It’s a sad, sad day that moves me to feel guilty about the experience of being here in the midst of a tale so trite. It’s a fact that the moment we get involved in the characters the world around us fades and the sense of well being comes forth. I love that sense of dread or fear, frustration or lust that occurs as the filmmakers push our buttons. I want to live in an engaging fantasy that makes me feel alive and motivated, compelled to act in a triumphant way.

I think about the great music scores and soundtracks. How could I add this to my every day life? What soundtrack will I add today? Perhaps I’ll go for something fun and goofy, and then I want to be backed by something that just moves me and builds within me an avalanche of bravado or a hurricane of triumph!

I used to feel guilty (so bad, so sad) about the general hours of television and movies that I have digested. (I’m lazy and disgusting–No! Don’t look at me!) I, then, think about the spirit of it. Can I bring the spirit of watching television to something that I might not just love to experience, but, afterward, I could say, “Hey! Look what I just did! Aren’t you proud of me!” I intend to, but I intend to appreciate technology and the joy of the storytellers from here on out; to live with a nod to them.

I feel the whole story in a phrase. I would love to write so much, express so much that I am able to create all the work that I have titles for. Stories are just everywhere. There’s a trillion lives to explore, an infinite number of characters to experience from the inside-out.

My current title favorites for books of my future are A Cultivation of Ecstasy, A Perfect Day, Naked in the Autumn, Hunt and Breed, and, my favorite, Venus Giggles. They’re all so personal. I’m not sure if other authors feel the same about their titles. Would just any title do, so long as it grabs the attention of the right audience?

Benji loved every minute of his bedtime routine. He slipped off his blue blazer, the one with the family crest and his monogram stitched in gold, and then let his trousers dribble down his legs to his ankles and there he stood before the floor-length mirror an image that carried a kind of sophistication, but, below the waist, pure silliness. He smiled wide, a big English grin, and unbuttoned his shirt with glee. Slipping the tie off, he flung it off into the corner where it got caught and dangled from the trumpet of a bronze angel antique.

When his wife, Lily, a fiery bird with red hair and just 47 years young, finally came in and saw her 52 year-old darling hopping about, humming, “God Save the Queen,” she did what she always did. She laughed and began to strip herself. In no time at all she was prancing around the bedroom naked and he was pulling the cork out of an eighty year-old bottle of brandy, their Bose stereo blasting hit songs of the 80′s.

“Mmmmmmm…” She moaned, “I just adore you, Benji.” She was sitting on the floor, with her legs tucked under her, a fair skinned woman; a brilliant, vibrant complexion. Her breasts were round and supple, her nipples hard. She was trim, save for a belly roll or two that popped up from leaning over the glass of black raspberry tinged whiskey that she was smelling.

Benji kissed her and he glided his finger over the bumps of pearl necklace that she was wearing, that he had given her for their tenth wedding anniversary. “You’re perfect, like the day I met you,” he said, looking into her eyes as if their depth was filled with intrigue, endless palaces of treasure to explore.

The seeds of expression grow in the ground where I am. When I sit in silence, the words that flow feel immaculate. They’re gentle. They’re tender and I experience love. The freedom that I have to be more general or more specific gives me such great pleasure. Who needs their own blog? Who needs to simply allow the flow? I get to look up and see that there are symbols. (These are called words.) Can I let go of words? Could I look up and see words and know nothing about them? I was just feeling joyful and in my stillness my hands, my fingers move and there are a flow of symbols. (You know… words.) That is what I will do and it’s bliss. Love within my form makes words.

Sweep the unpleasant experiences with the person that you love the most under the carpet. Researchers have found that being head-over-heals with rose-colored glasses makes for spectacular marriages. Worship your partner and everything will work out? You may not be able control all of your circumstances (We’ll say that you, at least have some influence.), but you can start to change the way you feel about your circumstances no matter what they are.

I sometimes like to think of my significant other in bright colorful surroundings, like they do with Lipton ice tea at the pool or Corona Extra on the beach. (I might even fantasize about shooting a lime wedge in her direction.) I can’t help this feeling I get when I think about paradise. It just so happens that she’s in it.

You might spend some time listing what’s so great about your significant other. I’m sure there are plenty of reasons; some small and some great. All the little ones are sometimes the best. I can’t help it now. While I look over S’s face, over her body, I’m bursting and there’s nothing I can do it about it anymore. My love for her has gotten momentum.

There are days that I wonder about how lucky I am. I love that it has nothing to do with luck at all, and that nothing great ever does.

What is great about prison is that it deters you from committing wicked crimes. I know you often think about raping and murdering, but the thought of a long imprisonment terrifies you so much that you are overcome by a sensation of restraint. You become sedate and go about your day like normal. And for those of you who are not psychopaths…

My dear sheeple, you are so proud to make laws and enforce them. Set aside that over 50% of inmates released from prison return within two years. You already know that prison will not be a deterrent for those that find it cozy, nor will it deter those that benefit from the badge of honor they receive from it. There is something romantic about the convict most of you can testify to.

So, what is justice? Was it the Christians who took revenge, delegated it to a government, and called it, “justice?” No. Whenever a populace had to balance their pride with their thirst for revenge, there was justice. Pride and revenge gave birth to justice. All of our world religions now sanction justice to hide our basic, wicked natures.

For those of you that are amoral, it is fine to be laughing now.

Babies. They might be great because of some of their smells and their smiles, but I know the main reason babies are great. It’s because they let you look at them. They don’t growl at you with a flare of self-consciousness. More often than not, they stare back and become as curious and fascinated.

This is the source of your world of portraits, where Playboy Playmates and celebrities appear for you on glossy paper, just looking back. You want to look and study and stare. There’s a whole world there to explore and you need the adventure. Real, live people are even better. Your lover lets you stare. Does your father, your sister, or your nearest friend? Go out in public and watch some people. (Strangers mind less than loved ones.) The measure of your wealth is how many people you can call on to stare at, without reproach.

It’s okay to be Christian or Buddhist or, even, Muslim! But, I don’t want you to lose your faith, so don’t let any person, no atheist with a bag of reason, come along and take away what’s yours. I’ll let you in on a little secret that will save you from losing your faith… Faith doesn’t exist. That’s right! If you study the classics and St. Thomas says it’s reasonable; that’s reason. If you pray for Skittles and it rains Skittles; that’s evidence.

So next time some atheist or bible burner comes along and says, “Hey! You’re nuts. There’s no evidence for what you believe and your logic is faulty.” You tell that atheist, “St. Thomas told me to pray for Skittles. I did and it rained Skittles!” Smile huge. Show your pearly whites. You just might convert a few. Atheists love Skittles.

Disgraceful. A blog is filth. It’s self-indulgent. Every blogger–every talker is presumptuous about his or her ability to have something worthwhile to say. I guess this is self-esteem in the making: “I’m worthy! Listen to me! I know something!” The transparency of what I say, the pure and the uninhibited blathering; it’s like fucking–it’s like giving a really good fucking. Mmmmmm… My ego feels massaged already. I’m read, and that’s so special. Thank you for reading.