Friday, July 28, 2006

Human-Animal Hybrids

To the pure, all things are pure. (It is true).
Some plums are really pleasing.

Dude, you can't have a bank as your guardian.
The court papers — which were sealed on Wednesday — seek to remove Anthony Marshall as legal guardian and replace him with Annette de la Renta, the wife of Oscar de la Renta, and J.P. Morgan Chase bank. I never heard of such a thing. Her son allegedly replaced her costly face creams with petroleum jelly. A French chef was fired, leaving her at the mercy of an "unmotivated cook" serving pureed peas, liver, carrots and oatmeal, court papers say. That is not even vegan.

Mahmoud's favourite cereal is Raisin Bran, and Saddam's is Raisin Bran Crunch. "We have a lot in common," said Mahmoud. He also told me that Saddam eats fish every day (and so does Mahmoud actually; he eats salmon at least once or twice every day, with rice and salad), or at least he did until his hunger strike. But apparently yesterday Saddam broke his hunger strike with some beef and rice and fruit and a Coca-Cola (which is not vegan).

Today Armando cut these cucumbers into fantastic shapes, and sprinkled them with lemon juice and paprika and salt, and we ate them noisily, and it was delicious and wholesome.

Fired ESPN analyst denies sexual harassment: 'I gave a woman a hug and I felt like it was misinterpreted,' Reynolds says

"Mmm-HMM," I said in my skeptical black-woman voice.

Saddam says he was forced into courtroom: Ex-Iraqi leader's first court appearance since hunger strike, hospitalization
BAGHDAD, Iraq - Saddam Hussein appeared in court Wednesday for the first time since his hunger strike and hospitalization, looking thinner and complaining that he had been brought to the chamber against his will. "Oh, Saddam," I sighed. He often gets pissed off in court, and interrupts people, and speaks out of turn, and sometimes has to be removed from the courtroom.

I saw a headline that said, "Raising Beast People: Science Blurring the Line Between Humans and Animals," and I was alarmed, because I remembered when Bush, in his State of the Union speech, talked about human-animal hybrids, and we were all like, "What the fuck?" so we jeered and threw objects at him. Also he talked about activist courts that attempt to redefine marriage, and we jeered even louder, and heaped him with scorn and ill will.
Dude, that is fucked up.

Dude, I do not appreciate the sight of all these guns, and weaponry. We need to expand our planned pot warehouses to put one in Russia, and one in Africa as well, and one in Saudi Arabia, and fill them with those who hold discord and violence in their hearts, and then we need to reform their patriarchal societies as well.

At the end of the school year, Tasty and I were brethren, and often we were pot-smoking religious recluses in my room, or beguines, or Benedictine friars, and once he was an anchorite in the pots-and-pans cupboard. But if Motor had lived during the medieval times, she would have been more of a religious groupie, and not a mystic or a beguine or an anchoress or a prophetic broad.

Also, this past semester I learned that the feminine form of brethren is sustren, and I was excited, because that was something I had often wondered, because often the masculine forms survive as norms in a patriarchal language, and the feminine ones do not, and I was glad that I now knew this great word. It fell out of use around the 1500's.

If I had lived in the medieval times, I would have been a historian or a chronicler, like the Venerable Bede. Or else I would have written religious works in the vernacular, or else worked in an alehouse.
And that is all.


Titus 1:15 - Unto the pure all things are pure: but unto them that are defiled and unbelieving is nothing pure; but even their mind and conscience is defiled.
Haa, that was your Bible Verse of the Day.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Saddam Hospitalized For Hunger

It is really great to enjoy things that come from the earth, and that is why I am a vegan, and a pothead as well, and live a harmonious lifestyle. It is true.

One day last summer my dad and I were driving in the car when he said, "Have you ever thought of being an O.B.Gyn?" and I said, "Dad, I have nothing against vagges, but I don't want to look at them all DAY."

"Oh," he said, and did not ask me the same question again, although he recently asked if I'd ever thought of being a veterinarian (which I had not, and would not want to do, because I am not overly fond of dogs except for particular ones like Cinque and Moshi and Sahara, and also I hate practical things like chemistry, and biology, and exams). And for awhile he wanted me to go to law school, but I have seen the things they have to read in there, and I did not like them.

And I shall spend the rest of my life talking about the virtues of literature, which is really impractical, but a great way to make a living. I am particularly interested in feminist literary theory, and representations of the nakedness of the crucified Christ, and Middle English literature in general (which is ridiculous), and the places where words come from and the ways they develop over time.

Also I know a lot of olden-time slang for genitals and prostitutes and stuff, which is useless, but comes in handy when you're reading shit from medieval mystics, because there is a lot of strange love for Christ that is kind of perplexing in its nature. And talking about literature will take me on a lot of strange paths.

"Saddam hospitalized for hunger," said the headline. "Sad-DAM," I said reprovingly. Remember when those pictures of him in his underwear were released like last year? That was something I did not need to see.

Also, last month he went on a hunger strike as well, but he only skipped lunch, and then ate dinner as usual. I laughed at him.

The other night on Cheaters, a voluptuous black broad's man was cheating on her with a voluptuous white broad, and there was a great confrontation, and the black broad (who was also like 2 months pregnant, but not really showing yet) put up her hand and said to the man, "Fine, you GO with the white bitch!" (which ignited a catfight that was like a race war), and then after the fight the white broad hit the man over the head, but drove him home anyway. It was a great episode, and my sister and I howled with laughter.

Yesterday on my break I ate a hummus-lettuce-tomato-pickle wrap AND a hummus appetizer, and Mahmoud said, "Carissa, you are a MONSTER." (he was in a strange and fleeting humorous mood).

He loves to drink this special tea out of a glass, and survey the world, and order people around, and send and receive text messages. Those are his great pleasures. Also he likes the company of the ladies, but he is not always very successful with them.

Yesterday Ramin said to Anwar, "Wassup, Osama?" and Anwar grabbed him by the arm, and Ramin said, "Yo, I got a family to support, I can't get beat up," and Anwar laughed and released him. Anwar is Pakistani and has a full beard and scholarly glasses (even though he is only like 20) and is kind of voluptuous, but he does not really look like Osama. He is more like a large bearded Muslim stuffed animal, that strolls about the world and eats potato chips. And I do not make Osama jokes at work, but Ramin is allowed, since he is Afghani and has only been in the U.S. for 5 years. Sometimes at home, though, I make very serious and soulful Osama faces in the mirror (I have a secret gift of Osama impressions), and laugh hysterically, but that is kind of sacreligious, so I do not do it in public.

And right now I am ROCKING OUT to Disc 1 of Led Zeppelin's Physical Graffiti. It is a vital piece of classic rock.

At work there is this new broad named Kolina Koleva (she is originally Bulgarian), and she often dances for no reason, like when she is walking and eating and ringing people up, and it is very creepy. Sealay said to me, "She can't do that. She'll scare the customers" (because some of them are very old, or very devout Muslims, and they might think, "Who the hell is this broad and why is she dancing for no reason?"). And Kamal put on his glasses, and peered at Kolina, but she did not notice everyone staring at her.

And that is all. I am going to troll the Internet for great news, and make high commentary upon it.

Monday, July 24, 2006

The Rapture

I just sat on a hill under a tree like Jesus, and enjoyed that which comes from the Earth.

When I came home from work, all of the cars were home but nobody seemed to be in the house. "Perhaps my family was raptured away," I thought, and laughed to myself. Once in high school the lunchtime candy cupboard was raptured away, but everyone else was left behind.

At Talbot's in Cleveland last summer I had this manager named Kelly Crews, and she was a female minister and gospel singer and she used to prophesy and speak in tongues and get all charismatic and shit, like Janine's Aunt Cecelia (not at work, of course) on the side, and she was the head of Appointed and Anointed Ministries, and she ministered to a lot of black prostitutes in East Cleveland. She was white but she had wild curly blonde hair and a black ass and loved black men (her two kids are mixed), and once last summer (in the middle of July) there was a huge and violent storm in the afternoon, and the sky became as dark as night and the wind blew the doors open and all the old broads began to freak out, and I said, "Kelly Crews, it's like Jesus is coming back," and she said, "Girrrl, do you know where you're going? Because I DO! I am SECURE in my salvation! Girl, you gotta choose! It's Heaven or Hell, and I KNOW where I am going!" and she got all fired up and was speaking in her black voice (which she reverted to at times), and I was like, "Whoa, this broad is crazy," and I just looked at her.

Also during her lunch break she used to sometimes receive prophesies and inspirations from the Lord, and write them down rapidly and silently on this special pad as she ate her soup. Once we had no spoons in the break room so she had to eat her soup with a fork, and I laughed at her.

Also, once her 13-year-old son came home from visiting his father, and Kelly found a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue in his bookbag (with all those scantily clad broads in provocative poses), and she said, "What the hell is this?" and he said, "I ain't never even seen that devilish stuff," and she said, "Oh HELL no, don't you even try to lie to me."
And that was my manager Kelly Crews.

Once a customer called and said, "Excuse me, do you carry pajamas in your store?" (which was a bizarre request), and she thought it was me making a prank call to her, and I said, "Kelly Crews, I would never do such a thing!" (which is true).

Also she had weaknesses for certain expensive purses, and high-heeled shoes, and sashes with sequins, and black men.

Haaa, I was just reading about Kim Jong Il (the crazy leader of North Korea. He is paranoid about airplanes and travels on a secret electric railcar. Seriously, it is true), and the article said:

His eldest son, Kim Jong Nam, is said to have fallen out of favor after embarrassing his father in 2001 when he was caught trying to enter Japan on a fake passport, saying he wanted to visit Tokyo Disneyland.

Haaa. Who DOES that?

This evening my boss went on an outing with this middle-aged Hispanic broad named Esther (and she laughs a crazy laugh at everything he says), and she picked him up in her SUV, and we were all very intrigued.

"Maybe she'll spend the night," said Wanda.
"I would not hit that shit," I said in my black-woman voice.
"Yes, but maybe she will," said Wanda.

The Insurgency

Tonight I smoked up on the hill down the street among the vegetation, where it is very close to the sky, and a plane passed very low overhead blinking its lights in serene messages.

Tonight at work these Iraqi guys made an insurgency joke, because one told me he was from Baghdad (which was true) and the other said, "Yeah, he's a captured member of the insurgency," and laughed heartily, and I thought, "Whoa, that's the first insurgency joke that I've heard," although I had previously thought of insurgency jokes in my mind but they sometimes border on the sacreligious, so I do not say them out loud, especially since I work in an Arabic workplace. And I do not make terrorist jokes at work either, or 9-11 jokes, but my co-worker Ramin does, but he is allowed since he is Afghani, and has been here only since 2001.

Yesterday I came upon Ramin talking to himself in the deli.
"Who are you talking to?" I said.
"I'm rapping," he said, as if this was obvious.
"Oh. Never mind," I said.

Sometimes he claims that he goes upstairs to the storage room to pray (because Muslims take 5 prayer breaks a day, and they are 10 minutes each time), but then he really just climbs the ladder up to the roof and talks on his cellphone to his wife, and raps apparently as well.
He also handles monstrous and sharp knives all day, and it is kind of scary. "This one is a sword," he told me yesterday. "I could cut my hair with this." And it made me nervous.

And he is very vain and particular about his hair, which is kind of long (actually his haircut looks kind of like Jen S's did until B-Scoot remade it in a new image), and his car, whose engine makes outrageous roars when he leaves. It is just strange that he is married as well. I cannot make sense of it in my mind.

I was feeling like an old broad because I am going to be 23 in less than a month. "The reason you feel so old is because you're not married," said Wanda (she is 21 and has been married for 4 years). "Uh, no," I said. And I would never marry a minister or a cop. Because cops have to enforce the law, and I am not always a great lover of the law, and also they often beat their wives. And ministers have patriarchal world views and values. So no thank you. When high it is great to eat grapes with your eyes closed. That is all.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Tarantulas and their Venomous Relations

Well, the widow's jar of oil finally ran out. That is, the miracle of my potbook's surplus pages finally ended at 456, and now I have no potbook to write in, because I forgot to get a new one the other day when I had the chance.

The problem is that language itself is patriarchal.

When high I my thoughts are very digressive, and discursive.

And this is a sweet Bible story about the prophet Elisha:
2 Kings 2
[Elisha was like a huge prophet after his predecessor Elijah, and did a lot of copycat miracles and deeds, but God liked Elijah better because Elijah got taken up to Heaven in a chariot of fire, while Elisha had to die in a more regular way. And God only takes you up to heaven in a chariot if he really, really likes you. So I feel kind of bad for Elisha. And that is a Cariss Biblical Introduction and Commentary (when I am high sometimes I entertain myself and make commentaries upon the Bible, and retell certain Bible stories where people suddenly turn into sassy voluptuous black women at random times).] Then Elisha went up from there to Bethel; and as he was going up by the way, young lads came out from the city and mocked him and said to him, "Go up, you baldhead; go up, you baldhead!"
When he looked behind him and saw them, he cursed them in the name of the LORD. Then two female bears came out of the woods and tore up forty-two lads of their number.
He went from there to Mount Carmel, and from there he returned to Samaria.

Haaaaa. I always thought that story was hilarious. These youths make fun of the prematurely balding Elisha as he's making a journey on prophet's business, and he's like, "Fuck you, youths," and immediately these two vicious she-bears emerge from the forest and maul the gang of youths to death, and then Elisha just goes on his way. And that is why you should not make fun of people for being bald, or having a receding hairline or a bald spot, because they can't help it, and plus it will come back to bite you in the ass, as we have seen.

Actually my boss Mahmoud has a very small head with a bald spot and receding hairline in a strange pattern, and also he is well over six feet tall, and when we are peering around the store for Mahmoud we always locate him by his bald spot because it is easy to navigate by, and sometimes I feel bad.

The other day a tea glass fell off the espresso machine and broke for no reason, even though nobody was in that area of the restaurant. I leapt and made a sound like a frightened gay man (I am not being heterosexist; that is just the nature of the sound that I made. It is true. That is the only way I know how to describe it). "Fantasama," said Armando, pointing at it. "A ghost." He is very superstitious and often makes the sign of the cross when he sees large groups of people approaching the restaurant, or when he is hoping that Mahmoud will come in late.

Haaa, that creature looks like it wants to be part of the vegetation. It likes to just stand there under the pleasant weight of its wool, like a placid tree. Actually it is a fucked-up cousin of the alpaca.

Also, at the hotel during our trip to Chicago my dad and I watched a lot of edifying cable tv shows about meth, and about real 16th-century pirates, and how when they invaded Panama City they strung up all the male residents to the ceiling by their PRIVITIES in order to make them give up their gold, and then would drop them and stab them and run off, and they even showed a re-enactment of it, and it was fucked up.

Also at 3am after arriving in Chicago I could not sleep so I was watching a show on Animal Planet called Tarantulas and Their Venomous Relations (there was nothing else on), and I saw all these monstrous hairy tarantulas crawling around and wreaking havoc and eating hummingbirds and raiding nests of baby birds, and it was so terrifying that I covered my face with my hands and peered through my fingers, until finally I could not watch it anymore, and switched to CNN. It is like when Jen and I used to watch very scary documentaries about ghosts and the supernatural on the History Channel late at night, against our better judgment.

Dude, that is all.

A Pearl of Great Price

Haa, that was the name of a book by Joseph Smith.

Last night right after smoking I thought, "What if my parents had been awful and named me Varissa instead?" and then I laughed to myself for a long time at the thought. The thing about being high is that it makes all my thoughts very entertaining to me, so I can sit and meditate upon my thoughts and allow them to take their course, and experience great things.

"Man Garners Fame for Worldwide Jigs," said this headline on
"Worldwide JIGS?" I said, and watched the video, and it was about this man who used to be a computer programmer but then got tired of sitting around and decided to travel all over the world and do jigs in each place, and so far he has been to 55 countries, and he records videos of himself doing these jigs, although sometimes he does them in unwise places, like on this cliff in Norway. "I didn't want to dance in front of the Sphinx," said the guy on the video.

Being high is a phantasmorgia of great things.

There are dogs barking outside in the middle of the night. "Some dogs have no sense of what is appropriate," I thought at them.

Once during the first week of May I was walking home down Rosebury from a potluck at my friend James's house (and it was literally a POTluck, for all the food was INFUSED with marijuana, and we smoked it after each course, and there were many, and we also drank lots of red and white wine, but I was abstemious with the wine, unlike at Gayla, but that is a whole other kettle of fish), and I was obviously quite high, when I saw Moshi looking down at me from the front window of her apartment, and I said, "Helloooo, Moshi!" and she greeted me back, and then I continued walking.

Also at the very end of the school year Tasty did some strange things, as when one day I walked into the bathroom to see that he had knocked my toothpaste into the litter box and my electric toothbrush into the trash can, and I was like, "Tasty, why would you DO such a thing?" and I was freaked out by that, and had to throw away the toothpaste and the toothbrush head. And he looked at me, and said, "I don't owe you an explanation, woman," in a patriarchal voice.

2 Kings 4
When Elisha returned to Gilgal, there was a famine in the land. As the sons of the prophets were sitting before him, he said to his servant, "Put on the large pot and boil stew for the sons of the prophets."
Then one went out into the field to gather herbs, and found a wild vine and gathered from it his lap full of wild gourds, and came and sliced them into the pot of stew, for they did not know what they were.
So they poured it out for the men to eat. And as they were eating of the stew, they cried out and said, "O man of God, there is death in the pot." And they were unable to eat.
But he said, "Now bring meal." He threw it into the pot and said, "Pour it out for the people that they may eat." Then there was no harm in the pot.

Dude, that is a sweet Bible story called DEATH IN THE POT.
That is all.


Sometimes late at night when very high, I creep about the house like a spirit, so I do not disturb anyone.

Also, in addition to the email chronicles I also keep a written chronicle as always, because sometimes the written potbook is closer at hand, and this current potbook was only supposed to have 400 pages like the others but NO, I am on the 444th page and there are still pages left, and I cannot figure out how this miracle has occurred. At first I thought I had labelled the pages wrong while high, but that was not the case at all. So perhaps the notebook company made an error, and fucked up with my batch of notebooks, or perhaps it is like the story in the Old Testament about the prophet Elijah and the widow, where she takes Elijah in during a famine and her jar of oil and jar of flour never run empty from then on. That is how the pages of my potbook are, and it is a great thing. Also I need to buy a new one, and I haven't gotten around to that yet.

Today I went to smoke among some vegetation on the hill, and all around me were these bees that loved the red flowers in the vegetation. "I have not come to harm you, but to respect you," I said to the bees in my pothead philosopher voice, and the bees did not bother me or sting me at all, and I blew potsmoke onto them in gratitude. Hahaha.

Dude, my mom made me clean the bathrooms the other night, and I realized as I was cleaning the toilet that, when you put the lid and the seat down, you can see that the toilet is actually smiling slyly at you, like a wicked dolphin, or a crocodile. It is true. I showed it to my sister, and she agreed.

Also this morning when I first woke up, she looked at me and said, "Sister, what do you think about the afterlife? What do you believe about it?" and I was like, "Uh, I can't talk about those kinds of things when I'm first waking up," and it was true. My mind does not function on that level early in the morning. "Okay," she said, and went back to sleep, and I was kind of disturbed by that.

Also she sleeps topless which is stupid in our household because our parents I'm sure will accidentally walk in on her at some point, and be perturbed, so she constantly pulls the sheet up to her chin like an invalid in a tuberculosis ward. I told her that and we laughed, even though there is nothing funny about a tuberculosis ward, because we have terrible unholy senses of humor, and we love the sacreligious.

Also, in Siberia there are sheep, and beavers, and polar bears, and great reindeer. Also they have sweet seals.

Also, Hezbollah is a terrible warlike organization, but it is also a really fun word to say. And on the front page of USA Today one day when we were in the Phoenix airport on a layover last week, I saw a picture of this really old Lebanese broad waving two pistols in the air and shrieking with joy because she was really impressed with Hezbollah's deeds. And I thought, "That broad is crazy." And war is no cause to get all joyful like that.

I am kind of afraid of Amish people, clowns and mimes, owls, life-sized fruit and vegetable costumes (or any kind of food item costume, for that matter), and I am very creeped out by patriotic figures on stilts, or anyone on stilts for that matter. It is very strange.

And last night my sister and brother and I watched this CSI episode about this broad who had a fetish for sleeping with clowns, so that when her husband killed like the 50th clown she'd slept with after he walked in on them, she kept the clown suit and made her husband wear it, which is just outrageous and terrifying to me, and we were all like, "Uh, this is creepy." Our young virgin brother is learning a lot of strange things about sex from CSI, and sometimes I worry. Like, he and I saw this episode about these people who are obsessed with dressing as life-size animals and they exhibit the behaviours of those animals, and gather in conventions and have big raves and orgies. And then I found out that those people actually exist, and they had a recent convention in Pittsburgh of all places (of course it would be in Pittsburgh).

Haha, that is a great sheep. Once I was in England, and visited with some sheep, and it was great.

1 Kings 17:
8. Then the word of the LORD came to Elijah, saying,
9. "Arise, go to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and stay there; behold, I have commanded a widow there to provide for you."
10. So he arose and went to Zarephath, and when he came to the gate of the city, behold, a widow was there gathering sticks; and he called to her and said, "Please get me a little water in a jar, that I may drink."
11. As she was going to get it, he called to her and said, "Please bring me a piece of bread in your hand."
12. But she said, "As the LORD your God lives, I have no bread, only a handful of flour in the bowl and a little oil in the jar; and behold, I am gathering a few sticks that I may go in and prepare for me and my son, that we may eat it and die."
13. Then Elijah said to her, "Do not fear; go, do as you have said, but make me a little bread cake from it first and bring it out to me, and afterward you may make one for yourself and for your son.
14. "For thus says the LORD God of Israel, `The bowl of flour shall not be exhausted, nor shall the jar of oil be empty, until the day that the LORD sends rain on the face of the earth.' "
15. So she went and did according to the word of Elijah, and she and he and her household ate for many days.
16. The bowl of flour was not exhausted nor did the jar of oil become empty, according to the word of the LORD which He spoke through Elijah.

See, it is the story of Elijah and the widow.

A Place of Vanity, Seduction, and Immorality

Hellooo Everyone:

Often computers just want to be left alone, so they can go about their business in peace. Our computer often sighs with great effort when it tries to play videos, or cd's, because it is a cranky old broad. My sister's computer is a laptop named Clarence, and he is quite temperamental, and often shuts down for no reason, but he has an excellent music selection thanks to me. Computers often act as if they have internal souls, and sometimes I try to discern what is in their souls (I do the same thing with animals, especially cats), but only when I am high, which I am now. Thank you again to our gracious Mexican neighbours, who give us great things. Also they kind of pollute parts of our beach, but that is a whole other matter.
Right now our computer is acting as if its soul is polluted.

Well. Today when I came into work, I said, "Is Mahmoud here?" "Nooooo," said Armando in a low voice, and he made the sign of the cross many times as well as a lot of other religious gestures, and after a moment I joined him by raising my arms to heaven as if I was calling upon the Lord, because I figured it could not hurt, and also I was very high. Unfortunately our prayers did not work for long.

When Mahmoud was off yesterday, we all did as we pleased.

Often Ramin likes to ring the silver bell in the deli like a pissed-off customer just to try to piss off Mahmoud, and Mahmoud gets all crabby and says over the loudspeakers, "Ramin to the deli please, Ramin to the deli," even though Ramin is already there. Yesterday he did it many times, because he forgot that Mahmoud was not there.

Today in the deli I saw Ramin dancing like a rapper and I just said, "Wow," because it was a strange thing to see. Also I was high, and could not believe my eyes. "I need hummus, yo," Ramin said in an angry voice to Armando. "Dude, you shouldn't make demands in that tone," I said to Ramin in my stoner voice. "Whatever, yo," said Ramin. He was unrepentant.

Sometimes we talk about marriage, because even though I am almost 6 years older than him, he is married and I am not. "Dude, the thing about marriage is that it's just so permanent, and I'd worry that I'd get tired of someone," I said. "Not if you're in love, like we are," said Ramin. And I thought, "There is no talking reasonably with him on this matter."

Dude, there were some female followers of PLATO, and one even dressed like a man as well, because she felt like it.

These are the names I am considering for my cat that I am getting by the first of September (it is a special chart, because it is a matter of great thought and importance). Also all of the names are of historical or biblical or literary significance.

  • The Holy Hildegard (if it is a female cat of a more meek spirit)
  • Margery Kempe (if it is a white female cat, especially one who is a busybody and a religious groupie)
  • Jugurtha (if it is a male of a certain character)
  • Pythagoras (if it is a male)
  • Barabbas (if it is a male who is black)
  • Vesuvius (if it is a male)
  • Jezebel (if it is a female of a certain character)
  • Sapphira (if it is a female of a wicked character, because Sapphira and her husband
  • Ananaias in the Bible (in the book of Acts) tried to cheat God, and they lied to the body of believers, and got struck dead as a result)
  • Herodotus, Prometheus, Josephus, Beltashazzar (haaaa), or Xerxes (also if a boy)
  • Beatrice or Agrippina, if it is an old broad cat.

A gospel is a universal thing.

The other day in the car, when we were stuck in a traffic jam in a Hispanic part of Chicago, I told my father that he was a patriarch. "Daughter, I am not even going to attempt to respond to that," he said, so then we talked about politics and female-to-male transsexuals and flamboyantly gay black men whose shoes are lavender snakeskin and match their pants (we met one in the lobby of our hotel the other night, and the next morning he was wearing a bright orange ensemble).

My father and I have a strange relationship. Also, when we were in the car on the way to the airport to fly to Chicago (I had to go to Evanston to look for an apartment, and I found one, and signed the lease, and it shall be glorious and I will frolic there with my cat and eat vegan food and write many papers), my father said, "San Diego is a place of VANITY, of SEDUCTION, and of IMMORALITY." But I did not laugh because he hates it when people laugh at matters of morality (but I laughed in my heart).

Today I saw Kamal cutting the heads off lots of trout. It made me a sad vegan. Once B-Scoot and Beth were standing on the upstairs fire escape of the apartment and I was smoking al-Waha tobacco from my hookah, because I felt like it (actually they sell hookahs at my workplace, because lots of Middle Easterners keep hookahs in their households just for decoration, since technically Muslims aren't supposed to smoke tobacco, but a lot of them do). And I ate an apple, but then I had no place to throw the core, and I did not want to just wantonly throw it onto the parking lot below, because that could be considered littering, which is something I abhor. But then Beth seized the apple core from me and threw it off the fire escape as far as she could, and I was afraid that people would see the apple core on the ground in the morning and blame it on me. "People always blame fruit incidents on the vegan," I told Beth and B-Scoot, "and I don't want to be held responsible for this."

And that is all. This has been a really long chronicle, because I have had many thoughts, and they have taken many paths.

Haaaaaa. These creatures are fucked UP.

Saddam and Osam

Hellooo Everyone:

After smoking outside under the front patio (it is these wooden stairs under the house, next to a fig tree, except it is not really a fig tree because it does not have any figs; I just like to call it a fig tree, because it seems like one to me), I walked across the living room in the dark, which is above my parents' bedroom. "I'm walking hither and thither above my parents' heads like Satan," I thought. "Self, what a horrible thought!" my responsible alter-ego immediately thought. Hahaha.

That time that B-Scoot and Dan and I were in Makella's car (before it had its meltdown in the drive-through), I was high so I was talking a lot from my place in the backseat, and I said to Dan in a weird-sounding elitist voice, "I studied other various arts," and then I realized how bizarre I sounded and I laughed a lot, but he was very patient, and just sat there.

Also he scrupulously avoids smoking weed, in case he ever wants to join the FBI or CIA or whatever (I forget).

I, for one, am going to be a professor, and would never want a government job, and plus professors can smoke all they want, as long as they write their papers, and attend faculty meetings, and talk about the great virtues of literature. And that is what I intend to do. So that means I can smoke with abandon.

Vladimir Putin is a really creepy man. And he has no joy in his heart. Saddam, on the other hand, for all his evils (and there are many), seems like he would be secretly jolly, as long as he was kept away from weapons and chemicals and all kinds of power. Tonight at work I was in the office receiving my paycheck when I saw a piece of foreign money with a picture of a young-looking Saddam on it tacked to the bulletin board, and I said, "Whoa, is that a young-looking Saddam?" and Mahmoud said, "Yes," and he smiled a small smile, which is not something he usually does.

Also, about all the terrorists, and Saddam and Osam and all of Al-Qaida and the Taliban and the Shiite clerics and al-Zawahiri and Motqada al-Sadr and all who promote violence and WAR, I still say that we lock them in a special facility and pump it full of the finest marijuana smoke and just keep them very stoned and away from the rest of humankind, maybe in Russia or somewhere, and we would give them lots of good food and drink and Korans and edifying books and hookahs and robes and clean bathrooms and shit, but they would all have to spend the rest of their lives in that facility and be pumped full of marijuana smoke and marijuana-laced food morning, noon, and night, and the world's terrorism problems would be solved, at least with al-Qaida. Nobody understands the true solution. I know it is bizarre but seriously, it would work, and then we wouldn't have to worry about torture scandals in our prisons, and the cost of maintaining the pot-against-terrorism facility would cost a hell of a lot less than making senseless WAR.

Today Luis told me that if he ever got a divorce, he would want to marry either Jennifer Lopez or this customer broad Carolyn who comes in sometimes.

And that is all.

The Sunday Morning Chronicle

Haaa. I just completed my plan to wake up and smoke while everyone is in church, and they will not be home until at least 12:30 or 1, and my father won't until 3, so I get to chill and write in my potbook and eat cereal and listen to The Ramones. It shall be a great success.

"Mom, do you have any formidable tampons?" I said. "My uterus is in its full fury."
"Hmmm, let me check," she said. It is difficult to get a rise out of her sometimes, unless you mention sex or Tina Turner or something sacreligious that takes the name of the Lord in vain. But she is kind of fascinated by drag queens.

"Whoa, fortifying shampoo," I said as I searched through my mom's stash of toiletries (she is a great stasher and stocker of various useful things), and I seized it and carried it upstairs with me.

Haa, there was that one time in St. Louis this spring when the tornado sirens went off, and it was a Sunday morning so I had just smoked, and in my potbook I drew up an elaborate plan of tasks for the day, but then the sirens went off and Jessica made me flee with her to the basement, and we agonized over whether to take the cats, but we knew Tasty would FREAK OUT if we tried to carry him downstairs among strangers and MEN against his will, so we left both of them (because we knew that if we left Tasty, and a calamity happened, it would be a terrible and unequal thing), and we went to the basement with B-Scoot and all manner of neighbours, and Tristan was locked in a Wal-Mart and the people wouldn't let anyone leave (and it is a hellish thing to be trapped in a Missouri Wal-Mart, I am sure), and I was pissed that my plans for the day had been thwarted, but I just wrote in my potbook and read Lord Byron (he is funny at times but I am not really a big fan of him), and it was okay.

Also there was that time at the end of the school year when B-Scoot and Dan and I were going to go in Makella's car to Janine's comedy spectacular, so B-Scoot and I of course smoked beforehand so it would be more jolly, and then we all had to fit in Makella's car and they put me in the back among all Makella's architecture shit, and it was a small space. I was our navigatrix, and I read out the directions to B-Scoot and yelled, "NORTH! NORTH!", but then they got hungry and went to get fast food and B-Scoot was ordering in the drive-through when all this smoke started pouring from under the hood, and we all began to FREAK OUT, and we got out of the car and ran because we did not know if it would explode, and B-Scoot and I were really high so we were like, "Whoa! What shall we do?" And then we had to have an adventure at a gas station and eat a lot of sugary candy and commit fraud with Jen D's family's AAA service to get the car towed, and we did not make it to Janine's comedy spectacular. But it was crazy.

Dude, last night when my brother and I watched Cops (it is a summer sibling tradition), there were these three young Hispanic drag queens in long curly dark wigs and heels and elaborate faux fur coats, and I was like, "Girl, you look GOOD!" in my black alter-ego voice. But then they got arrested because one had a meth pipe in her purse, and they were all under its influence. I usually feel bad for the drag queens and people who get arrested for weed on Cops, but not for those who are just assholes.

And that is the Sunday Morning Chronicle. I have to meditate while listening to music while high, because it is revivifying.

Haaa, a Hebrew Treasure

Dude, this frog and this mouse are escaping from a flood in India. The frog was just like, "Dude, climb on my back, and I will carry you to safety, and we shall be companions," and the mouse is like, "Yes." That is why animals do not fight in wars.

Often in the eastern parts of the world, like Indonesia and India and Pakistan and shit, there are all these calamities and natural disasters, and outrageous amounts of people die.

Today at work the faucet refused to bring forth hot water. "It is not hot," I said. "Its spirit is ill."
Some people wear foolish clod-hoppers on their feet.

Haa, I used to baby-sit for this scatter-brained black woman named Mrs. Cheston, and once we were driving along in her van and she said, "You know, I saw on the news that all these teenagers right here in Orange Village are roaming through people's yards at night and eating people's morning glories and it gets them high. And I just hate to think that, for all I know, my morning glories are getting some teenage boys high. Can you believe people would do such a thing?"

And it just occurred to me, do people really do that shit, or is it just foolish paranoid-people talk?

For to whom much is given, much is required, MOTHERFUCKERS
(haaa, I was an angry and foul-mouthed black preacher, kind of like Reverend X in that movie that Janine showed us, who says, "Bitch, I'm flowin straight from the survival scroll!")

My brother turned on Law and Order.
"Is this the episode where a man is killed after desecrating a Hebrew treasure?" I said.
"Uh, no," he said.
"Oh," I said.

Dude, tonight my mom came into the kitchen wearing this huge pale pink robe, to drink a glass of warm water before bed (ugh, she is nasty like that. I would never do such a thing), and I said, "Mom, when you wear that robe, you look like a spirit." "Hmmm," she said. She often gives very vague and indefinite answers, and talks of wandering and mundane things. Also she has been wearing sunglasses inside the house constantly because her eyes are all sensitive to light. And other people, like Jen E, wear sunglasses indoors because their eyes are high, and others, like my ex-ex-boyfriend, wear sunglasses indoors because it is cool, and hardcore.

Today when I came into work my boss Mahmoud wanted me to do many things at once and I said, "Mahmoud, am I a spirit, that I might do three things at once?" and he said, "Well, at least try." He is often very resolute.

And after he yelled at the stupid new guy Masoud many times, in scathing language (he is very good at ranting, and he does it a lot, in English and in Arabic, and it is quite a thing to behold), Masoud was born a new creature, and he was creepily hard-working and kept frantically sweeping and scrubbing everything down, and being endlessly helpful to me.

"Mahmoud, you put the fear of GOD into him!" I told my boss today. "You lit a FIRE under his ass!"

He thought that was funny and laughed, and he is not really a person given to laughter, but he likes the idea of putting the fear of God into people, because it makes him feel powerful. Also he is 45 and not married, and he is really tall and skinny with a disproportionately small head, and he is starting to go bald.

"In Mexico they say, he need a wife," said Armando, and shook his head.

But he has patriarchal attitudes in his heart, and that is probably partly why he is having trouble finding a wife. But all men hold patriarchal attitudes in their heart, to some extent. That is what I have learned.

Last night the ladle was missing, and Ramin suggested that Armando had taken it back to Mexico with him on the train, and we all laughed heartily. Because he lives in Tijuana, and just commutes on the trolley every day, and he showed me his bus pass and said, "This is my drivers' license," and laughed heartily, because he is a jolly soul.

Wow, I am really high, and have written a lot of words. Good Lord. And tomorrow I am off so I have set my alarm clock for 10:07am, so I can get up and smoke under the house while everybody else in my family is at church, and then chill out and sit on the balcony and listen to music and have a peaceful morning, because that is the one time of the week that I know they are all safely occupied at once, because the service starts at 10:00, and will last at least until noon. It is good when they are all worshipping the Lord so I can indulge in that which is most dear to me. Hahaha.

(no subject)

Tortoises often look proud, and imperious.

"Why are there markers everywhere?" asked Zohal (she is a Persian broad).
"Fatima was redoing the menu," I said, "in a new image." It sounded really biblical.

The owners were really pissed at the idiot new guy, Masoud, because he was lazy and had no grasp of common tasks. Also he has a big ass, and he always leans on the counter and sticks his ass out and drinks pepsi, and it really is not a great sight to see. Ingela and Mahmoud summoned me into the office to change my schedule, because Masoud was foolish and could not be trusted to handle money, or tea glasses.

"He cannot be left alone," Ingela said to me in a dire voice.
"Just work as if he is not here," said Mahmoud.
"Damn, that's harsh," I thought.

Also we were up in the office, and while Mahmoud was ranting I looked down through the tinted windows upon the store and restaurant, and I felt like God looking down upon Her creation.

Dude, I was in the back getting things when I saw Amina, this broad from Eritrea (in the frickin' horn of AFRICA), standing in the kitchen and making baba ghanouj (with eggplants and olive oil and shit) with this thing like a jackhammer, and I was held in great awe.
"Whoa, Amina," I said. "That's like a jackhammer!"
"Yes!" she said (her English is limited, and her voice is high like a bird, and she is a broad of great patience and good cheer, and is Muslim, and wears an elaborate headdress).

Dude, and today I had a mixed-broad discussion about haircare with this mixed-black-Muslim broad. It was weird because she was talking about her hair but I couldn't see it because it was in a headscarf, but it was probably similar to mine because we are of similar racial persuasions. And she told me to try this stuff called curly pudding, and I thought, "Whoa, that sounds good enough to eat." So I will try it, because it was a tip from a sista.

Also once I was watching this Wanda Sykes tv show (she is a voluptuous black comedienne) on Comedy Central (it was like a week before graduation), and it was CRAZY, and at one point she appeared onstage in gold paint in the middle of someone else's performance and yelled, "This is some BULL SHIT!" and in another episode she became a legal hooker in Nevada (but she didn't actually sleep with any men, she just got the job training and shit), and she sat at the bar with another hooker and said in a gleeful voice, "Girl, we HOS!" and laughed hysterically, and then this nasty-ass old white man actually picked her as his preferred companion, and he said, "Well I have two hundred dollars, what'll it get me?" and she said, "Motherfucker, I won't even LOOK at your dick for two hundred dollars!" and stormed out of the room with her gay male assistant freaking out, and they all fled from the ranch of prostitution, and it was all captured on film.

Anyways. My chronicles are always really discursive, because when I am high I have many thoughts, and they take a strange path and manner of expressing themselves, and it takes up many words. It is true.

Duude, I looked up that hair shit that the mixed broad told me she used, and I said, "Thirty-eight dollars? Oh HELL no, girl!"

Haha, a splendid emulsion.

Haha, not recommended for straight hair.

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The Yak

I just smoked outside under my front patio, and it was quite dark.
That is a great yak:

I am sure that it is kind to its peers, and brethren.

"This job can be a hazard," I said wisely to Wanda after she cut her finger in the deli. She is a 21-year-old Puerto Rican Muslim broad who is married with two very cute mixed boys who are TRILINGUAL, even though they are very young.

And then Wanda and I secretly discussed how Fatima and Ingela, our managers, are Afghani bitches who think that they rule the world. Actually Fatima kind of wants to get into a fight with me, just because she is a broad who does shit like that, and she probably thinks that I like to get in fights because I'm part black (because she once told me that if her sister wasn't related to her, she'd get a group of black girls to jump her). "Dude, I don't get into fights with people, because I'm a pacifist, and I hate all discord and warfare," I told Wanda in my stoner voice, but then I switched into my black alter ego. "But girl, if I DO fight her, I will kick her ASS," I continued, and I showed her my arm muscle, and she was impressed. "Girl, I've got your back," she said. Hahaha.

But our manager Sealay, who is Fatima and Ingela's cousin, is like a good sea-horse.

Haha, there was that one time on Tasty's 2nd birthday (it was the First of May) when I was really high, and I was standing in the kitchen amidst a great commotion (many people were gathered), when I saw Tasty and Motor having hetero sex on the floor, and Tasty was just lying on his back and yelling, "It's my birthday, it's my birthday!" and I was so horrified that I pointed and screamed and could not express myself with words, and Lauren snatched Motor off before anything worse could happen, and it was a great uproar, and a disturbing thing, and everybody FREAKED OUT.

"I know it's your birthday, but that doesn't give you the liberty to have sex with your sister," I said to Tasty a few days later when we were writing a paper in my room.
"Woman, I do what I want," he answered in a deep patriarchal voice. I was offended.

Today I came back from my break very high as usual, and it was all surreal because Michael Jackson's "Thriller" was playing in the background. "I like him," said Armando, and pointed upward to the sky (that is where the speakers are). Michael Jackson has taken a strange path in life with many really inexplicable turns. He and my mom and Madonna are all the same age.

Wow, that is all. I need to find more pictures of the yak, because it is a strange and kind animal, and it carries great loads and burdens.


Tonight when I came home from work, I found my mother sitting at the computer and wearing sunglasses, even though it was like 10 at night. "Mom, what are you doing?" I asked her, but she did not give me a very satisfactory answer. Actually, she very rarely gives satisfactory answers to questions.

My eyes are like drooping umbrellas.

In the Meat Department at work there are all these horrors, like whole fish with their eyes still on them, and bloody skinned goat's heads, so I try to avoid it. The two men who work there are jolly and voluptuous middle-aged Hispanic men, because those are qualities that befit a butcher (at least the jolly and voluptuous part).

Today Armando and Luis kept shaking their heads and saying, "Ohh, mucho trabajo," in lamentful voices, and it was true.

Haa, Ramin asked me, "So who's your favourite rapper?" and I said, "Whaaat?", and he was appalled that I did not listen to rap music, especially since I'm partially a black person. He said that if I listen to Ice Cube, it will change my life. He is from Afghanistan and he came here to the U.S. in 2001, and I was like, "Whoa, that's when we started bombing you guys," and he said, "No, that's when WE bombed YOU guys," and I said, "True, true." But I still cannot fathom that he is 17 and married and pot-headed and Muslim all at the same time. Also he secretly wears sandals to work without Mahmoud ever seeing his feet, which takes skill.

Dude, once online I saw this picture of all these elephants in Thailand who were dressed in special red and gold garb, and they were all sitting down in a field in front of this huge screen and they were watching an animated elephant movie with their keepers, who wore matching red and gold garb. It was crazy.
Also when elephants sit down for no reason, it apparently means that they are in great distress.

Dude, that is a crazy Siberian cat. Seriously.
I am trying to find out what kinds of animals they have in Siberia, besides Siberian tigers.
And that is all. Sage Out.

The Heat of the Day

Helloooo Children:
"In Baghdad there are a lot of blasts," I thought when I read the newspaper headlines this morning.

Dude, at work this guy Nabil (he is a close personal friend of the owner's, and he looks really crabby all the time, but it is just his demeanor; he is just a person of great gravity and dignity) was telling me about how he doesn't believe in Israel and how he is convinced that the Jews greatly exaggerated the Holocaust to get sympathy from the world so they could establish Israel, and also that the Jews are like the biggest terrorists ever, and I just listened gravely and when he was finished I said, "At my school, you'd get beat UP" (which is true. At Wash U they would kick his ASS), and he folded his hands and looked at me and said, "All this is true. It is the truth." and I did not know what to say to that so I just looked at him and went back to sweeping.

I use a lot of paper in my journey through life, I just realized, when I pulled all these random notes to myself from my purse. Usually they are thoughts that come to my head when I am high at work, so I quickly scribble them on the order pad and put them in my pocket to dwell upon them later.

At work this week it has been as hot as the fires of Hades, so Luis and Armando and I stand in front of the air-mover, which makes our aprons billow out like pilgrim skirts. When I get to work at 12:45 it is in the Heat of the Day, and my smoking spot is in direct sunlight (it is a small place of vegetation between the side of the building and the elevated trolley tracks). In the Old Testament they used to talk about the Heat of the Day. And then I emerge from the vegetation in a cloud of sweet Mexican smoke, and my eyes are red and jolly, and I put on my apron and go to work with a jolly spirit.

On Saturday it was horribly busy, and Luis and I were like innocent doves beset by wild wolves. "They are attacking us!" he said.

Dude, once at the Kissing Girls party, Betsy made her way through the house and let out Tasty in a drunken zeal, and all these excited broads were grabbing for Tasty and he was freaking OUT, so I picked him up and carried him through the great cloud of witnesses and put him back in Lauren and Janine's room. Also that was when there was physical discord between Lauren and Jen (but I did not see that, because I was probably smoking), and the next day I said to B-Scoot, "Girl, I heard your neck is tore UP." It is true.

Also, recently Saddam went on a hunger strike to protest the assassination of one of his lawyers, but he only skipped lunch, and then he was like, "Fuck this shit," and ate his evening meal as usual. Actually he loves junk food, like Doritos and Cheetos, and he also loves Raisin Bran Crunch, and he hates Froot Loops. It's true.

Once I was rummaging through the cupboards and I took out a box of Raisin Bran Crunch to see if it was vegan and my dad said, "That's Brother's favourite cereal" (Brother is my father's best friend, but he is not his brother, or even black for that matter), and I said, "It's also SADDAM'S favourite cereal," and my father did not know what to say to that.

When I was very young and religious (like 8), I used to get embarrassed spelling the word 'assassinate' because it had the word ASS in it TWICE.

Haha. This shit is crazy. I should troll the Internet for news and then go to bed. And it will be a peaceable rest.
Genesis 18:1 - And the LORD appeared unto him in the plains of Mamre: and he sat in the tent door in the heat of the day

haaa, I KNEW there were verses about the Heat of the Day

Turkish Delights

Well hellloooo.
Whoa, I found these sweet animals called vicunas, and they live in South America, and they are kind of like great llamas. Whoa, actually it is thought to be a wild cousin of the alpaca, and their longest hair is their chest hair. Thank the Lord that humans are not like that, at least most of us.
Today there was this old white guy who came into my work and he told me about how he was going to go into the desert (like JESUS in his temptation) for three days with all these other people just to look for wild bighorn sheep. They are monstrous and disapproving and have elaborately curved horns. I kind of want to meet one, and have a respectful encounter with it.

Last night Armando had nightmares about making falafel sandwiches, and it wrecked his slumber.

Yesterday this broad thought that my ethnicity was Pacific Islander, and I was like, "Whoa, what the fuck," especially because the day before, some broad at work thought my sister was of that very same heritage. People are foolish. They always think I am Muslim or Algerian or Egyptian or some shit, and I'm like, "No, fools, I'm just part REGULAR black." Haa, there was that one time when I was walking home from class down DeMun, and I ran into this middle-aged white Clayton broad who was out walking her foolish-ass dogs, and she said, "My I touch your hair?" and I was like, "Uh, okay," and then she stroked it reverently and smiled and kept saying, "Wow, it's almost Egyptian!"

There was this pregnant African broad who wanted nothing but lamb kabob meat, and fast. "Dude, you do not deny a pregnant woman, especially when she is wearing grapes on her necklace," I said to Luis, and it was true, because she had a cluster of little golden grapes on her necklace.

Dude, there are a lot of fucked-up things here. Like, I work with this 17-year-old Afghani boy named Ramin who is MARRIED, because Muslims sometimes do shit like that because apparently Muslims can't date, and they get married in high school even when nobody's knocked up, and it's crazy because he's also a pothead, and he uses the same weightless anti-frizz SERUM (that is a fun thing to say) on his hair that my sister and I do. Also he was impressed that I was able to work productively and profitably while high, and not fuck anything up. "That's some gangster shit," he said to me respectfully.

Last night this broad kept calling and asking, "Uh, do you have Turkish Delights?" and she was so obsessed with them, so finally I told her, "We have all the varieties of Turkish Delights that your heart desires," and my boss Mahmoud said, "That was a good answer." And then she came in and it was very true. Some people are just really obsessed with Turkish delights for no reason.

And for some reason a lot of the men here in San Diego like to wear their shirts buttoned down really low so you can see all their chest hair and shit, and it is really grotesque, and it disturbs me that they seem to think it is appropriate.

Haa, Sage out. I need to read William Blake's Songs of Experience while high, and look for undercurrents of dark sexuality to use for some future grad school paper (it is a main theme in the collection, but for some reason I was the first person to point that out, because I have a very prurient mind when reading literature I guess).

Whoa, now THAT is what a vicuna looks like. Now I want one.

Sista from Another VISTA

Today from afar I saw a large Middle Eastern family approaching the restaurant only an hour and a half before closing (and believe me, for a large Middle Eastern family that is NOT enough time), and I said, "Armando, LOOK!" and he looked up from chopping cucumbers and his face filled with terror and he said "Oh my God," and crossed himself and looked at the sky to the Blessed Virgin. But his prayers did us no good.

But otherwise he is a jolly Mexican man (he commutes from Tijuana every day, and shows me cellphone videos of his 3-year-old son Eduard), and later he stood at the grill singing, "Celebrate!" when he was making kabobs. Also today Armando and I stood behind the counter and ate freshly roasted eggplant with our hands, and it was wholesome and good.

Apparently if you're Muslim, it takes about 10 minutes to pray.

Duude, in Cambodia there is this 6-year-old boy and he has this 19-foot pet python, who came to live with the family when the boy was a baby and the python was only 20 inches long (apparently when you live in Cambodia, pythons just sometimes come and live with you for no reason, just because they feel like it, it's like they slither into your house and refuse to leave), and the boy says he loves the python like a sister (seriously), and the family feeds the python and bathes it and sometimes they even pray to it (the mother thinks it has brought good luck to the family), and there were all these pictures of the boy lying entwined in the python, or the boy riding the python as it glides regally through the household, or the boy giving the python a loving embrace. Seriously. I'm not making this shit up. Behold for yourself:

Whoa, sweet photographs.

Haaa, and on one website somebody from the Philippines commented, feed the snake regurlarly or else the snake will get the boy for snack.

But some animals are kind, and do not eat people, but we are cruel and do not return the favour, and we KILL them and then we're like, "Whoa, why did that bear kill us?" when obviously you cannot kill and then not BE killed at some point.
Haaa I was a ballistic vegan.

Also in South Carolina, there was this 6-foot alligator that somehow ended up standing on its hind legs at the front door of this nice upper-middle-class house and trying to ring the doorbell), and this guy took a picture of it. Seriously. It is fucked UP. Hell, if I heard someone ring my doorbell and came to the door and a 6-foot alligator was there, I would be like, "SHIIIIIIIIT!" and then I would slam the door as fast as I could, and lock it too. I would not have the presence of mind to take a picture.

I was explaining to Fatima how people think that Nada and I are the same. "Dude, we aren't even the same RACE," I said. "Yeah, she's a sista from another VISTA!" said Fatima. Haaa, I had never heard that expression before, but now I must use it when I have my black moments (and I will).

Wow. This is a long missive. That is because this morning before work I had no chance to refill my working stash from my main stash, and the main stash (the monstrous amount of Mexican Candy that I acquired) is wrapped in many layers of coverings and then doused in lotion so it is like a fragrant BOMB, and hidden in a particular place. So I was not able to work high today, but that was okay, because I renewed my spirit. And then I just smoked underneath our house (our house is built on a hill and we have this weird large space under the front patio) and watered my mother's hanging plant as well (She is out of town and I did not want to FAIL her), and the taste of weed after a whole day without was like a taste of sweet ambrosia, and it immediately fuelled this chronicle. I should roam the Internet and find bizarre news and animal photographs, and then shortly go to bed.
~High Sage

Whoa, another installation of the chronicle.

My sister and brother threatened to throw me a surprise party featuring only meat and board games, which are two things I truly hate.

"I have to go to the bathroom SO BAD," said Nada.
"Go," I said. "Don't soil yourself."

For some reason people think that Nada and I are the same person, or else that we are sisters, just because we are both broads with brownish skin and curly hair, even though she is 17 and I am almost 23, and also she wears monstrous hoop earrings every day and has braces and I do not, and also we're diffrerent ethnic persuasions (she is Latina and I am not). Today some broad was like, "Oh, I see your sister's working over in the market next door," and I was like, "Dude, she isn't my sister. We're different RACES," and the broad laughed (she was a hearty African broad, and had a yellow cab pick her and her groceries up from the grocery store).

"Go on your break, fool," I said to Nada when I returned from mine. "I cast you out of my heart."

Dude, if weed is ever legalized in my lifetime (which I doubt, but we can hope), I shall gather all my children and grandchildren and family members about me, and we would all smoke a bowl together, in peace, and harmony, and love.

"You have no excuse," this hearty Russian broad said into her phone, and it sounded threatening.

When I came into work after my pre-work smoke, the restaurant was very, very hot. "It isn't hot today; it's very breezy," said Mahmoud. But it was not true at all. "It ain't breezy back here, with all the flames and FIRES and shit!" I said angrily to Luis. He agreed.

When smoking out of my homemade pipe (it is made of two pen-caps), I accidentally got ash in my mouth and had to spit in the dirt. I felt bad because I do not usually spit on the ground. "Well, JESUS spit in the dirt," I told myself, and I felt better. It is true.

John 9
1. And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man which was blind from his birth.
2. And his disciples asked him, saying, Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?
3. Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him.
4. I must work the works of him that sent me, while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.
5. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.
6. When he had thus spoken, he spat on the ground, and made clay of the spittle, and he anointed the eyes of the blind man with the clay,
7. And said unto him, Go, wash in the pool of Siloam, (which is by interpretation, Sent.) He went his way therefore, and washed, and came seeing.

Dude, it's TRUE.

Woman, Behold Thy Son. Haaaaa.

Dude, I just smoked on the upstairs balcony, and it was crazy. It was the late-night smoke in my daily routine.

First from like 12:45-12:55pm I have my pre-work smoke, which starts the day off right and puts me in a splendid and generous humour to deal with asshole customers and crazy people, and a great zeal to do lots of work. Then there is my break smoke, which revivifies me and sustains me until we close at 9, and then there is the late-night smoke back at home, sometime between midnight and 4am. I am a true pothead it seems. It is a great and glorious cycle fuelled by Mexican goodness. And I am a cunning spirit. So my chronicles are high when they happen and high when I write them down as well. And that is how this whole operation works.

Luis was telling me about these special drinks they have in Mexico, with flavours like watermelon and cantaloupe and guava and tamarind and such. "When you drink it, you feel the fruit," he said very earnestly.
"Whoa," I said.

I stood behind the register and saw a Muslim broad and her son approaching the restaurant. "Woman, behold thy son," I thought in a creepy Biblical voice (it is from the gospel of John, where Jesus says to Mother Mary during the crucifixion, 'Woman, behold thy son,' and he drank vinegar and GALL from a sponge on a stick, and was naked, and then people wrote about the fact that he was naked, or didn't, and it appeared in the Middle English Religious Vernacular, and then the Sage came along and decided to write whole papers on representations of the crucified Christ's nakedness, and her father was kind of horrified).

Duuude, today at work there was this older Italian guy who talked really really fast like an auctioneer, and he tried to tell me about how I should convert to this fucked-up sect of Messianic Judaism (and I thought, "Uhhh, but I'm black") and he told me about the First Fruits of Zion, and I was like, "Whoa, this is fucked UP." But I was really high, and had nothing better to do, so I listened while he shared his beliefs and said, "Whoa," and thought over and over, "This shit is fucked UP."

Like, he mentioned the terrorists, and the early church, and the Emperor Constantine, and the various gospels, and he gave me this handout which I put in my pocket so I could laugh at it later (which I have done, believe ME). And then his to-go order was ready, and he left, and I told Armando about it, and Armando shook his head and said something in Spanish.
Sometimes Armando wears flared black jeans.

Actually my bosses are devout Muslims and they pray five times a day and sometimes when I am high I ask them questions about their various rituals. Like, Mazen and Mahmoud and Kamal go to this nearby mosque on Fridays after lunch to pray, and and they all remove their shoes and line up in tight rows and fall down to prostrate themselves all at once (which is actually kind of creepy to watch on tv), but they don't bring their own prayer rugs like they do in some countries, because the carpet is immaculate and gets shampooed every day. It is true.
I was like, "Fatima, where are Mazen and Mahmoud and Kamal?" (because I thought they had just gone up to the office to take naps or something, because they have all these private beds and shit upstairs)
Fatima said, "Prayers," with her mouth full.
"PRAYERS?" I said, "What prayers?" And then she edified me.

Dude, like a month ago before I started working at VineRipe when I was still looking for a summer job, I was applying at Target, and the computerized application said, "Target prides itself on being a Drug-Free Workplace. Upon hiring, your employment is contingent upon passing an initial drug test," and I was like, "Oh HELL NO, MOTHERFUCKERS," and I got up and walked out without finishing the application. I am not going to spend a summer in Southern California without reaping the fruits of its glory. That is outrageous.

Wow, this shit is crazy. I have to roam the Internet and find bizarre pictures of things, and provide commentary on the news. It is a good high pastime.

John 19:16-27: When Jesus therefor saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, "Woman, behold thy son!" Then saith he to the disciple, "Behold thy mother!" And from that hour that disciple took her unto his own home.

HAAAAAAAAA, that was your Bible verse of the day.

The Tigris, and the Euphrates

After smoking, I waved my wife-helper above my head like a rally towel to disperse the smoke. "Let the various airs flow through the household," I said in a creepy voice.

At work, Nada and I were talking about this broad Fatima who is a biotch. "You know what we have to do? " I said in my stoner voice.
"We should choke her," Nada said firmly.
"Whoa," I said. "Not all this violence."

"Mahmoud," I said to my boss, "have you ever seen the Tigris, or the Euphrates?"
"Yes," he said, "and they are the most beautiful rivers." I was impressed.

Lately when I am high I like to look at sweet pictures of ostriches and tortoises. Does it hurt worse to push a child through your vag, like mammals, or to push a huge-ass egg through your vag, like ostriches? I am curious.

Tortoises often look proud or wise or horribly pissed off, and are usually vegans as well. They have funny expressions.

Whoa, on this fucked-up Japanese website I found a photo of this small live turtle sitting on this terrified rabbit's head. Sometimes the Japanese do bizarre things with the animals they keep as pets (it's true. I am not making a racist and uninformed generalizations), and they are often subject to strange social disorders and have a really low birthrate and a patriarchal culture.

Also in the news there was this really old broad tortoise named Harriet who just died (she was 176), but she was not as old as that turtle to whom there is a tribute on Greg and Tristan's wall.

HAAAAAAAA. I also attached the funniest picture ever. It is a komodo dragon lying on the ground and it looks like it is dead. I have been looking at it and laughing for a long, long time, because I enjoy pictures of bizarre animal things, but not animal porn or bestiality (that is your realm, B-Scoot).

I am high and tired and want to go to bed.

Whoa, the Seas of David

I couldn't find my towel and decided to use my sister's towel to dry my face.
"Self, your sister's butt has been on that towel," I thought as I was using it, but I willfully ignored that thought and dried my face anyways.

Whoa, I just looked at a sweet map of Asia, and discovered that Iran is the large and ancient filling between the warlike sandwich of Iraq and Afghanistan.
Whoa, check it out.

Ostriches often look really outraged. They are very proud, and curious, and territorial. If I ever go to Africa and reconnect with my original black roots (haaa, and wear brightly coloured kinte cloth, and a huge natural fro, and change my name to Lateefah X because my name is my slave name), I must see the ostriches there as well, but not get too close and piss them off. They also have really extravagant eyelashes, and love to prance and show off their legs.

Well, some terrorists have children.

Haaa, in our neighbourhood there is this place called Temple Emmanu-El where the whole community has meetings, and I want to sneak in there and stir up religious discord.
Whoa, on this tv show that my brother and I are watching, a white man climbed inside a huge microwave and then a black man climbed out. It was fucked UP.

"I don't give a shit, I just sit here and eat baklava," my co-worker Nada said defiantly.
"You do that, girl," I said in my black-woman voice.

Whoa, did you see how all these Black Muslim guys got arrested for trying to wage a jihad upon the Sears Tower, which is NO GOOD since the Sage is moving to Chicago in a couple of months and doesn't want to be attacked by no terrorists.

Batiste told the informant he was organizing an Islamic army to wage a jihad in the United States, the indictment says.A man who identified himself as "Brother Corey" said five of the men arrested in Miami were his "brothers," members of a religious group he identified as the "Seas of David." Brother Corey said the group has "soldiers in Chicago," but was peaceful and not associated with any terrorist organizations. He said he used the term soldiers because they were soldiers of God. Whoa, the Seas of David. That is fucked UP.

There are all these Black Muslims and Regular Muslims and all manner of souls who come into my workplace, and today there was this skinny African guy wearing a flowing white robe with a HOOD, but then he also had a cellphone earpiece attached to his ear. And today my boss Mahmoud was ranting in Arabic (actually I think he was ranting about the Black Muslim terrorist attacks, because things like that always incite a reaction in him), and his companions all kept yelling, "True, true!" and it was like a scene from a rap.

Sage Out.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Whoa, the Horn of Africa

Whoa. I am quite high.

Yesterday Armando and I were like slaves during the Cold War. And then when our owners were finally out of sight, we aired our grievances so passionately that this one really pleasant and devout guy named Edgar who comes every day looked up from his Koran (he is of the African-American persuasion but wears a black Muslim cap and a suit and black sunglasses, and he likes to edify himself while he eats by reading the Koran, or other edifying and religious books).

My manager Selay decided she didn't want her grilled salmon fillet after all, and threw it into the trash. Armando looked horrified and protestful, because it was a waste of food for no reason. "Gurrrl, you just wasted a fish," I said to her.

"I have brought a cart full of great goods," I said to Mahmoud when I returned from my break and smoke, and he smiled at me. Sometimes he is a mystical Arab boss. Also he hates Homeland Security and the IRS because they like to make things difficult for him.

My co-worker Amina is, like, from the Horn of Africa.

There was this evil cat named Lewis on the news who was put under permanent house arrest because he liked to lurk about in the neighbourhood and attack people, and he had six long, curved claws on each paw, and he was full of cunning, and guile. If he gets out, the broad who owns him will be thrown into JAIL.

Upstairs at work, in this big warehouse room where they keep the styrofoam cups and containers and napkins and such, there are all these full-body fruit and vegetable costumes, like a tomato and a carrot and others, and I was afraid they would make me stand on the street corner and wear them while waving my arms, but fortunately Mazen is the only one who ever wears them, because he has no sense of shame, and also has a foolish cellphone ring.

Apparently in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, people weren't supposed to smile and show their teeth in portraits, because it was beastlike. Haaaa.

Most of the broads here are big hoochie mamas, and they like to sit out in the sun all day and get all crispy.

Various Matters

Haha. You guys are probably all like, "Whoa, another part of the chronicle? Already? The Sage must be a true pothead." And of course that is nothing you did not already know.

Today I smoked on my break and then brought a cart full of bottled drinks to replenish my drink cooler when I came back. Mahmoud and Luis seemed to have had a disagreement in my absence, and it had made them crabby. "Look," I said, "Can't we all just be pleased that I have brought a lot of great drinks?" And the discord was eased.

Yesterday Armando worked so hard that his nose bled. It is true.

When the lights are off in the grocery store next to the restaurant where I work, it looks like the devil's palace.

The other night on television there was this patriarchal Miller Lite commercial where a bunch of generic masculine white men sit around and talk about Man Laws, and I held up my finger and said, "This is hegemonic masculinity!" and my father, who was sitting in the rocking chair, just looked at me and said, "Daughter, sometimes I wonder what WashU DID to you."

Also yesterday he turned 49, and my mother made him a Birthday Pie a day late.

Also the other day I was high and watching Cops with my little brother, and a segment featuturing the Pittsburgh Police Department was introduced, and I howled, "PITTSBURGH?" and my brother said, "THIS should be interesting," because since we are from Cleveland we love to make fun of Pittsburgh people, and scoff at the foolish things that they do (and there are many).

For example, when the Pittsburgh Steelers' quarterback Ben Roethlisberger crashed his motorcycle a week ago (he is kind of voluptuous) and was rushed to the hospital for a 7-hour facial surgery, these two middle-aged broads dressed all in black and gold took up a vigil outside the hospital with a mini-grill, and they vowed that they would not leave until Big Ben was released, and THAT did not happen until three days later.

Those are the kinds of foolish things that Pittsburgh people do. Also their fans get into fights each other on the side of the road for no reason, and they have no sense of shame, and they eat a lot of hoagies and pierogies and other foods that make them voluptuous and belligerent.

At work there is this broad named Fatima who is half Middle Eastern and half of the African-American persuasion, but she is very dark so we call her Black Fatima (becuase there is another Fatima who is all Middle Eastern, and we don't like to get confused). Black Fatima came to the grill to get something to eat, and the owner's daughter Sara (she is 5 and a delightful child) looked at me and at Black Fatima and said, "Are you two sisters?" and Black Fatima said, "That's a racial comment, girl," and it was a moment of racial comedy.

Also Fatima's last name used to be McAbee, but then this past year her father got all hardcore and changed his last name to Mumar-Abdul, so now Fatima and all her sisters have to change their last names too, because that is the patriarchal society that we live in.

When I was really little I thought the name Fatima was really funny because it began with FAT.

And that is all.

Whoa, Sweet Nutriment.

Whoa, guys. This is another high email courtesy of our fine neighbours south of the border. Today on my break at work I smoked and then I decided to replenish the drink cooler. I saw this empty shopping cart sitting in front of the store and said to myself, "I shall seize upon that cart," but then I saw that this really old broad was walking toward it to fill it with eggplants so I thought, "Whoa, never mind." Then I ventured into the walk-in cooler and filled my cart with beverages. "You have to share my beverage cart," I told the Kassaty Fruitastics (they are, like, Arabic) when I put them in the cart with the Aquafinas.

Then I came back from my break and there was this family of the Asian persuasion who was very angry with my co-worker Fatima because she had taken their order wrong, but then their rage fuelled their appetites because they ate this huge dinner in like 5 minutes and left. It was crazy.

Yesterday I went into my backyard to smoke and check out these berries, because I had seen them from the upstairs balcony and I thought, "Whoa, those berries look good to eat," and it ended up that they were delicious blackberries, and I picked several and said, "Whoa, sweet nutriment" (Shelley says that a lot in Prometheus Unbound, and he kind of pissed me OFF near the end of the school year, so I started referring to him spitefully as Percy Bitch Shelley instead of Percy Bysshe Shelley), and ate them. Then the backyard gate had slammed behind me so I had to climb up this ivy-covered hill on my hands and knees (our backyard is this really fucked-up steep hill with all this vegetation growing all over it.

Once I saw my mom slip and fall down the hill because she was wearing foolish impractical shoes, and I said, "Whoa, I think I'll stay here on the patio and not follow you"), and finally when I reached the top I parted the foliage and burst through, and I felt like an explorer in the New World, and I was very high, so I went inside and told my brother what had just happened.
Hahaha that was a portion of the summer chronicle. Peace out.

Whoa, it's a High Email from the Sage, and your very own part of the Chronicle.

Hey guys, I'm really high, and this is a continuation of my chronicle, except it's typed instead of hand-written, because I can type faster than I can write, which allows the thoughts to flow more freely, and also it's a lot more legible, and also I'm typing because I CAN, because my father is not home (and my mother wouldn't recognize a high person if they bit her in the ASS).

"I must continue my scroll," I thought when I was in the shower after I had smoked some imported Mexican kindness from South of the Border (this shit was PRIME, and here in San Diego they sell it in 20's instead of eighths [because a twenty apparently is twenty dollars' worth, which is roughly the same amount as between an eighth and a quarter in the Midwest, but it's sold by those of the Latino persuasion so they don't necessarily use the U.S. measuring system], and also it is just plentiful like that here, because it comes from our Southern Neighbours, and its quality is prime to boot. In fact, it is Mexican hospitality at its finest).

Also it was so CHEAP because I got like over 2 oz for $90, and that is because it comes right from Tijuana, and this broad Zarema was trying to unload it because she had like half a pound and she was like, "Shit, I don't sling this shit, this is from some kid who wants me to unload it" (because sometimes she goes to Tijuana and gets it herself, and other times other people get it and she acquires it from them). It is a plentiful system.

Also there are mystical brown fish on our bathroom wallpaper, and I stood in the bathroom with the door closed and stared at them, and their scales gleamed in the light (seriously).

Things that I Abhor and Find Very Creepy:
- full-sized poodles
- ventriloquists, especially religious ones
- anyone on stilts, especially those patriotic Uncle Sam figures who walk around on stilts at
Fourth of July festivities

Today at work this guy Armando kept having to taste the taziki sauce, because it is his job to taste it right after Amina makes it and to judge whether or not it tastes right, but today each time he tried it, it still didn't taste right, even though Amina kept adding more cumbers or lemon juice or spices or yogurt to it, and finally after having to eat like 10 huge spoonfuls of it in a row he felt horribly ill and alarmed that it was the yogurt itself that was not right (as in SPOILED and GONE BAD), and not the flavourings at all.

And then later I saw him run to the trash can and almost throw up, but he didn't. "Whoa," I thought. "Armando's all ill. I guess that WAS some bad yogurt." And then we all believed along with him that the yogurt in the taziki sauce was bad, and we threw the batch away, and were not sorry.

Also all the men at work were all giddy today for no explainable reason, and the owner (who is a tall and skinny and slightly balding 45-year-old Jordanian man with a small head) was singing along to the background music in this high accented lady-voice, "And you'll break my heart, like I know you will..." and I just looked at him, because usually he is very dignified and kind of crabby, and I was not quite sure what to do, so I just kept putting away the dishes and tried to look like I had not heard that.

Then later I told Armando whad I had witnessed, and he kept looking at me in a confused and skeptical way and saying, "Mahmoud? You mean Mahmoud did that?" (because sometimes we miscommunicate and have to reiterate or clarify things because he is still working on his English, and I do not really know any Spanish except for PISO MOJADO and OYE [thanks to Janine]), and I kept assuring him that it was true, and finally he shook his head and said, "Maybe he sick. Everyone CRAZY today." Also the men (and they have names like Luis and Rameen and Kamal and Mazen) kept laughing hysterically and chattering very fast in Spanish or Arabic, and doing joyful cultural dances and singing joyful cultural songs. It was perplexing, and Armando and I did not know what to make of it. And he kept shaking his head because he still felt ill.

Whoa. That was a really long email. I apologize if it does not make any sense. That is because, as I mentioned earlier, I am quite high on renowned Mexican goodness, and until last night I had not smoked since May 18th, and it is quite great.

Oh, broads.

Oh, kids, how I miss you. Life with the Religious Right again is quite a change. And I have not smoked any of That Which I Love Most Dear since the night before graduation, and that makes me very, very sad. Hrmf.

BUT I just started working at this Middle Eastern restaurant this past week, and there are a lot of guys from Mexico who work there too who may have connections, so maybe after I've been there a little longer I can discreetly inquire to see if they know how I can acquire some (wow, that sounded really racist, as if I think that all Latinos are drug dealers, which is not the case at all). But this IS San Diego, and Mexico is just across the border, so I KNOW that there is lots of good weed floating around and that I am missing it, which vexes me to no end. Actually I am the only person who works at the restaurant who was born in the United States. It is a good and diverse fellowship, and I am learning words of Arabic and Spanish every day.

Haha, from the other room, the lady on the news just said, 'Federal agents found THIRTEEN THOUSAND plants, all believed to be marijuana, and they destroyed them,' and I just wanted to yell out, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Oh how it grieves me whenever marijuana is seized by the authorities, because you know they'll just destroy it and WASTE it, and it is grievous loss.

Yesterday after my shower I gasped when I saw blood on the towel. "BAD uterus!" I hissed. "But I like to BLEED!" I made it say in an impudent uterus-voice.

My sister and I were complaining about how all the broads here in San Diego wear nothing but capris with high heels. People are foolish.
"Once at work they made us wear capris and heels," said my sister.
"What?" I said.
"It was a Mexican banquet," she said, as if that explained it.

Also this summer I was surprised to find that, while I have freakish purplish black-person nipples, my sister has tiny pink white-person nipples. Who knew. And sometimes, before dinner, our family joins hands and sings a rousing chorus of 'Ebony and Ivory,' because it is our family theme song (haaaaaaaaaaaa, I lied).

Anyways. Hope everyone is having a good summer. Jen, tell Tasty that I miss mingling my soul with his in sweet communion. Sometimes we would lounge on my bed and share soy ice cream from the same spoon (he loves vanilla Tofutti). Also, I wanted to buy a couple of Melissa Ferrick albums; do you guys have any suggestions on which ones are the best?