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Or Whatever The Hell You Call It
2003-01-30 - 12:33 a.m.


before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

Tried taking a hard drive from an old IBM, and putting it in a newer IBM. 

The result was not so good.  Now the newer IBM is in for service, and I've been cured of hubris for a little while.

Found a place that could have it for me the next day.  So I drove over there and dropped it off, with admonishments to call me and announced feelings of anxiety.

Yeah, I do nothing normally, but I'm honest.

As I drove around the nearby city, I noticed the mausoluem where my grandfather, grandmother, and uncle are interred. 

Never having gone on my own, only when another internment occurred, I stopped by and walked inside.

Apparently, there are visting hours, and these are kept every day except three days of the year.  Who knew?

I walked in, past the little room vaults that serve as crypts for entire families and have gates across their doorways that arch up high, the soles of my doc martens clacking on the tile floors and echoing off the marble walls and fixtures, my navy blue pimp coat trailing after me, past the marble walls used to store the dead, and used the bathroom. 

The bathroom was immaculate in marble, and I got the sense that perhaps it had not been used for some time.  I put the seat back down as I found it.

I left there, and after a misturn, made my way to their graves. Or vaults.  Or whatever the hell you call it.

I inhaled the strangely tainted air.  The walls fairly hummed, but I could not say why.

Paused and said a prayer before my grandparents.  Said a few words to my grandpa.

Never knew my uncle.  My mother killed him in an accident before I was born.  This has shaped her entire life, every moment.   He was always very kind to her.

She doesn't remember her dreams at night.  I think its because of this.

She focuses on everyone but herself.  I believe it is because of this.

I saw an empty container for fake flowers over his chamber or vault or whatever the hell you call it.

I think I'm going to fill it. 

Sometimes, a person comes along and does the things that I do.

I am that person.


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