touchy Shar Hypersensitivity doesn't make sense. Some animals, when they feel threatened, run. Others hide. Still, there are the ones that fight, if they're large enough. Like the blowfish, sometimes they enlarge themselves to seem more menacing than they really are. Mere words. A perceived threat. It's facinating how humans react to them and place their own values on a seemingly random placement of characters. Bunches of words, strewn about in a twisty tangly web of pontification, insight and nonsensical delight. What am I talking about? Can I take a joke? Do I suck at playing cricket? How fat do these pants make me look? Am I able to enjoy myself? Will I kick your ass at video games? Did my vocabulary astound you? Are my itty-bitty breasts so sexy that you can't take your eyes off them? Would I eat the kitten? Won't you be my neighbor? Why should I care? It's an experiment to see what shape this will take when left at your mercy. Let's be lab rats. Pontificating, insightful, and/or delightful rats. 000621 ... Brad hahaha.... what? 000621 ... grendel words when wielded with that intent ( or tossed about carelessly ) can cut deeper than knives. Roxanne[from the balcony]: why do your words sound so different now? Cyrano [to Roxanne]: because i was not sure that they had found you...because my words must travel up to meet you and yours fall to me so quickly...One harsh word from that height might crush me. "words are weapons, sharper than knives" 000621 ... Splinken If I feel I'm being fucked with, I lash out. Now since blather is an artificial environment filled with pen names and made up stories and all other kinds of false yumminess, I shouldn't get so worked up. I feel dumb for being so growly yesterday. And there is no removing those posts after you click the "blather" button. 000621 ... knot meat After I touched her on the couch At her and her girlfriend¡¦s Twentysomething apartment, Warmer and cleaner than mine, [so would a dump truck] She changes into pajamas and, One of her girlfriend¡¦s rugby shirts. I go out into her front yard And blatantly smoke a cigarette. She¡¦s the one, I¡¦m the one, her girlfriend is the one, And I feel no need to explain it In the tired satisfaction after her orgasm. Her girlfriend is at work, putting on the face Telling cheery stern jokes and listening To other people¡¦s problems. I breathe in slowly, exhale, My fingers are invisibly intertwined with her smell And tobacco, natural richness and additives. My face feels like it should be cross-eyed, Scarred, and blank. A singular feeling, That scene in every monster movie Where the monster looks out through the screen And is most sympathetic precisely when he¡¦s least ¡V Unrepentant, too tired to stave off madness, And taking a sudden and surprising devious pleasure In his lack of grace, in the sadness of himself and others And whatever bleakness he danced in. Another blown exhalation. In a minute or an hour, the other feelings Will return. Love, a tender rage, some guilt Or a wish to explain himself at the least. But for now, I¡¦m going to smoke it to the filter. 070622 ... knot meat let's try this again: After I touched her on the couch At her and her girlfriend¡¦s Twentysomething apartment, Warmer and cleaner than mine, She changes into pajamas and, One of her girlfriend¡¦s rugby shirts. I go out into her front yard And blatantly smoke a cigarette. She¡¦s the one, I¡¦m the one, her girlfriend is the one, And I feel no need to explain it In the tired satisfaction after her orgasm. Her girlfriend is at work, putting on the face Telling cheery stern jokes and listening To other people¡¦s problems. I breathe in slowly, exhale, My fingers are invisibly intertwined with her smell And tobacco, natural richness and additives. My face feels like it should be cross-eyed, Scarred, and blank. A singular feeling, That scene in every monster movie Where the monster looks out through the screen And is most sympathetic precisely when he¡¦s least ¡V Unrepentant, too tired to stave off madness, And taking a sudden and surprising devious pleasure In his lack of grace, in the sadness of himself and others And whatever bleakness he danced in. Another blown exhalation. In a minute or an hour, the other feelings Will return. Love, a tender rage, some guilt Or a wish to explain himself at the least. But for now, I¡¦m going to smoke it to the filter. 070622 what's it to you? who go blather from