B1ue

Oh, so you like this weather? I'll not complain then.

Ditto to Viv's statement. Plus, I'll decant ready-made cookies from Vons.

I'm with James on this. I usually find myself skipping the sex scenes, particularly on stories that I'm reading for the plot. THis is partially due to the fact that I often skip long descriptions on any story, and hunt down the dialog. Sex scenes fall through the cracks there. The stories that are unabashed porn are a whole 'nother kettle of fish. If they are particularly well written, I'll come back later and reread the same scene again. --Gabe

This is what happens when I don't get enough sleep. Totally not edited, btw. Tell me a story, Khay. I don't want to. Aw, come on. Please? I said I don't want to. If you want a story so bad, why don't you tell one? You owe me one. How come I always owe you a story? Something must be wrong with your record keeping. Nah. Seems to come out right every time to me. I saw your grade in Algebra. That's not reassuring. Come on. You know you're going to. Might as well give in now before I take your pants and make you. Alright! Fine. A short one. Sounds good. No promises on the pants though. I wouldn't have believed one if you made it, little brother. The monkey king had a secret. While that's not really that strange among kings, since he was a monkey king, there wasn't much normal about it. He didn't have a secret past. He didn't have a secret weakness. He didn't have a secret mistress, power, sword, or lingeage that could be traced to the gods sitting in judgment over the jungle's rain or mountain's clouds. He didn't even have a secret fondness for unusal flavors of ice cream. In fact, being a monkey, he didn't have much fondness for ice cream at all, having not encountered it. What he did have was a secret dream. Locked away in the darkest, deepest part of his heart, the monkey king longed to be not a monkey or king but an ordinary, human boy. The monkey king never told anyone his dream. Not his parents, or brother, or the dozens of friends that traveled with him through the jungles that was his kingdom. That wasn't as easy as it sounds, because monkeys, being monkeys, love to talk. About everything. Anything that pops into their mind is spoken out loud for all to share and laugh about. That was what being a monkey was about, particularly for these monkeys. Secrets were unknown among the monkeys in his kingdom. No, it wasn't easy for the monkey king to have a secret. But he wasn't king of the monkeys for nothing. What was his name? Who? The monkey king. He has to have a name, doesn

I thought he meant he wasn't just after sex, implying sex or any of the interesting alternatives might happen, but they aren't the point.

Don't be silly. I'm far too tall.

Fine, but this time Steve sings "Chatahootchee." I'll take Miranda Lambert and Carrie Underwood, because women swear bloody revenge are some of the more interesting women to meet, in my opinion.

I've been lame and not updating this thing, I know. I have been writing a little, but its mostly military science fiction (also what I've been reading), so I can't see that going over too well over here. The characters aren't Gay, in any case. Actually, last week I wrote a story for the sole and express purpose of using the phrase, "Tracking just nailed the ID. Coming up...ah, crap! It's the Shittin' Kitten." Last Tuesday more or less blew. I'd still rather Ms. Clinton had been the one to be elected, and it was tough the first couple days to not gun it when a black man or woman crossed in front of my car, due to the way they voted over Prop 8. Also, I had to reassure a few family members that I was not, in fact, arrested Friday night. I did watch it all go down, since one of the rallies passed underneath my window. In other news, do not expect me to surface for some time. Wrath of the Lich King comes out Thursday, and in an extreme onset of dorkiness I will not be leaving my apartment except to buy food and go to work until at least Thanksgiving, when work will begin to dominate my schedule. I work in the freight business, and everyone in that business will be owned wholly by either Fedex, USPS or UPS from Black Friday until Christmas. Just remember, if that package from Amazon got to your second cousin Eunice's by the big day, it was because someone like me work extra hours to make it happen. More likely, several someones. I'm looking forward to after that, when I will make a fool out of myself in front of witnesses, because by then I will not care. Until next year, Gabe

My reaction to Prop 8's passing is...well, firey. Those that genuinely oppose the idea of gay marriage, I can respect that opinion. I don't have to understand it, but I can respect it. To those that voted for prop 8 to avoid having gay marriage taught in schools I want to scream, "How dare you be that stupid! Did you even read the fricking document?" On the plus side, the lying bastards that pulled that little slight of hand off have to face at least the next two years with the most liberal leaning government since Carter. Before, I was a bit lukewarm towards Obama. No I'm more along the lines of "In your face!"

RE class on Halloween: It could be worse. My professors had an irritating habit of scheduling either midterms or papers due that week. Which is annoying in and of itself, particularly when several do it, but I went to UCSB, home to the straight version of Carnival. That sucks about your keyboard too. Best of luck that it all goes smoothly and as quickly as possible.

I just saw an advertisement for "Captain Dan and his Scurvy Crew," who provide the world with "Authentic Pirate Hip-Hop." I'm still trying to assimilate that one. I'm making an effort to be rational, and not to view it as a sign of a coming apocalypse, but I think it won't hurt to hit a confessional over the next couple days and take communion this weekend.

Fantastic. Now I'm somewhat depressed. This is not a feeling I normally associate with beginning my 84 hours of freedom. I'm simply going to have to get drunk on cheap wine and scream scatological deprecations at the tourists I come across. I think I have enough to cover bail (Long Beach takes its image as a haven for the upwardly mobile very seriously), but if I don't, and wind up missing a day or two of the job I hate, it will be all your fault.

It was all the English classes I took in college. I can now literally and provably construct a story outline in my sleep.

"On the heels" I say when the last entry was almost a month ago. What I mean by that is this entry will be a related successor to the last, so go read it and come back. First off, I now have to wonder what is rougher on me, a really bad nightmare or a really good dream. The nightmares I can wake up from. The good dreams I wake up into a world that isn't the dream. That happened right after I posted the last entry, and it bummed me out for a couple days. But anyways, my back brain has once again delivered the goods, coming up with a creature called "Kylonions," named after the first such on to exist. They are humans gifted with the ability to reshape reality with their thoughts. By wishing it into effect, point of fact. They seem to have the same restrictions on their wishes as Genie from "Aladin," but otherwise they can go nuts. The first, Kyle, did exactly that. A gay kid from a small conservative town, when such an abundance of power fell into his lap (the power hits you at some point between puberty and your last major growth spurt), he became an oversexed dictator of that same town. He had been unable to distinguish between those who disliked him because he was different and those who disliked him because he was an asshat from the word "go," and so when he could do anything he wanted, he turned the tables on ALL of them. He forced church leaders, teachers, and even his parents to submit to his whim, and any particularly good looking boy to submit to his lust. Some he used up completely, killing them, but that didn't even slow him down. In my dream, he went from a 15 year old kid to what looked like a 40 year old, and I think that was an affect of being so abusive with his power, not a literal passage of time (since no one else aged). It of course didn't take long before no one would have defended him if they could. Which turned out to be important, since there came calling a skull-faced person with the exact same powers as Kyle, who meant to kill him. Succeeded too, since Kyle didn't have a prayer of beating him on his own. Perhaps if he'd been in his younger body, or had ever bothered to learn the true limits of his powers, or most importantly, had heeded the warnings of his most frequent lover, who could read tarot cards and foretell a little bit. None of these things happened. The prescient lover was able to make sure everyone had evacuated before the throw down, but even he was grimly determined that Kyle be killed. So he was. Before Kyle's doom met up with him, my dream cut to another sequence. Seriously, it was like one of those anthology movies like "the Outer Limits." I can half see a title screen splash above the two character's heads. They were the spiritual, if not literal, descendants of Kyle, a pair of sisters. The younger sister had just come into her power, and was being instructed in its use by the older. Several generations of Kylonians had risen and fallen, so the power and its cost were a bit better understood. No one had quite figured out how the power passed on, but it did more frequently happen in pairs or groups within families, and by the time of the sisters there were about a dozen going at once. As I said, some time in their teenage years their power would activate, and before long the "Shadow" would find them to take them out. Some had by this time theorized that they received the power specifically to fight the Shadow, while others believed as Kyle did in his last moments, that the use of their power called out to the Shadow wherever it came from. The older sister subscribed to the former school, while the younger felt more comfortable with the latter. They did know that it was possible to defeat the Shadow, and that once you did you were never targeted by it again. You could still be killed by it, as the only way to defeat the Shadow was in groups. Typically, these were groups of Kylonians, but the earlier few who did not follow in Kyle's footsteps were forced to ask help from their human friends and lovers, with a predictably higher casualty rate. As far as I know, the older sister (f it. Marie) had already faced her ordeal, and meant to help Wendy through hers. So they began traveling, Marie running Wendy through an ever difficult series of test, meant to improve her combat prowess and make the use of her power something that took no more than a thought or intent. This would not be totally effective against the Shadow, since multiple competing demands upon reality sort of canceled each other out, and it came down to will vs will as much as anything, but it would help. They also met a couple other Kylonions, who also put Wendy through her paces. During the trip though, Wendy began to notice a certain arrogance in Marie's manner, towards her of course, but even more towards normal humans. All Kylonions knew the story of Kyle, and of the few who lived up to his ideals, and so took to heart the warnings about setting themselves up above the set of creation. Despite that, Wendy couldn't help but notice that Marie and every other Kylonion who'd faced their trial clearly saw themselves as joint masters of creation. After all, only the threat of other Kylonions provided a limit on what they could do, and even that was a fear-spawned habit from their days when they could not afford to piss off any potential ally. Except humans, of course. Them they could piss off at will. Marie sometimes called them "Shadow-fodder. As can be supposed, the Shadow attacked in the middle of trip. Point of fact, they were in "Kyle's Fortress," as the rebuilt building that had once been a high school and the spot where Kyle's had met his end had become known. Few people, and no other Kylonions lived in the town anymore, which made the sisters about as exposed as they could be. After all that build up, I feel like a heel to sum up the battle as "they won," but yeah, that's about it. Wendy threw a flash of brilliant energy straight into the Shadow's face, burning it to a crisp. Marie had to be taken to a hospital, but they were otherwise fine. Physically. Wendy though, was more than a bit bothered by something. She'd seen something in those last moments with the Shadow, something she couldn't quite reconcile. Her own face where the skull should have been. Anyways, that was last night. I wanted to get it down before the details got fuzzy, and this thing was elected.

'Sup. Freebirds, if its like the one I knew in college, is awesome. Nothing like closing down the bar (on someone else's dime) and heading over for a couple tacos with enough beef to do a an Atkin's freak proud. Speaking of crash diets, fifteen pounds? You weigh less than I do now, you realize this? Sure, I have about three inches of height on you, so you might not get as many concerned people asking you if you have an eating disorder, but that's still on the thin side. Especially so fast. I echo Trebs; see a doctor. As far as accomplishing more when you have less time, I've noticed the phenomena myself. A former teacher of mine summed it up by saying, "If you want something done, give it to a busy person." Everyone has their own balance, but its actually a good thing to be run ragged. I find it so at least. Good luck and happy thoughts on, like, everything. Yeah that's right. Happy thoughts. But only because there's a possibility of an evening of drunken gambling at an Indian casino this weekend., so nothing is getting me down at the moment. Later, Gabe

I object to the second item, as my hometown is not close to most of those items. Actually, I guess I could Surf, Dirt bike, snowboard, and skate all in the same day around there. Its the OC, LA, Mexico part that my family is too distant from to enjoy. BUt for the most part, yeah. A bit dated as you pointed out, but for the msot part true.

My back brain has decided that I've not been watching enough monster movies, and has seen fit to provide them for me. Nearly every day for the last week has come with a monster or horror driven nightmare. Today, I was a dimension-skipper, trying with my cousin and some guy we picked up along the way to stay ahead of an alien race that seeks to devour the human race. Apparently, we really do taste good with ketchup. The dream even saw to providing standard movie tropes, such as the burgeoning love triangle between myself, my (female) cousin, and our guest. There was also the hint, right before I woke up and so could provide the most plot twists, that our friend was exactly on the up and up. I have no idea what to make of this. Still, its better than yesterday, when during a running fight with a black magician I was cursed to barf flies. Live ones. That got in my mouth. This woke me up of course, and only barely did I not wake up screaming. I decided that if such a thing happened to me, where I was reduced to trying to claw out fly bits and still wriggling flies from the recesses of my mouth, I would go crazy and not come back. They shot me in the dream, to stop the screams, which was the correct response I think. Other highlights have included demons, werewolves, a dragon, giant bugs, and I think dinosaurs. Its been an interesting couple of days. I wonder if mass murderer is on the billing?

How very strange. You're younger than I am, and I don't feel remotely old. I'm not the same person I was at 17, but that doesn't make me even middle aged yet. That's not to say your fears are trivial or baseless; I'm just saying I don't share them yet. Granted, the people in my work group, who for better or worse are the people I spend more time with than anyone (dammit), are all at least a decade older than me. That probably keeps my relative mental age artificially low. Best wishes anyways, in getting through the actual day. --Gabe

Wow. All I have to offer is a .

Wanted to get this down before I went to bed for the morning. A few weeks ago, a friend asked me how I could tell I was in love. Or, rather, how he could tell he was in love, but whatever. I demurred; said I'd only been in love the once for real, and it was quite one-sided, so my experiences can't exactly be considered definitive, but he pressed. So the best I came up with was "when he was cut, I bled." Since then, I've been trying to find a better way to sum up my thoughts on love, the full range of expression that I think of as love. Love is making coffee when it isn't your turn to get up early. Love is so good you forget your own name. Love is a cheap, ordinary gift that brings joy. Love is a tune you keep whistling all day. Love is listening to the rain on the roof on a summer's night. Love is making fun of your sister because she didn't call Mom on mother's day until almost noon. Love is dancing like everyone is watching. Love is putting words in rhythm. Love is finding your smile on a child's face. I have, at long last, found a phrasing about love that I like. The author might say destiny, but she means love. Family maybe, but love too. "Destiny! What do you know about destiny?" He rose and began to pace, zigzagging around bed and table. "I'm a frigging expert on destiny. Your lady is a false destiny, and do you know how I know? She takes everything, but she doesn't give anything back. "Real destiny takes everything

Hilary Clinton, a radical? Really? Alrighty. Also, I don't believe Michael Weiner (no wonder he uses a pseudonym) has an M.D. A PhD, yes, but just because one can be introduced as "Dr." does not make one a medical doctor. I don't think he has a degree in any discipline of psychology, either. My freshman roommate listened to Mike Savage, so I had the opportunity to overhear several of his broadcasts. I have to say I agree with your point that the man is a few bricks short of a fireplace. I'd like him off the air, not just because he offends me, but because as long as he is on air, that lends his beliefs a certain legitimacy.

I'm throwing around a couple of different story ideas for this anthology. A couple are more cerebreal interpretations of the word ghost, but the one that has the most traction in my mind features an actual ghost, so I may do that instead. There's just one little stumbling block...which I think just came together in my mind. Well then. Ghost story it is. To err is human, to forgive divine, but not a particularly interesting story. So Khayyam Barat tells us one about bloody satisfaction instead. I came across this book while waiting for my oil change yesterday. Now, as a rule, I don't buy hardback books. They're too hard to tote from place to place. I damn near broke that rule when a flipped through this book though, to get a sense of it. I have few wounds that I can't adequately face, and this book found one. "We'd all been friends for years, but did any of us ever even like each other?" That pretty much sums up the last head-scratching neurosis I have remaining form my teenage years in the boonies. Namely, that as a group, my high school friends had almost nothing in common besides our high school. I stood out more than most, but I was far from the only square peg in a round hole. People give the advice to be memorable, to stand out. Teenagers proudly state "I am an individual!" And I wonder, is that something to be proud of? Being gay had nothing to do with it really, though that didn't help. Black rabbit summer is, at its heart, a story about people trapped in a small town. It also features gay sex, and an implied homoerotic infatuation between the (straight) main character and his best friend. The author is also apparently crazy, or at least his characters are, so I may approach this tome with caution when it finally goes to paperback. Other books about crazy gay teenagers: *Clay's Way *Mysterious Skin (now a movie!) *Dance, Recover, Repeat

I'm afraid of heights. And losing all control. <--

Overshare!

You've never read teenage poetry then? I've seen much more heroic examples, though thankfully avoided writing them myself. Mixed metaphors, yes, but not compound ones.