Reborn a woman.

And strangely, I still had a penis.

Do you ever forget the password to your own Blog?

Not writing enough, you are.

Here's what's on my mind: Growing up with many many many many many many other people. See, though I live in Los Angeles, I grew up in the country with isolationist-esque style neo-hippies. Mom and Dad are good-hearted people who enjoy the peace and challenge of nature above the cacophony and reliability of people. But I hadn't even heard of the Beatles.

Mom had one parenting theory I remember well: Childhood is a once-in-a-lifetime period of great potential for dreaming and naivete. In fact, one can roam quite freely away into fantasy. If it were not for a continual drone of wake-up calls, I'm quite sure I remember how the dream goes and could re-enact it, with the right people and tools of course.

Quite sadly, it has dawned on me with the same persistence of the morning that the human body begins to lose its sensitivity if not properly cared for. But to my great amazement, in timely fashion my greatest savior made even sickness a great gift from which I awakened to the potential of a healthy body.

Why then do I have a irresolute urge to say [motherfucker] ?

Well, that gets me back to this notion of MANY MANY other people. Outside now of my fantasy, it seems to me quite definite that there are others like me. Somehow I see examples: catch snipets in public, and see in relative tribes a pattern of development. QUITE DEFINITELY SIMILAR, if not identical.

It seems to me the depth of personality is practically limitless...otherwise for sure someone would have formulated a means to harness it -- OH WAIT; you might say, "They haaaaaaave..." and you would be half right. The spiral coil indeed follows a pattern, but it is SO IMPORTANT to remember, the pattern is one of no pattern. It is a pattern drawn by chaos. To identify precisely the pattern would CHANGE the pattern, or at least introduce into consideration IT_WHOM_IDENTIFIES. Said simply, observation is an arrow pointing right back at you. Or whomever is observing.

Again, though everything I have said follows a line-of-thought, other people render it quite meaningless.

Suddenly in now a void where any thing wrought of myself is meaningless, an internet blooms.

IS

THAT

NOT

WEIRD?

I think it's totally weird, and yet, it follows synonomously other idioms of structure and format: A community website is constructed by the same men that build houses, that build ships, airplanes, automobiles. As a citizen of the Present Day And Age, I ask you if you even know the fundamentals of its manufacture, surely you must because you are quite likely married or sleeping with somebody who does it for a living.

Again, other people. This time a grounding effect, a pull into reassuring solidarity. And so the question of people becomes not one of marginal animosity, but rather one that swells with curiousity.

We irresistibly are getting to know other people.

Of course, therein lies a dense magnent of material. For people like me, to even enter into that throbbing complex of emotion and passion is almost unthinkable. I toy with the idea of letting go like a pervert or an addict following his taste and retreating aways.

Instead I miss my lady. I hope she has somehow discovered or produced some emotion to lift me up. And that makes her so distraught over me. I sit and I think. I wonder what is happening.