9.9.99
Well, isn't life just a kick in the rubber parts? A thing that we probably failed to mention about Derrick is his particular fondness for the movie, Torch Song Trilogy. I also have a strong affinity for that movie, but in a different way. D. likes it because it deals with unrequited love and the loss of true love when it isn't supposed to end so abruptly. I can't say that I actually like the movie from purely that standpoint, for I shall always remember it as the movie that my mother interrupted to inform me of the death of my grandfather.
That's the topic of this entry. Death.
In a conventional sense, I guess death indicated the cessation of life. It's the gurgle of that last breath from cyanotic lips, but in a more poetic way, death is a transitional thing. This mentioned because one who has read these words has become incensed and is threatening me with legal action if I do not remove all mentions of his name in this journal.
Nope.
Your threats are aimless. I have in the course of writing this thing not stated anything other than the purest truth. It's accurate, and when quotations are made, they are direct from the source.
Additionally, I really don't go out to piss people off. Sometimes, it might appear to be that way, but it's not the honest intention. Instead, I think of this journal as, well, a journalistic record. In a way, a history of some of the things that have shaped my life. Occasionally, some might not agree with that honest opinionated viewpoint, much in the same way that George W. would rather not have that cocaine thing mentioned.
There's a thing in religious doctrine called the Golden Rule. We all know it:
Do unto others as you would have done unto you.
It's not an overly complicated thing, and in fact it's pretty damn simple. You don't fuck with people; they don't fuck with you. You can also go to your grave a happy camper knowing that you've not caused anyone heartache.
Yeah, I'm not so stupid as to think that at one time or another we' all haven't inadvertently caused each other some grief. That's part of being human. When we do, it's easy enough…we say "Oops! Screwed up again! I'm very sorry. Allow me to retract my statement." It's called responsibility and its part of being adult.
That's my bitch of the day. You know-nobody forces you to read this thing. You've done it of your own volition. I certainly feel sorry for someone who has a gun held to his head and is being forced to read the ramblings of this wannabe Yiddish spouting occasional fool. That would just be terrible! However, it would be good for my hitcount, so see if you can't round up some friends….
So I guess the moral of the story is this: It's a nice day…go outside and play. Leave me alone unless you want to talk nicely, K?
And if you wanna be a bitch, I can most likely top you in the bitchy queen department. Life has given me much opportunity to practice. So there!
That's the topic of this entry. Death.
In a conventional sense, I guess death indicated the cessation of life. It's the gurgle of that last breath from cyanotic lips, but in a more poetic way, death is a transitional thing. This mentioned because one who has read these words has become incensed and is threatening me with legal action if I do not remove all mentions of his name in this journal.
Nope.
Your threats are aimless. I have in the course of writing this thing not stated anything other than the purest truth. It's accurate, and when quotations are made, they are direct from the source.
Additionally, I really don't go out to piss people off. Sometimes, it might appear to be that way, but it's not the honest intention. Instead, I think of this journal as, well, a journalistic record. In a way, a history of some of the things that have shaped my life. Occasionally, some might not agree with that honest opinionated viewpoint, much in the same way that George W. would rather not have that cocaine thing mentioned.
There's a thing in religious doctrine called the Golden Rule. We all know it:
Do unto others as you would have done unto you.
It's not an overly complicated thing, and in fact it's pretty damn simple. You don't fuck with people; they don't fuck with you. You can also go to your grave a happy camper knowing that you've not caused anyone heartache.
Yeah, I'm not so stupid as to think that at one time or another we' all haven't inadvertently caused each other some grief. That's part of being human. When we do, it's easy enough…we say "Oops! Screwed up again! I'm very sorry. Allow me to retract my statement." It's called responsibility and its part of being adult.
That's my bitch of the day. You know-nobody forces you to read this thing. You've done it of your own volition. I certainly feel sorry for someone who has a gun held to his head and is being forced to read the ramblings of this wannabe Yiddish spouting occasional fool. That would just be terrible! However, it would be good for my hitcount, so see if you can't round up some friends….
So I guess the moral of the story is this: It's a nice day…go outside and play. Leave me alone unless you want to talk nicely, K?
And if you wanna be a bitch, I can most likely top you in the bitchy queen department. Life has given me much opportunity to practice. So there!
<< Home