sarah

"experience can be approached in two ways: you can put things on a moral/qualitative scale, where, say, on a scale of one to ten, one represents "a really bad time" and ten represents "a totally kick ass time" and then go about the business of trying to have all your experiences be, if not tens, atleast in the four to five range. Alternatively, you could put experience on the same scale as they try to allude to with those drawings of thermometers on the side of jars of salsa, where low thermometer equals mild and bland, and high thermometer equals spicy and delicious. According to this rating system, traditional dichotomies of "bad" and "good" experience merely fall under the umbrella category of "spicy". The main things to be avoided are not the "one experiences but that low thermometer "mild" salsa, because really, if you like mild salsa, just face it, you dont like salsa. you like tomatoes." - burn collector ____________________________________________________________ __ "why am i telling you this? I dont know. But listen - there is something wrong with me, thats for sure. it seems like I could trace the steps, backwards, and somehow I could come to the spot where I diverged from the beaten path and became deviant, because there must be such a spot, there must be a moment when I threw off the cloak of civility and embraced the void: when I became a crazed cannibal, a maniacal, misanthropic monkey. I know this guy who decided to cultivate an extremely irritating laugh, just to be, well, you know... irritating. He would throw his head back and emit this piercing, hyena like series of squeals... "eee eee eee" he would croak, driving everyone around him into fits of epilepsy and muted swearing. Eventually of course, like the face your mother warns you will stick, his laugh stuck and then he was stuck with it. Life began to grow difficult for him; he was kicked out of restaraunts and seeing a movie that was at all funny was just out of the question,. But he couldnt un-cultivate it; it was too late to go back. The laugh he thought he was choosing had chosen him" - burn collector ____________________________________________________________ __danceless-topcer ____________________________________________________________ __ You carry the groceries in from the garage, the bite of minus thirty seven degrees Celcius cutting through the warmth of the kitchen floor faster than you can close the door. I set the last pot on the draining board and dry my hands. "Did you shut the garage door?" I ask, and you shake your head. I stick my feet into your large snow boots and plod awkwardly outside. It is so cold that the automatic door is incapable of being an automatic anything. I have to press the button, and then reach up to grab the rim of the door to drag it shut. Only I am stupid. So stupid. I don’t bother to put any gloves on and the pads of my fingers are still damp from washing the dishes. I am stuck to the garage door with my hands above my head and the wind tearing like knives into my back. “Help!” I yell, stuck b etween crying with cold and pain and you laughing at my own stupidity. “H-h-h-h-help!” I laugh/cry and you stick your head around the corner. “Whats wrong?” “I’m stuck to the garage door, my fingers, tey froze to the door,” I gulp, warm tears rolling down my icy face, laughter bursting from my lips like gasps. You are amazed, never having seen a human actually freeze and stick to something. You rush to my side, breathless with concern. And I watch, mute with horror and fascination, as you open your mouth, extend your tongue, to lick my fingers free. Steam rises moist from the warmth of your mouth, but the warmth is nothing compared to the icy strength of an Alberta winter day. Your tongue freezes to the garage, just above my fingers. We are so pathetic, and I am laughing and laughing until I cant stop. You start laughing too, but it rips at your tongue making your eyes water. Hot salty tears drip down your face, land on your tongue, my fingers. You laugh only to cause yourself pain. So that it makes you cry long enough to melt the ice that holds us” - chorus of mushrooms___________________________________________________ ___________________________ your secrets out. you wet the bed. MyGen Profile Generator