these selfish tears
2001-07-23 - 11:55 p.m.
It�s the change. That makes the people cry. They wonder how such horrible things can happen to a person so young, they regret the things they did and didn�t say...but more than not, they wonder what they will do with their own lives. They wonder where they�re going, and if they�ll ever get there; regret the time that can no longer be spent with that person. The wonder, and they fear death. I did this myself, without the �fear of death� part . And then, only because I know Death on a personal level...we play chess occasionally. I have met and talked to the living dead that fill the streets...zombies and ghosts with no place to go but �work�. Of course, there�s the shock. I admit that, on the occasion, I have considered that it�s all just a scam, and she�s working for some secret underground government agency of gnomes...but then again, I know that�s what I�d like to think, and the truth is much, much less elaborate. They are sad or their future and for the tragedy of the victim; but most of all, they regret the future that never was. And they cry deep, salty, selfish tears. And I am they.
I got really bored today. So I decided to make a deck of cards out of Samual Adam�s mug coasters. But I�m still need of 48 coasters...shop on eBay (TM) er bump off a Ruby Tuesdays (TM)?
Sometimes I think that earth is a cage, and I�ve been thrown in with the chimpanzees. I was informed the other day that humans think about other humans when they go to bed. Dream about fucking their friends� brains out in the nastiest way possible. They do this, and get off, and much less, because they choose whom they screw. A guy down the street, that one pretending to be a cowboy on TV, or that girl holding a vibrator inside your computer screen. Oh, while yer out shopping, pick up two crack whores and an unstable fatt chick virgin...we�re all out. Yes, yes, oh god yes! You can put me on layaway baby! We have great customer assistance, and with only 1.9% APR...This is the insanity to which you have subjected yourself. We, on the other hand (pun unintentional), jack off to ideals, and not idols. We don�t screw our friends in our sleep, and we don�t screw our friends while they�re trying to sleep. We don�t imagine anything that could even be defined as human...that tiny umphmm you get when you catch a glimpse of bare skin out of the corner of your eye. We can�t think about fucking what we call �human�, because we don�t think of the human condition(s) as sexy. Cute, silly, foolish, even stupid. Small dogs are cute. We do not screw bitches. When you do screw, outside your dreams, you realize that it doesn�t matter who is on the other end of your dick...it�s pussy, and that�s all that counts. Doesn�t even have to be human, so long as it gets you off. Go screw that hole in the wall, Mr Rabbit, you�ll like what you feel. You�ll go to bars to fuck a drunk, rather than enjoy someone�s company...You�ll get married because you like how one of those drunkards �feels� and harvest little consumer children by accident. I suspose that you go to school simply because someone tells you to, and someone else tells them that they have the power to tell you what to do. And I suspose that you celebrate Christmas because it�s �tradition�...for the presents rather than the presence, of loved ones. Animals, the whole lot of you.
Sir#1: It is too often the case that the pessimists are in the Right, and the optimists are simply indulging their fantasies.
Sir#2: That�s a rather pessimistic statement, don�t you think?
Sir#1: Quite contrariwise, the more pessimistic the statement, the better it�s chance of being Right, as mentioned earlier...
Sir#2: Your backwards logic will not work on me, young jedi. The chance of it being Right would only increase if the statement itself was Right to begin with, and even if the chance could increase, that still leaves it some chance to be Wrong.
Sir#1: Oh, certainly...But there must be some bit of truth in the statement, for we do not live in a black and white world. But if it is slightly correct, that increases it�s probability of being correct, to some tiny degree, and if it�s chance of being Right is increased, then it would be more right, and increase it�s chance of being Right...asyptotically reaching 100% Rightness. And, of course, one cannot be more than 99.9% Right, so logic says it must be the Truth, does it not?
Sir#2: It does not.
I had a dream once, that I was Jesus. An American Jesus, in a land that knew nothing but poverty. He was in the poverty, and she was in the poverty, and I was in the very belly of the poverty beast. From the bird�s eye, the town looked like a junkheap...rusted roofs of aluminum, piled on tired, rocks, hunks of metal, whole cars, and anything else that could support a roof. My family was fortunate enough to have walls. There was only half of a sink in the bathroom, the communal toilet was a nearby ex-pool with a fissure in the bottom. There was always talk about the waste running into the underground water supply, but even the grumblers needed a place to shyt. In the evenings, people would gather by my front steps (made of unused concrete blocks) to hear my stories. They were fables, really, and the moral was always the same: there�s a road out of poverty, if you care to make one. And at the end of my sermons, I would give the listeners what money and food I had to give. Eventually, I realized that they didn�t listen to my sermons...that they were only bearing through them so that the gullible little man would hand them some digs. They had no intention of escaping poverty...they showed no concern of the state in which they lived. One night, I left everything I owned and everything I was. Even those walls...oh, the precious walls. There was a girl and a mother, living in the basement of a manufacturing plant. I needed a place to stay, for a night or for a week. Climbed up onto a metal grating and was about to sleep; but they returned, and I tried my best not to move, not to breathe. People don�t take kindly to strangers in their home, even if you are Jesus. Eventually, they did find me, and there was some screaming...but afterwards, they led me down to the furnace room, and fed me on some potatoes they had been growing in the basement...warned me not to tell anyone about their garden. I stayed with the girl and her mother for a full week, and woke up for the last time with a prybar in my head. They said not to take it personally...that they needed the money I had in my pocket, and seeing how I had eaten their potatoes, they would need something to eat...my flesh was just collateral, until I could pay them back. You see, I learned in those last moments that one man�s Jesus is another man�s Satan...and I, being the American Jesus, was in the wrong land. I simply could not understand that I was not supposed to help them. That people can be perfectly content no matter how much they do not have in the way of material goods. I could not understand that there would have been no such thing as �poverty�, if I had not told them what it was. But worst of all, I would not accept the idea that I was the person that helped them exist in poverty, with my donations. End dream.
It�s been suggested to me that I�m ahead of my time. But I only fit this definition because my mindset comes from the mid-twentieth century, rather than the early twenty-first, and not because my mind is ahead of the time I�m in. To reiterate, I�m in a time period ahead of mine own, rather than having a mind for the future. Time being what it is, I could be considered an old-fashioned thinker...harboring the morals and standards of the late generation of Vlad the Impaler rather than Vlad of the Putin (Poutine, as Bush would say).
