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Jett Superior laid this on you on || January 13, 2008 || 1:59 am

I think I want a tee-shirt that says I’M A WARRIOR. BACK THE FUCK UP.

Two words that trouble me and rub up against me in all the wrong ways: PLACATE and TOLERANCE. That tolerance, it’s a hostile word, ain’t it? Tolerance. It puts me in mind of times spent resolved, teeth gritting, putting up with –tolerating– something that I would not otherwise grant any quarter for. Like, ‘I’m tolerating this rock in my shoe.’ Or even, ‘I am tolerating this sliver of glass in my finger.’ It’s unpleasant as hell.

Placate has the sniff of false comfort, and by that I mean comfort not given in earnest. Kind of, ‘Let me pet you enough to get you to shut up.’

Next week? Mortified versus mollified.

I just got through watching a rerun of Gray’s Anatomy. This is not a show that I can say I’ve ever watched before. However, tonight’s episode roped me right in. One subplot dealt with a man and woman that were neighboring passengers on a train. There was an accident, and it left them both impaled on a pole, face to face, these two strangers. They were, effectively, in one another’s arms.

They became very, very intimate quite fast.

Of course they were ridiculously noble and calm in the face of some very terrible odds; I imagine if one of them were thrashing about, it would make for a very quick and noisy death for both parties. And that would eradicate an opportunity to produce some prime dialogue.

HER: Do you believe in heaven?

HIM: I do. …..Do you?

HER: I want to.

Her time of death was 3:49.

The good Doctor Dempsey even got to cry.

I get to sit here and draw parallels between the circumstances of those celluloid characters and my own. Symbolically, of course.

I got a long-overdue massage yesterday afternoon. Working between my shoulder blades, she paused, knuckling-down, and asked, “Um, is there something you need to tell somebody?

I paused before answering, and what shot out of me just nearly unbidden was, “Yeah.

“I got alotta somethings to say to alotta somebodies.”

The yeah came out too incredulous, too sharp and barky. The rest just tumbled out lazy behind it.

So that’s what I’ve been doing: Saying Somethings to their assigned Somebodies. I’m on a tear. Still, I don’t want to make anybody cry. But in all honesty, I’m not gonna be all assed about it if I do.

Nobody worked it out »

Don´t be shy. Lay it on me.

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