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i like my misfortunes to be taken seriously. - but it's no use going back to yesterday, because i was a different person then. [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
no one of consequence

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i like my misfortunes to be taken seriously. [Sep. 4th, 2006|03:41 am]
no one of consequence
[Current Mood |jealousjealous]
[Current Music |the crane wife 1 & 2]

'before i begin, i'd like to take a moment to honour a fallen hero. a man who showed the world that courage and bravery can take many forms and can come from the most unexpected places. steve irwin died doing what he loved. may we all be so fortunate.'

'well, i must endure the presence of two or three caterpillars if i wish to become acquainted with the butterflies. it seems that they are very beautiful. and if not the butterflies--and the caterpillars--who will call upon me? you will be far away . . . as for the large animals--i am not at all afraid of any of them. i have my claws.'
and, naïvely, she showed her four thorns.


i woke up slowly, dimly aware that the sun had risen some time ago, but also dimly aware that no matter how much difficulty i had keeping my eyes open, i would be up long before anyone else in the filthy flat we all infested together. i looked around and vainly tried to wake the skinny girl who had been sleeping nearest to me, she didn't even shrug or groan, she just lay there, barely breathing. there were no drugs left, that should have been obvious, but i looked anyways. it didn't really matter that there were none left, my credit was still good. my mother always told me that drugs were just an easy way out, a way to avoid growing and maturing as a person, because when you have drugs you don't have to deal with difficulties in life. i'm sure that she was right, but it seems to me that i could get the exact same outcome from being in an unhealthy co-depandant relationship that began in highschool and wasn't likely to ever end without any of the relief of drugs and for much more money. i tip-toed past all of the sleeping bodies in the hall and made it to the refrigerator. empty. fucked.

before i continue, i'd like you to know that i am actually a really nice guy. i always do my best to be one, it is really the corner-stone of my reputation. anyways, it was a stiflingly hot day and i had been trecking through the desert with no water for days, having lost my herd almost a week ago trying to ford the colorado, which was much wider and stronger back then than it is now. although i was wandering in the direction of the chicken wire fence that marked the begining of my property, i wasn't sure why i was returning home, as there was no longer anything for me there. it was on the 4th day that i began to hallucinate. i knew right then that i had to drink. well, that isn't true, what i knew was that i had to either find water or die. you always have a choice.


i'd see these huge black birds that would wheel in from the sky and swoop at me. even though i knew they weren't real i'd still fall to the ground every time i saw one come at me, and each time it was a little harder to get back up. i was certain i was going to die when i saw, in the distance, a cloud of dust--a wagon filled with water was coming my way with only one guard.

when the guard and his wagon got close enough i shouted at them for help and he replied, 'in some ways i'd like to help you, but in others i do not. do you understand? i can see that you don't. perhaps this will help: have you heard the description of free will as a person wanting to want to want something? that is, i want to help you, but i don't want to want to help you, but i also don't want to not want to help you because i, like you, want to consider myself a good person. actually no, that isn't what i mean at all, it is just the best way i can explain my reluctance to let you drink from my water caravan.' i stared at him incredulously as he continued to ramble about destroying friendships and making awkward situations in the future. i'd like to pause here to remind the reader that i have always considered myself a good person, so when i relate what transpired i ask that you not judge me too harshly.

seeing that my only chance of salvation stood behind a single guard who was too busy making excuses and considering awkward social outcomes to notice what i was doing, i raised my battered shotgun and fired once into his body. he fell to his back with a hollow thud, wheezed once, and then was silent. i nimbly stepped over his corpse and drank my fill from the water drums he had been hauling. and that is all there was to it.


'i'm glad that you're such a nice guy. you could never be a murderer.' after praising me she looked into my eyes, started to open her mouth to say something more, but checked herself when she saw my face nervously twitch, a sign she took for embarassment. 'i just do my best.' i told her, and then was silent for the rest of the night. after she left, i noticed that the shell casing had been lying on the ground very near to where she had been standing the entire time.

'in conclusion: every man has things he will only tell to his friends and keep a secret from the unfriendly world, and every man has things he would only dare tell to himself, things his friends can never know, and there are some other things that every man has which he will not admit to even himself. do not think these the trademark of an evil doer, for every man has these things, infact, the better the man the more of these things he will have.' the man in all white finished his sermon. in the half light of dusk he actually did have the appearance of a preacher, but that was absurd, because there hadn't been a preacher anywhere near here in almost 20 years.
'but how can you know this for certain?' asked a filthy farmboy, one of many who had gathered on the outskirts of town to hear the stranger speak.
'i read it in a russian novel.' the man replied, looking more preacher-like every minute.
'is that all the proof you have?'
'it is all the proof i need.'

her skin was like pepper and oranges and i wanted more.

[User Picture]From: faoners
2006-09-05 01:22 am (UTC)
your picture is le petit prince!
i read that book in grade 7.

it was quite a novel.

might i mention..as i do everytime i read something of yours, that you have a way with words almost undescribable?

because you do.
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