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Don't judge a book by its cover... This isn't about tube anemones.
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS SQUIRT THE JUICE INTO THE EYES OF YOUR ENEMIES... |
| I learn something new here everyday! I figured out how to stick my sigs into my writing! The one below I like to call Duality. Human nature is to be divided, to want good while at the same time yearning for evil. Or is it just me? I need to watch things die... from a good safe distance...vicariously I live while the whole world dies. I was (that was Vicarious, by Tool, by the way) reading Troubador's blog, from the beginning, and last night I read it from the end (or present, if you prefer to look at it that way), so at some point I'll meet it in the middle. I love watching the transformance of humans from frail and confused into confident and wise. It was a fascinating journey, and made me feel like I was actually connected to him in some strange way, though we aren't even on the same continent. I was happy to see how he has found some kind of temporary sanity... You should visit him, and as soon as I can figure that one out, I'll put a link here for my favorite authors. Til Then...Flies and Honey! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
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| As a species, we tend to take things at face value. The young man with a blue mohawk and pierced nose, for example, is a 'punk', and makes us clutch our purses tighter to our bosoms. The beautiful young woman with the nice clothes and expensive convertible has the perfect life and is to be envied. The handsome man with the not so handsome wife is definitely cheating. But when we look underneath this facade, when we peel back the layers of makeup and latex to reveal the true face underneath, we sometimes find that things are not what they seem. The 'punk' likes to volunteer at church, loves his parents and has never stolen anything in his life. The woman we hate for her beauty and seemingly flawless life of luxury cries herself to sleep every night and cuts her thighs with a razorblade under the kitchen table. The man who simply must be cheating on his homely wife loves her more than life itself, and will defend her to the death. Sometimes we stand too close to the mirror to truly see the reflection; we only see that one thing that is closest to us as we lean forward and focus. There is no soul in that mirror, only the shell that contains it. I see things in a strange way sometimes, stark and open, with no mask. I meet people in five minute intervals, people who invite you to their home, as long as you bring the food. Sometimes it's frightening, but not in an "I'm going to die" kind of way (though there have been a lot of those, but I'll get into that later), but as in "I'm seeing these people as they really are". Even when they put on their fake smiles and too cheerful voices, this is totally and completely them. This is their home, their space, their calm in the storm, and like any good animal, they want to make sure it's protected. Speaking on appearances, a funny thing happened to me one time that I don't think I'll ever forget, and it spoke volumes on the way that people judge books. I walked up to the door, and the porch was absolutely bare. No plants, no chairs, no drifts of dried leaves. No wind chimes hung from hooks and tinkled in the warm breeze. That's sort of an oddity, and I made note of it. Then this woman answers the door, and I swear to God I had to physically bite my tongue (this is a skill that I excel in!) because she had her blond hair all teased up on her head, BLUE eyeshadow, and a matching blue dress with shoulder pads up to her ears. Her blue stilletto heels were eight inches at least, and her earrings were these huge gold hoops that stretched her earlobes down with their weight. Now let me describe myself: Long brown hair, the front dyed blue, pierced lip, pierced tongue, and yeah, I like to wear black eyeliner, though not heavy, several piercings in my ears, but that's the extent of me. This woman towered over me in her high heels, and we both just sort of looked at each other, sizing each other up. I could tell she had just come from church, and I thought to myself "Wow. I'll bet God's real happy with that". I wonder if she was thinking the same thing about me? Was she thinking the same thing about herself? After a few moments of this uncomfortable, shocked silence, she suddenly smiled, her red lips stretching across her face, baring her teeth. As an animal behavior enthusiast, this custom has always bothered me, but especially from humans. I didn't smile back. I don't think I made eye contact after that, either. I just gave her the pizza ,took the money, and got the hell out of there. I thought about how empty her porch was, and how sterile her house probably was, and what an upstanding member of society she could have been. She was probably a VIP somewhere. The image I couldn't get out of my head was how she smiled, and how it had seemed to crawl across her painted face, how her mouth had looked like a sharks, all sharp and shiny teeth and red lips. I remember that there was a red smear across one of her front teeth, and how it looked like a smear of blood. Had anyone else ever seen this woman this way before? Had I caught her off guard and open? Was she really a shark?! Is she one of those evil chicks off that movie "The Devil's Advocate", with Keanu Reeves and Al Pacino? What did she see in me as she stared back in those long moments? Surely not a shark? Surely something she was unprepared for, until she smiled. Shiver. Then there was the older white guy in the nice business suit and silk tie who tried to convince us that he had spent all his money on crack and had no food for his six kids. He wanted three large pepperoni's and three large cheese. My manager gave them to him, free of charge. He was pretty much a moron. I'll bet the guy somehow claimed it as charity work, or something. And then there are the people who live in million dollar homes who want to complain about how expensive the pizza is, and then say "Well, I'd tip you but that was a lot more than I thought it was going to be." For the love of God, if you can afford to buy pizza, you can throw in a dollar or two, at least, for the convenience of not having to get off your lazy... but I digress, that's not what this one is about. I'll save that one for volume two: Why are people so freaking stupid? What I meant to say was that sometimes you dread going to the places that should be the best tippers, and fight for the ghetto, because those people at least know what it's like to really work hard for a buck. When they say "Thank you, I appreciate it", you believe them, because they are in their home, their vulnerable fortress, and their eyes are unguarded. That, and they tend to tip pretty well, much better than their counterparts. And they don't say stupid crap like "Stay dry!" When it's pouring and you're obviously soaked to the bone. That's the height of condescension to me, to make me come to your house in the rain, the snow, the tornadoes, hail, icestorms, etc. and come out of your huge, dry/warm/safe home, bitch about how expensive it is, give me exact change, and tell me to be dry/warm/safe with a smile and a clear conscience. Those are the type of people that go to church and give their ten percent, not because it's the right thing to do but because that way they can say that they did. Those are the type of people that smile out their one face, and frown out the other. Those are the type of people that look like sharks when you catch them by surprise. Okay. Enough about that for now. Please join me next time for Volume Two: Why are people so freaking stupid? and Volume Three: Things not to do after you order a pizza, where we will be covering such things as Don't leave the house and Put some clothes on for the love of God! (I'm absolutely serious about this- you won't want to miss it!) Angels on the sideline, puzzled and amused why did Father give these humans free will? Now they're all confused. Don't these talking monkeys know that Eden has enough to go around? Plenty in this holy garden, silly monkeys, where there's one you're bound to divide it Right in two... Angels on the sideline, baffled and confused Father blessed them all with reason, and this is what they choose... Monkey killing monkey killing monkey over pieces of the ground Silly monkeys, give them thumbs, they forge a blade and where there's one they're bound to divide it Right in two... Monkey killing monkey killing monkey over pieces of the ground. Silly monkeys, give them thumbs, they make a club and beat their brother down, How they survived so misguided is a mystery, Repugnant, dismal creatures who would squander the ability to lift an eye to heaven, conscious of its fleeting time here... From "RIGHT IN TWO" By TOOL, on 10,000 Days. TOOL concert (on the 19th) was KICK@$$! But they always are. I'd forgotten that there was still rare and fleeting beauty in this world, but once again, Maynard and his crew have reaffirmed my faith! Thank you so much for keeping me alive a little longer, and I mean that. Without you I would have died many years ago. I live because of your ability to rip holes in the known and coax the unseen into tangibility. (I think I just made up a word.) Until next time, Flies and Honey. |
| Today is the 16th, 3 more days til TOOL! I feel like I'm going to snap. My meds aren't working so well today. I'm tired and groggy and irritable, and I still have to go to work later. Sometimes I feel like the guy from "In the mouth of madness", when he's in the mental institution drawing crosses on himself with a black crayon. He felt safe in there. (Until the thing ripped the door from its hinges, anyway) I don't know, I think I'm raving like a lunatic. Maybe I need to take a nap for awhile so I can feel like a 'normal' human being. |
| Saturday is the TOOL concert!!!!! This will be this tenth time I've seen them live, and once again, the anticipation is killing me. I'm sitting here in agony as my spine atrophies, and my mind turns into rotten black goo with all the evil being injected into it. A highschool boy was arrested for writing a story that started out with him shooting people in the library, but he was 'allowed' to finish out the year because he never had any trouble before and had a 4.0 gpa. If they didn't think he 'fit the profile' in the first place, then why did they arrest him? I'm so glad I'm not in school anymore, because I would undoubtedly be arrested and tortured, because I do fit the profile- Loner, quiet, black clothes, few friends, and I write about people dying in different ways. But does not also Stephen King and Dean Koontz write these things as well? Did they ever kill anyone? That remains to be seen, I suppose...But first it was Don Imus, who I don't care for, but I do care about his freedom of speech, and now this kid; our freedoms are being slowly taken away, in the name of prevention and protection, and yet we've got these 'people' from this church in Kansas who come and protest soldiers funerals, that's right, I said protesting funerals, and they yell such obscenities as 'All soldiers are faggots' And 'God hates the military', and their freedom of speech is protected. Thank God for the bikers who come and very peacably drown out their insanity. But where was Don Imus' freedom of speech when he said a very simple comment about how the female basketball team had nappy hair? He even apologized to them. But of course, Al Sharkton and Jesse Crackson had to stick their big fat noses into it (Oh dear, have I just made a faux pas?) I'm very worried about where all this is going. I don't want to live in a place where the only kind of freedom of expression is which church I choose to go to, do you? Oh God, Dora's on, I have to change the channel... |
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I was never sick after a flight, real or imagined, and I have flown countless times.