black and white

She definitely wasn't real. But she felt real. She felt as alive as she had the day she was born, but real? Not her. Of course, you must be a bit confused and far be if from me to suggest a history course. For all I know you're an expert in medieval wars or something like that. You could be. You can be anything you want. Unless, of course, you are not real. Then you can be anything you want except for real. It's not as bad as it sounds. She's not perfect. She's not plastic. In a crowd, she's just part of it. But the sperm and the egg that created her were created by a woman in a lab coat. Laws specified that she must be a random mix of desirable traits. And that she was. This for that and that for this. The world has no place for superheroes. The time for fortitude has passed. Anonimity rules. The new world motto reads: "I didn't do it". A name known is a name smeared. You can't make a mistake if you don't exist.
Her great great grandma told her fascinating stories about the outdoors and about "seeing" things but they lost their hold when she lost her childish imagination. She can't seem to comprehend why anyone would want to "see" when they could see anything they wanted right there in their home. She could count on her fingers how many times "fresh air" had reached her lungs. It was an effort to breath it in compared to the air they were accustomed to breathing. Leaves and trees and beaches and animals were just as lovely when you made them yourself. In fact, they were better.
Real and fake, truth and lie, good and bad. Her great great grandma spoke of these distinctions as though it was all that easy. The older she got, the less she understood her old relative's explainations. She listened patiently to her shaky and deliberate words, but couldn't seem to find a context for them in reality. This, she decided, was because reality had changed. As she watched the old woman take in her last breath, she noted how hard to detect any difference was. There she was, in the same old spot with the same old look on her face and the same old smell. But she was dead.
That was the truth. Any way you looked at it, she was dead. The girl wondered if she would die someday, too. Or perhaps when that time came, even death would cease to be so black and white.

Random unconnected thoughts.

The Great Internet War of 2009 is, for the moment, over. And I am the victor. So I bring this blog straight at you! WHAM.

I have an odd fascination with men's butts. They're just so varied and sometimes hard to understand. And when you see a really good one, you just can't look away. Its like a special treasure.

There is a tiny tooth looking just delighted and awestruck with googly eyes sitting in a green lounge chair. These sort of things tend to happen around here.

I feel like Windows is ridiculously out of touch if they think the "look and feel" of a Mac is what drives users to switch over. Its the utter frustration only Windows can cause that does it.

Is it possible for everyone to be rich? And still have a hierarchy. Like, if the poor people were rich then they could buy more and the rich people would be even richer. But what would give? Cost of living would rise so the poor rich would be poor poor again?

I cannot read comment sections. They make me too angry. I don't think irrationally, really. But is it worth becoming enraged each day? It seems fun at first but its really exhausting. I think the woman talking about the "horrors of marijuana withdrawal" was the real last straw for me.

They have found that dyslexic kids may have trouble focusing on a teacher's voice amidst all the other noises in a classroom. I have trouble focusing on someone's voice amidst all the thoughts in my head. And all the words coming out of my mouth. And then there's the whole thing where you have to, like, take the noises coming out of a person's mouth and seperate them into words and then figure out what the words were. Listening to others is so very complicated.

Dr. Michael Reinstein was given nearly $500k from AstraZeneca as he conducted research on Seroquel. This is such a stunning example of why health care should have nothing to do with profits. It becomes not at all about people's health and all about stuffing your bank account. Its really sickening the amount of people in the world who will do anything for a buck. Well, a whole bunch of bucks. I really don't understand how they live with themselves, truly. Does the money justify that sort of behavior to people or do they just go so far into denial that they don't even realize how villainous they've become? I suppose its the latter, as everyone is saying they didn't do anything wrong and it didn't effect the research and blah blah. It just makes me so very, very uncomfortable.

Is it just me or does it seem like Fox News is correcting itself now where it never used to before? Methinks they are not the mavericks they acted like they were a few weeks ago. But then Murdoch's out there running his mouth, so maybe not.

I am really enjoying the firing of Prof. David Nutt being referred to as "Nutt sacking". I'm not entirely sure if its on purpose or not, but well played if so.

I think the fact that this girl is wearing Britney Spears perfume sort of ruins the image she appears to be striving for. I should tell her I know her secret.

Wouldn't it be kind of exciting if the world ended? Everyone talks about it like it would be a bad thing.

You gotta hand it to the AMA, they've really been pleasing me lately. First supporting health care reform and now calling for a "review" of marijuana prohibition. Keep up the good work, guys!
I am glad that Leno is getting bad ratings. This is due to his show sucking. I feel like a fool for even getting inexplicably excited and thinking it would be good. How wrong I was. The only thing worth watching is Headlines. And the headlines are funny, Leno does not enhance them in the least. Sorry, Jay. You lose. We need a fresh face, not the same old crapola.

Whoever put the bouncy balls near all of the glass bottles is proving my case about why I should be in charge of everything ever. And with that I am off. Ta.

death of a greeter

Standing idly behind a desk, he thinks of the Cold War. He thinks of skyscrapers. He thinks of things all day. Really, he does. He knows it doesn't look as though he is, but his brain knows the truth. His brain knows that its full of things, many things. Each step he takes, everyday, he thinks of something. Of this he is sure. He can think of several recent thoughts he has had, in fact. No one can take that away from him; no one can tell him otherwise. Its concrete. It is as sure as the desk he stands behind, if not surer, for he has created the thoughts. They have ballooned in his brain containing various subjects and he knows they are valid. If they were not real, he couldn't have thought them. Or of that. He knew things, and you couldn't know anything without having thoughts, and he knew that as well. Circuitous perhaps but definite evidence of thought.

The desk, he supposed, could be an optical illusion. It was, after all, just made of tiny molecules. The desk, the air, his shoes, all of it existed. Nothing existed so surely as thought, though. It was comforting to him to know that he was capable of thought. He would always exist so long as this was true.

He gave himself over completely to thought and ceased to be as the desk and his shoes and the air. Could anyone notice the change? He was completely unaware of any physical component to his existence, but he did not cease to be. His thoughts overtook him and he was more real than ever before. Energy from everywhere overwhelmed him as he surrendered to his brain's control. The desk, the shoes, the air remained now for they remained in his thoughts. Things became static, changing, bending to his will. Bright light shone through every crack in his new reality. He neither rose nor fell as everything came to life and ceased to be. It was the end of nothing and the beginning of everything. His body collapsed to the ground behind the desk. His body would never cease to be, but it would never be the same. He cannot describe his existence now, but he can confirm it. His thoughts continue, melded to the universe, a beautiful and significant white noise

sugar and air

You know what scares and delights me? Inside me, some part of me, I know, I have a person who thinks its smart to not work a real job, live poorly (but happily?), just play with your kids all day, educate them yourself. You're teaching them the real lesson of life--be happy. If you aren't happy, what's the point? Money? That's it. Money. That's the dream, the dream isn't a happy life, its a wealthy life. And isn't that sad? When you really consider it, if you found someone to share it with you, wouldn't you just want to be happy even if it means second-hand furniture and old hole-y shirts? Maybe it takes being completely devoid of happiness to get your priorities straight. Maybe I'm young and I don't really get something everyone else gets. I'd rather spend my time learning how to be very happy then saving and working and slaving so I can buy what I want.

People show their affection with money and its not even a conscious thing, its the only thing you can think of. I love you, and I'm going to prove it with this money, because how else will you know? She loves him. She loves him because he gives her everything she wants, and all she wants are things, because what else is there? She loves him truly and really, she does. But that's the only way she can know for sure that he loves her too. And that's the only way that she can say it to anyone else. He let's her love us. She's so fragile, we give her strength by withholding. Shattered to pieces when the air is still, a wind is enough to destroy her completely. The armor we've built of silence and sugar lets her go on. It entices us. That armor also makes her wonderful and its tempting and you crave it and it makes you comfortable. Its cotton candy, you can eat and eat and eat. You taste it every time but it never makes you full.

You can't reject it, or she can't know you love her. You can't accept it because you know its just sugar and air. Its a decision you can never make.