i've resisted blogging for a while with all this american able buzz. because this is the space i've been using to 'just write' in that unfiltered way. surveillance is an interesting beast. feeling like you're walking some imaginary line between your honest to goodness self and the self you feel the need to be, now that you've earned a cyber-soapbox.
but fuck it.*
*(i enjoy how this phrase sounds like both 'but fuck it' aaaaand 'buttfuck it'. ahem. anyway. moving on.)
we were working on our last papers on the mushy couch of a mutual friend. the kind of casually kept friend that presents little drama but also not enough interest to see on a regular basis. the necessary layer in ones friendships, as the comings and goings and moods and makings of the 'close' pal (or undefined person) can be tough on a little heart.
nothing writes essays like youtube videos. particularly medleys of children falling. or miracle dogs. one dog had lost its hind legs. or perhaps never had functioning hind legs? i can't remember. but someone had engineered a little wheelie to help balance him out.
i giggled at the endearment. a quadraped with wheels doesn't need a sitting position, the way us bipeds have found. as my mind thought about wheelchairs and segways and neocentaur possibilities, you cut through the room with the percussion of repulsion. a 'see this is whats wrong with the world' and 'it should have died', and 'thats just not right'.
and i know its not quite the same as, you know, people and wheelchairs, my heart wiggled around a little bit, chafing inside a body with a casual relationship with prosthetics.
truth and illusion.
the fabric of my day to day is woven with so much hued fallacy it hums steadily like an engine. two canine legs and an axel is 'unjust' because you divide 'nature' from 'machine' like alpha and omega. like toast and eggs. like black and that other one.
my heart goes crunch with these realities and realizations. pop is $1.99 because flagging a 1 is easier than saying, actually this is gonna cost you 2 bucks. you okay with that? a dog on wheels is not natural. neither is this yogurt. or that floor cleaner. or this elocution.
when the rubrics fail to grade contradictions that shape the brilliance of the flawed, quirky, diseased, deformed that has never ceased to occur in our recorded inhabitance on this planet, on what plane do we to turn to for our ever-necessary evaluations?
you are disgusted by the dog with wheels. you cut your thumb in first year and called the appendage your gimp. you discuss procreation with the air of 'old-fashioned'. but hell, so did the missionaries.
but the space between noble and nobility is about as vast as life and death. as toast and eggs. as wheels and crawling. an existence despised. we look upon the creativity of this 'created' world with about as much tenderness and beholding as ... a chute with the word metaphor industifferently stamped across an ample direction.
