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September 19, 2006
The Uncertain Past, the Future
Ah diary. Shall I tell you how I feel? I think not. Words seem to make things real, and I don’t want you to think I’m crazy, diary. The whole aim of this stupid diary is so I can look back at it when I’m old and crazy, and remember that I wasn’t crazy, once. At this rate I’ll be so nuts when I’m old that I probably WILL think this was sane, but anyway. I should stop. I don’t want to encourage my older self to read this and suddenly think it's okay to leap onto a brown square tabletop in the old person’s home and declare loudly that everyone should learn to dance dammit or just die, throwing my pills in the air. ‘See,’ I say, pointing at this very entry in my diary. ‘I’ve ALWAYS been insane – it’s just that when I grew old I got forgetful, like all old people. I forgot I needed to cover it up all the time. SHAZAAM!’
Sigh.
Who am I kidding? I won’t read this when I’m old. I won’t know how to work the internet anymore. There won’t even be an internet, it’ll be way outdated. There’ll be like ... I don’t know, I can’t even imagine. To see it now would probably be like trying to explain air traffic control to a pterodactyl. (My first instinct was to liken it to showing a mobile phone to a caveman, but that’s just easy. Just live as a God in their tribe and occasionally show them the colourfully flashing buttons. Tell them ‘great thunder if no bring virgins tonight’.)
Sorry, I meant caveperson. These are some politically correct times we live in, after all. Somehow it seems to make it easier for people to commit great evil when they’re able to use nice names and smile while they do it. Hey, old words do it too, I shouldn’t discriminate. ‘Peace’ is an old word.
Why is it so scary, as a child, when parents fight? I think because they use each other’s names. Yes it’s scary because there’s shouting and discord, but also when people are angry they tend to use each other’s names – certainly not ‘mum’ and ‘dad’. As a child that’s suddenly a relationship you don't understand, you're not part of. It’s like people that you love have been deported to a parallel universe, where round is up and cheese grows on the roof. Imagine that!
Squeakfeather would be up on the damn roof all the time, let me tell you.
But scary to imagine that, as a child.
BUT at least you realise something is going on. Something is going DOWN.
Political correctness is like calling things ‘mum’ and ‘dad’ so the dear sweet little children don’t get upset.
FIGHT, I scream from the tabletop, aiming phenylhydroxide at a nurse’s head. FIGHT IT YOU FOOLS!
‘Crazy old man’, everybody laughs.
Posted by Sam Bowring at September 19, 2006 12:58 AM