more pigeon gore!?!

Not really. Happy Tax Day. And happy Jesus Zombification Day Eve.

The pigeon gore, while it seems to have subsided at the mo, did inspire a poem. Which I will share with y'all.

Before that, though, I want to comment on Tuesday's game night. It was the first time i've ever been involved in what I would say is a serious game of charades. Charades is really fun when you have silly people and ridiculous/offensive clues! I got to act out "semiotics," which was hilarious because after it had been gotten, Matt was all, "Semiotics of what? Just semiotics? That's all?" My favorite things I saw acted out were definitely "antioxidants" and "tranny hooker."

So now the poem:

There is no way we can untangle this string

Your skin, such a thin fabric protecting the rest of the world from your gore. Some warps and wefts are snipped—it's a cut, it's a clew. What's inside, it's lurid and pulpy.

The alimentary canal, a hollow string your body trucks through life. A string that long ago thickened, sprouted fins and limbs. Through years lengthened, curved back on itself. Furlongs of entrails packed in fantastic unknot.

What's outside, all those strings springing from your head. That tweedy jacket. Your fingers, frayed ends. My fingers, frayed ends.

warning: blasphemy and existential crises ahead.

Jesus rose from the dead. Zombies are the living dead. Ergo, Jesus is a zombie. Also, next Sunday marks Jesus Zombification Day. And to assess the correct way to spell zombification, I set up a googlefight between zombification and zombiefication. You can ascertain the results yourself.

How to celebrate? I want to bake a cake and frost it so say "JESUS DON'T EAT OUR BRAINS." Other ideas?

In continuing pigeon gore news, Geri and walked by a disembodied pigeon leg yesterday in the mission. It was extremely not gory though. I think it may have caused Geri some sort of existential crisis. Disembodied pigeon legs can do that. I think there's a section in Sartre's Being and Nothingness to that effect.

insulted!

So I was searching on Amazon for the aforementioned book called "The Fishing Rod" and I found out that somehow I totally made that title up and it's actually "Men Are Like Fish." Which is way worse. Like misandrony. If that's a word. Which it is. 'Cause I just typed it. My thoughts on fishing being America's #1 analogy for love still stand.

Thing of today #1: As I was leaving work, there was a totally mutilated pigeon I had to walk through to leave. Feathers and gore everywhere. Don't know how it happened. Then it got me thinking that we're all just made of gore and our skin is this very thin membrane protecting the world from our gore. Ick.

Thing of today #2: Noah and I were talking about the bible, and whether or not dinosaurs were in it. We got to behemoths and leviathans. There's a website that's a searchable bible (I'm too lazy to find the link to so I'll just direct you to www.fuckinggoogleit.com instead) and it defines leviathan as "possibly a crocodile." Possibly a crocodile? Least defined definition ever! Loves it!

bingo is her name-o

Couple of things from my ever so brief foray back to the East Coast to visit the grandparents.

Binghamton is, like many places in America--including Historic Ticonderoga, my hometown--a town that has Home Depots and Targets and whatnot on the outskirts and a crumbling, derelict, boarded up old-timey downtown district. You can't drive through that part of town without shaking a fist and yelling "Wal*Mart!!!!" Anyway, driving past the giant abandoned shoe factory that used to support the area (along with IBM), my grandmother points at a set of broken windows and says "that was the office I worked in." And it wasn't really wistful or nostalgic or in any way sentimental as far as I can tell, but I have to imagine what that must feel like, how old/mortal it must make you feel to literally see your former workplace decay.

The next day, my parents came to visit and we drove by my mom's elementary school on our way to lunch. She pointed to a classroom and said, "That's where I was when I found out Kennedy was shot." My mother is her mother's daughter.

On a lighter note. Or something. The woman sitting next to me on the plane was reading a book called the Fishing Rod, and I couldn't help but notice (all right, I was being nosy) that the big text on the back said: America's #1 metaphor for love!

OK.

Thing #1: I'm aware of the fishing metaphors there are regarding relationships: more fish in the sea, good catch, etc.

Thing #2: I have nothing against fishing. It was a favorite pastime of mine as a white trash youth and it's a lot less morally reprehensible than fish farming, IMHO. You may think that makes me a hypocritical vegetarian and I'm OK with that. I'm keeping it real.

Those things said: Could there be a worse metaphor for love than fishing? You dupe some unsuspecting, unintelligent creature into thinking you're providing it sustinence, when really you're providing it with something POINTY. Then you mangle it and drag it from its environment, kill it, and eat it. Alternatively you can just torture it for a while, decide it's too small, and return it to its home. WTF? Is this love!?!

I think I need to go to a bookstore and actually look at this book. From what I could gather without being too obnoxious, there's lots of charts and bullet points and stuff.

ugly scene

You know how when you watch news footage of riots, you see people rocking a car over until it flips? I felt like I was moments away from that this morning, when after more than a half hour had elapsed at the busstop, the third bus to pass without accepting passengers got dangerously close to the mob wanting to get on that bus.

public transit. always an adventure.