Journal Entries
Breathing Dirt
Posted Feb 13, 2000
I am a very open minded person. I will stand firm with that fact until the very end of all stuff that is. I refuse to believe, however, that if you are a human, breathing dirt can be good for you. Worms... that's different, even though they don't really breathe it... but humans? No way. Even eating a little unpolluted dirt from time to time is supposed be healthy, especially if you are pregnant! But don't go breathing that stuff if you expect to carry much longer.
All this became painfully obvious to me today while scraping around underneath a house built in 1947. What on Earth was I doing there? Placing UTP cable, of course! We have to modernize! This is why we should all stop breathing dirt. Right? Right. If we are going to continue advancing as a civilization, we need to clean our planet up! Stop putting weird things even worse than dirt in our air!
We're killing ourselves! If we all die before we can colonize other planets cheaply and efficiently, then that about wraps it up for the human race, huh? From now on, no more breathing silly things that kill you, okay? Can we all agree on that? Good.
See? How hard was that? Simplicity is beautiful. Coincidentally, it is Douglas Adams whom I am about to quote, though not accurately. It seemed that everyone on Earth is unhappy for pretty much of the time. The prime source of this unhappiness involves the movement of small, green pieces of paper, which is, on the whole, very odd. After all, it isn't the small, green, pieces of paper that are unhappy. Very simple.
Why can't we just forget about the details that all the old people insist really are important and live our lives? Stop breathing dirt, man. In order to stop breathing dirt, you have to stop making dirt and throwing it into the air for everyone to breathe! Easy!
Now, when I say dirt, it should be apparent to you all that I am not actually talking about dirt, but nasty chemicals that kill us in interesting ways, but with frightening permanence. I reckon that once we have started taking over other planets, we can watch ourselves die all we want, because we still have those other planets to escape to at the last minute.
But until then, we have to clean our respective rooms and wash our respective cars for the benefit of the race. Agreed? That's nice. Oh yeah, and not fighting wars would really help, too. They tend to throw a lot of unnecessary dirt around.
Carpe Icthus.
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Latest reply: Feb 13, 2000
Dreams don't mean as much as we thought they did.
Posted Feb 11, 2000
I had a dream last night. It was about being in prison. It was fun. Every other day, my friends and I would somehow acquire firearms and start a riot. I remember that at least two of the three girls from the Corrs were in there with me. One of them died during the last riot. That didn't really bother the last one and me, though, because we had liked each other all along and didn't want any jealous sisters in the way.
When I say we acquired firearms, I don't mean that one of us stole one of the guards' pistols. We got 20 lb assault rifles with the nasty kind of ammunition.
I remember one of the last parts of the dream, where the last Corr girl (the one I fancied) had been shot, but not too badly. On one of those convex security mirrors, I could see some fat, official looking guy coming to finish her off. So I took a pen, and just as he came through the doorway, I jabbed it into his throat. He looked pretty surprised! My attack didn't quite have the effect I intended, though. He started to giggle a little bit. What? Yup. He was laughing.
So I took the pen back out and tried my luck in a different spot. I swung around more to the side, so maybe I would catch a jugular or something dramatic like that. He punched me. I fell over. This wasn't working.
As I fell back, I tore the pen out of his fleshy neck again. That seemed to bother him when I did that. When he leaned down to grab me or whatever, I stuck it in the front of his throat again. I then rolled into a ball shape and onto my back. I thrust my legs forward and kicked the pen in even further with my heel. Sure, he didn't like that, but he was still kind of laughing with this confident smirk on his fat face. It took several minutes for him to die from these and other later-inflicted wounds.
It reminds me of a dream I had in high school. There was a girl I was in love with, but her boyfriend was in the way of her feelings. I was trying to eliminate him in this dream, but it never worked. I can recall using a huge metal pipe to bash his skull in, but the best reaction I ever got was a really strange laugh. The harder I hit, the funnier he thought it was. WHAM! Right on top of his head. WHACK! Straight on to the nose. BAM! Right in the teeth. Nothing. He just kept following me, asking for more. Grrr.
I reckon that we should be able to control our dreams. They are happening in our brain, so we should be able to determine the outcome by applying a little bit of will on a subconscious level. It works, sometimes. I can recall thinking, "This is a dream, so I can strip this girl down without consequence anyway!" It doesn't always work, though. I can think, "I want you to go away or die," all I want in my dreams, but that fat dude, or that obstacle of a boyfriend just won't do it. Damn.
At least we can determine our own actions some of the time. You only live once that I know of, so live. Don't be boring. Use your time to create something you can appreciate... like genuine happiness. Ever feel like work is pressuring you too much and you just don't enjoy your job anymore? Quit. Nobody can really stop you. Ever been homeless? Why do you want to avoid it, then? Sure, your parents have always implied that it's way better to be rich than poor, but do you know for yourself? Have you ever done drugs? No? Why not? After a while, you'll be be dead anyway. Then you won't even have experienced something that people have enjoyed for thousands of years. "But they're bad for you and they ruin your life!" I say that conformity ruins your life and that not trying new experiences kills your sense of appreciation for that one life that you have.
Invent a musical instrument. Just because no one has ever played it doesn't make it any less an instrument. At one point, only one guy had used a guitar: the guy who made it. Maybe yours will be the next most popular thing.
Draw a portrait from memory. A self-portrait, even. Think about how your mind sees that person (or yourself).
Make your own silverware. It can't be that hard. Then you can customize them so that your forks won't have any of those flaws that have struck you personally and which all forks seem to have.
Try human meat. It's just meat. Is it illegal to eat human? Are there actually laws against eating criffle? If I wrote in my will that I wanted to be the main course at my funeral barbeque, would they deny me my dying wish? Is that legal?
If you're old, try to remember what it's like to be a teenager again. That's one of the best things to be. It seems that the brainwashing really takes on in full adulthood, in most cases, anyway.
Kiss pretty people. Kiss beautiful people. You decide the difference.
Time for me to go find mummified birds in the ceiling.
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Latest reply: Feb 11, 2000
Freedom's Curtain Call
Posted Feb 6, 2000
Today, I pulled a mummified rat out of the wall with my left hand. Scratched my arm pretty badly. The rat had been there for years upon years, sitting there alone, trying to enjoy being a dead rat. I ponder the question of its success. For what if we are all just dead rats stuck in our wall? We can hear all the Big People walking around outside, making a lot of noise, doing people things, but we are stuck here in our walls, doomed to decompose as disgustingly as possible. What if a long time ago, we got stuck in the wall. We were still alive back then, but once we got stuck in that spot next to the doorway where the power cables ran, we started to die. The actual dying process couldn't have been too long. The rat dies from starvation. Or maybe it realized that there was absolutely no hope, decided to make this experience mercifully brief, and chewed on the power cables. The choice probably wasn't too difficult.
Perhaps that decision wasn't necessary, though. The rat I found had one broken wrist. Perhaps it was just that wrist that was caught. But that wrist was all it took to trap the entire rat in that part of the wall. If the rat chewed that wrist off, wouldn't it have been able to get out? Sure, it would be limping around with a rotting stump, but it would heal if infection could be avoided for long enough. Even then, it would be limping around on a not-rotting stump, but at least it would be able to limp.
If that rat had just pried its attention off the hunger and its jaws off the power cables long enough, its eyes might have wandered by chance to its wrist, where the entire problem was originated anyway. Let us weigh. Wrist... Life... Wrist... Freedom from wall... Wrist... Freedom from hearing people do unknown things while starving to death... Wrist... Opportunity... Wrist... Causing a very inconvenient power outage, also resulting in instantaneous and irresversible death.
I think we pay too much attention to how many wrists we have to realize that we don't have to spend all day (every day) stuck in a wall.
Fellow rats: Chew those cumbersome wrists right off come join me in a world of freedom from nasty walls! We'll all be awkwardly hobbling about, but why let that stop us from having a good time of it? What do you say to that? Come hobble with me.
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Latest reply: Feb 6, 2000
The Beginning of our Story
Posted Feb 5, 2000
So, here it goes. I am really becoming a human being now. I get to be a part of something that will live on as long as all the other human beings do. I get to contribute to a vast and invincible entity. Mom always told me I should keep a journal, or else I'll forget all the stuff I do. I reckon that if I really, honestly can't remember what it is that I did last Monday with that beautiful girl, then Mom must be right. This simply serves as an opportunity to unleash my thoughts and memories for permanent storage and easy access without having to cut more trees down to make paper and make my fingers ache. How wonderful. My endocrine system trembles with childish delight.
Allow me to describe my current living situation. I come from America. North Carolina, actually, and a rather boring part of it at that. It's not even anything like the setting of Dawson's Creek. Rather lame in comparison. I am not in North Carolina, though. In fact, I am not even America. I am rather far from America and am very happy about that. I'm just about as far from America as I could be, given the current level of technological advancement of Earthlings in combination with my social/business status among them. So I am still on Earth, but in a bit of it much more interesting than North Carolina ever has been. I am in Australia. 
Tasmania, no less!
Some people might wonder what is so exciting about all of this. Well, when you come from somewhere that it is made a community event to watch the pigs breed, traveling to distant lands is quite thrilling. The main attraction to Tasmania is that it is just so different. I cannot look in any one direction and see any one thing that I would consider to be exactly the same as its equivalent back in the USA. Food, household products, the beach, feet, note paper, beer, CD cases, sports, wallpaper, toilets, ladders, firearms, sea life... nothing is the same. This makes everything quite exciting and new to me, while all my new local friends think I am mad for raving in amazement about how the local phone calls actually cost money here. That still bothers me, by the way. The long distance and international rates are truly something to be adored, but those local calls kill you every month. Sheesh!
The thrill of total immersion into a world of contrast shakes me. I often wonder how I will react to riding in the right side of a car on the right side of the road and how I will wig out when my friend pulls into the imaginary oncoming traffic at an intersection. I slowly, but surely get accustomed to another culture. And when I am used to this one, I shall move to London and be homeless with a lovely guy named Evan. After I become acquainted with every Tube station and every back street, I shall relocate again. Perhaps to Mongolia. I might have to learn a new language for that one. Maybe I can exercise silence during that period. I've never been silent for a terribly long time. It might be a good experience. I have no idea. But that's not the point anyway! The point is that difference is good! I just watched Dead Poets Society a few hours ago! CARPE DIEM!!! I'm beginning to get sick of people conceding. Conceding to their bosses, conceding to their parents, conceding to their teachers, conceding to their fashion magazines, operation manuals, yearbooks, governments, friends, recipes, warning labels, media, favorite authors, etc. I get sick of it especially when I feel myself doing it. I slip. I lose the idea of doing it the funnest way possible.
I have a habit of correcting people's grammar. It seems to me that the purpose of communication is to convey meaning from person to person. When I tell someone else how they should've worded something, I am effectively attempting to limit him and pressuring him to concede. From this day forward, as long as I can understand the meaning coming across, I shall no longer tell them what I think they are supposed to be saying.
I don't make promises. I don't make them because I keep them. I have made a few, and intend to keep them.
My mind boggles at the mention of sadism. I love to mislead people by implying things, but I don't know why. Some people have an unexplainable want to make others suffer some sort consequences that are generally unpleasant. Why? It drives me.
I can't stand the idea of limitation. I believe that the ability of everyone to do anything is very limited. People can't actually accomplish much because they are limited. Everyone has limitations. They are only placed there by the people themselves, though. Limits exist, but only because we make them. Monogamy is a good example. Why is it that people are so sure that it is much better to be with one significant other than twenty? I would much rather be surrounded by people who love me than to be limited to one person. I'm not saying that favorites don't exist. Everyone has their favorites, but that shouldn't stop us from experiencing other things, though. I have a favorite CD, but it isn't the only one I listen to.
We need to find some way of weeding out greed without limiting people from the right to be greedy. Otherwise, we'd be limiting them from greed. I guess we should just teach our kids that it isn't necessary to be greedy to achieve happiness.
Happiness is the only real importance.
I wish I could consider fat people more attractive, but I just can't. I prefer to love everyone, but fat is a big turn-off for me. Everyone is beautiful and unique. I believe that physical love sharing is one of the best (happiest) past times ever invented, but fat people just crush any ideas along those lines that I would have. A lot of the time it's not their fault. A lot of the time it is, but I feel bad for the ones that can't help it.
Hate really pisses me off. We would all be a lot happier if we just decided against it. That's my prediction, anyway.
We should listen to each other and be patient in expressing our agreeing or disagreeing responses. We could spread a lot of happiness if we learn about other people's idea for being happy.
Tradition is a big limitation. It forces people to do what lots of other people have already done, so we never figure out those new ways of having fun.
Mostly Harmless was very sad, but that sort of thing happens, you know?
Whoever you are, you have just learned a bit about me and I hope you can cherish that. Write about it in your own journal.
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Latest reply: Feb 5, 2000
Craze Diplodicus
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