17:35, September 26, 2011 (UTC)

That last one was awful. I’ll end that point here though, to avoid repeating past mistakes

Here’s a summary discussed long before now where this begins: person feels no pain, as everybody feels their pain for them. Divided amongst the billions, nothing changes besides this joyous person. That wasn’t my interpretation. I interpreted it as a round robin sort of deal. Cuts get passed on to some other poor sod. The issue comes to death. Can you only die once? Or does mass instinction commence?

Reincarnation holding down a deadman switch

When I die, I say nasty things. I die a lot. Unfortunately, I find a strange beauty in nasty words. Not obscene, but the kind made to clinch the precise listener intended

Enough about how different my life would be if people didn’t feel amicable upon the sight of my pretty face. This is about why ghosts are white

Why isn’t snow black? Why does it have to be white? Why can’t we have black snow and red skies?

Those three questions can stand without childhood citation. But then you’d never know

That I should’ve taken evening walks sooner

Do the ghosts come out at night? Like the moon, most don’t look for them in the day. But they’re still there

Back to childhood: That’s one of the first observations I made which let me know that many adults didn’t notice the world around them

I don’t notice daylight moonlight so much now now that I’m older

Back to snow. Chilly ghosts? I don’t know where I’m going with this. Which somehow relates to deadman switchs

Break a fuse, switch the breaker, spark a life. Burn them down. Again I ask: Where is this going?

Black snow implies opaque water

Ghosts aren’t opaque. But maybe they’re more like clouds. Similar logic

Aesthetical logic: if ghosts show up at night, it’d be hard to cast them in the dark without a brighter tone

Spooked the life out of him. Soul shivers back in. Association: Watson’s Unraveling God

Searching in the foliage for something more elusive. Tremble a little, the buttons coming up, bubble on the froth, snip snap swoop

Thus do we find ourselves at dinner without proper utensils. All the plates are smashed. But dinner will be served

To serve your liege may very well be mutiny. Must note that for later

How annoying that ambiguity with whether something served is server or servee

Both. Why not?

After dinner is served the tabletop is replaced with felt. Take a cue

Stroke of luck: no need to take a crap shot when the crap shot’s shot crap with a hole in one

Don’t forget how lucky you were

Last thought before the chairs fall back and we enter some new grasses springing forth something all rosy to bloom. A stamen droops to spot

He checks his hand. Still holding out. A petal slips. The fist unclenchs. Turmoils ceases so calm breathes a sad sigh and it’s declared: nothing new

Dies again. Nothing to say. Let’s be nice for once

Take two: Fuck you

Landed in a puddle. Puddle of mud, where’s the suds? Oh here it goes again: I don’t know if I know, you know? But I know you know so let’s get this through and we’ll know what we know when truth comes to truth or boils our lives down to lies brought to you by yours truly who did forget that that was going to be something but is now nothing but might still happen upon being in which case is now will

Keep it clenched. No beating. Only dew drops to hear

Too late. Cardiac arrest. Going real. Frames split. Pull the breaker

Pop. No new fuse. Ready to pop another day

Wake up. It’s time to write another day. Remember that idea we came across? That idea that Unraveling God was awful because it was part of a set of stories about knowledge man was not meant to know about yet the characters who are right because of the fact that it’s a story are never getting all scared about light bulbs taming the wrath of God

Knowledge man is not meant to know? Who else his woman is fucking. Similar resentments are held in social privacy

I don’t believe in knowledge men aren’t meant to know, and that holds for man too. But damn if I’m going to tell you my PIN

Here’s an argument: I’m entitled to any information I can get. If you don’t want me to have it, learn how to encrypt yourself properly. You’ve got the advantage since proper encryption proves impervious to forced decryption. Similar point: if God doesn’t want us to know how he made this all tick, maybe he should’ve made it a little more unobservable

Trust is found in knowing what cannot be done. One gains trust by disabling themselves. Which might be placing trust in others, which are now able to abuse that fact, which blah that’s enough back to the point

The first light bulb was lit. It was a sunny afternoon. There was no need for light. In the evening, a crazy wolf was going to be shot by lightning. But that lightbulb threw the whole shebang. Wait, what?

I know, it doesn’t make sense. Alright, alright, I give

Man, having lost divine protection, begins laying punishment themselves on each other. All the while this other guy is half dead in a muddy puddle. But they’ve got God’s breath in a bottle and some swivel chair hits the deck and so this guy in a muddy puddle who’s clenching his fist because something’s gotta give and he’d rather it not be him gets the shock of his life

He’s dead. Do you understand? Dead. The breaker just took what it’s meant to take some fold. Broken like everybody else

Here’s the weird thing. Here’s this person pushing this thing that makes them talk all nasty whenever they die but then it’s only after so if they were to stop pressing this mistake then what?

Back over in the kitchen dinner’s getting ready to be served. I’m imagining this big roasted chicken in a tux. It’d walk around and eat people. Except that it’s being fashionable tonight, and instead the people are coming to it

The roasted chicken died too. He knows what it’s like out there; the dining hall is lit by candle

This is a real climbing to the top kind of story. The kind where not only does the hero start off small and poor, ie he’s a chicken, but he gets cooked, ie roasted, and somehow when that oven opened up he was mad wild on the chef and gobbled that which suited his taste. Roasted cock

On a stick. In a pan. Out of the box

Dinner raised its glass and the softest ring silenced the already silent crowd: People died today. Cheers

They drank down their red wine and stuffed themselves plenty