on the cusp of exponential
2002-02-25 - 12:48 a.m.
"drizzled off all that morganizzle and don't care a bitzzle about all that shitizzle that other people willzzle care aboutsuizzle." -Nemo, drunk.
Was thinking about mentioning something about the moderately high depression factor involved in the manner I choose to live my life, but that really wouldn�t have been the most accurate term for it. Deprived, no...void. And then I sit and think to myselves, we think, �self, you better appreciate feeling like shyt whilst yous can, because it ain�t gonna last forever.� And this makes them really analyze how they feel, trying to pinpoint and describe exactly what �feeling like shyt� means...so far, I�ve come up with a dysfunctional nasal cavity as my only symptom of �shyt�, and a short theory on �emotions� being nothing more than slight physical imbalances that we may just pay too much attention to. For some reason, my body takes comfort in the thought that a runny nose [equivalent to lonliness] is one of my biggest problems.
Old notes that should have been posted before. �I love fuckin� with cops. When I grow up, I want to be a professional cop fucker.� �Nemo
The goblins ran another raid on Saturday. So, while I was waiting for my AD+D buddies at the wrong T stop, I walked into a nearby pub for a coke...�course, the countertender wouldn�t give me one, because I couldn�t have any form of ID stating that I was old enough to drink cola. So I jaywalked over to a nearby Friendly�s (TM) where the waitress forgot that I existed several times too many in the short period of one hour. Waited for a sandwich the whole time, nothing special; and memorized roads from a Boston mapbook. Eventually, I had to leave and catch the commuter rail back to South station, so I left a 1000% tip and left. Like a stain that you can�t see. Walking back to the station, it dawned upon me that that alone might have been the purpose of the goblin...to brighten up one forgetful waitress�s day.
She asked if I had a steel foot, and I didn�t have the heart to tell her she wasn�t far from the truth. On the T, I seemed to have lost my balance and took one quick step back...she was barely wearing high heels. In afterthought, I should have asked her if she wanted to step on my foot, or maybe I could have given her a wish, or cheap magic trick...those little things that are thought up after the fact.
Speaking of steel feet. In the Carlson Centre, there was an African dancing exhibit-thing. They turned off the ever-on mind-sucking TVs to make way for drums. The whole thing was odd, in the sense that the music convinced me several times that what I was watching wasn�t really there. Kaleidoscope of moving feet, to drumbeats. Sometimes, the drums/cannons would only go off when the main guy stomped his feet, giving the believable impression that he was making the sound...didn�t seen too farr-fetched that he was a spirit of some sort, bringing down thunder and rain. Not too farr-fetched, indeed, to think that all of the drummers, playing together in perfect unison [with such confidence!]. Not too farr-fetched to think that the whole could be greater than the sum of the people.
Had my RA interview...at least one RD really seems to like me. Complimented me twice on my writing and �amazing� application. I had a hard time answering the �can you tell us what your funniest experience was� question, and wasn�t able to answer the �one situation where I would have done something differently� thing...it took me hours after the interview to think something up that might have sufficed. The following paragraph concerns the thing that I semi-should have done.
The head ticketed on the T started talking to a guy in the front of the car about drinking [alcohol], �I saw what you just did and you�re getting off next stop� sort of stuff. Of course, he didn�t want to get off at the next stop, so another passenger in the front of the car offered his services as a police officer if she needed them to take care of this �unruly� passenger. Of course, she denied, saying that that wasn�t at all necessary...the T has its own systems of enforcement, and basically, she was it. But the passenger who had probably been drinking continued to argue that he shouldn�t have to get off the train...the only signs concerning food and drink on the T pertain to suggestions of cleaning up your sandwich wrappers and drinking straws...and the next T wouldn�t be going through for another two hours. At this point, a 200-300lbs janitor (also in the front of the car) stood up and decided to take this act of �terrorism� into his own hands. He stood up, grabbed the supposed drinker, and forced the man into his seat. Understandably, the man was infuriated, and resisted. After several back-and-fro struggles, the man must�ve been too tired to fight back, or maybe he was in too much pain. This whole situation would have made me think of Stephen Lynch�s �Superhero�, if I wasn�t so busy grinding my teeth together and resisting starting a brawl in the front of the coach. I should have stood up and told the janitor to get off his power-trip and sit down, because he was turning out to be more of a threat to the rest of the passengers than the drinking man. I would have made sure that the drinker knew that the T is a privileged service, permitting the operators to kick you off it for the colour of your skin, your accent, or for no reason at all...And after all, I would�ve only been standing up for basic human rights: our right in this country not to get roughed up on a train while bloodthirsty old ladies cheer on your assailant. Not like it would�ve been really important...it was just the manner in which he tried to take hold of the situation that makes me disagree with Superjanitor. The real clincher, for me, occurred when the janitor came back to the T for his applause. It was evident that his son thought he was the bombdiggity, and wanted to grow up to be just like his tough-guy janitorial father...and the cycle of power-tripping assholes continues.
We are led to believe that it's our police, legislators, and political parties keep this country going. But it is by far the issue of the poeple to keep this nation...a nation. Pounding away at the earth�s natural resources so that we can buy things from our own pockets that we never really needed in the first place...but out of those raw materials, the people make other things, that are more valuable; we make friends, love, jokes, and conflict. Just as we create the language we use by using it, and the television shows by supporting them, we shape the places in which we live. We, the people.
But I just sat there and let this country go to shyt, because that�s the kind of greatless asshole I am.
Revelation: There is no use for the plural. Everything can be described without trailing �S�s behind...there�s no real reason why we need a different part of our language to express things that come in the quantity of �one� rather than the quantities of �things other than one�. Just a thought.
Just a reminder to forget and stumble on later. Becky (note that the Y at the end refers to the Becky that goes to school here) is still really cute. Explained to me today where she got the scar above her right eye, while we got re-lost looking for a Subway (TM) in Newton. It�s got something todo with the way she stands when she�s waiting for something, and the way the light from her computer monitor basks on her jawline. When she said �goodbye�, I granted myself the imagination to pretend that it meant something more.
Which reminds me: Nikki and I was comparing Beckys the other day, Beckys that met the criterion of being tall and beautiful. Come to find out, we were talking about the same person.
Revelation: Comets and falling stars look like celestial eyeballs. Eyeballs look like fish. Fish look silly...but the structure is there, and it�s the idea that counts.
That�s about all for toady...I�ll point you out to any sweet dreams I come across on my travels.
