Friday, March 31, 2006

I miss...

Screams at the top of your lungs;
Betting orange juice;
Little James;
Death candles at midnight;
Attempted induced oblivion (my headphones on, my back turned);
Being the Devil;
Six bleary eyes in devotions;
Estos CDs son eticos;
Shoulders on the computer to look over;
Doubles chatting;
Not being able to convince you to work out;
Unmade beds;
Being too pretty to punch;
Goodnight hugs;
More, more, more, I wanna be more like Jesus;
Your disgusting kissing;
Hi5 24/7, or Solitaire;
Writing LOVE in the dust;
Cutting off your heads:



Thursday, March 30, 2006

Desire is Drop Dead

...gorgeous, that is. Downright, drop dead gorgeous.
People ask what part of the woman you like best, the thighs, the stomach, bust. I would have to say the desire.
Desire takes on many shades. It is the arch of the neck flung backward, the shoulders jutting out, skin stretched to physical limits. It is the intensity in her eyes, the pleading, or the quivering lip. I think I am in love with desire.
I know there is a demon of lust, but there is just something about a certain degree of selfishness that turns something inside of me on. When the woman orders you into a room, scoots back on the bed and tells you to touch here, lick there, then rub over there--now. She is not asking, it is an order. (And she will get an eager Yes Ma'am in the majority of sane cases.)
Desire has the magic to make the unattractive not only attractive, but actually glow nearly irresistibly. Desire is contagious and beautiful, and contagiously beautiful, it catches onto its surroundings, no matter how bleak or dull.
I walked down the street the other day, looking into the eyes of the random women (within reason) that I passed, picturing those eyes marinating in pleasure. I imagined wave after wave of saturating, sparkling pleasure engulfing these women, imagined their lips parted, fingers clenched. Let me tell you there were almost none that I was repulsed by.
So leave make-up and perfect hair at home. Leave that favourite scent and that sharp tongue in the closet. All you need to bring is desire, in a soft knapsack, and a cushion.
I am not advocating uncleanliness or disregard. I am saying that the you, the actual you beneath everything else, is a dream queen when she has desire tucked under her arm. All she has to do is look into his eyes and say, I want you, and feel it with everything in her. That is the match, and that is the kerosene. I can cross my heart that the results will leave you breathless.
I cannot promise sleep.


Tuesday, March 28, 2006


"I love you," he said. He meant it.
She answered warmly, "I love you, too!"
He noted the subtle enthusiasm in her tone of voice and calculatingly pointed it out. "With an exclamation mark, I see."
She pouted. "Stop flattering yourself."
"That isn't flattering myself--see," he paused to collect his thoughts, "--if you can love me with an exclamation mark, the only person that it highlights is you."
Cheesy, she thought. "Translation?"
"It means that...." He wasn't sure himself.
"Say it," she ordered.
He'd better come up with something quick. "It says a lot about you, nothing about me, flattering or not," he stumbled.
An idea hit him. "It says that you are tender and bold. Enthusiastic and passionate. --A lot of things really, but it doesn't flatter me."
She was amused. "I'm not so bold," she stated flatly. "I'm super shy and I hate talking to people." No room for discussion.
"Maybe you can be coaxed out someday." He would do all the coaxing.
"I don't have any talents. And I don't like being seen."
That was sad, but he was unconvinced. "Either way, I think you have the potential, and tons of it."
"Why thank you," she brightened. "But what if I grow hair under my chin?"
"So?" he said. "I have that."
"Yes, you also have a penis that explains your gender and difference in hormones."
She had a point.
"I SHOULDN'T have hair under my chin. AND I have hair on the palms of my hands," she pressed.
"Let's break that down a bit," he said. His mind was racing as he tapped his fingers on the bedpost. Some cheering up was in order. His mind reached the finished line, first place. He would take her on.
"Reality: tons of women have that," he said. "Supermodels, cashiers, goddesses. If they pluck it, they stay supermodels. If they let it grow, they join circuses.
"Fantasy: I love you anyway.
"Spiritually: your spirit is beautiful."
"Really?" she gasped. "So you've met my spirit?"
He would ignore that. "Mentally: your mind takes all the attention off your chin."
She laughed.
"Sexually: you're far too young and foolish for me."
"Yes, I am reminded each time I talk to you," she spat playfully.
He shushed her. "Quiet, we're thinking of other ways to approach the situation. How about phenomenally: wow, that is some freaky stuff!" She laughed with him.
"Scientifically:" he said, "laser hair removal. Culinarily: flavour saver."
She giggled and began to play along, "Genetically: it must have come from your father."
"Good!" he encouraged her.
"Wow, this is really optimistic."
"The Hair Stylist's point of view: building blocks to create a masterpiece. Photographically: novel. Musically: ...hmm," he faltered. Musically what could it be? Something like... "A coldplay song."
"Hey," she poked him. "I would have liked something like, musically: You're So Beautiful To Me."
"You're right," he said. "The squeezing and breaking of a less than perfect soul, to produce the truly beautiful masterpieces that only she can produce. That too."
"Maybe I really SHOULD try getting some hair on my chin," she stroked it. "You give me so much more attention when I say I do."
"Well, you stimulate me, putting me into 'corner' situations. Thank you."
They explored optimism late into the night.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

And Grey.

You are black and white.

Our colour monitor broke down a few months ago, and being that we live in mud-hut-landia, we haven't been able to get a fix or replace. Fortunately, we had a few black and white ones that we kept in storage, so we pulled one out and attached it.

It helps to keep the right perspective on the computer. When I look around me, the world is so beautiful and vibrant and alive. The screen is the only icy and dead thing in the room. It helps to break any developing attachments to the consensual hallucination of cyberworld, while still allowing necessities ...and maybe a few fringes.

Still, entertainment loses a lot of its colour when it is in and white. Right now any form of computerized fun is rather pale and drained compared to--even walking around the house.

Well, the music's still in the full spectrum.

Watch Him go and break my headphones.


Monday, March 20, 2006

A Food Post.

I found out that my new superpowers of touch also apply in ultrasensitivity to temperature.
I found this out while cooking.
Ouch, okay.
It was perfectly fine holding it with the other hand...

I cooked with Carisa today (my four year old neice, paraplegic). She discovered the joys of wheelchair dancing to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. I discovered the joys of teaching your baby to cook. For being paralyzed from the waist down, she sure does a pretty good running commentary.

We made juice! As I was squeezing oranges, one of the kids came in and said, "What kind of juice are you making?"
I'm printing him up a sign. I looked at the oranges, looked at him, resisted the temptation for a wisecrack, and meekly said, "See if you can guess by my clothes." He said, "I don't know, blue juice?"
Very funny, kid.

I accidentally put too much salt in the steak. The lid fell off the shaker. Yeah, happens sometimes. Well, I swished it around a bit to cover the sight. Figured what you couldn't see wouldn't hurt you. I said to myself, a little too much salt never hurt anyone.
Then a little voice in my head said, "Yeah? Try telling that to Lot's wife."
He had a point.
Remember her?

While we're on the subject of food, here is an extremely dorky joke me and Ben (sic) tossed around the day. Goes like this.
You say to someone: What are hotDOGS made of in China?
They fully expect the literal, and answer: Dogs, of course. They think you are stupid.
You surprise them. You are not stupid, just extremely corny: Nope. Christians.

That'll teach you to expect great minds.


Sunday, March 19, 2006

How To Feel

I have discovered the most amazing thing (benefit) about my new cast-less hand. The fingertips, in fact the whole hand, is new skin, and having not touched anything in so long, is ultra-sensitive. It is amazing, like a superpower. I run my hand across any surface and I can feel every single speck. I especially enjoy running my fingers through peoples' hair. It's like I could count every single hair, if I thought about it.
Washing my face after not shaving for a day, even a few hours, is like a spike dungeon. I rub my other hand on it and it feels smooth and soft, but with this hand--everything. I try rubbing both hands on the same thing and it feels like two different planets. It is just stunning the sensory input I am getting. I can feel my fingerprints. It is almost a turn on, so much hair trigger sensitivity, I could call it an erogenous zone.
I love this.
I'm going to go feel something. Excuse me.


Tuesday, March 14, 2006


Orgasms are real things. They lift up or they knock down. They save or they damn. And other stuff too.

Check out the new meaning I invented for our darling host, Blogspot.

Blo G-spot dot com

Henceforth, you may refer to my blog as JoeAmaranthine.Blo


The Giveaway

As you observant ones will be able to tell, I went to the doctor yesterday.
I had put my cast back on a day after I took it off. Grown accustomed to the pseudo-security it afforded. I went to the traumatologist and I humoured him as I pitied him.
"Alright son, we're going to take your cast off now. This may hurt."
Me: (very focused expression, like a puppy dog)
And he whips it off with a flair like a king or a god or an emancipator.
They didn't even notice it had been taken off. They didn't notice how remarkably clean it was underneath, and they didn't notice the entire absence of immediate pain.
I took an X-ray and showed it to them. Absolutely nothing was wrong. It had healed exactly as it should, thank God.
They told me it may hurt when I move it around at first. Gee, really? Oh THAT'S why I paid six bucks for the consultation.


Sunday, March 12, 2006

Can't Stay Monotonous For Long

I want 2 announce 2 all of u my all around disdain 4 doctors. they r not all powerful & they r certainly not all knowing. i generally do not like them, nor do i trust them. nor do i see any half-witted reason 2.
guess that's what u get when u raise a kid on END pictures of people w/ a leg sown 2 their chest.
generally, their mission in life is 2 generate money 4 themselves (they're bigshot phd's now, after all), & get ppl hooked on artifical substitutes 4 the healing process. i realize there must b a few genuinely humanitarian 1's out there, at least when they start off young & idealistic, but u ppl have 2 realize--if a man does not eat, he does not survive. 2 eat, nowadays u need money or faith (doctors score fifth lowest in the world in requirement B--faith--right behind professors, politicians, pastors, and lightbulb changers). so money it is. some ppl make money off selling pets or doorknobs or bathtubs. doctors r making theirs off the sick human body. & not just any human body--UR sick human body. it is in their best interests that u get sick & stay that way 4 as long as possible. or they simply don't eat & will die. u can't play w/ something like that.
no matter how genuine & loving ur friendly neighbourhood doctor is, if no one ever gets sick or hurt, mr. loving doctor (nearly an oxymoron) will either starve 2 death, or have 2 become a fireman.
so, yes, in a way i do believe they know exactly what they're doing. & ur kidding urself if u think UR best interests are prioritized over their family's daily bread.
on the other hand, it's a live body 4 crying out loud. there is no manual 4 a body. no one even really knows what life is or how 2 generate it, except by sparkling, delicious sex.
there is no authority that says it takes the hiv virus exactly 3 months 2 procreate enough 2 show up on an aids test, & if u take that 2nd test 5 minutes or 5 hours too early, u still can't b sure. there is no definition on how long 2 keep a fractured arm in a cast. they can venture guesses right & left & generalize & tell u what is normally done, or tell u what they want u 2 do. but they r heavens away from A+ getting it right. Even C+ is cutting it close.
so, no, i don't believe they actually know what they're doing. nor would i trust them as far as i could throw that scrumpled piece of paper that used 2 b a prescription.
they don't even have nice handwriting.


Wednesday, March 08, 2006

One Small Simplification.

enough complications.

this is the adventurous spirit at its best. some would say worst (like my mom).

another antic from Amaranthine and Ben Dover. not 4 the faint hearted, sensitive viewers, hot chics... or my mom.


Thursday, March 02, 2006


How do you wake yourself up in the morning?