Day 105 / No Further Stabbings


The stab wound from a night ago has healed quite nicely though I haven't ruled out a potential visit to the really smart back-ray guy I know. I feel I might be due for a good reset. I've had enough mental ones recently perhaps an added elbow to the base of my spine might be just the right thing to put me back in order.

Beyond the healing process and my investigation into the culprit's whereabouts, I have little to report. My lady friend and I watched some unusually fit primates throw a ball around for a while this afternoon. It was quite a spectacle. People were very excited. At first I thought I was watching tribal warriors come back from the past to lure some great stampeding hoard of beasts into the arena where the huddled, starving masses waited to devour them.

Then I saw the cheerleaders and the primates selling fruit. It seems everyone was was just there to watch the mesmerizing display of ball tossing for the sheer enjoyment of it. And it was very exciting. If for no other reason than subconsciously I want to find common ground with 80,000 primates screaming passionately while shirtless and covered.

I see the pacifist warriors have at least made use of some added protection. Which is good because apparently they do this every day and then once for us every seven days. The padded helmets seems to be quite good, and with so many people interested I'm sure everyone is being taken care of so they couldn't be doing anything to hurt themselves. 

Wait... scratch that. Someone just told me a bunch of people have died and have their brain meat tenderized on a pretty consistent basis and that when a lot of these pacifist warriors retire they suffer from headaches and mood swings. I see.

Well, to each his own.   

It really amazes me what we're still able to do with our bodies so long since we left life in the trees. We lost a lot of our physical edge mind you, but what we lack in sheer strength and agility we make up for it in complexity of patterned movement. I'm talking about the kind of movement that matters in the world these days; like singing while dancing or infiltrating a well defended fort or making the perfect chicken.  

I say that last one perhaps because part of me is desperate to talk about the chicken I ate today. I only ate the wings but the were well cooked, and toasty and slathered in a delightfully hot sauce that burned the shit out of my mouth. I hate to waste anyone's time talking about food, but they're the best I've had in a long time and I can throw a rock at the place from where I live.

I sometimes do, actually, in the night, when I know they're closed and I'm cranky because I'm hungry and useless in a kitchen. I just pick up some rocks from the below and hurl them off into the night.  Not big rocks, mind you, but little ones. Pebbles, really, if that. And to be honest I don't think they even reach the next dwelling over. Perhaps I've overestimated the closeness...