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Tuesday, April 27, 2004

Negativity, BE GONE!

"So oppression is a state?"

Well now that I've been sedated by the grooviest of Format basslines, I'm prepared to snuggle down into a blindingly white screen, crispy snare coma.

Not much to say other than I changed my life today by giving somebody my Dad's credit card.

No Everlast, the real question is, with your millions, do you remember what it's like?
Then stop judging us.

My mind secretly grew propellers a few weeks ago (Been planning ever since he first got the idea from Inspector G.) and despite my desperate pleas for him to come down and listen to reason, he's not swaying. Thing is, except for the occasional goose of common sense or blackbird of bad news, he's had little company and from what I can tell from down here, he isn't getting the attention he wants. Good thing too, you should see him with an audience. I feel funny calling my mind him, but it isn't right either, and her doesn't really fit my personality, I should hope anyway.

I was talking to my step-Grandmother(?) today about our lives and what they might be heading for. She just got back from Grenada and told me stories that, not unlike every cheesy stereo-typical old person/young kid relationship, made me sit down, legs crossed, happy, attentive, and silent on the green carpet in front of her big comfy Grandma chair. If she had pulled out a Worther's Original and gave me a shiny nickel I wouldn't have thought twice. She told me about the village in the mountains she grew up in, and that she had just recently returned to. The boys who ran bare-foot through the jungle, the little girls learning to have to do most, if not ALL the work, and the crickets that chirped all night long.

She told me that after a few weeks of village life, she came to the realization that none of the kids in the village had learned to use their imaginations, that they were kids that weren't. So she took it upon herself to gather the kids up, and on the night of the next full moon they climbed the gravel road together to the top of the hill and they sat. And In the moonlight they could see clouds moving slowly by, and they talked. Pointing, she asked them if any of them knew how to get up there. One of the boys told the group flatly and matter-of-factly that if he were a bird he could fly up there. There was a brief moment of group thought until a little girl asked the next logical question "What kind of bird?". Another moment of thought and the debate was thrown to the floor where it became apparent there are several options where deciding what kind of bird to be. Eventually, when it started to get late they wandered slowly back into town where they all went off to sleep before school the next morning.

I've heard a lot of stories, and I'm sure I'll hear more, but I don't think I'll ever hear another story that I wish I was a part of more than that one.





Sunday, April 25, 2004

Laid back, eatin' an apple

Today I was thinking about how some of the most meaningful, honest, and important moments between my friends and I are when one of us is throwing up in a gutter. What does that say about me? Well, I guess it's probably not such a bad thing considering there are a lot of people living without ever having had those moments.

My ego and the rest of myself are locked in an intense duel to the death resembling a famous scene from a Star Trek movie. Part of me is frothing at the mouth (At least I hope it's only from my mouth) at the idea of lashing out at, OH so much lousy poetry and painfully heart-felt trash. The conundrum being that I understand it, and that I hate it. I understand the urge to get those feelings out, I really do and of course I've done it myself. It feels damn good. But I think at some point you have to check yourself and say "Look, is this really me?". Because I want to tell you, at least, some of you, its not. Well actually in reality, I want to scream it at you whilst throttling the RIDICULOUS idea that you're showing me something different out of you. But that usually gets me in a whole lot more trouble than I want.

This is where I go on a long tangent explaining how most blog owners bother me in some way or another and how generally amazing I am.






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