Monday, March 31, 2008

i may have forgotten about the toilet

subtitle: crash box

Life may be like a recyclable plastic bottle of name-brand diet soda, full of carbonation and promise; yet you open it up, and what's inside that yellow lid? "Sorry, you are not a winner."

Gee, thanks.

I think I made a mistake.

Life is not all that bad. Sometimes, all of a sudden, you unscrew that bad boy's lid and you get something miraculous: gobbledygook.

A code. Something to give a little white typing box on the soda manufacturer's website some significance.

I love codes.

Codes make you feel special, included, knowledgeable. Or despised and isolated.

Codes twist communication.

You can crack codes. I want to crack things sometimes.

Codes can grant meaning or take it away.

Codes represent everything I like about the American dream.

You don't have to prove yourself with a code; you just have to hide.


John Alston said...

Yeah, well. I like to listen to those eerie "Numbers Stations" on my cheap shortwave radio that I got from Wallgreens.

There's nothing stranger in the morning then listening to a female voice say random numbers in Spanish.

Some people even believe it could be Cuban spies or drug dealers communicating to each other.

Creepy, huh!

Claire said...

Thats weird.