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Discussion Starter #1
“The Typist finds Grace”.
He found it.
The Typist did not lose Grace, he never had it.

Until now.

He has had an awakening, an Epiphany.
He was created by Mercury, by Hermes. This is what was initially revealed.

Oh, Gawd, it seems…..
No, I found out.
Aphrodite had her soft hands and her feminine mind in his creation also.
And only now, this disturbing news, has been revealed to me.
I, being the intellectual, ah, the would be, erstwhile philosopher.
I, being SunCMars.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Typist has shifted gears. He sees his ‘present’ folly, his now presenting folly. Him focusing his energies on women. He sees the futility of this. He is starting to see the worth of SunCMars. And surprisingly, the views of The Martian. Black and white thinking in a grey world. It is much tidier, makes eminent sense.

Women need to struggle on-off-on their own. Without the interference, without the additional, flavor-adding effect of men. It is not The Typists mortal, nor moral purpose in life to solve their problems, ameliorate their perceived misery.

By divorcing women in general, their silk purses specifically, he becomes whole.

It was a long difficult process, this awakening.

Good tidings, by doing so he will become a complete man, not a half man, not a half woman, not a gay man.

As his former self he was split. A weak example of both.

Few, likely no man will ever measure up to any women’s expectations. It cannot be.
To do so would require them to be a hybrid. A man losing his intrinsic male qualities, adopting, adapting to feminine ways…. some of which cannot be assuaged to an acceptable working compromise. His mind cannot shift from one to the other…fast enough, convincing enough to please his lady lover.

Plus, once he starts this to-and-fro, this see-saw personality; a moving state, between manliness and kind feminine empathy he must maintain it ‘perfectly’ or be seen as a failure. Or, at minimum, as a disappointment to his mate.

This to-and-fro works admirably, privately, eminently well in bed.
The trusted thrusting works oh, so well between the sheets. Rubbing the sides of her vagina, tickling the man in the boat. She screams for more.

Away from the bed? My God, It is bedlam. It is grief, chaos.
You cannot give a standing, working in the house, wife, who, while in the kitchen, doing her wifely duties an orgasm of anyhoo fulfilling happiness. There is no G-Spot between her ears.
In her ears? Maybe. A singing crooner has made many a women ‘near’ orgasmic. If she assists with her digits.

Friction between the sheets is necessary. Necessary to please her.

Problem-
Residual friction follows the couple into their daily life. It rubs raw her patience, giving her an ‘oh crap’ headache.
She will find discontent anyway.

His, The Typist, or The Hybrid, acting out purposeful personality, male/female “waffling” accelerates the process.

The Typist has washed his hands of this. He now thinks, not feels…..this to-and-fro is not worth it. Knowing it to be the cause, the reason for another’s, could be a wife’s, a GF’s discontent.

Him being the agency of some woman’s misery. Him being the oft, the ‘Cause Celebre’ for a ladies unhappiness.

He now says….let her flounder without him/you as the cause.

I mentioned to him this, “Ah, too late. You will own that title. You will be the EX who ruined her. Ruined her forever. The root worm that crawls under her thin skin. She can never be happy. Thanks to you, you jerk!”

SCM-
 

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Discussion Starter #3
The key..

Take em' to bed, not to heart.
.................................................................................

The Triune cannot do this, not a one. This is not possible, is not permitted.

Hence, tis' to abstain. Not smudge her whole-cloth, nor her bed sheets.

The Typist- growing by leaps and face-losing flops!! :smile2:
 

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Discussion Starter #4
The Typist has a strong grip on past deeds and lady spirits.

SunCMars, it seems, has deliberately slighted one such She.

These lady spirits are one-hundred percent proof that he is a fool.

Only Ulysses can ride a horse at full gallop.
Not SCM, not TT.

The Martian, he...
He never gets old. Never sticks around that long. He dies young.

It is the old that end up carrying the load.
They have no horse. Not even a Donkey or an Ass.

Some love the Elephant. Too big, he, to ride, to bear that heavy load.

Most are Rinos anyway.

And the horse runs away. They oft need to, Methinks!
SCM is too old to ride.
 
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Discussion Starter #5
When SCM was not around. Not listening in, The Typist regressed.
Fell into old habits. Melancholy habits.

He heard SunCMars sing this....when he was alone.
A common occurrence this, now with the Old Fisherman.
Alone in a big house, having a vivid, wicked imagination.

He whispered this tune:


This is my least favorite life
The one where you fly and I don’t
A kiss holds a million deceits
And a lifetime goes up in smoke


This is my least favorite you
Who floats far above earth and stone
The nights that I twist on the rack

Is the time that I feel most at home
We're wandering in the shade
And the rustle of fallen leaves

A bird on the edge of a blade

Lost now forever, my love, in a sweet memory


The station pulls away from the train
The blue pulls away from the sky

The whisper of two broken wings
May be they’re yours, maybe they’re mine


This is my least favorite life
The one where I am out of my mind

The one where you are just out of reach
The one where I stay and you fly

I'm wandering in the shade
And the rustle of fallen leaves

A bird on the edge of the blade
Lost now forever, my love, in a sweet memory

sung by Lera Lynn-
 
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“The Typist finds Grace”.
He found it.
The Typist did not lose Grace, he never had it.

Until now.

He has had an awakening, an Epiphany.
He was created by Mercury, by Hermes. This is what was initially revealed.

Oh, Gawd, it seems…..
No, I found out.
Aphrodite had her soft hands and her feminine mind in his creation also.
And only now, this disturbing news, has been revealed to me.
I, being the intellectual, ah, the would be, erstwhile philosopher.
I, being SunCMars.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Typist has shifted gears. He sees his ‘present’ folly, his now presenting folly. Him focusing his energies on women. He sees the futility of this. He is starting to see the worth of SunCMars. And surprisingly, the views of The Martian. Black and white thinking in a grey world. It is much tidier, makes eminent sense.

Women need to struggle on-off-on their own. Without the interference, without the additional, flavor-adding effect of men. It is not The Typists mortal, nor moral purpose in life to solve their problems, ameliorate their perceived misery.

By divorcing women in general, their silk purses specifically, he becomes whole.

It was a long difficult process, this awakening.

Good tidings, by doing so he will become a complete man, not a half man, not a half woman, not a gay man.

As his former self he was split. A weak example of both.

Few, likely no man will ever measure up to any women’s expectations. It cannot be.
To do so would require them to be a hybrid. A man losing his intrinsic male qualities, adopting, adapting to feminine ways…. some of which cannot be assuaged to an acceptable working compromise. His mind cannot shift from one to the other…fast enough, convincing enough to please his lady lover.

Plus, once he starts this to-and-fro, this see-saw personality; a moving state, between manliness and kind feminine empathy he must maintain it ‘perfectly’ or be seen as a failure. Or, at minimum, as a disappointment to his mate.

This to-and-fro works admirably, privately, eminently well in bed.
The trusted thrusting works oh, so well between the sheets. Rubbing the sides of her vagina, tickling the man in the boat. She screams for more.

Away from the bed? My God, It is bedlam. It is grief, chaos.
You cannot give a standing, working in the house, wife, who, while in the kitchen, doing her wifely duties an orgasm of anyhoo fulfilling happiness. There is no G-Spot between her ears.
In her ears? Maybe. A singing crooner has made many a women ‘near’ orgasmic. If she assists with her digits.

Friction between the sheets is necessary. Necessary to please her.

Problem-
Residual friction follows the couple into their daily life. It rubs raw her patience, giving her an ‘oh crap’ headache.
She will find discontent anyway.

His, The Typist, or The Hybrid, acting out purposeful personality, male/female “waffling” accelerates the process.

The Typist has washed his hands of this. He now thinks, not feels…..this to-and-fro is not worth it. Knowing it to be the cause, the reason for another’s, could be a wife’s, a GF’s discontent.

Him being the agency of some woman’s misery. Him being the oft, the ‘Cause Celebre’ for a ladies unhappiness.

He now says….let her flounder without him/you as the cause.

I mentioned to him this, “Ah, too late. You will own that title. You will be the EX who ruined her. Ruined her forever. The root worm that crawls under her thin skin. She can never be happy. Thanks to you, you jerk!”

SCM-
Are SCM and the Typist basing all this on their experiences with one particular woman? Or their experiences with a few women?

I bet their experiences and conclusions could be/would be much different if with a different woman. Perhaps they simply have not met THAT woman yet?
 
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The key..

Take em' to bed, not to heart.
.................................................................................

The Triune cannot do this, not a one. This is not possible, is not permitted.

Hence, tis' to abstain. Not smudge her whole-cloth, nor her bed sheets.

The Typist- growing by leaps and face-losing flops!! :smile2:
Indeed. Or, find one you can take to both.
 

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Discussion Starter #10
SunCMars was sitting in his study.
The Typist was flailling away at the Key....board, the Ouija Board, too.

While sitting, while contemplating he heard a groan, a sob, a gasp.

It seems we have lost a casual friend, an acquaintance of many years.

It was a lady friend of my wife, an acquaintance of SunCMars.

She was a singer. A very good one, always in demand. A wedding singer, a funeral singer, a singer in her church.
She was a quiet person, seemingly sad, yes, melancholy.

Her husband was a grouch, never friendly, never listening to her sing, unless there was free alcohol to drink.
He left her two weeks ago.

She killed herself yesterday. No one will sing at her funeral. But all her friends and church members will show up to say goodbye.
Myself included.

SunCMars-
 
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SunCMars was sitting in his study.
The Typist was flailling away at the Key....board, the Ouija Board, too.

While sitting, while contemplating he heard a groan, a sob, a gasp.

It seems we have lost a casual friend, an acquaintance of many years.

It was a lady friend of my wife, an acquaintance of SunCMars.

She was a singer. A very good one, always in demand. A wedding singer, a funeral singer, a singer in her church.
She was a quiet person, seemingly sad, yes, melancholy.

Her husband was a grouch, never friendly, never listening to her sing, unless there was free alcohol to drink.
He left her two weeks ago.

She killed herself yesterday. No one will sing at her funeral. But all her friends and church members will show up to say goodbye.
Myself included.

SunCMars-
Oh God, that is tragic. I am so sorry.
 
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Discussion Starter #12
while(1) fork();
Let it out John. Unfork the heart felt pangs of "Woe is He", that Typist.

The forked Road to Fornication is bumpy. It needs be. The jarring aids progress.

You are straightforward,clever. Unlike me.

Me? Straight as an arrow shot on a windless day. An arc, bending from logic, hardly noticed.

Huh? What?

SCM-
 

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Discussion Starter #13
SunCMars was sitting in his study.
The Typist was flailling away at the Key....board, the Ouija Board, too.

While sitting, while contemplating he heard a groan, a sob, a gasp.

It seems we have lost a casual friend, an acquaintance of many years.

It was a lady friend of my wife, an acquaintance of SunCMars.

She was a singer. A very good one, always in demand. A wedding singer, a funeral singer, a singer in her church.
She was a quiet person, seemingly sad, yes, melancholy.

Her husband was a grouch, never friendly, never listening to her sing, unless there was free alcohol to drink.
He left her two weeks ago.

She killed herself yesterday. No one will sing at her funeral. But all her friends and church members will show up to say goodbye.
Myself included.

SunCMars-
On this. If I seem cool, I am not. I am processing this slowly.

What comes to mind were all the funerals she sang at. I was told quite a few. This in itself must have influenced her. Seeing loving people come to funerals. Paying last respects.
Something she got not enough of, it seems.

Sad, so sad.

One other thing. When you are near death, when you position yourself close to it repeatedly, you bring the Grim Reaper too close. Him taking notice, thinking of you. Death by association.
I avoid many things in life, am superstitious. I am also connected to the Collective Consciousness. Yep, I am.
 
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Discussion Starter #14
It seems…

That too few women see their own handwriting on any failure on their watch. Under their watchful eyes.
It seems, no, it is rather mostly the man’s fault.

Ah, yes, the ladies see the world through ladies eyes. How can it be different?
It cannot be different, therefore it is what it must be. Reality is Fate let slip.
All are foolish who wish this not be. If not, then no ladies be. A sad day that would be… I would lament.

Men?
Most are too preoccupied with trivial pursuits. Sadly, they are rather clueless.
Not bad actors. On second thought, uh, yes that. They cannot, choose not to play the role assigned. They are caught up in the moment. Some drift. Some float on a common man’s airy currents.
Others? Other men? They bear down on selfish nugatory endeavors. And they bear down on flesh! Yum!

Bear down, having blinders on, focusing their energy on their little sphere. With no eye on this, our larger blue-green Globe

SCM-
 
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while(1) fork();
Declare cartesianProduct Cursor with hold for

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable

Union all

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable;​

Open cartesianProduct Cursor;

Or alternatively....

Create table wheresTheDASD as (

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable

Union all

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable

Union all

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable

Union all

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable​

) with data;
 

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The ability to recognize, acknowledge, admit to, and work on one's faults is a life skill that very few have, because few want to admit such faults to begin with. And because we are not glorified for having faults. And we all have them.

What tires me (and I don't play) is there's always some game to play with humanity - who can be the "better" human? Who can be the least flawed? Who can be right? Who can be the most resourceful? Who can be the most popular? Who can be the richest? Etc....

You really can't have it all, but you can determine for yourself what is enough to obtain happiness. And if happiness primarily depends on what OTHERS think of you, then I believe the point of real self-improvement is missed entirely. The point is to not care... Not in a nasty way, but to simply be indifferent to external forces, listen to your own voice, and follow the path you choose, with eyes open to the possible consequences. Listen to others, absorb or not, make your own choices. Act maturely if you screw up. Then you're 100% responsible for yourself... And if it helps, you can tell yourself that you win at life, lol. Welcome to adulthood.

This lesson holds true for men and women. Neither likes to admit their contributions to failings. I mean, seriously.... Does anyone in this world LIKE to admit they're at fault, even a little? But to admit it is to grow, learn, and hopefully move above & beyond. You may repeat mistakes - I did, twice - but eventually, you get it.

The world has become so "look at meeeeee." External validation is fleeting. Internal validation is forever, like ironwood.

You'll be OK, sun-brother.
 

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Discussion Starter #17
Declare cartesianProduct Cursor with hold for

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable

Union all

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable;​

Open cartesianProduct Cursor;

Or alternatively....

Create table wheresTheDASD as (

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable

Union all

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable

Union all

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable

Union all

Select *
From customerTable join ordersTable​

) with data;
This, a snippet of logic.

Taken from the middle.

Not knowing the aforementioned direction.

Not knowing if this, or if Thee were in an unending loop.

From past logic, jump (9) to that conclusion.

Assume one has arrived at the (new) goto (9) planet.

That one the formula indicates as real.

Yet to be seen....

Landed on, deduced to reality.
 
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This, a snippet of logic.

Taken from the middle.

Not knowing the aforementioned direction.

Not knowing if this, or if Thee were in an unending loop.

From past logic, jump (9) to that conclusion.

Assume one has arrived at the (new) goto (9) planet.

That one the formula indicates as real.

Yet to be seen....

Landed on, deduced to reality.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
There is no loop
You silly refrigerator.
 

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On this. If I seem cool, I am not. I am processing this slowly.

What comes to mind were all the funerals she sang at. I was told quite a few. This in itself must have influenced her. Seeing loving people come to funerals. Paying last respects.
Something she got not enough of, it seems.

Sad, so sad.

One other thing. When you are near death, when you position yourself close to it repeatedly, you bring the Grim Reaper too close. Him taking notice, thinking of you. Death by association.
I avoid many things in life, am superstitious. I am also connected to the Collective Consciousness. Yep, I am.
I wonder if her lousy husband will show his face at the funeral.
 

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Discussion Starter #20
I wonder if her lousy husband will show his face at the funeral.
Good question...

Someone bring beer. he will show. Show up.
Show emotion? I suspect he will crack. His type often does.

On, him. He is bitter about something. Most of us are to some extent.
I have never seen him smile. I think he is in pain.
Likely he is bitter about not accomplishing much in his life.

Locked in some despair.

I blame the alcohol for deflating him, dissolving his drive.
And, of course, I blame him for pouring it down his throat.
The thing is, as witnessed by society, many cannot get away from the thing that kills them.
A day, a drink at a time.

After a certain point, so many brain cells have been killed off, the rest are pipsqueaks.
Their voices weak and drowned out.
Alas, there remain the dominant, distorted, the hydrroxl group of thugs.
A brain in pain, bringing pain to the party of his cohorts near.

My childhood family, both sides, were high functioning alcoholics...right to the end.
It seems, I was the only one to escape, to leave alive and not an alky.
Save one remaining brother who of late went on the wagon. Never fell off, so it seems.

To be fair, I am an occasional two beer drunk. I cannot drink anymore. Burp!
My stomach has never been trained to stretch, four belt loops outward.
With pizza there must be beer. Hear?
 
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