4 posts tagged “animals”

Hollis Gillespie is killer because she makes you feel impervious to the sadness of the world by writing essays that make you LAUGH.  You get this false sense of safety, everything in this story will turn out okay, this bitch is too crazy to let me down. 

If she never jabbed the knife in that'd be the let down.

Excerpt:  (why am I doing this to myself?)

"Tom told me how he had lost his former job as a chauffer in Atlantic City because he stopped the limo on the freway to save a dog struck by a car, stuffing the injured animal into the front seat and ignoring the irate complaints of the paying passenger in the back as he detoured to the animal hospital.  "He was just lying there on the emergency lane with his legs broken but sitting up, you know, watching the cars pass,"  Tom recalled of the dog.  "Every time a car went by it would ruffle the fur on his coat."

As we belted more margaritas he kept talking about the dog. Stupidly, I thought he regretted losing his job as a driver.  But I should have seen the signs.  I should have seen Tom's eyes--big, spaniel eyes rounded in regret--and his hands, cupping and uncupping his margarita glass in painful reminiscence.  "hey," I said nervously when I saw the tears start to well up in his eyes.  "Hey, Tom.  So you lost your crappy job carting people around, so what?"

Then he told me the truth.  He hadn't saved the dog after all.  As his limo passed the animal on the road, the wind ruffled the fur on it's coat.  He'd hated himself ever since, hated himself for not even slowing down as the dog looked up hopefully.  Sometimes, though, Tom would rewrite history and see himself stopping the car laying the injured animal in the front seat, oblivious to the bitching from the passenger in the back.  But Tom was incapable of maintaining this fake recollection, and after enough margaritas the truth would return.  "I should have stopped," he said softly, then his big eyes began to leak."

I haven't stopped thinking of this since I read it.  It reminded me of something so awful I don't have the guts to write it down, even now.

I love Tom because at least he knew he should've stopped, and next time I know he will stop.  But most people-  most people wouldn't give it much thought after they kept on going. 

People think I'm insufferable because I don't accept excuses or flimsy reasoning.  When they're looking for someone to comfort them because of the shitty things they've done, I won't do it.  And I don't allow myself that reprieve either. 

CONVENIENCE.  That's all it's about.  People don't want someone else's blood dripping around on the clean surface of whatever facade they've built.  They don't want to DEAL with it, pull over, spend money, extend themselves any further than absolutely necessary to get by.  This kind of living will render someone utterly unforgettable.  Why bother sucking air at all?  Passing hours and years eat everything we create.  The only things that last are memories and the dents we make in other lives.  What's a hundred bucks or a late arrival to an appointment compared to the gratitude a needy person or a dying animal would show you if you just stopped and helped?  What's a few bags of cat food, the minor inconvenience of fostering a homeless or lost animal for a couple of months if you could help it and give the gift of warmth and love to somebody else as a payoff?

How could anyone ignore a starving or bleeding animal?  A PERSON?

Demented bliss

The other day on my way to Off the Record I momentarily entertained the idea of seeing if the Mad Love soundtrack was still in print or if I could find any Magnapop in the used section.  I swear I did.  Of course, there was nothing in the used, but as I was perusing the stacks of 99 cent blowout CDs that nobody ever wants, I found Rubbing Doesn't Help by Magnapop.  WHAT!  I have psychic abilities.  I amaze myself.

My friend Matt travels all around the midwest and the east coast checking out historical sites and ghost hunting.  He's like a traveling man of leisure who indulges in urban legends and ghost stories.  I love his life.  I wish I had the money to do that.  I should work on that.

My favorite story of the week (so far)

Dog Tries to Save Other Dog Hit by Car
AP
posted: 5 HOURS 37 MINUTES AGO
comments: 235
filed under: Animal News
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SANTIAGO, Chile (Dec. 8) - Chileans have a new hero: an apparently homeless dog that pulled the body of another dog through traffic off a busy highway. A surveillance camera on a Santiago freeway captured images of a dog trotting past speeding cars to pull the lifeless body of the other canine, which had been run over by a vehicle, away from traffic and onto the median strip.

The scene was broadcast by Chilean television stations and then posted on Web sites such as YouTube. com, and hundreds of thousands of people had viewed versions of it by Monday.

Highway crews removed both the dead and live dogs from the median strip of the Vespucio Norte Highway shortly after the Dec. 4 incident. But the rescuer dog ran away.

Authorities say images of the rescue prompted some people to call and offer to adopt the dog, but neither highway workers nor a television crew could find they animal.

http://news. aol. com/article/dog-tries-to-save-other-dog-hit-by-car/271359

I've been reading this book by Medium George Anderson.  He says that animals are the closest things to God here on earth.

I love to scare myself and give others a million things to contemplate.  I love passing along or disproving urban legends, depending on my mood, and I like to give almost religious meaning to the everyday tasks we go about as members of modern society because I believe in the importance of RITUAL and observing SUPERSTITION.  It's easy to fizzle away into this ordinary meaningless existence when not paying attention, and I believe that a healthy fear/respect of the unknown is the first step to prevent becoming at least totally jaded or having some real existential issues. 

On urban legends:  I am a SUCKER for these.  I love love love the depth they give to the boring landscape of suburbia or the North American countryside.  I love them as fables used to scare little kids into being good, I love them as preludes to hot make-out sessions all over the nation.  Sometimes, though.  Ugh.  Sometimes I research one that I end up having something AGAINST.  Here's one. 

URBAN LEGEND:  A rooster lived for 18 months with it's head chopped off.

TRUE.

Strange but true. A farmer from Fruita, Colo., thought he was just putting dinner on the table when he picked up an axe and beheaded one of his chickens. What happened next became the stuff of legend: The headless rooster bobbed and weaved back to the henhouse and lived for 18 more months.

The animal, later dubbed Mike and celebrated with a festival, Web sites and various magazine articles, survived because the blade missed his jugular vein and a clot prevented him from bleeding to death. The axe blow landed high enough that most of the chicken's brain stem and one ear remained intact. Mike was fed and watered by inserting an eyedropper directly into his gullet. Sadly, he later choked to death in a motel room.

Residents of Fruita remember Mike as "a big fat chicken who didn't know he didn't have a head."

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little for a couple reasons.  Once, I fell in love with a cat at the Tacoma Humane Society with three legs.  Somethin' just ain't right about a recently-made Tripod kitty hobbling around and falling on his little face, but I loved him anyway.  He was born that way.  It's hard to compare a missing LEG with a missing HEAD, however-  Kitty was not purposely rendered a tripod.  Uh, not to my knowledge.  Rooster, though...oh, Rooster.  You were nothing but an intended victim of homicide, or, poultricide, okay, you were an intended meal for some farmer's tummy.  Someone came at your neck with an axe.  Now you're headless.  But instead of a meal, you are a pet.  The same people who wanted to kill you and eat you are now parading you around like you're the Queen of England.  Not because you're a cute animal with some personality, but because you're a decapitated rooster-freak.  They made money from your humiliation, pain, and exploitation.  And there is not a right angle in that. 

Peace out, little rooster.  You deserved someone who'd pet you feathers when you had a FACE.  Or, at least, a merciful death.

A million things:

First, hi.  Which is funny because the whole reason I made a new Vox is because the amount of hits on my MySpace blog was getting creepy.  So hardly anyone knows I have this.  And I kinda missed it here.

Also, my heart really hurts right now reading about Gustav and the people who have died.  Sometimes I feel guilty because I'm actually alright.  Why doesn't a tree fall on ME and kill ME?  It isn't fair.

Then, there's a stray kitty I look after.  She's mangy and there is something wrong with her, but I just love her and want her really bad :(  I made a little shelter for her out of a covered litter box, I put a blanket inside and hope she'll go in there for shade or to keep warm but I don't know.  Someone eats the food I leave out.  I hope it's her.  She runs away from me.  Fireworks exploded outside awhile ago and the first thing I thought of was how I hoped poor kitty wasn't too afraid.

I was recently introduced to Haruki Murakami.  I read a book review and was like, okay.  I have to get this for someone right now.  And since then I've been reading excerpts here and there from various works, and I'm fucking sprung on this.  When I read this:

"Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who's in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It's like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven't seen in a long time. It's only a natural feeling."

I thought, I'm not losing my mind.  I'm not losing it after all.  Because I've felt that way since 250 B.C. and feeling sad when you should be crazy/ecstatic in love or on your way kind of takes your gravity away.  But, somehow.

As I read on, I found several more quotes relating to death that had the effect of a prescription-available-only-in-mexico muscle relaxer on me because okay.  Because.  Ugh.  Society tries to tell us that it's okay to die.  Life insurance, burial plans, elaborate funerals doubling as family reunions.  But because it's natural and inevitable, does that make it okay?  Does it really?  It's natural and inevitable that psychos who go on murder sprees will be born and inflict their horror on makind, but does that make it alright?  All I'm saying is that I'm not okay with it.  And I'm tired of people trying to make me believe that it's fine.

"I can't understand nothingness. I can't understand it and I can't imagine it."

"I know I should buy my own suit, but somehow I never get around to it. I feel as though if I buy funeral clothes I'm saying that it's OK if somebody dies."

"Losing my mother was a real shock to [my father]. I mean, it made him a little cuckoo. That's how much he loved her. Really."

"So that's how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that's stolen from us - that's snatched right out of our hands - even if we are left completely changed people with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness."

I want a brand of love that only the brave and the slightly off-kilter ever manage to grasp.  I want to live forever.  I never knew it'd be such a huge fucking deal.  And if I can't have immortality, then I at least want that love.  I will negotiate with death after that.

<3r