I have been emotionally censored. I am afraid to express my feelings for fear that they will be used against me, to prove that I’m wrong, or bad, or crazy. I’m afraid to share my experiences - I’m even afraid to express that fear.

I have, in my hands, the opportunity for a remarkably rich, full life - and I feel helpless to take the steps I need to fulfill that opportunity. I need to write, to organize, to motivate myself and others. Instead I am blocked, surrounded by chaos, and ready to give in to depression.

I read something recently that suggested that people like me might be motivated by a fear of developing dependency. I can’t argue with that. I want neither to depend on nor to be depended upon. Either state is, to me, a form of imprisonment. Love is a wonderful thing. Desire, for all its anguish, can be brilliant. But need - need is the greedy younger sister of jealousy. It’s the conjoined twin of jealousy. Need is what makes alcoholics, drug addicts, welfare mothers, compulsive gamblers, abusers, psychopaths, sycophants, parasites, attorneys.

In my perfect world, each relationship would be symbiotic, the participants sharing in an equal give and take, with none having to question whether the arrangement was fair for all concerned. Sacrifice would become a meaningless term. What sacrifice is there when I pet my cat and he purrs in my lap? What sacrifice is there when I sniff a rose and it shares its perfume?

Daily, I am told that I am crazy or disillusioned or selfish or childish for wanting what I want from my life. It may very well be true. And for now, this crazy, disillusioned, selfish child is going to continue to throw tantrum after tantrum. Remove the breakables and stay out of the way. Things could get ugly.

If you really want to get to know someone, spend a couple of hours in the car with them. It’s better if alcohol is involved, which means there must be a designated driver. Or, better yet, nobody should be driving.

We dragged ourselves across town for a fabulous Thai dinner, followed by a trip to the dubiously named club Crystal for the Kickbacks, (p)Turd and Ill Fated. We were greeted by a fresh-faced, heavily armed security guard on one side, and Fur Shop Lisa on the other. Just inside were a handful of pool tables populated primarily by Mexicans in cowboy boots. The second familiar face we saw was Aston, and just beyond him, Mark, who has the honor of being the cinematographer for gooey’s unintentional porno debut.

Mizz goo stole Mark’s sunshine by ‘fessing up to her crime before he could say word one. A chorus of applause followed - gooey was in the House.

We bought bad beer - masquerading as the good stuff - and plopped down at a table too close to the PA. The Kickbacks were first, and then came (p)Turd! It was too groovy to hear Aston’s rough silk voice again after so long. But Loopy was supposed to be there, and he wasn’t, and that was sad.

Then Ill Fated took the stage and Rocked Out! Mishi has finally fulfilled her calling as a muse. A happy artist is an unproductive artist. Piss ‘em off, and they blossom.

At some point during the set, Loopy showed up with glitter and girlfriend C. number five (and we don’t mean Mambo). She threw glitter on John and then, on Loopy’s advice, hunted down Mishi to make amends. She shared her glitter and promptly disappeared into the bathroom.

Brief segue: A few years ago, Mishi attended a party at the home of tragic child star Dana Plato. Miss C. number five shares a similar public persona. To friends of Miss C.: Take care of her, love her, but don’t try to save her. The girl needs professional help.

So, anyway. It was a truly fulfilling night of music, but the beer sucked and it was 2:00 am and we were still sober, which is just wrong. Then Aston invited us over for an after-party - hooray! And then - well, gooey catches things up nicely in her report on Solstice Week. Any questions as to why this little bit wraps up so prematurely, you can check out Mishi’s essay on Writer’s Block and Childish Tantrums.

Okay, so this is the third week in a row we’ve posted our update late. And that’s bad, M’kay? So from now on, look for updates to be posted late Monday night CST (GMT -6), for your Tuesday viewing pleasure.

For all the craziness, it’s been a good week. Early in the morning on the 15th, gooey’s friend Rene gave birth to a healthy little girl. We visited Rene in the hospital the night before, and since she couldn’t have so much as a shot of Bushmills, we took it upon ourselves to go out and drink for her. The resulting night was interesting, to say the least. Mishi ran into a dear friend who was able to help put things in perspective, and gooey…well, that’s another story. (Maybe, if you’re good, she’ll tell you about it later.)

The rest of the week was too eventful to chronicle here, but we’ll be adding more journals soon. Suffice it to say that the 20th century is proving to be thoroughly unpredictable.

A Chinese curse says, “May you live in interesting times.” That we are. Cursed? That remains to be seen.

Keep tuned!

Hugs and kisses and Happy Solstice!
gooey and Mishi

I cherish my cock and would never let it be involved in a fight with another. Cocks are man’s first friend. I am sure that there is not a man in this world, who has a cock, that doesn’t hold his cock precious. The only fighting cock I can tolerate is the 107-proof kind, and then only to express appreciation for the token of friendship offered by that guy in the alley. My cock is proud. He stands tall and rarely tolerates another cock in his presence. This is their natural animalistic state. In general, cocks are primordial in instinct and act without thought. “There can only be one cock on the block” as it were. This doesn’t mean that we as intelligent creatures walking the planet should coerce them to share close proximity to each other and encourage their engagement. The onus is upon us humans to ensure the peaceful coexistence of cocks in this world. There are friendly cocks, sure. But they are the minority, and have been subjected to the abuse of the type-A cock for centuries. The bottom line is that all cocks deserve protection from abuse.If the city of Tulsa is allowing cocks to fight, publicly or privately, then this is a travesty against mankind (and animal husbandry). I’m not a citizen of Tulsa, but DAMMIT YOU WILL RESPECT MY AUTHORITAH!!! Do not allow your cocks to fight. They will surely become disfigured and useless, or even worse. Instead parade your cock about town. Allow him to bask in the appreciation of this world that loves their cocks. Let your cock, or the one(s) you love, to live free and happy lives. If yours is a friendly cock, go ahead and let him enjoy the company of other friendly cocks. But keep him away from the type-A cocks. Nothing but trouble will erupt if you don’t.

A cock is a terrible thing to waste. If you have a cock guard it with your very life. If you know and love a cock not your own, please support its owner in loving and protecting it with your body. Never support or allow any type of cock abuse. It is perhaps the most heinous crime known to man to allow a cock to be abused in any shape or form. They are proud, but equally fragile. Their ego can be damaged in a moments notice if not coddled and cared for correctly. There are no winners in a cock fight, though there is always a loser.

Finally, remember this: the cock you save today, could be your own.

Thank you, and support your local cock.

“…there must be a word for it… the thing that lets you know time is happening.” - Delirium, from Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series.

Change is normal, natural, necessary. It is what gets us out of bed in the morning, whether we hope to initiate it or to forestall it. It is the great inevitable, and it rules our lives. Perhaps the most foolish thing we do, as humans, is to attempt to control it.

Human nature seems inclined toward comfort. When we’re feeling relatively happy, we like to imagine that things will stay the same. We know better, of course, but we’ve evolved an amazing capacity for fooling ourselves. Only in times of desperation will we bring change upon ourselves - and then we’re surprised when things don’t turn out exactly as we hoped.

Our simple goal at Cherrymagic is to change the world. As we all learned as children, change begins within each of us, as individuals. It is often painful. It is often easier to remain comfortable, even if only for one more day. But without change, we are not alive. We are not human.

Change hurts. Being alive hurts. It is up to each of us to bear the pain, to make the changes we must make if we are going to live our lives to the fullest. Sometimes that means accepting love and learning to trust; sometimes it means letting go of what should be right but, for whatever reason, isn’t.

What change do you need to make? What is it in your life that is tearing you up and tearing you down? What is it that you must do that you haven’t been able to face? It’s almost a new decade, a new century, a new millennium - can you wait much longer?

Make a change. And don’t for one moment imagine that it will be easy. Don’t for one moment imagine that you are in control. Time and circumstances will take their toll, make no mistake. That’s life. If we knew what was going to happen, from one moment to the next, what point would there be in living?

Good luck. We kiss you!