This is my home.
I come here often to complain and yell. People aren’t nasty to me here, and if they are I put them in the bin. This is my dry well that I walk into, everytime I need to get away from all else.

Technology may have ruined relationships, created inequalities and brought about an inhuman face to a lot of things, but it has given me my space to breathe.

Yesterday, the one thing I thought I had all the answers too was torn down.
Its most annoying, how logical she can be. Every little nail of hers can argue their way through.

I am back to being unconvinced about anything. I fear I’m going to have to stop using reason as an argument.
The tunnels of stupidity have let me in. I will now revel in ridiculous talk and frivolous movements.

I feel non-gendered, but carnally wanted.
But is probably a politically- incorrect conjunction to have used there.
Words once laid cannot be replaced.


My tongue forgets speech, losing its way in your mouth.

Be mine.
Let me give you all that you want.

Nausea. Nausea. Much much nausea.
Body. Mind.
I can’t tell which.

I must get something out. I am unable to tell if its bad food or just a thought.

'No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous
Almost, At times, the Fool.'

Eliot.

I love hands. They’re probably my favorite part of the body. I distinctly remember some of the hands I’ve most liked.

BI had beautiful hands. Long slender fingers that moved deftly. Those are the type I imagine when people talk of the hands of an artist. Allowing for the slightest bit of feminity to escape.
MX had soft, stocky, white ones. They refused to let the masculinity that the rest of body concealed, hide any further. They also moved very well.
WP has firm hands. Very firm. Refusing to let go. Their grip must be quite absorbing.

My hands are fun. They’re incredibly rough with a lot of lines. My fingers are disjointed, and provide for a good conversation piece with their various ways of movement. A piece of lead which got stuck into one of them when I was 7, also helps. My hands always allow me to peek into zones of masculinity, every time the gender of my body begins to overpower me.

He scratches too hard on the box I've kept closed.
One of these days the contents will escape through a secret opening, that I will only then discover.

The Voyeur knows my secret (and its not a rash).
I am going to have to spend a large part of my life-savings on his silence.

The day will come when I will taste revenge. And it will be sweet. Oh, so sweet.

Haruki Murakami is much fun. I love his build-ups, although, I am a little wary of how it will end.
It’s such a fascinating world out there.

Also, I have discovered that stockings are an incredibly sexual piece of clothing. Very very erotic.

I discovered a rather interesting bruise on my left thigh. Its blue and purple and shaped like a cloud with the tinniest of holes.
I am completely clueless as to how it came about.
I love how there are portions of my life I cannot recall, and parts of my body, I find so late.
Its amazing how little I know about myself.
I must be a long story, of which only the foreword is known till now.

"If our brain was simple enough for us to understand it, we would be so stupid we wouldn't be able to understand it after all."
The man behind the Solitaire Mystery.

Wikipedia has everything: )
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fuck

There are several urban-legend fake etymologies postulating an acronymic origin for the word.

In the most popular version, it is said that the word "fuck" came from Irish law. If a couple committing adultery were "Found Under Carnal Knowledge" they would be penalized, with "FUCK" written on the stocks above them to denote the crime.
Alternative explanations for "fuck" as an acronym for adultery pin it as "Fornication Under Cardinal/Carnal Knowledge".
Another story is that it was written in the log book as "FUCK" when people in the military or navy who had homosexual intercourse were being punished. Variants of this include "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge", "Felonious Use of Carnal Knowledge", "Full Unlawful Carnal Knowledge", and "Forced Unlawful Carnal Knowledge", a label supposedly applied to the crime of rape.
In another story, a sign reading "Fornication Under Consent of the King" was supposedly placed on signs above houses in medieval England during times of population control and was special permission given to knights, by their king, when a knight wished to have sex with a woman.