Mate With an Angle

does she have a tilted pelvis? lol

Wow

I'm partial to Saxons, but whatever floats your boat.

Did you mate with an acute or an obtuse angle?

No, no... "with" as in: "possessing".

blink & wink

My GLP messiah complex will protect me

tl;dr

Like a pervert mate with a angle or angel look the same to me. So are they died? Just joshing Op did not even read the thread.

Double plus perversion all over the place.

No one died. smile.

Right over OP's head.

Phew. It missed!

grin.

Here's where M.E. learned the word "synchronicity" and adopted its use. M.E. couldn't have loved using it more if it was a product of her own invention, birthed from her own brain.

(Incidentally, the conception, birth, and eventual implementation of words and ideas is an equally interesting topic, however there are rather a lot of dirty words required in any accurate discussion thereof.)

In order to avoid accidentally—prematurely—posting a half-formed, half-baked remark, or series of, which could potentially land M.E. in reform school, should too many people complain to the stupor-strict Thought Police, who are far more menacing than your smiling everyday patrolman who spends the bulk of his time strolling along the sidewalk, casually swinging his billy-club, M.E.—where was I? Uh oh. Half-formed thought. You won't rat me out, will you? Okay. Don't panic. Let's just continue and try to put as much distance between ourselves and the thought-crime as possible.

So, anyways... (Don't look back—it'll make you look guilty.) M.E. wished to avoid accidentally posting before she was finished typing, so she used a text document to write before cutting and pasting the fully formed, totally baked, (and perfectly legal, th'officer), typing to the appropriate posting window.

Also, M.E. reckoned, since there was only one posting window for each thread, should any two or more people wish to write a post on the same thread at the same time, they would necessarily be virtually, well, you know, occupying the same space. Like ghosts. Creepy.

So, there M.E. would be, writing thing-a-remarks on her document, not always minding her own business, but definitely minding her own thing-a-ma-chine. Then M.E. would go to post. You know that expression some people use: "so-and-so happens"? Well, that's not what happened. Synchronicity happened. But it smelled like the same kind of stuff.

That's how M.E. discovered that the two words were synonymous. Reinforcing that discovery, M.E. remembered the first thing she thought when she saw the synchronicity/so-and-so: "Holy so-and-so!" Which brought M.E. to her next discovery regarding the synchronicities/so-and-so: They come from God. Divine intervention and all that. How exciting! And Holy. M.E. didn't quite understand the so-and-so part, but God does work in mysterious ways, they say. (M.E. believes them. (Does that make M.E. a believer?))

After typing a message, meant for a PM, on a text document, M.E. added, as an afterthought, a remark about how she talked to herself. Something like: "When I talk to myself, me always interrupts. Me is so rude."

Then M.E. went into the Music thread. There was nothing she was interested in listening to, so she went back to the Recent Posts page and found that a new post had just been made to the Music thread. M.E. went to see what it was.

The new post included a music video and a blurb by the poster. Even though it was a short blurb, M.E. only remembers—vividly and, perhaps, correctly—a few words: "... to the point of talking to oneself."

M.E. tried to work out the timing in her head. Assuming the poster to the Music thread, (who claimed to be a retired government super-secret technology technician or something like that), typed their words within a few minutes of posting, M.E. and he had each typed about talking to themselves at roughly the same time.

Another time, M.E. wrote, on a text document, an account of a, while not altogether unsuccessful, certainly not successful animal rescue experience she had had the previous spring, concerning two baby robins, one bird-hunting cat, two very aggressively distraught adult robins, and herself (playing the God-given role of Having-Dominionator.)

(I don't want to talk about it, though, so feel free to dream up your own imaginative script involving the aforementioned participating characters, one of whom, regretfully, didn't make it.)

M.E. didn't end up posting about the animal rescue-ish experience, and not because she decided it was too painful to share, but because synchronicity happened. When M.E. went to post, she found that another poster had just shared a heart-warming story about: an animal rescue. It was very touching.

Needless to say, there was no way M.E. was going to then post about what, essentially, was a statement about how people all too often cause more damage than anything when they try to help wild animals in their natural habitats. She would look like a troll! Only more so-and-so.

Yet another time, M.E. typed a message she was going to send, asking if there was a P.O. Box address through which to mail donations. When she went to send the PM, however, she noticed that the Donations thread was on the Recent Posts page, where it had not been prior to her typing the message.

Naturally, M.E. looked to see what was posted regarding donations. And you'll never guess who had posted. God. Well, indirectly, anyhow, through a member who had posted a message asking for a P.O. Box address to mail in a donation. I so-and-so you not.

One day, M.E. sent a PM to a site administrator (not-actually)-named Link to ask his advice with respect to posting. In his response, Link asked M.E. if she intended to stay in her separate realm forever. What an odd thing to say, M.E. thought. Intrigued, she continued to correspond with Link.

M.E. shared with Link a dream she had had: A group of people were gathered together outdoors around a long, wooden table on top of which were hundreds of tarot cards, spread, haphazardly, face down. We were all to choose one card.

"I chose 'The Engineer'. I'm assuming that means you."—M.E. told him—"It's certainly not a tarot card." Directly afterwards, M.E. noticed that Link had changed his title—displayed publicly—from Administrator to Engineer.

They talked about all kinds of things: burnout, poisoned wells, the imperfect death trip—("That's what Ammit is for," Link explained.) (Ammit is an ancient Egyptian god—one of those gods employed in the realm of the dead, (maybe the one who ferried the dead, or the one who judged the dead, or the one who reduced, reused, and recycled the dead.))

Indeed, their conversations were not exceedingly cheerful. Then, after some-odd days, Link told M.E. he had to get back to work, saying: "This building won't design itself... or will it? Am I building it, or channelling it into existence?" (He was the strangest engineer M.E. had ever met.)

A couple of weeks later, Link resurfaced and sent M.E. a message: "Drive-by wave"—it read, with a cute little waving-guy emoticon. He said something was funny in the air and that he had been driving the memory lane, trying to find the relevant bits and pieces. He asked M.E.: "Shall the pieces fall into place?"

M.E. had no idea what he was talking about. Before Link had driven too far away, M.E. ran to reply to him. She told him about the typed coincidences, which—M.E. explained—she experienced significantly with him.

For instance, in one message, M.E. had typed something about a "carousel with vomit-encrusted seats." That part she deleted, however, and sent the message along. Link's response included a comment about a "merry-go-round" making one "sick." ...What are the odds?

It wasn't until later, when she came across the following nursery rhyme tucked away in the rear end of the Bible, that M.E. had an inkling of why certain people seemed so odd: "Coded replies in transparent disguise: that's what fallen angels are made of."

Cool story bro....

God, I love GLP. Smartest asses around, emphasis on "Smart." Just when you think you've got a funny comment, worried it might be too cerebral, you see it's already been posted!

After being bored while having fun chatting, M.E. decided to have some fun on her own. Except she wasn't alone. Nope. God was there, by her side, the whole time. God #2. And M.E. doesn't know what He ate, but it obviously didn't agree with Him—the synchronicities were flooding her life like so much so-and-so. Really, though, solitude was sort of the opposite of what she should have expected, seeing as how, with her alone time, M.E. was, in fact, trying to contact everybody. And everything. The Universe. As in: reading tarot cards.

She wasn't wearing any beads, (or any jewelry), nor were there any beads at all in the room, hanging in the doorway or bordering the edges of tablecloths or lampshades—(M.E. doesn't think that matters much, for the reading, it's just traditional)—but God certainly had a bead on M.E. Or so she assumed. Considered, really, to be fair. Wondered, pondered. While scratching her head. (She was, incidentally, wearing the traditional kerchief, and now she knows why they are worn by tarot card readers: to save their scalp from serious damage.)

It wasn't, however, the cards drawn which confused M.E.—their reliability is another one of those questions that cannot be satisfactorily answered—(the individual meanings of the cards are fairly specific, and they are randomly placed in specific patterns, but the specific interpretations are virtually limitless—(not to mention the various other factors, such as how the bent, warped, or torn cards in a well-worn deck might affect the selection process.))

When shuffling, M.E. does two things: listens to music—something instrumental—and lets her mind wander. (Focusing one's mind is akin to directing, M.E. feels, and that would take all the fun out of it.) This particular time, she wasn't having much fun listening to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata and decided to try an option on her mp3 player she hadn't used before—(this was the first mp3 player M.E. had had, which she purchased after no amount of shaking would coax her beloved discman to wake up and play for her.)

This option prompts the mp3 player to analyze the songs on it, which are then grouped into convenient categories such as Energetic, Relax, Emotional, Dance, etc. Neat! (Although M.E.'s not sure she, personally, would have classified The Ballad of Peter Pumpkinhead by the Crash Test Dummies as Extreme, nor A Punchup at a Wedding by Radiohead as Relax...)

Instead of choosing a category, M.E. chose Shuffle All and went back to shuffling the tarot cards. Then she drew some cards. Then she shuffled again and drew some more cards while the music played on random shuffle. Then she put the cards away. It doesn't sound very exciting, I realize, but it was fun for M.E. The next day, M.E. drew a few more spreads with the tarot cards. While listening to music, of course. Randomly shuffled music. And the day after that, she did the same.

Either the next day or the day after that, or the day before the day after something like that—(glancing surreptitiously around for any sign of the Thought Police)—M.E. noticed, vaguely at first, that the supposedly random songs played were nothing of the kind, as the mp3 player responded to either the tarot card spread—(as in: read the reading)—or her thoughts—(or both, (or neither, if it was all just a spooky coincidence.)) Quite literally.

M.E. did the math: out of the 400 or so songs which could have played, she considered how many of them could have been applied in the same fashion, (but not necessarily with the same meaning.) The chances, as with the tarot card spreads, were certainly high that a song selected could be viewed as applicable in some perspective—like rolling one particular number, like one, for instance, with a die. Still, M.E.'s mind was not eased by this obvious fact. The number one, the perfect song, came up far too often, as regards what M.E. knew she was thinking.

as long as it's not the pointy end...

tl;dr

Hm. I guess that would depend on whether or not you can appreciate a good point.

grin.

Clearly, M.E. decided, she didn't need to be burdened by tarot cards anymore, when attempting to communicate with The One Who Is All—not when the mp3 player was so much more convenient, being portable as well as hands-free.

Rather than cite the list of angelic incidents in its entirety, (which wouldn't fit into any written work of reasonable length), (and which M.E. doesn't completely remember, in any case), I'll share some of the more relevant—and funnier—examples. Examples which give, also, a sense of God #2's personality.

But first I would like to explain how, according to M.E., it all went down. See, it's not magic. You don't just snap the Play button with your finger, or wand, (which, too, could damage the delicate device), and command God's presence. Not that that doesn't work, He just doesn't appreciate it. In fact, (or imagination), He does not appear to like being directed at all. Further, He prefers to remain invisible. Unnoticed. Not watched watching and all that. (Which, by the way, is totally not what the Original God apparently claimed earlier, when He dictated His wishes to those wise guys who wrote the Bible.)

No, all you have to do is listen. Pay no attention to the God inside the machine. No matter what He ate—just continue jogging, or washing dishes, or waiting for a bus, or whatever you happen to be doing, with a straight face, even though you're dying to scream out: "God! I know that was You! Would You mind, please, closing the window?!" M.E. found that if she allowed her thoughts to progress naturally in her mind, the experience was very similar to having a conversation.

Occasionally, her natural thoughts would be questions. Initially, she didn't think anything along the lines of: "Who is this?" And had she, frankly, what kind of answer could she have expected? At this time, M.E. wasn't aware of God #2, and so, in answer to the question of who, M.E. could only assume a presence—a nameless presence. In any case, it's not exactly the first thing one thinks in such a situation. And M.E. didn't. She found the question of if it was happening, and, if so, how, far more pressing than who. (The question of "What do you want?" likewise never crossed her mind, but that was probably because she couldn't have cared less.)

Once the presence of a potential intelligence had been established, and with neither God considered as its source, M.E., naturally, assumed: human. And humans have names. Not that that's what M.E. was looking for when she thought: "Who is this?" She just used the expression. The mp3 player responded—that is, played—One of Us by Joan Osborne. A lovely song that M.E., unfortunately, didn't get to hear as she was busy cleaning the so-and-so out of her ears. As if to drive the point home, the song which played immediately after was Pissing in the Wind by Badly Drawn Boy.

So—M.E. thought—playing hard to get, eh? Actually, she didn't think that. But she still wasn't convinced that God was involved. For one thing, the next time M.E. thought: "Who is this?" she heard the song Everything For Free by K's Choice. M.E. didn't think God would use such a song, regardless of how appropriate the lyrics were. It's not very dignified. Not when He could have played One of Us again, or Fool on the Hill.

Oh, look, more random, babbling, inane bullshit.

blink.

I'm curious: Do you also write letters to your local newspaper, informing them that they need not publish weather reports, as the majority of readers spend the bulk of their time in climate-controlled environments?

Wow. That's sounds like quite a story. So mean while just oops to the second one. Very interesting.

One star for a stupid fucking thread.

Second one?

I don't follow...

One star?? Make it zero. hehe

Scratch that.

Take your opinion and speak it!

There now, isn't that healthy?

What's a cyclopops?

Sounded like some crap in there about there being two gods. I didn't read it all probably just another bot or more crap.