Phantom pains in an amputated limb
Every year, on this day, around this time of day, I go back and read this again, and all of the little comment threads, so I can remember what happened, how it felt … and how we all knew in advance how the events of the day were going to be used and misused for the next decade.
Some amazing things have happened for me over the past nine years, stuff I would never give back. But looking back over my own timeline, everything up to that date was pretty smooth running and more or less on some sensible track, and everything after that date was all shattered landscapes and tons of wasted effort trying to get back to familiar ground.
There is no familiar ground anymore. Any twinges I’ve been feeling for the American Dream have been phantom pains in an amputated limb.
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This One Time
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This One Time, 17
This one time I died for two months and then came back from the dead. I really don’t know why people make such a big fuss about dying and coming back. It seriously happens all the time. The gates of the afterlife aren’t big iron doors guarded by flaming swords and three-headed dogs. There’s just […]
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This One Time, 17
Station Identification
Photoblog at Moblog.net
Damn.
You should run for president, dude.
There’s a shiny little grenade rolling around on the ground. Should I pounce on it?
No one with any sense either wants or should be allowed to have the job. As executive jobs go, the pay is shit and you get blamed for a million things that couldn’t possibly be the fault of any single individual, no matter how willfully heinous. Though fucking with the Secret Service for the rest of my life would be tremendously tempting.
I’d be somewhere between the worst of Jimmy Carter and the best of Zaphod Beeblebrox, and the skeletons in my closet are *unbelievable*. I should go be president somewhere where my kind is appreciated and protected.