Ana Todor Blog Journey

Only those shot in the head go to heaven. Their thoughts crawl out that hole looking like smoke rings. Like halos. And they diguise the dead into angels.

Today was a safe day. I could pursue the dreams and the dinosaurs. There’s only one problem - the world is getting excreto-phage. I saw a pigeon picking up little bits of dog excrement on the street today. My own dog ate her own poop yesterday, while I was taking a shower and she begged to be taken out. And to make things worse, I had to review Fallout 3 for www.peopleplay.ro. Each time the protagonist was ordered to use the John, he drank fetid water from it and got sick with radiation.

I ask again… is this right? Maybe I’m shamefully young and I keep missing details. But I don’t think recession should take the form of exaggerated recycling.

I’m a royal pain in the ass. Please feed me to the crocodiles, your majesty!

What does one year mean? One year means you can share a pillow but not your feelings. It means more make-up and higher heels. Numbness. That formal feeling Emily Dickinson describes:

Present

After great pain a formal feeling comes–
The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions–was it He that bore?
And yesterday–or centuries before?

The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow–
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

One year more seems to be one year less. One year, and you’re lost in your reflection, tapping your delicate reality to make sure it’s real.