Thursday, March 30, 2006

I think she needs a blog... don't you?

She said, "would you post this on your blog"?
For posterity? Sure!
My dear readers will get to know her... and I will know her a little bit more.

love shouldn't be a weapon or a device or a weight.
it's beauty is that it be a gift, with no strings attached to it.
for she doesn't love you
because she attaches a weight and expects things in return.
you do not love her ~ for if you did ~ you would not be calling me and dreaming of me at night alone in your bed.
how could you belong to someone else when i haven't had a chance?
i have lost you forever.

Name dropper...

Peter Cottontail, The Easter Bunny, "Oschter Haws",
Ole E. B. to his pals
That's right! He's a Personal Friend of mine!

"Here comes Peter Cottontail
hoppin' down the bunny trail
Hippity hoppity
Easters on its way!"

If you're in the area, go see E. B. at Virginia Center Commons Mall in Glen Allen, Virginia.
gotcha Tj..... wwwaaaahahahahahahahahahahaha

Monday, March 27, 2006

in good faith...

Do you know how many songs are called "Honesty"?
Or have the word in their titles??

Well, me neither... but it sure seems like there are an awful lot of them.

Billy Joel's "Honesty"... Rodney Atkins, Alex Parks, Sevendust, Wakefield, Rosie Gaines, Youth of Today, Britney.
Elton John's "Sweet Honesty", Urge Overkill's "Honesty Flies", Thin Lizzy "Honesty Is No Excuse", Madonna's "Your Honesty", Unni Wilhelmsen's "Everyone's Honesty", LeAnn Rimes - "Sweet Honesty", Bananarama: Love Truth And Honesty, Billy Talent: Try Honesty... just to name a few.
THEN there is the word HONEST:
Honest by Kendall Payne, Verve Pipe, Bob Dylan's Honest With Me,
Daniel Bedingfield's Honest Questions, K-CI & JOJO: Honest Lover, The Rolling Stones: Honest I Do, Almost Honest by Josh Kelley, Bic Runga: Honest Goodbyes, Hard Times For An Honest Man by John Mellencamp.

Obviously, I'm not the only person wishing for a little honesty!

what reason to lie?
can hurting me be your fear?
honesty's the thing

Friday, March 24, 2006

Happy bloggin' anniversary to me!

I just realized today (3 weeks late) that I began blogging a year ago! Woohoo!
5669 hits later... here I am. That's not a record, I know... but I'm happy with it.

And I've met lots of cool friends... like Lady Calliah who has taught me about Dommes, Tara who has inspired me to write more, Gabby who has taught me about Subs, Lorena who has inspired me to take more photos, Zubegirl who cracks me up!

And of course, Toby... the one who started me down the blogging road!

... and my skinny jeans.

She said, "I think that I am sad, down, happy, depressed, confident all rolled into one. How can I be all of those things?"
She said, "I miss warm weather, the way things use to be and my skinny jeans."
She said, "I'm scared of being alone, living in poverty, what people say about me as a person, and that he will hate me."
She said, "I look forward to the day I can sleep in, a night where I can sleep peacefully and all
night without the assistance of drugs, I look forward to a vacation.
She said, "I need help"

I said, "We ALL feel those things. I feel those things... and at the same time too."
I said, "I despise the cold, it's depressing."
I said, "I miss MY bed. And I miss my skinny jeans too! Winter sucks!"
I said, "While I'm not afraid of being alone... I AM afraid of other things... Poverty? yeah, a little... What people say? NO WAY... I know what you think about me. I know what my true friends think about me... no one else matters."
I said, "You know, I don't think 'he' is capable of hating you or anyone else. Hatred requires passion."

I said, "Just maybe, when we get our acts together... maybe we will breathe the air of peace.
If anyone doesn't like the way we live, they can just stay the hell away."
I said, "You will never be alone. I promise you that. All you gotta do is grab hold

We WILL survive!

I love you.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Joy Machine... Yes, YES..... THAT'S IT!!!

Why We Ride....
A motorcycle is not just a two-wheeled car; the difference between driving a car and climbing onto a motorcycle is the difference between watching TV and actually living your life. We spend all our time sealed in boxes and cars are just the rolling boxes that shuffle us from home-box to work-box to store-box and back, the whole time, entombed in stale air, temperature regulated, sound insulated, and smelling of carpets.

On a motorcycle I know I'm alive. When I ride, even the familiar seems strange and glorious. The air has weight and substance as I push through it and its touch is as intimate as water to a swimmer. I feel the cool wells of air that pool under trees and the warm spokes of that fall through them. I can see everything in a sweeping 360 degrees, up, down and around, wider than Pana-Vision and than IMAX and unrestricted by ceiling or dashboard. Sometimes I even hear music. It's like hearing phantom telephones in the shower or false doorbells when vacuuming; the pattern-loving brain, seeking signals in the noise, raises acoustic ghosts out of the wind's roar.
But on a motorcycle I hear whole songs: rock 'n roll, dark orchestras, women's voices, all hidden in the air and released by speed.
At 30 miles per hour and up, smells become uncannily vivid. All the individual tree- smells and flower- smells and grass-smells flit by like chemical notes in a great plant symphony.
Sometimes the smells evoke memories so strongly that it's as though the past hangs invisible in the air around me, wanting only the most casual of rumbling time machines to unlock it. A ride on a summer afternoon can border on the rapturous. The sheer volume and variety of stimuli is like a bath for my nervous system, an electrical massage for my brain, a systems check for my soul. It tears smiles out of me: a minute ago I was dour, depressed, apathetic, numb, but now, on two wheels, big, ragged, windy smiles flap against the side of my face, billowing out of me like air from a decompressing plane.

Transportation is only a secondary function. A motorcycle is a joy machine. It's a machine of wonders, a metal bird, a motorized prosthetic. It's light and dark and shiny and dirty and warm and cold lapping over each other; it's a conduit of grace, it's a catalyst for bonding the gritty and the holy.

Cars lie to us and tell us we're safe, powerful, and in control. The air-conditioning fans murmur empty assurances and whisper, "Sleep, sleep." Motorcycles tell us a more useful truth: we are small and exposed, and probably moving too fast for our own good, but that's no reason not to enjoy every minute of the ride.

-Author Unknown

Thanks to "Mr. Gadget", who found this on


still thinking of it
can't help but be excited
rev up that motor!

Friday, March 17, 2006

Koontz again...

Currently, I'm reading:

Yes, once again, I'm on an "author spree". Reading everything I can by Dean Koontz.

By the Light of the Moon

"Dylan O'Conner is a gifted young artist just trying to do the right thing in life. He's on his way to an arts festival in Santa Fe when he stops to get a room for himself and his twenty-year-old autistic brother, Shep. But in a nightmarish instant, Dylan is attacked by a mysterious "doctor," injected with a strange substance, and told that he is now a carrier of something that will either kill him...or transform his life in the most remarkable way. Then he is told that he must flee - before the doctor's enemies hunt him down for the secret circulating through his body. No one can help him, the doctor says, not even the police." "Stunned, disbelieving, Dylan is turned loose to run for his life...and straight into an adventure that will turn the next twenty-four hours into an odyssey of terror, mystery - and wondrous discovery." "It is a journey that begins when Dylan and Shep's path intersects with that of Jillian Jackson. Before that evening Jilly was a beautiful comedian whose biggest worry was whether she would ever find a decent man. Now she too is a carrier. And even as Dylan tries to convince her that they'll be safer sticking together, cold-eyed men in a threatening pack of black Suburbans approach, only seconds before Jilly's classic Coupe DeVille explodes into thin air." Now the three are on the run together, but with no idea whom they're running from - or why. Meanwhile Shep has begun exhibiting increasingly disturbing behavior. And whatever it is that's coursing through their bodies seems to have plunged them into one waking nightmare after another. Seized by sinister premonitions, they find themselves inexplicably drawn to crime scenes - just minutes before the crimes take place.