retahded:
2004-12-15 - 1:47 p.m.
...sometimes when i'm drunk i'm retahded, when i'm stoned i'm very retahded, when i'm sober i'm always retahded. this is not to suggest that i have a certified mental condition that impairs my ability to express myself or form expressions, and it does not imply that my judgement is comprimised or temporary (though it is, because i have the medical condition known as 'being male'). it implies a manner with which i preform daily and/or spontaneous behaviours. just like the word 'cute', it doesn't matter what the subject is doing, but how the doing is done. and i firmly believe that someone can be cute and retahded at much the same time, yet i'm having trouble thinking of a situation that actually happened, in which it was descriptively evident, so i leave that part to you.
it is interesting to note that everyone, at some point in their life, has a funny-shaped head. many people of the group of everyone, are made fun of for the shape of their head. many of the people that are made fun of may develop long-term feelings of inadequacy and ugliness becuase of their oddly-shaped head, though it is common to all humans...i call it jason's simple theory of head shape complexes.
ebay versus jason. ebay two, jason zero. i placed a bid on a vehicle, 1988 325e BMW. the 300 series of my old car. it was, however, located in central new jersey, and thus was impossible for me to transport. on the way back from picking out a christmas tree with Step-mother, i slipped on some sleet and did a 180 into a rail with my Daytona, which had just recently been renamed The Pheonix. Bad alignment, old tires, no suspension, worn brakes, and driving slightly over the speed limit at night: i was asking for it. stripped everything out of The Pheonix and may make a couple hundred bucks out it, which is good, but not as good as trading it for 1000$ toward a new car, which was PlanB. come to think of it, i haven't had a PlanA work for quite some time. ussually i'm lucky if i end up resorting to PlanE.
dream: (T:R1->R2->R3). this was not very much a unique dream as it was a good example of the underlying fibres behind a fair number of my dreams, with so little content that i may be able to retell it in a coherrent manner. and, R3 almost passed out from smoke inhalation, so it stands out. at the start of the dream, nothing has happened but i am already aware of seperate levels of reality, and how an action/object in one reality does not Cause other action/objects in other levels of reality, but rather Translates to a different action/object in other realities. In other words, there was an invertible function defined over an infinite set of action/object elements, some of which were in semi-exclusive groups called realities. R1 was driving a toshiba satellite (it was shaped like the laptop but i was driving it down the road) around pittsfield maine. R1 went to park the car at the house i used to live in down there, spinning around 180 degrees as i half-crashed into the porch. R2 parked my green VW at my parent's place in massachusetts, walked around the house to the front door, and talked to them about finnancial matters, something about a loan that i needed, and who i would need to contact to get the money. R1 saw them open the front door and invite me in; and then they began to curse me out. Both R1 and R2, after rather the same time had passed in each reality, were told to write something on little-yellow-sticky notes, a message for me to read later. at the time of the dream, R1's message (we'll call it message A) was very clear (they told me what words to use and i could see what i had written in my own writing, in pencil). In R2, they wanted me to write a couple words of my own choosing, with some tie-in to the loan. here's the catch. the message R1 read was messageB (written in pen), and mesageA was at that time being read by R2. i cannot remember what either message was, except that they were both short sentences. Step-mother in R2 was pist and walked out of the room because she didn't agree with what i had written, and Father didn't really notice the mesasge i had written wasn't the message i was supposed to have written, or that it had anything to do with what i had been trying to write. R3 wakes up to the phone ringing. it's the girl next door, and she's wondering where chris is. my head was really warm, and i sort of stumbled out to get the phone, thinking it odd that i was so tired. she wants me to take a message for chris "liar liar pants on fire" and after so writing, i return to my room, which smells a bit like burnt something-or-other. upon investigating, i discover that i have very nearly lit the matress on fire, the bedspring is too hot to touch, and if i hadn't awoken when i did, i might have been asleep for a lot longer. the thought of burning to death in my sleep is stressful, so i smoke a cigarette, and releive some stress while burning from the inside out. i have not yet exited R3, so it seems that this is the reality in which i will be living for a while. it was startling how real the other realities felt. i rarely dream in colour, which is not the same as saying that i ussually dream in monochrome, becuase monochrome is a variation of colour...more like, i dream mostly in objects and actions, and fill in tiny details (like colour) if they are important to the plot or setting of the dream. but for this dream, most objects/actions had a vague sort of faint colour, so that if i was looking at something, the colour would fade into being. the coffee maker pot, sitting on the counter in the kitchen of R1 had purple glass. the coffe pot of R2, in the kitchen (we were talking in the dining room) had clear glass and black plastic. the coffee pot (in my NY apartment) of R3, between the sink and stove, has clear glass and white plastic. i could see the mesages in R1 and R2 very clearly, and since each of the Rs had a very familiar setting, the edges of objects were well-defined and seemed realistic. the challenge in each of the realities was to find out what was real for that world; it was not a valid question, to ask what was Real.
on piscatarians. some people refuse to eat cute furry critters but will eat fish and lobster. this arguement is for the sake of all my happy lobster peeps chillin' off the coast o' Maine. there are several basic rules that piscatarians try to use to justify why they can eat lobster but are otherwise strictly vegetarian. 1) "i don't eat things that have eyes." obviously these people have never seen a real live lobster or fish. or maybe they have but were looking in all the wrong places trying to find eyes. 2) "lobsters don't have nerves and so they don't know they're being killed". obviously these people have never boiled their own lobster, and heard it scream and trash against the pan when it splashed into it's new habitat of boiling water. 3) "i only eat fish for the purposes of revenge." okay moby dick, next time my cat scratches me i'll eat it. 4) "fish and crustaceans are trying to breed genetic mutant versions of themselves so that they can crawl onto land and hunt us with shotguns, so we should keep their numbers down." silly, you got your species mixed up, those are deer, and they are already walking around on land (fortunately, due to blitzkreig strikes on their breeding grounds every year, they have been perpetually routed and are too unstable a society to continue with 'Zhe Plahn'). 5) "i only eat living things with shells." birds have shells too, they just don't keep them. 6) "i only eat clean animals that don't wade in their own filth" they only appear not to wade in their shyte because they are underwater and you don't notice it. i had a couple lobsters over for a new years party once, and they urinated in the pool. 7) "i only eat animals that are treated nicely and not cramped into slaghterhouses before they die". obviously, these people have never been to a supermarket, and seen the tanks that live lobsters are sold in. do they look comfortable, stacked on top of each other? 8) "i only don't eat animals that are cute." so if i put some paste in front of you and you weren't sure what the critter looked like before it was paste, would you eat it? maybe it had crossed eyes or was missing a ear or was found on the side of the road. for the record, i am an omnivorous-plus-junk-food eater. after growing up with pigs, goats, chickens and cows, i see nothing wrong with having your pet, and eating it too.
dream: a primitive tail. there exited a strange race of creatures that remind me of the skexies from the dark crystal, but instead of being birdlike, they had animal skulls for heads and animal bones adorning their bipedal bodies; every one was different. this race of creatures ruled over the villagers and talked amoungst themselves at tribal meetings, setting up a clear heirarchy between their race and the race of native humans, whom did the hunting/gathering to support the tribe and the shamanix (which is the name i will attribute to the skexie creatures for the purpose of describing the dream). there seemed to be known some process of initiation through which a person could change from a hunter/gatherer into a shamanix, but the details of this process were not revealed (and to that end i must stress that they were not simply men in bone masks, or if they were masks they did not have heads). the main character was a foriegner, from the next village to the east, and lives on the edge of the village with a woman, with whom he has a child. at this point on the surface of the earth and burried deep below the surface of our time, not many people have bows and arrows. the main character's son, being nearly the only person in the village with a bow because his father created it for him, was very practiced at archery. at some point he is seen, shooting an arrow with a string attatched to the arrow, practicing catching things [probably practicing for fishing]. after several days of witnessing the characters in their normal processes, i have a general idea of how their sacrificial rites work. it seemed a sort of turning point between ancestor/ghost worship and patron/god worship, in which each home had a sort of altar-shelves on which food and trinkets were placed. an equal portion of the day's find would be placed at sunset on the [stone?] altar-shelves and removed before sunset to be placed in the woods. the pleased, fattened spirits would follow the food into the woods, and the animals would be attracted by the happy spirits, so that the tribe would easily find food. someone visites the main character's house as he was making sacrifices to the gods. instead of sacrificing an animal, he drank from a closed cup of blood. the villager asks what he is doing, and he says he is making a sacrifice of self (evidently it was his own blood). there was a special tool as well, a barbed hook, that he used to puncture and draw blood. not sure really if this was a ritual practice from his former villiage or a personal ritual of his own, but i was sure that his rituals were just as spiritually satisfying as the traditional practices. when the other villagers heard of this break from the traditional rituals, thinking that he was not sacrificing in the right manner, they thought that he was not doing his part to protect the tribe from bad things [like starvation]. the action they chose was also due to their jealosy of him, becuase he invented things and had a beautiful wife (who had previously been owned by Their tribe, but was now owned by someone who was originally from outside Their tribe). they stormed into his house, and grabbed him and his wife. they and dragged them outside and restrained them in a standing position while barbed coils were dragged on the right side of their necks (the area of the carotid artery). it was clear by the amount of damage that was done, but not by the attitudes of the people that the mob did not intend for anyone to die from this. the main character and his wife probably would not have died from the wounds, and they seemed not to struggle or fight against this...process of spiritual purification. it was interesting to note too, that the shananix took no part in this, through acton or counsul, as one would arbitrarily expect. the son of the main character, watching from the woods, had been told not to interfere. at a certain peak of the mob noise, he let loose an arrow into the crowd. thinking that the arrows were demons incarnate, chaos errupted and a bloody fight engaged all of the villagers, everyone instantaneously blaming everyone else for everything they possibly could, in the hopes that by the irradication of those that were less pure than themselves, they might survive the bad omens that the ancestor-gods were showering down upon them. the dream fades to black and time passes; at some later point, there exists a historian who had had the vision above described. he is concerned with finding whether the above story was true or not, looking for evidence of the culture that was, by bones. he attends a certain dining hall which used to be an ancient church, exhausted from his days of searching, and describes his visions to the waiter. the historian mentions that at some later point in the timeline of the village [which was not included in the dream] the shamanix summoned some sort of deamon, a bipedal lizardman that must have been about twenty feet standing errect, which they used to attack a neighbouring village [possibly the village of the main character?]. the lizardman, after being summoned, seemed to have gotten out of control and killed several of the shamanix before retreating to a cave, where the remaining shamanix trapped it and built fortifications on top of the spot so that it could never escape. before he can finish describing the second vision to the waiter, the waiter brings him his order of "chicken legs", which in the not-native language of the historian, is easily mistaken for "lizard legs". the waiter corrects him by telling him that he is eating lizard, not chicken, and that there was a sort of six-legged lizard that is plentiful in the area surrounding the dining hall but extinct elsewhere in the world. hearing this, the historian is amazed, and begins his journey anew.
complimentary kitchen utensils: a spork and a kniork and a spife; a pot and a top; a chopstick and a chopstick; a fondue and a fondon't.
stopped on the side of Rt. 2 today in mass, on the way back from the holiday of loot-getting, to look at a swath of red paint on the right-hand rail of the road, where the driver's side of The Pheonix connected with it. the mark is longer than i thought it was, maybe two car lengths. much worse, and even a little more better, than it could have been.
