Guest Post: More Meat, Less Potatoes...And a Rant from Your Blogger

Hello, the two people who read my blog. 

Firstly, I apologize for missing my posting schedule, which was this past Wednesday.  Ironically, my guest poster managed to send me his entry on time.  Show's you how easily I'm one-upped.  I will be going to Florida soon enough for work, where I will be divorced from distraction.  I promise a slurry of posts that are hopefully less shitty that their predecessors.

Now that the obligatory, yet sincere apologies have been dealt--a rant from your blogger:

So, this guest poster of mine promised me that the title of this next post would be apropos.  More Meat, Less Potatoes implies that the story of the lone gunman, the two stalkers, and oblivious lady friend would move along a bit more laterally than it has been.  Frankly, I had a key board smashing moment while I was editing this bit.  It's good, but that fucker needs to get to something a bit more meaty before wasting such a good title with a misdirect. 

Enjoy the third installation of the Nony serial. 

So I was watching my two former co-workers through the scope of my rifle when-

More meat less potatoes.

               She came into view.

               I was perched far and away, but within perfect view and range to witness or intervene in the fateful scene that was about to unfold. 

               There she was, the adorable and care free product of a unwittingly sheltered life.  She came bursting out of the woods.  She engaged in various childish high jinks with the freedom of someone not aware that she's being watched and with the abandon of someone very much certain she's alone.  With that certainty, she pranced along the riverside and leaped semi-Disneyfied from boulder to boulder. Funny how when viewed from far enough away, like bacteria seen through a microscope, all human activity tends to resemble childishness.

               All the while, hungry wolves were circling the fawn.

               She picked a large flat sun exposed rock, promptly dropped her top, and laid out to bathe in the sunlight.

               Now, this is a perfectly normal and even natural behavior for a woman who thinks she is alone to take in and enjoy nature in a perfect world. Oh, but if only people would look around and see that the world we live in is not only far from perfect, and it's all our own fault.

               (Not their real Names)

               Bill and Ted stood off in the distance, watching her with... a familiar look.

               How is your understanding of Einstein's theory of Relativity? My favorite laymen parallel is the novel notion that a moment with a beautiful woman slips by like sand through your desperately clutching fingers, but when you place your hand on a hot stove time seems to stretch on forever.

               I bring this up so that you might apply that principle to me at that moment and thus understand and appreciate the convoluted emotional storm I was experiencing. I was both an observer of and an ambiguous participant in the scene I have described to you. I do hope you know that it is truly impossible to know the mind of any man, but I want to show you mine as honest as I can, twisted as it may be so you might better learn.

               When I see naive innocence about to be introduced to truth, I feel a slurry of things:  Pleasure--the one I am least proud of; ethical panic--the one that usually ends up determining the outcome.

               Shall I be brutally honest about what went through my mind as I watched this girl through that scope?  

               I have seen so much violence in my life, and have been on both ends of it, that I honestly don't know any more what is the right or wrong thing to do or feel about anything anymore.

               My first bitter angry thought, "Good, let the arrogant bitch get a life lesson."

               I'm not proud of it.  Sometimes I forget that people, who aren't as close to the follies of man as I am, are not silly, self centered cunts for getting themselves into these situations.

               My second thought, "Am I legally or ethically allowed or obligated to intervene here?"

               At which point I'm starting to get a headache that I am pretty sure a few untraceable trigger pulls would have remedied.

               My third and favorite thought was, "How much reality should I let this girl be exposed to before snapping the curtains closed?"

               I mean after all, had I not been there to protect her from the situation that she had unwittingly stumbled into all on her own, she would surely suffer a horrific fate.

               Shouldn't I let her get a little taste of reality to help her better protect herself in the future?

               But, alas!  We just assumed that Bill and Ted would do harm didn't we? Until I interjected this bit of rationality you were about to condemn Bill and Ted to execution along with me, weren't you?

               How do you know you can trust my telling of the story? If you don't understand things from the larger perspective, then you might argue I was out looking for trouble.  

               Maybe I should tell you a few things about Bill and Ted first...

Guest Post: Nony Series--First, a Totally Related Tangent

Note to Readers:  If you haven't started reading the Nony series from last Saturday's post, read it here before this one.  Although this post is titled First, a Totally Related Tangent there are still spoilers.  Be sure to read the first one.

Enjoy!

So why was I stalking her?

First, a Totally Related Tangent. (That might prove I'm not entirely crazy)

               Life is Suffering.

               I had a rough childhood.  I will gladly spare you as much of the whiny details as possible, and instead just gaily prance to the pearls of wisdom retained from so much "real world experience". Without much option, I naively turned to the military who decided Iraq would be the perfect place for me to resolve my adolescent issues. As you might imagine it didn't help all that much.

               Despite the waking nightmare that has been my life, I am the inevitable and well adjusted statistical anomaly you get from child abuse. Too frilly? In other words, nature abhors a vacuum, if 99.9 percent of children who are abused go insane, then it stands to reason that .01 will come out as well...

               I'll want you to decide for yourself as to what I am.

               I will tell you that at least in my own mind I feel that I am fabulously well adjusted, albeit darkly twisted in my sense of humor.

               But is there a fringe benefit to all my suffering?

               A sort of bullshit detector that makes my skin crawl such as when the President told Americans that the most important thing they could do to contribute in the War on Terror was, as I may paraphrase, "spend more money, and keep a close eye on your neighbor" at which point he cackled and exited stage left.

               Before I go much further on this tangent, you need to understand that I am a strict atheist and skeptic.

               I come from a family of Christian morons, whose idea of accountability was that personal responsibility was trumped by angels and demons.  Domestic violence caused by demonic possession?  Yeah, didn't buy into that either by the umpteenth time the back of his hand popped a welt on my sister's cheek.  Worse yet, I was raised in the ghetto that prescribes to exorcism attempts on my entirely sober father.  At that point in my childhood, I started to wise up.  My father's abuse paired with sobriety and distinct lack of demons belied an individual who was the epitome of a piece of shit.

               Nope, no need for personal responsibility, it's just the demons.

               That said... did anyone else notice that the "Five Pointed Star of David" on the Republican (GOP) Party's elephant mascot became inverted into a pentagram right about the time the War on Terror kicked off?

               As you may ask, what does all this have to do with stalking this woman?

               Well, I was stalking two men originally, two blokes I worked with in Iraq when I discovered they were stalking her. This caught my interest for a number of reasons.  Reasons that would make me wish retrospectively that I had stayed the fuck out of her business, but not really.

               Anyways, it was at this point I decided to thrust myself in her life. 

               For her own good.

               Opps.

---

 [SA1]Weave this throughout the story in later installments.

Clocks

Where this piece came from:  I hate time--well, at least the measured sort.  I hate how in the hustle and bustle we often glance at our cell phones or watches one, two, three times consecutively to even have the time register.  It belies our preoccupation of having to be wherever at a very specific whenever.  Frankly when one lives in the modern first world, it's hard to get away from the clock.  There will always be places to be and people to meet, but we have to remember the wise words of Simon and Garfunkle when we get in a time funk:

Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feelin’ groovy
Ba da da da da da da, feelin’ groovy

A lot of people hate the mornings.  On my own, I'm a morning person.  I usually get up with the sun, but on some early shoot days I'm up as early as 4:30am.  But fuck it, as long as I plan I won't be rushed.  Hell, if I'm proactive enough I have sufficient time to wake and bake...muffins, of course. Winky blinky.

Just know, as hectic as life is, there is always time to look for fun and feel (as they say) groovy.

Enjoy "Clocks"

Clocks

How often do you check the time?

With places to be

People to see and date,

Ruminate for just one second how many moments were wasted

looking at your cell's face counting down until you're late.

Do you find yourself staring at the at the glaring red lines

waiting for :59 to bloom into zeroes that blare

declaring your booting out of bed?

Instead, forget the numbers

and enjoy your sleep.

Keep close the memories you make

and not the appointments that keep you up at night...

when really you should be focusing on holding your wife.

Guest Post: How I met my first and last Wife

Note to the Reader:  This guest poster will remain anonymous until revealing the identity of the individually is optimally dramatic and grandiose.  To piss him off and perhaps amuse him, he'll be referred to as Nony.  Get it?  From Anonymous?

Anyway, he is theatrical as shit, but there are so many layers to his writing.  Pay close attention to these weekly guest posts.  Note that the Nony guest posts are part of a series.  The labels on this blog will indicate to which series guest posts belong, as I plan on having other guest posters.

Note to the Creative Writers:  For those of you who dabble with creative writing and think you have a piece that pertains to the contemporary human condition...I want to have you as a guest poster!  Shoot me a comment at the end of this blog if you're interested.  Please feel free to tweet me as well if you're thinking of dabbling in creative writing here:  @LoveMiaLi.

Now... Sit up.  Pay attention.  Probably even read the story a few times.  Get furiously annoyed that it is brief, but know there will be more next week.

      How I met my first and last Wife

      "I'm sorry, you are stupid attractive" I failed to say charmingly.

      "What?" she snapped in that short crisp bitchy tone that only women (and gay men) can quite pull off without sounding like a woman or a gay man. That sounds redundant, but it's not, you're just dumb.

      "Wait, no!" and violating all common sense waving my hands like a mad man I rambled, "Foot in mouth disorder."

      At that point the look she was giving me was more "I'm going to call the police" than "Oh you're so adorable I just want to suck your dick until your eyes roll into the back of your head and melt!" as I had imagined it playing out as I watched her magnified graceful form through the scope mounted on my rifle.

      Run-on sentence much?

      Finally, she gave me a confused little smile, I set my sights on it and bore into the depths of my dark and twisted "soul" for any divine spark or some such thing to help me recover. When I came up utterly empty handed, I took one from the devil for a reasonable (albeit unfixed) interest rate.

      I looked her in the eye and after one last small flourish of gesticulated frustration, I dropped my hands to my sides as if to signal my surrender.

      I sighed and with a shrugged blurted, "What I meant was-" I pointed a finger at my temple, "You are so bloody attractive that it is making it really hard for me to think straight right now, it feels like my brain has been marinated in retarded and set to bake at 350. Seeing you carrying all those bags so precariously and in that all too realistic and drab nurses uniform... you are just the perfect image of American femininity. I'm sorry." I finished with a slightly depressed sigh and locked my eyes on a stain on the rug. The world seemed to vibrate and wobble in and out of focus as my eyes moistened.

         By the time I was done puzzling out the origin of events that led to the stain on the carpet the hard look in her eyes hard softened to the one I had imagined through the aforementioned scope. Oh, and on that note, I wasn't planning anything crazy mind you with that rifle, no sir I truly wasn't.

      It was just the most convenient device I had handy at the moment I decided to stalk this woman.

      ...wait.   

      I know that sounds way worse, please hear me out before you pull the trigger, but don't put the gun down either, okay? That's right. Good, keep it pointed right between my eyes. You will thank me later. 

      This was the first time I set eyes on the woman who regrettably would go on to become my wife shortly thereafter.  We'll call her Rox Ann, to protect her identify from irreparable embarrassment from association with me. 
  
By:  Nony

Late Post: Posts Weekly, Broken Promises Daily

To apologize for not posting yesterday, I'm sharing with you a YouTuber whose work is brilliantly human and funny.  Yesterday was a bit hectic between dealing with my car (tires all brand spanking new), running errands, still NOT unpacking, and going up to LA for my first radio show.  Yeah, life unfortunately is busy.

However I try not to be too shitty, so I have a surprise for you folks who dig the blog.  I'm talking about the folks who like creative writing and aren't here just because I spread my legs on film.  For these lovers of lit:  keep an eye out on my Twitter for blog news Saturday.  You will not be disappointed.

Until then, enjoy the video at the beginning of the post.  Natalie Tran is the brainchild and star of CommunityChannel.  Although, I'm sure she wouldn't consider herself a star, so much as my life is full of small human dramas that demand skits.  And by drama I don't mean me silly, childish and petty drama, but rather dramas as in theatrical human stories that need sharing.

Third Installation to Danger Series: Hunger

Where did this piece come from:  I'm fucking starving right now.  As an individual who is very much driven by my stomach, hunger is a very dangerous thing.  For a long time I've been intrigued by the idea of the body's two hungers--the hunger for food and nourishment, and the hunger for sex, flesh, and human connection.  From seeing many folks fall into regret over eating too much cake and regret over the unnamed person in their bed, I thought it appropriate to play with this idea for the Danger series. 

There are two things I've realized in my life in regard to the two hungers:

1. Never go food shopping on an empty stomach because that leads to an empty wallet.
2. Never go to a swinger's club without having masturbated furiously before hand, so as to not let your standards dip too low because the itch is too damn strong.

Enjoy Danger (III)!

But wait?!  I haven't posted Danger (II)!  That's because it really isn't worth posting quite yet.  Keep an eye out down the road for it. 


Danger (III)

The most dangerous thing is hunger
When hunger consumes you
      your body and psyche is stretched out of proportions.

You order twelve pancakes when you can only eat three.
You sleep with a two when you deserve an eight.

So don't eat with your eyes
and don't think with your dick...

Unless you're that hungry.