dude's log

earthdate 07.13.2008.06:58.38

It's too real - my first encounter hangs around my waist like the 3000 calorie meals that kept me at home during the last years of my first marriage. By then, all I had in common with the mother of my two legged children was a fondness for food.

Like my hankering for another helping of Mexican rice, or a few more entomatadas with queso fresco crumbs liberally applied for contrast - white pebbles on a pool of liquid rubies - the desire to "see it again" kept me and my angel of mercy busy sliding our chairs from our desks away from the only person who could see that we were doing anything out of the ordinary.

Mrs. Hurt. Oh, how she came to embody her name! Puritanical authority in its purest form - perched on her elevated platform, behind a massive oak desk, busily dotting her "i"s and crossing her "t"s, plotting who knows what - another drill in case of nuclear attack?

Meanwhile, I was doting my eyes across my new and very pretty classmate's tease, which all began innocently enough, shortly after we took up our new seating arrangements, when she asked me:

"Do you want to see my pussy?"

Make no mistake - there wasn't a more naive or sheltered child in the universe than I was at that moment, when I wondered aloud:

"You have a kitty with you?"

"No, I said my pussy - look!"

She silently slid her metal legged chair on its chrome circular footings a few inches to her right, since our 4-seater desks had been designed no doubt for just such an occasion. Nothing and no one was between her and the long wall a few feet away, and as we were at the front of the class, no one but I had any way of seeing what she was doing. I followed her lead, my eyes riveted on whatever it was she had in her lap.

She was wearing a checkered dress, typical for those days in the mid-sixties, and she had NO SOCKS on her feet - unlike every other child in the school. As soon as my chair stopped moving, she glanced over at the teacher, whose head was fixed and dialated with lesson plans, then suddenly, she lifted the material from her dress spread her legs, and pulled her white panties down. On that day, I saw for the first time a girl's "pussy."

How many days this went on before my next "lesson" I cannot recall - other than it came to a crashing and unexpected end, far too soon. The new word came with her new question:

"Do you want to fuck?"

"Fuck?"

Turning this strange word over in my mind, I said it again, for the very second time.

"What does 'fuck' mean?"

The art of seduction has been a lifetime learning curve for me as I near 50, but in her world, at age 7, she must have been incredulous that such a clueless Calhoun could still be among the sophisticates that filled her social circles.

"Why don't you go ask Mrs. Hurt?"

She was, unbeknownst to me, only kidding. Surely she was expecting me to feign ignorance, get up in pretense of doing as she suggested, and return to the serious business at hand - setting up the rendezvous for sex at seven.

Instead, I did what any right-thinking doofus would do - after all, what are teachers there for, anyway?

"Who told you that word?"

Danger snuck up on me so quickly I didn't have time to say anything but the truth - using my dry finger to help identify the source of my expanding vocabulary. That was the last time I recall seeing my young exhibitionist friend, at least in class.

There was one other occasion, though, a few years later, when we crossed paths at the grocery store. My grandpa had me in tow, and she came running up and grabbed my arm and said

"Hey Carlos, remember me?"

Little did I know then, but that was one human being who I'd never, ever forget.

dude's log

earthdate 07.04.2008.19:33:04

hooray for our side! go team USA!! support our troops!!!

fuck that shit - we've got a war on tyranny to fight, and the only troops I support are those who stand up to PretzleDent Bushit and say "HELL NO, I WON'T GO" - troops like:

U.S. Army 1st Lieutenant Ehren K. Watada

US Army Reservist Sgt. Matthis Chiroux

the war includes securing the impeachment of those two miserable fucks Bushit and Chain Em, which can be done by signing the petition to get BUSHit at

http://kucinich.us

and Chain Em Cheney at

http://www.wexlerwantshearings.com/

let's not forget, the war on the war on drugs!

go barry!

go roland!

barry cooper's fight against the assholes who want to regulate us from the safest drug of all - cannibis - is beginning to take on legs, but he needs your help. go to his site: http://nevergetbusted.com

psilocybin, the drug in "shrooms," is being investigated and the benefits reported here:

http://www.physorg.com/news134110402.html

the researchers' report is in the Journal of Psychopharmacology, on the latest study, led by psychopharmacologist Roland Griffiths of Johns Hopkins
University in Baltimore, Maryland. Participants said they had a sense of
greater truth or a sense of the unity of all things while on the drug, and it remained highly significant to most of them over a year later - 58% rated it among the five most personally meaningful experiences of their lives and 67% rated it among the five most spiritually significant.

no wonder all the good and helpful drugs are illegal. anything helping us to discover the truth - and set us free - cannot be tolerated by The Man.

Happy 4th, Sheeple!

dude's log

earthdate 06.25.2008 21:16:49

Driving back from A-town, I found the Tolle road in my friend's car, belonged to the previous owner and thus I acquired two audio books: The Power of NOW and Gateways to NOW.

Time permitted for one CD, and not knowing better, I grabbed the Gateways and popped in CD1. The reader was Eckhart Tolle himself, who I later learned is another of Oprah Winfrey's annointed ones. Move over, Dr. Phil, E.T. phones home.

Instantly, I knew I was hearing someone who had undergone the same transformation as I. Now, with this for backup, I could explain to my circle of squares just why I'm so complacent about matters they deem to be of paramount importance, and why I'm so facinated with matters they find trivial, wasteful, boring, etc.

For hours at a time, I'll hike the greenbelt area behind where I live, returning with pictures or cuttings from plants. Then, I spend hours online in order to identify and learn what uses they may yield be they medicinal, nutritional, or ornamental.

When I cross the fence from our property into the hundred acre greenbelt (which is rarely attended by humans) all sense of civilization is lost, save for the debris left in the draws after the last big rain - bottles and cans, broken low-water crossing saw horses, and a host of odd things made by humans.

I've learned to walk quietly - removing my zorries for most of the way - and as I cross the train tracks and move deeper into the woods, the last sounds of human activity (other than my own) disappear. Into my mind come the sounds of birds singing, chirping, flittering in brambles and brushy patches, bullfrogs and crickets at night, and at all hours, the snorts of startled deer, followed by the crackling of leaves as their hooves mark the path of their escape.

With my companion - a year old Shih Tsu named Snoopy - I wander, wonder and welcome it all.

Now is forever.

Jill Bolte Taylor, M.D., had some answers as to why I felt the way I do as I crossed the line (fence-line). You can hear what she says about life after her stroke at age 37, on the radio show Fresh Air, with Terry Gross (click here: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=91861432)