Stupid Coffee Tricks : Tales of a Wawa employee

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#41
All the little pieces...

I was making my way to the grocery store the other day, it's an uphill walk into the west, and on the way I saw one of the most gorgeous sunsets I've ever seen in my entire life.
The western sky was blanketed by cottonball clouds that hung low. As the sun set it was like golden liquid fire tracing across the heavens. A stream that slowly bled into a rippling pink and lavender sea slowly turned darker, towards a dripping blood red, and finally the sun fell under the land entirely and the colors were gone, as though they'd never been there to begin with. Honestly, words can't do it justice. I sat down in the McDonalds then, next to the supermarket, eating my quarter pounder with cheese ('cause you should never go food shopping when you're hungry); staring out the windows at the now darkening western sky. And I tried to burn the image of that sunset into my mind for as long as it would stay, because I know I'll probably not see its equal anytime soon. I tried like the dikens to hold onto that beauty, because it's a unique beauty. It isn't like so many things that mankind makes. It isn't like a canvas filled with paint, or a building, or whathaveyou. Nature's beauty is everchanging, moment to the next. The waves of the ocean, bird calls, sunsets, flowers, hell even people; they're all beautiful. And within those groups each one is similar to the other. Every ocean wave, every pidgeon, every sunset, every rose, every person, is basically alike; and yet, they're all unique to themselves. Each one has it's own beauty; and each one is changing with time. Every moment becomes precious and beautiful, because there will never be another one quite exactly like it. Nature's canvas is like a constantly shaking etch-a-sketch.

No, this wasn't some kind of revelation. It wasn't some sort of moment where I had a crystal clarity of vision and decided that life is worth living for the moment, and everything is beautiful and good despite all the ugliness of the world. No, nothing like that. But admittedly, it was an extremely unusual bit of thinking for me to be doing lately.

So I was thinking all that frilly stuff in the first paragraph, and I felt a tug somewhere deep in my chest; it was a yearning, an old desire that refused to die. I wanted someone to share the sunsets with; to share the thoughts and the fleeting beauty. I was looking for THAT connection with someone again.

That's when the moment of clarity hit.

In that moment, I realized that by the nature of who I am, what I have become, I will never be able to make that connection. While that special someone might in fact exist, I will be incapable of forging a bond now. Even though I still desire it, I'll never have it. When that hit me, I felt something go cold and still, something died inside; and I'm pretty sure whatever it was is not ever going to be ressurrected.

Another little piece of my soul was erased.

The Evil Fairy once told me about a theory she had on why people died. She said, that as time went on, this terribly cold world of ours kept taking away little bits of our soul. A friend here, a pet there, an important spiritual cause somewhere else; and eventually it all added up and too its toll. Eventually, you just didn't have enough soul left to sustain life, and you curled up and passed on.

If that's true, she took a mighty nice trophy right out of the center of mine.

Either way though, another little piece of me went dark in that moment. Another little piece was lost. I've stopped counting them because the number is getting to be frightening. Sooner or later, they'll add up.

Madness takes its toll. Please have exact change.

Black James Kidd
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#42
Worst. Christmas. EVER...

... No really... it sucked that bad.
Now, I know there are plenty of less fortunate people out there who had a worse time of it than me. I know there are people who can't piss without help. That doesn't mean this sucked any less for me.

So what sucked about it so much?
A hand-me-down digital camera - a gift that I never even hinted at desiring, nor even have a use for
Plain white cotton t-shirts - I haven't worn one of these in over 15 years
Underwear - I'm 25. I think I can handle the underwear situation, really
A pair of boots - the one and only thing I asked for (not for christmas mind you) months ago

Now, each taken on their own doesn't seem so bad. Put 'em all together though and it becomes an exhibit for a total lack of thought or care. Add to this that I have specifically stated on more than one occasion that I don't care to recieve gifts anyway; and yeah, I'm more than a little grumpy. Shit, why not just send a card that says "You suck kid, here's a quarter. Don't spend it all in one place now."? It would have had the same effect.
So ya know what?
Fuck you Mom
Fuck you Dad
The highlight of my Christmas Day? Chicken flavored ramen noodle soup. MmmmmMmmm... yummy.
And oh yes, I'm reminded that January rent is due soon, and me without money. Hurrah.
I'm sending everything but the boots back to NC with my brother. I can actually use the boots now.

My best friend's girlfriend (henceforth to be known as BFGF cause I'm sick of typing it all out) who's my friend too, got fired from her job _over_the_phone_ for a BULLSHIT reason.

My apartment doesn't get warm unless I turn the heat up to 80 for a full day.

And the tourists... God I wanna kill all the fucking tourists. Every last one of the fuckers. I wanna crush their throats and watch them thrash and fight for air. I wanna sink my arm elbow deep in their guts and pull out their still beating hearts and show it to their sniveling little children. I wanna lock 'em in their fucking beemers and drop 'em into a car crusher. I want to walk down the street with the kukri, lopping off heads as I go, watching blood spray 6 feet into the air. I want them all fucking dead, and I want to swim in a river of their blood.

:::sigh:::

"Your soul is in tatters. Like a flag in a warzone that's seen too much shrapnel and wind."
"I know."
"Do you know that what's left still flies with the breeze, still shines with it's own light, still stands for something it used to?"
"Yes, and it's killing me."
"Why?"
"Because like that war beaten flag it still calls people to it. It reaches out in a way I don't understand and calls them from far away, and they look to it as some sort of symbol. They don't realize that the next good gust is going to tear it away. It means something to them, and they'll experience loss when it's gone; even though it doesn't mean anything to me anymore."
"Couldn't it be taken down, stitched up, patched a bit, and cleaned?"
"Nobody has the thread and needles."
"You're frustrating the hell out of me."
"I know."
"So why are you doing it?"
"Because it's all I can do now."
"Goodbye."
"..."


there's a deafening sound out there
It's drowning out everything
oh yeah, it's the silence


Black James Kidd
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#43
Not the Declaration of Independence....

.... nope. This is the Declaration of Revolt.

I've finally had enough.
I'm no leader, so don't look to me to fill that role. But I am willing to shout out my discontent and try to get the ball rolling.
Send this on to all your friends, your relatives, to anyone who you think will listen.
We are Legion, and we will not be stopped.
The Revolution has begun. Here. Now.

-------------------------------------------

The Declaration of Revolution

When in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one People to Rise Up in Revolt against the political system which has bound them for centuries, in order to bring about swift and meaningful change to the face of a country seemingly ruled by apathy and greed, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the Revolution.

We hold these Truths to be self-evident : that not all People are created equal, that they are possessed only of those rights that they may secure for themselves, that among those rights which we all desire to secure are Life, Liberty, Freedom, and the Pursuit of Happiness and Pleasure. To secure these Rights, governments are instituted among People, deriving their just Powers from the Consent of the Governed, that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these Ends, it is the duty of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles, and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their pursuit of those Rights that they desire. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes. Accordingly all experience has shown, that humankind is more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right itself by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long Train of Abuses and Usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a Design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their Duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security. Such has been the patient sufferance of the People; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former systems of government. The history of the present regime is a history of repeated Injuries and Usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over the People. It is acknowledged that the People are to blame for their own predicament; that the price of Life, Liberty, Freedom, and the pursuit of Happiness and Pleasure is indeed Eternal Vigilance, and the People have not been Vigilant. But it is now that We the People turn to those in charge and say "NO MORE".
To prove this, let the most gross Facts be submitted to a candid World.
* The US Patriot Act : a body of law that gives sweeping and abusive power to those within the law enforcement community; the bulk of abusive power laying in the hands of government institutions.
* The Digital Millenium Copyright Act : a body of law, that among other things forbids the reverse engineering of copyright protection protocols and encryption codes. A stance that destroys the mechanism that drives the evolution of digital security and thus also opens up the concerns of National Security.
* The stance on foriegn policy : that this country is to be the one and only Policing power in the world. That WE are right, that somehow it is our way of life that is the proper mode of living for all people everywhere. That we are not accountable for our actions, and that as the sole superpower we are not answerable to anyone. It is this stance that has garnered us so many enemies among our brothers. We are all human. Prick us, do we not bleed?
* The support of amoral capitalism. The concept that it doesn't matter how you get the money and power, only that you have it. Stepping on the little guy all the way up the ladder? It's okay so long as you don't break the law. This is intolerable.
* Taxation based on income. You make more money, so we'll take a bigger chunk of it. You work hard, so we'll make you work harder. The only fair tax is a flat tax.
* Foriegn Aid. Our own house is in complete disarray, and yet we send our own precious resources to other countries in a thinly vieled effort to export our culture.
For these and many other reasons, We the People, therefore, solemnly publish and declare, that We are in a state of Revolt, that we are FREE AND INDEPENDENT, that We are absolved from all Allegiance to the Current Government, and that all political Connection between them and the People, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as FREE AND INDEPENDENT People, We shall pay no tax to a power we do not support. That come Election, ours will be the voice of silent dissent, and that with that defening silence we shall scream to Washington our discontent, that things MUST change, and we intend to change them for the better. We shall not stand another moment of incompetence. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm Reliance on the Protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

Written this day January 1st in the year of our lord 2003.

Spread the word.


Black James Kidd
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#44
All this time to think...

... and nothing good to come of it.

So, I come down with some Viral thing Friday morning 4 am. Fun stuff. Vomiting, voiding bowels, shakes, cold flashes, abdominal pain, pulled back muscles from vomiting, dizzy spells, numbness in limbs. By 10:30 I've called my buddy D. to take me to the medical center because it's so bad I can't even keep water down, and I can feel myself dehydrating. Now I KNOW what I feel like when I'm getting dehydrated. What's the doctor tell me? Not to worry about it, It'd take three days before it got really serious, and I'm not clinically dehydrated yet. Lemme tell ya what doc, you're a fucking moron. I told ya already I'm getting dehydrated, I've lost 5 pounds of pure water weight already and it's been 6 hours. What do I get? A shot in the ass that's supposed to calm my stomach so I can keep fluids down. Shots in the ass hurt by the way. Does said shot work? No. What do they tell me? You can go home, you'll be fine, and here's a prescription for a suppository that'll help. So I go home 'cause I figure "Fuckit, if I die the family can sue their asses off, besides I know what the emergency room costs and they don't take non-insured and I can't afford to be sick anyway." My buddy D. asks me if I want the prescrip filled. In my illness induced delerium I tell him only if it costs less than 20$. Not thinking that it's a suppository. Nothing is staying in my butt for more than a 10 minute stretch, thank you bowel voiding... Not until about 4 in the afternoon can I start to keep fluids down. Not until midnight can I take in semi-solid food again. Not until now have I stopped dropping stinky water out my ass. It has not been a fun time, and all the doctors of the world can suck me off.

So anyway, I've pretty much spent from Friday until now either in bed, on the couch, on the floor, or on the toilet. Plenty of time to think about completely random, meaningless drivel, and the odd profundity (I wonder if profundity is even a word).

------------------
Your eyes are glassed over my dear
looking like marbles in your head
you hair is a couple shades lighter
now a terminal flaming red

you're staring up at the stars my dear
what do you see from down there?
on the bottom of your pool
in the quiet dark

what's the last moment burned into your retina?
do those lifeless eyes still see?
I can still see them laughing just yesterday
but you're on the bottom of the pool now

staring up at the stars
-------------------

The problem is, I've got all these issues I have to face up to. I know what each and every one of them is. I don't want to go through the trouble of dealing with them though, because as far as my eyes can see, there's no good reason to bother. Life doesn't get any better. From the moment you're born it just goes downhill; and it's a tallass mountain. "It isn't the years, it's the mileage."

Anyone have a third option?

and I wish, I wish I could take away all their pain, and that they could all see through unclouded eyes, and that they could all know what I know : that we're all in the same boat, nobody's at the helm, and there's a storm brewin'.

Black James Kidd
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#45
Lightspeed

do you know what it's like to have so many thoughts running around in your head that you can't hold on to one long enough to really explain the whole thing, or write it down before the next one comes along and demands your brainpower?

That's what's happening to me right now.
Can't hold onto a single thought for very long because they all want attention and they're all screaming through my brain at lightspeed.

I read your journal, and it made me want to cry. I saw myself reflected back in that cracked mirror, and like the machine I've become, the subroutine kicked in and the tears were stifled before they could be born. I think maybe I need a good cry on shoulders in a safe place. But I don't have the shoulder or the place. I wish... I wish I could heal the pain, and I wish I had something to say to help you, but I don't. Obviously, he's some sort of complete bastard. We all wish we had the love of our parents. It's like it's written into our DNA or some shit like that. I know what we're all looking for from eachother. We all just want understanding and compassion. Yet it's so goddamn hard to find because we're all afraid of opening up and letting the world see what we percieve as ugliness inside; when in fact we're all carrying around the same shit. Add in a healthy dose of fear of being hurt by those who know how, and it just turns into this horribly cycle of hiding from eachother to try and save ourselves, when the only salvation we can find is in eachother.

And I am so tired of feeling this pain, this tired ache, every time I let down my guard. Why is it that all the good people I know have to struggle so very very hard to achieve so little? Why are their lives so difficult when they're the very people who do so much to make things better for so many others? Why is so damn hard to be good, so easy to be evil, and even tougher than all that to just give up?

So does anyone actually believe the war with Iraq is about disarming Saddam? No, really, do you believe it? Do you actually believe it isn't about oil and trying to extend our influence over the region through military might? Want to secure the country's energy futures? Turn to renewable resources you political bastards. I'd actually feel a little better about it if someone just came out and said "Hey, yeah, we're going to Iraq for oil and Saddam is just a nifty and somewhat good excuse." At least then the government of the US would be being honest with the world.

I don't know if I've gone off on this rant before, so I'll do it now. How many people realize that the "War on Terror" is unwinnable? Any of you? Because I'm telling you right now, it is. There was a nifty FBI paper published back in the day that illustrated how it is that crime and society are inextricably linked. Did a wonderful job of explaining how it's impossible to keep everyone happy, and that because of that you will always have a violent criminal element. Eliminating the crime entirely, especially on foriegn soil, is not something you can do. Because no matter what happens there will always be more malcontents where the last batch came from. They will have powerful convictions, and they will do whatever they feel thay have to, to change the world to fit their view. Go ahead boys, keep on crunching, we'll make more. The only way to "win" the "War on Terror" is to change how we treat the rest of the world, minimize the number of people we piss off with our selfabsorbed capatalism (hey, maybe we ought to change style, hm?), secure our borders, and (never thought I'd say this) establish an internal organization whos purpose is to watch the populace. WATCH being the emphasized word. Proper checks and balances too. Spread the Declaration of Revolution people, because a revolution is the only way it's gonna get done.

I want simple things. I want my friends to be happy and healthy. I want the world to act in something resembling a rational manner. I want people to stop and think about how they're acting, and how it'll affect others. I want to be able to wake up in the morning and say to myself "This is a good day."

I keep imagining what it would be like for that angel from my dreams to wrap her arms and wings around me, to be cocooned in a safe little hollow of warm love if even just for a short while and to know that somehow things will all work out and be okay. And I can picture how it would be, to feel like that, and to know things will be okay. It is vivid and vibrant in my mind like the first rays of the sunrise as it crests the hill and stings my eyes with its intensity. I know what heaven is; and I know it'll never cross my path. I know that there are no guarentees that anything will work out, and that for all those people who would and can rightfully count themselves my friend, I am still cold and alone inside.

My best has just never been enough. Try and fail, don't try and fail, pretend to try and fail, do nothing and fail, do everything and fail some more. Do = fail Do nothing = fail. See the future = it's the same.

Like People :

images broken
shattered
scattered
like a snowflake exploding
into a million facets
apart
lost
delicate
melting in the sun
never put back together again
no two alike
similar from afar
all made from the same stuff
all going to the same place
all return again
blown around by forces beyond
collecting
gathering
crushing weight of billions
ice
cold
blue years pass by uncounted
unknown
uncaring anymore
trapped
self is lost
borders
space
confined and compacted
pass away into the sea
unidentified
unknown
uncaring
come back for more
cycle neverending
maddening
mystifying
things changing
only to stay the same
hopelessly lost


Black James Kidd
.... yeah, that probably only made sense to me.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#46
No more Stupid Coffee Tricks...

... I think this is the end of this journal.
It's been real, and sometimes it's been fun, but like anything else in my life sure as the sun runs on nuclear fusion, it ain't been really fun.

Gypsy, Minou, Burns, Kat, Sugar-Snit, Old Lady, Vyxen, Mynx, Demonic_Muse, yer good people, take care of yourselves. In the end, you're the only ones who can.

This is Black James Kidd, signing off.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#48
Keep On Keeping On.

Three years, three months and four days since I last posted (not counting the "I yet LIVE!"). An eternity, a lifetime or two, fit into a little less than twelve-hundred days. At the same time it is a blur, a spark, a flash in the pan. Conciousness and perception of time is strange like that.

Stupid Coffee Tricks no more indeed. I'd like to be able to add a new subtitle to the journal, or an official Chapter II mark, but that isn't possible the way the message boards work. So, you can take this as the official announcement. Stupid Coffee Tricks is dead! Long Live Stupid Coffee Tricks! This is Chapter II : Broken Wings, but I can Still Walk.

I thought I was over the Evil Fairy, and in some ways, I am. But she has still left her mark, and despite myself, I still think of her. In a little more than three months, it will be four years since I learned the truth. I believe I've said it here before, but I'll say it again : time may heal all wounds, but some wounds leave more scar tissue than others.

I can see there's a lot for me to catch up on around here.

What's happened to me in three years?

I'm living in hell, also known as Northeast North Carolina.
I am desperately trying to get out of hell, but that's easier said than done. I have the money, I don't have the destination and I don't drive. You'd be amazed at how difficult it is to move across the country when you don't drive.
I was Guardian of a Druids' Grove for a while. Despite the fact that I'm an atheist, they wanted me for the position. Go figure.
I kept a couple other journals over on Livejournal. But those are meant to be there, and this is meant to be here.
I took a grand trip to my old stomping grounds in PA and NJ, to Madison, WI; Boulder, CO; Seattle, WA; and Paso Robles, CA.
A decent friend of mine is getting married at the Grand Canyon at the end of June and I intend to go.
Since I have been here in hell, I have seen about two dozen pretty girls in about two and a half years. If not for the internet, I might have thought pretty girls had been a figment of my imagination.

Oh, there's more than that, but it's what comes directly to mind right now. I suppose I may get into the past later on in the future, or I may not. The unfolding of our perception of time will tell.

Tonight, I am feeling very much alone in the world, which, to be frank, is how I feel most every day. That feeling gets to you after a while, eats away at you, squirms around in your soul, and I fear it might have the power to leave scars of its own.

:::laughs at himself in a humorless way:::

As you can see, some things just haven't changed.

I think I'll stop here for now.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#49
Sunday, April 23, 2006

As I write this my ISP's DNS server has been down for at least 2 1/2 hours.
They better have a really good excuse, not only for the 2 1/2 hours of DNS downtime but for not having anyone available to take calls on a sunday.

Musical playlists are a telling thing. Currently I am listening to Metallica : Welcome Home (Sanitarium), whoops, make that Orbital : Halcyon + On + On. Odd jump? Yes and no.

The whole list :
A Perfect Circle : Judith
Thinking of You
AC/DC : Goodbye and Good Riddance to Bad Luck
Akira OST :Mutation
Alice in Chains : Them Bones
Rooster
Armitage III OST :Multi-Matrix
Phantom World
Beck :Loser
Best of Bubblegum Crisis : Track 9
The Proclaimers :I'm going to be [500 miles]
Enya : Orinoco Flow
Boadicea
Godsmack : Time Bomb
Voodoo
Halo 2 OST : Remembrance
Key the Metal Idol OST : In the Night
I'll Be Here for You
Laura Cole : The Foggy Dew
Metallia : Hero of the Day
Ronnie
Welcome Home (Sanitarium)
Nothing Else Matters
My Friend of Misery
For Whom the Bell Tolls
No Leaf Clover
- Human
Orbital : Halcyon + On + On
Nine Inch Nails : Head Like a Hole
Ozzy : Mama, I'm Coming Home
No More Tears
I Just Want You
Queen : Innuendo
Who Wants to Live Forever
Bohemian Rhapsody
Flash
Type O Negative : Summer Breeze
Set Me On Fire
Love You to Death
Cinnamon Girl
Everyone I Love is Dead
White Zombie : Blood, Milk and Sky
More Human Than Human
I Am Legend
Macross II OST :Welcome to Sparefish
Voices [Acoustic]

I wonder how many people are actually familiar with all of these songs?

I was going to ramble, but it is late, and tomorrow is Monday. Yehaw!
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#50
Old School Rantage

Yeah, I haven't had much of anything to say about anything, 'cause as I've said before it just feels like I'm screaming about the same things about the same people. But then something comes along that's so egregious I simply HAVE to scream about it.

This is one of those things:
http://www.cnn.com/2006/POLITICS/05/10/domestic.spying.ap/index.html

Now, Bruce Schneier has already tackled this from a security point of view here:
http://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2006/05/nsa_creating_ma.html#comments
You should also read the rest of his blog.

I am now going to tackle it with a rant :

"Facing intense criticism from Congress, President Bush did not confirm the work of the National Security Agency but sought to assure Americans that their privacy is being "fiercely protected.""
Yeah... Right... "fiercely protected" my sweet white ass. This from the man who has decided it is perfectly legal for the US to engage in "extraordinary renditions"; that it is perfectly legal to torture people; that it is a-okay to hold somebody against their will without trial, a lawyer, or even being told what their supposed offense is, indefinately. Somehow I just don't believe him.


""We are not mining or trolling through the personal lives of innocent Americans," Bush said before leaving for a commencement address at Mississippi Gulf Coast Community College in Biloxi."
Actually, Mr President, that's exactly what you're doing. You're looking at who they called and for how long. That isn't anyone's business except the people involved in the call and the phone company to bill them.

""It is our government, it's not one party's government. It's America's government. Those entrusted with great power have a duty to answer to Americans what they are doing," said Sen. Patrick Leahy of Vermont, the ranking Democrat on the Senate Judiciary Committee."
Lets spread the blame equally Mr Leahy. The Senate voted to pass the Patriot Act, to pass the Medicare Reform Bill, and let this President take the country into a blatently illegal war with Iraq. You have some answering to do as well Sir.

"The White House defended its overall eavesdropping program and said no domestic surveillance is conducted without court approval."
I call Bullshit! NSA domestic spying program.[1]

""The intelligence activities undertaken by the United States government are lawful, necessary and required to protect Americans from terrorist attacks," said Dana Perino, the deputy White House press secretary, who added that appropriate members of Congress have been briefed on intelligence activities."
Again, I call BULLSHIT!
I seem to recall this thing called the Fourth Amendment, and that violating it is breaking the law. Wiretapping without a warrent is a clear and egregious violation of that amendment. And since when are these things "required" to protect us? Is that to mean somehow we can't possibly be protected legally? Is it impossible to protect the American People without violating their right to privacy, their right to be free from unjust search and seizure? This is Orwellian Speak and every American needs to keep a keen eye out for such things. It has become pervasive in the media and government. "Renditions" are kidnappings.

""Are you telling me that tens of millions of Americans are involved with al Qaeda?" Leahy asked. "These are tens of millions of Americans who are not suspected of anything ... Where does it stop?"
The Democrat, who at one point held up a copy of the newspaper, added: "Somebody ought to tell the truth and answer questions. They haven't. The press has done our work for us and we should be ashamed. Shame on us for being so far behind and being so willing to rubber stamp anything this administration does. We ought to fold our tents."
Sen. Dick Durbin, D-Illinois, said bringing the telephone companies before the Judiciary Committee is an important step.
"We need more. We need to take this seriously, more seriously than some other matters that might come before the committee because our privacy as American citizens is at stake," Durbin said."
Hear Hear! (or is that Here Here!, I'm not really sure and I don't feel like looking it up.)

"Hayden faced criticism because of the NSA's secret domestic eavesdropping program. As head of the NSA from March 1999 to April 2005, Hayden also would have overseen the call-tracking program."
I commented in somebody's LJ that putting Hayden in charge of the CIA was a BAD IDEA because he was military, and that doing so would put all our espionage agencies under military commands. Well, this just adds ammunition to my argument that he IS NOT the right man for the job. Anyone with that kind of power should have a deeply ingrained respect for his fellow man and his basic human rights as recognized by the laws of this country and international treaty. It is bleedingly obvious from his actions that Gen. Hayden lacks these qualities.

In something closely related:
http://www.cnn.com/2006/POLITICS/05/11/nsa.phonerecords/index.html
The NSA is saying the people sent to investigate can't have the clearance to investigate them. It's funny and sad all at the same time. As I have said before "If this was all taking place in a parallel dimension to which I had cable TV access, it would be funny. But it isn't and it's not."

"Justice Department spokesman Brian Roehrkasse said the terrorist surveillance program "has been subject to extensive oversight both in the executive branch and in Congress from the time of its inception.""
Yeah, except for the fact the vast majority of Congress didn't know Jack Shit about it; and the Executive will do anything (legal or illegal) if they think it suits their own interests. That isn't what I would call "extensive oversight".

[1]"Bush's decision to authorize the largest U.S. spy agency to monitor people inside the United States, without warrants, generated a host of questions about the program's legal justification."

"The administration has vehemently defended the eavesdropping, saying the NSA's activities were narrowly targeted to intercept international calls and e-mails of Americans and others inside the U.S. with suspected ties to the al Qaeda terror network."
If that's true (which it isn't) then why has the FBI reported literally THOUSANDS of dead-end leads handed to them by the NSA as a product of that program? And by dead-end leads I mean leads that lead to ordinary Americans without any ties to any terrorists or illegal activities whatsoever.


Edit to add : I just heard Sen. Pat Roberts (on CNN's Lou Dobbs) claim that the domestic spying program has helped stop several terrorist attacks. I want to know what attacks, where, and when. Because I'd wager that claim is just like all the Patriot Act claims of helping to counter terrorism : FALSE. Not a single terrorist has been caught or prosecuted with the help of the Patriot Act. It has however helped law enforcement catch Meth manufacturers, bankers, etc.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#51
Somebody hand me some nails for this here coffin...

http://www.cnn.com/2006/POLITICS/05/21/prosecuting.reporters.ap/index.html
This is beyond chilling.
This is beyond dangerous.
This is a direct threat to the very foundations of a healthy democracy.
This is a dyed in the wool Police State tactic.
This is Stalinesque.

If I was a reporter, I would be interpreting this as a direct threat. "Play tattletale on your government (wether or not what it's doing is illegal) and you will be thrown into a deep, dark hole."

Without a properly informed electorate you cannot have a healthy democracy. And with the reporters and their no longer confidential informants cowed by fear, who's going to tell them what they need to know?

The dream that was the United States of America is turning into a nightmare and I fear its death is just around the bend.

http://www.commondreams.org/views06/0516-20.htm
Being a taxpayer does not entitle you to sue the government (even on a class action scale) over how said government is spending your tax money. No matter how egregious the give away of cash to big business is, you can't stand up in court and say "This politician is corrupt and misusing our taxdollars!". You have no standing to do so. So sayeth SCOTUS.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#52
1 of 4

The Evil Fairy wrote something for me just a few days before I found out the Truth. There is more of both her and I in the two characters than most people would be comfortable acknowledging. What follows is not her original piece. This is my version of it; which remains very close to hers but has been edited, revised, tightened up, and added to. The title remains the same, and really does say it all.

Part 1 of 4 because of that dumb 10,000 character limit on posts.

Warning : this story contains material that is of an adult nature. By reading it you affirm that you are of a legal age to consume written smut and that it is not against the law in your area or country to do so. Blah blah blah. Kids, don't try this at home.
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Dark Needs

He awoke with a start, the abrupt transition from dreamworld to realworld disorienting him. The pounding of his heart was loud in his own ears, and for a moment he did not know where he was. As his dream fractured mind returned to a cohesive conciousness, it came back to him, both the dream and the reality that now surrounded him. In a moment's fit he cursed the darkness that seemed to mock him, knowing Her presence was not there. His hands balled into fists so tight that the muscles in his forearms stood out in stark relief. Then he calmed, and disengaged himself from the knot of soft flannel bedding. The dream had been so very real, and She had been in it again. He stood, meaning to make his way to the refridgerator, knowing sleep would be a while in returning to him. But as he made to move, he went still as a stone.
He heard Her voice. He was sure of it. It was at the barest edge of his perception, but he was sure of it. It whispered into his body, down his spine, and stirred his flesh. It called to him, softly vibrating off his skin, and he moved to follow it. Wether it was insanity or not, wether She had somehow come to the real world or not, he would follow Her call wherever it might lead him.
The night was warm, and he slipped on only a pair of well worn darkly colored jeans and a pair of thin soled canvas shoes. The heavy oaken door of his cabin swung quietly shut behind him as he stepped out onto the well packed earth that served as his porch. The roof above was supported by two rough hewn posts sunk deeply into the ground. As he stepped out from underneath it, he looked past the canopy of leaves to the sky above. It showed his hazel eyes a bare sliver of moon, and stars scattered like great handfulls of gems tossed across it. Once again, he stood as motionless as a stone, listening; and though he heard no sound, he felt her voice with an urgency, tugging at him.
He followed it onto the path just off his porch, and was enveloped by shadow, his inky black hair and dark clothing blending with his surroundings. He moved along it with a feline grace, barely disturbing the earth he trod upon or the undergrowth he slipped through. The forest was quiet, subdued, and low clouds were beginning to scud across the sky. A storm was on its way.
The path plowed its way through the forest surrounding his cabin, through a field of dense brush and crossed onto an asphalt road that glimmered under the low light of moon and stars. On the other side of the road, the path continued. For a moment, he stood still again, listening, feeling her call. He turned to his left and followed the asphalt. His gait was broad and quick, making short time of this easier stretch of the night's journey. Abruptly he turned off the road, treading through what was once a manicured lawn, now a field of wildflowers. Her call was closer, more urgent, and he vaulted a low wall, ignoring the abandoned "No Tresspassing" sign. The gravel remnants of a driveway crunched under his feet, and he could see a stone house beyond a copse of trees. It was marked by the passage of time and absense of any caretakers, but its character was undeniable, and perhaps even enhanced by the lack of man's care, allowing the brush of nature sign it.
He made another abrupt turn then, passing quietly through more wildflowers, to make his way around a small hill. Before him stood a mausoleum, surrounded by a tall stone wall that was set with but one rusted gate between two columns. The hinges squeeked in protest as he pulled the gate open and stepped into the place Her call had led him to.
Inside the wall lilac, lavender, and dark roses bloomed. Their scents weighed heavily in the night air, and he walked in the midst of them, taking in their scent. The plants grew with wild abandon, crawling over the upright obelisks that stood as grave markers. Yet they left the mausoleum untouched, and an open patch of ground existed in front of its massive door. He stood there, upon that clear patch of moist earth, and listened again, felt for Her call.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#53
2 of 4

"Greetings, my chosen."
He spun quickly, the voice startling him, and there, from whence he'd come She stood; the winged vision from his dreams. He knelt before Her, the roles of their relationship having been laid out long ago in dreams and waking reveries.
His eyes hungrily devoured the sight of Her form. They roamed over Her body drinking in the alabaster skin, the compact and tightly muscled frame, the copper/gold eyes, the fiery auburn hair. Her diaphanous clothing obscured the details, but clung to her curves, only enhancing her small but prominent breasts, and overall shape. Finally, his orbs came to rest and concentrate upon Her most wonderous feature, Her wings. They were the light white of spring clouds along their leading edge, blending into the light grey of rain clouds, and continuing to darken in shades until they ended in pinfeathers even darker than his hair.
"My Goddess." Words other than this failed him. In some part of his mind, he was sure She was some kind of illusion, that another part of his mind was conjuring Her up from the light mists that seemed to have rolled in inside the wall.
Her lips curved up in a wicked smile, and She dispelled any doubt he had of Her reality as She lay a hand upon his head, burrowing Her fingers into the soft curls of his hair. With a sharp tug, She fisted Her hand around the sleek strands and pulled him up.
"My Own." She cooed at him.
It was the only word She could think of to use. And She devoured him with Her eyes, drinking in his sight; the long, curling inky black locks, the body muscled from years of labor, not sculpted or built, but healthy and attractive. She had seen it all before, even what lay underneath his clothing. But it was always his eyes that She came back to, and for a long moment She locked eyes with him, studying the pools of blue/green hazel with their sooty lashes.
Her free hand came up to smooth over his bare chest. Her palm and fingers were like ice, and their contact caused goosebumps to cascade over his body. The hand in his hair came down like a comb, parting it like long twisting bits of silk. A small tremor shook his body, and it was not just a shiver.
His eyes gathered the sight of her wings to him again. His ears savored the sound of their movement, and added it to everything else his senses conveyed to him. He drew all these things near in his mind, and seared them into his memory. Each moment with Her was incalculably precious; and he intended to save each and every one of them for as long as he could.
The hand upon his chest was painfully cold, and leeching the warmth from his body. He made a soft sound of protest, and She narrowed her eyes at him, Her voice a sibilant whisper in his ear. "Are you uncomfortable my chosen?"
He went stock still, worried She would be unhappy, and quickly shook his head in denial. Closing his eyes, he embraced the cold touch at his chest by concentrating instead on the hand buried in his hair. "No Goddess." The words were etched with his desire to please, spoken quick and steady.
She laughed, and moved the hand at his chest to his chin, pulling it down and holding his face a hair's breadth from Her own. The hand in his hair slid from the raven curls and snaked a sharp nail down his jawline. Her eyes glowed with a hint of the ice that still flowed from Her hands, and Her voice questioned again. "Do you dislike My touch chosen?"
His heart stopped for a beat and he felt a sharp need to debase himself before Her for the error. Her hand at his chin prevented this and he barely held back the motion to move. Through a clenching throat he managed to pass words, "No Goddess. I crave Your touch, nothing else means more to me."
She smiled at this. The dark line of Her mouth quirked at his words, and She curled the hand at his chin to run a fingertip along his lips.
"You carry My mark dark one. I chose you. You are _mine_." She leaned into him, on the tips of her toes, and hissed her next words into his ear. "I shall touch, taste, and satisfy My desires with every inch of you. No motion, no words, no amount of struggle will stop Me."
With a fluid movement so quick that it only registed to him as a blur, one of her hands came down and raked long bloody furrows in his chest. His cry of shock and pain reverberated off the stone around them. He swayed and fell to his knees. The agonized wheeze he exhaled as the wounds began to throb and bleed harder soothed Her. She knelt in front of him then, and ran Her serpentine tongue over his chest. The wounded flesh knit behind it, and shortly there was not so much as a scar to testify to the events of the last moments. Then she brought her hand up, and like a child with a sticky treat licked her fingers with an intense concentration until not a single stain remained.
His body went taut, watching Her, as the pain subsided, and as She played Her tongue over Her fingers. A chuckle left Her lips, like a dissonant wail from a possessed lute. Its tone tightened more things. Nipples and other flesh hardened in response to the sound of Her darkness. His eyes again studied Her wings, watching them ripple with each movement She made. He was utterly fascinated by them, and the lightest touch, the merest whisper of them upon his skin made him harden like a rock. Just the thought of their caress drove him mad with desire. To be able to gaze upon them was a torment he could hardly stand, as he so intensly desired to touch, stroke, and lavish them with attention.
She stood, stepped back, and folded those extraordinary appendages back along her sides; fluttering them a bit, preening. She knew how much the wings enchanted him, and at times She kept them hidden; wanting each moment he gazed upon them to be something he would never forget. He delighted Her in every respect; each time coming to Her with only the desire to please, to give of himself. It was what drew Her, each time. His wants and needs gave Her so much pleasure to fuel, and then breath life into, to take and give in counterpoint to eachother. It was true, She needed him, but She gave of Herself in return, nurturing his needs and accepting them with no holding back.
He blinked, and She was gone. Then the hackles on his neck rose. She bent over him from behind, the long strands of her hair curtaining the world away. His nostrils flared and were filled with her scent, of earth and wind, decay, jasmine, and animal musk. A voice, painted with tones of need that he was used to hearing slithered around his ear and dropped against the nerves of his vulnerable flesh.
"Chosen, I must feed."
Her tongue snaked around the outer lobe of his ear and drug a moist path from his ear to the bottom of his jawline. He quivered, caught up in the dance. His breath blew out from his lungs in a long sigh that matched her desires. As he spoke, he tipped his head to one side, exposing the length of his neck to Her.
"Please Goddess. All that I am, all that I was, all that I will be, is Yours."
He cried out, jerking with surprise at the quickness of the attack. Pleasure and pain blended as Her teeth pierced the tender skin of his neck. His entire body squirmed and tensed up for a heartpounding moment, then slowly relaxed; the taut tendons and muscles going slack as the flow of crimson was slowly suckled from the wound. Deep, throaty moans vibrated up his chest and left his mouth in a sound that contained only notes of pure exstacy.
She was drinking greedily, intently at the now steady stream of blood. He dind't know how he knew, but he did, that She saw into him through this joining. Every secret he'd ever kept, every feeling of pain or joy, every moment etched upon his memory was laid open before Her. She knew all these things, and She was not repulsed. His heart pounded harder for the joy of it, even as he grew weak for what She was taking from him. He felt her quiver with each swallow of his life. Then, suddenly, without any warning, the river of knowledge widened and ran both ways. The whole of Her life imprinted itself upon him. His weakened heart almost failed as the dark abyss of Her own existence reached out and almost buried him. Without thought, on bare instinct, he wrapped his mouth around her wrist and bit. His teeth ripped through Her alabaster skin, tunneling deep inside flesh. He lapped at the gory mark as a cat with cream, some measure of strength coming back to him through this act.
How She shook, his Goddess. Her face was still plowed into his neck, but Her wings rippled against him like a silken breeze, fanning the fire in his loins to a fever pitch. He could feel a single heavy thump and then the beating of Her heart, and then the connection was severed. Her life ran quickly from his mind, like sand through an hourglass, though it seemed a speck here and there might remain. Her lips came back from his neck, coral tinted tongue licking their corners. A small grimace floated across Her face, and She grasped his shoulder, pulling him back. She yanked the wrist from his lips and nestled her mouth onto his, savoring her own taste mingled with his. The same intense attention was at work as with her hand before, and when she was done, not a trace of herself remained in his mouth.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#54
3 of 4

The gathering clouds lit with lightning, illuminating the world for a split second. A short peel of thunder shook the still air around them, and the atmosphere quickly turned into a heavy shroud of damp mist. Her wings slicked back along the rigid flesh of her shoulders, and glistened with the trickling patter of the raindrops. Her face was tilted to the sky, and Her hands tucked his body back into Her chest.
"Do you feel that Chosen?"
He nodded. Her eyes were full of delight and he'd never seen Her look so peaceful.
"Have you heard of the aughisky?" Her tone was soft, full of wonder, and he tipped his head back to gaze up at Her honey colored eyes. "It's a Celtic legend. The aughisky is a water hourse. They used to come out of the water, normally around November and gallop along the sands or over the fields. If people could get them away from the fields, saddle them, bridle them, they would make the finest of mounts. But they had to be ridden inland, for if they ever again got so much as a glimpse of salt water they would gallop headlong away; carrying their riders with them into the oceans deep and devour them." At these last two words, Her eyes darkened, and she traced a nail over the tender, just knitted flesh of his neck. Pulling Herself upright, She reached out a hand and raised him from the ground. The rain stopped then, and with a startling speed the cloudcover broke, once again revealing moon and stars.
"Come my own, I shall walk back to your home this night."
He nodded, and fell into pace beside Her. She did not walk, but floated over the reverse of the path he'd taken. The soft wings were folded up against the line of Her spine, and only a few flutters as She bent around a low hedge caused them to ripple about Her. He bit his lip, watching. There was an intense, unspoken desire to see Her in flight, the wings used for what their creator intended; the body they bore no longer earthbound, but free to ride the wind and soar among the stars. His mind was fueled by these images; they multiplied and split, gaining momentum. No words were spoken, but She turned to him and smiled. Before he could blink, She had taken to the sky, over the low wall he'd vaulted on his way in. Her skin and feathers gleamed in the soft starlight, reflecting it back and bathing her in a delicate, eerie radiance. A sharp gasp broke from his mouth, and he stood stock still, imprison in awe of Her. His eyes widened, watching her drift lightly back to earth. Reaching over the wall, She picked him up, as easily as he would a cat, and set him down beside Her.
The rest of the walk was done before he could even process what he'd seen; and he only came out of his daze when they reached the cabin's door. He turned to Her, and She smiled, a slow melt in your mouth kind of smile. That curve of Her lips instantly awoke the arousal he'd fought down. She spoke no words, moved no closer, and for one heart stopping instant he was sure She was going to leave and never come back. Then, just as quickly as She'd attacked his chest earlier, She folded him into Her wingspan, cradling him close. Soft brushes of Her lips came down his forehead, tender and teasing all at once. The wings cupped around his back. Goose bumps cascaded over his skin funneling down his body everywhere the gossamer feathers touched. He closed his eyes and concentrated on that satin-like caress. Excitement sluiced through his veins, and flushed his skin.
She watched him tremble, the flare of his desires bright like a torch to Her eyes. Her wings captured his tremors, absorbed them, and fanned them back; becoming like a silken cage. Her claws came up, and they dug into his shoulder blades as She drew him tighter in the embrace. He couldn't escape. He knew this for a certainty. Even if She opened the cage, he wouldn't leave; needing this touch even more than She.
She could smell the need on him. It flavored his scent with animal musk and bit at her heightened senses. She bent over him, and licked the sweat from him in small tastes, as one would do with ice cream. Her serpentine tongue travelled over his skin, exploring a hollow here, there a slide over bone, and a wicking around muscular tendons. He tasted wonderful to Her. And as Her explorations continued, they elicited barely heard cries that leaked from his lips unnoticed even as he twisted and turned to every roll of Her tongue. Each sound drove the resulting touch longer and harder. She moved over his body with absolute precision, always moving downward, over his lean chest. The small cries became harsh, lengthed out, and gained volume as they drove his chest to sharp pushes and pulls for air. The clouds that had earlier abandonded the sky returned with a repeat of the startling speed they demonstrated in their departure; and Her laugh drifted out on the breeze. She straightened up, and looked directly into his half hooded eyes.
"You seem in pain Chosen. Should I go?"
The hazel eyes that She so adored opened wide and he shook his head. Through breath that momentarily hitched he managed to answer.
"You would take my soul with You Goddess."
And She saw in his eyes the glistening of tears. All at once, She seemed to collapse to him, Her lips kissed away the trickle of liquid from his eyes. Emotions long thought dead returned, and squirmed deep inside of Her. She knocked him over, into the moss carpeted flower garden. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, but he managed to fold his body to catch Her as well. She pinned his hands to his sides with Her knees and exhaled another laugh, Her eyes shining like newly minted pennies. She crawled down his body, langoriously, keeping his hands pinned with her own; and felt his cock straining against the confinement of his jeans. His fingers and heels dug into the damp earth, and whimpers drifted from him as She took Her time to slowly run Her body overtop of his. She taunted him, moving as if to undo his jeans with Her teeth, then stroped Her cheek across his abdomen like a cat. She could never get enough of him; each touch, each taste, each sound he made thickened Her desires, and drove Her closer to the abyss.
It was then the sky broke free. Lightning sundered the midnight black and turned it to lavender and grey. Fat, heavy raindrops saturated the air and beat into their skin.
She turned to watch the liquid splash across the bare flesh of his body. It rebounded on each impact, fountaining upward in a brief miniscule spray before being inexorably pulled back down by gravity to join small rivulets running down his chest. She crawled between his legs, and turned Her mouth and tongue to chase the rain upon his skin. The rush of water and his scent coated Her flesh and soaked into Her lips and trickled down Her throat. Her body clenched tighter. She needed to enjoy all of his skin, inside and out. The taste was pounding in Her, and he was affecting Her as no other had.
She gave a savage growl and tore Her lips free, strangling the intense emotion into something She could control. She pulled him up from the damp earth, soil still clinging to his back, pressed Her lips tight to his ear and spoke in a fiendish purr.
"I could take what I want from you Chosen, do you realize this?"
"Yes Goddess."
His two words had been spoken with the same desire to please as they always held but also carried a hint of delight, as if he knew just how much She wanted him.
She reached down the front of his jeans and grasped the hard shaft of his cock. Her ice cold hand brought a solid cry of pain from his lips. He twitched and trembled, locked his knees in place, and braced for the worst. Again, the fiendish purr came, low and wickedly amused.
"You want Me to take, don't you Chosen?"
A quiet stillness slid over his features, but it was a fascade of the flesh. Inside, was utter turmoil as an inner war raged. On one side stood utter, primal fear; on the other an overwhelming need. His mind told him to run, to run as fast and as far as he could and never look back. But his heart, that pumped the blood he so freely gave to this vision from his dreams, told him to stay. In the end, it really wasn't a contest.
She raked a nail across his sensitive cockhead, and though his knees trembled, he remained there; and She could see Her victory in his eyes. Loss flavored it, and bitter tears joined the raindrops running down Her face. Taking this dark one She had chosen would bring Her strength and life enough, but he would be gone, his essense absorbed. She would never see him lift to Her touch or respond to Her voice again. Her hand fell away from him, and She turned half from him. Confusion slid onto his features, and he turned into Her, one hand raised, wrist offered outward.
"Please Goddess. Take anything You wish from me."
She fisted a hand into the rain slicked curls of his hair and yanked him into Her. She spoke with a voice full of fierceness he'd not heard before.
"I will devour you, like the aughisky. You might ride for a while, but in the end I will have your soul."
"It is Yours already."
She thrust him back from her then. His body collided with one of the porch posts. Not knowing what else to do, and unsure of what had made Her angry, he went to his knees, awaiting Her next action.
She stalked back and forth on the path, Her voice barely audible over the growing storm. The more She spoke the harder the rain fell, until it seemed it would become a solid sheet of liquid between them. On impulse, he stood up and stepped into Her path.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#55
4 of 4

She started, as if She'd forgotten he was there, and an unearthly light was in Her eyes. Her tongue licked along her lips, and her eyes pinned him in place. Her voice echoed in his ears, and spun chills down his spine.
"Run. Don't stop Chosen. Run now and don't ever look back."
He shook his head, perhaps a little sadly. His path was set, and he'd chosen to walk it like a juggernaught.
"Only if You come with me."
She staggered then, all the menace that had kept Her moving seeming to leave Her in a rush.
"You know I cannot."
He seemed to shrink at that. Left with but one card, he chose to play it. He moved closer to Her, within the circle of Her arms, and held Her hand. She did not stop him, and bouyed by this, he brought the knitted flesh of Her wrist to his lips. His voice huffed out along the alabaster skin.
"I beg of you. Don't leave, I would be only half alive."
The tendons of Her arm showed up in sharp relief as Her fingers curled inward. Still, he dared to lay gentle kisses upon the wrist and slowly, ever so slowly, up the inside of Her arm. She growled Her warning, "You would be alive.". And still he kept his head and lips bent to Her.
"Meaningless without You."
She had never hesitated before, taking all the others with ardent satisfaction. Now, long dead emotions were bubbling to the surface, and they were taking too much effort to fight. She wanted to learn more, explore the whole of who he was, and that had never happened. She was ensnared by the same trap She had used on countless others. The game was reversed. She entwined Her fingers with his.
"Come Chosen, you are shivering."
The breath he wasn't aware of holding escaped in a sigh of relief and he followed Her through the cabin door.
Inside, She appeared insubstantial, almost ghostlike in the harsh electrical lighting. He snapped the switch off and darkness descended on them, only to be chased off as he lit a match. A dozen fat candles sat on a polished slab of obsidian that served as his kitchen table. He lit each one in turn, and their light was spun off the volcanic glass bathing the cabin in their gentle light.
He leaned back against a door jam and watched his Goddess as She explored his home. A small smile played about his lips as She touched, smelled, and once even tasted things scattered about. He had built the log cabin himself as a haven miles from the smoke and noise filled city. It was not elaborate, but he needed little to be comfortable, and the small rooms had provided him with oft needed peace.
Finally, Her attention came back to him. Her eyes wandered over him. The spun candlelight had turned his hair and skin to onyx and umber. Shadows furled out like thin strips of ribbons over his chest and abdomen. He was wonderous, this one She'd chosen. He stood perfectly still, calm, even serene watching Her. It was during this quiet contemplation of him, She realized what had set him apart. The others had been full of desire, even need; but it was always tainted with fear. He had the emotion, certainly, but it was not directed to that final embrace. In this one, She saw Her own need to be swallowed by oblivion reflected back. She couldn't do it. Her choices had been made long ago. She could have told him that humanity, with all its mistakes and foibles, was still worth having; that She would give up this never ending existence for the chance to turn back the clock; to meet him devoid of shadows, Her hands free of blood. She reached out for him and said none of those things, only pulled him close, bringing their damp bodies together in a fervent hold.
"Close your eyes Chosen."
Obediently, he did so. She guided him past the table to a small alcove that held a carved oak bed and matching dresser. A long window was nestled above the headboard, and she threw it open to catch the storm flavored breeze. He could feel the chill air as it swept past, and then the nails of Her fingers as they barely skimmed across his skin.
"Do not move Chosen."
And despite his increasing desire to lean into the caress, to stroke himself like a cat against Her, he stood stone still. She stepped around him, and anticipating his desire, made Her caress rougher, pulling his skin taught, dimpling it behind Her stroke. The groan that rode out of his throat on a shuddering exhale of breath was involuntary. And then, Her touch was gone. He did not move, he did not open his eyes. He only strained to listen, to discern where his Goddess was, what She was doing, but all he heard was rain and wind. Time passed. He did not know how much, but it seemed a good deal of it.
She stood, quietly, watching Her Chosen simply stand and breathe for a full hour. He would stand and wait for as long as it took, for as long as he could, She was sure of this; and he would do it solely on Her word, solely for Her pleasure. It had feelings welling up inside of Her again that She struggled to control.
His hair had dried somewhat, and was frizzing out in a spectacular manner. She grabbed his brush from the dresser and gently ran it through his hair. Immediately, he sighed in pleasure at the return of Her touch. She took great care with his locks, removed every knot and tangle; and when She was done, braided it, lightly twisting and tugging in a way She knew brought him pleasure.
Her feelings would not be kept at bay, despite the distraction. She could not strangle them down, She could not make them go away, and they were threatening to rule Her. She did not know if it was fear or anger that drove Her to act, but act She did. There was simply no way She would be affected like this, it was unacceptable. She was the Hunter, he was the prey. She was in control, and he would be made to know this. With a thought the appearance of Her clothing changed. She dropped Her chin upon his shoulder, and whispered in his ear, Her voice coated in honey.
"You may open your eyes."
Slowly, he peeled the lids back up, and She sauntered, a step at a time into his view. Gone were the diaphanous robes. In their place was matte black leather, thigh high boots, opera length gloves, a thong, and a corset with a rose pattern embroidered in glossy black thread. The contrast to Her alabaster skin was stark, and the effect left him awestruck. She smiled, a wicked curve of Her lips, and brought Her hands up to cup his face. Her voice was harsh as she spoke.
"Do you remember the mark Chosen?"
"Yes Goddess."
It was something he cherished, though it had only happened in dreamtime. His Goddess had plucked one of Her own pinfeathers and used it to carve a glyph into the flesh of his left wrist as a symbol of Her choice to make him Her own. He had never been entirely sure, but he thought sometimes he could see it, just under his skin, if the light was just right.
"Watch."
She stepped back, and a pale blue radiance spilled from her fingers. The glyph She had carved appeared like a thin red ribbon upon his wrist. She balled Her hand into a fist, and his world exploded in pain. For several moments he heard someone screaming in incomprehensible agony before he realized it was him. The feeling wracked his body, inside and out; and just as he felt he would pass out, it stopped. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for air like a fish out of water, sweat pouring from his body.
"I can make you hate me Chosen. You will beg to be released."
With a strength he should not have had left, he stood then, and spoke.
"You can do many things Goddess. You could make me hate what you are doing. But you cannot make me hate you."
And then he spoke words that had passed his lips many times before. It was only then that She understood and realized just how true they were.
"All that I am, all that I was, all that I will be, is Yours."
"Why? Why dedicate yourself to me like this? Why do you seek oblivion?"
"Goddess, You have looked around my home, and into my very soul, did You not see what was missing?"
The question was unexpected by Her. Of course She had payed attention to what was there, but none to what might not have been. For a moment She contemplated it, but could not find the answer. His eyes looked to Her, and She caught his hazeled depths with Her own honeyed orbs and gave a little shake of 'no'. An inscrutable expression crossed his features, and he spoke sadly.
"Meaning Goddess. There is none for me. My life is devoid of it. Everything I have ever thought was worth fighting for has been taken from me. Everyone I have ever cared about is gone or doing fine without me. There is nothing in this world that would not go on without skipping a beat without me. Not much point in continuing an existence without meaning."
A shuddering breath wracked his body, and tears silently came to his eyes.
"Except, in You I have found meaning Goddess. To be Your pleasure, Your sustenance. Even if it means that You shall eventually consume me, I do not care. At least I will have served some purpose, and perhaps someday You might look back and remember me fondly."
The tears continued to run down his cheeks and an angry hand went to wipe them away.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

This story has no ending, neither in the Evil Fairy's original version, nor in this one of mine. It should be obvious to the reader that this can only end badly for them both. If she takes him, he will die happy but it will destroy what's left of her soul. If she leaves him, it will destroy what's left of his, and knowing that will eventually eat her up just as if she'd taken him. Sometimes there is no happy ending. Sometimes there is no such thing as redemption for anyone involved. Sometimes we are our own endings.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#56
Going Feral

Odd things happen in that time between sleep and full conciousness. This was one of them.

To give you some needed background : I'm currently living in North East North Carolina. I call it Hell for many reasons, the bigotry, the complete lack of civilization, the willful ignorance, the arrogance. I could go on and on, but you get the point. Well, maybe not, the most important point is that I have no friends here. None. I have family, but there's a difference between family and friends; and familiarity really does breed contempt sometimes.

However, I am owned by a cat. She's a wonderful little tortise colored furball (the heaviest she gets is nine pounds when she puts on her winter fat)and I love her very much. Her name is Squeeky (as she tends to squeek more than meow) and she's VERY territorial. This is her house, her property, her people, and her food on the porch. God help any other animal that doesn't understand those simple rules. She is very close to the only good thing about this place. You can imagine how much she means to me.

With that firmly in mind, lets join the story as it happened a few months ago.

Imagine, if you will, a crisp, cool morning, say high fourties. I've _just_ begun the climb from dreamstate to conciousness when a sound from outside filters into my brain. It's a sound I know well : the cat is angry, probably about to brawl. On autopilot, I get up and go out the door onto the side porch. Squeeky is in front of my mother's car squaring off with a cat that probably outweighs her by four pounds. My not yet fully awake mind is running on very basic concepts, instinct really. My cat is threatened, must help.

Then the odd thing happened. I wasn't even aware of it until after the fact, but that's getting ahead of myself. Before I'm aware of it, I've hunkered down, damn near on all fours, and a very low, menacing growl is vibrating up out of my chest as I threaten the trespassing feline. I imagine if I had the proper ears and tail that they would have been flat and swishing respectively. The intruder looks at me, turns tail and runs like a bat out of hell. With the threat gone, I click almost into full conciousness. I pick up Squeeky and pet her, tell her she's a good cat and that other cat is lucky I saved it from a beating. Her tail goes back to normal, I put her down on the porch and go inside. She opts to stay outside.

What just happened only dawns on me after I'm inside. Why'd I go down almost to all fours and start growling? What would I have done if the other cat hadn't backed down? Would I have hurt it? Would I have killed it? I honestly don't know the answers. I do know I went entirely feral protecting my cat; and it makes me question what I might do if I was protecting a person I was particularly partial to. I also know that if I'd been fully awake I probably would have just shoo'd the other cat off. Squeeky has been in this neighborhood longer than me and is more than capable of taking care of herself and beating off any of the other cats, so there's really no need for me to intervene in any way.

What's today's lesson? Don't screw with me before I'm fully awake/ I shouldn't do anything before I've actually woken up in the morning.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#57
She's immortal damnit...

My brother's wife's cat died today. Her death, in and of itself, does not have me upset. I didn't know her well enough to be affected so I don't really care. Besides, death is the inevitable conclusion of life. What bothers me, is that she was about the same age as Squeeky.

Squeeky is my emotional Achilles Heel.

You see, I can deal with it when people die. There is a part of my brain wherein everyone I know is already dead. I'm not saying I'm prepared for it, but I know it's going to happen someday, so I can deal with it.

I can't even bring myself to think of Squeeky dead without getting choked up.

I know she has less time here than I do. I know she's going to pass away some day. But I can't even think about it.

When she's in during the winter, she comes and sleeps with me. She _always_ comes if I'm the one calling her. I have been told she was inconsolable when I was away on my trip across the US. She loves me unconditionally, and I love her in return.

It's going to absolutely kill me when she goes.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#58
Okay, for the last week or so I've had a strong desire to decorate myself in some way.
I want to indulge in some kind of dramatic, beautiful bodyart.

Suggestions?
Before you ask, I don't know if I want to go perminent or not. Just make any and all suggestions. Thanks.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#59
Disclaimer : I don't know how true any of this is, and I'm not in a mood right now to verify the facts (or possible lack thereof). But given the state of this country and its people, I don't for a second doubt any of it.


Time once again to review the winners of the Annual "Stella Awards."

The Stella Awards are named after 81 year-old Stella Liebeck who
spilled hot coffee on herself and successfully sued McDonalds (in
NM). That case inspired the Stella Awards for the most frivolous,
ridiculous, successful lawsuits in the United States.


Here are this year's winners:

5th Place (tie):
Kathleen Robertson of Austin, Texas, was awarded $80,000. by a jury of
her peers after breaking her ankle tripping over a toddler who was
running inside a furniture store. The owners of the store were
understandably surprised at the verdict, considering the misbehaving
little toddler was Robertsonââ,¬â"¢s son.

5th Place (tie):
19-year-old Carl Truman of Los Angeles won $74,000 and medical expenses
when his neighbor ran over his hand with a Honda Accord. Mr. Truman
apparently didn't notice there was someone at the wheel of the car when
he was trying to steal his neighbor's hubcaps.

5th Place (tie):
Terrence Dickson of Bristol, Pennsylvania, was leaving a house he had
just finished robbing by way of the garage. He was not able to get the
garage door to go up since the automatic door opener was
malfunctioning. He couldn't re-enter the house because the door
connecting the house and garage locked when he pulled it shut. The
family was on vacation, and Dickson found himself locked in the garage
for eight days. He subsisted on a case of Pepsi he found, and a large
bag of dry dog food. He sued the homeowner's insurance claiming the
situation caused him undue mental anguish.

The jury agreed, to the tune of $500,000. In my opinion this is so
outrageous that it should have been 2nd Place!

4th Place:
Jerry Williams of Little Rock, Arkansas, was awarded $14,500. and
medical expenses after being bitten on the buttocks by his next door
neighbor's beagle. The beagle was on a chain in its owner's fenced
yard. The award was less than sought because the jury felt the dog
might have been just a little provoked at the time by Williams who had
climbed over the fence into the yard and was shooting it repeatedly
with a pellet gun.



3rd Place:
A Philadelphia restaurant was ordered to pay Amber Carson of Lancaster,
Pennsylvania, $113,500. after she slipped on a soft drink and broke her
coccyx (tailbone). The beverage was on the floor because Carson had
thrown it at her boyfriend 30 seconds earlier during an argument.

2ndPlace:

Kara Walton of Claymont, Delaware, successfully sued the owner of a
night club in a neighboring city when she fell from the bathroom window
to the floor and knocked out her two front teeth. This occurred while
Walton was trying to sneak through the window in the ladies room to
avoid paying the $3.50 cover charge. She was awarded $12,000 and dental
expenses.

1st Place:
This year's runaway winner was Merv Grazinski of Oklahoma City,
Oklahoma. Grazinski purchased a brand new 32-foot Winnebago motor home.
On her first trip home, (from an OU football game), having driven onto
the freeway, she set the cruise control at 70 mph and calmly left the
driver's seat to go into the back & make herself a sandwich. Not
surprisingly, the RV left the freeway, crashed and overturned. Mrs.
Grazinski sued Winnebago for not advising her i n the owner's manual
that she couldn't actually do this. The jury awarded her $1,750,000.
plus a new motor home The company actually changed their manuals on the
basis of this suit, just in case there were any other complete morons
around.
 

Black James Kid

Rider of a pale horse
#60
The Canyon!!!

I have returned from the Grand Canyon, alive and in one piece. This is the preliminary, short and dirty of it. I may or may not ever expand on it.


Thursday:
Drove into the park around 5:30. Stopped at our first scenic overlook shortly after.
Me,"That's a big hole in the ground."
Karl (My brother),"No, Carlsbad Caverns is a big hole in the ground, that's a big rut."
Me,"Okay, good point. That's a damn big rut in the ground."
Checked in and noticed a large number of keys for the wedding party still hadn't been claimed. Found George and Dave. Heard about the trouble Mom and Dad Lavery were having on their trip. By nightfall everyone who needed to be there, was there. Menfolk and Womenfolk split up into seperate rooms and essentially bullshitted the night away while drinking. Oh, the stories I could tell, if they were mine to tell. But they aren't. What's said there stays there.

Friday :
Alan and Laura get married. The ceremony is short, sweet, and beautiful. Weather is perfect. We hang out at the point for a few hours, eating and schmoozing. I don't much like Laura's family. Kinda surprised someone as megacool as her came from that. El Tovar fucked up the dinner plans (which turned out to be a blessing) so we ate at the Arizona Room.

Saturday :
Hike the canyon! Alan, Laura, DB, Dave, Tim, Karl, and myself. Laura was very tired and I know my limitations, so the both of us stopped at Indian Gardens 4.5 miles in. She slept, I took a short nap. The others went on to the point and back (an extra 3 miles). Then back out of the canyon. My calves are still screaming two days later. But it was absolutely gorgeous, and peaceful. Did I mention peaceful? I got a slice of amazing peace and tranquility on this trip. Haven't felt that good in years. Dinner at Bright Angel Lodge. Good food. More hanging out with friends. People wished me a muted birthday (they know I try to ignore it and it really bugs me). Hanging out, goodnights and goodbyes.

Sunday :
leave at 5:30 am, arrive home Monday at about 1:00 am.



What I saw :
-The Grand Canyon! duh!
-More nationalities than I can shake a stick at
-7 California Condors
-Mule Deer
-Lots of little lizards
-1 Garter snake
-Not a single rattle snake :(
-Not a single scorpion :)
-Devilskull tree
-Nature at its most majestic
-Alan and Laura gettin' married. wohoo!


What I did :
-Hiked 9 miles in the Canyon on Bright Angel trail
-Got a sinus infection
-Went to Alan and Laura's wedding. wohoo!
-Saw old friends again
-Turned 29
 
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