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Goodbye Chiq. 6/5/2007

Yesterday, I said goodbye to Valerie, better known in the local blogosphere as Chiq.  She chose to end her life, and find out what is in the Great Beyond.  She struggled with her inner demons for as long as I had known her, which was all too brief a period of time.

She loved her Macs, her iPods, her food, and her friends.  She had a bloody irritating way of saying “so cute!”, and learned never to ride in the truck wearing a tight, short skirt.  She enjoyed meeting up with her friends.  She was a fairly smart person, although she choose to show this ditzy blonde act to the world.

Thanks for leaving us to pick up the pieces though.  I may not ever forgive you for that.

Farewell and godspeed, and may you find your rest and peace of mind which eluded you on this mortal coil.

Reading matter. 4/5/2007

I just got back from lunch in the towers with someone, and realised something when we were sitting down to eat.  I’ve had this problem for quite a while, and I guess the time has finally come when I have to do something about it.  So we walked into the optician, and I got myself fitted for a pair of reading glasses.  They’ll be ready next week.

Guess age is finally catching up with me.  I was really surprised at the difference in the clarity of my vision when the optician was testing my eyes.  I must have gotten used to it over the years, and compensated to suit.

Now I’m just waiting for the day when I’m going to need bi-focals.

Freedom… 3/18/2007

…can sometimes have a very bitter taste.

Nightmares and Dreamscapes. 3/14/2007

Last night, I was feeling very sleepy.  I crawled into bed, feeling a little out of sorts with myself. Maybe the goat had something to do with it.  I couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position to sleep in.  I was wondering if it might be the insomnia again, and was thinking about getting out of bed, and taking a long ride in the midnight darkness, when quite suddenly, I drifted off.

And then I had a nightmare.

It scared me a little, this dream I had.  From what I remember of it, I went hunting.

Not even my usual weapon.  But it sufficed for my purposes.  I tracked them down, one by one.  And I killed them all, a few of them fairly slowly and painfully.  I woke up, shuddering and sweating.  It was irrational, illogical and didn’t make any sense.  What’s in the past, should stay in the past.  Although sometimes it surfaces, bubbling up through the oil slick of my psyche.  The dream was real enough that I could taste the cordite, smell the fear.

This is when I hate myself.  Because the really scary thing is, I know what I’m capable of, and what happened in my nightmare is a thing I can very, very easily do.

The return of the Snark. 1/29/2007

I guess some of you may have noticed that Hunting the Snark was down for a while. I got more than a few e-mails, phone calls, SMSes, and messages asking me what had happened to this site, and more importantly, was it coming back, or would it ever be coming back. Today, I finally caved in to peer pressure. I guess the turning point was both Shaolin Tiger and KY calling me a faggot for taking the down Hunting the Snark.

So, for better, or worse, the Snark is back. Whether or not it gets updated is another issue. I found the 3 weeks without having to think about the Snark quite liberating. As some of my readers who keep blogs will know, blogging can be sometimes a difficult process. The freedom from thinking about what to post, or even having to post anything, was quite nice. I even managed to get some real work done. Well, not really, since someone was distracting me somewhat. But some work was done.

One of the reasons the Snark came down is because I have made several life changing decisions lately. This has kind of left me with little time for real riding, and my only biking time is confined to the daily commute. I still manage to have fun though, since riding a motorcycle always makes everything all right. The fractured foot is healing, and I’m now walking, well, limping really, without the aid of a stick. Unfortunately, an old bug bear of mine has raised its head, an addiction to painkillers. I trying to stay away from them as much as I can, but on some days, the pain gets to be just too much.

Due to changes in my circumstances, and my commitment to someone, the stable is going. Most of the bikes have found good homes, or are otherwise spoken for. The ones that remain are those that are not mine to sell, or have too much sentimental value attached to them for me to readily part with them. I guess the last remaining bike will be the Silver Lady. If someone makes me an offer I cannot refuse, I may let her go. It will break my heart to do so, but needs be as needs must.

In the meantime, I promise a return to regular scheduled programming, and more stuff that’s been going on, in and around my life.

And no more emo shit.

Seasonal cheer. 12/23/2006

A couple of nights ago, a young lady of my acquaintance, and a dear friend, returned to this country for a short visit home. She had taken the trouble, at my request, to bring me some spirits, in keeping with the spirit of the season. And if you don’t think that’s a bad pun, you must be dead and have absolutely no sense of humour.

My favourite tipple, brought with much love and care, and parental expenditure in air fare, right to my door step.  I appreciate the gesture, and the young lady in question has my gratitude.

I first started drinking Bushmill’s when I discovered it during a rather rough trip to the Emerald Isle, years and years ago, in a past life.  This was in the days when being Catholic, or Protestant, in that specific city, was literally a matter of life, or death.  But the one thing that I discovered, was that the people in the city, in certain areas at least, were genuinely friendly to visitors.  And it was during a rather cold evening, driving along in a residential area, where I encountered this hospitality.

I was looking for a specific address, and a specific person.  Driving along, I gave up, and decided to ask for directions.  I saw a gentleman walking down the street, with his wife, and I rolled my window down to ask for help.  He listened to my question, and then answered me in the broadest Irish brogue I had ever encountered to date.  His wife saw my dumb founded look, and said to me, in a rather more understandable lilt, that if I gave them a lift home, they would show me where I needed to go, since it was on their way.

I agreed, and they got into the car.  A little ways along, they were where they needed to go, and I was within spitting distance of where I needed to be.  Conversation in during the drive was interesting to say the least, since they were really curious as to what someone like me, from a very far off country, would be doing in Belfast.  I answered them as best I could, trying to avoid mention of the fact that I was working for the devil.

As the gentleman got out of the car, he turned, and said to me, that since it was a cold night and all, would I be interested in trying out some Irish whiskey.  I shrugged my shoulders, and since I had time to burn, I said yes.

And tasted what was to become, for me, a life long relationship, with one of the best whiskies in the world.  But I will give you fair warning, for drinking Bushmill’s is an acquired taste.

Protected: Misgivings. 12/14/2006

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