party's location. Along the way I found out that Jill was a
cocksucker, which, of course, is a delightful concept (in theory) to
learn about someone. The "lead" female, the rude, dominant female of
the group was fond of calling her a cocksucker, and the others sort of
joined in. They all eventually emphatically called each other
cocksuckers. I just gave her a happy, amused look. I don't know what I
said, exactly, obligated to participate in some level (don't want to
be left out of their caustic post-high-school banter).. maybe "Wow,
Jill. I wish I'd known sooner.. that you're a *cocksucker*!" I don't
even know if they'd had a few drinks already.
It started slow, a few people milling about. The appetizers were
really good, everyone seemed to like them. There was beer, in clear
plastic cups. There was a beautiful young latina with strong
cheekbones and a wide mouth with thick, sensuous lips. She angled in
on me enough for one of the girls from the car to lightly tease me
over it. It was a costume party and I went as The Professor, dressed
in the hip, young professor attire of past times. Given the source of
inspiration I might as well be considered a subtle kind of "monster"
(that was the underlying joke).
At one point I broke out a pipe and smoked some nice pipe tobacco, a
few people remained close because they liked the smell. Some cannabis
eventually circulated in various rooms. The music was good, the vibe
was good, the food was good, everyone was happy.
There was a certain point when Jill, poor, weak Jill, wanted to get to
the beer keg or something that was in the kitchen. The crowd was too
thick for her to make it to her destination. I decided I'd help her,
inexperienced 21 year old virgin that I was at the time. So I took her
with me and, leading ahead of her, magically parted the crowd (like
the Red Sea), without touching anyone, knocking into anyone. I just
waved my hand in dramatic fashion before we entered the room and then
effortlessly led her through the thick crowd of party-goers. She was
delighted and amazed at my magical powers over the situation. I had
party experience.. but usually not in a crowd that thick. Yes, during
Halloween magic is thick in the air. I lightly explained the process,
field vibrations (em-fields) and subtle interactions and explained
that cannabis, and even to some extend alcoholic beverages can lead to
heightened states of consciousness, that people were both amped up and
yet also more sensitive in an enhanced state of awareness. She shared
her own understanding of it and we were both enthusiastic about the
conversation as we were also high (both drugs for both of us at that
point).
She got her drink. At one point the beer ran out and we were again in
the kitchen (though it was no struggle to get there for her without
the keg-density factor). She was disappointed that she had to make a
gin mixed drink. I took the helm again and helped her with a drink I
made on the spot, using far less gin than she was going to use and
plenty of bubbly tonic water. She was again delighted by my wizardry
as her yucky gin & tonic tasted very sweet and delicious. She'd had
enough to drink for the most part but she wasn't driving and it was no
big deal (and she needed the water).
It was a nice party. At one point I was sitting down, luxuriating in
the great vibe. There was this guy who came to the party (he was
expected). I had gotten earlier that he had a relationship with the
ladies I came with and fondled several of some of them casually. By
now of course I'd gotten the impression that they were all his
obedient sucksluts. He was a good looking Italian-type fellow, an
alpha-male who easily towered over them (as did I). At one point when
sitting observing the party and this guy and his group of sucksluts my
attention was drawn, somehow, mysteriously, right into him and his
crew. I couldn't shake something, continuing to stare almost through
them.. he became angry at the sustained attention I was giving them..
but then finally eased off when it was revealed in the loud,
boisterous party that more guests were struggling to gain
entrance/attention at the front door.. and the music had gotten too
loud for anyone to hear their insistent pounding. Perhaps this
well-fellated ruffian realized my attention was not drawn to him and
his pussy-posse, but to the new arrivals. Bravo, Well Sucked One.
Bravo.. "that was weird, it's like you have x-ray vision."
That's Halloween. That was one of the best, if not THE best Halloween
I'd ever had. That was a good party. Mostly young adults,
college-educated, well-adjusted, hip young crowd. And everyone's
consciousness was nice and expanded. Sometimes I wonder if it's not a
good idea to reveal oneself to co-workers. She was fairly weak, a bit
on the dull side (whatever the reason). She may have shared her
amazement with co-workers at the workplace. I ran into a few problems
with some of our co-workers. They didn't like the "power", as they
seemed kind of.. well I won't say powerless.. just too weak to stand
up to me or too influenced by me. They were unsettled. I'm sure if she
talked about my (at least for that night) amazing powers to carve a
path through the crowd or sense the people behind the door it would
not have helped. She was innocent, not gossiping and actively
conspiring against me. That's just how the commoners can be when they
trade notes on someone, they take to sharing information together
eventually to an us-against-him kind of mentality. So I think it was
ultimately not the best thing for me.
If any of you younguns know about the phenomena I've discussed here,
if animals seem to correctly receive any communications you give them,
or if you find yourself being put in the position of what feels like
an emissary or ambassador of your entire species to them, even to the
point of serving as an educational guest speaker for their children's
benefit (and you can see when their mothers give you that and relay
that relational role to their children, asking that they, too, give
you deeper attention (but not as a threat)) then it would probably
behoove you to see the advice in the last part of the previous
paragraph. They (the mundane humans) don't necessarily appreciate what
you are or what you do. To them it could be "freaky" or unnatural,
even though amazing there's the creep out factor.
Also at that workplace I found myself serving as some sort of innernet
pornographic device. The women usually liked it, provoking it
themselves. I still had issues of guilt and shame about my body and
sexuality and suffered when that "came" out (pun intended). Women can
get very angry about stuff like that, you've got to be all the way
"into" it to avoid their wrath.
I went along with my psychiatrist (!) grandmother to a religious
holiday dinner (the one with the sweet, the sour and the I'm-totally
famished-I-need-food theme). I broke down after exiting the last bus
on the final walk to their nice, large home in the nice neighborhood.
I remember at one point at that dinner a *very* beautiful young woman
who apparently wasn't born Jewish.. but was brought into a live-in
deal with the Rabbi's family. I saw her set a plate out and was
basking in the glory of her, getting the impression she was not only
beautiful but possessed of an appreciable level of natural
intelligence (you know how it goes). The words "I'm 25." Oh, okay.
I'll try not to want her too much, I beamed out to the older,
religious Jewish men. Hands off, understood. I respect you. I don't
want any trouble here, folks. 'Cuz when you have multiple naturally
raised humans who've been paying attention and cultivated crystal
clarity you don't want ta fuck with them.
During a lull later into that night I had a wave of an impression of
the impermanent, irresponsible, carefree, anything-goes kind of sexual
attitude that was very common for lots of young people during these
times (err, at the end of the 20th century). They shifted
uncomfortably and reacted with stern looks of disapproval. I could
swear it was from someone at the health food store (the place was a
cauldron of sex-minded young fuckers looking to live out a life of
temporary sexual liasons without troublesome attachments). I think
they knew who it came from in the dining room, though. I couldn't just
belt out "Hey, it wasn't me! It's from someone who knows me! Honest!"
I don't think they would have bought it. I did kind of respond with
enthusiasm to the "wave". (these were Twerskys, Rabbi (and they wore
these big, funny Russian-like hats)
The host Rabbi talked to me one-on-one at the end of the night. He was
kind of upset with me. I know I didn't do much with The Beautiful
Project. I wasn't overly nice to her or try to charm her for personal
egoic satisfaction. I wasn't encroaching on anyone. But it was enough,
just that one little fucking slip-up. Dammit. And who ever heard of
the Jews eating wasabi? I mean.. Wasabwiddat? There was no freakin'
wasabi during the diaspora nor during our wonderful adventures in
Europe. That's just crazy. The Rabbi slapped me on the back a few
times during our short conversation, I expressed interest in whatever
reading advice he had to offer as far as Judaism was concerned. But he
slapped me too hard, kind of pounding on my back. They're very fickle
and demanding, those traditional Jews. I find drug-enhanced gentile
crowds easier to handle. They're not going to "get me" on any little
thing.
Axel of the North!
magnesium citrate (if you ever catch me with a little trimmed up
baggie of white powder you'd better test it before you start rough'n
me up, coppers..) and had a very nice easy glide into the relaxing
effects of good old magnesium. Woke up fairly early the next day, but
still felt groggy. Too hungry as the magnesium helps boost test levels
and had lifted weights as well. Made a 2 banana smoothie (when I..
have bananas I usually like to take them two at a time..) with some
old powdered egg yolk powder for vitamins, minerals, and a healthy
dose of cholesterol for whoremoan production. Then groggily went back
to sleep. Maybe *that's* why...
There were cougars or some other predator. Something traveling through
the generic neighborhood in the dreamworld. I didn't identify as them
(drats!) and instead it was anxieties about them tracking my movements
and possibly plotting to "get" me. They were holding back, I think.
Oooh. They don't like those kinds of posts.
Speaking of felines. As a courier I walked into an elderly women's
apartment. She had to find something in order to conclude the delivery
and offered me a seat at her kitchen table. So I put the backpack down
and sat. Then this big beautiful house cat jumped up onto my lower
abdomen. As he began his vocal greeting and making his way up my body
his owner explained that he was harmless. I learned by his vocality
and neediness and extremely affectionate nature that he was also a
castrated male cat. With lower feet firmly planted on my lower guts
he'd stretched to full length purring up a vicious feline storm as he
assaulted my nose with his own vibrating soft pad. His whiskers
tickled my cheeks and his eyes peered deeply and passionately into
mine. With declawed paws shifting slightly, digging into my guts and
chest he nuzzled and purred and peered into me. Since I've been making
these confessions I thought.. in the spirit of psychological health
that I should.. I.. I think that.. uhh.. I think it.. moved. You
know.. IT.
I wasn't prepared! If I'd only known I could have steeled myself for
it. I was.. vulnerable. It's not like I'm a pervert or anything. He
took me by surprise. He assaulted me! I know what you're thinking.
Well, really, I don't even see a reason to be defensive, I mean, just
the tactile sensations.. the feet prodding gently into me, the
vibrations of the purring, the tickling of the whiskers, and the needy
disarming castrated cat talk. All put together.. as a sensual
experience.. it was too much. I just wasn't ready. I was vulnerable..
by being.. TOO LONELY!!!
I know what you're thinking. This clearly crosses the
species-boundary. But if you think about it as purely tactile
sensations.. and it doesn't really count as gay, does it? Not only was
he not my own species and outwardly lacking a real gender-identity,
being castrated he didn't have testicles fer chrissakes! So it doesn't
count as gay, right? Well, it shouldn't. If you think about it,
hormonally.
Ohhhhhhh.. I've got.. issues...
Axel of the North!
Well, it looks like my Final Destination is rearing its ugly head
again. A couple of weeks ago I was walking at night and crossing an
intersection, easily within the painted crosswalk when I was nearly
run over by a mini-van. If I hadn't become aware of it so quickly,
glancing over my right shoulder at the vehicle from behind making a
left turn, and catapulted myself ahead and out of harm's away in time
I would have been gluten-free toast. They didn't swerve, no horn, no
slowing down before or after, nothing. They just went through me as if
I didn't exist. Fuckers.
The Good One
Today walked by a woman in a pick-up that couldn't get out of the
parking spot. Back and forth see-sawing on compact snow and ice. The
snow plow was approaching from down the street, on the side of the
pickup. Just walking by and decided I'd help out, went behind and
pushed when the pickup went forward. We made its forward-backward
motion longer and longer until it finally broke free. G-d, I'm such a
wonderful person. Sometimes I can't stand it, it gets so bad.
The Ultimate Evil
Was at my association for young christian women doing the whirlpool
and sauna thang (working out the pores). Some newcomer dufus with his
two kids. His boy wanted to dive off the deep-end but there was a "no
diving" written in the tiles of the edge. He discussed diving and told
his dad how many meters it was. Dufus converted the unfamiliar meter
measurement into some ridiculous depth in feet and I didn't know if he
was just horrible at math or screwed up on drugs (like way baked on
pot) or something. Then the daughter came in.
I fled to the sauna, a vantage point which stilled allowed me an
advantageous view of his children. His precious, beautiful, beautiful
children.. The kids were in the whirlpool for a good while, there were
time limits for people under certain ages (separated into several
general age groups). I was kind of paying attention to that (I am
always watching, waiting, holding my breath...).
She eventually entered the sauna and I learned she'd never been given
a formal introduction to this part of the facility. Her parental unit
apparently didn't care about child safety, or even knew the concept
applied to these hot 'n steamy situations. [sniff] Instead of being
the cool-assed creepazoid sinister guy I had to explain to her how her
nose stung because the air was so hot and that she should breathe in
through her mouth and out her nose. "Why?" [sigh] "Because that way
you're breathing out air that is closer in temperature to your own
body heat. It will help protect your nose. Unfortunately, since they
no longer allow us to put water on the rocks and create steamy, humid
air your lungs may become dry." Her brother enters and he has a hard
time with the sauna, too. No wonder because neither took a real break
in between too-long-in-the-whirlpool to the sauna. He wondered how hot
it was and misread the temperature on the thermostat. I explained that
there were two systems and tried to explain the two and gave up and
told him it what it was in farenheit and then told him what the
boiling temperature of water was. They were both perplexed at how hot
and uncomfortable they were getting and expressed amazement because
they knew how long I'd been in. Now being forced to explain that their
bodies were smaller and that the ratio of the surface area of their
bodies (their fresh, beautiful, wonderful, vulnerable bodies) was
higher compared to the mass of their bodies. Well, whatever process by
which cognition occurred the girl quickly asks about fat people and I
tell her that their body fat gives additional insulation against the
temperature outside their bodies, just as high body fat confers
protection against cold. It was a lot for them to take in. They left
soon after they realized they probably shouldn't have been in there
for as long as they had already.
Shortly after they left I felt downtrodden. At least it wasn't
excruciating like with the hispanic sisters. G-ddamn that fucking
hurt. Just too beautiful (and they knew it). Did I mention how the
elder sister's long, full lashes were dark black, like her hair,
framing her creamy white skin? Graaaahhhhh!!! I like it when they're
just young and sweet and aren't mercilessly plying me. Some of those
facilities I shouldn't even use. I know my place, I'm small-time.
Once again I have to make up for the neglectful or just plain ignorant
parents and their lackluster relationship to their kids? Huh? I can't
even find an appropriate opportunity to slither my arm around her
shoulders and draw her deep into my web of lies and manipulation
because I'm too busy being forced to pick up the slack all these
dumbass neglectful parents leave. Who's left to pick up the pieces?
Who's left the task of caring after your children's health and safety?
Sheesh! What kind of a world is this, huh? I just don't know... [arms
folded; shakes head in disappointment] I just don't know... Just run
me over with a van. Go right ahead, Springfield. I have needs to, ya
know (I'm such a scumbag)...
Axel of the North!
The Purple Prince (he got in trouble for painting someone's California
mansion purple without permission; the football team; that one movie
he was in) came in to the "bookstore" I was working in.. back in '97
or '98. Ohhh.. the catacombs of Shinder's.. porn heaven. So much
classic porn from the 70s.. that was a cultural mecca for me. Ohhhh..
all those old men in their trenchcoats.. the smell of their breath,
rank with liquor.. the stench of their tobacco stained hands.. even
then, before the drinking age, I was slowly and inevitably falling in
love with you, Minnesota... but where was I? Oh yes.. he was so small.
A little Prince and his big bodyguard. He came in minutes before
closing. Expected all of us to wait on him after closing, his own
private service. The crew immediately took a collective dislike to
him. He sent out plenty of bad vibes to us, too, so the feeling was
mutual. Nothin' like mutual animosity with a local celebrity! I might
have started it, as we all know how dark little princes are.. I just
thought he was cute. Of course it only magnified his feelings about
that issue (we've all got 'em!) and he may have seen the curl of that
smile on my lips. Artistic geniuses can be sensitive. He gave me bad
vibes, personally. That was personal, yeah.
Years later, working in the same flarkin' downtown area I read of his
latest stunt with the purple mansion. You spoiled, arrogant
celebrities. I recall at one point thinking about him, thinking about
his musical career, how he hadn't made a notable album in a long time.
Was he washed up? Past his prime? Washed out? Too old? I thought about
our exchange and decided I'd be the better and give him my Jew-juice.
Nothing internetty/slimey here, just give the good mojo. I willed it.
I wanted it. Wanted it for him. My Prince. I know how to Serve. Isn't
that right, Rabbi? Yesssssssssssssss. [forked tongue flicks out] Yes..
it's me.. the Jew! [wrapping serpentine form around Armisen] Well well
well.. what's in the news? What a surprise (at the time it still
was..). A new album, as good as his best stuff. Best stuff in years...
Yeah. I remember you. Quite salacious early material; seems you *have*
slowed down, maybe changed your stance on sexuality, er, sexual
conduct? You're welcome, fucker.
It's In The Woods
Uh oh. Looks like someone's been a *very* naughty boy. His youngest
son has a very rare, cool name. I hope he can live up to it. That was
the first thing that made me finally take notice of him. I don't
follow much on these guys. Not even super celebrity athletes who
re-ignite the professional scene of their sport. Then I hear from
somewhere that he's been plagued with relative failure in cold, harsh
Minnesota. So sad. So, what's a Jew to do? It comes from the heart.
Can't manufacture it, it can't come from a false place. Can't be
contrived. It's from our souls. Like with the mighty Kanine Killah,
interesting numbers on the caller ID. What's this, a number with
another number in the name field? Don't think I've seen that before.
Ahhh.. the Mystery of Life. It *is* a mystery. I feel like a player
and a pawn. Pulling some of the strings some of the time, formed by
whatever is forged by others towards me and.. by whatever life
experiences may themselves have formed me, as if they take on a life
of their own within. Always have to watch out for this. Charges build
up.. it's SOOO easy to do wrong. So he had a bit of a problem with
anger issues. Unsportmanlike outbursts, etc. But.. just like me..
ohhh.. the yearning.. the burning.. you just wanted to LOVE! LOVE so
much!! Trust me.. I can relate. I was angry. I've hit some financial
bad times and it was prominent in my mind. I thought about all that
money you made.. even if it was just what you won here, in Magnificent
Minnesota. You owe me. That's why. I'm never sure if it can happen or
not. Just thoughts. They're just.. thoughts. I guess it's more than
thoughts, though.. [in suit; thrusts open hand out: "Money, please!"]
It's funny but it's also kind of not. What the fuck *is* this? This is
it? This is what we are? It's the drugs. Mmmmmmm.. lemme tell ya.. we
get into trouble. We get others into trouble. When Things Happen,
it's usually in just a few days. Rarely more than that (if ever).
Axel of the North!
been in the Xcel Center since it got it's name. Not familiar with the
downtown of the other. Cold day with nasty wind chill. Streets were
barren. I wondered, vaguely, why there were so many little girls
wearing skirts and white hose and little, shiny black shoes.. and why
wear a skirt when it's so *cold* out!? This is weird, man.
Must have been some kind of cult. Maybe I was hallucinating. I went
for a breather from my "event" and walked around a bit. A mother & two
girls (guess what kind of attire?). They needed directions to the
"Disney on Ice: Beauty & the Beast" action goin' on next to wear I'd
been. So they ended up following me. I skooted ahead of them and the
girls ran ahead at one point and then returned to the mother, who
continued to trail behind. At the last crosswalk one of the little
girls gave me that look back just like the woman I gradually
approached ('cuz I was walking faster) when I fingered the swivel stud
on the karampit. Hmm. Well, that's no good. No good at all!
So that's where they were all going. Even though it's freezing cold
with yucky wind most of the parents hear the call to bring their
daughters in the white hosiery and shiny little black shoes and
old-fashioined looking skirts. That must be some show!
Hey, Smushka (her brain was smushed by the evils of orthodoxy),
remember when you were sitting on the floor, doing your homework and
Leah was there (I learned from the movie "Dybbuk" (sp?) that "Leah"
means "not G-d") and she said "stop it" and I said what? and she says
"We know what you're doing."? That was mean! She's a big meanie! (11).
You were nine. Ohhhh. I thought about you when I saw all those girls
dressed up for their disney adventure on ice! When we last met, had
you read what I wrote of that experience, what I was doing ([sotto
voce]] in my head, I mean)? I hope so. For the rest, I was touched by
the portrait-like quality of the moment, if I'd had a camera I would
have snapped a shot. It was like some kind of live-action Great
American Painting or something. I was just trying to make it a
beautiful memory; imagining it in the mind's eye, a kind of inner
visual operation.Then Leah had to go and ruin it. I dunno. Maybe I
brought in the aire of the romantic too much, and Leah just couldn't
handle it.
This girl was mean, man. The first few weeks I moved into my grandma's
house, just a lonely 20 year old. I find someone's ball in the
backyard, a wild, chaotic garden that is razed annually courtesy of
the city (and grandma foots the bill). Many bushes reaching 3-4 feet,
vines that cover the little awning thingamawhatzit over the 3-step
divider from the top and bottom halves of the yard. A two-car garage.
So I'd taken note of the ball, when this girl from across the alleyway
comes out while I'm in the backyard and I ask her if it's hers and so
I give it to her. She accused me of being a scoundrel with ulterior
motives. She made me feel bad. Perhaps.. the beginnings of my ethereal
tentacles were subconsciously drifting to her with quiet purpose?
Hushed.. unmet needs? Ohhh.. the muted strivings of the lonely souls!
Perhaps she felt it. Probably. Just starved for company, really. Way
beyond what she accused me of. She came down on me kind of hard. Nahh.
Leah was too much, especially because I was particularly vulnerable at
the time (in several ways, not being cute about this either, not
castrated-cat-vulnerable). She negatively added to my experience of
the Princedom by the Sea. A ruining element. Ohhhh, Smushka. I should
have taken you home when you were fifteen. It would have be SO
illegal! Where were your parents? Or friends? You were all alone! Not
a good memory. Not a good one to have. Not good for the psyche. Didn't
say a word, of course. Not that I can blame you. Not good to see you
again. I don't necessarily mean that in a bad way. Wearing all those
pretty, old-fashioned dresses. Things in your hair. And the shoes.
Classic. I thought of you (and Raw-Ho). You were so jealous of Raw-Ho
when I gave her more attention for too long. I loved that. I really
did. I was so alone.
Being well liked by all those kids in the last two years of high
school, to be ripped away and in-between two worlds with the college
thing, I didn't even attend the graduation ceremony of my class. I had
level two courses which I shared with many freshman and sophomores on
the high school side, introductory college courses on the other. That
was a very difficult period for me, emotionally, because I knew I'd be
ripped away from all that fun completely once I'd graduated high
school. I lived a while as a single adult, about 1.5, maybe 2 years.
No job at that time, just wandering around the city on the bicycle.
Crazy, to think what my mind was going through.
But back to the Twin Cities... oh yes. It is two days and.. the
reports are in. There is a mountain lioness on the loose. They can't
determine, at this point, whether or not it is a wild cougar or a
domestic puma on the loose. How wonderful for me. It's interesting..
once it's opened, the secrets of talking jaguar.. Oh, yes, it's true.
I love her already. I never really divulged the interaction between me
and the deer woman, did I?
Well, I will say this. The beautiful little girl, at the last
intersection, did give evidence of discomfort. I wanted to sing, in
the approximation of Angela Lansbury's tea pot: "beatuy and the..
beasts...". The mother would have loved it. She was hesitant when her
girls were just running around in an effort to keep their vulnerable
little legs warm. I can do a good singing Lansbury, no need to fake
it. But I was reserved.1
Now we've got a lioness on the prowl. Yes. So good. Motion-activated
captured-footage. Yes. I love it. Theyr're coming in. They're
returning. Good.
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>>This is Friday the 13th, only there isn't any Jason to murder the
>>whores. [sniff] Oh, Jason.. where are you when we need you most?
>>Friday, the night of the Sabbath. I have no goddess to worship. What a
>>surprise. Only now we are beginning to learn exactly what kind of
>>heart I have and what its ultimate consequences can be. I would like
>>to share a special insight I've had: seeing the effects of my
>>continued existence and participation in this universe it has dawned
>>on me that there may be more innocent people alive and less tragically
>>dead (by suicide or murder or accident) if I were to take a gun and
>>point it at my chest and pull the trigger and put a spinning piece of
>>metal right through my Jewish heart. But not to worry, I'm simply
>>stating a fact, I'm showing you I'm reasonable and can acknowledge
>>unflattering truths.
>
>You could say I'm having a ball...
A monster's ball, that is. (those of you who know HAD to see that one
coming!)
I was not delighted to learn that the personality traits I had so
strongly expressed at the early age of 14 were codified and elaborated
on the internet (sometimes at great length) as advanced/master level
Don Juan tactics. I had phimosis of the skin, an unretractable
foreskin and of course whatever malformations of a protein-intense
(most likely celiac) type O primate grown on a disgusting typical
standard american diet (SAD). I had plenty of pedigree, from the
family. Plenty of intelligence. Plenty of books, read plenty of 'em.
Good vocabulary. Expansive, effortless expansive use of the English
language. The release, total release from results.. not goal-oriented.
I was able to play with a freedom that enabled others to surprise
themselves, as they were not used to operating under such truly
liberating circumstances. Now that's Coolness.
I haven't told you about the re-re-encounter with the deer woman, have
I? That was about a day or two after our first encounter. Yes. She's..
a really classy lady. Eat it up, Hollywood. Eat it up. Before the rest
can. Just eat it up. Because it's gonna get darker before it gets
light.
Axel of the North!
Axel of the North!
encountered. They betrayed me. I want to precede this account of
extra-special affairs with that much. The doctors, the nurses, medical
assistants, mothers, fathers, friends (that was mispronounced, simply
remove the "r" and you have the correct pronounciation)... all
betrayed me.
The second time I encountered her, as she was grazing gracefully by
the trail, a trail she knew was well-travelled by humans, she saw me
and regarded me not once, but as a dialogue already created that first
day. She saw my expression, human expression, and most likely felt
what was created. Once I'd burst away, now, mind you, there was no
sound of fleeing after I burst away, she just saw me burst off. I was
the kind of lonely soul that gave her everything. Like a child before
his own creator (mother), I wanted to prove how fast and strong and
powerful I was. I wanted to demonstrate how I, too, could use various
striking techniques that constitute travel as a bipedal form. She
showed me her grace and abilities as a quadrapedal woman, dissipating
the nervous, anxious energy she got off me, showing me how she took it
in through her shoulder musculature and expertly poked through the
what was to me (a mere human) dangerous terrain. It was a thick,
jumbled mass of haphazardly strewn branches she went through. I was
impressed. The next time we met that first day I wanted to show her
how well I could burst across the ground, off-the-trail, up and up
that steep incline. I wanted to impress her, as she did me. I wanted..
I wanted.. her approval. These are the strivings of lonely souls. This
is what leads people to death. This was a killing soul. A murderously,
tragically ruined soul with the power to make it happen. That day the
energy was correctly expended as a physical expression, thrust up as
pure athleticism. She wasn't alarmed at all by my sudden display of
physicality. As I said, the dialogue had already begun.
I showed a variety of techniques: pushing off fallen, dead branches,
landing intentionallly on dead branches and jumping off those, clear
ground, brushing through the brush, etc. I wanted to prove myself to
her. Ohh.. I did show her what we could do. If anyone can show the
agility and power and speed of our species.. surely it is someone
built as I am, with the muscle fiber composition to capitalize on the
lightness on a frame literally built for pure speed.
And so it was. I gave her so much. It was out of deprivation, true
destitution. But not by spiritual deficiency.
I don't even remember whether it was the next day or the day after
that when I re--re-encountered the deer woman. She was lying on her
stomach, a belly laid flat and spread out. She looked fat as a result,
not that she'd have self-image issues (that was exclusively the
domain of my own kind). She was waiting, expectantly. At rest yet..
perched, ready to pounce. If ya know what I mean. I approached at
quite a distance before I saw her. She made a motion, funny, that,
just like a deer I only saw her when she moved, that's how it
happened. We both fixed on each other, visually. Her head pointed
directly on mine, but it was her ears that made the biggest
impression. She had these ears, big, beautiful, sensitive ears.. they
twitched on me like fucking radar dishes. And that was it. Game over,
man. Game over. She recognized me. From that distance. As an
individual. Very intelligent. Just look at the brain to body mass
ratio of these creatures. Deer, elk, moose, caribou, whatever.. just
look at the ratio. Remember, I'm the guy that communicated true
insight about the corvidae family and spindle cells long before modern
science pretended to know. I'm Axel Hultman. Way out, man. Way far
out. It was mutual, the romance, I mean. I saw her movement, she
managed to restrain herself. She didn't bolt, remained on four legs.
That's class. She was.. a really classy lady. But I saw the initial
movement, it was visible, throughout her musculature. It was not a
movement away, not a movement up and away. That's a hint. I'm not
going to discuss any more of this relationship. This is all you get.
Rockstar has their WTF, and perhaps rightly so. SNL has their own
commentary. The medical establishment proved themselves the enemy of
my body, life, and soul. Betrayed by my own family, and, of course,
The Jews (it's not like my Road Warrior was wrong..). Way, way beyond
normal circumstances. *That's* the nature of the interaction. Yes.
Thoroughly cognizant; totally aware. Reading the first paragraph,
don't read the word as "special". It's species, special. I love
children.. and.. animals. Complete betrayal. Total betrayal. That's
the nature of those interactions. They pick up the slack left by the
adult opposite gender of my own species.
Axel of the North!
Yes, I love it. Just like with the deer woman. So I went to the range
in October. It wasn't Halloween, if you must know. I had several guns.
It is weird, the idea of possessing multiple guns that are not my own.
It lingers in my mind, what the cops would think if they found me on
the bus and inquired about the contents of my backpack. When I went to
the range in October I didn't even have a 22LR gun, only 9 millimeter
Lugers and three eighties. It's funny, reading about 38 specials, .357
magnums and 9mm Lugers... they're all supposedly the same diameter,
355.. but have so many different properties..
I've shot these guns.. one time I shot a sig sauer 232 (.380) so well
that the owner had quite a reaction when he saw the paper target's
shot groups. I took it to around 30-40 feet. Used a combination of
point/sight method. Sight was on the thyroid of the human profile,
pointed up to around the bottom of the face. Intended to fire at the
mouth. Pulled the target in.. gun owner takes target down. He saw me
do it. I was obviously pleased. He angrily crumpled and tore up the
target. I was upset, but not overly so. I'm actually used to inferior
men having issues with my abilities.. talents. I've come to expect it,
actually. I think when someone destroys the evidence of my talent that
that is the greatest compliment that could be given. They can't stand
the physical evidence of the fact of my existence. I loved that 232,
basically ergonomically a PPK. I love the PPKs.
I've seen this Steven Seagal chap. "Lawman" or something. Lotta
scumbags out there, also a lot of misguided youths.. failed by their
friends and family in this paltry, false American culture. The world
needs more compassionate men, gentlemen, wielding the power of law
through all those nasty strongarm tactics. I like gentle, easy-going
tactics. I *know* where that pen went.
Shot the Ruger P95.. there were so few people at that indoor range
that day.. we were eventually moved to the "other" room, a separate
room. A group of people with a stockless shotgun.. pistols (of
course). There were about five lanes being used in the smaller range,
I was the rightmost shooter. Putting up circular targets over and over
again, gauging the various guns. Shooting away.. magazine after
magazine. The comfort level goes way up, even being cautious and
mindful of gun safety.. eventually the relaxation sets in. I can
definently understand how shooting, as a recreational activity, can be
a very soothing experience. I've always felt very relaxed and content
after a thorough gun range session. *Very* wholesome activity. People
who haven't developed a healthy relationship to firearms just don't
understand how relaxing it is. The Zen of shooting, be it archery or
rifles (at much longer ranges than pistols, IMO) or pistols. Very nice
way to explore sports/performance psychology, powerful insights into
performance is possible.
What I've experienced is an initial stress-response that jangles my
nerves, twitchy and uncomfortable. Just the anticipation of being
assigned a lane near those fucking boomsticks, the assault rifles, is
enough to unnerve me. But after a while I acclimate to the percussive
waves, the sonic booms and pressure-waves, the shock-waves created
from our impressive American weaponry. If I was constipated before I
entered the range.. I'm definently not constipated afterwards! Not
shitting my pants out of fear or anything.. it's those shock-waves..
they soften my stool, man! Purely mechanical effects. But I do wonder
if the repeated direct shock of the recoil through my arms and
shoulders also serves to relax the body, a kind of beneficial
side-effect achieved through firing off hundreds of rounds.
So there I was writing on the paper targets which gun it was, at what
pace I was firing it, what estimated range gleaned from the white
painted lines, etc. Just mindfully cataloging each target. Very
intellectual, very systematic. I'd thoroughly cleaned some of these
guns and then applied the protective dry-lubricant of the tuff-glide
and then re-oiled some of them. Testing out and breaking in a new
pistol, loading it with hollow-points after a few hundred rounds to
test the feed-ramp's integrity.
Can you tell I'm into shooting guns? I'm a shooter. No shame in that.
I've established a healthy relationship to firearms. I see commoners,
the mundaners, as psychologically inferior beings. This is not
elitism. Back in the days, particularly rural areas of America.. we
had a common, daily relationship to guns that was not unhealthy or
injurious or dysfunctional in any way, it was just an unquestioned
aspect of life. That was pyschologically healthy. These days are
different.
The first time I went to an indoor gun range (previously only shot a
scoped out 22LR rifle and the original PPK; pistole politzei kriminal
with Swastika and everything; the original leather holster; chambered
in 32 caliber, true Nazi police-issue, a war relic inherited directly
within the family (he was an Army doctor IIRC, not a killer) and shot
in the great American beauty of Montana's outdoors) I shot with a
range-mate. He was a gay man, but not the kind of obnoxious,
flamboyantly gay guy, he actually reproduced with a female before he
figured himself out. We shot a Para-Carry, a compact .45 ACP. I didn't
appreciate at the time that this was the iconic American sidearm,
scaled down to a more easily drawable short barrel length. It didn't
register. I knew, from my Ranger-trained killer of an ex-military
father the originations of the .45 caliber. That much I knew. We shot
one box of forty five (expensive!) and because I liked it so much he
was kind enough to purchase an additional box. In retrospect, a mere
one hundred rounds is a laughably meager amount, as far as
recreational range pleasures go... it was the last magazine, from that
first range session. That was it. It was a human silhouette target,
the large kind (I have no use for those as far as pleasure shooting
goes). I picked up that beautiful little rented .45 compact 1911 and
with the ease and grace of complete non-attachment (not the same as
uncaring) proceeded to expertly and quickly knock out hole after hole
in that target paper. I was aiming for the heart, a quiet subtext
about my own feelings regarding misguided sexuality. I resented that
he reproduced while I, obviously heterosexual (or at the very least a
conditionally bisexual being) had not. The shot pattern was
surprising. Wow. What an accurate firearm. I won't pretend to know how
to deal with the muzzle-flip of the recoil for target re-acquisition.
My father eventually dispensed those teachings (which I very
effectively executed when the situation presented itself). But I
somehow made it work. That guy was fucking shot through the heart
multiple times, no joke. That was a tight shot pattern.
But back to the indoor shooting range session. All of us herded into a
tighter, smaller subsection of a room. An internally controlled
ventilation system. No wind. No drafts, extremely well-controlled
internal environment. We were all casually shooting at our targets. I
have noticed the knockback effect of a spread shot, multiple pellets
from either a full barrelled shotgun or a smaller, much smaller
"Judge" pistol chambered for shotgun calibers. Even the widespread
shotgun pellet spray doesn't seem to move the paper target much. They
just pierce through the paper and go on their merry way. Not much
knockback.
At one point the guy just two lanes over (thankfully the adjacent lane
was empty... sheesh..) pulls out the hand cannon. Large revolver I
would just seconds later discover. Huge shock waves, major
penetration. Was my cranium made to subtly vibrate with each firing of
those awe-inspiring cartridges? Uhhh.. maybe. Yeah. It makes a
sympathetic response in the guts, beyond mere mechanical action.
Boom! Boom! I was drawn away from my own firing, paused in a moment of
stillness to dispassionately observe the activity of another. After a
while, having been brought out of my own performance summoning.. in a
moment of stillness, no shots fired.. the paper target was blown back
with a movement so large it was not possibly made by a bullet or
pellet spread. No. Not possible. This of course was entirely
mysteriously coincident with a single particapant's huff. A forceful
exhalation. One's breath is caught, made still, until finally one just
lets go. Preserved into the adult form. Confirmed telekinesis in the
adult form.That was one of the last questions left. Yeah. Okay. It's
inspiring! I collect the casings, the various casings of various
calibers, just to allow my intellect to grasp it better and to satisfy
other's curiousity. I found out, later, that it was .460 S&W magnum.
I've got one, just one casing. Fucking incredible. I can't even do it,
consciously. I have to be pushed into it, or inspired. Goddamnit. Now
THAT'S a WTF. Even though it's fiction, by Lucas' own words not
science fiction but fantasy fiction, the Jedis, even with powers of
mind-control and telekinesis carry a light saber for personal
protection, hopefully at all times they are exposed to
mortally-challenging situations. Ehhhhhhhh. Does that make any sense?
It's close to our Holiday. Mmmmmmm. Fuckin' dark daze ahead, der, eh?
I don't have any threatening or scary moments with the real predators,
I mean, like, the felines. I find it interesting, though... In
northern Wisconsin they had some kind of monumental OMG moment when
they recorded the motion-activated footage of the mountain lion. Same
again here. The very day I had a scheduled job interview Red Fox met
me. But he/she isn't a predator like them. I'm not exactly afraid of
the predators (I'm not being cute with the hollywood/sci-fi predators
allusion to real-life pairs of females). The real predators. Of
course, if they're truly starving to death and have come down to that
level of desperation than seriously I'd even want a relatively
slow-drawing massive gun like that large caliber revolver. Ya just
realize you only need one shot, and that's the shot that counts
because they could even be as big as you, and filled with a ferocious
energy so that even if they're a few 10s of pounds less they would
have considerable force. Add in the claw factor.. the fangs.. even the
rest of the teeth. It's just horrific. So we really don't have more
reports of these guys? My only realistic concern is the varmints. Not
the quadrupeds The two-legged variety. I finally saw that ballad of
ricky bobby. He learned to deal with fear (it's an animal thang!).
Sports performance psychology. I see you have a little quip with the
"el diablo" misunderstanding. I think you were channeling plenty of
bush when you made that movie. too much authority in the wrong hands!
Axel of the North!
On Mon, 30 Nov 2009 06:10:04 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
wrote:
>Have You Met My Wife?
>
>I stayed in Milwaukee, when I lived in the attic of my grandmother's
>house (a psychiatrist), a house my mother and aunts and uncle lived
>in, growing up with those delightfully dysfunctional professionals for
>parents. Q: what do you get when you have a reproducing pair of jews
>as a professor and a psychiatrist? A: more fucked up Jews. That's the
>life-phase when I met, or, returned to my "wife". My divine Kikinah.
That was my behated. Now for the mysterious introduction of the
fantastically gorgeous red head:
>[snip snip] There was another very
>beautiful, extremely beautiful woman, I should say, who stuck out in
>my mind during my time working as a cashier in that health food co-op.
>She was a red-head. Not the freckled kind, the supernaturally
>clear-complexioned pale white beauties with outrageously red hair
>kind. She was almost exactly my height, which as we all know is too
>tall for the male. She was gorgeous. No imperfections. Just gorgeous
>all over. Perfectly proportioned. Crazy. Too good to be true. I saw
>her in line, and of course she felt her self-perceptual world warped
>into how I felt about her, purely on a physical, primal level. She
>seemed to have taken it in, another sensitive person. She quickly took
>a liking to me, at one time basically blurting out what she did for a
>living and the exact address of her workplace. She did it in the odd
>manner of someone not accustomed to making an advance towards another.
>Sometimes very beautiful women are locked up inside, almost isolated
>by their beauty, perhaps because they aren't used to being the
>outgoing type, the initiator. So sometimes an attempts may come out in
>odd ways. But something else was wrong. I had.. suspicions. Maybe
>because it seemed too good to be true, so that it probably wasn't.
Why would such a beautiful woman be so overtly friendly to me?
>Low self-confidence? Maybe. You should have seen her. She was just too
>fucking beautiful. It was insane. I had met Chaya, briefly, seen what
>she'd grown up to become at age 20. She was very beautiful, too. A
>little jewess of a woman, very well proportioned, beautiful backside,
>well balanced, real breasts. Incredibly beautiful eyes, the most
>beautiful eyes in the world. Crazy insane lips. I wasn't kidding in
>that yahoo group when I wrote about her lips. Just to see her lips is
>to go mad. Like some psionic trap, haunted by the memory of her beauty
>which lingers in the mind.. to eventually drive others into the same
>madness. Oh, Chaya. What did you do to me? And that big, healthy
>forehead.. those well-sized frontal lobes of hers.
It's not like I can't appreciate a woman for her mind (in this context
the mind that originates specifically from the brain, or brain/mind).
>Something very interesting happened during that stay in Milwaukee. I
>was sitting on the front steps at the sidewalk at grandma's house.
>Just sitting and watching. My G-dess was walking on the opposite side
>of the street, returning to her house while I looked and longed to
>lick and suck her full, beautiful, succulent earlobe (yes, I was even
>sexually attracted to her ears). But it was a calm and empty state of
>mind soon after that, a natural cessation of thoughts as I simply
>observed her beauty. "28" the number mysteriously arises, unbidden.
>That's odd. Sometimes random thoughts can randomly arise at random
>times. Seems incongruous with the situation. Schizophrenia?
>Schizophrenia has been known to begin in early adulthood. Didn't
>attach too much importance to it, but the thought stood out and I
>remember it to this day.
>
>[to be continued]
28
So.. what was that? A sub-compact Glock? .357 hmm... had to clear away
a bit of dust just to see it's caliber, in the dreamworld. And then
there she is, a woman I want to love.
But, unfortunately...
I was benching more than ever, looking at nothing but the
dissatisfaction of more... when all of a sudden, I was besieged with a
vision so beautiful I couldn't believe it. It was Her, with a very
beautiful red-headed accomplice. Too much. She was working on a
machine's bench press, close to her special friend. And her friend was
very beautiful, and gorgeous. Conscpicuously gorgoeous. I don't think
I have to tell you her hair color. It was while I had been benching
more weight than ever before. I was taking it slow at that point.
Because that was, from my perspective, the highest point my poor
liddle' jewboy frame could take. So what the hell? Did you expect me
to initiate something? Did you think I'd just want you more than ever?
Or what? Or was it a you and her kind of inclusive deal? Whatever, I'm
sure you had more than just honey under your tongue (more like milk
and honey..)..
Merry Christmas, Fuckers...
Axel of the North!
The Mind Rapist
I recall reading a little blurb quote from a person who was enough of
a celebrity to be in the public's eye. He once said that the idea of
mind rape was "cool". Then he later retracted his sentiment because of
the extreme negative backlash. It would seem that most people don't
actually appreciate the concept of mind rape... however...
I woke up quite sick, physically ill. Actually, physically sick. Of
that there is no doubt. But.. there was something else. I was
relatively discombulated: dizziness, spaciness. I talked to my manager
who (of course) asked if I could still come in.. just for deliveries..
complete idiocy and unempathetic to the extreme, no matter what.
Totally inappropriate "professional" conduct. Totally wrong (over and
over again). I did not go in for ANYTHING. I was at home, not wrapped
up (sick in times of colder seasons necessitates bundling up for
energy conservation). Through various episodes I experienced very
strange concepts of cumming all over a glorious woman, the
glorification factor was quite high. I was alarmed at how quickly and
powerfully my unused organ of procreation was brought to a painful (if
restrained by clothing) and powerful state of erection. I literally
had to pull off the underwear at times just to escape a painful
stateof erection. It was *that* bad. Completetly beyond anything I
would make, within my own psyche. As an adolescent I wouldn't be so
caught up in my own Eros, I'm sure of that much. These were periodic
episodes, but frequent enough to disallow any excursions.
Two days after that who shows up to the workplace? My ex-co-worker,
the cruel and uncompassionate Christina. Once again I felt the smile
of her facial musculature underneath. I don't know if she had done
stimulants above her over-caffeination.. coke, meth, standard
amphetamines.. whatever it was.. too much. She came in with her
mother, and, once again, couldn't speak for herself (the tell-tale
hallmark of a whore). She was wearing a nice shirt, with a revealing
star pattern on her chest. They purchased cat food. She put her ID on
the counter, which I didn't bother to look at (considering her
sadistic nature her last name had changed, married to a much older man
and wanted to hurt me over it, as she had made a point to enjoy
hurting me over her live-in relationship to her boyfriend during her
employment). Have you gotten the impression that I have NO trust in
these WHORES? Have you arrived at the understanding that they WILL
capitolize on anything they can to cause a state of emotional
suffering within me? Have you gotten the impression that perhaps, just
maybe, maybe... this is years of experience talking, and not just
paranoia? Maybe, just maybe... That's the tale of CHRISTina the Kike.
A whore opposed to Axel's mental health. Fucking with a virgin, hating
a virgin, tormenting a virgin. Just like the confirmed (years of
observation) sadistic whore Rhianna Lyn Brodin. Exactly the same kind
of whore.
It wasn't even a mind rape with cunnilingus facials (squirters and
gushers, etc.). It wasn't cosmetology/chemical facials. It wasn't
massage facials. No, this was the conventional internet-type facial.
How does a woman do that? How does someone pull that off? She was an
insane, bi-polar or bi-polar-like kind of sex maniac. She was reading
my posts, this was mid-2008, she was reading my posts to the other
whore, Rhianna. But, like almost every whore I've met she couldn't say
a word and was completely full of herself, steaming in her
self-satisfaction (which isn't deserved, of course).
What gets me is how much influence she had on my erectile function.
That was fucking awful. Somewhat exciting, of course, the conceptual
flow of information was exciting, but disconcerting that it occurred
and affected my body beyond my control. That "woman" (and we know at
this point that calling them women is an insult to real women) was not
cool. Mind rape seems like a cool idea, in retrospect I can laugh
about it, but it actually isn't cool. She was into a very selfish
sexuality, not at all about loving another person. That point was made
very clear. I don't find it attractive at all.
So, I've been mind-raped with facials. Quite an experience. This is
horrific. This ia a kind of subtle American horror story.
Axel of the North!
wrote:
We were 28. Right in my fucking fitness/weight room. All she could do
was return/reflect my own expression. I did not like seeing her again
that time. Nothing. It's like she doesn't have her own energy. Reeks
of weakness.
If she had planned to visit me when we were 28, that seems kind of..
cold. But I understand that there is a least one other kind of mental
phenomena by which this could have occurred. However, the fact remains
that she came, as a cowardly woman, of course, with her special
friend. So typical. It's not a good thing. The problem is, when a
person has plenty of sexual partners, or just one or two and has an
active sex life, she is unable to understand the situation of someone
who has existed without for a long time. And these sexed-up women
certainly don't have compassionate natures. Not to us. They can't. Not
in our field.
At least this morning's dream had marriage issues apparently with
someone else. Another big heffer. No written contract signed, just a
ceremony somewhere. Then we were in a room, she walks past me and I go
"oh no you don't" or something and grab her from behind and do a good
old-fashioned wrestling take-down.. magically landing on a bed. Then I
groped her boobs while I rested on top. Nice MMA dream with marriage
issues. Then she left me in search of better prospects. Oh well. At
least it wasn't anyone I knew (I hope). Ohh.. sometimes I wonder if
the dreamworld is vague out of kindness.
Axel of the North!
Just got done with deconstructing another turkey the other day. The
pork fat is all rendered out into pure lard. Just completed a modest
one and a half cups long grain white rice (pre-soaked for more uniform
shapes) cooked in stock with sodium/potassium-chlorides and onion and
garlic powders and some shrimp powder, carrot, some savoy cabbage and
some leftover un-flavored adzuki beans. Pretty good.
You know, it's funny. I see these television programs and fancy-ass
magazine articles and there's this whole idea of traveling to exotic
lands and finding exotic ingredients that we've never used or tasted.
I mean, it's nice and all to learn about far away places and bringing
an emphasis on their foods as an important part of a people's culture
I can appreciate. But it kind of irks me that even though many of the
more upscale grocery stores, co-ops and other food markets have a
wider selection of foodstuffs available, helping us become more
worldly in our own Midwest American food-culture (and certainly
compared to most of the last century), we still don't go just a few
steps further and explore some of the lesser known grocers and other
local sources for interesting and intriguing food ingredients. I
dunno, I don't want to sound like an incessant whiner. I just get a
sense that the people who like hip, fresh, or off-the-beaten-path kind
of adventurous foods could make more of an effort than buying
unfamiliar fruit with strange names for their next organic vegetarian
chili, ya know? Do you get what I'm saying.
Now, me.. I'm a connoisseur. I've already been there, done that. Most
of the time made it myself, too. You want to talk about plain,
down-to-earth, real-life culinary sophistication without the
pretentious snobbery, I'm yer man. For example: sometimes we overlook
the natural, common sense resources that are literally hiding in plain
sight, literally right under our noses! (You survalists may enjoy this
next part) Did you know that during the winter, if you have no source
of water and are thirsty that you can melt the snow into water? Of
course you did. But, did you also know that the yellow snow is far
more nutritious and has more minerals than the white snow? Yes, it's
true! Just think about it, brown rice has more vitamins, minerals,
fiber and protein and fats and antioxidants than white, right? Same
for whole wheat versus white, even if its enriched its lacking the
full grain. Well, same for snow! I don't think I even have to see any
fucking nutritional profile from the stupid government's department of
agriculture to understand that yellow snow is clearly more mineralized
than white snow. I can taste the difference for my self. I'm like:
[munch munch munch]duhhhh! Something interesting I've discovered about
flavored, mineralized snow is that unlike some of these wines and
other high falutin' fancy-assed ingredients where the specific region
it was grown in or some other exclusive attribute of the foodstuff is
some major uppity value-enhancer, thus boosting the price unreasonably
high, flavored snow's quality actually *increases* in what would seem
to be undesirable harvesting grounds. Now *that's* value! I mean,
screw this "in the pristine valleys of such-n-such.." Bleh. We can
find better stuff in the inner-city than out in the damned country.
Really! In fact, and here's an aspect of culinary pioneerism which the
food snobs would never want you to know about: the very best, most
complicated, most robust and delicious flavors of mineralized snow are
actually found in the low-income neighborhoods in the urban
environment. And some of the lowest-income neighborhoods have the best
flavored snow of all! Don't believe me, check it out for yourself.
Trust me, once you try it, you'll become a believer. Just.. like.. me.
You know that cup and a half of rice I made today, which I am
currently enjoying as I type.. ? Yep. The places I've found are good
for harvesting the most highly-flavored snow in my area provides a
deep richness extremely similar to beer/barley. Definently a boon to
anyone who's intolerant to the gluten grains. It allows for a culinary
freedom, an exploration into a world of taste that would otherwise be
unavailable to people like myself. I think that's something *anyone*
could appreciate. So all this B.S. about expensive, rare, exotic
ingredients and unorthodox cooking techniques and whatever blah blah
blah.. all that culinary snobbery is worthy of defenestration, IMO.
Axually, I *do* have a kind of exclusive on a food item I don't see
anywhere else. But this isn't from some exotic land, it can even be
found in mundane Minnesota. It's grown and cultivated locally and I'm
sure very sustainable. But it seems to be an exotic berry in that I've
never heard of it cultivated in fields or made mention of in any
cookbooks, and, trust me, I've looked at plenty of indexes. I first
had the ambition of using it when I started making home-made jams from
the great deals at my local farmer's market.
The first time I made a home-made jam was when it was the end of the
blueberry season and there was a great deal on, like, a dozen boxes of
blueberries for a crazy good price. I saw that they were suffering
from this fuzzy mold crap growing on them. I decided to risk it and
bought a huge box of boxes of blueberries. I took them all home,
careful not to jostle them too roughly as many were overripe and ready
to break and spew their contents messily. I first separated them as a
triage: good/intact, moldy/broken-but-salvageable and bad/unusable.
Then I washed with special care the trouble cases and washed the good
ones and then that was it! I was off and running, making a blueberry
jam for the first time. I blended them in a blender, left a little
chunky but not much. Poured a ton of these blueberries into a 12 inch
saute pan and reduced it quite a bit before adding some salt (never
found salt added to any prserves/jams/jellies and always thought it
would bring out even more flavor) and of course plenty of sugar. Made
a slurry of sweet potato starch and didn't even have pectin or gelatin
on hand for thickening, just the sweet potato starch. It worked
splendidly. It spread well out of the refrigerator and didn't run at
room temperature. Tasted fantastic, better than most blueberry jams
I'd had. Made a lot of it too, and it was cheap! So then I got to
thinking I could make jams for myself much cheaper than buying cans at
a store. Then I'd also have more control over the finished product as
well. Such as adding or making a variant in my project with ginger,
for instance. Or spices like coriander or cinnamon, too. If you think
about it, it's the fruit that should cost the most, the sugar and
thickener/gelling agent and can should be the cheapest. If you can
provide that then.. all it takes is a little effort.
So, I have an "exotic", which at this point I'm kind of assuming is a
unique foodstuff and I'm curious if anyone wants to guess what it is
(I'm sure it grows in lands other than Minnesota so it shouldn't be
impossible for you guys). The lingonberry jam I got at Ikea's is half
gone so it's about damn time I got around to making a new batch of
some home-made stuff.
Anyone wanna take a stab?
Axel of the North!
Hey guys!
I just got back from this awesome, intensive MMA training camp in
Brazil. There are so many Brazilians in mixed martial arts I thought,
why not go to the source and train with the best? Once I was there I
realized I was in a bit over my head, I mean, this was *intense*
training, I didn't think I could keep up. I mean, just physically, to
deal with that training regimen.. whew! But, thankfully, my body
eventually adapted to the rigorous, unrelenting exercise. I should say
that, in spite of my distaste for the trendiness of new foods and
exotic locales that my eyes were opened to a new application of all
sorts of strange, undiscovered adaptogenic herbs and foods only found
within the wilderness of Brazil. It's like that movie "Medicine Man"
(I think that's what it was called, the one with Sean Connery). I
don't think I could have made it through the MMA retreat if it hadn't
been for some of the totally uncommercial, unexploited (for now)
botanical gems they incorporated into their cuisine. Because of my
experience experimenting with my own supplements I could taste certain
compounds within some of these exotic, some would say "magical"
performance-enhancing dishes and brews/elixirs.
For instance, there was this one tuber or the inner flesh of this one
tree (I forgot which and they were always kind of purposefully vague
and secretive about the source) which was kind of a gooey, stringy
glop that I could swear had some nitric-oxide boosting properties
because it had to have been high in the amino acid arginine. Trust me,
I should know, because I have and use l-arginine in bulk powder form
at home. And let me tell you, it works! After the first week or so,
which was quite a struggle as I was unused to the intense training, my
muscles started feeling fuller and I felt stronger than ever! These
were the *real* adaptogens, lemme tell ya.. Even my joints felt
better, stronger, and more lubricated than ever before to deal with
the onslaught of physical training!
To my amazement, I never felt any signs of overtraining. Quite the
opposite, axually. I just seemed to get stronger and stronger, and my
confidence was also increasing. I felt like a million bucks. I'm sure
part of it had to do with the unfamiliar plethora of awesome natural
herbs and foods they generously provided. But you know what's weird?
Even though I was training hard and making great progress (I think I
must have gained between 7-10 pounds of lean mass, and due to the
hardcore nature of the training must have lost an appreciable amount
of body fat!) the usual problem of elevated androgens in the anabolic
state I must have been in was not present. That's right, the
concomitant elevation in libido was mysteriously completely absent. I
dunno, maybe it was just being so focused on the training, that whole
group vibe thing, or maybe some Brazilian shaman was overseeing our
progress, helping to sublimate our sexual energy, channelling it all
into training disclipline? But for whatever reason, my libido was,
like, nonexistent. Well, I mean, I could feel desire at times when a
few of the women (no women trainees, just assistants in running the
camp) were present but I swear my dick just wouldn't budge. Not even
shift slightly. I asked if they used salt peter in the food, even
talked to one of the head cooks, but the interpreter told me they
never heard of the stuff. But I got to tell you guys, I never
experienced a single symptom of overtraining and this thing was as
limp as a well-cooked noodle. That's how dedicated this training camp
was to achieving results!
I can see why and how the Brazilians have become a dominant force in
modern mixed martial arts. It was an awesome experience which I have
already come to miss. In fact, I'm already down a few pounds. I tried
to keep my own physical training up upon returning to my cozy American
life, but.. I dunno.. something of the magic of that place has left
me, I can feel it as a nagging void in my heart. Something I don't
know if I'll ever be able to re-capture within the mediocrity of this
banal existence. But I will be forever touched by the spirituality of
warriorship, the hard work ethic and discipline these fighers embody,
and of course the amazing experience of all those unpronouncable
herbs, roots, shoots, powders, and other exotic botanicals and
extracts from the wild. But at the same time, it worries me, these
extremely effective, invigorating natural compounds found in nature.
Obviously overharvesting of wild plants, even if it gives indigenous
people a newfound source of income, can be an ecological problem in
its own right.
David
President George W Bush was told that they lost 3 brazilian's in a training
exercise. He was so suprised and shocked that he exclaimed "Oh no,thats not
good.........but how many is in a brazilian?"
Axel of the North!
[usenet audience tuning into program-in-progress]
"And finally, the number one threat to the Vikings of the North:
Bears!"
I didn't tune in to the Vikings vs. Bears game until the beginning of
the third quarter. No points scored for the Vikings. Well, that sucks.
So I'm watching and they proceed to score, catching up as best they
can. The Bears suffered two major injuries. How nice. I remember I
want to take my contacts out halfway through a commercial break and
I'm stuck in the bathroom taking them out when wouldn't you know it?
The Bears quickly make it down the field and score another touchdown!
Before I can even get back they'd scored. Alright, alright. The Vikes
make it to overtime. All I did was turn away from the TV for a little
while to attend to something lazily cooking on the range. Another
touchdown. Vikes lose. I can't seem to take my eyes off you guys for
more than a few seconds and you go screw everything up! Literally
every second of time I wasn't watching and the Bears score.
That's okay. I just didn't expect the defense to also be so dependent
on.. It. Now, the offense.. sure. I guess I can see something in that.
You didn't really want to go to New Yawk, did you? Because I saw you
as a Viking. Whether it was before or after retirement, that point I
don't remember clearly. But the vision existed long before the Jets. I
knew it would happen, though I didn't assume, the idea, the concept
was strong. So now here we are. I hope you're on the right diet,
eating the right foods. That way your body's ability to regenerate is
enhanced. After a pounding like that you'll need all the help you can
get. This is too much, man. You guys are too much. There's some pretty
strong voodoo, here, Rabbi. [tongue lolls out]
Wuzzuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuupwidat?! Am I being taught another "lesson"?
Someone cross our strings. I'm telling you I'm not the ultimate puppet
master. Well, whatever's happening I think it's gone too far. Too
strong. We need a more balanced power relationship. I mean, there's
comedy here, it's great: "I can't seem to take my eyes off you guys
for more than a few seconds and you go screw everything up!" I dunno.
Despite that little dialogue with our poor fudge-packer of a viking,
I'd like to think it was all a string of incredible coincidences. As
if one's own superconscious, which remains frustratingly subconscious
(as an experience of consciousness goes..) conspires to lead one to
behave in a manner that only serves to validate egomaniacal delusions.
If others had been present to witness the relationship of
viewing/non-viewing to success/setback they would laugh at the
absurdity, how eerily consistent it was. Rock solid consistent.
What The Fuck!?
Axel of the North!
Two dorks. One underage girl. And a pervert from.. So I heard the
radio commercial. I don't recall many real-life cities being referred
to in that universe. Very interesting. Of course I also saw the
advertisement on top of some of those cabs. Careful what you're doing
there, buddies. Careful what you're creating within me. Hmmmmm.
Stewie. I didn't watch much of your shows, over the last few months
have begun watching them more. I see you go for the same kind of
laughs I do. Sometimes I'm not making it up, I'm actually laughing
about the absurdity of life. For this paragraph you're found on
weasel. The seething underbelly of the beast. hmmmmm. me likey...
>should be illegal, this.. "breaking and entering". This isn't a
>Universe, this.. is a Puniverse. Dammit. Next time we pass each other,
>this time as pedestrians she blushes and smiles, looks away and then
>down when we drew close (like, snatching distance). Soon after that
[new york accent]
I think we're runnin' out of room, heah!
[/accent]
>Oh, [name]... did you know I regularly travel around and enter into
>the buildings and people's homes throughout this neighborhood? I make
>keys, too. Sometimes people just leave the key and go about other
>business, sometimes even leaving the store running on some secondary
>errand.
How funny nobody could assume that it was something like a verbal hint
and a wink that would lead me to such wonderings of the imagination.
And how sad.
On Sun, in "Re: Progessively Unhinged: Part Duh",01 Mar 2009 GMT,
ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!) wrote:
>They come walking in, while I'm leaning on a display case, just
>"chillin'". The eldest in front, arms raised, almost victoriously
>flipping the double birds out to the world. The look on her face..
>"Yeah!!!!" It was silent but it was there. That was cool, you
>shouldn't apologize for it. I like you, and what appear to be your
>sisters. I don't know. You're all Native Americans. Are you young
>warrior women? You gals can get big, fast. Looks like you''re eating
>well. I bet you already know so much about diet, nutrition, and health
>that you won't suffer from diabetes. You're big, full women. Very
>nice. And you were all illegal, weren't you? Rhianna, don't tell the
>police this but I couldn't get to sleep until around 4:30 or 5 in the
>morning, after that. Welcome to the fuckin' Jungle. Jeeeze..
I'm a friend to the Earth. The day those three native american women
entered was the nation-wide premier night of a Keanu flick. Could not
sleep until around five in the morning. Wayyyyyyy too much positive
energy. I consider that psionic interference. I've had past collisions
with Keanu as a phenomenological entity before. Like, an awesomingly
long time ago. Anyone want ta know? It *is* a most excellent
adventure...
On Sun, in "Re: Progessively Unhinged: Part Duh",01 Mar 2009 21:28:07
GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!) wrote:
>She rang me up quietly, and proficiently. The feeling of specialness
>was amped up to a degree I was *clearly* not accustomed to. She was
>functioning just as a cashier, but clearly the communication, the
>psi-field, was saying so much more. I didn't embrace it, pounce upon
>it, make effective use of the opportunity. Do you want to know why,
>cunts of the world? Do you? I hope you do...
because i wouldn't allow myself to even think i was qualified for an
intense relationship, fearing it could damage either (or both) side
too much. i felt incompetent to judge my own worthiness for the
specialness that was created. i can't even think about issues like
marriage or anything along those lines. it is out of my realm. i
haven't even found someone who can be decent. the sister (name
unknown, as if i could pronounce it anyway..) made one of the most
impressive feelings within me. it's that level that can really get to
me. that's the big "if only.." or "what if.." that confronts my heart
and conscience. but it was wonderful. i love what the asians can
create, as emotions go. it was out of respect for her, i just
couldn't.
but i can't end 2009 on a sade note!
Super-Size Me
Speaking of cashiers. One time i went to this large asian supermarket
(it was the only super-sized asian grocer) and was shopping about, a
few cooking pastes and maybe some dry legumes and some rice pasta
(better than spelt if you ask me, i don't like the taste of spelt) and
i'm waiting in a very short line and the only cashier, a little latina
women started pawing herself up real provocatively. given the only
customers in the line it was obviously directed towards me. at first i
was startled by it, but also amazed at her freedom of expression. i
mean, this woman *was* liberated! i mean she *really* pawed at
herself. i thought "wow, i guess she doesn't need any of *my* help."
it was crazy. that was one of the wildest displays of female anatomy
i've seen in a long time. fuckin' weird. and surprising. but she had
big, well-shaped young breasts. you could even say she was..
super-sized! she was 20 at the most. she's got a biological billboard
advertising.. [drum roll] herself! the poor older guy in front of me
didn't react at all. ohhhh.. know what i think part of it is? the
feeling of satisfaction, the excitement of anticipation, the feeling
of expertise in one's own life. waiting with my foods. no packages of
pre-made, processed stuff. bones. cuts of meat. little jars & tins of
cooking items or fish. the rhizomes, bulbs, shoots, roots, stalks,
tubers, herbs, spices, fruits, vegetables, fungi.. the feeling of
confidence, happiness, i'm valueing myself. they respond to it. to
glow from within.
went out tonight to a grocery store (good deals justify multiple trips
a week) and the native american cashier was tired and had to stretch
out (and display) her body and yawn during our transaction. four and
two thirds a pound of ground (fatty) cow burger, twenty-four ounces of
mozzarella, broccoli, franfurters (on sale). i let my face drop and
looked at her as she looked just past my face during her yawn. people
show their emotions in that instant. they really display their bodies.
they demand attention. they pull in my attention and i have to give
them all of it. and in that moment after the display the emotion was
one of boredom and dissatisfaction. just about to get off work. oh..
native american woman. i would make you perfect and it would be so
easy. it would be almost effortless. and if you could chase me..
through the woods.. or vice versa.. we could throw sticks. we could
throw sticks at trees or each other or whatever. it's one of the
greatest toys ever invented, really! if her body was overweight,
purely from her own body's wisdom, she would slim down under me
effortlessly. i'm a lot like them (native americans), it turns out
the previous visit to the same supermarket (i can get bull balls there
(maybe they should be called steer balls, because of the fact they're
wrapped in plastic on a foam tray sitting in the freezer kind of means
the dude is a steer)) one of the cute little latinas (possibly mix of
meso-american and hispanic) was shopping (on break?) and as she
approached and then saw me she licked her lips in a most lascivious
fashion! it's not fair! it's like they *have* to do it. i showed her
the beef heart i found for seventy-nine cents a pound and expressed my
appreciation for it. that's not dog food. (the chalice of g-d, the
true holy grail weighs four pounds. the ultimate elixir/liqueur of
life can be found at its bottom if it is not cut up and it is thawed
correctly.) i'm not always resentful and angry. just when people close
over daily life make it a malicious thing. that's just evil. you
should see the world through my eyes. it's crazy. women at the co-op
waiting, just waiting with their freshly made ice cream cone.. waiting
for me to walk right up to them on the verge of turning the corner,
when i'm closest and then.. sluuuuuurp with their tongue on the creamy
white ice cream. just waitin' for it.. and the beautiful little girls
are exactly the same. at least i'm not afraid of them anymore. back
when i had guilt 'n shame body-image issues and was.. taken..
advantage of.. by certain people.. and had a complex.. and feared
them.. FEARED THEM!! that brought out the truly demoniacal. oh yes..
sprites, pixies, faeries, dryads (even neiads!), sylphs, nymphs.. you
name it. i seek to be the ultimate dungeon master (oh, my precious
beauties!), but it turns out that the world has now become my
dungeon.. with many forms of torture openly employed against me!
On Tue, 03 Feb 2009 06:33:30 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
wrote in "Progessively Unhinged: Part Duh":
>I really owe it to you guys to give you the story of my encounter with
>the Predators. Did you know they can turn invisible at will? Such that
>the police can't see them, should they venture into the city. You
>better be careful if they see you, they can see your HEAT!
I should edit that last sentence to read as:
I really owe it to you guys to give you the story of my encounter with
the Predators. Did you know they can turn invisible at will? Such that
the police can't see them, should they venture into the city. You
better be careful if they draw near, 'cuz they can see your HEAT!
So.. Stewie, little Stewie.
Spy: "Are there any local residents who you've seen.. acting
strangely?"
Stew: "Well, there's a paedophile just up the street that nobody
seems to be doing anything about but it's mainly because he's so
funny."
Hmmmm. I'll take what I can get! Yes... hmmm.. maybe I should add
after that:
"I really owe it to you guys to give you the story of my encounter
with the Predators. Did you know they can turn invisible at will? Such
that the police can't see them, should they venture into the city. You
better be careful if they draw near, 'cuz they can see your HEAT!"
Mmmmmm. Kid-tested.. Mother-approved.. THAT'S how I get.. MY...
!!!
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>The Connoisseur
[snip snip]
>
>Axually, I *do* have a kind of exclusive on a food item I don't see
>anywhere else. But this isn't from some exotic land, it can even be
>found in mundane Minnesota. It's grown and cultivated locally and I'm
>sure very sustainable. But it seems to be an exotic berry in that I've
>never heard of it cultivated in fields or made mention of in any
>cookbooks, and, trust me, I've looked at plenty of indexes. I first
>had the ambition of using it when I started making home-made jams from
>the great deals at my local farmer's market.
[snip snip]
>
>So, I have an "exotic", which at this point I'm kind of assuming is a
>unique foodstuff and I'm curious if anyone wants to guess what it is
>(I'm sure it grows in lands other than Minnesota so it shouldn't be
>impossible for you guys). The lingonberry jam I got at Ikea's is half
>gone so it's about damn time I got around to making a new batch of
>some home-made stuff.
>
>Anyone wanna take a stab?
[Achilles/Brad Pitt morph]
Is there no one else? IS THERE NO ONE ELSE?!
[/MORPH]
Axel of the North!
On Fri, 01 Jan 2010 19:30:28 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
wrote:
>[Achilles/Brad Pitt morph]
>
>Is there no one else? IS THERE NO ONE ELSE?!
>
>[/MORPH]
Dingleberry jam.
Axel of the North!
Rewind to 1999. Living with Dr. Ruth, a psychiatrist. My grandmother.
Living across the street from my original behated. And her sisters..
ohh.. so beautiful. A difficult time for a lonely young man. Quit the
job at the health food store (too much gossip and stupidity). Went to
a government building in a bad neighborhood and investigated my
options for public healthcare. Got a list of hospitals and clinics. I
was searching for a way to finally get circumcized. A delightful
prospect, adult circumcision. Once I'd found a place that performed
the procedure that was within comfortable bussing distance and went in
for an initial evaluation and had a surgery date I foolishly told my
grandmother. I made it very clear to her that I did not want my mother
to know about the circumcision. She asked me why not and I told her I
did not trust my mother with that information. My grandmother betrayed
me and told my mother anyway. Gee, Axel, why wouldn't you want your
own mother to know about getting a circumcision? That sounds like
paranoia to me. You must have paranoid delusions, Axel. You should see
a psychiatrist about your mental condition. You know what? I had a
psychiatrist. A live-in psychiatrist. She was my grandmother. She was
a more colorful psychiatrist than most, I suspect. Living in that
house.. tons of statues and art and objects from all over the world.
Native American, Indian (India), Greek, Roman, Asian artifacts.
Magical items, books, as well as piles of mundane errata purchased at
yard sales over the decades. Tons of crap and rare, precious jewels.
The one Orthodox Jewess who dared enter that house was wide-eyed at
the nudity that pervaded those rooms. Ohhh, Chana. We'll always have
our handheld mirror, won't we? Not a kosher household.
But back to the circumcision. Dr. Grandmother betrayed me when she
told my mother. My mother then called to talk to me. I repeated that I
did not want her coming to Milwaukee (she lived in St. Paul,
Minnesota), that it was unnecessary and I simply didn't want her with
me for the surgery. She insisted and I asked her why. "Because I LOVE
you!" She said it in a hostile manner, a very bad tone of voice. I'll
never forget the way she said that word: love. My heart sank with
dread at the idea of my mother accompanying me to this surgery. The
surgery had already been scheduled and even though I was unemployed at
the time didn't know if they'd still charge me an exorbitant fee for
cancelling (I'm also "paranoid" about the medical establishment, gee,
maybe I should get some psychiatric help..). So I felt like I had to
go through with it. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. I didn't even
plan on the circumcision freeing me to court my behated, Chaya. It was
just some kind of lingering idea, that I would somehow be able to
finally pursue in earnest a relationship with a female.
She arrived. There wasn't a problem, at first. She wasn't even
outwardly resentful that I wanted to keep it a secret. She disapproved
of the attempt to have my penis finally freed from the phimosis
without her knowledge. She was busy growing her ego with the idea that
she was being a good mother. But my mind was haunted by her vehemence
when she said "Because I LOVE you!" I didn't trust my grandmother and
I didn't trust my mother. I also did not trust the doctor-in-training
who I met for the evaluation before scheduling the circumcision. I
recall asking him to have the senior urologist present for the
surgery, because of my doubts. I had bad feelings about this medical
professional. I must have been suffering from some kind of delusional
paranoia. I must have been mentally ill. Right? They couldn't possibly
*all* be against me, could they? That's just crazy thinking, right?
On the day of the surgery my aunt drove me and my mother to the
Medical College of Wisconsin at 9200 W. Wisconsin. This occurred on
the seventh day of the seventh month of 1999. We entered through the
main entrance and hoped that my Jewish mother and Jewish aunt noticed
how long the various corridors were as we made our way to the Urology
department for the surgery. Soon after entering I also recall stopping
at the fleet of wheelchairs provided for the patients, turning and
looking at them for a meaningful length of time, being sure that the
two Jewish women saw me look at them.
It started before the surgery began. While in the Urology waiting room
my mother seized her opportunity to attack. She used "The Force" as
the dedicated Jewish mother who loves her son and went to great length
to recall the times I feinted as a child when blood was drawn, using
the force of her motherly will to induce the same panic-reaction and
nausea when I was a child. She was trying really hard to press it on
me. What a surprise. That's Rose Rinder, Jewish mother. She acted out
her hostility, and I know my request for her not to come for the
surgery only fueled her hatred. The thing is, she went to some effort
to validate all of my distrust of her, and it never even occurred to
her that she was proving every doubt about her true. That's a criminal
mind. Professor Rinder has a similar criminality. It's not even from
their words, the hatred is palpable. So Rose started up while I was
waiting for surgery, wanting to wear me down and poisen me. I didn't
put up a fight, I coldly observed her and looked into her hateful eyes
with distant detachment.
Rhianna reminds me of the hatred of my mother. I'm pretty sure a
sadistic whore like Rhianna is going to royally fuck up motherhood
when that child develops an independent will. I've seen too many of
them play themselves out with depressing predictability to be able to
kid myself about their lack of character. My mother was angry that she
wasn't achieving her intended effect in that urology waiting room. I
didn't bother to console her with the fact she was already making a
bad situation worse for me. It's just the intention, that alone is
ugly. To be confronted with the facts of my existence in dramatic
fashion, just the cold hard fact that I had this for a mother and she
had bothered to accompany me to the circumcision for this ugly
purpose. That's enough to make it worse.
Have You Met The Medical Industry?
I was finally called in to the surgery room. A medical assistant, the
doctor-in-training and his second in command, also training to be a
doctor. There was a male nurse who reminded me of a homosexual
self-proclaimed Shaman I'd met at the Health Food Store. I had
negative associations from that deceptive and manipulative sick
creature and probably gave the male nurse bad vibes as a result of
that association, simply by feelings arising from the reminder. But I
certainly wasn't giving negativity to them, I was vulnerable during
surgery and didn't want to give them a reason to hurt me. Wow. Reading
what I've just written about my fear of these medical professionals,
standing back from it, I sure look crazy and paranoid, don't I? Why
would I bother to write this out to anyone of the public who knows how
to access usenet newsgroups? Maybe I'm not just crazy, maybe I'm
stupid... Read on.
Anesthesia was to be both general and local. Not fond of the idea of
someone sticking a needle into my penis. Mother was most likely
pressing on me by remote, nothing like non-local psionic war waged by
one's own sick mother to deal with in addition to the prospect of
needles injecting chemicals into my bloodstream and genitalia and
scalpels cutting the flesh of my penis. I saw the medical assistant
approach me with the syringe filled with an unknown liquid. I had a
bad feeling about the contents of the syringe, a strange impression,
but dismissed it as a mind in the grip of fear experiencing paranoia
under the general stress of the situation. I think of this as
rationality and reason, disregarding my own mind, as well as a
conscious attempt to manage the overwhelming stress response.
I've read of accounts about mystics, holy men, including Rabbis, who
can somehow undergo major surgical operations without the use of
anesthetics, maintaining conscious awareness the entire time and able
to communicate coherently with the people operating on them the entire
time, controlling their sensations of pain. I did not attempt this, in
fact tried to console myself with the approaching syringe that I truly
*did* want to be numbed for the inevitable needle into my nether
regions, which was true. But for some mysterious reason the veins
large enough for injection on the arm she was on closed, shrank and
became less visible. Beware the strength and incredible capacities
unlocked by the subconscious (superconscious?). This was pre-surgery
and already they had to call in the senior doctor (who I'd originally
requested attend the surgery due to unconfidence with the student). I
remember looking at the medical assistant as she approached, knew I'd
slipped and allowed an expresion of fear and disgust on my face, which
she responded to with her own expression of unrestrained anger as she
repeatedly jabbed the needle into my arm, searching for a delivery
site. The senior doctor put a gentle hand on me and looked into my
eyes and mumbled some things to the surrounding "professionals", I
remember he said I was going diaphoretic. They eventually found a
vein, it was a struggle for us all. It would have been nicer if I'd
been like what my mother was trying to do to me and simply feint at
the effort as that assistant jabbed and dug that needle around in my
flesh.
Eventually they had anesthetized me enough, which they determined by
asking me questions and gauging the response. As the feeling of fear
and anxiety receeded they would ask questions and some distant part of
me would have full access and control of my linguistic function and
proceed to answer in as much depth as possible. It seemed as I my
consciousness had split in two, and the part of me that remembers and
is writing this gradually grew distant and lost awareness of the part
of me that spoke at length on various things. Eventually I lost
awareness of even that and lost consciousness.
The first thing I noticed when I regained conscious awareness was that
there was a little curtain contraption placed over my midsection,
concealing the surgery in progress. I recall having a resurgence of
fear and, having less than full conscious control of my mind slowly
pulled away from the needle that was apparently stitching through my
penis. It was a coming to grips with everything that day, my mother
before the surgery, the ordeal in getting the initial injection and
the overall attitude of the medical personnel and the feeling of dread
that hung over everything that led to this event. It was like being
stuck in a bad dream, not fully awake but not unaware, unable to
escape and also knowing that it was all real, all true. That's horror.
More drugs.
Not enough. They failed to drug me enough. Good thing, too. Only this
time I'd learned not to move, not to betray my consciousness. What
waked me? 'Cuz I was definently drugged, having proven to be a "wild"
animal. It was the pain that came through, despite the drugs (they had
to use more than expected, apparently). Even through the local
anesthetic I felt.. behind that fucking curtain in that hospital..
something awful. You know what it's like when you can't see the part
of your body that is being touched by another, how the mind's
imagination automatically grasps at what is causing the sensations,
what is being felt? My mind interpreted what was happening the second
time it struggled to escape non-awareness as the flailing, in a
whip-like fashion, of the fingers of some unseen medical
professional... flailing away with the nails of the fingertips lashing
repeatedly against the head of my penis. The cuts, completed, the
stitches in place, now it was time for the medical professional to get
*his* needs met, his *professional* emotional needs.
Gee, I wonder what I was so worried about?
I lay there and lost consciousness again, thankfully. Or maybe I'd
entered a non-drug-induced altered state.. not a surprise, given the
circumstances (pun intended). A medical assistant entered, not the
Needle Jabber, thankfully. She asked me how I was, the fog of the
general anesthetic clearing from my brain (or maybe groggy from blood
loss). I managed to act perfectly calm, perfectly normal. I had to.
It's like being in a POW camp. You can't freak out, the consequences
could be terrible. I eventually sat up, trying not to feel it. I
watched the heart rate and blood pressure monitor, still attached to
my body. Taking advantage of the opportunity I experimented with
different kinds of thoughts and willed my heart rate to between fast
and slow. I could consciously control my rhythm within a 30
beats-per-minute range. The assistant told me "You should be a
doctor." at some point. I was not flattered. I was disgusted with the
idea. I said "Oh no." Inquired about the general anesthetic. "Sodium
pentathol." I knew about sodium pentathol from a few detective and
fiction novels. Interesting, the thoughts of a man about to be
injected with a drug, surrounded by representatives of the medical
establishment.
I eventually tried to fit my underwear around the huge absorbent pad I
had to hold against my swollen, stitched member. I knew the blood was
still leaking, tried to place it well. Got the pants back on. Walked
slowly and uncomfortably out of the operation room. I found the
complete absence of people in that hallway to the urology desk very
reassuring. A brief moment of comfort, despite the growing awareness
of my crotch. Made it to the desk. Mother was off somewhere. No aunt,
either. Perhaps they got the hint (about wheelchairs). Talked briefly
to the nurse or whatever she was at the desk. The doctors told me
they'd give me written information on how to care for the aftermath of
the surgery, but I didn't receive any on discharge and didn't think to
ask after everything that happened (maybe my mind was preoccupied with
other concerns at the time?). I'd also lost a lot of blood,
apparently. Losing more every second, actually. My "family", make
that: Jewish family, reappeared and escorted me out of the
department. Maybe they'd only brought the wheelchair to the next
corner, I silently wondered. They walked, slowly, like me, several
paces ahead of me. Despite being behind them, on our merry way through
corridor after corridor on our way to the main exit I saw them turn
enough towards each other to witness them share a smile, a smirk of a
smile. I saw the curl to their lips. Satisfaction.
At the exit my aunt was generous enough (why, thank you) to bring the
car to the main entrance. We got in. They decided to bring us to my
aunt's house before returning me to grandma's house. I was low on
blood and losing more by the second, as well as coming off drugs and
the pleasent experience of the medical industry's professionalism.
They decided we'd all go to "Burger King", they knew I liked the fast
food joints (and beef) and it was easy to understand I'd only had a
light banana smoothie for a breakfast before the surgery. It was early
afternoon and I obviously needed the protein and iron and energy for
recovery. Wow. I was treated like a king. A burger king. I'm so lucky.
I gnoshed on the meal like someone who needs all his strength for
anything that may await him in the future. That's what I felt like.
"I'm gonna need my strength." Once at my aunt's they kindly suggested,
both of them, with great vigor that I should sleep. I remember my
mother: "You should SLEEP!" The same tone of voice, the same emotion
and energy as "Because I LOVE you!" The feeling of hatred clamping
down in my chest, something I was very familiar with. They both came
down on me with hate, more power-trips from my family. I didn't mind
sleeping on the floor, wouldn't have accepted a bed if it had been
offered as I was a bloody mess down there. I retreated to the bathroom
and sat on the toilet and urinated. Inspected the swollen penis,
already turned greys, browns, blues and purples all over. Stitches not
broken, at least I had that much. Blood had oozed all over the pad,
soaked through, staining the underwear. I wanted to sleep on the
bathroom floor, behind a locked door and a relatively inaccessible
window. I knew they would have hated me even more if I attempted that.
I slept what I am sure was a very light sleep on the living room
floor. Woke up about an hour later. Even managed to recite from memory
Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" with enough dramatic flourish
to ellicit a laugh. It's good to practice, and since it was from
memory even better for concentrating on execution. This is what it is
like to be a man amongst females*. Have to play up to them, otherwise
they get even worse. It is work under the constant threat of what
their self-indulgent natures lead them to do. And they think they're
justified (and without a rational reason at that). No conscience. They
have no need for a conscience, they're average females.
*notice I did not say women.
The next few days my mother visited and spent most of the day with me.
She brought a movie video, Robin Williams in "Patch Adams." She
thought I should get involved in the medical field in some way. I
watched her preening and posturing proudly, satisfied in the
confidence she was being a good mother for taking care of her son, in
spite of his awful, selfish, unappreciative protests against her. I
found her an annoying inconvenience, didn't adjust my abused organ in
her presence. Selfish and perfidious, she manages to find a way to
gratify her ego.
I remember when I took her across the street to re-visit the Samuels
for the first time in fourteen years. My favorite family of Orthodox
Jews. I didn't care if the Rabbi was home. I wanted my mother to meet
the mother of the woman I fell in love with and made triple promise to
marry me when we were seven. The mother had the same face as my
behated. I ambled gently up the steps and leaned against the porch
railing and watched my mother greet and make small talk with the
other, similarly evil Jewish mother. I greatly wanted to hold one of
her precious beauties, either of the two youngest, closely. Hold
her/them tightly as if it was the only l-ve available, as a man whose
soul was slowly starving to death. Before they turned wrong. I've seen
the patterns, how they (females) hold themselves, like my mother and
their mother in that moment. The smugness. So proud of themselves. I
thought darkly about how I'd never touch Chaya with the swollen,
beaten, bloody mess between my legs. Never spurt Rose's genes into her
body. Never willingly reproduce either Jewish family's genome. No
matter what the gentiles had done to me, because there really wasn't
any us-against-them, because the Jews themselves, regardless of
whether or not they were direct relatives, proved they were more than
willing to insult and degrade and destroy my self-esteem. In addition,
of course, to breaking marriage laws for the wonderful Professor.
Personal insults on top of that don't help. I looked at those two evil
women, so full of themselves. I knew as I quietly, darkly regarded
them that they'd know by feelings that I didn't like them, they'd hold
it against me and use it to justify iniquitous work against me without
even questioning *why* I felt as I did about them. Because they're
females. Because they are openly inferior in many ways to men who
bothered to hold themselves to a certain standard. Brazenly, openly
inferior. And completely untrustworthy. Chaya didn't even attempt to
talk to me the entire time I lived across the street. Twenty... eight?
You reading this, kikes? How do you like my adventure in the hospital?
Think I deserved that?
Axel of the North!
While living in Milwaukee in 1999 in grandma's house (no problems with
the wolf, it was the humans I had to worry about) I had a telephone
conversation with my father. We were discussing Buddhism as I had
plenty of interest in psychology from other cultures and Buddhism
looked very appealing, superior in many ways, actually, to what I saw
was some sloppy, dysfunctional and often indirect/inaccurate
psychology from the West. He suggested I purchase and read Thich Nhat
Hanh's "Heart of the Buddha's Teaching". I asked him if it was in
paperback as I was strapped for cash at the time (aren't I always?)
and he didn't think so. I went to the neighborhood bookstore and
didn't find it, turned and was on my way out of the store when after a
few paces I had the strangest urge to turn back and check behind a
large book that was placed flat against the shelf (as opposed to
perpendicularly). I discovered there was a book behind it.. "Heart of
the Buddha's Teaching" in paperback. Just purchasing the book was an
interesting experience. This was a long time coming, as the author
seemed to cover different aspects and works attributed to Buddha, this
was covering what was thought aa the "core" teachings.
In this book Thich Nhat Hanh introduces the concept of "killing" in a
Buddhist context. Basically "killing" as a form of uncaring
non-involvement which is detrimental to another's health,
psychologically; a kind of psychological killing. I think a lot of
Americans do this. Including parents, teachers, lovers, etc. My father
was a literal killer, though he never presented it in the glorified
way seen in the movies, television shows, books and comics. You know,
various forms of entertainment. He was actually involved in a few
peace marches. My father was paid and trained by the United States
government to lead men and kill men in Vietnam. 1st Lieutenant Carl
Hultman: Ranger-trained, CO of his LRRP unit in the Mekong Delta of
south Vietnam. Pretty funny, all that stuff presented without fluff or
machismo or pomp or glory. He functioned as a guest speaker at a few
of my classes throughout my public education and seemed pretty
straight-forward and disapproving of America's involvement in that
part of the world at that time.
I eventually told my father about the circumcision, with obvious
disdain (not to mention repressed horror and anger at my family). I
told him the condition I found my penis in afterwards. I described it
and told him what it normally looks like. I told him I thought my
penis had been beaten by them. He responded with a flat out "No." Just
cut it down with that single word. Amazing. I think we all know the
implications of such a blunt denial. I then asked him if he thought I
was incapable of determining for myself whether or not I could discern
the difference between a regular penis and a beaten penis. He evaded
the question well. Couldn't be held to a definitive answer. But that's
what a military academy does to a man, or someone who reads the
philosophical works of legendary military commanders and takes it to
heart. Best not to endanger your men unnecessarily, preferrably kept
in an unassailable position until the appropriate conditions arise.
You know, sound tactics. My father is a real killer, both literally
and in the Buddhist sense of the term.
That's my father. He kind of sort of capitulated, but it only looks as
a way to get over the idea that he somehow "wronged" me. I don't think
he even holds himself accountable for it, as if he hadn't made a
major, egregious mistake. I don't think he feels any regret over it.
It's like how my grandfather, back in Milwaukee, had no problem
demanding to see my college grades (obviously an A in an introductory
level class is doubtful, given my stupidity, in fact, I'm so stupid I
can't even tell whether or not my penis has been beaten). My
grandfather, who's proven himself a malicious and degrading grand
father, constantly finding ways to insult and diminish me,
superimposes on me his own character qualities. My grandfather made me
out to be a scumbag and a liar and an idiot. For some reason I don't
feel much obligation to propagate his genes. He hasn't exactly
instilled a sense of family pride, either. Nor has my father from the
gentile side. And certainly not my mother.
Axel of the North!
Everyone ready for a most excellent adventure? It began, of course,
with Bill & Ted. I loved that movie, the energy, it's spirit, it's
soul. I remember Billy the Kid and Socrates throwing that nerf
football in the background. I remember Lincoln's final words. I loved
the message that two garage guitarists would save the people with love
through music. It struck a chord.
In my family my mother had a little PCM (pulse-code modulation)
keyboard. As a musician this made sense, she didn't play that dinky,
cheap thing. It was for thematic familiarization and exploration. She
performed with real instruments. I evenutally got one, too. My PCM
keyboard had many different "instruments", most of which were tacky or
just plain weird. I could record a sound for about 2 seconds and use
that as an instrument. Farts and burps. You know the deal. I would
spend some time just dinking around. But exploring my own songs, as
well as working out the common themes in modern pop, classic tunes
from my father's record collection (50s-70s mostly) and classic movie
and classical music statements. I didn't get seriously into playing
piano (sight reading) until I got a larger-sized keyboard. But during
that early adolescence I was caught up in a three note sequence which
naturally played its structure within itself (you may understand in a
bit). This was easily eight years before I heard it as a major
recurrent theme in the popular "Dragonball Z" cartoon series. The
English language version, not the original Japanese. It's a simple
enough thematic structure. But I certainly played it enough times. The
Dragonball Z-style fighting. That's where Neo eventually went, in the
airborne fighting with Smith.
It really is too late, you know. I'm already doing it. Phenomenally,
in the real world, I mean. And as far as accessibility to the public
goes..You can delete me as much as you want from Google's archives,
but already there are plenty of people who are receiving through the
dedicated usenet newsgroup browsers/readers. I've already become
"cool" to compile and redistribute in more convenient form than
through the clumsy and cumbersome process that searching through
google's archives entails. And you losers don't even know how far
things went with the much smaller, modest part that google can't
delete. Local government. Local people.
I was reading one of the early cyberpunk novels. There was the one
with the guy and the girl who had the mechanical tongue that was long
enough to whip out and strike from some distance. Our introduction to
her was as a paid assassin, she killed some major corporate head who
effectively achieved immortality by having his brain gradually turned
into a crystalline structure and transplanted into a custom-made body
(a young female). For some reason I kept flashing on the main
character being Keanu Reeves. He seems to lend himself to being
typecast in a futuristic cyberpunk world, so this made sense. But.. I
also saw the female protagonist as Carrie-Anne Moss. I drew on her
from "Models Inc.", a short-lived, somewhat cheesy show on the Fox
network. I liked it for its cheesiness, it was cheesy enough for fun
but not cheesy enough to seem intentionally so. I admit it. I watched
it. Get over it. Saw "Johnny Mnemonic" and thought it made sense to
cast Keanu in it. I thought that was the end of it.
1998. I don't watch many movies in the theaters. But I saw Siskell &
Ebert's review of "The Matrix" and they liked it and was interested in
it. Then I see who's in it. Whoa. Yes. It's the question that drives
us. Of course I had the Pond and other highly improbable experiences,
why not have a few directly associated with the movie that puts a
twist on the whole illusory nature of our perception of reality? The
seeds of mind stimulated by this kind of movie tends to tease out the
phenomena of mind that it alludes to, doesn't it?
Some time later, before the other two Matrix movies I was reading a
book my father lent me. An original paperback of Philip K. Dick's. "A
Scanner Darkly." I think most of us know where this is going. Yeah.
For some reason I flash on the main character as Keanu again. I even
saw it through the color scheme of the original paperback's cover. And
the visual style was the same, a kind of colorful comic book. Then I'm
watching the extras on the DVD of the movie and I see that they had
intended to cast him as the lead but had to wait as he was then
working on the Matrix movies at the time. So it was already in the
works, just in our collective consciousness purely as mind, not really
in the production stage yet. That should partially explain my activity
in a part of the internet that google cannot delete. Interesting that
many of the comments I've bothered to write on science were reserved
for that part of the internet and not in MFW (which, without archives
passes away by usenet's newsgroup design). I see less humor in playing
as Smith those times, in retrospect. It's not that funny anymore given
the current circumstances.
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>So, I can break a lot of laws.
>
>Yes, I love it. Just like with the deer woman. So I went to the range
>in October. It wasn't Halloween, if you must know. I had several guns.
[snip snip]
>
>Can you tell I'm into shooting guns? I'm a shooter. No shame in that.
>I've established a healthy relationship to firearms. I see commoners,
>the mundaners, as psychologically inferior beings. This is not
>elitism. Back in the days, particularly rural areas of America.. we
>had a common, daily relationship to guns that was not unhealthy or
>injurious or dysfunctional in any way, it was just an unquestioned
>aspect of life. That was pyschologically healthy. These days are
>different.
[snip snip]
[Kevin Lomax's ephemeral morph]
"His constitutionally *protected* religious beliefs."
[/morph]
So. Here we are. Interesting, isn't it? A young boy, not a man (13)
sitting in a school library reading book after book during an
independent study. How could an eleven year old boy possibly be so
well behaved? So studious? So.. interested, intellectually, in books?
That first year of reading in the school's library (before the
internet, dumbasses) and using all reference materials available. What
would drive a child to read through book after book after book during
the one class period allowed?
Seinfeldian inspired mysticism. There was no mortal threat. Just a
general disgust with the dirtiness of the water and the cold
temperature (well-shaded mountainous terrain). Baths required an
investment of wood and fire under bathtub with a rusty-brown iron
crank-driven aeration device for stoking the flames. A prolonged,
complicated affair. That water was disgusting. And cold.
Let's just suppose that I can't (anymore):
So... I see there's a major tendency in all people's all over the
world (especially indigenous peoples) to believe in an afterlife or a
presence of our ancestors somehow presiding over our lives. I've seen
many cultures serious belief in a spirit world, a world above and
beyond yet maintaining a subtle connection and interaction with our
own mortal, physical, material realm. Isn't that interesting?
Was it the range master? Did he somehow have major, conscious access
to telekinetic/psychokinetic ability? Was it an accomplished human?
Remote viewing is one thing but obviously if we can involve ourself
spatially beyond our own physical proximity than "all bets are off".
Or was it "them"? Maybe it inhabits a local space, watching over us,
looking for those truly in desperate circumstances, the people drawn
to the indoor gun range, people who need to know what it's like to
shoot a firearm and prepare for dire circumstances. Maybe it
intercedes on our behalf.. and ensures our/their protection from the
most preliminary level, helping to push our prospective offenders into
the right place before they can commit their crimes.. or provide the
subtlest levels of protection for our defenders when the need arises
(whatever it may be). The mind is boggled, when it is led, by all
those possibilities, to grasp at how these various manifestations of
mind can occur amongst the many peoples in their individual
life-situations. (like, duhhh..)
The Big Bad Wolf & the Three Little Pigs
Open your door and let me in! "Not by the hair of my little chinny
chin chin!" If you don't open your door and let me in I'll HUFF and
I'll puff and I'll blow your house down! I used to identify with the
victim, because I didn't have the experience to be the other.. but
now.. well.. I'm not a predator, but.. I'd have to say, given the lack
of wind gusts and complete lack of movement of the wire-holding
equipment and controlled environment inherent to the indoor range that
I'd feel sorry for g-d knows how many goons (e.g. 3 niggaz in a dark
alley) that would truly cross without good reason a poor lil' 'ole
jewboy. bad idea. heh heh heh... true fear has a way of bringing out
the best/worst in people.
On Fri, 01 Jan 2010 07:54:08 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
wrote:
>>What The Fuck!?
>
>Two dorks. One underage girl. And a pervert from.. So I heard the
>radio commercial. I don't recall many real-life cities being referred
>to in that universe. Very interesting. Of course I also saw the
>advertisement on top of some of those cabs. Careful what you're doing
>there, buddies. Careful what you're creating within me. Hmmmmm.
>Stewie. I didn't watch much of your shows, over the last few months
>have begun watching them more. I see you go for the same kind of
>laughs I do. Sometimes I'm not making it up, I'm actually laughing
>about the absurdity of life. For this paragraph you're found on
>weasel. The seething underbelly of the beast. hmmmmm. me likey...
>
Now, finally... a comedy for the internet generation. Yes. I haven't
completed the last mission for Vice City Stories, oringally published
on the portable PSP but known to me through its PS2 incarnation. I
love the music. I live there. I was born there. Parents moved out of
Vice City when I was only 4. i loved my living earrings, btw.
poisenous flowers that are toxic enough to die from. the frogs. the
stench of death and decay permeating the world. yes. my tropical
paradise. I can't get past the last mission. It's okay, there's a
feeling of loss once the whole thing has been seen. it's okay. i'm
okay. i think some of my health professionals need help. is that why
you called (new number and found an interesting message at the other
end)?
I owe you a formal introduction. I first journeyed into the GTA
universe in the original Vice City. 2005. christina and rhianna and
the usual assortment of dysfunctional characters. but i had an escape.
vice city. felt wonderful beyond any neurophysiological environment
that could be created, chemically speaking. part of it was the
introduction of that previously mentioned dysfunctional duo. still,
loved the radio and the whole environment. then got san andreas when
the hot coffee B.S. went down. couldn't stop playing. went almost to
the end of the first city (los santos) before resuming vice city.
finished that. went into the first one (gta3) soon after getting
liberty city stories (the first psp-to-ps2 port). had to go through
the original liberty city before going through the psp "stories" game.
loved all of it, from the beginning. i've read of stupid crap from
local newspapers, apparently fact-checking is a lost art. the filth
published in the papahs these days. what happened to journalistic
integrity? oh fuckin' well. having been there, seen the world, inhaled
deeply of its soul, the commentary on america's version of western
civilization, i can say that rockstar is truly the moral superior to
whitebread christian/conservative america. you rule, rockstars. i
belong with you. "i don't care if you're a boy *or* a girl! i'll sleep
with you!" (the wave 103) the punchline being that it is assumed that
being with an underaged girl is more risquee than a boy. i also see
how you're helping to push an unencumberment from sexual issues. you
want to help free us, and allow us to grow to confront more important
issues. VC, san andreas, gta3 then stories of liberty, then vice, and
then a major retreat back into san andreas. analyzed in greater detail
how your san andreas worx. each city functioning as a chapter,
unlocking or omitting individual talk radio segments.
richard burns: "I know your mom was killed in that one movie, but you
look great, babe! Hey, whose the guy with the antlers? Oh, shit! I was
just checking to see if she was in heat! She's your doe, dude. Be
cool, dude, be coolllllll!"
that radio news break-in was the epitomy of my experience in the world
of grand theft auto. that part of that game, all the mystery and magic
and expectation, all that potential hanging heavy in the air, just
before really delving into the second city, san fierro. that was the
ultimate home, psychologically. that's where i am. that wonderful,
beautiful place. no friends, no family. no job. nothing. that
southwestern-most town, south of the large mountain. i loved the
experience in san fierro. the strange, eclectic mix of characters that
became my family. and the polar bears, man. yeah, that was SO far
gone, man.... i totally get it. you're my spiritual home. because the
humans betrayed me. we can see how deer woman could happen, right? do
we see yet? it's funny but it's not.
[to be continued]
Axel of the North!
it was from this very newsgroup that I found the original link to this
interesting news article:
"Semen acts as an anti-depressant"
19:00 26 June 02
Exclusive from New Scientist Print Edition
Semen makes you happy. That's the remarkable conclusion of a study
comparing women whose partners wear condoms with those whose partners
don't.
The study, which is bound to provoke controversy, showed that the
women who were directly exposed to semen were less depressed. The
researchers think this is because mood-altering hormones in semen are
absorbed through the vagina. They say they have ruled out other
explanations.
"I want to make it clear that we are not advocating that people
abstain from using condoms," says Gordon Gallup, the psychologist at
the State University of New York who led the team. "Clearly an
unwanted pregnancy or a sexually transmitted disease would more than
offset any advantageous psychological effects of semen."
Suicide attempts
His team divided 293 female students into groups depending on how
often their partners wore condoms, and assessed their happiness using
the Beck Depression Inventory, a standard questionnaire for assessing
mood. People who score over 17 are considered moderately depressed.
The team found that women whose partners never used condoms scored 8
on average, those who sometimes used them scored 10.5, those who
usually used them scored 15 and those who always used them scored
11.3. Women who weren't having sex at all scored 13.5.
What's more, the longer the interval since they last had sex, the more
depressed the women who never or sometimes used condoms got. But the
time since the last sexual encounter made no difference to the mood of
women who usually or always used condoms.
The team also found that depressive symptoms and suicide attempts were
more common among women who used condoms regularly compared with those
who didn't. The results will appear in the journal Archives of Sexual
Behavior.
And Gallup told New Scientist that his team already has unpublished
data from a larger group of 700 women confirming these findings. In
this study, the always-use-condoms group were more depressed than the
usually-use-condoms group, suggesting the discrepancy in the smaller
study was a sampling error, he says.
Alternative explanations
But is it really the semen that affects women's mood? The researchers
say they looked at alternative explanations such as whether women who
seldom use condoms took oral contraceptives, how often they had sex,
the strength of relationships, and the possibility that having a
certain type of personality influenced the decision to use condoms.
But none of these factors can explain their findings, they say.
Gordon Gallup, State University of New York
Archives of Sexual Behavior
Indiana University of Pennsylvania
In fact, the results aren't a complete surprise because semen does
contain several mood-altering hormones, including testosterone,
oestrogen, follicle-stimulating hormone, luteinising hormone,
prolactin and several different prostaglandins. Some of these have
been detected in a women's blood within hours of exposure to semen.
The question many people will ask is whether oral sex could have the
same mood-enhancing effects. "Since the steroids in birth control
pills survive the digestion process, I would assume that the same
holds true for at least some of the chemicals in semen," Gallup says.
"I understand that among some gay males who have anal intercourse, it
is not uncommon to attempt to retain the semen for extended periods of
time," he adds. "Suggesting, of course, that there may be
psychological effects." But further research will be needed to confirm
whether exposure to semen through oral or anal sex really does affect
mood in heterosexual or homosexual partners.
But why should semen have such an effect? "It makes no sense to me for
this phenomenon to have evolved," says Satoshi Kanazawa, an
evolutionary psychologist at the Indiana University of Pennsylvania.
But Gallup counters that men whose semen promotes long-term mood
enhancement might have more chances to indulge in sexual activity.
Raj Persaud
Axel, here. Yep. So this is what can get a guy, however good and truly
altruistic his intentions <g> may be, into trouble...
Axel of the North!
internet communities/organizations go:
http://www.intelihealth.com/IH/ihtIH/EMIHC270/333/8895/1059633.html?d=dmtICNNews
Africanized Honeybees
Those of you who know me may remember what I wrote of the human
equivalent of the africanized honeybee. Jewish plus native american.
My first indian-jew was a man about a year older than I. He had
several older brothers, alcoholism and physical abuse. don't know for
sure about the homoneuroticism, veiled under physically combative
inclinations. After high school he still hadn't gotten a driver's
license, dependent on his girlfriend for transportation. strange. ate
a lot of drive-through fast food. he was into grappling and wrestling.
during the short few years after high school when we lived near enough
to meet I'd helped them move. his girlfriend, whom he met in high
school, was also the older sister of a kid I was friends with since
five, when I lived on their block. Knew his girlfriend's brother off
and on up till about 16, when I left the alternative high school for
the conventional one. So we were all fairly well acquainted with each
other. I still remember sleeping over at my friend's house, how his
older sister slept on the couch, downstairs from her bedroom, near me
one night (i was also on the first floor). sometime in the middle of
the night i awoke with a bladder-boner, when i noticed movement on the
couch i pushed it down and quickly made my way to relief. was reading
through some of the deceased father's penthouse magazines earlier that
night (always enjoyed those penthouse forums..) and maybe our minds
were alive with sex. pee boners aren't very romantic, or sexy,
however.
After we all became legal adults post high school I helped the
indian-jew and his girlfriend move out of her mother's house. his
girlfriend had also expanded to full girth from their fast food life.
I had been weight training constantly and eating my own food for many
months and had gained plenty of muscle mass (added 10 pounds, mostly
muscle, within a year of living on my own). strenuous weight training
was what kept me happy. I was on creatine monohydrate and well
conditioned. because they were moving a mere three city blocks and up
two stories it was a bit much for the mom and the sister. her brother
wasn't involved so it was just the four of us. it was always nice to
visit the old neighborhood. I was pretty good at moving in that
condition, heaving heavy boxes, 70-80 pounds, off the floor and
hauling them out to the pickup and then once filled we'd take it three
blocks to the new apartment and I'd haul them up two flights of
stairs. they were impressed. the indian-jew had a problem back at
times from a herniated disk. At one point, two thirds of the way
through they'd ordered pizza. it was delicious (I love pizza) and we
got full and tired, especially after the exertion of moving. I managed
to motivate them to finish and we got it done. I never even asked for
money, but he ended up giving me a fair amount of monetary
compensation for the effort, which was nice.
I remember a few times when he wrestled me, he was exploring his
sexuality in the only way that was safe for both of us. I was pretty
strong at the time. He outweighed me at a lean, healthy weight by
about thirty pounds. he was just over fifty pounds heavier than I.
He'd wrestle me into what would technically be takedowns/pins for
plenty of points and hold on until he got zapped as my weight-trained,
conditioned creatine-pumped physique finally powered out. I don't
think he liked that I wasn't into it. I saw an evil look on his face
when he basically jumped on my hip when I was laying on a couch and
repeatedly pounded on me with his body, a kind of hump-rape of an
angry ape. Fucked up people with violence mixed with undealt sexual
urges. He liked to wrestle other large males at whatever workplaces he
found. He was actually a smart enough guy, getting into IT jobs. Good
money. A lot of money, actually.
He introduced me to the Amiga computers, my first ever personal
computer. He explained the major difference in graphical strengths and
weaknesses of the chunky and planar pixel display chipsets. Those
Amiga computers, before the ownership was transferred from one failed
european company to another and left to languish and die before its
inferiors such as the apple/macs and IBM/PC-clones, taught me the
truth of what can be made with good, solid, integrated hardware.
That's what the console systems were, computers with truly integrated
hardware basically all located on the same motherboard. That's how
they can achieve more graphical power from less CPU power. The Amigas
were just really well designed computers with great graphics and
sound. Fantastic "demos" came out of Europe from the European coding
community. Awesome graphics and beautiful, wonderful music with
dazzling effects, most of which was created by people for free,
competing for prizes or to make a name for themselves before joining
the ranks of the wage slaves.
I tried to forgive him for his faults, but it was too much hostility
and violence and BSing angry sitcom-level trash talk with physical
confrontations of a mixed-up, pseudo-sexual nature. Too much violence
mixed with sexuality, it's not a pleasant experience. I didn't have
any real combat experience, though, and gleaned what I could. Lived in
a somewhat bad neighborhood at the time. Never really hooked up with
him during the last year I lived in the Twin Cities, before I moved
into the psychiatrist's house ("family") in Milwaukee. Last time must
have been 1997, maybe early 1998. Having some native american blood,
he'd had very interesting experiences smoking marijuana in a group
atmosphere. Doing stuff like everyone running out, as a group,
swimming across a lake at night, running out there under the starlit
sky. Not you're stereotypical toke up and watch TV kind of crap. I
like hearing stories like that, I'd felt it was great for stimulating
intense brainstorms or simply intensifying the experience of listening
deeply to music, seemed to facilitate or even "force" a state of
concentration. At one point he said he could get some LSD and wanted
to do that with me, just the two of us, for the first time. I
instinctively knew that would be very bad, and didn't suspect that
less than two years after that offer I was to learn a very dark
chapter in Professor Chaos' super-intellectual life in Milwaukee that
would only prove my instincts correct about a powerful hallucinogenic,
psychotic-break inducing chemical like LSD.
Even though I can like things about some people, no matter how
informative or friendly or useful (for self-defense) it feels like
charity work. Despite his mind's superior grasp of computers and
electronics and ability to memorize and get good grades there was
always a pronounced lack of drive to understand the underyling meaning
of things, the deeper understanding possible in literature, sci-fi,
etc. Things about people, about life, the human condition. A streak of
cruelty, emotional-abusive nature and the upsetting comingling of
sexuality and violence was too much.
a few years after returning from Milwaukee, with a brand-new (fully
scarred) penis and even more delightful memories of "family" and
powermaniacs (both intellectual/"scientific" and religious) I was
lonelier than ever. quite awful. actually, some of the more
incredible, daresay unbelievable experiences were quite unsettling..
in a subtlely horrific way, mind you. enter: the bisexual. met her in
the pool room (I've met a few characters in the pool room). Jewish and
native american blood. excellent. the forty eight hour difference,
that was our ages. she was maybe one inch shorter, outweighted me by
at least fifteen pounds (and I was pretty buff then). I think I can
safely say at this point that my generation, as far as the females go,
feels less inhibited about matter of factly telling extremely
personal, sometimes shocking things about their lives. even to what
are basically strangers. My opinion on this may be slightly skewed in
that I have a tendency (I guess) to bring out deeply personal stuff
from relative strangers. She'd told me about how a girlfriend had
managed to snake her hand up inside her female anatomy and touched one
of her ovaries. fascinating.
rape victim. women are very quick to tell me that they are victims of
rape. very quick. it helped explain the violence, the rising of
violent feelings, the threatening surge from deep within. I know I can
have many misgivings, resentments, feelings of betrayal, especially
when you consider what I'd already experienced of my Jewish mother and
grandmother and aunts and uncle and grandfather. Plus father, in the
end. the other woman, the gentile, who'd hurt by dick while I slept
(after I treated her so well and was nothing but honest and forthright
about my situation). I had every reason to be paranoid and fearful.
Every reason. the first time I'd met this bisexual africanized
honeybee at one point I'd explained after exiting the sauna for the
umpteenth time that my swim trunks were old, inherited from my father
and that the elastic band had broken and was only held up by the
drawstring which I had to be sure was tied taut. She may have thought
I was a real.. cozy kind of guy because at one point when I
demonstrated that string was the only thing holding my trunks in place
she leaned and and seemed to think I was trying to flash her my
genitalia. maybe she thought I was a real party guy.
I told her I was a virgin. I was honest. I enjoyed talking to her, she
was interested in energy, various forms of exercise, physical
training, consciousness. I don't think we counted as the floozy, PC
BSing new-age crap discussing this kind of stuff. we both had
darkness, pain. i kept feeling her rise up with the anger, it kind of
put me on edge. i felt like i was dealing with a potentially dangerous
animal (the female of the species *does* count as one). I told her how
much I loved beautiful little girls, shared some of my personality,
the first, tentative glimpses of playful paedophileism. trying to go
for enough danger to make it fun and entertaining. it may have been a
risk, given the rape, but I trusted my soul would win out through
palpability ("flow my tears the policeman said".. nexus *what*?).
we had a number of discussions. across a fair range of topics. she
didn't believe I was a virgin. a lot of people didn't. i take it as a
compliment that it is unbelievable, some people think i'm handsome,
others that i'm ugly, most people don't question the personality. some
resentment tied into doubts of virginity, it mixed with the general
anger, mid-twenties and strong body + easy-going effortless charisma
and good humor does not look like a voygin. this victim worked herself
into a body protected by a well-muscled frame. she worked her boobs
off. although the hips were womanly the shoulders and overall
musculature didn't say feminine. she wasn't going to be raped again.
she wasn't into "feminism" though i was sure she could appreciate
something from that perspective. by that point i recognized the
women's movement was basically dead, for the most part. i was
searching for the people who had some light left, looked for truths
beyond superficialities, could remain intellectually engaged with the
world, looking for more culture, more dimensions for frames of
reference to see a deeper world. and we were both dark.
she came over, once. i trusted her enough to get mildly stoned on
cannabis in her presence. it's a risk, stimulating more activity in
the complex emotional mind of the frontal lobes, the inevitable
sympathetic activity in their "sober" brain. a brain that does well,
has the affect regulation, is experienced with that consciousness and
is firmly grounded in some motivation that is beneficial for both
parties has a tendency to be a different experience than the standard,
selfish, hedonistic, ego-driven brain left to its own indulgences in
that mildly euphoric state. I've seen people become very finnicky,
petulant, egomaniacal, even psychopathic and sometimes downright
delusional under this consciousness, directly experienced or a
"contact" high. considering that a new survey of entry-level psych
classes has the student populace at an estimated twenty percent
diagnosable for standard psychopathic deviation (without exogenous
chemicals circulating in their brains) I'd have to say there's plenty
of reason for the stigma associated with cannabis usage. and with that
I'd like to take a temporary divergence to explain something about
myself to those who may be reading this (especially you poor kids out
there, as I've already written how deletion from google may not
achieve censorship given the.. situation (which may be seen as a
direct challenge to the powers-that-be)).
In Milwaukee, during my stay with the witchdoctor/midwife/psychiatrist
(are you beginning to "get it", yet?) I was hanging out with the gay,
self-proclaimed shaman and his acid-head apprentice. they *seemed*
like nice guys, the acid-head was fairly good natured but mixed up and
not willing to understand his preconceptions were in error about his
shameless, extremely manipulative and deceitful "shaman" friend. they
were caught up in the standard BS about delusion and perception and
higher levels of reality and other stuff, they'd spun a web too
complicated and got stuck in their own lures and defenses. for the
second time in my life i was to consume shrooms. for that single night
i learned some interesting things. I saw the two colors of red and
blue from the lights on a police squad car in a dazzling display, many
different shades of the two and some strange, previously unknown
colors. I'd already come to grips with the idea that during the trip
from the ocular nerve bundle to the processing in the back of the
brain that the wavelengths of light may be modulated or processed
differently, or that even the visible spectrum of light could be
altered in that augmented consciousness. i looked into the eyes of two
children passing by on my way back from the shaman's place to
grandma's house (and the unsuspecting orthodox jews across the
street), saw them burst into laughter as we made eye contact. invading
the home of the chassidim saw the littlest, my fiery, darling little
child molester, bubble up with many ideas that were bouncing around
inside my head. ohhh.. the mother would not look me in the eyes, i
just wanted to share it. she was a coward! ohhhh my precious beauties.
SO beautiful! but what remains strongest in my mind is how shortly
after the drippy visual effects of the shrooms finally confirmed that
i was really in it and i went outside to look at the various forms of
nature. the laughing, caught with tensions, of the vibe growing at the
kitchen table was dispensed with and the singular goal to understand,
the clarity and calm pushing aside the giddiness as i left that house
to stand in the front lawn with the various plants and trees. i
watched a very silent but profound commentary unfold in the comingling
of my mind with the fungus, saw the patterns of nature subtly and
magically extend themselves beyond the physical, witnessing the forms
of nature beyond the physical. not only did i see the fibonacci
sequence, the patterns of nature manifest itself, but i also realized
that it is the nature of visual perception in the human brain to
construct our visual perceptions from the patterns, the forms of
nature. it is a reception *and* a constructive, creative process that
leads to our visual perception. i saw it, i saw the process unfold,
visibly, as a subtle, mild hallucinatory state. a hallucinatory state
that spoke very insightfully into the nature of this physical
perception. i understood that the human brain possesses physical
"hardware" that is dedicated to this constructive visual processing
and perception. not fucking around, not looking to screw around and
party or try to pull any magical trips on anyone. pure, raw desire to
know and understand for personal betterment. lo and behold years later
it is in a magazine like "new scientist" as a little science news
blurb. right there. of course, i had directly experienced it in an
altered state. an altered state induced by "drugs". illegal drugs. my
experience of the drug was determined far more by my personal
character and genuine aspirations than through any socially-instilled
concept of what the drug was supposed to be (of course i'd read about
real shamanism and consciousness exploration from people more serious
than my "buddies"). it led me deeper into truth, the kind of truth
that precedes modern science by multiple years, apparently. equally
important, of course, was the accumulation of a foundation of
knowledge, purely intellectual knowledge of mathematics, the years of
pondering the connections from that, combined with what i'd read of
the mental processes from a book like "evolution's end" and how a
student's mind can be shunted into an altered consciousness and given
similar insights into the constructions of our vision by an
accomplished master.
that's axel on drugs. and i got a little stoned with my rape victim.
the aggression. the violence. resentment. distrust. we talked a bit, i
think i fed her, too. she knew i was interested in some body work. she
laid down and we discussed what she needed as i sat on her tush and
began the rough warm-up kneading of her muscular back i felt like i
was touching a guy. i worked on the areas that needed special
attention. I thought she wasn't exposed to many people who were into
the giving aspect of relationships (i could certainly understand). so
i worked on her lower back, pressing hard with my thumbs, putting a
lot of my body weight through my thumbs into her solid lower back over
and over again. i managed to do that for over a half hour, straight.
hard work for those little thumbs. i tried to keep the boredom and
dissatisfaction out, so she wouldn't feel that. gotta be careful with
the humans, they're dangerous (especially the females (kipling was
right)). i worked her over real good. i did what i'd always wanted
done to me, treated her exactly how i had always wanted to be treated.
eventually laid down for awhile. got some body work in return. tried
to learn what i could from what was offered (still wasn't a virgin,
yet).
late into the night/early morning hours i decided to do a little
experiment and she laid on top of my back as i belted out pushup after
pushup on the floor. she wanted me to stop because she was concerned
i'd tear connective tissue starting from cold state. i don't think she
knew that it wasn't muscle conditioning that prevented injury, or that
i was not motivated by a desire to impress her. my neurophysiology was
wired up, and my musculature as a natural consequence was warmed and
ready. she was dark and so was i. violence, emotional and physical. a
history of violence. abuse. danger. contant threat of attack. hard to
relax around a built-up victim. i just want to make it clear i didn't
just work on her so much because i was trying to defuse a ticking
emotional time bomb. i had the ulterior motive to gain experience and
improve on therapeutic body work. the benefits, from the relief and
joy the other can experience, how it bleeds through and gives a very
real "contact" high on its own, a different kind of altered state from
an exogenous compound like cannabis but just as real, it is its own
reward as well. i had no delusions of altruism and being "good" or
"pure of heart". it's not sanity. certainly not insanity. it's on the
other end of the sanity spectrum.
I wasn't going for much sexual arousal, nothing steamy or passionate.
i did her front and tried to make it good, somehow. even did some
light nipple sucking, trying to get the energy flowing. mmmm. energy
issues. maybe it would have been better not to, not that she seemed to
mind. body work and body issues. i've worked on women with body
issues, existential or otherwise. i wasn't going to force anything on
her, no expectations, no obligation to ramp up to a higher energy
state or create that awesome flow that can happen with a good reiki
(laying on of hands) session. i think trying to force anything like
that is akin to pushing someone to become physically aroused when
they're not up for it. i didn't sleep much at all that night/morning.
but for the few hours i/we slept i woke up more refreshed than if i
were alone and hadn't been with her. remember, there's no illusion of
altruism here. that darkness and pain can be transformed into
something very good, given the right circumstances.
[to be continued]
Axel of the North!
with my hand, but I knew she wouldn't attack me. Anxieties about her
with the others, the humans, however. She seemed troubled. Who knows,
maybe she just needed some cum?
>On Sun, in "Re: Progessively Unhinged: Part Duh",01 Mar 2009 21:28:07
>GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!) wrote:
>
>>She rang me up quietly, and proficiently. The feeling of specialness
>>was amped up to a degree I was *clearly* not accustomed to. She was
>>functioning just as a cashier, but clearly the communication, the
>>psi-field, was saying so much more. I didn't embrace it, pounce upon
>>it, make effective use of the opportunity. Do you want to know why,
>>cunts of the world? Do you? I hope you do...
>
>because i wouldn't allow myself to even think i was qualified for an
>intense relationship, fearing it could damage either (or both) side
>too much. i felt incompetent to judge my own worthiness for the
>specialness that was created. i can't even think about issues like
>marriage or anything along those lines. it is out of my realm. i
>haven't even found someone who can be decent. the sister (name
>unknown, as if i could pronounce it anyway..) made one of the most
>impressive feelings within me. it's that level that can really get to
>me. that's the big "if only.." or "what if.." that confronts my heart
>and conscience. but it was wonderful. i love what the asians can
>create, as emotions go. it was out of respect for her, i just
>couldn't.
The thing of it is, considering the incredibly stupid, limited,
narrow-minded people I've met who would dare to accuse me of racial
insensitivity (ohhhh.. I think we already know the true nature of my
"problem" with the Asians..) my actual, i'm sorry, AXUAL interaction
with them is far different from anything that would be put upon me by
inferior people:
A few visits before I was to meet the asian grocer's daughter I was
rung up by one of the family regular cashiers (who is obviously more
than a cashier, just like how regular customers walk behind the
display case of the various macabre body parts of various species of
animals and pick out for themselves with nearby tongs the nutritious
foods available, something not seen in any deli or meat/seafood
department in any whitebread whitey white supermarket/co-op) who
casually says "oh, you speak our language" and basically sets me up to
put on my acting chops. I should say at this time that they had plenty
of times to see me, peripherally or not, my emotional reaction to the
times I've seen them yap on in their native tongues, little
complications and scheduled individual orders and such arranged at the
checkout lane, and now I was on the spot. So what does Mr. Don Juan
(your forums provide many moments of sad hilarity, BTW) do? Well... I
blatted out my best improv of generic Asian phonemes and intonations.
I mean, I really played it up! I'm the fuckin' joker, I'm the one who
can do it! I played it to the hilt! I was awesome. With more than a
glimmer of good humor in my eyes, which I trusted them to see and
recognize, with the comical endings to certain sentences letting them
know I was truly listening and enjoying their language. He rang me up
without laughing much, still a professional. Good mirth. Healthy.
Easy-going. Expansive consciousness. Too feel a man wandering about,
feel his regard for the dead animal parts, the various frozen
creatures in the freezers, to see the international scope of purchased
items again and again. The hanging pall of loneliness, total rejection
and betrayal and perfidy; subtle destruction of the soul.
They are a specific ethnic group within a genetically distinct race.
They are a legitimate, seperate sub-culture within this disgusting,
uncontrolled, corporate-driven pseudo/false-culture that poisens our
collective American consciousness. And they know. They could feel,
from the first sister. How her human doppelganger grabbed his mother's
vagina, cried out repeatedly. I good naturedly-asked which of his
parents was the God, as she must surely be at least a semi-God. They
gave me the appropriate opportunity to show my personality, a
cross-cultural setup to play within and I passed with flying colors.
Because they're cool. Coolness beyond anything that can be taught or
trained. They simply ARE. Just.. like.. me. And that's where the
animals are. It is being. No falsehoods, no bullshit (I've got two
steer balls thawed and diced right now). They could perceive what I
am, beyond the others. They knew. They were open to including me into
their family and lives. They knew I would treat their own to their
culture's higher standards. I have nothing but respect for these
people. Far beyond what I consider most of these homogenized white
people's worlds.
Axel of the North!
I was going to go on about how I had the first episode of the GTA
world available to me, from the introduction to the PS2 in early '05
with SF3 and "Dragonball Z: Budokai 3" fresh in mind. I was going to
go on how I held in my hands, literally, the two versions (by UPC
codes) of the original "Vice City" and somehow, mystically, picked
exactly the right one (and even more mysteriously intuited the
difference between the two). I was going to say how stupidly PC it was
to go against the original version, how totally cool it was to
experience it as the original creative, artistic work it was.. how
stupid it was of the Haitian minority in America to even oppose the
hatred against the Haitian people in this game, as obviously it was
the most simplistically linguistic, purely linguistic humor of any
nationality possible in any interative medium ever (EVER!). Of
course.. this was, in my mind, something incubating over several years
but only gained prominence within several days. And then, of course,
it would happen. It leads easily to the idea of personal judgement and
vengeance against the Haitian people, as an island people. But I am no
Christian Conversative Republican. No. I am not such filth. I know my
own world and claim no such ownership over reality. Just future
reverberations that happen as a natural consequence of previously
formed neural connections. That's all. No delusions. Not sanity. The
opposite end of the spectrum. Not insanity. Can anyone guess what word
describes the opposite end of the spectrum?
Oh, BTW.. I totally want to fuck Madonna up the ass and cum all over
her very beautiful, youthful face. Can't be helped. Talk about an
advertisement for microderm abrasian. I'd totally exfoliate her face a
bazzillian times every day, if I could... (OMG-WD, ugh! where's my
kabbalah bracelet! ugh! [splorg!]) Don't cry for me Ms. Celebrity...
cuz you know I want to cum all over you!!!
Wow.. "I HATE the Haitians!" Just as I was about to post about it, in
a retrospective appreciation of Rockstar's GTA series.. boom. Then it
happens. Fuckin' shit, dude! I certainly don't hate the Haitians.. if
anyone's been scanning me. You KNOW this. You, like, totally know
this.
Do you wanna know what I know about what to do with all the bodies?
Axel of the North!
>http://www.intelihealth.com/IH/ihtIH/EMIHC270/333/8895/1059633.html?d=dmtICNNews
>Africanized Honeybees
>I wasn't going for much sexual arousal, nothing steamy or passionate.
>i did her front and tried to make it good, somehow. even did some
>light nipple sucking, trying to get the energy flowing. mmmm. energy
>issues. maybe it would have been better not to, not that she seemed to
>mind. body work and body issues. i've worked on women with body
>issues, existential or otherwise. i wasn't going to force anything on
>her, no expectations, no obligation to ramp up to a higher energy
>state or create that awesome flow that can happen with a good reiki
>(laying on of hands) session. i think trying to force anything like
>that is akin to pushing someone to become physically aroused when
>they're not up for it. i didn't sleep much at all that night/morning.
>but for the few hours i/we slept i woke up more refreshed than if i
>were alone and hadn't been with her. remember, there's no illusion of
>altruism here. that darkness and pain can be transformed into
>something very good, given the right circumstances.
>
>[to be continued]
here's the continuation. we hung out a little, here and there.
immediately after the sleepover at my place we hooked up after her
job. i guess the body work and energy stuff was good enough for her to
introduce me to the prospect of *more*. I wasn't making assumptions. I
kind of shied away from it, actually. i think we can understand the
nature of my trust issues and reluctance. we went to midwest
mountainering and met one of her friends, a tall, slender woman who
seemed "out of it". she seemed depressed. i didn't judge her or
anything, but tended to avoid getting into too much small talk with
her. they got to see my weight trained, delicately-handed jewboy self
climb around the recreational sporting goods store basement with the
wall climbing little handholds. swung around like an ape-man from the
ceiling for a bit. though i could accomplish very good body work
pressing down hard with my thumbs on her back i wiped out my grip
strength relatively quickly. the first (and only) time i went bowling
(an anniversary party i was lucky enough to attend from the health
food store in milwaukee) i bowled fantastically, especially as it was
my first time. incredible how many times i knocked out all the pins
with the first try. my abilities soon fizzled out with the strain on
my fingers/forearms. so i have limits. but i do well with what i have.
i brought my homemade steak tartar from grass-fed beef in her car on
the way there. i liked using a food processor to cut up whole round
steaks and used liquid ghee, olive oil and cayenne pepper with raw,
freshly ground garlic and diced onions. i also enjoyed using cumin
cooked in a thick gelatin stock and mixed in freshly chopped cilantro
and basil and mint. a very doritos "cool ranch" flavor-scheme raw beef
meal. i guess i'm not a very good jew (heh heh heh..).
the africanized honeybee of a human was still kind of dark, still
conflicted with something. her friend was depressive and withdrawn.
the friend had her own transportation. they talked above the basement
while i "hung out". on the trip back to the jewess' home she asked
what i thought of her friend. i said i didn't think much. we got home
and put her groceries in the fridge and freezer. she had a movie:
"amelie". we were going to watch it together. we talked briefly about
her friend and she mentioned the size of her breasts (by bra size, no
less). asked what i thought of her, physically. not entirely
uncomfortable i admitted i hadn't noticed the size of her breasts
because my attention was drawn to her depressed mood, i then explained
that many times when i'm looking into the center of a women's chest it
can be because that is the natural place for the eyes to settle for
the peripheral vision to watch the body posture, looking to read body
language, not looking at boobage.
she was finally coming to accept that i was a virgin, despite my age
and body (first meeting while in swimming trunks in a very
weight-trained body is not the best circumstance to convince anyone of
virginity). i explained what i'd learned of my own neurophysiology
from the perspective of the blood-type diet, how i weight-trained when
i as fourteen in my family's basement and pursued it not for athletic
enhancement (though attaining a three foot vertical jump by fifteen is
nice for basketball) but for the emotional health that required no
scientific studies to understand. i told her my first year living on
my own and how when i was released from the nutritional deprivation of
living within a controlled environment like a family structure i
inevitably gained 10-15 pounds, much of it was muscle. (butt too much
of it was fat, this was three years before i was to become acquainted
with the blood-type diet from my first book ("cook right for(4) your
type")). i explained about looking at her body language and not being
comfortable appraising her in purely sexual terms because of her state
of mind was. i then went on to, somewhat defensively i guess, proceed
to explain that i was not a homosexual (i anticipated this) but that a
person's emotional state simply took precedence over psychosexual
urges. she divulged that her friend had just been dumped by her
boyfriend, i guess it was a serious enough relationship, or a
relationship she needed enough that it would hang as a pall over her.
my africanized honeybee was easily coming to see that i was "for real"
and aware of her and her friend's energy and not a typically
insensitive male (little did she know i was aware of a relatively
unknown and unappreciated underground "masculinist" movement that
registered as true in my psyche).
i guess, given the circumstances, she thought it was a generous
offering to a man who was without a loved one. she wanted to give me
more than just herself. there wasn't a need for body parts. give 'im
boobs that she doesn't have, a bisexual okay with a man and a woman. i
guess it could be maturity, no selfishness, no personal requirements
of fidelity. it doesn't have to be a bad thing. i just wasn't there.
not emotionally, not sexually. it just didn't click. you can't force
these things.
something even more interesting was the large collection of castrated
male kittens she had gotten from an animal shelter. she saved their
lives (indubitably many of them destined for euthanasia) and kept them
all for herself. i remember their constant mewls and cries for
attention. we were shut away from their incessant, needy nature as we
slept on her bed. she had turned up the heat in the home to the point
where i couldn't sleep under even the light covers. why? why make me
uncomfortable? i like to sleep in Minnesota's winters under a blanket
or two. with their cries for love and attention throughout the night
she was the all powerful, all important Mother Goddess. she closed the
slide doors of her bedroom, slated slide doors.. we could see their
group activity, how they waited and pleaded for her to open them. it
was oddly funny. rape issues made a very dark comedy of it all. she
had her ownership and control and vengeance over men in her sweet
little highly vocal pussies. luckily for me they weren't old enough or
seductive enough to take advantage of my own.. vulnerabilities! (that
was to happen years later.)
too end this sad tale of the dark hearts of the jews... she knew where
i worked and entered at one point (as her own vocation placed her
nearby it was easy) and brought her very own black man with her. they
traveled to the back and then made their exit. she shot me a look.
*that* kind of look. she just had to do it. they have to do something,
i guess. as if my being a virgin wasn't enough. of course, we never
got close enough for me to tell her about Emily, the woman who pulled
hard enough on my phimosis of a foreskinned penis to cause me a few
days pain, or about how the medical establishment so kindly beat my
reproductive organs. maybe if i'd told her about the various abuses of
my genitalia and how i felt about myself, psychosexually, throughout
those cold years of my youth, maybe then she would not be so keen on
one-upping me with her male sex partner. maybe. 'cuz they've always
got to do it.
even those i've sought to help, so well, must do something to make a
negative memory. they have to. they will enjoy the sight of my
unclothed body in slumber, without blankets. they will grab me and
seek to feel the muscle's fullness and hardness, just like men do to
women. the little girls are the same. just the same as women. kipling
was right. of this there is no doubt. i gave her what i could. it's so
easy; it's not difficult. i look at the hard working little mexican
men and the asians in their humble, modest little lives as i purchase
my various goods. they have a pervasive, palpable consciousness of
contentment and fulfillment that is lacking in the over-ambitious,
hectic, frenetic, meaningless lives of many professionals i've served.
they have what others seek, they have what others don't. our medicated
nation can't compare to this, do you understand?
I wish i could have been what they needed. But i was not. i had the
skills, the feelings, even the body. they hated me. they betrayed me.
they attacked me. this is truly professional work. you know all those
violent movies i see? professionals, some kind of allure built around
the idea of professional killers? mercenaries, military? that's what
the professional doctors, pharmacists, etc. of the health industry
have earned in my own individual life. they proved it. by their own
lived-out actions. proven.
Axel of the North!
Cerignola olives cut (quartered across the pit/center) and picked off
with diced onions and roughly-shredded mozzarella spread across corn
chips as salsa-less nachos. would have made my own salsa but it would
have been too much effort (have italian herbed/spiced red-sauce with
mushrooms and alliums for the beef heart (cooked on the spot for
ultimate tenderness) if you must know). besides, the commoners grocery
stuff isn't flavorful enough. there's that MTV whore rihanna again. i
want to take a butcher's cleaver to her chain-mailed self's neck, ya
know. but that's my inner-dungeon master talkin', so don't be too
concerned.. licks lips, wipes sebaceous oil quickly off pimpled nose,
looks furtively across collected PCs... got all sorts of armor type..
THAC0 modifiers, ya know...
Mmmmm. Nothing like a gift-given Goldtech gillette double-edged safety
razor to give the perfect Saturday Night shave. From someone whose
father, inherited, to me, from someone who could have been my father.
An almost grandfatherly gift. A three piece traditional sandwich
double edged safety razor. I originally bought a 21st century
twist-open (butterfly?) chinese factory manufactured double edged
safety razor, then my father gave me his own father's army-issued
shaver (3 piece sandwich) and then my pharmacist friend's own father's
goldtech gillete double-edge safety razor shaver. My father's father
army issue was very aggressive, but still servicable. my pharmacist
friend's gift was more gentle and the kinder of the two traditional
3-part shavers. The twenty dollar Weishi shaver was the best of all
double-edge razors. I was banned from "Badger and Blade" forum for
admiration of the modern, superior razor's Chinese manufactured
product. Oh well. It's not like it's a difficult operation, to put a
double-edged safety razor within the two parts and then twist on the
handle. I just got a great, safe shave off a very old goldtech
gillette safety razor setup. used kiehl's shave cream with minimal
(tap-water hot) hot/moist shave prep. no beard softener (though my
beard is wiry/hard enough). no cuts or anything, but not really close,
either. certainly good enough for an eight-hour shift, visually.
ya know, the thing about putin is... he knows how to take orders. I
gave him something.. i went through what i guess is an identification
meditation.. i saw his facial structures, the balance of his facial
features.. looked into that.. i guess also with the comingling of my
immigrant population.. and as we all know (those of you who know and
have been paying attention) within between 1-3 days he responded. it
was quite a bit. yeah. he dropped to his knees and pulled up that
poor, unsuspecting boy's shirt and gave him a big, royal kiss on his
tum-tum. in front of the international media no less. of course it was
eventually relayed to me by the "daily show" and/or "colbert report".
Yeah, it doesn't take long.
Russia's long-gone empire encroached on some poor
eastern-european/asia-minor country. it was a big problem and they did
what they did and then retreated. then, after suitably threatening
time, they let it go. pretty good lookin', from the
military-industrial complex's POV. yeah. i know about you. YOU. you
know how to take orders. you know you to give them and, appropriately,
you know how to take them. bravo.
you've got my dreams. i know about our timeline, with the kabbalah,
the whole thing. you did it fast. i'm not your spiritual master. you
know i'm not the one with the big powers. i have to tell you this, in
spite of what ego-tripping crap may be made of all of it... given what
i admitted of my interactions with people, both human and non-human.
there is another. my interaction with "them", if it can be multiple
beings.. on the innernet. chrysia, a woman nearby, was close enough in
likeness to be mistaken for chaya. for almost three months we had
almost every Friday (the night of the Sabbath) made mistical, misty,
heavily foggy, with only two or so breaks. that's quite a weather
pattern, eh? that's just a taste. we've got a regular modern-day
fuckin' malerapa on our hands he-uh, folks! he can't be assassinated.
they can't muster the will, they'll be cut down before they can even
summon it. but then, you already know that, don't you, mother of the
Jewish Messiah... yeah, i know all about you. (i loved the beautiful
little asian boys in the dream world, BTW...)
I really liked how the atomosphere's pressure waves were blown apart
and then re-collapsed over and over again in the exact same place
(spatial perception from sound is easy at that proximity). it's one
thing to bring the electrical storm in, another to hold the individual
strikes in one place. it's not like i can't appreciate what you've
done and what you are. geshe sopa helped me come to grips with a
proper relationship to power, not you. as direct teachings long after
his address to the introductory world religions class. i also attended
his appearance in the christian house's meeting. he was quite
cognizant of my sexual energy, to my behated and to a christian
woman's unbridled energy/ego.
Axel of the North!
in the dreamworld i was on a bus (any bus) and through the windowpane
saw huge robots flying through the sky doing battle with g-d knows
what kind of enemies. great paralax 2D scrolling in classic 2D
shooting game style (not FPS, just classic 2D shooters). good 3D
animations of the active plane robot/character and enemies. a grandma
on the bus reacted to it, thought it was real. i comforted her, told
her it was just a video game. very interesting, how the dreamworld's
video console gaming system could take over the windows and project a
realistic video game visual effects bonanza so real it would fool the
dream people's perceptions. even more interesting was the next
chapter, with the beautiful asian boys.. luckily i just played video
games with them, in the home. the grandma in that next chapter was
gray-haired, with one left eye's iris a dull gray, probably blind. she
didn't understand well, hard of hearing, too. but there were no evil
grandparents (mine) present so i was free to play video games with the
asian boys without a threat hanging over me.
ohhhhh GTA. all i have to do is pull the memory card out of my PS2 and
boot up the "GTA: Vice City" game, listen through Jackson's "billy
jean" and Laura Branigan's "self control" (which i identify with since
the friendly men have decided i'm a male prostitute (since '08) and
then i'm back to aneka's "Japanese Boy". Ohhhh... i miss my japanese
boy! i DO!! i was devastated to learn, since walking into that
internet cafe in dukes/broker/bohan/whatever (the easternmost island
in liberty city) that poor james pedeastern had finally been
imprisoned! i guess he didn't head south again soon enough that one
time.. often while lounging around garden parties we discuss the
people who toil night and day for the products we consume.. some
people are so dedicated to our happiness that they take products in
balloons shoved inside themselves.. ahhh, to be a balloon, floating..
mesmerizing. we go to the phones, yes we do.. well, do you want
culture or do you want safety? it's your choice! personally i want
irrigation.. of the colonic variety, but that's a whole 'nother
discussion and it is early... "but I was just teaching him how to
swim!" heh heh heh. "I want to jump!" i know what you mean, jump into
the unknown! how could it be wrong if it feels good! make new friends,
stay up all night and howwwwwl at the moon! man, i love you, rockstar.
all you rockstars out there. just go easy on me. g-wd, i hope you go
easy on me. a few years from now i'm going to have to purchase a
stupid xbox 3dixdee (cuz it sux dix (hate the controller)) just to
play the two chapters i can't play on a ps3. and i'll also have to go
back to my beloved san andreas on the original xbox to play the 50
million dollar add-on for that. i hate microsoft, btw. but i love
rockstar. love 'em. can't be helped. you guys elevated the video game
to a level of social commentary and americana as a boner fide art form
(er, i meant bonuh fide, i mean bona fide!).
i've got multiple save points throughout the magnum opus that is "san
andreas". mostly for the full content of west coast talk radio's
broadcasts. look what google allowed to happen to me, rockstar. stupid
fucks. i knew it all along. "do no evil" becomes "do some evil"
becomes "do evil". worthless. and who could be safer than me? it's
just the stupid whores, how they'll come after me from what they read,
only acting off written work, to gutless and mindless to ever even
think about talking to me as a human being. that's what i could be
thankful for. get this, rockstar: walking through the local health
and fitness center's pool room, on my way to the whirlpool and sauna a
uniformed (uniformed!) police officer and a grandmotherly black woman
are having a non-conversation and as i get close the officer says
(without anger or resentment) "well.. i don't think any charges will
be pressed..." and they leave it at that. waaaaay before anything
outrageously paedophiliacal posted on the internet (though a fun
little bit, playful teasers, posted in the undeletable places..). so
if you rockstars out there think any of my stuff was a big "what the
fuck!", if you thought i was daring... maybe not so much. i don't know
who it was, whether i was deemed kosher by mr. malerapa or a licensed
doctor or what.. i don't know how they knew or decided i was suitable
for purer souls. man. it was a mind trip beyond anything i was
prepared for at the time. of course, things at this point of
progressed beyond acceptability by anyone's standards, but obviously
not in the conventional sense.
i really should say at this time that i'm street fighter three's
masterpiece of a video game's (third strike) own "twelve". i was
making sound effects like that when i was snatching at beautiful
little girls as a "monster". i especially like to do the down,
down/forward, forward + punch button attack (right up their dainty
little skirts). just so you know. i mean, if yer gonna do this
dreamworld stuff with me... that's how it goes, buddies. that's the
innernet for ya. i got great bandwidth all over the place. h-shembench
is a *very* good OS.
P.S. you don't even want ta know the conflicts i experienced as
"axl-low" vs. "bridget" in "guilty gear XX" (thank g-d it was only xx
and not xxx, i don't know if i could have handled that!). i read some
of the FAQs and got all the endings to each character in story mode to
unlock stuff and i have to say i laughed out loud with one of johnny's
endings (the one with bridget). johnny's got quite a setup on his
giant air fortress, kind of reminds me of l. ron hubbard's sailboat
out in international waters with all those young boys... hmmmm... not
saying anything in particular just typing out loud if you will...
ohhhh.. i've got issues!
Axel of the North!
wrote:
>
>"I really owe it to you guys to give you the story of my encounter
>with the Predators. Did you know they can turn invisible at will? Such
>that the police can't see them, should they venture into the city. You
>better be careful if they draw near, 'cuz they can see your HEAT!"
>
>Mmmmmm. Kid-tested.. Mother-approved.. THAT'S how I get.. MY...
>
>
>!!!
Oh yeah, coppers.. you DEFINENTLY want to fuck with me! 'cuz I am
one.. good.. mommyhugger!
had to say the above. i was just waiting for someone, anyone to dare
speak up against me, saving that one for a loooong time.
On Sun, 24 Jan 2010 05:52:50 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
wrote:
>ya know, the thing about putin is... he knows how to take orders. I
>gave him something.. i went through what i guess is an identification
>meditation.. i saw his facial structures, the balance of his facial
>features.. looked into that.. i guess also with the comingling of my
>immigrant population.. and as we all know (those of you who know and
>have been paying attention) within between 1-3 days he responded. it
>was quite a bit. yeah. he dropped to his knees and pulled up that
>poor, unsuspecting boy's shirt and gave him a big, royal kiss on his
>tum-tum. in front of the international media no less. of course it was
>eventually relayed to me by the "daily show" and/or "colbert report".
>Yeah, it doesn't take long.
you have to watch out for those beautiful, beautiful boys (SO
beautiful!). if you're not careful.. they'll get ya!
On Sun, 24 Jan 2010 08:26:37 GMT, ale...@ypo.com (Axel of the North!)
wrote:
>think about talking to me as a human being. that's what i could be
>thankful for. get this, rockstar: walking through the local health
>and fitness center's pool room, on my way to the whirlpool and sauna a
>uniformed (uniformed!) police officer and a grandmotherly black woman
>are having a non-conversation and as i get close the officer says
>(without anger or resentment) "well.. i don't think any charges will
>be pressed..." and they leave it at that. waaaaay before anything
>outrageously paedophiliacal posted on the internet (though a fun
>little bit, playful teasers, posted in the undeletable places..). so
>if you rockstars out there think any of my stuff was a big "what the
>fuck!", if you thought i was daring... maybe not so much. i don't know
>who it was, whether i was deemed kosher by mr. malerapa or a licensed
>doctor or what.. i don't know how they knew or decided i was suitable
>for purer souls. man. it was a mind trip beyond anything i was
>prepared for at the time. of course, things at this point [have]
>progressed beyond acceptability by anyone's standards, but obviously
>not in the conventional sense.
so i'm not so daring after all. all that fun wasn't flaunting in the
face of all those evil, evil cops. they're the same as any other
segment of society. on a touchy, deep-seated issue like this one some
people will be outraged and/or disgusted, others ambivalent, some
intrigued.. and another element will be "into" it! the thing of it is,
i was having a bit of an e-mail and long-distance telephone
correspondence with a pre-med student who gave a link to a
meta-analysis of sexual behavior in early life. i guess it turned out
that the most important factor in determining the positive or negative
consequences of the sexual behavior (forget whether it included
similar age or if it was the inherently unbalanced power relationship
that usually occurs with an adult/adolescent) was the nature of the
experience itself, not sexual behavior itself.
i was given a genuine [cough!] mammalian heritage and those aunts
doted over me in "Vice City." though my relationship to my mom fell
apart relatively early in life i at least had developed a real human
sexuality. i was a charmer. i could be a fairly seductive little boy
when inspired to be. oh, yeah. don't get me wrong, i was never a child
molester or a child rapist. oh, no. not me! but i could be very
seductive... in the young men's christian association's summer day
camp i guess i earned a bit of a reputation with the assistant
"counselors." i wouldn't dare start up anything with a female
counselor, too much of an authority figure, viewed as a threat of
punishment. nah, i stuck with the college-aged women. this happened in
the indoor pool. (i haven't really thought about it but there seems to
be a pattern of things happening in pool rooms.) i'd strike up a
conversation with the voluptuous goddesses who towered over me..
ohhh.. so beautiful! we'd become "friends", swimming close to each
other. then i'd tell them i had to tell them a "secret", and that i
could only tell them underwater. sometimes i'd get close to them
underwater and tell them "I love you!" but other times it would be a
lie and i'd sneak a secret kiss! i didn't think about how i'd go from
one woman to another, day-by-day. i didn't suspect that i was being
passed around, that they knew of my ulterior motives and knowingly
shared me amongst themselves. ahhh.. but now, in the wisdom of my
older years i have grown, in retrospect, to suspect i was being
*used*! i was sincere, about love. it's just when you're eight or nine
years old it doesn't necessarily have to be the deepest most profound
love imaginable. i didn't *lie* to them. just kind of fibbed a little.
'cuz i knew it was mostly lust. yeah. hey, i spent the first four
years of life in Florida, man. you know the deal. i was a charmer! and
kinda sneaky. i was always a highly sexual child. a horny little
horndog.
Axel of the North!
So I see an episode of "Larry Zeigler Live", oh, I'm sorry, I guess
it's called "Larry King Live" with those celebrity doctors Sanjay
Gupta and Deepok Chopra and a few experts on after-death experiences.
There may have been some discussion on past lives or something.
Anyway, I found it interesting, the accounts of what was happening in
the operating room when they have no heart or brain activity and can
recall clearly what was happening in the OR.
I've found stories in some of these books I've read about convincing
evidence for reincarnation interesting as well. Ya know.. books by
PhDs, MDs, etc.. such as young children describing in great detail a
home and surrounding area that the family and/or investigators later
track down a prospective location several tens or hundreds of miles
away, they literally travel there to confirm and then discover for
themselves if the description fits the unknown, unvisited area. and
everything fits, with astonishing reliability. that's crazy!
"Super Hein Hutter was an uh uh uh uh uh uh uh oooold man!"
Standing at the edge of a large, what must be man-made pit he calmly
surveyed the huge mass of bodies piled on each other. All the same
skin color, all in the same age-range and all female in the field of
his vision. Grimly regarding it all, he makes a concession, as if in
an effort to acknowledge what little could be appreciated in spite of
their degraded status: "At least they were good for their bodies."
That was his version of kindness and.. humble generosity. No
anxieties, not uncomfortable. Not worried at all. Just grim.
It was cute to them. Adorable, even. All those Jewish aunts. "Super
Hein Hutter was an uh uh uh uh uh uh ooooold man!" the little Jewish
boy would excitedly repeat. It's very vague. Most likely not the real
name. Maybe it was a name that was heard at some point, from something
else, setting off a spark. If the name was something real then some
connection had been made. The Pit was a solid, drawn-out conceptual
flow of information that seemed, in a strange, dream-like way to be
from an individual's mind. That much rings true. That boy was born in
1977. The Pit was before five years of age. Hein Hutter probably *did*
grow to be an old man, but perhaps that is not the point of reference
from which to make that claim. Perhaps it was that Super Hein Hutter
was an old man during the time of the vision? Maybe he was of an older
mind, maybe due to the child's undeveloped linguistic faculties he
could only manage to stutter a simpler word for emphasis, maybe the
idea was.. ancient? Was it the lack of a stable individual identity of
a chid's consciousness picking up on the family's imaginations,
experiencing the subtle realm of pure mind as a solid, waking vision?
At the pit there was no anxieties or tremendous sense of loss or
injustice. No worries. I think we all know what part of the world a
vision like that can arise from.
Uncle Lester
Sure you do, you remember... ME! It's your old Uncle, Uncle Lester!
We're on very familiar terms now, though, aren't we? First name's Moe,
by the way. But you can just call me... "Uncle"