So, I went to Wendy's for dinner tonight. The girl at the till was cute, efficient, and very friendly. That in and of itself made the visit memorable.
I sat down in one of the lonesome corners of the restaurant to eat. From across the restaurant I heard a voice say, "I know him. I know him."
I was amused and wondered if perhaps I was known by someone in the dining area. I didn't know anyone, but maybe someone knew me. Perhaps, I thought, someone knew me without ever meeting me before. Perhaps someone was telepathic.
I always liked the idea of someone being telepathic. The idea that someone can know you inside and out and you have no control over it is both scary and refreshing. Secrets are like life in that sense. Sure, you should protect them, but you can't stop a telepath any more than you can stop the Grim Reaper. So why not think your thoughts? Why not communicate via your brain. It's not like it's embarrassing, because either no one is telepathic and you're just thinking, or someone is telepathic and you're communicating with them.
So I thought to myself,'What if he knew my name? Maybe he could be telepathic. Maybe that's how he knows me. Give me a signal if you know me. Give me a message that you understand. Give me some sort of sign.'
Nothing. We all continued to eat.
My mind moved on. I was texting around and having some laughs. And in the middle of a text, I hear a child nearby say 'goodbye.' It was the voice who knew me. Right there at the edge of my table was this 6-year old child who walked across the restaurant away from his family to say goodbye to me and no one else. I smiled and said goodbye to him too. He said to me, "My friend is in black car," in the way that children tell you the important things in their life, like "I'm real good at soccer," or "I have a Batman;" they have the calmest enthusiasm ever. I didn't understand, so I asked him where his friend was again.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"He's in black car."
That's when his slightly older sister came to collect him. The boy refused to leave, his tiny hands locked onto the edge of the table. He just looked at me. As brief as the moment had been the moment ended when his mother called from the aisle that it was time to stop bothering the nice man.
"Bye."
I know it sounds ominoius and eerie, but it didn't sound like that at the time. He was just talking in the wonderfully happy, matter-of-fact kind of way that young children do. But why me? Why from all the way across the room? I never even acknowledged him when he said he knew me.
I don't know who is in the black car, but that's the sign.
Showing posts with label symbolism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label symbolism. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Good vs Evil
This old question has a fairly obvious answer: be good. Always choose good over evil if you are conflicted. But I think this only counts if you're in the middle.
I have recently discovered that I am not in the middle. I've suspected it for a long time, but it is now quite obvious that I was, in fact, created as an agent of evil. So my question now is this: Is it better to defect from evil and throw my self at the mercy of good, or do I obey my nature and continue this path of evil?
Let me clarify. I don't eat babies. I don't murder baby animals for sport. I pretty much steer clear of the whole harming infants scene. However, I do seem to have a tendency to corrupt women; God's women. Not on a mass scale, mind you, but more like a secret agent hidden under the disguise of good.
Recently, God has shown me just how mad at me he is. To say the least, it's a doozy. So, can I really expect Him to forgive me? And if so, won't the Devil be equally pissed? Even if it could happen, I'd have to keep my nose pretty fucking clean to avoid certain rapture. If I were to be cast from under the wing of God, I'm sure the Devil would no longer employ my service, but submit me to eternal torture of the most terrible calibre.
Then, on the other hand, whose to say that a lifetime of servitude will reward me pardon from the eternal torment of hell?
Tough call.
I have recently discovered that I am not in the middle. I've suspected it for a long time, but it is now quite obvious that I was, in fact, created as an agent of evil. So my question now is this: Is it better to defect from evil and throw my self at the mercy of good, or do I obey my nature and continue this path of evil?
Let me clarify. I don't eat babies. I don't murder baby animals for sport. I pretty much steer clear of the whole harming infants scene. However, I do seem to have a tendency to corrupt women; God's women. Not on a mass scale, mind you, but more like a secret agent hidden under the disguise of good.
Recently, God has shown me just how mad at me he is. To say the least, it's a doozy. So, can I really expect Him to forgive me? And if so, won't the Devil be equally pissed? Even if it could happen, I'd have to keep my nose pretty fucking clean to avoid certain rapture. If I were to be cast from under the wing of God, I'm sure the Devil would no longer employ my service, but submit me to eternal torture of the most terrible calibre.
Then, on the other hand, whose to say that a lifetime of servitude will reward me pardon from the eternal torment of hell?
Tough call.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Exorcise equipment
- The body of something once breathing
- Salt
- Alcohol
- Rainwater
- Infra-red radiation
- At least two of the following pieces of a woman:
- Eyes
- Heart
- Hands
- Lips
- Skin
- Strings
- Brass
- Time
- An angel
- A friend
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Destruction, Role Reversals, and Choices
These are actually examples of things that aren't wrong with the world. These are the things that make life difficult, but ultimately worth living be it for creation of life, appreciation of life, or simply being life.
Part 1
I drove down to Lethbridge this weekend; about a two hour drive. The weather warnings were extreme in the morning, but had diminished by the time I left. None the less, I found cars spun out in the ditch, one car on its roof with an exit trail probably a full 30° from the road (in case you don't think in trajectories, that means it was going over 50% as fast sideways as it was going forward along the road, or exactly 50% of its speed [no vector {direction}] was in a vector perpendicular to the road. tl;dr it went sideways fast), and finally, the worst of them all, I saw a horse trailer on its side. Firetrucks, ambulances, police cruisers, all sorts of emergency crews... two lanes of traffic were forced around onto the shoulder to sneak by directed by no less than 4 traffic coordinators. I couldn't even bear to confirm my suspicions.
But I thought to myself what a terrible thing that man has done. We cage an animal and, due to weather it would otherwise survive, we kill it. Cows, pigs, sheep, chickens... they all die for me to eat and probably eat better than I rightfully should (for I have not cared for nor have I bested these animals). And I suppose logically a horse is no different. It's life should hold no extra value to us than the lives of such a multitude of similar animals. But somehow it stands for something. Horses represent freedom, hopes, dreams, pride and other things that are hard to draw. And we have killed it.
I begin to wonder if I am man and life is nature. Man seeks to control nature. Nature cannot be controlled. And sometimes they collide and horses, dreams, can be killed. Life is happening. Can I control it? Could I not even if I wanted to?
I drive into Lethbridge. Too many cars in front of the house to park. I park down the street. The frozen body of a rabbit lies belly up in the gutter ahead.
She used to point out rabbits in the hills. Now here it is in front of me. Adorable. Dead.
Perhaps another metaphor; stronger than the first. Closer to her, not me. That's what it's about after all.
Part 2
The night plays out; a hilarious mix of people new and old coming and going. Life is happening here. This isn't what I came for, but it's more fun than I thought. This isn't why we come; not the real reason.
And there's the revelation. "We."
I don't know what I thought of girls before they held my affection. I probably saw them as people, only more different people than us boys. But soon they started to stick out. There was always a girl. There was always one that I thought was more than the rest of them. And I built up that philosophy for years. The One. Every girl is special, and, in my case, every new girl must be the One.
I've finally came to realize that in my experience, girls are all the same, just like they say. I was the one who was different. I was the one who cared when no other guy did. I was the guy who brought flowers and went shopping and looked at jewelry and told her that she was beautiful all the time. I was the one who wanted to have kids and simultaneously wanted to do whatever he had to to financially provide for his family (which I wanted while we was still young) and wanted to stay home with the kids so she could pursue her career. I was the one who said, "I'm sorry," when I was wrong. I'm the one who said, "I love you," every chance I could. She told me I was the most amazing guy she had ever met and that we were forever.
I realize that there are some things you just say, sometimes for no other reason than that it sounds nice. But it can't all be bullshit. There must have been something special about me. I stood out. This is exactly doubled by the fact that I have never asked a girl out on a date in my life...oh, wait, no, yes, I did once. I got a "no." However, that being said, there is a far greater number of girls who have made the moves on me. So there has to be something. And it certainly isn't my face, my body, my brains, my wit, or my charm. It's just something.
Then there's this girl. She's got it, too. All girls are the same... except her. She is undoubtedly unlike any girl I have ever known or ever will again. And suddenly I'm just another boy falling at her feet. And it's strange being on the other side of that scenario.
Perhaps I broke my role first. Maybe it's part of the new me. Is that new me really the me I want to be?
Part 1, Side 2
I drive back home the next day.
I left her different this time. No difficult screen doors to open. The wind was colder than usual. I drive away regretting it.
Broken fences, broken rails, broken signs. This weather did a number on things. The sign that told me to exit is half over. Do I look for signs not to exit, or does this mean that the signs will be gone, but the choice still must be made? More questions for later.
The fences are made by man. Some fences are broken by men; others are broken by nature itself. What are these fences? Do they separate us from being together, or do they keep us from being exposed? Man will rebuild these fences. Should I? Nature brought them down.
A train derailed. Me. Another moves backwards. Me, again. Are these the choices of who I can be? I saw no other trains. Perhaps they are simply beyond what I can see.
Part 3
Who am I? Who do I choose to become? Do I remain extraordinary among girls whom are all the same, or do I become ordinary chasing after the one girl like no other?
I am derailed; another version of me. Do I drive backwards? Pick up from a time once passed? Am I then doomed to tread the same ground only to end up in the same place again, and later, the place where I cannot see? Do I press on to the unforeseeable future?
What do these fences, these barriers, mean? What do they mean to me? What do they mean to her? Do I build them up, or watch them burn?
Maybe they represent an inquantitative distance. I seem to hear my own advice.
Hope is a funny thing. Sometimes hopelessness can make you feel better.
Did hope die this weekend? I don't know. I couldn't bring myself to look.
Part 1
I drove down to Lethbridge this weekend; about a two hour drive. The weather warnings were extreme in the morning, but had diminished by the time I left. None the less, I found cars spun out in the ditch, one car on its roof with an exit trail probably a full 30° from the road (in case you don't think in trajectories, that means it was going over 50% as fast sideways as it was going forward along the road, or exactly 50% of its speed [no vector {direction}] was in a vector perpendicular to the road. tl;dr it went sideways fast), and finally, the worst of them all, I saw a horse trailer on its side. Firetrucks, ambulances, police cruisers, all sorts of emergency crews... two lanes of traffic were forced around onto the shoulder to sneak by directed by no less than 4 traffic coordinators. I couldn't even bear to confirm my suspicions.
But I thought to myself what a terrible thing that man has done. We cage an animal and, due to weather it would otherwise survive, we kill it. Cows, pigs, sheep, chickens... they all die for me to eat and probably eat better than I rightfully should (for I have not cared for nor have I bested these animals). And I suppose logically a horse is no different. It's life should hold no extra value to us than the lives of such a multitude of similar animals. But somehow it stands for something. Horses represent freedom, hopes, dreams, pride and other things that are hard to draw. And we have killed it.
I begin to wonder if I am man and life is nature. Man seeks to control nature. Nature cannot be controlled. And sometimes they collide and horses, dreams, can be killed. Life is happening. Can I control it? Could I not even if I wanted to?
I drive into Lethbridge. Too many cars in front of the house to park. I park down the street. The frozen body of a rabbit lies belly up in the gutter ahead.
She used to point out rabbits in the hills. Now here it is in front of me. Adorable. Dead.
Perhaps another metaphor; stronger than the first. Closer to her, not me. That's what it's about after all.
Part 2
The night plays out; a hilarious mix of people new and old coming and going. Life is happening here. This isn't what I came for, but it's more fun than I thought. This isn't why we come; not the real reason.
And there's the revelation. "We."
I don't know what I thought of girls before they held my affection. I probably saw them as people, only more different people than us boys. But soon they started to stick out. There was always a girl. There was always one that I thought was more than the rest of them. And I built up that philosophy for years. The One. Every girl is special, and, in my case, every new girl must be the One.
I've finally came to realize that in my experience, girls are all the same, just like they say. I was the one who was different. I was the one who cared when no other guy did. I was the guy who brought flowers and went shopping and looked at jewelry and told her that she was beautiful all the time. I was the one who wanted to have kids and simultaneously wanted to do whatever he had to to financially provide for his family (which I wanted while we was still young) and wanted to stay home with the kids so she could pursue her career. I was the one who said, "I'm sorry," when I was wrong. I'm the one who said, "I love you," every chance I could. She told me I was the most amazing guy she had ever met and that we were forever.
I realize that there are some things you just say, sometimes for no other reason than that it sounds nice. But it can't all be bullshit. There must have been something special about me. I stood out. This is exactly doubled by the fact that I have never asked a girl out on a date in my life...oh, wait, no, yes, I did once. I got a "no." However, that being said, there is a far greater number of girls who have made the moves on me. So there has to be something. And it certainly isn't my face, my body, my brains, my wit, or my charm. It's just something.
Then there's this girl. She's got it, too. All girls are the same... except her. She is undoubtedly unlike any girl I have ever known or ever will again. And suddenly I'm just another boy falling at her feet. And it's strange being on the other side of that scenario.
Perhaps I broke my role first. Maybe it's part of the new me. Is that new me really the me I want to be?
Part 1, Side 2
I drive back home the next day.
I left her different this time. No difficult screen doors to open. The wind was colder than usual. I drive away regretting it.
Broken fences, broken rails, broken signs. This weather did a number on things. The sign that told me to exit is half over. Do I look for signs not to exit, or does this mean that the signs will be gone, but the choice still must be made? More questions for later.
The fences are made by man. Some fences are broken by men; others are broken by nature itself. What are these fences? Do they separate us from being together, or do they keep us from being exposed? Man will rebuild these fences. Should I? Nature brought them down.
A train derailed. Me. Another moves backwards. Me, again. Are these the choices of who I can be? I saw no other trains. Perhaps they are simply beyond what I can see.
Part 3
Who am I? Who do I choose to become? Do I remain extraordinary among girls whom are all the same, or do I become ordinary chasing after the one girl like no other?
I am derailed; another version of me. Do I drive backwards? Pick up from a time once passed? Am I then doomed to tread the same ground only to end up in the same place again, and later, the place where I cannot see? Do I press on to the unforeseeable future?
What do these fences, these barriers, mean? What do they mean to me? What do they mean to her? Do I build them up, or watch them burn?
Maybe they represent an inquantitative distance. I seem to hear my own advice.
Leave. Don't come back until the feelings go away. The girls hate it, but it's the only way.
Hope is a funny thing. Sometimes hopelessness can make you feel better.
Did hope die this weekend? I don't know. I couldn't bring myself to look.
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