Wouldn't life be so much easier if we were insane?
Think about it. You would have all the basic necessities provided free of charge, without the guilt of having to commit a crime to get them. (Plus, prisoners don't get to leave whenever they want on good behaviour. Well, maybe...)
You could scream whenever you want, and wouldn't have to worry about what other people think of you. After all, the only reason we don't do such things now is a fear that other people will think us crazy, and if we actually want to look crazy, then what is holding us back?
You could run away from all your problems. Instead of worrying about which of your relatives needs to be pleased or which of your friends don't talk to you anymore, you would leave that entire life, with all its useless, torturous social structure behind. Who needs social rank anyways?
Is the world too painful? Create a fantasy world in your head to live in, where everything can be exactly as you would like it to be. It generally takes a little while, but eventually, you won't be able to tell the difference between reality and fantasy. And from that point on, everything will finally be right in the world. No miscarriages of justice, no surprises: just perfection.
As they say, there is a fine line between genius and insanity. There aren't many lines finer. If you can't get that 4.0, get the next best thing: a straight jacket. All that time locked up with nothing to do is bound to get that brain some exercise.
I must admit, it's very tempting. It would be even more tempting if society still gave respect to the insane for being honoured of the gods. Can't have everything. On the other hand, being insane would mean not caring what society thinks, because in your mind, society wouldn't exist. Hmmm.....
"[garbled nonsensical yelling]" (Homer Simpson)
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Spot
Here is Spot. See Spot run. Run, Spot, run!
Here is man. See man growl. Growl, man, growl!
Spot runs to man. Man hits Spot. Spot is angry.
Spot bites man. See man yell. Yell, man, yell!
See man run. Spot chases man. Chase, Spot, chase!
Spot jumps on man. Spot bites man. Bite, Spot, bite!
Man is hurt. Man is bleeding. Bleed, man, bleed!
Man stops moving. Man is dead. Yay for Spot!
Here is man. See man growl. Growl, man, growl!
Spot runs to man. Man hits Spot. Spot is angry.
Spot bites man. See man yell. Yell, man, yell!
See man run. Spot chases man. Chase, Spot, chase!
Spot jumps on man. Spot bites man. Bite, Spot, bite!
Man is hurt. Man is bleeding. Bleed, man, bleed!
Man stops moving. Man is dead. Yay for Spot!
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
I Need Some Milk
Caroline awoke early Sunday morning with a splitting headache and a dull sensation that something was wrong. Getting up, she went to the kitchen and, while scrounging for breakfast, she happened upon the box of pancake mix, and immediately got cravings.
She poured it into the mixing bowl, followed by two eggs; but when she went to get some milk, she found an empty pitcher. "Oh, scrunchkins. I'll have to get some more." Caroline quickly dressed and drove off to the corner store.
The store was moderately busy when she entered--two other customers were in, plus the cashier. The man behind the desk she knew well: an immigrant from Russia, he had run this store for the past 6 years. They were on a first name basis, and Caroline thought he was a little hot.
The two others in the store were unknown to her. A black man with short, graying hair, and a walking cane was fishing through the magazines. A grizzled man in a plaid shirt, with a notable amount of stubble on his chin and unkempt hair was searching for the beef jerky. Caroline noticed some knives hanging ominously in the corner. She quickly got exactly what she needed, and left.
As she drove off, she noticed the man in the plaid shirt following her out. He was driving a dark green SUV. After driving a little ways further, she noticed the man was still behind her--and he was staring right at her! She began to panic and drive faster, but he began to swerve and drive faster in reply.
She cut into her street without signalling, and with tires squealing the man in the plaid shirt made the turn. She drove straight into her driveway before hitting the brakes, and then spun around to face him, readying her pepper spray. He parked right in front of her driveway, blocking off any escape routes.
He jumped out of his vehicle, and yelled "You hit my car!"
"Did not!" she retorted.
The man pointed at several deep gashes blemishing his otherwise perfect paint job. "What do you call those?"
"I did not hit you! When could I have hit you?"
"In the parking lot, as you were backing out. If you go get your insurance now, I won't report this as a hit and run."
The paint left on his passenger side door was the same colour as her own car. It was plausible, at any rate. She went inside to get her insurance and registration.
As she was at her desk, she heard the door open and shut. Then the latch locked into place. Fearing for her life, she grabbed an envelope opener along with her vehicle information. As she turned around, the man was right behind her, towering over her. She handed him the documents and he handed her his.
They copied the information in silence. Afterwards, he left, just as wordlessly. She heard the door shut behind him. She went back to her pancake batter to finish breakfast.
She returned to the kitchen, only to hear the floorboards creak at the other end of the home. She checked the driveway, observing that the SUV was no longer there. Going to the door, she found it closed, but unlocked.
Caroline darted back to the kitchen to grab a knife. Every sense of her body except her eyes was telling her that she was not alone.
She began to ransack her home, checking every possible hiding place. She looked under the couch. She looked in the closet. She checked the bathroom. And though she was unable to see anyone, she thought she could hear someone breathing, behind her, tickling the hairs on the back of her neck...
She completed her check, and having been satisfied that there was no one to be seen, she returned to the kitchen, blaming her fears for her suspicions. Despite what the evidence would suggest, she enjoyed some of the finest pancakes she had ever made.
That night, she couldn't sleep. After turning out the lights, her vision of the world around her darkened, and her other senses took over, creating all sorts of fanciful creatures in her home. She heard footsteps coming down the hall, inching towards her with each passing second.
She couldn't take it any more. Gathering her robe, she turned on the lights, and methodically checked every nook and cranny of her home just as she had done that morning. And after her visual sweep revealed no other life-forms inhabiting her home, she returned to bed, in vain trying to quiet her fears. Fitfully, she fell asleep.
And in the morning when she awoke, she was pregnant.
She poured it into the mixing bowl, followed by two eggs; but when she went to get some milk, she found an empty pitcher. "Oh, scrunchkins. I'll have to get some more." Caroline quickly dressed and drove off to the corner store.
The store was moderately busy when she entered--two other customers were in, plus the cashier. The man behind the desk she knew well: an immigrant from Russia, he had run this store for the past 6 years. They were on a first name basis, and Caroline thought he was a little hot.
The two others in the store were unknown to her. A black man with short, graying hair, and a walking cane was fishing through the magazines. A grizzled man in a plaid shirt, with a notable amount of stubble on his chin and unkempt hair was searching for the beef jerky. Caroline noticed some knives hanging ominously in the corner. She quickly got exactly what she needed, and left.
As she drove off, she noticed the man in the plaid shirt following her out. He was driving a dark green SUV. After driving a little ways further, she noticed the man was still behind her--and he was staring right at her! She began to panic and drive faster, but he began to swerve and drive faster in reply.
She cut into her street without signalling, and with tires squealing the man in the plaid shirt made the turn. She drove straight into her driveway before hitting the brakes, and then spun around to face him, readying her pepper spray. He parked right in front of her driveway, blocking off any escape routes.
He jumped out of his vehicle, and yelled "You hit my car!"
"Did not!" she retorted.
The man pointed at several deep gashes blemishing his otherwise perfect paint job. "What do you call those?"
"I did not hit you! When could I have hit you?"
"In the parking lot, as you were backing out. If you go get your insurance now, I won't report this as a hit and run."
The paint left on his passenger side door was the same colour as her own car. It was plausible, at any rate. She went inside to get her insurance and registration.
As she was at her desk, she heard the door open and shut. Then the latch locked into place. Fearing for her life, she grabbed an envelope opener along with her vehicle information. As she turned around, the man was right behind her, towering over her. She handed him the documents and he handed her his.
They copied the information in silence. Afterwards, he left, just as wordlessly. She heard the door shut behind him. She went back to her pancake batter to finish breakfast.
She returned to the kitchen, only to hear the floorboards creak at the other end of the home. She checked the driveway, observing that the SUV was no longer there. Going to the door, she found it closed, but unlocked.
Caroline darted back to the kitchen to grab a knife. Every sense of her body except her eyes was telling her that she was not alone.
She began to ransack her home, checking every possible hiding place. She looked under the couch. She looked in the closet. She checked the bathroom. And though she was unable to see anyone, she thought she could hear someone breathing, behind her, tickling the hairs on the back of her neck...
She completed her check, and having been satisfied that there was no one to be seen, she returned to the kitchen, blaming her fears for her suspicions. Despite what the evidence would suggest, she enjoyed some of the finest pancakes she had ever made.
That night, she couldn't sleep. After turning out the lights, her vision of the world around her darkened, and her other senses took over, creating all sorts of fanciful creatures in her home. She heard footsteps coming down the hall, inching towards her with each passing second.
She couldn't take it any more. Gathering her robe, she turned on the lights, and methodically checked every nook and cranny of her home just as she had done that morning. And after her visual sweep revealed no other life-forms inhabiting her home, she returned to bed, in vain trying to quiet her fears. Fitfully, she fell asleep.
And in the morning when she awoke, she was pregnant.
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