flummoxed (editing)
Eric the Rusty to me
show details 10:49 PM (14 hours ago)
acraziedululatinginebriatedinjunthatis!
Inbox
HAHAH this is hignlarious ..
and.. Ululating!
One of my favourite all time words
Just woked up from a terrible dream, and then sleep paralysis.. Ever had that?
You can,t move , paralyzed, terrifying, you feel like you cant breathe. lying there e nothing you can do
can't even yell i wantedto yelll JEFFFROO HLELLPPP -- could not! anyway afer it wore off i thought i had a fever
but t was a terrible cold sweat kind of thingg and i was shaking.. Now i am getting worter
i will read more tomororow and answer your thread
On 21 January 2011 12:03, claudio ianora wrote:
ugh! (WORK IN PROGRESS, I load it here because in my comfuter it isn't safe) o go away! come back another day!!! Hell don't even bother, chances are you are better off with all the others.... go to sweet hell! I am on a roll and I don;t give a shit.
Eeeeh God! you get that too? I had it once and i am still scared! Flummoxed to death!
I have got to use this psycotopeic word you just gave me! New, new to me anyways and thus a fifty-fifty chance of being true to start with to which then you must add the quantum plus that makes it virtually true. Nice word! Top of my list of such indispensible an remarkable words. You can put it on Jeffro when you advise him about women again. I will use it on the rooster on the roof of the old Toyota on calle 44 just outside the hotel Lilli. Lilli hotel!!! you see? I am not making this up! He looked flummoxed too I can tell you that! Even not knowing exactly what flummoxed means. I mean you don't have to know what flummoxed means, it is a perfect word, it does not even belong to language, or any categories, not any class. It should not be official, it is not even a word ...it is a paraword or metasound, it should be unlisted not pigeonholed in a dictionary. You feel the effect directly. Not like a picture or the memory of a picture, or something like that. It is an incisive, immediate an osmotically invasive experience in a word! You say it and you are plunged in its tourbinous element outside of space/time. you light up with it like a bulb lights up with light when it is switched on. And yet… it is like a black hole too! Because the moment you conjure it, everything is sucked into it, like you and everything I mean. That is why I didn’t like this precise invasive, melding look of the stupid scrawny bird tied on a leash on the hot roof in the hot sun watching his own shit bake on the hot metal. Like it turned to chalk right in front of his eyes. Baked while he stood there. And he looked straight at me and me at him, we locked eyes, and we were flummoxed together for a moment and the whole stupid scrambling, rolling and roaring Mexican town was flummoxed! It and everything went and got sucked into it like we had accidentally flushed it and the whole stupid banging and spinning universe down the stupid cosmic toilet! To a stupid mirror image dimension I suppose... you can't get rid of anything you know. Like up… no it went up, no down, down the sphincter and the colon to the large intestine maybe full of Mexican food. Oh God , no, not that! . I am eating stupid Mexican breakfast right now, no.. not now! Now then when I was drafting this I was eating this horrible looking revolting shit that has that quantum taste of what it is about to become before I even get it down the gullet to that other dimension. A!... You know what? There is hardly anything in this wide stupid world that does not bother me by now ... Even the nice things bother me, because I now know why they are nice or give pleasure , like this itch i have for over a month, and it sn't even that bad now, but it bilds up in and around the arse hole and it pitches me against my arse hole, it is so intense! Things have a reason and a purpose you know, but hell if I know what the purpose of a very itchy arse hole can be, except of course to make me scratch it, which i refuse to because then the pleasure is as intense as some of the best orgasms I have had in my life. And I am trying to be stoic, like Anthistene but then after my morning dump, or what I refer to my morning deposit and only net contribution i make to Gaia I have to whipe it, and I am in love! Flummoxedly in love. But that flummoxed look that the stupid stupid rooster gave me bothers me more than anything for some reason. I mean, sure I walked there under the hot sun see if he was still there. And yes, I did remember the whole thing was so stupid that it bothered me even then, years ago, the first time I looked at it that is. So I knew or should have known what I was getting into. But hell! I usually know that most of the time, and that never stopped me from going right ahead and do things that I know are stupid. And so how could something that I had come 4000 miles to see in the first place, stop me from walking a few blocks just because I know it is stupid? How the hell did I and Adam get nipples in the first place? And were not those stupid zealous painters and schoolmen so flummoxed thinking about it and trying to decide - if it was up to them to decide- whether to paint the little suckers on Adam as he and Eve and a couple of fig leaves were evicted by an archangel of all things! A bouncer or a sheriff with wings and a flaming sword chasing them poor things with tits and everything they needed to insure that they would mess it all up for all of us forever! So I am trying to say is , that, why do we pick on something stupid when everything else around the stupid thing before and after and through out all the quadrants is really stupid if you care to find out and not just make yourself stupid instead in order to get all those stupid things to make sense all of a sudden. But you go for it , and I know why too, and I can’t really blame you… Hell yeah! I mean where would you have to start to fix all this mess? And How? And even Why? Why is really what you want to know if you feel you have to do something about it. Why is it all wrong and why should you fix it when is so much easier to play dumb ? I learned from Eric that the fundamental question is why and that we are clever so we get suckered into trying to figure out how instead. It changed my life. So I knew that the whole thing was so stupid that I would likely be bothered again for many years, even if that was not- maybe not exactly, the same stupid bird! I could not tell and it would not matter… So.. where was I ?... And Why does this thing not allow me to make mistakes! That bothers me too. Anyways-sss! O.K. Since we cannot do anything about this crazy dispensation let us have a little fun with it! A little irreverence is religious, a lot is sintly. And , yeah, I could not tell and I have a feeling, just a feeling mind you… yeah , no ! A really strong feeling actually, that maybe he can’t tell either! what is reality, time, quantum even, when you are a rooster and for some reason you have to spend every day of your life tied up on the roof of a stupid old Toyota in the middle of a stupid Mexican town watching your shit bake to white and maybe wondering about the meaning of life, because you have all day, and you don’t really know- I don’t think… nothing, nothing at all! But this guy, this stupid looking old man (he means me), stopped right there! Where I could not help seeing him right in front of me! Big and old and white like baked chicken shit….
Shit I need a break! I am in a bouncing WestJet plane laughing and bouncing and farthing and crying and bouncing around like stupid and I am getting cramps on my side!
I caught the stupid bird' attentiom as he stood there looking flummoxed in the middle of his daily filology maybe, up there on the hot roof and maybe he was getting to the eight noble truths. Maybe , I mean I don't know nothing too, so he looked at me like maybe I was it ! The meaning of life standing there while in reality the only stupid guy who knew a bit of why that stupid rooster was tied on the roof every morning and was driven to the calle 44 just above the Stupid Lilli hotel was sitting on the treshold of his store smiling happily because he was the only one in the world with a rooster on the roof of his car. And you should see the rooster lean into a curve and double clutch with his feet when changing gears and using his wings just enough when he had to stop for the red light with the stupid driver inside and the tourist taking pictures and running to catch him at the light so that when they got back lo Iowa or wherever they could show their stupid pitcture to the the farmer nex door, who maybe had a big fat american kind of roosters and anyway like I was saying the stupid guy who owned the life of that rooster drove to his shop, parked the car with the rooster by his store and leaned back on his lounge chair with his harms crossed on his his belly happy with himself.Happy with the interest he created and proud of it like he had just invented sliced bread. The stupid rooster did not even know that little bit of filology. I mean When the stupid man had that brain storm it must have been like the day of creation, and now just like God he sits there with his arms crossed on his belly and enjoys the fruit of his labour, and me and the bird are flummoxed. Subject object and flummox. I don't feel good about it at all, and it isn't that I care that much for that bird, it is that he looked at me and me at him and I don't know who looked more stupid, if me or him. Or God sitting on his ass at the entrance of his shop enjoying his creation. Hell I wish I had not gone all the way there to get flummoxed, I get flummoxed enough as it is let me tell you, and but then hell I know how stupid I am and I know that had I not gone there to see if the stupid scrawny bird was there still I would have regretted it later. No, I just had to go and thats that!. Now,where ever I will be, I will know that that rooster was still there. I also know that this story is going to cause some reflections, insights, theories, hipothemuses and who knows what as long as i live and my mind drifts to that combination and sequence of neuron fireworks and I am blinked back there.. and maybe it is good, I mean the stupid bird may not think that yet. I mean it is a hell of an unatural experience, so it must cause him some deep thoughts deep inside him where it is so dark that you cannot even make out a big wall that you know is there because you feel it is there. And just when youn think maybe it isn't there after all and you were wrong about it- Bang! you bang your head against the stupid wall that you damn well knew it was there! But I tell you that bird may have had so much of it, I mean he must have been driven to such mental strain that he might have figured it all by the time I got there.... shit he the stupid looking rooster on the old toyota roof may have figured out the meaning of life! Shit ! I feel even worsse now, because I have no idea, and he can not write it, he cannot go down to the zocalo and e-mail it to me becaue among other things, and the principal reason that he cannot do that, is that he is tied to the roof of the stupid toyota and so be as it may the stupid answer to the meaning of life is tied with him every morning just a couple of doors up from the hotel Lilli... so I a can only speculate what if he did, imagine, theorize, and it isnt easy because as bad as it can get for me it is never like driving everymorning though this cahos to stand flummoxed there all day in the hot sun which must be conducive to deep thinking no matter how stupid a bird you were originally designated to be, when the whole ordeal of a genial idea took over your destiny.So he sais to himself, life is shit baking to white on a hot roof of a toyota. And I was a bird but then the bird was made word, and the life of a verb is just liturgy. A toyota book sitting in the hot sun and the book of the word is on fire and this stupid guy come and stands there looking really flummoxed and he doesnt move for the longest time, and now -says the stupid bird, I am not sure anymore... has this stupid white old man figured it all out? I am just not sure now...damn!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Did i tell you that u can't get away from the stench of mexican food when you are in mexico? there are vendors of it in everycorner... abominable end for chicken and pigs i tell you... but there is the noise and the heat this is a tip of how to wurvive the heat and entertain the locals.
i am really low in energy and it iz mui caliente, pienso mas de 4o grados.. and so i struggle to keep going. I buy a large bottle of water, stand off the sidewalk in the guitter, and douze myself thoroughly. I pour some on my head, body, back and front and for my legs and feet i pour some in my pockets and lit ir run over money passport et all. The I have a good drink and proce3de dripping wet but mercifully cool. Just a biut of a breaze on my wet shirt really help. Then I drink some,,,risus abundat in ore stultorum, it is true, when you know little you can laugh at a lot of things, when you know more you can laugh to relartively les and les, eventually i suppose you cannot laugh at anytjinng at all... so i won't laugh if then i see a mexican shaking like a leaf in mtl when it is a mere 30 below.. HOLE'!
but it is mexico, and I swear that a bunch of histerical chicken came to entertain the torist at the zocalo by trying to sound like a junior highscool band. Ok, But at seven in the morning?!!!
i stopped by a little old mayan lady to place a five pesos coin in her outstretched palm. she blessed me with a golden smile, 18 carats, worth more than me -lock stock and barrel- so there! I just can't stop learning.
flummoxed (?)
Eric the Rusty to me
show details 10:49 PM (14 hours ago)
acraziedululatinginebriatedinjunthatis!
Inbox
HAHAH this is hignlarious ..
and.. Ululating!
One of my favourite all time words
Just woked up from a terrible cdream, and thenn sleep paralysis.. Ever ahd that?
You can,t move , paralyzed, terrifying, you feel like you cant breathe. lyying ther e nothing you can do
can't even yell i wantedto yelll JEFFFROO HLELLPPP -- could not! anyway afer it wore off i thought i had a fever
but t was a terrible cold sweat tkind of thingg and i was shaking.. Now i am getting woarter
i will read more tomororow and answer your thrread
On 21 January 2011 12:03, claudio ianora wrote:
ugh! (WORK IN PROGRESS, I load it here because in my comfuter it isn't safe) o go away! come back another day!!! Hell don't even bother, chances are you are better off with all the others.... go to sweet hell! I am on a roll and I don;t give a shit.
Flummoxed
I have got to use this psycotopeic word you just gave me! New, new to me anyways and thus a fifty-fifty chance of being true to start with to which then you must add the quantum plus that makes it virtually true. Nice word! Top of my list of such indispensible an remarkable words. You can put it on Jeffro when you advise him about women again. I will use it on the rooster on the roof of the old Toyota on calle 44 just outside the hotel Lilli. Lilli hotel!!! you see? I am not making this up! He looked flummoxed too I can tell you that! Even not knowing exactly what flummoxed means. I mean you don't have to know what flummoxed means, it is a perfect word, it does not even belong to language, or any categories, not any class. It should not be official, it is not even a word ...it is a paraword or metasound, it should be unlisted not pigeonholed in a dictionary. You feel the effect directly. Not like a picture or the memory of a picture, or something like that. It is an incisive, immediate an osmotically invasive experience in a word! You say it and you are plunged in its territory for a moment, outside of space/time. you light up with it like a bulb lights up with light when it is switched on. And yet… it is like a black hole too! Because the moment you conjure it, everything is sucked into it, like you and everything I mean. That is why I didn’t like this precise invasive, melding look of the stupid scrawny bird tied on a leash on the hot roof in the hot sun watching his own shit bake on the hot metal. Like it turned to chalk right in front of his eyes. Baked while he stood there. And he looked straight at me and me at him, we locked eyes, and we were flummoxed together for a moment and the whole stupid scrambling, rolling and roaring Mexican town was flummoxed! It and everything went and got sucked into it like we had accidentally flushed it and the whole stupid banging and spinning universe went down the stupid cosmic toilet! To a stupid mirror image dimension I suppose... you can't get rid of anything you know. Like up… no it went up, no down, down the sphincter and the colon to the large intestine maybe full of Mexican food. Oh God , no, not that! . I am eating stupid Mexican breakfast right now, no.. not now! Now then when I was drafting this I was eating this horrible looking revolting shit that has that quantum taste of what it is about to become before I even get it down the gullet to that other dimension. A!... You know what? There is hardly anything in this wide stupid world that does not bother me by now ... Even the nice things bother me, because I now know why they are nice or give pleasure , like this itch i have for over a month, and it sn't even that bad now, but it bilds up in and around the arse hole and it pitches me against my arse hole, it is so intense! Things have a reason and a purpose you know, but hell if I know what the purpose of a very itchy arse hole can be, except of course to make me scratch it, which i refuse to because then the pleasure is as intense as some of the best orgasms I have had in my life. And I am trying to be stoic, like Anthistene but the after my morning dump, or what I refer to my morning deposit and only net contribution i make to Gaia I have to whipe it, and I am in love! Flummoxedly in lov. But that flummoxed look that the stupid stupid rooster gave me bothers me more than anything for some reason. I mean, sure I walked there under the hot sun see if he was still there. And yest, I did remember the whole thing was so stupid that it bothered me even then, years ago, the first time I looked at it that is. So I knew or should have known what I was getting into. But hell! I usually know that most of the time, and that never stopped me from going right ahead and do things that I know are stupid damn it! And so how could something that I had come 4000 miles to see in the first place, stop me from walking a few bloks is going to stop me just because I know it is stupid? How the hell did I and Adam get nipples in the first place? And were not those stupid zealous painters and schoolmen so flummoxed thinking about it and trying to decide - if it was up to them to decide- whether to paint the little suckers on Adam as he and Eve and a couple of fig leaves were evicted by an archangel of all things! A bouncer or a sheriff with wings and a flaming sword chasing them poor things with tits and everything they needed to insure that they would mess it all up for all of us forever! So I am trying to say is , that, why do we pick on something stupid when everything else around the stupid thing before and after and through out all the quadrants is really stupid if you care to find out and not just make yourself stupid instead in order to get all those stupid things to make sense all of a sudden. But you go for it , and I know why too, and I can’t really blame you… Hell yeah! I mean where would you have to start to fix all this mess? And How? And even Why? Why is really what you want to know if you feel yoou have to do something about it. Why is it all wrong and why should you fix it when is so much easier to play dumb ? I learned from Eric that the fundamental question is why and that we are clever so we get sockered into trying to figure out how instead.It changed my life. So I knew that the whole thing was so stupid that I would likely be bothered again for many years, even if that was not- maybe not exactly, the same stupid bird! I could not tell and it would not matter… So.. where was I ?... And Why does this thing not allow me to make mistakes! That bothers me too. Anyways-sss! O.K. Since we cannot do anything about this crazy dispensation let us have a little fun with it! A little irreverence is religious, a lot is sintly. And , yeah, I could not tell and I have a feeling, just a feeling mind you… yeah , no ! A really strong feeling actually, that maybe he can’t tell either! what is reality, time, quantum even, when you are a rooster and for some reason you have to spend every day of your life tied up on the roof of a stupid old Toyota in the middle of a stupid Mexican town watching your shit bake to white and maybe wondering about the meaning of life, because you have all day, and you don’t really know- I don’t think… nothing, nothing at all! But this guy, this stupid looking old man, stopped right there! Where I could not help seeing him right in front of me! Big and old and white like baked chicken shit….
Shit I need a break! I am in a bouncing WestJet plane laughing and bouncing and farthing and crying and bouncing around like stupid and I am getting cramps on my side!
I caught his attentiom as he stood there looking flummoxed in the middle of his daily filology maybe, up there on the hot roof and maybe he was getting to the eight noble truths. Maybe , I mean I don't know nothing too, so he looked at me like maybe I was it ! The meaning of life standing there while in reality the only stupid guy who knew a bit of why that stupid rooster was tied on the roof every morning and was driven to the calle 44 just above the Stupid Lilli hotel was sitting on the treshold of his store smiling happily because he was the only one in the world with a rooster on the roof of his car. And you should see the rooster lean into a curve a and double clutch with his feet when changing gears and using his wings just enough when he had to stop for the red light with the stupid driver inside and the tourist taking pictures and running to catch him at the light so that when they got back lo Iowa or wherever they could show their stupid pitcture to the the farmer nex door, who mabe had a big american kind of roosters and anyway like I was saying the stupid guy who owned the life of that rooster drove to his shop, parked the car with the rooster by his store and leaned back on his lounge chair with his harms crossed on his his belly happy with himself, with the interest he created and proud of it like he had just invented sliced bread. The stupid rooster did not even know that little bit of filology. I mean When the stupid man had that brain storm it must have been like the day of creation, and now just like God he sits there with his arms crossed on his belly and enjoys the fruit of his labour, and me and the bird are flummoxed. Subject object and flummox. I don't feel good about it at all, and it isn't that I care that much for that bird, it is that he looked at me and me at him and I don.t know who looked more stupid, if me or him. Or God sitting on his ass at the entrance of his shop enjoying his creation. Hell I wish I had not gone all the way there to get flummoxed, I get flummoxed enough as it is let me tell you, and but then hell I know how stupid I am and I know that had I not gone there to see if the stupid scrawny bird was there still I would have regretted it later. No, I just had to go and thats that!. Now,where ever I will be, I will know that that rooster was still there. I also know that this story is going to cause some reflections, insights, theories, hipothemuses and who knows what as long as i live and my mind drifts to that combination and sequence of neuron fireworks and I am blinked back there.. and maybe it is good, I mean the stupid bird may not think that yet, I mean it is a hell of an unatural experience, so it must cause him some deep thoughts deep inside him where it is so dark that you cannot even make out a big wall that you know is there because you feel it is there. And just when youn think maybe it isn't there after all and you were wrong about it- Bang! you bang your head against the stupid wall that you damn well knew it was there! But I tell you that bird may have had so much of it, I mean he must have been driven to such mental strain that he might have figured by the time I got g there.... shit he the stupid looking rooster on the old toyota roof may have figured out the meaning of life! Shit ! I feel even worsse now, because I have no idea, and he can not write it, he cannot go down to the zocalo and e-mail it to me becaue among other things, and the principal reason that he cannot do that, is that he is tied to the roof of the stupid toyota and so be as it may the stupid answer to the meaning of life is tied with him everymorning just a couple of doors up from the hotel lilli... so I a can only speculate what if he did, imagine, theorize, and it isnt easy because as bad as it can get for me it is never like driving everymorning though this cahos to stand flummoxed there all day in the hot sun which must be conducive to deep thinking no matter how stupid a bird you were designated to be, when the whole ordeal of a genial idea took over your destiny.So he sais to himself, life is shit baking to white on a hot roof of a toyota, and I was a bird but then the bird was made word, and the life of a verb is just liturgy. A toyota book sitting in the hot sun and the book of the word is on fire and this stupid guy come and stands there looking really flummoxed and he doesnt move for the longest time, and now -says the stupid bird, I am not sure anymore... has this stupid white old man figured all out? I am just not sure now...
Best time I ever had having breakfast that either was cooked shit, or was stored close to shit too long. pay the bill and go see what other stupid shit you can step on arounf the nex corner..
Of Medicine, mad sciences and Priapus.
I did not want to tell the story because I felt that practically no one deserved to share nature’s latest most surprising practical joke to me and because the reality of this episode maybe beyond my ability to do it justice and one should never, absolutely never, employ art that is inadequate to portray reality’s majestic caprices. But, since I have lost completely whatever confidence I might have still nourished for the now completely mad science of medicine, I asked Eric to help me diagnose my latest and most torturous health problem. I have for sometime now, been suffering from a severe case of itchiness. Pruritus! It is driving me insane and inviting me to consider something that I could never accept; suicide as escape, hence a completely humiliating capitulation! Taking my life, on the contrary, has to be a celebration, a demonstration of my final and complete emancipation and empowerment. My solipsist timeless and glorious moment of omnipotence. But the itch is relentless and excruciating. And on a scale of one to ten, I would without hesitation place it at ten usurping my previous ten: - Surgery which involved scraping infection off bones without any anesthetics. . It started in the anus. I had been y practicing abstinence for about 15 years and in The Book of Maybes I describe the various subterfuges that nature employed to make me recant my abnormal propositioni. One day months ago, wiping myself provoked a very intense sexual pleasure. Christ! I thought to myself, the ass hole has now allied itself with my prick in order to defeat me. The experience repeated and became more and more pronounced in time, soon I had to practice wipe control.. Wipe myself studiously and then finish the job with a gentle douche. This alternative eventually produced an equal pleasure problem. Eventually it armed itself with weaponry of mass itchiness, attacked and conquered both buttock elevations and advanced down along the canyon’s bottom towards (an obvious strategic objective) the scrotum and penis. I was powerless, defenseless and outraged because this advancing orgasmic enemy was taking over my entire body and converting it into a large self propelled and self directed horny cock.
Ave divinum incarnatio, Priapi! I could not wipe myself, nor touch any part of my body without arousing those sensations that are usually circumscribed to the appropriate member. S. And the itch grew in intensity and area.
I broke down and went to the doctor.
- Jock itch ! Was is prompt competent sounding diagnosis.
Yeah sure! Like I am the kind of common solipsist that would be satisfied in contracting a simple fungal condition! Yet for a while I was reassure.. Went with prescription to the Madapothecary branch of the mad science of medicine. Followed instructions and a couple of days later the condition had become absolutely unbearable. I found out that showering the affected parts with near scalding hot water I would experience at once the whole gamut of sensations possible at its most excruciating level, burning, stinging, itching and relief and yes, exquisite pain which I had no problem recognizing as orgasmic pleasure. The ordeal would however provide up to four hours of relief which I could use to catch up on sleep.. I successfully control the level I could stand without actually reaching orgasm but at the same time I worried that in time I I might get to like the ordeal. My doctor was adamantly against the hot water treatment, So I got more expensive mad medications but no improvement. Running out naked to roll in in the snow a;so helped but it did not last half as long as the scalding water. I needed sleep. And it was either that or go to the highway and hope a big lumber truck would come rumbling by on cue. But no, it mat seem curious to conventional belief but I have to get to near perfect shape in order to take advantage of my prerogative of self extinguishment. To kill myself to avoid escape itch or cancer would be mere suicide, I will not cop out, and I am still convinced that I am going to endure and prevail eventually and have my moment of magic sub specie aeternitatis. For now , As I told Eric I have to endure and believe that suffering validates my existence and the challenge gives me status. It would be too easy otherwise
Then Came Edema! The foreskin which usually rings at the base of the glans puffed up like an inflated tube. I kept it under observation for a day, it grew. the morning of the third day it was enormous. It was monday, Football day but up to the emergency room I went. No one at the front desk so I walk in and up to the nurse station where I am greeted by a stout older woman with a prince valiant hair cut who as it turned out, was Doctor Keland. -What was the matter with me? My penis is very swollen, big and really shiny… - -It is ? -Yes. (I wanted to add that it might explode but quickly decided that shiny ought to be enough for a start) - Ah, we shall have a look at that! Wont we?
Monday night football! I am exhausted and my arse is on fire.
Back to Priapus after this intercalation -Why do I like football? I have been asked many times. I do not really favour any teams or players. My generic answer should be- because a wise man is one who seeks wisdom. And popular sports especially the most popular and not surprisingly most ridiculous- soccer, are are a mirror of societies intellect, values and mores- exactly as the arenas were in roman times. But I usually respond ( also true) that I like live dynamic geometry and related drama . In fact I think of American football as my best reality simulation played in full view and with fullness of emotions and suspense upon the linear tracing imposed on an object of no value that snatches credibility from the laws of numbers by the successful execution of an infinitely improbable plan.
This comprehension that things such as infinity and eternity are not really impossible but just extremely unlikely as the middle ground upon which all finite phenomena find the element that permits an ephemeral and circumscribed reality to be played out center stage. Football is my favourite sport fantasy which culminates at the appointed arbitrary time in a pair of numbers -say, 21- 14, which by their obvious banality endows the needless exercise, with a sense of an essential accomplishment in a field of apposite reality. The losers suffer,so that the winners may bask in fatuous glory and thus insure the renewal of the contest and its derivative reality. Without football, or similar dramas like the amusing terrorists in explosive diapers bringing to their knees and completely humiliating the citizens of one of the most narcissist empire ever,. Without these dramas as I was saying, there would still be numbers and all their possible configurations but without apparent meaning. Like the score, 21-14 , without the game.
part 2
I got the middle of three stalls and Colin, a handsome young male nurse to look after me, fill in form and gather data about the problem. The problem as I see it looking down , is a hell of a big prick in three not only very distinct section but also stuck together a few degrees askew to the preceding one. The upper shaft larger and longer but not that puffed up so much that the plaid pattern of wrinkles is not easily detected.. Th middle section which normally is a ring of rudimentary foreskin is puffed up so much that it is smooth as the surface of an inflated balloon and with a remarkable lustrous sheen. Then hanging a bit askew as I said and looking incongruously small and plain, the pale glans . Colin is impressed. When The doctor comes through the yellow curtain she is impressed. -What have I put on it that may have caused such a reaction?. I have been on the net, and following various suggestions I have put on it everything that might have been inside a fridge one time or another, plus, ice, tea, plain yogurt etc.- And Vinegar? Oh yeah , apple cider vinegar. - Smells nice. She tells Colin to give me a shot, and disappears for a few minutes. It is a pattern that is repeated for hours,. She comes, tries this tries that, and each time she goes away seemingly more concerned. When I am left alone, I listen to the things going on on the separee's on either side of me. On my left is a man with the latest of a series of heart attacks, while on my right another man is in with transplant problems. Their voice and tones are curiously upbeat. They must be scared to giddiness I assume. When the one with transplant problems is finally fitted with life support systems of various different sounds and applications that will enable him to survive the long ambulance trip to Trail he even cheerfully bids me goodby and good luck. I respond in kind and ask him if he wouldn't mind getting me a couple of nice cigars while in Trail. He promises me to do so, and that if by chance he is highjacked to Cuba he will bring me a box of Montecristo.
Denial I say to myself and wonder if I am going to perform as idiotically some day soon. Doctor Keland comes and goes and about two or three hours after my shot she decides that the shot did not work and that we have to get rid of the edema phisically. I dont understand he concern so I ask her about! - Well look at the glans, look at the colour... -hu-yeahh I say tentatively not understanding the inference.- The swelling is strangling it! - Yeah mmmh. So the first attempt is to wrap it tightly with compression bandages. I help as much as I can , but the end result looks pretty shoddy. - Do I have any idea how we could put pressure on the edema, Colin doesn't , I suggest that if I could get it into a condom that might do it. Colin is put in charge of finding Condoms. She disappears for a few minutes while I hold the bandages on with both hands and put pressure on it. While she is away I decide that all this is not happening and that she is mt blue fairy mother in disguise. When she comes back she brings a dixie cup of sugar with her. -We are going to coat it with sugar. She informs me. - Oh that is sweet I manage to say.- Well, it is in the book you know. I am tempted to ask what book, but I understand now why she rushes off all the time and then comes back with questions and ideas.. A moment later as my blue fairy is pouring sugar on my dick and trying to make it stick, (Rhyme heehhehheee!) Colin comes back with two bright red condoms. Oh, No wait a minute, I just remember that somewhere in between the compression bandage failure and the sugar, but after I suggested condoms, she left and came back with a heavy rubber kind of condom used in tomography I think she said, that was at least a foot long but very narrow. Hard and narrow. So anyways here comes Colin with two red condoms and now she wants me to try and get it on top of the gritty sugar and carefully so that the sugar would not fall off . I would have difficulty getting that little thing stretched and on my divine member even without the stupid sugar. - My first attempt with her holding it is clumsy and fails. She takes off again, and seems more flustered than usual. While she is away, probably consulting the good book in a back room somewhere , I decide to use the gauze bandage to wrap my sweet dick nice and tight and then I might be able to put the condom on top of that, In fact I succeed. When she comes back I show it to her proudly. Bu now she has a somber determinate look on her face. -No it is taking too long, we are losing it! And she starts undoing my good work. She dusts the grains of sugar off it and then she tells me what we must do. - I have to grab a good hold of it. -, O.K. And I do that. - then she plants her two thumbs side by side on the tip of it - She is going to push down on it while I pull up the skin with all my strength, I am? I have not had the virgin look for 5 or six centuries, ( I mean decades) And I know that over the years the foreskin has shrunk both in length and diameter. - NO MATTER! It has to be done. By gum she is got those two thumbs pressing down already so I respond by pulling upward with a groan, Now she has taken a deep breath leaned her upper body over the gurney , she has streightened her arms and squared her shoulder ssnd he yells at me, PULL! PULL! PULL! Haaargrgggrrr! I gave it everything I had. And through a surprisingly rigid and unyielding ring of pain the skin and edema slid over the glans and we locked eyes in a moment of triumph. I Had to hold the tip of the skin so that it wouldn't slip back until I notice that the swelling had disappeared completely. Now my dick was half the norma sized. Doctor Keland, my beautiful and good fairy mother, beamed and exulted: . ANOTHER LIFE SAVED!
And fuck if I didn't spoil it for her with my abitude to say whatever is on my mind, preferring ostracism a thousand time than the comfortable slavery of conformism.
Yeah, But were the lifes you saved worth anything?
I had to stay overnight, but I did not see her again.
Oh bullets! (just like magic)then this, and I am a goner. I have nailed the ten (mmm, maybe eleven! Not sure) alternative on the door of eternity and you have missed it- it and the live one.
Now hear this you idiots- there is no one in the palace
no parade for vir justus
from - the book of maybes-
Si fallor sum
Si fallor sum !
I am sure that St. Augustine did not have in mind failure as the predicate for existence, but the fact is that I cannot dismiss the notion tha imbalance is the cause of all activities just as a perfect balance would on the contrary preempt any activity. If so, it can be stated that the greater is the imbalance present in a system the greater are the activities it causes within that system which aim at a constant that is a precarious and continuous adjustmentg ad infinitum of what would otherwise be a perfectly static and inert immobility. With this in mind I can theorize then that in theory at least, there had to be a point in time when the odds would have been even for the universe to exist or not to exist. Perfectly even odds would produce a perfect equilibrium or motionless inactive perfect stability that could only be interpreted as an accidental shift towards the Zero without satisfying the mathematical potential of One. This then introduced an incidental unsatisfied element expressed in the form of imbalance or instability which becomes the prime mover since in it and by it the One rebounds and thus activated finds- as we know- limitless expression. (There is justice in Mathematics.) This could be lyrically represented by Brahma falling off his throne and becoming lost lost in his dream. Mathematically it is - among others- represented by Pi which being an irrational proportion creates the aperture by an infinite sequence of failures as the interstices where existence is played out forever.
this proposition echoes faithfully the first sentence of genesys.
In the beginning was the logos,and its bumerical ratio was 50/50.
i am really low in energy and it iz mui caliente, pienso mas de 4o grados.. and so i struggle to keep going. I buy a large bottle of water, stand off the sidewalk in the guitter, and douze myself thoroughly. I pour some on my head, body, back and front and for my legs and feet i pour some in my pockets and lit ir run over money passport et all. The I have a good drink and proce3de dripping wet but mercifully cool. Just a biut of a breaze on my wet shirt really help. Then I drink some,,,risus abundat in ore stultorum, it is true, when you know little you can laugh at a lot of things, when you know more you can laugh to relartively les and les, eventually i suppose you cannot laugh at anytjinng at all... so i won't laugh if then i see a mexican shaking like a leaf in mtl when it is a mere 30 below.. HOLE'!
but it is mexico, and I swear that a bunch of histerical chicken came to entertain the torist at the zocalo by trying to sound like a junior highscool band. Ok, But at seven in the morning?!!!
i stopped by a little old mayan lady to place a five pesos coin in her outstretched palm. she blessed me with a golden smile, 18 carats, worth more than me -lock stock and barrel- so there! I just can't stop learning.
flummoxed (?)
Eric the Rusty to me
show details 10:49 PM (14 hours ago)
acraziedululatinginebriatedinjunthatis!
Inbox
HAHAH this is hignlarious ..
and.. Ululating!
One of my favourite all time words
Just woked up from a terrible cdream, and thenn sleep paralysis.. Ever ahd that?
You can,t move , paralyzed, terrifying, you feel like you cant breathe. lyying ther e nothing you can do
can't even yell i wantedto yelll JEFFFROO HLELLPPP -- could not! anyway afer it wore off i thought i had a fever
but t was a terrible cold sweat tkind of thingg and i was shaking.. Now i am getting woarter
i will read more tomororow and answer your thrread
On 21 January 2011 12:03, claudio ianora wrote:
ugh! (WORK IN PROGRESS, I load it here because in my comfuter it isn't safe) o go away! come back another day!!! Hell don't even bother, chances are you are better off with all the others.... go to sweet hell! I am on a roll and I don;t give a shit.
Flummoxed
I have got to use this psycotopeic word you just gave me! New, new to me anyways and thus a fifty-fifty chance of being true to start with to which then you must add the quantum plus that makes it virtually true. Nice word! Top of my list of such indispensible an remarkable words. You can put it on Jeffro when you advise him about women again. I will use it on the rooster on the roof of the old Toyota on calle 44 just outside the hotel Lilli. Lilli hotel!!! you see? I am not making this up! He looked flummoxed too I can tell you that! Even not knowing exactly what flummoxed means. I mean you don't have to know what flummoxed means, it is a perfect word, it does not even belong to language, or any categories, not any class. It should not be official, it is not even a word ...it is a paraword or metasound, it should be unlisted not pigeonholed in a dictionary. You feel the effect directly. Not like a picture or the memory of a picture, or something like that. It is an incisive, immediate an osmotically invasive experience in a word! You say it and you are plunged in its territory for a moment, outside of space/time. you light up with it like a bulb lights up with light when it is switched on. And yet… it is like a black hole too! Because the moment you conjure it, everything is sucked into it, like you and everything I mean. That is why I didn’t like this precise invasive, melding look of the stupid scrawny bird tied on a leash on the hot roof in the hot sun watching his own shit bake on the hot metal. Like it turned to chalk right in front of his eyes. Baked while he stood there. And he looked straight at me and me at him, we locked eyes, and we were flummoxed together for a moment and the whole stupid scrambling, rolling and roaring Mexican town was flummoxed! It and everything went and got sucked into it like we had accidentally flushed it and the whole stupid banging and spinning universe went down the stupid cosmic toilet! To a stupid mirror image dimension I suppose... you can't get rid of anything you know. Like up… no it went up, no down, down the sphincter and the colon to the large intestine maybe full of Mexican food. Oh God , no, not that! . I am eating stupid Mexican breakfast right now, no.. not now! Now then when I was drafting this I was eating this horrible looking revolting shit that has that quantum taste of what it is about to become before I even get it down the gullet to that other dimension. A!... You know what? There is hardly anything in this wide stupid world that does not bother me by now ... Even the nice things bother me, because I now know why they are nice or give pleasure , like this itch i have for over a month, and it sn't even that bad now, but it bilds up in and around the arse hole and it pitches me against my arse hole, it is so intense! Things have a reason and a purpose you know, but hell if I know what the purpose of a very itchy arse hole can be, except of course to make me scratch it, which i refuse to because then the pleasure is as intense as some of the best orgasms I have had in my life. And I am trying to be stoic, like Anthistene but the after my morning dump, or what I refer to my morning deposit and only net contribution i make to Gaia I have to whipe it, and I am in love! Flummoxedly in lov. But that flummoxed look that the stupid stupid rooster gave me bothers me more than anything for some reason. I mean, sure I walked there under the hot sun see if he was still there. And yest, I did remember the whole thing was so stupid that it bothered me even then, years ago, the first time I looked at it that is. So I knew or should have known what I was getting into. But hell! I usually know that most of the time, and that never stopped me from going right ahead and do things that I know are stupid damn it! And so how could something that I had come 4000 miles to see in the first place, stop me from walking a few bloks is going to stop me just because I know it is stupid? How the hell did I and Adam get nipples in the first place? And were not those stupid zealous painters and schoolmen so flummoxed thinking about it and trying to decide - if it was up to them to decide- whether to paint the little suckers on Adam as he and Eve and a couple of fig leaves were evicted by an archangel of all things! A bouncer or a sheriff with wings and a flaming sword chasing them poor things with tits and everything they needed to insure that they would mess it all up for all of us forever! So I am trying to say is , that, why do we pick on something stupid when everything else around the stupid thing before and after and through out all the quadrants is really stupid if you care to find out and not just make yourself stupid instead in order to get all those stupid things to make sense all of a sudden. But you go for it , and I know why too, and I can’t really blame you… Hell yeah! I mean where would you have to start to fix all this mess? And How? And even Why? Why is really what you want to know if you feel yoou have to do something about it. Why is it all wrong and why should you fix it when is so much easier to play dumb ? I learned from Eric that the fundamental question is why and that we are clever so we get sockered into trying to figure out how instead.It changed my life. So I knew that the whole thing was so stupid that I would likely be bothered again for many years, even if that was not- maybe not exactly, the same stupid bird! I could not tell and it would not matter… So.. where was I ?... And Why does this thing not allow me to make mistakes! That bothers me too. Anyways-sss! O.K. Since we cannot do anything about this crazy dispensation let us have a little fun with it! A little irreverence is religious, a lot is sintly. And , yeah, I could not tell and I have a feeling, just a feeling mind you… yeah , no ! A really strong feeling actually, that maybe he can’t tell either! what is reality, time, quantum even, when you are a rooster and for some reason you have to spend every day of your life tied up on the roof of a stupid old Toyota in the middle of a stupid Mexican town watching your shit bake to white and maybe wondering about the meaning of life, because you have all day, and you don’t really know- I don’t think… nothing, nothing at all! But this guy, this stupid looking old man, stopped right there! Where I could not help seeing him right in front of me! Big and old and white like baked chicken shit….
Shit I need a break! I am in a bouncing WestJet plane laughing and bouncing and farthing and crying and bouncing around like stupid and I am getting cramps on my side!
I caught his attentiom as he stood there looking flummoxed in the middle of his daily filology maybe, up there on the hot roof and maybe he was getting to the eight noble truths. Maybe , I mean I don't know nothing too, so he looked at me like maybe I was it ! The meaning of life standing there while in reality the only stupid guy who knew a bit of why that stupid rooster was tied on the roof every morning and was driven to the calle 44 just above the Stupid Lilli hotel was sitting on the treshold of his store smiling happily because he was the only one in the world with a rooster on the roof of his car. And you should see the rooster lean into a curve a and double clutch with his feet when changing gears and using his wings just enough when he had to stop for the red light with the stupid driver inside and the tourist taking pictures and running to catch him at the light so that when they got back lo Iowa or wherever they could show their stupid pitcture to the the farmer nex door, who mabe had a big american kind of roosters and anyway like I was saying the stupid guy who owned the life of that rooster drove to his shop, parked the car with the rooster by his store and leaned back on his lounge chair with his harms crossed on his his belly happy with himself, with the interest he created and proud of it like he had just invented sliced bread. The stupid rooster did not even know that little bit of filology. I mean When the stupid man had that brain storm it must have been like the day of creation, and now just like God he sits there with his arms crossed on his belly and enjoys the fruit of his labour, and me and the bird are flummoxed. Subject object and flummox. I don't feel good about it at all, and it isn't that I care that much for that bird, it is that he looked at me and me at him and I don.t know who looked more stupid, if me or him. Or God sitting on his ass at the entrance of his shop enjoying his creation. Hell I wish I had not gone all the way there to get flummoxed, I get flummoxed enough as it is let me tell you, and but then hell I know how stupid I am and I know that had I not gone there to see if the stupid scrawny bird was there still I would have regretted it later. No, I just had to go and thats that!. Now,where ever I will be, I will know that that rooster was still there. I also know that this story is going to cause some reflections, insights, theories, hipothemuses and who knows what as long as i live and my mind drifts to that combination and sequence of neuron fireworks and I am blinked back there.. and maybe it is good, I mean the stupid bird may not think that yet, I mean it is a hell of an unatural experience, so it must cause him some deep thoughts deep inside him where it is so dark that you cannot even make out a big wall that you know is there because you feel it is there. And just when youn think maybe it isn't there after all and you were wrong about it- Bang! you bang your head against the stupid wall that you damn well knew it was there! But I tell you that bird may have had so much of it, I mean he must have been driven to such mental strain that he might have figured by the time I got g there.... shit he the stupid looking rooster on the old toyota roof may have figured out the meaning of life! Shit ! I feel even worsse now, because I have no idea, and he can not write it, he cannot go down to the zocalo and e-mail it to me becaue among other things, and the principal reason that he cannot do that, is that he is tied to the roof of the stupid toyota and so be as it may the stupid answer to the meaning of life is tied with him everymorning just a couple of doors up from the hotel lilli... so I a can only speculate what if he did, imagine, theorize, and it isnt easy because as bad as it can get for me it is never like driving everymorning though this cahos to stand flummoxed there all day in the hot sun which must be conducive to deep thinking no matter how stupid a bird you were designated to be, when the whole ordeal of a genial idea took over your destiny.So he sais to himself, life is shit baking to white on a hot roof of a toyota, and I was a bird but then the bird was made word, and the life of a verb is just liturgy. A toyota book sitting in the hot sun and the book of the word is on fire and this stupid guy come and stands there looking really flummoxed and he doesnt move for the longest time, and now -says the stupid bird, I am not sure anymore... has this stupid white old man figured all out? I am just not sure now...
Best time I ever had having breakfast that either was cooked shit, or was stored close to shit too long. pay the bill and go see what other stupid shit you can step on arounf the nex corner..
Of Medicine, mad sciences and Priapus.
I did not want to tell the story because I felt that practically no one deserved to share nature’s latest most surprising practical joke to me and because the reality of this episode maybe beyond my ability to do it justice and one should never, absolutely never, employ art that is inadequate to portray reality’s majestic caprices. But, since I have lost completely whatever confidence I might have still nourished for the now completely mad science of medicine, I asked Eric to help me diagnose my latest and most torturous health problem. I have for sometime now, been suffering from a severe case of itchiness. Pruritus! It is driving me insane and inviting me to consider something that I could never accept; suicide as escape, hence a completely humiliating capitulation! Taking my life, on the contrary, has to be a celebration, a demonstration of my final and complete emancipation and empowerment. My solipsist timeless and glorious moment of omnipotence. But the itch is relentless and excruciating. And on a scale of one to ten, I would without hesitation place it at ten usurping my previous ten: - Surgery which involved scraping infection off bones without any anesthetics. . It started in the anus. I had been y practicing abstinence for about 15 years and in The Book of Maybes I describe the various subterfuges that nature employed to make me recant my abnormal propositioni. One day months ago, wiping myself provoked a very intense sexual pleasure. Christ! I thought to myself, the ass hole has now allied itself with my prick in order to defeat me. The experience repeated and became more and more pronounced in time, soon I had to practice wipe control.. Wipe myself studiously and then finish the job with a gentle douche. This alternative eventually produced an equal pleasure problem. Eventually it armed itself with weaponry of mass itchiness, attacked and conquered both buttock elevations and advanced down along the canyon’s bottom towards (an obvious strategic objective) the scrotum and penis. I was powerless, defenseless and outraged because this advancing orgasmic enemy was taking over my entire body and converting it into a large self propelled and self directed horny cock.
Ave divinum incarnatio, Priapi! I could not wipe myself, nor touch any part of my body without arousing those sensations that are usually circumscribed to the appropriate member. S. And the itch grew in intensity and area.
I broke down and went to the doctor.
- Jock itch ! Was is prompt competent sounding diagnosis.
Yeah sure! Like I am the kind of common solipsist that would be satisfied in contracting a simple fungal condition! Yet for a while I was reassure.. Went with prescription to the Madapothecary branch of the mad science of medicine. Followed instructions and a couple of days later the condition had become absolutely unbearable. I found out that showering the affected parts with near scalding hot water I would experience at once the whole gamut of sensations possible at its most excruciating level, burning, stinging, itching and relief and yes, exquisite pain which I had no problem recognizing as orgasmic pleasure. The ordeal would however provide up to four hours of relief which I could use to catch up on sleep.. I successfully control the level I could stand without actually reaching orgasm but at the same time I worried that in time I I might get to like the ordeal. My doctor was adamantly against the hot water treatment, So I got more expensive mad medications but no improvement. Running out naked to roll in in the snow a;so helped but it did not last half as long as the scalding water. I needed sleep. And it was either that or go to the highway and hope a big lumber truck would come rumbling by on cue. But no, it mat seem curious to conventional belief but I have to get to near perfect shape in order to take advantage of my prerogative of self extinguishment. To kill myself to avoid escape itch or cancer would be mere suicide, I will not cop out, and I am still convinced that I am going to endure and prevail eventually and have my moment of magic sub specie aeternitatis. For now , As I told Eric I have to endure and believe that suffering validates my existence and the challenge gives me status. It would be too easy otherwise
Then Came Edema! The foreskin which usually rings at the base of the glans puffed up like an inflated tube. I kept it under observation for a day, it grew. the morning of the third day it was enormous. It was monday, Football day but up to the emergency room I went. No one at the front desk so I walk in and up to the nurse station where I am greeted by a stout older woman with a prince valiant hair cut who as it turned out, was Doctor Keland. -What was the matter with me? My penis is very swollen, big and really shiny… - -It is ? -Yes. (I wanted to add that it might explode but quickly decided that shiny ought to be enough for a start) - Ah, we shall have a look at that! Wont we?
Monday night football! I am exhausted and my arse is on fire.
Back to Priapus after this intercalation -Why do I like football? I have been asked many times. I do not really favour any teams or players. My generic answer should be- because a wise man is one who seeks wisdom. And popular sports especially the most popular and not surprisingly most ridiculous- soccer, are are a mirror of societies intellect, values and mores- exactly as the arenas were in roman times. But I usually respond ( also true) that I like live dynamic geometry and related drama . In fact I think of American football as my best reality simulation played in full view and with fullness of emotions and suspense upon the linear tracing imposed on an object of no value that snatches credibility from the laws of numbers by the successful execution of an infinitely improbable plan.
This comprehension that things such as infinity and eternity are not really impossible but just extremely unlikely as the middle ground upon which all finite phenomena find the element that permits an ephemeral and circumscribed reality to be played out center stage. Football is my favourite sport fantasy which culminates at the appointed arbitrary time in a pair of numbers -say, 21- 14, which by their obvious banality endows the needless exercise, with a sense of an essential accomplishment in a field of apposite reality. The losers suffer,so that the winners may bask in fatuous glory and thus insure the renewal of the contest and its derivative reality. Without football, or similar dramas like the amusing terrorists in explosive diapers bringing to their knees and completely humiliating the citizens of one of the most narcissist empire ever,. Without these dramas as I was saying, there would still be numbers and all their possible configurations but without apparent meaning. Like the score, 21-14 , without the game.
part 2
I got the middle of three stalls and Colin, a handsome young male nurse to look after me, fill in form and gather data about the problem. The problem as I see it looking down , is a hell of a big prick in three not only very distinct section but also stuck together a few degrees askew to the preceding one. The upper shaft larger and longer but not that puffed up so much that the plaid pattern of wrinkles is not easily detected.. Th middle section which normally is a ring of rudimentary foreskin is puffed up so much that it is smooth as the surface of an inflated balloon and with a remarkable lustrous sheen. Then hanging a bit askew as I said and looking incongruously small and plain, the pale glans . Colin is impressed. When The doctor comes through the yellow curtain she is impressed. -What have I put on it that may have caused such a reaction?. I have been on the net, and following various suggestions I have put on it everything that might have been inside a fridge one time or another, plus, ice, tea, plain yogurt etc.- And Vinegar? Oh yeah , apple cider vinegar. - Smells nice. She tells Colin to give me a shot, and disappears for a few minutes. It is a pattern that is repeated for hours,. She comes, tries this tries that, and each time she goes away seemingly more concerned. When I am left alone, I listen to the things going on on the separee's on either side of me. On my left is a man with the latest of a series of heart attacks, while on my right another man is in with transplant problems. Their voice and tones are curiously upbeat. They must be scared to giddiness I assume. When the one with transplant problems is finally fitted with life support systems of various different sounds and applications that will enable him to survive the long ambulance trip to Trail he even cheerfully bids me goodby and good luck. I respond in kind and ask him if he wouldn't mind getting me a couple of nice cigars while in Trail. He promises me to do so, and that if by chance he is highjacked to Cuba he will bring me a box of Montecristo.
Denial I say to myself and wonder if I am going to perform as idiotically some day soon. Doctor Keland comes and goes and about two or three hours after my shot she decides that the shot did not work and that we have to get rid of the edema phisically. I dont understand he concern so I ask her about! - Well look at the glans, look at the colour... -hu-yeahh I say tentatively not understanding the inference.- The swelling is strangling it! - Yeah mmmh. So the first attempt is to wrap it tightly with compression bandages. I help as much as I can , but the end result looks pretty shoddy. - Do I have any idea how we could put pressure on the edema, Colin doesn't , I suggest that if I could get it into a condom that might do it. Colin is put in charge of finding Condoms. She disappears for a few minutes while I hold the bandages on with both hands and put pressure on it. While she is away I decide that all this is not happening and that she is mt blue fairy mother in disguise. When she comes back she brings a dixie cup of sugar with her. -We are going to coat it with sugar. She informs me. - Oh that is sweet I manage to say.- Well, it is in the book you know. I am tempted to ask what book, but I understand now why she rushes off all the time and then comes back with questions and ideas.. A moment later as my blue fairy is pouring sugar on my dick and trying to make it stick, (Rhyme heehhehheee!) Colin comes back with two bright red condoms. Oh, No wait a minute, I just remember that somewhere in between the compression bandage failure and the sugar, but after I suggested condoms, she left and came back with a heavy rubber kind of condom used in tomography I think she said, that was at least a foot long but very narrow. Hard and narrow. So anyways here comes Colin with two red condoms and now she wants me to try and get it on top of the gritty sugar and carefully so that the sugar would not fall off . I would have difficulty getting that little thing stretched and on my divine member even without the stupid sugar. - My first attempt with her holding it is clumsy and fails. She takes off again, and seems more flustered than usual. While she is away, probably consulting the good book in a back room somewhere , I decide to use the gauze bandage to wrap my sweet dick nice and tight and then I might be able to put the condom on top of that, In fact I succeed. When she comes back I show it to her proudly. Bu now she has a somber determinate look on her face. -No it is taking too long, we are losing it! And she starts undoing my good work. She dusts the grains of sugar off it and then she tells me what we must do. - I have to grab a good hold of it. -, O.K. And I do that. - then she plants her two thumbs side by side on the tip of it - She is going to push down on it while I pull up the skin with all my strength, I am? I have not had the virgin look for 5 or six centuries, ( I mean decades) And I know that over the years the foreskin has shrunk both in length and diameter. - NO MATTER! It has to be done. By gum she is got those two thumbs pressing down already so I respond by pulling upward with a groan, Now she has taken a deep breath leaned her upper body over the gurney , she has streightened her arms and squared her shoulder ssnd he yells at me, PULL! PULL! PULL! Haaargrgggrrr! I gave it everything I had. And through a surprisingly rigid and unyielding ring of pain the skin and edema slid over the glans and we locked eyes in a moment of triumph. I Had to hold the tip of the skin so that it wouldn't slip back until I notice that the swelling had disappeared completely. Now my dick was half the norma sized. Doctor Keland, my beautiful and good fairy mother, beamed and exulted: . ANOTHER LIFE SAVED!
And fuck if I didn't spoil it for her with my abitude to say whatever is on my mind, preferring ostracism a thousand time than the comfortable slavery of conformism.
Yeah, But were the lifes you saved worth anything?
I had to stay overnight, but I did not see her again.
Oh bullets! (just like magic)then this, and I am a goner. I have nailed the ten (mmm, maybe eleven! Not sure) alternative on the door of eternity and you have missed it- it and the live one.
Now hear this you idiots- there is no one in the palace
no parade for vir justus
from - the book of maybes-
Si fallor sum
Si fallor sum !
I am sure that St. Augustine did not have in mind failure as the predicate for existence, but the fact is that I cannot dismiss the notion tha imbalance is the cause of all activities just as a perfect balance would on the contrary preempt any activity. If so, it can be stated that the greater is the imbalance present in a system the greater are the activities it causes within that system which aim at a constant that is a precarious and continuous adjustmentg ad infinitum of what would otherwise be a perfectly static and inert immobility. With this in mind I can theorize then that in theory at least, there had to be a point in time when the odds would have been even for the universe to exist or not to exist. Perfectly even odds would produce a perfect equilibrium or motionless inactive perfect stability that could only be interpreted as an accidental shift towards the Zero without satisfying the mathematical potential of One. This then introduced an incidental unsatisfied element expressed in the form of imbalance or instability which becomes the prime mover since in it and by it the One rebounds and thus activated finds- as we know- limitless expression. (There is justice in Mathematics.) This could be lyrically represented by Brahma falling off his throne and becoming lost lost in his dream. Mathematically it is - among others- represented by Pi which being an irrational proportion creates the aperture by an infinite sequence of failures as the interstices where existence is played out forever.
this proposition echoes faithfully the first sentence of genesys.
In the beginning was the logos,and its bumerical ratio was 50/50.
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