The date of this post is my join date Feb 20, 2013.
Hi, just checking in. Haven't seen a tennis match since Hingis took Williams (the big one) and then lost to her sister. Did Agassi ever return all of those trophies he kissed, while tweaking? I know they were awfully rough on Martina for her recreational indulgences. But this marriage thing has me confused. I know that I wouldn't let a coke fiend sweep my steps, so why would anyone allow this in the spiritual realm of 'marriage'? Thank God (and goodness) that tennis has strict doping policies. Coke improves athhletic ability! And our little lady is clean! To be fair, I did watch Maria at Wimbeldon 2004, and taped several if not all of her matches, but eventually erased them, replacing them with repeat after repeat of The Office. It had to do with the way my mind works when deprived of oxygen.
Because Maria is no stranger to buy money, if she hasn't danced with the filthy white agent of concentrated euphoria by now, she never will. If you look closely at the faces of a lot of beautiful women, you can see feint wisps of snow where the vacuum is lower, at the edges of the spoon, streaking into their nostrils, rewiring their heart, ruining them (another way to discern this would be to look at their eyes, or if they are rainless, or can stand to even look at bono). I cannot supply a link because the example I was witness to has already been cleaned up and I don't know how to load a screen capture. This is why tennis, sports, a discipline, is so important. Mere 'models' need something like coke to make them feel confident about their innate vacuity. That's why I live at a co-ed monatsery. It is possible to experience the same walking bliss, Mister Montana, but without the odd psychological and physiological ties to cocaine.
So do I have to wait for another dream? I'm not trying, but they find me.
This current dream all stormed into place just when I started to use email again, after many years of silence, this time to court a reformed nude model who uses head candy enhancements, on the set of B grade movies, hoping to get the edge to make the grade onto the A list, where they also use enhancements to get the edge....
This time, I saw there were two huge Siberian (long haired) wolves, both with red and white and grey stippeled fur, trapped in the garage, with little to eat. When I opened the door to feed them, they got loose. All the dogs ran out of the yard and joined with the wolves. I ran out to try to shepherd them back in, all seven of them. The night sky was bright, somehow, dark bright blue, indigo, and I was put into a cart and wheeled about by someone resembling the creator of 'curb your enthusiasm', to the west where we were supposed to wait for something from the sky. It came down from the sky when we reached the end of the street at the mouth of the local golf course. It was like a man wearing flight gear. But he vanished on landing. There were people all around, like a block party, there was a brew ha ha, and then back to the garage near the gate separating the yard from the street. I saw all these antiques, old tools, and car stuff I had held onto, and had scattered over time and space, all gathered back together now, and you had to decide what to keep. A red sled from the 50's that was made by the 'Blazon' corporation, with white handles intact, and which would be great as a hood air cowl induction intake in the apocalypse era, caught my eye. Old rear view mirrors from out dated delivery vans, very hard to find since all the tow truck drivers snatched 'em right up, wood crates...tools. Wind was blowing harder now.
And then there she was, in a short yellow tennis dress, her stress deformed fingers encircling one of mine, which was maimed somehow, perhaps by the wolves? Perhaps by something else? I watched the finger change.... Pretty soon part of me was back in the house, where I saw a girl wearing no clothes in a somewhat small aquarium just large enough to contain her form, pressing her flesh against the glass, nipples, breasts, laughing. She was someone who had tried to interest me in her sex a few times. The aquarium was on the kitchen sink. It was riotous, a lot of partying. But mom wasn't happy, and some of my family were seen as if froze right under door frames..a place of uncertainty, and stability; a barrier of sorts, like the forcefields on the USS Enterprise.
Her little hand, her stress-formed finger tips and palm, encircling my index finger.
But she was the last thing on my mind....I had lost my original screen name, cannot even remember it, started at the roddick period, and ended with the last dream I told here, of a family portrait, and a woman in her family asking why her husband was being left out of the picture...I think it was circa tv producer era..after a courtside kiss I witnessed that froze me solid, when I typed out some words of finality, and goodbye, to the site administrator, thinking it was to Maria, and left.
So?
