The light

Sometimes, the light trickles through the blinds in such a way that it
inks the wall like an asian painting. The leaves become delicate bamboo
strokes, and the blinds are proud trees. I often stare and think about
the art I used to appreciate in d.c., a generation ago.
~ I was not made to live anywhere except paradise ~

The hen mistress

Sometimes, all a man has is his dreams and he crawls inside them at
every opportunity. His dreams are soft, like the scented woman he
covets, and silkier inside than his favorite covel. They're secure,
comfortable, and mine. Residing in my dreams is like residing in and
with t. They are glorious escapes from reality and probably something
that I should not emphasize in my quest to bust loose from the feeb
farm.

One week in and I want out.

After my loan debacle, I asked my mother for advice. She told me my best
option was to win the powerball. So, of course, all last night and some
of this morning were fantasies of what I would do if in the event the
powerball was mine. The first thing I would do is pay off all my debts,
and all of ts debts as well. I would get her that 69 convertible imapala
she desires in the process. I'd be real subtle about it, too. Ill take
her to a car dealer and just show her around. When she emotes a desire
to possess the impala, ill mention that the owner must be one hell of a
lucky girl. When she responds the affirmative, ill ask her if we ought
to beg the owner for a ride. Can you guess where this leads? Yeah. I'm
kitschy. I admit it.

Ill also pay off my parents debts, my sisters debts, and rosencratz's
debts, because I'm a nice guy and also because I'm stinking rich,
biatch. I would also take t and travel around the world for a bit. Maybe
a few years. And then, after settling down, I'd shove everything into
investments and live gloriously off the interests, because that's just
smart.

Yesterdays foray into feeb herding was dully spetacular, as always.
There was a visit from one of the neighboring women. she slunk in,
hauling her massive bodice behind. I'd write more, but I can't think in
pictures when I'm pushing myself on the cycle. My words are in my legs
and they are slowly being burned away in my quest for a good body.

Maybe its not that I'm not writing well, but that I'm losing my ability
to write. That does terrify me more, in some ways, than losing t.
Without my writing, I wouldn't be me. I'd be some blemished shadow of
jon, forced to toil at feeb farms in sublime mediocracy for the rest of
my life. That just won't do, pig.

This morning, I told t that we needed to get away. That means a day on
the beach, together, or an afternoon driving through the mountainous
forests of northern arizona. The itch is back. The road is calling.
Baby, we gotta go.

Okay. D out. I can't think.

~ I was not made to live anywhere except paradise ~

Word

I am righteously bored. I have spent the last several hours carving out
a nice little Jon impression in the feeb farm couch. It is not a spot
that I enjoy, but I really have no other option. Coworker and dfeeb were
out for the evening and someone had to ride herd with the other feebs.
Sfeeb and cfeeb were tired and stayed in their rooms, reducing the
amount of interaction and drama in my life. There was a slight problem
with jfeeb professing a desire to return home, but the et call was never
made. He retired to his dukes and stayed there until bed call. Dfeeb had
an episode in which his pills made him a little nutty. We were all left
wondering about the bad brown pill and its heavenly effects. Coworker
and I were tempted to pop depokte, but that shit is surreal and we did
not want to trip into each other. Besides, they count the pills.

What's a feeb rancher to do when his herd is passive? Well, this feeb
rancher wrote some much needed letters. One went to a former professor,
talking about life in general and how life is so much better with the
glamorous t. The other letter jetted to turkei, where a very happy meral
will devour it. I have requested a gift from turkei for t. I do hope
meral sends it. I will, of course, will have to return the favor. I
think t will like this particular gift, if it deigns to show. I have
much more writing to do before the hour is past. I told t that I would
write her something, and I intend to let the words drip from my fingers
like compliments flow after a fred astaire dance. I may decide to wait
on that letter until I get home, so that my fingers can tiptoe through
the tulips with the greatest of ease. Thumb mashing is for wars, not for
letters of nauseating cuteness.

Rosencratz and I were discussing the news. He asked what I thought of
the israeli pullout. The funny thing was that I couldn't muster an
emotion. Frankly my dears, I didn't give a shit. Oddly enough,
rosencratz shared my lack of concern. Lately, I've been feeling
disconnected from the world. I'm off floating in my little bubble of
self-loathing, self-worthlessness, love, and financial reamings. Its
funny how much ones self esteem is tied to his job situation. T does
much to make me happy, but sometimes a man needs more than a woman,
although the woman is plenty fine. I need something to make me feel
worthwhile. I need something to make me feel alive. I need a new
motorcycle, a road trip, and an evening with t in bed. I also need a
decent job. Law school comes calling and I'm scrambling to heed.

I'm watching puppets fuck. This is one of the highlights of my day. This
is kind of sad. The jude law puppet just ate his kid. And, now, the
obligatory band. I hope he doesn't initiate conversation with the band
leader. That would be just mortifying.

I really, really, really need to get out of this state for a bit. The
brown has got me down.
~ I was not made to live anywhere except paradise ~

Astroglide

I am again on the exercycle. It and I, we are good friends. I see it
every other day and for thirty minutes, it is my world. Its like, hi,
how are you doing? Can I ride you hard? Do you mind if I don't buy you
dinner? Are you twenty dollars a month? What price bananas? Are you my
angel?

The morning was spent attempting to find loan information. My
wonderful, stupendeous philosophy degree has netted me a cushy job
riding herd at the feeb farm. All bookworms aspire to be me. Women love
me. Men want to be me. Children run my cards in their bicycle spokes. If
only the loan companies understood that. As far as they're concerned,
I'm a nice, juicy spot for a good reaming.

My troubles begain with the federal government. Rather than creating a
new ruby ridge (he's got a supersoaker 50! Shoot the mutha!) I decided
to go ahead and consolidate my loans. The government took three months
to tell me that my citibank loan was an evil piece of private shit and
thus was not subject to the natural laws of government loan
consolidation. Yeah, that unearthly wail you heard a few weeks ago? That
was me. Kaaaaaaaaahn!

I also have a third loan granted to me by the powers that be (the deaf
ed staff at isu). This isn't a student loan of sorts. Its an outstanding
loan, which means consolidation companies scoff at me and ask for my
first born when I venture into their ravenois dens and meekly ask for
succor. Well, I call up the third loan and beg for mercy. It is granted
in the form of 250 a month, which brings my student loan payments to
approximately 400 a month or more. This just won't do. My rapterous
philosophy degree nets me about 1300 a month, barely. I'm poor, mon. So
very, very poor. I ned law school, stat. That comes next year, and then,
I add more loans to my repertoire. Oh, frabjous day, callooh, callay.
The jabberwock stumbles wildly at my pocketbook.

Yesterdays foray into the feeb farm was quaint. I watched a lot of tv.
I'm thinking of getting a cheap laptop so that I might be able to do
some work while I work. For the downtime I have, I ought to be making
more money. I really don't want two jobs, but that looks like my only
option. I have put in a request for overtime with the feeb farm.
Overtime is 13.00. Nice scratch. Hope its mine.

Life with T continues with abandon. I lack the adjectives to describe
it. Also, I'm sweating like nothing and I don't want to sweat all over
my kick, so I'm going to leave here and focus on some righteous pumping.
Six pack, here I am.
~ I was not made to live anywhere except paradise ~