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oval foods
Sunday, January 13 2002
I had a nightmare last night featuring a terrifying horse with the ability to morph through several phases, many of them dormant and seemingly benign and others both menacing and disgusting. In one of the latter such phases I ran off to get my father's old 30-30 repeating deer rifle, but no matter what I tried, it refused to fire a shot. Gradually the rifle changed into a strange ancient single-shot musket with a barrel resembling a hinged clam shell. Even in this form, the rifle was supposed to fire 30-30 rounds, but still I couldn't get it to shoot. All the time the morphing horse kept going through its phases. It was actually more terrifying when it was dormant than it was when it was rearing up spewing horror, especially when I could see it gradually assuming its sinister form just beneath the surface as I kept trying to fire my Dad's useless rifle.
Getting out of bed this morning wasn't easy. I realized that part of what made it difficult was my awareness that, though I was enjoying sleeping then, when I eventually returned from walking Sally I would no longer be in the mood to sleep. I didn't want to leave the bed because I knew I couldn't argue with the person I would be a half hour later. I didn't like that person; in fact, I didn't want him to ever come into being.
Evidently my realization of this inner-turmoil left a lasting impact on my core personality arbitrator, because when I came back from Prospect Park, I, the half-hour-later person I'd expected to hate, immediately got back into bed and slept happily until noon. Gretchen even asked me if I was alright as she went off to hang out with her Manhattan girlfriends.
It's amazing how many baby carrots one can eat when there's an open bag of them in the refrigerator, the only alternative is breakfast cereal, and one is to lazy to venture down to Seventh Avenue.
I went out of my way to take Sally on a really nice long walk tonight, and how did she repay me? She ducked behind a tree and grabbed a big piece of human feces and began wolfing it down. This wasn't easy, since it was frozen completely solid. How did I know it was human? Humans are the only creatures who deposit articulated sheets of white paper beside their leavings. I was understandably horrified, and chased after Sally, shouting at her but unwilling to touch her, or (God forbid) put my hand in her mouth. In an uncontrollable act of revulsion, I was spitting all the accumulated saliva from my mouth.
Now Sally's sleeping quietly on the couch, but I have an eye on her. Not only isn't she going to be licking me in the face anytime soon, but she better not puke either. I can think of nothing worse than a big thawed-out piece of human shit, heated up to dog body temperature (102º F / 38.9º C), steaming in all its glorious foulness in the middle of the living room carpet.
unrelated links
Something about Kafka's Penal Colony - I found this while doing a search on the term "core personality arbitrator."
A Collection of Annoying Web Adventures - Award-winning (and giving) websites by people who just discovered how to make their own web page today.
Zero Hour - This guy is like a young and angsty Elly Dreamdweller; if he becomes any more meta he'll curve in on himself and collapse into a tiny blackhole of existential feedback.
[REDACTED]
Meanwhile human feces coursed their way through Sally's digestive system. Hopefully this system was finding some scraps of nutritional value that the previous accounting had missed. Every time Sally burped (and dogs usually do so silently), it smelled as if some unfamiliar human had snuck into the room and passed gas.
Later, on her midnight run in the park, Sally crapped not her usual one time but twice. "She's shitting for two," I observed.
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