life. and other places.
2001-09-14 - 8:24 p.m.
I�d rather not go to war. I mean, personally. Just not my style. I�m sure that sounds egotistical, like I�m putting myself in front of my country, but I�ve never really liked the methods or methodologies of the US. And as I�ve said before, but probably not in this diary: they�d have to pay me by the head. If I were to get into this �thing�, I�d have to be allowed to do things to my own �maximum efficiency�. No bloodthirst, no anger...just thinking up and executing creative methods of terrorism to counter the Sikhs terrorists. And for the record, I do believe we should �retaliate�. But we should retaliate with a conscience clear of rage and revenge, and realize that we are doing this to ensure the safety of our people from a terrorist group that has been raised to believe we are demons. And they might not be entirely wrong in their beliefs of us, because there isn�t going to be much left of Afghanistan when this is over.
Related Sidenote: I�ve been seriously considering moving to Canada after I get out of college, so that I can continue my education with less of an ominous cloud over my head, and possibly continue to live my life the way I want to. I keep reminding myself �nothing ever works�...
Enter Lisa, stage just-a-little-to-the-right-of-the-center. A 25-year old in my anatomy class, mature and sincerely nice. She commutes to my college from who-knows-where because-I-forgot-to-ask, and works full time when she�s not in class. If Todd were my surrogate big brother on campus, I could see Lisa as a sister. Reminds me a lot of Sarah, but that might be because I just got off the phone with her last night. Speaking of bananas, she�s completely broke and without a job...I�m planning to send her some money as soon as I get some cash back from my college loans. At times, I think I act more like a father to her than a brother...and I remember that she�s farr from being a child (although she�s not against acting like one on occasion). As we telepathically said in-between conversational bits on the phone, this is the hardest time. If she gets through this, she�ll be set. I just hope she can hang in there.
I�ve been thinking lately about what it be like if a person born with a Viewmaster (TM) on their head. No one would want to talk to you, simply because you have a large chunk of metal hanging off your head (and neck muscles that could stop a train). What�s worse is that you have to pay a quarter to see where your going. Watching the world in one-minute movies and eating through a straw. My prediction would be that this person would spent their whole life in an endless quest for quarters, desperate for each last glance of reality. These are the sorts of thoughts that crawl into your brain late at night, if you fall asleep reading B F Skinner literature.
I was going to go with Nikki to the train station today, to make sure she got there alright. She�s going home to Philadelphia for the weekend, and I know she�s a big girl and can take care of herself, but I�ve still got reasons to be concerned, eh? So I went to work (fixing computers on campus) and moved some previous;y acquired shopping carts onto campus instead. I don�t have the time to det them up as drag-racers/bobsleds just yet, because of homework issues; but praise Mohammed/Jesus that I actually *have* homework to keep me busy. Scott (other pooter-fixing guy) drove me down to cash a five-dollar check from the laundry-machine people, from when their vending machine ate my money. There was much funniness about his car being on E (energized/drugged/full) and going to the gas station to get it filled to F (fuct/empty). FuC it up all the way please. The tank is half-fuct. Scott is a funny guy...I telled him a while ago that that was my first impression of him.
There are many different kinds of kisses, sorted by location. Here�s just a few, and their superstitions in Jasonland (TM).
Forehead: Protection. May the little demons stay out of your head while you sleep.
Lips: Love. Just another little way to say it.
Back of Hand: Formal. Not much more than a hello, but best served with a side-order of eyebrow-twitching.
Palms: Soul mates. Expresses the deepest sorts of friendships.
Pinky Finger: Promises. They last forever, if you�re careful.
Ring Finger: If I had a tinfoil ring, would you marry me?
Middle Finger: Fuck you *smile*. And fuck me, while you�re at it...I mean, if you don�t mind.
Thumb: Grrr-rrrr-prrrr-grrr-rrrr.
Shoulder/Neck: Greetings to a lover. I didn�t realize how much you mean to me, until just now.
Elbows/Knees/Top-of-head: Protection from boo-boos. Not unlike wearing Holy Skateboard Pad Armor (TM).
Nose: I love the way you think (physically, such as nuzzling, cuddling, spooning)
Ear: I love the way you think (conversationally).
Chin: I love your self-reliance.
Toes: I love the way you play.
Cheek: Greetings to a friend. I missed you deadfully, even if you were here the whole time.
Sternum: Your beauty is enchanting.
Eyebrows/Hair: Monkeys. I think I found a tasty bug. Do you mind if I...yummy.
Legs: Can I start nibbling now?
Luther: The goal of life is, simply, to live. Most of the time, people run around without knowing that they aren�t living. Tell a person that they�ve been sitting in a chair and drooling for the past five minutes, and they�ll say that they didn�t even realize they were so...gone; until you helped them think about it. You can tell that you�re living because your heart floats around in your chest, looking for something to anchor onto, anything to latch onto, besides the butterflies in your stomach. The chemical form of live is adrenaline. Live is made up of nervous feelings and �weird� moments. Life is made up of those tiny moments where you�re making an important decision for the first time. Life is doing whatever it is for you that brings you to the edge of your capacities.
Goblyn: This picture says it all. Life is like a box of crayons...you never know whatchyoo gonna get, if ya culablind...You can choose to use just some of the colours, but have to use all of them if you want a rainbow. And just as that red crayon in a sea of yellows can represent independence, minority struggle, and hope, it displays a much more elaborate set of messages which I cannot explain because the mere translation would make the meaning that much less pure. That red crayon there, that�s Jesus. It�s the one side fighting against its twin, and the only �winner� is a little girl stuck in the middle of it all, pressing a single red rose to the sky. Yes, life is like a box of crayons.
a multitude of colours expressed with three
