I know why you want to hate me. Because I listen to Limp Bizkit. And now you want your money back. Stupid stupid papers. I'm taking this opportunity to talk about the noble savage. I've been so inundated with romanticist bullshit lately, and the noble savage is really starting to irk me. Because "the savage is so noble" but yet, "clearly savages are inferior." If I have to plod through one more racist ethnographic writing by some guy who clearly has a pine tree or a galleon wedged up his little powdered ass, I may scream. Or burn a lot of old books.

I understand why we keep stuff like this around- to keep pounding the lesson of "don't do that again, BAD! BAD!" home, especially to future ignorant denizens of the earth. I guess I just wish we were all inherently good people, living good lives, sharing our bread with the neighborfolk if they're hungry. You know, make the world a big backyard barbeque party- including the 1.4 million drunk uncle Johns. Oh hopeless optimism...how you grow out of my body like a big black hair sprouting from a mole.

In other news, people are dropping like flies around me. A very old aunt of mine passed away this morning unfortunately. Ginger was like eighty-eight, which was absolutely astonishing for the amount of toxins in her body that I imagine outnumbered her red blood count by the end of her life. Ginger was a very spunky lady, always found with a cigerette dangling from her lips and a rum and coke in the left hand. Her and her husband (deceased for about seven years) had traveled the world together, but ended up in Barrhead- then the richest town in Northern Alberta (you'd never guess that now, but there's still a lot of old money there. And a LOT of churches). Ginger was also the biggest cardshark that I had ever met in my life. She wouldn't think twice about kicking your ass- it didn't matter how old you were, or how new to the game, "if you lose, you lose. Learn from it." I never learned anything but lost bits and pieces of my allowance to her constantly. For some reason, I always pictured her going out in a blaze of glory, she was that tough, despite her small birdlike stature, but I heard that she passed away in her sleep, which is how she wanted it- because she fought to stay alive so long when she was awake. Even in her last few months, she'd been difficult for the home to manage- they'd been on the verge of kicking her out a few times- for constantly smoking in her room. And she'd always find a new way to hide it, or was just plain defiant about it. The primary concern was that she'd cause an explosion with her oxygen cylinder (she was entirely dependent on this for the last two months- hence my prediction of "blazing glory") but really, after a while, everyone could see that what happened this morning was pretty inevitable, and they stopped fighting her. I'm sad that she's gone, but sort of relieved also, because she was probably in a lot of pain.

Fenton was showing me some of Solomon's Song the other day, in the context that it was pretty smutty (I believe we have established I'm going to hell a long time ago, for any interested parties). I of course scoff at this type of thing usually, because sometimes I am pretty oblivious to textual things (opaque as chalk) but perusing through http://www.bible.com proved to be very interesting. I was all like "sacrilege! Mon dieu!" Getting hot and flustered, and wanting to go dancing next weekend. Damn these essays to hell, though that would insinuate that I already know what my Eternal Punishment will be.

Man, I would kill for a solid bowel movement sometime today.

  ¶ 8:31 PM