Sunday Morbidity
2001-05-14 - 4:59 p.m.

before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

Saturday was a lame fuckaround from the start.

I was smoking pot like a fiend from the start to the end.

Ungodly amounts of THC. All sensimilla, all the time.

Otherwise, nothing happened. Pretty much blew everyone off, as was my plan all along to stay in and just be.

Got a little lean towards going out in the evening, but smoked some more sensimilla, and forgot about it as I crashed right out .

Say what you like about me, but there's a lot to be said for the occaisonal time-out to just be.

And that leaves me with Sunday.

Sunday, I smoked some more grass, and drove up to Dillion to visit the 'suicide memorial benches and statue' as it has morphed to become.

The new memorial makes no mention of suicide, whereas the old one did.

Drove through Loveland Pass, which tops out at about 11,500 ft, and cruised into Dillon. I was stoned to the fucking gills, and loving it.

Got out at the park and walked around the monument.

Normally, I go at sunset. This time, it was early afternoon and the park was in full swing. I saw many people sit next to the statue, throw and arm around her, laughing, posing to have their picture taken.

It bothered me, sorta', when I started to think about it.

Not in a jealous, 'this is my spot' way. Or anything of the sort.

And its not that I expect everyone to be solemn. That's her and her spirit's deal.

It was the frankness that everyone played with the statue. It was the complete lack of respect, which to me translates into the worst possible terms.

Take your pictures unaware. Fuck around and whatever. I'm uncaring.

But you know that the lowest common denominator had to have occurred. A desecration had to have taken place. I'd bet my bottom dollar someone has fondled that fuckin' statue. Someone probably groped it. Hell, who knows whats gone down in her sight, or to her.

Not like she really noticed. I'm sure the seasons melt around her and she does not know.

But desecration does not sit well with me. I had imagined the natives would give it a wide birth. Tourists en' masse' usually know no shame.

And the new monument does not state suicide. So no one knows what they are doing.

I find it bothersome. Disturbing. Almost hideous in certain respects and allegorical to the race of progress as we know it.

I do take into account that this is the product of a misplaced, morose, pretty much neurotuic grief. So if blame is to be assigned, one must take that into account. Nothing makes this right.

Left alone as a little bench, denoting her suicide, none of that would happen.

So perhaps in that manner, the tribe takes care of its own, and adjudicates the limits of social health and expression.

Now a parade of humanity has a chane to fondle the likeness of your daughter that your greif compelled you to let happen.

Now grandparents break open the IRA to take the grandkids on a trip, with a highlight being a photo of grandma' and the little girl cozying up to the suicide girl.

And they don't even know it. A fraction of those, statistically, will kill themselves also. What a picture that would be then, huh, gramps? You won't even know.

What do you think of this, mom? Your daughter getting felt up by illegal immigrants at their Sunday barbecue? Is this what you had in mind?

Is this how you treated your daughter? Mom?

Mom? Are you there? Why won't you listen to me?

I don't wanna' wear my nice dress over to the Christensons'. Mr. Christenson looks at me funny. Motherrr, I know they're your friends. Mother, I know you want me to make a good impression.

But MOM! You don't see the way he looks at me...when you and dad aren't around, he DOES things...

Mom. Mom? MOM! WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET YOU TO LISTEN TO ME!!

silence.