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Of Babies, Retards, and The Voices In My Head
2003-01-07 - 5:20 p.m.


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I like making faces at babies.

Their tabula rasa wonder at the world is refreshing.

At the supermarket yesterday, I was buying yogurt. 

...always with the yogurt, you.  What the fuck?

Now, listen, I'm in charge, and this is how this story goes, right?  You had your time, its out time now.  And I'm gonna' tell my story my way. 

Awright, then, make with the goddam yogurt story.

Okay.

I was buying yogurt, when I saw what was apparently a woman making out with her infant child.  She kissed and coddled that baby, who waived its arms and shreiked in glee.

As I was grabbing a clutch of pina' colada' yogurts I happened to glance over, and see mom otherwise occupied.  The child's eyes were wide open with wonder, as if to look at all the endless mounds of items, the colors flash, the chilly breeze from the cooler, the sounds of carts rolling over the tiles in the distance, the quiet murmur of the other shoppers were to find some sort of nirvana, if nirvana were a grocery store in the middle of nowhere.

...and, if I may interject, sometiimes, this is a bit what some of my LSD experiences sometimes are, or rather were...

Shut up, you.  This is a baby story, not a degenerate story. 

Not an innocent bone left in you.

And I looked at the baby and mugged. Twice.

Each time, the baby would focus on me, as if coming up for air, swimming in a sea of sensory overload, its eyes still wide and barely comprehending, some old ancient knowledge lost in the well of the collective subconcious, a newly found punctual expression of the mind we all share.

And I turned to walk away, figuring, perhaps he had not the eyesight yet, or just didn't know.

As I turned to walk away, he shrieked in delight.  I glanced over my shoulder as he waved his arms, perhaps in the only way he knew, and shreiked again, looking at me.

I feel like a robber crow, stealing precious moments.

...that's good, robber crow, yeah, I like that.  Robber crow, indeed.  Now whyncha' tell 'em about the 'staring at the retard' story that happened a minute later.

I'm not going to tell them that.

...huh?  No?  Retard stare-er.  Speak it.

no.

...you stared at a re-tard.  you stared at a re-tard.

-silence-

...you stared at a re-tard.  you stared at a re-tard. 


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