Inconstant ramblings to set a man on fire

I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

And you know I don't.

But you want me to, so bad that I will leave. And so here we go again, around and around and around, all because you cannot seem to make up your mind.

Or am I wrong? Do you really want me to leave that badly? Will my presence be missed?

None the less, I am gone, bounding away because I can. And you grab at my hand. For free? Ha! Around and around we go.

We race and spin, predator and prey? Enemy to enemy? "You have too much potential to be wasting it on him." But we spin anyway. I dare you to go faster. Double dog dare you, triple dog dare you. Come on and follow if you must. Come on and follow if you can. Can you do it better? Can you beat me at my game? Can you stand on one foot, do you dare?

Catch me catch me if you can. Look, here I wait for you, grab my hand. And in the silence, hear me swear, hear me sing, offer a prayer. And do you know what happens to things that spin? Faster and faster, more movement than ever. Do you know what happens?

It all comes to a point, wild chaos and madness, it all burns with a fury. And with a final collapse of burning movement settling into stillness, a flame ignites and slowly kills. And all that is left is ash of a rotten corpse that used to be you and I.

A love letter for the embodiment of the Past

All I can do sometimes is say that I wish you were here.

I watched you as a child. You were beautiful, and I was in awe. Tall, muscular, with bright blue eyes that reflected a world that I wanted so badly to understand. Never could I have realized that someday you would be gone, and I would be standing on a sidewalk wishing you were here.

You made me laugh with a smile. I wanted to be just like you. I was just like you. When you laughed, I laughed. When you thought, I thought. When you played, I played. When you cried, I cried. But you died, and I lived. I lived and learned and loved, and you died again and again.

Our entire lives we knew what was truth. We knew where is was, and how to find it. That mattered, though sometimes we just didn't care--but I blame that on youth. You knew better than I did. I knew. I saw it when we would sit in church and you would sit next to your dad every Sunday. You knew because you had to know. Because your dad needed you to know so that he could know too. And so did I. We followed you.

But now, my fallen hero, you are lost, and though you remain so, I cannot help you. When your mother left, what could I say? What could I do? When your girlfriend got pregnant, could I have done anything? When you went to jail, how could I speak? I stood against a wall waiting for my class to start while you sat in a cell, devoid of life and meaning. I stand now, the person you almost made, knowing that you, my friend, lay crumpled on a floor, in a room the size of my closet. And I can do nothing.

How can I say that the door is open, when you know already that it is? You knew where is was, because you showed me. How can I show you if you will not go? I cannot carry you, and you will not let me. What am I to do?

Leave him they say. He is gone, there is nothing you can do. And perhaps they are right. But tell me Josh. Tell me with everything that you know. Is there nothing I can do?

I tried to leave, but every couple steps I stop and wait. I wait for you. I've been waiting to tell you this; these words have been yours for years. "Write him" Bob said. And I wanted to. But what can I say? I've said all I can say: I wish you were here.

Pretty sweet sketch huh?

Matter of a Feline Nature

I remember it like it was yesterday.

"Make sure as you skin your cat, if you have a female, which I think most of you do, to check for mamillary tissue!"

Casper rolled his eyes and picked up the scalpel to start cutting the horrid calico open. His name isn't really Casper. It's David. Weird kid. He was one of those kids who was just too smart to fit in. Plus he was relatively sadistic.

Our cat didn't have mamillary tissue, but it was pregnant anyway. We cut her open to find this monstrosity of a uterus...only we didn't really know it was the uterus right away. We couldn't figure out what it was, so we asked.

"Oh my goodness! Didn't your cat have any mamillary tissue?" Obviously Mrs. Schlossnagle was as perplexed as we were, especially when we all shook our heads and she checked for herself. But we were right. No mamillary tissue whatsoever.

So we performed a C-section. There were 5 kittens.

Actually they weren't kittens yet. But they were advanced enough to have claws (kinda like Juno...when that Asian girl tells her her baby has fingernails). They looked like little dogs actually. And they were pinkish white. They were also pretty small. They fit right in the palm of your hand. We passed them around then dropped them into a jar of formaldehyde, so they would be back in familiar surroundings, and stuck them on the shelf next to the almost ancient goat embryo. I'll bet you $5 they're still there.

The cat dissection turned into our final exam. We numbered a piece of paper to fifty and rotated from cat to cat, identifying the different parts and identifying what their uses were. There turned out to be only one male cat, so he was easy. He had all the parts the other cats didn't. I looked at my cat. It looked like a broken toy, especially with the way the uterus spilled out of it.

It looked like a leathery balloon, or a piece of one at least. The C-section didn't make it look very pretty. "Snowden's secret," I remember whispering to Casper. He laughed like I knew he would. I didn't laugh though. It wasn't funny. It was tragic. I told myself I should respect the dead more, but myself answered that if they were dead it shouldn't matter.

But it does matter.

Everyone dies--what is so special about that?

I don't know, it just does.

It matters because it is matter, and that's as common as a grain of sand on a beach. It is a grain of sand on a beach.

It should matter.

But it doesn't. Remember a couple months ago that crazy sniper kid went around shooting people? Life went on as usual. Remember that spine you did?

What about it?

You did that during the sniper attacks. It would have turned out the same if those people hadn't died. The anatomy is the same.

But it should have mattered.

It didn't.

Is that a vein or an artery?

Isn't it all the same?

No, I thought. It matters.

Why?

I had to stop for a moment before I figured out my answer. Because...

Because...?

Because then there is no God.



That's all I remember.