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So, question of the day is this: When is a war not a war? Well, I dunno quite frankly. My understanding is (and frankly I'm annoyed by my sudden grasp of US politics) that only Congress can declare war on another country. Of course that begs the question of just what the hell is going on in Iraq right now? Well, maybe it's a police action, or a heavily assisted coup in which someone forgot to mention having the actual coup to the people involved. Or maybe W wants a certain head on a stick for Sr. on Fathers Day.
You'll have to excuse me for a moment whilst I ponder the consequences of living in this age, in this time. It's a age of wonders and delights, and at the same time a atrocity exhibition, a display of man's inhumanity to man. We live in the age of insulin and chemotherapy, of tolerance, of learning and the whole world gathering to trade bite and bytes of information. Sadly we also live in the age of raping virgins as an AIDS cure, and bombing countries without copper wiring, and serial killers amongst the herd. Better and worse, all the time.
God my back is itchy. It's one of those nasty itches too, right between my shoulders, just out of reach. It's been like this about half the day – now it's the most annoying thing possible, slowly driving me insane. Well, not slowly, more like rapidly and wif great haste. I've tried using a pen, but it's just not doing it. I tried rubbing my back against a door jam, but to no avail. Can't find a ruler, and growing fingernails to long lengths takes too long. My kingdom for a back scratcher and a super sexy beeyotch to operate it.
Well, I'm having one of those days. I could not sleep last night, tossed and turned for a few hours, and now here I sit, all bleary and baggy eyed. If I were to put my head on my desk right now I'd fall asleep in about 30 seconds. Still I carry on, and I need and need something… I need a pair of soft arms and softer hands touching me right now, and lips kissing mine, and a voice I know so well right in my ear, except that this time I feel her breath hot on my skin.
Right now I'm staring at a coke can. Inside is that yummy (to me anyhow) soda filed wif life giving caffeine. I'm totally addicted to caffeine, and love the hell out of it. I rarely drink, and don't do drugs or smoke, so this is my one lil vice. Just him. Big red bottle or lil red can, he's my buddy, my pal. Except it's hockey playoff time, and the cans all have NHL logo's on them. And well, I hate the Montréal Canadians. And right now that dreaded Habs logo is on my Coke can. I r not amused.
Identity vacation: To pick up one day and travel far away, thousand of miles from your normal life, and be a blank slate. To suddenly just be blank and unformed, and still have the basic skills taught to you, and make a new life, and spend 6 months or a year there. Them, after that time, your old life kicks in and you go back to where you were, but have this new outlook on everything, having had new experiences… Everything in it's right place, and new eyes to see with, and maybe reclaim that sense of wonder for life.
Excuse me while I stretch rather loudly, and make strange noises while I do so. For some reason I'm all vaguely achy today in my back; not ouch ouch ouch achy, but god do I need a back rub right now achy. Or maybe I need a nice hot bath. Though wait, I hate taking baths. I prefer showers, because the water is always fresh. In a bath, not so much. I've got issues with the whole "soaking in dirty water" thing. Now if I had a hot tub with jets and stuff maybe I'd be happier about it. *grumbles*
I'm in this mood - I need to be held, and tightly, and for a very long time. I don't know, was doing fine, and now I feel this strangeness, like I'm about to drift into the big empty and never ever return. And there's this girl, and I think I dreamt about her before we met, and she's well? she's my beloved, my rock, my rose, my sweetness, and right now I need to be in her arms, for her to hold me close, to kiss me and just be there, to tether me to this life I have.
Ever wonder how water gets drinkable? Well, one of the ways is through a membrane filtering process. The water flows through these tint pipes at 90 degrees to a filter. The water passes through the filter all nice and clean and the crud flows through the pipes to the exit. The small pipes are inside a larger pipe, and that is what carries the clean drinking water through to the people at the other end. There are no chemicals involved, so the waste water can be sent back into the original source. Of course, it costs half a million dollars.
Well, today was a decent day. Went for a walk round 6 and looked at the sun. It was so bright, and it felt for the first time that winter was truly over and spring was here. It's funny, in stories a lot of the times when people are sent into exile they are sent west, towards the setting sun. Here in Newfoundland I'm as east as I can get , closest to England on the continent, and everything I want and need is to the west. Exile sounds yummy if it'll put me closer to the people I love.
Once upon a time there was a magic toad. The toad's name was Eric, and he was strong of hop and long of tongue, and a certified tax accountant to boot. One day he stumbled across a princess wandering around the woods next to his swamp. She'd been at a frat party and someone had slipped some E in her drink. Right now she was loving the world, chillin with the trees, teeth grinding and incoherent. Eric hopped in the path, to try for a kiss, but in her stupor she licked him instead. Three months later they were married.
I feel like complete crap right now. My sinus' have kicked in big time as a farewell to winter and so the right side of my face is in utter agony. A happy camper this does not make me. So, now I need a drill, so I can trepan the area and relive the pressure, or maybe an ice pick and a hammer. Or, I guess I could take some Sinus painkillers. Ok, that's logical, although as you may have noticed, I'm generally against logic. Logic is the evil tweety bird that craps on the car that is my life.
There needs to be a big list made by intelligent people that gives names to smells. That would be so helpful. Like the smell you get after a hard rain after a long dry spell, what do you call that? Calling it the smell you get after rain is too wordy. Right now I need a name for the smell you get after you've been shot in the chest point blank with a shotgun, the kind of wound that leaves a gapping hole there, life blood pouring out on your shoes, vision swimming and thoughts cloudy. I need more time.
It's about 1000 degrees below freezing right now. All movement on the molecular level ceased hours ago. The roses are brittle in the vase. Still, my heart beats. There's a girl out there in the world right now, and her heart beats too, in time with mine I suspect, the sun is her smile and the stars twinkle in her eyes. Her heart beats, mine keeps time with hers. I'm feeling sappy, and romantic, and luckier then I ever thought I'd be, and almost complete. There are still a miles to go, a little farther to travel. Faraway, so close.
Well for all intensive purposes I'm at the halfway mark of this strange 100 words a day journey. 15 down, 15 to go. Someone asked me yesterday if I was getting sick of it yet? and well, yeah. Having to produce everyday is a pain in the ass. But I guess it's also a good habit to get into, writing every day despite my mood. It's a pain in the ass when I've got nothing on my mind that might be interesting, but well, on the interesting days? Well, thirteen words to make a hundred, six now, very close, DONE.
Excuse me while I bellow GAH at the heavens, shaking my fist at what people of the atheist persuasion would say does not exist. I don't think I could be an atheist, because I put to much value on a good swear word. Sure, fuck would be kept intact, but it would eliminate God dammit as a useable swear word. Well, I guess I could instead the next time I mash my finger with a hammer below "Damm random flocculation's in the universe, or something as silly and long. Beh, I think I'll keep my beliefs and swearing privileges intact.
*Yawns* Well, that was certainly a full day, spreading love and joy and cheer and massive doses of cortisone to the slobbering drunken masses that populate the sad theatre of the absurd that I laughingly call a life. I wonder what's on TV? *finks* *finks* *looks at the time* Oh shit. OK, so I'm late, it happens, and it is a long weekend, so like, whatever. I could have been out doing charity work or the like, and have been all making the world a better place and such. So anyhow, think I'll babble on to fill the word quota.
Spring is nearly here, and my brain is all abuzz with getting back on my bike again. Of course my bike is in my parents back yard, all rusty and wif a flat tire, but whatever. Probably just incentive to buy a new one for the upcoming sunshine. It reminds me of the time when I was like, 10 or so, and had a 10 speed, and was racing around the dentist office with some other kids. I was going pretty fast, leaning into turns and such. The paddle hooked, I went flying, all bloodied and scrapped up. Fun times.
Tiger Driver 91. I'm going to geek out a lil, and babble about a fake punching thing. Back in 1994 Misawa and Kawada were having themselves a wrasslin match for All Japan. The fed was really into telling stories in the ring, and this is considered the pinnacle. The idea was that Kawada was missing his front teef, and was pissed about Misawa making fun of the enormous gap he had as a result. Kawada got all bitchy, so Misawa nailed him wif the Tiger Driver 91 (dropped a tiger on his man boobs. Kawada-san was not amused. Nor the tiger.
Once again it's Easter. Not my favourite holiday by any means. I think my favourite is Christmas, followed my Halloween. Easter, well, the chocolate is good, but that game, you know what I'm talking about, what's it called. Oh yeah, "pin the saviour on the cross", that's always a bummer. Now, if someone would explaon how we got to the part where they hide eggs for the kids to find, I'd be really grateful. Still, anything that caused me to be filled wif sugar when I was a kid should get a big ole thumbs up. Instead, I hate it.
Every wonder where socks disappear to? It's a matter of honour that it's not known where they go. Lesser beings might use it to garner sympathy, but socks are nothing if not stoic. In the middle of the night the venture forth, called and bidden, and go into the dark places that most would dare to tread. Sometimes they return, but with holes. Others end up lost, with us thinking they are stuck behind the washer or something terribly mundane like that. To them it is their duty, the reason they exist - they would have it no other way.
I was thinking today about the minimum amount of money I'd need to eat for a week. The verdict - about twenty dollars. And half of that is for potatoes. You can buy a fifty pound sack of #2 potatoes for about 10 dollars round here, which believe me is a lot of potatoes. And then you can boil them, and have them mashed, or whipped, or maybe bake them in the oven wif tin foil. Of course there is always French fries, or freedom fries as some uneducated cultures refer to them. Those are always good for a tasty meal.
Had a bit of a nightmare last night. Can't remember a lot of it, except that the tone was unpleasant. The entire time I had this open sore wound on my arm, almost looking like a junkies arm, a sore needle mark they got infected in the worst possible way. So, there's a doctor, and they start poking around in it, and out comes this insect, huge and roach like, with open jaws that are also huge, and it looks hungry, and I can feel more inside there, and then I woke up. Wish I could remember the good dreams.
I can't concentrate, and it's annoying the living shit out of me. This afternoon I was babbling like mad, all goofy and funny and such, very good stuff. Now that I need just a measly 100 words I'm all bogged down. Woe is me. I guess this is one of the times where this becomes less of a distraction and more of an exercise in dealing with writers block, having to produce babbling regardless of what my silly ass brain wants to do. Maybe tomorrow's entry will be interesting, or funny, or insightful. Or maybe not. But it'll be written.
You just have to love weekends. There's the whole "off from work" thing, and let's face it, that's pretty badass right there, get a few days off to recharge and refuel for the coming week. Everybody, no matter what they do needs some time to decompress from the pressures of everyday life to try and cope with all the little defeats and victories of the week. Personally though, I like getting to stay up with my girlfriend, and cuddling up in the warm and the dark, watching a movie or some such thing, and just being folded up in happiness.
I wonder about things, like what yellow tastes like, or what it sounds like when you squeeze steel to the point where all the bonds break down in the molecules and it turns into blueberry jam. I wonder what it was like for that skydiving teacher who saved his student by sacrificing himself when the chutes failed, putting himself on bottom and absorbing the impact, saving that man's life. I wonder what would I do really if that happened, not what I think would happen, with me thinking about the ideal, but what would happen with life on the line.
The brain is a weird thing. Was watching a movie today, and there was a guy eating an éclair, and all of a sudden I get an urge to have a doughnut, a real honest to goodness hole in the middle topped wif chocolate Tim Horton's doughnut. Cravings are weird like that. Course it gets worse some times, when you want something and have no idea what it is, and just sit there wanting something for a snack and not getting it, because whatever it is isn't making itself apparent. My kingdom for a slightly richer kingdom (wif a doughnut).
I wonder if I need some religion in my life. Maybe I need to find Jesus, re-embrace my spiritual side, a path to the clearing and that sweet salvation. Then other days I think maybe I should just carve a craven image out of a bar of soap and sacrifice virgins and right wing politicians to it and hope for a dark evil reward, preferably in large bills (I'm Canadian - we get into small bills I'll end up getting coins). That was silly, really, I don't have a problem with religion or finding Jeebus. Or maybe I do - *evil laugh*.
Today was an exciting day - sat back, read some comics. Read about 25 issues of "The Authority" actually, and when it started off it was kicking ass. I've never been much for superhero type books, but the writing and art in this one was kicking so much ass. So then of course after 12 issues the writer and artist left the book. In a word, GAH~! What ensued was a promising over the top satire that spiralled out into the land of beh. It's an important lesson kids - if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Last five words go here.
2,900 words later, and here I am, a little older, no wiser, maybe a lil bit more bruised then I was before. Life has moved on, and I've flowed with it down the river, bob bob bobbing along. OK, lets be frank here, it's day 30 and I've got nothing. I'd like to say something meaningful on day 30 but well, tis not to be. All I can do is stall for time and pad this out and get my last 100 words up and written. Over 36,000 words, one year. I wonder If I'll have said anything by then.
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