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JWR 3.51 - Random

 

Sight unseen.

 

In one day, your blood will travel nearly twelve thousand miles.  I drive about a mile point three to work.  And my mind is two thousand miles away. 

 

What am I aside from someone with a marginally quick wit?ÖBut I would travel to Hell and back until the end of time.

 

One day, one teensy-weensy little day.  Flip the world, reverse the poles, drop the hammer, push the button, strike up the band, toll the bell and wax philosophical.

 

The ringing in my ears is the call of technology, begging my return like the Sirens calling to Ulysses, anxious for him to run his boat into the jagged rocks surrounding their island.  Images of dollar signs, Microsoft logos, TGX enhanced movies, cellular phone reception indicator bars and the second hand of a clock flash past my eyes like a slot machine whose lever had just been pulled.  And Iím waiting for my winner to come up because Iíve fed quarters into it for twenty-six years and what has the pay out been so far?

 

Cupid, if your arrow makes a love strong for me, I promise I will love her for all of eternity.  I know between the two of us, her heart we can steal.  So, help me if you will.

 

Who am I?

 

Control + Alt + Delete twice at the login screen to Windows XP grants access to the administrator account. 

 

Art and music and literature and theater and film and the fucking sunset and the waves crashing and wine and food and candles and condoms.

 

Everything has a pulse, if you listen carefully enough.  They say when you rub your hands together quickly for a time and then hold them palms down, the slight throbbing you feel is the earthís pulse, energy emanating up from beneath the crust.

 

I just drank a glass of heavy water, and, boy, am I full.

 

Amino acids and peptides and quarks and prions and carbon-12.

 

My internal clock tells me roughly what time it is.  My atomic clock tells me exactly what time it is.  My clock in my car tells me Iím consistently six or seven minutes late for work.  My clock on the phone on my desk at work tells me Iím actually only four or five minutes late to work.  My wristwatch tells me itís time for a new battery. 

 

God, spare me a flat tire, a starter that wonít turn over, a hole in the gas tank, a terrorist act, a tornado, a drunk at the controls and unending awkwardness.  Unhinge my jaw so I can swallow my meal whole. 

 

Scientists are working on cures for cancer and AIDS, the prolongation of human life, genetic modifications of plants to yield larger and weather-resilient crops, cures for baldness and more realistic artificial battery-operated vaginas.  Iíd hate to see you in a situation that called for a battery-operated vagina and you, sans said vagina.

 

Iím working on another beer.

 

Iíve won 54% of the Free Cell games Iíve played. 

 

One more Rambling to go for year 3 which spanned more than 2 years.

 

What am I going to say in my speech in November? 

 

What am I going to wear tomorrow?

 

Scientists are working on the origins of the Earth by looking into space and into the ground and into microscopes and into caves and under water and into space rocks. 

 

There are millions of books and tens of thousands of movies.

 

Your blood travels nearly twelve thousand miles in one day and youíre coming two thousand miles to see me.  My blood will travel a hundred thousand miles in the next day.

 

Or itíll boil as I open my front door to the vacuum of weightless space.  Blood will begin to come out of my nose, eyes, ears and mouth before my lungs explode.  The rings of Saturn and the tail of comets I can see out my front window.  The scene shifts to a grey day where the color of the sky and lake are indistinguishable along the vertical horizon.  Then I stand up and the horizon is correct.  That was a close one.

 

I open the door to my car and water floods in.  It fills the cabin at once and the pressure of many times that of regular gravity implodes my body.

Iíve been thinking and rethinking everything.  Making lists and checking them twice.  Jack is expensive.  But what a high.

 

Take the day (I like how Word tries to anticipate to next word sometimes.  Just now I typed ďtakeĒ and it thought I was going to type ďTake care.Ē  But I wasnít there.) one tick of the second hand at a time.  Let it flow.  Fuck the world.  Iím A-positive

 

WARNING:

If you are reading this then this warning is for you.  Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life.  Don't you have other things to do?  Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments?  Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all who claim it?  Do you read everything you're supposed to read?  Do you think everything you're supposed to think?  Buy what you're told you should want?  Get out of your apartment.  Meet a member of the opposite sex.  Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation.  Quit your job.  Start a fight.  Prove you're alive.  If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic.  You have been warned...  Tyler

 

John

 

1 day, bitches.  1 day.

 

Copyright © 2004 John Lemut