February 7th, 2002

The view from up here

Dances with Emobabies?

I want to go on a spirit journey and win a tribal name. I want to call my spirit guide by name.

Where are you, Anima?

I was thinking about all this Objectivist hogwash. The greatest deviant is the man without purpose, aka me. I have no goal, unless you count listening to all the things people tell me and reflecting thoughtful observations that change how people think.

My ambition is to become Jesus. According to Ayn Rand, I should drive myself toward this goal at the cost of all else, becoming the greatest guru of the modern age. I really would have no problem becoming a new Jesus, but I've seen what evil can be done in a man's name, and I will not let it be done in mine.

I want to go on a spirit journey, and earn a tribal name.
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Want Fries with that?


Hell is the quest for self-knowledge, rather than action with the knowledge that it is an illusion.
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Grrr!, Dammit!

The Beggar's Choice

Today, I had a lively and promising conversation with the young nutritionist who frequents my bank branch. I asked her how the world of nutrition was, and she smiled and laughed and chit-chatted and she asked me (twice) how banking was, rife with girlish glee. And yes, as always, she did manage somehow to make her way to my window, SURPRISE SURPRISE. Today was to be the day I asked about her St. Valentine's Day plans, with the intent to insinuate myself into them. I think I was in. Except...

Right before she walked into the branch, I saw her put out a cigarette.


Is nothing pristine left in this world? And I, who would hold myself up as the example, the ideal, am being corroded not by these common poisons of the body, but of the poison of the mind; a willful temperament. I simply could not bring myself to ask the question, and I certainly have the "balls" to do it; I have in the past. But I never take it past flirtation with a girl who smokes. And I will flirt with them notoriously; smoker girls have traditionally been some of my more fun flirts. But it's empty. I can't ask her to change; I'm not interested in resentment. And I'm not interested in her if she's poisoning her body. I have a hard enough time dealing with myself doing the same to my mind.

Maybe next week I'll get over myself and ask her to dinner. Or find out she's got an SO. Either way; express my now-slightly-less legitimate interest, and not just as her banker. Hell, it's not like I'll have to kiss her, right? Ha ha ha... that would be so empowering to my tiny little male brain; to turn down a kiss from this alabaster beauty. I'd probably brag about it to my friends. "She was so hot, but I didn't kiss her because I fucking think I'm Jesus. I rock."

I haven't ended an entry this way in ages, but I'm disinterested enough in this matter by now to say:

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