Monday, June 06, 2011

waiting for OMGodot




dedicated to "squeeky":
i listened to the interview and it was certainly interesting. but i am starting to get that feeling i get when i watch destination truth or ghost hunter on TV. you know when they are out looking for werewolves in minnesota and right before the commercial somebody hollers OH MY GOD!!!

then you stick around through the commercial to see if they found the werewolf or big foot or whatever they are hunting for and when it comes back on, somebody tripped over a log or something or there was raccoon in the bush.

or if it’s ghost hunter the "spirit orbs" turns out to be dust reflecting lights. sooo, i hope if corsi* has something good, he gets it out in a hurry and doesn’t make this last through another few books or something. because i am not sure my heart can take all this.

* jerome corsi, shameless peddler of stillborn expose where's the birth certificate?
and acknowledgments to ray bradbury, whose title i stole from his 1951 short story about existential doubt — an astronaut loses his confidence in evidence or memory, his sense of object permanence, his belief in his own existence and, ultimately, his life:
i don't believe in anything i can't see or hear or touch. i can't see earth, so why should i believe in it?

... when i'm in boston, new york is dead. when i'm in new york, boston is dead. when i don't see a man for a day, he's dead. when he comes walking down the street, my god, it's a resurrection. i do a dance, almost, i'm so glad to see him. i used to, anyway. i don't dance any more.

... you have no mental evidence. that's what i want, a mental evidence i can feel. i don't want physical evidence, proof you have to go out and drag in. i want evidence that you can carry in your mind and always touch and smell and feel. but there's no way to do that. in order to believe in a thing you've got to carry it with you. you can't carry the earth. or a man, in your pocket. i want a way to do that, carry things with me always, so i can believe in them.

... there was always that gap of proof. that gap between doing and having done. what is done is dead and is not proof, for it is not an action. only actions are important. and pieces of paper were remains of actions done and over and now unseen. the proof of doing was over and done. nothing but memory remained, and i didn't trust my memory. could i actually prove i'd written these stories? no. can any author?


however, unlike the doomed astronaut, birthers aren't actually sincere in their endless demands for "evidence"; they simply hide behind such claims in order to deny the results of the 2008 election.

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