Today Ravyn sent me, as part of a very cool care package, a new mascot for the SlaughterHouse. ( Oh yes, and I'm having the last of the cheesecake from the fridge.) I heard the package coming up the walk today as the sheep's bell rang with the postman's every step.
The cool thing about this sheep is that it was Ravyn's for years, a gift from her mother.
And now she's given it to me. If we're gonna insist on attaching personal significance to inanimate objects, we shouldn't do it often. Don't give your car a fucking name, that's just annoying. Unless it was in the family for years, and your father passed it down to you, which could mean it's a loving reminder of them but probably means it's an old piece of crap. Ok. Then you can name it. If someone's going to give me something she's cared about for a long time, I think it's probably a good idea to remember that every time I look at the thing.
So. SlaughterHouse has gained a lamb. Sometimes people get the wrong impression about SlaughterHouse, and me. Usually, it's people who haven't met me or come to conventions. Things sound a bit different than they read. I don't hate sheep (or any other farm animal, for that matter). I'm speaking of the metaphor here---I never hate the sheep. I hate what made them. I've never hated anyone for over five minutes. But yes, I'm only human. Sometimes when sheep are acting like sheep, I wanna kick 'em in the heads. No more talk of hate tonight. There's always time for talking about hate. Time for cheesecake.
So, hello, little lamb. Mind our sheep.
Thanks, Ravyn.
G'night all. Thanks for checking in.
1 comment:
I dunno...I think it's probably ok to give your fucking car a name, as long as it's interesting, like "Shrimp Boat", or "The Barracuda Christ"....
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