my rat died. i know. laughable. a rat died? your rat
died? you're fucking crazy.
well i saw something die right in front of my eyes for the
second time of my life and i'll tell you something...
it fucking hurts.
i can't take it.
be it a rat or a west highland white terrier.
i hate the circumstances of death.
moses squeaked, tried to climb the cage to god knows what
and then shuderred, dying belly down with the cage drenched
his eyes always (inconclusively) fixated upon me.
it's hard seeing things (and i hate the word thingdie.
but in a way it makes you think. it makes you appreciate.
done with the short sentences.
i miss moses and i've had nothing but horrible dreams since
his death has happened. in one i cut harold apart in hopes
of 'saving him'.
it shows the futility of life and the futility of longevity,
it shows how we fear what we can't explain; so what...so
what if we can't explain something?
think of time and it's intermeniable existence, we brought
this demon into our life and we know of no way to deal with
it; einstein tried and stephen hawkings has tried to prevail
to unshackle us from the very real handcuffs of our own
i miss moses.
i know he is just a rat to you all.
but he means something beautiful and eccentric to me.
people have told me they thought i was weird just because i
loved a rat.
i have one running upon me now.
i love him and what proof do you have of my dementia?
is it extending compassion to the very drudges of society
that you label me as crazy?
if rats are horrible it is only because you have displaced a
wanton definition upon a 'thing'.
you have created a new 'time' and it is YOUR burden to
for me, i don't know what to define. i just know that i
have loved and have lost.