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The sermon for Jul. 28, 2002 is: Nihil curo de ista tua stulta superstitione
3:11 a.m. There's a girl in Texas who, never having met me nor having breathed in my everpresent air of sour disdain and curdled hope, sometimes wonders if I am a hippie. Oh whoops, I have more to write on this -- or to be less imprecise, something to write on this -- but there's a fire truck outside my window wailing adenoidally, I need to go throw something at those firemen, it's 3.11 in the a.m. people! Get a room funboys! 6.21 am Ah well, trouble averted; and I return to this computer suddenly too awfully tired to go off on anybody, even if they do think me a hippie. One of the firemen, believe it or not, was wearing leopard-skin underwear beneath his uniform; he claimed that he was a Chippendales' dancer. Ah ha. I took one of the temporary tattoos I had been handing out today -- yesterday? -- whenever -- and held it hard against his heart. "Don't move," I said to fireman Charley (let's call him fireman Charley). He looked at me uncertainly. When I pulled the temporary tattoo back slowly, there it was: the formula for the Philosopher's Stone.
At any rate, that was so fifteen minutes ago. I've now become unstuck in time, how marvelous. I'm sort of swimming while sitting here in my chair, I'm that exhausted, that out-of-sync with the earth's rotation. The only thing that's keeping me relatively upright is all the concentration with which I grit my teeth. I wanted to argue this "hippie" taxonomy with Nikatron! I want to comment on Bettina's manifesto for a better world (or this world), since it strikes me that the writing of manifestoes is a courageous curlicue, an ambitious public service announcement. Bettina does a good job in this thankless field.
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A note before I forget: this little girl, Lily, was born with leukemia, apparently. She wasn't expected to live long. When she was five, she asked her mother, "Mom, will I turn six?" Her mother said, "I don't think so, sweety." Lily said, "Am I going to die?" Her mother said, "We're all going to die, baby. We're doing all we can so you're not going to die soon." Lily said, "Do you think I'm going to be a teenager?" "No," her mother said. Lily said, "I'm going to die then. And I want you to die with me. Okay?"
 
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