Mark's Journal

Adult Content Notice, Copyright & Statement of Fact

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 16:18:48 GMT

WARNING: This is the journal of an adult, which means, by definition, that some of its content is intended for and only for those over 18 years of age. If you are under 18 years of age, then use your back button or close this page. Otherwise, proceed at your own risk. If you may be sensitive to its content, or potential content, I urge you to read my user information before you make a decision about whether or not to proceed. Beyond these warnings, however, I am not responsible for your actions, or the actions of your children. That is your duty.

All original, applicable material within all pages herein Copyright 2001-2008 by person registered as holder of the insanejournal.com account name "littlegirllover," all rights reserved. No portion of any original material may be republished, without exception, in any form, anywhere, by any person, organization or media without the expressed written consent of the copyright holder.

DISCLAIMER & STATEMENT OF FACT: Notice to all persons and organizations to whom this presents: Neither this website, nor its holder, in any way whatsoever, either explicitly or implicitly, or by any other construct, condones, encourages, approves of, advocates for or recommends adult/child sexual interaction, and on the contrary, argues and works against these kinds of things, period.

Not sure what to title this, atm.

Thu, 20 Mar 2008 03:11:43 GMT

I let the crazies get to me, recently.

I have to steel myself for the inevitable, again.

I can never tell if that, in and of itself, is a kind of victory or not.

If it is, though, I'm pretty sure it's just a consolation prize: they fuck you and you don't get butthurt about it. So, while you can't say you won, not by any measure at all, at least you can walk away and say I didn't lose, they didn't take anything from me at all.

Believing it, however, and harder still, making it so, are whole other things.

Last week, a small group of young, largely ignorant, idealistic and as always preconditioned by P-J et all insanejournal users discovered the insane journal community "childlove."

It has ten members. Since it was created at the time of the LJ exodus, there had been perhaps three posts, one of these by me.

The community that "discovered" us evildoers has almost 1200 members.

It was a rout, yes.

In a 300 comment post, these members posted no less than, I dunno, at least 40 or so macro type things - mostly pedobear amusementary, a couple of the expected MJ things, and not a few macros featuring their favorite tv star, Christ Hanson.

Nothing
constructive
at all
was said from their side.

Myself and one other member of the ten members were the only defenders.

Two outsiders, though not like us, as it were, courageously spoke up.

One person, presumably connected to or otherwise exposed to the events, came to my journal, commenting anonymously:

"I'm actually interested in more about this. It's hard for people to not judge you when they don't know the whole story. So, if you want to, can you explain to me why you don't think this is wrong? Do you not understand why other people think of you as a monster?"

To which I promptly responded. (Not a necessary thing to understand this entry.

Otherwise, everything was as expected: castration, death, etc (the usual), accusations - no, not accusations - assertions that it was beyond a shadow of a doubt that our very existence was illegal, and all other manner of expected misunderstanding.

I can't link you to the event, however, as insane journal has chosen the path of greatestjournal: in communication with insanejournal user=childlove, they directed that every single post, past and future, regardless of content, be friendslocked, forthwith.

The community has complied.

Furthermore, they communicated in the directive "Also please let your members know that their individual journals are being closely monitored by some of our users and they will want to lock any entries that may be controversial.""

I did not see the actual communication, as I am not a maintainer. Nor did the one who shared the information, in a response to my comment in the now friendslocked entry, advise that IJ had made any prohibition upon sharing the contents of their communication - as GJ had done with their communication to me when they demanded the same of my journal, over there - now since abandoned.

Anyway, to the point: this means it won't be long at all before these ever vigilant, ever honorable and upstanding, and so much more valid users than permanent account holder me force upon insanejournal the same action with regard to my personal journal.

After all, as I said, there was exactly not a single entry at childlove that was controversial in any single way, at all. There was no discussion of age of consent laws, there was no discussion of children at all. Fact of the matter is, beyond a posting of Philip John Eide's contact information and my post about a proposed law in KY to make P-J style justice legal, there was nothing there of any substance.

At all.

There's much more in my own personal journal.

There will then be no reason for me to write there, anymore.

Of course, since I purchased a permanent account, I will argue; but it will be pointless and futile and will only be done to create a record - not out of any belief in, and certainly not out of any hope of any advancement.

And I will leave - in a manner of speaking - like I have el-jay; and they will claim victory.

Because they think I exist over there for a few singular reasons:

to trade child pornography
to prey on young girls
to validate feelings

(they got that last one right yes, except their definition of that bit doesn't stop at "..validate my feelings are valid," theirs goes on, I'm positive, in ways I need not enumerate.)

They will claim it a victory to shut off a public voice of reason, of hope and of honesty.
They will claim it a victory to shroud in darkness pertinent information about what it is they claim to want to help.

They will claim, erroneously, that full darkness is always better than even a glimmer of light.

And inside me, I will know they are wrong. These are the kinds of victories far bigger people than me held tight to themselves while they burned at the stake.

That's not said pretentiously at all, nor is this: those others didn't see themselves as anything other than who they were any more than I do. Our similarities are singular: we discovered a truth we could not deny, not with everything inside of us, no matter what.

And perhaps, in a few cases, they felt that sharing that truth was somehow important - else they could have kept it inside themselves through a more comfortable life and to a more comfortable death.

***

This is neither pity post nor eulogy: it is record-keeping. Here, unlike livejournal, it is still public.

Who are you and why are you here, anyway?

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 21:57:25 GMT

A project.

As always, anonymous answers allowed and anticipated.

(That's seven a's for those not counting)

However, for the heck of it, to make it more fun, here's a friendly neighborhood meme:

Anonymous commenting - you know the drill.

1. Confess something horrible you've done in your lifetime.

2. Ask me a question.

3. Compliment/insult.

4. Tell me your deepest, darkest desire.

5. Tell me why you friended me (or are here) in the first place.

6. Whatever you want!
Lol, heh, that last one, at least, might be taken on up.

[I have decided to post-date this entry, so that it should always be the next to first to come up, so that all visitors are given a clear invitation to speak, if they like. And, also, so that a visitor can read why others come here, and why I endeavor to keep it publicly accessible. With the additional post-dated "Adult Content Disclaimer," this should go some extra distance toward protecting anyone coming across it (somehow) by happenstance, while still keeping the other information available to those who want to read it without having to reveal their online identity.]

TBA

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 00:45:42 GMT

Which, heh, only means Tim Burton's Alice. I just read, somewhere that Tim Burton is doing an Alice in Wonderland.

I don't really care who plays Alice; the only valid question is whether or not Danny Elfman will do the music.

Actually, no, nvm.

Sun, 09 Mar 2008 22:09:37 GMT

Actually, nvm. I'm not going down this silly road, all over again. It's not worth it; not for this, and not for those kinds of people. It's not worth it. I know enough to know that people only learn when they wanna learn, and horses and mules, alike, only drink when they wanna drink, regardless of their thirst or the preponderance of water before them. Because at the end of the day, I really don't care, true or false, what someone else thinks, anymore.

I can remain, easily, aloof and detached, and indifferent to the conflict, and wait to see what happens, next.

I think it's actually more worthwhile in the end.

[ETA; Well, I mean, I thought so. But like, goddamn, when you're me, and are confronted with such total and complete ignorance of a topic, and opinions based upon that same complete ignorance, it is hard to be quiet, to say the very least - hopefully, now, maybe I can.]

(this entry was all about this usual baloney)

Sat, 08 Mar 2008 13:57:37 GMT

(Like me, some people never change.)

Heh. I'm amused that lj user = ataniell93 is still so enthusiastic and vigorous about defending her pedo porn

And still so proud of her genteel conversations with Barak Berkowitz, too.

Yanno, it's always just a case of "it takes one to know one."

She might be a lot less abrasive once she accepts herself.

Any old way, yeah, LJ-land remains the same.

[ETA 03.28.08; I went back and had a look/re-read through the whole thread. It's totally amazing. To summarize: "all pedophilia is bad, except for my kind." (Bitch, please, indeed.)]

Effing Shweet

Thu, 28 Feb 2008 14:35:50 GMT

These might link to identical stories, but, for your viewing pleasure:

Lawsuit Proceeds Against NBC Over 'Dateline' Suicide

and

Suit Against 'Predator' Show Advances

Sooner or later, Philip John Eide, Xavier Van Erck, ye too, shall swing from the rope, you boy-loving pedo, you.

He needs to ask himself, was it Karma? Was it Karma that had it turn out that the suicide of this fella, although the vast majority of the show's (and of P-J's, for that matter) focus has been on girl-loving pedos, was the suicide of a boy-lover, like (imo), Philip and Xavier.

You ain't gonna escape yourself, buddy - changing your name ain't gonna change you.

While someone else may pay this particular tab, and lots of others are paying the tab for your running from yourself, the blood of this death is on your hands, and sooner or later, Philip is gonna catch up with Xavier, too.

Municipalities, police departments, and all other manner of governmental units enjoy near total immunity from charges of recklessness, of maliciousness, but uh, oh that's right, neither P-J nor Dateline is one of those.

Holy Crap

Wed, 27 Feb 2008 15:06:39 GMT

Okay, now I am beginning to wonder if this is simply how it is every time I sleep and that I am only recently going through some phase where I happen to be remembering my dreams, which, perhaps, are actually this way all the time

I don't know - I do kind of doubt that is the case, however.

Nevertheless, the theme as it were, continued yesterday afternoon - and it's as far as I can remember any of these kinds of dreams ever going, really - and by a wide margin, as well.

I think almost all of my current lj friends remember "the neighbor girl."

This time it was her, making her debut, finally, in a dream that was not a daytime, or playtime dream, but most certainly a dream all the way.

Since I'd woken up at two am the night before, and just stayed up, I decided to take a nap around noon-fifteen or noon-thirty, yesterday.

This time, I was in a large house, again, richly appointed, again, belonging to some since-deceased older friends I used to have. I think in the end, I ended up ascertaining that the gathering, which ultimately happened there, was more or less for the purpose of trying to decide what to do with certain furnishings, etc, which had been theirs before their passing.

But before anyone showed up, in this quite large room that contained, among other furnishings, a pool table, it was just me, and yes, the neighborgirl. I couldn't place her age, but I am guessing between 11 and 13 or so.

Now, I haven't seen her in some time, really. I see her more in during the boychild's football season, since she would often be at the field with her dad to watch the games in which her brother would be playing. Even though she lives down the street, I'm sure it's been a month, at least, since last our paths crossed.

And, our paths no longer cross the way they once did, either.

Well, I don't know, maybe they actually do, since there is still always some sort of (tension is either the right or wrong word, depending) when we are nearby one another.

Perhaps when she reaches 18, I may get a better feel for how, exactly, that tension, if it exists, could be defined. I don't know, and certainly it's nothing I'm waiting for.

Anyway, holy crap.

I don't even know how it happened, I really don't, but it's making my heart race, even trying to get it onto the page. I won't embellish, however, and will just make the journal entry. There are other places and times in which I can embellish of my own accord.

All I can remember is that we were "close," close to one another, somehow in that room, and alone, for some moments, in that house, as well - or it sure felt that way.

"The next thing I knew" is the best way to preface this next thing.

She was, all of a sudden, and instantaneously, as dreams lend themselves to do, in my arms, her back against my chest, her hair and its scent..in..my..face.

Oh my god, the fullness of that moment.

Again, holy crap.

She wasn't without closing, for she couldn't have been, for the way the scene played itself out, and yet, there was no "reaching down into her pants," or panties, even, for that area was most certainly, freely accessible.

My left hand was on the face of her thigh, "steadying her" as it turned out, for the fingers of my right hand, were, at first, and very briefly, cupping her cunt. There was a small audible gasp as my middle finger opened the cleft, already wet, between her still bare pussy lips.

It was just as I remembered how it was when I was 14, and reaching down the pants of my girlfriend (though I was so backward and naive in those days, dangit) in the alley behind her house, fingering her slit and kissing her, and never having cum yet, myself, and so not knowing to where I might have driven her, had I any knowledge at all of these things.

In the dream of yesterday, however, I was 46, and it was, it seemed, the first a man had touched that place for her, for she trembled slightly, and the prettiest tiny moan escaped her lips, and I felt her tense up in my arms.

"Easy, baby," I said, gently, "easy, honey, nice and easy," I reassured her, and felt, really felt, the hard nub of her clit as the crest of my index finger's flesh, with her lubricant, eased its enfolding flesh open.

So wet, so soft, and in that moment, so mine.

Holy crap, yeah.

The scenery broke, and the next scene was like the last: all of sudden, and "the next thing I knew," again. She was kneeling, and although the ergonomic mechanics would not seem to make it possible, so also, was I. Perhaps, one or the other or both of us were praying for deliverance from this place, I don't know.

In any case, my cock was out of my unzipped jeans, in the grasp of her left hand, and for at least two or three strokes and thrusts, in her mouth.

My head was thinking, "oh my god, she wants to make me cum, is determined she is going to."

I'd already decided I was totally going to go along with that idea...

Then [lmao, how I hate this part, both writing it and living it in the dream], mom showed up for that event I mentioned earlier, right there, within 2 or 3 feet of me and my little lover girl.

My cock was still in the neighborgirl's mouth, and she had just set to working in earnest at what I had read to be her goal.

There were other people, too, in the background, now, but neither mom, nor no one, no one, no one else, noticed anything unusal - and both she and I were able to recover, again in that "all of a sudden kind of way," and were composed and standing now, and interacting with the others as if nothing unusual, much less untoward, had been happening, or had happened.

There was a brief discussion between me and mom about this really beautiful piano, and what should be done with it. I said I would like to have it, that I thought it would be nice to learn to play the piano.

The dream closed with the neighborgirl standing near the pool table, looking off, right, and myself about maybe 8 feet away, to her left and 4 feet behind, looking at her, and thinking to myself, enveloped in this feeling of safety, "well, at least now we are are past that stage, past all that pretending..now at least we know we are 'ours'."

And I woke up, then, and said aloud to myself, "holy crap."

(It is nice to have reached a point, once again, where it feels like I can write what I am thinking, keep a journal the way I did before May 29th, 2007.)

Dream Trifecta

Tue, 26 Feb 2008 02:15:42 GMT

As I mentioned, I had a dream, yesterday afternoon. I was too tired to write it up, last night, when I got back from the appointment and dinner with the children.

I thought I might write it up this afternoon, but also thought I might be less inclined to embelish, or um, not really embelish, but somehow let it get away from me, if I masturbated, first - so I did that, instead.

I'm not sure it will a difference, not sure it ever really does. So, I'll write it up now, as I listen to Bright Eyes - maybe that will have a similar effect.

The first dream had come the night before. And was very non descript and really just consisted of a closing scene to all the parts I no longer remember. A closing scene that pictured, or um, featured, the fourth grade girl who walks to school with us - climbing through a second floor window in some hypothetical apartment or house that happened to be mine.

Dressed in a blue top, and blue jeans, and just climbed through, and was standing there, at the top of the stairs.

Expectant. That's all I could read in her eyes.

I wonder if she could see the terror in mine.

Several long seconds of a dream, while my head screamed in my dream, "what now," and struggled to find the right answer, if there was one, as to what had arrived her here, having climbed through my window.

And why.

We were alone, there in the place.

Waking spared me any further details.

***

That was the one.

In the afternoon of the same day, yesterday, Sunday, I took a nap. I was day dreaming of lots of different things at the time I drifted off. Daydreaming of a story I'll write for someone, and of recent pictures I've seen of the same someone. Daydreaming of where I could take the story - and that dreaming paralleled by dreaming of where I could have gone with her, based on photos, and other knowledge, alone.

And the tile shop girl, too - whether I'd smack her ass hard, prior to mounting her from behind. What kind of a lover she would be. Whether she could be gentle enough for me.

You, conjecture stuff, all of it.

And my most recent two lovers, too - the only two I've had since the divorce in '01 - thought of them, too, and the moments and days we shared, and how much I missed even as I drank.

Anyway, eventually, after contemplating the masturbatory pleasure, I fell asleep, finding myself too tired and out of it to enjoy it muchly.

In the dream, I was in a way big house, I bet it had 11 or 14 rooms, easy. Lots and lots of people, too, family units, and people, children, too, everywhere.

[This is where I make my disclaimer that I never know what I'm going to dream, or, apparently, what I might be wearing (or eating) in any particular dream...]

As it turned out, in this particular dream, the scene opened with me in panties. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it was the first time that's ever shown up, but okee, after the banana'd butt, anything is possible. They were some girl's panties. (Lol, aren't they all?!) But nah, I meant they'd been formerly owned by a girl, I knew this in the dream, and a girl smaller than me, too, because they had my cock rather in a scrunched up kinda way.

Annnnyway, yeah, next I found myself in a bathroom, and the toilet was having some issue. There was, in replacement of the seat, firstly, some homemade wooden thing, that I could ascertain had been assmembled to accomodate some smaller bottomed ones.

It didn't fit in with the rest of the house, which was rather richly appointed.

However, the problem with the commode is that the water was running, running up and out of the tank part, above the bowl, flowing in a nearly controlled kind of way over the lifted lid of the seat (not wood) and thence, down into the bowl.

At first, I panicked, like, omg, the thing is flooding, but then I could see that no water was going on to the floor - just running up and over the top of the tank, over the face of the seat lid, and into the bowl.

I turned to the open door of the bathroom, which adjoined what looked like a bigger bedroom - appointed in furniture from no later than the 1920's. There, standing perhaps 4 or 5 feet out of the door was a girl I'd never seen before, of perhaps 9 or ten years old.

My first thought was omg, I'm in panties, what the hell's she gonna think about that. Then I noticed that although she wore a small light pink cotton pullover halter top (without ties), she had on below, only panties, too. They were stranglely similar to mine, well, almost identical - thin enough nylon it was partially sheer - no other decoration or lace, etc.

Redish brown hair past her shoulders, not all the way to her mid-back, Irish complected.

I played it all off, and only asked, plainly, "is this how this commode is supposed to be??"

"let me look," she replied, and next, we were in the bathroom, together.

I did not get to see her walk there in the dream, from the back, or any angle, as I would have enjoyed - we were just all of a sudden, there, at the problem commode.

"Oh yes, it's fine," she said, "it always does that - it's how it's supposed to be."

I don't know how, exactly, but the next scene of several seconds, had me acknowledging this, though not saying anything, besides, maybe, "are you sure."

I know I wasn't talking, because I was speechless: she was somehow standing in front of me, along the commode, and my panty covered crotch was pressed, barely touching, her panty covered bottom. I was frozen, but could feel this enourmous heat from the place of contact, which happened to be the head of my cock, still scrunched into those panties, pointing down.

Then, while I know I didn't breathe, even in my sleep - and would not be surprised if my heart had also stopped, affording those several seconds without rhythmia - she pressed back with her bottom.

Just...a little..a little ..a little.

And the heat was incredible, and I was destroyed, and waking saved me.

I don't know who she was, but I hope she comes back again, sometime.

That's all, the dream of a ridiculous man, I believe is the title of a book more famous than I.

***

That night, last night, I had a sleep dream of my lover before last, my E_. Sex was involved, the start of it, anyway, with her shaven cunt and my fingers, but it seemed she was doing it more to impress someone else, offstage right, or for some other reason than just her, and certainly not me - so nothing came of it.

End/Unspellchecked.

1/4 of Britons are vile & DEE-sgusting perverts!

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 16:54:41 GMT

The map comes from this news story or opinion piece, whichever you prefer.

The piece asked for readers' opinions (lol, as if the author's was not enough) on the question, "Are paedophiles treated too leniently?"

I submitted an "answer," however, I do not think, given that comments were running nearly 99 to none in favor of all manner of punishment, presumably for all 14 million of the dots on the map, that they will publish it.

Therefore, I am self-publishing it, here.

Leaving aside the highly inflammatory language littering this "news story," and at risk of being labelled as one of the 14 million [insert your word, here], I'd like to say, in answer to your posed question, "Are paedophiles treated too leniently?," the following:

I don't think the leniency of any treatment has one whit to do with the "population," of the "terrifying map," you've presented here.

I don't think, without real evidence (which, I point out, isn't allowed to be seen by anyone but those 14 million), that one can leap to assume that each of those 14 million has, necessarily, downloaded anything, necessarily, like what "Mr. Waters" asserts, without trial, that they have.

Undoubtedly, some have, yes. Equally undoubted is that some have not, for the simple reason that the article doesn't give the slightest indication, beyond what Waters and its author has averred, of what, exactly, for the purposes of this map's construction, is constituting the "child pornography," or a download thereof.

More importantly than the article or the map, however, is this: 14 million people are interested for some reason or another, and some apparently teeny, tiny (statistically miniscule?) portion of those 14 million are actually causing real harm to anyone, anywhere. I think those two facts, in and of themselves, should give pause to anyone thinking that fear ought be struck into their hearts.

Think about it: 14 million Britons is nearly a quarter of the British population - deduct out, say, 10 million children under 14 or so, and the percentage increases to something closer to a third. Should every Briton let one of three or four people they know strike fear into their hearts?

If so, why?

I also think of the resources that could have gone to tracking the producers of these things, rather than the construction of this silly map, (or even the writing of this silly article) both of which do exactly nothing to address the real problem.

Are they treated too leniently? I dunno. I guess you have to ask yourself, do I want to have 1 out of 3 or 4 people I know imprisoned (and do I wanna pay for that, and not just in prison costs), burned at the stake, hung, dragged through the steets?

Mark

PS, yes, I know, [Comments are moderated, and will not appear on this weblog until the author has approved them] and am interested to see how you act, now.

PSS Maybe it's not actually a "news story" since it doesn't read like one?

Anyway, yeah.

[ETA; 2.26.08. 4:33 AM; Since the time I submitted my own, seven additional responses have been published, including at least one that is not so ..vituperative as the others. However, mine is not among those published to date]

Counting backward from here

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 17:57:42 GMT

Yesterday, or no, the day before yesterday, while talking with someone, here online, I accidentally arrived at the edge of a precipice.

I didn't even really glance down - I know it's bottomless.

But as I backed away from the edge, I counted backward, and realized it's been more than four months since I was intimate in any way at all with anyone at all.

I've gone without physical one on one, touch me irl, touch you irl, sex for long lengths of time, before, for sure. 18 months after the divorce; 7 months after E went back home; another year after that; then another 6 months after that. I never really noticed too awful muchly as those months rolled by - except for some acute moments, here and there.

But I was never going without intimacy altogether, in those periods - even if the kind of intimacies I was sharing were of the online or telephone variety - they tended, still, to take the edge off of things.

I stopped doing that, though, after Another decided against anything more, and our irl relationship ended.

I don't see that changing, although it might. The drive, the need for intimacy, can be pretty large for me, after all - and now that I noticed how long it's been, the sharpness of the moments of recognition, I imagine are going to become more pointed.

Post to Childlove Community

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 12:39:15 GMT

In the state of Kentucky, of which I am not a resident, there is new agitation to change some laws, P-J style. The attorney general of that state is firmly behind a bill that would ban sex offenders from sites like Myspace and Facebook, among who knows how many others - presumably, Livejournal, Insanejornal and others could fall under its purview.

I've not read the text of the bill, and am not inclined to, since I know that its passage is a foregone conclusion. Other states, undoubtedly, will quickly update their own laws accordingly, with various parasitic lawmakers wanting to be the authors of their state's clone of the law.

I know. Yawn. Right? That's already a done deal, right? Yes, it is, has been, here and there and soon to be everywhere.

But not so fast, this little baby contains another little gem, hidden away inside - you know, like the boy-loving pedophile hidden away inside Philip John Eide. (That's right, Philster, we who are know those who are.)

Among Kentucky's House Bill 367, which passed a House judiciary committee Wednesday, are provisions that would include cyberstalking (not sure what the definition of that is? - adding as a friend, who the hell knows, or even cares?) as a crime, and require sex offenders to register changes in e-mail addresses and in online profiles - yes, correct a typo in your profile and don't notify, that's another felony, I presume.

You know, run of the mill, hard to contest stuff, backed up by quotes like,

"When you have persistent sex offenders using these new tools and these social network sites, which are extremely popular with kids between 14 and 18, that's where I draw the line, when they try to solicit kids"

which, cite exactly no studies reflecting that that is indeed the reality.

Because studies are not needed, because law enforcement, and the viewing public is happy to take the words of the (imo) pedophile, John Philip Eide at his word. Because watching things about child sex is fun. Because pretending it's anyone but us is fun. Because pretending to be sex-starved children who do not exist in the real world seeking real life encounters with ugly and pathetic, and terribly dim strawmen who do exist in the real world is fun.

Anyway, to get to the point of this post, the biggest thing inside the bill is a special little prize for our favorite idiot organization, and goes like this:

"...would allow law enforcement officers to using non-sworn personnel for online stings."[sic]

which, is backed up by quotes like this:

"we have trained specialists that don't have to be sworn police officers who can do this type of work, and we think it's high time that we allow these types of chatting to meet the qualifications for online solicitation of a minor"

Yes, to anyone who can think, that's pure lunacy, but this bill will indeed pass, because anyone who would stand against it will be accused of being a child predator him or herself, a child rapist, him or herself. There is no sense to these things anymore, because organizations like Perverted-Justice have made child sex so touchable and untouched at the same time for the presumably, obviously?) child-sex starved (imo, Philip John Eide, and) populace.

Anyone who stands against it gets a Wikisposure page proclaiming them as a child rapist, or at least, a child rape advocate. Well, luckily, I already have one of those, so I don't have to be part of the population who says yes, circumvent the constitution, please, I am bent over and waiting for the next installment.

I do not know whether Perverted-Justice will or won't have the balls to list Mark Bubenzer, a lobbyist for the Kentucky Association of Criminal Defense Lawyers, who was quoted in the article, saying in opposition to the bill:

"We're basically deputizing private organizations and the media to go out and investigate crime. We believe that's a problem because these people have their own agenda, and too, have financial gain."

I do predict, however, that the least they will say is something to the effect that oh that is bullshit, we are a completely volunteer organization dedicated to stamping out child sex predators.

Everyone will believe them - or certainly, at least, enough lawmakers in Kentucky will, then in the rest of the states, too.

That's the crime that oughtta be prosecutable.

The news link: www.wlky.com/news/15294834/detail.html

The epilogue to all this is my amusement at the willingness of legislatures, media, law enforcement, and the public, to take in stride, to accept, nay, to embrace with open arms, the first part of Perverted-Justice's name. It is such a slap in the face of all common sense.

Okay, okay, enough is just about enough

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 15:13:36 GMT

I fell asleep briefly, this morning, after being up all night.

I had a very brief dream.

Yeah (I know, I know, lol...just bear with me..it should end soon!), tile shop girl.

I was down there for something or another, and she reached to shake my hand as I left. As I reached back, I thought to myself, I'm going to see if she want to linger for that split second that can mean so much.

We never got to the "shake" part of a handshake; she left hers in mine, and I woke within about 5 seconds before she stopped.

It was warm.

Really, really warm, and way very soft, too.

Laughing..mkay...aaaannnnnd..the moral of the story is: you're probably dreaming.

But it was a nice kind of dream.

I only sound obsessive; I'm really not: I've discounted, already, all possibility. For me, this is one of those things where it truly was the journey and not the destination - at least retroflectively.

I really didn't realize how very big a deal my yesterday action was until someone pointed it out to me, last night. Lol..at first, I thought she (pointer outer of bigness of the deal) was being facetious.

It was my first (roomantic is the wrong word) interaction with an adult female without assistance of the Internet, without her knowledge of my pedo ways, since before I was married.

I've been divorced for over six years.

I might actually try it again, sometime, somewhere.

Done-ness

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 15:12:15 GMT

It was fine. I kept in mind to always do that which you fear most to do.

Got there, called the boy from the parking lot to make sure he'd pick up the other boy if I didn't make it back in time.

Died.

Said to myself, "k, it's time," and walked in.

I took them in without a cover or base.

A guy in the front office remarked, "ohhh, more flowers?"

"Yeah."

I'm not sure who the other ones went to - she's not the only girl in the shop - but I don't mind if they went to her, any old way - the sure bet was that no one had delivered any from me, yet.

She was the next person I saw.

I'm a dork, because all I could think to say was to confirm it was her, which, I already fucking knew.

"Hi, you're [Tile Shop Girl], right?"

("Lol, omg, you're an idiot," I thought, "you already knew that!")

"These are for you - I wanted you to have them."

"Awwwww (it was high pitched, not squealy, but like..well...just like that)...thank you..I feel so special."

"Well, you deserve them, and I wanted you to have them...that's all"

(My face was approaching some shade of red, I could tell, so I moved things right alongly)

I can't be sure, but she may have blushed - I was already turning when I thought I caught that.

"Okay, Happy Valentine's Day," I said, "..we'll talk..again"

"happy Valentine's Day to you, too," she called after me.

(This is where it's so dorked I could kick myself, but it is done.)

"You're welcome (wtf?), k...bye"

If nothing else I will not have to regret NOT doing it, tomorrow morning.

And, it was definitely mellow enough that it won't be weirdness if and when I ever have to go back, there.

(The card, as advised by three commenters just said "Happy Valentine's Day! -Mark")

Oh boy

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 15:09:39 GMT

Oh boy. It's the day. I really thought I had escaped this.

I don't know whether I like or do not like that the time of this entry is thirteen hundred o'clock, sharp.

I'd decided against all of this, I was pretty positive, mhm, yup.

Then, drving along after delivering something business related to one of my clients, something got me, and I knew that I would end up doing it.

It was something in the pit of my stomach, not a churning, but just a thing that said, "oh damn, too late, you're gonna do it."

It'd be easy enough, I figured - go in person to the a flower shop as near her workplace as possible - hopefully (or counting uponly) they would be able to deliver the thing, today.

It was very very busy of course. While I browsed, I heard the lady at the one counter, on the phone, take an order, and say, "okay, yes, we'll deliver that this afternoon."

"Fucking cool," I thought, this will work and be just fine.

"No more orders for deliveries," was the very next thing I heard, from back in the prep room.

"Noooooooooooo," I said out loud, "but, but you have to," I continued to speak aloud to no one in particular, "I can't go in there."

Too late. No manner of persuasion was going to change the situation.

"Fuck."

That one was silent.

"Oh god, whatta do wahtta do whatta do, nowwwwww."

Ultimately, knowing I can still back out at any point before I actually walk through the door of her place, I pressed on, remembering what a friend once told, back in the day, when I was peddlar of illegal substances, and scared outta my wits about the next big giant deal. "Mark," he said, "you gotta do it like you're going to war."

In so many words, then, I wrapped up the operation: "I'll have this vase, many many cut flowers, all different colors, nothing color coordinated, and include some small red roses."

It's supposed to be ready for me to pick up a little after 2 pm. Her work place is probably five or seven minutes away from the flower shop.

Oh fuck. Yah, I can back out, but like earlier, when I knew I was gonna do it, I won't back out. It was a done deal at the earlier moment.

It's just "Happy Valentine's Day," after all, how bad can it all be?

Lol, pretty damn bad, lemme assure ya, from inside here.

K, though. Record keeping.

Oh, I know, one other thought of randomnity - that place on the road, this morning, right where I knew I would do it, it's the very same place where in November of '94, the day after my first born son was birthed, I figured out what the weird feeling was inside me, exclaiming almost out loud, at the time, "oh, I'm in love with him, that's what's going on."

Oh god. Okee, though, remain calm. Getta grip. Go to war.

Entry.

Many Things in No Order

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 15:07:57 GMT

For fun and record keeping purposes, I'll see how much ground I cover.

Soooo very random.

Pardon the lack of an lj cut, here.

I like, in a way, my deal here at LJ. It has been fun being undercover, as it were. I participate in several communities, and no one really has a clue of what goes on behind my closed doors.

After all, if they did, I wouldn't be here.

***

Last evening, I caught my monitor on fire. I had watered the plants on the shelf over the pc. When I noticed I'd watered a couple a little too much, I quickly grabbed a towel and put it over the pc box, to catch the run-off. I did not confirm it was catching all the run-off, however. Ad it turned out, the tentacular roots from the cut-leaf philodendron gramma gave me in 1998 or 1999 were reaching down to the back of the monitor.

A few minutes later I was talking to my ex-wife over by the laundy area, when I heard a popopopop. It sounded like some mini-firecrackers. I was like, wtf is that, then I noticed the smoke, too. I knew right away what was happening. I ran over there and picked up the monitor (yeah, I know, good idea). There were flames, real flames shooting out from under it as it continued to popopop in my hands.

Lol, I tried blowing the flames out? Bad boy scout.

Removed from the water flow, however, it quickly went out - stick a fork in it, that monitor's cooked.

Now there are two 17-inch monitors on the floor of my office awaiting their fates. With the first of these, my son and I DID have plans for me to climb to the roof with it, straddle the peak, standing, and shot put the thing off to the ground, which would be a good 20' down from that point. His mom, my ex-wife, has scuttled those well and gleefully laid plans for the moment (glass on the ground and barefeet in the summer). It's her place, so she gets to say.

The idea will be revisited, however.

***

I have a counter on my IJ-info page that records visitors and where they are visiting from. Someone fairly close has been visiting on a fairly regular basis. No, there's no way for me to tell who, so no worries, there.

***

I have a myspace page, have had it since the old one, by my old lj name was deleted by myspace in the multi-webpage censoring project conducted by the anti-folk over the summer. I've not even named the thing (give it it's own url). Mainly, it is there so I can be on my son's myspace friends list - keep an eye on him.

Although the profile is blank, people add me, or have tried to. Ive been ignoring those request, and assume they have largely been just spammage. Saturday, however, I decided to add a few things to the profile, just so it wasnt blank. And added the two silly people who somehow found me, too.

Today there was a friend request from someone (female, 22) from that same city I mentioned in the sentence about the webpage counter thing on my ij page. Yes, I seriously doubt it - for I can't imagine anyone being able to make any kind of connection - though it is not out of the realm.

No, I have no pictures of me, or anyone or anything else, over there.

***

On this morning's walk to school with the 4th grade girl of cuteness doom, there was ice on the ground. In the first patch, we toyed with ice-skating on it for a moment. We both knew about the big section where water collects when it rains, so we were confidant there would be a nice little stretch there.

She was pretty far up ahead of me, perhaps 20 or 30 feet.

The following event was not designed.

[Actually, now that I see how dang long it ended up, yes, a cut is in order.]

I got a bit of a running start, and took a heck of a slide across the long patch of pretty smooth ice, but I was coming up on her, fast.

"Look out, look out, I can't stop"

I had slowed sufficiently just as I reached her, facing away from me, and had to put my hands on her shoulders just briefly to steady myself as I navigated around her.

Too late, she had braced for the impact, scrunching her shoulders together, and putting her hands at her sides, facing backward, toward me.

My crotch ran into her right hand.

This was a much shorter, much less contactish event than ones mind will likely leap to conclude.

Very very very brief, very, very, very light.

We walked on, or ran, actually, as the light was green for us, the crossing guard in the middle of the street.

Reaching the other side, she was grinning about the collision. "You were like, 'whoa, whoa, whoa,' and I was like,..."

"Yeah, that was a close call," I grinned back.

Her eyes danced gleefully, and I dont think it had anything more to do with anything beyond the fact I had carried on high with her, and slid on the ice, and almost ran into her.

Anything added into the meaning of that dance, or the short one on the ice, before would be just fantasy. Nothing more, but certainly nothing less.

***

Okeeeeeeeee...

Didja ever hear that Beatles song that has the line, "All my lovin' darling I will give to you-ou-ou"?

You have?

Well, I thought you might've.

It's a popular song, after all.

So sing it, go for it, like this, "all my dorkdom, I will give to you-ou-ou..."

Yeah.

Tile shop girl.

Oops, that reminds me of a film. A film I am glad, atm, that I never saw - for I heard enough about how it ends to keep me from the theater, or from tossing it on the counter at the video rental place.

Anyway, several long days ago, when I was still in the throes of my crush, I actually thought I might come here and ask advice of the only friends I've got, many or most of whom have "known me," for over a couple years - and all of whom are girls.

Lol, what? I don't like boys, so what.

Two of these have advised in different places that I ought to "go for it." One of these, pointing out some pretty (could-be) pertinent ideas in regard to this, referencing my own words in my last entry:

"ok so, what if you don't pursue this and it turns out to be the biggest mistake of your life (dramatic, much? but you know what i mean)

you said it yourself in the last entry..

'some people take some things for granted.'

aren't you taking her for granted now that you feel this way but you're choosing not to find out what could be there?"

Omg, I'm such a dork.

Anyway, I am safe enough here, I suppose, way behind these boxes and wires, and many many miles from anyone's face - so no one will be able to see my face turn red as I write all my silly teen boy ideas down, about what I might have done.

Seriously, though, just in case there's a next time - someone tell me just how dorky these ideas were. Laughing, omg, I can barely stnad to write 'em. But I am so, so, gonna, if for no other reason than record keeping.

Besides, last night, another one told me that girls don't mind getting flowers on Valentine's Day, even though it's gotta be the biggest cliche in the world.

Not of all these ideas involve that day or action, but because they were mostly pondered over the weekend before V-day, most do. And yeah, also, such things, woulda kept me from actually doing anything face to face as it were

But yah, for the record, I will write them.

I think, anyway.

Down the road, it might be good for amusement - and for the moment, given that the day is tomorrow, it will provide an anecdotal and apropos kind of journal entry.

K. So. Here is the setup. She works, I'm almost sure, everyday (which, I would just take my chances on that one) at this tile and granite supply place. Pretty big, maybe about four or five people in the place at all times. Possibly as few as two, however, on some occassions. You don't pick your things up, there, so it's not that kind of place, but a showroomy kind of place.

Gosh, if nothing else this will demonstrate to my damn self my silliness, at my age and position.

So (do not cringe), I figured with the stupid v-day thing coming up, I could send some flowers over there. Or, yes, I could take them myself, were I not positive I would die a thousand deaths between my much-older-than-hers car and the door to her store. I do not know, either, how bad or good I might look with my face, undoubtedly, totally, effing red.

I'm bad at these things.

But yah, was gonna send flowers. I guess, since they would arrive at her work, I would have to have them in a vase. These were just going to be regular flowers. If there were any roses, they'd be mixedin, and of the small variety. I can tell she is not the matchy-patchy kind of girl - you know the ones, who's christmas tree is likely done up in some color coordinating statement of fashion with only gold and red and perhaps one other color.

Those kind of girls would hate my kind of bouquet. I mean, yeah, I could do however many dozen red roses, but this play, I don't think, calls for that kind of action at all.

So, this would be something I had gone to the florist and assisted in the make-up of: as many different kinds as possible, I suppose - and hopefully, they would even have some quite small red and some other color roses, to mis in with the thing.

Holy fuck, what a silly romantic. Crap, lol, I gotta keep writing - I said I would, am I'm gonna.

If you decide to comment, please dispense with my feelings, because as I said, someday it might matter, all these silly ideas - and ought to be brought up to speed by someones who would know.

I don't think she dislikes me, anyway. I think the most "negatively" she could feel about me, at present, is indifference. Otherwise, this would be even more silly, more terrible, more horrendous.

Perhaps a bit more background, before I press on, though.

First time I saw her was about a month or so, ago, around January 19. I'd gone there with the client, the decorator, the contractor to look at the things the client had picked. The girl had been there liason salesperson when they had made the first visit earlier in the week. She was on her way out the door. Had her black (wool?) coat on, and her black non-leather gloves. A scarf, I think, too. She was not expecting us, as it had been a spur of the moment decision to go on down there.

She'd just been told by the manangement that she could leave early to go to (what I would find out) was her grandmother's, or great grandmother's 85th birthday in this little city about 30 miles, where I once lived for about 7 years or so.

She apologized several time over for having to go. I can't remember if I was introduced, but I think so.

Sure, it could be my imagination. My imagination is known for these sorts of things. But I think when we made that very first eye-contact, her glancing sideways at me as she made the apology, and before the introduction, there was (err, mighta been) that teeny tiny spark that asks, "well I wonder who that is," and contains no other information beyond a conveyance that I was not found unattractive.

For my part, I'm positive my eyes read something like, "omg, you're so fucking beautiful, I love you," because I remember that was my feeling.

Any old way, several weeks later, I telephoned the day before to ask if she knew what the pattern names and manufacturers were of the tile the client had picked. She was busy, and we did not speak, but were communicated back and forth between by whomever had answered the phone.

I said I would be in the next day to look at some things. The person on the phone indicated that the girl had a nine-thirty appointment but would be available, after that.

I showed up around 11 am.

The place has several smaller anterooms, lobby/mini-showrooms on your way into the main showroom.

She met me in the second of these.

If I was to fantasize, then I would like to think she met me there by matter of interference, before I got to anyone else.

In fact, however, she was doing her job.

(My only information so far as "others" go, is that she was wearing no ring, there)

Black mid-thigh skirt with the most subtle of ruffle at the hem (just not straight, really, that's how subtle), white blouse, and blue denim, like, vesty or blazer-y thing, I can't remember. Very nice, in any case. Eclectic kind of ensemble. Not at all like a gold and red christmas tree person.

Our interaction was professional all the way, with me lamenting the client's uncreative choices and the time constraints the project has been under (I would have gladly worked on this project for a year before anything was done - however, that was not their schdule). Anyway, she was helpful, and looked up a website to make make sure it had the information I would need, etc.

We shook hands when I'd gathered the needed data.

K. where the fuck was I. K. I can sense the looniness of this all, now, so I have a feeling I'm going to rather rush to the finish.

So there's the place, the girl, the flowers - oh, um, the vase - I dunno - I'd pick what I thought would be the most appropriate for a girl like her and the bouquet.

Two things remain, then, delivery and the note.

They gotta go to the store, that's the only place I know of.

I can't, I just can't take 'em in there, myself. So it would be delivery.

What follows are my various and sundry ideas for the card/note since last Thursday (or whatever day it was that I made the last trip down there) or so.

It is okay to laugh, I don't mind.

Seriously.

These are not gonna be in order. I will note that at first I had thought of an anonymous thing but that is so silly and besides the fact that it defeats the purpose of me letting her know I like her, it could be frightening, worse, creepy.

As if the whole idea might not be.

so I had decided, more or less, that the note would be signed, "Mark - the guy associated with the [Client] project."

"In the unlikely event no one else gets you any, I wanted you to have these."

"I wanted you to have these, today. Happy Valentine's Day"

"I promise, I'm not this silly and romantic, but I wanted you to have these"

Ummmmm, fuck. Uhh, there were others, of course, of course - there have been many idle hours since last week and this.

"I like you a lot; I have from the moment I saw you. These are for you, for today. Happy Valentine's Day"

Ugggh, lmao. What an exercise, god. It's easy to think these kind of things, but omg, writing them down, reading them - well - you know what I mean: "holy fuck" doesn't quite cover it.

Sure, there's a part of me really wishes one of these was not so dorky, and "good enough," "uncreepy enough," unscary (for me) enough, that I would actually do it.

"Please don't let these embarrass you. Once I thought of it, I couldn't, no matter how I tried, escape the eventuality that I would end up doing what I tried very hard not to - the ultimate cliche of sending you flowers for Valentine's Day because of how much I like you."

"One of my friends said I might always regret it if I did not do this thing, this sending you the flowers I wanted you to have on Valentine's Day"

"Say (for fun) that you liked me well enough. Am I too old for you? 'Cause your perfect for me, from out here, anyway. Happy Heart Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day"

"I might have been able to bring these in, myself, for you - but only if I was a flower delivery person. I'm not, so I had them delivered by a person who can handle that sort of thing. Smiling. I love to think they just make your day. And writhe to think of your face possibly falling when you reach the signature line."

"Happy Valentine's Day. These just mean that I like you very much."

See how there's no end?

"I thought of three million things to write in this card, none as perfect as you" - Laughing, seriously, just kidding on that last clause - it'd go more like this, maybe..

"I thought of a thousand things to write in this card before arriving at the truth that there's no perfect thing to say when you are sending a girl you hardly know flowers on Valentine's Day, beyond, perhaps, Happy Valentine's Day"

"Someone ~~thought~~ told me you would not be embarrassed by getting Valentine's Day flowers"

"I met you. I really like you. This silly holiday was so close, I couldn't avoid sending you these, for you, for today"

Okay. It's become circuitous.

"Fuck, baby. You looked so good in that skirt the other day when I was down. These are the logical conclusion of that bit."

"I think I love you?"

"If these don't make you feel anything but nice, then perfect - that's all I'd want for you - for me, too, as a matter of fact."

"You'll never understand, probably, but you already made me cry since I fell in love with you from way out here."

That one, and a couple others, of course, ~~are~~ were not under any serious consideration.

Okay, lemme look at logically. It's easy. There are two paradigms. Well three, I guess - but, hopefully, the last is not in any serious contention with either of the first two alternative.

1. If she likes me at all, then really, it'd be hard to fuck anything up.

2. If she doesn't even remember me, ie. is entirely indifferent, then as long as I wouldn't have been too goofy, the worst that could've happened would be for her to think, "awww, cute, well nice, thanks.

I dunno. I suppose, at the second alternative, she could've actually gone far enough to think, "omg, you dork - now I'm gonna get questions from my co-workers.

Fact of the matter is, I really could avoid ever having to go back there, ever, so there is that, too.

"I really like you. Coffee, ice-cream, breakfast, lunch or dinner, sometime?"

"I couldn't not do this. I hope that's okay."

If my guess as to her car is correct, she also has something about pets on the license plate, with a dog and a cat - like maybe she gave some donation to some foundation or other associated with pets. Certainly, however, I am not gonna be so stalker as to do any recon to find out if that's the case. If it is her car, at least it indicates some sensitivity toward at least some mammals.

Alright, that is enough for this entry. Since that was all hypothetical, I did not need or bother to address any of the things like how much money and things I do not have, or other reality based things.

***

Yes, I recognize I need to get another icon or two.

***

Thank you for listening.

[ETA; Dammit, some glitch had this entry posted in duplicate, un-friendslocked, for over two hours. Hopefully, no one too stupid (or meta crawler) came across it. - Gah, I'd hate to be called out in one of the political communities in which I participate.]

Saturday

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 16:27:04 GMT

This is one of those weird days when all my senses (not those five) are heightened and I can feel everything, everything, everything.

God knows how many times in the past I have made the observation that it's easy for one to lose control of one's mind. It's how I feel right now. That I'm letting it get away from me. I'm chasing it and it's a step ahead of me, anticipating my airborn leaps to recapture it, sidestepping me at the last moment, leaving me scrambling back to my feet and running to catch up.

"Where are you going, mind, and why so fast," I'm shouting, as it runs on ahead.

It's not laughing at me in my pursuit, but definitely, definitely, leading me, leading me - and it's scaring the fuck outta me.

Please just stop, mind, I can't, I can't do this. You know I can't.

Just stop. Just stop, baby, you're making me cry now, and it's getting on the keyboard.

"Yes, yes, it was pretty, it was pretty watching you run ahead like that; it was all shiny and sunny up ahead (so fucking bright) to where you were going, but you know i can't do that. You know, you know how scary that is to me."

"NO, stay, stay, stay inside me."

"Yes, yes, for whatever reason, yes, I do think she's beautiful, mhm. But love at first sight has no validity, and happens on just one side of the moon. And, you know, mind, if you've ever been to the moon, one side is burning hot, the other, absolute zero."

"I know you mean well, and you think this is a good idea, but I think you're fooling yourself because it feels so damn good. That's what I think, mind."

"I don't want it to end, either, mind, I really don't. Maybe we can just go on this way forever, mkay, and never do any of the dorky things I've considered doing over the past several days?"

"Yeah, she looks good, like this, I agree. She looks so damn good, doesn't she, mind? We're safe out there, and she is doing her job at the tile store - and we may even see her again, from time to time."

"That will be nice, in itself, you have to admit?"

"You almost got away from me, there."

"Let's look at some pictures, shall we?"

(Whispers)"Next time, next time you get away from me, you keep running, okay mind? Don't let me catch you, you keep FUCKING RUNNING, okay? You run as fast as you have to, and as long as you have to, but don't let me catch you, next time. Don't let me catch you till you get to whereever it was you were running to - 'cause chasing you made me cry, yah, but catching you only made me sad"

"Next time. Next time, we'll both try harder at this."

[I mostly don't know what's going to come out when I come over here, but it always feels truthful, at least.]

A conversation between me myself and I.

Yah, the crush.

And so much more.

K. Entry.

Crush Me

Thu, 07 Feb 2008 19:09:58 GMT

Wow.

I have a crush on somebody in real life.

It's quite a surprise, really. I mean, she's a full grown woman. She might even be over 30.

For whatever reason, it's on the rather overwhelming side of things.

I mean, it doesn't matter, since nothing will ever come of it. It's just surprised me is all.

So I thought I would record it.

Real life makes some kind of awesome difference in things. Here I am, got these feelings a going, and she knows nothing about me, nor I about her - beyond having met and interacted with her on a professional level. It surprises me I could imagine a relationship with her, all my "stuff," aside. I assume that is because I am dreaming.

Nevertheless, the event makes me ponder the possibilities: were I to be moved in some similar way by some similar person at some later date, could I leave all of those things about me behind me?

As many times as I have written about how wonderful it has been to include, no, insist upon including in my relationships, all of those things about me, it's amazing how it feels to ponder not including them, too.

Would they creep up on me at some later date? Would they jump out into the recesses of my head the first time I moved in her?

I don't know. I just don't. Perhaps it's all a product of wishful thinking.

I've not been this moved by someone without involvement of the internet or those "me" things, ever, and it could move me to tears, right now, if I let it.

Some people take some things for granted. I'm glad I came here to write about it. Even though (although I dream and dream about the things I could or might (nah, never will) do about all of that) nothing will ever come of it, not this, at least I've seen one little glimpse, crush-style, of a paradigm as moving, and without a little girl, or her panties.

Nice. Thanks for that, fate and circumstance.

Wed, 06 Feb 2008 04:16:04 GMT

And
and
and

It's more than all that, too.

Lots lots more.

And all the words I've written, so far, I don't think have gotten it across. Not all the way, anyway.

To see her in you for the most simple fact of all that you can see me: not the me you wish I was; not the me I can't be; not the me you imagine me to be, or think I could become, if only; but just the whole me.

The one who wants her little cunt. The one who wants to cover her smooth, soft bare baby cunt with his mouth, hold her small ass in his big hands, and drink her juice, at 2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12.

And then, when I knew beyond all doubt you saw only me, and none of your dreams or fantasies of me, just me, the one me (there is no split, after all), then, then I would see beyond tiny her, and see only you, at 20, 30, 40 or more.

It's a leap of faith

Sun, 03 Feb 2008 05:23:52 GMT

I'm bored, tonight. I think I will make an entry here tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm going to keep reminding myself, both of my New Year's Resolution, and that, contrary to the mathmatics of the situation, it is a fact that those who are already holding something (read someone) have a lot less to lose than those who are not.

Their risk factors are much lower, always.

Which is why one should never bother, too muchly, nor put too awful much stock in, any of these already holding another.

Smiling - cause like, look at it: these ones, though they may want or need you for something, something, they haven't even taken the risk of sitting down the something they're holding, which is only half the risk of trying to hold something else.

These ones, they have two hands, and so they can always keep something in one hand or the other, and so, although their hearts may never be full, they never find themselves empty handed, either.

And, lol, to extrapolate my little theory...it is because of exactly this, that they can find it easier to sit one thing down with one hand or the other, at whim and will, really, because they've not seen things from your empty handed and far more risky end.

Mkay, a gentle reminder, though like those ones from the collection people, one I find so easy for me to ignore...and tell myself, I'll pay later.

Random little things

Thu, 31 Jan 2008 14:51:45 GMT

Random little things about a random little person - or should I say, princess.

But first, a quote from MLK:

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter"

Which, explains why being temporarily silenced by the strikethrough debacle was so rough: I wasn't read to go silently into that dark night. I'm still not.

So, anyway, there's a fourth grade girl (and her brother and boy cousin) who accompany my son and me on our way to the school in the morning.

I'd be lying if I said it didn't add something to the walk up there in the morning and back at the end of the school day. Unfortunately, I'd also be lying if I said it didn't subtract something from what would be a solitary twice a day walk with my son, either.

He walks behind or ahead with the two other boys, closer to his age (and not girls).

Luckily, no matter, for it is what it is, so I try and take the best of each from this morning ritual. I like her. I like her a lot, and she does me, too. We've known each other since she was 3. She'll be ten later this year, but she's not much bigger than my seven-year old son.

A month or so ago, as we walked home through an inch or so of snow, someone remarked about footprints, etc, and she made a purposeful carefully-placed footprint in the snow.

"Let me see how much bigger mine is than yours," I said, aligning my own in the snow alongside hers. Mine was not quite twice as big as hers.

"Way bigger!" she exclaimed, grinning, showing off those dimples that slay me so completely.

We walked on.

Silently.

Over the next twenty or thirty feet my head (of course, of course) pondered that "way bigger" bit.

She broke the silence, then, repeating, but in a what seemed to me a quieter, more thoughtful tone, "way, way bigger."

"Yeah," I smiled, "way, way bigger."

I wondered what she was thinking in that 20 or 30 feet, but I don't mind not knowing entirely.

***

A couple weeks later, it was warmer, and raining, and I took an umbrella up there to pick them up after school. The boy child eschewed this, declining. She accepted, and we walked together, me holding the umbrella for her.

Once we crossed the street, though, at the corner, was the older neighbor girl who sometimes makes it up there to walk them home. She had her own big umbrella, and I knew I would have to give up my charge.

Otherwise, it wouldn't look too good.

"There's [Neighbor girl,] and she has an umbrella for you," I said.

She frowned, as disappointed as I, and stuck her tongue out at me.

I smiled and shrugged my "what can I do?" at her.

She flashed back in her eyes her own own, seemingly wistful "not much."

***

This morning as we approached the point where I stop and let them go on, she exclaimed, "I got a shower this morning, it was freezing cold," and wrapped her arms around herself, adding "brrrrrrr."

Yes, yes, yes, it was a pretty sight in my head, of course.

"Awwwww," I grinned, wishing I could wrap my arms around her, too.

"Tonight, I'm going to get a bath," she exclaimed.

"Well good," I smiled, "that sounds nice."

Then, she danced on to school.

I walked back home.

Sometimes, I really definitely wish, yes indeedy.

But k, there's that, a journal entry.

Dreamer

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 14:52:32 GMT

What a wonderful day for a daydream, or so goes the song.

Anyway, I had one of these, a daydream, on Sunday afternoon. I only call it a daydream, however, because it was a dream that was dreamt during the day - but I was sleeping at the time.

I was in a school (surprised?), and went to the auditorium, because I was supposed to to that, apparently - in any case, it wasn't a decision on my part, since the dream more or less opened upon that setting. The lights were up, and I walked down to the front by the stage. Nothing was going on and the stage was set off to my right.

Seats were available to my right, but on the left, there was one seat remaining on the aisle, front row. In seats #2 and #3, sat two little girls of about 7 or 8. I didn';t really look at them directly, but knew in my head the scent would be better in this seat than the one across the aisle, so I sat down.

"I wonder if they will think I'm a weirdo and be scared by my election to sit here, instead of the 'emptier' seat across the aisle," I thought.

I don't know how much time passed, but not very much at all, before I felt her hand pressing, palm flat, against the bottom of my back. It was not a tentative kind of press, but rather an assured one, coming from a seven or eight-year old girl. Perhaps that's why in the dream, I took it so much in stride, naturally.

Soon, very soon, almost immediately, it was "time to go," apparently, and we, the both of us, got up to do so. I still hadn't seen the girl's face, or really even a glimpse of her at all. Through the blessed dream anachronism, however, in spite of what would have been an impossibility, due to to height differences between us, I ran my right hand up the back of her thigh, across the corner of her rump, and let it rest on her hip as we exited up the aisle.

She was wearing a two-piece swimsuit, apparently, according to my hand's perceptions.

The same kind of anachronistic action allowed her to have her arm around my waist, upon my hip, though in reality, it would have been nearer my mid-thigh.

On our 30 or 40 foot trip up the sloped aisle, I wondered whether people would think we were weird.

I didn't care.

Then we were in the hall, and it was time for us to part.

Inside my head, I got the sense, that we both knew we were fucked.

That's when I finally got to see her face. Light brown longish wavy hair, lighter eyes, medium color skin, small form (as they all are at that age). She tilted her face to mine, revealing the same "we're fucked, aren't we?" look.

Each of our sets of eyes, then, I am sure said yes.

She was so beautiful.

She may have been as much as ten.

I swallowed and everything was so fucking huge inside me.

I bit my upper lip, touched the side of her cheek, whispered (before I cried), "it'll be okay," then walked backward away from her.

When I was about ten feet away, she flinched, as if she was going to break into a run to me, run away from the auditorium, the open door to which, seemed to be demanding her presence.

I moved my head in a quick, once back and forth shake, "no, don't baby, don't honey."

Her eyes, said, "I can't do this," and she was leaning toward me, now.

I put my right hand up, just a bit, slight extension, palm still toward the ground, and silently mouthed, "we'll get to it, darling, do not worry."

It was a lie, but it was enough to make her relent and return to the auditorium.

Later, I checked back in the auditorium on my way out of the building, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Then I woke up.

***

The first question I asked myself, was more or less, "oh my god, how could I love someone so fucking completely in the moment of a dream?"

I'll never see her, again.

Have you ever read, The Bridge Across Forever: A Lovestory, by Richard Bach?

***

[ETA 3:40 PM; Sometimes, it's the smallest things make a day so much better. There was an unmistakable moment's flirtation twixt myself and the fifth grader I have a something of a crush upon: I was waiting in the vestibule for the boy child, and just happened to look up at the moment she was looking at me as she passed; our eyes locked, for just maybe one second, and she did not look away, but rather, her eyes followed backward as she kept moving, nor did her eyes flash with anything at all beyond recognition of that moment, and me, and perhaps, herself. Lol, I know I can't make this look good, and I'm not sorry for that, since it's my journal, but for what it's worth, she's the most mature-acting fifth grader I've ever seen, and....fuuuuuuurrrrthhermore (lol, omg, I'm an idiot) below the waist, she could be, uh, well, a small 16-year old, anyway - what attracted me in the first place. Lalalala.]

ASSTR

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 19:48:13 GMT

So yes, I took down the last post in regard to my ASSTR account.

That takedown was a response to the chilling effect, one might say, of this news story:

"A Saskatoon man who wrote fantasy stories about sex between men and girls has pleaded guilty to distributing child pornography."

...

That story came out on the ninth of the month, a Wednesday.

On the Saturday before that Wednesday, however, a book was released with an asking price of 75 bucks at Amazon.com.

I've not read any of the Saskatoon man's writings, and I doubt I or anyone outside the courtroom in which he was convicted ever will. After all, it's been adjudicated child pornography, so, yeah.

As of today, Alan Moore's book is at #11 in the literature & fiction, erotica category, #48 in the Comics & Graphic Novels category.

I don't think any of us will ever know whether Saskatoon Man's writings would have done as well. Any even though I seriously doubt they ever would have even come close, I'm having difficulties making a determination of how these things are parsed.

I dunno. This entry is not very well written, as few of mine have been since late June or so. The chilling effect is not just some euphemism, not at all.

***

I asked myself, well, if you take down the entry, then does that mean you believe it to be child-pornography? What if you do? Some reviewers have said the same of Moore's work, and yet, you can still buy it on Amazon, if you like.

Can you have it shipped to Canada, I wonder.

His, Moore's, that's art, excusing it, and Amazon.

Maybe.

Amazing that "art" is the one excuse that may be made for speaking one's mind. And yet, it's such, such, such, a subjective term. It's one of those terms that's up there with people trying to decide if the Emperor has or has not, any clothing.

When I was writing, wrote, The Coffee Shop, I remarked to Missy, "I will know I have gotten somewhere when I feel I can include this in the closing chapters of my book.

When people can...move beyond...move beyond everything that has come before, and find in the thing, in the grotesque and the beautiful, that middle piece, called art.

Upon art, said someone at the turn of the century before this:

"The nature of a work of art is to be not a part, nor yet a copy of the real world
(as we commonly understand that phrase), but a world in itself, independent, complete, autonomous. And to possess it fully you must enter that world, conform to its laws, and ignore for the time the beliefs, aims, and particular conditions which belong to you in the other world of reality." - Oxford lectures: Professor Bradley: 1901

***

This entirely leaves out the journalistic nature and spirit in which those stories were created and have been posted.

***

Other viable "excuses" include education and science.

I am not a recognized writer, artist, journalist, scientist, or teacher. And, I don't want to be Saskatoon Man, either.

I bet there's plenty of people, however, who are damn glad that every writer, artist, journalist, scientist, or teacher who was none of those didn't let that stop them from believing they were, or might be, all chilling effects, aside.

***

That said, I have an ASSTR page.

I'm in the authors section.

The name is Little.

One little voice.

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 09:04:06 GMT

I was talking to someone online the other night.

I've known her for well over two years.

"touch me," she said.

I don't think she quite got why I wouldn't or couldn't.

Tonight, however, I'm reminded of one of New Year's Resolutions I should keep.

Ageplay, not.

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 17:07:31 GMT

I see that not much has changed in the "ageplay" department in the eight months or so since I bothered to look in that direction.

I belong to one of these kinds of groups, on Yahoo.

This morning, an official communique was received, reading, in part:"Hello

I wanted to give a Quick FYI

My name is Mike and i am Molly's personal Moderator here and i wanted to give you head's up on two particular typs of posts or threads that are not allowed and will not be posted to the board

(1) Sexual posts
(2) Meet and Great Posts

Unfortunatly #2 is a safety issue and Molly and I will not be held responsible for R/T meating that are done on this board or at least threads to that case.. Please if you want to meat and great on here. their are other forums.. their are IM conversations that you can start to meet people.

I met my Wife on the net and we live happily ever after but we cant posts those type of threads of people seaking RT Relationships

(1) No sexual posts. Most people who play on here are either Adult regressed Children or they are Role Players or they are IK's. Neither of the three are looking to do sexual daddy/daughter mother son sexual RP. We do not warrant those posts and will not be posted.. I will start keeping track of those i do deny and if i see a common thread of them trying to be posted i will email Molly for recomedation to remove the member

Members who are here do not want those type posts they end up deleting them immediately or putting you on ignore on their messenger as soon as they see your email to avoid any problems

Why go through that??

So we ask you to not try and post those type threads"
Nah, it wasn't me, this time, who caused any problems. I do have to say (but won't email the board), however, that the longest of the paragraphs seems to refute itself, somewhat: "are roleplayers...[but not, oh heavens, no, not] seeking to do sexual RP.."

I wonder how he knows. Ehh, I suppose, "most" is a good enough guess.