scrumptious monkey

so much more than an amp -- and yet, not.


Sitting on the Railroad

moved to the front page =)

"I think you'll enjoy this. My two brothers wrote a little ditty the other day called "Sitting on the Railroad."

15 yr old Joe is on guitar.
5 yr old Alex handles vox.

I can't get over it. It's HILARIOUS."

Joe and Alex live

Sharp Tools Need to be Handled With Care...

Blogger's added a new photo tool. And after I taught myself how to host pictures off site! sheesh. So I added a few to what seems to be turning into the girl's confessional. Bless me Joe Priesnitz, for I have had some very sinful thoughts about your boy EJ...

I should feel guilty about treating someone I truly respect and deeply admire like... eye candy, shouldn't I? Oh the shame. Yet another reason my poor introverted self would not survive a face to face meeting. Oh like my face wouldn't telegraph "Hey I've pictured you naked".

Excuse me while I go chase after my brain, I think it rolled under your bus tires.
Right about where I'd want to stick my head.

Well -- to be perfectly honest -- having a mind genuinely entrenched in the gutter, I've pictured everybody on the bus naked. They all look dandy, too.
Texas Longhorns, y'know.

I'm so glad to be feeling better. I've cut out most all processed foods, go easy on the proteins, drink plenty of water, and take Bloom out for a walk most days... Subsequently -- the meds have been cut back!
hey -- you know -- for a middle aged *olde witch*, I rock.

I've got this friend I used to have intense brain fries with on the web: who is now back in my life -- perephially; and we have been going at it in our usual style -- in a public forum.
Poor D. I'm sure people are going to complain about it to him.

The thing is -- my friend's antagonism towards You-Know-Who is more than a little personal. And more than a little my fault. Which he would dismiss, of course.

let me tell you a story...

There were once two princes. the first one, David was a handsome and talented guy who was always sure of what he wanted to do and blessed with the will and abilities to do it. His Parents supported him in his endeavors and he had quite a following -- many of whom had no idea David was actually a Prince.
Now -- that's Charisma.

The other Prince was from an impoverished background. His Royal Parents were not supportive and often disparaged Prince Morgan to his face and in the presence of others. Be that as it may, he was a brilliant and talented guy who nobody thought was a prince: and indeed, he dismissed his birthright with a shrug and the historical footnote that many a person of royal blood only had that to trade on in the world -- and blue blood without green cash still didn't get you a cup a coffee at the automat.

Both Princes grow up to be dynamic, attractive men -- though to be fair Prince David got the better hair genes.

Enter the girl. Nice girl. Not a princess... and well not so much a girl anymore for that matter. let's call her Kat.

Kat is a crazy-go-nuts fan of David's, and she meets Morgan because he's a fan of David's, too.
David has no idea these two people exist -- he's got lots of fans after all.
Kat and Morgan hit it off like they have known each other all their lives. Finally, they each have found a missing piece, on their own level of intensity and versimilitude and it isn't long before Morgan and Kat are thinking in terms of long term plans together.

Except Kat is in love with David, and told Morgan allll about it.
Well Morgan logically assumes that Kat given the love and attention of a flesh and blood genuine Prince -- oh, and she does understand the Princely underpinnings and nobless oblige of both men; Kat is one of the sharpest tools in the shed which is what Morgan fell in love with from the start -- will choose to be with a man who truly loves her commonborn though cheeky self, and settle into Happily Ever After.

But part of David's appeal to Kat is that nothing about David needs to be real.
Oh -- that he exists in the world and does the wonderful stuff that he does and lives a fairly noble life pursuing his own dreams and ambitions is great and fodder for Kat's fantasy life but through the years she's had a lot crap she's managed to come to terms with -- and this one thing has been her personal refuge.
In her own head.
For a hell of a long time.

She hadn't been thinking of falling in love with Morgan when she told him the dimensions of her feelings for David, she just woke up one morning after incredible sex with Morgan -- and missed David.
And then she laughed at herself -- because she didn't even KNOW David!!
Time passes. Morgan doesn't like that Kat still has strong feelings for David, in fact he starts to feel he is competing for Kat's affections against David -- who as it has been said -- does not have any idea at all that Kat or Morgan exists.

Kat breaks up with Morgan. She loves him -- but she's invested so much of herself over the years into her own head she feels guilty about still having thoughts of David when she SHOULD have been happy with Morgan. And Morgan -- for all his Princehood -- is a man. A good man -- a healthy man with a healthy ego.
And he had become jealous of David.

The breakup shatters both Kat and Morgan -- for different external reasons... the same core one. About a month later they try getting back together. They've missed each other, and both recognize there really isn't anyone else either of them has ever loved -- with whom they can truly be themselves.
Same problems exist, though: the only change is that they're both aware of the problems -- and like all couple's problems need to find a work around, get past them -- or Kat and Morgan will have to say goodbye again.

Now about this time Morgan goes off to a meeting of worldly Princes and actually meets David. This is pretty cool and also awkward. Morgan is able to deal with the reality of David, and it turns out David is a decent all round Prince of a guy which completely twists all of Morgans guts with jealousy because he can picture David and Kat being ridiculously happy together.
That's what she'd really like, Morgan imagines. Happily ever after with David.
and of course -- as always -- David has no idea he's been enshrined in a corner of this triangle.

Morgan leaves the meeting and over the space of the following days tells Kat all about it.
This is much too surreal for Kat: she knows it's killing Morgan to talk about it -- so she says to him one evening -- "Just say it."
And Morgan asks Kat which Prince she wants to spend the rest of her life with.
and Kat choses the Prince who will never under any circumstances give her an ultimatum.

Some people's kids, huh? Just goes to show a cat may look at a king...
but a prince ought not to pussyfoot with felines.



You know what I mean. Not, "Nice to meet you Aunt Loretta" but
This man just gets hotter the older he gets.

*sigh*. Shaggy with goals and ambitions. Oh. and talent. (Anita would say Fred. Hey -- we all animate our Ken dolls with whatever floats our particular boats. or as it's been said: “A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep.”)

Great shot, I hope the thoughtful one shows up on the web, too.

I have... a thing for his nose. He simply has the best nose and most amazing face I've ever seen anywhere. The bluest eyes. I will be locked up for sure if I start talking about his mouth. Back to the eyes then. If he wore glasses -- I would honestly become retarded into stupidity by waves of lust.
Clean shaven men in glasses: it's the brainy boy look, my Kryptonite.
oh. AND he's quick witted, very possibly a genius, and he's got a voice that pools ghee in rivers into my socks.

I have been attracted to this "type" since Gerry McGloghry in the 7th grade, and Eric's the epitome of "the type": everything I find desirable and attractive in men.
So -- that's the bar that's been set.

and of course -- we can't leave out the best part -- Couldn't be more unavailable and horrified to find himself the object of girlie gushery.
Nope -- no metaphorical extensions of fancy.

There. ok. I've said it. Fan Girl.
Just kill me.


whirlygig -- a/k/a the real reason why the Internet has a bad rep.

There's this kid with a blog. I fell over him at Tequila Mockingbird. His blog is possibly the most obnoxious, lewd, rude joke perpetrated on the web -- which is saying alot. He is 17 years old and according to his web log when he isn't busy watching (really disturbing) porn, he's spitting out visciously over the top sarcasm that is either a cry for help -- or pure adolescent nose thumbing brattiness.
It is, if you have the stomach for it -- scathingly funny. Warning: if something doesn't offend you -- he was having an off-day. Zach's Blog

His most recent entry is where I left this comment (after reading his post -- this is what came out.)

I don't know whether I should blow smoke up your ass by telling you life gets better the further you distance yourself from adolescence, or just be a cool and contributing factor to your impared morality by encouraging you to get more porn and crank yourself into oblivion.

Life is all about being the fucker or the fuckee. If you are extremely fortunate you may come across someone who will not only indulge you, but enjoy taking turns, putting forward some effort and creativity.

But most likely you will hook up with a "nice girl" who treats you like a pet she occasionally and reluctantly allows up on the furniture (metaphorically speaking.) and you -- you poor dumb fuck, will be grateful; like so many males before you through the ages of man.

Nowhere but in fantasy does great sex exist. There is nothing like sex with strangers -- because the moment you get to know what someone is REALLY like, the moment their own personality surfaces from under the soft focus velvet veneer of your desires pasted on them -- that's the moment you realize you NEED that veneer to be the reality -- not the real person. We treat this realization like a speed bump: a small irritating slow-down-but-get-over-it on the drive thru of instant gratification rather than the profound truth and wake up call it is.

Everyone does this.
We are all selfish brats "loving" the ones we are with because we are a.) too lazy to look for, attract and maintain someone better and b.) we really and truly deserve the crap we signed up for(see reason a.)

Now tell me you don't want to kill yourself.

The life of a sex offender does look pretty sweet in comparison to being a "normal", doesn't it?... You get to be completely self centered: and when you're caught society then provides you with a state or federal residence, 3 meals a day; and an opportunity to loosen up your sphincter through the loving attentions of your cell mate.

If you're really lucky, you get a cell of your own and cable. Maybe even some porn.

see? it really doesn't get any better than that.

it's not OCD right!?

saved this from the boc.
well -- I liked it...

I love words.
Love reading them,
love writing them down.
I am so much in love with words
that just being able TO write them down
and hear them 'sing' as I read them
is the reward for the work of getting it
down on paper. (or computer screen).
It is work -- but it's something I have
skills for just because it is
where my passion lives. It is my music.

I think about the levels of artistry
in what we all do
that take us from one day to the next:
everyone has poetry in their life.
There is no greater thing than
to find your 'voice' and sing;
to find how best to express
the poetry in your own life
and be aware and alive to it.

Poets find the words to express it:
Musicians use pure sound to express poetry,
when the two are joined you have a song.
Artists / Craftsmen create a visual
representation of their poetry.
Dancers, of course, are "poetry in motion".

You tug the fabric of reality and
the golden thread of Your Poetry will
catch your eye and tease your mind.

Then -- you go with it. Whatever it is.

I think Art is the reason the Universe exists.
It does NOT matter if the only person
to take pleasure in your art is *just* you.

There is a ripple effect when a person
is aware of their own art. Poetry flows
from that person in everything they do.
The mechanics of creating IT --
that's interesting, sure; especially
to people who appreciate what is
given to the world, who want
to DO that sort of art, too.

But every person's Poetry, whatever
art it is channeled through to be realized
-- is unique and important
just for the uniqueness.

What bothers me is the artificial packaging
of things to make them seem "more"
than what is real: often it shunts and
conforms the true beauty of Poetry
into something less,
so it can be sold to more people!?

Better to avoid marketing and just BE.

On the other hand -- if you have got
to make a living, and all you are good
at is your Art --
then you have no choice but to use it.
Integrity does not whore around.

Poetry, the real thing requires the integrity
of Truth -- and Truth is Integrity. for me.

That is all I have of worth; and in being
faithful to it -- I have Poetry.

I inquire within
and out it comes.

Preen much, do I?

Time passes
-- a metronome
started and stopped
by an unseen hand --
the minutes don't count
it's simply about
the beat the beat the beat
and what you do around it...

I look at my writing and
I see a line or two from
pages and pages of words
that I think, "wow, that is good."
Not great, never GREAT: but my brain
correlates the work of others
that I admire and measures my scribbles
against 'em. (There. Right there.
Notice the self depreciating factor.)

And it doesn't matter, does it,
how many people tell you you're "good."
Genuine accolades or whatever hyperbole
they toss at you -- you wonder what
they're REALLY selling, or if they
are banking against a time they want
something in return.
The harshest critic is the one
no artist worthy of the title can escape:
But also --
no one fully loves the work
as much as the artist, too.

If it was truly just vanity...
I wouldn't learn from it, would I?

I got my room straightened out.
I checked the dates at the bottom of the
pile(s) -- just this crop alone
is the results of 9 years of 10-8 hours a
day of sitting and writing, just writing,
hardly ever stopping to read it,
just ...WRITING. A dozen file
cartons of it -- all in long hand.
as Jacob Marley said to Ebenezer
"It is a ponderous chain.."
creating is ambrosial poison,
the daemon lover, it is better
than sex and it is, in that
ultimate extreme, sterile:
unless it is shared.

The vanity I am talking about
is the reluctance to let go.
The vanity to create --
and that is enough.
That is the guilty pleasure.
To hoard a cache of tapes or
notebooks because while
it was great fun to do it --
"it isn't good enough to put out there".
but we can't toss it out, either.
To have a thing out of your control,
out in the world to be embraced (or
repulsed), affecting (or infecting)
reality and existing as a permanent
statement attached to one's signature;
the art by which the artist is
assessed... that is difficult, but to
have something out there we KNOW has
an "ick" factor?...

Yes, I am talking about Eric's Tape Vault
wherein resides 39 years or so worth of stuff
a whole lot of people would go ga-ga over,
as much as I am talking about my stacks of
cartons no one in their right mind
would give a glance to.

perfectionism is vanity. I say this
with my own heart wrenched out as
exhibit a.

I am not even aware of how hard
I work at what I do -- time for me is a
metronome, not a clock. I sit down
and write and do not stop until I
realize I'm barely awake and golly
it would be nice to lie down now.
I confess I have (more times than
I can count) stretched out on the floor,
more like a keeled-over stroke victim
than someone capable of dressing and
feeding myself. This is nearly OCD behavior:
I lay down on the floor because
it IS uncomfortable and I will sleep
just long enough to clear my thoughts
to be able to write some more.
(I don't dare put a bed or couch in the room.)

It is not merely enough that
I write and do my best. My best
will never be good enough.
It comes easily, but -- it can be
so pedestrian,
There is something beyond my
best that I have tasted and can,
slightly more often than once in
a blue moon, access. I don't think it is
possible to have that on demand.
The "best" you can do is create a state of
equilibrium and openness to it,
keep your skills honed -- and lure that
b!tch to come toy with you because
you are a total submissive to her whim.

And yes, to me my Art has been a
lifetime of training exercises; to be the
very best submissive in the
history of the world, according to
my perception of the world.

Which is hilarious.
ironic. After all --
how could someone
so loud and opinionated
call oneself

sweet dreams, friends


5 days to Bloom and I'm sitting here doing one of those 2 in the morning posts...

Am I excited about the new album? ridiculously so.
As excited and as frustrated about not getting to see an EJ concert this year...
I'll spare you all the whining.

I was writing a comment on someone else's blog and realized I spend too much time writing comments on other people's blogs. ...ummm no, I was thinking about what and why I started writing SM for, with a perfectly good chunk of blogdom elsewhere.

This was supposed to be an on going creative writing effort as well as web log.

Bloggers who are devastatingly to the bone honest are the best reason to read a blog.
But the moment you commit to writing down anything the truth begins to distort.

just putting a "pen to paper" delinates perception.

since it is impossible to describe everything in and of a single second (it would take eternity -- and doesn't that just shatter the illusion of the movement of time?) the most truthful act we have is to reach down, gut ourselves, and read our own entrails. Like the Stephen Crane poem --

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter - bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

The truth is never candy. Candy is what we treat ourselves with -- sweet, logical, amusing fictions without which you couldn't sort the homicides from the suicides.

Which is not to say the truth is not beautiful. It is blindingly beautiful. Horrible and overwhelming and breathtaking. Wrenching. True beauty should leave you speechless and damp. yeaaaah. It's funny to me because I see more beauty in things unseen than I see where I am -- we are -- directed to look. Truth is Beauty is Truth is...

Facing the truth within takes a lot of courage and a certain amount of conceit.
My great conceit is that beast's conceit in the poem. The beast doesn't answer the poet by agreeing or disagreeing -- he says -- "It is bitter... but I like it because it is bitter, and because it is my heart."

oh yeah. Been there done that got the notebooks to prove it.


Jeen Lilly, fontaholic...

She's a bit goth, but done in oils -- I like it. [big goofy grin] yep, you either get legs -- or half a cracked face, with me.
got many issues with body image, JL?...

AS IF I wasn't annoying enough, I've started writing tutorials about basic computer literacy. I do learn "more stuff" every day; but it's surprising how little most people know. Which is ok -- how many people understand internal combustion engines... or for that matter, can drive a stick?...

I am truly a font-a-holic: if you have comic sans ms you are viewing this site the way I have intended it to be viewed. other fonts that show up are Blackadder ITC (the Poe quote) and Lucida Handwriting.

If you don't have those fonts, you can email me and I'll send them to you -- or go to one or two of the many wonderful free font sites on the web* and start collecting fonts. Go crazy, go nuts.

what's that you say? You don't know how to get them into the font folder of your operating system..?

first of all -- try to limit the load of fonts in your OS. you can keep most of your font collection (and the little suckers do begin to multiply once you figure out how easy it is to snag these babies) in a folder you create on your desk top called "MY FONTS" or some other obvious name... and you may want to subdivide this folder with a few folders labeled by types.

on my desk top I have a folder called “Font Archive”it holds 10 sub folders:

BASIC serif-sans serif
Celtic-Gothic (Black letter, "Irish", stylish)
dings + wings
EXOTIC ornamental novelties (the swashes and curliques and well as the fanciful fancies)
fat fonts (good to "fill" -- if you know what I mean)
handwritten PRINT
handwritten SCRIPT
holiday fonts
Nick's fonts (There's hundreds of incredible fonts by Nick Curtis -- he creates some of the most recogizable fonts on the web)
Sci-Fi ART fonts (the hi-tech and Deco, Arts & Crafts style)

works for me -- you can create as many sub folders as will suit YOU.

>>>>>You will need WinZip. Most people have this program already on their computers. You can download a trial version -- google WinZip trial version.<<<<<

downloading fonts: Go to a free font website. Browse. when you find a font you like, click on the "Download Font" icon or hyperlink or whatever the site is using.
a message screen will appear, asking if you want to OPEN / SAVE / CANCEL / MORE INFO.

if the file ending is .zip -- I usually open it.
if the file ending is .ttf (that's true type file) -- I save it to my FONT ARCHIVE folder.

To OPEN -- click on OPEN. WinZip Classic will automatically pop up on your screen with the .ttf for you to look at.

To access the file in a WinZip window -- double click on it. Voila! click on the X or the Done button to close the file.
If you want to save it, open your FONT ARCHIVE folder.
provided you have closed the file, you can drag and drop the file into the waiting, open folder. Don't worry -- your machine will tell you if the file can't be moved -- check to see if the little sneak is hiding on your task bar.

If you don't want it -- click on the File button for the WinZip window. scroll down about midway to "Delete Archive".

if you are at a site (usually someone's personal site) and they haven't zipped the files --SAVE the file directly to your font archive folder.

Do NOT get in the habit of saving fonts directly into your Operating System. Sure your computer can hold lots of fonts, and they are little files, right?...consider the single snowflake in an avalanche. They DO add up, and will cause your computer to become....sluggish.

NOW -- you have a folder or two with fonts... how do you use them?

You can use them with out loading into your OS by opening any font and minimizing it to your task bar. Now you can view pages that have this font on it -- and you can use the font for PSP and other graphic programs. When you are done -- close the file.

If you want to have the ease of access of having your favorites in your OS font folder:
Open your System font folder. go to START > SETTINGS > CONTROL PANEL. Double click to open the font folder. size it so you can have your FONT ARCHIVE folder open as well.

drag and drop the font you want into your OS font folder.
If you want to copy a font from your system folder, you need to hold the Ctrl key down as you drag and drop from the system file to your file of choice.

and that is really all there is to it.enjoy -- and remember the collector's credo -- s/he who dies with the most fonts...probably should have gotten more exercise away from the computer.
*free font sites -- and a few of them include instructions on downloading, too...




Arts & Crafts fonts

aussie scrap central

eknp fonts

espana personales


famous fonts

flyer starter

themeworld fonts



you can get Blackadder ITC here.

golden web

Dragonfly Graphics

myst fonts








standard windows font lists
(what needs to be in the puter to run the os)

I currently have a paltry 1500 fonts in my personal collection -- and nooooo, the OS does not have them all installed; most are kept in folders, lol.


Ronin and Geishas...

Image hosted by

so last night I was awake and dealing with a blood sugar semi-crisis and caught the cartoon Network's showing of "Samurai Champloo".

First -- let it be said I HATE being so susceptible to the changing tides... of controlling my blood sugar. I know there is more I should do to be healthier -- but I just don't have the energy to do anything about it. AND I DON"T HAVE THE ENERGY TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT BECAUSE I'm so fricking un-healthy that if I miss two meals in a row or am a few hours off in scheduled medication I start slipping into unconsciousness.

It is just a constant THING to be aware of. If I listen to my body -- I can take care of it. Yesterday I didn't listen, I was preoccupied with other holes in the dyke -- being an adult with a fair awareness of adult mundane mantenance needs this can happen, it's not a once in a life time occurence.

I'm fine now. Slight headache, but that's to be expected.

So anyway -- finally got around to forcing myself to eat something, which snapped me out of the downward spiral and found me wide awake at 12:30am with a husband who needed to be calmed down (evidentally he does care whether I live or die; who knew?) and we settled in to watching the Anime shows on CN.

I've mentioned I have a fascination for all things Japanese, haven't I?..

Samurai Champloo is a stylish fantasy with a simple story line I was able to grasp (and if you've ever tried to grasp Anime story lines they can be...elusive. [rolls eyes]) There's the comic relief pretty girl, a wild-boi hot shot wiseass, and a cool, even austere Ronin (Japanese dis for a masterless Samurai, think ummmm honorable anti-hero type) and they're travelling together on a quest cooked up by the girl -- the guys go along with it because she saved their asses in the first episode.

It's intelligently funny; beautiful art and well...ahem... I totally grok Jin, the Ronin. Love that tall and lean, bespectacled, pony tailed thang he's got going on.

oh I so need Bloom to come out.

now... about Geishas....