Jamie's Blog

Oh love, you’re like the rushing rain, how it dabbles the panels, it drives me insane, chaos abounds when you fly around, tsunami emotions shatter the ground I stumble and quake as you open your maw and cling to the fear of what I just saw, perturbed passion, uneasy volcano, calamity jane, charging rhino.  Gore me through like a human-kabob, I yelp at the pain
and masochistically sob.

Jennifer Government
was a fun novel full of action and mayhem. Max Barry depicts a world on the verge of anarchy due to the forces of commercialism and capitalism run amok. It’s no Atlas Shrugged and will not change your outlook life, but it is nonetheless interesting and a worthwhile read.

I don’t really know what turns women on, but I tried since Sunny requested it…. Oh, btw, the narrator is a GIRL. (Rumors of my homosexuality have been greatly exaggerated.)

I Want You…

Aching with exhaustion, I pounded my legs up and down. “Gotta keep my thighs toned,” I told myself. I tensed and my teeth clenched as blackness rolled in and out. I dropped my head for a moment and raised it to a god.

Steely brown eyes–almost black–looked up at me from a sit-up position. He had a cocky smirk, with lips wet and supple, yet lips that were strong. They could engulf mine, engulf my whole body–cover every crevice, invade every orifice, wet me everywhere. I gasped.

He raised his torso up and down, crunching his abs together. Count them…four, six, no eight packets of muscle. His toned, but lean body shimmered. He had to be almost a foot taller than me–I shivered at his length.

Continuing my workout, my eyes followed his movements. He watched me too. His eyes jumped from my breasts to my trembling mound. Tempting eyes drank me in, and I welcomed them to all my secret places. My body pulsed with heat. “Taste me!” I implored to him psychically.

***

Jet black hair and rough hands seized me–hands that stroked my waist-low hair and my awaiting body. Hypnotizing eyes lulled my will to succumb. He plunged, dived, slid into me, but gently, and our lips melded together.

***

I continued my workout, turning my headphone volume high, and minutes later he left without ever realizing my hidden desires.

The fiery prince saw hot kaledescopic pigments, much more than the mundane grays, the placid blues, and the soft velvety blacks to which he was accustomed. Two rose lips–actually their sharp corners–raised as heat beat his body pink. Oh that sweet monarch, whose eyes fluttered like butterflies’ wings. He gasped for life as it rushed into and out of him. Flying silver clanked against stone, the reds dancing away.

For those of you who don’t remember that I CREATED Petezmaru, be mindful!

I drew him
up from the living earth. His bone and cartilage is bound by my
most powerful majicks. His leathery sinews doth beat and undulate with
the strength of my vitality. His existence is my whim, his life is a
paltry pittance given to a beggar.

He was seeking a soul, and to hell i ventured in search.

Eons–seconds,
I know not, flowed passed, as I battled scourges hidden by the mists of
time; those foul demons and beasts relegated to mere children’s
bed-time tales, I smote.

There, in
the fifth circle, those spirits that mourned life while still living,
were submerged in that hellish river. I summoned one forth and defying
heavenly-law, granted him terrestrial blood and body. Now he is my
vassal, my twisted monster! Behold….

– Arch
Mage, Necromancer, Practitioner of the Dark Arts, Scholar, Lover,
Hellish Fiend, Impaler, Omega, Transmogrifier, Sorcerer, Warlock,
Shaman, and all-around Meanie, Majie

My Extravaganza! <5 Days Left>
(12.13.2003, 6PM, 3900 Chestnut St.)

The teams: http://www.angelforge.com/bd2003/gui.swf

Since Rob put a funny flash movie on his site, i will have to do the same. this one is funnier though: http://www.punkvoter.com/anim/anim-idiot.html

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Don’t just read my Xanga, comment on it too, f*ckers. Tell me how f*cking funny I am!

As we approach the day of my extravaganza (thats right I’m giving extra Vaganza–what a deal), a celebration of that most blessed of days, my birth, I thought i’d make things easier on you with this next entry.

So…here are things both girls and boys can write in my birthday card (hey, offers are flattering. No, I’m not gay.)

Jamie, you stride the world like a colossus.

Jamie, will you marry me?

Jamie, you are the alpha and the omega.

Jamie, I want to start a cult in your honor. I shall call it Jamieism and we’ll sacrifice chicken heads to you on alters drenched with blood.

Jamie, the combined attributes of the depth of your heart and your raw hotness are only surpassed by the fiery bowels of the Earth.

Jamie, please seed my first child (I don’t know if this could work for a boy; I wouldn’t want to try.)

Jamie, remember that time we were playing Mario Bros, and I climbed that beanstalk? I wish I had been climbing you.

Jamie, when I think of how smart you are, it makes me want to drop you into a meat grinder and process you into sausage links. I could resell you at a huge markup and call my product, Intello-Links–guaranteed to increase one’s intelligence. Then, I’d start a software firm by the same name and get rich. I’d hang your portrait in the lobby.

Jamie, how about a threesome?

Jamie, at first I thought DaAznAngel was kind of a gay screenname–then, I started to get to know you and I was like, ‘Chyeah! He is the asian angel!’

Jamie, when I think of you, it makes me want to pee.

Jamie, when I think of you, I need to grab a fistful of tissues.

Jamie, I dreamt of you once as Captain of the Enterprise. Not the original, but Jean-Luc’s Galaxy class. Remeber the episode where he was assimilated by the borg? I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.

Jamie, I need a sample of your sperm. I already have Tony’s, and by recombinating the two specimens and fertilizing a donated egg, I can create a race of super-intelligent Asian women with huge breasts.

Jamie, you’re the true ubernerd. It’s like they amputated and harvested parts from lesser nerds to build you. You’re like Dr. Frankenerd’s Monster.

And the best thing someone can write….

Jamie, I love you.

It was a wintry autumn day-but the coldest of seasons was yet two months away. I was sitting in the front seat of Rob’s car when the argument started.

Vi didn’t mean anything by what he said–and I did make a careless slip of the tongue, but it set me off for about five minutes. Those five minutes would have been enough to quell my frustration–to let it simmer and boil down, but then she said something. I don’t know if I was madder at myself for making the mistake, or at them for not forgetting it.

She was Rob’s god-cousin, which means he could’ve still “hit that” if he had tried or wanted to. Neither was the case, which is why she was sitting in the back. She was in town from Portland for the weekend, and it was up to us that night to show her a good time. The conversation was between Vi and I, but she butted in. She said that maybe what I felt was not real love at all. She commented that maybe I had made the slip because all I felt was “puppy love.”

There’s definitely a negative connotation that goes with the term puppy love. In that one simple adjective, “puppy,” people can defame a love as innocent, childish, and even silly. I blasted her.

“How can you even begin to judge me like that? You’re four years older? So what? How do you know how much I’ve been through–both in my life and my relationships?” It had not been merely and idle comment. There had been meat in it. Raw meat.

“Yea, he’s right Wynne, he’s had more experience than all of us,” Vi helped. He always tried to manage situations on the off chance that they might get out of hand. He’s our voice of responsibility at times–he’s only failed once.

I thought for a minute about what he said and if it was really true. “Rob, don’t you have more experience than I do?”

“Well, I think you actually beat me by a bit,” Rob replied.

I wasn’t sure whether to be happy that I had more experience than them or to feel dirty. Regardless, it became the crux of my argument. I told her that I’d had more experience than any of my friends–and in general, and if she wanted to call my love “puppy” then she was being a blatant ageist. Not only that, but inwardly I questioned her capacity for love.

She tried one last tactic and brought up my slip. I lost any control I had been trying to maintain, and let my passion burst.

I screamed at her about how it is human to make mistakes, and that if she had never misspoken before then she must be God or Buddha. “I know for sure that I’m not God! I make mistakes!” I yelled at her. I was rash and cold–I let my emotions best my composure.

My exclamations resounded down the empty streets of Chinatown that night. I can imagine lights blinking on in nearby apartments wondering at the high-pitched squealing coming from the streets below.

Did they stop to wonder about the cause? Did they realize a man, cut and injured, walked bleeding through the streets? His passion flowed blood red out of him, like the color of spring roses on winter snow?

A storyette…

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She was always so busy with her own things. The books, the meetings, the activities. All of these monopolized her time. It was time she could’ve been spending with me–time that we could’ve been together. I tried to understand her point of view about things but sometimes I wondered to myself where her priorities lay. There were so many important things in her life back then that I wondered if there was even enough room for one more–me.

Perhaps it was simply foolish insecurities that sparked these musings. Despite any questions on my part, I did my best to support her through everything she did–even when it meant I couldn’t be with her.

I didn’t mind it much–all the time that I didn’t get to see her. I filled my days with chores, work, and hobbies. It all seemed well worth it those nights when we acutally could be together. We’d hold each other long into the night, locked in a passionate embrace, discovering each other anew.

Then again, sometimes she’d lay in bed with work to do. She’d sit reading something she needed for the next day’s class or working on a term paper due in several days. Still, this was our time together, and I made the most of it by nuzzling against her petite frame. I’d rub my cheek against her arm a couple times–just to make sure she knew I loved her, and just watch her.

Sometimes she’d pause for awhile and pull her hair, which usually hung limp around her shoulders, back and smooth it out, as if untangling the knots of frustration and weariness that obstructed her progress. She always did her best to finish, because she always wanted to spend as much of her time on me as she could. I still thank her dearly for that.

I didn’t realize how she felt at first–of course. I suppose I didn’t know her as well as I should have. Those sidelong glances she gave me in between lines of a passage; the way she’d rest her hand on my arm a bit before placing it back on her material; how she’d soflty smile when I’d huddle closer; these all spoke of her love. I guess it just takes time to learn to understand the signs people give you.

Whoops, she’s staring at me now…it’s definitely one of those come-hither looks. Gotta go…

After she left, I’d ask that question to myself every morning when I woke up alone. I didn’t mean it in the literal sense of course, but there still had to be some kind of answer to the abstraction. Who am I? I would repeat it over and over in my head until it beated with the words. Who am I? Who am I? Who…

The only thing that purged them from my mind was a hot shower. Despite the summer humidity, I always took hot showers. I would turn the water on and let it run. The steam would begin to billow and fill my small bathroom. I would strip and stare at myself in the mirror for a couple minutes while the water heated. Naked, vulnerable and exposed, I couldn’t hide my sorrow.

It had been a humid, rainy day in June when we met. The smell of grass after a fresh rain still reminds me of her. That first night together, we held each other. Her lithe body intertwined with mine and we watched each other intently until we succumbed to the night. We didn’t know anything about each other, but that seemed to not matter. I wish we had taken a picture that night: to stop the hour glass; to freeze and preserve precious moments in time; if only life was that easy. We had met in the morning, so the memory of her was most poignant during that time of the day.

I would cautiously step into the tub–I didn’t want to slip. The water would sting me at first, like burning needles. My skin would start to glow red and flushed as if I had just had a drink. I’d wash carefully and thoroughly, scrubbing over the length of my body. Then I would sit in the tub and let the water wash over me. My lungs fought for fresh air through the heavy steam but I needed time to think. The daily pishposh of suburban life weedled its way into my thoughts at times, along with thoughts of school in the fall, my family and their problems; but mostly, I thought about myself. I was searching desperately for the answer–searching for who I was now that she had left me lost and alone.

She had tried to be gentle but the words scalded like hot metal. She grew red and flushed with a mix of embarrassment, sadness, and frustration–one might have thought she was angry. Then, she composed herself and spoke to me softly. I let her words sweep over me. She said that it was her fault; in some small way it might’ve been, but we both knew that I had failed her expectations. The heart she had so lovingly gilded turned to lead. It fought for hope. Without her, what could I be?

I would sit in that shower only for several minutes. It was always hard to rise, but I managed–there was nothing else I could do but manage. Rising to my full height, I would exhale a long breath and turn the water off. Opening the curtain, I would retrieve a towel and dry off any stray droplets that still clung to me.

I sat there for hours after she had finished and left. She walked out the door without looking back. I watched her walk out as I looked forward. She was not going to be a part of my future as I had planned. Why had she really left? Was I simply unworthy? She left me in body, but her spirit lingered.

I slowly learned to live again–without her. It was too difficult to go back to what I had been–so I worked with what I had grown into. Still, the memories I had of her clung to me and I took her everywhere I went. I wondered if she would always haunt me.

Finishing the shower each morning, I would dress and comb my hair, and look at myself one more time. I would ask myself again–who am I?

The answer didn’t come the first few months after she left; but eventually when I asked myself, I would smile into the mirror and see two parts of me grinning back. I’d sigh and each day accept the answer that I had finally found.

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Crits, comments, and suggestions please! What did the story mean to you? Any themes you noticed? Is this complete crap or one big cliche?

All of you are so lucky. Thanks to my entries in Xanga, you can delve into the mind of a genius! Quiver before my might and glory!

I take if from your silence that you’re in awe. That’s understandable…I mean, if I had the opportunity to understand the mind of a giant like myself–I’d probably be stunned too. I stride through the realms of imagination like a colossus. You think you can even begin to comprehend what it is I am?? Fool….

I devour literature like a rambunctious toddler inhales pixie stix. I have the spatial reasoning and computational power of an SGI workstation. My every utterance is logged by god as the true gospel! My mind is quicker than hermes on viagra. Greenspan’s economic policy fluctuates according to my health.

I am all important, all knowing, all encompassing. I am Zeus. Kiss my arse or I’ll sizzle yours.

Now that is crap!

This used to be private, but I’m making it public. I hope no one minds!! byeeeeeeeeeee….

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(Untitled) Part 2

He glanced at her through the corner of his eye. All he could catch was a bit of her leg. His head hung to the floor.

“When you said those things,” he started reluctantly, “I was shocked, but I understood. Then, I waited. You didn’t give me any sign that it was okay–that we were okay.”

“I used to think that no matter what–if we had our love for each other–and we were honest, that things would be okay. And …” his voice almost broke, “you didn’t let me know that it’d all be okay–that you still wanted me and wanted to be with me.”

She flashed into his mind–frozen memories of that night.

“I was looking into your eyes,” his voice started to shake, “and you just looked back. I kissed you softly to let you know I was sorry, but you just looked at me. I held you–you did hold me back–but it seemed too reluctant. Too forced.”

He started to sob as tears streaked down his cheeks, turning even farther from her as he hid himself in shame. “I wasn’t sure. I was so full of doubt. I needed you to tell me that you still cared for me. I waited and waited and kissed you softly again, and still…” he didn’t know what else to say as his voice trailed off. It seemed to him as if he had said everything that he needed to.

“The truth is,” he said–slowly, reluctantly, “after that, I felt lonely and worthless. Like I didn’t deserve you. I don’t want to blame you. You didn’t know. It’s just that…you should’ve. Mostly I blamed myself. I was so sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be. I was sorry that I would never be able to change what had happened. I left you that night feeling less than a person.”

“It was something I couldn’t stand.”