Why You Hate Me... heehee

Sigh.

I shouldn't have to address this.

It should be normal. It should be run-of-the-mill. It should be a fundamental part of a deeply-held belief system, like not denying your faith or not consuming high fructose corn syrup. Instead it's a railroaded fanatic offshoot of dangerous sedition with an audience of rolled eyes and crooked fingers.

Birthday. A fascinating word. The connotations would be even more fascinating, if we could peer into the minds of our peers. Let's break it down a bit though.

Let's see, I identify TWO words in that one, actually joined together: BIRTH, and DAY. Look at that! I guess it would have to do, then, with the day on which you were given birth to: born. I was born twice. Let's identify the most important of those two births, so we can set some kind of a solid.

Birth number one: popping out of an internal organ, to begin the decay.

Birth number two: Eternal spiritual rebirth (becoming an 'amaranthine' of sorts).

I'm gonna go with number two here.

My parents can't remember the day I was reborn on. Shucks. What to do...? I know! Let's fix our own! Like Christmas or Easter, neither of which we know the actual day of the month for. It's a Christian tradition, apparently, to celebrate blind. Also known as... faith! So we do an estimate sort of thing, just to peg a day on it (since it WAS a very important, celebratory occasion). Say--February 14th, the first random date that pops into my mind. My new birthday. February the 14th. I like it. It has a nice ring to it. The 14th of February.

Are you beginning to empathize? Can YOUR parents remember YOUR true re-birthday? If not, take a moment to decide on one now, and together let us pass on our heritage to the cold, lost world.

But for Flatlanders, well, we'll just stick with August 27th.

Joe.

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22 Is Right For You

Wow, 22 is such a round number. I love it. I wanna be 22 forever and ever more.

PS
I am typing this from my brand new...

Joe.

Kissing The Smile

(Posted a little late due to Internet cut.)
Today an amazing woman arrived. (Actually it was last night at midnight, but I was too busy then to write this). Confetti and fireworks. But I would like to talk about her smile.
This woman has the most amazing smile in the world. It smacks of glamour and charm but laced with just enough humility to be entirely intoxicating. Every once in a while you find a smile that just absolutely ends all other smiles, and she somehow has gotten ahold of one.
Being able to kiss the smile full on its lips after months of flirting with feathertips and corners is like... I'm going to have to wax less romantic and get into personal taste here to avoid cliche. Okay, so it's like gazing into a glimmering double rainbow or inhaling a rosebud and all that. Sure. But to me it's like, well... eating a whole jar of peanut butter. Like making a jumpshot over Jono. It's like scaling a ten-footer without breaking momentum. It's one of those beautiful things in life that make you stand back with your hands on your hips and say, "Wow, not bad."
Kissing the smile is about sugary closeness and fistfuls of hair and fluttering eyelids. It's about a slippery response to the command, "Please," for the first time properly. It's about the sounds in your ears as much as the taste on your lips or the mouth-watering sight. Or the areola under your fingertips. It's about clenching your teeth around a shoulderblade because all your attention is elsewhere and your mouth is open anyway. Or scraping an already sunburned back.
Kissing the smile begins to digress.

Joe.

Fetching Fridays

The eyes scream fetching. This is a brave woman.

So I Invented A New Sport

...and little to do with sex this time around.

Back from the beach! And I couldn't reach my back to put on sunblock that first day. And now... well, now...
Anyway, hey I tried my hand at surfing. Ya, it was kind of fun--not all it's made out to be. Apparently there are always going to be obstacles for the surfer: either the ocean floor is rocky and you cut your feet (check), the sun is beating down on you (check), the waves are too small (check), the water's too cold, or the place is packed with too many surfers that take all the waves (check). All in all I rate it as a pretty ineffective sport, and here's why.
The learning curve for surfing is the slowest of any sport. This is a documented fact because you catch the thing in (if you ever do), then you have to paddle back out there and wait for another one, defying all those aforementioned circumstances, to try again.
The muscles used for surfing, paddling and balancing, are actually not used by nearly any other thing you can ever do with yourself. In other words, it does you no good whatsoever outside of the surfing world. Basketball, soccer, you get the jumping in, the leg muscles, the precision shot--football, you learn the agility, etc. Weight lifting--obvious. Surfing? Nope. You'll never really use those muscles again until you surf next year, so pack them up and store them in the attic cause it's gonna be a long winter. Does that seem more or less pointless to anyone else?
So...
I invented a new sport!
It's called "wave slapping," or "shmurfing" (after "surfing shmurfing"). And I will explain to you all about it tomorrow.

Joe.

Interview

Yaaay, I'm off to the beach!

While I'm gone, check this out:

Interview with me.

Some good old fashioned propaganda. Buy our album!

Love you, Joe.

Fetching Fridays

Now there's a knockout...
In more ways than one...
I just wanna trace that tatoo with my tongue--slide it up those milk thighs, gently easing them apart-- I want friction and silk and a taste of those red lips.

Joe.