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Sax and Violins Redux, Tux
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Dec 11, 2011 1:29 pm
1956 Views
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'Tis often the case that I have to remind moiself that these are kinda sex sites and I should write about sex more often; oh sure, I'd blogged about the difficulty in taking a big dick - and moi preference for less well endowed guys if I'm supposed to play the girly-man role, and there've been references to moi bromantic encounters here and there and where - but I'm pretty sure I've ne'er written a blog that was trying to be deliberately sexy.
And writing about sex 'tis one of the most unsexy things I can think of aside from having sex with someone unsexy; once upon a time, I took a class on human sexuality and had to write essay after essay vis-a-vis sex and as I told my then-Chiropractor, 'twas the least sexy way to spend a weekend.
Anywho, sexy writing 'tis tough to pull off and I was trying to recall the last time I'd read something I found va-va-va voom. Porn movies seem much easier to pull off, because ludicrous scripts and robo-acting don't always get in the way of brunging the sexy; but a poorly written sex scene - yeeesh!
Then again, there was a time when I'd found the Zilla libido shaken and stirred by the comically ridiculous Penthouseque stories that appear in some of the finer men's magazines - and there was one about two guys who go camping together and explore their bromantic feelings that I suspect would still get the Zilla Woody racing down Highway 1. No, this isn't the kind of story that involves someone bein' told they have a purty mouth or being prompted to squeal like a pig, but it had its charmths.
And there was that book called "The Front Runner," about a coach and a gay runner - hence the title. As I recall, this book was written by a woman, and I think it has a few erotic scenes - and wasn't that the book that inspired moi to take up running wayback upon a time? 'Tis prolly the first 'gay' book I read, and I'd hesitate to read it again 'cuz what once seemed like all that and a bag of chips might have gotten a bit soggy, and 'tis a dragon to destroy fond memories of a beautiful story, morning glory.
Have I read gay literature? Aside from "The Front Runner," I can't recall anything else, which 'tis kinda sad 'cuz it should be something I'm into. Then again, I've an African-American friend who 'tisn't hugely into African-American literature though folks assume o'erwise.
So in moi case, I'd almost rather write gay literature than read it, although I can't imagine anyone else really reading the kind of story I'd write - because it wouldn't have any PAINFUL BUT HEALING COMING OUT narratives or a guy who STRUGGLES WITH COMING TO TERMS WITH BEING ATTRACTED TO GUYS. Although Sjon might give 'er a go go - although I might have to threaten him. So that's two readers, and two 'tis really plenty when one thinks about it, because how many folks does one need to tell their stories to? The trick 'tis to have a catchy title, and I'm leaning toward: "AIDS: Kills Fags Dead."
Believe it or not, there was actually a t-shirt or bumpersticker that once said eggzactly that - it was a play on RAID: Kills Roaches Dead, although it was a mean-spirited kinda play. So I know many folks have problems with being politically correct, but I'm not one of 'em, because I'm getting on in years and turning into a tsk tsk tsk kinda QBM, and thunk that t-shirts or bumperstickers such as this really shouldn't be allowed; because 'tis ugly, just ugly.
But folks should be allowed to be whoe'er they wanna be and not worry about anyone 'cept themselves I s'pose, and to heckola with anyone else's rights, right? The best I can say about folks bein' allowed to say or express whatever they wanna espresso 'tis that it makes it easier to know who to avoid - although 'tis not really hard to read between the lines of someone who 'tis all pent up with ignorocity and blecchiness; in fact, I've noticed that on several occasions folks will casually use words like "nigger," or "faggot" or "Celine Dion" when talking to moi, and I thunk: what 'tis it about moi that makes 'em think I'm like dat? Jeez, just 'cuz folks're raised by wolverines doesn’t mean they otter act like one.
Oh, I was s'posed to be writing about sex -or writing about not writing about sex, and then I launched into an anti-anti-PC tirade. Not to sexy for moi shirt, I s'pose, but then again 'tis nice for ya'll that someone dast brungs the unsexy bach, Johann Sebastian. Anywho, one of moi original intents was to blog about how sexuality 'tis conceptualized differently from human to human, but I've lost interest in blathering on and on and on, believe it or donut! Smooches, Z
By the buh-bye: this photo 'tis from that photo shoot I'd riddled up, and 'twas one of the photos I was gonna post but went with another one along the same lines; I particularly love this one because of the deep rich colours - I am wearing this outfit as I type this - of red and black against the negative beige area, and in a whey, this pic represents what this post 'tis all about, which 'tis brungin' the unsexy bach, Johan Sebastian  Luvz, Z
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222 Thee Left
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Dec 10, 2011 11:16 am
1974 Views
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Oh hell no, it seems as if another year of the Western calendar 'tis coming to an end, and folks and yolks're making best of the year lists.
Even when I was more into newer stuff, I've ne'er kept up with the latest and greatest - the last movie I saw in theatres 'tis Piranha 3-D, and when was the last time I bought new music? I'm the sorta critter who 'tis about 10 to 20 years behind the times, and even when I was about 13, I liked the music of the late-60's: Janis, the Doors and Beethoven.
So I read these best of lists, and wonder how many folks who aren't critics would be able to say they're familiar with everything on the lists - not to mention the rest of the stuff that just didn't cut it and was shown to the door. I do know folks who keep up on various things - one of moi friends reads all the nominees for the major book awards, and another 'tis up on the latest movies.
Anywho, 'tis nice to read o'er folks and yolks take on stuff, e'en though I usually have different preferences than most folks; and I almost prefer reading about things rather than experiencing the thing itself, whatever the thing 'tis. I'm noted for being quick on the draw for shooting off trivia about movies and television, because I used to read a lot of stuff about 'em.
Oh, for whatever reason I just happened to compose a poem that I'll entitle "God, God, God, God, God, God." It's about God, puppies and bromance, and here 'tis:
God I wanna fuck
God won't you listen to me?
God I wanna buck
God won't you come outta the tree?
God I wanna suck
God won't you gimme gimme gimme?
Beautiful and profound 'tis that poem, and we lament that poor ole Callboi and S-Rex likely walnut be able to brung it against that poetic throwdown - and hapless Eeb? Honnnnnnnnnnnnnnestly, 'tis unlikely his rambles on rough trade can go toe to mano-mano with "God, God, God, God, God, God."
But having topped 'em all, I ponder: what price glory? Hath moi briZILLiant gift for poetics curried chicken flavoured favour with the rabble rabble - or hath moi gifts become a cage without a key? Geez, now I know why Vinnie Van Goggle cut off his ear and sold it at a flea market: 'tis a bitch being an uber-talented sum beach. These are the very real challenges I face and *sound of glass breaking* - Whoops! I just collapsed under the weight of moi own hubris - I wonder if I could get a reality show; they could call it "I, Zilla: the Zilla Nobody Knows."
Speaking of which, here are some shawking factoids about moi:
I used to be a backup dancer for Lady Gaga, but left to follow moi dream of starring in a Licetime movie which was about a guy who lives in the city, but is in an abusive relationship so he goes back to his small home town and discovers love with a laid back truck driver who's really a zillionaire, though you'd never know it 'cuz of his modesty and down-to-Earth-aw-shucks 'tude.
I married the Pope, but he had it annulled after he discovered I was atheist - so now I'm stalking him on FB and am auctioning off moi story featuring shocking details of our sex life to the supermaket rags.
Moi last album, "I Wit' Yaz" was nominated for 17 Grammys , but only won 15 
In order to lose five pounds, I cut some meat and fat away from moi stomach region and made it into a nice roast for a dinner party.
So I wrote the above that fits like a glove just before I went to sleep last night, and from a casual and causal glance it appears I was a tad loopy; and I should edit it up a bit, but I've decided to be more Speilberg than Lucas this time 'round. For those of youse who aren't nerdy enough to get that reference, it refers to Steven Speilberg and George Lucas - and I'd just read an interview with the former in which he said he regretting tinkering with his movie "E.T.," 'cuz he feels that films are mirrors of their times - although I gotta say he hasn't done anything I'm all that interested in since Raiders of the Lost Bark. Jumpin' George, o' course, has no such qualms and he'd gone so far as to edit a shot from "Star Whores" to have Han Solo not shoot someone without bein' shot at first. More heroic like, I 'spose - but with less of a late 70's vibe of anti-heroics-with-a-heart-o'-gold.
Oh lady lady lady - like a crush
Nighttime when we know how to rhyme
Oh, lady lady lady - don't rush
Lighttime when we stay sublime
I pity da foo' who tries to top dat throwdown o' a clown! So breaker breaker, you got your ears on? Ten four, good buddy - for those of youse who didn't get to live in the 1970's you might not know the language of 'trucker fucker.' Truckers used to use C-B radios to evade "smokies" and chat with their buds about brides who jilted their husbands at the altar and hitched rides with Trans-Ams. Oh, and civilians also bought C-B radios so that they could join the party, and I vaguely recall that moi walkie talkie picked up occasional conversations of trucker fucker speak, though 'twasn't as awesome or colorful as in the movies.
So I'd best close with a third poem, 'cuz if I donut then there'll only be two, and the three readers I've managed not to drive off will feel cheated and that'd be a drag.
Banged in the ass
And you're to blame
On a misty starlit night
The song remains the same
You give butt fuck
A bad name
Oh, the pic of the day 'tis one I took whilst oot oot and aboot in Seattle; and 'tis taken from the Burke Gilman trail looking o'er Lake Union toward the Space Needle. As I write this ['tis 11 am of the cock] I am actually downtown, so if you look closely you might see moi, although it'd be on the left, as usual. Smooches, Z
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Out by the River of the World
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Dec 9, 2011 4:22 pm
2121 Views
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So the word ju dour o' the day 'tis "river," because whilst stoppin' off at Starbucks for a bit of howliday cheer - a Venti 'Mericano, yo! - the tune "River" was playin' - and for those of youse who don't know, 'tis a Joni Mitchell tune - and she's one of those kinda singer-songwriters that give some folks hives; but in this case I think 'twas sung by Sarah McLaughlin - if that's her right name.
Anywho, 'tis a tune about wishing one has a river to skate away on what with all the commericalization of the season and ...
... oh, a hottie just walked ion, so I'm a bit distracted. Anywho, I was just out at a Sporting Goods store looking for some more running tights or related chilly weather regalia, and the store 'tis located right next to a sex shop of sorts. So the bike rack 'tis closer to the sex shop than the sporting goods store, and if'n I was of the shy and timid sort that I used to be, I'd park far far away from the sex shop, as I used to do when I went to such places. But now I don't go to such places, and have no problem bein' mistaken for the kinda critter who 'tis a customer o' such stuff, 'cuz I used to be after all, and one otter not try too hard to erase oneself, elf.
Oh, the hottie 'tis gone, sigh - he has a nice down jacket and I think 'twas from Eddie Bauer.
So I've a question about bein' "OUT" - it occured to moi that some of moi closest friends aren't on social networking sites of any sort, and they'd likely be hugely judgmental about moi if they knew I was, 'cuz moi close friends are the sort who hold folks accountable for their actions - although they realise in moi case 'tis like herding water uphill with a thimble. So I was wondering about what 'tis harder, coming out to someone as homosexy or as somone who 'tis a member of an online site ... and I s'pose it depends on this and that and all that jims, 'cuz context 'tis what 'tis all about, pout for a trout.
Anywho, that's today's 2nd post, but 'tis really the first because I wrote moi first post last night. Oh, and the image for this bolg 'tis one I took the o'er night from Gasworks Park ... I was trying to capture the Space Needle which 'tis decorated to look like a Christmas tree, but it didn't come out so one could tell; but Ias it turns out, I like the blurred colours and the dark empty spaces and so here 'tis, wiz.
Smooches, Z
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Dew Drop Inn
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Dec 9, 2011 12:18 pm
2099 Views
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Dew on a crushed leaf
Stirred by a rushing gust
Drops of tears on a crushed leaf
Twirling through reflections of lust
Whew! That stupid poem, briZILLiant as 'tis, took a bit of effort, although it otter've been easier, 'cuz I'm feeling, FEEEEEEELing caught up in emotion; I just watched the results show of X-Factor, which is a pretty awful and tired and played-out show, but the contestants are so superterrific that I've been caught up nonetheless; from the veddy first I loved Rachel Crow: she was the veddy first to audition and I recall thinking she'd have a good chance of winning. Alas, she was eliminated e'en though she performed a bomb-ass outstanding version of "I'd Rather Do Blind" as her 'save me' song, and was ginormously better than the other contestant, whose name escapes moi at the moment.
Anywho, these sorts of shows are pretty horrible, and remind moi of the young adult book "The Hunger Games," which 'tis a post-apocalyptic story in which teens are forced to fight to the death on a reality show. The satirical aspects of this book have all subtlety of a sledgehammer, but 'tis a gripping read and the main female character has kind of reimagined noir sensibilities. So this is a ridiculous story, but one that is ridiculously engaging - one of those books I read straight through.
So we live in such a society that folks who have unusual talents can use 'em to perform for their supper, and I'll spare youse yet another half-baked analysis of what this says about We the Pumpkins.
However, I should prolly offer moi half-baked analysis, 'cuz I've noticed that there's a market for bloviating on and on about X Y and Z, and the dronier the better in terms of grabbing the attenhut of folks and yolkheads. Coming up after this missive, a two minute in-depth analysis of the Middle East followed by Bongo with the heartwarming story of a poodle who with the help of the community escaped being BBQed by his cruel owners and now can jump through a hoop while barking Beyonce's "Crazy in Love." That tune 'tis actually one of the few tunes I like from that singer, though I can do without all the hair, makeup and glitzy dresses: I am one of those gays who doesn't really like fashion, although I love Lady Gaga; which 'tis good 'cuz I like to keep it paradoxical.
Love is in the air - I am listening to a tune of that title from the 70's as I type moi little heart out; and love 'tis a grandazoid adventure, 'tis it naught? I've not really embarked on that particular adventure in howlonghasitbeen. I've embarked on other adventures of course - and I'm one of those critters who equates romantic adventures with other adventures; that doesn't seem to be the case with most folks though, 'cuz our society sells the idea of romantic love as the end-all be-all. I am now listening to a tune called "Love is Like Oxygen," which is a sweet tune by a band called Sweet.
So love 'tis in the air, and 'tis like oxygen, but so are lots of other things and if you can't get what you want, find something else to want and quitcherbitchen. Ugh, I've ne'er been great with empathy, but other folks are so they can do that heavy lifting. OMZ, and now I'm listening to a tune I abs love called "Emotion," which I kinda referenced at the beginning of this bolg in describing how I was caught up in emotion after the results of X-Factor. This tune 'tis sung by Samantha Sang - sung by Sand: I sheet thee nada - and 'twas written by the Bee Gees. The Brothers Gibb were horrendously ugly critters who wrote some of what I consider the most beautiful lyrics in pop music - including those in "Emotion":
And where are you now? Now that I need you
Tears on my pillow … where'er you go
And cry me a river - that leads to your ocean
You've ne'er seen fall apart,
In the words of a broken heart
its just eMOtion
That's takin' me o'er
Tied up in sorrow
Lost in my soul
But if you don't come back
Come home to me darling
You know that there'll be
Nobody left in this world to hold me tight
Nobody left in this world to kiss good night -
goooooood niiiiiiiiiiiight, goooooood niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight, goooooooooooooooooooood niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.
OMZ, this tune is abs flocking splendiferously awesome, and I can see why folks get caught up in ro-ro-romance, though 'tis best if'n it's bromance. And as an aside, let moi just say to folks who deride the gay lifestyle: whether or not being gay 'tis a choice - and the jury 'tis still angrily out on that score - 'tis a choice I'd choose if I had a choice - because guys are scrumdiddlyumptious, it must be admitted.
Oh, well well then. Destiny's Child did a remake of "Emotion," but it was kinda the same as this one although I didn't think 'twas as awesome. The Bee Gees also wrote another beautiful tune called "How Deep 'Tis Your Love," and this is a tune that 'tis often on moi playlist whilst runnin' in the morning - and many times 'tis given moi a burst of energy, because I love moi some love songs e'en if'n they're not eggzactly love songs.
Anywho, I'm kinda worn up and spit out from Rachel not surviving this round of the Hunger Games, and 'tis silly to get caught up in emotion; but 'tis nice to be silly at times so that one can relate to the silliness o' o'ers and kinda be able to see things from their perspective, e'en though the silliness o' others 'tis less acceptable than moi own silliness, and I gotta quit writing because moi contacts are clouding up and I gotta go go take 'em out - or as I refer to it: the nightly ritual of TAKING OUT MY EYES! Hahahahahah, that sounds so gruesome, doesn't it? Hopefully you gave up on bolg loooooooooooong before you got here. Smooches, Z
Oh: vis-a-vis the image, I think 'tis one I've not posted but if I have then I guess ya'll'll have to suffah through it ... 10-4 good buddy, Zilla 'tis o'er and oot oot and aboot ...
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Ludicrous Speed Dead Ahead!!!
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Dec 8, 2011 1:46 pm
2053 Views
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The word du jour of the day, or possibly week [or perhaps the whole month of December], is "ludicrous," Gussie Gus Gus.
You were so ludicrous
Swept up in your wave
You ne'er raise a fuss
Blahblahblah homo of the brave
Anywho, the reason this word struck moi fancy 'tis that 'twas used to purrrfection in the Mel Brooks movie, "Spaceballs," and if'n you haven't seen it or you have seen it and don't care for it, you'll have no idea what I mean, peachy keen. Ne'erthelest, the movie is a terrif spoof of Star Wars, and at one point when the evil bad guys are giving chase the leader, Dark Helmet, orders the crew to go to 'ludicrous speed.' Suffice to say that 'tis impossible to watch "Star Wars" without bein' reminded o' this flick, and 'tis doozy woozy if'n you like that sorta thing.
OK, so I wanted to write a bolg that made the leap to ludicrous speed, and 'tis one of those gigs that I can't quite pull off at this late hour - 'tis almost midnight, and The Zill's been busy busy busy - the kinda day when this gay wishes he had a clone to loan out in place of an ace in the hole latte love, fits like a glove and if'n you donut like it shove shove shove it.
Whew!
I can't help thinking that Stevie Nicks would like moi, e'en though I'm not sure I'd really want to hang around her. I mean, she seems cool and all, but kinda airy fairy o'er the long haul … oh, not that I mind airy fairy critters, and some of moi is of that etherealization although I try to keep parts of moiself grounded. And o' course I'm from Californication, land of the fruits and nuts, so I've got a few friends who're are Team Granolaheadhavanicedaze.
Well, that's not entirely true, because underneath their la-di-da exterior there's some there there - because I'm waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too la-di-da moiself to put up with someone who's less grounded than The Zill.
Oh, I am at the age where I buy into the ideas that've been blathered and bloviated on ad-nauseum no matter how much I resist, and the one I'm thinking about 'tis how important friends are, rockstar; and the sad and sappy truth of the matter 'tis that friends really are all dat and a bag of chips with fiery hot salsa and guacamole and a Double Big Gulp of Diet Pepsi mixed with a splash or three of red wine - although any wine'll do.
Aha, I just recalled something I was going to write about: that new telly show called "The X-Factor" was on tonight, and the top five performed. Moi abs fave 'tis the uber-cute Rachel Crow, but I also love love love moi some Chris Rene; he 'tis from moi old homeland Santa Cruz, CA and has a beautifully light voice - so 'tis nice that someone from SC repesents; and he was awesome tonight, and sang one of his own tunes, which was superfabbo. 'Tis also another guy I like who sang a Rhianna tune about finding love in a something something kinda place; e'en though I'm not a fan of Rhianna, I like this tune; and thought he did a good version, 'though the male judges didn't care for it; they liked his take on The Beatles "Something," which didn't really work for moi but hey ... Oh, I think his name's Josh Somethingorother, and he's from somewhere that seems like it's in the Midwest. He's kinda a throwback to singer-songwriters o' the 70s, which 'tis of course the decade when I grew up, so I'm glad he made it this far; and I don't care for the other two contestants at all, but I s'pose their mother likes 'em, and maybe they like puppies so I guess they deserve to win as much as anyone.
There 'tis a neighbor guy who I'd blogged about awhilst ago; he asked moi if'n I was a professional cyclist, and mentioned something or other 'bout moi body as a reason he thought so, yo. So the other day, I was about to unlock the door to the stairwell when he opened the door, and I said something lame like "perfect timing!"
And he said something equally lame like "I was waiting," and it was all veddy amusing in a predictable sorta way, and we both played our roles like 2nd rate supporting actors who fade into the background. Anywho, he held the door as I walked past and as I started up the stairs I looked back and he was still holding the door and staring at moi. So I said "well, I'm glad someone was!" which was also lame-a-zoid, but 'twas perfectly fine, and in a certain sense was exactly what the situation called for. So I climbed the stairs, and went home to the ZIllaCondo, yo. There 'tis an elevator, but I prefer the stairs for many reasons: it's quicker; I get a bit of exercise; and I'm kinda afeared of getting trapped in the elevator - I was actually stuck in an elevator in Hawaii once upon a time when I was a youngster, and 'twas a panicky feeling e'en though I knew logically there was no danger.
Oh, so I was talking about the guy who held the door; and this is a 'no' because he's married and has a baby daughter or otter, whatever the critter 'tis. But he seems nice enough, and in moi mind I hope that the road ahead 'tisn't too rocky for this family, because if he feels the way I think he feels about guys, then the road could get veddy rocky indeed. And perhaps he's not dealing with such feelings, which I hope 'tis the case - 'cuz that seems like a rough thing to go through, and reminds moi that no matter how hard it seemed for moiself in discovering I was gay, there's always someone who has it worse, so much worse. And by the way, can I just say how much I love guys? Apparently so, because I just did, but I was thinking about how yummy guys are, rockstar; at least the yummy guys. Sigh, bromance and all that jism, 'tis the stuff dreams are made of, and who could not be grateful for dat, hep cat?
But I’m one of those irritatin' critters who 'tis hugely grateful, 'cuz moi take 'tis that I've had it better'n most, and for moi to complain; oh sure, 'tis a bit Hallmarky and likely folks who're reading this are pukin' up their lupper, but that's how I roll, and besides isn't this supposed to be a season for all that kinda nonsense?
Anywho, 'tis almost 2 of the cock the next day after I riddled up the above, and bazinga I've been prolific lately; so for the few remainin' ZillaFanz I've not been able to drive off, you should have lots of stuff to peruse and amuse, and e'en if you're not amused I was whilst writing it, so that' s kinda awesome.
Sew, so I hope youse're awesome, and thanx for playin' and cum again like sin, yin. Smooches, Z
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Thrice 'Round
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Dec 7, 2011 6:47 pm
2213 Views
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So this 'tis moi third bolg o' the say, and merely an excuse to post another photo o' thee Space Needle ...
... I took this pic whilst oot oot and aboot on the ZillaBike3-D earlier today from the top o' a hill in Gasworks Park; and this is actually one of thee destination points when I run in the morning - and it used to be the halfway point until I started running longer and harder.
And that 'tis ZillaBike3-D posed invitingly, butt don't let the critter's seductive appearance fool youse, because on several different occasions ZillaBike3-D has tried to and pillage the ZillaBooty  Fortunately, I always wear protection when riding the critter, because the Zill 'tis not your ordinary e'eryday fool, tool.
Anywho, moments ago I snapped a pic from this veddy same locale, except 'tis an evening shot; and I hope it comes out, because the top o' the Space Needle 'tis decorated to look like a Christmas tree ... also, downtown Seattle at night looks supredupreawesome from this angle of repose as well, and o' course 'tis unlikely I can capture the rapture one gets when viewing it in its loveliness, but e'en though we can't, we try because those who say can't won't try and besides, there 'tis no try, only do ... do you agree  If'n not feel free to argue, tho' 'tis not advisable to argue with an idiot lest someone mistakes youse for such a critter 
Smooches, and this'll be the last bolg of the night, gayRUNteed,
Zeed
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The Lost Language o' Zilla
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Dec 7, 2011 12:13 pm
2130 Views
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'Tis moi 2nd blog o' the day, and if'n youse want to know who to blame, I'll ne'er tell the tale that'll land someone's tail in hot water. But then again, perhaps he enjoys a nice hot bath; I certainly do although moi water heater doesn't seem to make it hot enough.
Speaking of things that need an adjustment, I have been working oot oot and aboot with the Shake Weight, as you might know from reading moi last few blogs; and BB-Rex asked how 'tis working, 'cuz he'd heard mixed reviews. And I'd say that ass with any equipment, the results are contingent on how much one puts into it and their expectations - in moi case I don't fool moiself into thunkin' I'll get buffed up like the guys in the ads, 'cuz they've got genetics and whatnot on their side, Clyde.
Regardlest, 'tis been nice to switch up moi routine, and when trying something new one learns something new about oneself, elf - and the Shake Weight makes moi conscious of moi body in a new way, if that makes sense; 'tis kinda like taking dance or kung-fu classes, 'cuz one learns how their body language 'tis deficient; but also how to hone one's body language to get it to speak to the hills.
And someone on FB has posted something about how the body 'tis a gift; and I was thunkin' about how 'tis indeed the case - but that 'tis a gift that has a bit of a learning curve; and learning how to use one's body 'tis something that seems to take at least 44 and a half years, because once you figure one thing out, there's something else …
… and that remind moi of thee changin' nature of ZillaSpeak, &&& once upawn a thyme 'twas quite thick &&& hard 222 penetr888, butt now 'tis less so, yo yo - 'cuz thyme marches on and e'en though the song remains the same, one can ne'er hear the same tune twice nor thrice.
So … er, that's it; nothing much, but if 'twas much then you'd be much obliged and in moi debt, so be careful whatchoo wish for,
Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha, Z
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Rise to the Surprise
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Dec 7, 2011 11:14 am
2120 Views
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Shortly after taking this picture, I stopped by REI, which is an store that sells the out of doors experience; and the particular store I went to is designed so that the entrance 'tis a hiking trail, and there 'tis also an offroad bike trail where you can give bikes a test run, son.
So that's why I said that it sells the out of doors experience, because 'tis a store that sells a certain lifestyle; and in a book called "Stuff White People Like," which 'tis a satirical take on a certain kinda white creature, 'tis noted that white folks like anything to do with the outdoors, and spend muchos bucks to look as if they might go off and climb the Matterhorn at any moment.
And Seattle 'tis full of the outdoorsy types, and I guess I could pass for one of these types - at least folks've often told moi that I look like such a critter, and I feel the need to get oot oot and aboot; but I also like bein' inside, and've ne'er had trouble finding stuff to amuse moiself, elf.
Anywho, I went to this store for the first time, e'en though many of moi friends say yougottago! And it was impressive, because there's gear for all kinds of stuff from surf and turf to Nerf Football - actually, I didn't see a Nerf Football, and I don't know if they still make 'em, but if they do 'twouldn't be surprisin' if'n 'tis avail at REI. Are Eee Aye 'tis how one pronounces this store's name, although I usually pronounce it with a K at the beginning, because the logo has a symbol in front of the REI that looks like a stylized K to moi baby blues.
Irrespective of all dat, I was looking for a specific kind o' gloves: they are actually glove liners, and I used to wear 'em when I lived in Alaska about a couple decades ago and they kept the hands nice and warm. One of the unfortunate things about being on the slim side 'tis that moi hands get quite chilly, especially whilst cyclin'. Alas, the did not have the kind of glove liners I was looking for, and perhaps they are no longer built - though it seems foolish that something I like should not be avail, WTZ?
And after I found out that what I was looking for was nevermore, I strolled around a bit and gave the store a looky loo; but I'm really not much on shopping, and in a certain sense if you've seen one outdoorsy store you've seen 'em all no matter how 'tis pimped up, pup. That kinda reminds moi of Las Vegas, where I also used to dwell; because there's all kinds of razzle dazzle in and around casinos - including volcanos and shows - but one casino 'tis pretty much the same in some respects and you just gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away and know when to run.
Gee, that sounds like another bit of ZillaPoetix; and 'tis almost as lovely as the poem I actually just wrote about five seconds from now, which 'tis this:
Rising and surprising
If you could hold it with one hand
Stroking and poking
Climaxing on demand
Ah, it feels so good to barf up another poem, and 'tis important to hone one's craft whene'er one gits a chance for bromance. So let moi say a few things about the photo I've uploaded. This is a picture of the Space Needle from afar, and I love this picture because of the mixture of the mundane and iconic - and the Space Needle is having a rough time competing with the crane, the telephone poles, the buildings and the building under construction: all of which pale in comparison to the tree that lives amidst this human created landscape patiently watching the follies and foibles of folks whilst waiting for the day when nature replaces human nature. Of course, the tree 'tis rather vulnerable in many respects, and could be chopped down and burned up - but I've a feeling that something of the tree will survive and perhaps thrive long after 'tis been destroyed to make way for the bright and shiny.
The picture I wanted to take showed the crane on the left hand side to better advantage, but to actually get that shot would've required stopping in the middle of the road and possibly getting hit by an ottermobile; and lemme tell ya, even though I've been working out with the Shake Weight, I'm still no match for an ottermobile, them things is dthe eadly!
Anywho, I wrote most of the above just before I went off to slumberland, and I hope youse liked this photo or the blog or something, 'cuz if'n you got this far it shoulda paid off. Smooches, Z
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UnSeattle &&& the UnSpaceNeedle
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Dec 6, 2011 6:49 pm
2059 Views
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As I happenstance to say once upon a time, I've been intending to shoot some pics of Seattle that I've ne'er seen on picture purrfecto postcards. Now, I'm all about picture perfecto, subjecto; but there 'tis something in the unperfecto that I find awesomelygreat,mate.
So yesterday I went cyclin' downtown where the livin' 'tis quick, cheap and sleazy; and 'twas easy to see the sights that I wanted to see, 'cept that I missed shooting the pics that I shouldacouldawoulda shot, robot.
Alas and alack, 'twas the case that the pics I wanted to pick and choose didn't come off … and woe 'tis moi for not bein' able to git 'er done, but I got done what I got done e'en though 'twas not as fun as some things in the bye and bi; and why oh why can't I find a bi guy to fuck and chuck, such 'tis the luck of the draw in a world made out of coleslaw.
Seattle and the Space Needle far from the nearest star, and I wanted to post the pics I saw in my head, but until I am in the rhyme time and quick on the draw, ya'll'll have to go without; but 'tis what the season's all about, trout pout?
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Sex or Molasses?
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Dec 6, 2011 1:27 pm
2157 Views
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Cuddly little puppy
Softer than a Louisiana sunrise
Barely saw the bullet
Ere it hit him smack between the eyes
As youse can see, I am trying out moi soft and sentimental side, and 'tis a bit of a risk, 'cuz folks'll prolly make fun o' moi for bein' sweet 'n' sappy 'n' o'erly sensitive; but that's just thee way The Zill 'tis, and flocks who donut like it can take a flying flock or suck moi cock. And I'm feeeeeelin' a bit poetic lately, so I just gotta git it oot oot and aboot or I wheel die … or is that diet? Well, one or the o'er, lo'er.
Lovers with the first glance
Swirling through the rain
Suddenly comes a bromance
'till the knife sliced through the vein
Gee, yet another eggzample of a beautiful and sensitive bit of poetics, and 'tis nice to class the joint up a bit, yit? YIT! Although now that I've built two impressive poems, the pressure 'tis on to top 'em both; and 'tis kinda like how movies that have a second sequel have to pimp it up to git 'er done, and "Piranha 3-D" 'tis a good eggzample of this prince I pal, 'cuz it added 3-D into the mix plus lots of bare chests - not to mention one of the characters meeting the grisly fate of getting their dick chewed up and spit out by a discerning piranha - who knew they were such finicky eaters?
Feeling you across the silver lonely distance
Searching across spaces for a trace
Shattering the glass inside of a trance
Eternal yearning for a forgotten face
YAWN! This poetry crap takes a latte outta moi, and 'tis a bit past midnight, so I'd best turn out the light and get some Z's before comes the sunrise in disguise - I love sunrises and sunsets, because I am a creature who 'tis all about transitions, and I am something of a transitional creature.
Speaking of transitions, 'tis the day after I wrote the above, and I slept 'tight with nary a bedbug bite; and earlier this morn I had a nice run 'round GreenLake and then I made a batch o' molasses cookies, and 'twould be awesome if'n some o' youse were here to help moi eat 'em, 'cuz that way I wouldn't have to do extra stomach crunches and whatnot, robot.
Anywho, 'tis a chilly chilly chilly o'ercast day in Seattle, and lots o' youse would be glad to not be here, 'cuz 'tis o'ercast; but I love it, and I figgered oot that 'tis best to enjoy whate'ers happenin' at the time, 'cuz it'll all be gone gone gone so long long long.
And for those o' youse innterested - about two or three on each sight - I've posted another photo o' moiself with the Shake Weight; and this is actually the correct grip, but I'd recommend that you lift the weight a bit higher to feel the burn.
Smooches,
Z
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