Insight into Bardo, from Giles. And (today, at least) thoughts on meditation, from Daily Dharma/Jon Kabat-Zinn:
Every time you get a strong impulse to talk about meditation and how wonderful it is, or how hard it is, or what it's doing for you these days, or what it's not, or you want to convince someone else how wonderful it would be for them, just look at it as more thinking and go meditate some more. The impulse will pass and everybody will be better off—especially you.
I don't think I meditate nearly as often as I should, but probably shouldn't talk about that, either.
I'm also never sure how/if to talk working with Heather. Seems to go against the main theme of the place, you know? "Our supposed leaders are idiots, the Earth is doomed, and oh, there's a new gallery of erotica photos up at my paramour's site."
I'm also not sure how to include that on my resume, which should at least be updated to reflect that I no longer live in Minneapolis. . .
Sorry, thinking out loud. And avoiding writing anything about that business with Shaq and Yao Ming (something else the Good Twin mentioned recently).
don't ask me. i haven't had any in so long, i think i forgot how. that's why i don't talk about it, either.
maybe that is a political issue. in fact, it probably is...
and now back to regularly scheduled programming: do you think that silent hill is a bardo realm? and that the protagonist is already dead and just doesn't know it yet, as in jacob's ladder?
i don't meditate enough either, although i bow to shrines to the buddha and various dharma teachers...mainly i try to walk the earth, like kwai chang cain.
...any work?
:P
C'mon, darling. You know that a lot of the politics around here have been related to gender and sexuality AND to free speech, too. I'm thinking that Heather's photo shoots -- whether or not they include your own lovely self -- fit the local themes nicely. It's just that they're a defiant and beautiful step in the RIGHT direction, rather than the useful and cogent critiques of the WRONG stuff that you provide so well.
Both sides of the same coin, see?
Also, I'm a bit jealous. No one has even called *me* their 'paramour.'
It's such a *good* word, too.
The first rule of Meditation Club is: You do not talk about Meditation Club.
I'd call you my paramour, Gar. We'll wear fabulous hats from the 1940s and long gloves, and we'll share a compact while we reapply our lipstick in some moodily-lit cafe. Heather will take pictures by which your child will someday be scandalized, and it'll all be beautiful.
. . . . blink . . . .
*purrrrrrr*
George, what's the second rule of. . . no, that joke's been done to death.
Garrity, that was Heather's word choice, actually. She's wittier'n me, you know. And I like your take on this. Thanks.
I will therefore offer to pay for the room you and Hanne needs to get.
Would you ladies mind if a butch joins you at your table? [I promise to wear my bestest binder, tie, & fedora...]
Whoohoo!
I'm so there.
And might I say that it is indeed quite lovely to be called a paramour.
I confess, I got all jello-knee-wobbly.
And Garrity, those were really lovely compliments. Thank you so much.
Neo, of course there are enough chairs at the table. Indeed, my own sweet husband just asked plaitively if he might join us as the heavy in the zoot-suit with the tommy gun in his violin case (ifyaknowwhaddImean?)
I said yes. A girl can't *buy* this kind of attention, I tells ya.
At least, not on my salary.
That works.
For the record, I must say that things are ALWAYS better with a butch at the table.
Just sayin'.
[cough] Thanks Heather. We try.
You ladies care for drinks? I'm sure Mr. Zoot-Suit would love to help me fetch some for you.
Neo, you do know that I believe that Goddess gave me two hands for a reason, yes? So I could have a butch eating out of one and a femme eating out of the other, simultaneously.
It's enough to make me give up believing in evolution, the system's so perfect.
. . . . blink-blink . . . .
*mmmrowr*
& which hand would you prefer I begin w/, darling?
Oh.
My.
...sits, buffing the Chinatown-red nails of her right hand on the black mohair lapel of her sweater... extending the left, crooking her index finger just slightly as she does...
(in the near distance, a waiter drops a tray of glassware. i don't blink.)
[you know, at some point, Aaron's going to start blushing- are you sure you want to do that to him? Oh, yes, I guess so... May have to compose a reply on my next work-break... It should probably start, "Equally oblivious to the waiter, she..." shouldn't it?]
No worries, Neo. I do not blush, after all.
No idea why I have to keep reminding people of that.
[oh, fine.]
Equally oblivious to the waiter, she draws the extended finger upwards, bites the exposed heel, and sucks gently.
[yes, I do realize I've accidentally set myself up here- going toe-to-toe w/a professional, one is bound to lose- esp since I can't write my way out of paper bag, even in my chosen field.]
Mmm, yeah, but we should probably take it to private e-mail, 'cause Aaron's bandwidth can only support so many voyeurs. (She said sweetly, digging her nails just the teensisest bit into the soft skin under Neo's chin...)