Alternate Titles: "When Life Imitates Art" or "What Big Jack-O'-Lanterns You Have My Dear!"

I had initially hoped to make my Halloween update something a bit more entertaining and noteworthy than a mere journal entry. I was actually planning to upload a Halloween-themed inflation story especially for this holiday, but unfortunately I wasn't able to finish it on time (I came pretty damn close though, and I still plan on finishing it - it'll just be a little late, that's all).

So, as I am unable to provide the people kind enough to watch my gallery with a new story, I will instead regale you all by recounting some of the sumptuous eye-candy I happened across this evening while I was out celebrating with my friends.

Halloween in small towns can be a somewhat tedious affair, depending on how seriously the townsfolk take the holiday, and the concentration of small, precocious children in your vicinity. However, if you are fortunate enough to live in a major metropolitan area - like I do - this time of year can be a visual feast of unparalleled decadence, both in terms of elaborate costumes and gorgeous women. Every Halloween, the city's loveliest and most well-endowed young women crawl out of the woodwork, squeeze their magnificent curves into tight, skimpy costumes of every imaginable description, and hit the town. To say that this year produced an especially 'bountiful' crop would be something of an understatement. From Emma Frost with E-cups, to a scantily-clad Sith apprentice with 'Death Stars' so massive they generated their own personal gravity field (at least if the number of people orbiting around her was any indication), the streets and nightclubs were packed with gorgeous, pneumatic ladies, bouncing and gyrating to the beat of Michael Jackson's 'Thriller'. It was, to say the least, a heart-stopping spectacle.

Despite the stunning parade of feminine beauty on display, the most impressive sighting of the evening (at least in my opinion) occurred while I was on my way home from a party downtown. While waiting at the crosswalk of a minor intersection, I caught sight of a voluptuous young woman dressed as Elvira Mistress of the Dark. While her enormous black beehive was clearly fake, the plunging neckline of her costume made it abundantly clear that her figure was not.

Rather than fumble in vain for the words to describe this amazing young woman's physique, I will instead employ a visual reference. Imagine this lass ([link]), sans the green skin, pointed ears and conspicuous lack of a nose, and you've got an eerily accurate representation of what this girl looked like. And no, I'm not exaggerating in the least. She was that fit, and her breasts WERE that big. I did one hell of a double-take when I saw her, that's for sure. I only wish I'd had the means to capture an image of her magnificence. Alas, I'd had to leave my camera at home that evening, having no means of carrying it at the party.

Well, the hour grows late. So I'll leave you with that tantalizing mental image, and bid you all goodnight.

Happy Halloween, one and all.

... wait what?

Dreams are funny things. They can be serene and calming, horrific and terrifying, or just plain weird. Some cultures considered them coded messages from the gods, which contained hints of futures yet to come. Sigmund Freud believed that they represented repressed desires bubbling up from the subconscious mind. While there is still a great deal of speculation as to the nature of dreams, a lot of scientists now seem to believe that the majority of dreams result from the brain randomly "pushing buttons" to see what will happen. If this is true, it would certainly go a long way towards explaining the ineffably weird shit that my subconscious mind vomits up at me on a fairly regular basis.

Case-in-point - a few weeks ago, I had a rather peculiar dream. One that, curiously enough, involved inflation. Now, I almost never experience dreams that cater to my fetish in even the vaguest sense, and when I do, the inflation/expansion tends to be 'hinted at' rather than shown (a nagging sense that somewhere nearby - yet just out of reach - some lovely lass is inflating). Hence, when a dream does come along where inflation is not only featured, but is explicitly shown as well, it tends to stick with me. This particular dream was especially impressive because, not only was the inflation shown in exquisite detail, but it also boasted a surprisingly coherent plot to go along with all the mind's-eye-candy.

So, with that long-winded introduction out of the way, I thought I'd share my little pneumatically-themed, unconscious nocturnal hallucination with you all.

As the dream begins, I find myself existing as a disembodied presence - an unseen observer, rather than an active participant in the events. A fly on the wall, as it were. The scene opens upon a gorgeous, fairytale-like garden, bursting with bright, blooming flowers, great old trees with lush canopies of leaves, and soft, green grass underfoot. Early afternoon sunlight shines down upon the idyllic landscape, and birds sing merrily as they flit about. A number of people - most of them female - are milling about the garden, enjoying the scenery. Some are clad in Victorian-like finery, while others resemble something out of a Peter Pan fanfic gone horribly awry. All appear to be in high spirits. The overall mood is one of happiness and serenity.

Suddenly, a cackling feminine laugh splits the tranquil air, and the crowd turns to see a strangely-dressed (by comparison) young woman standing in the branches of one of the larger trees, gazing down at them with cold contempt. She is astoundingly voluptuous - think Jessica Rabbit, only with ginger-colored hair and wearing an impossibly-tight, pink and yellow latex catsuit - and holds what appears to be a glass scepter in one hand. She utters some stereotypically megalomaniacal threats of the sort that would make Skeletor proud, causing those present to shrink back in fear. She then proceeds to tilt back her head and suck in an enormous breath of air, causing her breasts and belly to expand hugely. She holds this immense breath in for a moment, then purses her lips and exhales a shimmering cloud of silvery-blue sparkles, which gust towards the onlookers with surprising force.

The crowd immediately screams in panic and breaks into a run, desperate to escape this gusty blast of apparently deadly glitter. Their efforts are in vain however, and as the sparkles touch their skin, they transform - one by one and with an abrupt "pop" - into balloons. Not balloon-like versions of themselves, but actual party balloons, which bob helplessly in the air, apparently neutrally buoyant.

Seeing the crowd reduced to a herd of bobbing balloons, the strange, latex-clad woman breaks into a fit of maniacal, triumphant laughter, causing her prodigious bosom to bounce and jiggle in a decidedly eye-popping fashion. She is only moments into her gloating however, when a piercing, defiant scream - worthy of the lead singer of Manowar - splits the air, interrupting her sadistic revelry. She turns sharply, eyes blazing, clearly enraged at the intrusion. As she does, we see a viking (yes, you heard me) - complete with a braided, man-eating beard and shaggy mane of dirty-blond hair, clad in naught but a bearskin loincloth and horned helm - charging toward her, spear in hand, atop the back of an eight-legged horse.

The latex-clad woman glares at the intruder, her eyes burning with furious hatred. She draws in a tremendous breath - even larger than her first - causing her body to balloon so large she can scarcely see over it, before unleashing another devastating blast of transmogrifying sparkles at her attacker. The viking - battle-hardened warrior that he is - manages to evade the blast, but his steed is not so fortunate, and immediately dissolves into balloons beneath him, throwing him into the air. As he strikes the ground, the viking rolls with the impact, coming up on one knee. The woman is already inhaling another breath, puffing herself up until she is nearly spherical. The viking wastes no time however, and while his opponent is still engorging herself with air in preparation for another attack, he pulls out a bow and arrow. Moving with the utmost haste, he draws an arrow from his quiver, takes aim, and fires.

The arrow strikes its impossibly bloated target dead-on and, with a loud BLAM, the latex-clad woman explodes - bursting apart in a shower of glitter. As the sparkles rain down on the garden, they touch the flock of helpless balloons that were once people. A series of gentle "pops" fill the air as, one by one, the balloons revert to their original, human forms. Much cheering ensues, and the viking takes a bow, humbly accepting the praise of the grateful crowd.

Then there was cake.

And then I woke up.

As I stated earlier, this is probably one of the single most coherent dreams I've had in ages. I'm still not entirely sure what to make of it, although if this is what constitutes a message from the gods, they must be smoking some pretty powerful shit up there on Olympus.

... and I don't even want to THINK about what dear old Sigmund would have to say about this.

Grumpy old codger always trying to ruin everyone's fun...

Cheers.

- Phraxus

... with ideas that is.

Seeing as how the New Year is now upon us, I figured it was about time that I ditched my old journal entry and put up something new - a fresh start for 2009, as it were.

As anyone who has spoken to me or read my journal entries knows, I tend to suffer from a rather annoying form of writer's block. While I'm quite capable of coming up with ideas, I often have trouble articulating them in a way that I'm truly happy with. More often than not, I find myself getting hung-up on the details of the story - or even a particular scene - until I finally abandon the story entirely out of sheer frustration. Without an outlet, the creative energies begin to build up, like pressure inside a balloon, causing my poor, long-suffering muse to swell and expand, bigger and bigger, until the poor girl's ready to burst.

Since I'd rather not have to scrape my muse off the walls, I've decided to try something new. After speaking with some of my friends in the community, I've decided to try writing a series of 'quick and dirty' stories, in which I start writing without necessarily knowing where I'm going, and only a general premise to guide me. The objective would be to pump out something short and sweet as quickly as possible, so as not to give myself time to get hung-up on the planning or details of the story. Quantity and speed over quality, as it were.

So my question to you is this: what would YOU like to see? What sort of premise or set-up do YOU think would make for a good, quick-and-dirty story? I'm not trying to put the onus on others - I've already got a few ideas of my own that I'm going to be experimenting with over the next few days - but I'd be interested to see what sort of suggestions other people have to offer. I figure the bigger the idea-pool I have to work with, the more likely I'll be to find something I can sink my teeth into and run with all the way to the finish line. The only real criteria is that it be short, simple and uncomplicated. Beyond that, anything goes.

Now then, I hope you'll excuse me, but my muse is starting to creak rather ominously. I'd better try and relieve some of her pressure before she up and-

*Ker-POW!*

Aw criminy. I told her not to inhale.

Now where'd I put that duct-tape...

- Phraxus

Taken from 's journal.

[01] Do you have the guts to answer these questions and re-post as The Controversial Survey?
- Hell yeah! Bring it.

[02] Would you do meth if it was legalized?
- No. I've never really had an interest in drugs. Just not my thing.

[03] Abortion: for or against it?
- For. I believe that a woman should have the right to decide whether or not she has a baby. That having been said, I also believe there are cases where it simply isn't appropriate.

[04] Do you think the world would fail with a female president?
- Not at all. So long as she was chosen based on ability (rather than just her gender), I don't see how there would be any difference. A smart politician is a smart politician.

[05] Do you believe in the death penalty?
- While there is a certain, visceral appeal to it, I've read too many accounts of wrongful convictions and cases of mistaken identity to support the death penalty wholeheartedly. In general, I feel it should only be used in cases where the condemned is beyond any hope of rehabilitation, and guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt.

[06] Do you wish marijuana would be legalized already?
- Yes. Contrary to what its opponents say, marijuana is not a gateway drug. The people who are out there doing cocaine and heroin would be doing it no matter which drug they started-off on. All things considered, it's far less dangerous than some of the stuff we're already putting in our bodies. Besides, if it becomes legalized, then the government will be able to regulate and tax it (believe me, that's a good thing).

[07] Are you for or against premarital sex?
- For, provided all the proper precautions are taken.

[08] Do you believe in God?
- Maybe. I believe that the true nature of the universe is probably so fantastic and strange that anyone who claims to know how it all works and what it all means is just being cocky.

[09] Do you think same sex marriage should be legalized?
- Yes. The way I see it, love is love.

[10] Do you think it's wrong that so many Hispanics are illegally moving to the USA?
- I don't live in the USA, but I do believe that illegal immigration is wrong and represents a serious problem. Several of my family members worked for the Immigration Department of Canada, and have seen first-hand the damage that illegal immigration can do to a country. It strikes me as a bit like stealing, personally. If someone wants to move to a particular country, they can do it the honest way, just like everyone else.

[11] A twelve year old girl has a baby, should she keep it?
- No. A twelve year old child lacks the mental and emotional maturity necessary to appreciate the responsibilities involved in caring for a baby. Leaving the infant in her care would be asking for disaster.

[12] Should the alcohol age be lowered to eighteen?
- Not really. The legal drinking age in my country is nineteen, so I don't really see the point.

[13] Should the war in Iraq be called off?
- No. I've always believed in finishing what you start, and while I'll readily admit that the American government has managed the war in Iraq terribly, I believe that pulling out now would be detrimental to both countries. Firstly, if the USA pulls out of Iraq now, it will be seen as the ultimate act of cowardice, and they will lose nearly all of their international credibility, at least as a military power. After all, they would have won the war, then put their tail between their legs and run away. More importantly however, if the United States pulls out of Iraq before setting up a stable, working administration, then the entire country will quickly collapse into anarchy, allowing another tin-pot dictator to step-in and start Saddam's nightmare all over again. Only when the US has cleaned-up it's mess in Iraq should it pull-out.

[14] Assisted suicide is illegal: do you agree?
- No. If a person is suffering from a debilitating terminal illness and wishes to end their life, they should be allowed to do so. So long as the individual in question gives their consent, and it can be verified that there is no conflict of interest, then I don't really see the problem. It's their life, their choice.

[15] Do you believe in spanking your children?
- No.

[16] Would you burn an American flag for a million dollars?
- Yes.

[17] Who do you think would make a better president? McCain or Obama?
- I'm not sure, to be honest. I've heard good and bad things about both candidates, so it's difficult for me to say. If I had to choose between the two, I'd tentatively say Obama. However, since I'm not an American, and thus will not be voting in the coming election, it doesn't really matter, now does it?

[18] Are you afraid others will judge you from reading some of your answers?
- Perhaps, but my opinions are just that - my opinions. So long as I am not attempting to force them on others, I don't really see how it should make a difference.

I'm not sure if this is the sort of thing that would qualify as a rant or some sort of drawn-out musing, so bear with me.

----------

I've been writing on-and-off for about ten years, and throughout that time I've always felt creatively frustrated on some level. It isn't that I'm creatively deficient - I like to think I have a fairly active imagination, and at least a small spark of originality, something that the scores of notes littering my hard-drive and desk would seem to at least partially corroborate. My frustration arises whenever I try to weave these random bits of inspiration into something coherent - a story, a poem, whatever. No matter how much time and energy I devote to it, I'm never completely happy with the final product. Satisfied or mildly content perhaps, but never really proud. I always get this nagging feeling that I've done something wrong. It's never anything I can point to or circle with a big red pen and say "Aha! That's where I made my mistake!". Rather, it's an inescapable sense that it could have been so much better, even if I can't for the life of me figure out how. It feels almost as though there's some untapped wellspring of eloquence hidden in the back of my brain that I just can't seem to unlock.

Now, I know enough about writing to know that such doubts and insecurities are by no means mine and mine alone. All - or at least most - writers experience lapses in confidence from time to time. 'You're your own worst critic', as the saying goes. In my case however, my inner critic frequently ends up stymying my efforts at writing altogether. Often, I will begin a story, then become bogged-down by the details. How much should I describe? What should I emphasize? Am I giving something too much attention, or too little? It's as if I haven't quite found my 'style' yet - if indeed I have one to find. Inevitably, I end up burning-out my creative zeal agonizing over the finer points of the project, decide - in my exhaustion - to put it aside for a while and come back to it later, then wake up one morning and realize it's been six months since I even looked at the damn thing. The longer and more involved the project is, the greater it's chances of meeting such a neglectful fate.

Maybe I'm just a lazy ass, or maybe I'm genuinely missing something. Perhaps it's simply a matter of practice - I can't really say for sure. I know one thing though - I want to write. I want to work my ideas into stories, or poems, or whatnot. It doesn't matter if they're not brilliant - just so long as they're something people can enjoy reading and I can take at least a small modicum of pride in them.

I'd certainly be interested to know if there are any other writers within the inflation/expansion community who've experienced the same problem, and if so, how they've learned to combat, work-around, or otherwise overcome such roadblocks. I don't expect a big response - I don't know how many people read this journal, but I think it's a safe bet that the numbers aren't very high.

Still, I am curious. Is there anyone out there who could shed a little light, or offer some advice on the matter, or is it the sort of conundrum that we must each overcome for ourselves?

- Phraxus