zen's journal

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this is just to get the point across, that the latest date on all of the Pepsi products, here in Conn, had the same dates. That day we hit no fewer than 10 combined stores, between Shweetie and me, mom dragging us very reluctantly after the 3rd store. But of course, she, a LEO i may add, knows exactly what she wants and is going to get it, by tarnation. She's going to (thinks she is) a Pottle of Bepsi that tastes good

aaCT 1: The formality of looking
There were no newer bottles. The 8 oir nine rows of all the pepsi products had the same date code on them.

Barb, or Mom as we also call her, was dying for some Caffeine Free Diet Pepsi. Shit, it’s like a fucking episode of Twilight zone. She’s the lady who, in the future, is addicted to this nebulous, archetypal brown liquid that....oh, get this ""fizzes""....this liquid that can be taken introveniously, shot, snorted, dried and smoken; it's great shit. Some places use it to clean their paint brushes. But The Barb wants her sodak.

So, on way home that night, think it was last Wednesday, I was baked outta my fucking mind....So I was like 2 houses away, and I had to go back to Super Stop and Shoplift. Got her 2 bottles of the latest date, of course, and came home thinking I'd done a good thing. (uh, no i didn't shoplift them-although i did pay for it with foodstamps.) I dropped them off at the house without a problem.

OK, so I'm not mad about having to make a separate trip back to the store, I'd have gone all the way out to Wally World if I had to. Just so I could at least LOOK like I'm listening to her. No Prob in the least.

So, shortly after injecting some of her new stach, I hear her scuff to my door. She now asking me if I got the right date. ... So here it starts, on my door stop.

Just like a junky, she comes in all mad complaining that it's flat. Actually, I'm not sure if that's even the complaint. She just said "It doesn't taste right." We just returned 2 bottles yesterday that were flat. This is rapidly becoming the Nightmare of the Flat Pepsi.

I tell her it's the latest they had, oct 4...and this code, I need to add sequentially, is of her determination. She, quite literally, got out her mag glasss, like Clousseau, and sees the printing near the top, easy enough to recognize as a date. The first time I saw the string of characters, I read it aloud to mom. And I couldn't see a date, it was at THAT point getting crazy with the fucking soda, and it was a whole week earlier that that happened.

OK, so I read that code, and it was cool. She practically got on her knees. If mom was a crack whore, well, she'd be a lot skinnier, but oh, fer real...but she'd, well, UI'm not going to say what she'd be doing for that soda about now, but suffice to say it wouldn't be pretty.

Anyhow, yeah it puts an even better picture in MY mind, let me tell you...ANYway,

OK, Sweetie is having a spazz cause the cellar door isn't opening. I'll have to finish this part later. (And yes, in point of fact, this part is VERY important....i think)

Act 2: a tree grows in Brooklyn
But wait, it gets even better. My roommate, who’s also become deeply involved in the procurement of sodak, for the old lady, actually talked to a manager at Stop and Shop. It would appear the date that was deduced to be the expiration date, is, in fact, the date it was bottled. Even now, on the 17th of October, that 4 October date still is only 2 weeks ago. That soda, which “tasted funny” to mom, was bottled 2 WEEKS AGO!!

As a result of this last fucking time at the store, I told mom I’m not taking her shopping ever again. I mean it. I already told her no twice already. I’m serious. This is bullshit, and I’m not allowing myself to be sucked into the fucking quagmire again.

***************
History is written by the literate.
***************

I too, Salvial 10, ana lurker, and a stalker. Although, me thinks, it's hard to be a true stalker if not actually reading one or a select few posts by favorites.

At anyrate, for those keeping track, I'm stone cold sober, and writing. Mostly cause I'm out, but even in my thc-addled thoughts, I still realize (a) that I smoke way too much, and (2) that I manage to function better on a number of levels, when it comes to producing readable work. Problem is, with whatever shade of "depression" I have, my "rationing" mind convinces me that it's practically futile to post, or read anyone's work...or heck, just to get motivated.

Basically, for those 10 of you still following along, I am of a very split accord in relation to my usage of pot. It does things that a good anti-depressant should do. But on the flip side, it does things to me that I don't like: forgetfullness, becoming tired, sapping my energy, suppression of rational or loghical thought. The balance is a hard one to keep on the front burner.

Truth be told, I just love to smoke, and it's really that simple. I tend to overdo it; point is that self-medication, even if pot was the ideal thing, in the correct quantity, it would still produce a bad effect on me, generally speaking, as I just love smoking.

I'm not drinking, still, these days. This is a good thing. Smoking hasn't wanted to make me drink. I don't see that the two are irrevocably linked. However, THC definitely lowers my rightful reluctance to abstinence. But in that arena, I don't drink because it's a poison to me; to anyone, really. I think that the average, or at least healthy-thinking, individual realises this. It seems reasonable that this is the main reason why s/he doesn't get drunk very often. Alcohol is basically poison to the human's system. Even if just reacting to the fucked-upedness that it takes one, and the average, reasoning person, seeing that he is almost completely out of control when she or he drinks, is not inclined to drink often, or heavy when he does.

I'm again reminded by those around me, not dissuaded by my bullshit and misdirected thinking, that both pot and alcohol are drugs, and can be dangerous. In the case of pot, it's dangerous, mostly because it's illegal. But they're both dangerous because they have side-effects. So too do "approved," officially prescribed medications; but that's for another discussion. I'm just staying on topic with marijuana and alcohol.

I had a few minutes to post, so I did. Hopefully I'll be back so I can finish off this train of thought. (And post to that thing about the Cauldron of Words.)

Yes, I too believe people are stupid. Thank you, uh, saqq--uh, i'm about to butcher your name.

Anyway:
http://www.literotica.com:81/forum/showthread.php?s=&postid=10007729#post10007729 forthose of you following along on the Literotica front. msboy is now demanding that I completely delete a post I made about the nature of the other character, 4 Degrees.

Basically I called 4 Deg an "evil..." oh heck, let me grab a few quotes....hold please....

"Degrees loved watching mesubmit. He loved watching anyone submit. He really was a cruel fuck. Surely, if he wasn't drunk most of that time, it would have been a much better experience.
The times of his sobriety, I thought that I'd found my soul mate. But those times were seldom, and are etched by the weft of time's erosion.
Seeing him secured like that made him think of one of precious few times where Curt got to be master. He composed a poem in its honour, after getting him in a cage. It would seem neith master, nor servant could keep 4 Degrees away from the fetid sting of the bottle. It had him."

But here's the interesting wrinkle. msboy, I think actually does love 4Degrees.
But here's the thing, my character Curt, is an alter-ego of the 4 Degrees character. Curt, is 4 deg's real life name. Phew. He'll be mad when he sees that. AND, of course, the Trey in the story, for the 10 of you that I know will read this, is me, in real life.
<<OK, and those of you who've read that know more than MSBOY8 (hehe)>>

OK, so, on his very last post, msboy threatened me...with DRASTIC ACTION. Wow. I'm shaking. You're playing a slave, fella. Not a very intimidating proposition, you know?
So, I'm not about to change anything, cause, well, first off, I don't even know what's so offensive~

If he'd have posted a private message to me, I'd be glad to consider. But dude, you gotta chill....

**********
OK, just some notes from the set of Literotica. It's really, really fun.

This post was edited by zen on Oct 11, 2004.

10-03-2k4
It's two days past my 36th birthday. In a certain epoch in my life, it would be during this disenchanted period of time-- with a margin of two weeks on either side of that date, Oct 1st--that the passing of another year of my life would be sadly marked by a stay in town(s) lock-up. Invariably, a court date, pursuant fine, or probation was the gear turning the cogs and works of my personal life.

I've been off probation, as some of you (in my fan club, thank you yon gooden folk) know, for about 410 days. I have been off probation for over a year. In a number of ways, it was kinda like getting out of jail a year ago. In much of this time, I've been lost, and have felt powerless, but more nebulous--amorphous, as to my direction.

But I was lost. Maybe I still am, but now I'm working, and have at least started working on some ideas for a movie--might never happen, but at least I have a handle on that project. I've back-burnered it for the time being. I'm working on writing an awesome story, with help from a few others, on Literotica.com.

Here's the thing, I know I've wanted to--needed to--make movies for a while, but the task of starting the screenplay was seemingly too big. Here comes Mary, a virgin Mistress (virgin at playing on), and I started thinking about the characters I'm introducing, and how they're going to enter a room, and I give them actual dialog, and presto, I now have the script for a movie. Granted, it would be a porno; but dam, it would be a great porno.

I'm not saying that I actually have a direction now, although I could believe i did. I'm just trying to say that I feel more comfortable with myself, and things these days. My life with my partner is going very well. Mostly that's attributed to our uneasy agreement that he's gonna let me get blunted if it improves my mood--boom, shit, I'll be a motherfucker if it hasn't done just that.

Do I feel better cause things are genuinely better in my life, or are things going better cause I feel better? Hard to say. Don't really care either. I just try to appreciate every free minute I allow myself, to disengage, and do what I want to do, sans others' stress.

I think one of the good things that I've done is to come over here in the last year. I think my anniversary with NAO is coming up soon. I'll add this to my list of successes, as I've had quite a few people pushing me to come back over here and check in. So there it is...me being selfish yet agin. One Thousand pardons.

I've actually got more shit to talk about, but I just got the new Sims for my birthday, and I'm dying to check it out.

Oh, btw, the post from the other day: www.netalive.org/journals/zen,

is my thoughts directed to a player in this drama:
4degrees

He sits wearing a collar from his dog,
now but dust,
buried under the seasons
it comforts
he assures
sitting in his room talking about
cages
leather
rope
neoprene
pulleys
clamps
spikes
collars
and a stern disapproving glance from his master.
or his mistress.

the collar pulls at his skin, chafing
making him raw beneath
biting where the glue
attaches the nylon
to the skin
of his neck

At the end of the rope
his master holds firmly
the very idea,
concept,
of Freedom
is challenged,
mocked
by the idea,
this is his choice.

we discuss the nature of freedom,
and being free to choose;
our talk is boundries,
and safe zones.

Tied to the chair
through the pulley on the collar, and the ankle restraints, through the wrist ties, wide bands of neoprene, long, black, rubberized strips of intimidating containment, content with living up to a partial potential as wrist and ankle restaints.

Tied to the chair
my body grows numb
I'm
\/poked \/
\/mocked \/
\/emasculated\/
\/feminized\/
\/intruded.

Finally:
penetrated
brutally
raped
tied,
pinned,no,
nailed to
the leather
club chair
I loved,
now bloody from the abortion
I received
with a Craftsman
loping shears.

But I asked for this.
As a transgression
against my Mistress.
My name is 4 Degrees.
I have sinned.
I seek release.

Touching your skin
excites
coming in to wish you
good night
after not talking
for 3 days,
I brush my fingers
lightly
against your face
cheeks, stubbly
I feel close
lying next to you
in a one-person bed,
is the most safest place
on earth;

I want to tell you
sorry
for writing mean things
you were never meant to see
hurtful things
coming from my own misery
i drag you through
I want to tell you,
I’m sorry, but not
but I

my lips touch your skin
cheek, gently
our lips
like shaking hands
gently
i move to your
our skin brushes
fingers touching
the rough outline
of your lips
just barely
and then
yes
silently
i want to say
nothing
just feel
this moment
with you
doing what I very seldom do,
and just kiss you
good night