20031004
My heart is full of words, but no pics
I didn't realize I put in Prop 54 as the title in my previous post. I was supposed to say that this California Prop 54, I don't support it at all.
It's supposed to ban putting in records people's races, and supposedly exempt the medical community from the ban.
I don't know whether I support Proposition 54. It sounds good on principles, but I'm tired to getting laws being pushed by an overly conservative Republican party, which Proposition 54 is, basically. While I don't support discrimination on the basis of skin color, I'm so-so on racial profiling, leaning against, and dislike of Proposition 54.
I didn't realize I put in Prop 54 as the title in my previous post. I was supposed to say that this California Prop 54, I don't support it at all.
It's supposed to ban putting in records people's races, and supposedly exempt the medical community from the ban.
I don't know whether I support Proposition 54. It sounds good on principles, but I'm tired to getting laws being pushed by an overly conservative Republican party, which Proposition 54 is, basically. While I don't support discrimination on the basis of skin color, I'm so-so on racial profiling, leaning against, and dislike of Proposition 54.
20031001
Proposition 54 (Prop 54) - Racial Privacy Initiative
Unbelievably, I am not sure with which party I stand, because I am beginning to find myself growing ever more conservative, ever more faithful in the belief that solutions can be solved not by violent means, but by stern leadership of a benevolent tyrant.
Does it not make sense that the only reason Americans had succeeded in governing themselves was because, most of them, if not all, wanted to be law-abiding citizens of their respective home states? Where but that they had to work together could they not have succeeded except in America? Together, because the pilgrims which we honor in Thanksgiving came to America hopelessly unprepared, and suffered to succeed only because they must work together and develop tolerance for other religions to forge the country to which we belong?
On the 19th of September, 2003, when I woke up early in the morning and decided to take a refreshing walk. I was approached by a disgusting whore. Even worse, the fact that she was black has created within me a stereotype which must live.
If I had to have my illusion of London broken, why must it be in this way. Recently, I just looked up that London was famous for being the lands of the harlots, and I am just the tourist for that.
I must say that I am incurious of whether I should be flattered or not that I was approached as an easily gullible and easily tempted man to whom a request for sex may be made.
Still, the manner in which she approached me is so horrid and vile and beyond all descriptions and all perceptions I have in my entire life. And this on a supposedly sane, innocent, and safe part of a megapolitan. I will describe how:
I was walking at 7:15, a time which was definitely abnormally early for me, on a fairly busy street, going up to King's Cross station (which you Harry Potter fans may remember as the station through which Harry, Ron and Ginny must cross nine and three-quarter to get to Hogwarts Express).
Suddenly, a disgusting woman walked up directly to me. I saw her and tried to look away. She wore this pink sweatshirt shawl over her head, and had a slight scar across the side, which is the only thing I see, and attempted to see of her. And yet, this horrid and vile woman for some obscene reasons picked me out as a target toward which she would direct her request this way and that. The street was noisy, some things I could not hear, but one I would always remember was the cruelest thing that sears and burns in my mind forever:
She lifted her hands, and with her finger beckoned me closer and then she said ominously, "Come closer. I am going to give you a fuck." I was slightly bemused by this turn of event, I had hoped to avoid any semblance of the meaner sort of sexuality that plague all forms of society in my vacationing there.
Oh, horrible, horrible, horrible, horrible. This is even worse than death. How can such a creature exist? And yet, even though I call her a creature, how could she not be but human? Sometimes, in my wonder at the piece of work that is a man, I wonder what stuff, experience, education, systems could have conjured such a destiny in her that she would willingly, perhaps even wantingly, be the sex object to the ravenous, depraved little man? I had thought she would want donation, to which I could firmly reject, but no, it had to be the f-word, fuck, fuck, fuck. I will give you a fuck. I'm going to give you a fuck. You're going to get fucked. There's nothing but a fuck, a fuck, a disgusting little fuck. A word that is of 16th century coinage, and it is this word thrown at me by this horrid and vile little woman.
After she muttered something and walked away, I shifted my gaze around in the hope that no one had seen me. Alas, that was not the case. A truck, with two men in there, one the driver, and the other the passenger. And that passenger, damn him with all the might God has, gestured to me that I should "go for it." Damn him, damn, damn!
The quintessence! Shattered, by this old hag! The wonderful (sob!) theory of communication as an interactive process! Shattered by that horrid and vile, ignorant and filthy, old and wrinkled, disgusting and depraved man!
Oh, horrible, most horrible! Horrible! Horrible! That I should my innocence lose by this! That it should come to this! That it should, in the greatest paeans, songs and dances, of the future of humanity, of the general improvements of civilization, come to an end by this horrid anomaly, this dark side that God, in his benevolence, created.
Oh, flights of angels, sing to me. Oh, saints, bring me from this! Oh, God! I do not know if I could ever have faith in you, except that I could not cease to believe in you!
Sometimes, I even wonder, if it was a man, and he was of a handsome sort, whether I would ever consent to a sexual act . . . Of course, the nature of this is different. Usually, that is acquired through the so called backroom, or the bathhouse, and so forth.
Unbelievably, I am not sure with which party I stand, because I am beginning to find myself growing ever more conservative, ever more faithful in the belief that solutions can be solved not by violent means, but by stern leadership of a benevolent tyrant.
Does it not make sense that the only reason Americans had succeeded in governing themselves was because, most of them, if not all, wanted to be law-abiding citizens of their respective home states? Where but that they had to work together could they not have succeeded except in America? Together, because the pilgrims which we honor in Thanksgiving came to America hopelessly unprepared, and suffered to succeed only because they must work together and develop tolerance for other religions to forge the country to which we belong?
On the 19th of September, 2003, when I woke up early in the morning and decided to take a refreshing walk. I was approached by a disgusting whore. Even worse, the fact that she was black has created within me a stereotype which must live.
If I had to have my illusion of London broken, why must it be in this way. Recently, I just looked up that London was famous for being the lands of the harlots, and I am just the tourist for that.
I must say that I am incurious of whether I should be flattered or not that I was approached as an easily gullible and easily tempted man to whom a request for sex may be made.
Still, the manner in which she approached me is so horrid and vile and beyond all descriptions and all perceptions I have in my entire life. And this on a supposedly sane, innocent, and safe part of a megapolitan. I will describe how:
I was walking at 7:15, a time which was definitely abnormally early for me, on a fairly busy street, going up to King's Cross station (which you Harry Potter fans may remember as the station through which Harry, Ron and Ginny must cross nine and three-quarter to get to Hogwarts Express).
Suddenly, a disgusting woman walked up directly to me. I saw her and tried to look away. She wore this pink sweatshirt shawl over her head, and had a slight scar across the side, which is the only thing I see, and attempted to see of her. And yet, this horrid and vile woman for some obscene reasons picked me out as a target toward which she would direct her request this way and that. The street was noisy, some things I could not hear, but one I would always remember was the cruelest thing that sears and burns in my mind forever:
She lifted her hands, and with her finger beckoned me closer and then she said ominously, "Come closer. I am going to give you a fuck." I was slightly bemused by this turn of event, I had hoped to avoid any semblance of the meaner sort of sexuality that plague all forms of society in my vacationing there.
Oh, horrible, horrible, horrible, horrible. This is even worse than death. How can such a creature exist? And yet, even though I call her a creature, how could she not be but human? Sometimes, in my wonder at the piece of work that is a man, I wonder what stuff, experience, education, systems could have conjured such a destiny in her that she would willingly, perhaps even wantingly, be the sex object to the ravenous, depraved little man? I had thought she would want donation, to which I could firmly reject, but no, it had to be the f-word, fuck, fuck, fuck. I will give you a fuck. I'm going to give you a fuck. You're going to get fucked. There's nothing but a fuck, a fuck, a disgusting little fuck. A word that is of 16th century coinage, and it is this word thrown at me by this horrid and vile little woman.
After she muttered something and walked away, I shifted my gaze around in the hope that no one had seen me. Alas, that was not the case. A truck, with two men in there, one the driver, and the other the passenger. And that passenger, damn him with all the might God has, gestured to me that I should "go for it." Damn him, damn, damn!
The quintessence! Shattered, by this old hag! The wonderful (sob!) theory of communication as an interactive process! Shattered by that horrid and vile, ignorant and filthy, old and wrinkled, disgusting and depraved man!
Oh, horrible, most horrible! Horrible! Horrible! That I should my innocence lose by this! That it should come to this! That it should, in the greatest paeans, songs and dances, of the future of humanity, of the general improvements of civilization, come to an end by this horrid anomaly, this dark side that God, in his benevolence, created.
Oh, flights of angels, sing to me. Oh, saints, bring me from this! Oh, God! I do not know if I could ever have faith in you, except that I could not cease to believe in you!
Sometimes, I even wonder, if it was a man, and he was of a handsome sort, whether I would ever consent to a sexual act . . . Of course, the nature of this is different. Usually, that is acquired through the so called backroom, or the bathhouse, and so forth.
20030928
Oops, I didn't realize that I had made a mistake in my sentence. I meant, now having learned of Wesley Clark's entrance into the political stage, I have retracted my support for Howard Dean.
Oh, I'm also removing the commenting system because of its unreliability. Just send me an email instead, or sign my guestbook on my home page.
15 September 2003, 16:00 Pacific Time -- 16 September 2003, 24:00 Greenwich Time
We decided to use the BART to go to the airport. We lived close to a station, so my aunt just dropped us off. We hauled our luggage into one of the cars and waited for one hour to get to the airport. After we got off, we kept moving to drop off the baggage and then to eat before we finally get onto the plane.
After flying the plane for nine and a half hours, through which I made sure to alleviate old fear of clotting blood in my leg by walking and scrunching every few hours on the plane, we landed tired into the late afternoon of the first day of London. We ran away from the sun into the next day from Monday at 7 p.m. Pacific Time to 4 p.m. Greenwich Time. I was tired because I didn't get much sleep on the plane.
We first checked into a hotel, Comfort Inn near the King's Cross Station, to which we rode for more than an hour from the Heathrow Airport Terminal 4. Wow, London was unexpectedly similar to that great city that was my first thorough touch of a great megametropolitan, New York.
Looking for a place to eat, we decided on the Asian noodle place near the King's Cross.
We explored the Covent Garden, which the next day or so, I would realize was the backdrop for which "My Fair Lady" was filmed. We ate really tasty waffle there.
I walked by the magazine section, and I waffled a bit after seeing the magazine Gaytimes, whichw as unexpected in a supermarket.
Oh, I'm also removing the commenting system because of its unreliability. Just send me an email instead, or sign my guestbook on my home page.
15 September 2003, 16:00 Pacific Time -- 16 September 2003, 24:00 Greenwich Time
We decided to use the BART to go to the airport. We lived close to a station, so my aunt just dropped us off. We hauled our luggage into one of the cars and waited for one hour to get to the airport. After we got off, we kept moving to drop off the baggage and then to eat before we finally get onto the plane.
After flying the plane for nine and a half hours, through which I made sure to alleviate old fear of clotting blood in my leg by walking and scrunching every few hours on the plane, we landed tired into the late afternoon of the first day of London. We ran away from the sun into the next day from Monday at 7 p.m. Pacific Time to 4 p.m. Greenwich Time. I was tired because I didn't get much sleep on the plane.
We first checked into a hotel, Comfort Inn near the King's Cross Station, to which we rode for more than an hour from the Heathrow Airport Terminal 4. Wow, London was unexpectedly similar to that great city that was my first thorough touch of a great megametropolitan, New York.
Looking for a place to eat, we decided on the Asian noodle place near the King's Cross.
We explored the Covent Garden, which the next day or so, I would realize was the backdrop for which "My Fair Lady" was filmed. We ate really tasty waffle there.
I walked by the magazine section, and I waffled a bit after seeing the magazine Gaytimes, whichw as unexpected in a supermarket.
