i am not sure what day it is. i know it has been five days since i've had the internet.
i have been blogging in notepad.
i have an hour to do five days worth of internetting. an hour.
"There is a last correlation that is slightly less clear than the others. The spirits one sees in hallucinations are three-dimensional, sound-emitting images, and they speak a language made of three-dimensional, sound-emitting images. In other words, they are made of their own language, like DNA."
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
Then my friend said, "Yes, and like DNA they replicate themselves to relay their information." I jotted this down, and it was later in reviewing my notes on the relationship between the hallucinatory spirits made of language and DNA that I remembered the first verse of the first chapter of the Gospel according to John: "In the beginning was the logos"
well, if the award is best deeply psychotic response to 'poke the bunny'
i don't think they let folks in lockdown psych wards surf the interweb, so it's safe to assume this person lives among us, somewhere. maybe safe is the wrong word.
a large spaceship has crashed into harrods of london, and a large robot has emerged, and said, "take me to your lizard". ford prefect explains this to arthur dent:
"It comes from a very ancient democracy, you see ..."
"You mean it comes from a world of lizards?"
"No," said Ford, "nothing so simple. Nothing anything like so straightforward. On its world, the people are people. The leaders are lizards. The people hate the lizards and the lizards rule the people."
"Odd," said Arthur, "I thought you said it was a democracy."
"I did," said Ford. "It is."
"So," said Arthur, hoping he wasn't sounding ridiculously obtuse, "why don't the people get rid of the lizards?"
"It honestly doesn't occur to them," said Ford. "They've all got the vote, so they all pretty much assume that the government they've voted in more or less approximates the government they want."
"You mean they actually vote for the lizards?"
"Oh yes," said Ford with a shrug, "of course."
"But," said Arthur, going for the big one again, "why?"
"Because if they didn't vote for a lizard," said Ford, "the wrong lizard might get in. Got any gin?"
-----
included in the more text is a story from a long time ago, six years, yet another example of lizards touching my life, which i've included here so it can be part of dotlizard's archives, as it should be.
yet another lizard: my friend m.b. (who i haven't seen in years, and miss, and should call) is an incredible artist. she is also the source of my philosophy 'life is for living hair is for dyeing'. and at one point, she employed me as an assistant, and i helped make this papier-mâchè lizard, which adorns the ceiling of wild planet, which is a record head store shop type of place downtown (she also painted the place):
and wild planet is for lease, if you're interested:
in other, non-lizard related news, the far right lunatic fringe is alive and well in our fair city:
this is an old, old story - posted to an egroup i used to belong to, then on the old green/purple version of surreally, and then just reading about a a few ants here and there, somehow brought all this back.
look - i used to do capital letters. huh.
with every box of haircolor product, there are gloves. there are sucky gloves that are terribly thin and barely make it through one usage, and then there are the good gloves. the good gloves are thick, stretchy, sturdy. they are quite wonderful. they only come with the high dollar haircolor, the feria for instance. but the elcheapo colorstay, that has the sucky gloves.
well, for this particular episode of hairmadness, i'll be using the sucky kind, even when i move on from the rootbleaching to the punky colour. three uses, maybe four, out of gloves barely good enough for one.
the good gloves? i have at least two pair of slightly used good gloves, and about four pairs i haven't even touched yet. i'm not sure what i'm saving them for, but they're there.
the first few hours after the antichrist departs is an eerie time of detachment, peaceful regrets amidst the wreckage of this month's visit. like clockwork, she is, and sneaks up on me everytime anyway, easy enough the way i misplace the date in my mind all the time. first i'll notice the psychosis, then dismiss the thought and blame the circumstances; right around then's when i seriously begin to spin. at some point in this process there is always an epiphany of sorts, in which i look back at the past month's wreckage and realize aha! the cyclical bitch is back. unfortunately, this knowledge is virtually meaningless, i can be in full awareness and still be completely unable to identify and suppress this impulsive little psycho. let the evidence show i tried: email to friend midafternoon "can i call you i think i'm having a nervous breakdown". come evening, there is this frantic flurry of disasterous wrongheadedness, quicklike before any voice of reason can be brought in to interrupt us.
and then the consequences. and then the dramatic flinging my self on the floor in tears, say five minutes, ten, and then the rolling over and the staring at the ceiling. the calming followed, at least physically, though the swirling thoughts continued their hectic pace. around about halfway through the hour or so i spent flat out down there, i sensed them slowly shifting from rage to remorse.
by the time i got upright again, she was gone, and i was numb.
um. you didn't see anything, ok? either did i. there, now, that never happened.
