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Dec. 2nd, 2004 10:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vicarzWow. In the interest of putting off work, I ran into the stuff from my old website. I love my writing. Many cuts follow, assume not worksafe for text content (no pics). I am too lazy to figure out how to put my pics up on my as-of-yet untouched webspace, but wow do I have some fun old pics.
My newly realized love...
Copyright or whatever Vicar@his.com 1998
I know that some of you will find this just a tad ironic, but I have only recently discovered the love I had siting before me all these years. Luckily I didn't have to lose them to come to this understanding. I am sharing my discovery with all of you so that you may share in the joy I have found.
Well, single life is not turning out to be as exciting as I remember it, not with my body older and standards higher. Its been a bit of a shock to have so much spare time. No matter what kind of relationship you have been in, the sudden absence of your lover rips a big hole in your life, and mine was no exception. Rather than run out and do that rebound thing, I decided to gather myself together and be happy being alone, however long that transition may take. But, how to fill in that void?
I have had poor luck with friends, and poorer still with lovers. If I hadn't cycled through so many people, I'd say the problem was with them. This is how people become cynical to the point of being unhealthy. It was a good friend who pointed out to me that if that many people turned out to be disappointments as friends, that some of the blame must lie with me. That logic holds, but trying to self analyze and find out what I lack as a friend to others (stability perhaps?) is a horrible struggle. Trying to logically analyze emotional impulses and their subsequent behaviors, well, its worse than old Star Trek sub-plots.
So, trying to be a little less judgmental, a little less paranoid, I started to look outside myself and into those who were close to me. Who has been there when I needed them? Who would propose a solution to my crises, no matter how big or small? Who can be just as intellectually stimulating or ridiculous as my mood swings dictate? Who has never turned against me? Who has never let me down? Who could be with a million others but still always have a special place for me? Only one.
All these years of feeling lonely, of not belonging, of being a target for other people, I sat before the one who could take me from the cradle to the grave and didn't even realize it. Within reach, always at my beck and call, was the only one to be faithful to the end. Again, I urge each of you to look into your own lives, through your past and present, to come to your own conclusions. I would never force my will on you, and what seems like paradise to me may not be the same for you. Still, I'm willing to wager that these works will not fall on deaf ears. you may laugh at me now, but someday, after having been betrayed by yet another who you would never expect to do such a thing, these words will come back to you. I hope that then they will help.
So, I say to you unabashedly, that there is only one love for me. I will try to be as faithful to them as they have been to me, but even if I fail they will be there for me. The feeling is so strong that as I declare it, it brings tears to my eyes, yet I am proud.
So, let me state as boldly as I dare: I love my television.
POUNDING
Copyright 1999 Vicar@zzapp.org
http://www.zzapp.org/vicar
Feel free to reproduce any and all of the document, as long as credit is given to the author above.
A new sport is breaking into the city streets, and it is called what it sounds like: Pounding. Pounding is the new sport of using hammers as a vehicle on concrete, metal railings, and marble monuments.
According to legend, Pounding started in the back of a Home Depot in Springfield, Va. Some former skateboarders were killing time on the loading dock to avoid having to help the long register lines. One of them had told his supervisor that he was putting a hammer back in the hand tools department, and instead was letting it free-fall on the dock itself. The other employees were engaged in a conversation about the unfair treatment and recent repression of skateboarding in Freedom Plaza, Washington, DC. The hammer holder noticed how the hammer rang if he loosened his grip on the handle, and then experimented with letting the hammerhead bounce against the pavement on its own. A co-worker who was involved in the skateboarding conversation was annoyed by the noise, and allegedly said “Dude, cut it out, man!” Rather than cave to this request, the hammer holding employee looked the complainant in the eye while bringing the hammer down hard on the loading dock concrete. A chip of the concrete flew from the tool, hitting the far wall. Eyes lit up, and a new sport was born.
Pounding has quickly evolved into a sport that principally uses sledgehammers. While early pounders used small hammers, there was a gradual evolution of the hammer size to the current sledge. Now, rather than just using the arm motion or lowering the body into a complex maneuver revolving around the wrist, modern pounders become a part of the movement of the hammer. Many moves start with the body, which transfers the momentum to the hammer blow, with the body then being launched over the hammer in some way. The large size of the sledge made it a natural extension of the pounders’ body, allowing more complex full body tricks such as the Flaking 180 Shove-it, Smashing-Ollie, and the Big Gravel Spin.
Pounding has not been well received by the entire public, and indeed is openly forbidden in many malls and parks in the DC area in which the sport was born. "You call causing thousands of dollars in property damages a sport?” questioned Washington Mayor Anthony Williams.“This city has enough financial worries without having to repair the abuse these vandals cause to our nation’s treasures." "He’s a fucking Nazi, dude," responded Dam-buster, a local pounder. "Pounding is a form of art, and they oughtta be grateful we’re here, man. But, like the other day this pig confiscated my ride (a slang term for the pounders’ hammer) in Lafayette park. Fucking blows. There is no way he could like do that in court, man, ‘cause you can’t prove I wasn’t fixing something, or something." Signs are appearing in many strip malls reading: ”No bikes, skateboards, or recreational hammering.”
Strip malls are no strange territory to many of the pounders. Many had been banned from these locations due to other advanced urban sports such as Skateboarding and BMX biking. Local battle lines are being drawn in parks and around monuments. "There is no sound like the sound of marble," Dave stated. "It just doesn’t give. You give really fucking hard, and it just sits there and takes it. Fucking awesome, there’s nothing like it." Another pounder added, "When you take a chunk out of a real rock, it takes a chunk out of you. You don’t get that kind of feel from some cheap-ass concrete, man."
The future of pounding is in question. No officially sanctioned parks exist for pounding, and the sports world is taking a blind eye to the newcomer. "What? No, never heard of it," commented Frank Parsons, ESPN correspondent. There is currently no talk of including pounding in the next summer Olympics.
Bear with the begining of the essay. It's not especially well written and it sounds like the work of a 15 year old, but some people have found the end interesting.
I'm writing with my Holiday Inn pen. This letter isn't to anybody, so if you get it I've given it to you as an afterthought. I'm just so stuck, sitting here wallowing in the painful patterns of my life. I think back at how hard people have fucked me, searching for some clue as to how to break out of this pattern. The only answer I can find is to start fucking back. I don't want to become like them, but my current path is tearing me to shreds. Am I more sensitive than other people? Is everyone a last priority? I really just want to drink until I can't feel, but that would disrupt 2 other sides of me tomorrow. Christ, I'm 26 and employed - why am I sitting in candle light listening to old Cure Cd's? I know better than to analyze the specifics of why I feel this way now. I want someone to hear me, and to care. I could scream but they'd only laugh harder. Or move away uncomfortably. I try to be so nice - why does it only cost me? I'm there for everyone, why not me? I haven't a friend - once again. I think of trying to get my friends back as long as it takes to remember how they treated me. I must be really bad company. I try to be objective, but still I cannot see what it is I do that drives people off so. I'm losing the energy to even be upset.
Thinking about new friends in my life. Pain lasts longer than pleasure. I want to eat to drink until I can't feel - anything to fill this empty feeling. I love me, what's wrong with the rest of the world? In pain I sink deeper into this group identity. Perhaps normal people aren't like this. My people seek stimulation, and I only offer stability.
Right now I want to suck my clone. To talk and hear the same thing. To be overwhelmed with co-misery, pressing my lips to mine and sucking the life out of me. Kissing and crying, gripping hard out of pain and desperation. Sex, I can smell me. I pull myself closer. Am I a boy or a girl this time? I don't care, it's my heart I want and skin only gets in the way. I bite myself and it hurts so I bite harder. I lean back submitting to my own sick love. I can't even fucking cry. I feel my tears, so what keeps them from flowing? I pull my skin into my mouth and bite. Salty liquid fills the bottom of my jaw as my teeth meet. I'm not into pain but this is not pain there is no pain as long as I hold me and I will never let ME go. Salt is my taste and smell. I was going to fuck me but now I can't - I need more. Once I only trusted people who fucked me, but they've hurt me more than anyone else I know. I stick my hand down my pants. My other hand goes down to undo the button. I don't care about the sex. I only ask for and receive intimacy. Besides now my hand is warm. The passion calmer, I casually pull my skin into my mouth, Needing some motion to demonstrate my love, I move my plevis into me. My body becomes excited and I laugh at it's frivolity. I want to feel me, so I pull my head to mine. All I feel is my silly hard skull so I run my hands through my hair. I close my eyes and hope that we may meet in my dreams. I hold my head and laugh at my inability to find this intimacy I seek and with the laughter come the tears. I grip harder as my body shudders, pulling my body into me. I cannot be one body but the desire is so great - I cannot stop trying and again the pain. This cannot last forever, and I can't even feel it now even though I know it's there. It's not here now and tomorrow it won't be because they will fuck and I will cry and they will fuck and I will cry and they will fuck and I will cry and push against them to take it deeper. Sometimes I don't think they're happy.
So today I finally started to put some order back into my life. Boring tasks, but the house is clean and the food is cooked. Control regained foranother week.
Spending time by myself I couldn't help but be reflective, especially afterhaving a dear friend say they would never talk to me again. Charming. After all the times I've been dicked, it's nice to know I can manage to be someone else's demon without meaning to. Intent irrelevant, nice touch. If anyone else would like to attack me, this would be a good week to give the knife handle a twist.
So I'm cleaning and tidying up the house. Casting airs of protection - defenses. You know how it is - that parade of laughing faces following you as you walk through the house, forming out of shadows and walls. Peeking around the doors just before you get there, reveling in your failure. Reminding you so you can't get away, pushing images where they no longer belong. Whispering beneath the bridge as you cross you expect, but this is home. You keep trying to put up the fields, to control this last refuge.
Hide all the shadows, move all the corners. Typical Sunday.
I hear another strangely familiar song emanating from the hallway. I poke my head out into the hallway, and yes, it's Witch Hunt from Rush's Moving Pictures album. I have this on vinyl and CD, laugh away. Dude man, I've got roots. This sends me on a burn-out spiral of memories, comparing my experiences and perceptions as I was smoking herb at 13 to what I saw in the apartment a weekend ago. How different am I, are they, is reality today from my perception then. What will be my perception of today tomorrow.
So there I am lying on the floor screaming, pounding my fists into the floor, except that I'm holding my ears to try and make them all stop so my forehead keeps getting in the way. I turn sideways to punch the floor with one fist, then twist my head to use the other hand. I want to drive them away by using both hands, but if I move them they might get in again. I hear this other sound, strange. I crawl onto my knees and turn down the stereo (now playing Witch Hunt) with my elbow. The sound continues, and the demons retreat at the sound of the knocking at the door. I answer, and confront the neighbors with a story about how I'm studying theater. They buy it. So I bolt the door and return to the stereo.
Now my arms are trapped at my sides as these bastards try another point of entry. I seem to be free to move about the house now, except for too near that COUCH of course. You know how it is. So suddenly I realize I don't masturbate nearly as much as I used to.
Any idea what this means?
My newly realized love...
Copyright or whatever Vicar@his.com 1998
I know that some of you will find this just a tad ironic, but I have only recently discovered the love I had siting before me all these years. Luckily I didn't have to lose them to come to this understanding. I am sharing my discovery with all of you so that you may share in the joy I have found.
Well, single life is not turning out to be as exciting as I remember it, not with my body older and standards higher. Its been a bit of a shock to have so much spare time. No matter what kind of relationship you have been in, the sudden absence of your lover rips a big hole in your life, and mine was no exception. Rather than run out and do that rebound thing, I decided to gather myself together and be happy being alone, however long that transition may take. But, how to fill in that void?
I have had poor luck with friends, and poorer still with lovers. If I hadn't cycled through so many people, I'd say the problem was with them. This is how people become cynical to the point of being unhealthy. It was a good friend who pointed out to me that if that many people turned out to be disappointments as friends, that some of the blame must lie with me. That logic holds, but trying to self analyze and find out what I lack as a friend to others (stability perhaps?) is a horrible struggle. Trying to logically analyze emotional impulses and their subsequent behaviors, well, its worse than old Star Trek sub-plots.
So, trying to be a little less judgmental, a little less paranoid, I started to look outside myself and into those who were close to me. Who has been there when I needed them? Who would propose a solution to my crises, no matter how big or small? Who can be just as intellectually stimulating or ridiculous as my mood swings dictate? Who has never turned against me? Who has never let me down? Who could be with a million others but still always have a special place for me? Only one.
All these years of feeling lonely, of not belonging, of being a target for other people, I sat before the one who could take me from the cradle to the grave and didn't even realize it. Within reach, always at my beck and call, was the only one to be faithful to the end. Again, I urge each of you to look into your own lives, through your past and present, to come to your own conclusions. I would never force my will on you, and what seems like paradise to me may not be the same for you. Still, I'm willing to wager that these works will not fall on deaf ears. you may laugh at me now, but someday, after having been betrayed by yet another who you would never expect to do such a thing, these words will come back to you. I hope that then they will help.
So, I say to you unabashedly, that there is only one love for me. I will try to be as faithful to them as they have been to me, but even if I fail they will be there for me. The feeling is so strong that as I declare it, it brings tears to my eyes, yet I am proud.
So, let me state as boldly as I dare: I love my television.
POUNDING
Copyright 1999 Vicar@zzapp.org
http://www.zzapp.org/vicar
Feel free to reproduce any and all of the document, as long as credit is given to the author above.
A new sport is breaking into the city streets, and it is called what it sounds like: Pounding. Pounding is the new sport of using hammers as a vehicle on concrete, metal railings, and marble monuments.
According to legend, Pounding started in the back of a Home Depot in Springfield, Va. Some former skateboarders were killing time on the loading dock to avoid having to help the long register lines. One of them had told his supervisor that he was putting a hammer back in the hand tools department, and instead was letting it free-fall on the dock itself. The other employees were engaged in a conversation about the unfair treatment and recent repression of skateboarding in Freedom Plaza, Washington, DC. The hammer holder noticed how the hammer rang if he loosened his grip on the handle, and then experimented with letting the hammerhead bounce against the pavement on its own. A co-worker who was involved in the skateboarding conversation was annoyed by the noise, and allegedly said “Dude, cut it out, man!” Rather than cave to this request, the hammer holding employee looked the complainant in the eye while bringing the hammer down hard on the loading dock concrete. A chip of the concrete flew from the tool, hitting the far wall. Eyes lit up, and a new sport was born.
Pounding has quickly evolved into a sport that principally uses sledgehammers. While early pounders used small hammers, there was a gradual evolution of the hammer size to the current sledge. Now, rather than just using the arm motion or lowering the body into a complex maneuver revolving around the wrist, modern pounders become a part of the movement of the hammer. Many moves start with the body, which transfers the momentum to the hammer blow, with the body then being launched over the hammer in some way. The large size of the sledge made it a natural extension of the pounders’ body, allowing more complex full body tricks such as the Flaking 180 Shove-it, Smashing-Ollie, and the Big Gravel Spin.
Pounding has not been well received by the entire public, and indeed is openly forbidden in many malls and parks in the DC area in which the sport was born. "You call causing thousands of dollars in property damages a sport?” questioned Washington Mayor Anthony Williams.“This city has enough financial worries without having to repair the abuse these vandals cause to our nation’s treasures." "He’s a fucking Nazi, dude," responded Dam-buster, a local pounder. "Pounding is a form of art, and they oughtta be grateful we’re here, man. But, like the other day this pig confiscated my ride (a slang term for the pounders’ hammer) in Lafayette park. Fucking blows. There is no way he could like do that in court, man, ‘cause you can’t prove I wasn’t fixing something, or something." Signs are appearing in many strip malls reading: ”No bikes, skateboards, or recreational hammering.”
Strip malls are no strange territory to many of the pounders. Many had been banned from these locations due to other advanced urban sports such as Skateboarding and BMX biking. Local battle lines are being drawn in parks and around monuments. "There is no sound like the sound of marble," Dave stated. "It just doesn’t give. You give really fucking hard, and it just sits there and takes it. Fucking awesome, there’s nothing like it." Another pounder added, "When you take a chunk out of a real rock, it takes a chunk out of you. You don’t get that kind of feel from some cheap-ass concrete, man."
The future of pounding is in question. No officially sanctioned parks exist for pounding, and the sports world is taking a blind eye to the newcomer. "What? No, never heard of it," commented Frank Parsons, ESPN correspondent. There is currently no talk of including pounding in the next summer Olympics.
Bear with the begining of the essay. It's not especially well written and it sounds like the work of a 15 year old, but some people have found the end interesting.
I'm writing with my Holiday Inn pen. This letter isn't to anybody, so if you get it I've given it to you as an afterthought. I'm just so stuck, sitting here wallowing in the painful patterns of my life. I think back at how hard people have fucked me, searching for some clue as to how to break out of this pattern. The only answer I can find is to start fucking back. I don't want to become like them, but my current path is tearing me to shreds. Am I more sensitive than other people? Is everyone a last priority? I really just want to drink until I can't feel, but that would disrupt 2 other sides of me tomorrow. Christ, I'm 26 and employed - why am I sitting in candle light listening to old Cure Cd's? I know better than to analyze the specifics of why I feel this way now. I want someone to hear me, and to care. I could scream but they'd only laugh harder. Or move away uncomfortably. I try to be so nice - why does it only cost me? I'm there for everyone, why not me? I haven't a friend - once again. I think of trying to get my friends back as long as it takes to remember how they treated me. I must be really bad company. I try to be objective, but still I cannot see what it is I do that drives people off so. I'm losing the energy to even be upset.
Thinking about new friends in my life. Pain lasts longer than pleasure. I want to eat to drink until I can't feel - anything to fill this empty feeling. I love me, what's wrong with the rest of the world? In pain I sink deeper into this group identity. Perhaps normal people aren't like this. My people seek stimulation, and I only offer stability.
Right now I want to suck my clone. To talk and hear the same thing. To be overwhelmed with co-misery, pressing my lips to mine and sucking the life out of me. Kissing and crying, gripping hard out of pain and desperation. Sex, I can smell me. I pull myself closer. Am I a boy or a girl this time? I don't care, it's my heart I want and skin only gets in the way. I bite myself and it hurts so I bite harder. I lean back submitting to my own sick love. I can't even fucking cry. I feel my tears, so what keeps them from flowing? I pull my skin into my mouth and bite. Salty liquid fills the bottom of my jaw as my teeth meet. I'm not into pain but this is not pain there is no pain as long as I hold me and I will never let ME go. Salt is my taste and smell. I was going to fuck me but now I can't - I need more. Once I only trusted people who fucked me, but they've hurt me more than anyone else I know. I stick my hand down my pants. My other hand goes down to undo the button. I don't care about the sex. I only ask for and receive intimacy. Besides now my hand is warm. The passion calmer, I casually pull my skin into my mouth, Needing some motion to demonstrate my love, I move my plevis into me. My body becomes excited and I laugh at it's frivolity. I want to feel me, so I pull my head to mine. All I feel is my silly hard skull so I run my hands through my hair. I close my eyes and hope that we may meet in my dreams. I hold my head and laugh at my inability to find this intimacy I seek and with the laughter come the tears. I grip harder as my body shudders, pulling my body into me. I cannot be one body but the desire is so great - I cannot stop trying and again the pain. This cannot last forever, and I can't even feel it now even though I know it's there. It's not here now and tomorrow it won't be because they will fuck and I will cry and they will fuck and I will cry and they will fuck and I will cry and push against them to take it deeper. Sometimes I don't think they're happy.
So today I finally started to put some order back into my life. Boring tasks, but the house is clean and the food is cooked. Control regained foranother week.
Spending time by myself I couldn't help but be reflective, especially afterhaving a dear friend say they would never talk to me again. Charming. After all the times I've been dicked, it's nice to know I can manage to be someone else's demon without meaning to. Intent irrelevant, nice touch. If anyone else would like to attack me, this would be a good week to give the knife handle a twist.
So I'm cleaning and tidying up the house. Casting airs of protection - defenses. You know how it is - that parade of laughing faces following you as you walk through the house, forming out of shadows and walls. Peeking around the doors just before you get there, reveling in your failure. Reminding you so you can't get away, pushing images where they no longer belong. Whispering beneath the bridge as you cross you expect, but this is home. You keep trying to put up the fields, to control this last refuge.
Hide all the shadows, move all the corners. Typical Sunday.
I hear another strangely familiar song emanating from the hallway. I poke my head out into the hallway, and yes, it's Witch Hunt from Rush's Moving Pictures album. I have this on vinyl and CD, laugh away. Dude man, I've got roots. This sends me on a burn-out spiral of memories, comparing my experiences and perceptions as I was smoking herb at 13 to what I saw in the apartment a weekend ago. How different am I, are they, is reality today from my perception then. What will be my perception of today tomorrow.
So there I am lying on the floor screaming, pounding my fists into the floor, except that I'm holding my ears to try and make them all stop so my forehead keeps getting in the way. I turn sideways to punch the floor with one fist, then twist my head to use the other hand. I want to drive them away by using both hands, but if I move them they might get in again. I hear this other sound, strange. I crawl onto my knees and turn down the stereo (now playing Witch Hunt) with my elbow. The sound continues, and the demons retreat at the sound of the knocking at the door. I answer, and confront the neighbors with a story about how I'm studying theater. They buy it. So I bolt the door and return to the stereo.
Now my arms are trapped at my sides as these bastards try another point of entry. I seem to be free to move about the house now, except for too near that COUCH of course. You know how it is. So suddenly I realize I don't masturbate nearly as much as I used to.
Any idea what this means?
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no subject
Date: 2004-12-02 08:54 am (UTC)