Saturday, August 27, 2005

The Age of Ethers


What is this new medium where unleashed minds come to play?

The curious unite, take flight, and incite

Surfing the fray, thoughts lead the way

Dreaming out loud, stretching the world

A new dimension - electronic-ascention

Bluetooth, file sharing, net sex, group think

Anonymous revelation - soul dilation

Accentuation, affirmation: the best, the worst, the durst


Lawless frontier bandits lurk in armchairs and sagging underwear
The young become old, the meek become bold

We blog-fantasize, sexualize, and therapize
Echoing the dull ache of a thousand lonely souls
Shining small prospector's lights on the path ahead
And trying not to look back at the long shadows
Together we mine for those elusive gold nuggets:
For signs of intelligent life, for soulfulness
For communion, for becoming more than we were,
More than the sum total of our processing powers
Coming to love strangers in stranger lands
Exceptionally creative people with minds full
Pioneers in a brave new world

A larger-than-life world with a soul that defies comprehension

Monday, August 22, 2005

Sloe Gin (naughty)

A fellow Commonwealthite wrote me something really sweet - OK it's actually quite nasty but it was the thought that counts right? He's such a talented writer - I couldn't help but share this (he has also posted it to an unpublished blog site, at the above link). Hope you enjoy it!



She’d been delayed two hours in the transfer between London and Newcastle International – a provincial airport with big ideas. He hung about waiting, chewing his lip and wondering if this was such a good idea. Writing on the Internet was one thing, offering to host a perfect stranger might turn out to be another.


The tannoy crackled with the last call for a flight to Barcelona. He looked at his watch, and tried to ignore the tightening sensations in his gut. Then they were there, people streaming out of the baggage hall. They had to be from the London flight - her flight. He glanced at the picture, the shock of auburn hair, slightly turned up nose, the sensational lips and slid it back into his pocket. He didn’t need to look at it. He knew what she looked like, knew more about her than any stranger he’d ever met. He resisted the urge to turn and disappear with the crowds. That would be too cruel and cowardly to boot.


And then she was there, a bag slung over one shoulder on a long strap, and another dragging behind on small wheels. The feeling left him and he waved. She returned the gesture, and he stepped forward to meet her, infinitely relieved that they were communicating in person and it was ok .


‘Hi Fred,’ she said offering him her cheek.


He kissed it, inhaling her perfume and feeling the thick hair brush his face. ‘How was the flight?

You look great.’


‘Liar’, she said. I must look like shit.


He laughed and shook his head.


‘No at all, but let’s get out of here – BC’s a long way. You’ll need to stretch your legs.’


‘Something like that,’ she said. I need a drink, and a bath, and a long slow - holiday.’ She made an impish face.


He remembered the filthy emails that they’d sent each other, and laughed. That ‘long slow’ thing was a code between them. He took the wheeled bag and gestured her forward. ‘The car’s outside – come on.’



On the drive, they talked about the reason she’d come, the conference on city planning she was speaking at – disaster management she told him, and he thought of New Orleans and hurricanes. Not much call for hurricane planning here, but there’d be other stuff no doubt, terrorism maybe.


As he drove, the scent of her made him go hard, it was weird, but she had a kind of presence, sitting there. He took in her Canadian accent as she talked, and then her again, warm and soft and horny. He knew she was horny, knew from the emails and from the little vibes, the glances she gave him. He wondered why he’d had that urge to run at the barrier – she was gorgeous.



It was a fifteen minute drive, an advantage of living in a provincial city. Not like London where it might have been a ninety minute struggle through the traffic. They pulled up and she slid out of the car, brushing her hair aside and looking at the house.


‘Nice’, she said, smiling. Very – Edwardian?’


‘It's Edwardian, but only just - built about nineteen fourteen,' he said.


He opened the gate and they walked up the garden path.


Inside, he poured drinks – whiskey and water, and they lounged in chairs by the open french window, the curtains moving slightly in the breeze that brought in the heavy scent of Jasmine.


‘Can I get you some dinner?’ he asked, ‘Maybe you’re hungry?’


‘I ate on the plane – some kind of horrible cutlet.’


‘You’re sure, I could send out for something – Chinese? A curry? Italian?’


‘No – really. A shower – maybe a bath, and I’ll be fine. It’s good of you to put me up. It’s a nice place.’


He stood up and moved for the door. ‘I’ll take your stuff upstairs – show you your room.’



He walked down the stairs and imagined her stripping in his guest bedroom, pictured her voluptuous, naked, stepping into the bath, sliding down into warm water and that he was soaping her, stroking a slippery bar over those beautiful breasts and wiping bubbles over them with his hands, faltering over hard nipples and teasing them, circling the brown sensitive skin with a finger. He imagined stooping and licking them, sucking the nipples into his mouth and teasing her with his teeth. He shook his head, banishing the lustful thoughts. Disgraceful – she’d hate it if she knew he was imagining that. He poured a soft drink and walked into the garden, trying not to stray back to that fantasy, but soon he did, and was soaping her most private parts, sensing her willingly part her thighs so he could go deeper - invade her with his fingers. He was hard and damp. He shut it off again went over to the exercise machine and did pull ups on the bar - twenty, all the way up to his chin. He was hot and panting now. It helped.

She came down dressed in jeans and a loose shirt. It was unbuttoned at the neck, somehow dawing his eyes to her breasts as she came to sit beside him on the sofa. He got up.


‘What would you like to drink Susan?’ he said.


‘Another Whiskey maybe?’


‘I know – have you had sloe gin?’ he said, grinning. ‘It’s a killer.’


‘I don’t think so, but I’m game.’


‘You are? That’s good babe,’ he said moving for the drinks.’


‘This is starting to run like those depraved sex stories you sent me by email,’ she joked.


He laughed, pouring the dark sweet fluid. ‘Yeah – I know – don’t tell me. You hated every one of them.’


‘I did so,’ she purred.


He handed her the glass. ‘That’s why you asked if I knew anyone who could put you up here during the conference.’


‘Yeah – knew you were all talk.’


He grinned and toasted her.

‘Touche.’


She returned the gesture and sipped.

‘Wow – that’s nice.


‘I know. Only discovered it recently. Don't be fooled, it kicks like a cow.’


'I'd have said horse, but thanks for the warning.'

He laughed and sat beside her.

‘I knew we’d get on.’ he said.


‘How?’


‘Don’t know really – we just had some connection. I thought it would work in reality as well as across the ether.’


‘That’s a funny word – ether.' She mocked his accent.


‘Ethur,’ he said, mocking hers. 'I mean across the Internet.' She leaned forward and kissed him. He laughed and kissed her back. Then he pulled away to put down the glass. ‘You know – you’re really beautiful. The pictures didn't do you justice.’


‘I know, and you’re really lucky.’


She slid down on the settee as he moved to kiss her.


‘Lucky as a dog with two pricks,’ he said.


‘Only two?’


He kissed her mouth hungrily and felt her respond, heaving her breasts towards him as his tongue flicked over her lips and teased her before he moved back and opened her blouse.


‘God – you’re wonderful,‘ he gasped, running his hands over her.


She gripped his sides and pulled him to her.


‘Wanna fuck me big boy?’


‘What do you think?’


‘I think you do. I think you do a lot.’


He kissed her softly on the mouth, then looked into her eyes. ‘Know what? You’re right.’ He kissed her again and stood up, taking her by the hand. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’


She stood loosened her jeans and wiggled out of them.


‘Why?’ she said. ‘You Brits are so conventional. You can fuck me right here. I’ve come along way today - and Mister – I’m not moving another step.’


He laughed and stroked her silk underwear. She was warm and powerful, not skinny, not one of those puny, ‘I don’t eat that,’ types - more than wonderful, she was the hot blooded, grab life with both hands and gorge on it kind of woman, and he wanted her like he’d wanted nothing in years. They kissed, hard and passionate and their hands roamed over the other’s body. He stepped back and ripped his shirt off. She came after him as he undressed and sucked on his naked skin, making him stumble, pants around his ankles. Then she had her hands on his dick and he clasped her, him naked, her still in underwear. He struggled with the catch at the back of her brassier, making her laugh at his ineptitude. All men fumbled that, he thought and then she helped him out, releasing magnificent breasts so that his heart raced at the sight of them and instead of speaking, he told her how much he admired them by covering them with his kisses.


She walked backwards leading him to the couch and she slumped down on it, wrapping him in her thighs as he followed her to the leather cushions. He kneaded her breasts with both hands, pressing his dick up against her crotch - only her silk knickers keeping them apart. He licked her ear lobes, her lips, her breasts in a frenzy of delight, hardly knowing what to taste next, and then everything became clear to him, and he knew what he should taste - taste long and slow - taste until she came and drenched him in her juices. He tried to speak, but there were no words, just an animal sound, and he grasped the silk and pulled her pants down, kissing her belly, moving slowly as he stroked one breast and a thigh, his face sliding over her so that his lips trailed down and skirted around to find that wonderful spot where her thigh merged into her body. He licked her there listening to her groans. He knew what she wanted, and slid his hand into the glorious opening and stroked the honeyed flesh around it. Round and around his fingers went, flicking just inside and then over the throbbing centre of her pleasure. She squirmed and clenched her fist in his hair, panting as his mouth moved nearer and he began to lick her where he knew she wanted it, tasting, gently at first, then more urgently as he slid fingers inside her and moved them tenderly while he pleasured her, sometimes with the tip of his tongue – teasing and gentle, then hard, the whole length of it, roughly licking over the exquisite sensitivity until she squirmed and gasped, thrusting it at him as if she wanted more of his mouth and more of his hand inside her. He worked her - fingers curled inside as he drove her mad, closing his lips on her - sucking - nibbling and licking long and hard, devouring her like she was some exquisite food, sucking up her juices and bearing the twisting of his hair in her fist as she thrust her luscious pussy into his face. She cried out as his teeth sank into her flesh – just enough to drive her into a last spasm of pleasure and then he was up and fucking her for all he was worth.

Exhausted, she reached under her buttocks and felt his balls, holding them gently as they tightened to her touch and began to pump warm fluid into her. He gasped, head exploding and came into her as she seemed to shiver with the joy of it… He sank onto her belly, his head on her breasts, his breath coming in gasps.


‘My God,’ he said. We only met ninety minutes ago.’


She looked at her watch.


‘More like seventy five,’ she said, but I’ve wanted that for a while. Where’s that drink you gave me? What did you say it was called?


‘Sloe gin,’ he said.


‘Slow my ass,’ she answered.

Forbidden Fruit




When I see those August apples, swooping so low on the branch, glistening, rose coloured reflections in the heat

I can almost hear them begging to be plucked and savoured, held and caressed, treasured and adored

Yet I know it's too soon, this early in the season to be plucking them from the branch - though I want them to be ready, and willing - they're not

Bright and charming, beneath the surface, the sugars are not yet developed, the flavours surely not ready for the palate

And when I look close I can see that there was no beckoning at all, only hope and joy and a sense of promise

And I feel stupid for wanting one, for hoping one might fall into my hand, one that's near the top, looking more bold and grand than the others

Looking to need my warm breath and touch...

I wanted to be first to this sturdy tree, I wanted to win it over completely, to give flight to something wild and free

Reluctantly though, acceptance takes hold that I can love these apples from a distance - to appreciate their perfect evolution and to (once again) turn my attention inward

For the thing is, my own garden, though beautiful and fragrant, is waiting patiently for nourishment, appreciation and the kind of love that only I can give it

And my loneliness is but a symptom of my frenetic search for external validation, at the expense of my own soul

My state of mind, my yearning is chosen each day, from a multitude of other demeanor's, and worn like a misshapen sweater, constantly pulling and weighing me down

Exposure, embarrassment and even shame are gentle teachers - revealing to me that I still have long road ahead of me

But showing me also, the orchards that await, the fertility of my own soul and the promise that I won't always be alone

Looking back to the tree, I still want to reach, but instead I send my love and tend to my own garden, in a nearby patch

And I leave my shame, my neediness and my desire possess and be possessed back in the composter with all the other fodder - right where it belongs

Sunday, August 14, 2005

One Sure Thing

Steady feet, face gleaning in the spray mist, both arms reaching for the sides of the wave I ride in glory, as if in flight

Game on - balance, strength and instincts guide me through the tube, just ahead of the gravity that nips at my heels

This is not the first wave I've sailed through, endorphins raging with elation - nor will it be the last

But it's the inevitable splash that I most dread - the end of the road. The fall from grace

Pushing through the foam, I shield my head from the board that flings my way and try to distinguish up from down

Beneath the swirling surface, one moment expands and I feel the great silence, the quiet vastness of the universe, the source of all life

And then, breaking the surface, my lungs pull desperately, sucking air from the atmospheric bosom, born again

And try as I might, as I towel off, avoiding eye contact with bronzed spectators, I can think of only one thing:

My fall - the slip that led to it, the failure to recover and the miserable entry into the water, graceless and impotent

I vow to get it right next time, to push further along the crest, to find the perfect ending, resilient and enviable



Later that night, the weeping of my soul keeps me awake, not at the feebleness of my fall but at the heartbreak at having missed the glory of the ride

I rode that wave, with prowess, deft and agility and though there were errors, the ride itself was breathtakingly bold - not perfect, but ardent and admirable

And though I shouldn't have to, I remind myself: it wasn't about my performance, though there will be those who judge me

It was about the pure joy of the ride, the ecstasy, the freedom and the complete aliveness that I experienced

I vow today to keep my sights on the joy of being - the passion of the ride

And next time, I'll resist the urge to look back, and focus on one sure thing:

The sublime verve of the here and now

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

What My Mother Never Knew #23: The Other Side Part Two

I heard the ticking of the clock on the mantle behind me, reminding me that time was in fact continuing on without my participation.... Tick, tick, tick.... I had no idea what the clock looked like but I suspected it was one of those antique mantle clocks with dark cherry casing and roman numerals on a yellowed aging face. I wanted to turn and see it, wanted to know for sure that time had not stopped - but I was frozen, completely unable to move of my own will. My body functions were all there - cruising on auto pilot, though slowly: blinking, breathing, heart beating. Volition though had slipped away... I could not move, not in the slightest way. I had been like this for an hour, gazing straight ahead, unable to answer those who stopped to talk to me. And though I could hear them laughing, and see them, in my peripheral vision, pointing and shaking their heads, nothing changed, the clock drummed on ... and on ... and on ... the rhythm intrigued me - as I'd earlier been intrigued by the throbbing bass in my friend's mini.

We were hanging out with our most preppie group of friends who were all in their early twenties. We'd switched to this scene for much of the spring and the parties were often elaborate concoctions that others would never have bothered with. This particular day was near Easter, and Leanne and Darcy picked me up in Darcy's white '72 Austin Mini. It had two black racing stripes down the hood that Darcy did justice by driving like an insane European.

We hit the road to convene at the Railyard where the rules of the car rally scavenger hunt were laid out. There were 6 cars: John's green Camero with Tammy in tow, Sue's steel blue Celica with Brice and Toni along, Danny's mom's Cutlass with Rob playing co-pilot, Tony and Ian in the recovered milk truck, and Leanne, Darcy, Mike and I in the mini. Mike had joined us after picking up a bag of rather green weed to share. In those days the term homegrown really equated to "impotence" and I was at first unimpressed. When he actually brought it out though, what the contents lacked in THC, they up for in quantity; there must have been about 2 ounces stuffed into his bomber jacket. And so away we went to find the first scavenger item.

We tore out of the parking lot, listening to Roxy Music...

Oh oh catch that buzz
Love is the drug I´m thinking of
Oh oh can´t you see
Love is the drug for me....


We hit the top of Mount Best and found a hidden Kokenay beer in the bushes near the sundial. We sped over to the resevoir to find a pair of pantyhose tied to the "No Trespassing" sign. We climbed into the fountain in front of the Grande Ocean hotel to pull a nipple tassel off of the goddess in the center. We were on a roll - at the head of the pack, but the clues were getting harder, and we were getting more stoned. To be sure that we were high on such lightweight weed, we just kept smoking, and smoking and smoking. The car windows even had a slight golden film on the inside by the end of the rally.

We ended up 4th place after we had a hard time finding the the jock strap, and weren't able to get any of the bonus items (peacock feather, empty rum bottle and an item with an American flag on it). We did manage to blow Darcy's speakers though (must have been Freddy Mercury)...

Still waiting for the pot to take effect, we arrived at the final party location. I found the bar and made something to drink. Quenched, I shuffled to the living room where I heard others and stopped in my tracks in disbelief. In the centre of the room was a 4 foot tall stuffed bunny, surrounded by baskets of chocolate, and other sweets. I felt like Alice in Wonderland and then it hit me - I was really high, exceptioally, beyond being able to talk myself down. I looked around and none of the surroundings struck me as normal. It was all distorted - the film had been stretched - the people became caricatures, the furniture and walls, props in some strange drama. It wasn't funny... my feet pulled me along to a fireplace ledge. Yes, there was that clock. I turned, found solid support as I lowered to meet the bricks and then I let go. That's it, I just let go. Perhaps I could have moved if I'd tried right then, but later, when I did try, I couldn't... I was perfectly still: the pond below the ripples, unexpressed potential.

Two hours later, I was lifted, given cold cloths and walked around the house - once the hostess realized I had become stuck. And then I was awake again, engaged, animated. I'd approached a precipice, teetered and then withdrew back to normalcy, toying with the limits, however unintentionally.

Some days now, when I can't remember a word or a name, I wonder if I left a few important parts behind, or perhaps ruined too many neural pathways. Other days, I suspect that I actually broke through into new states of consciousness. The stillness I experienced then was not unlike the results of the expensive Transcendental Meditation course I later took, a year or so after I realized that the drugs weren't working for me. And even though there were scares and many stupid decisions and consequences, I don't think I regret having experienced so many altered states. I'm sure it wasn't worth the risk, but I guess pushing the boundary was part of what drove me to use drugs. I'm glad I later found other ways and means to experience the adventures of consciousness.