Shout for a Knock

September, Monday-Tuesday 19/20, 2011

From one side of the world to the other

Into the tunnel. WOOOSHH!!! The change swooped instant-in, kicking out the cool and ease of the remnant Stateside air that was kept in the plane, uppercutting it aside, replacing it with closer-to-the-equator heat. It's a sudden dump into steaming soup.The warmth sticks itself onto every surface with a scratch, scratching out an aroma that lets you know -- uh-huh yeah -- that plastic, glass and metal airport is getting cooked. Bags in hand and stepping through that tunnel I say with familiarity, "Ahhhhhh the Philippines."

Flight time: 13 hours. It's pretty nifty, you know? You'd think a baker's dozen of hours on your ass would be a chore -- admittedly, 275 powerfat pounds on mine was . . . a sore -- but the modern in-flight entertainment system is good carnival fun. No longer are the movies restricted to specific times and on the big screen up front. There were a vast array of films in multiple genres that you could watch at a whim on the screen in front of you. Touchscreen controls. Pause, play. Rewind. I want to see that funny line again. Month-old Hollywood blockbusters were available along with a few Filipino flicks. I watched Fast and Furious and the new Pirates movie. Saw bit parts of The Dark Knight. For dinner? Beef Stroganoff. No adobo tonight. For breakfast was a dish the flight attendant simply referred to as "American": a plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns and a giant chunk of ham. Had they served that ham at the beginning of the flight instead of the end I would have used it to cushion my butt.

On the afternoon of the day my flight she dropped by with a smile, her dog, and a knock on the door. It was a treat to see her, oh yes! Throughout the flight my mind was occupied by the thought of her. My seat was just ahead of the wing. Look out, boy! Framed by the window was a view of the engines pointing out towards NAIA Airport, shooting through the night above plentiful clouds that scattered the below looking like icebergs floating on a vast unknown. If I shouted her name toward the engine it would rush into the jet along with a piece of the sky and shoot out the back in a glorious high altitude roar over the ocean all the way back to East Side. She hasn't heard me before. I wonder if she would hear that.

Fortune on the Floor

And oh what a thought she was!

Over the bedroom door sat flies like gargoyles guarding, warning of the fragmented goblin inside. Monday/Tuesday's Bourbon Midnight threw itself onto my bed during sleep, unremembered but left with a wet sickening sweet that only teased the hungover Tuesday to throw-throw some more. Wednesday saw the bottleless fight to keep the burn away; it was a burn with drink I thought would keep the rue at bay. Thursday night I lurched picking up a scrap piece of paper in front of my bedroom door. It said: Simplicity of character is the natural result of profound thought. It was an uncookied fortune scattered random on the floor. To these words was the reaction, "I must not think profoundly because I am no simple man." There are many thoughts, yes. But they are not a meditation, a sanctuary with altars of promised peace, no, they are the arena masses of thoughts that cheer, jeer and chant raging to be heard by one.

But I can't hear anyone. It's just noise - one overwhelming RAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

I must be a broken man.

I've lost the profound thought that which kept me simple, functioning, joyous.

The Figment Sun

I sleep thinking of the sun

Only to wake

still thinking of the sun

And no hour ticks

without a thought of the sun

The sun who kept me whole

Curtain drawn and this door closed

I thought the sun

I'd see no more

But such a gem, a charm is the sun

She shines through curtain,

knocks through door closed

Such is my curse to have seen the sun

This sun who kept me whole

Who by smile, by shine

by being just her, oh sweet delight!

Took time to share

her shine with me

Took time to give me

a smile

Where is this sun

who brought the fine day to me?

She shines still (I think)

Though no longer here

Beachside for Bed

I hope this doesn't turn out like the end of La Strada. Replace that beachside for a bed. Zampanò was a fool; the real clown.

Regarding the Quiet

Despite all the things unsaid, despite all my actions wayward and unkempt, of this and only this be certain: It is a fortune to see you happy.

Them Under Yellow Streetlight

Look here, a beauty in the streetlight

Charm on lips pointing north, so slight

On this dying, splash yellow'd gravel

It is her again

With a look and a shine that'll never be mine

Sitting passenger side

in the car of another

Closer they stand

Ever closer they stand

With her charm

she stands

in the arms

of another

And I'll walk away from

what I can not stand:

It is her again

now

happily embraced

in the heart of her lover

Excuse me as I

Take the walk around the block alone

Unable to view

Hands tenderly held, hey lady

Dogs playing fuck

Premonition of the intention, hey baby

of the hugging couples present

on this dying street outside my room

drowning in the streetlight

Away from a beauty lit yellow

A gang of fedora'd shadows seen

huddled fiercely in the yellow

taunting through gait to the step,

"Hey it could never be."

Surrounded, outnumbered

by the lack of light in me

to the left and to the right

upways and downways

'tis a slaughter of a fight

they whisper viciously

"Yeaaaaaaaaaaah . . . creep!"

Excuse me as I

Take the blockwalking beating alone

Still unable to view

what can now no longer be deemed "She"

but instead "Them"

Them who by

streetlight, starlight, moonlight

and certainly daylight!

Take upon themselves

a look

and a shine

wholly

Them

On sidewalk block found no escape

So to the sky is sought relief

So it is sighted

To

Connect-the-dots on that Dipper

Grasp it from the midnight

and tank 'im over the head with it

Go hold 'er if you can

with the bruises of 7 stars

But I walk away

Lit by streetlight, starlight, moonlight

And I realize by that point north, though slight

I ought to

Poke the moon

and let its glow pour into the stellar empty

Gone &

Crash the lights by which I

Was thrashed by a gang of my shadow

By which I

Saw your charm in the arms of another

By which I

Thought the things I thought tonight

On that yellow-splashed street, dying

Compliment Not This Nothing

The compliments

I

Kept to myself

So as not

to upset

Her herself

And ahead to distant kings she looked

she looked NOT to the nearby I

who shook

shook yes from keeping achingly so

the compliments I crush kept to myself

But hush, sick fool

Less I distress This Nothing

That I have with her now

And lose This Nothing

by saying out to yes neat she,

"You look nice tonight."

Hush What Isn't Wanted

To hush the mouth is easy

But to hush the mind is torture

And I've been told to keep hush

To hush what isn't wanted

When there's a grimace on my face

Know

It's from lifting tons upon tons

of the adoring thoughts unwanted to

Throw

Faraway from

Wherever you aren't

I can keep hush from uttering

the found happiness in your name

But to cuff my mind from smiling

Takes more effort than loosening sullen's choke

I'll war bliss from my mind

I'll wrestle joy from my heart

to forget the happiness in your name

Yes

You're welcome

Yeah I'll try, try

With a grimace on my face

Excuse me (sitting passenger side)

while I commit struggling

to the happy throwaway

Far

Faraway

From wherever you aren't

As I've been told

To keep hush

To hush what isn't wanted

I Am the Monster with a Frown

If you're not the smile on my face then who are you? I can't possibly be thinking of anyone else.

I apologize for the fact that the simple thought of you makes me happy. They shouldn't have prescribed me Prozac back then. They could have just said, "Go talk to a girl, Blue Brain" and it would've have been fine, just fine and NOT this relationship catch-up I find myself violently tumbling in. My social retardation bears its heavy mark on me with a girl who absolutely refuses to let me recognize her incredible worth.

And as quiet as the days were before she

Rightfully so be it that my heart is hushed from

Beating the happy beat

I am the monster with a frown

Maybe the target is wrong? Or my bow skills are sorely, sorely lacking. Or maybe it's as simple as this? A monster should just find another monster to go Grrrr!! the town together with. As for now I'm on the outskirts sharpening tooth & claw, patting down my rags for the town raid that'll never be. I'm a real terrible bastard, ain't I?

So You Drank in Los Banos?

Whereabouts? Spent the past Saturday night, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday in Los Banos. The following was a message sent to J Buddha:

Got home 10:20 am this morning.

Yayo Buddha. Tried to, anyways. Unfortunately there wasn't even a buzz to be found; the liquor was just leftover raspberry vodka from Monday night - not nearly enough to get me "comfortable." Everybody had a bash drinking Monday but I sat out and slept because I was feeling blue. Come Tuesday night and I wanna slam the vodka down but everybody was so lax with taking their shots.

At least Sunday saw a drunk me. Ended up talking about a *girl as per usual, blehhh

It's nice to know you've been taking your meals. Woohoo! As for the boredom? I've been wondering . . . would you rather be bored OR have that guy who keeps trying to holler at you bother you? Oooh what be the lesser of two evils? Dun dun dunnnn! Heh.

AJ looks to be doing quite well. I picked him up, gave a quick check to see that he hasn't been running in the mud (he's clean ~thumbs up!~) and brought him inside and onto his bed. Just like last time though, he bounced right out and went stepping towards the backyard. Yep, he's out there with his bros again, playing.

How's your day so far, Buddha? Did boredom say hello? Give it "the bird" next time. Maybe it'll go away.

~Justin

[*note to self: sino pa? auuuuum . . . ]

This Isn't Your Song

You told me not to do
Dedicate words to you
And let the whole world know
How wonderful you are
Not something you would like
For that you'd leave my side
But we both know we were never together

Don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
And how you make me smile when you're around
Don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
But now the world knows this isn't your song woh oh oh

Won't even share your food
Because you know my mood
About tasting the
Foul touch of others
You know it's you I like
I'd share with you, that's right!
But you play keep away, no we'll never be together

Don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
And how you make me smile when you're around
Don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
But now the world knows this isn't your song woh oh oh

You said "No don't do this"
Woh oh oh
You said that I shouldn't praise your name
Woh oh oh
But hear, hear do know this
Woh oh oh
Now hear, hear it's a sweet cheer to know your name

But don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
And how you make me smile when you're around
Don't fret it's not your song
Don't have to sing along with me oh no
About how wonderful you are
But now the world knows this isn't your song woh oh oh

To Share the World and Its Feasts

I don't share food.

If somebody took a bite out of something or smacked lips with a beverage cup, I'm out. Do not ask if I'd like some. I don't know where your mouth has been, aye? Ask me to partake of your sandwich after you already made a loving chomp out of it after you spent happy time last night with your significant other making your loving chomps in bed then . . .

NO.

Nuh uh uh uh NOOO!!

What's the point, germaphobe?

It's an intimate act to be sharing food. Slopping over the King Eggroll take-out combo meal as a duet? During all the picking and chopsticking there's mouth-to-food-to-mouth contact there some-frickin'-where so NO I do not want to taste whoever it is you've been kissing, Baroness Shares-a-Lot.

No.

However . . .

when within sight is a girl I fancy in a brighter light above all the others, yayo I'll share food with her. Ooh yes please. Oh why thank you, dear. Wow this food really is good, aye? Since I've decided to share the world I see with you then yes let's tackle that value meal together, darling. I hope you like Dr. Pepper.

It's not a new idea. It's been with me for a long time. People are icky. As am I. I don't think you'd want my MoGo's half-eaten burrito if you knew where I've been. I've decided to pen this down now because of the events of yesterday morning with J Buddha on 4th day. On the way back to the house we did a drive-thru of Jack-in-the-Box where she ordered a Really Big Chicken Sandwich Combo and a funnel cake for dessert. At the kitchen table this whole personal issue of sharing food was brought up as she ate breakfast heartily. I've mentioned it to her before and she knows full well of my unpleasant regard for biting where someone has already bit or touched. Now modify that with Buddha's acknowledgement that I adore her and what do we get?

"If I was starving to death and I reeaaaaally needed food to eat to survive would ya-"

"Nope, well you're just going to starve then" says Girl Aum with a smirk.

Darn.

Buddha does share her food with others. She herself encourages it. "Can I have a curly fry?" I ask. "No" she replies with a gleeful head shake. Buddha does share her food with others - but not with me. Not even a crumb, oof. I joke with her I probably shouldn't have told her and could've been all sneaky ninja-like with a pretend casual bite out of a Really Big Chicken Sandwich but considering we've had in-depth conversations since before the admiration it was info previously confessed to her in trust and good faith.

Despite my yearning eagerness to share the world and its feasts with the fairy tale One Girl, to not be able to share food & drink with Girl Aum is something I find tremendously gratifying. Bollocks to the groceries - as long as I'm around her I don't think I'll ever starve. Physically. Spiritually. Yes Happily, Ever . . . O=P

No Jams with Girl Aum

"We're on our waaaay" flashes up on the Facebook chatbox. "We" being J Buddha and and her pup AJ. Vroom goes the BMW 9-something in the morning, on to intercept Girl Aum who carries all of AJ's accoutrements wrap-clasped in a big fluffy brown/tan dog bed. The thought of her walking alone down White with a Canine Supply Taco to the 613 flips me with an "Oh darn." So Vroom yes Vroom.

It's the 3rd consecutive day.

A week ago I was in the shits, trashbinned in blue by the vow of silence taken by Buddha for a perceived wrong I committed. I sent messages down her way, I did, playing face, being kind but she went heel and gave me quiet heat. Yup. Quiet heat. The worse "Oh what did I do?" kind. =( Ugh. No bueno. For a week of my life she was practically non-existent. A ghost whose cheer haunted my bedroom door. J Buddha's bright presence in my gloomy life flared away the shadows of being down. Yeep, she's that awesome. On a scale from 1-10, a profound 20. Now imagine that light gone. It's back in the dark, Señor Lacking. Except tragically worse because I knew how great she be.

Sometimes I think it would better if I didn't know Buddha. That way, she wouldn't be someone I care for a great deal . Someone I could lose. I could miss. I could be sad about.

Her jubilant face

When

She's tickled by delight

Stamped, after due-date

Delivered, only to fuzzy memory

No longer sent sweet fresh, yeah?

When

She looked to me - in the moment -

With a

Sparkle eye & smile+ bona fide

When J Buddha and I finally cleared things up it required the reveal of my feelings for her. I couldn't say it. I was frightened. I directed her towards my blog and she sat at the computer clicking, scrolling. Syllables paraded my affection in a procession whose pace was determined by her sight reading. I was nervous as I stood by. But it had to be done. Earlier in our reunion I moonsaulted into the deep end and shut myself off from communicating with her in the light manner that once was. I thought we could get by it. She said I changed. If I was to see her again it was either back to sleeping in my yellow room whenever she came around or say upfront that she's pretty darn cool, hah.

I told J Buddha her silence was the "longest week I've had this year."

"Really?"she said, bemused.

By then she dropped the dinner burn, her ire having faded away somewhere during her 7-day quiet and with my admiration freed I climbed out of the trashbin and went back dancing in the light of Girl Aum.

Drive.

I spot her on the sidewalk to my left. U-turn. "Good morning, Buddha."

AJ sleeps all lax on his bed un-taco'd, tucked cozily in beside a football pillow, blue ball, and a squeaky duck head. Buddha is at the kitchen table breakfasting on the barbecue chicken she eyed last night when she was here souping up her Pho take-out dinner. I sit at the table facing her more than the TV across from from us. I look at her inquisitively, my scrunched face unapparent to her as she eats with eyes set straight on the television. "Don't do it" she says without a skip. "Don't do what?" I ask, amused. She must have notice the unspoken change in

my demeanor. It's a certain aura of giddiness that overwhelms me when in the presence of a Whoa. "I'm not gonna compliment you, I'm just sitting here" says I with a follow-up defense. Somehow she stop-checked me before I even had the thought of the thought of saying she looks nice today. Dude, she's good.

Breakfast done, it's on to the car and on to work. It's an older model with a cassette tape player (Do you know what that is, kiddies?) In goes the wired cassette tape adapter connected to my mp3 player. It's only barely a touch through the music folders before Buddha chimes up again, "Don't do it." It must be my last night talk of asking permission to play suave with her if I were to drive her home. She said no with a sparkle and a bona fide and was instead brought home by Birthday Girl and her boyfriend. "Dohh" I get stop-checked again, now trance-like passing over the mp3 player to her. She probably thought I was going to play some Slow Jams. Suave mood music, aye? Hah.

"Did you write a song?" she asks, fiddling with the mp3 player looking for anything that isn't what I'm thinking of.

I reply, "For you? Well I've got a strummy bit I still need to put lyrics to I found it while you were still angry at me so the lyrics were going to be about that but then we're all cool now so it could be about that. Or I could combine the two and make a song of that?"

"No, Justin. No."

"How about a poem? Can I write poems about-"

"Noo." A snicker. A smirk. "Don't. You can't."

I says to her it's not like she reads the blog anyways so she wouldn't know of all the pretty little things I write about her. If I were to write about J Buddha. If I were to sing about Girl Aum. It's easy, girl. If you don't want the world to know how awesome you are just take your light away, yeah 20? Leave me back in the dark. I'll be okay. I think I might miss her though. Do know that she's guaranteed to be making somebody else happy. I just won't be beside her delight to write about it. For now, I'm blessed to be in her presence and I'll continue to pen the good word.

Just don't tell her it's about her.

About how great things are.

How great she be.

And how it's nice to know her, aye?

Anicca She

I did

but no longer

For her whom, sought after

The next pretty one down the line

Though charming she may be

And delicious she may seem

I saw fury in her stance (that night)

Her tone, her turn, her walk away

Neglected me, such bitter aftertaste

For this

I did

but no longer

On weighted mood I carried her sting

The sting of the night she turned away

For a week (to this day) I ached

On sidewalk, through sun and streetlight lit

Heavy were the steps

Steps stung by her furious whip

A fixing call to her I try

Silence

Oh pulverizing Silence

Be her reply

A Silence that teased my grave nearby

Better is the sight from bed of dirt 6 feet

Than to be trampled upon

For my suffering solo cry

It's because of this

I did

but no longer

For her whom

I liked

Another pretty one down the line

Now no longer sought after

Knocks & Sleeping

I'm bothered by the likes of you. You who I've come to know as someone of incredible worth. Someone who knocked on my door with a knock knock proposal - armed with your syrupy hurrah - to fight fierce the frown delirium and bring me out of the yellow dread of the doldrums sanctum that sits at the top of the stairs. "I'm only sleeping" I'd say but it's to you only and only you I admit I'm not sleeping at all. Knock Knock.

I'm bothered by the likes of you. For that one night I chose not to Yummy Buffet beside you. You spoke of an ill I committed - "But it's not even like that . . ." I try to sayve trailing - you puffed, then huffed and turned away from me, back to your table, to your food. From out of "sleeping", out of yellow, past that door, down those steps - I'm left alone standing. The girl with the syrupy hurrah gone with only her back to me seen. Another bright yes beyond my door wala na. So it's a return to yellow I step up with the claim "I'm only sleeping."

But even sleep in these past few days is hard to come by.

Because so bothered am I by the likes of you I struggle massive to hide, closed eyes, mind silent, inside slumber and away from hearing your haunting knocks on my door. The past joy of seeing your incredible worth lingers steady. It's a constant that jabs my head mocking, "She's still there." But you're not there. You sit away from me, so far away from me with a back turned, your cheer shown anywhere but here. What's left is the ghost of your incredible worth knocking on my door. Knock Knock. Knock Knock Knock.

Why am I so god damn bothered by the likes of you?

It's because I . . .

The Strokes - Trying Your Luck

"And storefronts rarely change

At least I'm on my own again
Instead of anywhere with you

But to me it's all the same

And I lost my page again
I know this is so rare
But I'll try my luck with you"

Go Pho Down

I'm sitting at the table and I can't figure out what I'm trying to figure out. Am I thinking of one thing? If so, where is it? Maybe it's many things I try to tackle and they've decided to mess with me this evening by causing a ruckus in the kids' plastic ball pit where they're loud, annoying, pissing and trying to take each others' eyes out with a high speed red ball pitch to the face. So I'm sitting there staring out into nothing trying to find something. And the tidbits are there. The girl I like. Or don't like? I can't talk what I want to talk. What happened earlier this day. Good man?! My bum status. How I suck.

J Buddha, March and the rest of the group at the table are all cheers while I sometimes look off into the distance thinking abouGUUUUUUUUHHHH!!!!!!

THEY'RE STILL FU-FUH-FUCKIN' AROUND IN THE BALL PIIIITTTTTT!

While the thoughts get swallowed and spat out cycling in the room of that multi-colored netted room of play the look on my face is blank with a touch of woe. I think. I don't know what it looks like. I'm just trying not to bring the others down. I smirk and commit the occasional giggle to humor spoken over bowls of white noodle soup. Yum. For this pho I'm glad. I slop up the pho trying to find peace in the broth with a yearn to drown in it. It's better to be beside beef flank and beef this and beef that - there are 18 beef-based bowls - than to get my head kicked in by a rioting mind.

Yes waitress I'd like bowl #17 to die in.

And a glass of ice water, thank you.

They've decided to roam this sunless time with a trip to the hills. Perhaps the local haunt over at Marsh Road? Whatever the destination I opt to bounce out and not let my gloomy filth wash out onto the others. Byes are exchanged. Handshakes to the dudes. Big ol' hugs to the girls. J Buddha says I'm bringing their time down. It's why I'm leaving, chica. I've got stuff to think about. Or try to find exactly what it is I'm thinking about. I don't know. I go. I hit the gas with Deftones' Knife Party on repeat. Windows open. The driving breeze spills wildly into the car, pushing out shredded near-ideas and stale air. But that blank stare still sits, now savagely pushed on modified with a brutal furrow in the brow. I scream into the road wind. Fuck the night.

The Retreat Addressed

The following is a reply to March regarding the status of a former admire:

I mentioned J Buddha because I thought your initial "Justin!!!!!!" holler was for a call about her.

Yeahp, I've stopped admiring Modern Lovely. It's emotionally better for me to keep my heart close than to leave it dangling out for someone to Knock-Out! brutally like a heavyweight boxer. I never did try to talk to her. Heh heh. Not properly - I don't know how to "talk to a girl." Hah. I'll continue to do what I've been doing now and roll on with the friendly kindness to Modern Lovely; it won't be any different. I just won't be thinking of her fondly as I once did.

No more poems.

No more songs.

No more "Modern Lovely" in the tender light where she was once seen.

The spot is empty now again.

Whoa, I haven't felt that affectionate about a girl within close proximity for years. (A partial reason to why she's been named the Modern Lovely.) Oh well. Hah.

Went to Eastridge, bought a book I've been meaning to get for a few weeks now at Barnes & Noble. Looked at a few chicks to help my mind get out of Modern Lovely mode. Seeing the pretty ones helped.

How have you been? And Buddha? When did you last chat with our sister?

~LL

Loner Bastard

Photograph taken by J Buddha. Shopped by Lacking.

A Meditation in Prose to J Buddha

The following is a recent correspondence with J Buddha spread over the past 3 days. It addresses the fate of a muse, the suspicion of certain sweets, and diving Hawaii.

[MESSAGE 1]

So Modern Lovely is in great spirits with her current admire. If anything is to be learned from my many years in solitude it is that in a relationship (yes, I know even though I haven't beeeeeen in one blehh. heh heh) what is of paramount importance is:

Fundamentally
what makes the other person happy

and

to know that, to be aware of it is a happiness you find in yourself. Even if it doesn't involve you in any capacity.

So I'm happy and loco about it too. Woohoo!!

hah

Joy with and for others? That's an exquisite trait, Buddha. It never occurred to me that a sense of one's self-joy could actually be selfless. That's tremendous.

Random question: What's your favorite candy?

~LL

[MESSAGE 2]

Ahh no worries at all. Good times, Buddha. Glad to meet Modern Lovely. What was previously just another face online is now a complete, unabbreviated girl.

Whoa.

What was good will stay good
as with
all my past admirations
(Though often brokenhearted I departed in silence, as silent as the admiration itself)

Hah.

Anywho, more passionate fuel for my poetic ammo.

Again. Good times, J Buddha. haaah . . .

There was a Halloween where I received a suspicious-looking orange paper wrapped morsel from a Latin household. During that night's stash attack I picked it up with caution and unwrapped the orange to find a tan caramel-esque candy. Drunk on the sugar I had already partaken of, I haphazardly popped the suspicion into my mouth.

It tasted like shit. =l

I spat it out immediately. "Fuuck I knew it!" I thought-raged to myself.



Okie dokie, sister. You've got a sweet tooth with a particular delight in chocolate. Worry not, I am not Latin.

~Solitude ( heh)

[MESSAGE 3]

And I admire your approach to life. To walk on with bona fide strength, wisdom and mirth is a combination in bliss, yayo. As for sounding smart and the look up? Aw gee thanks Buddha. ;P It's the writing, dear sister. When I write it just comes out a certain way I guess, a way that appeals to me personally.

A few years ago I showed an acquaintance of mine a piece that I wrote and her response was that I sounded "upper crust," all proper-like ya know? I thought she was calling me a PRICK, hah hah, to which she denied.

But

Admittedly

I am a prick. At times.

heh heh . . .

Girls are attracted to assholes, right? Are there girls attracted to pricks? Oh Buddha if I could speak to a girl as confidently as I pen verse I'd be drowning in 'nani. =O I'm going to have to invest in quality scuba gear. First stop: Hawaii. Gonna breast-stroke through all dem fine wahines.

=/ =p hah

How are things over your way in the Philippines, J Buddha? What merry events have delighted you most? San Jose has warmed up considerably; an American summer awaits your return.

~LL