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Rob Zombie's
sue me.

Sunday, Oct. 13, 2002
sunday, october 13 - yeah. so.... uuhhh, hmm.

I cried a little bit this morning after I heard over the radio that Ambrose had died. Notsomuch for him as for myself, and the rest of us who have to get along without him. I've seen him on several television programs; I've only read one of his books. I only cried just a little bit because he's the sort of people our world needs more than ever. I cried a little bit more because I needed to. It's just one of those things that needs to be done once in a while. If not for making tear tea, crying is just good excercise for the soul. It's the very rawest form of human expression, unprocessed, unmanagable, honest, therapeutic. I think that's why crying makes so many people uncomfortable; their own and others'. It isn't language. It isn't thought. It's a free-flowing purge, uncontainable, unidentifyable. Undenyable. It's most personal nature makes it unrelatable.

It is a good thing.


I don't know about you, but I'm not sure this whole diary thing is as interesting as I thought it was. not yet, anyway. Or maybe it's just that I'm not making my point plain enough for easy digestion. Alex and Jane have both told me that I ought to publish, which is a huge complement. I get their meaning, but everything happens in due time. To show that I really appreciate their encouragement, I should write something - unrelated to my personal life - for publishing. Because I could. This diary might prove interesting by the time I'm in my seventies, when the full course of one American life can be traced through a complete series. I'll keep that goal in mind for the long term. But for right now, I just feel like I'm sitting in the middle of a car crash as traffic crawls by.

Just when I had begun to feel satisfied that I'm developing a technique to relate the process of thought, the evolution of perspective, I realize that maybe my style is too subtle (yeah, yeah, I'm also not yet as developed as my intentions demand). Car crash...? Anyone...? Beuler...? Accepting unquestioningly life's little episodes for face value is a very safe, secure, comfortable excuse for living. Why would anyone want to substitute that for living? I don't distinguish myself completely; I've never taken on wild animals or built houses or provided for the needy. I'm saying I've not challenged myself, my fears, my prejudices as human beings ought to. But at least I practice for it, and I praise anyone who does. I guess I shouldn't expect what I have to say, nor the way I choose to say it, would strike a thoughtful chord in everyone.

"They" say it's the thought that counts right? Well, call me ungreatful, but doesn't it depend on what that thought is, or whether there is a thought behind certain gestures? It's not the gesture that counts, it's the effort. An empty gesture is a greating card bought at the grocery store. Oh, by the way, I remembered that I'm supposed to show my appreciation, but I don't really feel like it, because I don't have anything to say, really, but i'm a nice person so I got you this while standing in the checkout line."

Thanks. Put it in the recycling bin for me.

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