||[05 Jul 2005|02:18pm]
I must try and show you this.
There is a child I think maybe it's four months old. The doctor says "No it's two years old." It squats on baked mud a tattered dusty piece of cotton hangs from one shoulder onto its distended stomach. It's face is huge. A two year old face on a four month body.
The eyes are moons of dust and flies caked by tears so big they don't dry until they reach the navel.
It's mother is squatting also, behind and slightly to his left. She is faint. She falls over a lot. I notice hundreds falling over.
The child stares. Between its legs flows a constant stream of diarrhoea. The immediate earth around its legs is damp with it.
I am watching a child die. In total silence and surrounded by its family it eventually begins to shit out its own stomach.
I am tired with grief and despair and a consuming rage for humanity.
He dies soon. He just dies. Big deal. A jumble of bones and dry skin, wet eyes, flies and shit. His mother hasn't noticed. She is too weak. Eventually they will come and tie his hands and legs in the approved manner, wrap his weightless body in anything and he will be buried hurriedly in a fruitless attempt to lessen the disease that flies ceaselessly through the scorching air.
At 2 a.m. it is freezing. At 2.30 the noise begins. Bodies too small and skinny to produce heat, too impoverished to have clothing, too weak to be able to digest, too thirsty to do anything but croak, too cold to do anything but die, too full of despair and hopelessness to live.
At 10 a.m. it is a cauldron. There is no noise except shuffle of feet moving forward in the endless procession of the intensive feeding lines, the soft keening of the bereaved, the moaning of the dying and the endless drone of the carrion flies.
It is a discreet, soft background sound, like afternoon tea in the Bath Tea Rooms I think. The almost soothing sound of famine. Inside the corrugated iron huts, it is beyond Dante's Inferno. At night freezing, by day an oven.
The living lie beside the dead on the earth or concrete platforms. Expediency rules. Famine is not polite. There is no beauty but in the faces, there is no dignity but in the eyes, no nobility but in the bearing, no privacy but of the mind. There is little emotion but sometimes the heart bursts and then the sound of famine is silence and a hopeless, screaming despair.
In that place where humans have abandoned, humanity thrives. A handful of grain each. There is no water to boil and make a sort of porridge...or there is water but there is no fuel with which to boil it,...or there is no fuel or water, just the grain.
You eat it. It is like consuming razor blades. It tears the walls of the stomach away, then passes through you, taking your innards with it, unconsumed and useless.
Or...you leave your dying village. You take your hungry children and you walk. Somewhere you have heard there is food. By instinct and desperation you arrive at a camp 2 weeks, a month later, with one child, the other having died somewhere in the desert. You wait faint and weak to be fed. You are not too weak to ensure your child is fed first. You die soon. Your child joins the endless intensive feeding lines of orphans. You've given it a 30/70% chance of life.
Or...you survive. After two months you must leave the camp. There is nowhere to go, no food, no water. You wander about in the devastation for a month or two. Soon you return almost dead again...and it goes on.
Or...there is a wall. About waist high. On one side about 10,000 starving, on the other a fresh-faced young nurse.
She has 300 tins of butter oil she can distribute. Who will she pick.
You hold up your child praying it at least can survive the holocaust. Who do you pick. Not looking you point your finger 300 times.
You have been picked. Tired feeling nothing but shame you shuffle to the other side of the wall and sit down your back to the other 9,700 who are chosen for death. You cannot face them. You take your ration of oil and you try to digest it.
You haven't been picked. You feel nothing but shame and a hopeless inadequacy. No recrimination except a profound depth of failure that you could not even give your children life. The children who in exhaustion lower their oversized heads on the crumbling wall.
There is no riot. There is no pleading. Only shame. Shame shared by those chosen, unchosen and the chooser.
The shame is ours. A shame so fierce it should burn us like the sun that burns that desert.
All these thing I have seen.
Eight weeks ago the E.E.C. spent 265 million pounds in destroying 2 million tons of vegetable and fruit.
The shame, the shame, the shame.
||[24 Jun 2005|10:13pm]
( ) snuck out of the house
(X) gotten lost
(X) seen a shooting star
(X) been to any other countries besides yours
(X) had serious surgery
(X) gone out in public in your pajamas
( ) kissed a stranger
(X) hugged a stranger
( ) been in a fist fight
( ) been arrested
( ) done drugs
( ) had alcohol
(X) laughed and had milk/coke come out of your nose
(X) pushed all the buttons on an elevator
( ) made out in an elevator
( ) swore at your parents
(X) kicked a guy where it hurts
( ) been in love
( ) been close to love
( ) been to a casino
(X) had braces
(X) broken a bone
( ) been high
( ) skinny-dipped
( ) skipped school
( ) flashed someone
( ) saw a therapist/counsellor
( ) done the splits
( ) played spin the bottle
( ) gotten stitches... in my mouth...
(X) drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour
(X) bitten someone
(X) been to Niagara Falls
( ) gotten the chicken pox
( ) crashed into a friend's car
( ) been to Japan
(X) ridden in a taxi
( ) shoplifted
( ) been fired
( ) ever had a crush on someone of the same sex
(X) had feelings for someone who didn't have them back
( ) stole something from your job
( ) gone on a blind date
(X) lied to a friend
(X) had a crush on a teacher
( ) celebrated mardi-gras in New Orleans
(X) been to Europe
( ) saw someone die
( ) Been to Africa
( ) Driven interstate
(X) Been to Canada
( ) Been to Mexico
(X) Been on a plane
( ) Seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show
( ) Thrown up in a bar
(X) Eaten Sushi
( ) Been snowboarding
( ) Been Skiing
( ) Met someone in person from the internet
( ) Been moshing at a rock show
( ) Been to a moto-cross show
( ) lost a child
( ) tried killing yourself
( ) tried hurting yourself
(X) taken painkillers
( ) had someone cheat on you
(X) love/miss someone right now
(X) had a crush on someone you shouldn't
( ) cheated on a test
(X) own an ipod
( ) own an mp3 player
(X) fancy someone on your contacts list
( ) kissed a girl/boy
|The Real Story
||[23 Jun 2005|06:43pm]
I've heard many versions of my little softball/hospital incident, so I've decided to just post the real story here.
I was at softball practice and everyone was taking turns hitting off the pitching machine. I had yet to go and so was just standing at first base. One of the balls was hit to the kid playing second base. He threw it to me, but it landed short, and, because it was a machine ball, came up fast and hit me in the throat. I immediately went down to my knees because I was having trouble breathing. Mr. ______ told me to put my arms above my head and relax. I did that, and I became better. I found my inhaler, and used it. Then I was sitting on the sidelines and decided to walk around a bit. I did so, and the problem came on suddenly...but worse than before. My arms and legs started to get tingly and I felt dizzy. Mr. ______ tried to walk me to his car to bring me to the hospital, but my arms and legs went numb and I collapsed again. My coach, Mr. _____ got on the phone and called 911. I was sitting on the bleachers when the fire truck got there. They put an oxygen mask on me, and tried to get me to calm down. Then the ambulance got there. They put me on a stretcher, strapped me down, and loaded me into the ambulance. I was rushed to the hospital, where I was given an IV and a CAT scan, during which they dyed my blood. They took a look at the X-Ray, and the doctor said that I had a swollen voicebox. They pumped me full of steroids via IV, and I was sent home. Later, when I actually looked at my neck, I had the dimples from the softball imprinted into my neck.
I felt it was necessary to write this, as I've heard many accounts as to what actually happened, such as that I was airlifted, and that I was having seizures. This is what actually happened. I'm sorry if I forgot a few of the details...I wasn't exactly in the best of shape to remember everything at the time. ;-)
||[16 Jun 2005|10:48am]
What's your favorite song, and why?
Your favorite book?
||[14 Jun 2005|02:40pm]
I am sad to say that as of late I had not been listening to Hanson very much, and so had begun questioning the reasons for my undying fanson-ness. Then I listened to This Time Around, and I remembered. I'm a fanson because Hanson makes me feel. Period.
||[11 Jun 2005|05:36pm]
TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey
Right Handed or Left Handed:
Irish/English/Italian for the most part.
The Shoes You Wore Today:
Your Perfect Pizza:
Everything, hold the anchovies.
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year:
Get A's in all of my finals.
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger:
Thoughts First Waking Up:
%$&!, do I really have to get up now?
Your Best Physical Feature:
I only like my hair.
Your Most Missed Memory:
R.I.P. Sprinkler Guys :(
Pepsi or Coke:
MacDonalds or Burger King:
Mickey D's fo sho.
Single or Group Dates:
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea:
Chocolate or Vanilla:
Vanilla...I'm just that kind of person.
Cappuccino or Coffee:
Aren't they the same thing?
Do you Smoke:
Do you Swear:
Do you Sing:
Not where anyone can hear me.
Do you Shower Daily:
Have you Been in Love:
Do you want to go to College:
Do you want to get Married:
Do you believe in yourself:
Do you get Motion Sickness:
Only if I sit in the back of a bus/van.
Do you think you are Attractive:
Are you a Health Freak:
Do you get along with your Parents:
Most of the time...but I think everyone has their moments.
Do you like Thunderstorms:
Do you play an Instrument:
Nope, but I want to play the electric guitar.
In the past month have you Drank Alcohol:
In the past month have you Smoked:
In the past month have you been on Drugs:
Yeah. Steroids. The doctor said it started with a D...Decatrin maybe?
In the past month have you gone on a Date:
In the past month have you gone to a Mall:
In the past month have you eaten a box of Oreos:
Yeah, but only the Uh-Oh kind.
In the past month have you eaten Sushi:
In the past month have you been on Stage:
In the past month have you been Dumped:
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping:
In the past month have you Stolen Anything:
I can't think of anything...maybe or a pen or something.
Ever been Drunk:
Ever been called a Tease:
Ever been Beaten up:
How do you want to Die:
In my sleep when I'm really old.
What do you want to be when you Grow Up:
What country would you most like to Visit:
In a Boy/Girl..
Favourite Eye Color:
Favourite Hair Color:
Short or Long Hair:
Short. I don't want a guy whose hair is longer than mine.
Taller than me.
I don't know...not overweight?
Best Clothing Style:
Number of Drugs I have taken:
Medically a lot. Da Hood-wise? None.
Number of CDs I own:
I can't count that high.
Number of Piercings:
Number of Tattoos:
One from Canobie Lake Park. Relax. It'll come off in about two days.
Number of things in my Past I Regret:
||[11 Jun 2005|02:15pm]
I'm constantly asked what I want to be when I grow up...and I have no idea.
What are your thoughts?