Salvor's new journal

And we are blessed with your company also.

I feel the same way...most days.

You always know just the right thing to say, even when you don't know what to say at all. For that, and many other moments, I thank you.

A from the good little witch.

Salvor-Hardon said:

Now that I'm done being introspective and nostalgic, I'm going to go look at boobs

But I do think this place is special. I think the people here are exceptional.

Click to expand...

Wanna look at mine?

You are a gift, Salvor.

11/15/09 I wish to live deliberately

lesbiaphrodite said:

Tennessee Williams wrote that life is divided into two basic realms: death and desire signified by the two streetcars that traveled the borderlands of the Quarter in New Orleans long ago....one was named "Cemetaries" and the other, appropriately "Desire." If you ride on the streetcar of desire, you are alive. If on cemetaries, well, you're dead. So, what was old Tennessee saying? If we are not desiring life, love, beauty, sexual engagement, then we are dead? If that's what he meant, and I think it is, then I agree.

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The above is from lesbiaphrodite's thread which you can read here. Its a thought that's been in my head for a while now, a conversation I've had a few times. Arousal, desire, there is a sense that those states, those emotional conditions are the essence of life. Your heart rate quickens, your breathing deepens, your senses are elevated in sensitivity, and you feel the urge to embrace the greatest thrill life can give. Life is great and grand when we are in the throes of that first rush of a new crush. Desire is life.

Except....

Desire has the element of being without. We want the things we don't have, that are just out of reach. We are aroused by the new, we desire what we lack, so then how do we live day after day, never having what we crave? Is the meaning of life to be unfulfilled? Not to wax philosophical but, how do we keep sparks and fires alive on rainy dull days?

I'm not talking about relationships, marriages, or even friendships. But just life, getting up and out of bed day after day, and feeling like the day was worth the effort; how does that happen? I think it goes back to Da Vinci of all things.

Michael Gelb's book "How to think like Da Vinci" has some good ideas, once you get past the incessant crotch sniffing he does. While Leonardo was an amazing man, he was just a man. But Leonardo had words like Curiosita, the hunger for wonder and curiosity. And sensazione, the training and developing of senses to experience the world around us. Connessione, the connectedness of all things, and my personal favorite sfumato, embracing the ambiguous.

Its not just arousal, or desire, its appreciation. Its savoring, and indulging, seeing the world around us not as a burden but as a playground, a place to explore and play, not to muddle through. Tomorrow, I'll start a new journal.... not here but in real life, a real pocket moleskine, that I'll record my appreciation, my exploration, my arousal and my indulgences.

I am choosing to live deliberately.

11/21/09 Tired

The past 48 hours hve been literally a emotional roller coaster, that I can neither explain or say I saw coming. Thursday was positive, not bad, not great but in the whole positive. Friday.... I went form feeling The Force of being a sex jedi, strong and incessant like I haven't felt it in a very long time. Then as I drove home, it bottomed out. It built and bubbled and then suddenly poof it was gone. There were tears in my eyes, just a feeling of sadness. Not despair, not even sorrow, just that soft low long sigh.

I went about my day today, feeling ok in the morning, and then slowly fading into a melancholy. Its a good night for the blues. I've got a cigar set aside for later, and the near new moon will give me a glimpse into the darker reaches of the cosmos. Even as I look into the reaches of space, space will be looking into me. There will be brightly burning stars, suns, galaxies that light the darkness. Planets teem with life and moons pull gravity in a taffy like dance of here and there. My childhood dreams of being an astronaut, will come back. The roar of rocket engines, the intense crush of acceleration giving way to weightlessness.

A friend of mine once said "I'd love to be able to see inside your head". Tonight, seeing inside my head would be confusing as hell.

11/25/09 Winding down and gearing up

I had the day off work today so I went shopping, picking up the last few items before tomorrow's gluttonous feast. It took longer than it should have and it took a while for me to calm down. I didn't get angry or even frustrated, but I found myself withdrawing tightly, folding in on myself to avoid people. I poured a very large ice water, and sat down to meditate for a bit, just to let the day go away and try to recapture a sense of balance.

With eyes closed, and breathing slowly and deeply, I stumbled over the thought "The best and the worst are often hand in hand." It startled me that the words would pop the way they did, but I picked them up and turned them round and round in my head. Part of my frustration and irritation with the holiday season comes down to that phrase. People are warm and generous, giving and thoughtful, and at the same time greedy, materialistic, self indulgent, spoiled idiots. How the two can co exist almost seamlessly is frightening, and yet just today I saw it played out repeatedly.

I know I have my brat moments. I am self centered and ego focused, I want my array of blinking flashy toys. I can be caring and thoughtful and considerate, and I feel the dichotomy more powerfully the 30 some odd days between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Its when I wish I could check into a monastery for 6 weeks. A few weeks of poverty, chastity, devotion, perhaps even silence would do my soul good.

I keep thinking about Gandhi's statement "Be the change you wish to see in the world" but I honestly don't have enough faith in American humanity to engage in a social revolution, to think before we act, to be considerate and kind. Not in a way that catches on and lives on after December 25th.

I have a copy of the Editor's Response -- the essay that gave us "Yes, Virginia there is a Santa Clause". I take it out and read it now and then, reminding myself there is more, that there is good. I want to light the single candle rather than curse the darkness.

Maybe this year will be different. One can always hope.

Salvor-Hardon said:

I wanted to just be scary, to walk about with an air of malevolence, so that people would instinctively know to clear a path as I approached. Not that I wanted to be violent or do harm, I just wanted to remove the temptation in interacting with people. In short I wanted to look like Darkness in Legend.

Click to expand...

Sounds like PMT to me, hun.

11/27/09 Those who have ears to hear, let them hear

I just found a new twist on today, the National Day of Listening. The idea is to spend an hour today recording an interview with a friend, family member, mentor, person of importance. Its a way of preserving oral history, of keeping stories, to pass along the things that make our relationships valuable. Unfortunately, I learned about it too late, so will have to do it tomorrow or Monday.

Part of me thinks the first candidate should be my mother. Everything I know about stories as an art I learned from her. She has a joi de vivre that is infectious, and has touched more lives than anyone can count. I have learned so much from her, some things by watching, some by listening, some a negative example.

One of my dearest and best friends has dubbed me "keeper of secrets and holder of stories". She and I can talk for hours, and her life has been so filled with moments, she too would make an incredible interview. I don't think an hour would be nearly enough time, but I've never been one to follow rules.

I think of my boys, people I work with, people I see in stores and restaurants, and I wonder if it might be a good idea to get a digital recorder and start being brave with asking questions. There is an element of my personality that enjoys listening. I truly enjoy watching people's reactions, listening not only to words but the tones and rhythms, piecing together the ideas that are not being said as well as what is said. I'm not always good at it, but when I am face to face, in person, I enjoy the dynamic.

The one drawback, I am afraid that someone will want to interview me, and at the same time I am afraid no one will want to either. I've been interviewed before, I volunteer with a class of 8th graders ever year that practice the skills, and its always a bit uncomfortable at first, until the connection is made and I understand how to best express myself so that person can understand me. I know I would never divulge my secrets, or those I hold for others, but I always wonder if someone is peeling away my layers the way I try to get inside others.

Not being chosen, the unvoiced opinion of "you're just not interesting enough" well that's the worst insult of all. But then I remember I am not obvious, I'm not easy to read. People have a hard time getting to know me, and I am .... odd.

I'll talk if I am asked, and I'll write if I am not. I can interview myself in some way. But tomorrow, I set it all aside, and I just listen.

Salvor-Hardon said:

I just found a new twist on today, the National Day of Listening. The idea is to spend an hour today recording an interview with a friend, family member, mentor, person of importance. Its a way of preserving oral history, of keeping stories, to pass along the things that make our relationships valuable. Unfortunately, I learned about it too late, so will have to do it tomorrow or Monday.

Part of me thinks the first candidate should be my mother. Everything I know about stories as an art I learned from her. She has a joi de vivre that is infectious, and has touched more lives than anyone can count. I have learned so much from her, some things by watching, some by listening, some a negative example.

One of my dearest and best friends has dubbed me "keeper of secrets and holder of stories". She and I can talk for hours, and her life has been so filled with moments, she too would make an incredible interview. I don't think an hour would be nearly enough time, but I've never been one to follow rules.

I think of my boys, people I work with, people I see in stores and restaurants, and I wonder if it might be a good idea to get a digital recorder and start being brave with asking questions. There is an element of my personality that enjoys listening. I truly enjoy watching people's reactions, listening not only to words but the tones and rhythms, piecing together the ideas that are not being said as well as what is said. I'm not always good at it, but when I am face to face, in person, I enjoy the dynamic.

The one drawback, I am afraid that someone will want to interview me, and at the same time I am afraid no one will want to either. I've been interviewed before, I volunteer with a class of 8th graders ever year that practice the skills, and its always a bit uncomfortable at first, until the connection is made and I understand how to best express myself so that person can understand me. I know I would never divulge my secrets, or those I hold for others, but I always wonder if someone is peeling away my layers the way I try to get inside others.

Not being chosen, the unvoiced opinion of "you're just not interesting enough" well that's the worst insult of all. But then I remember I am not obvious, I'm not easy to read. People have a hard time getting to know me, and I am .... odd.

I'll talk if I am asked, and I'll write if I am not. I can interview myself in some way. But tomorrow, I set it all aside, and I just listen.

Click to expand...

love you.
m x m

12/11/09 More than words

I know I've neglected this journal far too long. Two weeks without so much as a self indulgent whine much less coherent thought or insight. What a slacker!

I was going to blame it on being a poor writer, until I stopped and thought about it. I'm not a writer. I write, I can tell a good story now and then, and while my voice makes it a more engaging experience, I can get by on just written words. But I have no ambitions of being published, nor making my livelihood telling stories. I'm not THAT good, and I get easily distracted. And before anyone posts to try to compliment my writing, thank you but I'm not looking for compliments. I know I am ok, even better than average in some poems and stories, but I've no delusions of being the best of the best that being a successful professional anything requires.

Where I am good is coming up with ideas. Some are more feasible than others, and some are just down right weird. I tinker and dream and ponder and scheme, and the results are.... well just not what the rest of the world expects. I'm good at being just slightly off.

I like seeing things differently. Partly because I always have, and partly because I wonder if I'm not a mild version of Wonko the Sane from So Long and Thanks for all the Fish. I keep wondering if some day I'm not going to stumble over the most amazing and incredible idea in all of human thought, and because I can't express it properly, I am seen as "that crazy old guy who keeps saying that he can slip between parallel worlds."

Its good to be writing, even if I am not a writer. Mostly its good to be playing with ideas, and seeing them work. I can call myself "Salvor the Sane" for a little while longer.

12-13-09 One for all, and all for one

Two years ago, during a NaNoWriMo kick off event, I met a fascinating young woman. She was well spoken, quick witted, and fairly friendly and out going. What makes her stand out in my head though was the way she talked about her private life. This part of Georgia is fairly conservative yet she lived in a commune. I didn't even know communes still existed, much less in this part of the country.

She talked about goings on in the house, and it took me a few moments before I realized that there was more than just a boy friend and friends hanging out. When she caught me looking at her with my trademark "huh?" expression, she explained that there were 9 of them; 5 women, 4 men that shared a house and equally divided living expenses, chores, resources and talents. They avoided terms like "boyfriend / girlfriend" and just used "lover". Ad when I pursed my lips to find the polite way to ask "so you slept with everyone in the house?" she made it easier by laughing and saying "and before you ask, yes, we all fuck each other freely. No jealousy, no territories, the only sense of individuality is our closets, our dressers and one room set aside for when you want to be alone."

She opened a web page on her laptop and showed me photos of the latest party they had had with a bon fire, fire dancers, people juggling torches, and with what I roughly estimate to be 30 people just enjoying life to the fullest that night.

This morning I was thinking about friends, people I miss, and remembered this commune and this very unusual woman. In a few ways I envy them, envy her. I know that jealousy, envy, ego and territory are hard habits to over come. It takes a lot of work and I'm not entirely convinced I could do it if given the chance. But on mornings like this, I would like to try. I wonder if the friends I miss and cherish would join me in this fantastical hypothetical place, and how could we keep it the way those 9 had.

I've never seen her again, never saw anyone associated with the commune, not even sure how to find a friend of a friend of a friend to see if it still exists two years later. I know its a romantic ideal, a fanciful notion but I do hope they managed to do what seems so unusual in this day and age.

12-14-09 Wanna Fuck?

Today is unusual in that I've been thinking about sex, not in the "I want to have it" way (its one of the rare days when I'm not horny) but in the "fascinated in how it works" way (I know the mechanics, more like the politics, sociology and interpersonal communication that leads to and is associated with sex). There are so many questions, and I know there are no answers. And yet, I spent time this afternoon just thinking about it, in the hopes I could find at least one.

On one hand its so primal, its a hunger and a need. When I was first learning about the act, an older friend said "First you get naked. Then you stick your cock in her pussy. From that point on, your body knows what to do. You do what feels good, and don't over think it." Which to a 14 year old is about all you need. Its the emotions, the desires, dreams and mysteries, all the human elements that make it more than animal instinct. When you start thinking in terms of personality, and who you want to be with, how you want to do it, how they want to do it, the compatibility of those intentions, time, place, and on and on and on, it really is a wonder anyone gets laid at all.

And on top of it all, there is the ego stroke of being good at it. You can be good at sports, literature, art, anything else, but if you are bad in bed, its crushing. I was flipping through one of the porn video sites and found one that made me sit back and think. A naked woman lying in bed, as her husband comes in the door. He asks "Was that my brother I saw sneaking out the back door?" She looks at him mildly disinterested and says "yeah. so?" "What's he doing here?" She sits up "He just fucked the shit out of me and I loved." "Him? He's no good, he's an ex-con! HE has tattoos, you hate tattoos. We haven't had sex in months, why would you do him?" "Because you're lousy in bed." It was all scripted and badly acted, but it had that pathos of the thing we least want to hear, and the thing we have wanted to say so many times. But to be so blunt, to be hurtful and cruel, is it possible to be that heartless to some you have a connection to, even if they are awful in bed.

Then again, maybe I am over thinking it all.

Salvor-Hardon said:

When I closed my digital moleskine, I had the intent to revamp it, to add photos, audios, even movies, to give make the act of keep a journal more than just the words. I like words but sometimes my limited vocabulary can't quite grasp the ideas and concepts that rattle around in my brain. A picture can be worth a thousand words, but there are thoughts and feeling that words fail to express, and only images can convey.

To start with, I wanted to give an idea of the journal as it would be in meat space.

​

I am an unrepentant journal hoarder. When I am sad or down, I buy a new one, even if there is plenty of space in the several previous ones. When I feel good and want to reward myself, I buy a new one. Its not to the level of pathology (I hope not anyway. I still pay bills first, and its been several months since I've bought one.) but it is a decidedly odd quirk. The ones shown here run the gamut, plain blank paper, lined gilded edges, and some truly amazing paper that I can't properly describe other than I had to buy a new fountain pen to go with it because ball point just felt too common for such incredible paper (its the one with the cat's eye gem stone on the cover).

Not every post will have pictures, but I do want to stretch and push my creativity. Some posts will be photo manipulations, or even just a shot without words at all. I want this new incarnation to be a slightly more representation of what its like inside my head. Not a complete glimpse mind you, because inside my head is a pretty scary place.

So pick a journal that appeals to you, and imagine opening it to reveal.... a life.

Click to expand...

I am that way with calendars. Give me a calendar and some highlighters and I will amuse my self for hours! I have lot of calendars. I "fill" them out with appointments, meet ups, errands, holidays, all color coded, *swoon*

12/21/09 Life, Death, and a cup of egg nog

I was flipping through an old issue of Time magazine from mid-November this week. It was there that I learned someone I never knew, but who impacted my life had died. His name was David Lloyd, a writer for television shows, most notably the Mary Tyler Moore show, and in particular "Chuckles Bites the Dust".

I remember seeing it when I was young, early adolescence. I was just beginning to grasp life and death, that mortality was something we all face, and we choose our lives. That episode made me think, really think about how I wanted to live.

A clown dressed as a peanut is injured by a rogue elephant, and dies from the injuries. The announcement makes everyone laugh and break up except for Mary, the title character. Then during the eulogy, she begins to giggle then laugh, and more. The priest officiating says these words:

"Don't try to hold it back, go ahead, laugh out loud. Nothing would have made Chuckles happier. He lived to make people laugh. Tears were offensive to him, deeply offensive. He hated to see people cry. So go ahead my dear, laugh for Chuckles." And she bursts into tears.

I want laughter at my funeral. I want dancing and singing and toasts made with beer. I want a buffet, and lots of food and no little snacks, I want a feast. If anyone leaves my funeral still hungry I am going to haunt their ass.

There are times when I forget that life is an important gift. That we are here to laugh and sing and dance. There are quiet times, and there is sadness, they make the sweet moments sweeter. Every day will not be a party, but every day can have laughter.

Chuckles the clown would have wanted it that way.

I can't toast you with beer. I'll hoist a bourbon in your honour, though.

I won't even wait til you're dead to do that.

1-1-10 New Years Resolution

So now that its a new year and a new decade, its time to try some new challenges. New goals, new hurdles, and see if I do better this year than in years past.

1. No potatoes

Not that potatoes are bad, but my favorite methods of eating them are. Fries (chips) and chips (crisps) are just to easy to eat a pound and not think twice. Its the grease and oil, some of the salt, and it spikes the blood sugar only to crash and then feel hungry before I've burned up the calories. I've done really well in my "no sodas" for 2009. I think I had all of 12 cans of coda for the whole year. Everything else has been black coffee, unsweet tea, water or beer and the occasional bourbon. I think I can cut out potatoes, and then at the end of the year see if its made a difference one way or the other.

2. Goddamn mother fucking MCSE certification

I am biased in that I know several dozen idiots who payed the money to paper mills to get the certification, but don't know crap about networks or computers. I really don't want to be like them. But studying and keeping on top of the updates is just a pain. I can do my job as is without it but getting a better paying job elsewhere would be easier. So.... time to butch up and get the letters.

3. Be pro-active not reactive.

I need to make things work, not respond when they don't work. No one is going to hand me my wishes on a silver platter. If I want something, I need to find out how to achieve it, accomplish it or acquire it. Stop dreaming, start working.

4. Learn to handle confrontation.

I'm not a timid rabbit, but I don't handle confrontations well. I either walk away, or over react. I can piss people off, and I need to in some cases. I struggle because I want every one to like me, and thats not going to happen. I don't want to be unreasonable or a selfish asshole, but I need a touch of steel in my spine to stand taller.

5. Take risks.

I am too safe.

Let it snow....somewhere else.

I grew up in southwest Florida, where the average winter temperature was 45 or 50. We would have days in the low 30's and would have freeze warnings at night, only to have it warm up by mid afternoon. The idea of a "snow day" was one of things I knew existed, but never experienced for myself, and never felt a loss for that. I have had forays into the northern realms, and have been pelted with frozen missiles of doom. But when it snows, I'd much rather stay inside, drink warm drinks by the lodge fire and watch the snow build flake by flake.

I get that snow is beautiful, and the whole snow angels, snow balls fights, forts, etc and so on, its cultural and locational experience and people who have fond memories of them are right in that I have missed out. I don't know that I envy them so much as agree that there is a missing experience. Even if memory trades and time travel could be done, I wouldn't trade my days of water skiing after Thanksgiving for any number of snow ball fights and angels. I would like to try things like snow boarding, or downhill skiing with certain people who enjoy those activities, but I wold freely admit I am doing it for the social aspect. Were the friends and loved ones not involved, I wouldn't give a rat's ass about powder or base or whatever.

Today is a "snow day" for Atlanta, and I am home, with a mug of coffee and watching the winter wonder out of my window. I was out in it last night with my kids, and this morning again, trying to convince them that waiting for more than a quarter inch of snow would make a better snow ball. I feel bad that they won't have either the epic snow ball fights and forts that I have heard were such wonders, nor do they get my beaches and oceans and rivers. I hope they have fond memories, and I do my best to give them chances to do things they will remember for the rest of their lives.

Snow is one of those emotional catalysts for me. Everything can be nice and stable, but add snow and WHOOSH there are reactions and changes galore. I bundle and layer, stay warm and dry and yet, the flakes just rub me the wrong way. Not so badly that I wouldn't move to Chicago or New York or Toronto or Montreal or London or Oslo for the right job, but just enough that when it does show up, I have to make an effort adjust and adapt my thoughts and feelings toward more stable and serene energies.

Coffee helps with that.

01-15-10 This space left blank

I started this year wanting to make a post at least once a week. Practice the art of expression, exercise discipline and work on the consistency I don't always do well. Now as the week closes, I don't want to write. I want to express myself, but I don't want to write.

Part of my frustration is due to an ebb in creative juices and emotional energy. I thought about making a graph or a chart, with things like wit, or sociability, or extroversion and describe them that way. Bar graphs wouldn't work, neither would a pie chart. I was thinking maybe Cartesian coordinates, with various colors and plottings to represent moods and such (I once plotted the rhyme schemes for sestinas on 6 point graphs and it was .... interesting. But it helped me understand how sestinas flow.) Plus as I tried to assign number values, I keep coming back to "The girls have the square root of pi and the boys have a crudely drawn picture of a duck" (I watch way too much Phineas and Ferb).

So when a writer can't write, and a math geek can't use numbers, how does one express the inner state? What do you do when your muse is being a right awful bitch, and you can't even find her to spank her?

The best "fit" is a Michael Parkes piece.
I can't explain it, or articulate it, but yeah I feel like that.

1-22-10 Stuck in the middle

I've been thinking about life and death and everything in between this week. Thousands of people who have so little, now have nothing. In a country of wealth and privilege, basic human rights are used as pawns for political maneuvering and around the world there is a just so much that makes me want to scream. If the Bible is true, I can see why God would destroy the earth with a flood. Personally I think rebooting humanity isn't such a bad idea.

Then this morning I read a "happy list". A sweet tender soul who posted the simple things of life that make her happy, like the last cookie. I nearly cried as I read it, there was a natural beauty to the simplicity of it all. I am sorely tempted to make my own happy list, and I debate further what to do with it. Posting it would make sense, and in a way would "pay it forward". I think that there would be no greater homage and honor to a gifted writer than to expose readers to their work, even if its a variation on a theme.

I can't do happy just now. While I have a roof over my head, and food in my pantry, I'm just not able to process "happy". A coalition of friends and loved one could gather and divide the list to give me everything I could ask in spades (I'm a complex and greedy sinner, so several people would have to orchestrate to truly indulge my list). If i had truly EVERYTHING I desire right now, I still couldn't grasp the enormity of the powr of happy.

Tomorow i will sleep in late and not do much moe then neccesaary. Most, I want my ahppy back.

Salvor-Hardon said:

I've been thinking about life and death and everything in between this week. Thousands of people who have so little, now have nothing. In a country of wealth and privilege, basic human rights are used as pawns for political maneuvering and around the world there is a just so much that makes me want to scream. If the Bible is true, I can see why God would destroy the earth with a flood. Personally I think rebooting humanity isn't such a bad idea.

Then this morning I read a "happy list". A sweet tender soul who posted the simple things of life that make her happy, like the last cookie. I nearly cried as I read it, there was a natural beauty to the simplicity of it all. I am sorely tempted to make my own happy list, and I debate further what to do with it. Posting it would make sense, and in a way would "pay it forward". I think that there would be no greater homage and honor to a gifted writer than to expose readers to their work, even if its a variation on a theme.

I can't do happy just now. While I have a roof over my head, and food in my pantry, I'm just not able to process "happy". A coalition of friends and loved one could gather and divide the list to give me everything I could ask in spades (I'm a complex and greedy sinner, so several people would have to orchestrate to truly indulge my list). If i had truly EVERYTHING I desire right now, I still couldn't grasp the enormity of the powr of happy.

Tomorow i will sleep in late and not do much moe then neccesaary. Most, I want my ahppy back.

Click to expand...

I so get that.

01-23-10 My Happy List with commentary

After a good night's rest, I can finally pay forward the smile I got from yesterday's happy list. Being the self absorbed and strange geek that I am, I have to categorize, analyze and quantify it all.

Simple things

1. Seeing an errant bra strap
I'm not so victorian as to be scandalized by just a strip of silk / satin / cotton or lycra and spandex but when it is an accidental slip it makes me smile.

2. Reese's Big Cup
Its got a peanut butter / chocolate ratio that favors the peanut butter more than regular cups, and usually are only 75 cents.

3. Art galleries
Not stuffy museums, but small intimate places with edgy, innovative works from artists that are willing to explore and work. I am a huge fan of the Visual Artist section above and a few (very few) Am Pics threads. Certain pictures catch me just so and I can stand or sit and drink them with a deep appreciation.

4. Street Musicians (with a modicum of talent)

I admire buskers. They play for love, and tips. Its simple, raw, music wthout being over worked or over produced. Even if its my last dollar, I always kick in some cash in an open case or over turned hat.

5. Shuffling cards

I used to do it alot. The sounds of the rifling, the way they feel as they fall. In my misspent youth, I could cut and shuffle one handed, equally well in either hand. I had started practicing throwing cards from Ricky Jay's book, and then I had to stop. There is something tactile and soothing about just shuffling though.

Simple yet Complex, things that take some effort
Yes technically buskers could go here, but I'm looking from my point of view, and I don't really plan buskers they just sort of show up.

1. Banana Pudding

Niila wafers on the edges. Sweet, cool, smooth, there is truly nothing quite like really good banana pudding.

2. Coffee

I am a coffee snob. I like light roasted, preferably brewed in a french press. No cream no sugar, just coffee. I like a lot of different coffees, and bad coffee is still better than none, but a really really good cup of coffee is a true joy and makes me smile.

3. Unexpected Messages

Letters, emails, texts, PM's, voicemail, those things that just come up. People who say "I really liked your story / journal / presentation / interpretive dance routine / live sex act". People who show their appreciation and make contact are the people who make the world a better place.

4. Navel Oranges

They are seedless, sweet and tangy and easy to peel once you make the first incision. One of my childhood friends lived on a small grove and we would sit under the trees and eat them until our cheeks stung with citric acid. When I am homesick and can't find shrimp, I buy navel oranges.

5. Hugging

Hugging is an art form. It has to be practiced and honed, a unique technique and style developed, A smile inducing hug is face to face, tightly squeezed, and at least shoulders to rib cage pressed together. If you lean forward and only touch shoulders, its not a hug.

Complex, truly complex

1. Gadgets

I have a blackberry, and I love tinkering, fiddling, hacking and tweaking anything can get my hands on. Legos, K'nex, Lincoln Logs, tinkertoys, you name it. I read Instructables.com three times a week, and have three full junk drawers.

2. Databases

There is a god-like surge when you get it all just right. The scripts, the table, the layouts, the fields and calculations, it takes work, and a bit of creativity and a kind of strange way of looking at the world. I was recently asked to tweak a database I had written to convert from printing reports on paper to create individual PDF documents per client, into folders based on groupings. I did it in two hours.

3. Problem Solving

Not just computers, but riddles, mysteries, conundrums, and problems. I like finding the answers. Its a double edge sword in that I like helping people with personal problems, but am sometimes over whelmed by helping too much.

4. Pictures made just for me

I have a secret stash of pictures that have been sent me. One I absolutely adore just said "don't say I never gave you nothing" and the photo attached was teasingly sexy. Not just because it was sexy, but the sentiment with which it was sent still makes me smile.

5. Traveling

I love the airport, finding local secret specialities, getting into that club that doesn't get a lot of press but the music is awesome and the beer is cold. I like exploring, being in different places, looking in awe at the things I've never seen.


I'm happier now, just thinking about these things.

Salvor-Hardon said:

Poster by Brett and Kate McKay from Art of Manliness


http://artofmanliness.com/2009/08/27/motivational-posters-ernest-hemingway-edition/
​

Growing up in Southwest Florida, there's two men you learn about, whether you want to or not. One is Ernest Hemingway, the other is Jimmy Buffett. While I would stop before I call either one "hero", they are influential in my formation. Its as if I want to call them heroes, but I know their flaws too well to want to follow them too closely. I may not want to be like them, but I would be thrilled to sit at a table and have a beer with them (well just Jimmy now, as Ernest is unable to attend). They are for quite simply interesting story tellers.

I recently had a great moment, sharing a beer with two dear friends I knew on-line, and for the first time met them in meat space. There was copious hugging and laughing and that affirmation that friendship does exist over wires and on screens, but that an in person moment is more real, just like watching Swan Lake on tv is stirring, but in person you are moved. Listening to these two, it was an amazing moment of just hanging on every word. They were engaging, interesting and just damn fun.

While we sat and laughed, I brought up the Dos Equis commercials "the most interesting man in the world". The fictional spokes model is obviously modeled on Hemingway, with a sense of legendary that makes for a good chuckle. The tag line "I don't always drink beer, but when I do, I prefer Dos Equis" sticks in your head because of the exploits you imagine this man has done, and the stories he would tell. All around us we have these tastes of story tellers, and yet the art of story telling seems nearly lost in some regards.

I'm not talking about authors, or writers. We have an abundance of scribes and scriveners in the digital age. What we lack though are raconteurs, the people who can alter the pitch and tone and pacing of their voices, to make us lose ourselves in their tales. We are woefully low on bards who can weave a spell with spoken words, transporting us to places truly wonderful and magical. In a world that is over saturated with images and sounds, were even our pockets are heavy with multimedia devices, have we lost the ability to sit and listen, and therefore the storytellers have been left to the days of long ago and far away.

Autumn is coming, and soon the bon fires will blaze, and the last platform of real story tellers will once more be set. The crackle of the burning logs, the orange light that flickers and dances, the smell of wood and marshmellows charring; all the stage dressing that begs for a voice to start out "Have you all heard the story..." and I for one can't wait to listen, just listen.

Click to expand...

Hello Salvor, I haven't been here in a long time and this morning I was thinking of you and decided to come on literotica to see if you were still here. I was so happy to see I could read you again . Yesterday I was watching the movie (for a zillion time), Out of Africa and the caracter that Merryl Streep plays in the movie is such a beautiful story teller....
Thank you for sharing with us your beautiful talent xox

0-30-10 Hide and Seek

Who I am? Its not a bout of amnesia, more of a philosophical pondering. It started with watching this video about Identity 2.0 and has been rollin around in my head for a while. Identity is not just who we say we are, but also who others say we are and the significance we attach to what they say.

We all have the roles we inhabit; mine are father, husband, friend, lover, son, brother, co-worker, employee, teacher. Each one is distinct and separate, each has its pros and cons. At the core of them all is a heart and mind that interprets and responds with actions and attitudes, and given my feelings or state at the moment, the roles could be wildly different ideas too.

So who am I? Right now, alone in my living room, at 3:00 am, what are the core tenets of my existence?

• I am moral. I have a defined set or right and wrong, good and evil.
• I am compassionate. The health and well being, the status of thers is important to me.
• I am creative. I express myself, through various means and ways, I have to let who I am out.
• I am imaginative. Where curiosity and expression collide, I play, I embrace whimsy, I see beyond the borders and into the places labeled "Here there be dragons".

I trust that these pillars are found in every persona I project. I hope that when ever anyone describes me, their description would recall those ideals.

I love reading your thread.