I have what I consider to be a new manifestation of stigmata. A few weeks ago, I got my usual dose of poison ivy on my left arm. Apparently my back yard is infested with it. Not that it matters - if a snail rubs on poison ivy and I hear the snail in the neighbor's yard, I will then get poison ivy. On my left arm, correction, right arm, at the same time as this, there appeared a series of itchy bumps. I resisted the desire to rake my nails across them only because maybe they were poison ivy too some how, only didn't look like it. Finally I had to scratch the itch, consequences be as they may. As I furiously ripped open the dry zit-like pores, they began to bleed, bringing us evidence of stigmata. Two curious things then happened. One is that as soon as I scratched the itch, it has never itched since. The other is somewhat odd. The stigmata are in the shape of a question mark.
There are seven red dots that form a perfect ?. Not one is out of place, yet now, at the second iteration of scratch/bleed/dry bloody scab - one of the dots is clearing up, leaving a space in the question mark. As I investigate this in the shower, I can't help but wonder what will happen when they all finally disappear and have healed? Will this be the end of the world? Or will this signify a question just answered?
Perhaps this is a new constellation and I am the carrier of its pattern. Whatever the case, I cannot now stop picking and scratching at it and making it bleed again.
Grandma needs to eat at 4pm and no one gives a damn. If only this were true, the world would be such a nicer, more relaxing and better-oiled machine. We all know it is untrue, because we all have that relative who makes it their purpose in life to consistently talk about Grandma's needs, be they food or sleep, medicine or who will take her vicious little shit of a dog when she goes to god.
The best part is is that grandma could care less. She has been told to care by this relative, call them relative A. "Stand up and fight for grandma, for she is famished!" Give grandma a beer and she'll sleep 'til it's too late. "Get a sweater, turn up thy heat, turn down the nois." I'd be pissed too if some young punk tried to tell me what's what. Man and hell, I cannot wait (but I can) until I am 90 (please to the lord of the skies) and I can intentionally but mistakenly hit you in the shins with my cane and blame it on anything that comes to mind. I want to do it now. I feel that society has carved a space for this behaviour at 90 that isn't there at 32.
I want you to know, it's not me, it's you. My solution for road noise is to buy a 0.22 caliber rifle, complete with silence attachment, a R.A.D.A.R. gun, a nice scope and a hole in my wall. Anyone going over 45 loses a tire. Anyone going over 50 loses an ear and possibly a life, depending on how twitchy my eye is at that exact moment. Bad muffler = nasty head wound is infected by "bug", story at 10 so you can sleep more, you hag. Tell me who invented R.A.D.A.R. and why and when and without the use of the dumb internet, and I'll send you a secret surprise. Secret surprise may include any or all of the following: leaf, cat hair, the latest M.P.G. that my car delivered, (which is astonishing I might add - especially wrt the car and its state of mind lately), something else that you don't want.
This has been a compilation of thoughts compiled over the course of a few days and weeks. I can't explain any of it except for the bleeding thing, that really did happen. If there would be no penalties involved, I would really like to shoot at cars driving by at high rates of speed, but not really like dreaming about it, just more like a thought experiment. You know, like thinking about something just for the sake of thinking about it. All ye praise the criminal justice system.
When I was a tot, I removed the wing of a fly that I had deemed as my pet for the day. You know, so he/she couldn't escape. I was verbally reprimanded for this. These days if you drive a non-new automobile and one that is not of BMW, Mercedes, or similar tendency, and you leave your lights on, there is a strong chance that I will turn them off for you. Everything is going to be AOK, I promise.
