Stream of Consciousness

[indianasmith]

Remind me to buy some popcorn before I read your next post, ER!   

[ER]

Just pack a lunch, Lewis. It'd be easier. 

[ER]

When I was a teenager I learned to write cursive in reverse so I could jot thoughts onto someone's back with a magic marker, and he could go in after I left and read it in his bathroom mirror before he scrubbed it off. Originally I wrote my messages normally and he could stand between the door, which had a mirror, and this big mirrored vanity and see it if I wrote left to right, but he moved to a new place that had no looking glass on the door and so I had to learn backward script if I wanted to keep up the tradition. I'd say, "You're not allowed to read it til after I go." He'd play along and read it as soon as I left and tell me when I got home what it said.

Funny the things you'll learn to do when you're motivated, you know it?

One day I sketched this symbol for Kali onto his back and he didn't know, and when he called me at home he asked what it was.

"It's a mark Kali's priestesses ink onto human sacrifices."

He did not appreciate that for some reason, mainly because he and I once had a run-in with an old record filled with creepy chanting to Kali, which we each later confessed spooked us.

That day though I was laughing too hard to admit I made that up, it was just a symbol for Kali in Sanskrit. He still didn't think it was a cool thing to do. Superstitious much?

Writing backward wasn't enough of a challenge and if I was going to the trouble to master a skill, he should put some skin in the game, too, I thought, so I added in one last technique to make things fun, I started writing not just backward but upside down, which did not go over as well, so the time after I just drew a big heart on his back.

Eventually it all became passe and I don't know when the last time I did that was, or what I said.

.detsal ti elihw nuf saw ti tuB

[Alex]

Nice, I used to write to my friends backwards just because it would make life difficult for them.

[ER]

Sometimes....

I think we are all divine beings who live eternally in some paradise, our powers more or less limitless, but this gets boring, so we choose to forget what we are and we play this game of being born into mortal bodies, where we might be crazed paupers, or we might be kings, and we play this game until we die, then return and remember what we actually are, and then we stay in our limitless paradise until we feel like doing it again, but being gods we might spend a million years in paradise and then return to the next body a minute after we left the last time. In fact we're so powerful we might be living in more than one body at once, maybe trillions of bodies and lives going on not just on Earth but on other planets, in other dimensions, places where the rules of time and the laws of physics are entirely different. And that's how we keep from going insane in our existence without limits or end.

I think about that.

Sometimes....

[Svengoolie 3]

Why doesn't anyone ever do a stream of unconsciousness topic?

[ER]

OK, here: "




                    ."

[ER]

I think Gilligan's Island took place on the same island as Lost.

[ER]

Ever have one of those days where you're not sad or depressed but you know something is wrong and you can't figure out what it is, so it gnaws at you and you think hard and feel for it and it eludes your grasp to define what it is but you know it's there like a cold spot in a room, a ghost unseen but felt in the shadows of the corner opposite the sunlight, tapping at you, like a one-sided whisper, a lopsided floor underfoot, a crazy knowledge pinging the inner ear, broadcasting through the sub-audible the fact that even if you can't say what it is it's there, in you or around you or in route to intersect with your existence, the certainty within the sense itself, that something, just something is not as it ought to be?

[ER]

I went to a ceremony today in which a deceased person's ashes were scattered into an ancient river barely below flood stage, and everyone was asked to say something, so I thought about quoting Gaiman's Death and remarking on how whatever its length we all get the same thing, a lifetime, but instead I recited this lovely 20th century Irish poem, not because it described the departed in this case but because when I first told it to him in high school he said "that destroys" which I always hoped meant he liked it.


The Four Ages of Man

He with body waged a fight,
But body won; it walks upright.
Then he struggled with the heart;
Innocence and peace depart.

Then he struggled with the mind;
His proud heart he left behind.
Now his wars on God begin;
At stroke of midnight God shall win.

--W.B. Yeats





Stupid heroin.

[Rev. Powell]

Ever have one of those days where you're not sad or depressed but you know something is wrong and you can't figure out what it is, so it gnaws at you and you think hard and feel for it and it eludes your grasp to define what it is but you know it's there like a cold spot in a room, a ghost unseen but felt in the shadows of the corner opposite the sunlight, tapping at you, like a one-sided whisper, a lopsided floor underfoot, a crazy knowledge pinging the inner ear, broadcasting through the sub-audible the fact that even if you can't say what it is it's there, in you or around you or in route to intersect with your existence, the certainty within the sense itself, that something, just something is not as it ought to be?

Are you saying that's not everyday normal life? 

[ER]

Ever have one of those days where you're not sad or depressed but you know something is wrong and you can't figure out what it is, so it gnaws at you and you think hard and feel for it and it eludes your grasp to define what it is but you know it's there like a cold spot in a room, a ghost unseen but felt in the shadows of the corner opposite the sunlight, tapping at you, like a one-sided whisper, a lopsided floor underfoot, a crazy knowledge pinging the inner ear, broadcasting through the sub-audible the fact that even if you can't say what it is it's there, in you or around you or in route to intersect with your existence, the certainty within the sense itself, that something, just something is not as it ought to be?

Are you saying that's not everyday normal life? 

Ha! No, man, even by my standards that was a strange day, so strange that when I told someone who knows me better than almost anyone else about it, he suggested I go get a brain scan.   

[ER]

Interesting afternoon today, me. Sat and talked inside a tomb for three hours. Anyone top that?

[Svengoolie 3]

I worked on fixing a hole on my kitchen floor and building a paint station today.

[ER]

I worked on fixing a hole on my kitchen floor and building a paint station today.

Oh, cool! Was this before or after you went to work?