On my way to watching Katita Waldo teach a master class, I think I ran over a squirrel. It made me sad, for the squirrel could not have known better, nor could I swerve out of the way. It is a very unfortunate circumstance, and now I am burdened with this knowledge. In order to distance ourselves from other animals, it’s typical for us to not ascribe to animals the social traits which we suppose are wholly human in nature — that they might have a family, for instance. Forgive me, squirrel relatives. That I could turn back time.
On an unrelated note, my sister said she was able to get me the present on my birthday wish list. I’m giddy and listless with anticipation.
Spike: There once was a tiger-striped cat. This cat died a million deaths and was reborn a million times, and was owned by various people who he didn’t care for. The cat wasn’t afraid to die. One day the cat was a free cat, a stray cat. He met a white female cat, and the two cats spent their days happily together. Years passed, and the white cat died of old age. The tiger striped cat cried a million times, and then died. It never came back to life.
Jet: A man injured his leg during a hunt. In the middle of the savanna with no means to treat the wound, the leg rots, and death approaches. The man got onto the airplane that finally arrived and there he sees a land of pure white below him. The place glistening in the light was the summit of a snow-covered mountain. The name of the mountain was Kilimanjaro. The man thinks “That was where I was headed…”
Jet: I hate that story. Men only think about the past right before their death, as if they were searching frantically for proof that they were alive.