Have I told you about Kiva???

Oh Kiva is a bit of a ho. She wants your $ and she needs it now. She has many mouths to feed and she's not afraid to come back and ask for more. There's a chance you'll see your money again, but that's a chance that you take. Ok, end of trying to write something all hip and cool. :P

Check out Kiva.org to find out all about it. I've been on for a year and at first was very skeptical. But I'm happy to report that it's true, you lend money and then it comes back to you. Seriously!!! No donating, just lending. It's called microfinancing and as I understand, it's a little bit of genius.

Why just throw your cash away, when you can lend it, then re-lend, and lend some more? You lend in $25 increments and I've put in $125 and it's all come back. I've then lent it out again or used it to give gift certificates for other friends to test it out. Or if you need the funds back, you just withdraw the money and go on your merry way.

The cool thing is that there's such a variety on there that you can fund pretty much anything. I tend to choose guys close to my age who wants funds for stuff that I'd never do. Mostly cuz on a site like this, I feel that females are more likely to get attention. Second, cuz I can empathize with people my age trying to make something of themselves. Plus, I get to be a 'part' of some cool shit. I've helped ppl buy more cattle, run a rice shop, fix motor bikes...that shit is cool!!

Sooooooo what are some ways that you help to make the world a little bit better?

Lip Synch Dysphoria

Monday, March 9, 2009

LIP SYNCH DYSPHORIA

By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns

The last time I did acid,

I had the overwhelming desire to cut off my hands.

In the twisted logic of my skewered mind,

I figured, since they were the most valuable part of my anatomy,

Being an artist,

Then, therefore, I must hack them off.

“Yes” means “no” and “no” means “yes”.

Being alone, I could only have cut off one hand

Since I don’t own a chain saw.

You’d be seeing me, right now, with a gory stump,

Long since healed, on the end of one arm.

I’d have to keep that mutilated thing in my pocket at auditions

Or I’d never get hired, again.

Don’t know which hand it would have been.

I’m ambidextrous but I favour my right hand in most things.

If I’d hacked off that one,

It would’ve taken me a while to come up to speed with the left.

I have a little voice, inside me, that protects me under such circumstances.

“Don’t do it. Relax. You’re high on acid. You’ll regret it in the morning.”

“But my hands are so important. I really should cut them off. It makes perfect sense.”

“You’ll bitterly regret it. Big time. Believe me.”

When I came down, I decided never again to take LSD.

After all, next time, I might not be so lucky.

My inner parent might not win the battle.

That was my 6^th trip.

The first time was in the 70s.

That evening, my friend told me he had dropped it, too,

But I think he was lying.

I was crazy about Bob but the feeling wasn’t mutual.

The two of us, and a plus-size female friend,

Went to see the Kubrick film, “2001: A Space Odyssey”

At a midnight showing at the Roxy.

What a perfect trip!! What a blast!!

The third time I dropped acid,

I was staying at a friend’s cottage on the French River.

Walking out onto the deck, in the glorious summer sunshine,

A hornet’s nest, lodged under the strips of wood,

Was accidentally disturbed and they went nuts,

But neither of us was stung.

I did some painting and talked a mile a minute with my hostess,

Smoking endless cigarettes.

I found a bug outside.

Its face looked so human to me.

I held it in my hand and felt that we were communicating on some strange level.

It looked like a tiny, little baby.

Late that afternoon, there was a knock at the door.

An older, balding man stood there with a message for me from my hostess’s mother,

Back in Scarborough.

He’d taken a boat from the marina in order to deliver it.

A major theatre, back in Toronto, wanted me for a part in a play with Len Cariou,

The Broadway star.

That’s what it said.

The director wanted to see me, the very next day.

We raced back to Toronto in her car, on very little sleep,

Weaving in and out of traffic,

With just enough time for me to shower and change

At my parent’s place in the Burbs.

Then Carol Anne drove me downtown to the theatre.

I walked in, portfolio in hand, with grand expectations and racing heart.

The bitchy, impatient Artistic Director snapped at me,

“We don’t want to see that.”

(He gestured at the portfolio of pictures from plays I had been in.)

“We just want to look at you and hear your voice.”

I read for him but was not cast.

It was just another audition.

I didn’t tell him what I’d gone through in order to get there on time.

My vacation was shot.

On the final LSD trip, the 6^th one, I also painted.

It was a wild, psychedelic acrylic abstract,

With eyes and eyelashes peering out from the frantic colours.

Lots of deep pinks and reds and pale blue and startling yellow.

A stranger phoned and said I sounded sleepy.

He seemed pissed off.

I had answered his personal ad in the paper.

“I’m painting a picture,” I said but he didn’t get it.

The Asian man never called back, as he said he would.

The 5^th time was totally unexpected.

An upstairs neighbour appeared at my door, late one night.

He reached in my front door, thrusting a beer in my face.

“I heard you moving about,” he said.

He wanted me to drop acid with him but I had to rehearse in the morning,

So I begged off.

The shaggy-haired blond kept plying me with beer.

He handed me a purple tab of acid and I said I would take it later.

I dropped it on the floor and Dave said, “It’s dirty. Better put it in your mouth, ”

Which I foolishly did.

After partying all night with this scuzzy guy,

I phoned the director the next morning.

He had long hair and seemed pretty cool so I figured it would be okay to be honest.

“I can’t come to rehearsal. I dropped acid last night. I haven’t had any sleep.”

Darshan started freaking out.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. Do you still want to do the play?”

“Of course. I just need some sleep.”

“I’ll call you,” he said but I never heard from him, again.

That was okay. The gig was a freebee in a speakeasy

And I didn’t really want to do it.

I heard through the grapevine that the production never happened.

Sometimes it’s best to tell a little white lie.

Colours look so vivid.

You think you’ve found all the deep, profound answers to the great mysteries of life.

Your sense of perspective is all topsy-turvy.

It’s like looking through the wrong end of a telescope.

Acid is so unpredictable.

Be careful.

Don’t do it by yourself, as I once did.

I was looking for truths.

Trying to find cosmic answers.

Wanted to know what all the media screaming was about.

Pink turns into swirling neon lime green.

Reality becomes a kaleidoscope.

You crave sex but it can be hard to function properly.

I somehow miss those wild, crazy times.

Life had infinite possibilities.

Now, it seems to be lots of cul de sacs, dead ends,

And doors slammed in my face.

Who needs sleep?

In high school, I was a complete insomniac. I think that it was due to everything after midnight was much more exciting. I had access to a computer, IRC, online communities, the fridge, music that I could freely dance around to. I would stay up until 4am and then go to school for 10am. My high school had lunch every period, so I would insist on first lunch and then I could sleep. :) Most days, I would skip 2nd period, so I could sleep some more.

During college, I kinda forgot about sleep. It was hard to fit in between school all week, placement for like 24 hours, and then another 24 hours with a part time job. Let's not forget the occasional social hang out plus whatever relationship was presently consuming my time. Yep, no time to sleep then.

For a year at my 'rents, I was getting plenty of sleep. I worked at 10am, lived 10 min. from work, and so if I stay up until 2, I could still get about 7 hours of sleep. I'd sleep in a bit on weekends on the occasion or just nap it up to catch up on some sleep.

I live alone now, it's quiet, like super quiet. Plus, I'm no longer in a basement. I've lived in basements for a large majority of my life. It's dark, like super dark down in them. No light comes in to wake one up at all. At my new place, I can't sleep in passed 8am most days. Usually, I'm up at 6:45 and then lie in bed telling myself that I'm not allowed out of bed until it's 8am. I usually defy me and get out around 7:15. Today I proudly slept in until 8:45, but only cuz of daylight savings.

I used to really love my sleep, I have fond memories of at some point enjoying sleeping in late and just lazying about all day. Now I wake up early, I have my oatmeal, dilly on the internet, watch Regis & Kelly, do some school work, do my yoga routine, have lunch, watch Family Feud, and then bounce off to work in the afternoon.

As BNL sings up top, 'Who needs sleep?'

The Circus in Thomson Park

Wednesday, February 25, 2009


THE CIRCUS IN THOMSON PARK


By Philip Cairns


Copyright 2009 by Philip Cairns


Marching and skipping across the top of the hill,
I could see the colourful parade come closer.
Vividly coloured Mardi Gras-like costumes,
Huge papier mache heads with enormous eyes.
Women dressed like gypsy fortune tellers
And brawny young men looking like Harlequin.
The sound of brass instruments
And the thump-thump of big, round drums.

Standing with my four siblings,
Amongst the canvas tents in a clearing in the suburban park,
I watched the procession as it drew nearer.
Smiling faces in a rag-tag band.
Electric blue, startling red, lush green grass and the deep brown earth.
The bubbling sound of the nearby creek.
The notes of the piccolo slipped out in a merry way,
Along with the bump-bump-bump of the heavy bass drum.

I remember the youthful face of the fortune teller,
Inside the hot, burning tarpaulin,
And the silly lies she told about my future.
The auburn haired young woman couldn’t have been more than seventeen.

Then, into the tent to see the Freaks of Nature.
The African Sausage Man with no arms or legs,
Lying on a wooden table, wrapped all in woollen clothing,
Rolling and lighting a cigarette using only his mouth and tongue.

A Pinhead in a dirty, sleeveless housedress,
Was sitting on the stage weeping and exchanging bitter words
With a short, mean, hideous man standing in the front row.
He was insulting and making fun of the pathetic, ugly woman.
(From this great distance in time,
I see her as being rather beautiful, in a Picasso sort of way.)
I was only eleven, but, even so,
I was appalled and disappointed by this so-called Freak Show.

Outside, again, there were stiltwalkers and jugglers
Roaming the grounds of the little ersatz circus.
There was cotton candy to consume,
Taffy apples to gobble
And sweet orange pop to slurp.

I walked home with an uneasy sensation in the pit of my stomach.
The Pinhead woman seemed so vulnerable and morbidly unhappy.
40 years down the road,
I remember the sight of her so clearly,
Sobbing on that makeshift stage in the intense August heat.
I went inside expecting to be frightened and excited
But came away feeling low and gypped.

The circus came to town.
Childhood dreams fell away,
Like the melting skin of a burn victim.
Phony adolescent psychics and depressed freaks
On a sweltering summer day in Scarborough.
A rerun from the past.

I know how many loads, but what will you let in?

Thank you!!! We had 14 people vote in this week's poll, we're slowly moving up in our results. Last week, I was curious to find out how many orgasms you've had in a day.

The results ranged from 1-2 all the way up to 7-8. It appears nobody's gone any higher in this group. Which probably means that we're an honest group. Which is nice to know. :)

42% only experience between 1-4 orgasms with one voter only going 1-2. I don't know about others, but 1-2 is almost a daily ritual...and that's just by myself. :P

On the top end is a full 21% who went 7-8 in a 24 hour period. Which makes sense, you've got your own loving, then maybe a few with somebody else, then you nap and go at it again. See it all adds up!

Now we've found out how much you let out each day, let's find out what you let in. Yep, it's time to reveal what goes in your lower holes (ass or pussy or both). It ranges from just a finger to dicks, toys, and nothing at all. :) This time around, you get to choose as many options as you please. Some people think that I'm able to track who votes for what...sorry, to my knowledge, it ain't possible. So feel free to vote anonymously and honestly!

What I've learned this last week...

I think that each week/day/second of our lives, we learn new things about ourselves/the world/whatever.

Here are some things that I've learned:

That honesty means something different to everybody. One person's version of honesty may not be another's. This is why clarity is so important. Feelings are less likely to be hurt, if we're just clear and honest with one another.

If you want somebody to do a task, just ask them how you can help them. An employee at work has been consistently late. I asked them to be punctual and then asked what I could do to help them be successful. They saw that I genuinely cared and wasn't trying to be a dick and *presto*, they're now on time...for now.

The universe works in its own way and you just need to let it do its work. 3 cancelled dates, 1 bad date, and a new light is presented. It doesn't always work out how you want it to, but it does always work out.

Music makes me happy. No matter what mood that I am, I can always turn to music (my own or others). Plus, if I need to clean, I just need to put on some music and the cleaning magically happens on its own. Dancing in your underwear to music and cleaning is a great combination too.

Not being in contact with someone for a few days is surprisingly freeing. I thought I'd spend my time thinking about them and their trip. Instead, I didn't even think about them until they popped back into my life. I'm still debating if this means that I can live without them in my life or just don't need to be as involved in there's.

I enjoy doing things for others and my friends - esp. when it's just me doing for them. Granted, I get that satisfaction of being helpful, but it's just good to help another out.

Bartering is super fucking awesome!! In this last week, I've exchanged for massage therapy and kick boxing lessons. Connecting with new people and sharing skills brings me happiness. Especially with comments like 'oh I thought this would really suck, but you can actually teach.'

What lessons has this last week given you?

small town tricks.

I live in a pretty small town, connected to a lot of other pretty small towns. Collectively, we make up the Region of York.

In my first post on "Let's Be Vain!!!" I revealed to everyone my first time with a dude. Since then, I've met many other guys around my neck of the woods, some of whom have moved on to bigger and better things with their new wives, while others have not budged at all.

A few weeks ago I was at the gym. While secretly checking out some of the really, really hot guys that like to prance around and "spot" one another, I caught the eye of this one particular douche.

This particular douche ended up being Mr. First.

I think he recognized me, cause he left right after.

A few days ago I was back at the gym and there he was again, by himself, lifting weights. It could have been the garish gym lighting or whatever, but he came off kindda fugly. He still had a nice body, but he just looked...really, really, tired. I mean, repressing ones own homosexuality can be stressful, but this guy seemed to me beating himself into the closet with a sledgehammer. He had raccoon eyes, his skin was pale and he had this permanent look of sadness on his face.

Poor guy.

And to think that a few years ago he had blown his load into my...hand.

This is most definitely one of those "What the fuck was I thinking?!?" moments in my life. I am sure you all have had those as well. I encourage you all to share and come clean with your past, so that we can all laugh together in collective embarrassment.