Cleansed by Fire, Part 47

For the previous installment of this story, click here. 

Or, visit the Cleansed By Fire portal page for comprehensive links to previous chapter installments and additional backstory and information about the novel.

Cleansed by Fire

Chapter 8, Framed in Pain

“So, Demus, what is your assessment of the scene?” Ather asked.

“A right hackety mangle that yar,” Demus replied.

“Once more, with less of the colorful local patois.”

“Pah-TWAW?” Demus mocked. “Yeh’ll clamber that meh lipping is hard to pigeon and yeh squeak out a banger like ‘patois’ in this clime?”

Ather pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Demus, it’s been years, I know, and I’m sure you want nothing better than to twist me off a bit just for laughs after so long, but I simply don’t have the…”

“Right smart hindbrain twaddlin’ yeh cervical and it cain’t handle meh patois?” Demus was grinning now, something midway between a rictus and a smirk.

“Yes, Demus, my hindbrain is functioning perfectly well. I would simply prefer not to have it load up a lexicon of backhome-twit jargon to conduct our conversation,” Ather responded with his own grin, which managed to mix annoyance with a trace of amusement. “Carrying on a conversation with you is tiring enough, as I recall. Doing so and listening to the hindbrain whisper translations to me at the same time seems like a circle of Hell to add to Dante’s Inferno.”

“Yeh ain’t gazed nothin’ Dante scribed since we ‘tended secondary school a’gether, yeh tonne-assed effeme,” Demus sniped. “Couldn’t tell me how many circles of Hell heh scribed on if yeh life hinged on it.”

Ather started to speak again and Demus waved him off. “I’ll tone down meh canto if’it please yeh then, Ather. Make meh speech all boring like yeh urbs enjoy s’much. I was telling yeh, if’n I might return to yeh first question, that I think the scene is a godawful frigful mess.”

“If you want a consulting fee for this little visit, you’ll need to be a tad more specific, Demus.”

“This femme yeh’re trackin’ took down this ugly hulk and worked on his ear canal with the handle of a spoon like sh’wuz rooting fer truffles,” Demus noted. “Then sheh turned it the fuck ‘round and started cracking off bits a’skull inside. An’ when sheh finally finished with him, sheh slit ‘im throat something slow and methodical. Either heh wronged her bad or she was workin’ ‘im over for some kinda information, I ken.”

“Or both,” Ather suggested.

“Or both,” Demus agreed. “Pretty sure she was fishing at least though. Smells like a torture-with-purpose t’me. Fishing for a lead of some sort, I ‘spect.”

“Lovely bait she uses, eh?” Ather said, picking up the tagged and plasz-wrapped spoon and examining the bits of flesh and blood still clinging to it. “Wonder what she caught with it.”

“Well, the hulk here idn’t like to tell us, seeing his soul hopped on,” Demus notes. “Hain’t got a meme-loop implanted in’im, so we cain’t play back his final minutes neither. Hired a ghouler to scrape his cortex a bit but nothin’ coherent from it ‘scept a vague sensation of a name at the end. Could be a place or could be a person. Could be the femme told ‘im a name or could be heh told her. Too muddled to know f’sure.”

“On the sunnyside, at least the note that was stickin’ out’a his business sure tell us who she hoped to be gettin’ the corpse instead’a us,” Demus continued. “Near’s we can tell, she shoved it in post-mortem. Guess she has a merciful streak in’er.”

That note, previously wrapped around a thin stylus, had long since been removed from the corpse’s orifice and encased in plasz like the spoon. Ather didn’t need to look at it again; the note was short and committed to memory: Stavin, I’ll be pushing a great deal deeper when I catch up with you. And I’ll be filling all of your holes. Might make a few new ones, too.

“Word to the wise, Demus,” Ather commented absently. “If you run across Maree Deschaine, I would strongly suggest a double-think before doing anything that might cause her to bear any lasting animosity.”

***

From a very safe distance, with an ocular to her eyes, Maree observed the milling local constables and handful of templars that had followed in Ather’s wake.

He was here only because she wanted him to be. She fondled the small disc in her pocket. The shielded container that held her actual IDentipod rather than one she had pilfered from a corpse and put into her wrist days before. The container that she had flipped open for just a moment as she passed an active security pylon elsewhere in the city. So that for just a moment, Maree Deschaine registered as being here—then gone again.

The kind of thing that might happen from time to time if one was carrying a device to block out the signals from one’s IDentipod, and it had a little hiccup in its system routines.

Soon, Ather would be having his pets scouring the records for anyone in town who was carrying a passport because they would be assuming that Maree was masquerading as someone from outside the Union, and still had her own IDentipod, and that her defenses had slipped for a moment at just the wrong time and wrong place.

They wouldn’t be assuming that she had someone else’s ‘pod, so they wouldn’t be trying to cross-reference the ‘pods of women who had been both here and in Houston recently. As Debrah-Ayn Baylor’s IDentipod had been, Maree thought as she absently rubbed the small scar where she had opened her wrist.

But doing a flay-dance with Ather’s mind wasn’t the point. She wanted him to get together with local law enforcement and see that little note, hence her two anonymous calls earlier today about a ruckus in the cargo center. So that he would know whom she was hunting.

After all, finding Stavin would be very difficult indeed, and Ogre had been helpful, but not precise. Getting Ather to help as he tried to track her down through her own quarry—and following behind him for a while—could make the task so much easier.

A shame that Stavin would never see the note though. I do so want the wyvern-fucker to be squirming before I find him.

(To read the next installment of this story, click here.)

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Sex With a Ball and Chain

Yeah, I’m going to talk about some serious S&M stuff today, as you can tell from the headline.

Oh, wait, guess not.

In actuality, I am going to talk about the marvels of married sex—at least as I see them. And to me, sex with my wife is anything but an idea of being bogged down in some routine. She is no “ball and chain.” She isn’t my “old lady.” She isn’t the “same cereal that I have to eat every day.”

I should note that this post was inspired by Big Man’s recent post at his blog, which not only put me in mind of sex with one’s spouse but reminded me how long it’s been since I addressed a sexual topic around here.

Now, like Big Man, I’m all for abstaining from sex until marriage. Not that I did it myself, nor will most folks, but I still advocate it. Also, my view on “abstaining” from sex is a bit more liberal than some, as evidenced by my Covering the Bases posts, part 1 and part 2.

But without going into what constitutes sex/fornication/etc. in this post, why do I think sex within marriage is so great? Am I a prude? Do I simply wish to deny others the fornication I enjoyed in life, however limited it may have been? Am I a hypocrite? Am I reverting to my Catholic roots?

None of the above. To put it simply, I think that sex with one’s spouse is the best sex one can experience.

Now, caveats must apply here, I admit. First, I haven’t had some vast sexual roster in my past—Deac’s “little black book” would have been more like a pamphlet. I have had very few sexual partners and the bulk of my premarital sex was with the future Mrs. Blue. Also, my observations are mostly from my own experience and a little bit from the experiences of some of my close friends.

Also, I hope it goes without saying that good sex with one’s spouse pretty much requires that there be a healthy relationship. Love. Mutual respect. Connection. Etc. Also, there are people who may not be legally wed who are, for all intents and purposes, a commited spousal pair—I’ve known and/or been related to more than a few people in such relationships. Just like I think it is possible for some people to be born again under Jesus and not even know it, I think it’s possible to be married without a pair of wedding bands. (But, I like the idea of people making it official, personally.)

With all those very broad caveats in mind, I will say that I think good married sex will beat good premarital sex in almost all cases.

I’m not saying that sex I had before marriage wasn’t good. But what I’m saying is that sex within the marital bed, or in the marital living room, or on top of the marital sewing table, or in the marital gazebo in the backyard during a sultry summer evening…mmmmm…um, where was I again? Oh, yeah, sex with one’s spouse, at least in my experience and limited research, involves far more than a physical coupling.

Far more than an emotional one, for that matter.

In sex with a spouse, I believe it is possible to connect with that person on a spiritual level. I believe that this kind of sex can sustain a pair of people and energize them and strengthen their relationship in ways that sex outside of a commited marital relationship cannot.

Not that I expect these insights to spawn some grand abstinence movement among the unmarried folks. But for those of you who do get a chance to compare the two, I wonder if you’ll find, as I do, that nothing beats sex with the “old ball and chain.”

The Fast and the Spurious by Miz Pink

Like the headline? Tryin’ to compete with Deke for the wordplay.

Anyhoo…remember the good ole days when the folks on Wall Street and in the banks and at the tops of big ole companies just plain lied to us’all?

Ya know when they used to let us think they had everything under control and that life would be okay for all of us and our 401 K accounts?

I’m thinking I liked that better than them getting bailout money now and just blowing it on themselves or just plain refusing to tell anyone…even the gubment who handed them the cashola…how they are spending it. It’s like they aren’t even pretending anymore. It’s give us money so we don’t have to be homeless and forget about the rest of ya.

Maybe it’s a throwback to my younger days of worse judgement in men but I find myself long for the fast-talking, fast-moving hustlers who at least made us feel good while they did us wrong. Now they aren’t even trying to make a pretense. *Sigh*

Cleansed by Fire, Part 46

For the previous installment of this story, click here. 

Or, visit the Cleansed By Fire portal page for comprehensive links to previous chapter installments and additional backstory and information about the novel.

Cleansed by Fire

Chapter 7, Out of the Ashes (continued)

Much of the late afternoon and evening had been spent in war council with Amaranth. His brain was still reeling from discussions about whether to hire mercenaries to round out the UFC’s own security forces and very modest militia. The notorious and sadistic sanguinom teams that hired out from the Black Reaches—displaced near-messianic warlords and their zealot followers. Ronin parties, kanji militia, khmeri warhires or sunset squads from the Asian Republics. Ishmaeli hirebrands. Isaacian tactical coteries. The Europa Freelance Legion. All of those and more were now considered viable options, even though some of them posed the possibility of unnecessary collateral damage, potential double-dealing and war atrocities.

But the Universal Faith Catholic, unlike the Vatican, was oriented overwhelmingly toward religion and social work—it did not have at its disposal an entire nation with a standing military—and the UFC maintained what martial forces it had only as a defense against the Vatican’s aggressions. But those aggressions hadn’t been on any scale approaching this for more than a century-and-a-half. Clearly, more guns would be needed from outside the UFC and outside Mars.

So it was that Gregory fell into bed and drifted into deep sleep but uneasy dreams of cautiously navigating tunnels under Mars with blood-soaked floors and gore-covered walls, filled with ravaged bodies that bore too much resemblance to people he loved or for whom he was responsible. And he was uncomfortably aware of sticky blood on his own hands and shirt.

At one point, he looked down a side passage and saw his eldest son, Gavin—wearing the cardinal vestments of the Vatican’s Red Orders—casually slitting his own mother’s throat while she calmly waggled an admonishing finger at him. Then without transition Gregory was sitting at a small table while Daniel Coxe dealt them both some cards. Gregory tried to tell him he didn’t play deceiver very well, but it was so hard to speak with the blade jutting from his throat…

In the midst of whimpering slumber and sweaty sheets, Gregory felt a body wrap itself around him, and he woke suddenly, turning and pressing himself into the familiar contours. His face pressed into the tight curls of Amaranth’s hair, smelling the tang of tobbaq smoke. She must have been up far later than he had, he sensed; whereas he took his stimulants in liquid form—caff or strongtea—she preferred hers from a nicstick.

There was something far hungrier than normal, even frantic, in her probing and touches. Amaranth seemed to be searching for something, and in a primal part of his brain, Gregory quickly sensed what it was. How many hours had she been up past him, with her responsibilities so much more heavily geared toward defense and security? How many bloody scenarios had she had to consider with her staff after Gregory’s part in the discussions had ceased? What concessions to her conscience had she needed to make to protect the people she was charged to defend?

She was hunting for life. She was probing for love. She was seeking his heart with a hunter’s obsessiveness and a lover’s devotion. She was starving for something uncorrupted and sustaining in the midst of chaos and fear. His own blood responded and his mind and body began to hunt for the very same things from her.

Their hands sought each other as if they were trying to commit every centimeter of the other’s body to memory. Tongues and lips delved and darted and lingered as if to burn the taste and texture of themselves into the deepest recesses of their minds. They explored and pressed like they hadn’t in years, with the raw energy of two youths in the throes of early love but also the focus and intensity of wiser elders.

Much later, when Gregory finally pressed between Amaranth’s legs, he found a blazing and molten place. He seemed to melt into his wife. He felt swallowed and consumed as much as he felt he was entering and possessing her. His face found her hair again and he filled his lungs with her scents—perfumed oils, sweat, soap and smoke—and as her teeth bit down hard on his neck, he didn’t care what marks people might snicker about tomorrow behind his back.

There was no simultaneous release—nothing so hackneyed as that—but rather a languid swelling and then fierce, rolling passion where both lost track of who reached the peak first or where each ended. And in the end, when the torrent had run its course, they collapsed as one, twined together tighter than any skein of yarn and slept, finally, in peace.

***

“Tana sup-Juris, thank you for coming at such a late hour,” Lyseena said, extending her hand palm-down to grip the other woman’s forearm in greeting. Tana’s own grip was firm and steady.

As they released each other, the ivory-haired woman smiled, almost imperceptibly. “I wasn’t aware that we templars were allowed to sleep, commander. Now that I know, perhaps I will try it sometime.”

“Please do, Tana. I need my admin officers sharp in these turbulent times.”

The younger templar’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You have already cleared me for the position? I had assumed this was to be an interview.”

“You come recommended by too many people whom I trust, Tana,” Lyseena responded. “Besides which, I have two admin officers with vast field experience on Earth. An important consideration with Secular Genesis giving us the twist these days. What I didn’t have until now was someone who might have the experience I need to deal with our newest key threat, the UFC.”

Tana frowned. “I accept the post, of course, but it’s been 10 years since I last set foot in Mars; I don’t see how much of an edge I can possibly give you.”

“You were born on Mars, Tana. You spent more of your life there than you have on Earth. That counts for more than you know. You still bear the marks of it.”

Tana’s hand reflexively moved to the simple black tattoo above her left eye.

“From your days as a Trav?” Lyseena continued.

“It’s a reminder of the folly of my youth—the only trappings of those days that I retain. I shed the other tattoos, scalpsticks and wirebraids long ago.”

“Is it also a reminder to you of the success of whatever challenge earned that mark for you?”

“I’m not so prideful as that. Becoming a Trav was an act of desperation, commander, of a girl who hated living in Mars and thought that throwing in with the craziest of the population might give me reason to live, or at least make my life shorter and more exciting. It wasn’t until I took vows with the Order Juris that I found purpose and family.”

“You need not defend your loyalty to the templars. What earned you that tattoo?”

“I scaled Olympus Mons alone.”

“The tallest mountain in the solar system and the Travs gave you such a simple marking?”

“I had full gear. There were no dust storms to speak of. I picked a well-marked climbway with oxygen rechargers along the way. And I got back to the base via a powerlsed pickup. By Travailer standards, it was no more than a simple initiation. It was the only sane thing I did in my short time with them; everything else I did should have killed me. I keep the marking to remind myself of the limits of how foolhardy a person should allow herself to get.”

Lyseena nodded. “You disliked living on Mars, certainly a trait shared by some others who have come to us over the years, like the oldest son of the Peteris and Paulis of the UFC. Do you maintain enough objectivity to carry out investigations of Mars or the UFC with a level head?”

“I hated living in Mars. The people and institutions there are no different than any other. Some corrupt and morally bankrupt. Some honest. Most in the middle,” Tana answered. “If I might ask, commander, am I being chosen to fill your admin vacancy truly because of my skills and recommendations, or simply because I was once Martian?”

“Let me ask you a question of my own, Tana. Do you prefer your sidearm or your stunrod in a combat situation?”

Without hesitation, she answered: “That depends on the environment, the situation and the opponent.”

“That is why I picked you, Tana,” Lyseena said firmly. “I need many weapons in my arsenal to fight the Lord’s fight. There are times I will need the Martian you once were. There are time I will need the Terran you are now. There are times I may need you to be something else entirely.”

Tana nodded and made a slight bow of acquiescence.

“Dismissed, Tana. Get some of that precious commodity called sleep now. I don’t know how much of it you or any of us will be getting for a while.”

(This marks the end of Chapter 7. To read the nesxt installment, which is the first part of chapter 8, click here.)

Sometimes They Fall

I’ll have another installment of my novel probably on Saturday, but because my posting has been a bit sporadic this week I wanted to put something up. I’d love for it to be something quick, pithy and deep, but I’ll probably just end up with one out of three.

So, “sometimes they fall”…am I talking about our heroes? Our stock values? Those really freaky clowns who walk around on stilt legs?

Nah.

I mean the balls.

Sometimes the balls fall. Or, rather, we drop them. And “sometimes” is probably an understatment for many of us.

The older I get, it seems the more I have to juggle and less free time to do so. With so many balls in the air, something is bound to fall. Hell, just this week I’ve dropped at least one major ball and God knows how many medium-priority ones.

We need to accept this in ourselves and we need to be ready to forgive it in others. Gravity wins out, in reality and in the metaphorical ball-juggling world we all live in. We just need to do the best we can, to keep as many balls in the air as we can, as long as we can.

And try to make sure that when they do fall, no one gets hit on the head or slips on one of the damn things.

Au Revoir, Thordaddy

…or perhaps, given his use of a Norse god in his name, I should go all “Viking” and say: Vel fara, Thordaddy.

In any case, if you’ve hear any muffled swearing or rapping at the virtual door, that might be Thordaddy, who most recent communiques are currently languishing in my spam queue. Congratulations, Thordaddy! You’ve done what several other irritating and objectionable people couldn’t do in the 13 months since I started this blog: Inspire me to ban someone from my comment area. (If you haven’t experienced Thordaddy yet, you can in the post and comments here.)

However, I did promise to answer his questions to me, and I will, in this post (he added some more in his spam-queued post, and I’ll even answer those). I’ll even acknowledge some of his comments in his unposted comment.

But first, a few words on why I will no longer suffer him here. It’s not because of ideological differences. It’s not because he has won any arguments with me. It’s simply because he’s fucking annoying. Of course, as he noted in his latest comment, I engaged HIM. True. I even invited him over here, mostly because I didn’t want to clutter Big Man’s Raving Black Lunatic blog with our arguments. But I did expect a discussion, not continued and repetitive ranting.

For example, he keeps telling me that to suggest that most or all white people have racist attitudes of some sort is me trying to force an “odious ideology” on folks. When I clarified that I simply want people, especially those with more advantages, to examine their attitudes and behaviors to identify those that might be unfair and to work to treat people equitably and properly, he continued to insist it was an odious ideology. This kind of repetition, much less such a blatant disregard for what he should consider fundamental Christian tenets (self examination, honesty and fairness), is quite irritating.

Not to mention that fact that any time anyone mentioned the myriad studies that show how racism continues to affects blacks and other minorities, he had no response. Nor did he on the couple occasions I asked him to hip me to some studies that indicate Affirmative Action has hurt white folks or that show racism is just some bygone thing. I guess all those conservative think tanks were too busy sucking at the teat of Wall Street liars to find any proof that blacks have nothing to complain about anymore.

Also, there is his impatience. I told him I’d answer his questions as soon as I could. I even posted a couple days ago that my presence at this blog would be diminshed for a couple days because of work. Yet, he insists that I am “intellectually weak” and “objectionable” because I can’t take 5 minutes to answer his questions. Sure, I could answer those questions in 5 minutes if I answered them true/false like he wanted, but I’m not stupid enough to answer them that way simply just so he can get five new openings to accuse me at length of narrow-mindedness or oppressiveness.

Then the fact that in one of his latest messages, he not only showed continued lack of patience but repeated the five questions that I already told him twice I’d answer. Like I’m some idiot who can’t scroll up to find the questions he asked previously.

If I want to experience repetition, stubbornness, impatience and a refusal to listen, I have a three-year-old for that. And she at least shows some kind of loving streak and can acknowledge when she is wrong or at least maybe a little off the right track. Of course, if any of you think I was unfair in banning Thordaddy, by all means let me know.

Thordaddy’s Questions & My Answers

Deacon Blue,

True or False

ALL white people are guilty of racism?
ALL black people have suffered from racism?
If one is guilty of white racism, ALL of white society shares part of the blame?
If Deacon Blue is guilty of racism then Deacon Blue’s half-white children are guilty of racism?
Racist actors are less cognizant of reality than the victims of their racism?

ALL white people are guilty of racism?

All people, regardless of race, have been guilty of some kind of racism. If there are people aside from Jesus who have never done a racist thing or held a racist thought, they are truly few and far between.

The issue, vis-a-vis black people and white people (and yes, I know there are many other races besides blacks that suffer racism, but I’d argue that African Americans and Native Americans have borne the brunt of racism and oppression in the United States) is not whether both sides are guilty of racism.

As a white person, I can go weeks, months or years without ever being subjected to any noticeable kind of racism toward me. The number of whites who go out and experience racism toward themselves on a frequent basis in this nation is vanishingly small. The last time I was treated to racism was 10 years ago or more, when some of my wife’s more distant relatives made their displeasure at my presence during a family event all too clear.

On the other hand, my wife can easily be treated to racism on a weekly and sometimes daily basis. And multiple times a day at that. Blacks get the pleasure of going out into a mostly white world knowing that at any point they can be a target, and they often are, and also knowing that if they react forcibly to such things, they will be seen as the troublemaker in many cases.

ALL black people have suffered from racism?

I don’t know about all, but I’d say the vast majority of them. Racism is part of the fabric of our society. Blacks more often get passed over by whites in jobs even when the black person is more qualified, blacks still get housing discrimination, and they get harsher criminal sentences than whites (even whites at the lowest end of the socioeconomic scale). Thordaddy himself, calling himself a “lover of freedom” has defended the idea that whites give special privileges to other whites over any other race, claiming that it’s only natural and logical.

If one is guilty of white racism, ALL of white society shares part of the blame?

No, I don’t hold people guilty for the sins of others. However, when one is shown the insidious ways in which racism crops up and does nothing about it, at least on a personal basis, that person is guilty of helping to perpetuate racism. And when an overwhelmingly white society collectively turns a blind eye to its continued mistreatment of any race, yes, we all share part of the blame. If you aren’t trying to be part of the solution, by at least being a better person and treating people according to their personalities, skills, etc. (and not their skin color), then you are part of the problem.

If Deacon Blue is guilty of racism then Deacon Blue’s half-white children are guilty of racism?

My children will be guilty of whatever race-related issues they will be guilty of, independent of me. Maybe my daughter will have issues with Puerto Ricans or Vietnamese or something. Maybe my son will come to hate Samoans. They may not be balls-out racists, but I’m sure both of them have issues with someone over some stereotype now or will in the future.

Racist actors are less cognizant of reality than the victims of their racism?

Whites have privilege compared to other races, especially blacks. They don’t get as much flak, they get more opportunities, they get less harassment. Not being the target of a racist societal structure, it’s easy not to see what goes on. Or care for that matter. Humans are remarkably adept at turning a blind eye to the problems of the “other.” Just ask all those Wall Street fat cats who care nothing for the hard-working people of all races whose lives they destroyed. When one doesn’t get as much shit, one doesn’t want to acknowledge that others unfairly get shit and perhaps one should do something about it.

Bonus Questions from Thordaddy

What was the black Mrs. Blue doing when she decided to not only marry, but have children with a white man who has conceded a racist past?

As usual, missing the point entirely. When I mentioned my own part in perpetuating racism, I never said I had a “racist” past. I illustrated the same things that most white people do regularly without even thinking about it: Excluding blacks, ignoring blacks, becoming more protective of their wallets and purses when blacks are near, etc. I never claimed to be perfect and I never claimed to be a full-out racist. When I met Mrs. Blue, I was already associating with other blacks besides her on a personal and substantive level. I didn’t just suddenly thrust myself into the black world. So I had already shed my most annoying preconceptions and subconscious bad behaviors before I ever asked her out.

Generally-speaking, black women are the LEAST likely to date outside their race. Does this mean that your minority of minority relationships is based on mutual racism?

This is convoluted to the point of stupidity, and not even deserving of me trying to decipher it.

If the black Mrs. Blue does what most black women refuse to do (date white men and then have children with them), is she really just masking her racism?

Mrs. Blue has issues with whites at times. Not often, but it happens. Usually in response to some kind of ignorance perpetuated toward her. But marrying me had to do with something called love, not with masking racism. My wife is proud to be black, wishes the world were a better place for all races, and doesn’t need to mask anything. She’s honest. Sometimes, she has her own flashes of racist behavior. She’s human. All I expect of her is what I expect of anyone, including myself. Try to be better and try not to let race cloud our perceptions and our actions.

Oh, and  a P.S. here. Thordaddy also asked me more than once if I advocate the government enforcing my “odious ideology” of trying to be more aware and inclusive. Does he meant do I want my government to prosecute racial hate crimes? Yes. Does he mean do I want the government to keep watch on racial trends and abuses since companies and individuals cannot be trusted to do so on their own (as history has shown time and again)? Yes.

But that doesn’t mean I expect everyone to think the same. Nor do I expect racists to ever disappear. If a person wants to be racist, that is his or her right. Just be honest about it. I also don’t advocate the suspension of free speech, as long as it isn’t inciting violent actions or causing overt oppression.

Caution: Man at Work

My apologies if my productivity (in terms of posting new stuff or responding to comments) is off for the next couple days. I spent a very nice weekend overall staying off the computer and focusing on family.

Downside is that not being on my computer means I wasn’t knocking various things off my to-do list.

Also, it’s tax season and being self-employed, it’s never a fun task to do those bad boys, and I need to finish them up before midweek so Mrs. Blue can attend to family budgeting matters.

Hot Pink by Miz Pink

Tisk Tisk…

Deke has really gotten away from his prurient roots hasn’t he? Deacon Blue indeed. Sure he’s got that naugty language of his still going on around here but where’s the sexual tension we used to enjoy?

Is it up to me?…I guess so.

I mean I like sex and I think I’d like to keep having it in my marriage since I figure that’s the best way to keep Sir Pink from going astray and me from turning to reality shows, the Tyra Banks Show and Lifetime TV for my satisfaction (*shiver*)

Personally I think that as much as we want to chill out when we get married we need to keep at the sex thing and the being sexy thing. Kids and work and chores and stuff make it tough I know but we’ve gotta work at it. Even if it has to be scheduled nothing brings me and my hubby closer than when we get busy. Sometimes I treat it like a chore but just like the household chores, I get into it once I start and I have immense satisfaction when I finish the job right.

The ‘getting sexy’ part isn’t so hard I think. The BEING sexy part is tougher. We all get older. We get bumps and paunches and wrinkles and all sorts of other assorted un-wanteds whether we like it or not. Short of a huge bank account and miracle working cosmetic surgeon on speed dial we’re all gonna start to slip.

But that doesn’t mean we gotta just settle. Flab? Work it off a little bit at a time. Walk, eat more salads, whatever. Even if you wear jammies to bed get some that are coordinated, without holes and look decent. Don’t need to be silky though that’s nice. Nibble on your loved ones ear for no reason. Give neck rubs. Fetch them a glass of water or whatever when they need it. Talk dirty sometimes. Send a flirty e-mail or IM (just make sure to send it to the right person). Make an effort to show you’re still attracted and be as attractive as you can and the rest will follow more easily.

Oh Danny Boy…

I’ve had a bad day, but I shouldn’t see any day as “bad” but rather as an opportunity to grow somehow.

In that vein, let me share a little bit of the Book of Daniel, chapter 2, that’s getting me through this portion of my day:

Let the name of God be blessed forever and ever, For wisdom and power belong to Him. It is He who changes the times and the epochs; He removes kings and establishes kings; He gives wisdom to wise men and knowledge to men of understanding.  It is He who reveals the profound and hidden things; He knows what is in the darkness, and the light dwells with Him.

I’ll try to post something more substantive tomorrow. Hopefully, Miz Pink will have my back there in case I’m not feeling up to snuff.

Cleansed by Fire Update: What, More Info?

Not much of a post for Thursday, and going online very late in the day, but I had to do a bunch of cleaning today around the house as well as work, and had guests over.

Anyway, I’ve added three more pages, two of them quite beefy, to the Cleansed By Fire portal page, as follows:

Understanding artificial intelligences (AIs) and demi-intelligences (DIs)

A glossary of other miscellaneous terms, part 1 (tech-related)

A glossary of other miscellaneous terms, part 2 (NOT tech-related)

As with the other glossaries that have come before, there will be additions as the novel progresses, most likely, and new terms and technologies and such crop up.

Now, only three more links on the portal page to make active pages for. Not to say that I won’t think of other things to add to the list, but I’ll start by completing what’s already there.