1.18.2009

Freedom Flock

In my Wikipedia rabbit-trail travels, I have found that history is full of misquotes. Whether or not this is a disquiet, I do not know.

All I know is that the All-Nighter was incredibly fun, caffeine-free green tea is nasty, and working hard after a sleepless night is not recommended for your health.

Ahem.

So there I was, standing at the bottom of a make-shift ramp at the bottom of church stairs, freezing cold, falling asleep, and fighting back biting remarks.

[FLASHBACK]

Of course I push boxes like a girl! Have you take a good look at me lately? Is something unclear to you? YOU try pushing boxes all by your LONESOME in sub zero weather, then we'll talk. And--and--the point of pushing boxes of food up ramps is for them to make it safely up the stairs, not for them to slam against the wall, breaking any eggs that might be in there.

[END FLASHBACK]

[Pause while the Eldest composes herself]

Good grief.

There really is nothing to say, but I could ramble.

Ramble, ramble, rant.

Can't rant. Rant...rent!

RENT! Rent due, due date, Date Movie, movie theatre...

Theatre...

Theatre...theatrics!

Hysterics.

That's hysterical!

Hysterical...

[stumped]

...

I love nonsensical answers.

For example:
What is the meaning of life?
-Yes.

And
Is it possible to get through the Impossible Quiz without frustration?
-No.

I love the snow. But I especially love LOTS of snow. Truckloads!

*sniggers*

Heh, heh...Trucks.

Anyway. There are things I love
more, but snow is just...amazing. Just like making up nicknames for people that
only make sense to yourself.

Colors are another love. Teal, yellow, lime, Bering Sea blue, Slate grey...
I think the world is full of love. Sure, it's not the ideal, I-love-you-and-you-love-me-so-let's-lay-down-our-weapons-and-hug-a-tree sort of love, but it's there.

Some love their jobs. Some love their jobs more than anything. I'd say that's a form of love.

Others love themselves, so much so that they supply themselves with oppulent houses and the best food and pleasurse of the exotic kind.

Oh yeah. The world is full of love. Chalk-full.

They love freedom, regardless of its lofty cost.

Freedom to ignore murder. Freedom to sustain ignorance. Freedom to shroud bigotry while claiming complete tolerance. Freedom to feel as much as possible, regardless of anyone else.

Freedom to do what they want.

Freedom of idolatry. Freedom of adultery. Freedom of blatant rebellion. Freedom to celebrate distorting that which should be sacred, precious.

Freedom to laud stupidity and pooh-pooh anything that pinches what's left of their conscience.

Bleh.

Freedom's not all it's cracked up to be.

Paul and Silas bound in jail
With no money to forgo their bail,
Keep your eye on the prize,
And hold on, hold on.

Hold on, hold on,
Keep your eye on the prize,
And hold on...

If religion was a thing
That money could buy,
The rich would live and
The poor would die.
Keep your eye on the prize,
And hold on, hold on...

One and one,
That makes two,
Tell you what I'm-ma gonna do:
Keep my eye on the prize
And hold on, hold on...

Know the one thing we did wrong,
Stayed in the wilderness far too long,
Know the first thing we did right,
Was the day we started to fight.

Keep your eye on the prize and hold on, hold on...


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