:: Oh, Look, A Tumbleweed ::

:: Sunday, September 21, 2003 ::

Underneath Cheryl I saw her notebook, festooned with its ballpoint scribbles: GOD IS NOWHERE/GOD IS NOW HERE/GOD IS NOWHERE/GOD IS NOW HERE. I didn't give it any thought past that. A man's arm reached down and tried to tug my arms away from her, but I flinched and held on. The a dozen arms reached in. Pow, a became a one-man supernova, firing my legs in all directions, refusing to let go of Cheryl, but they managed to pull us apart, and that was the last time I touched her. Withinf forty-eight hours she was embalmed, and for reasons that will follow, I wasn't allowed to attend her funeral.
Once they'd pulled me away from Cheryl, they shoved me into the foyer and promptly forgot about me. And so I walked through the same shot empty window frame as before and onto the front plaza, where it was bright and sunny. I remembered this thing Cheryl once said, how God sees no difference between night and day, and how God only sees the sun at the center and the greater plan, and that night and day were merely human distinctions. I figured I now understood her point, except that for me, I didn't see any greater plan.

-Douglas Coupland, Hey Nostradamus!

:: Nick Sunday, September 21, 2003 [+] ::