electric trepanning bits
2002-07-24 - 11:05 a.m.
I have to keep in mind that doing at least one thing wrong everyday is not the same as doing Everything wrong in a day, and that even though I did nearly everything wrong today (the toll-booth lady almost tore off my head for reversing in a toll-booth, I got lost no less than three separate times, and nearly caused four car 'mishaps'), that doesn't mean that my days will always be so...wrong. After all, that's what heroes are made of, the in-between-quests stories...no one would want to read a fairy tale that went directly from point A to point B without getting at least a little bit lost inbetween.
That, and the issue about not feeling pain. Not really that I don't feel it per se, just that it's not worth registering. It's just pain, only pain, nothing but the sensory step of a primal-instinct defense system. Sometimes it's not even worth pulling your hand away from the stove...you might realize, a couple weeks down the road, that you should've stuck it out a little longer. So they takes drugs, and they forgets. They forgets all the things they learned, all the things they never wanted to know. This is the eventual path of all punishment-driven leaning systems: they seek out more punishment-style reinforcement. The human, beaten as a child, grows into a young adult who says 'hey, my father beat me, and I didn't turn out so bad'. And maybe that's not as wrong as it sounds. After all, the majority may be able to decide what's right, but no one really knows what's Right, at the core. [Note the capitols, per par.]
�*laughing* Did you see that? That lady had her left blinker on and she was turning left anyway! Haha...You know, I do that sometimes...� -Tony
It was a night. A night of running alongside cars, swimming alongside boats, flying alongside planes. A night of crispyness, like dragonflies in the radiator. A three-dog, two-cat karaoke-on-the-fence night. Scattersong of blue and orange clouds night. Nomadic businesspeople with their tamberines and anklebells. It was a night covered in serrated clouds and twinkling mist.
Me: When'd you get your potbelly?
Father: What do you mean...I'm tough!...*slapping bellymuscles* see?
Me: No, seriously...I mean, what age?
Father, seeing the desperation in my eyes: Oh, I'd say when I was in my late twenties, early thirties
Me: Oh, okay...wait, when did you start loosing your hair?
Father: Hmm, when I was about your age, I think.
We've been spending more time together lately, since I moved out to the corporate coast*. It's quite possible that we just respect each other more: he because I'm working, and I because I now know what it means to be working thirteen, fourteen hours at a time.
Somepoeple, simetimes they asks, 'Jesus Jason, how can you get into so many accidental problems every day, and still survive for 19+ years?' And to them, who are me, I says, 'Because when I was Born I bought the bestest guardian angel one heart could buy.'
Tip�?: Fences make good neighbours better.
Interstate blinking. I wake up and I'm nearly fifteen miles and twenty minutes from where I was, and nowhere near where I need to be. This is the longest blink-time that I've noticed, but it seems to be a developing trait...instant fugue state...occurring more, and for longer periods of time. I can't quite decide if this happens when my presence/location passes my mind/forethought or if it's more that my mind has strayed too far ahead.
So yeah, I got the coach up on two wheels. Driving coach is so much more fun than riding it. Speaking of which, today I was a fish, and it was about time too. 84mph, one more and the cop would have had to arrest me for criminally speeding [I'm not really sure about his: my state laws are fuzzy]. Yep, just like fishing...I was headed back to Houlton (not a good spawning area) up from Brewer (slightly better spawning), jumping up the waterfall they calls I-95; and this cop was fishing from the last 'authorized parking only' spot before the river's last real Exit [62]. I tells the guy that I really deserve a ticket, that if he doesn't give me one today, I'll be speeding again tomorrow. But he was insistant on giving me a warning (even after I couldn't find the coach's registration). Fortunately, there wasn't a dead body in the back seat [this time...].
�I'm manic, she's depressive. Together, we make up one well-rounded dysfunctional individual.� -Nemo
Nemo began a piece last evening, which may one day be called 'the american dream'. It's an epic poem concerning the lives of an old couple, Larry and Jane, who rediscover their love for each other, stress the freedoms of their country to it's borders, find the remote control behind the couch, and forget it all by mid-evening the next day. Bringing bad poetry to the next step of stupidity. Excerpt to follow.
Larry: 'What light, through open fridgerator breaks?
Falling like rocks down the side of your cliff, face
Did your eyes sparkle then?
Or was it only my cataracts, those jesters?
Truely, my eyes have stuck true to your two
revealing what happened to the long-lost Krazy-glue.
Your flamingo lips, silently speaking to mine
drawn to each other like oil and turpentine
in the dark
in the way things that live in the dark can see...'
Larry: 'they put me in the car
never know where I'm going
remind everyone to buckle
but my belt seems tampered
the car insurance is enough to cover my cremation
and buy a summer house in maine besides
we arrive at a nursing home
walk through the heavy iron gate
past the guard dogs and the guard tower
enter the password
enter the prison
who would have thought
inside the nursing home were men!
With a sketchy name like 'nursing home'
They tricked me into thinking there would be naughty nurses!
Jane: 'Last week was a dream to remember.
We were driving down around my sister's house and got lost.
Of course, we practiced getting lost before we left the house.
And upon we came, to a tiny clothing store.
Filled with brand-name items,
at hemorrhoid-bottom prices.
I'll never forget that day,
like the whole world was on sale.
Tears came for my eyes.
I knew we would loose the store.
As soon as we got back in the car,
we did. Upon arriving home,
to my sister's house.
I realized that I'm not young anymore.
Not young enough to wear these clothes.
I'm sure my daughter will appreciate my taste,
and what a magical day it was.'
Not that I'm an emotonal juggernaut**, but it did mean something to me. The family thanked me, personally. I was hosting for calling hours while Tony attended some veteran event, and at least 130 people must have showed up. They said hello, they drank the coffee, they chatted with a sister they hadn't seen in years. So when it came around to 9:30 (they arranged for visiting hours from 7 to 9) and I dimmed the lights...they thanked me by name. They thanked me for all that I had done for them, for the peace of mind I had given them. I really can't describe that feeling to you, although I'll tell you that I also got it when the family invited Tony and I to sup with them at the church after the service [Methodists]. What I can tell you is that it's a feeling powerful enough to inspire funeral directors to keep doing what they do.
Once there was a race of aliens on a foreign planet. These aliens had so far developed that they lived in peace, knowing nothing of what we call 'warfare', although they fought wars. Alien checker pieces had become the new prisoners of war, alien chess pieces the only casualty. And so it was that when they were first attacked by a savage, stupid race, they were forced to flee their home planets. But since they were environment-protective, the aliens only had gliding ships to escape with, ships that needed to be towed into space by a 'truck'. On one such planet, in one community, the aliens asked the question 'who wants to operate the truck?'. It was a heavy question indeed, because it was clear that whomsoever drove the truck would be considered a hero, but would certainly be killed by the invaders, without a way to escape. Five aliens stood out; the leaders of their clan/community. It was clear that no one was going to volunteer, so the first alien offered that they flip a coin. The second alien argued, saying that their three-sided coin would not allow equal representation for all people who could take responsibility. The third alien detested the comment, saying that there were only a select few who were certified for such an action (of which he, luckily, was not). The fourth agreed, he also not having a certified license for such an operation. The fifth, now the third, realized that the invasion was not far off. He took matters into his own hands and demanded the other two aliens to decide by drawing bendy straws. This idea, too, was argued, until the fifth alien (now one of three) said that he had too much to live for...several nest mothers, many descendants, and an important government job. Turning to the second alien, younger than himself, he demanded that he go, upon penalty of death...for number five saw nothing in the worth of number two. The first alien opened his mouth to argue this lack of justice, but kept his mouth shut in the hope that he would not have to go. All the while, the invaders were closing in, but the second alien refused to stand down. There was a scuffle, of course, and the second alien ended up dead. The first alien could not be found, the coward. With blood on his hands, the fifth alien looked at his people, those that had depended on him for so much. The invaders had already landed...maybe they had always been there.
*The current frontier of US expansion. 65% of the world's economy, and going strong.
**These are the dangerous ones, the over-romantics that have been sitting out in the moonlight to long. The star-wishing catholic priests, acting without forethought, and rarely an afterthought. The people who allow, who need, their emotions to override their logic.
PS: Getting that ticket would have meant the loss of my license for a month (maine state law). Because it's a temporary license, it would have expired while it was out of my hands, and without it, I would have had a hard time filing for a real license. I'm glad that my readers can put this into perspective, because I certainly can't tell where my priorities lie from where they tell the truth.
