304 ways to love ridor
The thing is, to really understand ME, you have to understand my beliefs. Now, I'm a writer, so I follow the religion of writers. I understand the universe is essentially a matrix for story. All stories that could possibly be, could happen, might have happen, will happen somewhere. Thus god is the Author; She wrote the Universe.
And because God is the Hacker, as well, she wrote it to write itself. And when we die we get to see Her, and tell her your life story.
You want to please her. She's your audience, after all - the most important you'll ever have. So what's the goal? Have a good, ordinary, boring, safe life? Think that'll interest the Queen of Everything?
No, the best bet is to BE something as strongly as possible. It can be a good thing, yes, but it must be a real thing, it must make sense, it must be thought about and rewritten and perfected.
This is why I love Ridor. He has obviously worked very hard to make himself very simply RIDOR. He has carved himself into excellent form. I refer particularly to today's blog.
I’m not going to pant like dogs or Shirley Shultz-Myers. I’m going to tell things as it is on my blog. You do not have to like my blog. I think in the last few weeks, many people was glad to know me in person … that I’m not bad as many projected me to be.
Seriously, Ricky, if you keep writing like this, I'm gonna start wanting to date you. But Ricky illustrates exactly what my point is. He tries very hard to be Ricky Taylor and live by his values.
Oh yeah, some gossip. Apparently someone is having sexual fantasies about R and A. I kid you not. He was writing some shit about them humping over at R's blog. R forwarded the whole thing to A. A was shocked; so was I. R doesn't hump. He sort of grabs guys as they pass by, like a Venus flytrap; I've seen him pick up sixteen squirming freshmen in one go.
Ah, Gays Of Our Lives is on....
Seriously, I believe R's heart is given to another. It fits - his lack of interest in a relationship with anyone. The cold looks he gives out windows at the city on winter nights while sipping Cape Cods. The way he blows money on Perrier; the long summer mornings in churches in Alabama signing "What A Friend We Have In Jesus" for childrens' choirs. He's in love. With a certain young man. Who's giving him mixed signals, so of course he's in agony. Please, young men, if you read this and you feel something for R., even if it's revulsion, be direct and tell him.
It's the Deaf Way.