Anyway. We go into the wonderful, transcendent world of the Akashic Records and can access any information we want about anything we need to know, and the more we practice the more wise and transformed we can become, then we come out of our meditation and have to tell everybody what our vision was. And everybody goes around and tells and they saw beautiful guides and strong animal totems and flowing rivers and all that happy leprechaun shit, and it was so meaningful and wise and wonderful. And here's my vision:
I'm walking in this place that isn't a place, it's all black everywhere like it's dark, but it's not dark, there's just no color anywhere. And these two people come up to me, but (you guessed it) they're not people. I mean...you know...they look like people but they're kind of squirmy around the edges and you know that they are something else when they're not here, that it's just convenient for them to look like people right now. They tell me something, whatever, I couldn't remember it as soon as I left the meditation. One of those, "It was clear as day, it told me to..." and you never remember. And we all go in this big room, and it looks like some kid's science fair project of what the inside of the International Space Station looks like, all made out of old plumbing parts from his dad's business. Except, you know, it looks really, really real, and instead of looking out on space, it looks out into this huge library in a gigantic underground cavern, and there's thousands of people in there looking at books, and this mean little girl in the control room/space station won't let me go in there.
you know how people look at you when they all suddenly realize you're a lot weirder than they thought you were? Like, I think a lot of people get the wrong end of the stick when they first meet me, and think I'm a harmlessly eccentric lovable nutjob, and that couldn't be farther from the truth. I've come to the conclusion that I'm a sort of half-feral throwback to the days before anyone ever thought about manners or protocol. Sometimes I think I just fell through the cracks of culture. Somehow I got this weird swerve in me where I just don't understand some of ya'lls weird customs, like eating in groups, and your strange tribal dancing. Eye contact, and letting people touch you just because they want to. You know.
The thing is, I am pretty much harmless (I think) but I generally prefer my way to whatever crazy shit you people come up with and put on MTV or whatever is cool now, educatin' the sheep. YouTube. I'm terribly curious about it, but in most cases, I do not want to play. I'm not even sure I want a ticket. I'll just watch through the fence for a minute. Oh, gosh, I forgot an appointment, but the Slushee was very good, and I think I learned a lot. Thank you.
It's not that I'm necessarily hostile to anything I don't understand, but I get so goddamned tired of being attacked for not wanting the same exact thing as the rest of the pods. Like, if I don't want it, how can I understand how weird you feel it is that I don't want it? If I thought and reacted and felt as you feel, and could comprehend how fuckin' weird it all is, we wouldn't be having this conversation, dude. We'd just wander around the mall together, not saying a word and just, you know, groovin'. I actually feel pretty normal. I feel like me. I want what I want, and think how I think, and a lot of the stuff that you do everyday seems pretty crazy and scary and weird and creepy to me, sometimes too. That part, I understand how you feel.
Stop telling me to be myself. I'm being myself. If you don't like it, there's nothing I can do about it. These people, and the, "You'd be so pretty if you'd just" people. Wear makeup. Smile more often. Shave. I like to make sure I see all these people again right after I shave my head. Oh, you meant my legs and pits? Sorry, these things happen. Once I shave the noggin, I tend to stop feeling I have to shave my legs and feel more free to wear my pretty dresses.
Jesus, I'm such a child. Why not just be goth? Because goths are just a bunch of monkey-see, monkey-do posers. I just randomly do the exact opposite of what anyone (including me sometimes) expects me to do, so nobody but me gets to possess me by being able to know or appreciate me very well. This is MY precious. Mine! And you can't have it, and if you want it I'm going to make you not want it, because it's mine. All, all mine.
And all of it leads to my special unique specialness being as totally generic as everyone elses'. Like, I guess the bald-headed chick in odd footgear and bag-sale clothes and weird jewelry and attitude on a vintage bike isn't as widespread a type as the frat dude or the rainbow person, but I'm not the only one in my zip code. Shit, I'm not even the only one named Kelly(e) in my zip code. And even if anyone ever was going to find a way to rebel and be unique in some way that wasn't old and busted when Plato wrote The Cave, a bunch of loser airheads would just copy it, and then you'd have to see it at Target and in the Dollar store and shit. Nine-year-olds sportin' it. All cheap and knock-off. In outlet malls and chain eateries. Wearin' it with those Ugg boots. And then you'd have to kill yourself.
Hey kids, don't try to be special! You're just fooling yourself. What a wonderful sentiment. I should put that on a greeting card. With a little pop-up. Of a noose. (I'm totally going to do this. Maybe it could be a graduation card. It would go perfectly with the valentine's card with the popup of the handgun.)
Anyway, despite all appearances this is actually a happy post. Hence the morbid humour, only one of the handy and simple things you can note to give you absolutely not any idea at all what is going on in my head, ever.
I'm a very calm lady today. I dug a hole this week, for our new flower garden by the fence. I'm very happy when I have holes to dig. I think I shall dig some more! I have a feeling our house will be surrounded by plants by the spring. People who know where I live should come by and look at my dug-up flower bed. It is very impressive (especially when you remember that my center of gravity is 8 inches above the ground and I have the upper body strength of a T-Rex), and my entire body hurts, so admire and compliment it, please.
My bike got stolen, but I think I was burning off some bad karma, and I can't wish evil on somebody having such a bad night they have to sink to stealing bicycles. I mean, my personal moral compass of terrible things to do, from worst to least worst, is kind of like, Murder/Torture, Rape, Stealing Bicycles, Arson, General Greediness, Theivery, Gossip, Looking at Me Funny. So how much does your life have to suck before you do like the third worst thing ever? Pretty fucking bad. Way worse than whatever bad day I had. Go with God, ride it in good health. I hope it's the thing that changes your life and you never have to steal again, or want for anything you need. My new bike is neat, neat, neat. It's fast as a rocket, and wonderful to look at, and I'm totally in love.
Is that weird? Being in love with a bike? Oh, well, like I give a fuck. Have a great day!