The Shattered Prayer

Today is Imbolc, but more importantly, it is the anniversary of the nativity of Richard the Previous, aka Richard the Precious. I have so many wonderful mammaries of R the P, such as drinking Dr Proper and getting atoned. No, R the P, I haven’t stolen your blockmerry, I’m just honouring the wanders of its cat-up as I wish you happy birchday.

Everyone hates moving. I suppose I’ve done it the easy way the last few times, by not actually having any possessions to move. But this time I’m not talking about moving physically. I’m talking about moving Shattered Prayer to its new home at shatteredprayer.com.

IF I get a bug up my ass, I’ll be doing that tonight.

My webhost has given me a crapload of credits to purchase domain names with. I’ve already got ’shatteredprayer.com’, to which, one day, I’ll move this blog. Cool, aye? But don’t bother going there, there isn’t anything there yet.

BUT… I still have credits left to buy free domains with. Help!

I’m in the mood to redecorate the Shattered Prayer. In typical Gemini fashion, I’m wantin’ to change something. But its SOOOOOO much hard work. I don’t think I quite want it that bad. Not yet.

Kaitlin has had the travelling stomach flu for the past day.

Every once in a while, I stumble across the Free Will Astrology horoscope while updating the Noumenal News. This week, my own horoscope, though non-sensical, at least didn’t go off on some tangent talking about things other than me. Me me me me me.

“Of your many selves, the one I’m most entertained by right now is the experimentalist who wants to mix ingredients that have never before been together.

I just found out that a visitor came to us today via the search term, “tahiti gay bar”. I put the search term into google, and there I was, at number 19 for “tahiti gay bar”. I’m not too tough to admit, it brought a tear to my eye to know that some vacation-planning homosexual found his way to our little haven.

Last night I dreamt Bas threw a party in Amsterdam. I crashed it of course. A lot of bloggers I read were there. Ken drank all the good wine, and I was left with the plonk. Ever notice that about parties? There’s always one or two bottles of decent wine, then when you’ve got a bit of a buzz, someone opens a box of plonk, hoping you won’t notice its plonk.

I notice peeing on technology isn’t the most popular topic I’ve ever written about. It seems many people have some sort of aversion to body functions. “We don’t want to know you pee!” they say. But everyone pees.

I wonder, if Type O Negative had sung Everyone Pees instead of Everything Dies, would it have been as popular with the goths?