time wounds all heals
2002-06-11 - 11:52 p.m.
Daydreaming again, this time in backgroundless characters. I�ve forgotten, since, what they said, but really it doesn�t seem to matter because they had no past for which to lay foundations/motives for the things they said. All about the history.
So there�s this Kelly girl that I met again at the MSSM graduation. (Jon, my old roommate, graduated on the 9th, and his birthday is tomorrow, or the day after, or sumthin�. Yay and congrats and wishes at least halfway around.) Cute girl, and smart, I mean, at least baseline smart because she got through MSSM with good marks...and she gets points for being a good friend of Jon�s. I might have to check the back-issues in this diary, but I don�t think I mentioned her before...we nearly had a thing going at the end of my senior year, but as I was too hung-up with the idea of Becca, nothing happened. And I�ve been realizing that that I�ve gotten caught up on that one several times too many...it�s been so long since I�ve seen �Bex� that I barely know her anymore. On the other hand, something seems fakeish/Lucyish about this Kellygirl, and I�m not sure what it is...maybe I just haven�t talked to her enough to know her, or don�t know her enough to really Talk to her, or don�t Talk to her enough to Know her.
And it suddenly becomes clear, like a bent paperclip in an outlet. Cancer is a mutation caused by a slight level of chaos in the process of cellular reproduction. People are always saying that too much of anything will give you cancer. Of course this makes sense because the more we kill our cells with cigarettes and bottles of brand-name acid, the more the body is going to try to compensate by building cells at a faster rate and/or upping the mutation in those cells so that one might be produced that survives better than the others. Cancer is, for lack of a better word, a �natural� process. We grow cancerous cells all the time, and its {nuts} for scientists to assume that the body does this for no purpose at all. Perhaps, if this level of chaos didn�t exist, there would be no genetic mutation of sex cells, and hence no mutation of the species overall. Thus, if one were to find a cure for cancer, it would mean the end of our evolution, the end of our existence as we know it.
Says old Spot the dog to Sparky, the new pup: ��Ere �Ere...Lemmie show you the difference between somethin� that�s alive and something that�s not. This is very easy...if it has a smell, it�s alive. Plastic is not alive, rocks are not alive, although they may have live moss on them, and metal machines are only slightly alive, mostly when they�re wet. Other dogs, they smell, so they are alive; cats are alive as much as they hate to admit it...even your {untranslatable: piss that one uses to �make his mark�}is alive. After it�s been around for a while, it starts to die off and get washed away, but it�s alive at first. Now, once you know that somthin� is not alive, the next step is to find out if it used to be alive (ex-living) of if it never was (non-living). The rocks are non-living. A skunk though, that�s ex-living, and eventually it�ll be naughthin� but bones...you might smell it, and think that it has a smell, but it would be a strange smell, not from the skunk from from the little critters that have been eatin� it up...really small critters, but they�re alive, and they�re more alive than most living animals, *harhar*!
�Hey, what would you say to stepping into one of these little shoppes, seperating ourselves with a flat piece of wood, and talking over cups of caffeine?� �from the imaginary book, �The Pickup Lines That Didn�t Make The Cut�
The postlady greeted me this morning, while I was washing cars. Just said 'hello' back, but later I saw her making deliveries down the main street and thought about saying hello again, but such a thing would be redundant, as if a person said g'morning twice in one morning. Noticing that she was on foot and that some of the parking spaces were still open, I considered 'just felt like walking?' And she might have replied "no, I don't park on main street...It's not like I work for UPS" [who parks in the middle of main street about once every couple days, blocking traffic]. '*laughter* That's the best joke I've heard in a few days; and yet, so true.' Except that I didn't hear this joke at all. She had gone into a store and I had walked pat, because the moment had past inside my head, and the sidewalk is more fun to walk alone, anywho. It's a sad thing, this condition, *this* human thing. And come to think of it, maybe the UPS guy doesn't park in the street...It's getting harder to tell what's inside, and what's outside, and what's standing in the doorway waiting to be introduced to the things that may or may not be inside.
"You feel like a million bucks...if I don't use you pretty quick I think I'm gonna burn a hole right through my 'ere pocket." �TPLTDMTC...And followed by grunting, of course. All bad pickup lines are followed by grunting.
Post Sanctum: I haven�t quit coke, not really. I keep telling myself that I�m not addicted so long as I only drink as much as a �normal� person. Problem is, all the people in this house drink is soda, and this screws up my perception of normalcy. Two litres there, one here. Memories crawl out my ear and slide down the side of my neck, escaping a mind that used to be Alcatraz (TM).
