I can still smell him on me, on my clothes, as though I only just left his embrace, as though I only just escaped his presence.  It lingers here with me, on me, around me, drawing forth recollections both old and new, memories of times and places past, of sights and sounds, and of pleasures both gross and subtle.  He is there with me in all of them, and I remember his touch, the way he gentled my passions, his fulfillment… and mine.

"…not since we were at the cabin…" he said, and I believed him.

How the words seemed unnecessary and clumsy.  I felt what was said.  Like Gustavo Santaolalla's "De Usuahia a la Quiaca", the strings tug from within, melodically communicating that which could not be translated, and the flute piercing me to the core, painfully reaching within to inspire the utmost joy.

The music fills the space we inhabit.  Encircling us, it joins us together; playing notes felt more than heard.  We are enshrined within its call, and each other.

I knew it to be true: not since the cabin.  I felt it in my heart, knew it in my mind, and every part of my body hailed this certainty.  Other times, other places, other consummations, but not like this, not since then.

Lending credence to the memory, the music drew us to another time, another place, and to one another, solidifying the present, forever and indelibly recorded in every fiber of our beings.  I am enchanted.  Drunk on music and mood, overcome by the unmistakable desire that can be felt all around me.  And him.  I am lost in the moment.

Two became one.  Lustily reaching hands.  Intertwining bodies.  Mouths pressed firmly together, as if perhaps we can absorb each other that way, take in the full essence of the other.  You cannot forget times like these.

I cannot fathom where there might be space between us.  I have no grasp on the outline of him or me.  We are no longer individuals; we are inseparable, indistinct one from the other.

It is the dance of desire, and we sway unknowingly to its steps, leading, following, the music swirling around as we swirl around each other.  Just he and I, in this place, commandeering a brief moment for the two of us and only we two.  It is our time.

And it is over far too soon.  Our lips meet one last time, our tongues eagerly performing one last minuet.  I can feel his warmth, much as before, satiating desperate entreaties passing silently between us.

How long can my lips linger here?  What amount of time passes before these yearnings take flight again?  Whence comes the strength to divide this fleshly aperitif, summoning us to dine once more at a carnal table?

I turn and go.  Like the kiss and so many other experiences shared between us, this too shall be remembered, cherished, and silently craved for all time.

Can this desire of him be satisfied?  Will this longing ever be contented?

I hope not.  And I inhale deeply.

Humanity has advanced, when it has advanced, not because it has been sober, responsible, and cautious, but because it has been playful, rebellious, and immature.

— Tom Robbins

Congress recently decided that bloggers should fall under regulation for political speech.  Yes, you heard that correctly.  Just as campaign finance regulations now openly thwart free speech via other media, the door is now open for the Federal Election Commission (FEC) to implement rules to govern bloggers.

With Congress' failure to protect individual free speech on the internet, as Rep. Jeb Hensarling, R-Texas says, "I fear that bloggers one day could be fined for improperly linking to a campaign Web site, or merely forwarding a candidate's press release to an e-mail list."

"Rather than deal with the red tape of regulation and the risk of legal problems, they will fall silent on all issues of politics," said Michael J. Krempasky, director of the web site RedState.org.

This is most troubling and disheartening.  Like "free speech zones" before it, this is an offensive attempt to silence the American people, to squelch the voice of an increasingly politically active citizenry.  The web has afforded a great many people the ability to voice their opinion openly using a medium that allows that voice to be heard across the globe.  The American government is now trying to silence that voice.

I will happily go to jail for my rights.  I will happily pursue legal action up through the U.S. Supreme Court where one would hope this kind of regulation easily would be seen as unconstitutional.  How could it be otherwise?

America is rapidly declining into that which we have so ardently hated during the Cold War: a police state.  Our rights are being diminished at a steady pace.  Most Americans accept it, all in the name of security, and are woefully remiss in their understanding of what America should stand for and has stood for ab ovo.

I am disappointed yet again in our once great country.  I am disappointed once again in our populace.  How the mighty have fallen.

My friend marniac has acute viral conjunctivitis.  Poor thing.  It's a very unpleasant malady that is also quite contagious, one that befalls a great many people.  It's also, in that sick way that I love to be, somewhat humorous.

You see, acute viral conjunctivitis is also called pinkeye.  It is, from my reckoning, a disease most people get when they are young and which never revisits them after that initial assault on their adolescence.  Marniac is not a child; she's within a decade of my age (at this writing, I am little more than a month away from 35).

I quietly "tee-hee" to myself.

But I've had pinkeye, as a child, and I am fully aware of its unpleasantness.  She was forced to work from home for the past few days simply because of the risk of contagion.  I am quite convinced she's also not been feeling her best.

I wish you a speedy recovery, marniac.

Oh, and I'm sure your coworkers also want you to get your ass back to work!

You know how I feel about such things — tell 'em to piss off.