Archive for Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum

Merely a Series of Unfortunate Coincidences? The Illusion of Synchronicity…Sorry for the Inconvenience…and now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Posted in adversity, Bardot Thordol, Bereavement, coincidences, Keep Coming Back, longreads, Random Observations, Sentience, Synchronicity, The Liberation Through Hearing, Thorn Tree in the Garden with tags , , , , on August 16, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

At approximately ten PM on July the 16th, my brother was pronounced dead in an Emergency Room approximately one thousand miles from my current home. He was two years younger than I.

In less than six years he managed to turn a five-bedroom French Colonial mansion into a landfill, starting with the second floor, which he occupied while my parents were still alive.

Alcoholism and poor judgment based on bad legal advice has rendered the entire estate uninhabitable and facing a sea of legal encumbrances that would prevent me from even taking my parents’ wedding album or my own high school yearbooks from the premises.

In less than seven months’ time since my mother passed away, the kitchen, dining room and front parlor will now require a hazmat team to clean up the mess he left, which in some places was knee-deep.

Power and water services have been disconnected. There is two feet of standing water in the basement.

We were forced to stay at a local motel.

After waiting nearly a week, I was still unable to make arrangements to have his ashes scattered over the graves of my parents, and was forced to leave to return to work.

My parents’ Lutheran minister seems to (correctly) suspect that my wife and I are Pagans, and insisted on being present to say a few words and prayers over my brother’s remains, although he was busy at a conference in St. Louis at the time.

It is my understanding that he still is in possession of his ashes.

My father died two years ago, and my mother passed away on December 30th of 2013. While we were there, I installed two solar powered carriage lamps to light their gravesite at night.

On the way home, I was struck by the question “Who will see the lights?”

It takes somewhere between twenty-four and twenty-nine hours to drive to my parents’ home…and the same amount of time to return.

The only resting or sleeping done in either direction consisted of short naps at designated rest areas or while Suki was driving and one meal not eaten in the vehicle enroute.

Several hours after my first day back at work, I was diagnosed at a local ER with a DVT, or Deep Vein Thrombosis in my left leg. It is potentially life-threatening.

A new miracle oral drug called Xarelto has allowed me to convalesce at home without the customary four-day hospital admittance with intravenous drug therapy and frequent blood tests.

My healthcare insurance provider does not cover this medication, which can cost as much as four hundred dollars per month on average. My employer is a prescription drug plan administrator.

The irony of the fact that many of the plans my employer administers for other providers are much more generous in terms of the coverage, or cost of co-payments and premiums than the policy provided to company employees is not lost in moments like these.

Fortunately, the manufacturer is providing it for free for the first month, and only five dollars per month for the next two months I will need to take it. It would also appear that my annual salary is low enough to qualify me for hardship benefits…really? Really?!?! …Yeah, really.

After a week of bed rest under the skillful care of both my wife Suki and the lovely and talented Anastasia, I am slowly returning to full health.

If you absolutely have to get sick, plan on doing it under the care of a nurse, or better still, two of them…(especially if they are close friends with each other)…the right nurses can make almost anything better, and these two could turn a disaster into a block party.

“Sic hoc ergo propter hoc” means literally “after this, therefore because of this”. It represents what is regarded in the scientific community as one of the commonest flaws of logic, which is to assume that mere juxtaposition somehow implies a relationship between two or more possibly unrelated events.

Synchronicity is a term coined by Carl Jung, who initially identified an “acausal relationship” between the simultaneous occurrence of two or more unrelated psycho-physic phenomena.

Jung and his associates later noted, however that our ability to perceive meaning, portent or omen in the simultaneity of the events allows us to assimilate unconscious materials”, thereby encouraging us to experience a renewal and vitalization of our unilateral personality. In this way, our sentience enables us to construct order out of chaos.

This is a process well-known to both the Chinese (I Ching, Consulting the Oracle of Changes) and the aboriginal peoples of what is now called North America, whose shamanistic traditions divined meaning and direction from occurrences within the natural world.

As unfortunate and sad as the recent series of events are, they are hopefully merely a series of unfortunate coincidences. They were replete with enough foreshadowing and ominous portents to fill up any novel by Nathanial Hawthorne or Theodore Dreiser.

Were I so inclined, I could spend the rest of my life waiting for “the other shoe to drop” and in the process miss whatever joyous opportunities await, barring superstition and fear.

On the other hand, those of us who are inclined to believe in the in the interconnection between the finite physical world and the more elusive and occult ethereal worlds do have the opportunity to reflect, if you will, on the interconnection of all things, even in the midst of random chaos.

I have missed you all these past four weeks…although it would appear that nobody noticed I was gone….

As my heath returns, I will be doing my best to make up for lost time, despite the fact that the expression is in itself an oxymoron.

I have been told that some of my more charming attributes are my irreverence, glib facetiousness, and affectionate preoccupation with anarchy and the self-determinism of lawless disregard for other people’s rules, and this trip was no exception. It was in part a journey into the heartland of America (or the Heart of Darkness), as well as an opportunity to skylark in the midst of loss and sorrow.

Somewhere between the extremes, illumination awaits us.

You be the judge.

As soon as I consult my advisors as to how to tell the story without subjecting myself to incarceration for any number of possible felonies that might be construed as to having been committed, I will be sure to share it with you.

…and now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

 

 

 

 

The Snowball Fight

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, A Womens Flower, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Explicit Sexual Language, Fornicating, Fun, Human Stew, Humor, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Just For Fun, Liason Between Parties, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, Naked, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, Snowballing, the dark kiss, The Id, Theater of the Mind with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 9, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

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.

When is “Not a Marriage” a Marriage? THFWS&TTM’s

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Civil Liberties, Collaboration, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, GROUP MARRIAGE, Liason Between Parties, Line Marriage, Long Form, Love, Mature Theme, Much Too Good For Children, Novel, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sacrilege, Sentience, The Ascent of Man, The Church of Reason, The Great Eurasian Leap Forward, The Home For Wayward Souls, The Id, The Knowledge of Good and Evil, The Talking Monkeys, the willing suspension of disbelief, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Vision Quest, What You Have Conjured Up with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 8, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

When is “Not a Marriage” a Marriage?

Ash had learned much over the last few years about the politics of maintaining a congregation without having to sacrifice all of your principles.
The irony was that by the time he had learned to “play the game” he was now given the opportunity to push the envelope in whatever direction he believed to be inspired by his heart and mind and enjoy increased support and greater numbers of followers.
His time had come within his involvement with mankind when his opinion coincided with public opinion before it was yet public opinion. He was in the right place at the right time…no, it was more like he was the right place and the time was his.
People had grown weary and suspicious of their grandparents’ religions.
Many of them found it almost impossible to read most portions of the Old Testament that described either the jealous, wrathful, angry God of Ezekiel, the unreasonable God of Leviticus, or the perplexing mind-fuckery of the God of Abraham without being drawn into questioning the dubious mindset of the peoples of those times.
Interpretations of the truth are so controlled by the participant/observers involved that regardless of how the outcome is effected by the simple observation of a phenomenon, the way in which that observation is interpreted renders almost everything useless to anyone other than the observer/participants themselves.
In Quantum Mechanics it is the Observer effect or in Behaviorism the Hawthorne effect, the dreaded Heisenbug effect of computer viruses, the Probe effect in terms of scientific measurement, or the Observer-expectancy effect as an anticipated outcome of loss of objectivity; although we might attempt to unravel the storyteller from the story, our own impositions of subjectivity are just as suspect.
And yet somehow, the Atheists never seem to have much fun, either, and there is almost none of the comradery of the devout to help blunt the edge of The Great Existential Void. Sometimes the ones most in need of a social network somehow never recognize it.
People seek connection, recognition, validation, recreation and a sense of belonging to something larger than just themselves, even if it means simply seeking the company of other similarly isolated souls.
Our recognition of each other’s isolation is its own fellowship of shared loneliness.
Sometimes, after we take off the rose-colored glasses, and the blinders and stop waiting for or anticipating what someone else told us to expect, we may experience moments of clarity, realizations, serendipity, synchronicity, epiphanies, and moments of joy.
The Home for Wayward Souls was a place to experience those moments.
Some find God, some find companionship, some find solitude, some find Peace, some find Inspiration and some just find themselves.
The more freedom you give your congregation, the more you get, but there is a sweet intoxication to be had from followers; an audience, or a congregation seeking to be lead to blissful inspiration via words, music, visual imagery or conjured visions borne of ideas.
Even if you tell them they have to find the truth for themselves they want you to lead them to it; to be their guide, to point them in the right direction, to follow your path and to be their champion, their hero.
Ash had become a reluctant hero. Siddhartha warned his followers that enlightenment was not to be gained from sitting at his feet.
Now it was his job to lead his congregation to accept a line marriage that modeled itself after a Wiccan Circle (and included a chimpanzee). And he was just the Showman to do it.
(This is the part where the Showman has to sell the concept of a Line Marriage to his congregation without having to go into all the specifics of what is involved…including calling it a Line Marriage in the first place.)
Partly because it is really nobody else’s business as to every single dynamic of their social interactions, every effort would be made to portray Frederick’s involvement as an adopted child of the family being created, which in a sense he was.
Instead of jumping over a broom, they would jump over a sword. Those who understood the symbolism were not likely to “out” the group, and most of the ceremony would lend a tone of Romanticism and imagery upon which they could place their own interpretations. The Home for Wayward Souls openly embraced many Pagan and non-Judeo/Christian influences and references without necessarily endorsing or promoting anything that did not fit for each individual.
All of the members of the group had become role models for most of the other members of the congregation through no specific act or intentions to do so. As a group they were the disciples of Ash’s church and would be offered to the congregation as officers of the organization.
Darcy, Kali, Suki, Merle, Mark, Charles and Ash would now be considered a circle of advisors who would live on-campus at the Sanctuary. Frederick would be included as their primary link to the animal kingdom vis-à-vis non-vocalized communications, although his physical presence at the Sanctuary would be limited to a few hours every Sunday, given his ownership by The Center for Primate Research, and eventually, PharmaCorp.
If there was any dissent amongst the members of the congregation, no one heard it voiced. It was as if the farther Ash and the group pushed the envelope, the more enthusiastic the congregation and the wider the viewership of the syndicated television program became.
It seemed like the whole world was watching. The louder and more aggressive his detractors and critics grew, the more people flocked to his church, his TV show, and Kali’s website. He gave love and validation for many of those who needed it, and did not require renunciation, guilt, shame, penance or retribution to get it.
The same controversy that had been a viability for so many years now was launching him into superstar status.
It still remained to be determined as to just how much the public would continue to not only accept, but also embrace his Home… with the enthusiasm of followers, disciples, and pilgrims, while Ash continued to tell them they have to find the answers for themselves.
As far as Ash and Kali were concerned, everyone was entitled to Unconditional Support and understanding as long as no one else was hurt; they would provide him or her the setting to conduct their search.
They sometimes lost support from those who expected Ash and Kali to condemn someone else for them. Good riddance.
There would have been a time when the spirit of anti-Communism might have challenged the legality of the sort of corporate structure that a Line Marriage represents, because there is a considerable amount of community property that is shared by its members.
But the real crucial difference was how private property was identified. Ash was famous for being quoted as saying “Hey, what’s yours is yours, but what’s mine is ours (except for whatever Kali and I choose to keep between ourselves…..).”
“Much can be shared of our own private property as chosen, but it is what we recognize as being jointly owned that can pass freely among us, as well as pass from us to those who shall follow us.”
The beauty of the concept is that as a capitalist society the laws and regulations as to incorporation, especially among non-profit organizations not attempting to claim charitable status (as is the practice of most churches) are well geared toward insulating and protecting the members of the corporation in any number of ways.
Polygamy, Polygyny, and Polyandry are not legal in this country. Gay marriage and Civil Unions are still being contested in every state, and whenever they are declared legal, the ultra-conservative religious element begins new efforts to disallow any and all forms of multiple marriage or any marriage of anyone other than one man to one woman.
Once life and healthcare insurance companies began to allow civil unions between same-sex partners to be recognized so as to allow benefits to be assigned to non-married beneficiaries, the initial energies directed toward recognition of gay marriage might have been anticipated to dwindle, but it did not.
People have wanted to proclaim their bonds or affiliations and announce their intentions to the rest of the world since practically the beginning of time. We seek recognition and validation in almost everything we do.
But multiple unions of legally-recognized marriage partners is still one of the strongest taboos faced worldwide. Fortunately however incorporations of individuals for financial and legal protections and benefits has allowed Lutherans or Free Masons or Firemen for instance to provide Life and Healthcare insurance to their members as a Special Group.
Most families would be well advised to seek non-profit status as a corporation. Once the operating expenses and overhead involved in maintaining a corporation (e.g. family) are factored, few people see anything other than a net operating loss carryforward until the first generation of adults has reached retirement age and the mortgage on the facilities (e.g. domicile) is paid. Shortly afterward, Amortization of the heads of the household is also assumed to be imminent, or at least pending.
In order to pass this wealth on to their progeny, inheritance taxes will have to be paid, living trust funds notwithstanding.
Marriages are considered to be finite, just like dairy products, unlike corporations that can be anticipated to continue to operate for many generations.
For-profit corporations are assumed to be formed for the purpose of making money, but non-profit corporations are tasked with having a declared and stated purpose for their existence.
Most families do not stop to think long enough to ponder the purpose of their existences.
A non-profit corporation devoted to the advancement and study of higher levels of human consciousness in the pursuit of sexual bliss through Polyamory has a stated purpose, and may even be eligible for educational grants and any number of governmental subsidies.
Even educational grants and subsidies ranging from money for tools to maintain corporate vehicles (“Tools for Schools”) to subsidies for maintenance of wastewater (graywater) collection ponds under farm subsidies (it doesn’t take twenty acres to qualify as a farm) or money paid to not raise certain crops are available to those who possess the imagination and the initiative to avail themselves of them, as well as the knowledge of how to write grants.
And so it was that the members of The Home for Wayward Souls would be free to love, support, educate, and nurture each other for generations as a non-profit corporation as long as they did not try to claim that it was a marriage.
And at least for now, if questioned they would emphatically state it was not a marriage…for well after they all should live.

A Funny Thing happened to me on the way to my Blog

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Adventures of Captain Mike, Blogging, Collaboration, Cumming Back, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Drug Experience, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Explicit Sexual Language, Fornicated, Fornicating, Fun, Goddess, Humor, Imp Of The Perverse, Interspecies Erotica, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason Between Parties, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Philosophical Sexuality, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sexual Action/Adventure, Share The Love, Sorcery, Suki, The Id, The Rain Dance, Theater of the Mind, Tsukimono-suji, Vagina, What You Have Conjured Up, Witchcraft with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 4, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

A Funny Thing happened to me on the way to my Blog
I recently read a comment by one of our fellow bloggers that acknowledged the conflict we often face between our imagined obligations to feed this wood-chipper of words and ideas more material against the demands of our everyday lives.
Ah Duality! All is one, even when we don’t possess the eyes to recognize it.
Without all the stuff that keeps us too busy to write, we would have nothing to inspire us. So for that reason I have tried of late to make better choices about what stuff I allow to make me too busy to write. I’m at least twenty years behind schedule to attempt to do any justice to my life so far.
Too often, we act like teenagers who treat every incursion into the never-ending video gaming, texting reality show of their lives as if it was an interruption of our entitled play time.
Then again, it all depends on why you write….
I had just settled in to try to keep up with the story of my latest novel that is unfolding in my head faster than I can chronicle it when there was a knock at my door….
Unfortunately, it was not Ed McMahon…of course it wasn’t…he’s been dead for some time now. If it had been, that would mean that either I was also dead, or that I was dreaming. ..
Once, during a dream I smoked a joint with Sam Kinison shortly after he died. I suddenly realized the dilemma, and asked him how he was. He said he was fine, considering he had just gotten married again….
Instead it was Captain Mike and he was either trying to tell me about Wahoo hitting Ballyhoo in one hundred and sixty feet of water, or giant bull dolphins (Mahi, not Flipper) hanging out under the weed line six miles off shore.
Sometimes when he mixes the rum and the methadone it becomes very difficult to interpret his rants.
The really exciting/scary part is that in either case, he wants me to go with him. It is exciting because he has a very large fishing boat that he sometimes uses to make a considerable sum of money, which allows him to pay his chosen “first mate” more money than I make in a week to go fishing on my day off. I love to fish.
It is scary because in the twenty-five years I have known him, he has shown absolutely no regard for his own personal safety. He is Captain Ahab, The Ancient Mariner, The Old Man and the Sea, and Captains Bly and Queeg trapped in the body and brain of Gary Busey.
I have known him since he was an EMT-driver for the municipal emergency medical rescue service for which I worked many years ago as a paramedic.
He has the constitution of a cockroach and there are more than a few of us who believe it may be impossible to kill him. He frequently puts himself in predicaments that normal humans would never survive. That is where our friendship started…getting him out of trouble and managing to keep us both alive.
I could fill a whole book of short stories about his predilection for chaos. Maybe someday I will.
I also know that on more than one occasion, upon having participated in one of his hare-brained schemes surviving by margins as thin as half a coat of paint the sheer exhilaration of the experience often provoked me with an almost uncontrollable desire to summons the superhuman strength it would take to strangle the last breath from his body.
It has not been an easy friendship, and now shows no signs of getting any easier.
And yet somewhere, out of his considerable body of quirks, addictions, and proclivities for self-destructive urges there lurks a sort of creature that has never been seen in the light of day that hides inside his brain to prompt him to follow his preternatural ability to find and capture fish of every type and size. Shellfish, crab, and every sort of scaly, finny denizen of the great blue alike are the objects of his desire, and none are immune.
Women love him, fish fear him.
For him, the wind is never too high, or the water too rough. On one occasion, he piloted his craft back to dock with no wheelhouse or bridge left, sitting on a milk crate with the wheel trapped between his knees.
When the wheels of insanity are spinning inside his head he has talked me into participating in far too many adventures that involved multiple felonies and serious risk to life and limb.
We were at our best when we were taking huge risks to rescue patients without much serious regard for our own safety. The county for which we worked eventually made us sign a “hold harmless” form in case we got killed or injured doing any number of things such as going into the water before back-up arrived.
I always believed that when I was doing the right thing, or fighting the good fight, that I was somehow “protected”…maybe even invincible. But the rest of the time we were just a couple of red-ass fools who should have known better, but didn’t act like it.
Mike drove us down Blimp Road one night when we inducted yet another woman into the “Code Three Club” (think of the “Mile High Club” except in an ambulance with lights and sirens). She was a videographer tasked with following an EMS unit for twenty-four hours for a documentary she was going to make.
(I later married that last inductee….)
There are times when I miss those days, but today was not one of them.
I had cranked up the word processor to get rid of some nervous energy I was feeling in anticipation of a visit from a fellow blogger whom I was most anxious to meet. I had no idea what she looked like, but she has the spirit of an angel.
She is still a neophyte; quite full of passion and idealism. She is probably the most unabashedly avid/rabid fan I will ever have the good fortune to encounter, and she has a certain way with words that inspires me at times.
She lived a few hours away, but was surprisingly enthusiastic about taking the drive.
Of course, she is married…I have been lead to believe it is a very open relationship, but as a gentleman I am also inclined to believe it would no doubt be best to keep her identity “on the down low” at least until she chooses to break radio silence of her own volition.
I know of but a few things that exceed Mike’s rapacious appetite to kill fish or risk his life, those being Drugs, alcohol, and intimate contact with the opposite sex.
Suki was as anxious as I to meet the mystery blogger and was in no mood to put up with Captain Mike’s nonsense. He adored Suki and tended to be a bit of a lecherous pest around her no matter how hard he tried to mind his manners.
When he is drunk he reminds me of one of those poodles you just can’t shake off your leg when you go visit your aunt.
We were unsure what to do with Mike. I wasn’t even sure we had enough booze in the house to wait for him to pass out, and I had no intention today of all days to go out to sea in a boat.
This does not happen often, so make careful note of the above statement.
As luck would have it, suddenly Peppermint Patty had come knocking on our door to ask to borrow a pack of cigarettes.
There is a term in the Florida Keys called “Conch Borrowing;” there are a number of interesting aspects to it, but one of the most important is that it does not generally involve the obligation to give the borrowed item back which is just as well because once she borrows a pack, she does not generally come back until enough time has lapsed that she can pretend to have forgotten about the first pack.
As medically non-compliant schizophrenics go, she can be fairly interesting company, depending on how bored you really are…especially if you are interested in seeing any of the adult films in which she starred over twenty years ago….In just the right light, you can almost see the resemblance…and the tattoos are in fact, identical…and she loves to spread her talents amongst her fans.
Captain Mike, for all his flaws and scars has one characteristic that has made him a pussy-magnet, even now. He has the most disarmingly bright ice-blue eyes I have ever seen, and few women are immune to his “School-Boy Heart” charm and his skinny body-language that is half Jimmy Stewart, half Michael Fredericks.
Patty’s eyes met Mike’s. With the morning light behind her as she stood in the doorway of our trailer, you could see right through her dress and it was obvious that she was not wearing anything under it.
Little details like that never went unnoticed by Captain Mike (…and he had plenty of cigarettes).
Patty then asked Suki if she had ever seen her do DP before as she shifted her gaze back and forth between Mike and myself until Suki reminded her that she had (it was a lie, but Patty was much too crazy to realize it).
With that, I gave Mike a bottle of Bacardi Select Rum and suggested they take the party over to Patty’s trailer where they could see the ocean from her bedroom window.
Even Patty knew that was a lie, but she just winked at me and smiled. (She had once told me that if I held my ear to her snatch that I could hear the ocean, but I never tried to find out if it was really true.)
As they strolled arm in arm back to Peppermint Patty’s trailer, I could hear Captain Mike telling her how Jimmy Buffet had written the song “Jamaica Mistaka” about him and how he had once flown a small private plane between two pilings on the Seven-Mile bridge, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before she would be showing Mike the first anal video she ever shot with Ron Jeremy.
We were still laughing about it when my friend the lady blogger drove up. She and Suki had talked several times before on the phone, and it was heartwarming to see just how well two ladies who had never met before could strike up a friendship.
I later learned that they had been “pen-pals” for over a month and I really think Suki was as enthusiastic about meeting Ms. A. as I was.
Suki had already plugged in the vaporizer and now promised to show our new friend her collection of Japanese Pillow-books while I called a nearby restaurant to order Tai take-out.
But the real reason I didn’t get any writing done that day was because of what I discovered when I returned with the food….
As much of a confirmed pervert and connoisseur of (nearly) all things carnal as I am, there is a strong streak of Southern Gentleman that runs deeply through my character that prevents me from going into the details of what ensued that afternoon, that evening and for most of Saturday morning…
Nah! I’m just bullshitting you…They just made me promise to let them tell you about it in their own blogs in the next few days, and I am, if nothing else, a man of my word….
…And that, dear friends is the reason I did not have my homework ready for Monday morning…no, the dog did not eat it…no schedule conflicts with graduation ceremonies or final exams. No car trouble. No issues with the Police. I did not have technical problems with my computer, nor did I suffer from some mysterious malady.
And if anyone else has any excuses for why they have not been writing, I hope your reasons were at least as good…and if you have, please honey! I want to hear all the details.
PS: Look for the rest of the story to appear soon in two blogs I hope you have the good fortune to read in the near future.

Blogger’s Tour

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Acknowledgement, Appreciation, Bardot Thordol, Blogging, Confessions of a Mad Philosopher, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Just For Fun, Liason Between Parties, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Metaphysical Action/Adventure, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Share The Love, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 17, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

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

And then I Saw Myself

Posted in Bardo Thordol, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Sentience, The Home For Wayward Souls, The Liberation Through Hearing, Zen with tags , , , , , on April 6, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

One morning

traveling along the road to work

I saw a man

pushing two shopping carts

connected along the top

by two

2X4’s

held together

with bungee cords.

It was quite an ingenious affair

with about three feet

separating the two carts

allowing him to hang

clothes and other items

that were covered with garbage bags

from the boards

in the space

between

the carts.

***

Judging from his tan

and the way he was dressed

I suspected

that even if he had a

specific destination

it was not a permanent one.

I thought

how peculiar

to still try to hold onto

so much

with no place to keep it all.

Both the carts were

filled with bags

full of items

protected from the rain

and the elements.

I suspected

it must have been difficult

to choose

between

what to keep

and take with him

and what to leave

as he set out

on this journey

to nowhere

in particular.

***

We were traveling so fast

the first time I saw him

that I only had time to notice him

before he was far behind us.

Several days later,

I passed him again.

This time I slowed down

so as to allow me

an opportunity

to take his picture

with his bizarre

caravan.

As I did, he turned to face me.

…and then I saw myself….

For Occasional Use Only as Directed…

Posted in A Dirty Mind is A Terrible Thing To Waste, Appreciation, Celebration, Collaboration, Conjured Up Next, Cumming Back, Dangerous and Unsavory ideas that are possibly harmful to the weak-mided and overly simplistic and religious, Dirty, Enhanced and Fortified non-fiction, Erotic Poetry, Explicit Sexual Language, Fornicating, Fun, Goddess, His Penis Her Vagina, Imp Of The Perverse, Jantor To The Temple Of The Holy of Holies, Liason, Love, Mature Theme, Memoires of a Post-Neo Dharma Bum, Metaphysical Action/Adventure, Much To Good For Children, Much Too Good For Children, NSFW, Poetry, Polyamory, Possibly Dangerous to Everyone, Primate Romance/Adventure, Sex, Sexual Action/Adventure, Sorcery, Spring, The Id, The Wisdom, Theater of the Mind, Tsukimono-suji, Uroboros, Vagina, What You Have Conjured Up, Zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 5, 2014 by dreamlanddancing

An angel crash-landed

at Villa Dreamland’s

temporary encampment,

The Home for Wayward Souls.

Loosely clad in

terry shorts

and a satin

team jacket

with only a few of the bottom buttons

fastened,

allowing

the free-range puppies

to

wrestle and cavort

beneath its logo.

***

As I wrestled with the gatekeeper

to my realm of Velocity and Power,

she appeared

out of nowhere.

She noted we shared the same brand

and marks;

the co-conspiring

symbols

of

Speed and Mystery.

I was surprised

when I realized

it wasn’t a Raiders jacket

after all;

(as it turned out

she was a stretcher-bunny

long ago and had developed a taste

for icons and talismans that

captured my attentions….)

“What a coincidence…”

I foolishly assumed.

Part naughty tomboy,

part wood-nymph,

her long chestnut hair

was everywhere,

like a lions mane.

Her feline eyes

sparkled slightly with mischief

while she made suggestions

as to how to regain control

of my access

to time and space.

We conferred

on a few points,

concurred,

and then she

set upon the project

as if it was her own

(with my blessing

and assistance).

Clad only in a bathrobe,

my attempts to access

points below the dashboard

did not go unnoticed,

as she smiled slightly, then

sighed approvingly.

Ignition and liftoff

confirmed our success

as she began to close the case,

and I felt myself falling

yet again,

with no sign of impact

anytime soon.

***

This trailer park angel

is a newfound

neighbor,

but she quickly advised

she could not be taken for granted

and had a life of her own,

her precautionary statements

contrasting her jovial demeanor

She warned

“Take only as directed.”

“Use with caution.”

“For Occasional Use Only.”

“May be habit-forming.”

“May lead to respiratory arrest.”

(She already took my breath away once…)

***

“See ya in the post office, kiddo…”

she whispered in my ear.

(What?) I wondered?

“…the rogue’s gallery…

on the wall,

with the other gangsters….”

She winked playfully

and then I knew….

“You owe me one…”

she said.

“If you got the time later,

maybe you can

help me with a tune-up

I’d like to get done

before my kid gets home from school.”

“…Maybe tonight

you can even

introduce me to your wife…

tell her my name is Mata Hari

and we’ll call her Tokyo Rose…”

***

This woman of mystery,

this trailer-park tomboy angel

with slightly singed wings,

a lover of pearl necklaces,

with a need for speed

reminds me…

“In the Springtime

the rains come

and the grass

grows all by itself…”

Life returns.

Baraka Bashad.

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