Soul Vomit

A man was convicted this week of sticking his baby in a microwave. It was a small article buried with the other shit. The baby has had several skin grafts, and will bare these scares for the rest of her adopted life. It was in a hotel room, near a beach, the baby was crying. We've seen the hotels near the Texas coast, they're not pretty or fancy. Hand-me-down bedding, the smells of cleaning supplies and sand and stale smoke and booze. He just stuck the baby in the microwave. Took the time to decide how many seconds he could get away with, set it, pushed the buttons, and without a pause pushed Start. He later took the baby to the hospital, and tried to pass the third degree burns off as a really bad sunburn. The mother was at the hospital supporting the man.

Now we're having a trial, because we're fair, and sometimes it's because of God, or he's crazy and we should care.

My first thought about this story was simply fuck you people. This story has stuck with me. How can it not touch you? Even though I don't know them. I'll never meet the little girl. I'll never see how she's going to dress, or who she's going to hang out with, or what scars she'll bare. Her life began with surgery and hate.

I'll take the wrap with God for all of us. Seriously, I will. I don't have so much hate for people like this guy that I need to make it painful for them. However, I don't seem to feel a real super warm fuzzy about keeping them alive anywhere. I'm ok with the death penalty. I do not think that you can do such a horrible thing to anything, and somehow through punishment or shitloads of counseling suddenly become a viable member of society. Aren't we just kidding ourselves if we think that we would want this guy for a neighbor. Every time I put my food in my own microwave, the thoughts came. It stuck with me. I couldn't eat.

The anger of the story stayed with me. It mulled over and over in my brain. I suppose it's these kind of stories that effect people enough to take action of some sort. Ok, I support the legal killing of another human being.

In the same week, a chimp escaped from a research facility here. It's not the same climate I'm sure that the chimp came from. But, if I were the chimp, I'd take my chances on the outside with the weather and food and stick around there.

I imagined just how scared the chimp must have been. How determined the chimp must have been. The amount of careful thought and spirit it must have taken to take flight and fucking run for it's life. Saying goodbye to the others. Passed the walls of confinement to air, plants, dirt of freedom. The chimp got caught. It was without a name, or an in depth worry news. That life just became a blurb. As though it's life was not as worthy of notice as the traffic we've been having.

I hate the way we torture animals. It makes my heart and soul hurt. I don't know how those humans justify looking into their eyes and do what they do. What work is that important? Nothing. I have a disease that's going to kill me. I take that as mine. But it's part of nature, part of life, I'm not supposed to work or give influence, or breath forever. I am supposed to die.

I couldn't find anyone to talk about my feeling with. My heart hurt. I was sad. And these things on the T.V. said to inform me. No way to act on the information that I received. I was somehow just supposed to take it in, and then what? Then what? For your information only is a crock of shit.

I wanted to see the man and woman, with what they did to their baby, dead. I wanted to make sure that I voted correctly. I know that some countries world wide have gotten ride of the death penalty. I don't care why, there isn't a reason that's good enough for me. It's not good to just keep people here. We have too many people here already. Some people just draw short on the DNA lottery, their brain or soul doesn't work right, something is defiantly wrong, we can all agree on that. And it is sad, more sad than most things, but I have no misgivings about getting rid of them. I could sleep just fine knowing that their life was wasted and we ended it. Sleep just fine.

And the chimp, I wanted to get in my car and find the chimp. Yes, I know the chimp would have been violent, and could have hurt me. I would have brought it home and found a refuge for it; away from testing. Yep, I would have taken my chances with the animal. I couldn't do it, it had already been caught and taken back. But, I would have. Fuck it, I would have done it. Stuff like that is that important. I don't even like zoos. I don't even like to kill bugs.

So, I thought we could just free the animals and test on the bad humans. Not like history has done in the past, to just any old human that's not liked. But, the child molesters, the people who abuse or murder, I don't have a problem with that.

I'm just saying what we're all thinking, so don't' yell. It's just a blog. But, the older I get, the more horror that I see, I have no problem with experimenting on bad people. Let the mice and the monkeys go. Go ahead and put the man and woman in the microwave. I'll take the wrap with God, and hell, I'll even push the Start Button.

I laid near my new flower garden, so sad, nothing of the tiny petals that could dissuade me from the mood, and cried.

Sinkies better than Floaties, or is it the other way around....

I guess I didn't have anything that I wanted to read in the bathroom. I have lots of things that I should be reading. Sometimes I don't want to have that kind of committment to my poop. Just having to pay attention to my shit is committment enough.

I'm trying to get healthier. How can we not? We've fucked up the food system big enough that some of us get too much, and lots of people don't get enough. So, here I am. I've been trying to keep up with what's ok to eat, what's not ok to eat. If my shit is good enough. If my poop signifys a change for the better. I sometimes feel quilty about putting anything in my mouth, as though taking a bite of the genetically engineered food is taking from someone else. The guilt is so big and stressful that I either have gotten tired, indigestion, or constipated from it all. That can't be healthy. Thus, my poop on those days are no good. And what about the methane that I'm contributing to the planet's atmosphere? God help us, our existance is almost unworthy. I cannot produce good poop to honor your creation.

Shit, shitty, McShit, Shit.

Fighting for your own space in this world is a bit oppressive when you have to worry about your poop. Sometimes I just vision us, all of us, as this giant swirling mass and I'm constantly amazed that we haven't been flushed all together. How can one not believe in the Chaos Theory these days? I eat, I poop, and somewhere on the planet something dies, is born, etc. Being a part of the swirling mass has it vantages. Do I simply ebb and flow? Do I swim upstream? Having to pick what my responsbilities to the mass are, as oppossed to which ones I can just let go, just let go to the swirl. Do I have responsibilities to the living micro-organisms in the poop? OR, just the bigger picture? Shit, shitty, McShit, Shit.

Today I had floaties. Yesterday I had sinkies. There are articles about which kind of poop are better than the others. I think that they flip-flopped opinions at some time. There are poop experts. I do find this funny. Shit doctors, shit disectors, the Poop People. Some of the CSI units even have them. Your poop can tell quite a story. Even poop fossils. Even that. But, do we even trust the poop experts? There are, after all, only humans, just making guesses. After all, nothing in this world is permanent...it just ebbs and flows.

I put a big glass vase outside my house in the garden I created. Glass is only solid to those of us that can't see it moving into mush. It's not that solid. I wondered if I would live to see any of the glass move downward, melty, even just make lines that it was moving downward with the force of gravity that I can't see. It gets sun everyday, and it's hot here, so maybe. I've made a habit for now to hold my head sideways and look everyday. Maybe. Just maybe.

I took the family to see a comedy show. We all went downtown. The energy is different in a downtown. The air is different. The people are different. It's faster, it's slower, it's brighter and darker. Things colide in a downtown. We walked and held hands. We had pizza in a little cafe; as though that pizza was so special from other pizza, and it is. I gave my son two quarters. He gave one to some kid's jar for support with some disease. Then he bought a gumball with the other. Sometimes we're so busy we all don't even get to really look at eachother. My son that was so tiny once. He's tall and thin, and expressive. My family is cool. I thought to myself that I didn't know how people with children could be mean to eachother, or divorced or anything. I just don't know about that. I tried to stare as much as possible, I wanted to absorb these times into my memories, my blood, my DNA. It was more than love and wonder. More than awe. We don't have a word for that energy.

We went into the theater, past the swirling masses of cool people. I didn't want to consentrate on them, or make room for them. We only had money for one t-shirt. I bought it for our son.

I wanted to get our son backstage to meet the famous people. I played the handi-capped card for him. It got to be good for something. I told everyone about my disease, and how it has affected our family life, and this was a big night for all of us to be together. so if they could just get his shirt signed or something, that would be so nice. How nice would that be? At first, there was no hope of getting him backstage. But, I was patient. I had done this before when I wasn't diseased. I knew that it would work, given time and hitting up the right number of people. I looked really sad and hurt, and showed my pleading eyes. Smile. Finally, they all told me what to do...but that it might not work, we might get kicked out. I said thank you, I said the right tone of wispy, grateful, heartfelt tone of thank you and that was ok too. If we all got kicked out, then my kid would have that experience, too.....getting kicked out of something cool. That was fine, too.

The show had a lot of adult humor. When we got backstage to the famous people, one of them looked surprised and maybe a bit judgemental about having my small child there. I told him that most of the humor when over his head, and he'd already heard his own mother cuss, and he didn't like it, so, he wasn't going to say that stuff. Our child was more conservative then me, he had made that decision for himself, and I didn't need to interfer. Also, there's so much violence, ugly sex, hate, war on T.V., in school, around him in his day to day world that I can't protect him from, and this show was funny....why wouldn't I want to take him to the things that are witty and funny and full of good? He was surprised with my answer, met my cool kid, and helped get his shirt signed by everyone, with pictures, too. My kid thought of himself as King Shit. Why wouldn't I want to do that? How many times to we get to feel that? I have no heartburn about that. My poop was ok.

Work.

The ebb and flow of that. People always think that there work is the most important. It's hard for me to feel that, or take any of it that seriously. I try to make my yawning and lack of interest as masked as possible. Some days are better than others. After five, one of the ladies saw a tiny bit of a tatoo of mine sneaking out of the top of my shirt. She told me that she didn't know that I was that kind of person. I smiled. I'm not sure what kind of person she had thought I was before, or now, but I'm some kind of person. Yes. I guess my cover was blown. The next day the gossip train hit. What can one do? Not much. Well, the jig is up.

I am due to get my biggest tatoo endeveor colored this weekend. Standing in the elevator after five the next day, everyone asked what I was doing this weekend. I guess I got this look of panic on my face. Not panic exactly, just caught, without my work mask on. Shit, it was after five. It was a weird feeling for me. One smart German said that I didn't have to say, and he smiled. He made me smile, and smile big. Ok, fuck it. I told everyone that I was having some tatoo work done, then perhaps some gardening, and hanging with the family and a friend. German smiled. The others just looked at me in shock. Where are we? !!!?!#$!$. People world wide have tatoos. It's pretty popular now. No so much for natives in National Geo, gansters, and the Navy anymore. For real. We just didn't think that you were that kind of person.

We'll see how that works out on Monday.

I'm not sure if they're all feeling like somehow they let something into their sactuary. I'm not sure if they're going to be ok. There's others that have tatoos, in the office. I'm not sure what's so special or shocking about me. I could have done without the extra attention, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. I couldn't let the group get away with the egos, the gossip, the straight up meaness from the job. On the other hand, who appointed me Savior? Self-Appointed...then isn't that the ego of the self? Then I'm no better than the rest of them. The elevator could have crashed, and we wouldn't have been missed in world history, that's for sure. However, when we talked about nothing did a bomb go off in someone's hand somewhere else? Hard to call.

In the meantime, I went to sleep at six PM in the chair, as people of my kind often do. I didn't sleep well. I woke up to coffee and the worry of my shit being good enough.