The Apple

Fresh Words
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2004-07-08 18:48:34 (UTC)

7.8.04 My Morbid Modesty

Yesterday was one of those days that would make anyone
get all frowny-browny, a day of ambivolence, mistrust,
laxidaisicality, and large amounts of bewilderment. Right
now I type tired and hungry, and so the story will be short
and bitter.
I went to church yesterday with Tha Rod. Church was
blusterous and juvenile, and I couldnt seem to get in
touch with the spirit. Rod also seemed unhappy, but hey,
it's church, I come there for Jesus.
And it's 9:02 and Tha Rod and I are getting out of
church. He says he wants to, AND I QUOTE, "drop by P's real
quick." Sounds like a visit friendly enough. We get there
at 9:07 according to the cell time. There was then a period
of stagnancy in which a mixture of sleepiness, irritability
and uncomfortability led to slurred reality. I felt like I
was trapped in some type of time portal...minutes dragged
on and I vageuly remember fruit, a sugar ball, and being
disgusted by overly sentimental gesticulations on the other
side of a sprawled out, well vacuumed living room. I
comment again on how well-vacuumed this living room was: it
was vibrantly noticable, each vestage of the carpet somehow
flawlessly maintained. It was a floor to eat off of.
One might wonder how such illicit detail can be minded
on something as insignificant as beige carpet, but when one
is playing the intricate game of "pretend you don't notice
us", the ability to account diminutive details in arbitrary
settings becomes crucial.
To comment again on the situation, I, for the record,
like to be considered the anti-blocker, the amplifying and
abounding beacon of absolute coolness. I can be considered,
I suppose, an enabler, because I cherish the comfortability
of all other parties, and sometimes, though rarely, as in
the case above, at the expense of my own contentment. Let
me also state that Roseanne is the worst show ever. I do
not enjoy it. Once again, though, if I may comment once
more on my unmatched ability to fabricate and fraud focus
on frivolously foolish formations....
It was after mind-numbing minutes when my morbid
modesty meant a dull and frozen universe. Even worse, on
the other side of the frozen universe held hell, with two
adults holding and heaving hateful heat...I was 45 minutes
late.
It is, of course, in accordance with the universe for
figures of authority to become infuriated at the amusement
of malicious children, while, in turn, the child thinks of
matricidal thoughts.
But then again, reader, I'm sure you know that the
rhythm of the universe of Alix Coupet is nowhere near the
rhythm of the regular universe. I did not think matricidal
thoughts, for I knew the cause of their anger was my
modesty. And I hadn't been amused, and I am not malicious.
I am not malicious, I repeat, and my figures of
authority know this. All I ask for in the future is trust.
Does one have to be a certain age to be trusted? Does early
maturity play any factor at all? This is the universe of
Alix Coupet, so all benevolence is doubtful. One who has
withheld trust without mistake since his existence is
foolishly captivated by the laws of a malicious child. And
I know I'll think it foolish when I am 48 too. I am a good
kid. I've never even breathed otherwise.
But, as I rant, I realize that I must stop and give the
situation to God, for it is not my business or duty to
wallow.


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