Punky Fu

In recent years, people increasingly wondered where it all went wrong. Why had people stopped loving each other? What became of our capacity for trust or harmony? Why was there so much pain in the world? Of course, humankind had believed itself on the brink of destruction every year in recorded human history. Armageddon was still impending and all the Doomsday foreseers were still waiting, boot-heels rapping impatiently, checking their watches, straining their eyes to catch more glimpses of the Signs of End Times. Whether the End of the World was just around the corner, or in fact a myth mixed with a meme with good marketing, the Doom-sayers were forced to repeatedly hit the snooze buttons on their Countdown Clock / Apocalypse Alarms. Still, no one would deny that most people felt that there was a vague something missing from their lives. People were unhappy. They felt empty and unfulfilled. They tried to fill the empty spaces with various diversions - like the accumulation of things, endless entertainment, or the drama of others. People were angry; they needed someone to blame. The ever popular morphine of the masses, religion, still abounded, joined by others like scientism, various screen addictions, the provoking of others, Identity by Negation, and meaningless protest. The emptiness inside also made people lonely; they constantly sought others to fill the Empty Spaces. Endless forays to find the “right one” resulted in incessant disappointment. Despite the promises of all the Experts, no one was finding true love. The actual problem was that you cannot fill a vacuum with another vacuum. Love for another does not overcome the lack of substance inside; at best, they merely cancel each other out… and temporarily at that. Historians believed that things had not always been like this. The historical archives - books, blogs and other media - showed evidence of selfless love existing. It just appeared that somewhere along the way, the human race had forgotten how to do it. The problem had become epidemic. They had to relearn.

In recent years, people increasingly wondered where it all went wrong. Why had people stopped loving each other? What became of our capacity for trust or harmony? Why was there so much pain in the world?

Of course, humankind had believed itself on the brink of destruction every year in recorded human history. Armageddon was still impending and all the Doomsday foreseers were still waiting, boot-heels rapping impatiently, checking their watches, straining their eyes to catch more glimpses of the Signs of End Times.

Whether the End of the World was just around the corner, or in fact a myth mixed with a meme with good marketing, the Doom-sayers were forced to repeatedly hit the snooze buttons on their Countdown Clock / Apocalypse Alarms. Still, no one would deny that most people felt that there was a vague something missing from their lives.

People were unhappy. They felt empty and unfulfilled. They tried to fill the empty spaces with various diversions - like the accumulation of things, endless entertainment, or the drama of others. People were angry; they needed someone to blame. The ever popular morphine of the masses, religion, still abounded, joined by others like scientism, various screen addictions, the provoking of others, Identity by Negation, and meaningless protest.

The emptiness inside also made people lonely; they constantly sought others to fill the Empty Spaces. Endless forays to find the “right one” resulted in incessant disappointment. Despite the promises of all the Experts, no one was finding true love.

The actual problem was that you cannot fill a vacuum with another vacuum. Love for another does not overcome the lack of substance inside; at best, they merely cancel each other out… and temporarily at that.

Historians believed that things had not always been like this. The historical archives - books, blogs and other media - showed evidence of selfless love existing. It just appeared that somewhere along the way, the human race had forgotten how to do it. The problem had become epidemic. They had to relearn.

24 May 2011 • love needy-greedies

In 2054, Tempus Fugit Scientific Industries finally found the missing steps to Einstein’s theory and discovered that time in fact was not a constant, but contingent upon your movement through space. Neither was space a constant, but dependent upon your movement through time. By varying these constants, people could literally bridge the ‘mystic veil’ and travel to anywhere and any-when in time and space. While actually penetrating the veil of the past was impossible for the physical body, Tempus Fugit found they could use incorporeal projection. That is, an observer’s bodiless consciousness could be projected to any time or place in human history. Once there, the person would conduct naturalistic observation in real time as an immaterial entity, moving about freely, but unable to interact, and leaving only a spectral shimmer to someone who might observe them. They would never be seen fully, but only perceived momentarily as a shadow or a shimmer. People of the various times and places would declare the Observers as spirits, or angels, or demons, or just a trick of the light from not enough sleep depending on the psyche of the observer. The Tempus Fugit Scientists could live with that. Their first forays into history were to investigate all the classic lovers of history, the archetypes: Romeo and Juliet; Marc Anthony and Cleopatra; John and Yoko; Ernie and Bert, and so on. The initial results were very disappointing. Some of the “World’s greatest love affairs” were fictional only. For example, it turns out that while Bert and Ernie really loved each other, it was more a reflection of the hands that back-loaded them…  Romeo and Juliet were also fictional, although Shakespeare’s infatuation with fourteen-year-olds was not. Scientists learned a lot about the formation of mythos and why those stories were so enduring. They identified numerous factors on the formation of love. Syndromes were named, like the Romeo and Juliet Syndrome, where adolescents’ amorous intentions grow in direct proportion to their parent’s disapproval. At times, the scientists learned more about what NOT to do than anything useful for prolonging relationships. On the other hand, observation and examination of some love affairs were quite revealing. Looking at his many musical works of John Lennon inspired the scientists to try to unveil the iconoclastic and ultimately tragic love between Lennon and Yoko Ono. The “us against the world” factor, the finding of solace and protection in the other, the sheer need that they were together were all quite revealing. Awards were duly awarded. Decisions cast. Toiling passions wrought. They would examine the writings of real lovers, looking for elements of selfless and passionate love. They would scour the old computerized social networks - blogs like HidingPlace and BlunderUpon, find and record the writings, and then travel back to observe those entities. Perhaps the most crucial time was to go back to the beginning of the end, just prior to the the last lovers, back to perhaps one of the strongest paired souls of such love.

In 2054, Tempus Fugit Scientific Industries finally found the missing steps to Einstein’s theory and discovered that time in fact was not a constant, but contingent upon your movement through space. Neither was space a constant, but dependent upon your movement through time. By varying these constants, people could literally bridge the ‘mystic veil’ and travel to anywhere and any-when in time and space.

While actually penetrating the veil of the past was impossible for the physical body, Tempus Fugit found they could use incorporeal projection. That is, an observer’s bodiless consciousness could be projected to any time or place in human history. Once there, the person would conduct naturalistic observation in real time as an immaterial entity, moving about freely, but unable to interact, and leaving only a spectral shimmer to someone who might observe them.

They would never be seen fully, but only perceived momentarily as a shadow or a shimmer. People of the various times and places would declare the Observers as spirits, or angels, or demons, or just a trick of the light from not enough sleep depending on the psyche of the observer. The Tempus Fugit Scientists could live with that.

Their first forays into history were to investigate all the classic lovers of history, the archetypes: Romeo and Juliet; Marc Anthony and Cleopatra; John and Yoko; Ernie and Bert, and so on. The initial results were very disappointing. Some of the “World’s greatest love affairs” were fictional only. For example, it turns out that while Bert and Ernie really loved each other, it was more a reflection of the hands that back-loaded them… 

Romeo and Juliet were also fictional, although Shakespeare’s infatuation with fourteen-year-olds was not. Scientists learned a lot about the formation of mythos and why those stories were so enduring. They identified numerous factors on the formation of love. Syndromes were named, like the Romeo and Juliet Syndrome, where adolescents’ amorous intentions grow in direct proportion to their parent’s disapproval. At times, the scientists learned more about what NOT to do than anything useful for prolonging relationships.

On the other hand, observation and examination of some love affairs were quite revealing. Looking at his many musical works of John Lennon inspired the scientists to try to unveil the iconoclastic and ultimately tragic love between Lennon and Yoko Ono. The “us against the world” factor, the finding of solace and protection in the other, the sheer need that they were together were all quite revealing. Awards were duly awarded. Decisions cast. Toiling passions wrought.

They would examine the writings of real lovers, looking for elements of selfless and passionate love. They would scour the old computerized social networks - blogs like HidingPlace and BlunderUpon, find and record the writings, and then travel back to observe those entities. Perhaps the most crucial time was to go back to the beginning of the end, just prior to the the last lovers, back to perhaps one of the strongest paired souls of such love.

24 May 2011 • love cyber-stalking

Lia heaved a heavy sigh of relief. After a long day of fighting, his hands were deftly easing the knots from her neck. The world had been shut out for the time being, and now it was their time to heal, replenish, and comfort each other. It would be inaccurate to describe Lia as paranoid, but as of late, she felt plagued by an insidious doubt that 1) something was going deeply wrong with the world, 2) that she was being observed, and 3) that perhaps humanity had drifted so far off course from their original form that nothing was what it seemed any more. It would be easy to write off as garden variety guilt from living this far into the 21st century. Perhaps if those feelings weren’t so persistent she would be able to do so. At night, lying in the darkness, she would share her thoughts with him. “But how do you know this is real?” she would ask. “What if this is all a dream?” As a more than mere observer for the meta-physical, his answer was more whimsical: “Well, if this is a dream, it’s the best one I’ve ever had because I’m having it with you… and I don’t want to wake up.” Perhaps she was momentarily mollified by this romantic sentiment. She proceeded straight back to existential wonderment. “But .. I want to know!” she would lament. To the fullest extent of his ability to opine philosophically, he responded, “Well, I know two things: I will die someday, and I’m alive now. So I want to make the best of it.” He punctuated this sentiment with a soulful kiss. Although far from satisfactory resolution, it was the best they could do in this realm of existence. Lying awake spooned in his arms as he snoozed softly behind her, her mind would turn the questions over and over. Eventually she would drift off to a fitful and dreamless sleep. Much of the time she spent hovering in the in-between - neither fully awake, nor fully asleep. This night, however, as she lay drifting in and out of the spectral twilight of consciousness, Lia sensed another presence in the room. Lifting her head slightly and shifting her gaze, she could swear that the shadow in the corner was human-shaped. It had to be a trick of the light. But then again, light and shadow don’t form a head and shoulders…. or move like that…. And the sense of shrouded intelligence lingered. She was alarmed initially - the sort of “what the hell?” startlement of being covertly observed. But quickly the alarm faded; she knew that the presence in the room wasn’t hostile. It was simply watching intently. In her mind, she asked it questions, trying to communicate. “What do you want? Why are you watching us?” The presence made no response, although its posture seemed to suggest surprise at being observed. It shimmered briefly and was gone. Was it a ghost? Was it someone trying to tell her something? There was simply no way to know. But she knew one thing for certain: there, laying the arms of her lover, she was safe. Most people would’ve run screaming from the room and out into the night. Lia however, knew that she was protected and loved - and that was enough. She didn’t need to get up, or even wake him. She lay quietly back down on the pillow, adjusting for his arms about her, and drifted the current to sleep. Perhaps in the morning she might convince herself it was all a dream… and perhaps not.

Lia heaved a heavy sigh of relief. After a long day of fighting, his hands were deftly easing the knots from her neck. The world had been shut out for the time being, and now it was their time to heal, replenish, and comfort each other.

It would be inaccurate to describe Lia as paranoid, but as of late, she felt plagued by an insidious doubt that 1) something was going deeply wrong with the world, 2) that she was being observed, and 3) that perhaps humanity had drifted so far off course from their original form that nothing was what it seemed any more. It would be easy to write off as garden variety guilt from living this far into the 21st century. Perhaps if those feelings weren’t so persistent she would be able to do so. At night, lying in the darkness, she would share her thoughts with him.

“But how do you know this is real?” she would ask. “What if this is all a dream?”

As a more than mere observer for the meta-physical, his answer was more whimsical: “Well, if this is a dream, it’s the best one I’ve ever had because I’m having it with you… and I don’t want to wake up.”

Perhaps she was momentarily mollified by this romantic sentiment. She proceeded straight back to existential wonderment. “But .. I want to know!” she would lament.

To the fullest extent of his ability to opine philosophically, he responded, “Well, I know two things: I will die someday, and I’m alive now. So I want to make the best of it.” He punctuated this sentiment with a soulful kiss.

Although far from satisfactory resolution, it was the best they could do in this realm of existence. Lying awake spooned in his arms as he snoozed softly behind her, her mind would turn the questions over and over. Eventually she would drift off to a fitful and dreamless sleep. Much of the time she spent hovering in the in-between - neither fully awake, nor fully asleep.

This night, however, as she lay drifting in and out of the spectral twilight of consciousness, Lia sensed another presence in the room. Lifting her head slightly and shifting her gaze, she could swear that the shadow in the corner was human-shaped. It had to be a trick of the light. But then again, light and shadow don’t form a head and shoulders…. or move like that…. And the sense of shrouded intelligence lingered.

She was alarmed initially - the sort of “what the hell?” startlement of being covertly observed. But quickly the alarm faded; she knew that the presence in the room wasn’t hostile. It was simply watching intently. In her mind, she asked it questions, trying to communicate. “What do you want? Why are you watching us?” The presence made no response, although its posture seemed to suggest surprise at being observed. It shimmered briefly and was gone. Was it a ghost? Was it someone trying to tell her something? There was simply no way to know.

But she knew one thing for certain: there, laying the arms of her lover, she was safe. Most people would’ve run screaming from the room and out into the night. Lia however, knew that she was protected and loved - and that was enough. She didn’t need to get up, or even wake him. She lay quietly back down on the pillow, adjusting for his arms about her, and drifted the current to sleep. Perhaps in the morning she might convince herself it was all a dream… and perhaps not.

24 May 2011 • love overlap truth

Upon return from the past, the scientists looked agog at each other, jaws dropping from this last journey. They had been seen before, but never perceived, much less communicated with. This subject had sensed them… almost knew them. And unlike all others who caught a glimpse, she didn’t scream or otherwise lose her mind. She had simply let go and stayed focused on what she knew to be real: her life. The scientists had quickly exited the time stream before the subject had a chance to do more, lest they alter history with strange time paradox. But in the moments before they left, they felt an odd regret. They tried to remember her every feature - the delicate bow of her lips; her small, constantly cold hands; her arched eyebrows; the beautiful curve of her cheekbones; the lines of her body as she lay beneath the comforter. And that was the essence of this experience: this woman could bring comfort. This woman could experience the love, the joy, the trust, the vulnerability - all the things that they had forgotten how to feel. And in her presence, they felt it too - strange beginnings of new feelings stirring in their chests. It was almost as if merely being in her presence was healing them. Without question, it was the two lovers together that created this energy… a complete fullness of counterparts, a wholeness of yin and yang. These were the two they would have to re-visit again and again, until the scientists, and the rest of the human race, could get it right. The thought of sharing a triumphant kiss crossed their minds briefly… but flitted away teasingly. It would return in time.

Upon return from the past, the scientists looked agog at each other, jaws dropping from this last journey. They had been seen before, but never perceived, much less communicated with. This subject had sensed them… almost knew them. And unlike all others who caught a glimpse, she didn’t scream or otherwise lose her mind. She had simply let go and stayed focused on what she knew to be real: her life.

The scientists had quickly exited the time stream before the subject had a chance to do more, lest they alter history with strange time paradox. But in the moments before they left, they felt an odd regret. They tried to remember her every feature - the delicate bow of her lips; her small, constantly cold hands; her arched eyebrows; the beautiful curve of her cheekbones; the lines of her body as she lay beneath the comforter.

And that was the essence of this experience: this woman could bring comfort. This woman could experience the love, the joy, the trust, the vulnerability - all the things that they had forgotten how to feel. And in her presence, they felt it too - strange beginnings of new feelings stirring in their chests. It was almost as if merely being in her presence was healing them. Without question, it was the two lovers together that created this energy… a complete fullness of counterparts, a wholeness of yin and yang. These were the two they would have to re-visit again and again, until the scientists, and the rest of the human race, could get it right.

The thought of sharing a triumphant kiss crossed their minds briefly… but flitted away teasingly. It would return in time.


24 May 2011 • supramankind love

Tired beyond belief - sleep like some elusive drug that we’ve binged upon, and now gone dry into states of withdrawal. The hallucinations are growing increasingly real. We must get to bed. At least that’s the plan. But in the times we have together, time is precious - and sleep seems like the ultimate waste. We have never run out of topics - deeply penetrating talks that carry us in-between the moments. And then there are those other times when I cannot contain myself. I see her and am consumed. She says she doesn’t mind. I’m glad, because I don’t think I could hold it in. My eyes roam over her form in a close approximation of what my hands and following mouth want to do. “What?” she asks innocently - the way Little Red Riding Hood might ask of the drooling beast wanting to consume her. Up in the misty dark bedroom, the wind howls through the stripped trees. Now only the evergreens provide cover from the orange glow of the city night sky and the incessant traffic on the highway a stone’s throw away. We put on music - now a cue that makes me grow hard with anticipation. I wait as long as I can - trying to touch her gently before the passion explodes. Long into the night we dance - the soundtrack of our lovemaking varies as we re-define desire. And when I think I couldn’t possibly go on, another smile, another nuzzle or taste, and I’m gone again - riveted to her by a jackhammer need to fill and overflow. We’ll talk. But soon we’ll be hungry again and once again feed the need.

Tired beyond belief - sleep like some elusive drug that we’ve binged upon, and now gone dry into states of withdrawal. The hallucinations are growing increasingly real. We must get to bed. At least that’s the plan.

But in the times we have together, time is precious - and sleep seems like the ultimate waste. We have never run out of topics - deeply penetrating talks that carry us in-between the moments.

And then there are those other times when I cannot contain myself. I see her and am consumed. She says she doesn’t mind. I’m glad, because I don’t think I could hold it in. My eyes roam over her form in a close approximation of what my hands and following mouth want to do. “What?” she asks innocently - the way Little Red Riding Hood might ask of the drooling beast wanting to consume her.

Up in the misty dark bedroom, the wind howls through the stripped trees. Now only the evergreens provide cover from the orange glow of the city night sky and the incessant traffic on the highway a stone’s throw away. We put on music - now a cue that makes me grow hard with anticipation. I wait as long as I can - trying to touch her gently before the passion explodes.

Long into the night we dance - the soundtrack of our lovemaking varies as we re-define desire. And when I think I couldn’t possibly go on, another smile, another nuzzle or taste, and I’m gone again - riveted to her by a jackhammer need to fill and overflow.

We’ll talk. But soon we’ll be hungry again and once again feed the need.

24 May 2011 • tig lust wet pet

With infinite care and meticulous precision, the Alchemist mixed in her hands the ingredients that would create the magic. More than an art, less than a science, she warmed the fluids before application. Less than an art, more than a science, she let loose her magic through superheated hands. The ripples spread out through the body, intensifying at the epicenter of each ancient and magical motion - releasing the frozen energies trapped there since time immemorial. They flowed through her creation and back into her, merging until two became one with a singular intensity - creating a vision of Heaven to which only the best lived could hope to aspire. Toward the end of her incantations, the wand of light now fully luminescent and tumescent - the emotions poured forth like hot oil from a once dormant volcano. Naked - in every sense of the word - it was a rebirth, a renewal, the Big Bang of Creation and Life all encapsulated within the sanctuary of the Alchemist’s magic.

With infinite care and meticulous precision, the Alchemist mixed in her hands the ingredients that would create the magic. More than an art, less than a science, she warmed the fluids before application. Less than an art, more than a science, she let loose her magic through superheated hands.

The ripples spread out through the body, intensifying at the epicenter of each ancient and magical motion - releasing the frozen energies trapped there since time immemorial. They flowed through her creation and back into her, merging until two became one with a singular intensity - creating a vision of Heaven to which only the best lived could hope to aspire.

Toward the end of her incantations, the wand of light now fully luminescent and tumescent - the emotions poured forth like hot oil from a once dormant volcano. Naked - in every sense of the word - it was a rebirth, a renewal, the Big Bang of Creation and Life all encapsulated within the sanctuary of the Alchemist’s magic.


24 May 2011 • Magic and everything

We train in the dark and cold, late, and under the cover of darkness. It is cold - and our bodies are initially reluctant. But the Way of the Warrior doesn’t know temperature. So we push ourselves until the cold no longer exists. Fists pumping and pounding - flesh on bone - pumped with blood. We both want so much to succumb to other fleshly pursuits… but the training needs must come first - lest we have nothing left to give to it. Awkward and forced at first - and then abandonment to the movement and the spirit of the dragon fills our lungs. There are others who dream about the same goals. There are those who seek the same path. But we walk it together - the way is in the training - but as one, it is a cause for celebration - of laughter, of movement, of life.

We train in the dark and cold, late, and under the cover of darkness.

It is cold - and our bodies are initially reluctant. But the Way of the Warrior doesn’t know temperature.

So we push ourselves until the cold no longer exists.

Fists pumping and pounding - flesh on bone - pumped with blood. We both want so much to succumb to other fleshly pursuits… but the training needs must come first - lest we have nothing left to give to it.

Awkward and forced at first - and then abandonment to the movement and the spirit of the dragon fills our lungs.

There are others who dream about the same goals. There are those who seek the same path. But we walk it together - the way is in the training - but as one, it is a cause for celebration -

of laughter, of movement, of life.

19 May 2011 • martial arts

An act of destruction takes no talent- No thought. No sense. An act of creation requires intention- deliberation, and desire. Even so - in the creation of the newly evolved Us- is made with constant renewal and respect and the generosity of heart and soul to say, “I love you wholly, freely and without condition” It means taking the person seriously And not trying to make changes. It means being intimate enough To be vulnerable But trusting that the other would never harm you. It means believing in unselfish love- taking responsibility, admitting mistakes, and loving the person more because of it. It means standing up for your love- despite unyielding drama. It means doing the big things - And all the little things in-between. It means talky-talking all night and still not having enough time. And in giving ourselves entirely we gain the universe.

An act of destruction takes no talent-
No thought. No sense.
An act of creation requires intention-
deliberation, and desire.


Even so - in the creation of the newly evolved Us-
is made with constant renewal and respect
and the generosity of heart and soul
to say, “I love you wholly, freely and without condition”


It means taking the person seriously
And not trying to make changes.


It means being intimate enough
To be vulnerable
But trusting that the other
would never harm you.


It means believing in unselfish love-
taking responsibility, admitting mistakes,
and loving the person more because of it.


It means standing up for your love-
despite unyielding drama.
It means doing the big things -
And all the little things in-between.


It means talky-talking all night
and still not having enough time.


And in giving ourselves entirely
we gain the universe.

13 May 2011 • love

As of late, the world had laid heavily upon her body and brow. Consciousness borne of frustration plagued her thoughts and punishments from times lost were still being enacted within. It was not the moment so much as what it represented - deep inside her emotional landscape, now reshaped, it still bore the wounds of Before. The world had become cold and colorless, like a body rejecting a donated organ that no one wanted now. It was a confirmation of all the worst childhood nightmares. It was an affirmation that this world held nothing for her. And yet, what was there to do? We can trudge on meaninglessly, lifelessly, and weather the storms as best we can. We can suffer the outrageous slings and arrows of others, hoping for a fatal wound so we could depart this mortal coil, but instead suffering only the debilitating and painful kind that wear us down, each step a little more painful than the last… Or we can put our focus on the exceptions… losing expectation of all the life lessons before - we can hope and try again. We shed the clothing of yesterday, and with care, put on our new and finest silken black finery. Hand in hand - we can join with those who can, despite the drama, close the doors and shut the world out for just a little while. Let us immerse ourselves in ideas of each other - the exceptions, the rule-breakers, the love-makers, the dreamers of dreams. In the new world, hidden perhaps purposely, we will see lovers old and new - dancing to the rhythms dedicated to love and strength and renewal. And you and I will join hands and become a part of this. And this joining will linger on inside our hearts and minds because hope is the gift we give each other with every embrace.

As of late, the world had laid heavily upon her body and brow. Consciousness borne of frustration plagued her thoughts and punishments from times lost were still being enacted within. It was not the moment so much as what it represented - deep inside her emotional landscape, now reshaped, it still bore the wounds of Before.

The world had become cold and colorless, like a body rejecting a donated organ that no one wanted now. It was a confirmation of all the worst childhood nightmares. It was an affirmation that this world held nothing for her.

And yet, what was there to do? We can trudge on meaninglessly, lifelessly, and weather the storms as best we can. We can suffer the outrageous slings and arrows of others, hoping for a fatal wound so we could depart this mortal coil, but instead suffering only the debilitating and painful kind that wear us down, each step a little more painful than the last…

Or we can put our focus on the exceptions… losing expectation of all the life lessons before - we can hope and try again. We shed the clothing of yesterday, and with care, put on our new and finest silken black finery.

Hand in hand - we can join with those who can, despite the drama, close the doors and shut the world out for just a little while. Let us immerse ourselves in ideas of each other - the exceptions, the rule-breakers, the love-makers, the dreamers of dreams.

In the new world, hidden perhaps purposely, we will see lovers old and new - dancing to the rhythms dedicated to love and strength and renewal. And you and I will join hands and become a part of this. And this joining will linger on inside our hearts and minds because hope is the gift we give each other with every embrace.

5 May 2011 • life love lia fuckin a

The pounding on the door would not go away. If anything, it was getting louder, more insistent. In her dwelling, as it was, knocks on the door were never a good thing. Pounding was worse. More often than not, she would weather it through until it ceased. Today, would require more. A glimpse through the window revealed a red-haired mutant Ogre, apparently too thick and loutish to understand being ignored. It tried the front of the dwelling. It moved to the back. It tried to scale the walls and bellowed impotently throughout. He caught the attention of the Witch to the North, who gleefully egged him on. Lathica donned her battle armaments and opened the portal. There, putrid, sweat stained and red faced, the Ogre belched its rancid demands at Lathica, encroaching threateningly. Lathica, gentle by nature, released her Warrior side without hesitation and made it very clear that the Ogre should leave. Perhaps it was its relative youth. Perhaps it was Lathica’s tone. Or perhaps it had some dimly recessed instinct of self-preservation. But whatever the reason, it made the best decision of its pathetic life: to turn around and lumber away. A moment longer, and the Flying Monkeys would’ve had to carry its malodorous carcass away in a wheelbarrow. Adrenaline surged in her veins like vinegar. Breathlessly, she closed the portal door and made her way to the kitchen galley. There, amidst the assorted dishes, Lathica found more home invaders - infantile insects seeking room and food. She quickly trapped the ones she could find and began the routing out of their kindred. When sleep-addled Starken arrived, he would find her waging her miniature war. It was time again to go to the marketplace. Lathica checked and re-checked all the battlements about the dwelling. She gave stern warning to the neighborhood younglings - doing what was necessary to catch and hold their attentions: this was not a day for wandering about. The younglings reacted poorly and Lathica left with regret, her head pounding.

The pounding on the door would not go away. If anything, it was getting louder, more insistent. In her dwelling, as it was, knocks on the door were never a good thing. Pounding was worse. More often than not, she would weather it through until it ceased. Today, would require more.

A glimpse through the window revealed a red-haired mutant Ogre, apparently too thick and loutish to understand being ignored. It tried the front of the dwelling. It moved to the back. It tried to scale the walls and bellowed impotently throughout. He caught the attention of the Witch to the North, who gleefully egged him on.

Lathica donned her battle armaments and opened the portal. There, putrid, sweat stained and red faced, the Ogre belched its rancid demands at Lathica, encroaching threateningly. Lathica, gentle by nature, released her Warrior side without hesitation and made it very clear that the Ogre should leave. Perhaps it was its relative youth. Perhaps it was Lathica’s tone. Or perhaps it had some dimly recessed instinct of self-preservation. But whatever the reason, it made the best decision of its pathetic life: to turn around and lumber away. A moment longer, and the Flying Monkeys would’ve had to carry its malodorous carcass away in a wheelbarrow.

Adrenaline surged in her veins like vinegar. Breathlessly, she closed the portal door and made her way to the kitchen galley. There, amidst the assorted dishes, Lathica found more home invaders - infantile insects seeking room and food. She quickly trapped the ones she could find and began the routing out of their kindred. When sleep-addled Starken arrived, he would find her waging her miniature war.

It was time again to go to the marketplace. Lathica checked and re-checked all the battlements about the dwelling. She gave stern warning to the neighborhood younglings - doing what was necessary to catch and hold their attentions: this was not a day for wandering about. The younglings reacted poorly and Lathica left with regret, her head pounding.

28 April 2011 • hassles tig

Stopping for food and drink, Starken and Lathica discussed and commiserated. The lives of Halflings were never simple - and theirs seemed infinitely complex and withering at times. Throughout the marketplace the two shared their sorrows and strategies with each other. When they returned, the wicked Bitchlings sat like gargoyles vomiting silent curses, but too cowardly to do anything but retreat with reproachful glares. Starken’s day journey would take him away for a time. He would return, but for the nonce, he would depart as was their custom. Really, nothing in their physical reality had changed from day’s break to this time - but they both felt better. For like true warriors they had learned two very important lessons. First - “Fall down eight times, get up nine.” Failure is not falling down, but refusing to get up. The world will give you obstacles - and you will either use the resistance to build muscle, or simply succumb to it. Physical or mental challenges - it always worked the same way. Use your muscle or become a victim. Use your brain or become an idiot. The second lesson was this: A single beam cannot support a house. Life can never give security; it can only offer opportunity. Together, two may best these obstacles - with perseverance, with patience, and most importantly with each other. Defeat for these will never be the bitter brew that it is for others, because they would refuse to drink.

Stopping for food and drink, Starken and Lathica discussed and commiserated. The lives of Halflings were never simple - and theirs seemed infinitely complex and withering at times. Throughout the marketplace the two shared their sorrows and strategies with each other. When they returned, the wicked Bitchlings sat like gargoyles vomiting silent curses, but too cowardly to do anything but retreat with reproachful glares.

Starken’s day journey would take him away for a time. He would return, but for the nonce, he would depart as was their custom. Really, nothing in their physical reality had changed from day’s break to this time - but they both felt better.

For like true warriors they had learned two very important lessons. First - “Fall down eight times, get up nine.” Failure is not falling down, but refusing to get up. The world will give you obstacles - and you will either use the resistance to build muscle, or simply succumb to it. Physical or mental challenges - it always worked the same way. Use your muscle or become a victim. Use your brain or become an idiot.

The second lesson was this: A single beam cannot support a house. Life can never give security; it can only offer opportunity. Together, two may best these obstacles - with perseverance, with patience, and most importantly with each other. Defeat for these will never be the bitter brew that it is for others, because they would refuse to drink.

28 April 2011 • tig fuckin a

Thunderer held the wooden plank firmly in his massive hands, sat and raised it over his head. “I want you to execute a Hammer Fist on this,” he said to Shao Chi. Shao merely looked at him in disbelief. She knew from hard won experience that hitting wood hurt. Master knew that. Master knew that they had just endured one of their more grueling training sessions. How could he possibly be serious? Earlier in the week, Lei Kung, The Thunderer, had taken Shao to a new training ground. This facility was a hidden recess and reserved for only a select few. Inside, it was a martial artistic fantasy made real; all the resources, room, implements and weapons were there for their use. They had taken full advantage of the space using it to its full potential, and this morning when Shao awakened, every inch of her body screamed in protest. It was almost as if during the night, muscle and bone had turned to beleaguered and fragile wood, and joints were filled with broken glass. Places where Shao Chi had not known muscles had existed bellowed in ache with every movement. Thunderer shaped bruises lined her arms and legs, back and torso. Of course, Lei Kung would simply smile and say, “The ache is to remind you that you are alive!” Yes, because death could certainly not be this painful. Nonetheless, when training time came around again and Lei Kung showed up with his weapons bag packed, Shao knew it was time again to be strong. This was, in fact, part of the Kung Tao Do training method - to fight and train in all conditions, regardless of mental or physical state. Preparedness required that you come to the fight ready no matter what - that you rise to the challenge again and again and again. “Only time and effort bring proficiency” Thunderer would say implying that there are no short cuts to becoming effective. And that is why, “the best kept secrets keep themselves.” Fighters fight. They do not complain, or surrender, or wait for the right moment to engage. People who do not train under every condition will never learn this lesson. Or put another way, “anyone can sail a ship when the sea is calm.” So despite her body’s fatigue, Shao prepared herself. They had begun the session with very ancient whole body Kung Fu, the kind that requires coordination and use of every muscle in tandem. They had progressed through the overcoming of obstacles, in itself both a physical and a mental challenge. Crossing the room exercises, weapons and then unarmed combat and finally grappling all ensued. Cumulatively, it was a training session that left Shao’s body trembling with effort and adrenaline and almost empty of energy or even thought. And now, after all of that, Lei Kung wanted her to hit a wooden plank with her bare hand? The look on Thunderer’s face was unmistakable. There would be no argument. Shao would simply obey master’s instructions at the potential sacrifice of her own right hand. Shao Chi took a moment to look at her small hand almost as if to say good-bye. She raised her arm, made a fist, and brought it down in a blur of motion into the plank gripped between Thunderer’s meaty fists. Flesh met wood. There was a sickening snapping sound, the distinctive crack of something breaking, and then mercifully, it was over. Shao stood in shocked surprise at the lack of feeling in her hand. She reluctantly raised it up to her face to see that it had remained in tact. She looked down in disbelief at the remnants of the plank still clutched in Lei Kung’s hands. Not only had Shao snapped the board, but the force of her blow had punched out the middle of the plank, breaking it into three pieces. Shao stood in astonished silence, looking to Lei Kung for some explanation.


Thunderer held the wooden plank firmly in his massive hands, sat and raised it over his head. “I want you to execute a Hammer Fist on this,” he said to Shao Chi.

Shao merely looked at him in disbelief. She knew from hard won experience that hitting wood hurt. Master knew that. Master knew that they had just endured one of their more grueling training sessions. How could he possibly be serious?

Earlier in the week, Lei Kung, The Thunderer, had taken Shao to a new training ground. This facility was a hidden recess and reserved for only a select few. Inside, it was a martial artistic fantasy made real; all the resources, room, implements and weapons were there for their use. They had taken full advantage of the space using it to its full potential, and this morning when Shao awakened, every inch of her body screamed in protest.

It was almost as if during the night, muscle and bone had turned to beleaguered and fragile wood, and joints were filled with broken glass. Places where Shao Chi had not known muscles had existed bellowed in ache with every movement. Thunderer shaped bruises lined her arms and legs, back and torso. Of course, Lei Kung would simply smile and say, “The ache is to remind you that you are alive!” Yes, because death could certainly not be this painful.

Nonetheless, when training time came around again and Lei Kung showed up with his weapons bag packed, Shao knew it was time again to be strong. This was, in fact, part of the Kung Tao Do training method - to fight and train in all conditions, regardless of mental or physical state. Preparedness required that you come to the fight ready no matter what - that you rise to the challenge again and again and again. “Only time and effort bring proficiency” Thunderer would say implying that there are no short cuts to becoming effective. And that is why, “the best kept secrets keep themselves.”

Fighters fight. They do not complain, or surrender, or wait for the right moment to engage. People who do not train under every condition will never learn this lesson. Or put another way, “anyone can sail a ship when the sea is calm.”

So despite her body’s fatigue, Shao prepared herself.

They had begun the session with very ancient whole body Kung Fu, the kind that requires coordination and use of every muscle in tandem. They had progressed through the overcoming of obstacles, in itself both a physical and a mental challenge. Crossing the room exercises, weapons and then unarmed combat and finally grappling all ensued. Cumulatively, it was a training session that left Shao’s body trembling with effort and adrenaline and almost empty of energy or even thought. And now, after all of that, Lei Kung wanted her to hit a wooden plank with her bare hand?

The look on Thunderer’s face was unmistakable. There would be no argument. Shao would simply obey master’s instructions at the potential sacrifice of her own right hand. Shao Chi took a moment to look at her small hand almost as if to say good-bye.

She raised her arm, made a fist, and brought it down in a blur of motion into the plank gripped between Thunderer’s meaty fists. Flesh met wood. There was a sickening snapping sound, the distinctive crack of something breaking, and then mercifully, it was over.

Shao stood in shocked surprise at the lack of feeling in her hand. She reluctantly raised it up to her face to see that it had remained in tact. She looked down in disbelief at the remnants of the plank still clutched in Lei Kung’s hands. Not only had Shao snapped the board, but the force of her blow had punched out the middle of the plank, breaking it into three pieces. Shao stood in astonished silence, looking to Lei Kung for some explanation.

24 April 2011 • martial arts

By way of explanation, a large smile spread across Thunderer’s face. “Well done, Little Spirit. Had this board been a person, your blow would have been a compound fracture.” Shao was still in denial. It had to be a trick. Thunderer handed her the boards. “Take these back to the temple as a souvenir.” “It has to be a trick! You tricked me! The board was already broken!” protested Shao, reflexively reluctant to believe in her own power. “You broke the board,” she continued searching for some other explanation. Thunderer only laughed and suggested they pack up their belongings for the journey home. Shao would not desist, however. With a roll of his eyes, Thunderer went back into the storeroom to produce another plank. He handed it to Shao for inspection. “Look at this. Does it look fake? Rap it with your knuckles. Does it not hurt?” Shao did as she was told. And yes, it did hurt. She nodded her agreement. “Now break it. Use your elbow this time.” Having had time to inspect the board and to think about how it would hurt had given Shao pause. She reluctantly approached the second plank the Thunderer gripped for her. Shao drew back her arm, and with trepidation, threw her elbow into the board. *Plonk* “Ouch!” said Shao. The second board had confirmed it; it was a trick. She was not capable of penetrating wood. Shao began to rub her now throbbing elbow. “Do it again!” bellowed Thunderer (earning his title once more). “Focus!” he commanded, not giving Shao a chance to think. The training kicked in. Without another moment for hesitation, Shao Chi lined up her heavy, tired and now throbbing arm, wound backward and struck. This time, however, she didn’t think at all or seek to break the board, so much as sail completely through it - which is precisely what her elbow did. Shao’s mouth hung open. Lei Kung merely handed the pieces back to Shao to add to the growing pile of lumber, and reached for his shoes. “How did you know, Sifu?” asked Shao. “I know how much force it takes to break a plank. I know hard you hit,” replied Lei Kung. They would repeat this question and this answer several times on the journey home, although with each iteration, a bigger grin would grow on Shao Chi’s cherubic face. Lei Kung smiled only inwardly and kept his thoughts to himself knowing that this particular lesson was best learned if the student came to the conclusions on her own: Limitations are but boundaries created inside our minds. Sometimes we just need proof of our abilities just to see how far we’ve come. In time, as the Little Spirit (“Shao Chi”) became a might oaken Big Spirit, (“Da Chi”) Shao would begin to trust in her abilities, and more over, when the time comes, not-think, but act and BELIEVE. For with belief, no evidence is necessary; without belief, no evidence will suffice. For now, Shao had some evidence with which she could break free from her acorn. Back at the temple, Shao placed the board fragments reverently on her study table. “Would you sign these?” she asked Lei Kung, producing a brush. Lei diligently numbered the board fragments, added the lunar year date, and proudly wrote Shao’s name beneath it. Thunderer was very proud of his Little Spirit. Like a fist through wood, Shao Chi’s spirit had penetrated a seemingly impossible obstacle. The breakthrough was of mind, body and essence.

By way of explanation, a large smile spread across Thunderer’s face. “Well done, Little Spirit. Had this board been a person, your blow would have been a compound fracture.” Shao was still in denial. It had to be a trick. Thunderer handed her the boards. “Take these back to the temple as a souvenir.”

“It has to be a trick! You tricked me! The board was already broken!” protested Shao, reflexively reluctant to believe in her own power. “You broke the board,” she continued searching for some other explanation. Thunderer only laughed and suggested they pack up their belongings for the journey home. Shao would not desist, however.

With a roll of his eyes, Thunderer went back into the storeroom to produce another plank. He handed it to Shao for inspection. “Look at this. Does it look fake? Rap it with your knuckles. Does it not hurt?” Shao did as she was told. And yes, it did hurt. She nodded her agreement. “Now break it. Use your elbow this time.”

Having had time to inspect the board and to think about how it would hurt had given Shao pause. She reluctantly approached the second plank the Thunderer gripped for her. Shao drew back her arm, and with trepidation, threw her elbow into the board.

*Plonk*

“Ouch!” said Shao. The second board had confirmed it; it was a trick. She was not capable of penetrating wood. Shao began to rub her now throbbing elbow.

“Do it again!” bellowed Thunderer (earning his title once more). “Focus!” he commanded, not giving Shao a chance to think.

The training kicked in. Without another moment for hesitation, Shao Chi lined up her heavy, tired and now throbbing arm, wound backward and struck. This time, however, she didn’t think at all or seek to break the board, so much as sail completely through it - which is precisely what her elbow did.

Shao’s mouth hung open. Lei Kung merely handed the pieces back to Shao to add to the growing pile of lumber, and reached for his shoes. “How did you know, Sifu?” asked Shao.

“I know how much force it takes to break a plank. I know hard you hit,” replied Lei Kung. They would repeat this question and this answer several times on the journey home, although with each iteration, a bigger grin would grow on Shao Chi’s cherubic face.

Lei Kung smiled only inwardly and kept his thoughts to himself knowing that this particular lesson was best learned if the student came to the conclusions on her own: Limitations are but boundaries created inside our minds. Sometimes we just need proof of our abilities just to see how far we’ve come.

In time, as the Little Spirit (“Shao Chi”) became a might oaken Big Spirit, (“Da Chi”) Shao would begin to trust in her abilities, and more over, when the time comes, not-think, but act and BELIEVE. For with belief, no evidence is necessary; without belief, no evidence will suffice. For now, Shao had some evidence with which she could break free from her acorn.

Back at the temple, Shao placed the board fragments reverently on her study table. “Would you sign these?” she asked Lei Kung, producing a brush. Lei diligently numbered the board fragments, added the lunar year date, and proudly wrote Shao’s name beneath it.

Thunderer was very proud of his Little Spirit. Like a fist through wood, Shao Chi’s spirit had penetrated a seemingly impossible obstacle.

The breakthrough was of mind, body and essence.

24 April 2011 • martial arts

I am like the she-wolf.I broke with the packAnd fled to the mountainsTired of the plain…. Poor little tame sheep in a flock!Don’t fear the she-wolf, she will not harm you.But also don’t belittle her, her teeth are sharpAnd in the forest she learned to be sly. Alfonsina Storni, 1882–1938Argentine poet

I am like the she-wolf.
I broke with the pack
And fled to the mountains
Tired of the plain….

Poor little tame sheep in a flock!
Don’t fear the she-wolf, she will not harm you.
But also don’t belittle her, her teeth are sharp
And in the forest she learned to be sly.

Alfonsina Storni, 1882–1938
Argentine poet

16 April 2011

False face must hide what the false heart doth know. Macbeth, 1. 7 We watched Catfish unfolding, huddled together for comfort, bracing against what we knew would be the inevitable outcome of an Idealized dream ne’er-cum-true. Suspense hitching our weight, ratcheting tension, like the slow cranking of a roller coaster to its initial and highest peak, knowing that soon, with the protagonist, we would be spiraling downward at a breakneck speed. The masks behind the masks - always prepared with another story to support the last fabrication - were all too familiar. How could we not relate, when this experience so paralleled our own? Although our empathy quickly evaporated, turning away when the protagonists didn’t realize their own rationalizations - their own pride was the mask for their faults. For our own sakes, however, this lesson would not go unlearned. We returned to where we had began our evening - our place of quiet, of sanctuary, and feeling quite agitated, I knew that sleep would elude me lest I shift my focus. I gazed longingly at my love, her small hands gently stroking the scrabble on my cheek she so adores, and I knew that this was the place of fullness, completion and circularity: in her arms. And so as I allowed sleep to take me, we ended the evening as we began - a lover’s embrace and this time, my arms filled her body, my lungs filled with her scent, and my heart filled with an unearthly gratitude knowing I had more to be thankful for than I could ever truly express.

False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
Macbeth, 1. 7

We watched Catfish unfolding, huddled together for comfort, bracing against what we knew would be the inevitable outcome of an Idealized dream ne’er-cum-true. Suspense hitching our weight, ratcheting tension, like the slow cranking of a roller coaster to its initial and highest peak, knowing that soon, with the protagonist, we would be spiraling downward at a breakneck speed.

The masks behind the masks - always prepared with another story to support the last fabrication - were all too familiar. How could we not relate, when this experience so paralleled our own? Although our empathy quickly evaporated, turning away when the protagonists didn’t realize their own rationalizations - their own pride was the mask for their faults. For our own sakes, however, this lesson would not go unlearned.

We returned to where we had began our evening - our place of quiet, of sanctuary, and feeling quite agitated, I knew that sleep would elude me lest I shift my focus. I gazed longingly at my love, her small hands gently stroking the scrabble on my cheek she so adores, and I knew that this was the place of fullness, completion and circularity: in her arms. And so as I allowed sleep to take me, we ended the evening as we began - a lover’s embrace and this time, my arms filled her body, my lungs filled with her scent, and my heart filled with an unearthly gratitude knowing I had more to be thankful for than I could ever truly express.

9 April 2011 • tig internet asshats base manipulation cyber-stalking every kind of creep pathetic