Sometimes it seems to me as if Lithesome.ICE has a tinge enough fire in her to melt the ice, or maybe she never had any ice in the first place, and all she had in her was fire. This might be a logical enough explanation as to why she often feels as if countless prickles of heat emanate from her very being and in doing so exert a magnetic pull on even more particles of heat from the outside which cause her to constantly feel as if she is on fire with impatience. This might very well be the reason as to why she's hungry all the time, burning calories like a furnace, and how she managed to perfect the art of pacing trails throughout any type of flooring, or why a category for extreme impatience might appear on the Guiness World Records lest she tear the poor book to bits as she has done many others in fits of temper, but it still doesn't solve the mystery of why she's so impatient. Perhaps she was made in an impatient manner as well. He he he. I hope my parents never read this, though heaven knows i'm too old to be grounded, neither do I have an allowance whose suspension can be held over me to inspire fear anymore either, however a whack is not entirely out of the question.

The pragmatist in me, however, doesn't buy the method by which I was made as a sensical or acceptable excuse for the lack of tolerance I have for any activity which is remotely associated with waiting, so, no, I suppose my parents aren't to blame, nevermind that they constitute part and part of me, but determined free spirit that I am, I refuse to be constrained ala straitjacket by that kind of psychological bullcrap. I have enough of the introjected other in my subconscious to deal with as it is. I make Freud the exception as he was the one who was probably first badgered by the introjected other in the first place and I can commiserate with him. He and I are kindred. Unfortunately, he offers no clue as to why all the surplus impatience of all the humans born into this world seems to have been poured in me. I couldn't possibly have been in the 'impatience' line either, as being the way I am, I would never have been able to wait my turn so that theory would be fallacious in every sense of the word.

If I can't be given a trickle more of patience, the least I could demand are answers. It would also be nice if they could be given, oh, a minute from now. I'd say sixty seconds is a fair enough allotment if i'm to be a vat of potent sensations, and potential action so the rest of the world can have what is suppose to be my portion of patience.
niz on 10:50 AM CST [ link ]

This is going to be unforgiveably short for my standards, and I usually strongly adhere to the belief that one liners ought to be scoffed at then afterwards banished to the realm of the forgotten, but this is a thought which is important to me, and I want to remember it, so instead of banishing it i'm nestling it here, where it will be safe from memory loss, permanent or otherwise.

Peace of mind is absolutely sublime. When time pauses and unexpectedly intercedes on my status quo of restlessness, I don't try to analyze it anymore, it's too precious and too rare to do anything besides be awestruck when such moments arrive. I just hold on to it and sink into its arms for as long as it will choose to hold me, and all thought escapes me. I don't want any ruminations bothering me at those points in my life. The only thing i'm left capable of doing breathing, and in doing so, I know that I wistfully yearn to breathe an essence of that peace into me, where it will leave me no more.
niz on 09:05 AM CST [ link ]

When I heard of the simultaneous astronomical events going on in the galaxy less than a week ago with a lunar eclipse, planets aligning and meteor showers all happening to coincide in one night, I half humorously recalled the idea of how the behavior of human beings are affected by the pull of the moon. I've always found it an intriguing concept, even at times jokingly mentioning it whenever a full moon would occur and the thought would pass my mind. It isn't an all together farfetched idea when one considers that the moon does affect the movement of the tides, and since the human body is composed of 90% liquid, one might bring himself to consider that the moon would have an effect on us as well, not going quite as far as to morph us into monstrous canines, but moodwise, close enough. Anyhow, I use to scoff at this idea and scoff at myself for taking it seriously albeit i'd speak of it only as a joke.

There may be more sense to it however than wishing on falling stars.

The signals inferred and intercepted by me this week from others and even from myself have been highly distorted and filled with static, something's been off with me for quite a while. I feel as if my defense mechanisms are finely tuned to the point of paranoia, nothing gets past them anymore, not even intensions which are good which might explain why my ability to extend compassion has sunk beneath the lowest level of the sea. I am on guard against everything, sometimes, too much hurt, remembered or otherwise builds a wall around me which would daunt even Spider Man, and the images which are seen from behind this barrier are slightly askew, off-balance, colored with garish shades of discordant hues. And after all the trouble I went to to ensure that my contact lenses would be perfect.

Might I wish on the rocks combusting during the meteor shower that the moon would turn its forces in the opposite direction? Maybe then the 'Lunar-cy' eclipsing my mood would be washed away with the tides? Maybe i've been drinking too much water and Wilkins isn't certified as it claims to be. Maybe it isn't even distilled and has a minute amount of saltwater in its composition. Maybe I ought to allow myself to dehydrate until the galaxy resumes a sense of normalcy. Maybe I ought to stop blaming the moon, not even made of cheese, too many light years away to be causing me to behave in such a bizarre manner.

Maybe I should switch to Absolute.
niz on 10:04 AM CST [ link ]

For days now i've been obssessing on the attributes of constipation alongside those of pretension. I am, for the record, utterly serious. Honestly, nothing ruins a day in quite the same way as constipation does, you literally feel as if a cork has been plugged into you. Gross, but if i'm going to be using analogies, I at least ought to make them picturesque (or graphic... hehehe). You can't help but constantly be looking down your back, or go to extreme positions just to have flatulence come to your aid. Annoying though, and as much of a discomfort, as it may be, you can pop the cork via the use of laxatives, so you see, not all is loss, or, all is loss depending on how you wish to see things.

Nothing though can ruin a person more than being deceived by pretensions. Being taken in by pretensions is tantamount to becoming nothing more than a pawn in someone's gameplay, you may be the one who shall be controlling your actions, but the outcome is no longer yours to determine. Pretensions, once unraveled, will shatter your trust if it doesn't shatter you first, at the very least, you will lose faith. Trust me.

You see, anger has its uses, it certainly adds spice to what can be a monotonous day, a monotonous life even, and sometimes when i'm feeling really awful, nothing cleanses me more than an unrestrained roar of rage at one who deserves it. Even constipation can be a unique sensation if you're into things like that, but as far as pretension goes, the world would be better off flushing it down the toilet. The most dangerous thing about pretension is that it strips us of all our carefully built defenses. First it softens you, than the next thing you know, you are unraveled, gone. I would much rather have a hundred megabolts worth of anger channeled fortrightly in my direction, I can take it as well as I dish it out, then wake up one day to the realization that I have been deceived. What might happen then is better left unrevealed.

I will be the first to admit that I am ruthless, the proverbial lonewolf in sheep's wool, yes I have my scruples, however they apply only as far as those I love, and I abide by them by my rules. Ironic combination indeed, this mixture of shrewdness and an unbreakable code of honor, yet in my own way I have reconciled both. Wolf in sheep's clothing I might be, yet I do not attempt to blind the world to what I am. It's just what I happen to be. I know deep down that i'm the predator, the hunter, the way I walk, even the way I look at people is indicative enough of my true nature, it's just that sometimes, no, often, people prefer to see what they would like to see, anything otherwise would be highly disconcerting for most. Pretensions again, the lies people would tell themselves because they think the truth would be uncomfortable, constipating.

The truth, while not always beautiful would be infinitely preferable to living a lie even unto yourself, which is why I prefer being a predator, it is certainly more desirable than the alternative. No need to fear for the lives of your children though, I may be a bit of a witch at times but that who i'm hunting is none other than myself. Aside from pretenses, another thing I see which the world would be much better without is foolishness, and I can't think of anything more akin to being a fool then having others know you more than you know yourself. I won't be anybody's fool, least of all my own.
niz on 09:53 AM CST [ link ]

If one were to look up my mood for this evening in a dictionary, it could be found under the words 'nasty', 'angry', 'virulent', 'vicious', 'implaceable', and the other pleasant synonyms associated with them. My anger would scorch the Sahara. So, what's causing all this rage to come to the fore? Let's see, user friendly freaks incense me, being ignored and kept in the dark makes the Latin element of my blood boil, pretentions make me mad enough to massacre. You can tell from the first sentence what a hearts and flowers mood i'm in, oh happy, joyful day. You know it's really bad when I start using cliches.

I wouldn't even be in front of this p.c. but for the fact that i'm practically being forcefully glued to the monitor. I knew that all that would come out would be spite. It's almost as bad as being forced to wear a pair of Levi's 501s which I won in a contest, a style I wouldn't be caught sleeping in, the kind which you can't try on without bringing someone with you to the dressing room to help you yank the damn things off once they get stuck on your heels. And now I can't even give the 'prize' away to someone who might actually wear them, no, I have to give them my size so I can have the pleasure of honoring someone by asking them to help pull them off my heels. It took clothes designers more than a century to figure out that jeans are more flattering snug on the hip than stuck on the heels?

Oh great, so now it looks as if it's not only those deformed jeans i'm stuck with. I wasn't satisfied with this entry and wanted to delete it, but it seems as if it can't be done. An appropriate enough closure for this day, why am I even surprised?
niz on 10:09 AM CST [ link ]

As a self-proclaimed headonist, I find that nothing quite compares with the delicious sensation of ice cold needles of water cooling one's heated muscles, the therapeutic blasts of water from the showerhead which seem to flush out the exhaustion from every pore, and the languor which one feels afterwards is sheer bliss, a delight to the senses. Whoever said that baths, particularly, cold ones, after exercise is bad for the body is, in all probability, completely numb, or ended up stiffer than petrified wood after having allowed the sweat to dry on his body like superglue. This blog of mine probably came half a century too late for this person. But honestly, how can something which feels so good possibly be bad for you? Hehehe... let's not answer that.

On a more mundane note, I was all set to blog last night, but I realized as soon as I faced the monitor that my eyes just wouldn't focus. Seriously, i'm beginning to think that buying anything at all on a Friday is perilious to me. Last week I ended up with the wrong pair of shoes, this week, it was one of the pair of contact lenses which I purchased after I managed to overcome my miserliness and after my opthalmologist recovered from her shock at how much my last pair of contacts resembled an ecosystem, which ended up defective. The lens just blurs the vision of whichever eye it's in. What's worse is that I must be the only person in the world to end up with two defective lenses in less than a span of an hour, see, the one I brought home was already a replacement for the first one which happened to be deformed, so I have no choice but to bring it back on Monday to be changed yet again. It's either I ought to avoid buying anything on a Friday or Durasoft took offense at how the contact lenses I bought from them a year and a half ago ended up like an atrium and decided to answer insult with injury. This time the astigmatism i've been diagnosed to be afflicted with isn't to blame, see, I only have it in one eye, and the accursed lens blurs both eyes for heaven's sake, it was so bad that I kept on hitting the wrong keys on the keyboard, and yes, I touch type.

With regards to the heated muscles i've been talking about, that was brought about by a realization two nights ago which i've been meaning to post before sheer exhaustion and brain drain due to dredgy clerical work at the office prevented me from writing about anything which could be considered to have an i.q. higher than five. I've come to appreciate more than ever that one of the best things about my relationship with qs is that he and I can actually appreciate beautiful women together. We enjoy admiring and exchanging opinions on the attributes of women in general, supermodels in particular, and seeing as how i'm a headonist, I actually appreciate this aspect of our relationship. The funny thing is that I don't get jealous and I don't mind that qs can consider other women as beautiful, as long as they're supermodels that is... hehehe. I mean, they are. Anyway, the latest conversation we had about this matter were the abdominal muscles on these models from the Czech Republic, I think. After I saw the stomachs (can those still be considered as stomachs? I thought stomachs were used for food storage, but they don't look as if they place anything in them so it's debateable) of those women, I felt inspired and decided then and there that any remaining amount of flab left in that section of my body had to go, the way qs supported me on this matter made me even more determined, so now i'm in the process of changing the nationality of my belly. I officially want that part of my body to be a citizen of the Czech Republic.

Okay so maybe i'm a little obssessive, one can't deny however that exercise increments the endorphins in our bodies, and when one is as moody and as high strung as yours truly, then headonism has its uses, I need all the happy hormones I can get. At the very least, i'm not aspiring to be a Britney Spears lookalike which would be a direct insult to my beloved Theology 151 teacher, Ma'am Parco, esteemed chair of the Theology department, who is as much of an acolyte of Frodo (even though he's practically an atheist, the word 'Lord' in the epic 'Lord of the Rings', notwithstanding), as I am an acolyte of her, and who thinks that Britney Spears is, in her very own words, the epitomy of headonism. How I would love to sit in on her class should the cataclysmic day arrives that Britney happens to end up as one of her students.

Besides our mutual admiration for beauty, another thing which I am highly grateful for when it comes to qs is that he doesn't attempt to retaliate when I use his butt as a punching bag to vent my restlessness on, an activity which I discovered only this afternoon in a fit of annoyance, neither does he seek revenge when I pinch his butt in public. I guess he's too much of a gentleman even if i'm not, gentle, or a man, that is.
niz on 10:54 AM CST [ link ]