Next week is Fanime in Santa Clara. And, while I'm lookingforward to the con, Piro's not gonna be there, as I'doriginally hoped. They were going to fly him out as a guest,but, well, the whole thing fell through. Sigh. Oh well, atleast I can kick Ed's ass while I'm there--you'll probably beable to find us in the karaoke room or the DDR machine, our dueling weaponsof choice. Just beware of his Forever Love, it's been known tofell cattle at a hundred yards.
On to the next subject. I want to set people on fire.
Not out of spite, mind you, but for the same reason a dog licksits balls--because it can. I admit that I don't have theinnate ability to set people on fire, since as far as I knowthere're no demons in my ancestry, but not a day goes bywithout at least once thinking "Damn, I want to set that guy onfire." I walk down the street and I find myself looking atpeople's foreheads. I imagine how my palm would fit right overtheir heads, so I could gaze right into their fear-widened eyesas they realize what's happening.
Ed knows what this feeling is like. Often, when we're sittingdown playing a video game when I notice his hand fly off theD-pad and go straight for my temples. And I think "It's justnot fair. Why can't we set people on fire?" They'd toastnicely before they hit the ground and rolled out the fire...
Disclaimer: I do not, in fact, want to set real people onfire. Not only is it wildly illegal and immoral, it smells badand would probably get bits of ash and melted flesh all over myclothes. I neither condone nor support the setting of peopleon fire.
...though self-immolation's kinda cool.
In response to some of the e-mails I got, yes, the poem at theend of my last rant was, in fact, written by me. Pretentious,but I just felt like sticking something at the end. This weekis a poem I wrote sheerly as a fun intellectual exercise.
O, what joy there is in brownness;
In the lack of beauty, calm rests.
What freedom it is to be formless,
To be rid of concerns, requests...
To be dull is to live in peace,
Never to be torn by small hands...
That is, until someone fills you
With air, twists you closed, and claps once.