said Joy:
>I might add, my enlightened friends, the source of the word sin, at
>which many shutter, and a few laugh.
>It was an English archery turn for anything other than a bulls eye.
>Sin simply means To miss thee mark
>Any of you who thinks youre perfect, please let us know!
I am NOT a sinner, and NEVER will be. Damn it. It's like a crocodile telling an ostrich it is a reptile. In a fedora hat. And I am neither. I thought it was to miss 'thy' mark, too. Oh well, trivial point. I mean to say, what if I told you that indeed I AM perfect, just to show you that I'm not playing this game by your rules?
A bio you say?
Above all I'm a Goth Jacobite Circus Freak, but I also moonlight as a procrastinating nocturnal student at the University of Wisconsin- Madison. I dig quality muzak, and tentacles. Coincidentally, I also had a mystical, unexplained experience at a young age. When I was 16, an enormous purplish squid with ambiguous genitalia descended from the sky, blocking out the sun's rays on that fateful October afternoon. In the eerie darkness I could hear the echo of a mellotron resound through the clouds, but discovered it was only an aging proggie listening to obscure Magma records.
Suddenly, long suckered arms smelling of tartar sauce popped out of the ground like pieces of buttered toast and encompassed me. Although frightened at first, being swathed in that nest of squid tendrils felt oddly comforting. Similar to an infant being birthed in reverse; the nurse injecting thick mucous into my body orfices, and then wrapping the umbilical cord tightly around my neck. Such was the soothing nature of paralysis Squid instilled in me at that moment. It must have been the tranquilizer darts this clandestine creature shot into my eyeballs. Suspended in the firmament like a solar eclipse, the gigantic androgynous Squid cooed into my ears like a pigeon, revealing all the secrets of the universe, and then answers to long-forgotten crossword puzzles. Gelatinous profundity oozed from my ears until the tentacles lost their grip and slipped off. Where the enchanted sacred Squid limbs had been stuck to my skull a token was left for me; my hair grew long like seaweed spaghetti and became a startling shade of magenta, almost the plum color of the airborne marine God/ess. I was TOUCHED, you dig? Don't believe the heretics who say it was mere Manic Panic; it was a MIRACLE I tell you! I bear the mark of that beast and was never the same again. I pray not five but SIX times a day, enacting the holy raisin ceremony for my master, Squid. Then eight feverish times on postal holidays.
And like you, I am also a self-confessed, gender-bending, schizophrenic borg.
~kjs
ps: Welcome to the list, Joy.