Two clams welded together in Normal entries

Things have be strange in a dull sort of way. It’s much easier to say “I have a headache” than to say “The things in my head are conflicted.” See? That kind of strange. I think I wrote that sentence recently, or one very much like it, but I can’t seem to find out where. It’s not an important sentence or an interesting one, it is, even out of context, an accurate one.

So is, I feel untethered and sometimes I just need to bark at the moon. Accurate but not quite right or informative. I am untethered, I have barked at the moon and the things in my head are conflicted. So what? I tried explaining to the GF, who, on most levels, is way smarter than I am. I changed the language to something more definitive. What was gained in clarity took ground from accuracy.

There is a big difference between belief and things you know but can’t explain. You can swap faith with belief if you want. I’m not shooting for philosophical. Prostitution might be the worlds oldest profession (that seems unlikely seeing how it’s trading services for goods or tender, so, someone would need to have had some kind of profession to pay) but I’m thinking clergy were the first customers.

Oh, that came out more snarky than I meant it. I’m just saying that next to sex religion seems like a very old racket. Both sex and religion can be gotten for free and yet clergy and prostitutes have thrived since before recorded history was immediately recorded. Huh. What I’m trying to say is that belief is a big bartering chip and there’s always a market.

It’s also a private and quiet thing and not limited to divinity (can’t think of a broader word, theology would work except the connotations are a little too too too for my purposes). There is shit we know, individually, that can’t be unknown by something like rationality or the hocus pocus of a charismatic hocus pocus dealer. Huh. This build up, which could go on indefinitely, is going towards an inability to articulate.

Instinct is the common word. It’s most commonly applied to mundane or secular things and usually after the fact when someone makes a surprise move and it works. It takes grit and will to take action based on instinct, but, action or no most people have a variety of instinctual compulsions. It takes grit and will to ignore all of them too. What it doesn’t take, apparently, at least in English, is a vocabulary. I mean I know a lot of words and have access, both analog to digital, to all of them. The gap between instinct and belief or faith is filled with gobedy gook.

Wow, the above, that is above here and now, this sentence, was a desktop orphan. Makes my head hurt I have no idea where I was going, but it looked like I was sure trying to get there. Oh, here’s a tune I always forget that I like until it rears it’s funky little head. I guess it’s a geico commercial now.

Funny all they use is the rhythm line and How how how. I opened my eyes, thinking maybe there was a chicken ranch opening up around here. I’m kidding, sort of. I mean I wouldn’t go to a chicken ranch, but I’d sure invest in one; the more repressed the town the better. I think chicken ranch is the right term for Texas. Maybe bunny ranch.

I’m not quite sure what it is that bothers me about the idea, I mean minus the inherent abuses of gray and black market sex trade. It all seems too … mechanical? Yeah, lets go with mechanical. Maybe I’m too provincial but I doubt it. Maybe I’ve never outgrown masturbation, I think it’s a fair comparison; without the hunt, the flirt, the possibility of rejection you might as well jerk off. I do like the idea of bunny ranchs/chicken ranches/brothels. There’s a sort of quaint vaudevillian flavor to the concept, it seems more colorful than street hustling, like a theme park you know?

I guess if I went at all I’d probably become a regular, it’d feel less seedy. But, you know, I managed well over fifty trips around the sun without the urge or need. Wait, no, I take that back. I was driving home from a swing shift at the juvy facility. In the most unlikely place imaginable I picked up this beautiful woman in a silk jumper/evening wear. Beautiful in a sort of amazon way. I had very recently separated from my first wife, was lonely and my ego had suffered a blow. She asked if I wanted to party. I gave her the once over twice and took a full ten seconds to think it over. I didn’t decide in those ten seconds that my dignity would suffer from paying for sex, for nine of those seconds the idea appealed to me.

I said “No thank you.” I saw the square headlights a quarter mile back on a road that should have been empty at midnight. I dropped her off on 82nd. I’m almost positive it was a sting, in part because the newspaper ran a weeks worth of articles starting the following morning about Portland police stings for johns. I had this whole conversation in hindsight about how to drop the tells. In hindsight hindsight it had more to do with helping the pretty cop lady so she would, um, help me. I’m not sure I have ever admitted out loud, even to myself, how very long those first nine seconds were.

Jesus where did that … oh, yeah, the song. Geico is using a song about a Texas whore house to sell motorcycle insurance.

Ok, before there’s two orphans and a zz top song I’m going to call this hodge podge of madness lite an entry. Be nice.