"From the darkness, sleeping light." Formerly luminus dormiens. Lux pacis, light of peace.

Quote: "Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us." --Bill Watterson, cartoonist, Calvin and Hobbes


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.

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