I love the way clear water rappels slowly down the side of an orange. Falling slightly, but stopping. Caught in a wrinkle, then gathering up the nerve to continue on. And once at the base, what awaits the water? Defeat, agony, inevitable sloth. Lazy water! Though you caress yourself like a cat along its legs, you will never steal the zest of an orange. It is not your fate. Move on. Help heat the day, you wicked humidity.

No matter how so the air constrains me, no matter how so the heat chokes me, no matter how so the sun crushes me, none can prevail. Avec mon Jus d'Orange, I am invincible. One swig, and I can begin my day. But my love for Orange Juice goes much further than that, comrade. Orange Juice is my one true compatriot. She will never betray me, nor I her. Many morrows have seen my undying lust for her; I drink her by her gallons.

At a time in days of old, I once held her sister Lemonade in my view as the supreme beverage. Her sweet and sour gustatory allure took my buds for a trip. But soon I saw through her facade and discovered the true visage of Lemonade. You sugary temptress! To Hell with you! To Hell! Orange Juice was there to comfort me in my time of crisis. In my time of dying. In my time of rebirth. So mellow and delicate. I love her, truly.

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All of those People below You
And beneath Me, only Dirt
But the Clouds still crowd Our View
Sometimes it is hard to catch sarcasm through text. Given this, is it more efficient to take everything literally, or to assume all is sarcastic? There is always the risk of one not understanding the context of sarcasm, but then there is always the risk of one not being intellectual enough to understand. Some may work to prevent misconstrusion, but I do not. For example, if 75% of the people who read this entry do not understand the word "misconstrusion" just because it doesn't appear in a dictionary, then I can determine that my target audience is the remaining 25%. I, like a colleague of mine, don't care about pleasing people. This brings me to the complex subject of ego and narcissism that I will address at a later date.

I am thinking.
Who were the Angels?

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I stabbed a man. Stabbed him straight between his knuckles. We were fooling around, you know. I jabbed at him with the knife jokingly, and he returned the favor by jabbing at me with his lighter. Then came the fateful jab that we shared; of course, a sharp blade is much more fast-acting than a flame, and I heard it tear through his flesh.

The first thing I said was "Oh my God; sorry!" followed by "Are you okay?" But you know, I wasn't really concerned about him. I didn't honestly care if he was okay. I was willing to accept that I had cut an artery in his hand and that he'd bleed to death.

The reason I had the immediate impulse to act surprised, apologetic, and concerned was to cover myself. It is just my nature, and probably the nature of most human beings to instantly think of one's own well-being before thinking of another's, no matter how quickly it takes to switch between modes. I didn't want to be blamed. I recognized from the start that although we both were being asses to the same degree, I'd take more of the blame just because luck was with me. Had any of the fuel that was splattered all around the campsite from starting a fire been on my sleeve, I would have gone up in flames and he would have been to blame for igniting me.

Blame and shame are closely related. It's rightly so that they rhyme.

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