Oh yeah, BTW…

I just joined…(I need to find a way to reduce the image, however.)

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

Time Zoned Out

 

Last Sunday after I poured myself a cup of coffee, I sat down to wait for the drugs to take effect.

I remembered we were supposed to set the clocks ahead one hour last night to adjust for daylight savings time, which officially changed at three AM.

For no real reason other than synchronicity, I suddenly imagined a test question not unlike many we have struggled with over the years, except that it tests a different sort of knowledge than SAT’s or ASVAB’s.

Although the math is elementary, it is a very tricky question (unless you have ever lived in Terre Haute, for instance).

For what it is worth, here is the conundrum:

A man who lives in Terre Haute, Indiana decides to travel to Chicago for the weekend.

He leaves at five PM Eastern Standard time.

The trip from door to door takes approximately four hours. His watch reads Friday, nine PM when he arrives.

Because the “Illiana’” border is the dividing line between the Eastern and Central time zones, he notices that local time is an hour earlier than his watch indicates.

Because he will be there all weekend, he decides to set his watch to Central Standard time.

On Saturday, at eleven o’clock PM Central Standard time, he departs Chicago to go back to Terre Haute.

After the crosses the border, he remembers to re-set his watch ahead one hour to adjust back to Eastern Standard time.

On the way home he listens to WGN, Chicago.

At three AM Central Standard time, the announcer reminds his listeners to set their clocks ahead one hour, as this is the official  time for changes from Standard to Daylight savings.

When he left Terre Haute on Friday, he was on Eastern Standard time.

When he arrived in Chicago, he adjusted his watch back one hour to adjust for Central Standard time.

On the way home, at approximately one AM Central Standard time, he remembered to set his watch ahead one hour to adjust back to Eastern Standard time, but two hours later, he was reminded to adjust his time ahead one hour to adjust for Daylight Savings time, which he does.

(This is were it starts to get tricky.)

When he arrives back in Terre Haute, his watch now reads five AM.

He stops to get breakfast at a truck stop just off Highway 41, and discovers that the clock above the grill reads four AM.

He assumes that the establishment has just neglected to set the clock to adjust for Daylight Savings time, but he is wrong; the official time in Terre Haute is in fact four AM.

The announcer in Chicago correctly announced at three AM Central time to adjust for Daylight Savings.

Granted, at three AM Central Standard time, it was in fact two AM Eastern Standard time, but that factor would not affect the eventual outcome of the time in either zone.

(After all, most people set their clocks ahead  an hour before they go to bed, but even if you waited until you got up, the worst thing that would happen might be that you missed church, which may be why they do it on Sunday.)

This is what we know:

The return trip took four hours, just like it did on Friday.

He had correctly remembered to re-set his watch ahead one hour shortly after he re-entered the Eastern time zone, and later followed the radio announcer’s correct instructions to move the time ahead an hour to adjust for Daylight Savings time.

Why was he wrong?

What was his error?

What is that awful smell?

Now I realize that it is highly unlikely that even one hundred people might read this post, but if you just did, and can figure out this problem, please respond.

Thanks.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

03/17/2017

The “Blah-Blah-Blah’s” of Blogging

 

I am neither a snob nor an elitist when it comes to Art in any form, including the written word.
Years ago for instance,”serious writers” did not consider either journalism or eroticism to be literature.
Even Graffiti (as evidenced by, for instance the works of Banksy, or Jean-Michel Basquiat) presents us with an opportunity to experience insight, truth, or beauty.
Blogging is perhaps the newest form of literary verbal expression.
I admit that I am not much of a blogger.
Blogging requires a commitment to regular maintenance including reading and responding to the blog’s of others in order to build up a following.
I however lack even the discipline or commitment to pursue electronic publishing, in spite of the fact that it is undoubtedly my only hope for widespread dispersal of my work.
Blogging for me is like committing myself to a hundred pen-pals with the very best of intentions, and we all know the road to hell is paved with good intentions and charted by unrealistic ideals, so if you are reading this, please consider it as a formal public apology for being so selfish.
My primary interest in blogging came initially as a vehicle to present my first novel, Dancing in Dreamland to more than the few people that I could coerce into reading a dog-eared home computer generated copy in the hope of getting some constructive criticism from the few friends I had that understood the concept of reading for pleasure.
Although Blogging involves Writing, Writing is not necessarily Blogging.
Aside from a few semi-erotic fantasies of being discovered or even developing a cottage industry from the sale of my work, I have never considered or pursued a job or career as a writer.
Years ago, trying to make a commercial success in Music only resulted in turning it into a job, prompting me to ask “I wonder what a call-girl does on her night off…just for fun?”
(Incidentally, I already knew…even then it was an entirely a rhetorical question…but that is another story for another time.)
It takes a very special kind of person with talents beyond my ken to turn something they love to do into money.
As I have said many times before “I write for the same reason an alcoholic drinks.”
That being said, I wish to publicly apologize to the numerous persons whom I follow for being so lax in acknowledging or commenting upon their work.
I know that there are many out there that “like” a post without ever reading it, just to churn up their numbers and generate the traffic I call “the blah-blah-blah’s of blogging”.
By not being more selective, I now have hundreds of people whom I “follow” whom I fully intended to read until it has reached the point where it has become very difficult to even locate the people who really get me jazzed within my reader, let alone comment to them.
Comments get my attention; they provoke dialogue and imply a commitment to the material presented and an exchange of ideas, and I have been notoriously reticent in writing things like thank-you letters or responding to correspondence in general for most of my life.
A very few readers contacted me during my convalescence, finding my lack of activity here to be conspicuous in its absence and I love you for that; it has nothing to do with blogging, but you know who you are, and thank-you.
It is as if I have been living in the eye of a hurricane; even when it is calm in the center, I seem to be surrounded by a whirlwind of turmoil and controversy…“the same as it ever was…”
I write because I am compelled to do so; although it is a choice, I am driven by my nature to follow it (although my judgement as far as the choices I have made in my life is so notoriously shitty that it borders on the tragi-comic).
I just don’t know any better, and probably wouldn’t do it any differently, except by the benefit of hindsight and compassion for those I have hurt..
Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei….

 

 

Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent
09/06/2016

Tell Me Something about Yourself…

Tell Me Something about Yourself…

I want to compile a survey of what words each of us consider our term of choice for our own (semi)private parts.

Some time back, I collaborated on a post called “His Penis, Her Vagina” to explore how difficult it is to write “Literotica” without excessive repetition.

Part two of the survey would be to compile a list of your favorite word(s) to describe the naughty parts of the opposite sex.

If more than two people respond, I will post the results.

If you wish to be identified as to your choices, I will post that also.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

 

I Stare into the Fire

Late January

In a place where

Winter is Perpetual spring

a tender shoulder

 makes my

mouth

wet

As I stare into the fire.

It is enough to be here now.

The Snowball Fight

The Snowball Fight

I love porn, but I don’t watch it very often anymore. I have almost never paid to watch it, and it has been years since I purchased any of it, yet it comes to me like a long-lost lover whom I am obligated to give witness without having sought her in the first place.
I am no expert on porn either. I used to know the names of most of the male and female leads who were distributed by Cal Vista during the seventies and eighties, but that’s about it. No addiction to porn
Imagine…there I am, minding my own business…more addicted to my own imagination than anything, when along comes “The Beautiful People”….
I used to know one of them. I met her a while after she tried to quit the business, or the business quit her…I’m not really sure which came first. She rolled right up to the door of my E.R. on a motorcycle she had designed and painted herself. Her back was covered in the most beautiful monochrome single-needle cholo style Tree of Life I had ever seen and she had driven to my hospital with one leg in a cast up to her hip and one crutch.
In the rain.
She was a bit disheartened when she realized I did not recognize her, but she only fucked for love or sport by the late eighties, and my ignorance made me an enigma to her.
The business had already changed at least once on her since she got her start, and she had the good sense to get out while she still had money in the bank and her house paid for. Fame is a fickle mistress and trends are like breezes on the beach.
Because I own a computer and possess a preternatural level of curiosity about Things Carnal I have noticed numerous subtle and unsubtle changes in the Industry and what it produces in terms of what and how and upon whom it chooses to focuses its lens.
I know it has been seen with more prevalence over the past several years, but I for one still feel a little uncomfortable watching the scenes where the actors and actresses spit onto either each other’s genitalia, or even into each other’s mouths.
I am not squeamish about “The Dark Kiss” (anilingus), nor do I shrink about swallowing, or even “Snowballing” (the reciprocated kiss), but even just the idea of being spat upon anywhere on my body set my comfort zone out of whack…until I thought up a script for a porno I would love to make with just the right players (no actors allowed; ‘ya gotta be a believer) just to enjoy the experience.
The film would be called “The Snowball Fight” because instead of simply passing the semen from mouth to mouth during a deep kiss, they would spit for at least several inches, or perhaps even several feet at the open mouth of the intended recipient. Of course, sometimes they will miss…but that’s just part of the fun.
But the object would be to conduct it like a Frisbee toss and catch, where the recipients sometimes make amazing efforts of skill and dedication resulting in saves that would make any major-league outfielder envious.
As a result, say for instance Lady A. blows Mister D. only to spit it across several feet to the open mouth of Lady S. before she transfers it into the mouth of say, Mister A who deposits it into the snatch of Lady S. (for safekeeping inside the goal-net).
Mister D. then goes down on Lady A. who has a great big surprise for him waiting inside her goal-net, courtesy of Mister A. whereupon Lady X. enters and gets on all fours so that Misters D. and A. can spit snowballs onto Lady X’s buttocks as Mister V. ravages her from behind, attempting to help push the spewed conglomerate of their combined viscous offerings back into the snatch of Lady X. while Lady S. lies on her back as she licks Lady X. impaled upon Mister V.’s viande.
Eventually, this could be shot along the lines of a Japanese bukkake film as Lady S., or even her designate, Lady A. could eventually receive the entire avalanche (“snowballs”) in a tsunami of viscous body fluids.
Oh, and BTW: No intention is made or implied as to the identity of any of the proposed players in the imaginary script.
If you prefer, you can go all Reservoir Dogs on it and call Lady A. Lady Red, and Lady S. could be Lady Yellow, and Mister A could be Mister Pink (he won’t like it any better than Steve Buscemi’s character did), Mister D. could be Mister White and Lady X. could be Lady Blue, and Mister V. would probably want to be Mister Black.
Upon reflection, it may be somewhat difficult to locate six really close intimate friends who are all into the same thing like this, unless they were all in a really silly mood, so as not to give it that edgy-nasty hard-core mood that was created in the films that I did see that contained elements of the above-proposed scenario. Maybe there are amateurs out there somewhere who are up to the task.
Or Maybe that’s just me.

Blogger’s Tour

I have been invited by Jayne of Diary Incarnate http://jayneayres.wordpress.com to participate in a Blog Tour. The purpose is to see more blogs and learn about the other writers.
I have been requested to answer four questions and then I shall invite other bloggers to do the same.
I wanted to address these questions right away so I wrote this immediately, because I felt that I needed to take stock of the answers.
I will be announcing my invitations shortly.

1. What am I working on at the moment?

My works of late are divided into three groups:
• Erotic Poetry
• Essays and poems regarding Polyamory, Love, Zen, Mysticism, Romance, Kink/Fet, and Anarchy and Rebelliousness against “The Tyranny of Evil Men and The Inequities of the Selfish… ”
• My real love, a novel entitled: The Home for Wayward Souls and The Talking Monkeys; is a tale of Corporate Greed, and Excess, attempting to subvert The Pursuit of Happiness specifically, and the Bill of Rights in general. There is Primate Romance, Inter-Species Erotica, Philosophical Sexuality, Metaphysical Action-Adventure, and Religious High-Jinx set within a framework of Enhanced and Fortified Non-Fiction involving Intrigue, Subversion, Euphoria, and General Rebelliousness conducted in the name of preserving and protecting The Indomitability of the Human Spirit.

2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?

A Genre is a label which is usually coined by an outside observer after the fact. Most of my writings are so compulsive that I have never stopped to think about how they fit into a particular category, but then again, perhaps I should….
A dear friend from my past named Amy Rogers used to say: “In labeling me, you ‘thing’ me out of existence (by objectification).”

If anything, my works are perhaps a synthesis of what I once read Elene Sallinger refer to as “Literotica” (i.e. I would aspire to write Literature, but can’t seem to avoid the erotic aspects of what I write, and it is not my nature to spare the details), “Everyday Zen”, and an on-going process of deconstructionism of everything I see and experience.

Soooooo…If I were to try to identify a genre, it may well be best summarized as “Enhanced and Fortified Non-Fiction”, as most of it is either biographical or becomes biographical sometime after I write it.

My works center around Bardo Thodol, The Tao, and Zen Buddhism; the road of excess leading to higher consciousness (or the palace of wisdom, whichever comes first); Mysticism, the Occult, Shamanism, and the cunning knowledge of Wiccan/Pagan practices and the waxing and waning of the Moon; “the willing suspension of disbelief”; a layman’s armchair view of quantum mechanics and relativity as it pertains to the “ever-present/never-present present moment”; primate sexuality; the Ascent of Man; Learning, Perception and Behavior Modification; and “the movable feast” of Sex, and Drugs, and All Music (especially Rock and Roll), as well as the influences of Violence and Tragedy, having been an Emergency Medical Services Paramedic for over twenty years.

3. Why do I write what I do?

I write for the same reasons that an alcoholic drinks.

4. How does my writing process work?

As a male, I think it would be presumptuous of me to compare it to gestation, as that is a process I know only by my empathic experiences, but it was what first came to my mind…(considering I have delivered about two dozen babies in the back of an ambulance).

Perhaps it is more like the way a pearl is formed. Some of my best sources of inspiration come from irritation, or discomfort, which I try to make more palatable with layers of introspection, analysis, pleasure, excursions by way of out-of-body experiences and altered states of consciousness, alternating layers of sensory deprivation and sensory overload, meditation, and copious quantities of the universal lubricant of the Soul…Sex.

I frequently try to make sense of the world by identifying the nonsense of it all, and then I try to imagine what it would be like “In my Perfect World”…the adage “Be careful what you wish for” has special meaning to me…the process of “Conjuring” comes to mind…I have seen flights of fantasy come to roost in less than a week, and I was not always comfortable with the initial results, but I do not shirk from facing the truth as it is revealed to me, layer by layer.

But I would be seriously remiss if I did not take into account the role that simple gratitude plays in my life. Some days I wake up and notice wildflowers growing amongst the squalor and I am reminded how grateful I am to have eyes to see them.

Other days when Suki and I fight I suddenly realize that I am either sad or angry or disappointed that my marriage is not perfect, only to realize how fortunate I am in my provocation…after all, if you take away the ups, the downs and the twists and turns, you reduce the thrill and romance of a roller-coaster to a mere commuter train on a straight track bound for oblivion.

And on just the right nights, the distant sound of the highway, or the airport, the wind blowing through the trees, and maybe the sound of my refrigerator resonate in just the right way so as to create a symphony of broadband noise that somehow harmonizes itself with all the noise in my head and a wandering angel or two is inspired to pass by and sing or even harmonize to it thereby reminding me how blessed I am in my madness to possess the sentience to appreciate it.

Thank you, Jayne.
XO,
Chazz Vincent

The Iron Dragon Voice Recognition Project

 

Recently I began attempting to utilize the speech recognition function of my computer to dictate text.

Daily (w)rite had just posted the A to Z Challenge: Flash Fiction, which included a photograph and a prompt “Lately he had been feeling…”.

This is completely new ground for me, and I was fascinated.

I decided to attempt the project using the Speech Recognition function of my computer.

Behold the results; a story within a story, it would seem…or…you be the judge….

Here is the artwork, by Joseph W. Richardson: (with the prompt: …”lately, he had been feeling…”)

This is the Iron Dragon Project result:

*****

True on and all,

Too true II be true.

This is going to be eight to two attached

and the howl for the old ones who weren’t.

Iron dragons can be humans

who buy in bulk and buy one another.

Lately he’d been feeling

like an imaginary dinosaur

so out of date that he couldn’t even scare

a five-year old girl.

(Let’s face it…

after Pixar,

how you gonna keep ‘em down on the farm

after they’ve seen

Monsters Inc.?)

Thank you.

***

And you and you might be wrong

if you were among the one

that will allow them believe

this can be done to learn more than one,

or the dragon in the garden may be a man…

is he our own only hope

that can help our town?

Take anything on the day

and it still leaves us poor

and unrecognizable

to my original text

(which is pretty good for a Mayan.)

***

Tensions thee into my mission

and an avid listen

to become one with the machine

which

in their words

might become a bump on a node

in their worlds;

a bogey on the radar

or give a madman time to ship,

were she to tell it all.

***

Dick you.

(that was thank-you, btw)

…mad that really only you

have been equally

compensated

and that early on

you’re more on the money

on the back F.U.N. and Y

(“funny”)

than all the rest

that ever were.

***

And so it goes from where it ends.

Hula room deliveries

and buried on an

old fairgrounds

captured

in a faded photograph.

You don’t know how

to interpret the butt of a joke,

meaning something early on

that makes

me so horney….

And let’s let poor

caveman UG alone,

(let alone the UG woman)

and the older elder too

and that old lady who

laughed

when laugh launched luna.

***

Run one thing on

to

try something on

fun fun fun

as a loan on laughter

in a letter that said

fun is dead

and you can’t play on

fun fun fun alone,

but the challenge to him was that this

…this the…

…this Italian leather dealer

in each letter on a letter

adds up.

…the AIM’s not even close…

but this

intention

could have made a difference,

(…but it didn’t.)

***

I’m not having loved all of this and more.

I’m not loving this.

If you would treat me

as an acute writers group

…maybe God already knew…

if so,

then dial me

but

you have no clue.

No one meant that as a car wreck, children.

No…

I was saying that was a correct assumption…

And by her now this is goodbye for now…

Logo and you finally

get right question.

Goodbye?

(Something there is that does not love auto-correct dictation)

PS: with team Damyani’s permission, I intend to reblog her original post, which I found to be quite a hoot in its own (w)right(e).

 

Age-Defining Expressions

Age-Defining Expressions

I talk to people on the telephone almost every day. I never see their faces. I never see their homes. But in less than a minute, I could tell you more about them than they probably know about themselves.

I recently began to realize how quickly and definitively we date ourselves by the words and expressions we use.

The following is a list of words and phrases that are rarely used by anyone other than octogenarians, unless you still live in the same county in which your grandparents were born, and have rarely traveled more than fifty miles from where you live.

• scallywag
• bamboozle
• finagle
• smarty-pants (or the Yiddish variant: “Mr. Schmarty-Pants”)
• feisty
• frazzled
• discombobulated
• rapscallion
• Carpet-bagger (but not tea-bagger, or carpet-muncher)
• hoodwinked
• spry
• reprobate
• peckerwood
• pecker
• you ‘uns
• colored
• schnockered
• spring chicken
• anywhoo
• horse feathers
• bushwhacker
• tallywacker
• hankering
• negro
• do lolly
• thing-a-ma-jig
• naysayer
• flimflam
• charlatan
• a rat’s patootie
• hornswoggle
• snake-oil salesman
• tarnation
• dad-gum
• dad-burned
• dagnabbit
• court-and-woo
• okeydokey
• la-tee-dah
• fixin’ to (or the African-American rural version: “fin-to”)
• harrumph
• golly
• gosh-all-mighty
• gumption
• get-up-and-go
• curmudgeon
• ballyhooed
• factotum
• outlandish
• shanghaied
• gall-darned
• loopy
• be-Jesus
• bent over a barrel
• corn-holed
• corny
• sacrosanct
• bedraggled
• fiddle-faddle
• a fiddler’s fuck

And you are probably a “Baby-boomer” if you use words or expressions like:

• far-out
• hey, man…
• gnarley
• spaced-out
• what a trip
• head-trip
• power trip
• laid back
• peace (as a greeting or a farewell), rather than Peace Out as a farewell
• balled or ballin’ (engage in sex)
• military-industrial complex
• the man
• pig (a policeman)
• cop-out
• rip-off
• riffs or riffin’ (originally a guitar solo, but later to express oneself verbally)
• cop (to obtain, usually in reference to drugs)
• groovy
• good vibes (not Lionel Hampton)
• bad vibes (definitely not Lionel Hampton)
• heavy (no reference to weight)
• acid (no relation to Ph)
• mama (as in reference to your “old lady”  but not your mother)
• old lady (see above)
• old man (you get the idea)
• one mother of a…(fill in the blank)
• the powers that be
• the power structure
• bogart
• roach
• roach clip
• “Dave’s not here…”
• tasty
• tripping (on drugs)
• tripped out
• tripping over….
• trippy
• bummer
• bummed out
• My Axe (i.e. your guitar)
• turkey (as an insult, or to set fire to the last part of the roach while it is held in the roach clip so as to inhale the very last of it)
• the feds or the federales (somewhat still in use)
• I’m Hip
• square (no reference to geometry)
• capitalist
• brother, or ‘bro (but no relation to you)
• sister (also no relation)
• spare change
• happening
• macramé
• macrobiotic
• solidarity
• solid
• freaked out
• freaky
• keep on keepin’ on
• keep on truckin’
• head (acid head, a person who gets high in general, Dead Head, etc.)
• pad (one’s domicile)
• feed your head
• crash (to sleep over, or to “come down” from your high)
• shoot (inject drugs)
• needle freak
• shooting gallery (place where needle freaks shoot up)
• funk or funky
• afro  or ‘fro (as a hair style)
• ‘fro comb (very widely-spaced teeth with a long handle, sometimes an angel-food cake cutter was used)
• rock on
• burn-out

Admittedly, I rarely hear a few of these expressions in the course of conversation, especially on the telephone, and I suppose I got a little carried away, but every once in a while I feel like I’m either in the middle of a Cheech and Chong movie or talking to a modern-day Rip Van Winkle who overslept the day after Woodstock, and just woke up to answer the phone.

In another twenty years, this will be the jargon of the new octogenarians.

 

 

He Said, She Said

He Said, She Said

Writers face an interesting dilemma in trying to describe

or label commonly repeated actions especially where dialog is concerned.

How many different ways can you say: He Said….She Said.

How many different ways can you say: His Penis…Her Vagina.

How many different ways can you say: Fucked?

This was a collaboration by Anastasia of Astraltravler and I to catalog juxtapositions of various word combinations just for Fun.

He Said, She Said

He Replied

She Retorted

He Countered

She Indicated

He Snorted

*

She Answered

He Guffawed

She Rejoinder

He Interjected

She Snickered

*

His Penis, Her Vagina

His Dick

Her Pussy

His Cock

Her Snatch

His Prick

*

Her Twat

His Member 

Her Cunt

His Schlong

Her Yoni

His Sausage

Her Poonanie

*

Fucked

He Fucked

She Boinked

He Stuffed

She Banged

He Thrusted

*

She Rode

He Boned

She Pooned

He Schtupped

She Seduced