Before I came back to my suite from that sucky-*** $20-cover downtown club, I thought I was probably going to create a work of literature pertaining to rock music, gothic rock (or unrockiness thereof), or what doesn't rock on Amsterdam Avenue. However, another issue that is NOT overrated in our society beckoned soon after I heard Bob's voice behind the door ranting about the deputy (as usual) and I made sure that he was not chillin' with only a pair with appropriate genders and sexual orientations.

The door opened to new doors of perception and connotations and the air unnervingly stilled, constantly being generated by the hormones with which we are cursed and the words that befit us not.... Hollow words, narrow words, shallow words. (Yeeeah yeeah yeah, hallowed be thy name! Yes, Maiden rocks forever....)

Ahem, just talking about the usual mandatory not-going-anywhere conversation. "How was the club?" "It was all right." Yadda yadda yadda. And just as you know that by riding the iteration "x=x/2, y=y/2" you're going to the origin and nowhere else, the conversation twisted my fratzie 'N' I toward the quintessential question, still unsolved near the end of the millennium (which is by the way on January 1st, 2001, regardless of how you feel about your mother): The question of sexual intercourse, and the insatiable demand for it created by the mere fact that time thinks there's no reason to stop. Don't get me wrong, none of us here are pro-stopping-time. However, Spacetimetown and Our Lady of Genetic Encoding, the only two real SuperPowers are involved in THE contract for constantly generating more of the aforementioned demand like karma. (Hint: Studies conducted at an ivy league institution indicates that more karma is generated per day than cola beverages, regardless of the comparison metric.) And like everything temporal, if you're on the wrong side of time, you're on the wrong side of it.

"Are you a virgin?"

"Hmmm....."

Technical conversation on the intricacies of that boundariful virginity concept presides, and returns:

"Yes."

The fact that I have to stay relatively PC in order not to get stoned on campus by a bunch of "men are not even defective women"-level feminists (which are sure to find out your identity no matter what you do to hide it. Yes, you!) is making me have to auto-censor most of the natural language that you'd have otherwise had to process.] Yep, you got it, to cut a long story short, testosterone did get converted into negative energy since it found nowhere to flow... Same happens with estrogen too, except that it takes MUCH longer to accumulate. (If you know from yourself that this corollary is false, let's do lunch some time...)

"I think it's _B._ *S.*"

What else makes people yell in their dorm room at 4 a.m. on a Saturday morning so? Rock music? And I'm not talking about Black Sabbath here, and if you too managed to read that acronym that way, hail hail.

"You've hit ****** ***!!!" (use your illusion to fill in the stars)

While the bearer smokes bourbon on the rocks, the rocks (which are the burden... hmm, I had not realized before that the verb 'bear' and the noun 'burden' are etymologically related. Why do I have to be so pedantic even when I'm trying to talk about sex? No wonder!....) I guess I did *that* sentence a favor by pre-terminating it. The rocks just don't want to get off to the wrong places anymore. Feel cheated all those years, deprived of the correct kind of freedom even to witness the holy grail (dot gov) through a non-permeable membrane. Energy (or Chi, a.k.a. rocks) does not know where to flow after it becomes part of your body which your body does not want to have as a part.

Whew, and that was yours truly, as opposed to your Conscientious Babbler K'ung-Fu-tzu. Skipping the most frivolous parts of the heatful discussion, an abstraction of which has already been demonstrated, here is the all-inclusive conclusions that me and my homies reached. laid out nicely (oh yeah):

1) I'm a soldier .

2) That other one over there's a soldier too.

3) Organized religions which (however indirectly) preach that people (especially females) should not be shagging freely like animals on the streets must be discredited and abandoned...

3.5) .....Roots, rock, reggae... Just reggae music (ooo ooo oooo)

4) It's all him, and by the way, I had told him that he was gonna cough.

5) Getting stoned makes your rocks go wherever they came from, making you sheath your sword.

6) I'm not Russian. No, I'm not Javanese either. I like Costa Rican better. Just the coffee I mean, I've never SIC any Costa Rican girls... If you think I'm deprived, send me astral mail.

9) We hereby resolve: We all need the 70's back (BAD).

And here's some totally unrelated rock lyrics to be used as chaser to this manifesto:

Pick up your balls and load up your cannon
For a twenty-one gun salute
For those about to rock - fire
We salute you
Shoot, shoot
We salute you