Hooray for the new wrinkles on my stats page; imagine bloggers are high-fiving themselves all over the world.
Hooray also on more of a ‘Tommy Walker’ note, in that I went to Amazon to visit my book, and by the time I’d typed ‘Monstrous To’ they had autofilled the rest of ‘Tommy’. Does this speak to how frequently I look up my own book, and a threshold being crossed, or are a meaningful number of other people looking it up too, in that way?
My purpose this time was to use Amazon’s ‘Search Inside The Book’, as I figured they could find my intended quotes faster than I could find them thumbing through.
…me deciding to follow that avenue south just to see how far it would go [page 140]
So I walked down one strange road to see where it might lead…[page 218]
I wanted…to find out where the bus I’d always taken… would take me beyond that point if I rode it to the end of its line. [page 222]
All three of the above are from a stage in Monstrous before I had ever thought about killing another person, or been possessed with a murderous impulse that I recognized as my own. [Page 278 of a 492-page book.] Impulse preceded thought, and I hedge on the issue of recognition in that a couple of my imaginary acquaintances from childhood had killed some imaginary folks.
The first and third were dictated into the tape recorder without an awareness of how well they paralleled a meaning on a metaphoric level, and the third one in particular appears amid an anecdote that didn’t remotely purport to be about the theme of ‘strange roads’. Three physical roads that my body desired to travel down for the purpose of finding their end points while I mostly subconsciously traveled an unidentified Road that was Strange like no other. Clearly I liked strange roads, which surely is something quite normal. Wouldn’t it logically follow, with nothing else to go on, that the strangest I would like most of all?
For when I grew up, I wanted to be tall. Stacking atop the desires of every generation behind me, I used to hook my shoulder blades over the tops of chairs to stretch my torso out, and eventually, with legs of unimpressive length, I would round to six-foot-three, the tallest in my family’s history.
We homosapien males all want bigger dicks, have wished for this even more fervently than for the edge in reaching bananas that other primates might prioritize, and we have all others beat. I came out somewhat favorably in this regard too, but my prayers got a bit crossed up. I grew up disapprovingly, in some respects, over the fact I was male, and my member took a downward bent.
Don’t we all wish to be out of the cold; don’t we dream of endless summers? Thank God for global warming.
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