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tiny dog go bark bark

laughing all the way to the Animal Bizarre

Posted on 2010.06.06 at 11:51
I hate the way some people react when you mention you have an illness or disability. There are 5 ways they can respond. 1 - They ignore you and say something like, "I had a bad day too." 2 - They stop everything and stare at you, pretending to listen. 3 - They commiserate in sonorous tones but are still considering having sex with you. 4 - They share information, usually about a friend who had the same illness, but they learned nothing from that situation. 5 - They interview you and eventually the topic is finished with. I prefer tha latter. Because very few people are really interested, so the mature ones at least interview you.

But the ones who stop everything - it's so weird. They're rushing around and you mention, in passing, your illness, and some programme in their head says, "OK - This is when I'm supposed to play the role of the compassionate liberal - a role I really don't know how to play." But instead, they look like they are saying, "I am confused. I am angry. Why are you trying to kick me in the face?" They look cornered, trapped. They look as if - if they try to fake to the right, you will catch them, and if they turn to the right, you will smash them. You can see the little clock that appears in front of their eyes, ticking away, waiting for you to stop answering their unecessary questions. They have no choice - they dig themselves into this trap - they ask the questions and proceed to hate the crap out of you, with a droopy smile on their anguished faces.

Meanwhile, you are completely discombobulated. You are thinking, "There must have been some kind of mistake!" You figure you made some terrible error in communication, because you were only conveying information, and here now is this poor suffering animal in front of you ready to slice your balls off. Perchance to offer them up at some future religious ceremony. About which you have always been in the dark. Yet you think back, through the empty chattering of your voice, and can discern nary a mistake made on your part. And, even though you have tried with complete design and effort never to have this akward situation happen again, it was happening again. It is dressed like compassion and yet it feels more like a knife fight over meat.

You want to scream at them, "Will you STOP THAT! You don't have to suddenly act like a completely clueless dork! Where did you learn this insulting, juvenile response? In Pavlov's kennel? You're looking at me like I'm some curious alien - well, haven't you ever experienced deep and tortuous pain? Or are you charmed by my Voodoo words, paralysed by my venom, masochistically awaiting the massive snake jaws to clasp upon you now?" And yet you feel pity for this ignorant socially inept thing, which immediately turns into disgust over wasting your breath on such a mealworm. Hmmmm... that reminds me of a quote....

"When the Japanese mend broken objects they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something has suffered damage and has a history, it becomes beautiful." - Barbara Bloom.

Not so with these Westerners... I reckon such folks look back with sentimentality at all the times they WANTED to be a caring human being in a caring world. But a lot of school tauntings and gossip and money soon taught them that GREED was GOOD - virtuous even - and now they are face-to-face with a textbook victim of the long fingers of their methodical, mechanical, institutional pilfering, and it is as if, to them, that Brutus or Judas or Churchill had suddenly materialised from some pencil-sharpener and was now accusing them of war-crimes. The computer in their heads, trying to reconcile all this with policy and convention and catechism and instinct, simply crash, and they fall like stunned yet uninjured houseflies after a swat.

After all, why should they look so estranged when I simply explain that, "There's an alternate sibling in my brain, on a lawn-chair, reading the newspaper under a sun-lamp, and he drinks all my beer." For, verrilly I say unto you, I have a twin or something in my brain which becomes a migraine, and when I drink beer, I don't get drunk at all. Only the migraine gets drunk. It's the weirdest thing. Can you relate? He's lodged in my left hemisphere, and he controls everything: when I sleep, when I eat, my emotions - and he drinks all my beer! It's not like the beer makes him diminish, or makes me feel less preyed upon - he simply drinks it and gets drunk while I watch. So, I wents to the doctor and he said, "You have an alien in your head." The technical term is, "I have a grey in my brain." Over the years, the Romans shortened this to, "My Grey In-Brain", or simply, "Migraine." The Migraines are taking over. They saw the BP oil spill, etc., coming, and so they've been extracting our DNA for a future repopulation, cows included... But every time you try to think these things, or explain them to others, they shock you in the head, and you lie there, listening to Morrissey over and over... "OH! Something is squeezing my skull!" (Morrissey - "Years of Refusal")

Final topic: The Animal Bizarre... At about 2:am, I awoke to hear Nick D Dunderhead hosting for Brian Noonan on WGN - it was a fantastic show, with songs forom Doctor Demento, the Cure, and a BUNCH of out-takes from shows past. I urge you to hear the show (Sat June 6) www.wgnradio.com. Then I went back to sleep and dreamt I was being taken to an Animal Bizarre. A large wolf, grey in colour, met me and curved his body around my back, and protected me as we walked, and I wept. Met all sorts of animals. Then, at some point, I was in a carriage being pulled by two Kangaroos which were also like large Reindeer, sans klaxons. We were forgetting to feed these Kangaroo, and they were getting nippy. They were biting, careful not to tear the delicate flesh, demanding their veggies. So, I had to run round town tearing up available grass and plants, which were scant, hoping nothing would poison my dear rebelling Kangaroo. Nobody wants that. Tis an embarassment.

I have to see if my camara works with this W7 computah - take a pic of my back yard, and enter it in a contest before the sun goes down. Pray for me.

I was wasting my life
Always thinking about myself
Someone on the deathbed said
"There are other sorrows too...

"I was driving my car
I crashed and broke my spine
So yes, there are things worse in life than
Never being someone's sweetie"

That's how people grow up
That's how people grow up

As for me I'm ok
For now anyway

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

Comments:


literaryrepose
literaryrepose at 2010-06-07 02:12 (UTC) (Lien)
That was really interesting. I don't really have anything else to contribute, just wanted to say that. =)
where hypotheses come to die
madman101 at 2010-06-07 03:12 (UTC) (Lien)
i'll always love you
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