it was then or never
2002-07-08 - 11:36 p.m.
Another new old term: bad brain chemical suicide juice. The aftertaste of love. [Not entirely sure if'n I'll get a chance to use this term to it's full use, but the words are out there nevertheless.]
�'AS THE LORD GIVETH, SO HE TAKETH AWAY'. So we can see, folks, that it is good, and it is right, and it is what God wants us to do. In His very words, it is His wish that was take back what we have given to the poor, the needy, and the unfortunate. In His name, invested by His power, we do this; and thus can we do no wrong.�� �Preacher for the non-existent Baptist Association For Competitive Food-Eating Contests
It was a half-white strawberry day. A sunny-but-partly-rainy-weatherman day. Morning dew drop mellons with the blood of palmagranites. It was a lightning-supersaturated sky with a steadfast-placid moon. A day to fall in love with all the people that you hated yesterday, and for good reason. You describe something too much, and you realize that each day has a little bit of everything, and what makes a day have a certain Atmosphere is your limitation of selective attention. You just pay attention to the parts of the day that you want to. The parts of the world that you want to. Which is all good and fine, as long as you realize that there is much more than what you're allowing to meet your eye.
They says I drive too fast. But I do so to keep up with my brain...at normal speeds my brain gets away, it anticipates what's ahead of me before I get a chance to look, it travels before the car like an RNA polymerase, making the mRNA that is the path of the car. As the mRNA string gets longer, there is an increasing chance that mutation will occur, that my brain will forget how far back my body is and not compensate for it correctly. Then again, they also says I'm a genius, and geniuses don't deserve to die in car accidents (not that some don't). 85-in-a-45, this has to stop.
Had my first removal, in Littleton yesterday morning. Not really much to say.
Modern-day skills: driving denomination. I've recently mastered the art of one-handed cheeseburger driving, not that it was too hard in the first place. I did, at first, have a bit of a hard time getting the ketchup packets unopened and onto the fries; and after several trials found it best to request aid from the cupholder. Other while-driving skills include the rolling up/down of windows, fire hydrant avoidance, crack/bump dodging, cop-car 'danger' sense, high-speed universal communication, standard transmission without hands, and juggling (only for use with convertibles). So there's still a lot for me to learn, when I've learned all there is to half-zone parallel parking and double-blinkerizing.
�We have nothing to be terrified of, but terror itself [and subsequently the actions and reactions thereof].� -Nemo
I'm sure you've all heard that was a shooting at LAX, damn foreigners...and when I say foreigners I don�t mean all foreigners...just the ones that have moved to this country to rape it of it's natural resources...damn fruit-pickers and farmhands. I mean the foreigners that have moved to this country in the past couple years, because they're the meanest bunch ever. Before they moved in, we were perfect, we were a unified, shining pillar for the world to model their nations after. We had no crime, no drugs, no prostitution, no tornadoes in Maine, and no natural deaths. We were perfect in our ideals and in our government; the head of our government is elected by it's very people...minus Florida and a few other states. It would be barbaric for a county to be run any other way. We didn't start the fire. But all those people that died in those towers, they were angels, they were perfect husbands and intelligent police officers that rushed in to sacrifice their lives. Those terrorists didn't sacrifice anything, they just committed suicide. The weather's been changing, my friend, it's all over the news. These fires that we're having in the west [and in Canada], I tell you, it's arson, all the work of terrorists and their mind-controlling influences. They're demons, they are. What kind of towel-wearing freaks have weddings without the bride and groom? We should militarily occupy their pathetic little region, just because they have such odd customs. Let's send missionaries to their schools and teach them that the God their fathers believed in is Wrong. In God We Trust indeed...there is only one God and therefore can be only one nation under god: that's the us, the we, the you and the I. But it's not just the ones with their towels wrapped too tight, it's the terrorists that now infest our very own country [by Bush's definition, we've declared war on ourselves (for allowing terrorist activities to go on in our country)] The terrorists have turned our children away from us, disconnected them from us so that we can barely talk to them. And that baseball player who died recently, Ted what's-his-name. There was definitely foul play there. It's the terrorists I say, selling drugs to our children, and raising our taxes to buy nuclear weapons. It's the terrorists that are ruining the economy, ruining the fine businessmen at WorldCom (TM). Charlies everywhere, so many of them I'm afraid to go outside without my backpack full of C4. Gotta defend the ideals of my country, you know. We didn't start the fire...we just kept it burning.
At the funeral home, we had a murder case...a fairly-young couple picked up hitchhikers...the death event occurred. Anyway, the point is that the father came in, and he just had this expression on his face...he was just so...lost. I see the same type of faces on the kids in this town...sure, the older people in the town blame it on the 'negative atmosphere', but where does the atmosphere of a town come from but the inhabitants? None of these kids seem to have a clue what they want to do with themselves, and those that have some sort of idea don't realize yet that they won't get a chance to fulfill their dreams by smoking on the corner all day and/or attempting to reproduce (usually the latter is not done on the streetcorner). Photorealistic shyt, that's what it is. If it were real shyt it would prubly smell bad enough for people to complain about it, and it it wasn't shyt at all they'd at least know that they couldn't complain. But it's somewhere in-between, just convincing enough to pass as reality.
Music of all sorts used to hurt my ears [psychosomatically?] so that I never really listened to music until I was in eighth grade or so. It had something to do with certain pitches or instruments, I'm sure, because I was slowly able to listen to classical, and later liked alternative music. After that; blues, punk, oldies...but I've never really liked rap of high-pitched (girl/boy) modern bands. Unfortunately for me, my college was nothing but rap, and they always have the hip-hop music station on at the funeral home. There is no escape. But I've slowly learned that it really doesn't matter all that much, what sort of music a person listens to...I've almost stopped hearing it as anything more than background noise. Anyways, I think I used to be smarter, more creative, before I turned on the radio.
