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 >> Captain, Corporal, Ensign >>

12.29.2004
2:33 AM >> Rage, rage against...

Brad, I just read your latest sentiments about Fig and the only good words that came to me are these by Dylan Thomas. It's a poem (Dylan Thomas), but I think it's appropriate. If you go out, go out with flame and gusto and all of that. Fig led a good life and was an ispired feline and had good parents, you and M.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


 
12.20.2004
1:24 AM >> Goodbye, Figaro

We had to put one of our cats to sleep the other day. He was 16 and a half. He was named Figaro and he ruled. I still cry at least once a day thinking about him. We haven't put away his little water dish yet because every time I look at it, I imagine him drinking from it, and I look to see him crawling around, and he isn't there, and he never will be ever again. And then usually the tears come. He used to talk to us, saying hello and what's up, man and hello! are you going to pet me or what but I will never hear his voice again and I don't think the finalness of that has truly settled into my brain.

I look at the TV he sat on and expect him to be there, and he isn't. I see cans of open cat food in the fridge, and I don't want to throw them away because I want to use the rest of the food. I pet our other cat and feel bad that Figaro's love is now going to Sphinx. I had to call the crematorium to make arrangements for Figaro's remains, and it was such a business transaction that I hung up the phone with tears in my eyes again and every time I see his picture I just miss that cat so much because I loved him so much even though I only knew him for three or four years but I could tell he actually loved me back and knew I was his dad even though we had not known each other as long as he and his mom had. He was so smart and wise and fun and funny and sometime he would bite you but you still loved him.

Last night I had a dream that I was writing about this but we had Figaro's [lifeless] body in the house with us and for some reason I had to write in a journal right next to him and then somehow M (my wife who had been with Figaro since she was 8 years old) touched him and he came back to life but I was really confused how that happened. (Before that I could barely write because in my dream I was crying.)

In between the sadness and tears, this has all gotten me thinking: if there is anything more after death, which I believe there is not, it would not be some sort of heaven where our souls go to hang out; it would be a form of reincarnation. Nature is totally cyclical; even poop makes the best fertilizer. Nothing is wasted; everything is used and reused in an endless loop. So why would souls/life not be the same?


 
12.12.2004
11:30 PM >> Goal

Yes, I am a Consultant, but I won't truly be fulfilled until I am a Consultant to the Stars.


 
12.08.2004
10:15 PM >> Squabbling Sisters

SIS #1
Shut up!

SIS #2
You started it. You started it. I am telling mom.

SIS #1
You are such a BABY and a tattle tell. You suck.

SIS #2
I hate you. And I wish you were never born. I hate this family. I am running away. And you can tell mom that I hate her cooking too. I have never liked it. I think it sucks. Her noodles are always soggy and things always get burnt. And you and dad and Scotty always pretend to like it. You always smile and say, "OH, mom! The stroganoff is sooooo goood." And, "This is the best chicken I've ever had!" Man what a lie. You guys lie to mom and lie to yourselves all the time. You're worthless. And no one at school likes you. Even your friends hate you. Cause I heard them talking about you. They said stuff like, "Yeah she's so stupid and did you see those shoes. Totally from Wal-mart. What a cheap slut." They didn't say slut, but I added that in, cause that's what you are - a slut. And dad is such a jigalo. Why did he start wearing all that gaudy fake gold jewelry. Man that is so 80s and so Mafia. We aren't even in the Mafia. And we never could be with the way mom screws up dinner all the time. Do you think those greasy guys would stand for burnt up eggplant Parmesan? No way. They shoot her dead. Totally. Maybe we should be in the Mafia. God, I hate you. Ugggghhhh!

SIS #1
You don't even have any friends to hate you! You are a hermit and you smell. The reason you don't like mom's cooking is because you don't get the real food us humans eat. We give you the leftover slop from the dog's dish, after the maggots and the worms have gotten into it. Mmm, Mmm, nothing like a little seasoning to make a meal just right! As for me being a slut, at least I have a job. You are a freeloader and you smell. Dad can wear whatever he wants. He only has 2 months left on this earth, so you should show a little compassion. The contract on his life expires in March. You should be thankful you have a family. You could still be roaming with that pack wild rats had it not been for us. For your insolence, you will be punished, severely.

SIS #2
You betrayed our family when you slept with dad's best friend just so we could have a swimming pool like all the other families in the neighborhood. All the little rich girls that you want to be like. Oh, daddy buy me this, buy me that, can I get a Walkman for Christmas and a portable TV set, Jenny has one. I want one. I want I want I want. Well you little B I hope you got what you want. You'll never get your dirty little virginity back. I can't believe you slept with Steve. Dad's best friend. The pool installation guy. Just so Dad could get a couple of thou' knocked off under the table. That is so wrong! So wrong. You're a slut and a half and will always be one.

SIS #1
I did not sleep with Steve. Neither one of use were sleeping, if you know what I mean. Oh, but you wouldn't. No female, human or animal would come within 100 yards of you. The stench is just that strong. People have mistaken your stench for maggot-filled decomposing corpses lying in a trench of human waste. Your stench caused the hole in the ozone. You're the reason for global warming. The film makers of The Day After Tomorrow should have consulted you before making the film. Oh, but they couldn't, because they couldn't get that close. They couldn't even do a conference call because the stench would burn the phone lines and cause serious damage.

** Written with the help of once upon a time co-worker Dot, who played the part of Sis #1.


 
12.04.2004
2:27 AM >> And down it goes (hopefully)

Eight of Bush's 15 Cabinet members have resigned since he was [supposedly] re-elected.
Does this seem to anyone else like rats desertng a sinking ship?


 
 
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