From 0e3a4859d4ad42ebd0ba6aef663bd643c6e1a461 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: DTB Date: Fri, 9 Aug 2024 05:33:36 -0600 Subject: [PATCH] 2024-08-09 --- homepage.content | 165 +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 1 file changed, 165 insertions(+) diff --git a/homepage.content b/homepage.content index 5805379..1b2c0c2 100755 --- a/homepage.content +++ b/homepage.content @@ -1050,6 +1050,98 @@ pre { /* DRY who? */ } +/blah/2024-08-09.html + +Last night I got pretty drunk and then smoked a joint and got very high, +bringing me to the otherworldly state of crossfadia. Let me describe the scene. + +[...] pours a double shot of tequila and some margarita mix into a salt rimmed +coffee mug. Why a coffee mug? There were only four cocktail glasses. Why +cocktail glasses? There were no margherita - wait, how do you spell that? +Fuckin hell I'm looking it up. Mike Alpha Romeo Golf Alpha Romeo India Tango +Alpha. M A R G A R I T A. Got it. There were no margarita glasses. The cocktail +glasses were pretty easy to rim with salt - salt, a little water, a pyrex +because the plates are in the dishwasher, then roll inwards. The coffee mug - +my coffee mug, by the way, the black one that has a weird handle - did not +behave so well. Eventually there was enough salt on it to haunt a sailor and so +a double shot of tequila and some margarita mix went in. Are you sure you don't +want to add a little more tequila? + +[...]: I already pour heavy-handidly, Trin. + +That's true. I tried the margarita and I thought it was pretty good, I liked +how the salt complemented the bitterness of the alcohol. Everybody else slowly +tried theirs and remarked upon how awful their drinks were. But they can't +handle their alcohol anyway. + +[...]: Hey, do you wanna try tequila shots? + +For lack of limes: I balled my left fist and, with the ring of my index finger +and thumb parallel to the floor, [...] put about three or four drops of lime +juice (from a bottle) on the flat part of my fist at that angle, told me to rub +it on the skin, not to rub it /in/ or anything but just to spread it around to +give it more surface area. Alright. It added salt. [...] poured heavy-handidly +again; a single for my friend, a double for me. Alright. We - what order was it +in again? - I think we licked the lime-and-salt, then took the shots. + +[...]: You took that shot like a champ. Unfazed. + +It's easy to seem good at drinking when you had so much bitter coffee as a kid +- real battery acid sort of coffee. "Good" at drinking, says the almost- +alcoholic. Not really. I've never found it difficult to function for my desire +for Russian Fire-Water (in this case, though, I believe it was Spanish) but I +sure act like an alcoholic according to some of my friends. Perhaps I'm just +silly. + +No, no, I'm not even drunk yet - and I wasn't. But I would be. The shots hadn't +hit quite yet. Still, I had two more. Then all six hit me like a Japanese train +hits yet another suicidal pedestrian. Honk honk! + +I fell to the ground. Under my control, of course. I simply wanted to feel the +gravity. It felt great. + +[...]: You're drunk. + +No, I said, getting to my feet and perching a magnificent flamingo pose, I am +quite agile, like a shit software development cycle. I'm zen. + +[...]: Uh huh. + +Then we went out and [...] and I smoked two joints, one each, and during that I +realized I became crossfaded and got really horny and started hitting on faer +and fae put a cigarette out on me which we both knew I would really like, and +now the burn is a cute blister on my arm. + +Then we went in and I don't quite remember the rest except that I probably +didn't have sex (speaking for myself; it would have been fine if I did, but I'm +glad I didn't because it would have probably not been that great) because I +woke up in the living room on the futon at about god-knows-when in the morning +with a trickle of dawn light eeking through the blinds and Pop Tart wrappers on +the living room table - two of them. No, three. Plus an empty bottle of Moxie +for which [...] was gonna suck me off. + +A fox was drinking out of the tap, so I let it, and it left and I filled my +coffee mug with water and drank it and it tasted like the margarita mix still. + +: the last burger work poetry for now + +you could say I'm from somewhere or so +halfway between anywhere and none at all +blissfully ignorant of mortal concerns +head made of metal with nothing left to learn + +2024-08-06 + +it's been some time since I've loved +been such a long time with no one +waiting a long time in this brush +I'm surviving on an island +lovin' ain't findin' me +hopin' ain't findin' me +searchin' ain't gettin' me +out of my misery + + /blah/2024-08-08.html It's the wee hour of the morning, nearly 0333 in my time zone. I'm hunched over @@ -1384,6 +1476,79 @@ my blah posts of the last ten months. It's 0600 now. +And now 2100, a sleep, a day, and two four six shots since. I'm adding a note +here: One Step Beyond, by Madness, rocks. + +I am considerably drunk so now is a good time to write. About what, though, I +don't know. I just hit my Escape key probably fifty times trying to Escape from +INSERT mode only to realize I was in NORMAL mode after the first hit. God, I +love vi(1). + +[...]: you should write about Moxie. You should write about drinking Moxie + after an amazing run of drunk sex. Have you ever had drunk sex? + +I've not quite had drunk sex, except one time after playing strip poker, though +we were both somewhat sober by the end of it. + +[...]: You and [...]? + +Yeah. + +[...]: You should write about on-line friends. The experience of having on-line + friends. + +Alright, I'll write about on-line friends. What is there to write about? I'm +living with most of them. On-line friends... now off-line friends. Meatspace. +Of all my on-line friends I've fucked a couple, some way or another. I feel +like Bukowski. I love sex, though. It's fun. It's a connection. Maybe I should +write about sex. + +So how do I feel about sex? I've had sex a lot more times than I've cum during +sex. Sex hurts in a good way, the biting. Sex is a jumbled frenzy, a soft free- +for-all, a terrible blue whale in the ocean to admire from afar and hunt +forever. Sex is a smooth churning waterfall, a soft boiled egg. Sex is a +poached egg. It feels so good, so so good, amazing, fatty and protein and sweet +and amazing and then it ends and it was just an egg. How the hell did an egg +feel so good? Because it was sex, dumbass. + +[...]: xenofem.me users cannot convince anyone that they've actually had sex. + +That's true. + +I stare at everyone's asses. My enemies, my friends, my lovers, my +acquaintances. Just looking! I like looking at asses. I've never had +penetrative sex, no matter me or someone else doing the penetrating. Surely +someone is pentrating somewhere. What am I talking about? I am drunk. + +flags decorate the walls +some of which i am +some of which i am not +the calendar decorates the wall +i'm on it +my work is on it +i'm married to my work +my bitch wife +i beat her +i come into her, +i treat her like shit, +i smoke, i drink, +i fuck her, +i eat too much ice cream +i fucking hated my job +i left her +she's gone +i think about her +how my fingers worked +slowly dissecting her +my work carving into her, +chopping her up +i get paid +prostitution +what does it matter +we all have to eat + +[...]: Holy bingle. + /blah/2024-07-31.html