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Monday, March 01, 2004
Boterschijte
Last night I got so drunk, and it didn't make me any happier. I just stumbled around the basement, trying to appear as if I were sober. I could barely walk. Except stairs, I did the stairs rather easily, I felt like I was being carried up, oddly enough. Getting drunk by yourself is never any good, but Naing was there. I puked six times, but it wasn't bad. It's twenty four hours later, and I still feel like I'm going to puke. It was the most pleasant puking I've ever done though, I have to admit. It was just straight forward, straight into the toilet which was clean for once, no chunks, just drink, no spills, no splashbacks. He turned on the water too, so Mum wouldn't hear when she came down to get her laundry, wouldn't hear me puking.
I don't remember much. All I remember is that I was getting drunker and drunker. I downed about 7 glasses of vodka and Sprite in half an hour, as well as a half of a glass of sake, and felt just fine, until a little while later, when I started to feel the effects of the first glass.
When I sat up on the fridge, I rocked uncontrollably, which was wierd, so I ended up lying down on Naing's lap and telling him the etymology of the word Butterfly - buterflie, buttorfleoge, boterschijte (I don't think I spelled it right though). And then papillion in French, and mariposa in Spanish, and psyche in Greek. Butterflies hold such a strange place in my head, if you ever wanted to know. They are very simple things - they seem like geisha sailors, sailing about on chinese fans. So simple. Our German heritage naming them after what their fecal matter looked like. How terribly practical. But look deeper.
The Greeks named them after a breath, a soul.
In Latin - the pavilion where the spirit of a dead person was gathered was beneath their wings.
In Spanish they were the touch of the Virgin Mary.
I don't know if he thought it was terribly interesting. But I realized this strange, insane desire I have:
I wish that you knew about me, knew about the little things - like how I feel about butterflies.
I do not know whether I was a man dreaming I was a butterfly,
or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I was a man.
--Chuang Tse
©2004 All Rights Reserved MJ Jackson
This article may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the permission of the author.
I don't remember much. All I remember is that I was getting drunker and drunker. I downed about 7 glasses of vodka and Sprite in half an hour, as well as a half of a glass of sake, and felt just fine, until a little while later, when I started to feel the effects of the first glass.
When I sat up on the fridge, I rocked uncontrollably, which was wierd, so I ended up lying down on Naing's lap and telling him the etymology of the word Butterfly - buterflie, buttorfleoge, boterschijte (I don't think I spelled it right though). And then papillion in French, and mariposa in Spanish, and psyche in Greek. Butterflies hold such a strange place in my head, if you ever wanted to know. They are very simple things - they seem like geisha sailors, sailing about on chinese fans. So simple. Our German heritage naming them after what their fecal matter looked like. How terribly practical. But look deeper.
The Greeks named them after a breath, a soul.
In Latin - the pavilion where the spirit of a dead person was gathered was beneath their wings.
In Spanish they were the touch of the Virgin Mary.
I don't know if he thought it was terribly interesting. But I realized this strange, insane desire I have:
I wish that you knew about me, knew about the little things - like how I feel about butterflies.
I do not know whether I was a man dreaming I was a butterfly,
or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I was a man.
--Chuang Tse
©2004 All Rights Reserved MJ Jackson
This article may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the permission of the author.
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