We Will Still Need a Song

Krishnamurti: Where shall we start, sir?
David Bohm: Do you have any ideas?
Krishnamurti: Lots of them. If truth is something totally different from reality, then what place has action in daily life in relation to truth and reality? Can we talk about that?
David Bohm: Yes.

Sara Macdonald: Egads, people! What have I gotten myself into?
David Bohm: Shut up please, I'm trying to learn.
Sara Macdonald: So am I, but dude, don't you think this a bit beyond my capabilities right now?
David Bohm: Perhaps. But that's not my fault, nor is the fault of dear Krishnamurti. YOU are the one who picked up this book. YOU are the one who exclaimed, "oooh this looks interesting" (you did, I heard you!!). And YOU are the one who took it up to the third floor and signed it out using that fancy self-check-out machine.
Sara Macdonald: LIES, DAVID BOHM! LIES! You know what they say about liars, don't you? The crux of your argument is based on the claim that you heard me "exclaiming". Well, sir, how can I EXCLAIM anything when I'm in the basement of the library, where those who breathe too loudly are immediately shot by snipers with high-performance rifles (of the silent kind of course)?
David Bohm: ...
Sara Macdonald: Fine. I guess it IS my fault. But can you at least speak slowly? I understand as long as you speak slowly.
Krishnamurti: You are the one who is in control of that reality...

[end scene and Sara has officially lost all semblence of her sanity]

I found this book in the library called "The Limits of Thought" and it's set up as a dialogue between these two guys (alas, they didn't ACTUALLY ask me to be a part of it). So far I've read a bit, and it's frickin' dense. But like the ficticious alter-ego of Krishnamurti said, I get to decide how fast I read. It looks good so far. Kinda starts with a bang, dontcha think? You find the most obscure things when you just look at the books that other people have left lying around.

Ooooooooh Reegie is at the hospital right now having an ultrasound. I hope everything is ok with Jr. I tell ya, those kids wasted no time after the impromptu Disneyworld wedding.

How's that for greasing the wheels of my propaganda machine? Clearly Breanne and John did not get married (Mike!!!!), and unless "Jr." turns out to be an ulcer, or perhaps a naughty appendix, the ultrasound is for her abdominal pain. Sweetheart.

I'm sitting in Buch D MASS right now. That's the student lounge for Artsies. Just recovering from a bio study session with Kelly (not my sister Kelly), listening to some Hawksely Workman. I find I can't listen to a great deal of his songs on the Lover/Fighter disc, cuz of the infernal sibilance. I think he does it on purpose, I really do, but it makes me want to be a bit sick. If I were in charge of the album, I would cut that knob so far that the man would have a lisp!!! Cut out EVERYTHING from 2-10kHz and just leave. This, by the way, is why I strike fear in the hearts of those who are under the tyrannical iron fist of my mixing. Kidding... I hope.

And there I go again, rambling and rambling and rambling.

Thought of the Day I: I miss Kiri.
Thought of the Day II: I am going to miss English 221.

Well, since this entry is kind of a waste of everyone's time, and since it's served its purpose of distracting me for five minutes, I'll stop there. As always, more later I'm sure. As always. As always.