20:51 - 2003-12-23
Dust Unto Dust...
Good and bad...A lot can be said about them. They are definately very different, that's apparent. They're like points of land that are so far apart you cannot see one from where you stand on another. But good must be a higher place than bad, for you can always see Bad from where you may stand on Good, and if you aren't careful, it's easy fall back down there.
I'm pretty careful, I guess. I can be a little skittish of heights, but I feel alright now and I don't really care if I start feeling bad again...I suppose I'm pretty content.
Dee made me clean out the toybox to decide what toys we want to give to the Salivation Army. The Army of the Poor.
I don't know much about the Salvation Army, but from looking in my old toybox and finding it filled with random gnarly action figures, horsies with barbie heads stuck onto their feet, and the particularly pungient aroma of decaying flesh, I began to wonder what kind of demented little child I was...
There were also lots of plastic dinosaurs, which I can account for, and a hair brush with red feathers in it, which I can't, and this big pink seahorse that I remember used to shoot foam out its head.
Little Doodoo, of course, quickly found something to preoccupy her wandering little mind, this time in the form of some kids' book about questions and answers.
The only thing I really found fascinating about that, besides the amount of times I had to tell her to get back to work on the room, was the question about what blind people dream about.
I figure that might be pretty interesting, to find out what a person blind from birth would dream about. Probably smells and sounds and stuff like that, but it would still be cool.
I'd like to dream like a blind person some day. Course it wouldn't work if I went blind, because I would still remember normal dream-things and probably not change much. It might be cool to be blind, if it didn't make too many problems interacting with people. I usually imagine people to be more lovely and interesting-looking than they really are, no offense of course, but it's true, and those who are ugly only really captivate me with their grotesque features. To tell the truth, there are some physically revolting human beings that I would RATHER be around, simply because to me it's interesting to see and hear about, and most of the time, these people aren't any worse than the rest of the world, when you get to know them. In the same way, some of the loveliest people have possibly the most undesirable inner features, but it's so disgusting sometimes, that I just sit and listen to them. I can't exactly explain why, I'm still repulsed, but it's kind of intriguing on some level.
It makes you wonder why these people aren't shunned more, and put on display like the aesthetically deformed are...I think we should at least make money off them. They're nice to look at, and surprisingly vulgar, all we need now is an entreprenueur. And this would in no way go against the "all men equal" rule, because the ugly people would be on display too, but they'd just be nicer to listen to than to look at.
I always have such good ideas ^_^ Why am I so amazing? I'll have to put this one into action, you'll see, it'll be really cool.
And those who are just plain filthy all-'round, they'll probably be the spectators first of all, but I might catch a few to put at the end of the exhibit. I think if anyone is truly beautiful on the outside and the inside, they deserve to be free.
Of course this idea probably won't ever work because of those pesky "who is to decide who is lovely and who is not" concepts, but I do have a backyard so there's a slight chance that you might be able to see the Human Zoo after all.
My moth and I were very good friends. I miss him quite a bit, you see, because when I let him out of his jar the other night, the first thing he did was fly straight into the flame on my candle.
Thus ashes to ashes, and Dust to dust.
That irony was too delicious, so I kept these ashes in a little cup on my dresser.
I'm sorry my friend didn't get to use Dust in her biology project, but she was warned.
I'll leave a nice moth poem after all this, cross my heart, and hope to fly.
I do feel something that you might call "good" now, but a couple of nights ago I had a lot of questions and concerns running through my head.
I sometimes wonder if the help I try to provide people is something that anyone is capable of...That I am far more anonymous than I think I am. And that my worth to those who value me goes only so deep as the advice or comfort I may be able to supply. I tell myself that value is just that and that I should be thankful, but it only reminds me of the past...Of times when I locked myself in a tower and never peeped out. Now that I look at the outside world, I wonder if I understand it as much as I once did, or thought I did. Maybe I'm just imagining things. Or maybe I just miss my friend.
I wonder if I shouldn't just get a dog. There's an easy and near-perfect relationship. Unconditional love and companionship, someone you can talk to, and who will always forgive you, possibly not the most articulate, but you are sure to share common interests, and you can be around each other as much as you like. The whole idea gets more and more appealing as time goes on.
Though naturally, my dad wouldn't get me a dog.
I did have a very ideal dog at one point, a doberman with quite a coincidental name, now that I look at it today. I wish I had been more mature back then, I really did like that dog a lot, and I miss him. If I got a dog today, I would hope that he'd be similar to that one in all ways possible...
Except the name. That would be too weird.
I'm tired of writing tonight, my friends, so perhaps I'll be back later to gloat over my vacillating tower of gifts.
Boy oh boy! My Mr Roboto AMV has finished downloading!
Farewell for now, little minds!
Message from the Future: You may have heard of Don Marquis. He too, knew a cockroach. "Archy" as the roach was called, was a poet reincarnate who lived in the newsroom and who typed poems and essays every night, leaving them in the typewriter for Marquis to find in the morning. Archy was too small to hit the shift key, though, and his puncuation is a bit off, but nevertheless, the story here is a good one:
The Lesson of the Moth
i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires
why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle isntead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense
plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves
and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity
but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself
archy
