"If...then" hypotheses. Speculations.

"If you want something badly enough, then it will happen."

Is that true? But couldn't it also mean that one will not necessarily get that particular happening, that maybe it will just be the chance for that opportunity to happen. I am  making sort of a cosmic inquisition. In which case, it may work out better for me if I were Spanish circa, oh I don't know, 1470?

"If you want something badly enough, and you happen to be a Spanish Christian in 1470, then the possibility of happening will be presented in a situation."

But I'm not that religious. In that, I've never killed anyone, and moreover, I wouldn't do it based on a higher power. I guess faith directly applies. Having faith, I'm told, invests a little bit of a positive reputation among cosmic-worker-bees.

"If you want something bad enough, especially if you are involved in the Spanish Inquisition, and you have faith, then the situation in which your if-want comes true will take place."

So what about the "then"? Can I manipulate..no, I hate that word, can I pull strings with the then portion? I guess not really. That is the part up to the beehive, but the likelihood percentages...is it 50%? 30% Can I sway it to 75, maybe 60% by batting my eyes or constructing a pout? I am not saying all-out ruttish persuasion, but if I happened to blink my eyes graciously...Well, here's where I'm at..

"If you want something badly enough, may or may not be a Spanish Inquisitor, have faith, and wear mascara, then there is possibly a more than 50% chance that you will receive the opportunity to have your if-want coming true."

I should probably just ask.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat...

I know that I have mentioned before the importance and significance of hand-holding, at least to me. It disgusts me when I see it only because I see it as a sign of happiness in love. Unhappy couples don't hold hands. Jubilant, love-electrocuted folks lace fingers. When will this happen? My hands do not seem equipped for holding.

(Can I mention the oddity of the conversation I am overhearing? It seems to be a tutoring session involving algebra word-problems.  This particular one involves plotting consumption of hamburgers and marginal utility.)

There is this mythological hero that I have. He's really great. And someday, unexpectedly, he's going to hold my hand, and have a picnic with sandwiches and ants. The ants are okay, they just want to picnic also. It will feel right, and we will go whale watching (to prove whales exist. I am skeptical.), and collect important things. I suspect he will look good in any light. And he will even like my feet. And he wont make me swim. Ever. He will also know when I'm joking, and when to laugh at me. We will take each other as seriously as we should, and live a harmonious co-existance. Raunchily, I would hope he understands my sex-drive. So, darling, I know you exist, and please know that I also exist and have discovered your presence in this universe. (It is important to distinguish among universes, because in one, we are already together. In another we are both dead. In yet another, he doesn't know I exist. IN a possible other, we are interspecies- Groundhog and Lobster, star-crossed lovers...) Most importantly, we will hold hands.

Aside from the possible innuendos and inside jokes, this music video. Makes me more cheerful. Silly.

From the overheard conversation previously introduced, I now can't stop picturing hamburgers on a graph. I will make this picture. Or try to, on my shoddy Microsoft-paint-for-Mac-freeware.

Options.

I actually almost always write the post titles first. Not today.

I feel like a bad person, yet at the same time I'm vindicated by the fact that nobody's perfect. It's inappropriate, however, to use that in an argument. It makes me facetious. And I refuse to apologize for that. At least when it prevents me from clubbing a face. But I'm not a bad person, not entirely, at least.

Several years ago, I used to think "gray areas" were a great place to be. I no longer agree with that at all. Yet, I wouldn't be in black nor white, either. I think I'd be in sea-foam green. Call it ridiculous, but there is a third option among the black/white, gray, and sea-foam green, that is, that black/white is defined, gray is intentionally undefined, and sea-foam green, is, well, inconclusive. Ambiguous and equivocal. It's the difference between holding hands, eating chocolate, and laying on a park bench and comparing seasons. I did not hold hands with anyone today, tangibly.

The backlight of my screen is making my onset migraine headache much worse than it needs to be; I suffer for you, readers! Just letting you know. And I love you. As much as I love honesty and kept promises (that's a ton, note previous entries).

Still thinking about a title.

Final thoughts. Why do something completely differently than you're used to, hoping for better results? It  is like making pancakes when you UNQUESTIONABLY prefer waffles. And the first batch always sucks. I did tangibly eat waffles.

Hi hey, hello.

How long has it been now? There's something different about the concept of "estranged." It's not one of those normal-loss feelings, where you wave goodbye, weep, and carry on.  It's different because they're still bumbling about someplace. And it's sort of uneasy to think that they may never think of you, and sort of eerie that they might.  I think the hardest thing is dealing with artifacts. Once a pair is estranged, their artifacts become headstones. And there's not much use for headstones except for making you sad, or rubbing. I guess the rubbing would materialize in real life in perhaps recycling and making it into a new artifact. I heard that if you dance on a headstone, you're likely to be possessed by the spirit of that headstone.  I think I'm going to line up my artifacts and dance upon them and see if any of you come back. Then again, maybe they're buried for a reason. And if I did dance, I'd have to get an exorcism.  And I'd never be the same. Not that I have been the same since, well, the departures in the first place. I keep coming back to that sinking feeling, my digestion percolating at the idea that I could see one of you again. I might be dead to you, but we're still alive. So, I guess, I miss you. The kind of miss that makes my arms weary and lax; where I could see you at the grocery store or bowling alley, and I'd have to look away.


For you:

Picklepuss Pearl  

By: Jack Prelutsky  

I’m Picklepuss Pearl, and I’m not very nice,

I’m not made of sugar, I’m not made of spice,

my attitude’s awful, my temper is vile, 

I have no idea what it feels like to smile.

I’m Picklepuss Pearl, and I’m nasty and sour,

my wretched expression can wither a flower,

it takes but a blink of my miserable eye

for laughing hyenas to break down and cry.

If I fix your face with my permanent frown,

your stomach is liable to turn upside-down,

my stare is so cold it turns water to ice,

I’m Picklepuss Pearl, and I’m not very nice.   

And for you:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ms0RtYGEhY4

Pretty Blonde Problem.

What's with blonde bombshells and their sexual wattage? It seems like they eat other girl's boyfriends for a snack. She can morph into whatever the boy may like, political preference, smoker/nonsmoker, she'll drink what the boy is drinking, and she can hold her liquor. Her hair is always shiny, no matter the weather, and they don't get split ends.  Her ass always looks perfect, in jeans, sweatpants, bathing suits, thongs, everything.  She doesn't have annoying habits, and if she does, a guy can overlook it, because when she flicks her golden locks he melts and forgets everything else. How do you solve a pretty blonde problem?

Damn it.

bananafish and winckelmann

this is probably a work in progress.

you're the seymour to my sybil

"the most beautiful thing

ever to have been created

by human hands."

bless your father for fondling your mother. 

and coming up with you!

kiss the arches of my feet

and let's not leave the beach today. 

or ever.