me:i ate glass last night. how worried should i be?
A:were you at the circus?
A:they're professionals but you're insane
me:it was a moronic accident... and i was really hungry
A:did you squeeze into a clown car?
me:squeezing wasn't necessary
A:because you're so tiny!
A:are you making jokes about your own size? THAT'S MY JOB
me:ha. listen: i ate glass. broken kimchee bottle. drunk & hungry. didn't care. crunch crunch. mmmmm. still didn't care. now what?
A:I think you've found your calling. your question is bigger than your immediate survival chances (not good, by the way). it's a question of purpose and direction. and I think you've been offered a glimpse of that fleeting yellow brick road. so don your huge squeaky shoes and duck walk down it
me:"with only _ days left to live, make thine way to hugo, oklahoma STAT"
A:go! run! run tiny ezmeralda!
A:if you start to poop more blood than usual however, go see the lion tamer. he's a doctor.
me:haha. i wish i had any good retorts but you're blowing me out of the water here.
A:that's funny, you'd think you'd be sharper after eating glass (depth charge...PABOOOOOM)
me:it's hard to compete with your razor-sharp wit. i'm losing blood to my brain. rapidly.
A:hahaha, it's coursing its way through your large intestine. I feel bad.
me:YOU feel bad?!
A:it's not right to mock a person with massive internal hemorrhaging. what would the public say?
me:as part of my last will and testament, i'd really appreciate it if you'd write my obituary. are you going to deny me this one last request? the plea of a dying, tiny girl?
A:all things considered, I'd rather be in margaritaville? wait, that's your epitaph
me:haha sold. but there's still the obit left to deal with.
A:that'll be the sad clown's territory
me:the poet laureate of the sideshow. fine. i'll get one of my "new" friends to write my obit.
A:I'm better in a punchier genre
me:well you wrote my bio for atlas obscura so i figured i'd give you a shot at putting an ending on it.
A:I think "glass eater" is a good line item on your business card/resume
me:way better than the current "EDITRON"
A:that's not bad either
me:seriously, that's what they read. but i'm going to take my crying game shower now. you've been absolutely zero help. thank you!
A:ZERO?! I told you to follow your dreams!
me:touche. i'm now eating granola, for a change of crunchy pace. maybe i should be following the BRAT diet for easy digestion. as in, the opposite of what i'm currently consuming?
A series on learning the basics of drawing, presented by the artist and author James McMullan. Line By Line begins with installments on line, perspective, proportion and structure, and continues from there, using examples from art history to illuminate specific issues. Pencil and paper recommended.
1 Their bleeding is decidedly inadequate-from a distance they appear not to bleed at all. Considering the likelihood of distance in today’s spectator, this is not a small problem.
2 While they are exotic enough in appearance-and I assume this is why they were selected-they have a tendency, and an ability, to hide themselves in plain view. I don’t claim to understand this ability-I only know that it is widely felt that, even at close range, they are difficult to get a good look at, and this is especially true when a blow is being struck upon them. It’s almost as if they’re immune to isolation-as if they are able to always appear, no matter how alone they are, in the noise and confusion of a herd.
3 They are far too obedient and willing to receive blows. Indeed, they seem to sense when a blow is coming and to move intuitively into it. If this movement was desperate — graceful or graceless — it might generate some interest, but it seems to fall, tragically, somewhere in between. That is, they seem able, at every point in their torture, to collapse in a reasonable fashion, as if the collapse was being dictated by their own will. No one enjoys-I don’t think I even need to tell you-a reasoned collapse. It is this aspect of the beasts that most deeply defeats us, our simple want of a show.
4 Their attacks — and I hesitate to even call them attacks — are largely indistinguishable from the active reasoning of their own collapse. It is as though they seek above all to expose us to this activity of theirs-to infect us with their will to reason, and in so doing, reduce us to the unvarying rhythm of their irreducible herd. I would like to say that we are immune to this reduction, but I am not sure. In any case, I see no good reason for continuing to subject ourselves to these attacks. It would be better to have no beasts at all-to live altogether outside of shows-than to sink numbly into tolerance of a spectacle which fails to clarify what it is that distinguishes us from beasts.