[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Wednesday, October 25th, 2017|
Still not dead. Hibernating.
|Friday, April 22nd, 2011|
|Still not dead
Still busy. Transcriber is toying with someone else at the moment. She'll get back to fucking around with my life later.
|Monday, January 3rd, 2011|
Still not dead. Still busy.
|Wednesday, November 25th, 2009|
|Saturday, September 6th, 2008|
There ought to be a law that sets aside a few days, scattered throughout the year, when all politicians have to shut the fuck up for the entire day. And no media coverage of them shutting the fuck up either; just political silence for a day.
Because the rest of us have shit to do.
|Tuesday, January 9th, 2007|
In the constant debate of where humans fit in amongst other animals, I prefer to think of people as animals who strive to be something more rather than to consider them as superior beings prone to savage behaviour.
Because if we acknowledge that we are indeed animals, we can indulge in our true and honest natures when it is desirable or necessary, such as having boisterous sex or allowing ourselves the urge to be overprotective of our mate and children.
If, however, we are superior beings, such acts are defined as shameful and beneath dignity. This is what leads to societies that try to curb natural behaviour. Not that that ever works for long.
No, it seems to me that we are best defined as animals with some proclivity towards civilization. That allows us the most freedom and gives us the opportunity to do better rather than be scolded for being ourselves.
|Tuesday, August 1st, 2006|
| sometime in mid-CY 387
Vika, Ash, and Hannah are all positive people. They believe that humans are inherently good but, through unpleasant upbringing or other external sources, are sometimes drawn to do bad things. They believe in the ability to rehabilitate most criminals. They are quick to trust, make friends easily, and are happy to have friendly conversations with strangers. They also believe that they can convince people to do good by living as positive examples themselves.
Mark is more neutral. I'm not sure if he thinks that people are neither bad nor good, or if they're both at the same time, but he's definitely more cautious in his approach. I'm not sure that he fully trusts anyone, but neither does he specifically distrust anyone either. He seems to take everything on a case-by-case basis.
Sanura, Bert, and I are disinclined to trust anyone at first glance. We're more jaded and cynical. It's not that we think people are inherently bad, but we tend to think anyone can go bad at any time for really stupid and minor reasons. We don't accept excuses for wrongdoing and don't have much pity for criminals, regardless of their upbringing. Rehabilitation is a nice idea to us, but we don't believe that it works very often. We don't believe in capital punishment or mistreatment of prisoners, but neither do we believe that criminals should be coddled with rehab programs unless they're serious about turning their lives around and going straight. Not many of them are, in my experience.
We don't trust easily because we've been burned and we've seen our friends get burned as well, especially those positive-types. We make friends slowly and carefully. We're not inclined to converse with strangers without a reason, and we don't particularly like strangers trying to start conversations with us. We're private people.
As for living well as a good example to others, I don't know about Sanura and Bert, but that seems like a fairy tale to me. If Vika, Ash, and Hannah want to do that, fine, that's up to them. But I don't see it working. Here I am, living my life as a pretty decent guy who doesn't break any laws at all, and yet criminals still flourish. I don't expect to set an example for society at large; as long as my kids learn to live well from watching me, I've done my part.
Besides, being positive seems like it takes far too much energy without much good coming out of it. I have things to do. I don't have time to fix the world by smiling at it. It's far too broken for that.
|Friday, July 28th, 2006|
The problem with politicians, as well as most of the high-level administrators and directors here at the Colonial Law Enforcement Bureau, is that they all want the power they have and more if they can get it.
However, the only good leaders are the reluctant ones. Leaders should be appointed by those they serve, as opposed to getting there by their own planning, conniving, or scheming.
A leader should have enough doubt about their abilities to force them to do a proper job and enough humility to always wonder if they really ought to be in the position at all, but not so much of either as to be ineffective.
|Thursday, March 30th, 2006|
|Sunday, March 5th, 2006|
| CY 392
I generally don't like poetry or bother to read it. I don't have time for wishy-washy nonsense purporting to delve deeper into life written by people who've never really lived outside of the seclusion of their own neuroses. I'm sure there is literary value to some of the classic epic poems, but I'm not particularly interested in any of those either. Bert's made me read the occasional piece that he likes and I indulge him, but I don't get the same thrill that he does.
Today, however, I saw a poem painted on the side of a building downtown. I don't know if it was quoted from some great source or if it's original to the painter. I don't know if it's vandalism or art. Whatever it was, it struck me and I can still remember every word:
When she opens her eyes
I am lost in them
When she opens herself
I am lost in her
But she is with me
Thus am I found
I can't stop thinking about it. It's perfect. No crap, no nonsense, just what it feels like to be in love. It's how I feel.
However, as much as I appreciate its perfection, it's really pissing me off. One, it drives me crazy that someone else can better express how I feel than I can myself. I'm terrible at romantic words, even if she thinks otherwise because she's deluded by love. Whenever I make up poems for her they're deliberately silly because I know if I ever tried to compose one for real, it'd suck. She'd love it, but it'd suck.
But someone else can scrawl perfection on a wall downtown. That's very irritating. I suppose that makes me petty.
Two, part of me doesn't want anyone else to ever have exactly what I have with her, because then what we have isn't as special and unique as we like to pretend it is. I know that's completely stupid. Obviously I want my children to find love as wonderful as this. I want it for my friends too.
I don't know, there's this gut instinct that says if someone can plaster it on a wall, it's not as great as I think it is, and that's bugging me.
And yet, it's an absolutely perfect poem. I couldn't dream it better.
|Wednesday, November 9th, 2005|
| middle of CY 387
With her, making love is so much more than sex.
When she is happy and her desire is strong, she clings to me right from the start. She'll put her hands on my cheeks as we kiss, holding my mouth to hers as if the connection is sustaining her life. Sometimes only one hand will be on my cheek while her other arm is around my back to hold herself against me, occasionally even lifting herself up off of the bed. She frequently wraps her legs around my hips and cross her ankles, locking us together.
She seems so hungry for it all that I am compelled to pour everything that I am into the lovemaking, giving and giving and giving until I feel drained almost beyond the edge of life.
When it feels like I have nothing left to give, she takes all that I've given and does something magical, transforming it and exploding outward with it, giving everything back to me in a sudden rush of indescribable beauty, joy, and pleasure. I get lost in the burst, and it's the most amazing feeling I've ever known.
I've had sex. This isn't just sex; it's love. I understand the phrase "making love" now, because that's what this is.
How did I live without her?
|Monday, September 5th, 2005|
| Tuesday, April 6, CY 388
I am not a violent man. Angry, grumpy, yes - but not violent. I don't like violence. I recognize that it is needed at times, but I prefer to let others engage in it and reserve myself for more productive methods such as discussion and intellectual investigation. People who try to provoke me into violence usually end up dissatisfied and, if I have my way, in restraints on the way to a cell.
So why does the new guy on our team seem to be able to get under my skin like this? Why is it that I feel like if he pushes just a little bit harder or finds something just a little bit closer to the mark in his jibes, I'm going to hit him?
I'm the supervisor. I approved him to join us. If he's not fitting in, it is to some extent my fault. I should be a better leader about this, and I think I was at first, but with what he said today, I feel close to doing something quite unprofessional.
This can't go on. I'll have to think about what to do before somebody does something they'll regret.
|Tuesday, August 23rd, 2005|
| early CY 387
I made her come today with just my hand. Okay, I was also kissing her neck, but afterwards she said she barely noticed that.
I have never felt like this before. There's pride, obviously, but it's so much deeper than that. It's kind of like feeling powerful, only power suggests dominance and it wasn't like that at all. In a way, it makes me feel more manly, but not in a fucked-up, look-at-how-tough-I-am way. I feel more human, somehow. More natural, more bonded in love to her, more of everything that's right and proper about being alive.
It is gratifying to know that paying attention all of this time has taught me how to read her cues, how to touch her properly, how to do things that make her make those sweet little noises between panted breaths...
Why didn't anyone ever tell me making love could be like this? I'm forty years old. You'd think in all that time I would have found something close to this before, but I didn't. It's not that I haven't enjoyed sex in the past; sex with her has always been wonderful, but now I feel like I've hit a new level of desire and sensuality that I didn't even know existed.
I tried to explain this to her afterwards, but she just smiled a lot and said I was sweet. I can't put these thoughts into coherent, real speech. I can't make her understand how moved I am. It's all too new, too exciting, too amazing.
I have absolutely no clue how I'm going to be able to pay attention to work tomorrow morning.
|Friday, August 12th, 2005|
| sometime during CY 387
It has occurred to me that falling in love is a lot like breathing; you can force yourself to do it, even affect the nature of how it happens if you concentrate, but in the end as soon as you relax it's going to happen its own way naturally whether or not that's convenient to you at the time.
And if you decide you don't like it, pretty much the only way to stop it is to die.
But if you can manage to let go and just let it happen, life gets much nicer overall.
|Tuesday, June 21st, 2005|
| sometime during CY 388
Could someone please explain to me why the women in my life think so many of the things I say are "sweet" or "romantic" when all I'm doing is telling the truth?
Shit, it's gotten so a man can't express genuine affection anymore without being labelled with some squishy adjective or other. Fine, Minda has an excuse because she's a young teen, but what's with the rest of them? It's not "romantic" to tell my wife how much I love her; it's honesty! It's not even like I'm good at it. I stumble around like a moron through the wrong words, but sometimes I just have to say something, awkward or not.
All of this begs the question: if what I'm saying is so special, what the fuck is wrong with other men? Why wouldn't you make an attempt to explain what's in your heart? Trust me, I've learned that not communicating leads you down a shitty, lonely road.
People are very strange.
|Saturday, February 19th, 2005|
| Thursday, January 30, CY 387
There's an unfamiliar scent in the office today. Not sure what it is. It's not unpleasant, but different. Somewhere between floral and sweet, but it's faint and I only manage to catch the hint of it before it's gone again. It's soft, almost delicate. I can't trace it.
I wonder if Sanura is trying out some kind of new perfume or something? No, wait; she hates that shit and only wears it if she's deliberately trying to distract someone. She wouldn't pull that on anyone in our group.
What is it?
It's driving me crazy. I have better things to do than worry about this. I want whatever it is to go away.
|Saturday, February 12th, 2005|
|Thursday, February 10th, 2005|
| exact date unknown, post CY 387
I'm not a religious man.
I do not believe in any god or higher power. I do not believe in reincarnation. I do not believe in souls or ghosts; there are enough real things in the world to haunt us without making up new ones. It seems to me that everything that can be called religious is just something someone made up to make themselves feel better about their inevitable mortality, or the mortality of those around them. Perhaps some had deeper intentions; to seek meaning out of existence or a wholeness of being within nature. It's still all a load of shit.
But lately I have come to realize that when I am making love with her, aware of her every movement and breath, languishing in the scent of her hair, hearing her soft little moans, that I am, in a sense, worshipping her in an almost religious way.
I'm not really sure, having never had a religious experience to compare to.
She becomes like an other-worldly being to me, seeming at once out of reach and yet there, pressed against me, moving with me. Then, when I look into her big, beautiful eyes, it occurs to me that if anyone had a soul it would be her, and it's a perfect and beautiful thing.
She is the most perfect and beautiful thing.
|Wednesday, February 9th, 2005|
|Friday, February 4th, 2005|
| January 16, Colonial Year 380, 9:30 pm
Gwen is excited at the idea of trying to conceive another baby. I want to be excited with her, but it's difficult. I'm not sure that'll fix anything. Gwen says it's not a fix, it's a new start, but we still have a history that won't evaporate. Even if it could, would I want it to? Are things really as wrong as they feel sometimes, or is it just me? Is it just work? Do I bring home too much of it?
Sometimes it feels like I'm not sure where to find joy and excitement anymore. Then I look at Minda, and I know where it is.
I asked Minda today what she thought of the idea of having a new brother or sister. I almost reconsidered, knowing Gwen would be pissed off, but I think this is what responsible parents do, isn't it? Shouldn't Minda have a voice in this? It's her family too.
Turns out Minda knew that we were considering having another baby. She eavesdrops far too often. I have to think about what to do about that.
Anyway, she knows. I asked her what she thought about it. She said she didn't know, that she couldn't say until she met the "new kid". She told me it was silly to think of what things would be like until they were here.
Why does she have to be so wise so young? She's only five, for MacDonaugh's sake. Is this normal? And why does it sometimes feel like she understands the world better than I do? I'd take her with me everywhere as my confidant and advisor, all day long, to work and through everything, if I could be certain that she'd be safe and not be exposed to anything horrible. I dare not tell her that, because she's already telling Gwen and I that she wants to be an agent when she grows up. And of course, she wouldn't be safe at work. Far from it.
I can only hope that she has no idea what her daddy sees every day. Not yet. Not for a long time, please.